The dizziness was strong as Stiles opened his eyes, trying to focus. He vaguely remembered his father had gotten out of the car, and the floor underneath him didn't feel like blacktop of the road they had been on. He slowly pushed himself off the concrete, looking at broken ivory colored brick surrounding him. He squinted as he noticed a figure coming towards him, and he moved against the wall he was near.
"He's awake, Deucalion," A woman called out, her voice echoing. Stiles could see a man walking towards him, leaning down. He was unfamiliar with this obvious stranger, and he put up his arm defensively. The stranger had a pair of sunglasses that masked his eyes, and a long cane that he was leaning on.
"Don't be afraid. So you're that human they've been following. What's special about you, hmm?" The man reached down, offering Stiles his hand. Stiles moved away, staying on the floor.
"I'm not involved," Stiles said flatly, and Deucalion laughed as he pulled his hand back.
"I know you are. You see, there's a war going on, Stiles," The man mused out loud, walking away, his back turned. "The Hales have interfered with progress for the last time. They refuse to conform to the new order, so we're getting rid of them."
"Getting rid of them?"
"For years werewolves have been made a mockery of by mankind. We've kept quiet, died meaningless deaths by hunters, been slaughtered in packs...What do we get for our silence? Nothing. We gain nothing."
"Did you just say werewolves?" Stiles said skeptically, but Deucalion wasn't paying attention.
"Centuries of murders of our kind and we have stayed complacent to the way of the past. No more. We're not hiding anymore. Not when we are capable of so much more."
"No, really," Stiles tried interjecting, putting up his hand. "Werewolves? Did I hear you correctly?" He paused, watching as the dark haired woman gave him a curious glance, and Deucalion slowly turned to look at Stiles.
"Do you not know?" He grinned as Stiles opened his mouth, but hesitated to respond. "You really don't know?"
"No," Stiles said shortly, and then stood up to his feet, leaning on the wall nearby. "I don't know. Is this some sort of cult belief thing? Like those people who believe they're vampires and drink human blood?"
"No, Stiles," Deucalion frowned as he looked at the woman. "Kali, tell the Walcotts they can have him. He's useless. They haven't told him anything. He won't know what we need to know about the symbols."
"Wait," Stiles said as the woman approached him, grabbing him by his arm and yanking him forwards. "How about I don't go to the Walcotts?" Trying to fight against the extremely powerful rock that was Kali, he said nervously but with a bit of humor in his tone, "If you're all werewolves, what are the Walcotts- 'wendigos'?"
He wasn't expecting the followed response. "Yes, actually, they are." Deucalion replied, turning away as Kali tugged Stiles out into the gallery. "Tell the Walcotts if they want to ensure their alliance with us, they should put this boy's bones in a box and mail it to the Hales."
There was a giant room with counters - it must have been another abandoned building, and from the looks of it, it might have been a bank. He saw Sean and his father waiting in the corner next to a giant man who towered over the both of them.
"Deucalion wants to trust your alliance, but he needs something dealt with first." The woman said as she threw Stiles at their feet. He hit the floor on all fours, his hands and knees aching on impact. "Kill him and put your leftovers in a box addressed to the Hales. We're declaring war with his remains."
"Wait - wait, no, wait," Stiles started to stand, but Mr. Walcott lifted his hand and extended one finger. With a horrific realization, Stiles noticed Mr. Walcott's hand was mutated: a gigantic claw was protruding from the end of his finger. It hadn't been a needle before - it was a claw. The man put it on Stiles' head, puncturing his skin on his head. Stiles felt dizzy and passed out.
"No," Stiles said out loud, startled awake. It looked like he was in an airplane bathroom. Slowly gaining his memory back as he looked down at where he sat on the closed toilet seat. "What the...I'm naked?" He looked around for something to cover himself with, but the walls were yellowing plastic, with one tiny window with blinds covering them that was barely the size of a baseball. Nothing made of cloth was to be seen. He looked at the door, then reached over and tried to move it. There was a metallic clink from the outside lock.
"This is not good," He muttered to himself as the fear set in again. Standing to his feet, he pushed the blinds slightly, looking out at the surrounding forest beyond the tiny window. "...I'm in the woods. This must be a camper?" He looked to his left, then spotted the two figures again - this time it was just Sean and what looked like his older brother. They were prodding a fire.
"That's not good either," He let the blinds shut, and then looked at the window, trying to push it open. It tilted a little so he could hear the outside conversation if he concentrated. Then he started looking in the cabinet underneath the sink, trying to find something to help him open the door.
"I still don't get why you have to masquerade as dad," Sean's voice sounded, and his older brother snorted loudly.
"You don't think they know that dad and mom were stronger than us? If they knew two juveniles were heading our clan now, they'd kill us in a heartbeat. We need to seem like we still hold power." Stiles' eyes fell on the cleaning products underneath the sink, and he knelt down to try and dig through them quietly.
"True." There was a lengthy pause, which made Stiles look towards the window. "Hey David. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"We should hack off his limbs one by one. You know, if dad never tried to make a treaty with that damn Alpha pack, mom and dad would still be alive. All because of that little fucking prick in there. Why would they want to kill him so fast after we went to the trouble of kidnapping him twice? And why would the Hales bother to get him back? He's a fucking human. A worthless fucking human."
"Thanks," Stiles mumbled under his breath, looking beyond a few spray bottles at the pipes. They were all plastic. "Damnit."
"This fire is going pretty good. Why don't we roast him alive?"
In his frustration and panic at what he just heard, Stiles' hand slipped when he went to close the cabinet and it slammed shut a bit louder than he expected. He froze, listening.
"Did you hear that?" Sean said, and David soon followed it with,
"The window's open. Someone's awake and listening to us. Good. Hope you're squirming in there, asshole," David yelled, throwing something against the side of the trailer. "After we decide how we're dining tonight you're good as dead!"
Stiles' pursed his lips as he stood and opened a tiny compartment over the sink. He felt around. There were pill bottles, and...a screwdriver. It was obviously a cabinet they hadn't used in awhile because the amount of webs his fingers were hitting was sickening. Silently he grabbed the handle after rolling it towards a reachable area, then he looked around. He moved to the door and started unscrewing the hinges on the door.
"Fucker deserves it. You know, if we shove a wooden stick up his ass for the spit, it's probably the first time he's ever been touched. Probably a virgin. Seems like it doesn't he?" Stiles made a face, then flipped off the window over his shoulder. They couldn't see it but it made him feel a little bit better.
"Yeah," Sean said, sounding sad. "Still pissed the fire killed the cat too."
"Focus, Sean," David replied, "Revenge is just one decision away. You feeling the roast or should we grill?"
Stiles loosened the first hinge, then started on the next one.
"I'm feeling the roast." Sean said, and Stiles unloosened the last hinge and then slowly held the handle of the door as he walked it away from the entry and propped it quietly up against the sink. Slipping out, he started looking for some sort of weapon. He heard some more talking outside the trailer, and he swallowed as he grabbed a gun off the table. He also grabbed a long jacket, then quickly put it on. It was really damn cold running around naked. He checked the safety on the gun, then held it in his hands, still nervous as he waited for them to go towards the door. They were probably still partying by the fire, but he wasn't going to let his guard down. Edging towards a window covered by a curtain, he finally peeked out but only moved it a little so he could see but not give away his position.
His eyes widened when he saw the two heading towards the trailer. Freezing in place, he watched them approaching but then they both stopped. What were they stopping for? He couldn't remove his eyes from what he witnessed next: the two boys morphed into possibly the most horrific creatures Stiles had ever seen. Their mouths quadrupled in size and their bodies elongated, claws forming at their finger tips. "What the..." He said as he watched some figures circle the boys. Were those two wolves? One was pure black, and the other was dark gray.
Loosening his grip on the gun, he watched as the wolves leaped at the terrifying creatures and ripped at their skin. At some point, the massacre was too much for him and he let the curtain fall shut. He backed away, and then looked around for pants. He spotted a pair of pajama bottoms and tugged them on. They were a bit short for him but he didn't care at this point.
"Gotta get outta here," He said as he tried the window on the other side of the trailer. It would be tight, but it was bigger than the window in the bathroom. He opened it and then crawled halfway out the window. With the gun carefully wrapped tight in his palm, he hopped down and fell on the ground. Underneath the trailer he could see a severed head rolling towards it from the other side. "Oh my god," he whispered as he got to his feet not so gracefully, and then took off towards the forest. The ground was rough on the soles of his feet but he cleared a few trees before he looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him. In that brief second, he turned back and ran unexpectedly right into Derek's chest. He lifted the gun instinctively and the other had a split second before it went off to throw it aside - it went off and a bullet hit a tree nearby as it fell to the ground. The sudden movement had Stiles taken aback, and he stumbled with his hands up.
"Stop! Stay away," Stiles demanded, and Derek put up his hands.
"I wasn't going to come close. You ran into me." He stated without empathy. "Nice jacket."
"It's not mine," Stiles said, shutting his eyes as he rubbed his head. He could feel blood caked onto his hair - it must have been from that thing touching him with that razor sharp nail. "I...I need the hospital, I need to go home."
"Come with me."
Stiles opened his eyes to look at the other, and for a moment he remembered meeting Peter in the woods. How he didn't trust him to take him anywhere, and it took him awhile to drag Stiles unwillingly to a vehicle. He felt deep in his throat a knot beginning to form, and he also felt he couldn't protest. Something about Derek was making him resigned to the situation. Maybe it was spending more time with him, maybe he was starting to wear Stiles down. However, he still had a bit of fight left in him and it kept him resolved.
"I can't," He finally, reaching out to a tree to lean on it. "I don't trust you."
"Have I ever hurt you?" Derek asked, giving Stiles a skeptical look. Stiles narrowed his eyes as he rubbed his fingers on the tree bark, wishing he had the gun in his hands.
"Yeah. You shoved me multiple times and threatened to punch me in the face. Oh, and you were going to kill me." Derek rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively.
"And you're still alive. Somehow." He glanced towards the sky, and then sighed. "Look, let me just get you home. We have to walk a ways to the car. It's going to be dark soon and we're really far from the nearest gas station."
"Why did that creepy guy with the sunglasses and the cane say you were a werewolf. And why did a pack of wolves just rip apart what was left of the wen-Walcott family. Why?" Stiles felt the knot in his throat turning into a burbling anger. It might have been residual fury from his frustration with Scott, and he couldn't take it anymore. "I can't trust you. You're hiding something. And that something almost got me roasted over the fire burning over there by two people clearly pissed that I just exist," He raised his voice, starting to walk towards Derek. "This is all your fault. Everything. Everything happening is your fault. You're ruining my life. Can't you take your fucked up family with your fucked up secrets to the furthest corner of this planet away from me? Is that too much to ask for? Do you enjoy seeing other people suffer? Is your goal to see me completely and utterly ripped of every last part of my sanity? Because you're seeing it. You're seeing it. Bravo, you've destroyed the life of a teenager. What a fucking accomplishment."
"Stiles," Derek's voice was passive, which infuriated Stiles even more.
"Don't even say my fucking name. You came into my house, knowing that my father was investigating your family, and you started poking around again huh? Did you need time to erase more evidence of your family murdering people?" Stiles glared darkly at Derek, his jaw set. "I watched your daughter. I...I took you in without asking my father and you put my whole family in danger. You sick bastard." He edged towards the gun, trying to see where it had fallen among the brush. When he hit his heel on it, he reached down and picked it up, pointing it at Derek. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you."
Derek's left eyebrow perked up, and he squinted his eyes as he moved his hands to his hips. "...I actually don't have a good reason. A reason. But not a good one. So I guess you're going to have to shoot me."
Stiles compressed the trigger under his finger, but didn't pull all the way. "What's the reason."
Derek shrugged as he said simply, "Stiles, I'm a werewolf."
"Really. I'm supposed to believe that." He said suspiciously as he stepped back, still holding the trigger. "Prove it."
"He doesn't need to." Peter's voice rang out from behind Stiles, and he swiftly came up behind the other and removed the gun from his hand with precision. He gestured with the gun towards a clearing in the direction Stiles had run from the trailer. "Watch."
Stiles turned, his hands falling by his sides as he saw the two wolves striding towards the small group they had formed. At first, he didn't know what he was supposed to see- these wolves could be someone's pets. Then he watched as they turned into people - the gray one morphed into the sweet old woman who he had seen first at the front door, still wearing a knit shawl on her shoulders as she now walked towards them. The other turned into Talia. She smiled at Stiles as she approached him, putting her hands on his cheeks as she kissed his forehead.
"I'm happy to see you're alive, Stiles," She said amiably, and Stiles stared at her with a dumbfounded expression.
He slowly mumbled, "But you're...people."
"Hence the were part," Peter said with a devious grin, slapping Stiles on the shoulder hard in order to make the other wince. "Welcome to the family, car thief."