Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or the characters. All rights go to the creators.

Scott lay staring up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head, lost in thought. He still couldn't comprehend what Isaac had said at dinner; it just didn't make sense. He had wanted to ask more about what he had meant when he had said Lydia was "usually right", but Isaac had nodded off to sleep in minutes and Scott didn't want to be rude and intrude on his dreams. Scott was surprised how Isaac actually managed to sleep through the night; every half hour a nurse would pop her head into the room, but somehow, Scott managed to fall into a dreamless, restless sleep.

It seemed as though he had only just closed his eyes when he felt himself being shaken awake by Isaac. Scott blinked away the sleep and blearily glared up at his roommate.
"What," he groaned. He ran a hand through his hair and propped himself up on his elbows.
"It's time to get up," Isaac said flatly. Scott yawned and forced himself up into a sitting position.
"What time is it?"

"Seven," he replied. Why so early, Scott thought. He groaned and fell back down onto his pillow and sighed. He lay in bed for another moment or two before reluctantly swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
For seven in the morning, things seemed lively. The common area was more crowded then yesterday, but most of the patients milled about like zombies, still half asleep. The orderlies that he had failed to notice his first day he noticed now. They skulked about in the hallways and in the common area, pacing like caged tigers.

He found it rather eerie that they lurked in the shadows, wallflowers silently watching over the patients.
At exactly seven-thirty they were herded down like cattle to the cafeteria where Scott fell into line between Stiles and Isaac. As he grabbed a food tray and inched forward in line, he could hear dozens of conversations going on that all seemed very secretive. Everywhere he glanced, he saw people together in twos and threes, their heads bent close together.

"Stiles, what's everyone talking about," he asked.
"Lydia," he replied, reaching for a bowl of oatmeal. "She was right."
"She was right," Scott repeated, surprise laced in his voice. How was that possible? How could she have possibly known that someone was going to die? It just didn't make any sense.

"Who died," he demanded rather loudly. He got several glances from orderlies that huddled nearby. Stiles shushed him.
Once the three of them had grabbed what they wanted for breakfast they pulled out of line and found a table near the windows that was well away from other patients.
"Who died," Scott demanded again.
"Some guy in the adult ward," Stiles explained vaguely.
"How does she do it," Scott asked, "How does she know when someone's going to die?" Stiles and Isaac shrugged simultaneously.

"Beats me," Stiles muttered. He turned to Isaac. "You got any theories?" Isaac smirked lightly and glanced down at his cereal, momentarily lost in thought.
"I always thought that she might be a mind reader or something like that," he said, his voice subdued. "Or possibly a witch."
"Why isn't she on the youth ward," Scott asked.

"She was," Stiles sighed, "But not for long. She attacked someone; claiming that she was trying to save them from themselves."
"They don't allow any patients that pose a danger to others on the ward," Isaac stated.
"They should get rid of Derek then," Stiles retorted, through a mouthful of oatmeal. "The guy's a loose cannon waiting to go off."
"Aren't we all?" Isaac asked sarcastically.

The morning went by rather slowly for Scott. He was still groggy from getting up so early, and he was still very new to the daily routine that no one seemed to inform him about. Around noon, Dr. Blake waltzed on into the common room and began to call out names. Stiles' and Isaac's name was on the list, but his was not.
"Where are you going," he asked, as Stiles and Isaac got up from where they were sitting.
"Group Therapy," Stiles replied. "It's different every day, so we'll be having it at the same time sooner or later." He turned to leave and follow the five others that had been called. Scott slumped in his seat and sighed. Now what was he going to do?

Scott was left to his own devices as Stiles and Isaac left for group therapy. He lounged around in the common area, waiting for them to come back; it sucked that they weren't in the same therapy group. Boredom crept up on him quickly, which left him staring at the ceiling as he lay on the sofa, his legs draped over the arm. There was practically nothing to do.
Once he had counted all the ceiling tiles in his sight, he got to his feet and shuffled about the room. He spotted Derek sitting at a table, sorting through a deck of cards. Of all people, Derek seemed the most secluded, and something about his social isolation attracted Scott like a magnet. He knew that he was probably making a huge mistake, but he was bored, and he didn't really feel like talking to the patients who were strangers to him.

"Mind if I sit down," he asked. Derek didn't glance up from his cards that he was hastily shuffling. He shrugged and muttered something under his breath. Uncertainly, Scott sat down. He watched as Derek continued to shuffle the deck before splitting it in half and pushing it towards Scott.
"Help me sort," Derek said sternly. With lightening speed, he began to place cards along the table, lined from Ace to King, black on one side, red on the other. Scott watched for a moment, confused as to why he just wanted to sort the cards when the two of them could play a game. But Scott complied with Derek's request and helped him sort through the cards.

The silence that hung between them was more than uncomfortable, it was awkward. Scott tried to think of conversation starters, but he doubted any of them would work with Derek. Instead, he decided to bring up the topic that had been bothering him since last night.
"Did you hear about the suicide last night," Scott asked quietly, careful not to attract any attention from the orderlies. Derek nodded firmly, his eyes on the cards in his hands. The silence between them resumed and Scott sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. This wasn't going anywhere. He was just thinking about getting up and leaving Derek to himself when he suddenly spoke up.

"What do you know about the history behind mental institutions," he asked. His eyes were still focused on his hands as he continued to deal out cards. Scott glanced up from his cards, confused. He found the question very sudden and out of place.
'Not much," Scott admitted.
"Facilities like this place…they use to be a living hell. They still are, I guess, but at least today's doctors carry some knowledge. The ones back in the days, they were the crazy ones, not the patients." Scott remained silent at his comment. He wasn't exactly sure what Derek meant by that; he honestly didn't know anything about mental health institutions in the past. Then again, Stiles had said Derek suffered from paranoia. Perhaps it was the paranoia that was fueling his words.

Derek glanced up at him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the table.
"I'm saying that the person that died last night, it wasn't because they committed suicide. Someone killed them," Derek said through gritted teeth. He threw his final card onto the table and glanced up at Scott with piercing green eyes. "Do you get the point I'm trying to get across?"
"That there's a murderer in the hospital," Scott suggested weakly. From what Stiles had told him, Derek seemed like a loose cannon and the last thing he wanted to do was anger him. Derek sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"In a way, yes, there is a murderer…but this person isn't doing it for the sake of killing. They do it because they're curious."
"What do you mean by that," he demanded quietly.
"I mean that someone on the staff, a doctor most likely, is using patients to experiment."

A/N : So there's the second chapter. Hope you all enjoy. Feel free to favourite, leave reviews or follow; all is welcomed and appreciated.