Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/494027.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Jackson_Whittemore, Sheriff
      Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Bobby_Finstock, Isaac_Lahey, Boyd_(Teen_Wolf),
      Chris_Argent, Danny_Mahealani, Gerard_Argent
  Additional Tags:
      Prison, Hurt/Comfort, First_Time, Humor, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Sexual_Content, POV_Stiles, Non-Graphic
      Violence, Blow_Jobs, Rimming, Intercrural_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-22 Completed: 2014-04-06 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 23914
****** Sixteen Years In Hell ******
by gaydestiny
Summary
     So this was finally it. He was being escorted by an armed guard
     through a pair of double doors and into actual prison. Where he would
     be sharing living quarters with convicted killers, probably. Stiles
     may have been a bit of a badass in his own right, but he was still
     just a 16 year old kid, he used to be an honor student for fuck's
     sake, how was he supposed to deal with this?
Notes
     Original Notes
     1.) Stiles' dad is not the sheriff
     2.) The title is taken from the ACDC song "Jailbreak"
     3.) It starts off pretty angsty but the rest of the story is not AT
     ALL
     4.) I have a pretty limited knowledge of the judicial system and in
     some spots you're probably just gonna have to go with it and give me
     some artistic liberties
     Updated Notes
     This WIP has been haunting me for almost two years, and now that it’s
     finally done I decided to go through and change some bits and take
     out the notes on all the chapters so you don’t have to suffer through
     me apologizing for updating so slowly every time.
     ALSO, since I had a couple of people point this out to me, this is
     set in a complete alternate universe where people can go to prison at
     16 (even though I looked this up and I was pretty sure that you
     could?? But I guess I was wrong lol whatever).
     I was also picturing the prison to look like the place from Orange Is
     The New Black except with guys… and regular cell blocks… I’M THE
     WRITER I CAN DO WHAT I WANT I’M SORRY THE STORY JUST WORKS BETTER
     LIKE THAT. That’s it I think. I hope you enjoy this fic that tortured
     me for 19+ months!
     (Also, this story almost definitely would not have ever been finished
     if it weren't for the people who left comments and sent me messages
     on Tumblr asking me to continue writing, so a very sincere thank you
     to everyone who encouraged me! I love you all)
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
It starts with a fire.
Well, it doesn't exactly start there.
It starts when Stiles is fifteen. Fifteen and reckless and alive with the
possibilities of the rest of his life. Fifteen and happy, and smart, and maybe
a bit overly snarky and sarcastic, but it doesn't matter because when you're
fifteen, nothing matters.
Fifteen, and never even had to deal with so much as a pet goldfish dying. And
then his mom gets cancer. The happiness is gone, or at least lost somewhere he
isn't able to find it. Lost in a sea of doctor's appointments and chemo and his
dad's drinking problem which has reared it's ugly head, and Stiles stops
believing that he'll ever feel happy again; ever feel anything besides
hopelessness and guilt and pain.
When she dies, he's almost relieved. He probably would've done the deed himself
if he'd had to watch her lying there in bed for another day.
Once she's gone, he doesn't know what to do. So he does nothing. He smokes
cigarettes out by the old rock quarry and he steals from whatever stores he
feels like, depending on his mood, just to feel a little thrill. He doesn't pay
much attention to his dad, because he knows if he bothered to look all he'd
find would be a shell of a man slumped over in his armchair with half a bottle
of bourbon in one hand and an old polaroid picture of his mom in the other.
So no, it doesn't start with a fire, but when Stiles is sixteen and no closer
to knowing how to deal with his mom's death than he was a year ago, he does
something stupid.
And honestly it wasn't even on purpose, which makes it even worse. Just a
cigarette butt carelessly tossed aside onto some dry grass, which just happened
to be on the front lawn of the largest abandoned building in town, the old
Beacon Hills Hospital.
The spark from the cigarette was a full blaze within seconds, and Stiles was
left to stand there and watch as fire consumed the hospital and brought it down
within minutes. He knew how stupid it was not to run, the cops and firefighters
would be there soon, no way in hell somebody hadn't called 911 by now with the
amount of black smoke rising up into the air above him. But he couldn't look
away. The heat, even at a distance, was the most powerful thing he had ever
experienced. It pressed against him and demanded every ounce of his attention,
burning away every other awful thing in his head.
Even when he heard the sirens, he just stayed where he was and closed his eyes.
He heard the shouting as firemen piled out of their trucks and dashed past him,
and he heard the sharp voices of what he assumed to be cops yelling at him and
ordering him to step back and put his hands on his head. He kept his eyes
squeezed shut, but he did everything the cops told him to, he didn't fight them
or resist in any way. He was done fighting. Utterly, completely done.
* * *
"Dad, can you please stop looking at me like that? It's not even that big of a
deal," Stiles fiddled with the cord attached to the clunky phone in his hand,
and tried to look anywhere but his father's solemn, furious face on the other
side of the bulletproof glass.
"Stiles, if ever something was a big deal, it's this," his dad spat back at
him, while obviously looking Stiles up and down and sizing up his hideous
orange jumpsuit and his overall roughed up appearance. "Son," his voice wavered
on the word, "I know you think that I hate you, and that I don't give a shit
whether or not you're rotting in prison... but you're wrong. I want you out of
here and back home with me where you belong. You're my boy."
"Yeah, right, I'll just hurry on home so we can have some quality father-son
bonding time while I watch you get wasted and pass out on the kitchen floor. No
thanks. Honestly I prefer prison. At least here they've got a workout room and
movie night every second Sunday of the month." Stiles did feel a quick pang of
guilt at how truly sad and pathetic his father looked, sitting in his visiting
room chair in what were probably the clothes he wore to bed last night, but it
passed just as quickly, and he pushed back his own chair and hung up the phone.
It had been a tense and generally unpleasant few months in the Stilinski home
since the fire.
Unfortunately, there was video surveillance footage of Stiles flicking that
cigarette onto the lawn, and any jury would agree (and did, in fact, agree)
that Stiles threw it with intent. Even more unfortunate was Stiles' record as a
"chronic offender with a history of bad behavior," which qualified him to be
tried as an adult. Which, in turn, meant that when the judge found him guilty
of second degree arson, he wasn't sentenced to 6 months in juvie, but 10 months
in big boy jail.
So after waiting around his house for two months with nothing to occupy his
thoughts besides how fucked he would be (literally) if he dropped the soap, he
had been sent to spend a few weeks in the county jail while they "processed"
him, and then it was off to the California Correctional Institution, which was
a convenient 15 minute drive from his house, which explained why his dad had
shown up to say his final goodbyes; anything more than 20 minutes and Stiles
knew he wouldn't have bothered.
So this was finally it. He was being escorted by an armed guard through a pair
of double doors and into actual prison. Where he would be sharing living
quarters with convicted killers, probably. Stiles may have been a bit of a
badass in his own right, but he was still just a 16 year old kid, he used to be
an honor student for fuck's sake, how was he supposed to deal with this?
The guard walked him through a series of almost identical hallways, with white
brick walls and unmarked doors, and when they came to the door marked "Cell
Block C," the guard turned to Stiles and handed him a nicely folded set of grey
sheets, some toilet paper, and a toothbrush.
"Alright, we're about to enter your cellblock. When we get to your cell, just
don't try anything funny and you should be fine. And in about an hour you'll
get 20 minutes for breakfast in the mess hall, just follow everyone else when
they start to go. Oh, and kid," Stiles stared in shock at the guard who seemed
way more friendly than he ought to be, "Don't look anybody in the eye, just
look straight ahead, keep your chin up, and don't take any shit from anybody.
Got it?"
Stiles wasn't quite sure what to say, so he just said, "Yep. Got it."
"You're way too young to get mixed up any of this shit, I just hope you're
smart enough to stay out of trouble." With a final look that fell somewhere
between pity and concern, the guard opened the door, and the calming silence of
the hallway was instantly shattered by the jeers and catcalls echoing out of
the long row of cells.
"Oh, Jesus," Stiles unconsciously took a step backward, but the guard gave him
a little shove, and then he was walking as fast as he could manage without
looking like an idiot down the hall, while trying as hard he could to just look
straight ahead, and not at the men pressed up against the bars of their cells
yelling obscene things at him and in some cases actually reaching through the
bars, like they were begging for scraps of food.
"Is it always like this?" Stiles wondered aloud to the guard as they slowed
down in front of a cell containing a rickety bunk bed, an old porcelain sink,
and a toilet.
"Not always. I think they're just excited because you're... Well, you know. Uh,
young, and, well, pretty?" The guard now looked extremely uncomfortable, and
instead of following up his statement with any sort of apology for calling
Stiles pretty, he just unlocked the cell door and stepped aside to make way for
Stiles.
"Okay, well, uh, thanks for the advice, I guess. Bye?" Stiles backed into his
cell awkwardly and gave the guard a half-hearted little wave as he walked away.
He only had about .5 seconds to get a bearing on his surroundings before a
bright blob of orange literally fell out of nowhere and landed on top of him.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry dude,” the blob of orange pushed himself off of Stiles and
then held out a hand to help him up.
“What the hell?” Stiles accepted the hand and pulled himself to his feet. In
jail for all of 5 minutes and he was already being assaulted by the other
prisoners.
“I swear I didn’t do that on purpose. I was asleep on the top bunk and I guess
I just rolled off the side and... Holy crap, man, how old are you?” Stiles
didn’t really think this guy was one to talk, he didn’t look like he could be
more than eighteen. He also didn’t really look like he belonged in prison. He
had innocent, almost puppy-like eyes and a constant crooked smirk on his face.
Despite the fact that he had probably given Stiles a mild concussion, he liked
the guy already.
“I’m sixteen. And my name is Stiles, by the way, in case you were interested.
And no offense, dude, but I’d rather not talk about the whole age thing, okay?
It’s not a big deal. I was tried as an adult because of my past offenses, blah
blah blah, you don’t wanna hear it, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Stiles took a
breath and then attempted to end on a less offensive note, “So what’s your
name?”
“Message received, no age questions,” he held up his hands in mock surrender.
“I’m Scott, Scott McCall. And don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking, and I
haven’t killed anybody. I just robbed a few convenience stores to pay for my
mom’s gas and electric bills after she got fired from her job.” Stiles
definitely liked this guy.
“Wow, I feel like I’m being spoiled here. First the guard practically babies me
and now my cellmate is a regular Mr. Good Guy. It’s kinda making me wonder
about what the rest of this place is like. Do you guys all just hang out and
braid each other’s hair?” Stiles sat down on the bottom bunk and plopped down
his little pile of necessities.
Scott laughed, but it had a tinge of sadness to it.
“Unfortunately not. I haven’t met too many other guys in here who are as nice
as me. There are a few though, mostly younger guys like us who just caught a
bad break. What was it you did, again...? Should I be worried?” Scott sat down
on the ground in front of Stiles and crossed his legs Indian-style. It made him
look even more adorably childish.
“I, uh, accidentally burned down a hospital,” Stiles saw Scott’s eyes go as big
as saucers and hurried to add, “An abandoned one! It was abandoned, holy shit,
no, I did not burn hundreds of sick and elderly people alive, jeez.”
“Oh, well that’s not even a big deal, then, is it? You accidentally burned down
an abandoned building? Who cares?”
“Well, add that to a year-long tirade of shoplifting charges, charges of
disturbing the peace, and a few breaking and entering charges, and I guess it’s
a big enough deal to land me here,” thinking back on the past year Stiles was
almost alarmed at how much he didn’t recognize the boy in his memories, who
felt nothing but undirected rage and sadness. The court dates and anticipation
of going to jail had been so bracing he’d forgotten to feel sad, and now he
almost felt like his old self again.
He smiled at the thought, and Scott gave him a weird look, but then it was
replaced with one of mild excitement when the door to their cell slid open and
Scott nearly shouted, “Breakfast!”
“Wow, is that really cause for excitement? I thought prison food was
disgusting,” Stiles said as he followed Scott out into the madness of the hall
that was filling with hungry inmates.
“You thought wrong. Honestly, it’s at least twice as good as the stuff they
served in my old high school. We get pancakes and juice and everything.”
“Oh. Cool. Awesome, actually, I love pancakes.” Stiles was staring directly at
Scott’s face while they walked, because he could practically feel all the eyes
on him and he didn’t want to make it worse.
“Dude, who doesn’t love pancakes? Oh, and this'll be a great time for me to
tell you everything you need to know about everyone. Oh, and Stiles?”
“Yeah?”
“Do not, under any circumstances, eat the scrambled eggs.”
"Got it. Uh, anything else I should know before we get there? Like, life and
death kinds of things?"
"Oh, you mean like "never look anyone in the eyes unless you're cruisin' for a
bruisin'"?" Scott made a face with his eyebrows all scrunched up and his voice
went about 5 octaves deeper in what Stiles assumed was his impression of a
prison inmate. Seriously, how was this guy a convicted felon?
"Yes, exactly that kind of stuff," Stiles looked away from Scott's face for the
first time since they left the cell to look around at the mess hall as they
entered through the doorway in what had morphed from a disorganized glob of
hundreds scattered around in the halls into an orderly line of prisoners.
"Well actually that staring thing is kind of true, but only with some of the
really crazy tough guys. Most people are just trying to get by unnoticed, so
they won't start a fight over nothing," Scott handed Stiles a tray and they
started to move down the line. This was really just like high school, except
with more teardrop tattoos and less bitchy teenage girls.
"Also, you don't smoke, do you?" Scott asked it flippantly, but for Stiles
smoking and cigarettes were sort of sensitive subjects since technically they
were the reason he was stuck in prison.
"Uh, not really, I guess, why?" Stiles put his tray down and watched as
meticulously rationed amounts of peanut butter, fruit, and sausage links were
put on his plate, along with 2 small pancakes. Stiles raised the food up to his
nose to stiff it. It actually smelled delicious, and Stiles was beginning to
wonder what was the big deal about prison, because so far he liked it better
than his real life.
"Just don't ever accept cigarettes, or anything else for that matter, from
anyone, okay? I almost fell for that my first week here. It's just a trick to
get you indebted to them. Seriously man, don't do it. Even if it's candy or
porn or something, it's not worth eternal servitude," Scott pulled him along
again as they made their way through the circular tables, looking for an
available spot. It didn't escape Stiles' notice that the seats were attached to
the tables, so that, he assumed, nobody could use them to bludgeon another
inmate to death. Great.
Scott finally set his tray down at a table with three other guys who all looked
to be relatively normal. Stiles breathed a small internal sigh of relief and
set his tray down next to Scott's.
"Hey guys, this is Stiles. He's kinda young, so go easy on him, okay?" The
other guys gave brief nods of acknowledgement in Stiles' general direction, but
then their attention was quickly drawn back to shoveling food into their
mouths.
"Nice to meet you guys, too," Stiles shrugged and sat down. He popped a grape
in his mouth and risked a quick look around at the tables closest to him.
Nothing too terrifying, but they definitely looked more like the rough and
tough criminal types than the guys at his table, who looked more like underwear
models, if Stiles was being honest.
"So, this is Jackson, and then that's Boyd, he doesn't say much so I wouldn't
bother trying to talk to him, and over here is Isaac," Scott smiled goofily in
the other boy's direction, and Stiles couldn't tell if that was how Scott
treated everybody or if maybe he had a little bit of a thing for this Isaac
guy.
Jackson, being the fastest eater, pushed his tray aside and turned in his seat
the face to Stiles. Damn, this guy was attractive. Like, Stiles was having a
hard time looking him in the eyes he was so gorgeous.
"Hey. I'm sure Scott's already filled you in on most of the important things,
but I've been here longer than him, and I've seen some stuff. And I feel the
need to tell you, what with you being so delicate and all, that you don't want
to go getting mixed up with punks, alright? Dudes are gonna be all over you
telling you shit like they can offer you protection if you suck their dicks,
but you're just gonna end up becoming their bitch, and you do not want that,
understand? I'm not usually this friendly but you seem like a nice kid, so I
thought I'd give you a heads up," and then Jackson was rising from his seat and
walking away, just like that.
"What. The fuck. Why does everyone assume I'm gonna be some guy's girlfriend? I
am not comfortable with this stereotype that I seem to have fallen into,"
Stiles was dead serious, but when he looked around the table the other men were
visibly trying to hide their laughter.
This time it was Isaac who spoke, "Don't pay attention to Jackson, he has a
savior complex and a big mouth. Besides, we’ve all had to suck a few dicks,
it’s just a fact of life in prison.”
“Ew. Are you serious? Why?” Stiles asked.
“I dunno. To pass the time? Honestly guys’ll do just about anything to get
their rocks off in this place, you’ll learn that pretty soon,” Isaac had
finished his food by that point too, so he got up and gave Scott a little wave
as he walked away.
“Well, I’ve gone 16 years without sexual contact, what’s another 10 months?
This guy knows what I’m talking about,” Stiles pointed over at Boyd but dropped
his hand when he saw the look of utter unamusement on his face. “Whatever man,
I was just joking,” Stiles turned back to Scott, who had almost finished his
food as well. Stiles realized there was a probably a reason that everybody ate
so fast, so he tried to shovel the rest of his meal into his mouth before
breakfast time was over.
“Stiles, chill out. I told you not to bother with Boyd. He’s a cool guy but he
literally never says a word and never cracks a smile, so don’t be offended.
Also though, for future reference, sex jokes generally don’t go over so well in
the slammer. Or, um, any jokes for that matter. Not the greatest senses of
humor in here, believe it or not.”
“I can believe it,” Stiles said as he shoved his last sausage into his mouth,
and tried not to think of the sexual innuendo and possible foreshadowing that
this gesture represented. He muttered, more to himself than anyone, “I am not
sucking any dicks,” as they got up and left the mess hall.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Stiles had spent months mentally preparing himself for prison, and the hell
that he would have to endure, but after 78 hours in jail he realized that it
had been a total waste of time.
People were such drama queens! Prison was fine. In fact, it was more than fine,
it was great. Stiles had already made a friend, gotten a bit of reading done,
eaten some really good food, and today he was finally going to give weight
lifting a try.
He couldn’t remember the last time life had treated him so well.
Scott wasn’t really into weight training - apparently he was more of a yoga man
- so Jackson had agreed to take Stiles out into the “yard” and give him a few
pointers. Stiles was painfully aware of the fact that he wasn’t really designed
for lifting large heavy objects above his head, but he didn’t want to leave
prison with nothing to show for it, and bulking up seemed like the best plan.
“So I’m thinking we’ll start you on the bars, you can do some chin-ups and if
you don’t pass out from exhaustion, then maybe you can try the 30 pound
dumbbells...”
“Hey! I’m not a girl, I can lift more than 30 pounds, okay Jackson? I am built
under this jumpsuit. The whole scrawny thing is just an optical illusion,”
Stiles couldn’t really help himself from responding cocklily to Jackson’s
veiled criticisms of his strength, even though he knew he probably couldn’t do
much more than 30 pounds.
“Yeah, right. Well, either way, just remember the golden rule, because it
applies double out there. Remind me what that rule is?”
“Never look at anyone for more than 2 seconds and don’t speak unless spoken to,
sir!” Stiles knew how much Jackson hated when he didn’t take him seriously, so
he made a point to do it as much as possible. Jackson just glared at him and
grumbled, “Come on,” while he dragged Stiles through the doors by his collar.
The yard turned out to be a big fenced in slab of concrete with a few pieces of
workout equipment placed haphazardly around it. Jackson has chosen a good time
to go, and there were only 6 or 7 other men currently “pumping iron”.
Stiles totally did not check out the shirtless guy doing sit ups a few feet
away from him, because only a gay dude would notice how perfectly muscled and
toned that guy was, and how he was making sexy little grunting noises every
time he hefted himself up to a sitting position. Stiles was definitely not gay,
so of course he didn’t zone out staring at the guy’s perfect abdominal muscles
and dreamy blueish green eyes and dark tousled hair and...
“Hey! What the fuck did I just say? No staring,” Jackson actually went so far
as to smack Stiles on the back of the head.
“I wasn’t staring! I just... thought I recognized that guy. That’s all. There
was nothing else going on there. Nothing at all. So, weights. Chin-ups. Let’s
do this,” Stiles said hurriedly, and he stumbled blindly backward to where he
thought the bars were located.
Instead of his outstretched hand colliding with cool metal, he felt something
warm and soft; a prison jumpsuit. And upon closer inspection, Stiles realized
that there was quite a large and terrifying man inside of that prison jumpsuit,
and he was glaring down at Stiles like he had just spit in his face or called
him a little sissy girl or some other terrible offense.
“Oh... Hey. I totally did not mean to do that, man, it was a complete accident
and I’m glad you understand and I’m just gonna run away now because...” The
massive inmate literally grabbed Stiles by the collar of his jumpsuit and
lifted him up so he was at the guy’s eye-level.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, tonto?” The guy was clearly a member
of the Toros Furiosos, the most feared group of Spanish-speaking badasses in
California Correctional. Stiles’ confidence that a prison guard would come and
save him before he was beaten to death was starting to waver, and he prayed to
whatever deities he could think of that he wouldn’t wet his pants.
“Please. Please don’t kill me. I’m only 16, I haven’t even kissed a girl, come
on,” Stiles looked around frantically for Jackson but he couldn’t see him
anywhere. Asshole. He probably wanted Stiles to learn a lesson about not
following his rules, or something stupid like that. Stiles just sort of flailed
around and tried kicking the guy in the balls, but it didn’t seems to have much
of an effect.
Then Stiles heard a powerful voice coming from directly behind him.
“Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Stiles couldn’t stop his
body’s natural instinct to roll his eyes, even though he was so relieved that
someone was coming to his rescue that he was close to tears.
The guy holding him up dropped him immediately, and even took a step backwards.
Stiles whipped around to see who his savior was, and almost choked on his own
tongue when he saw that it was the hot shirtless guy who had been doing sit ups
only a moment ago.
“Seriously, what are you still doing here? Fuck off, and don’t even think about
bothering this kid again,” the other man cracked his neck from side to side
menacingly, but then huffed an angry sigh and walked back towards the prison in
defeat.
Stiles was aware that he probably looked a little stupid with his mouth hanging
open in shock, but his basic motor functions were still a little busted, and
there wasn’t anything he could do about it just then.
“Did he hurt you?” Shirtless guy asked, and Stiles didn’t respond until the
other man gave him a small nudge.
“Oh, um, no. Thanks. For, you know, saving me and everything. But did you
really have to use that line? I mean, I haven’t heard someone say that
unironically since, well, never,” Stiles regretted the words the second they
were out of his mouth, and he was sure that he had just exchanged one beating
for another. But the guy actually cracked a smile - barely perceptible of
course, but still there.
“I’ve seen you in the cafeteria,” was apparently the best response this guy
could come up with.
“Okay... That’s, creepy?” Stiles was determined to hide the fact that his heart
had begun to beat faster and his palms had started to sweat. It wasn’t like he
was flattered by this guy basically admitting that he had been watching him in
a creepy stalker way, it was just... Well, okay, flattering, that such a
gorgeous and intense guy would have taken any notice of Stiles at all. But he
was totally not going to let him know that he thought that.
“I just mean I noticed you because I heard we were getting a sixteen year old
kid, and I was curious about you. But you don’t seem nearly as psychotic as I
had expected.”
“Why were you expecting a psycho?”
“It’s no small feat for someone so young to end up here, I just figured you’d
be a little more... Intimidating. You seem pretty normal, at least by this
place’s standards,” shirtless guy reached for a crumpled tank top on the ground
and pulled it over his head, leaving Stiles with nothing to refer to him as in
his head, because he was no longer shirtless.
“So what’s your name? I know I’m not supposed to ask people that, but I figured
since you saved me and all that you won’t kill me for asking,” Stiles saw the
guards starting to herd the prisoners back inside, and he didn’t want to leave
without finding out this guy’s name.
“Derek. And you’re Stiles, right? Is that your real name?”
“Nope,” and then they were being physically pulled in different directions by
the guards, who weren’t normally this hostile but got irritated when people
didn’t move as quickly as they wanted.
Stiles looked over his shoulder to get a last look at Derek, and was surprised
to see that he was looking right back at him. He pulled another not-quite-there
smile, and then he was gone.
Stiles made a decision then and there to learn every single thing he could
about Derek, starting with his last name.
***** Chapter 3 *****
“Heeeey Scott,” Stiles sing-songed innocently as he plopped down next to him on
the sad excuse for a couch that made up most of what was referred to as the
“dorm area”.
“What do you want?” Scott didn’t ask it in a mean way, but more of a “I’m not a
total idiot and I can tell when you’re going to ask me for a favor” way.
“What? Who says I want something? Can’t a guy just spend some time with his pal
without an ulterior motive?” Scott just raised his eyebrows while keeping his
eyes on the book he was reading. “Alright fine, I do need something. Just some
information on this guy. Uh, Derek, I believe his name was...”
“Derek Hale?” Scott’s attention was now fully shifted to Stiles.
“I dunno, that’s what I was gonna ask you. Kind of a tall dude, furrowed brow,
eyes like the sea after a storm?” Stiles really hoped that Scott could detect
his sarcasm for that last part.
“Uhh, well the only Derek I know of is Derek Hale, and he’s pretty much the
most terrifying guy I have ever met and you should avoid him at all costs. Why
are you trying to learn about him?” Scott’s face was scrunched up in confusion
as he pondered his own question. It was kind of adorable.
“Nothing. No reason. Never mind. I guess I’ll see you later-” Stiles tried to
make a run for it but Scott jumped up and blocked his way.
“I’m serious, Stiles. Even the really hardcore guys are afraid of him. I don’t
really know why, it’s just like an unspoken thing that everyone avoids him.
Nobody even knows what he’s in here for.”
“Scott, relax. I was just curious about him because I thought his tattoo was
cool. I promise to never ever ever go near him or interact with him in any
way,” that seemed to calm Scott down a bit, and he smiled and sat back down
with his book. Stiles mentally patted himself on the back for coming up with an
excuse as quickly as he did. He definitely had noticed Derek’s fascinating
swirly tattoo between his shoulder blades, but it was far from the reason he
was interested in learning about him. It was more that he wanted to know his
motivation for putting his own ass on the line to save a kid he had never even
spoken to before.
Stiles knew from a conversation he had overheard between Isaac and Jackson that
there was nothing you couldn’t get in prison in exchange for a carton of
cigarettes, and that included information. The only problem was, Stiles did not
have a carton of cigarettes. Stiles didn’t really have anything, except for,
apparently, his understated good looks and delicate bone structure which made
everyone assume he was down to party in a deeply un-heterosexual way. And since
Stiles was not keen on the idea of using his newfound status as sexually
desirable to get information from terrifying criminals, he was at a loss for
what to do next in his Derek Hale fact-finding mission.
“Hey!” Someone yelled from behind him. Stiles whipped around so fast he very
nearly tripped on the too-long pant legs of his jumpsuit and fell flat on his
face. It was Isaac who had done the yelling, and as he jogged up beside him
Stiles could tell he was out of breath, like he had been running all over the
prison.
“Stiles, have you seen Scott? I wanted to tell him something. Important.” Isaac
leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“Why are you so out of breath? Did you just finish running a 5K or something?”
Isaac stood up and looked down at the floor sheepishly.
“I just really wanted to find Scott, and when I didn’t find him in the library
or out in the yard I guess I sort of overreacted and... started running?” Isaac
looked so embarrassed that Stiles really couldn’t bear to give him any more
shit about it, but he was now officially convinced that Isaac and Scott had
some sort of weird love connection going on.
“Uh, anyways, if you see Scott, can you just tell him-”
“Tell me what?” Scott strolled up behind Isaac and clapped a hand on his back.
“Oh, hey Scott,” Stiles watched as Isaac’s whole demeanour completely changed
before his eyes, and the most ridiculously goofy smile spread across his face.
Stiles just raised his eyebrows slightly and didn’t say anything, but he felt
he had a responsibility to Scott to tell him how not subtle they were being.
“I just wanted to let you know that the guys from Cell Block A were planning on
having a little poker game tonight, and I know how much you love card games,”
Isaac said.
“Woah, how’re they planning on getting away with that? The guards are usually
so strict about gambling...” Even as he started worrying out loud, it was
obvious from the light in his eyes that Scott was excited.
“When have rules ever stopped these guys? Anyway, the buy-in is one pack of
cigarettes, and I have some extras if you don’t have any,” Isaac was completely
ignoring Stiles by this point, but Stiles’ ears perked up at the mention of the
currency of the realm.
“Isaac, any chance I could get in on this action? I really need some
cigarettes. Y’know, cravings are a bitch and whatnot.”
“Stiles, I thought you didn’t smoke?” Scott asked, looking slightly concerned.
“Right. Well, I wanna start.”
“I can’t just give these things away, but if you want to play tonight and give
me some of whatever you win, then I guess I can help you out,” Stiles had never
played a single hand of poker in his life, but he had nothing to lose and also
the boredom had started to set in, so he was desperate for something to do.
“Sounds cool, I guess I’ll see you guys later.” He headed in the direction of
the library on the off chance that they had any books on card game strategy.
Stiles had a bad feeling that his poker face was going to be complete shit.
* * *
Stiles was anxious.
He wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact that he was currently sandwiched
between two of the largest, scariest men he had ever seen, the way every man in
the room seemed to be leering at him, or the fact that they were breaking one
of the prison’s biggest rules by gambling in a secret room that seemed to have
been carved out of the wall with homemade shanks (Stiles wasn’t sure about that
last part, but he felt it was safe to assume based on the fact that the floor,
walls, and ceiling were made of dirt and crumbling mortar, and the only light
in the room was emanating from the lit cigarette butts glowing in the mouths of
the other men).
He had gotten separated from Scott and Isaac when they very inconsiderately
decided that they would prefer to play at the “more advanced” table, leaving
Stiles with a single pack of Marlboro’s and absolutely no idea what he was
doing. Scott had done a brief rundown of how these types of things usually went
down, mostly just about how rare it was that they were able to sneak large
groups of inmates into these secret rooms without getting caught. Stiles was
coming to realize that he had landed himself in a pretty shitty prison if the
prisoners were able to get away with as much as they did, but he wasn’t
complaining.
So far he had managed to bullshit his way through one hand, just picking up the
rules as he went along, but he didn’t know how much longer he could pretend
that he wasn’t terrified and confused beyond measure. He couldn’t even remember
why he had thought this was a good idea in the first place.
The surly gentleman with the skull and crossbones tattoo who was acting as
dealer cleared his throat loudly to signal that the second hand was about to
begin.
“Alright boys, this round’s blind is 3 smokes, unless you’ve got something else
you’d like to offer up instead...” The dealer looked straight at Stiles and
grinned, baring every one of his jagged yellow teeth, and Stiles was pretty
sure he didn’t imagine every other pair of eyes giving him a creepy once-over
after that line, and he quickly threw his 3 cigarettes down on the table.
“That’s too bad, but we’ll see if you don’t reconsider once you’re all out of
smokes and your only bargaining chip is that sweet little ass...”
“Woah! Oh my god, okay, I’m out. I quit, or whatever you call it in poker. This
is so not cool,” Stiles stood up but was immediately yanked back down by the
guys seated on either side of him.
“You can’t quit a prison poker game, princess, that’s the whole idea. High
stakes,” the six other men laughed at that, but Stiles was struggling not to
wet his pants. He had no doubt that he’d be out of cigarettes within the next
two hands, possibly sooner, and he had no idea how to get out of this
unscathed.
He reached out for the two cards which had been dealt to him, being extremely
careful to hide them from the others. He had two Jacks. He didn’t know if that
was really good or really bad, so it wasn’t difficult for him to keep his
expression blank. The man to his right threw down an additional 4 cigarettes,
and then sat back and smirked. Stiles stared down at his remaining cigarettes;
there were only 5 left. He fiddled with then, twirling them around in his hand
absentmindedly while he tried to remember what he should do in this situation.
“You should call,” a voice whispered from behind him, so close he could
actually feel the words on the back of his neck. He looked over his shoulder
and right into the eyes of his mysterious savior, Derek Hale. Stiles couldn’t
help but smile with relief.
“You’re saving my ass again? What are you, my guardian angel?” Stiles whispered
back, as he called the other man’s 4 cigarettes and turned back around towards
Derek, who was crouching leisurely on the floor behind him.
“No, I just know how tough it can be for pretty guys like you in prison, and I
thought since it was obvious you couldn’t protect yourself, I’d do it for you,”
Derek grinned in a way that suggested he was just kidding, but Stiles’ ego was
still a little bruised. He opened his mouth to respond with something about how
he certainly could take care of himself, thank you very much, but what came out
instead was, “You think I’m pretty?”
Derek laughed softly at that. But instead of answering, he just slipped another
pack of cigarettes in the pocket of Stiles’ jumpsuit and stood up and left,
just like that. Stiles watched him go, and he couldn’t help but admire the way
Derek’s ass looked in his jumpsuit, the way the fabric was stretched so tightly
over his perfectly rounded-
“Hey! We have a little game here that we’d like to get back to, if you wouldn’t
mind, princess.” Stiles snapped out of his undeniably ass-themed daydreams to
place another bet, but his mind was no longer focused on the game.
His thoughts were racing a mile a minute, and he was confused about everything
that had just happened, but mainly why whenever he thought about Derek his dick
got sort of hard and he thought about kissing him and snuggling up into his
broad chest and how nice he smelled and why was Stiles so gay all of a sudden?
***** Chapter 4 *****
Somehow the rest of the night went off without a hitch, and Stiles walked away
from the poker table 10 cigarettes and 2 pieces of hard candy richer. The candy
was a nice surprise, and it was probably one of the least surprising items that
some of the other men offered up instead of cigarettes (a packet of ramen
noodles, a glow in the dark condom, and a ball of multi-colored rubber bands
were among the more random items exchanged at the table).
Unfortunately, more information on Derek was not one of the things Stiles
gained from his evening of forbidden gambling. All he knew about Derek was that
he seemed to have some sort of soft spot for Stiles and followed him around so
that he could pop up at opportune moments and help Stiles out of sticky
situations.
Stiles decided to put a hold on his investigation for the time being, mainly
because he realized he didn’t care why Derek was so interested in him, just
that he was. Also he was getting nowhere, and most people seemed too afraid of
Derek to risk talking about him, which still made absolutely no sense to
Stiles, unless they were afraid of being eye-fucked to death. Seriously,
Derek’s penetrating stares could calm a wild beast, at least from what Stiles
had seen of them. He just assumed that most other people didn’t get to see the
softer side of Derek Hale, the one that involved smiling or humor or any
semblance of being who he was around Stiles.
Stiles had heard some pretty hard to believe stories from the guys, namely
Jackson, about how Derek normally behaved himself, but he chose to ignore them
because a.) Jackson tended to exaggerate and b.) lots of people were mean to
Jackson, he just sort of inspired animosity, so if Derek had shoved him in the
hall or something, it was probably Jackson’s own fault.
Stiles was still musing on the many flaws of Jackson’s personality when the bus
that was taking the inmates to their stretch of litter-covered highway pulled
to a stop on the side of the road. Stiles had already experienced many of the
“rehabilitation activities” that the jail forced them to do almost every day,
but the oh so clichéd picking up of trash on the side of the highway was a new
one.
Stiles shuffled slowly off the bus and into the sweltering midday sun. His
ankles were attached with thick plastic cuffs, but his hands had been left free
so he could spear soda cans and candy wrappers with a big stick. He sighed
dramatically when the guard handed him his trash bag and poker and pointed over
to where Isaac, Scott, Boyd, Jackson, and another man that Stiles didn’t know,
were already working.
“How goes the litter patrol?” Stiles asked as he snuck up between Isaac and
Scott and put his arms around their shoulders. He was really just using the
vantage point to crane his neck around and look for Derek, but he was nowhere
among the 40 or so other men working that day. Stiles shrugged almost
imperceptibly and got to work making California a cleaner place, but it wasn’t
long before he was distracted again.
“So, what’s your story, man? You’re new, right?” Scott had started making
conversation with the mysterious newcomer, and the rest of the guys seemed to
have stopped working too, so Stiles thought it couldn’t hurt to get in on the
conversation if everyone else was doing it. Some of the wardens could be
extremely strict with talking on the job, but Stiles had seen the guard from
his first day who had been nice to him was among the bunch today, so he hoped
they wouldn’t get a verbal lashing for taking a little break.
“Uh, yeah, the name’s Danny. I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about what
you were in for? Isn’t that like, jail rule number one?” The guy seemed
friendly enough, and he was definitely easy on the eyes, but Stiles wasn’t sure
if he liked him just yet.
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that with us, we’re all normal. Or, at
least, we’re not gonna beat you up or anything. But it’s cool if you don’t want
to talk about it,” Scott had a way with people, though, and Danny smiled at the
friendly exchange and went on.
“Okay. Um, it was drugs. Coke. I wasn’t into it or anything, but I got involved
in some bad shit, dealing and stuff. Judge only gave me 3 years, but it still
blows. My boyfriend was more devastated than I was, though. Hopefully he’ll
visit me at some point, but I’ve heard the conjugal trailers here are pretty
crappy,” Stiles couldn’t help but perk up at the mention of the word
“boyfriend.” He was starting think he might like this guy after all, or at
least he might be able to ask him some questions about his recent... confusing
feelings.
“It’s all true. My girl Lydia came to see me once, and-” Jackson was cut off by
a chorus of loud groans from Scott, Boyd, and Isaac.
“Do not get him started on Lydia, for the love of all that is holy,” Isaac
said.
“C’mon guys, it’s not like I talk about her that much, I just-”
“Ah ah ah! No. Shh. We already know that she’s so smart, and so hot, and she
smells like roses, and gives “the best head on the West coast,” you can
seriously save it,” Jackson only looked mildly affronted, like he knew that he
did in fact talk about her too much, but because Stiles loved playing the
devil’s advocate, he just had to ask.
“Who’s Lydia? I’ve never heard of her before,” He grinned at the second round
of miserable groans. Jackson seemed all too delighted to share the story of his
beloved girlfriend, who it turned out was the reason he had been sent to jail
in the first place. He launched off on a tale of romance and jealously and sex,
there was really quite a lot of sex in this story, and it culminated with
Jackson almost beating the life out of some guy who has tried to come on to
Lydia at a bowling alley. He had been charged with assault and battery and
gotten 6 years, 4 of which he had already completed. Stiles couldn’t imagine
being stuck in one place for so long, and took a moment to count his relative
blessings that he only had 9 months left in the slammer.
“Alright guys, back to work, you’re lucky it’s me and not Gerard, you know how
much worse that would be,” the guard from Stiles’ first day had walked over at
some point during Jackson’s story. Stiles wanted to say something to the man
who had shown him so much kindness, but he wasn’t sure if it was smart to look
friendly with a guard. He decided to say something anyways.
“Hey! It’s you. Nice guard man. I just wanted to say thank you, for, you know,
being nice-”
“Stiles, good to see you in one piece. I take it California Correctional is
treating you well enough?” The guard smiled back at him.
“Yeah, you know, considering. What’s your name, just for future reference, if I
ever need a favor or anything, I’ll know who to go to,” Stiles winced inwardly
the second he said it. He hadn’t meant to sound spoiled or anything, he just
wanted to know his name so he could have a sense of security, that someone with
a little bit of power was watching over him.
“It’s Chris. Argent, not to be confused with Gerard Argent. Y’know, the warden?
He’s a real hardass, and I can say that because he’s my dad. Just stay off his
radar if you can avoid it, alright? I’m sure your friends here would tell you
the same,” with that last bit of foreboding advice he started making his way
back towards his post near the bus.
“Gerard... That old guy? Wow, that’s his dad? It’s kind of weird that they both
work at the same place,” Stiles said.
“Yeah, I guess. I think Chris just likes to be able to look after his dad, make
sure he doesn’t do anything too crazy,” Scott said.
“I’m bored of this conversation, can we get back to talking about me?” Jackson
whined. Boyd laughed and punched him playfully in the arm, but shook his head
and went back to working. “We can talk about something else. What about how
much we miss sex?”
“Why would we want to talk about that? Are you insane? Don’t make it any worse
for us,” Danny laughed, but it was clear that the rest of the men had no
problem with the topic change. They launched into a heated and really quite
alarmingly vulgar discussion about which of their past conquests had been
hotter, and how much they all missed “the smell of a woman”. It made Stiles
squirm uncomfortably, as he had yet to have a sexual experience with anyone
besides himself and his own right hand.
“What about you, Stiles? How long has it been since your last time?” Isaac
asked, and Stiles looked up from his work to see every pair of eyes trained
directly at him.
“Uh. Um. Not too long. You know. A, uh, regular amount of time, definitely,”
Stiles felt a blush creeping up his neck and tried to look like he was too
focused on the cheetos bag he was attempting to spear to continue in the
conversation, but the stunned silence around him indicated he had not been
successful.
“No shit, he’s a goddamn virgin,” Boyd stated to no one in particular.
“Seriously man, you better not let that slip to anyone else, you’re already
like catnip to these guys,” Isaac said solemnly, giving Stiles a look of
genuine concern.
“Yeah, I had actually noticed that, thanks,” Stiles managed to say before
basically tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the most
embarrassing conversation of his life.
He scanned the barren desert highway for another group of promising
individuals, but unsurprisingly he couldn’t spot a single person who didn’t
look like they would enjoy eating him for lunch.
He caught sight of the old warden, Gerard, screaming with such intensity at an
inmate that his face had turned honest to God purple, and quickly turned in the
opposite direction. Stiles had enough to be wary of without adding psycho power
crazed warden to the list.
“Hey, kid, can you help me out over here?” A smooth, pleasant voice caught
Stiles’ attention from behind a grouping of shrubs on a nearby hill. Stiles
couldn’t even see the man who had spoken from his position on the flat part of
the road, so he inched towards the bushes with extreme caution.
“Uhh, hello?” He poked his head around the side of the outcropping and saw a
relatively unthreatening inmate with sandy blonde hair struggling to free
himself from what looked like a rabbit trap.
“Oh, shit! Are you okay? Do you need me to get someone?” Stiles moved as
quickly as his plastic foot cuffs would allow and dropped down beside rabbit
trap guy.
“No, just hold this part here, and I should be able to get it open,” the man
said with frankly amazing calmness considering Stiles could see blood oozing
liberally from his calf.
“Okay, got it,” Stiles gripped the rusted metal of the trap and squeezed his
eyes closed as the man wrenched the contraption open far enough to move his leg
to safety.
“Woah! That was intense, are you okay?” Stiles helped the other inmate to his
feet, and then backed away a few paces just to be safe. Even though he just
helped save this guy, he could still very well be a crazy killer.
“I’m as well as can be expected. On the bright side, at least now I’ll get to
spend a few days in the infirmary,” there was something off about the calmness
in his tone, and Stiles found himself inching even further away.
“Well that’s good. Find the silver lining and whatnot. Really though, um, you
are bleeding a lot. I should get one of the wardens to take a look at your
leg,” Stiles turned to go, but the man just kept talking in his smooth,
frightening monotone.
“You’re the Stilinski boy, aren’t you? I’ve already heard so much about you,
and it’s only your what, seventh day here? You sure do make an impression. I
was talking to Derek just the other day about how-”
“Huh? Derek? Derek Hale? Do you know him?” Stiles’ sense of self preservation
wavered for just long enough that the other man was able to saunter right up
behind him and place a strong hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, I know Derek quite well. You could even say we’re like family. Oh, the
things I could tell you about Derek...” Stiles was so completely torn between
his burning curiosity and his paralyzing fear that he stayed rooted to the
spot, waiting for the man to say something else.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Hmm, before I tell you anything, I’d like to know what you’ll do for me in
return for this valuable information,” Stiles ducked out of the man’s grip
after that clearly sexual remark, and turned to face him from a safe five feet
away.
“What, besides literally saving you from the jaws of death? No, dude, just...
No. Tell Derek he’s a secretive weirdo and if he wants to keep saving me from
shit, he should at least have a proper conversation with me first,” Stiles spat
back at - “What’s your name, anyway?” “Peter” - at Peter, before hurrying back
to find Scott and the others.
What a weird fucking afternoon.
* * *
“I don’t think this will ever not make me extremely uncomfortable,” Stiles
remarked as he stripped out of his filthy jumpsuit along with 50 other men in
preparation for the dreaded prison shower.
“You think that now but... No, you know what, this part never really gets
better,” Scott shrugged as he peeled off his own sweaty undershirt and tossed
it into a locker.
“As if I didn’t already feel enough like a choice cut of meat in a butcher shop
window, being naked in front all of these sex-crazed maniacs is about 1,000
times worse than normal,” Stiles glared at Scott’s badly concealed laughter,
and just grabbed his towel and soap and made his way into the shower area.
The room itself was big, slippery, poorly-lit, and smelled of mildew and fear.
It was every bit the prison shower scene cliche, except luckily the men seemed
much more interested in getting themselves clean and out of there than sexually
assaulting each other, as the movies would have you believe.
Stiles tried really hard - wait, no, wrong choice of words - he tried his best
not to peek at what was going on below the belt with the other dudes, which in
most cases was easy because a lot of the prisoners were either old or had gross
bodies, but sometimes his eyes slipped south of the border and that was
problematic for him in a number of ways. Namely because he had been
experiencing some confusing feelings as far as his sexuality recently, and he
had to focus very intently on not getting a boner when he was crammed against
this many soaped up, muscley guys because otherwise he was pretty sure he’d get
beaten up faster than you could say-
“Oh great, Derek Hale just walked in.”
Shit.
Stiles froze mid-shampoo at the words that had just left Scott’s mouth, and he
tried to remain calm as he saw Derek out of the corner of his eye strutting
past in all his fantastically naked glory. Shit shit shit shit.
“Yuck, that guy is just, bad, he’s so, frowny, and uh, quiet,” Stiles tried to
think of any other negative adjectives to describe him but Scott was clearly
not scrutinizing his response as much as Stiles thought, because he was already
turning off his shower nozzle and heading for the exit.
“See ya,” Scott waved over his shoulder, and Stiles noticed with a sense of
creeping dread that there seemed to be a mass exodus of prisoners from the
shower upon the arrival of Derek Hale, and it looked as though he would soon be
alone with him if he didn’t do something about it.
Stiles attempted to continue soaping himself up without looking over his
shoulder, but he could feel Derek staring at him. The skin on the back of his
neck started to get all hot and prickly and he quickly decided against playing
it cool when he turned around to see that Derek was literally the only other
person left in the room, and he was sporting a very noticeable erection and
fuck Stiles was not equipped to handle this at all. He made a small squealing
sound of distress and bolted from the showers, still half covered in soap,
before Derek could say anything to him.
* * *
So far, the worst thing about prison had to be how much time Stiles had alone
with his thoughts. He appreciated the guards’ attempts to keep the inmates
busy, even when they were doing disgusting or degrading menial jobs, because
anything was better than laying in his bunk, counting the cracks in the ceiling
and thinking about his old life.
His thoughts often drifted to the days before his mom got sick, when his
biggest problems were controlling his ADHD and getting to the next level on
Kingdom Hearts. He missed his friends, who he hadn’t seen in over a year since
alienating them in favor of the thugs who were by his side throughout his self
destructive crime spree.
And of course he missed his mom, but even worse was how much he missed the
person his father used to be. His dad was his best friend when he was a kid,
and he had always looked up to him more than anyone else. Now he felt like he
could barely recognize him, and Stiles knew his stint in prison would hardly do
anything to better his dad’s current emotional state.
“Scott, I’m going to see if they need anyone on kitchen duty, you good?” Stiles
swung his legs off the mattress and moved to signal to the guard that he wanted
to leave the cell.
“Mmmph. I’m sleeping. Go away,” Scott grumbled from the top bunk.
Stiles just needed to take a walk to clear his head, and he was eternally
grateful that the guards pretty much let them do whatever they wanted, because
the security level was so low.
Once he was loose in the hallway, Stiles set about trying to think about
anything besides his walk down painful memory lane. He tried to focus on how
good Derek had looked in the shower the other day, but before he had time to
get a good fantasy going, he was rudely distracted by a commotion in one of the
guard’s stations.
He looked around and didn’t see anyone else in the immediate vicinity, so he
sauntered up to the door and slowly peeked through the tinted window. All he
could make out was that there were two men, one definitely looked like Gerard,
and the other was an inmate, but Stiles couldn’t quite make out his face. They
looked like they were talking calmly, and there was no indication of what the
commotion could have been. Stiles jumped back with a start when Gerard turned
to face the door, and he booked it across the hall to crouch behind a janitor’s
cart.
“...You just don’t let it happen again. I need the next shipment no later than
Friday, you got that, boy?” Stiles heard Gerard saying to the inmate.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry about today, my supplier got into some trouble with the
mob...” Stiles clapped a hand over his mouth to hide the involuntary gasp of
surprise when he heard Danny, the sweet new guy, respond.
Stiles peeked over the top of the cart, his head obscured by a dirty mop, to
try to see exactly what was happening. He could see Gerard slip a roll of what
looked like hundred dollar bills into Danny’s pocket before walking away
towards the East Wing of the prison.
“Holy shit,” Stiles swore under his breath. He waited a few minutes after Danny
had left too before jumping up, running off in search of someone to tell about
this new discovery.
He couldn’t go back to his cell block until 7:30 because he was supposed to be
on a kitchen shift, so he went to the only other place he thought he might find
someone who would care about his tale of corruption.
When he burst through the doors, every head in the room snapped up to glare at
him.
“Sorry, I’ll be quiet, I swear, sorry,” Stiles whispered to everyone at once,
as he slipped into the stacks to see if Jackson, Isaac, or Boyd were anywhere
around.
He came to an abrupt stop when he turned a corner and found Derek sitting at
one of the small wooden desks, his head buried in a beat up copy of Moby Dick.
“Ahem,” Stiles cleared his throat loudly, and Derek raised his head from his
reading slowly, his eyes getting almost imperceptibly wider when he saw who was
standing in front of him.
“Hello...?” Derek replied, quirking one of his massive eyebrows up in
amusement.
“Yeah. Hello is right, you big, broody, secretive... guy,” Stiles sat down in
the chair next to Derek and faced him head on, trying to give him an expression
resembling “I’m done trying to figure out your mysterious shit” but in reality
probably looked more like he was experiencing brain freeze.
“Did you want my Moby Dick?” Derek asked with a smirk, like he was God’s gift
to slightly dirty puns. Please. Stiles was not having any of his flirtatious
banter, and he grabbed the book from Derek’s hand and slammed it shut on the
desk.
“No! Geez! What is with you? I actually have something serious to talk about,
but if you’re going to act like a middle schooler, you can forget it,” Stiles
huffed.
“Says the sixteen year old,” Derek muttered back, looking like he was quite
enjoying getting Stiles riled up.
“Do you wanna hear my tale of power, drugs, and corruption, or not?” Stiles all
but yelped back at him. That seemed to sober Derek up, if only marginally.
“What did you see?”
“Gerard Argent giving that guy Danny a huge roll of dirty drug money,” Stiles
said, huffing out an exasperated sigh when Derek didn’t react with immediate
surprise and outrage. “For drugs!” Stiles tried again.
“Stiles, how do you know that’s what you saw? It doesn’t sound like you
actually saw any hard evidence,” Derek said.
“I know what I saw, and I heard them say something about a dealer or a shipment
or - or something, I mean, come on, this is some messed up shit, right?”
Derek leaned back in the creaky library chair and dragged a hand over his
mouth, seemingly deep in thought.
“If you’re right, and we help expose a secret drug operation spearheaded by the
most senior warden in this place, it could be very good for us. We might get
significant time shaved off of our sentences-” Derek seemed to actually be
interested in this now, and Stiles spared a quick moment to wonder not for the
first time just how bad Derek’s sentence was, and what he had done to get it.
“We should talk to my uncle, he generally knows about all the seedy shit going
on beneath the radar around here,” Derek rose from his seat, and signalled for
Stiles to follow him.
“You and your uncle are inmates in the same prison?” Stiles laughed without
thinking, and Derek rewarded him with an irritated glare.
“I guess it runs in the family,” Derek snapped back at him.
“Whatever, dude, I just hope he knows what he’s talking about. I would love to
get out of here a few months early. I’ve got a Venus flytrap at home that
desperately needs watering.”
Derek just rolled his eyes at that, and Stiles wasn’t sure if it would be
presumptuous to say the look Derek gave him was close to fond.
“Okay, we’re here. You should let me do the talking, he can sometimes be a
bit... much,” Derek pushed open the door to the closed-for-repairs bathroom
they were standing by, and Stiles followed behind him, deciding not to ask any
stupid questions like “Why the hell are we in a dirty old bathroom?”.
Derek walked with purpose towards the last stall on the left, and then he
entered it and closed the door swiftly behind him.
“Uh, alright. I guess I’ll just wait here,” Stiles said, but Derek was already
opening the door back up to signal for Stiles to join him.
“Not that I’m complaining, but won’t it be a little cramped in there? Also,
what are we doing, is your uncle some sort of toilet monster? I-” Derek opted
for the non-verbal approach to explaining the situation and grabbed Stiles by
his collar to drag him into the stall. The display of his manly masculine
strength totally did notturn Stiles on at all, by the way.
Stiles’ jaw actually dropped at what he saw once inside the stall. An entire
wall was missing, and within the carved out space was a whole array of
contraband items, a desk, a sofa, as well as a pile of what looked like
different official uniforms from various occupations within the prison. But the
real reason for Stiles’ surprise was the man sitting behind the desk, eerie
smirk firmly in place, with his hands steepled together and resting on the
desk.
“You!” Stiles exclaimed, but Peter just rolled his eyes (Stiles’ assumed that
constant annoyance and snark ran in the family too) and turned his attention to
Derek.
“How can I be of assistance to my favorite nephew on this fine day?” Peter
asked.
“Stiles saw something go down between Argent and the new guy, we wanted to know
if you had any info on a possible drug ring-”
“‘We wanted to know’? I guess you’ve finally made a friend after all this time.
Seems a bit of a darkly ironic choice though, wouldn’t you say?” Derek and
Stiles both stared at Peter with total confusion.
“Well, the arsonist and the man who lost most of his family in a fire? No? Am I
the only one who thinks it’s a bit strange?” Derek recoiled from Stiles’ side
the instant the word “arsonist” left Peter’s lips, and Stiles felt a stab of
irrational panic in his gut at the thought of Derek never speaking to him
again.
“Hey, Derek, no, it’s not that bad, it was an accident, really, I-” Derek
shoved past him and bolted from the bathroom, a scowl of pure disgust marring
his handsome features.
“Why the fuck would you say that to him?” Stiles shot back at Peter, who looked
terribly pleased with himself.
“You know what? I don’t care why,” Stiles shrugged and then, throwing all
caution to the wind, punched Peter right in his ugly, smug face.
“Oh! He’s got some fight in him after all, I like it!” Peter shouted after
Stiles, but he was already out the door and running back towards the library to
try to find Derek and explain himself.
***** Chapter 5 *****
The lights were off and the library was deserted by the time Stiles made his
way back. He had no idea if this was where Derek had run off to, but he
couldn’t really think of where else he would go.
Stiles’ head was racing and his heart was hammering in his ears, the rush of
new information about Derek almost too much to process at once. The encounter
with Peter had been a blur, but Stiles knew he would never forget the look on
Derek’s face when he found out what Stiles had done. It had knocked the breath
out of him to see Derek look so utterly betrayed and hurt, and Stiles knew it
was beyond important that he found him as soon as possible and explained
himself.
He walked gingerly through the rows of books, trying to keep his steps as light
as possible so he wouldn’t scare Derek off if he was in fact hiding in the
stacks.
It was difficult to see in the low light, and Stiles’ eyes had yet to fully
adjust to the darkness, but even among the shadows he was able to clearly spot
the bright orange of Derek’s jumpsuit, hidden away in the furthest corner of
the library.
He froze instantly, realizing that he hadn’t really thought further ahead than
finding Derek, and now he had no idea what to say to him. He walked slowly
towards where Derek was sitting on the ground, head in his hands, but stopped
when he noticed the way Derek’s shoulders were shaking, almost like he was-
“Oh my God, are you crying?” Stiles knew that was probably one of the worst
things he could have said, but the shock of seeing the ever stoic and menacing
Derek Hale in tears was just too much for him not to comment on it.
A small part of him had been hoping that Derek would lift his head, roll his
eyes at Stiles, and berate him for even suggesting such a thing. But when he
did look up at him, his eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks were shiny
with tears, and he looked more pathetic and helpless than anything Stiles had
ever seen, and he’d seen his mother die slowly from a disease that practically
ate her from the inside out.
Derek didn’t say anything, just looked at Stiles for a brief moment before
dropping his head back down between his knees. Stiles sighed and sat down in
front of him, briefly considering placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder before
realizing how monumentally stupid that would be.
“Okay, you don’t wanna talk to me? That’s fine, just listen,” Stiles took a
deep breath and steeled himself to reach into the darker corners of his
memories where he usually tried so desperately to avoid. Maybe if Derek knew
his story, he would feel safer opening up about his own.
“I don’t know exactly what happened to you, or your family,” Stiles flinched at
the way Derek’s shoulders tensed up at even the mention of them, “but I do know
how it feels. To lose someone. To feel like a huge chunk of your heart was
ripped out and to feel that loss every single day like it’s brand new. My mom
was my best friend, and when she died I kind of… lost it. Went nuts, started
acting like nothing in the world mattered and like I could do whatever the fuck
I wanted,” Stiles was gauging Derek’s reactions carefully, and it seemed like
at the very least, he was paying attention to what Stiles was saying.
“I did all that cliche delinquent shit. Shoplifting, drinking, vandalism, all
of it. Derek, I just wanted to numb the pain of losing her, do you get that?”
Derek shifted so that just his eyes were visible over the tops of his folded
arms, now free of tears but clearly still full of anger and uncertainty. Stiles
kept going.
“I smoked a lot too. And that’s all it was. That’s all it was, okay? I was
smoking a cigarette and I threw the butt onto some grass, one thing led to
another, then the abandoned hospital was going up in smoke. I’m not a fucking -
what is it even called-”
“Arsonist,” Derek said.
“Yeah, that. I’m not an arsonist, I’m just extraordinarily unlucky. Alright?”
Stiles looked hesitantly at Derek, who was sitting up normally again, a bit of
the tension gone from his stiff and icy demeanor.
“Alright,” Derek said, seeming to finally deflate as he leaned back against the
bookcase.
Stiles wasn’t sure what the best course of action was with Derek in this
delicate state, but he just had to know, so he scooched even closer to Derek
and finally worked up the courage to lay what he hoped was a comforting hand on
his shoulder.
“What happened to them, Derek?” Stiles asked softly, crossing his fingers
behind his back for Derek to not lose his shit again.
Derek leaned his head back against the books and closed his eyes, and after
almost a minute of silence had passed, he opened them again, meeting Stiles’
eyes in an intense but not unfriendly stare.
“Her name was Kate Argent. When I was 15 she came into the shoe store where I
worked and made it her personal mission to torment me. She was a lot older than
me, but she was gorgeous, and she knew it. She would come in once, sometimes
twice a week, always wearing these ridiculously skimpy outfits and flirting
with me like she didn’t know how to do anything else,” Stiles had no idea how
any of this tied in with the death of Derek’s family, but he knew he wouldn’t
like it.
“I was a 15 year old kid, and she was sexy and exciting and interested in me.
So naturally I became… infatuated with her,” Derek looked away from Stiles, a
clear tell that he was attempting to hide something.
“You loved her,” Stiles said, with no hint of a question. Derek nodded.
“And she loved me. But in the end, that was the problem. She started showing up
at my house every day, even though we both knew our relationship had to be kept
a secret or else she would go to jail. She would call me literally 50 times a
day, demanding to know where I was. There was one time when I got home from
school and found her lying naked in my bed, even though my parents were both
home. I guess I should have known something was wrong then, but I didn’t want
to see it…” Derek looked like he might start crying again, so Stiles reached
out and hesitantly cupped a hand on the side of Derek’s jaw, lifting his face
so he could meet his eyes.
“See what, Derek? What did she do?”
“It finally got to the point where I couldn’t ignore it. She would make
comments about how I never had any time for her because of my family, and that
my family was trying to keep us apart. I tried to end it, but she would just
act like everything was fine and keep trying to see me. So I told my parents
about her, thought they might be able to get the police involved, since what
she was doing had crossed over into the realm of stalking a long time ago,”
Stiles realized that his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his
heart was racing. Derek’s family died in a fire. It didn’t take someone with
Stiles’ IQ to figure out what happened next.
“She… She burned your house down because you broke up with her?” Stiles choked
out, the horror etched plainly across his face. He thought he might be sick.
“I still have no idea how she did it, but she waited for me to leave for work,
and when I got home, it was just a pile of smoldering debris. My little
sisters…” Derek tried to stifle a dry sob, but Stiles pushed their foreheads
together and started murmuring every comforting thing he could think of into
Derek’s ear.
“Shh, it’s okay, Derek, look at me, c’mon. It wasn’t your fault, and there’s
nothing you can do about it now-”
“But it was my fault, Stiles!” Derek roared, startling Stiles enough that he
fell backwards and almost hit his head on a table leg.
“It was completely, and totally, my fucking fault. I couldn’t resist a nice
piece of ass and it got my entire family murdered. And after she had destroyed
my home and killed everyone I loved, do you know what she did next?” Derek’s
voice had an almost frightening shrillness to it now, like just talking about
all of this made him go slightly insane. Stiles couldn’t blame him, though.
“She tracked me down, somehow. I had a little money, and I was staying in a
motel until I could figure out somewhere more permanent to live,” he chuckled
then, gesturing with his arms to indicate that the prison was that more
permanent place. “She found me while I was filling up my ice bucket. She tried
to tell me she was sorry. She said that she only did it so we could be
together. When she tried to kiss me, I hit her in the back of the head with the
ice bucket. I kept hitting her until she stopped moving,” Derek was scowling,
his head turned away from Stiles. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was ashamed of
what he had done to Kate or if the whole story just left a bad taste in his
mouth.
“Hey, if I could bludgeon cancer to death with an ice bucket, I would. I can’t
believe anyone would blame you for that after what she did…”
“She was never convicted for the fire, so to the jury it just looked like cut
and dry murder. But I was just a kid who had lost his whole family, so they
gave me the minimum sentence.”
“Which is…?”
“For second degree murder in the state of California, it’s 15 years,” Derek
said it with absolutely no emotion, like he had managed to shut down the part
of him that felt sadness or pain.
Stiles whistled slowly. “So how many do you have left?”
“Six,” Derek said, and Stiles felt like the shittiest person ever for
immediately calculating how old that made him, instead of focusing on how upset
Derek was (he was 24).
“That’s such unfair bullshit. You’re stuck in here for… for avenging your
family while rapists get, like, 6 months. It’s fucking ridiculous, I mean-”
“Stiles, calm down,” Stiles realized he had been verging on shouting, and he
felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment at the way Derek was looking at him.
“I’ve made my peace with it. I realized it’s just smarter not to dwell on the
shit I can’t change,” Derek finally seemed to be returning to his regular self,
and Stiles felt comfortable enough to move a little bit closer to him without
fear of being smacked.
They sat next to each other in relatively comfortable silence for a few minutes
before Stiles turned his head to look at Derek and noticed that he seemed to be
trying to hide a grin.
“What’re you smiling about?” Stiles teased, poking Derek in the arm. Derek
didn’t turn his head, but his eyes swiveled to the side to look at Stiles. He
smiled a little bit wider.
“Just realizing… You’re the first person I’ve ever told that story to. The
first person I’ve been able to trust enough since-”
Stiles was moving forward before he even realized what he was doing, pressing
his lips chastely but firmly against Derek’s unsuspecting ones. Derek grunted
in surprise but it only took a few seconds for him to slide a hand to the back
of Stiles’ head and pull him closer.
Stiles was running on pure adrenaline and he was hoping that Derek wouldn’t
notice his complete lack of kissing technique, but from the way Derek was
moaning into his mouth he figured he was doing okay so far. Speaking of Derek
moaning, shit, that was really hot.
Stiles grabbed blindly at the fabric of Derek’s jumpsuit and tried to maneuver
himself into Derek’s lap, but in the process he ended up pressing his very
noticeable erection against Derek’s thigh, and that seemed to sober Derek up
instantly because he jerked away from Stiles and stood up in one quick
movement.
“What are you doing?” Derek had the nerve to actually look affronted, even
though he had been more than reciprocating only a few seconds ago.
“What do you mean what am I doing? Are you seriously gonna act like you weren’t
just groping my ass-”
“You’re too young-”
“I hate you so much,” Stiles stood up too, and shoved Derek against the
bookcase, causing a few books to fall to the floor around their feet.
He appreciated that Derek was allowing himself to be held in place even though
he could have shoved Stiles away easily.
“You can play the noble gentleman card all you want, but if you think I haven’t
noticed the way you look at me, you’re as dumb as you are pretty,” Stiles said,
backing off from Derek a fraction of an inch and waiting to see how he would
respond to being called out on his cradle robbing ways.
Derek just blinked and then smiled again. Stiles could definitely get used to
seeing that smile.
“So you think I’m pretty?” Derek smirked, and Stiles almost choked on his own
tongue when he realized Derek was repeating his own words from days ago back at
him.
This time it was Derek who surged forward and pressed their mouths together,
but it was hungrier than before, more urgent, and soon Stiles found himself
pinned down against the vaguely smelly library rug with a 24-year-old convicted
killer grinding against him.
Derek’s beard was kind of prickly but it felt strangely erotic when he dragged
it slowly down the length of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles tried to control the
stream of gasped out words (fuck! oh! Derek!) that were pouring from his mouth,
but he wasn’t having much luck. This was the first sexual encounter he had ever
had, and he was dangerously close to coming just from making out on the ground.
“Can we-?” Stiles didn’t know how to phrase the question Can we jerk each other
off without sounding like an idiot, so instead he just reached between their
bodies and attempted to pull down the zipper of Derek’s jumpsuit.
“I hate these things,” Stiles laughed awkwardly, and Derek gently pushed his
hand away so he could unzip it himself. “Is this really happening?” Stiles
asked out loud, before he could stop himself. Even just the small sliver of
skin where Derek’s undershirt had been rucked up was enough to turn Stiles’
brain to mush, and he wasn’t really paying attention to what was coming out of
his mouth. He was much more concerned with what he could be putting in his
mouth…
“Shit, Stiles,” Derek gasped as Stiles reached eagerly through the opening in
his jumpsuit to wrap his hand around Derek’s cock.
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, too distracted by the feel of someone else’s dick in
his hand to say anything polysyllabic. He knew his hand was shaking as it
stroked up and down Derek’s cock, but he couldn’t stop it. Derek was palming
him through his own jumpsuit, and all of the sensations were getting to be too
much, and he was terrified he would fuck up and Derek would just get up and
leave.
“Stiles, stop,” Derek whispered, and Stiles felt his stomach drop. Oh God, he
was bad at handjobs, he knew it, he was the worst gay guy ever. Wait, no, he
wasn’t gay, it was just Derek, and that wasn’t important because why was Derek
telling him to stop?
“What? Why-” Stiles demanded at full volume, before Derek shoved a hand over
his mouth and glared down at him.
“There’s a guard in the hallway, I just saw a flashlight,” Stiles almost
laughed in relief, before he realized how much trouble they would be in if they
were caught. He just nodded at Derek and as soon and he was free from
underneath him, he shuffled to his feet and hid behind the nearest bookshelf.
Derek motioned wordlessly to Stiles to leave through the doors on the other
side of the room. Stiles assumed Derek would be going the other way, but then
it hit him he actually had no idea which cell block Derek was even in.
Before he could ask, or even say a hushed goodbye, Derek was gone, and Stiles
quickly got the hell out of there too. It was almost too easy to sneak back
into his cell, and he was safely snuggled up with his itchy wool blanket by the
time the guards came by to do bunk checks.
It was about an hour after that Scott’s head appeared over the side of the bed,
looking irritated but also adorably ruffled from sleep.
“Why are you humming? Are you happy about something?” Stiles stopped humming
immediately. He had barely realized he was doing it. He grinned up at Scott and
sighed before folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m just in love,” Stiles elected to keep the with a
murderer part to himself for the time being.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Stiles had learned to find amusement and joy in all the little things since
arriving at California Correctional, and Guard Finstock’s movie quote
recitations during breakfast were definitely at the top of that list. Finstock
was everyone’s favorite prison employee, ranking above even the intimidatingly
pretty blonde Erica who worked in the infirmary, because he was so lenient and
basically let the inmates get away with whatever they wanted.
Stiles was busy halfheartedly pushing some soggy french toast sticks around his
tray and listening to Finstock’s rendition of Aragorn’s speech from Return of
the King when he felt something hit the back of his head. He whipped around to
try to find the culprit, but they had already been absorbed into the throng of
prisoners entering the crowded cafeteria. Stiles reached down and retrieved the
crumpled up napkin that was resting on the floor next to Isaac’s shoe, and
discreetly unfolded it under the table. He almost choked on his orange juice
when he saw the words there.
thinking about you. want to you see you again. -DH
“Whatcha got there, Stilinski?” Jackson startled the grin right off of Stiles’
face, and somehow managed to snatch the illicit love note napkin out of his
grasp.
“Nothing! That’s totally not… anything…” Stiles sighed in defeat as Jackson
held the note up to his face to decipher the tiny scrawl. He felt his cheeks
turn bright pink as Scott and Danny leaned over to sneak a peek too. Stiles
buried his head in his hands and groaned.
“Not bad, looks like Stilinski’s bagged himself a top dog,” Jackson smirked as
he tossed the napkin face up onto the center of the table, and Isaac and Boyd
leaned in with poorly concealed interest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles snapped defensively, grabbing the napkin
and shoving it into his pocket.
“Just that you’re not as dumb as you look. Getting into Hale’s pants was a good
move, as far as gaining protection goes. Judging by this note, you’ve already
got him pretty whipped,” Stiles gaped at Jackson’s stupid smug face for at
least 30 seconds before he was able to come up with a response to that.
“Wait, lemme get this straight. You think I seduced Derek so he would, what,
grow attached to me and not let anybody mess with me? You think I’m that much
of a manipulative asshole?” Finstock chose that particular moment to launch
into the speech from Braveheart, and they were all distracted from their
confrontation for a few seconds as they watched him shout about tyranny and
freedom.
When Jackson finally turned back around to face Stiles, he was still smirking.
Stupid assface.
“I don’t really give a shit if you’re manipulating him or not, I was just
trying to congratulate you on making a strategic choice of who to fuck,”
Jackson shrugged and went back to stuffing his face with scrambled eggs, and
Stiles was forced to turn and look right into Scott’s confused eyes.
“So that’s why you kept asking about Derek? You like him? Like like?” Scott
looked only slightly alarmed by the idea, and Stiles was pretty sure he was
just beating himself up for not realizing it sooner.
“Uh, yeah, sort of. I don’t know what you guys are always talking about,
either, he’s not that bad. He’s actually pretty nice once you get to know him.”
“Yeah, I bet he’s real nice, isn’t he, Stilinski?” Jackson laughed, and Stiles
huffed a frustrated sigh before standing up to leave, but Jackson grabbed his
sleeve and pulled him back down.
“Hey, I was just kidding around. I think you and Derek would make an adorable
couple,” Stiles wanted to punch Jackson, who was clearly still making fun of
him, but before he could so much as shove at him angrily, Jackson was jumping
up from the table and motioning for everyone to stay where they were.
“Uh. What’s he doing?” Danny asked, and the rest of them just shrugged,
watching as Jackson approached Guard Finstock and began talking to him. He was
just out of earshot, but Stiles had a clear view of Finstock’s face, and was
able to see as a range of emotions passed over his face, finally ending with
him laughing hysterically.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Finstock’s booming voice was easy to hear as he
shouted from across the room, but Jackson just kept at it, and after another
minute or so he came swaggering back over to the table, looking pleased with
himself.
“That was easier than I thought it’d be,” Jackson said simply, taking a big
gulp of his grape juice.
“And what was “that” exactly?” Danny asked, clearly amused by the whole
situation.
“Oh,” Jackson said, like he had already forgotten what they were talking about,
“I just got Finstock to agree to let me trade cells with Stiles, here.”
“What? Why the fuck would you do that, I’m already cellmates with Scott!”
Isaac was staring at Stiles like he was mentally deficient, and Boyd and Danny
seemed to be in on the joke too. “What?” Stiles asked agitatedly.
“Do you seriously not know?” Isaac asked, his expression softening slightly.
“Know what? Jesus Christ, can somebody just fill me in already?” Stiles knew
his voice was getting shrill, but he had no idea what was going on and it made
him nervous that everyone else somehow seemed to.
“Derek and Jackson are cellmates, man,” Scott said, looking anywhere but
Stiles’ eyes. Stiles instantly started scanning his mental conversation logs
for any mention of this little fact, but he couldn’t remember a damn thing.
“How… How the fuck did that never come up in conversation when I was trying to
find out information on him? I don’t even know what to say to you people...”
Stiles trailed off, but then his mind was snapped back to the real issue at
hand.
“Wait. So you seriously got Finstock to switch us? Like, I can just go to
Derek’s cell, where he sleeps, in his bed, and I-” Stiles abruptly stopped
talking when he noticed the expression on Scott’s face, like he was going to
vomit, but it didn’t stop the excitement from growing inside him and
threatening to burst out of him in manic laughter.
“Jackson, I can’t believe I ever doubted you, you beautiful, beautiful
douchebag!” Stiles laughed and pressed a closed mouth kiss to Jackson’s
forehead.
“Ew. Weird. Never do that again,” Jackson said, but he still smiled back at
Stiles. “Just remember this the next time I need a favor, yeah?” Stiles nodded
enthusiastically, and the rest of the guys rolled their eyes in his general
direction.
“How did you do it, though? I mean, I know Finstock’s a pushover, but still,”
Boyd asked.
“I just told him that Derek snored like a motherfucker and I couldn’t handle it
anymore,” Jackson said.
“Yeah, but that can’t be all you told him,” Isaac said, while simultaneously
sneaking a piece of bacon from Scott’s tray.
“I may have also mentioned that Stilinski thought his impressions were shit,
and it would be a nice way to get back at him to stick him in a cell with
Derek’s atomic snoring,” Stiles raised his eyebrows; he was actually sort of
impressed.
“That’s kind of brilliant, dude,” Stiles said, and they all laughed as the bell
went off signaling that breakfast was over.
Stiles hoped the thing about Derek snoring wasn’t actually true, even though it
wasn’t likely that they’d be doing much sleeping.
* * *
As much as Stiles had wanted to rush immediately to his new living quarters,
his daily work schedule had other plans for him. He was on laundry duty from
noon until 5, and then he had to sweep the kitchen, and then he had to organize
books in the library because he had signed up to do that days ago. By the time
lights out was about to be called, he barely had enough time to retrieve his
few possessions from the cell he used to share with Scott, have a quick round
of (totally manly and not lame) goodbye hugs, and then rush back to Cell Block
A before the guards started bunk checks.
It was weird being in this part of the prison. He didn’t recognize a single
glowering face that he passed by while walking between the row of cells. There
was definitely a different energy here, and Stiles wondered with a hint of
apprehension if maybe he had managed to get himself relocated to the hardcore
cell block. He wasn’t sure if they grouped people by the severity of their
crimes, but Derek had killed someone and Jackson may or may not have beaten
someone to death, so it was a real possibility.
The guard who had been escorting him stopped in front of the last cell on the
left, unlocked it, and jerked his head to motion for Stiles to move. Stiles
stepped inside quickly, not realizing he was holding his breath until his lungs
started to burn. He was man enough to admit he was nervous; sharing a room with
the guy who both terrified him beyond measure and was the star of 100% of his
jerk-off fantasies seemed like a reasonable thing to be nervous about.
The guard slammed the cell door behind him and left, leaving Stiles to stare
like a deer in headlights at Derek’s motionless form, relaxed across the bottom
bunk, his face concealed behind a tattered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.
Derek was clearly a man who enjoyed his classic literature.
“Uhhh,” Stiles said. Very smooth.
“Jackson, did you talk to Stiles today? Did he say anything about-” Derek
dropped the book to his chest to look up at who he obviously assumed to be
Jackson. All of the color drained from his cheeks immediately when his eyes met
Stiles’.
Stiles tried to ignore the fact that Derek was wearing thick rimmed reading
glasses and focus on the fact that he wasn’t reacting quite as Stiles had hoped
he would. Derek had pushed himself up from his bed and was standing against the
wall, his shoulders clearly tensed. Emboldened by the possibility that maybe
Derek was just as nervous as he was, Stiles tossed his things onto the top bunk
and took a few steps closer to Derek, attempting his very best bedroom eyes as
he went.
“Hey. So… Are we gonna fuck or what? Because I don’t have all day,” Stiles gave
himself a mental pat on the back for managing to sound nonchalant and jokey but
also obviously being kind of serious. He laughed at his own blinding wit, but
Derek still had the same stoney expression plastered across his face.
“Oh, um, I was just joking. I mean, no, I wasn’t, but I just thought-”
“You’re too young,” Derek spat out, crossing his arms in a defensive position
and scowling at the floor.
“Yeah, but, what about last night? You didn’t seem to have a problem with it
when my hand was down your pants,” Stiles said, trying to hide the fact that he
was starting to shake. Derek wasn’t making any sense, and now they were going
to be stuck in this tiny room together indefinitely with no promise of fun
sexual escapades.
“That was a mistake. I’m sorry for taking advantage of you. Why are you even
here?” Stiles opened his mouth to shout back a response, when he realized how
stupid he would look if he told Derek the truth. He obviously had no interest
in Stiles; he would probably laugh if he knew that Jackson had thought he was
giving two lovebirds some alone time.
“Jackson wanted to get away from your snoring,” he said, and without another
word he pulled himself up into the top bunk and turned to face the wall.
There was no way he could have misinterpreted Derek’s feelings for him so
severely. There had been soul bearing conversations, and saving from prison
yard thugs, and making out! Stiles had no choice but to come to the conclusion
that Derek was too damaged to have real feelings and he had just been toying
with Stiles, messing with the fresh meat for a bit of amusement. That still
didn’t feel right, but he didn’t feel like thinking about it anymore. He shoved
his head under his pillow and tried to fall asleep, trying his best not to
listen to Derek’s even breathing three feet below him.
* * *
Normally Derek would have hated being on janitor duty, but the demanding nature
of the work was just what he needed to get his mind off of Stiles. It wasn’t
exactly ideal that he was working with Lahey for the day, since he knew Stiles
was friends with him, but he could deal with it.
Lahey had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, but Derek wasn’t stupid
enough to ask him if anything was wrong. He was just going to mop the hallway
in silence, and think about everything except for the fact that Stiles was
sitting back in his room, completely ready and willing to do whatever Derek
wanted with him. Derek knew there were worse problems to have, but since he had
decided not to be “that guy” who fucked sixteen year olds who didn’t know any
better, it was a particularly tortuous dilemma. Not to mention that after the
way he’d acted last night, Stiles probably wanted nothing to do with him
anymore. Which was good. Really. That was what Derek had been going for with
his noble little speech about what happened in the library being a mistake.
Right?
“Hey Hale, can you pass me the Borax? There’s a vomit stain by the water
fountain that doesnotwant to come off, and-” Isaac stopped talking when they
both heard the distinct sound of something heavy falling to the floor. It
sounded like it came from down the hall.
“What was that?” Lahey asked, putting his mop down slowly in the bucket and
inching toward the source of the commotion.
“How should I know?” Derek snapped back at him, but he put his mop down too and
followed Isaac cautiously down the hall. There were more sounds, faint enough
not to be discernable but loud enough to be heard.
“Sounds like it’s coming from the vents,” Derek whispered, pointing above their
heads.
“Yeah. Yeah I think you’re right. Any idea where the vents lead?”
“No. But we’re near the showers that have been closed for maintenance, that
seems like a safe assumption.” Derek said, and they barely had time to share a
look of “Why the fuck not?” before they were rushing down the hall, turning
down the corridor when they got to the showers. Derek put a finger over his
lips to signal for Lahey to be quiet, and he just rolled his eyes in response.
They both pressed their ears to the wall, but without the vent, they could
barely hear a thing.
“We’ve got to get closer. I’m going in,” Lahey had pushed the door open before
Derek could say anything to stop him, and since they were likely being paranoid
about the level of danger anyway, Derek shrugged and followed him in. Once they
were inside, the voices became not only distinguishable but almost at the level
of shouting. Lahey’s jaw visibly dropped when it became clear who the speakers
were, and Derek put a finger to his lips emphatically to tell him to stay
quiet, but it was useless.
“Gerard?” Lahey whisper-shouted back at Derek, as he inched around the
cinderblock wall separating them from the noise. “And who is that? Greenberg?
Sounds like Greenberg…” Derek was going to beat the hell out of Lahey for this
if they got out unscathed. Lahey was continuing to move closer to the sounds of
shouting and what was probably open-handed smacking, and Derek could do nothing
but follow cautiously behind him.
When they slowly poked their heads around the wall, they were met with the
sight of three men, all facing away from them, one tied to an old rolling desk
chair. They watched in silence as Gerard paced back and forth in front of the
bloodied man, Greenberg, wringing his hands in what appeared to be frustration.
Derek didn’t know the third man well, but he was pretty sure his name was
Daehler, and that he had a penchant for snitching and dirty dealings. There
seemed to be a lot of that going around lately.
“Now, tell me, Greenberg,” Gerard all but spat in the immobile man’s face, “How
is it exactly that you managed to losean entire kilo of cocaine?”Greenberg’s
eyes never left the floor tiles, even as Gerard swung a punch at him out of
nowhere. Gerard was panting with rage, and Derek felt his stomach turn sour at
the look he saw in the old man’s eyes. He was capable of murder, and it was
very possible they were about to bear witness to it if they didn’t get the fuck
out there.
“Isaac, we need to leave, come on,” Derek yanked on the sleeve of Lahey’s
jumpsuit, but he wasn’t anticipating Isaac’s lack of resistance, and they ended
up tripping over each other and landing right at Gerard’s feet.
“Fuck, run!” Derek managed to pull Lahey to his feet but that was as far as
they got. Matt was blocking the exit, wielding a crowbar and a manic grin.
“Boss?” He looked to Argent, awaiting instruction. The older man also seemed to
be taking some kind of perverse pleasure in the situation, and he smiled at
Matt before holding out a hand.
“Wait just a minute, son, I’d like for them to see something first,” he walked
calmly back over to Greenberg, who was struggling against his restraints and
screaming through the rag shoved in his mouth. Gerard moved to stand behind
him, placing his hands on Greenberg’s shoulders.
“Now, what have we learned about not following orders?” Gerard asked to
seemingly no one in particular. Everyone was silent, and even Greenberg ceased
his muffled yelling.
“Don’t. Do. It.”Gerard snarled out, before gripping Greenberg’s head on both
sides and twisting until there was a sickening snap. Isaac gasped out loud, but
Derek just continued glaring pointedly at the ceiling. He was terrified, but
that didn’t mean he was going to show weakness in front of the crazy old
bastard.
Gerard brushed his hands off on the front of his trousers, before walking back
over towards them. He nodded at Matt, who swiftly hit Lahey over the head with
the crowbar. Derek tried to get the upper hand on Daehler while he was
distracted with Isaac, but he was quick, and soon Derek’s skull was radiating
with blinding pain, and everything went dark.
* * *
Stiles was attempting to pay attention to the game of checkers he was currently
playing with Scott in the recreation hall, but his mind kept drifting to other
things. Specifically big, broody, hairy things who were totally sending mixed
signals about wanting to fuck and causing Stiles a lot of emotional hardship.
“Stilinski! Hello? It’s your move,” Jackson threw a plastic checker at Stiles’
ear, and he snapped out of his angry reverie.
“Yeah, I know, just give me a goddamn minute. Also, why are you even here?”
Stiles groused, reluctantly turning his attention back to the board.
“What’s up his ass today?” Jackson turned to Scott, who was staring intently at
the board, planning his next move. “Or should I be asking who was up his ass
last night?” Jackson sent one of his trademark smirks Stiles’ way, but Stiles
just frowned and moved his black checker across the board, snatching up three
of Scott’s red ones. Scott glared at him, but retaliated with a move of his own
before registering the fact the Jackson was even speaking to him.
“How about we try not talking about my friend’s sex life,” Scott said with an
exaggerated grimace. Stiles kept his expression as neutral as possible, hoping
Jackson would just move on, but he had no such luck.
“Really though, I’m dying to know what you two crazy kids got up to. This is as
close to entertainment as I can get in here,” Jackson said.
Part of Stiles was tempted to tell Jackson to go fuck himself, but another,
apparently more dominant part of him wanted to get a second opinion on Derek’s
weird behavior.
“Fine. You wanna know? I got totally, painfully rejected, and we haven’t spoken
since. Satisfied?” Scott looked like he wanted to say something well-meaning
but ultimately pitying and Stiles just could not handle that right now, so he
stood up and backed away from the chess board.
“No, don’t start, okay? This is all just stupid and Derek is obviously crazy
and I need to just forget about my stupid feelings and move on-”
“Are you really this much of a moron, Stilinski?” Jackson stood up too, and
stepped towards Stiles so they were face to face.
“Uh. What?” Stiles asked.
“Hale’s obviously into you, you’re like, in love with him or whatever. Are you
just gonna give up like this?” Jackson seemed to be genuinely worked up over
all of this, and Stiles felt the ridiculous urge to start laughing.
“Why do you care so much? It’s actually sort of weird, no offense,” Stiles
scratched his head and tried not to look directly at Jackson’s face. This was
possibly the strangest interaction he had ever had.
“Because I know a little something about love, and I know that if you’ve got a
chance at something real, you’d be a fucking idiot to just let it slip through
your fingers-”
“You’re right!” Scott yelped as he shot out of his chair. Stiles and Jackson
both whipped around to stare at him in confusion. “I have to tell Isaac how I
feel!” Scott was grinning, and apparently it was contagious, because Stiles
found himself laughing at the craziness that was his life.
“Yeah, uh, me too. But, you know, with Derek…” Jackson arched an eyebrow at the
two of them, before cracking a small smile as well.
“People in love make me sick, you know,” Jackson said. Stiles just scoffed at
him and put his arm around Scott, pulling him into a half hug.
“Now we just have to find them both and confess our deeply embarrassing
feelings. Should be a piece of cake, right?” Stiles said. “But I haven’t seen
Derek since yesterday, do you either of you know where he might be?”
When Boyd purposefully cleared his throat from the doorway behind them, they
all jumped.
“I didn’t want to say anything…” He looked around the room before walking over
to the corner where they were standing. He gestured for them to lean in towards
him, and when he spoke again it was in a frantic whisper. Or at least as close
to frantic as Boyd was capable of getting.
“I saw Derek and Isaac getting dragged into a storage closet in the guard’s
chambers when I was returning the sandwich cart last night,” Stiles, Scott, and
Jackson stared at Boyd for a solid minute before Stiles finally spoke.
“Why… Why the fuck would you not want to say anything about that?” Boyd’s face
remained devoid of expression as always, but he had the decency to look at the
floor in shame.
“I didn’t want to get mixed up in whatever it was. But I can show you where
they are, if they haven’t been moved yet. Or, you know…”
“Don’t say it! We get it, just take us there, right now,” Scott said, in a
voice more commanding and confident than Stiles had ever heard him use. Boyd
nodded solemnly and took off at a jog through the doorway, and the rest of them
followed. Stiles had the sickening feeling that he knew exactly who was behind
this, and he just hoped that they weren’t too late to stop whatever the fuck
Gerard Argent was planning.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Stiles could hear the sound of his heart hammering in his ears by the time the
four of them came to an abrupt halt outside of an extremely nondescript,
windowless door. His lungs were burning with the effort of running from one
side of the prison to the other, but Jackson and Scott were gulping in breaths
of air, too, so at least he didn’t have to feel ashamed of it. Boyd, as always,
seemed completely nonplussed by the entire situation, even the looming reality
that Derek and Isaac’s cooling corpses might be waiting for them on the other
side of that door.
Scott reached for the door handle, and no one was surprised when it stayed
firmly locked in place as he attempted to turn it.
“So what now?” Scott asked, before giving the door a solid kick for good
measure. Stiles tried to calm his jumbled thoughts enough to think of an
answer, but he had never been good at staying focused under pressure and his
mind was a blur. He turned around to survey the rest of the empty hallway for
anything that might be able to help them get into that room. When his eyes
skimmed over one of the door placards marked “Jessica Bartlet, Administrator,”
he almost screamed, as something in his brain clicked into place.
“I know what to do. Wait here,” Stiles said, before launching himself across
the hallway and pushing his way through the door, which was mercifully
unlocked. The small office was empty, but Stiles had assumed as much since it
was past 6pm on a weekend. The desk took up most of the cramped space, and he
had to practically contort his body to squeeze around behind it, but it was
worth it when he opened the first drawer and found exactly what he was looking
for. He reached into the small plastic tub and pulled out two paper clips
before jumping over the desk and rushing back into the hall.
“Are you gonna tell us what’s going on?” Scott asked, more agitated than Stiles
had ever heard him.
“Yeah, just, wait,” Stiles crouched down so the lock within the handle was at
eye level. He hastily pulled the paper clips apart so they were in the shapes
he needed, but when he tried to push the first piece of steel wire through the
lock, he realized his hands were shaking too badly to do it.
“Fuck,” he sat back on his heels and wiped a hand across his face, trying to
push back the tears that were starting to sting behind his eyelids.
“Stiles, look at me,” Scott crouched down to his level, his gaze determined and
oddly calming. He put both hands on Stiles’ shoulders and started taking
exaggeratedly deep and slow breaths, indicating for Stiles to follow his lead.
“You have to relax. Don’t think about anything that’s going on, it’s all going
to be fine. Here,” Scott reached to pick the fallen paper clips up from the
dirty tile floor where Stiles had dropped them, before folding them gently into
his palm. “You can do this, buddy, just focus,” Stiles nodded, his attention
returning to the task at hand.
Lock picking was one of many basic skills that Stiles had picked up during his
delinquent days, and under normal circumstances he would have been able to make
quick work of a rudimentary handle lock like this one, but two of his friends’
lives were in the balance, and he felt like a thing like that was a pretty
decent excuse for not being completely on top of his game.
“Breathe, Stiles,” he whispered to himself, before inserting the first
paperclip again. He jiggled it around a bit before adding the second one, and
within seconds the door was clicking open and Scott was rushing through it,
leaving Stiles to shake himself out of his reverie before jumping to his feet
and heading in after him.
It was nothing more than a slightly larger than average janitor’s closet, but
it was the most beautiful room Stiles had ever seen, because in the center of
it was Derek, fully alive and conscious. Isaac was there too, bound to Derek
and the chairs they were sitting on with an excessive amount of rope.
“Thank fuck, took you long enough,” Isaac exclaimed as Scott rushed to his side
and started to untie the many knots keeping them in place.
Stiles went to Derek, who was looking determinedly straight ahead at some
bottles of bleach and mop buckets, but Stiles took his head in his hands and
turned it to face him.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Derek huffed out a breath that sounded
a lot like his resolve to ignore Stiles crumbling, and he finally looked up and
made eye contact.
“It was Gerard. We walked in on him and Matt Daehler right before they murdered
Greenberg, and then to keep us from talking they brought us here. They could
come back at any minute, we need to get out of here,” Stiles was nodding along
as he clawed at the ropes, his nails too short to get a good grasp on the
knots. Scott had already managed to free Isaac, so he shooed Stiles away and
got to work untangling Derek too.
Stiles couldn’t stop touching Derek, absent-mindedly running his hands over
Derek’s arms and chest, making sure that he was really alive and solid and
whole. He easily could have been killed too, probably would have been if they
hadn’t gotten here before Gerard-
“Guys, run!” Jackson came barreling through the doorway, followed by Boyd, who
actually looked something other than bored for once. He looked terrified.
“Gerard is coming, he just turned the corner, we have maybe 20 seconds at most-
” Jackson was cut off by Gerard’s baton smashing against the side of his head,
before catching Boyd on the underside of his jaw and sending him to the ground
as well.
“Fuck!” Stiles yelped, throwing his arms out defensively over Derek, who was
finally free from the ropes, and pushing him, Scott, and Isaac as far back into
the corner of the tiny room as possible. Gerard had a look of pure rage on his
face, and he was advancing on them quickly, that fucking traitor Danny
Mahealani close behind him.
“I have not worked all these years to have you ruin it!” Gerard screamed,
spittle flying from his mouth and landing on Stiles’ face. He squeezed his eyes
shut, too afraid for his life to be disgusted. He was bracing for the impact,
preparing to die as he heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet being
chambered.
He reached blindly for Derek’s hand, grasping it tightly and trying his hardest
not to cry. When he heard a loud smashing sound and a body falling to the
floor, he thought for sure that one of his friends was dead, but Derek was
pulling on his hand, and through his haze of fear and adrenaline Stiles could
make out his name being called.
He opened his eyes slowly, inhaling sharply at the sight of Gerard’s body lying
face down on the floor. Danny was standing over the old man, a fire
extinguisher still raised in the air, and a small smirk on his face.
“God, that guy was overdramatic,” Danny leaned down to check for a pulse on
Jackson and then Boyd, before standing up and brushing his hands off on his
pants. Stiles, Derek, Scott, and Isaac were all gaping at him, and his only
response was to shrug and say, matter-of-factly, “Yeah, I’ve been working
undercover with the FBI to stop drug trafficking in prisons all over the
country.”
“Ooookay,” Stiles said, his heart still hammering so fast he could barely
breathe. They were actually safe. No one was going to die today. It was hard to
process so many different emotions in such rapid succession, but since Danny
was clearly busy with calling in back-up and Scott and Isaac had started making
out on the other side of the room, he didn’t really have any other choice but
to turn around and face Derek, who was already staring at him.
“Hey,” Stiles said, his voice a little rough and shaky from the whole imminent
death thing.
“Hey,” Derek said back, chewing his bottom lip and refusing to make the
situation any less awkward by saying something. The last time they had spoken
had been less than pleasant, but Stiles felt like under the present
circumstances they could forgo the social norms and just be happy that they’d
survived.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Stiles finally said, before sticking out his hand
for the world’s most awkward handshake. Derek raised both eyebrows skeptically,
but he still grasped Stiles’ hand and shook, holding on for slightly longer
than necessary before letting their hands drop back to their sides.
“You saved my life,” Derek said, the intensity behind his voice making Stiles’
knees feel like they were going to buckle. Stiles just laughed weakly, rubbing
a hand over his buzzed hair and trying not to blush too furiously.
“No dude, I picked a lock, Danny saved your life,” Derek actually smiled at
that, and he reached towards Stiles to twine their fingers together. Stiles
gulped, and he knew he was failing to hide the flush that was no surely
covering his entire body.
“I don’t actually care,” Derek said, tugging Stiles forward by his hand before
pressing their mouths together softly, like he was asking for permission.
Stiles made a small sound of surprise before reaching up and burying his hands
in Derek’s hair, his tongue darting out to lick inside Derek’s mouth.
“Ahem,” Danny’s voice shocked Stiles enough for him to jump away from Derek. He
had completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room, let alone another
set of dudes making out in tandem a few feet away.
“Wow, uh, sorry about that…” Stiles said. Scott and Isaac were somehow still
going at it, but instead of looking annoyed, Danny just laughed.
“Don’t apologize, it’s not like it wasn’t fun to watch, but the wardens are on
their way and you might not want them walking in on this gay love fest, hot as
it may be,” Stiles nodded and smacked Scott on the back of the head, just
seconds before a stampede of wardens, guards, police officers, and FBI agents
came barreling into the room.
Nobody was paying any attention to the four of them standing in their little
corner, so Stiles leaned over and whispered in Derek’s ear, too quietly for
even Scott or Isaac to hear.
“To be continued?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Derek looked at him
incredulously.
“Your dedication to making out with me is admirable, but I don’t think we’re
going to have a minute to ourselves for a while. There are going to be
interviews, hearings, a thorough investigation-” Stiles pressed a finger to
Derek’s mouth, effectively shutting him up.
“You and your excuses, man, do you want to have sex with me or don’t you?”
Derek’s eyes bugged out of his head and he pulled Stiles’ hand away from his
face.
“I love how you’ve chosen to have this conversation about illegal underage sex
in a room full of cops,” Derek grumbled, and Stiles just let out a full bodied
laughed, because he could. He may still be incarcerated, but at least he wasn’t
dead, and at least he had Derek and Scott and the rest of his motley crew of
felon friends. Somehow he’d managed to feel happiness in one of the least
likely places imaginable, and he really didn’t want to think about what that
said about him as a person.
* * *
“Stiles, stop,” Derek pressed a hand firmly against Stiles’ chest and rolled
him so they were laying side by side in the tiny bunk. Stiles pouted
dramatically and went back to stroking his hands along Derek’s muscled
forearms.
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m just trying to keep you from doing something that you’ll regret-”
Stiles sat up at that, turning to glare at Derek, who was still lying on his
back and looking up at the bunk above them.
“No, you know what, I am so sick of this chivalry, dude. I know you have sappy
mushy feelings about me and you can’t even try to pretend that you don’t,”
Derek sighed and sat up too, turning so they were facing each other.
“I’m not pretending anything, I just don’t want your first time to be on a
prison cot with a man who’s 8 years older than you and doesn’t deserve you!”
Derek ended up shouting by the end, and Stiles couldn’t handle how sad it made
him that Derek was somehow deluded enough to think he wasn’t good enough for
Stiles, as if it wasn’t the other way around. He decided to focus on anger
instead of sadness, and he yelled right back at him.
“Oh my God, I don’t give a shit about losing my virginity in a prison bunk! My
life hasn’t exactly gone according to plan up to this point in case you hadn’t
noticed, and I want my first time to be with you! Asshole,” Stiles had somehow
ended up back on top of Derek, and had his hands fisted in his white cotton
undershirt.
Derek’s expression softened, and he reached up to stroke his hand delicately
over Stiles’ cheeks, before sighing again.
“If this is really what you want-” Stiles didn’t give him time to change his
mind, he just started to nod enthusiastically, before going back to sucking
sloppy kisses along Derek’s neck and undulating his body in an attempt to make
Derek lose his resolve. If the deep moans that were coming from his throat were
any indication, it was working.
“Fine, fine, you win,” Derek panted, and Stiles has to restrain himself from
pumping his fist in the air. “But you know I can’t actually fuck you, right?
Not without lube,” Derek sounded so breathless that Stiles was having a really
hard time focusing on what he was saying, too turned on by the fact that he
could make Derek fall apart like this. When he finally processed what he had
said, Stiles just grinned, and pulled back so their faces were only a few
inches apart.
“Yeah, I know that. But I’m sure you can think of some other fun things to do
to me,” Derek made a satisfying sound like he was choking on his own tongue,
and Stiles smiled even wider.
“Besides, the hearing is tomorrow, and the lawyers totally think we’re all
gonna get released early for helping take down Argent’s drug empire or
whatever. So we won’t have to wait too much longer to get to the good stuff,
hopefully,” Derek just looked at him with his judgey face.
“I’m concerned about your priorities if us having sex is more exciting to you
than getting to go home,” Derek said, fondness evident in his voice.
Stiles shrugged. He didn’t want to admit it out loud, not even to Derek, but
he’d felt more at home here than he had in his house in Beacon Hills for a long
time. Definitely since before his mom died.
“Yeah, that’s cool too I guess. Now come on, let’s get this show on the road,”
Stiles squirmed his way out of his white t-shirt and started to push his
unzipped jumpsuit down his hips, but Derek stopped him by putting a hand over
his.
Stiles was prepared to go on another tirade about why he was completely and
totally okay with this, but then instead of saying they should stop, Derek
hooked his fingers in the orange fabric and said, softly, almost shyly, “Let
me.” Stiles gasped, more out of shock than anything else, as Derek pulled his
jumpsuit the rest of the way off, leaving Stiles in his plain white boxers and
nothing else.
“Your turn,” Stiles said, yanking Derek’s tank top off and throwing it on the
floor with his own clothes. Derek looked too fucking good to be real spread out
underneath him, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his pupils blown with
lust. Stiles still felt uncomfortable with the idea that anyone would be
attracted to him, but Derek was staring up at him like he wanted to devour him,
and somehow that was more exciting than it was scary.
“Okay, not gonna lie, might need you to take the lead here. I pretty much have
no idea what I’m doing and-” Derek seemed to snap out of whatever daze he’d
been in, somehow managing to roll out from under Stiles and switch their
positions without either of them falling off the cramped twin sized bed. The
blatant display of strength made Stiles’ dick twitch in his underwear, and he
made no attempt to hold back his helpless groan when Derek pinned his hands
above his head.
“Stay just like this, can you do that?” Derek whispered against Stiles’ skin,
mouthing along his bicep and tickling the sensitive areas with the brush of his
lips. Stiles managed to get out a garbled “mmhmhhmm” sound before Derek started
kissing a straight line down from Stiles’ clavicle towards his chest and
stomach, eventually coming to the trail of light brown hair that disappeared
into his boxers.
“You done this before?” Stiles asked, trying not to be self conscious about the
way his dick was tenting the front of his underwear very noticeably, right in
front of Derek’s face.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Derek said, and Stiles instantly regretted asking. He
sometimes forgot how long Derek had been locked up in here, and he flashed back
to the first conversation he had had with Isaac about how sexual favors were
just a fact of life in prison.
“Right. Sorry I asked, I really need to learn to shut the fuck up-” Derek chose
that moment to lift up the waistband of his boxers and pull them off of him in
one swift motion, causing his dick to spring up and almost hit Derek in the
eye.
Stiles was ready to be completely mortified and flee to his own bunk to try to
forget this had ever happened, but instead of looking irritated at almost
getting blinded by Stiles’ cock, Derek looked almost predatory, and the
mischievous grin that followed did nothing to alter that perception.
“Let’s see if this shuts you up,” Stiles whimpered pathetically at that, and
when Derek wrapped his lips around the head of Stiles’ dick and sucked, he
couldn’t help but buck up into his mouth, trying to get more.
Derek’s mouth was hot and wet and literally the greatest thing Stiles had ever
felt, and he was clearly just getting started. The only word to describe
Derek’s cock sucking technique was enthusiastic, and he was alternating between
teasing licks up the shaft and practically deep throating so quickly it was
like he couldn’t decide which one he liked doing more. And the sounds he was
making, it was like he was the one getting his brain sucked out through his
dick.
“Derek, oh Christ, you need to stop, I’m gonna, uh,” Stiles was trying to keep
his hands above his head like Derek asked, but the urge to run his fingers
through Derek’s hair and hold on for dear life was incredibly strong, and
eventually he just gave in to the impulse and fisted both his hands in the soft
hair at the nape of Derek’s neck. He knew he should try to pull Derek off him
before he came after two minutes like the teenager that he was, but all he
wanted to do was shove his head down further, fuck into his mouth for as long
as he could.
Derek made the decision for him, though, pulling off slowly and creating a
string of spit from his swollen bottom lip to Stiles’ dick that was so obscene
Stiles wanted to cry.
“Sorry, I would never be able to live it down if I blew my load after like 2
seconds, and your mouth just felt so good,” Stiles gulped heavily as Derek
leaned back on his heels and shimmied the rest of the way out of his jumpsuit
and briefs, keeping his eyes locked with Stiles’ the whole time.
Stiles knew his mouth was hanging open unattractively, but he was literally in
bed with a man whose body was so perfect it would put Adonis to shame, and he
was allowed to touch. He reached out slowly, carefully, and ran his fingers
along the dips and curves of Derek’s abdominal muscles, which twitched under
his fingers. He skimmed his nails along his chest, making Derek grunt when he
brushed across a sensitive nipple. He wanted to get his hands on Derek’s cock,
which was nothing short of magnificent, much like the rest of him, but Derek
grabbed his wrist before he could.
“This isn’t about me right now,” Derek said, although he didn’t sound very
convincing, and his dick was jutting out from his body, hard and leaking
precome, clearly at odds with his words. “Turn over, onto your stomach,” Stiles
wanted to protest, but he also wanted to let Derek keep making him feel good,
so he did as he was told.
He felt uncomfortably exposed like this, laid out for Derek to see and probably
a large portion of their cellblock to hear, but it was past 3 in the morning
and hopefully most of them were asleep. Derek was busy positioning himself
behind Stiles, kneeling with one leg on either side of Stiles’ body, and Stiles
almost started hyperventilating when Derek shoved one of his threadbare pillows
under Stiles’ hips and he realized what was about to happen to him.
“Oh, God, Derek, do it, I’m ready,” Stiles could feel Derek’s hot breath
ghosting over the back of his thighs, and he felt himself start to tremble with
the anticipation of it. Derek started palming at his ass, spreading him open
and exposing his hole but not going any further than that. Just when Stiles
thought he would start sobbing if Derek didn’t touch him there soon, he felt
Derek’s tongue, hot and persistent, licking along his rim, quick and teasing
and so unlike any sensation Stiles had ever even imagined that all he could do
was push back into it and moan into the mattress.
Derek’s tongue was like a jolt of electricity every time it swiped wetly across
his skin, and when he started to push it every so slightly through the tight
ring of muscle, Stiles thought his screams would attract the attention of every
guard in the entire prison.
“Shh, shh,” Derek’s voice was calming, not scolding, as he rubbed his hands
comfortingly across Stiles’ back, which was now covered in a thin sheen of
sweat. Stiles was gulping in air like a fish out of water, and it would
probably wouldn’t take more than a slight breeze over his dick to make him come
at this point.
“You’re close?” Derek’s voice sounded strained, and Stiles couldn’t manage
anything beyond nodding his head weakly.
“Me too. Can I try one last thing?” Derek asked, and Stiles just nodded again,
mumbling about how Derek could do whatever he wanted to him.
Stiles was too far gone to move on his own, so he let Derek manhandle him into
a kneeling position, with his legs pressed together. He actually had no idea
what was happening now, but he realized with a jolt in his stomach just how
implicitly he trusted Derek.
When he felt Derek’s cock pressing between his thighs, just below his balls, he
shuddered, and as soon as Derek reached around and wrapped a hand firmly around
Stiles' dick, he felt his body start to spasm as he started to come. Derek was
fucking between his thighs in earnest, grunting and sighing as he worked Stiles
through his orgasm, and it was only a few more seconds before Derek was coming
too, biting into the meat of Stiles’ shoulder to stop himself from making too
much noise.
Stiles’ arms gave out when his dick stopped pulsing onto the sheets, and he
groaned unhappily as he landed in a wet spot of his own making. Derek fell down
next to him, a look of tired happiness on his face, and Stiles felt an
indescribable warmth spread through his entire body.
“Wow, you have been holding out on me. I can’t even imagine how real sex could
be better than that,” Stiles laughed and tried to squirm away when Derek
grabbed him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and they ended up
drifting off to sleep twisted up in each other’s arms. If some guards found
them in the morning, the worst that would happen would be a verbal lashing and
some public humiliation, but that seemed worth it to sleep next to each other
for one night and be able to pretend they were just a normal, happy couple.
* * *
“Boyd, Vernon. Hale, Derek. Lahey, Isaac. McCall, Scott. Stilinski, Przemysław.
Whittemore, Jackson. Please rise,” Judge Harris looked disdainfully down at
them from his position behind the bench, and Stiles felt the bile rise in his
stomach. His lawyer had seemed concerned that they’d gotten Harris assigned to
their case, and the way he was looking at them now, like they were bugs that
he’d love to squish, did not ease Stiles’ mind one bit.
The courtroom they were in was small and dingy, but at least they’d been
provided with real clothes to wear to the hearing, so Stiles felt a little bit
less like the criminal scum Judge Harris was making him feel like.
“You’re here today because you were all instrumental in the takedown of Gerard
Argent, former head warden of the California Correctional Institution and the
mastermind behind more than 30 different drug smuggling rings on the West
coast. Is this correct?” Stiles wished he could reach for Derek’s hand right
now for comfort, but they had Scott and Isaac standing between them, and he
wouldn’t have dared hold another man’s hand in the middle of a courtroom to
begin with.
Not to mention the fact that he had seen his father slip through the doors a
few minutes after the proceedings had gotten underway, and he wasn’t quite
ready for him to know he liked men, which seemed a little ridiculous in
retrospect, but still.
“That’s correct, your honor. My clients are requesting immediate release, based
upon not only their assistance in bringing Gerard Argent to justice, but their
impeccable good behavior as well,” Kira Yukimura may have been a public
defender just out of law school, but she was sharp as a tack, and Stiles
trusted that she could get them what they wanted.
Harris started to shuffle some papers around, and he took his sweet time
peering down through his spectacles at file after file, until it got to the
point where Stiles’ legs started to hurt from standing for so long. Finally, he
pushed the papers aside and banged his gavel 3 times, and Stiles crossed his
fingers behind his back, even though he knew it was childish.
“For their service to the state of California, the prisoners will each have 4
years subtracted from their sentences. Case dismissed,” The room erupted in the
overjoyed sounds of his friends celebration, and he let himself be pulled into
a tight hug by Scott, who was grinning from ear to ear. Jackson slapped him on
the back, and he looked over to see his father wiping a tear away from his eye.
Derek even had a small smile for him as well when their eyes met, but Stiles
couldn’t manage it. 4 years subtracted from their sentences. It meant that he,
Scott, Isaac, Jackson, and Boyd would all be released immediately, but Derek,
who still had 6 years remaining on his sentence, would not.
Derek pulled him through the throng of friends and family who had rushed out to
congratulate their loved ones. He cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, and smiled
genuinely at him, wiping a tear away from Stiles’ cheek.
“Hey, no, don’t cry. This is the best thing that could have happened,” Stiles
wanted to hit him for saying that. They wouldn’t be able to see each other for
2 years, aside from visits through bulletproof glass. How could Derek think
this was a good thing?
“What do you mean?” Stiles sniffled, hoping his dad would have the good sense
to give them some space for a few minutes more.
“You can have a chance to be a regular teenager, finish high school… date other
people. When I get out you’ll be 18, and we can be together for real. Stiles,
look at me,” Stiles had been attempting to hold back tears by looking at his
shoes, but Derek tilted his chin up and forced him to stare right into his
eyes.
“I want you to have a life. That’s what I want most in the world, do you
understand me? So I better get a fucking letter in the mail telling me which
Ivy League you get accepted to, got it?” Stiles felt the corner of his mouth
lifting in an involuntary smile, and he nodded, even though they both knew full
well an ex-con could never get accepted to an Ivy League school. He wrapped his
arms around Derek and buried his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in
the smell that was uniquely Derek that he wouldn’t be smelling again for a long
time.
“Son…” Stiles pulled away from Derek and spun around the face his father. The
first thing he noticed was how un-rumpled his clothes were, and the bags that
were absent from his eyes. He looked healthy, and steady on his feet like he
hadn’t been drinking in the past few hours.
“Dad?” Stiles’ voice felt so small, the hope blossoming in his chest that he
might get to have his old dad back on top of everything else. His father just
nodded before letting out a happy sob and pulling Stiles into his third hug of
the day.
“I missed you so much,” he whispered, knowing that his dad would understand the
deeper meaning behind his words. He pulled away and saw the way his dad was
eyeing up Derek with that distinctly protective look he used to get on his face
whenever he would catch Stiles getting bullied by the other kids when he picked
him up from school.
“If you did anything to my son that he didn’t want-” Stiles had to grab his
dad’s arm where it was pointing accusingly at Derek and place it back down by
his side.
“Dad, it wasn’t like that. Derek’s kind of… my boyfriend? But we’re waiting
until I’m 18 to be together because he won’t get out of jail until then! That…
sounded better in my head,” Stiles waited to see if his father would try to
shoot Derek or strangle him with his own shoelaces, but instead he just reached
out to shake Derek’s hand, who shook back hesitantly.
“I don’t know what happened to my son while he was in here, but I can already
tell that he’s changed for the better, and I’m grateful for that. Thank you,”
he coughed out under his breath at the end, but Derek just smiled and nodded.
“Son, we have to go, there’s some paperwork you need to fill out before they’ll
release you,” Stiles looked back at Derek, who was also being ushered away by a
bailiff, and Stiles did the only thing he could think to do. He threw out his
arms dramatically and shouted, “I’ll wait for you!” and watched as Derek broke
down in a fit of laughter from across the courtroom.
Scott had appeared by his side with a beautiful middle aged woman who was
wearing a pair of salmon colored scrubs. His dad introduced himself immediately
and all but fell over himself telling her that they should let the boys talk to
each other alone for a few minutes, and Stiles and Scott exchanged significant
looks.
Brothers? Scott mouthed at him, and Stiles laughed. “Most definitely,” they
both smiled at each other for a few more moments, because it was just that kind
of day, before Scott said, more solemnly, “So that sucks about Derek, man. I’m
really sorry,” Stiles sighed and nodded, but he found that he didn’t feel sad
at all. Two years wasn’t all that long, was it? He’d already spent sixteen
years without knowing Derek, he could handle two with the knowledge that he was
here waiting for him, and they’d get to have fantastic “glad you’re out of
prison” sex when he was released.
Stiles groaned miserably at that thought, and Scott lifted an eyebrow at him.
“Dude, I’m not gonna have sex again for two years. Fuck my life.”
* * *
Derek gets out in 1 year, 7 months for good behavior, and for starting a book
club for the inmates. For their first date, Stiles takes him apartment hunting,
and then they go for Thai food. Derek fucks him for the first time on the
mattress on the floor of his new apartment. Stiles first says “I love you” when
they’re on the sixth hole at Magical Mini Golf with Scott, Isaac, Jackson, and
Boyd, and Derek says it 3 days later.
Neither of them ever get so much as a parking ticket ever again.
End Notes
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