The Ties That Bind Us

The Flight

While they waited, Stiles turned the room's camera ever so slightly, so it no longer could see the bulk of the room. Naturally, they would have to deal with the prison's entire surveillance system before they left, but for now, they needed no watching security personnel to catch sight of what was about to happen.

Stiles had just settled against one of the walls when the door opened. Isaac was promptly waiting by the door and quickly found his way into the two guardians' heads. Gerard Argent, the prisoner they were bringing, never looked so surprised then when his eyes settled on Scott. The same distress Scott had felt when seeing Gerard at his trial shot up within him. His heart rate increased and his hands started to sweat as he remember every little thing this man had done to hurt him—including the murder of his parents.

Forcibly, Scott tried to shove his fear out of his mind. He didn't really need that though. The sickness that had plagued Gerard for years was obviously getting the best of him. Lack of exercise and fresh air appeared to have taken a toll too, as had the limited food supply prisoners were supposedly given. The guards had him clad in shackles as an extra precaution, and the heavy weight dragged him down, almost making him shuffle.

Gerard was frozen on the spot, his eyes wide. After a minute or so of complete silence, the cunning sharpness that so characterized him, the shrewd intellect Stiles knew well, snapped into place. But he was confused. He searched the room, looking from Scott to Isaac, until he found Stiles. A slow, intrigued smile spread over his face. "Oh my," he whispered. "This might be the best meal I've ever had."

"If you want any chance of getting out of here," Stiles murmured, voice just as quiet, "you'll do exactly what I say."

Gerard Argent was not a stupid man. Others might have hesitated or asked more questions. He did not. He might not know exactly what was going on, but he sensed that this was a shot at freedom. Possibly the only one he would ever get. He was someone who had spent a large part of his life masterminding complicated plots, so he was a pro at slipping right into them.

Stiles took a deep breath, dreading what he had to say next. "Scott," he called. "Drop 'em."

Ready, Scott opened his backpack and brought out the syringes with the tranquilizer Stiles had bought. Of the five, he used two on the new guards that, almost immediately, dropped to the ground, unconscious.

"Alright, let's move," Stiles said, moving fast. "Get the key from him."

Scott frisked the guardian's unconscious body and retrieved the key for the shackles. He handed it to Stiles who turned his full attention on Gerard. He was quietly observing them while all sorts of new possibilities undoubtedly formed in his twisted mind. Stiles approached and put on his scary-face as he held up the key.

"I'm going to unlock your cuffs now," he told him, in a voice both sweet and menacing. "You're going to do exactly what we tell you to do. You're not going to run, start a fight, or in any way interfere with our plans."

"Oh?" Gerard said. "Isn't your friend over there," he gestured to Isaac, "the encantado of the group? Are you using compulsion now too, Stiles?"

"I don't need it." Stiles unlocked the shackles. "And I don't need sedatives either. I will knock you out with my fists and drag you out of here if that's what I have to do. But you will come quietly."

The heavy cuffs and chains fell to the floor. That sly, smug look stayed on Gerard's face, but his hands gently touched each wrist. Stiles noticed then that there were welts and bruises on them. Those shackles weren't meant for comfort. Gerard glanced back up at them.

"How charming," he mused. "Out of all the people who would attempt to rescue me, I never would have expected you... and yet, in retrospect, you're probably the most capable."