FIC: Teen Wolf -- Pack Up; Don't Stray (5/6)

[the_deep_magic]

Title: Pack Up; Don’t Stray (5/6)
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (this part): themes of slavery, references to underage sexual trauma and (nongraphic) torture, canon-typical violence, minor character death

One / Two / Three / Four

Their greatest resource turned out to be Google Earth.  Stiles had gone to Allison hoping she knew more about the estate, but even though she hadn’t been there in something like 13 years, she drew up a rough sketch of what she remembered and they compared it to the satellite image of the main house.  There had been some expansions, but at least Stiles had some idea what the inside layout looked like.

“I think the stairs leading down into the basement were here,” Allison said, pointing to a small room behind the kitchen.  “I remember they wouldn’t let me go down there to play.  They said it was the ‘servants’ quarters.’”  She sounded a little sick.

Stiles figured there had to be some kind of tunnel leading from the basement out to the woodlands behind the house.  It was unlikely the Argents would march their prey up through the house and out the back door.  Maybe there actually were servants’ quarters downstairs – it sounded like Derek had thought he’d been living a somewhat normal life for a while – but the electricity spikes meant something bad was happening down there, too.

They all sat around the computer, zooming in on the overhead view of the house until the image started to lose resolution.  “Could that be the breaker box for the fence?” Scott asked, pointing to a fuzzy gray shape at the side of the house near the back.  “It would have to be big and probably on a separate grid from the rest of the house.”

“Yeah, but right out in the open like that?” Stiles mused.

“Probably,” Allison said.  “They wouldn’t have it in the house, and they’d have to keep it outside the perimeter of the fence.  They’re concerned about things getting out, not in.”

Stiles’ hackles rose at Allison’s use of the word “things,” though she probably hadn’t meant anything by it.  Despite her lack of specific knowledge about the estate, she was proving to be a formidable tactician – when she wasn’t feeding the baby.  All other baby-related activities had been outsourced to Scott.  But even with the interruptions, they formed a plan.

Perhaps even calling it a “plan” was overly generous, but Stiles’ highest priority was getting in (and out) as soon as possible.  When Stiles broke in, Scott would be waiting for him a few blocks over, ready to drive them straight to Stiles’ SUV (the thing cost a fucking fortune to rent, but he wasn’t taking any chances this time on a dependable vehicle).  Once Derek was out of the estate, the Argents had no legal claim to him, and Stiles would get him north immediately, with Scott giving him a police escort in a marked squad car until they crossed state lines.

It was still dangerous, but it gave them a chance of getting out of the Argents’ reach.  Stiles was angry at himself for not asking for Scott’s help earlier.  He should have known that Scott would be willing to help him with something this important.  And Stiles had greatly underestimated Allison.  She might have been an Argent, but once she found out what her grandfather and aunt were doing, she was nearly as determined as Stiles to stop it.  Stiles would need both of them to help deal with the fallout after he got Derek to safety.  With Allison’s help, they could probably get a warrant and have the entire police force combing the house in a few days, but Stiles wasn’t willing to leave Derek in there while they waited on a judge’s decision.

So, with a half-assed plan and just enough painkillers to keep him mobile, Stiles found himself crouched by the breaker box outside the Argent estate in the middle of the night, hoping the wiring wouldn’t be too complex.  Lucky for him, it wasn’t – sections of the fence were on separate circuits so that if one section went out, the whole thing wouldn’t go down, and everything was clearly labeled.  Praying that the section labeled #1 was the closest to the breaker box and the side of the house, Stiles pulled the fuse and pocketed it. 

He wasn’t bothering to cover his tracks – if either of the Argents figured out something was wrong with the fence before Stiles could get Derek out, they’d immediately suspect foul play, and therefore Stiles.  He was sure they’d know he was out of the hospital by now, but he hoped they wouldn’t be on high alert because they would think he wasn’t stupid enough to try to break in.

And it sure as hell felt stupid as Stiles was trying to ease himself over the top of the temporarily dead fence.  His head and ribs ached and his wrist was screaming with pain, but he hadn’t dared take anything that would make his brain fuzzy.  And his legs were just fine, which Stiles was pretty sure would be his saving grace.  Once he was back on the ground – and no alarms were going off – he headed to a set of doors that, from above, had looked like a storm cellar.  As if there was a reason to have an underground storm shelter in northern California.

The doors were reinforced steel with a complicated lock – it was a damn good thing that Stiles was so handy with his lockpick kit, even with one arm in a cast.  Kicking down doors had never been his style, anyway.  It was actually harder to yank the doors open, heavy as they were, and Stiles worried he was doing permanent damage to his wrist.

He hated to have to leave the door open, but at least it couldn’t be seen from any of the house’s windows, and it would make for an easier exit.  As Stiles descended into the tunnel, the cloud-covered moonlight soon faded to nothing and Stiles had to bring out his flashlight.

At first he thought the walls of the tunnel were carved with some kind of pattern, until he realized that the deep gouges were claw marks.  This house had belonged to the Argents for generations – how many werewolves had been forced through here, knowing they were headed to their deaths?  Stiles wondered if the stench of terror still lingered in the walls, if a werewolf nose could smell it, because just looking at the walls made Stiles feel it.  He had to fight to keep his breathing under control.

There was another locked door at the end of the tunnel, but this one was easier to pick and open.  It led to a long, dimly lit hallway with multiple doors down each side.  Some of the doors were closed, but they didn’t look like they could be locked.  Some of the doors were open, though, and what Stiles could see…

This probably had once been something that could legitimately have been called “servants’ quarters,” albeit without windows or much access to the outside.  There were beds, tables, chairs – all the normal furnishings – but they had fallen into serious disrepair.  Whole families appeared to be crammed into single rooms, beds with bare mattresses shoved together and dirty sheets hung as partitions to maintain some sense of privacy.  The air was dank and the ceiling mildewed.  And everything, everything stank.

How long had this place been left to deteriorate?  Just since Derek escaped, or longer than that?  If it was all Derek knew, he might not have noticed a slow decline in living conditions, which Stiles was guessing dropped precipitously after he escaped.  Beacon Hills didn’t have a ghetto, but Stiles knew one when he saw it.  These werewolves, these people, were living in subhuman conditions.

Just as Stiles had expected, a few wolves heard him come in and crept out into the hall, teeth bared.  But Stiles was ready and held out a white pillowcase – the one Derek had been sleeping on for weeks.  Stiles had no idea if these werewolves would recognize the scent, if they had even been here when the Hale family was still alive or if they’d been brought in as replacements after Derek escaped.  Stiles was aware he was barging into a den of werewolves smelling like a foreign alpha, and he had no idea whether that would protect him or be perceived as a threat.

He also noticed that, even though at least a few of the wolves had seen the door he’d come from and that he’d left it unlocked, no one was even making a move toward it.  That was when Stiles realized that the collars they were all wearing weren’t the standard beta collars – they were shock collars.  Stiles didn’t know how far back the sensors were, but he figured that telling them which section of the fence was dead wouldn’t do them a damn bit of good.  Apparently, the Argents weren’t taking any more chances.

The werewolves were getting closer, obviously wary of Stiles but not intimidated by him, either.  Stiles hoped to god that with all the other wretched odors around they couldn’t smell the wolfsbane-laced bullets in his gun.  Scott had gotten them from the special reserves at the station, and while they were intended only for Peter, should that eventuality arise, Stiles knew he had little chance of convincing these werewolves of that.

“I know the Hale family used to live here,” he said quietly, knowing he’d be heard even over the low, rumbling growls of the wolves.  “And I know Derek escaped and he’s still—”  No, Stiles didn’t know whether Derek was still anything.  “I’m… I’m a friend of his, and I know that if he’s here and he’s still alive, he’s in danger.  Please, if anybody knows where he is…”

The growls increased in volume and Stiles tried hard to slow his heartbeat.  He wanted the wolves to know he was telling the truth, and he knew he wouldn’t pass a polygraph with his heart rate skyrocketing.  The wolves were now blocking his path down the hallway.  Stiles didn’t know the extent of their healing abilities, but he’d never seen werewolves that looked so sickly.  Every one of them was sallow-featured and bony, but Stiles had no illusions about how quickly they could rip his head off.  They were close enough now that Stiles wouldn’t have had time to reach for his gun even if he’d wanted to.

Then, with no cue Stiles could see or hear, the growling stopped all at once.  The two wolves in front of him glanced back and parted, and an older woman with graying hair stepped forward.  Stiles didn’t even need to see the alpha shock collar around her neck, because her eyes were glowing red.  She looked like the librarian at Stiles’ old high school – if the librarian could tear him in half.  Stiles dropped his eyes so as not to look like he was issuing a challenge, but he kept his back straight and his feet planted to show he had no intention of slinking off, either.

“You’ve got to be some kind of stupid, boy, walking in here, not only waving another alpha’s scent, but an alpha that’s been hunted by the Argents.”

Been hunted?  Past tense?  Did that mean Derek was dead?

“Dangerously stupid, ma’am,” he agreed.  “But I have to find Derek.  And if I do, if I can get him out of here, then I can get a warrant for the whole estate.  I’m a cop, and I have friends who want to help you.  Now that I know where to look, we can raid this whole place in a matter of days.”

Stiles didn’t say that it was only a possibility relying on a number of factors, the first of which was that Stiles got out of here in one piece.  But he hazarded a glance up at the alpha, who was staring at him like she could see right under his skin.  “Then I suppose it’s in our best interests to keep you alive.  The Hale boy is in one of the holding cells.” She gestured behind her to the far end of the hallway.  “They brought him in alive.  But I can’t tell you what kind of condition he’s in now.”

Holding cells.  Jesus.  “Thank you.  Thank you so much,” he said, dipping his head in obeisance.

The alpha snorted, but she sounded almost fond when she said, “Try not to get yourself killed.”

Excellent.

Once he’d passed the alpha, he had to stop himself from flat-out running down the corridor as fast as he could.  There was no door at the end, but there were prominently-placed sensors held to the wall by thick silver bolts – the perimeter for the shock collars, no doubt.

The corridor took an L-bend, and at the end of that, Stiles could see a more normal-looking door that probably led upstairs into the house.  But lining this hallway were several thick metal doors – almost certainly silver alloy, too.  They were heavy, but they weren’t locked, and Stiles only had to open two before he found Derek.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat, which may have been the only thing keeping down his dinner.  Half a dozen hot, blazing lights were pointed directly at Derek, who was strung up by his wrists so that his feet weren’t touching the floor.  There was a crude, dirty-looking gag crammed in his mouth and he was shirtless, so Stiles could see that he was… injured.

There were fist-sized bruises all down his ribs, along with long, thin lacerations like he’d been –oh god – whipped.  One of his shoulders was obviously dislocated and it made Stiles sick to even look at it.  Why wasn’t Derek healing?

Stiles took two steps forward before Derek’s head snapped up.  He looked like he couldn’t focus on Stiles’ face – those lights would blind anyone, even without hypersensitive vision – and he reacted with pure fear, jerking in his bonds.

“It’s okay, it’s me,” Stiles said.  “It’s Stiles, I’m here.”  He tried to get closer to Derek, but Derek’s eyes went wide and he shook his head.

“What?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded over to a control panel on the left wall.  Stiles looked – meters for voltage, amperage.  Christ, they were putting enough current through Derek to light up a house.  Stiles cranked down the dials and heard an immediate whimper of relief.  When he was sure everything was off, he ran to Derek and pulled the filthy gag out of his mouth.

“Red button,” Derek gasped.  “On that same panel.  Please.”

It wasn’t what Stiles was expecting him to say, but when Stiles hit the button, Derek practically sobbed, “High-frequency pitch.  You can’t hear it, but I could hardly hear anything else.”

There was a chair to the side of the room, and Stiles quickly pulled it over so Derek could have something to stand on.  Luckily, his strength seemed to be returning, because he popped his shoulder back into joint – Stiles hissed in pain along with him – and, with some struggle, snapped the restraints and wires that were binding him. 

But once he stepped down from the chair, his initial surge of strength waned and he crumpled, Stiles doing his best to catch him but ending up in a heap on the floor with him.  Derek was starting to heal, but slowly.  The electricity plus the silver collar – the same one he’d had before; apparently the Argents hadn’t bothered with a shock collar – had left nasty burns all around Derek’s neck, but the skin was beginning to regenerate.

Stiles held Derek up the best he could, supporting Derek’s chest with Stiles’ arms looped under Derek’s, but even sitting on the floor, it was difficult.  So Stiles just… held him, pulled him close and waited for him to recover enough to move, praying it would be soon.  He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Derek’s shoulder and murmuring quiet reassurances against his skin.

Soon enough, though, Derek was able to raise his head, and Stiles let out a sigh of relief to see that Derek’s eyes looked clear and focused, if crinkled with pain – he probably wasn’t drugged.  “Are you okay?” Stiles asked.

He got a very cynical eyebrow in response.

“Okay, stupid question.  But can you walk?”

Derek winced as he tried to stretch his limbs.  “In a minute. I think one of my legs was broken.  The electricity kept me from healing.”  Then he looked at Stiles like he was suddenly seeing him for the first time.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Now who’s asking stupid questions?”  And then Stiles kissed him hard on the mouth, because he was alive and healing and well enough to kiss back for just a second before pushing Stiles away.

“Stiles,” Derek hissed.  “There’s no way we can just walk out of here.”

“I came in through the back,” Stiles said flippantly, hoping Derek couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart, because no, it wasn’t going to be that easy.  It never was.  Stiles was mostly just hoping for “survivable.”  “But if anything goes wrong, you have to let me take care of Kate and Gerard.”

“You think they won’t try to kill you?” Derek asked incredulously.

“Oh, no, I’m pretty much counting on it.  But even if we both get out of here alive, if you’ve harmed a human, I won’t be able to protect you from Services.”  Derek didn’t look persuaded.  “Promise me.”

“Fine.  As long as I get Peter.”

“I’m really hoping it won’t come down to that.”

“Come down to what?” came a female voice from behind Stiles.  Motherfucker.  “This?”

The intensity of the lights meant Stiles couldn’t see more than the vague shape of the figure in the doorway, but the voice was Kate’s.  Stiles was up in a second, reaching for his gun when Kate stepped through the lights and Stiles could see the crossbow pointed at his heart.  Behind him, Derek got to his feet and growled, but Stiles kept himself between them.  Kate was less likely to kill him.  Probably.

“Take the gun out of your holster, Detective, and kick it over here,” Kate said, her tone almost playful.  “My father wasn’t convinced you’d try to break in here.  He thought you’d be smart enough to heed the warning we gave you.  Good thing I knew better.”

“Silent alarm system?” Stiles asked as he kicked his gun into the corner of the room.  He’d known that was a possibility, but since he’d had no way of knowing where the sensors were or how to disable it – and there wasn’t exactly time to do recon – he’d just chanced it.

Kate shrugged.  “I have to say, it’s the first time we’ve had someone try to break in.”

“Kate,” he said softly, “there are other officers who know where I am.  And there’s nothing definitive to link Derek back to you.  If you just let us go—”

“Wow, you’re stupider than I thought,” Kate said with a laugh.  “But I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, not when this one’s involved.”  She nodded back at Derek with a wicked smirk.  “He’s good, isn’t he?”

“Excuse me?” Stiles said, hoping she wasn’t confirming his suspicions about why she’d kept Derek for last.  Why she hadn’t killed him yet.

She was.  “I don’t know how well he sucks cock, but if it’s anything like the way he eats pussy, no wonder you came running back in here.  And he fucks like a jackhammer.  God, I’ve missed that.”  She must have mistaken Stiles’ disgust for shock, or maybe she just liked the sound of her own voice.  “They’re better when you start them young.  Or didn’t he tell you?  That the whole time we were picking off his family he was too busy fucking me to notice.  And telling me how much he loved me.”

Stiles shot a hand back behind him to calm the growling, swallowing hard to force down the urge to take a lunge at Kate.  But the longer he kept her talking, the longer he had to try to figure a way out.  “How old was he when you started, you sick bitch?  How old were you?”

She just licked her lips.  “He was old enough to know what to do, though I had to teach him how to do it.  So really, you ought to be thanking me for how good he gives it.”

Fuck, she really was sick.  “Shame you showed up,” she continued.  “I was going to keep him around for a little while, see if I couldn’t eventually persuade him to have some more fun.  Turns out even the nastiest ones can become docile if you break them hard enough – found that out with dear Uncle Peter.  But now that you’ve gone and caused trouble, I’ll have to kill you both.”

Stiles nodded to the single quarrel notched in her crossbow.  His gun was on the floor several feet to her right, out of easy range.  “You’ve only got time to get off one shot.  Which one of us is it going to be?  Because I guarantee you, the other one’s going to take you down.”

She laughed again.  “I didn’t say I was going to do it here.  Besides, I really ought to let Derek have a little family reunion first.  Let’s go.”

Stiles seriously considered rushing her anyway and trying to draw the shot to a nonlethal place, but even if Stiles was merely injured in the attempt, Derek was still weak enough that he had to lean on Stiles for support when they moved – it was extremely unlikely either one of them would manage to successfully escape.  Kate ushered them down the hallway and up the stairs.  She’d come down alone, armed with a single crossbow, which probably meant Gerard really didn’t believe her that Stiles was a threat.  And since they weren’t dead yet – Kate hadn’t even tried to pick up Stiles’ gun as they left the holding cell – that meant Gerard was calling the shots.  Stiles didn’t hold out any hope of convincing him to let them go, but at least he knew the chain of command.  They wouldn’t be killed until Gerard gave the order.

The stairs were narrow enough that Stiles and Derek could just barely limp up them side by side.  Kate kept the tip of the arrow pointed at Derek’s back.  The way he hissed whenever she poked him, Stiles figured it had to be coated in wolfsbane.  Surely every weapon in this place was.

There was a man waiting for them at the top of the stairs.  It couldn’t be Gerard – this man was probably in his thirties, but he looked older, wearier.  And he was wearing a shock collar, though it looked to be more elaborate than the ones on the wolves downstairs.  When they emerged into the light, the man stepped forward.  “Derek.”

“Back off, Peter, you’ll get your chance,” Kate snarled, and Peter twitched in pain.  So, a remotely-triggered shock collar, and Kate had the remote.  Peter backed off submissively.

Stiles had to position himself between Derek and Peter, who glanced back up now that Kate’s attention was no longer focused on him.  Whatever Peter had been put through for letting Derek escape – and Stiles felt like he’d seen but a small preview down in the holding cell – his eyes flashed ice-blue and he managed a cold smirk at Derek, who growled as though he’d like nothing more than to tear out Peter’s throat.  And quite frankly, Stiles didn’t have a problem with that, but now was definitely not the time.

Not with what had to be Gerard standing in the living room, flanked on either side by werewolf bodyguards in collars identical to Peter’s.  Stiles had the brief thought that if he were Allison, he’d never suspect that this innocuous-looking old man was a hunter.  Kate… well, she’d always seemed a little off-kilter, but Gerard projected the very image of a friendly grandpa.  Until he smiled.  Even though it was Kate with the crossbow, Stiles immediately knew that Gerard was the one to fear.  The gun tucked in his belt wasn’t a comforting sight either.

“Ah, Detective Stilinski, so good of you to drop by.  I’d rather you’d used the front door, but that wouldn’t have suited the purpose of your visit, would it?  Come here.”

Stiles was loath to leave Derek’s side, but Kate shoved Stiles forward and he had to let go of Derek to keep them both from toppling over.  He chanced a quick look at Derek, pleading with his eyes to stay calm, please just stay calm.  Derek’s murderous scowl didn’t waver, but some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

Stiles stepped out to face Gerard, trying not to show how much pain he was in.  Helping Derek up the stairs had made every one of his injuries flare back to life, but he wasn’t about to show any weakness in front of Gerard.

The older man took a long, evaluating look at Stiles, and it was all Stiles could do not to shiver in disgust.  “You look like your father,” Gerard said, “but you’ve got your mother’s spirit.  That bitch caused people like us quite a bit of trouble in her time.  Good thing the cancer took care of that.”

It was painfully obvious what Gerard was trying to do, but it was backfiring.  Instead of pissing him off, the reminder of Stiles’ mother just strengthened his resolve.  She’d probably flick his ear for running in here with such a pathetic excuse for a plan, but she’d be proud of him for trying.

“I admit I’m surprised to see you,” Gerard continued.  “Though my daughter was quite certain you’d make an appearance.  I have no problem admitting I was wrong.  But I have to know, what is it about that particular creature” – he nodded toward Derek – “that’s so exceptional?  Yes, he’s a fine physical specimen and he provided a bit of amusement for my daughter, but he’s just like all the others.  Brutal, remorseless.  He killed his own sister, did you know that?  Slashed her throat to become an alpha and save his own worthless hide.”

“He killed her because she asked him to, and because she was already dying from one of your arrows,” Stiles said as calmly as he could.  “It was an act of mercy.”

“Is that what he told you?” Gerard asked with a smirk.

“Yes.  And don’t try to tell me he lied.”

Gerard shrugged.  “Very well.  If I could have convinced you that he’s the soulless killing machine that he actually is, I might have let you live.  And him, since Kate’s still convinced he can become… pliable.  But obviously you’re both too much of a liability.”

“You’re really going to kill a cop?  You can’t just dump my body in the woods like you do the others.”

“I won’t need to.  You see, I’m not killing a police officer.  I’m killing an unidentified man who broke into my house.  Armed, I assume?”

“His gun’s in the cellar,” Kate answered.

“Excellent.  Perhaps you even fired at me first.  Who’s to say?”

“There will be an investigation.  You’ll have cops crawling over every inch of this house—”

Gerard cut him off with a laugh.  “You think the police haven’t been here before?  Even if they knew what they were looking for, they wouldn’t know where to look.”

They do now, Stiles thought, but he kept his mouth shut.  He thought of Scott less than half a mile away.  He’d hear the gunshots and call for backup, and half the force would be here before Gerard would have a chance to get rid of Stiles’ and Derek’s bodies.  Even if the Argents tried to close everything up, Scott would find the passageway to the cellar… as long as he waited for the cavalry to get here.

Problem was, that was extremely unlikely.  With his partner and best friend in trouble, Scott would almost certainly charge in at the first sign of gunfire – hell, if their positions were reversed, Stiles would probably do the same.  Gerard wouldn’t have any compunctions about instructing one of his bodyguards to tear Scott apart and then claiming the werewolf had gone feral.  Their hunting operation might still get taken down with Allison’s help, but Stiles wasn’t about to make her a widow.  Stiles should have made it clearer to Scott exactly how bloodthirsty Kate and Gerard were.

As if to make Stiles’ mental point, Gerard looked around the living room and sighed.  “But let’s not do it here.  The blood will never come out of the floorboards.  I’m sure you understand, Detective.”

Gerard snapped his fingers and one of his bodyguards took Stiles by the back of the neck and began dragging him toward the back door.  Stiles saw Derek being led along, limping, at the point of Kate’s crossbow with Peter not two steps behind.

“Little harder to explain my breaking and entering if you kill me out here,” Stiles tried, struggling uselessly in the werewolf’s grip.

“Ah, but you downed a section of my fence, did you not?  And you still have a lockpick in your pocket?”

Actually, he had his whole fucking set, along with the fuse from the breaker box.  It wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered, but he thought that if he was going to die looking like a criminal anyway, he might be able to take either Gerard or Kate down with him.  He wasn’t quite sure when he’d get the chance, but it was feeling more and more like he had to try.  Gerard and Kate were extremely wealthy and influential – if anyone could find a way to cover this all up, it would be them.  And at least Stiles wouldn’t have to live very long with blood on his hands.

So he had no intention of going down without a fight, but he didn’t know what to expect from Derek.  Not only was he severely weakened by the torture, but how willing would he be to fight Peter, to fight Kate?  To hate someone you used to love was one thing; to kill them with your bare hands was another.  Stiles had no idea what was running through Derek’s head.

But then Derek glanced back at Stiles, like he was looking for something, and without thinking, Stiles made a signal that he and Scott had devised for situations when they needed to act in unison without talking: he subtly tapped three fingers against his leg.  He knew Derek saw it before Kate shoved Derek forward and he had to turn back around; he just hoped Derek would figure out what it meant when the time came.

Then he realized Peter was staring at him.  Peter had almost certainly seen it, too.  Yet he turned around and kept walking without a word.  Stiles had no idea what that meant, but he was now certain that no matter what they’d done to Peter, he wasn’t the obedient lapdog that he pretended to be.  That Kate seemed to assume he was.

When the werewolf holding him tossed him on to the lawn, now lit up with floodlights, Stiles didn’t even have to pretend to fall; he stumbled to the ground, making sure to catch his weight on his good right hand.  He quickly rolled over, right knee tucked up toward his body and left leg straight.  Kate, Peter, and Derek were to his left, so he let his left arm sprawl to his side, three fingers still outstretched.

“For god’s sake,” Gerard said with a patronizing laugh.  “At least stand up and die like a man.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles spat.  “I’ll die however I want to.”  He tucked his ring finger in, praying Derek was watching.

“Well, I do prefer my prey running.  Puts some sport into it.”  Gerard pulled the gun from his belt and checked the chamber.  “But I am getting older.”

“You two,” Stiles said to the bodyguard wolves on either side of Gerard.  “He will kill you.  He will kill your families.”  He tucked his middle finger in and shifted his right hand closer to his right foot.

“You think they have families?” Gerard said.  “They’re feral omegas pulled from the woods, and they’re well-trained and obedient.”  He pointed to the remote clipped to his belt.  “I’d ask if you have any last words, but I really don’t care.”

Gerard clicked off the safety and raised his arm, aiming the gun.  Stiles tensed to move and began to curl his left index finger in, when—

“Dad, stop!”

Everyone turned to see Chris Argent coming out the back door.  Gerard didn’t look all that surprised to see him, but Stiles wondered if anything surprised Gerard.  “I’m just doing what has to be done to protect this family.  What you never had the stomach to do.”

As he looked over his shoulder, Gerard lowered his gun slightly, giving Stiles just enough time to roll to his feet, grabbing the sidearm from his ankle holster on the way up.  At the same time, Derek, suddenly not so injured after all, turned on Kate, ripping the crossbow out of her hand and grabbing her by the throat.

At Kate’s strangled sound, Gerard whipped back around, his gun now aimed at Derek.  He didn’t even seem to see Stiles pointing a weapon at him until Stiles said, “Gerard, drop it.”

“Dad, it’s over,” Chris said, and suddenly people were swarming out the back door – Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd.  Chief Martin.  Holy shit.

Gerard pulled the trigger, but his bodyguard was faster, swiping at his arm and sending the shot into the ground by Derek’s feet.  Erica easily snatched the gun from Gerard, and Isaac pulled his bleeding arms back, none too gently, to cuff him.

Stiles lowered his gun.  “Derek, you can—”  But Derek had already let go of Kate and thoroughly crushed the crossbow beneath his foot.

Kate turned to look up at Derek and Stiles could see her deranged grin as she yelled, “Peter, now.”

Before Stiles could even raise his gun, Peter’s claws were out and he was springing forward.  Kate’s face barely had time to register surprise before he slashed her throat open like he was swatting a fly.

Derek didn’t even watch her drop to the ground.  With the extra moment it took Peter to move around Kate’s body, Derek shifted as much as he was able and dropped into a defensive stance.  Peter still came at him with enough momentum to knock them both into the dirt.

Stiles reflexively swung around toward the house, bracing himself for the sound of gunfire, but before he could say a word, Isaac was already throwing his arms out and yelling, “They’re too fast – you’ll shoot the wrong one!”

The fact that his co-workers seemed to immediately grasp that there was a “wrong one,” and therefore a “right one,” or at least believed it enough not to open fire, was going to require extensive explanation later, but at that moment, all Stiles could focus on was the battle in front of him.  The two werewolves were such a blur that even from his closer vantage point, he couldn’t get a clean shot at Peter.  At first, Stiles could tell them apart by the fact that Derek was shirtless, but soon they were both covered in blood and so tangled together that Stiles couldn’t even make out which body was the larger of the two.

The closest thing Stiles had ever seen was two meth addicts tweaked out of their minds, clawing and biting at each other, but that was playground tussling compared to this.  This was vicious, entirely animal, nothing like he’d ever seen from Derek before.  For every swipe Derek took at Peter’s legs, trying to knock him to the ground, Peter seemed to be able to sink his teeth into Derek’s arms or shoulders.  Peter jammed his claws into Derek’s side, but Derek just howled and ripped them out, trying to use his grip on Peter’s arm to throw him to the ground.  But as injured as they were, both were somehow managing to protect throats and bellies, healing enough of the rest to keep ripping into each other.

Scott was screaming at Stiles to get away, to join the others back near the house, but Stiles was rooted to the spot.  He’d have to worry later about his fellow officers witnessing this, because he was too busy crying out in sympathy whenever he heard a sound of pain from Derek.

Something was wrong, and it took Stiles far too long to figure out what it was: they were too evenly matched.  Yes, Derek had been healing from the torture, but by the time he disarmed Kate, he was obviously far less injured than he’d been playing at.  And though Peter had almost certainly been confined to the house for the last three years, Derek had been running through the woods.  Stiles didn’t need to have seen Derek fight before to know how powerful he was, and he was technically Peter’s alpha – and still wearing a beta collar, no less.  He should have easily overpowered Peter.

It finally hit Stiles when Derek succeeded in pinning one of Peter’s shoulders to the ground, raised one arm for the killing blow… and then hesitated.  It was only for the merest fraction of a second, but it was just enough for Peter to roll away and get a solid swipe at Derek’s ankle, and then they were locked together again. 

This had to be a fight to the death.  Peter sure as hell wasn’t going to stop for anything less, and thus there was no realistic way for Derek to stop Peter short of killing him.  And, treacherous though he was, Peter was the last of Derek’s family, the last living thing connecting him to his parents and sister.  Even if he wasn’t consciously thinking it, Derek didn’t want any more family blood on his hands, and his hesitance was going to get him killed. 

Like hell was Stiles going to let that happen.

Without thinking, he stepped forward.  He didn’t know how to get Peter’s attention away from Derek without distracting Derek, too, so he had to get close enough to be able to tell them apart.  Distantly, he heard Scott start screaming, but he ignored it.  As soon as he saw eyes that glowed blue instead of red, he raised his gun and fired.

The first wolfsbane bullet caught Peter in the shoulder and shocked him into stillness long enough for Stiles to put another one in his heart.  He surged up, the last lunge of a dying animal, and Stiles shouted “Derek, get back!”  He did, and Stiles fired three more shots in quick succession, each of them neatly piercing Peter’s forehead.  He crumpled to the ground, but Stiles didn’t look away or lower his gun until he was sure the life was gone from Peter’s eyes, his body shifted back to human.

When Stiles did look away, he saw Derek had fallen on his back and had also shifted completely into human form again.  Though his wounds were already healing, he was gasping for breath, looking stricken and horrified and relieved all at the same time.  But he wasn’t looking at Peter; he was looking up at Stiles.  “Thank you” was all he said.

&&&

Stiles wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and throw his arms around Derek and promise to take him away from this hellish place – a promise he could follow through on this time.  But in addition to all of Stiles’ colleagues milling around, there were two dead bodies to deal with and dozens of untagged werewolves left without a legal owner.  Still, Derek’s safety came first.

Before the paramedics could get there and have an inevitable shit fit over Stiles, he led Derek – by the hand, he didn’t care who saw – towards Isaac.  Derek would need to give a statement and probably be questioned, and Stiles trusted Isaac to be the most sensitive about it.

“I wish I could go with you,” Stiles said quietly before they were within range of the other cops, who were trying to figure out what the hell they needed to do next.  “But I’m going to have to give my own version of what happened.”  And probably get heavily censured, if not fired, for breaking into the Argents’ estate, but he left that part out.  “Isaac – Officer Lahey – should only ask questions about tonight and your previous, um, situation with the Argents.  You don’t have to tell him… certain details if you don’t want to.  They’ll only be looking for evidence against Gerard.”

Derek nodded slowly.  Kate was dead; there was no need to build a case against her.  Derek could choose how much, if anything, he wanted on the official record.

“Isaac probably won’t ask you about the last few weeks, but if he does, if anybody does in an official capacity, you can tell them you’ve been staying with me.  It’s going to come out anyway.  As long as you don’t give details about… where we were headed in the Jeep, or my contact.”

“I know that much,” Derek muttered, rolling his eyes, and Stiles had to stifle the urge to throw his arms around him, bury his face against Derek’s neck.

Derek seemed to have healed more or less completely, so he didn’t need any medical attention, and Stiles just wanted to get him away from the estate as soon as possible.  Not that the station was much better – and Gerard would be there, though locked up – but Isaac would treat Derek like any other witness and keep him safe until Stiles could get there.

Stiles pulled Isaac aside.  “Derek needs to go down to the station and give his statement.  You okay to handle that?”

Isaac’s eyes darted quickly over at Derek, then back to Stiles.  Isaac was nervous – after all, he’d just watched Derek grow fangs and claws in a brutal, gruesome fight to the death, and even though Derek was healed, his clothes were mangled and soaked with blood.  But Isaac was tougher than he looked.  Hell, he was the one who managed to capture Derek in the first place, and once this all had died down, Stiles was really going to have to ask about that.

But Isaac just nodded.  “I’ll take him over there, see if I can find him some extra clothes before we talk.”

“The stuff in my car when it crashed wasn’t at the hospital, so if any of it survived, it’s probably at the station.  There should be clothes that fit Derek in one of the bags.”  Isaac’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t ask.  “I’ll explain later.  Just make sure he’s safe.  Don’t let anyone call Services.”

Isaac cracked a small smile.  “I’ll handcuff myself to him if I have to.”

Stiles thanked him and brought Derek over.  The two stared at each other for an awkward moment before Derek put out his hand and Isaac shook it.  When they were done, Stiles put a hand on Derek’s arm.  “I’ve got a lot to sort out here, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You just broke into the Argents’ house and faced down Kate and Gerard,” he pointed out.  “I’m not worried about you coming to get me at the police station.”

Stiles gave Derek’s arm a quick squeeze and let him go, watched him walk back through the house with Isaac.  He hated to let Derek out of his sight after all of this, but there was so much more he had to deal with now, things that hadn’t even entered his mind when all he could think about was getting Derek out and stopping the Argents.  Like an entire house full of malnourished werewolves with no tags, no official owners, and nowhere to go but Services.

But the paramedics waylaid him before he could do anything.  They poked and prodded and declared his ribs to be bruised – Stiles thanked them for that totally unexpected and helpful insight.  He was going to need another X-ray of his wrist and probably have it reset, and Stiles had to promise them three times that he would get it done as soon as he left before they’d give him some (annoyingly mild) painkillers and let him go.

Looking around the scene, Stiles wasn’t even sure what he was at that point.  A cop?  A suspect?  A witness?  But so much else was going on that nobody was paying much attention to him.  Chief Martin wasn’t anywhere to be found, and Scott was directing new arrivals: more officers, the evidence collection team, the coroner.  He looked to be doing a good job of it, too – he had his Very Serious In-Charge face on, which Stiles found profoundly amusing, but it seemed to be working.

Chris Argent was still standing in the backyard, staring blankly at the house.  He was just about the last person that Stiles wanted to talk to right then, but he was also the only hope for the werewolves in the basement.  Stiles just stood beside him for a long time, not sure how to phrase what he had to ask without angrily accusing Chris of enabling all of this.

Surprisingly, it was Chris who spoke first.  “I grew up in this house.  It wasn’t—it was nothing like this.”  He turned to face Stiles, and at least he didn’t seem to be seeking absolution, because Stiles was in no mood to grant it.  “When my mother passed, everything changed.  My father, he wanted to go back to the old ways.  I thought cutting him off, shielding Allison from him was enough.”

He shook his head, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Whatever testimony, whatever cooperation you need from me, you’ve got it.  Even if it means I’m facing criminal charges.  Allison is already furious with me.  I don’t want my granddaughter growing up—”

He cut himself off, took a deep breath, then started again, meeting Stiles’ eyes this time.  “The Chief arrested my father and took him in by herself.  I tried to say something, suggest she might want somebody else with her, but… well, I may have finally met someone more terrifying than my father.”

Despite himself, Stiles couldn’t help but smile.  Short of the Spanish Inquisition, he couldn’t think of a more appropriate punishment until Gerard could be brought to trial.  As far as Chris was concerned, it was unlikely they’d be able to prove criminal negligence, but he was worth far more to Stiles on the outside than he would be in prison, anyway.  “Chris, with Kate… gone, and your father out of the picture, I’m assuming care of the estate falls to you?”

“I’d have to double-check the paperwork, but yes, it should, which means…”

“All the werewolves Gerard owned are yours now.”

Chris looked at Stiles, uncertain.  “Are they?  I know most of them are untagged, so do they actually belong to anyone?”

“Chris,” Stiles said sternly, all but staring the other man down.  “Right now, they’re together and they’re in your house.  Even though they’re not tagged, I’m pretty sure you can claim common law ownership.  If you don’t, Services steps in.  Packs and families get broken apart.  The lucky ones might be sold off.  The rest will be taken to the state compound.”

Chris scrubbed a hand through his hair.  “But what do I do with them?  A lot of them are in bad shape, and I can’t house them all with me.  Even if I had space, they’ll freeze my father’s bank accounts, and I don’t have the money to keep this many wers for long.”

Stiles took a deep breath.  He was risking a lot by bringing Chris in on this, but it was the only option.  “You don’t have to keep them.  You take legal possession, give them the whole of the estate to stay in, and you give me a week.  There’s a place for them up north.  I just have to arrange transport to get them there.”

“The sanctuary,” Chris said with a nod.  “I’ve heard rumors.  I can get vans, buses—”

“No.  You can’t be involved.  You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to give you the names of people who are risking their lives for the werewolves you let be hunted like animals,” Stiles spat, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  “Not to mention the fact that they aren’t going to follow you anywhere, let alone allow you to herd them on to buses.”

Chris looked like he wanted to say something, defend himself, but Stiles didn’t want to hear it, now or ever.  “Don’t.  I understand you wanting to protect your family, but I will never, ever understand how you let it get to this.  Now would be a really good time, for the sake of your daughter and your granddaughter, for you to start doing the right thing.”

Nodding solemnly, Chris said, “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.  I don’t even know what the right thing is anymore.  When Allison called me, told me what she knew… I have a lot to make up for, Detective.  I know that.”

Stiles took a moment to let the anger wash out of him, to try to hold on to the slight glimmer of relief at Chris’ cooperation.  He sounded sincere, and Allison would hold him to his promises.  “This is a start.  A good one.  Now I need to talk to the werewolves, tell them the plan.”

“How many wers—?”

“Werewolves, Chris.  That’s what they are.  That’s what they want to be called.”  Then he walked off, leaving Chris to whatever mental penance he was trying to pay.

Down in the basement, Boyd, Erica, and a few other officers were freeing the wolves from their shock collars, fitting them with temporary plain silver collars brought in from the station.  Stiles winced to see the new collars being locked on, but it was already astonishing that Chief Martin had decided to deal with this internally rather than just calling Services.  It was slow going, though, since the locks on the shock collars were extremely complex.  But Erica was even better with a lockpick than Stiles, so nobody was discussing welding torches or circular saws.

The alpha Stiles had spoken to earlier – it seemed like a week ago, though it had only been about two hours – was organizing her pack, making sure they’d all get the shock collars taken off.  Stiles pulled her aside to speak with her.

“So you’re not as stupid as you look, boy,” she said, but it was with unquestioning approval.

“No ma’am, I’m every bit as stupid as I look.  I just have some very good friends.”  Then he outlined the plan, from Chris’ claim of ownership – which all the adult wolves would have to agree to, if only nominally – to having the run of the house to the sanctuary up north.

“I’ll be checking in on you, making sure you have everything you need before you make the trip.  And if not me” – because I’ve been arrested for breaking and entering, Stiles omitted – “then my partner, Scott McCall.  We may ask you to make a statement to help our case against Gerard, but we can send an officer here to get it in writing.  There’ll be no need to take you into the station.  And you won’t have to deal directly with any of the Argents, including Chris.  I’ll make sure of that.”

The alpha nodded.  “I haven’t seen much of Chris since he was a boy.  I never knew why he left, or why we so rarely saw him and his daughter.  The hunting of the Hale pack began years after the last time he came here.”

“He wouldn’t hunt with Gerard.  But he knew it was happening and did nothing to stop it,” Stiles said bitterly.

“I wouldn’t judge him too harshly, child,” she said gently, and it shocked the hell out of Stiles.  “We all have blind spots for those we love.  Our families.  Our pack.  Our mates.”

Stiles lowered his eyes and said, “Yes, ma’am,” though he remained unconvinced.

It wasn’t until he was back outside that he realized he didn’t tell her that Derek would be joining them up north.

&&&

Of all the strange things Stiles saw that night, none beat finally walking with Scott back out the front door of the house to his squad car, only to see Allison look up from the back seat and give them a handcuffed wave.  Stiles could see her mouth Hi sweetie! to Scott through the glass.

Stiles slid into the passenger seat and watched the sun begin to break over the horizon.  “If this is some extremely ill-timed attempt to spice up your post-baby sex life, please let me out of the car and just run me over.”

Scott said, “Ew, no,” at the same time Allison said, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Have you been in here the whole time?” Stiles craned his head around to ask.

“Pretty much.  But I napped for most of it.  Best sleep I’ve gotten in weeks.”

Once they were on the road, Stiles scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, shoving back his exhaustion and mustering as much fake cheeriness as he could to ask, “Okay, which one of you wants to tell me what the fuck happened back there?”

Scott let out a weary sigh.  “Right after we left the house, Allison dropped the baby off with my mom and called her father,” he grumbled.

It was obvious from his tone of voice that Allison had not let him in on her plan.  Well, at least he hadn’t been hiding anything from Stiles.  Before Stiles could ask more, Allison interjected, “That’s because you” – she pointed at Stiles – “were going to get yourself killed, and you” – she poked the back of Scott’s head through the metal grill separating the seats – “would have rushed right in there after him, also getting yourself killed.  And I am not changing diapers by myself.”

“You didn’t feel you needed to voice your concerns, I don’t know, before this shit all went down?” Stiles asked incredulously.

“Would it have stopped you?” she asked.  Stiles didn’t feel like he needed to say anything to that.  “I know you don’t think much of my dad, Stiles, but he’s my dad.  I’m his only daughter.  When I say, ‘Daddy, will you please stop your father and sister from killing my husband’s idiot of a best friend and also probably my idiot of a husband,’ he listens.”

“You could’ve at least told me what you were going to do,” Scott mumbled.

“How fast would you have turned around and told Tweedledum here?”  She paused.  “I’m sorry, Stiles.  I’m just… if I can’t be snarky about this right now, I’m going to lose it.  I helped you out the best I could beforehand because I knew you were going no matter what.  And you were incredibly brave and noble to go in there by yourself, but they already tried to run you over once.  There was no way you and Derek were getting out alive without help that you wouldn’t have accepted if you’d known about it.”

Stiles belatedly realized he should’ve been collecting nickels for every time someone had insulted his intelligence in the past few hours.  And from this side of things, he could let himself acknowledge how foolish he’d been, how rash.  But if he had to do it all over again with the information he’d had at the time… well, he’d probably do the same thing.  “Point taken,” he admitted.  “And the handcuffs?”

When Stiles looked back, Allison was grinning.  “The key my dad had to the front door didn’t work anymore – Gerard probably changed the lock a long time ago – plus there were about a million deadbolts.  And my dad doesn’t own the house, so the police couldn’t legally bust the door down.”

“Which is when my wife decided to begin her criminal career,” Scott griped.

“I broke in through the window.  And since you guys don’t need a warrant if you’re in hot pursuit of a fleeing criminal, everyone could come right in after me.”

“The fact that she went around and opened the front door helped,” Scott admitted grudgingly.  “You can see that she’s quite proud of herself.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,” Allison shot back.  “Anyway, my dad had filled your boss in as much as he could on the way, and they agreed to send him in first to try to reason with Gerard.”  Her smile faltered.  “We thought… my dad thought… Gerard would listen to him.  We didn’t know it had escalated so fast.  We should have gotten their sooner.  I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles shook his head.  “If you’d broken in while we were still inside the house, Gerard would probably have just shot you or sicced one of his bodyguards on you before he even bothered to figure out who you were.  You couldn’t have timed it any better if you’d tried, actually.  Excellent dramatic entrance by the entire Beacon Hills PD, by the way.  Though I don’t guess you got to see it.”

“No.  The Chief didn’t want anyone out back who wasn’t police or my dad.”  Her voice softened.  “Scott told me what happened.  That Peter killed Aunt Kate and attacked Derek.  That you put yourself in the middle of a wer dominance fight to save Derek.  I’m so glad Derek’s okay.”

Stiles closed his eyes and saw Peter’s utterly calm, placid expression as he’d slit Kate’s throat, Derek’s mix of relief and loss after Stiles had shot Peter.  Was Derek going to be okay?  To Allison, it was just a fight over who got to be alpha.  And Allison was more sympathetic than most.  Stiles didn’t even know how to begin to explain what Derek had gone through – he wasn’t sure that he’d ever fully understand, himself – but Allison hadn’t seen the basement, the holding cells, the shock collars.  And as painful as it would be, she should.  Everyone should.  Stiles didn’t know how many more hunters were out there, but it was unlikely Gerard would give up any names.

After that, they drove in silence for a long while, until Scott finally pulled up to the station.  Isaac’s cruiser was out front and there were no Services vehicles in sight.

“Stiles,” Allison said softly.  “What’s going to happen to Derek now?”

It was the very question Stiles had been trying to put out of his mind, at least until he could start clearing this mess up and actually talk to Derek.  “I don’t know,” he said.”

Continue to part six.