Maybe I Was Wrong (Teen Wolf: Stiles Stilinski)

Chapter 60

“Matt? It's Matt, right? Matt, whatever's going on, I guarantee you there's a solution that doesn't involve a gun.”

Mr. Stilinski keeps his eyes fixed on the boy with the gun, staying calm like a professional would, even with Scott’s life in danger. Stiles grabs my hand hard, fighting the urge to go stand in front of me. I quickly wipe whatever’s left of my tears away, and avoid Matt’s eyes, knowing, just knowing they’re flickering over to me.

“You know, it's funny you say that, because I don't think you're aware of just how right you are,” Matt says.

“I know you don't wanna hurt people,” Mr. Stilinski tries again. Scott tries to make eye contact with Stiles, but he’s focused on Matt, watching him with tense muscles that suggest restrained anger, and I can feel his quick, strong pulse in his wrist that’s pressed to mine.

“Actually, I wanna hurt a lot of people,” Matt smirks, finally catching my gaze, his smile widening at the sight of my face, and the various kinds of anxiety, anger and stress visible on it. “Scott, Stiles, Mr. Stilinski, you three weren’t on my list. But she is, well, on a different list of mine.”

Matt keeps looking at me, and I keep staring down at the floor to avoid everything that’s happening, and Stiles snaps, pulling his hand out of my grip and stepping forward.

“Not another word about her,” he says, raising his voice, and Matt points his gun right at Stiles, holding Scott in place by his collar.

“Now, that could get somebody hurt, regardless of whether or not you’re on my list.”

“Stiles, step back,” Mr. Stilinski tells him, and his son begrudgingly does so.

“Good boy,” Matt teases. “Now follow me.”

Matt walks back with Scott, and Stiles, Mr. Stilinski and I follow them out the door, leading us to the room where the cells are. On the table are a pair of handcuffs, which Matt picks up and tosses to Stiles.

“Cuff him to the hook on the wall,” he says, jerking his head to Mr. Stilinski.

“What?”

“Do it!” Matt shouts, startling Stiles and making him move, carefully securing the handcuffs around Mr. Stilinski’s wrist and another on the hook.

“Tighter,” Matt orders.

“It’s gonna hurt his-“

“Do what he says, Stiles,” Mr. Stilinski interrupts his son. He glances at me for a second, standing there alone at the end of the room with Matt a little too close, and then Stiles follows his orders, tightening the cuffs.

“What, are you gonna kill everyone in here?” Scott asks.

“No, that's what Jackson's for,” Matt answers. “I just think about killing them, and he does it.”

When Stiles is done, he makes his way towards me, but Matt protests, blocking the way.

“No, no, no, Stiles, you’re gonna go back to the office and delete everything you have on me,” he says.

“Are you kidding?” Stiles asks, not moving.

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?” Matt says, his anger growing when Stiles still doesn’t do anything. “You seem to be forgetting I can do anything I want to your little girlfriend right now and all you can do is watch.”

I freeze.

“You can’t-“ Stiles begins, but his dad cuts him off.

“For God’s sake, Stiles, listen to him.”