Devil of Wolves

Chapter Seven (Killers Like Me)

Peter casually lighting this dumpster fire.

All mistakes are my own. Sorry if this chapter sucks. I tried, I promise. 

Enjoy :)

^^^^^^^^^^

Peter stood there dressed in a dark suit, his hands stuffed in his pockets as his gaze traces over Stiles form.

His piercing blue eyes moved from the tape on his hands to the redness in his eyes. Stiles figures Peter could probably put together what happened here so he didn't bother to dignify a response as the man stares momentarily.

"My nephew is a very obtuse man," Peter says suddenly as he steps onto the mats. Stiles watches him like a hawk, waiting to strike. "You've noticed, no doubt?"

Stiles refuses to answer. Instead, he stares the man down angrily, hoping Peter got the message that his presence was very much not welcome.

Which he doesn't -of course.

Peter continues undeterred. "I must apologize then..."

"For what?" Stiles demands, his defenses going up immediately at Peter's almost remorseful tone.

Peter steps closer but Stiles holds his ground. His body yells at him to run but he doesn't really feel like moving. His body felt achy and tired. He felt empty; drained.

An uncomfortable prickling feeling rides up his body and he can't help but think back to the accident in the break room a few days ago with the man in front of him, smirking the same as he did then.

He keeps ending up in these situations and it's an annoying sense of déjà vu.

Peter was less than a foot away and Stiles has yet to move or do anything. He wanted to push Peter back just to see if he could stand toe to toe with the man and not flinch.

But Peter's entire form radiated predator much like Derek's, thinking he could just intimidate Stiles like that?

Fuck him, it was kind of working.

Peter grins as he answers Stiles' earlier question. "Someone as special as you should be cared for and treasured. Unfortunately, Derek and I have very...differing opinions about that."

The words treasure and special coming out of Peter's mouth, regarding him, are as creepy as they are off-putting.

Peter speaks like he already has him trapped and Stiles can't find it in himself to say otherwise. Peter is playing the game well and Stiles can't help but be intrigued.

"Because I'm fragile?" He shoots back, arms crossed defensively.

"Quite the contrary, dear boy," Peter jests. "You are very much the opposite."

He closes the distance to the point where Stiles can smell his disgusting cologne. It burns his nose as much as Peter's closeness pisses him off.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Peter studies him again for a moment, seemingly stumped by Stiles' question.

"Well I can't quite test my theory here," he alludes to and holds out his hand in front of Stiles, waiting for him to take it.

Stiles narrows his eyes and looks at the offending item. He didn't trust the man; he'd be foolish to. Every instinct in him was screaming that this man was dangerous, from his confident prowl to his self-assured smile that never seemed to go away.

And, yet, despite the obvious facts and reasons not to, Stiles couldn't find it in himself to give a shit at the moment. He didn't really feel anything other than apprehension.

Peter be damned. Derek be damned. Stiles was going to do what he wanted.

"Where?" He asks, ignoring Peter's still outstretched hand.

"I know a place," Peter says, deeming it unnecessary to expand further on the thought.

Stiles definitely shouldn't go with him. He absolutely shouldn't.

But he does.

Stiles reaches for Peter's outstretched hand, Peter's smile is less than comforting but Stiles follows it as he lets the man guide him out of the room.

Peter's grip is firm but Stiles knows he could easily break the hold, not that Peter wouldn't do something more drastic if he did, Stiles doesn't doubt that for a second.

His future self is probably screaming at him now knowing that this is the moment that led to his death, following the devil's equivalent.

But Stiles can't help but imagine how much this would probably irk Derek and that fills him with a bit of joy. As messed up as it is, if he does die by Peter's hand, he doesn't doubt Derek would lose his shit. And wouldn't that be a sight to see?

Instead of leading him back to the main part of the house, Peter turns a corner away from the training room, down a different hall, and eventually stops at the side of the hall. Peter turns to face a large picture frame, taking up the expanse of the wall.

Peter merely pulls the picture frame, revealing a small door behind.

Stiles tried not to scoff at the absurdity. "I'm gonna be pissed if this door doesn't lead to Narnia."

Peter merely pushes it open, revealing the outside. "Sorry to disappoint," he says and encourages Stiles to step through.

The doorway was tiny, barely the height of his shoulders and he had to duck to get through.

"So this is how you snuck in," Stiles notes once Peter joined him in the grass on the other side.

From the looks of it, they appear to have come out from below Derek's office but Stiles couldn't be too sure. The Hale house was like a maze.

Peter turns his head, his dull eyes lit up with amusement as he shuts the door. "Every house has a secret entrance, my dear, I feel it necessary to exploit them from time to time."

Stiles notices how seamlessly the door blends in with the side of the house. It really was quite the secret entrance, he had to admit.

He follows Peter as they walk around the exterior of the house toward the front. Stiles almost bumps into the man as they make it to the driveway when he notices a shiny blue Mercedes parked there. He feels his eye twitch.

"Figures," Stiles grumbles quietly. He hears the familiar click of the unlocking button and moves to open the passenger door. "There's not a dead body in here is there?" He queries as he carefully lowers himself into the seat and quickly looks behind into the back row.

Peter laughs, it sounded unused and hoarse. "No, I'm afraid. I prefer to use much stealthier vehicles for body transportation."

He couldn't tell if the man was joking or not so he summed it up to the fact that there was definitely a body in there. Stiles feels his next teasing remark falls from his lips before he can stop himself.

"Compensating for something, Peter?"

Oh shit.

Stiles practically shrinks in his seat, fumbling for the seat belt as the words escape. He expects a glare, maybe even a smooth punch to the face as he speaks but instead, Peter turns to him and practically purrs out: "Trust me, I find myself lacking very few things in life but if you're so curious..."

Stiles rolls his eyes and finally manages to get the belt to unlock so he can drag it over his chest.

"Fuck off," he grimaced. Yep, walked right into that one, he thinks dully.

Peter looks as if he's won the lottery, making Stiles' blood boil.

He doesn't sit there stewing for too long because as soon as the older man buckles himself, he's peeling out of the driveway like a madman and onto the main road. Trees pass by in a blur. Stiles didn't even realize that the house was in such a remote place this far from the city before.

"So," Stiles eventually pipes up after a few minutes of extremely uncomfortable silence. "You taking me somewhere to murder me? I'd at least like it to be somewhere nice. Maybe warmer. I'm not too picky but I do have standards."

Stiles pulls out his phone before Peter could answer and wiggles in his line of sight. "Just need to send out an SOS real quick," he said, half joking, half serious.

Peter watched him, delighted.

Instead, Stiles sends a quick text to Cora: BTW, in the car with your uncle, probably going to be murdered. Pls, come to the funeral.

Peter looks over at Stiles again, that damn grin plastered to his face. "Now why would I want to kill you, darling?"

Stiles looks up from the phone and glares. "The pet names are getting old."

Peter glances over at him, looking absolutely elated to hear that. "Oh, you'll have to pry those from my cold dead fingers, sweetheart. "

"Deal."

Cora's reply is almost instant.

[Carebear]: The fuck??? Are you okay????

[Stiles]: Yolo?

[Carebear]: Did he kidnap you?? Ohhhh I swear to g o d. Send me your location, now!

[Stiles]: Not rrly sure where at, tbh.

[Carebear]: Stiles!! It's gonna be okay! I'm on my way - I'm telling Derek. Did he take you from the house??

"Cora, I'm assuming?" Peter asks as Stiles types out his response.

Stiles nods, not caring if Peter saw or not.

[Stiles]: yep and we went thru the "secret entrance"

Cora's next replies are filled with worry and the excessive use of question marks. Stiles feels bad for ignoring her questions. Cora didn't deserve this but he figures that after Derek fires him then she won't have to worry about him anymore.

He might not even need to be worried about being fired if Peter kills him.

"She's pissed," Stiles states distractedly as he reads through Cora's rapid replies.

Peter chuckles. "Oh, I don't doubt that."

He finishes reading and sighs, pocketing his phone. It buzzes a couple more times audibly but Stiles ignores it and continues to stare out the window.

"Quite the menace you are," Peter adds joyfully as Stiles refuses to answer his insistent buzzing phone. It rings a few times, signaling a call but he puts it on silent.

It was best if Cora forgot about him. He wasn't worth her kindness. He wasn't worth anything.

Hence why he was here, practically throwing his life into the hands of Peter.

Stiles looks back over to his 'kidnapper' when silence fills the car once more, making him squirm.

"Still not telling me where we're going?"

Peter gives an affirmative noise, not even taking his eyes off the road. "And ruin the surprise? I think not."

Stiles rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time and begins to unwrap his knuckles, stuffing the rolled-up tape into his pockets.

He lets the silence overwhelm him and leans against the window. The trees around them break and houses start to pop up.

Soon enough they're driving another few minutes and Stiles sees the familiar street signs and skyscrapers in the distance.

He may be with a mere stranger, a man capable of very evil things but Stiles was never really one to know when to shut up. As they drive he couldn't help but indulge in his curiosity.

"Why were you at Derek's house?" He questions and turns to look at Peter.

"Can't a man visit his only existing family?"

Stiles makes a small noise of protest. "Well, seeing as your family hates you and you had to use a secret door to get in - tells me something different."

Peter looks over at him with something akin to approval. "Right on the nose, my dear."

Stiles sighs angrily, beginning to fiddle with his hands again. "You really don't know how to answer a question do you?" He accuses.

Peter shrugs, looking way too amused for Stiles' liking. "I like to make people work for their answers. Use that big brain of yours, Stiles."

"Dick," he grumbles.

Is he pouting like a child? Yes. But Peter is the type of man that deliberately gets under his skin for fun and it pisses him off. A lot.

"Where the fuck are we going, Peter?" Stiles finally bursts out after a few minutes of trying and failing to remain calm.

The man just hums. "We're nearly there," he said cryptically.

They turn down a busy street into the city. Across the road is Central Park and Stiles' apartment was barely a block away. He feels dread seize him suddenly and he tries to calm his thundering heart.

Surely, Peter isn't–

"Relax," Peter soothes without even glancing in his direction. He turns the wheel and they begin to head in the opposite direction.

"You relax," Stiles shoots back weakly and releases the death grip he has on the door. Peter would definitely kill him if he ruined the interior of his car.

They drive through the city, Peter barely batting an eye at the traffic but Stiles figures he's probably used to it. He, personally, always preferred walking everywhere, mostly because of circumstance - the fact that he couldn't afford to pay for gas and sold his car to pay for his apartment - but traffic here gave him anxiety.

Overall, the drive from the Hale house was barely thirty minutes and Stiles hadn't been shoved out of the car yet, so that was a win.

However, he couldn't help but notice that they had turned into a part of the city he'd never seen before. It was cramped, people sat along the curbs staring as they drove by.

Stiles felt worry start to form in him as they slowed and Peter pulled into a suspicious-looking parking garage. Security stood at the entrance, and the slight bulging shape strapped to their pant leg told Stiles everything he needed to know.

This place was bad news and Stiles should never have gotten in the fucking car.

Peter pulled up to the little cubicle and didn't even roll down his window or anything before the gate was lifted and he drove on through. They parked and Peter motioned for Stiles to get out.

He did so wordlessly and followed Peter to the door across the parking lot.

Stiles expected a stairwell that led up somewhere or maybe an empty room where there was a small chair he'd strapped to and tortured on.

Peter pushed open the door and all that lay behind it was a long hallway, dimmed with blue light. Peter stepped on through but Stiles remained rooted outside the door.

This is it. This is where he dies. Fuck, why didn't he listen to Cora–

Peter turns once he notices the boy not following. "Oh, don't tell me this is where you chicken out?" He teases. "Come on, Stiles. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Stiles heaves a dramatic sigh and slowly backs away. "Damn, I must've left that back at the house. I think I'll just wait out here actually–"

Peter strides forward, his face lacking the usual smirk or emotion. It's at this moment that Stiles realizes, all over again, why he should never have come.

He fights the urge to flinch as the older man grabs his arm in a bruising hold, Peter's fingers trail up from his wrist to his shoulder and he grabs a fistful of his sleeve, dragging Stiles through the doorway.

"There's no running from this, pet."

Stiles shouts and moves to push the man off until a feeling akin to a fucking lightning bolt at the base of his spine seizes his body and he's gasping in shock.

Pain, crushing, burning pain is all he registers as he nearly crumbles to the dirty floor.

He hardly notices Peter moving until the man is suddenly gripping him under his arms, his skin feeling raw and oversensitive and he nearly sobs as Peter hoists him up.

It felt like he was being fucking electrified, his nerves were frayed, he felt too much, and the pain was too much. Too much, too much–

Furious, loud yells make him flinch from the assaulting noise and he moves his hands up to squeeze an arm, hard. Whose arm was he squeezing - he could barely feel anything other than the boiling of his blood. Fuck it hurt.

Stiles holds in a scream as his muscles seize up again. He couldn't move. He...he couldn't...

The voices continued, he registered faintly.

"Look who the cat dragged in."

A different voice piped up angrily, "you have exactly ten seconds to explain why the fuck you're here, Peter. Or better yet explain why you brought another goddamn magic user–"

He feels a warm trail of liquid drip from his nose and he can't stop the tremors that rack his body as he rests against Peter's chest like a broken doll.

His legs give entirely out but Peter refuses to let him crumble.

Shit, everything fucking hurt...He was gonna kill Peter...But shit, he felt like he was dying.

His eyes nearly threaten to roll back in his head, black spots dance in his vision as he loses himself to the agonizing pain.

"As much as I'd love to chat, your boss's toy is about to fall into shock."

"How the fuck–"

"Indeed."

"Well, shit."

Stiles loses the ability to keep track of who was talking, in a hallway full of strangers. He turns to absolute putty, shaking and seizing and he could barely mutter out a plea to make it stop. He just wanted it to stop.

"Now would be great, Merrick," someone growls. It sounded like Peter.

"Fine, fine, cool your tits."

Stiles gasps again as he feels a cool sensation like flowing water trickling through him and he pushes his body upright to try and escape the feeling. Peter's hands let him go as he collapsed against the opposing wall, shaking like a leaf but the pain from earlier slowly ebbed its way from his body.

He wipes the blood from his nose and looks up wildly, blinking away the haze that threatens to cloud his vision.

Peter's merely staring at him, unfazed, with a small smirk. Fucking figures, he almost dies and Peter was just gonna watch it happen.

Stiles' sluggish gaze eventually drops to the strangers standing defensively a few feet away.

A small petite woman with bright auburn hair, a dark eyebrow piercing that stood in stark contrast to her pale skin, and the meanest scowl he's ever seen, glared back at him.

From beside her the taller woman, with fair skin and long braided hair, waved at him - smiling. They're both decked out in dark leather.

Points for intimidation: ten out of ten.

Stiles feels himself panting as he tries to comprehend the past two goddamn minutes that felt nothing short of a painful eternity.

"What in the flying fuck–" He starts.

"Language, darling," Peter scolds teasingly.

Stiles pushes himself off the wall and into the older man's space, ignoring the surprised look from their two guests. Up close he towers over Peter by an inch or so but he never felt more like shrinking away as the man's smirk drops and he steels himself.

Stiles points his finger in Peter's face, outright playing with death, he needed fucking answers, and growls in the man's face.

"Of all the sick, twisted things - what the hell was that!?"

"I believe it was a nice warm welcome."

"You goddamn bastard–"

Peter interrupts him with a noise of protest. "My parents were happily married," he interjects.

"Shut up," Stiles voice shakes in anger. "I feel like bashing your head into the wall–"

Peter chuckles as he pushes Stiles' finger away from his face. "The kitten has claws."

"Fuck you. Fuck. You. I need answers. Now."

"Mmm, well I'm afraid you're not quite ready for that–"

"Now."

Stiles couldn't help but notice how his tone made Peter's eyes widen almost comically, but the shock passed as quickly as it came.

He didn't even notice how, during their argument, he had Peter backed up against the wall, effectively pinning him there yet the man made no move to shove him away.

But he didn't feel as victorious as he should.

Peter was just testing him, wanting him to lose his cool and he had. He could have easily pushed Stiles away or worse but he didn't. It was almost insulting.

Stiles felt an exhaustion barrel through him all at once. From the pounding in his head to the non-stop tremors that shook his body still. He felt like collapsing, here and now. He felt so tired.

Oh and fuck Peter.

"Holy shit," someone gasped. Stiles and Peter both turn their heads to see both women looking at them, eyes widened.

The little redhead quickly cools her expression, eyes daring them to say something. The taller one merely stared in utter disbelief.

"You..." she begins. "I...I've never seen someone talk to Peter like that and live," she all but squealed. Peter growled at her.

The redhead rolled her eyes and stepped forward towards them. "Enough," she spat. "Start talking or I start stabbing."

A knife was suddenly in her hand and Stiles jumped back, rampage forgotten. Peter simply huffs and readjusts his overcoat.

"Merrick, lovely to see you as always. We're here to see Gale."

Stiles sputters. "We?"

The girl ignores Stiles. Her full attention turned to Peter.

"Fuck you, and stop calling me that," she snapped. Peter looked like he couldn't care less. "You know the boss doesn't like you here, ever. And didn't you get kicked out for–"

Peter silences her with his hand. "Any hard feelings have been amended, I assure you."

The redhead looked less than convinced. Stiles eyed her knife, her proximity, and decided to talk anyway. "Could someone please explain what the hell is going on," he pleads, nearing the edge of desperation.

They were in a dark cramped hallway, Stiles was pretty sure he almost died not even five minutes ago, and Peter was being an ass, what's new.

Not to mention that they're surrounded by two strangers, whom Stiles can't really get a read on, the one is constantly threatening bodily harm (also, where the fuck did the knife come from) and looks as if she'd love nothing more than to smite him where he stood. And asking Peter was a dead end. The prick.

The girl looked at him, her eyes blazing as she eyed him up and down. Assessing him. Stiles tried not to shield himself from view, self-consciously squirming under the weight of her stare.

She looks away, unamused, and addresses Peter again. "Him? Really? He looks like a strong breeze would blow him over."

Peter merely grins.

Stiles sighs in exasperation. These people. He opens his mouth to speak, "So are we just gonna stand in this cramped hallway, staring at each other?"

Nobody responds.

He throws his hands in the air. "I'm about to run out the door screaming if nobody answers my goddamn question."

The girl looks at him as he talks, her expression leaving nothing to the eye but she slowly lowers her knife.

Peter eases the tension by waving his hand dramatically at the two. "I believe an introduction is in order, yes?"

The taller girl steps forward and rests her hand on the other's shoulder.

"I'm Vie," she says almost excitedly. "And that's Merrick but she prefers to be called Mer."

"Call me Merrick and I'll cut off your tongue," the redhead growls.

"Dramatic much?" Peter mused and Merrick flips him off.

Stiles blinks once, twice, then introduces himself. "Uh, okay...I'm Stiles."

Mer looks at him with a sneer. "What kind of name is Stiles?"

"What kind of name is Merrick?"

"...Touché..." She mumbles after a beat. Her scowl softened slightly.

It's almost as if they've come to an agreement, his question still unanswered, but Mer backs off slightly and the one called Vie steps forward.

"Nice to meet you, Stiles," she says sweetly. "I'm guessing Peter didn't say why he brought you here?"

"He didn't," Stiles shrugs, trying not to sound as bothered as he was. "Even after he kidnapped me."

"Oh," Vie looks startled. "He–"

Peter dramatically clears his throat as he checks his watch. "Ladies, I would love to move this along if we could. I'm sure the boss is going to be storming the castle very soon and I'd like nothing more than to be a mere whisper by then."

Mer snorts as she tucks her knife behind her back. "Yeah. You're fucked, Petey."

"Fuck you, Merrick," Peter shot back without even batting an eye. Stiles snorts at Peter's bored tone, it was almost sinister.

"Hells no, creeper," Mer countered and pretended to gag.

Stiles can't help but grin and turn to face the man. "You seem to have quite the reputation here, Petey."

Ohhh, yes, Stiles was taking that nickname to his grave.

If looks could kill, he would be dead in an instant if Peter's mere glance said anything, however, it only added fuel to the fire and Stiles felt the slightest bit of smugness overtake his features.

Suddenly, though, Peter was moving. He passed between the girls and down the hall, he didn't bother to respond further. Merrick follows after him, glaring at his back, closely followed by Vie who motions for Stiles to follow as well.

"Answers are this way," she says.

Stiles ignored the urge to flee and followed after them begrudgingly.

His curiosity was going to kill him. Not only did he want answers but he really wanted to know who this boss person was...Or maybe he didn't because whoever it was had Peter scared.

They walked down the rest of the hallway, Stiles noted that it went on further than he was expecting. It eventually became wider and opened up into a lobby-like room, the lights were more of a white color by then and Stiles turned around as he walked to take in the space.

It was completely enclosed, almost like a basement room, it was mostly bare save for the elevator across the room.

He wondered if this was all still part of the parking garage or if they'd somehow gone underground, it was hard to tell without any windows or natural light.

Peter was the first to push the elevator button, flanked by Vie and Merrick. He noted how it only had one option: down.

It opened with a ding and the three stepped forward. Stiles hesitated. He could run as the doors were closing and probably make it back outside before–

Peter suddenly flung his arm out to stop the door from closing and smirked at him. "Do you need me to drag you through again? 'Cause I'm more than happy to, sweetheart."

Mer whispers out a small, "ew" at the nickname, her face scrunching in disgust.

"I don't know, Petey," Stiles drawled, now purposefully stalling to irk the man. "Is there something I should know before I step through this time?"

Yeah, Stiles was still pissed.

"We don't bite," Mer promises, a teasing grin plastered to her face. "Well, two of us don't."

"Hilarious," Peter deadpans.

Stiles pushes past his nerves and tenses as he steps through the doors, all seemed well besides the fact that he has to awkwardly squeeze behind Peter next to the girls. Why was this elevator so fucking small?

Peter let the door close and hit an un-numbered button and Stiles felt the elevator begin to drop down.

There was no shitty elevator music, no talking, and no noise. The other two were huddled next to each other, leaving Stiles in between the two people who seemed to dislike him the most.

He tried not to squirm and remained stock still as if moving might announce his presence too much. Talk about awkwardness, he internally groaned, that had a whole new meaning as the silence dragged on minute after minute.

The elevator dinged and the doors were opening again.

Peter blocked most of the view but as soon as he moved Stiles froze. Peter, Vie, and Mer all stepped out, Peter reached back to grab Stiles and pull him along as he remained frozen in the elevator.

Fucking hell, was all he could think since the doors opened.

The first thing Stiles noticed as he was dragged out of the elevator was the size of the room - well, actually, he noticed a lot but his brain wasn't really computing at the moment.

The room was tall, it went back further than he could see, and cement pillars stood around the sides of the room as support.

Large lights hung from the ceiling, and the floors were concrete as well but small carpets decorated some areas. There were people gathered around standing tables, talking and the faint beat of music rang around the room.

Stiles could see Peter's annoyingly smug face as he dragged him further.

"Welcome to the Lunar Tooth, darling," he chuckled as Stiles' eyes swept over the place in a fury.

Yeah, okay fine. Peter wins this round. He was...not expecting this.

Stiles couldn't help but notice the stares of random people as they walked by either. He tried not to stare back and he felt Peter's hold on him tighten when they suddenly stopped.

He had lost sight of Vie and Mer but a bigger problem arose as a man twice Peter's size stood in front of them, practically materializing out of thin air.

Or maybe because Stiles wasn't really paying attention to where Peter was dragging him, there was just too much to take in.

"Peter," the buff man sneered as Stiles brought his attention back to the present.

Peter simply lets out a put-off sigh. "I'm going to pretend I remember your name and kindly ask you to step aside," he said, his tone bored and indifferent but Stiles could see the rising tension in his shoulders.

Peter dropped his arm as the man refused to move, and Stiles slowly inched back hoping to escape the thrown hands but was abruptly grabbed by his shoulders and spun.

"Well aren't you pretty," the newcomer purred beside his exposed neck. Stiles felt his insides twitch uncomfortably and he tried to lean away.

The stranger that grabbed him was suddenly sucking in a sharp breath and the next second screaming as he released Stiles.

The stranger dropped to their knees and Peter stood behind him, his hand covered in the stranger's blood, looking down at the wailing man with nothing resembling pity or fear. No, he looked pleased.

Stiles felt the color drain from his face.

Peter pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his fingers. He was fucking smirking.

Stiles spared a quick glance behind where the burly man who stopped them now lay on the ground unconscious or dead.

Nobody around him batted an eye.

Fuck no. Hell the fuck no–

Stiles desperately searched around for an escape through the mist of people but Peter was suddenly there, his unbloodied hand wrapped around Stiles' arm again.

Peter leaned in close to murmur, "best stay close little lamb, these people might gobble you up."

He tried to free his arm, ignoring the pained yells of the stranger writing on the ground from Peter's hand.

"Let me go," Stiles demanded.

"Patience, dear."

"No! Fuck that, Peter, I'm done-" Stiles all but yelled, twisting harder.

A gunshot echoed around the room and Stiles jumped. He turned to face the noise, ignoring the rising feelings of panic threatening to send him spiraling.

He needed to get out of here; he needed to get out of here now.

Everyone went silent at the shot and everyone's attention was brought to a woman who strolled down a winding set of stairs up against the wall, leading from a second level Stiles didn't even notice.

She was holding the small gun and was dressed - well no, she wasn't actually save for a thin, see-through robe that left nothing to the imagination.

Her thick, curled, brunette hair fell over her shoulders and her swollen red lips raised as she neared, her mere presence demanded attention and it didn't escape his notice how everyone fell silent and the music stopped.

"Peter Hale, as I live and breathe," the woman's smooth, overly sweet voice greeted him. People moved out of her way as she walked over. "I thought I smelled the wafting scent of wolf. Never thought I'd see the day you'd come crawling back."

"Gale," Peter greeted politely as she neared. She eyed Stiles hungrily and he tried to avoid looking in a certain number of places.

"Who's this?"

He gulped as Peter introduced him. "This is Stiles...He's the boss's."

Stiles fought off a scowl. Peter kept saying that, much to Stiles dismay and frustration because he had no idea what it meant. Peter was probably selling him to some Lord of the Underland. This just got better and better.

The woman's eyes widened as her face lit up with a wicked smile. "Is that so?"

He heard Peter chuckle as they went off-topic. "Did we interrupt something, Gale?" He questions and Stiles can't help but figure that they did, in fact, interrupt something.

The woman's vibrant hazel eyes danced in mirth as she laughed. "Girls gotta eat," she grins and steps up to him.

She was tall, closer to his height than Peter's, and Stiles tried not to wretch himself back away from her.

She was close enough now that he could smell the sweet almost sugar-like scent coming off her and she reached up to stroke his chin with her finger making him shiver unpleasantly. Peter's tight hold kept him from flinching away.

Everyone was watching the interaction, unblinking. If Stiles didn't know any better he'd say they were scared.

Well, not shit.

The woman hums in approval and Stiles tries to hold his tongue. She walks around him and Peter, like a predator staring down their prey before returning to her spot, waving the gun in her hand.

"I can see the appeal...Tell me, Peter. Why are you here?" Her tone was accusatory but also filled with genuine curiosity. He too would like to know that answer.

He also noticed that she had yet to acknowledge him in a question, that for which he was almost relieved about.

This woman was dangerous. Hell, everyone here was dangerous and Stiles wanted to run and never look back. He was going to die here.

"I figured I'd open his eyes a little," Peter responds from behind. "Poor thing doesn't get out much."

The woman, Gale, didn't look convinced. Stiles wanted to yell at Peter to shut up and let him leave. Suddenly, she's lifting her pistol and places it under Stiles' chin, the cool metal presses into his skin and he meets his stare head-on as she tilts his head back with the gun.

"What would happen if I shot him here and now?"

"By all means...It'd certainly be entertaining."

Stiles never hated someone more than he did then. He hated Peter with every fiber in his body, but he almost hated himself more for falling into the man's trap, it was obvious from the beginning that this was a bad idea. Painfully obvious.

He stares into the woman's dark eyes, they promised death and were lit with a merciless glee but Stiles masked his fear and merely stood there, waiting. It was apparently normal here to point a gun at someone unflinchingly.

He tried to ignore Peter's bruising grip on his arm, it's not like he could exactly go anywhere, when the man, who Peter nearly killed, whimpered then from the ground.

Stiles didn't dare look over at him but it didn't escape the woman's notice.

She took away the gun from his chin, letting his head fall back down, and quickly fired two shots into the wailing man below them without breaking his gaze.

Stiles flinched at the noise but he didn't look away. He didn't want to see the man bleeding out on the ground.

Fucked, he thought bitterly, that's what he was, absolutely fucked.

The woman didn't point the pistol at him again but her eyes narrowed. "What are you?" She asks blatantly but at his confused look, she continues. "Humans don't just waltz in here without my permission, even if they are dragged in by wolves. So I repeat: what are you?"

"Gale," Peter suddenly warns and her eyes flick back to him for a moment and an understanding falls upon her face.

"Follow me," she said and turned away from them after another quick look. Peter pushed Stiles forward.

She marches back up the stairs and they follow, Peter eventually lets go of his arm and Stiles turns to send him a glare which the man simply smirks at.

As they go up a level the chatter among the few people below picks up again and Stiles quickly looks to see the bodies of the two men being dragged away. He looks away with a sick feeling and squeezes his eyes closed for a second to try and erase the image from his brain.

He wasn't going to survive this place.

Peter walks beside him as they follow behind Gale, and as soon as they make it up the stairs she leads them into another room - an office-type one with black walls just to the right of the stairwell.

Two people are kissing on the large leather couch and she yells at them to go, they're dressed at least and Stiles noted the sad look on their faces as they fled - they looked like scolded children.

"Wait here," Gale mutters with a flick of her hand. "Make yourselves comfortable."

She turns her back to them and disappears through an open doorway. He steps into the room and nearly jumps in fear when Peter slams the doors behind him closed.

"I hate you," Stiles seethes, without wasting a second as soon as Gale leaves. Peter wanders around the room like a kid in a candy shop.

"You and a small army, my dear."

"Why did you do that?" He demanded. "You nearly killed that man, why?"

Stiles barely stopped himself from following after Peter in a fit of rage, maybe even bashing his head into the wall for real this time.

He'd never admit it but he was afraid of Peter, now more than ever, and not because of what he could do, well yes that, but also because he finally got a small glimpse at the beneath of the man.

He finally saw what lay hidden behind the sarcasm, pet names, and smirks - it was something as dark and twisted as the people in this place and Stiles was more than a little on edge.

He wanted space between himself and the man, a whole fucking football field would be nice but in this room, which was adequately sized, Stiles felt trapped. Again.

Peter stops in front of a desk and reaches across to grab a glass bottle of alcohol, he reads the label with a hum and looks around again for something, the next minute he's holding a cup and pouring himself a glass.

He glares daggers into the side of Peter's head as he gulps down the liquid wordlessly and sets both items down. The older man folds his hands across his lap as he perches himself on the desk and looks over at him.

After a minute he merely shrugs. "Technically, Gale did the killing. I was merely protecting your honor, was I not?"

Stiles growls at him. "I can protect myself."

Peter shakes his head. "You think you can but you can't, not yet at least, but you will in due time."

Stiles wanted to throw something. Specifically, something aimed at Peter's head, something that would hurt, but before Stiles can get out another stream of angry curses, Gale enters fully clothed and smirking.

"I like you, Stiles," she announces abruptly and walks over to Peter to flick him on the nose with her long nails. "It's nice to see people holding this man accountable."

"You just like his pretty face," Peter mumbles and rubs his nose. Stiles guessed that he was just doing it for show.

Gale merely shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. Now let's get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?"

Peter hops off the desk as she plops herself into the chair, looking like a queen on her throne. She starts firing off questions at Peter.

"Werewolf? Shifter?"

"Nope."

"Vampire?"

"Mmm, he's pale enough, but no."

"Ghoul?"

"Really?" Peter sighs in exasperation like somehow that answer was absurd.

"Magic?"

Her answer makes Peter's eyes light up. "Bingo."

She looks serious all of a sudden. "Witch...? Mage...?" She asks.

"Close," Peter grins, then. "Think rarer." Gale purses her lips in contemplation. She stares at Stiles again for a moment, shock quickly masking her earlier expression and her head whips back to Peter.

"Tell me he's not..."

"Yep."

"Peter you absolute, twat. Tell me you're kidding-"

"Afraid not," Peter shrugs, he looked like he was enjoying this far too much.

"Peter," she warns and rises from her chair. Peter simply turns to face her and it's like they completely forgot that he was in the room as they converse - about him. At least, Stiles thinks that's what's happening.

"How did this even happen?" Gale went on. "There hasn't been one in hundreds of years! Do you know how dangerous it is bringing him into a place like this?"

"What do you mean?" Stiles interrupts before Peter can speak.

They turned their heads to him, and he was right, they looked like they forgot he was a person who could speak.

Gale looks at Peter, then back to him. "You know what you are, yes?" She asked innocently.

Stiles cringes. "No?" What the hell does that mean?

She looks surprised and then reaches across the desk to slap Peter's arm.

Peter scowls and moves out of her reach. "It must have slipped my mind," he defends and Gale looks like she wants to throttle him.

Instead, she ignores him, steps around her desk towards Stiles and he backs up, nearly tripping over a chair to get away. This makes her grin.

"Easy there," she soothes. "Not gonna hurt ya."

Stiles definitely didn't believe her, but he hesitates as her gaze softened considerably, her hard eyes warmed just a bit as she waited patiently, halting her advances.

If Stiles hadn't seen what happened down there, witnessed her kill mercilessly, he might have believed there was a kinder bone in her body but he didn't buy that bullshit for a second.

"I want to know why I'm here," he burst out as his back hit the wall. He sent a look to Peter who merely perched himself back on the desk and was watching their interaction with dull curiosity.

Gale tried to catch his gaze. "And I'll tell you but you need to relax."

"Relax?" Stiles breathed hysterically. Shit, was he panicking? "You want me to relax? After everything I just saw? You murdered that man in cold blood and that piece of shit," he points to Peter, "-dragged me down here for shits and giggles. Well, you got what you wanted. I'm scared shitless, so no I will not calm down, lady."

Peter choked suddenly in surprise as Stiles finished and Gale merely turned her head slightly and laughed.

If Stiles was going out he'd at least get a few things off his chest first. He tried not to let the black spots cloud his vision, or the sudden struggle to breathe, stop him from speaking his mind.

He was not gonna pass out, he decided, despite his body's valiant efforts.

"I see it now," she snorted and fixed her gaze back on him. "You have quite the fire, Stiles. It's admirable."

"Enough to keep you from killing me?"

Gale laughs harder. "Kill you? No, no, no I would never. I'm not crazy, baby."

Oh good. She enjoyed the nicknames too, lovely. There was something in her tone, though, something Stiles couldn't quite decipher.

Peter piped up from the desk, "I told you there was a spark in him, Gale." His tone was full of hidden innuendo.

"That you did Peter. That you did."

Stiles' head swivels between the two. "What..?" He tries but the words die in his throat.

Gale folds her arms, swaying on her feet dramatically. "You want me to explain now?"

Stiles just nods and she moves to sit on the couch, beckoning him over. He pries himself off the wall and poses a good foot away on the other end, watching Peter chug liquids from the corner of his eye.

She clears her throat and leans back to get more comfortable. "How much do you know about the supernatural?"

He tries to play dumb. "About the show or...?"

She levels him with an unimpressed look.

Stiles squirms and looks away. "You won't believe me..."

"Try me," is all she says and he does.

"Well...I mean...I've had my fair share of it, I'd say." Her eyes widen in surprise but she motions for him to continue.

"Back in my hometown," he says and looks away from her prying eyes. "I was fairly acquainted with the supernatural almost daily. My... my friend got bit by a werewolf one night when we were in high school and since then supernatural beings started pouring into our town like a beacon. My friends and I sort of came together to try to stop certain anomalies from happening. We tried to stop disasters and killings but we really weren't the best as you'd expect. We had no help, no guidance, nothing to prepare us for much besides our stubbornness and will."

He tried to keep his voice even and not torn apart like he felt and waited to hear more laughter or mocking. Stiles looked up, expecting to see shock or surprise but all he saw there was understanding.

"How adorable," Peter muttered but Stiles ignored him. Gale simply nodded along as he finished, she didn't interrupt or burst out in hysterics as he imagined, so he kept going.

"This went on for most of our high school experience. I helped my friend get control, and find himself a pack and we became a pretty close-knit group. I mean, I thought we were close. We got help where we could, helped who we could," he tried not to choke up as he spoke. "But...one day I went and fucked everything up. I got my friends hurt, I hurt a lot of people and since then I've been avoiding it like the plague. Someone like me, I was a darkness in our town. Something we'd never faced before so I try to stay away from it as much as I can."

He doesn't hear Peter whisper, "so much for that."

"You were possessed," Gale says suddenly and Stiles feels his back straighten in surprise.

"How did you..?"

She smiles sadly. "Someone like you, your gifts, only manifest from the darkest of sources."

"My gifts?"

She sighs and scoots closer, Stiles just lets her and he takes his hand, ignoring his flinch, and presses her palm against his.

"You're a spark," she confessed. "It was because you were possessed that your powers were woken up. And it's something that hasn't happened in a really long time. You're as rare as rare gets, baby."

Stiles doesn't try to move his hand. He can't...this doesn't..."I've heard that before," he mutters and turns to face Peter. "At the office, when we went to see that lady, she called me a spark too."

Peter meets his eyes, smirking again as he falls back into character. "I knew you were smart, Stiles."

"Why?" Stiles demanded and stood from the couch, letting Gale's hand fall away. "You knew, so why not tell me?"

Peter picked up his glass and refilled it again, ignoring Gale's curses at him to stop drinking her 'special stuff.'

"Unfortunately, dear boy, I had orders from a higher-up to keep quiet."

"And in the hallway earlier...what was that?"

"Oh, that. Well, that was a ward meant to keep out any magic users, like you, my dear. You can thank Merrick for that, she's always so paranoid."

Stiles feels fury and rage threaten to overwhelm him. "So you brought me here, to what? Announce it again? Make me more confused? Well congrats, Peter, we're there."

Peter tried to answer but Stiles wasn't done. He didn't want to hear Peter's excuses.

"And higher up? Who the hell else would know..." He stops himself then as his mind tries to wrap around the words. Oh hell. "After we left, Cora ran to Derek's office...she went to tell him, didn't she? That's what I walked in on you two arguing about?"

Stiles looks back up at the man, as the crippling fear and shock ripple through his body.

Peter looks overjoyed as he watches him piece it together. "Such a clever boy."

"Derek knew," Stiles gasped, and his hands began to shake. "He...He told you not to tell me."

"Mhm, quite. But I was never good at listening."

"He...I–" Stiles tries and fails to speak or even calm himself. His brain feels like it's just been covered in a hazy cloud. His thoughts were too muddled to sort through.

Fuck. Derek had already driven a knife into his heart earlier but this was somehow so much fucking worse.

"Great, Peter. Look what you did," Gale sighs.

"My apologies. Were we aiming to let him down gently?"

"You really are a dick, sometimes, you know?"

Another laugh. "What can I say? I'm a creature of habit."

Stiles feels his body drop back down the couch when his legs, already shaking with the effort to hold his body up, become useless. Why...why did Derek lie to him? Why the fuck did he decide not to tell him something like this?

He's apparently a rare supernatural phenomenon, that hasn't existed for hundreds of fucking years, and he'd never know that if it weren't for Derek's goddamn uncle.

Stiles didn't understand.

He didn't want to understand. God, he felt so fucking betrayed by his own boss, the man that took him in when he had nothing, it felt like a hole was opening up in his chest threatening to shred him apart. Derek didn't care.

Wait. "How do you both know about this? The supernatural?" Was all Stiles can manage to say as he sits on the couch, numbing over.

"Succubus," Gale points to herself then to Peter. "Werewolf."

Succubus. Uh - okay, that's new. Stiles' eyes snap to Peter and he cringes. "You're a werewolf?"

"Guilty. It's fitting isn't it," Peter flaunts. "The Hales were famous long before moving to New York."

Fuck. Fucking, fuckity, fuck. That means Derek's a werewolf. Derek Hale, his boss, is a fucking werewolf and Stiles never knew? Fuck, it made so much sense. Goddamn Theo was right.

"Stiles?" Gale pipes up, suddenly sounding closer. "Baby, you need to breathe."

Air, air would be good, she's right. He probably needed that but he was too far gone to focus - not with his mind reeling the way it was. He wanted to scream, do something. This isn't happening...it feels like his world is crumbling at his feet. He left Beacon Hills to escape the supernatural and now he was right back where he fucking left off.

A spark. He was a spark and he didn't even know what the hell that was.

Derek, Cora, and Peter...They were all–

"Stiles, breathe. You need to calm down," someone coaxed again. Soft hands brushed over his hands again.

He couldn't. He couldn't calm down, he felt like he was drowning. None of this made sense.

"Yes, and that's working swimmingly, Gale."

Oh god, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't - he needed help...help...

"Oh, fucking can it, Peter. I don't see you trying anything."

"Fine you want me to help - here."

"Peter wait–"

Stiles was gasping for a breath, leaning over between his knees with Gayle rubbing his back when suddenly a sharp, painful force stabbed into the skin of his neck and he nearly blacked out for a minute.

"Fuck!" Someone yelled, their voice carried across the room.

"Peter, you idiot!" He heard Gale hiss when Stiles suddenly regained his ability to think and hear.

He sucked in two large lungful's of air and exhaled as he brought a hand up to his neck. Claw marks, he registered faintly and pressed against them to slow the bleeding. Claw marks, that meant...Peter?

Stiles lifted his head just enough to see Peter, the man who just tried to stab him, groan as he lifted himself off the ground from the other side of the room.

"Serves you right," Gale huffed, her hands hesitantly returned to his shoulder and she turned to get him to look at her. "Stiles, you with us?"

"Happn'd?" He questioned weakly, his voice quiet and subdued. All he wanted to do was collapse against the couch and sleep.

She patted his shoulder and offered him a small grin. "You blasted Peter against the wall."

"Again," the man grumbled as he walked over. Stiles looked up to see him brushing off his coat, looking like an angry bird whose feathers were ruffled. Peter looked down at him with a frown. "What? It's Prada, it's expensive, and you nearly set it on fire with your zapping!"

"Zapping?" Gale snorts.

Peter rolled his eyes, hands impatiently checking over his coat. "Yes, zapping. This has happened to me one too many times so I get to name it. Honestly, I'm starting to take offense to this, sweetheart."

Oh, Peter was talking to him. Stiles feels his eyes droop close. "Y'r a dick..."

A hand rubs through his hair and he melts, almost against his will, but the touch feels good right now.

"You're alright, baby, just rest. Gale will make the mean man go away," she coos and nudges him to lay down in her lap. He does so wordlessly, every fiber in his being felt drained. He had no fight left.

"No love, absolutely no love from either of you, after everything I've done?"

"Oh go cry me a river, Peter. This probably ranks low on the level of sinister things you've done this week."

Stiles wasn't coherent enough to hear Peter's reply. His brain urged him to stay awake, despite his body's dying energy - his mind screamed that these people were nothing but danger and he should not be falling asleep around them.

But it was just one thing after another, from the mental anguish taking a toll to the lingering pain beginning to drag him down. Stiles let himself fade out from reality.

He fell into a light doze against Gale, into her motherly embrace, her warmth and scent dragged him under into the black abyss as he tried to escape his thoughts - just for a moment of peace.

Waking up again was going to be hell, but for a minute or two of silence, it was a hell he was willing to pay.

He'd been foolish to think he could escape the supernatural, and that was apparent now more than ever. He should have stayed his ass back in Beacon Hills.

^

Derek ignored his phone as it rang insistently in the pocket of his pants across the room, he was currently curled up in wolf form under his bed, pretending to rest.

He had been holed up in his room for what felt like over an hour but he had lost track of time by that point to even be sure.

Time seemed pointless when he was shifted, nothing much mattered and he could hardly bring himself to shift back to a man to answer the annoyingly insistent device.

He curled further into a ball and let his thoughts drift again. There wasn't as much pain, not a lot to think about and it was easy to let the mind wander.

When he shifted he mostly ran off instincts, not the ones telling him to find Stiles and comfort him but the ones that told him to hide and stay put. That felt like a much better option.

Derek huffed as his phone continued to buzz again after a few moments of peaceful silence. And just like before, he ignored it.

He faintly heard the screeching of tires fading out in the distance but he couldn't bring himself to uncurl to figure out who it was. He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.

He wanted nothing more than to break free of the room he trapped himself in and flee toward the woods surrounding his home.

Amid overwhelming emotions that was his escape but getting there seemed pointless, he knew eventually after being out of work long enough Cora would come yelling and find him.

She always did, whether it be that she actually cared or for work-related reasons, Derek never really knew.

Back then she didn't seem to care much about leaving him alone.

Derek whined silently and tried to cover his large head with his two front paws. He couldn't smell the lingering scent of Stiles and it hurt. He hurt Stiles. He caused him pain despite promising to help him escape the pain.

He kept fucking up, over and over, but god - Stiles drove him crazy. Derek felt feral damn near every time he saw the boy's soft brunette hair or his whiskey eyes that look like they'd seen a thousand ghosts.

Stiles needed his help and Derek managed to do the complete fucking opposite. How? How did he keep messing up?

Why was he so weak that he couldn't just look Stiles in the eye and tell him to go - to spare Derek from the pain of having to control himself every time he was around.

Derek hated it, Stiles didn't deserve to deal with this, his years and years of baggage that could fill a cargo plane.

Sweet, perfect, smart, resilient, Stiles didn't deserve to be treated like this. But Derek didn't know how to act around him, all he knew how to do was push and hide.

And he pushed too far.

Derek huffed and dug his claws into the carpet of his bedroom. His wolf's thoughts were getting harder to keep quiet.

'Find mate. Find mate.'

He wanted to growl and tell his stupid wolf-addled brain to shut the hell up. He was not going to find Stiles, no, absolutely not.

'Find mate,' his wolf insisted. 'We Hurt. Must Protect. Find.'

Fuck off, Derek mentally voiced back. His wolf clearly was not getting the fucking memo.

Their internal battle went on for minutes before Derek heard the unmistakable yells from his sister that seemed to shake the house. He couldn't make out the words but she sounded furious.

He suddenly wanted to duck into his closet and hide just to make her go away but he knew that she'd find him, she was annoyingly persistent like that.

"Derek! You better get your sorry ass down here! Now!"

He just growled and hunkered further into his corner. He heard Cora's furious stomps up the stairs, and down the hall, until they stopped right outside his door. The handle jiggled but it didn't open.

"Derek?" Her voice questioned from the other side. Derek's ears caught the elevated beating of her heart and it took a minute before the acidic scent of fear wafted toward him. "Derek, open this fucking door! Now is not the goddamn time to brood, you fucker!"

He growled again.

Cora just pounded the door harder.

"Peter has Stiles!" She shouts and Derek's ears perk up instantly. "Yeah, I know you heard me! You big, dumb idiot! Get that, alpha? Peter. Has. Stiles–"

Derek felt his wolf nearly overwhelm his thoughts. Fury, rage, and the instinct to protect nearly knocked him back down but he was already shifting back and unlocking the door.

Cora was barely controlling her shift, her beta eyes are flashing uncontrollably and then she's yelling again. "Ack, you idiot! Put some clothes on–"

"Peter. Has. Stiles." Derek repeated and he meant to phrase it as a question. He tried to fight back the urge to bare his fangs and shake Cora for more information. Fuck, this was bad.

"Yes!" She huffs. "Good god, have you not been listening? I texted and called you over a million goddamn times! Did you answer? No! It looks like you were too busy dicking around."

Derek was already moving around his room like a bullet, searching for new clothes he hadn't torn apart. He threw on the closest garments and grabbed his phone from his disregarded pants.

[Inbox]: 10 missed calls and 23 text messages from Cora.

Shit.

Derek looked back up at his sister and peeled her fingers covering her eyes.

His own red eyes flashed and her spine straightened. "Where is he?"

He could feel what little control he had started to slip from his fingers. Cora averted to stare and barred her throat to her alpha.

"I don't know," she said evenly. "Stiles must have powered his phone off, I can't track his location."

"Dammit," Derek shouted and let his fangs pop. A firm slap landed on his arm and he looked down at Cora in surprise.

"Enough brooding," she all but snarled and grabbed him by his Henley, yanking him down to her level. "You need to focus, I need you to find him. I know you can. You know Peter better than anyone, where would he go? Where would he take Stiles?"

Just hearing Peter's name in the same sentence as Stiles made Derek's hackles rise but Cora shook him again. "Derek. Focus, goddammit, we're wasting time."

Time. Right. Peter could be doing something to Stiles...he could be...No. No, he needed to concentrate. Derek was going to fucking castrate his uncle.

"Car. Now," Derek decided and sprinted past Cora down the hall. She followed hot on his heels. They fled the house in a fury and Cora threw him her keys. He barely managed to squeeze into her small ass car without hitting his head.

"Short ass," he grunted and barely closed the door before slamming on the pedal.

Cora shouted in surprise, barely shutting her door in time, yet somehow managing to reach over and punch his shoulder. "Shut up," she grumbled defensively and reached over for her buckle. "I could've driven, you dramatic ass."

Derek wasn't in the mood to quip back so he reached down to adjust his seat wordlessly. He could feel Cora's eyes burning into his skull.

"What?" He muttered and heard her hiss when he took a corner too sharply.

"Um, first, why don't you go the fucking speed limit, Mario Andretti, before you get us arrested. And second, do you even know where he is? 'Cause you sure as hell are driving like it."

Derek shrugged and slowly eased up on the gas pedal, barely. "I have an idea, but you're not gonna like it."

Cora scoffs. "Well, at least you have an idea. I don't like a lot of things but if it means saving Stiles, I don't really care."

Derek couldn't say he disagreed. Cora was stubborn like that.

"Why would Peter..." Cora begins but her voice dies and she turns away towards the window with a humorless laugh. "God, he's probably just doing this to get under your skin. That attention hore."

Derek leveled her with a confused look. "My skin?"

She doesn't respond. Derek, already internally battling his wolf, decides to change the subject. "Did you drive all the way here from work?" He asks.

"Yes and I freaked Danny the hell out. Got him to cover me. I had to nearly beat the pack from following me."

Derek felt the smallest amount of pride well up inside him, knowing his pack cared. He turned his eyes back to the road, slightly relieved to think that he knew where Stiles was but at the same time, resignation and dread followed swiftly at the thought of knowing and it almost made him want to hope he was wrong.

Derek knew he was gripping the steering wheel with too much force but that grounding sensation, the lull of the car, and the promise that he's gonna rip out Peter's throat kept him from losing his mind.

He was gonna get Stiles back.

"Ah, fuck," Stiles groaned as slowly peeled his eyes open. His body ached in protest as he sat up, his muscles twinge in discomfort, and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

"Oh good, you're awake," a voice spoke and Stiles turned from his position on the couch to see who it came from.

Dammit. He had hoped that shitstorm was just a dream, but Peter's unusually cheery face staring at him from the opposing couch meant that it wasn't.

Stiles sank back into the cushion with a loud sigh. "Goddammit."

He heard Peter chuckle. "Now, now, Stiles. Aren't you happy to see me? I've been patiently waiting this whole time."

"How long have I been out for?" He asks and ignores Peter's taunting.

"About ten minutes."

Stiles peels his eyes back open and turns to the man. "Really?" He says incredulously and uses the couch as leverage to pull himself back up.

"Where's Gale?" Stiles looked around the room, noting her absence. "Wait, were you watching me sleep?"

Peter merely shrugs and folds his hands in his lap. "She had business to take care of, don't worry your pretty head about that." Peter moves to stand and Stiles is flinging himself off the couch just as fast. Peter grins. "As for watching you...Did you know you snore?"

Stiles bristles, "I do not," he defends and wills his body to move around the coffee table as Peter steps closer, it's the last thing keeping Peter away from him.

"Ah, but alas, you do. I'm surprised you can fall into such a deep sleep that quickly," Peter drawled and danced around the table towards him.

Stiles moved away and leveled the man with a glare. "What are you doing?" He blurted and stepped further away.

"Making you squirm," Peter says simply. Using his speed he nearly caught up to Stiles as he all but ran around the room.

"Well, stop you creep!"

To his surprise, Peter quit trying to pursue him at his demand and merely relaxes back onto his heels, regarding Stiles with an amused look. He didn't say anything further and Stiles felt on edge. He was still in the room, which he assumed was Gale's office, and had yet to break free from this underground prison.

Stiles eyes traveled to the open doorway to his right and he debated trying to make a run for it, despite not knowing where it led.

Only problem - Peter was fucking fast, with his goddamn werewolf powers Stiles was all too familiar with, and he'd definitely catch him before he could even get through it.

He felt his shoulders drop in defeat and ran a hand through his unruly hair, trying to push down his anxiety. "So...we're just gonna hang out here, until what? Till the boss comes? 'Cause I thought you needed to be long gone by then?"

Stiles was taking a shot in the dark by mentioning the mysterious 'boss' but from the tension on Peter's shoulders, Stiles thinks he was right on the mark.

"Fair point," Peter sighs. "But there is someone I want you to meet first."

"Oh great. More of your friends, cause the last five were such a treat."

"Well, seeing as one is dead and the other may not be waking up anytime soon, I'd say you have nothing to worry about. The other three are a delight. Well besides Merrick," Peter trails off.

Oh right, how could Stiles forget? He had witnessed a murder right at his feet and watched Peter nearly try to disembowel a man. "Yes, your murderous tendencies have been made apparent. Thank you, Peter."

"Welcome, sweetheart."

Stiles hands curl into fists, Peter eyes them warily and he forces himself to unclench them and tries to relax.

"Fuck it. Why not?" Stiles says and rubs between his eyes, tiredly. "Let's go meet this person, Petey, if they even are that."

Peter merely bares his fangs at the nickname but Stiles shrugs. "You'll have to try that from my cold, dead fingers, Petey." He taunts and barely controls his laugh. Two can play the name game.

"Well, played," Peter growls before moving towards the two doors; the exit. "Coming?" He leers and pushes them open.

Stiles rolls his eyes and cautiously follows Peter out of the room, staying a few steps behind. They're walking back out on the balcony that overlooks the floor below, Peter was still gathered down there and Stiles jumped in surprise when a person shot past him, nearly knocking him to his feet.

Peter took a sharp left, walking across the platform that wrapped around the wall. He was guiding him past groups of people standing near the railing of the platform, and eventually towards a larger opening where the walkway diverged into a bigger room.

It was a room much like all the others, slabbed with concrete, with no windows and bright artificial lighting but this one was eerily familiar. It looked like a training room.

There was no equipment, like Derek's gym, but it had a large leather punching bag that hung from the ceiling in the center, there were no mats, no mirrors, and it was pretty much bare. Except for that one item and the man, Stiles just now noticed, leaning against one of the metal beams, smiling.

Everyone was always smiling. And it wasn't a friendly smile, Stiles might add.

He seemed to be around the same age as Peter, with striking features, and lighter, cropped hair. Except this man wore sunglasses and as they neared Stiles could make out the distinguishable cane propped up against the wall.

He looked just as dangerous and deadly as every other person here.

The man looked to them, almost expectedly as Stiles came to halt behind Peter.

"Deucalion," Peter spoke and the other man's smirk grew downright vicious. "I see you're doing well."

"Considering the last time we met, I'd say so," the man's smooth British voice replied. He moved his head slightly to the side as if he was trying to see around Peter. "Is this him?" The man asked, curiosity crossing his face.

Stiles felt ill when it seemed like the man already knew of him. No doubt because of Peter. He shook off the shock and stepped forward until he was beside Peter, still a good distance away.

"I'm Stiles. Just Stiles. I don't belong to any boss and Peter can take that phrase and shove it right up his ass, so don't bother." The man's eyebrows raised above his sunglasses. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but you could probably hear that I'm lying."

Damn, his nap must have made him suicidal, he thought, when suddenly the man's claws popped out - werewolf, he guessed right - and Stiles fought with everything he had not to back away at the display.

He wondered for a moment if this man was going to slash him to death for saying that.

Both men could probably smell his fear. Peter seemed to soak it in like a sponge and winked at him when he glanced over to check if Peter decided he needed to claw at him too.

"Bravo, darling," Peter purred. "You're learning so much already."

"Go to hell," Stiles shot back, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. Peter made a small, wounded noise.

The strange man's smile grew as he righted himself and reached for his cane, his claws retreating. "Spirited," the man noted with a chuckle and slowly stepped forward.

Stiles had enough practice to know that he needed to stand his ground to make headway with these people. He was also slightly hoping that this encounter might end in Peter's death this time - seeing as spontaneous murder was a theme around here. But his hopes weren't high.

It was hard to tell where the man's eyes were traveling because of his shades. He stopped in front of Stiles and promptly raised his right hand out. An offered handshake.

Stiles eyed it for a second before reaching forward with his own, stupidly, and the man was suddenly tugging his hand making Stiles stumbled closer.

"Duke," Peter warned but the man was inhaling deeply, ignoring Peter's protest and Stiles recoiled, ripping his hand away.

"You reek of fear," the man said, delighted. "I take it this place is not to your liking?"

Stiles was breathing heavily, his body shaking and his gut churning violently. "N-Not exactly. I prefer places with windows and no murderers lurking in every corner, you know, normal places."

"You say that as if you aren't one, yourself?" The man queried and twirled his cane. "And that, love, is very much a lie."

Stiles' breath hitched. He tried and failed to put a damper on his shaking, he just wanted to run far away and never come back. He wanted this to end, he just wanted this to end.

Peter, after being unnaturally quiet, finally piped in. "Great, now that we've all found something in common. Duke? I assume you know why we're here, do you not? I don't think that little stunt is going to be much appreciated by...you know."

The man, Duke or Deucalion - as Peter called him, stiffened. "Unfortunately, I do," he answered. "Shall we get on with it then?"

"We shall," Peter replied and turned to Stiles. He looked too goddamn amused for Stiles liking. "I found you a teacher," was all Peter said and Stiles just stared at him for a minute, trying to understand what Peter was actually saying.

His narrowed when the realization dawned on him and he glared, poising himself like he was readying for battle.

"Like hell," Stiles snarled.

Peter clapped his hands together in amusement. "Oh, I think you two will get along swimmingly."

"No, Peter," Stiles began to protest but Peter was already turning away dismissively. "Do you hear me? No! Absolutely, not!" He continued to yell at Peter's back, his eyes widened and panic rattled his heart when saw where Peter was heading.

"Don't. You. Dare," Stiles warned but Peter just smirked from where he was already standing in the doorway and Stiles felt his feet moving to try and catch up. "Peter, don't you fucking dare–"

"I'll send my regards," Peter soothed and slammed the small door shut in Stiles face. He gasped in surprise and began banging on the door insistently.

"Peter, open the door!" Stiles demanded and pushed the doorknob insistently. "Open the door! I know you can hear me, you dick!"

Why did this keep happening to him?

"It's enchanted," a voice spoke, interrupting his cursing.

"What?" Stiles croaked and tried not to let his breathing get too accelerated as he pounded the door a few more times despite its refusal to open.

"It's enchanted," Deucalion stated again like it was obvious. "You can only open it from the outside."

"Fuck," he breathed and rested his head against the door. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

The man sighed impatiently and Stiles pried himself away from the door and turned, Deucalion was leaning against his cane, looking over at him expectedly.

"You're okay with him locking you in here?" Stiles demanded. He felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. Why, why, why did he not figure out that this was a trap?

As infuriating as it was Peter was getting achingly predictable, but Stiles was apparently too tired or dumb to have figured that out - again.

Deucalion just shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Stiles felt the anger seep from his body like a deflated balloon. "You've gotta be kidding me," he whispered, mostly to himself but he knew Deucalion could hear.

The other man sighed again and tapped his fingers against the top of his cane.

"Fine," Stiles groaned and walked away from the door while still maintaining a safe distance from the man, just in case. "What do we do now? Sit around and sip tea? Talk about what an awful person Peter is?"

"I'm sure that would pass the time, but I thought we'd start with something a little more exciting." Deucalion said and walked towards the center of the room where the leather punching bag hung, his cane moved across the floor in front of him. Stiles eyes narrowed suspiciously when he tapped it with his fist.

"You want me to punch the bag?" He guessed, trying to ignore the pounding in his head that started to make his vision get fuzzier.

"No," Deucalion declared with a shake of his head. "I want you to use your magic and punch the bag."

"My magic?"

Deucalion nods.

"Really?" Stiles scoffed in disbelief. Deucalion merely gazed at him patiently. "All I've been able to do is zap Peter a few times when I was on the verge of a panic attack. I can't just punch the bag with my magic voodoo powers on command. This is kind of a new thing for me, you know?"

Deucalion just hummed, thoughtfully. "I'm well aware, and it would seem that your powers are only sparked by an intense emotional response. Fear, I presume?"

Stiles took a step back. "I don't think I like where this is going..."

The other man merely stepped away from the bag, holding his cane out away from his body. "Merely testing a theory, no need to panic. Although, that may make this go quicker."

Next thing Stiles knew, Deucalion was pulling the metal his cane revealing a knee-high sword hidden in the base which he then twirled, the swishing noise as it cut through the air made Stiles cringe.

He felt the memories pass over him in a fury. The Oni. Their sharp swords twirled and weaved as they attacked in a fluid line. Moving like shadows in the night, the epitome of death. He remembered plunging a sword into his best friend's stomach...He allowed the Oni to attack.

They shifted and sliced their swords through anything that stood in their path; plunging through bodies.

Allison.

Stiles eyed the weapon, he couldn't move his gaze from the metal and fought against the urge to hurl or scream.

He was trapped in his mind, a haze of I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean to. Please, I promise I didn't mean to. Please, please, please. Allison–

Deucalion's words cut through his spiraling thoughts and Stiles jerked back in shock. "I'm merely here to help you learn control," he said, the sword shining threateningly in the white light of the room. "Lucky for you I know quite a bit about your kind, enough to know that there's a lot more you can do than zap."

"I'm sorry," Stiles gasped out, but he wasn't speaking to Deucalion. He didn't know what he was doing and he didn't quite register what the other man had been saying, too wrapped up in memories.

He needed to apologize. He killed Allison, he allowed this– "I'm sorry," Stiles repeated, his gaze far off, his voice shaking with despair. He was definitely panicking now

Deucalion seemed to pick up on this and noted his shaking form almost warily. "If your heartbeat wasn't a dead giveaway... your scent reeks of fear."

That's what Deucalion wanted; fear. Well, fuck, Stiles had a lot of that, but he needed to get a hold of himself before he did have a panic attack - he was not giving Deucalion what he wanted.

"Fuck off," Stiles ground out, his voice barely above a whisper but he meant the words all the same.

He wasn't afraid of Deucalion, per se, he was more afraid of himself, and that seemed to be the thing nobody realized.

Deucalion suddenly pounced. The other man came at him at an unnatural speed and Stiles yelped when he took a swing at his arm, he ducked and sprinted across the concrete floor to get away.

But he wasn't fast enough.

Deucalion was suddenly there again, coming at him, and he was already swinging - the blade cut through Stiles thin sweater and he bit down a yell as it slid across his upper arm like a knife on butter.

He shook away the haze clouding his brain, his thoughts flowed easier and he managed to dodge the next swing, sliding across the concrete on his knees ignoring the ripping pain as he did so.

'Grab it.'

Stiles breath hitched. He stumbled across the ground as he fought to stand. Hearing that voice, that fucking voice, threw him off kilter. That voice - that emotionless, cold voice, urging him to take the sword.

He ignored it, ignored the phantom feeling of his limbs moving against his will and he pushed past the numbing fear to take a swing at Deucalion's chest. He pivoted his body when the man came closer, ducked past the sword, and tried to strike but the man caught his kick, deflected it with a push, and brought the sword down again. This time it sliced through the back of Stiles' calf.

"Fuck!" He cursed and twisted out of the way. His heart was about to beat right out of his chest, blood seeped through his clothes where the sword pierced through his skin.

"Stop deflecting," Deucalion said and shifted the sword to his other hand. "You know what you need to do."

Stiles didn't dignify that with a response when he realized that this training was having the opposite effect on him - he wasn't scared anymore, he was fucking furious.

Stiles pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead and dropped the top half of his body, waiting for Deucalion to strike again and he didn't wait long.

For a blind man - 'cause why the hell else did he have a cane and sunglasses - he moved with fluid grace, his movements weren't hesitant or cautious, they were direct. He knew where to swing and when to swing and it was pissing Stiles off.

He was ready when the man came at him again. Deucalion swung his sword, blocking Stiles' attempts to hit it out of his hand and he narrowly avoided it, slicing open his forehead.

He decided to say 'fuck it' and tried what he had on Derek earlier. As soon as Deucalion brought it back to swing again, Stiles had ducked down to avoid it, planted his hands against the concrete, and took a swing against the man's legs.

He pushed against them as hard as he could and the man above him dropped none too gracefully onto his back, with an oomph, leaving Stiles with the opportunity to grab the sword out of Deucalion's flailing hand.

These werewolves never did seem to prepare themselves to get their legs swept.

As soon as Stiles felt the weight of the hilt in his hand he straightened and held the edge of the sword against Deucalion's neck.

They were both breathing heavily and Stiles felt the strain of his ribs and the protest of his body which had yet to stop bleeding, nearly threatening to drag him down, and Deucalion looked to be in no better shape.

Except he was grinning.

"Well done, my boy," Duke cajoled, his expression was almost proud but from the coiled tension in his body to his shifted claws, Stiles figured he was barely restraining himself from ripping him a new one. Well, tough, Stiles felt the same.

His eyes traveled to his reflection in Deucalion's sunglasses and he could have sworn that his reflection smiled back at him, despite not moving his own face, and that nearly made him drop the sword. That or the voice inside his head that hissed, 'finish him.'

Stiles eyes widened and he felt his body expel air too quickly.

'Do it.'

He nearly screamed out in panic as the voice urged him on.

'Finish him.'

He felt like his body was frozen, his blood and bones moving as slow as molasses - paralyzed with fear.

'He's trying to break us down, show him our gift.'

Stiles felt his hand slowly push against the vulnerable skin of Deucalion's neck.

'We. Are. Not. Weak.'

Yet, Stiles was weak. He was letting himself get enveloped in his fear and that pushed him to listen to the voice.

"Stiles?" Deucalion cautioned, his voice on the edge of a growl. "I believe you've won. Kindly remove the sword, if you would."

But he couldn't. He fucking couldn't. It wasn't that Stiles necessarily wanted to either, everyone here stared at him like he was some kind of freak, some kind of unnatural creature that needed to be coddled and shoved into room after room. They looked at him like he was weak. A child. And he was sick of it.

He was sick of being their little experiment; tired of not knowing what was gonna happen to him here.

Stiles didn't do as the voice wanted. Instead, he leaned down, keeping the blade pressed tightly against the wolf's neck and he eyed the trail of blood that left the small wound in curiosity.

Deucalion attempted to move but Stiles just pressed the blade harder, tilting the man's head to the side at an uncomfortable angle to avoid getting sliced.

"Stiles–" He tries to protest.

"Shut up," Stiles interrupted and stared at himself in the glasses' dark reflection. He looked crazed. "You wanted to see my abilities so bad? Why?"

Deucalion looked shocked, startled even, but he gulped and answered. "I was just doing as Peter asked. Getting a feel for them, he wanted to know what else you could do."

'Kill him. Kill him now.' The voice urged louder. 'Show him, show him, show him–'

Stiles sighed and leaned further over the man's body until his head was directly above. "You want to see so bad?" He asked and noticed Deucalion tried to bring his hand up to push him away, but a tugging motion sparked in his veins, like a string being snapped and suddenly, Deucalion' was choking. He gasped and flailed as his breath was stolen.

Deucalion didn't dare move his hands to his neck, avoiding the blade, but he sent Stiles a panicked look and cried out, "W-What are you doing?" It was pained and the words were barely there but Stiles heard.

He hadn't noticed that a black, smoke-like cloud was traveling over Deucalion's body, up around his neck and flowing right over the sword along with Stiles hand.

Oh shit.

'See what we can do? Show him, show him. Make him regret.'

Stiles didn't understand what was happening. He nearly sobbed then and begged Deucalion to take the sword and do something, but he was on the verge of passing out. He was choking the man to death, magically, and he didn't know how to stop.

This wasn't the Nogitsune's doing, no, no, if it was Deucalion and nearly half the people in this place would already be dead because the nogitsune strived for chaos and destruction - scaring a poor blind werewolf was not that. Strangling maybe, but Stiles knew better.

This was something new. Something worse, worse because Stiles was doing this by his own means. He was doing this. He was listening to the voice, he was controlling his own fucked magic and he was trying to kill Deucalion. Nothing was forcing him.

God, and that somehow was so much fucking worse.

He pried the sword away from the trembling man's neck, blood flowed freely, and as soon as he did, the smoke quickly dissipated into nothing.

Stiles stood up as fast as he could, threw the sword across the ground, and backed away from Deucalion in a panic.

The man gasped, finally getting enough air, and skidded across the floor away from Stiles in a flurry of shaking limbs.

Stiles couldn't see behind the man's shades but he knew that there was only one expression in Deucalion's eyes; fear.

'Weak,' the voice echoed in his head again and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut to block it out.

Suddenly, shouts were echoing from the other side of the door and Stiles jumped in surprise when a large force pushed against the door. It creaked and groaned and there were more shouts before it was bursting open.

Deucalion crawled into a corner out of sight when bodied flooded the room. One smaller body, in particular, ran towards him until skidding to a stop.

"Stiles?"

He cleared the blurriness from his vision just enough to see Cora staring at him in surprise and concern. "Cora..." He tried to speak but the words came out all wrong. He felt his throat closing up, panic, desperation, and the need to pass out flooded him at that moment.

"Stiles.."

He blinked.

"Stiles, honey, please put the sword down–"

The sword? What sword? He threw it. It was gone. He...He...Looking down at his own hands, again, that familiar black hilt was nestled into his palm, the blade of the weapon pointed towards the ground. He was still holding the sword–

Oh god. How...

"Stiles?" He heard Cora speak his name again, oh so softly that it nearly made him cry.

Please, please, please help me! He wanted to shout and cry. What was happening? Oh god, please help. Please.

After a few seconds, all he could manage was another strangled cry of her name. She stepped forward, her hands held out like she was trying to calm a rabid animal. Oh god.

"Stiles, please," she stressed. Tears dragged down her face as he backed away. "Please, let me help you. You're okay, nobody's gonna hurt you, I promise. I won't let those bastards touch you again."

His head snapped up immediately from Cora when he noticed another figure enter the room. They pushed past strangers, elbowing and growing, one stranger, Stiles noticed, was Gale, and suddenly that person was standing beside Cora.

It was Derek.

He looked downright murderous, those dull green eyes full of fury.

Fuck, he looked good but so so mad.

Stiles tried not to shy away from the man's stare, barely noticing his hand tighten around the sword.

"You're..." Stiles tried to say, his throat burned so bad it made his eyes water. He couldn't get the words out.

He saw Derek reach out for his hand and he felt himself flinch. The blade raised in front of himself protectively, and he ignored the man's concerned look.

Lies, all lies.

"You're werewolves," he finally managed to say and the effect was instantaneous.

Why was that first thought that came to his head? No clue, but he saw the utter panic on both Derek and Cora's faces before his vision went dark, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he felt his body crumble.

"Stiles!" Someone yelled, hands caught him before he hit the ground and then he was fading out into oblivion.

Finally, everything went quiet. 

^^^^^^^^^^^

Yay, pain! I decided to save Derek and Cora's reactions til the next chapter 'cause I need to learn how to make these shorter ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Hope you're doing well! Thank you for reading and thank you all for your sweet messages <3 You guys rock!

Also, I know it's dumb to describe Stiles powers as black smoke but I honestly had no idea what to do.