Chapter Text
The dark hallways of the asylum are quiet. Moonlight filters in through cracks and crumbled walls, floors collapsing in most parts. They're rotten, boards succumbing under the onslaught of weather and erosion and insects. The building has six floors in total, the highest one already inaccessible with the roof having destroyed everything under its inevitable collapse.
The sounds seem oddly muffled in contrast to the outside world, the soft clack of Derek's paws the most loudest one within the long hallways. The wind blows softly throughout the place, faint creaks and cracks echoing the building. It's eerie. Derek feels like he's walking inside a mausoleum instead of a emptied mental hospital. He's afraid to look at the walls around him, the tapestry curled and fissured. Like if he was to rip down a part of the wall, bodies would start littering the hollowed floorboards, tumbling down one after the other. Rows and rows and rows of them. Skeletons holding the building up from its core, the construction structured from hidden white bones.
He feels like he's not alone. Someone, multiple someones are watching him, though the gazes have no heartbeats, and instead of eyes, there are only the black holes of skulls staring back at him.
He keeps his head low.
Peter used to be a patient here. Even now, with the place deserted and dilapidated, he knows which floor, which wing, which room. Where the tiny prison room they held his uncle in is. And that's where he's headed now.
Derek, for his once wide and flourishing kin, is the only Hale left. Out of eighteen people, Derek is the only wolf that hasn't met his violent demise. The hunters are the only company that persists.
When Derek had been six years old, his uncle Peter's wife, his mate Olivia, had been killed in a car accident. Death as mundane as it was cruel, the guilty party drunk and driving, when they had no business being behind the wheel. Olivia had been pregnant with Peter’s first child back then, and the loss of both his mate and baby, Peter had gone insane. Snapped in all the lethal ways the second their bond had been severed, gone into a blind, mindless rage, killing the convicted drunk driver before the police got their hands on him.
Talia had fought with everything she had to not put Peter in a mental institution or worse, a jail, but the law had not been on her side. She had been unable to stop the officials from claiming and admitting her brother in a newly opened psych ward. She could hardly tell them that Peter was a werewolf, and that a measly hospital room would not be able to keep him in.
At first, Peter had gone with the officials out of spite for Talia. Even Derek, tiny as he had been, had understood the bitterness, the grief that consumed Peter. He had been sad too, sad to see her favourite aunt be killed, felt the cold, empty space in their bond where Olivia’s warmth once wrapped around his heart. Losing a pack member was like losing a limb. But even as the house filled with mourning, his uncle's sorrow had turned into something else.
Something fiery, raging. As if the blood underneath his skin was boiling with anger and insanity, ready to burst out at a moment's notice, much like a volcano.
Talia had overseen the administration of Peter into the hospital, and every day since that Derek was allowed to visit his uncle, there was nothing left of the man he once knew. The smell of medicine so strong and acid it made his small nose wrinkle. At the time he hadn't understood why Peter had stopped talking. Why he'd only stare at the wall blankly, no emotions crossing his face or scent. Why he was always in his bed, arms secured in tight leather bands against the bed.
He knew now.
He arrives to the room that they once held Peter in. It's tiny, like he remembers it being. There is the bare bones of a bed left, everything salvageable long since stolen. Since the beds were mostly bolted onto the floor, almost every single room still held one of those rusty skeletons. It was unnerving.
The room holds nothing else. Just the bed, and a small window with bars on the outside, creating the illusion of a jail rather than a warm, safe hospital ward.
Then again, most of the patients admitted back then were more prisoners and victims than nothing else. The mortality rate of the hospital was higher than the average, the patients coming up with more and more ways to effectively end their lives.
It wasn't until the information came that Peter had killed himself, that Talia got suspicious. There was no way a man drugged like an elephant, strapped onto the bed, only a shell of a person he once was, would even think to do that. Wouldn't be physically able to do it.
Then the story was changed. An inmate, another patient had killed Peter. They'd even come up with a very clever story of how it could've had happened, had the accused man truly gone insane and done the unforgivable deed. But all the wolves could hear the lie. Even Derek, fourteen summers then, could smell the anger, the fear lingering in the air, as much of it from living as from the dead.
An investigation was started, and deputy Stilinski had been the main official in charge of it. That's when the Beacon Hills Mental Memorial had gone from the image of trying to save people from themselves, to a bone chilling horror story.
The headmaster of the hospital back then had been a man of innovation, something that quickly turned into manic belief that certains methods could be used to cure all mental illnesses. It included cutting pieces of the patient's body away, limbs, teeth, toes. Most of the operations didn't get consent from the family of the patient, but were executed anyway.
It seemed that the whole personnel were more bloodthirsty and insane than most of their patients.
As the news was covered in every single available platform, the officials had no choice but to listen to the justified outrage of the people and act accordingly.
The place was shut down and emptied then, with the whole staff imprisoned under different categories, most of them which included cold blooded murder, torture, illegal confinement, abuse of all kind. . . The building was left empty and locked, waiting for the government approval and funding to start something else in the space, but in the end, nobody did anything, and the place was left to crumble.
A year after that, when Kate came into his life with a whirlwind of something new and foreign, sweet artificial smell of strawberry bubblegum following her everywhere, Derek had been swept away completely. He'd only ever heard of hunters in bedtime stories, and thought of it to only be a scare tactic as to not let out the truth to the mundane, the oblivious society. He'd never been in contact with wolfsbane, his family living in peace for centuries before, pack after pack flourishing, blooming under the author of each and every Hale Alpha.
It wasn't until that fifteenth summer that Derek truly got the meaning of loss, as he inhaled ash and smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. Devastation wasn't a feeling he was familiar with, grief of such magnitude that it left him numb and paralyzed for weeks. And as their house collapsed in a roar, the flames hungry for the dry wood, Derek could smell it.
The sweet scent of strawberry bubblegum. Kate .
Guilt, overwhelming and vehement had filled him then. He knew now, why Kate had come after him. Why she allowed his awkward tumbling with his words, why she tolerated his inexperience in everything. Why she let him hold her, scent her. He thought she didn't know what it meant, that she would just find his nuzzling endearing.
He had been a blind fool. And now his family was dead.
He'd heard Laura scream and sob as the Alpha powers were passed onto her, the salty scent of tears mixing with the bitter odor of her sweat. She'd raged and screamed and howled, but there was no answer to her calls. Only a little brother shattering next to her, clutching onto the keys of his father's Camaro.
Neither of them had been able to go near fire ever since.
And as if life hadn't been cruel enough up until then, when Derek had been 20, in the autumn nearing his 21st birthday, Kate got a hold of Laura too. He found out she had died the second it happened, but it took several months of finding all the pieces of her body, Kate leaving a trail of 'love notes' for him to find. Kate never got a glimpse of him despite her various efforts of capturing him, but she could definitely hear his mournful howls.
And now, when the California autumn had gradually turned to unusually cold, early winter weaving its way through golden leaves of the nature, Derek quietly padded over to the only place left that held the last fractions of traces of his massacred pack.
The door creaks, uneven and off its hinges when he pushes it gently closed. Dust speckles dance against the moonlight, soft light illuminating the room. Derek inhales deeply, the faded scents of the space filling his nostrils. He filters through them carefully, meticulously, until he finds what he's looking for. At the bed where it's placed against a wall, Peter's scent still lingers. The scent is barely a whiff, a remaining echo of a living person from years and years ago, but Derek finds it.
His paws hit the hard metal body of the bunk as he jumps on it. He curls near the head where the scent is strongest, his snout nestled between his feet, able to nose against the wall. The memory of Peter's gentle hands running against his fur, his familiar laughter and his bright intelligent eyes make him whine in distress. Grief and heartbreak fills his chest, reopening the raw wounds that never got to heal properly. He longs to howl for his family, for every person that's ever loved him, howl until his throat is sore and bloody, bare his belly and wait for his alpha to come get him home. For his kin to wrap their arms around him and soothe him, murmur affections to him, to comfort him in his desolated sorrow.
But the painful fact was that nobody was left to hear it. The howl, should he release it, would only echo in the night sky, empty and unanswered, a small, broken last cry. So he whines and whimpers his sorrows, gnawing his paws bloody, until sleep mercifully drowns him into darkness.
--
When Derek wakes up next, it's to the sensation of being watched. He stiffens, fur standing in the back of his neck. He opens his eyes slowly, barely keeping the flash of his eyes under control. There's a man crouched on the doorway, elbows leaning against his knees, hands supporting his face. He has an amused expression on his face, though Derek can't smell his scent. Just the steady, pitter patter of the man's heart.
''I don't think that's a very comfortable sleeping place.''
Derek lifts his head carefully, eyeing the man. He coils his muscles tight, ready to attack or flee at a moment's notice. The stranger is blocking his only exit, and since Derek can't smell him, he too must not be mundane. The man cocks his head and grins.
''You're bigger than I initially thought.''
At that, Derek growls, baring his teeth. Rising to his feet, he tries to make himself look even more massive. A less attractive target to whatever this man is planning. He's not an alpha, not even a beta anymore, since he holds no bonds to any pack, but his status as a lone wolf doesn't affect his overall bulk. He'd trained his muscles, wanting to be as strong as possible for Laura, to protect her. He brings his growl up a notch, sending a clear warning message.
The man surprises him though. He doesn't cow away like Derek hopes he would, but neither do his pupils dilate in bloodthirst like the most hunter's' eyes do. Instead the man sobers, grin vanishing for a thin line, and he lifts his hands up in surrender.
''I'm not here to cause you trouble dude. Not many would voluntarily sleep in a place like this, so I figured you must have a very pressing reason to be here. And it's totally not to pester me at least, since you've got no spray paint or tents and flashlights and whatnot. And you certainly don't look like someone who'd sleep in an abandoned mental institute for kicks.''
The man quiets for a moment, staring at Derek's defensive pose.
''I'm Stiles,'' the man, Stiles, says. Wiggles his fingers in a greeting. He snorts at Derek's unimpressed expression.
''I could always do for some company,'' Stiles muses. ''You look stoic enough and quiet enough to bear my incessant rambling. I like to talk out loud about things. It fills up the quiet that this building is prone to, since I’m here all my lonesome. Well. Most of the time.’’ The man stares at him for a moment, like he’s waiting for a response, and then seems to come to a realization and makes a face. ‘’Oh. Right. You probably don’t mind the quiet if this is the place you’ve chosen to stay in. Not that I’m implying that you’ve decided to move in here. You could just be hopping in and out! Just, you know. The people available for a visit are pretty uh, down to zero. Well, one. But I don’t really count since you didn’t even know I live in the building.’’
Stiles snorts when Derek doesn’t respond. ‘’You know, most people find it too scary to even stand ten minutes staying in here. They’re quaking with fear even before they’ve gotten past the spiked fence that surrounds the grounds. Squirreling away like startled rabbits even from the tiniest of sounds.’’ He shrugs. ‘’But then again, you've sure got the claws and the teeth to ward off any unsolicited strangers. That could be useful too.''
When Derek doesn't even blink, continuing to growl lowly, Stiles sighs.
''Come on, man. I bet you've got nobody left either.’’
The man clearly implies to Derek’s lack of pack, the way his ribs stick prominently to his sides, his fur a little rough from the lack of nutrients, clear signs of a packless omega. The reminder hurts, like shards of glass being raked against his heart. Derek exposes his sharp teeth a little more. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice.
‘’We could be a team, you know? You could, I don’t know, stay in your fur and wouldn't even have to shift back if you didn’t want to! I can talk for the both of us. I've also got a warm, comfy bed downstairs, indoor plumbing that still works, and real food. Like, I could probs even go to In 'N' Out to get some shit if you wanted. Money's not an issue.''
Stiles stands up, dusting imaginary dust specks off his jeans. His stance suddenly turns a little awkward. ''I won't force you, you know? Just think about it though. I think we would both benefit from a, a, I don't even know what, but it would certainly make everything easier with two people. Well, person and a half. You've got your fur, which, that's pretty impressive dude. It like, gleams in the moonlight or some shit. You could totally win some furry ladies with - ''
Derek snaps his jaw, growling even louder. He takes a menacing step closer to the human, and Stiles lifts his hands up again.
''Whoah! Easy there buddy. Jesus. No women for you, I get it. Just me and mine.’’ There’s a moment of stiff staring between them, before Stiles just shrugs, clasping his hands together behind his back. ‘’If you like, wanna take me up on the offer of food and beds, just, I don't know. Follow my scent or howl or something. I'll come get you. Since I don't think you're hiding a phone anywhere in there,’’ the man tries peeking behind Derek, searching probably for any human possessions, which Derek left all in his Camaro. Which the hunters then burned down to prevent Derek from escaping. When all Stiles can see is the gleaming metal of the bed, he makes a face and nods, “Ooookay, no phones anywhere on you, gotcha.''
Derek flicks his ears. Even if he had a phone, or anything valuable at his person, he sure as hell wouldn’t let the kid take a look at any of them, lest he steal anything. His fingers look long and thin and agile, tools for stealthy pickpocketing.
Stiles frowns, shaking his head. ''You know, if we get into this new companionship, I don't think it's very polite if you try to bite my fingers off every two minutes. The growling will certainly get a little repetitive.''
Giving the man a baleful look, Derek sits back on his haunches. Stiles winks at him.
“I’ll grow on you yet! I’ve been told I can be annoyingly persistent. I’ll let you know that us Stilinski men have always been mulishly stubborn.”
When Derek gnashes his teeth in irritation, Stiles just laughs and steps back.
''Yeah yeah. Smell ya later, dude.'' Stiles waves as he exits the room, and when Derek quickly follows him to the endless hallway that expands on both sides for long strides, Stiles has vanished.
---
It takes Derek two days of mourning, rubbing himself against the spots that Peter must've touched the most, until even the finest traces of his uncle vanish underneath his own.
When it happens, he panics, snuffling along the closed hallway for any old traces. He doesn't find any, predictably, and it makes his body wreck with tremors, blood feeling like ice water in his veins. After tracking around the floor like a caged animal, with all evidence of Peter ever staying there gone, he goes back to the room.
There, he howls, long and mournful, his heartbreak tearing into the night.
Stiles comes stumbling into the room not ten minutes later. His eyes are wide, heart palpating frantically against his chest as he catches his breath.
''Dude,'' he pants, ''That was so fucking loud . And long and you're still - Stop howling , damnit! Do you want the entire damn police station come frolicking around for a loose animal? 'Cause they would. I know they would. That's how they got Scotty in the first place, and that's how he got himself killed , man. Just, God, I get it, okay? I get it.''
His tone gentles. ''I get it. You're sad. You probably don't even realize but your grief is affecting the slumbering.” He gestures at the walls. “ They've grown restless, the building nearly shaking with sympathy for you. But you gotta cut the howling out. We don't want the unsolicited visitors. The ghosts I reckon, are enough.''
Derek cuts his cry, turning it into whimpers and whines. Stiles comes to sit next to him, keeping a foot long distance when Derek hunkers deeper into the corner during his approach. ''I get it,'' he soothes, and his heartbeat doesn't lie.
He’s about to say something else, the man’s mouth opening in an inhale, but suddenly he stills. His eyes go distant, as if he’s hearing something out of Derek’s range, his lips parting slightly. Stiles stays like that for a few frozen moments, before he physically shakes himself back, something wicked and cold gathering in his gaze, an excited smirk gracing his face.
‘’Well, well,’’ he says, standing up, ‘’I’m afraid we’re gonna have to revisit this conversation another time. Halloween sure is a busy time for me.’’ He looks positively gleeful about it. ‘’ Looks like we have some brave visitors closing in on us. I think I’m gonna have to go greet our uninvited guests. Don’t want to appear as a terrible host, you see. Gotta give them the experience they have come here for.’’
He tucks his hand inside the front pocket of his hoodie and brings out a sandwich and a water bottle, placing them on the iron board of the bed. For a second, Derek wonders just how bad in shape he’s actually gotten himself if he hadn’t even smelled the goods before he was presented with the physical evidence of them. ‘’In the interest of keeping you alive, I really suggest you eat those. I’ll see you later, after I’ve had some - Well.’’
The man brushes his fingers through his hair, blinking almost bashfully underneath his long lashes. ‘’It’s been awhile since I’ve had any fun with anyone, so. I might not be able to come up in a couple days. If you need me, I’ll know. I don’t know what I was thinking when I told you to howl last time. Please don’t do that. As much fun as playing with the officers of the law is, I’d rather not draw any attention towards the place for a little while.’’
Stiles turns to leave before throwing a look over his shoulder. ‘’And I mean it. You really should consider eating and drinking. There’s a select few very interested in your well being.’’ He gives the wolf a look and exits with a later, dude.
Long moments after Stiles has departed, Derek takes a look of the goods. He is thirsty. Really fucking thirsty, if he’s being honest. And the sandwich wafts off a delicious, meaty smell that offers the promise of bacon and beef cutlet and red pepper salami. It makes his glands salivate involuntarily. He’s been chased for so long that it’s been almost a year of scavenging trash and hunting small rodents, none which have ever filled him to the brim, but has always quieted the caterwauling of his stomach. But a fresh cut meat with a barely-taken-out-of-the-oven bread - how could he possibly refuse?
He thinks about shifting. He hasn’t stretched himself into his human form in a long while, finding it easier to just disappear into the shadows in his wolf fur. On that, Stiles was absolutely right. His fur gleamed black like ink or like late winter night sky, making blending into darkness so effortless. Were his kin rich and flourishing and alive , Derek would be a worthy beta of being courted into other packs. He was loyal and selfless, putting his family and pack first and foremost to himself, following rules to the dot, not hesitating to improvise should a reason occur.
Though, he thinks with a sinking stomach, he wasn’t all that worthy, the reason his family was buried six feet underground laying on his shoulders. He sags back onto the hard, cold metal with a heavy heart, staring at the treat in front of him, but unable to face all the cruel thoughts of his human brain, too ashamed of his own actions to nourish his body. Perhaps he is fated to starve to death, to prolong his own torture, let his body painfully sink into itself, until even a werewolf healing won’t be able to keep his heart beating, allowing it to slowly and gradually to stop pulsing blood to his organs, but not before he knows how it feels when his insides are eating themselves, fire and acid burning away all that he is.
He closes his eyes and rests his head on his paws, turned away from the food. The wolf cannot cry, and so tears won’t prick his eyes, but his heart is collapsing and all Derek can do is let the grief swallow him whole.
---
Derek startles awake to a ‘tsk’ sound and a hand gripping at his snout. He tries to yank his head back and out of reach, but the hand holding him tightly is surprisingly strong and he’s unable to force distance between him and Stiles.
And it is Stiles, the man smelling like he’s freshly showered, like shampoo and soap and laundry detergent. He’s still hiding his emotions, his basic scent, but Derek’s not nearly as bothered of it anymore. If he’s going to die anyway, who cares of whose hand it is that does the final blow?
‘’I clearly remember telling you to eat, did I not?’’ The man says, making eye contact with Derek. His eyes look furious, his mouth downturned to a thin, angry line. Then his grip softens considerably, finding something in Derek’s gaze that makes him sigh heavily.
‘’Sorry. I thought you’d died or something. You were just lying there, immobile for two whole days.’’
Derek pulls his head away once Stiles grip goes lax, licking at his mutton chops, easing away the sting. If he wasn’t a werewolf, if he was just a fragile human, he’s certain he’d have Stiles’ fingerprints bruising up his face. He sits up.
Stiles takes the sandwich and fiddles with it, the meat and butter having curdled over the past few days. ‘’I honestly thought you’d have eaten. I put in that sandwich the rest of my favorite cutlets I had in the fridge. Poured my heart and soul in it, dude. I mean, even most abused dogs wouldn’t have ignored that sort of treat.’’
Derek growls a little at the dog comment, and Stiles’ lips uplift a little from the corners. Then he sobers up, turning a calculative look on Derek.
Derek turns away, exposing a little bit of fang. Stiles’ stare is uncomfortably intense .
‘’You’ve been kept by the hunters then?’’
Every muscle in Derek stiffens again, the fur on his neck raising.
‘’Hit the nail right on, huh?’’ Stiles asks. He thinks for a moment and says, ‘’Did they offer you food, just to take it away and laugh about it? Torturing you for being so foolish to believe them? Or did they put something in there that would hurt you, but you knew you’d have to eat it because otherwise you’d die?’’
Closing his eyes, Derek wills all of those memories back to the black box he tries to stuff them into. Too long he spent in captivity, thinking the hunters wanted something from him, information or cooperation or anything useful. It had been more than a punch to the gut to realize six months later that they’d kept him just because he had ‘rugged good looks’ and ‘would be a perfect baby daddy if not for the tainted blood and wrong species’. They had had no idea that Derek was a Hale, that his family used to have ties to multiple supernatural groups and packs and herds, knowing people high and low all over the world. They’d just captured and kept him because he had a good looking face and the body of a sculpted Greek God.
That’s all. That’s all they wanted from him, the only reason they had him.
Laura had saved him back then. He’s got nobody left to find him now.
A warm hand comes to softly pet the fur on his head. It drags him back to present, away from the cold cellars and hot wires of electricity. He blinks his eyes open and looks up, growling in half assed attempt at warning the man away. He doesn’t move though.
‘’I have no idea where you just went in your head,’’ Stiles murmurs, ‘’But it didn’t sound all that good, dude. And I obviously caused that, so, uh, sorry. I can be a little heartless sometimes.’’
Derek lets Stiles caress his head a couple more times before he sighs, shaking himself from head to toe, making Stiles’ hand fall away.
Stiles takes the hint and takes a couple steps back, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. For all that calculative, cold feeling the man emits, Derek thinks Stiles seems a lot like a lost kid that has no place to go and no social skills to make up for it.
He sees a lot of himself in Stiles. Which, seems a little odd since Derek’s fairly certain that in the time he spent passed out the last 48 hours, Stiles’ idea of ‘being a good host’ involved a lot of dismembering human beings. Skin being torn. Perhaps even limbs dissected away from unwilling participants. (He’s embarrassed now that he thought Stiles had meant sex when he said he hadn’t had any ‘fun’ for awhile with anyone.)
He’s not sure if Stiles has even noticed his white sneakers are completely soaked red with blood.
Stiles is an oddity, a strange twist of something dark and light, a stranger he wouldn't look twice at during daylight, but would change the side of the road if he ever came across him during night-time. There's cruelty hidden in the depths of his eyes, a contrast to the gentle hands that buried themselves into Derek’s thick fur not ten seconds ago.
‘’So if I got you that juicy big steak, do you think you would eat?’’
He sounds hopeful. Derek wonders briefly if Stiles is trying to actually lure him into a trap, coaxing him to trust and follow, only to end up dumped in a shallow ground for the coyotes to find.
But does it really matter, in the end? Derek did come here to die after all.
Derek stands up, a little wobbly on his feet, and looks up at Stiles expectantly. The man stares at him with wide eyes until his face breaks into a big, honest, grateful grin.
‘’Oh man, are you serious? You’re really coming? Fuck yeah!’’
As Stiles does a fist bump, Derek rolls his eyes and hops down from the bed, skirting around the man in favor of getting out of his uncle’s room. The hallway is as deserted as ever, but somehow the atmosphere seems a lot lighter than it was when Derek arrived. He avoids looking at the walls, still afraid of the ghosts that occupy the spaces between them.
‘’Come on,’’ Stiles says, gesturing towards the other end of the hall, opposite of where Derek initially entered the wing. ‘’I’ve got a shortcut this way. I don’t come up to the top floors much you know, because the roof seems like it might collapse even more if another storm hits. I do not want to end up a squishy, rotting meat blop, no siree.’’
Derek follows obediently, trailing after him.
‘’I live in the cellar, where the bunker and all the fun stuff is. Most of the wards aren’t heated up, water cut up when some of the pipes burst a couple winters ago, but since the space I live in is meant to be habitable in case of a nuclear attack, it’s got all the spare generators and goods the hospital itself hasn’t got. Sometimes I power up the whole building though, so babies like these,’’ Stiles says, stopping in front of a small, rusted elevator, patting the control panel outside ‘’will work in my favor.’’
He looks down at Derek. ‘’It’ll be a tight fit but if you can handle it, I can handle it too.’’
Derek takes stock on the lift. It’s almost like it’s taken straight out of some horror movie Laura used to watch with their mother. It’s flaking brown rust, looking like the wires winching the human-sized box up and down are all but ready to snap at the slightest of wrong tilts. The walls are only iron bars, and if anything went wrong and the lift would drop onto the elevator shaft at the bottom, Derek doesn’t think either of them would survive it. The iron walls would probably fold like a house of cards, their weight crushing the occupants immediately. Then again, if the electricity cut off or the system malfunctioned, they’d be trapped in.
Or, well. Stiles would probably be trapped in. Derek would still be able to strong-arm himself out of it.
He steps inside, the elevator immediately groaning dangerously. Derek gives it a dubious look.
Stiles grins, ‘’Atta boy,’’ and then stuffs himself in too, boxing Derek into a corner. Derek shivers when Stiles’ legs come in contact with his side, emitting warmth. It’s been too long since he’s had any casual contact with another living human, and it feels so good Derek wants to curl around it, sinking his claws and teeth into the vulnerable flesh, so that it won’t part from him ever again.
Stiles carefully closes the heavy doors, pushes the huge green button, as opposed to the huge red one, and they start their descend.
The cellar turns out to be a lot darker than the rooms upstairs. There’s no natural light peeking from anywhere, the only lights the small bulbs littered across the ceiling, buzzing faintly, emitting yellow light. The ventilation seems to be not working, and the air feels stuffy to Derek.
As Stiles walks, he explains, gesturing to doors and hallways. ‘’Okay, so this way is the staff changing rooms. They’ve got working showers, clean ones, though you might want to avoid the men’s side. There’s, hm, a little leftover incident from a couple months ago that I haven’t gotten about to clean just yet. The female bathrooms are in pretty good condition though.’’
They take a sharp turn left. ‘’That way leads to the institutional kitchen. It’s up those stairs. Underneath the kitchen, as you can see those three doors over there, are all refrigerators. There’s a freezer too, but it’s smaller and it’s just that door over there, on the other side.’’
Two hallways collide and twist. ‘’Those two are plain offices. That iron door right there is where they used to keep the drugs. That hallway over there leads to the gardens, a small hidden door that probably let the staff go up and about unnoticed. I think the first rooms on the end of that used to be kept as some sort of punishment rooms for like, misbehaving or some shit. There’s nothing in them but a lot of scritches, names and dates and places carved into the walls.’’
They pass rows and rows of rooms that have no nameplates on the doors, no indication of what it has been used for. Stiles seems to have peeked into every single one of them.
The sheer size of the place has got Derek dizzy. He wonders if the first time he wanders here alone, he’ll get hopelessly lost.
They keep walking.
‘’That over there is the staff common room. There’s like, couches and tables and all that. There’re some old ass computers too, but they’re like, ancient, so I haven’t even touched them.’’
‘’That over there is actually a swimming pool. I dunno if the residents ever got to use it, or was it for staff only, but there it is. It’s dried out now, but it wasn’t when I first came here. Not that I took a swim in it, but ah, a person or two did try it. It wasn’t very. . . Sanitary.’’
Derek refuses to even think about it.
They arrive at a huge door that Derek immediately knows to be the bunker door. There are faded signs for it on the exits. Stiles looks at him and says, ‘’And lastly, welcome to the Stilinski household. Mi casa es su casa and all that jazz.’’
He pushes the door open and slips in, leaving Derek a crack to squeeze himself inside. They walk for a few moments in a dark, cramped hallway, the ceiling so low Stiles has to bend forward a little as to not hit his head. When their entrance slams shut, dark swallows them. Stiles’ steps are confident, and Derek has no choice but to force himself forward. He’s been to worse places.
Then they come to equally as narrow door that’s also made of heavy iron. When Stiles heaves it open, light pools into the darkness.
As Stiles elbows himself inside, Derek follows.
The atmosphere changes immediately. There are brand new lamps that shine brightly, forcing Derek to blink rapidly to adjust to the light. The air is fresher than in the long, endless hallways, the air conditioner doing its job. There are throw rugs and huge plasma TV, placed in front of a plush, soft looking couch. (Derek wonders how the hell did Stiles manage to get any of that in but he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to know.) In the corner is a small kitchen nook with a low humming refrigerator, the place filled with soft colors of different hues of wood.
It looks… Comfy. Cozy. And entirely bizarre contrast to the dilapidated hospital.
‘’There’s my bed behind that partition,’’ Stiles thumbs towards his left where he’s locked the door. ‘’There is the bathroom, if you, you know, ever decide to de-fur yourself, but before that happens, using the gardens is cool too, whatever floats your boat man.”
If he had a mouth that would twist that way, Derek would cringe.
“That’s my closet where I keep all my clothes and gear, and that computer corner over there is off limits, but anything else is fair game.’’
Derek follows Stiles’ gaze. The corner is shadowed in darkness but entirely visible. He walks closer, intrigued, and sees the six computer screens all laid out to make a one, huge surveillance nook. And that’s exactly what it is, Derek realizes, as he sees entrances and exits of all the doors on the hospital, hallways, gardens, different rooms, the kitchen, the showers, the freezer, the easy access part of the fence. . .
Jesus. Stiles has somehow managed to build eyes for himself all over the huge building. The images blink and change, and Derek can see how Stiles had found him as fast as he had.
He stares at the small icon of his uncle’s room.
Stiles comes to stand next to him. ‘’I’ve got my eyes on everywhere, literally, but I’ve also warded a bunch of the woods and roads surrounding the entire grounds, so even if someone was still after you, I’d know about it long before they even got close.’’
He wonders whether or not it was a hit and miss guess of Stiles’ that he’s being hunted, or if the hunters had actually come and gone by the place, circulating and pondering if Derek had gone in or not.
If they should be bothered to even check. Though the sum of money Kate has apparently invested in his bounty, they really should try harder, he thinks bitterly. His head is almost literally placed on a silver platter.
Clapping his hands together, Stiles says cheerfully, ‘’I promised someone a good ol’ steak, did I not? Come on, dude, hop onto the sofa and relax. I’ll make you the best meal you’ve ever had.’’
Derek is too tired to do anything but follow.
------
The next few days Derek follows Stiles around. He gets to know him better, and the feeling of unease and fear evaporates the more comfortable he gets with the layout of the building. He likes the garden best. It’s clearly constructed to make people feel at peace, fountains and vine doors and flower benches littering all over the paths and grassfields. The high, electrified and spiked fence is cleverly hidden behind the strategically placed trees, creating an illusion of freedom for the inpatients.
Well. Did. The folk crossing over and visiting the gardens are more likely to ignore the serenity of it, the adrenaline rush of fear coloring their vision.
Stiles talks a lot when he goes about his day. Derek finds out that Stiles was orphaned when he was just sixteen summers, his father getting killed in an ambush meant for a neighboring pack that some passing hunters had set up. It’s how he was made aware of the supernatural, when his best friend had been bitten and turned by the alpha, the woman gone feral with the decimation of her pack. Stiles had drowned his grief with research of the magical, helping his best friend, Scott, to control his instincts. They’d been approached by Deaton of all people, Derek remembering him vaguely from interactions with his mother, and the vet had taught Stiles a lot about protecting his human self in a world where guns were no longer the deadliest weapon.
But Scott had foolishly fallen in love with a hunter, and within months of their freshman year of high school, Scott’s control had faltered, and he had one full moon exposed himself to the very hunter that was his new love’s father.
Derek learns that Stiles had gone into hiding then, finding solace in the empty halls of the asylum, especially since he had easily been able to kill the hunters responsible for both his father’s and Scott’s deaths. Everything down in the cellars were soundproof.
‘’And with all the money that came from the state as a compensation for my dad’s death just tinged into my bank account, along with all of my dad’s savings and the price that came once I turned eighteen and could sell the house we lived in. So now I’m kinda, dunno, just living here for the moment, trying to figure out what to do next. I mean,’’ Stiles chuckles ruefully, ‘’I’m already unfit for the society at large, since all I want right now is to kill every single hunter out there who has murdered the innocent supernatural creatures in cold blood.’’
Derek nods, his tail swishing where he’s laying on the ground as Stiles goes through his monitors. If Kate and his henchmen dared to cross the border for Derek, he wonders if Stiles would help him kill all of them.
‘’You know, I stumbled into a hunter jail once,’’ Stiles says after awhile. ‘’They kept weres like you imprisoned, testing their limits, healing, all that shit. All of the captives looked more or less like, well. Like tortured animals. Ready for slaughter.’’
Looking up, Derek sees Stiles already gazing at him. ‘’I saw all of their data. I saw what they did to them, how they forced the humanity out of the poor souls, letting the animal onto the surface as to protect themselves.’’
Resting his head back to his paws, avoiding Stiles’ knowing eyes, Derek offers a small, chuffing sound of agreement.
‘’I have no idea how long you’ve been on the run for, or how long you’ve been kept in captive, but if you’re stuck into your wolf form and want out of it, nod once.’’
Derek shakes his head. He’s not stuck per se. He could easily stretch back to his human form, his long limbs and his brain that processes things less instinctually and more with his bleeding heart. He just doesn’t want to. Right now, he’d feel more vulnerable as a human than he does a wolf.
‘’So you just feel more comfortable as a furred creature of the night for now, huh? Gotcha, big guy,’’ Stiles agrees easily. Then he muses, ‘’It would be cool to know your name, though. I keep referring you as a big bad wolf in my head all the time, which I think would make me the equivalent of the red riding hood in this scenario, and I’m not sure I’m too pleased with that.’’
Derek snorts. He raises to his feet, lifting his paws up to the table, nosing Stiles’ fingers off the keypad and looks over to the screen. It’s less trouble than he thinks of it, to move the mouse and click on an empty document. He carefully clacks on the keys with his nose, and only has to backpedal three times before he gets the words ‘ Derek Hale ’ typed down.
Stiles squints at the screen and tries the words out loud. ‘’Derek Hale.’’
A few seconds pass.
‘’Wait, whoah , you’re Derek Hale? Like, Derek Hale , Derek Hale? Derek of the Hale family that got killed in that fire - ‘’
Dropping his feet back to the ground Derek lets out a little warning growl. He doesn’t want to think about it. As much as he’d scorned the dead friend Scott for being such a fool as to hang out with a hunter, he’s done the exact same thing. Although in his case, he wishes he could’ve died instead of all of his kin. It would’ve felt more justified, more in balance with the nature.
But he lies on the bed as he makes it, and the truth of the matter was that he had killed his family and was still paying the price of it years and years later.
There’s something sharp twisting in Stiles’ scent as he keeps staring at Derek, awkward silence surrounding them. Derek can practically see the gears turning inside Stiles’ head as he comes to his conclusions.
‘’Not a faulty wiring then, huh. Hunters?’’
Derek gives one sharp nod.
‘’The ones after you now?’’
Another sharp nod.
‘’Well, shit,’’ Stiles says, and Derek sees his face widening into a feral grin. ‘’If they ever cross me and mine,’’ he says with dark glee, ‘’they’ll be so fucking sorry for all of their life choices. I can promise you that.’’
Derek lies back down with a sigh, feeling oddly comforted by that. It’s.. Nice, to have a powerful, smart little fox on his side for a change. It’s like something slots into place, evening the odds in this game of cats and mice, and for once, Derek doesn’t feel like the mouse in this scenario.