Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/943828.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      Gen, F/M, M/M, F/F, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall, Lydia_Martin/
      Jackson_Whittemore, Lydia_Martin/Erica_Reyes, Vernon_Boyd/Erica_Reyes,
      Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent/Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall,
      past_Stiles_Stilinski/Peter_Hale
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey, Danny_Mahealani,
      Vernon_Boyd, Jackson_Whittemore
  Additional Tags:
      the_fic_where_everyone_is_morally_gray, Pimp!Stiles, hooker!Derek,
      hooker!Scott, hooker!Isaac, hooker!Jackson, hooker!Erica, hooker!Lydia,
      hooker!Boyd, inmate!Danny, pimp!Peter, abiding_citizen!Allison,
      dark!stiles, well_sort_of_dark!everyone, Single_POV, my_own_slanderous
      use_of_tenses, Alternate_Universe_-_Human
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-27 Words: 4248
****** firemen on their smoke break ******
by byanose
Summary
     Stiles is the fastest kid in the prison yard (and it's a good thing,
     too).
Notes
     please heed the tags, folks. if you think you could be potentially
     triggered, please give this fic a pass. if I've forgotten to tag any
     potentially triggering material, please let me know. (the extended
     warnings are in the end notes.)
     this is an all-human AU set almost entirely in prison. every
     character has a bit of a darker twist; none of them are good people
     and they should all probably stay in prison.
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles had stopped paying attention around the time the judge had scoffed
loudly at his plea of not guilty,spraying the podium with spittle.
His attention fell instead to the rows of benches behind his right shoulder.
In the middle, attempting unsuccessfully to appear unobtrusive in plainclothes
covered by his navy sheriff's jacket. A muscle was jumping in his jaw.
Stiles had known he would show up, despite the shouting that had sparked first
when Stiles was face-down on the hood of a cruiser and that had caught aflame
in the hallway of the police station.
The man looked twenty years older. Faded, wrinkled, bald (it had been years and
Stiles wasn't used to it), like an angry old reptile that sat in the sun for
hours at a time and caught fat roaches with a sticky purple tongue.
Something they wouldn't even show on Animal Planet, like naked mole rats or
giant squid or especially ugly toads.
His father swallowed, hands knotting on the back of the bench in front of him
until they turned white and bloodless. Stiles watched him for a moment longer,
resisting the urge to wink at him like he was a villain in a movie and the
weathered sheriff was his arch enemy.
Stiles might have danced a little jig, too, if his ankles weren't chained
together.
His father had never appreciated his antics anyway. Stiles had thought about
telling him a hundred times: every time he'd done something wrongand the
sheriff was turning red-faced in anger and all Stiles would have to do would be
to admit everything and then spit "and I did it for you, dad," into his face
like he had been battling for years and now he was victorious at last.
It may have been the truth when it first began with him traipsing around street
corners, eyeing strange men coyly (they were really more like grimaces), but
after five years it was nothing more than a lie that felt honest and warm in
his chest.
The cancer had made his mother wither away beautifully into ash, all frothy
blonde hair and smiles that fluttered and collapsed like card houses, but it
only made the sheriff cling to life with more angry vitriol. Stiles had
screamed so hatefully at him in those last five years. Give it up, old man.
Give it up, I said. Fucking die already. Don't you want to see mom again? Die.
Die, you fucking old bastard. Die and leave me alone, already. I'm sick of
driving you home after chemo.
He hadn't died. ("I'm holding on for you, son.")
He hadn't even left his job. ("Don't.")
Stiles had met Scott first. Lively and charming with liquid eyes and a body
that made other eyes linger. Scott had protested at first, like he wasn't
already creeping down side streets at four in the morning. It was always his
mother, always Allison, always lacrosse and school and maybe even becoming a
veterinarian one day - Stiles had fixed him with droll eyes and persistent
pessimism and Scott was on his back in a seedy motel within three weeks.
(Stiles' initial cut of the money wasn't large, but neither was Scott's).
It could've ended then. Months had passed and money had been made. (Scott had
gotten crabs twice, but there was shampoo for that.) Stiles could have stopped,
gone back to school, even. The sheriff's test results were always the same as
they were before or better.
Around then, Stiles knew he liked surplus money. It wasn't a big surplus, not
with only Scott working the streets on weekends and scattered weekdays. ("I
don't think Allison notices me leave," he'd said.) But it was big enough -
though at the same time, not nearly so.
Scott was handsome and well-mannered, so Stiles started calling him an
escortand bought him some nice clothes and sent him off with a businessman.
Scott returned trailing a one-of-a-kind beauty called Isaac Lahey who had been
purchased by the same man to hang off his other elbow for the night. Isaac fell
upon Stiles immediately, nearly begging to be taken under his wing (walking the
streets alone scared him). Stiles, magnanimous as he was, allowed it.
Luck came to him again six months later, in the form of a buxom redhead and
blonde pair. When they were all skin and intertwined, red mouths touching and
hands curving over breasts and between legs, Stiles saw wild success flash
beneath his eyelids when he squeezed them shut, Lydia's lips on his cock and
Erica breathing into his mouth.
Jackson Whittemore was a rich boy with the face and body of an honest-to-god
porn star. He also had a near-obsession with Lydia that Stiles was happy to
encourage so long as he would agree to work for him. Jackson had the worst
attitude Stiles had ever seen on a whore, but the way he demanded some eight
hundred a night with the natural ease of a rich man's son made Stiles so
fucking hard.
It was a year later that Stiles met one Peter Hale. He was handsome, in a
seedy, older man sort of way. He had veritable devil's eyes and teeth sharper
than an animal, with a cigarette ash voice and a swagger that made even Stiles
want him. He let Peter Hale fuck Scott free of charge. (If Scott came back a
shade unhappier with red-pink bite marks on his neck and chest and cock and red
lines on his wrists and ankles, well, that was business. Stiles gave him a week
off.)
(Stiles let Peter fuck him instead, the next time.)
Peter Hale sold him his nephew like he was a horse. ("He weirds me out."
Laughter. "He's nice to look at, though, when he isn't glaring and snarling
like an animal.")
Boyd came along with Derek like a consolation prize. Stiles had already worked
Boyd around the block before the kid had let it slip that he was fifteen.
Stiles had paused for the first time in a long time, but Erica had taken a
liking to him, so he stayed. (But from then on he only worked nights, in the
narrowest alleys with the burnt-out streetlights.)
Derek didn't bring very much money to the table. Sure, his nights were as
expensive as Jackson's, but he wasn't nearly as popular. Stiles knew it was
because Derek was endowed with hulking size, mean eyes and a persistent scowl.
He attracted the nervous little men who wanted to be humiliated and pissed on
and spanked. Stiles could tell Derek hated it.
Peter Hale shot his load down Stiles' throat a few more times and then faded
away back to wherever he had come from. Stiles saw him every now and then,
after that. He came back to pat Derek on the head once and sink his animal's
teeth into the soft flesh of Stiles' neck. It was hard to come when Peter
fucked him, but he did anyway.
Stiles had woken one day to Erica riding a sweat-slick Boyd on the floor of his
hotel bathroom. Erica was gasping and swearing and Boyd was dry-sobbing out an
orgasm beneath her, hands bruising her hips and scraping red tracks in her
cream-pale skin.
Boyd had a bigger dick than him, but Stiles didn't think about that when Erica
was crawling towards him, pupils wildly dilated and skin flushed too-hot, to
pull him out of his boxers, murmuring apologies for sneaking into his room
around his cock.
(Stiles forgave them. He always did.)
Years passed like that. Scott fell out with Allison when she saw the marks and
he couldn't offer an explanation, so he turned instead to Isaac and the two had
fucked on Stiles' apartment couch like they were in love.
Boyd's family moved away, and Boyd with them. Erica sobbed for a week, until
Lydia parted from Jackson's embrace to hold her, instead.
Isaac tried the needle, and then kept trying it. (Stiles bought him a pipe and
a baggie, instead. Track marks looked gruesome on someone as cherubic as Isaac
Lahey.)
Scott told Allison the truth. (She never looked at Stiles the same way again.)
The next time, it was Allison, Isaac and Scott coming apart on the couch
together.
It stayed that way until Boyd, in a city far away, told some truths he wasn't
meant to tell.
Stiles' apartment was raided. They were all taken away, except for Allison.
(They had never even suspected that she had known.)
The angry old reptile had been in one of the cruisers outside his too-big
apartment (he had other rooms, why did everyone fuck on the couch?) and then
again in the police station. Shock, at first. ("Stiles, why are you here? What
are you doing? Officer Morgan, that's my son. What do you mean, I can't talk to
him? Why is he here? Stiles? Stiles!") After that came the righteous
indignation. ("You've got the wrong boy. Let go of my son! Hey! Did you hear
me? Are you listening to me?")
(His realization came with silence.)
Then came the police station, then the holding cell. Now, the courtroom.
"... I find it incumbent that you see the inside of a prison cell."
"Did you just quote Prison Break?"
                                       X
Stiles, Scott, Derek and Isaac get three years in prison, Erica six, and Lydia
and Jackson get one each in a county jail. Stiles hasn't felt fear this acute
in a long, long time.
(The sheriff is gone by the time he's turned around again.)
                                       X
Stiles is the fastest kid in the prison yard (and it's a good thing, too). All
they have to hear is sex offenderand fagbefore there's blood in his mouth.
He's put with Isaac Lahey. Poor, gentle Isaac, who shakes out his withdrawal
for the first week in cold sweats and nightmares. Stiles promises to try to
find him some crank, or just some snow if that's too expensive. (He doesn't
mean it.)
Isaac mumbles out a story that makes Stiles' hair stand on end. (How had he
never known Isaac was an orphan?) His voice has dropped to a dead whisper by
the time he's speaking about his father.
Isaac changes his pants and Stiles can see the faint white lines on the inside
of his thigh. (So that's what Scott had been kissing.) Isaac mistakes his
intention and kneels in front of his bunk, tugging at the hem of Stiles' pants.
Stiles is so sickened that his dick can barely cough out an orgasm.
"You're much nicer than he was," Isaac said, spidery fingers brushing the
inside of Stiles' thigh. He goes still. "My hair fell out, sometimes." Stiles
wrenches his hands out of Isaac's curls, and can't look at him for a long
while.
Stiles requests to change cells. They tell him no, and he tells them Isaac
Lahey tried to touch him. You know, down there.
Stiles is put with the biggest man he's ever seen in his life. He actually does
try to touch him, you know, down there.
He's put with Derek, after that.
Derek only touches him after it's dark across the cell block, and it's only on
the arm or shoulder or the hand, and Derek Hale is far gentler than Stiles
would have expected.
Sometimes he listens to the older man breathing slowly above him in his bunk.
Other times he listens to the older man breathing heavy above him, though
whether it's in grief or in arousal Stiles doesn't know.
(He doesn't bring it up, either way.)
The next time someone spits fagat him in the yard, Derek is there. He's
menacing enough that words are all that's thrown at him, this time. (Stiles is
glad Derek doesn't look like a fag.)
Jackson calls often. He waxes on about Lydia, about how when he gets out
they'll really betogether. Really betogether. Stiles doesn't know what Jackson
means when he drags out the word be, because last he heard, Lydia and Erica
were using their phone privileges to have frothy phone sex and exchange words
of love. (He indulges his hopes anyway.)
Scott doesn't go into the yard much, but the next time he does, Stiles learns
that he and Isaac have been put together. He shouldn't have been surprised.
Isaac and Scott have their own gravity. Scott's liquid eyes have frozen every
time he looks at Stiles, though, and Stiles knows why.
He sees neither hide nor hair of Isaac Lahey for months.
Derek seems like he would be mysterious if Stiles wasn't stuck in a cell with
him for the majority of the day. Stiles finds it easy to picture him being the
tall, dark stranger.
But Derek isn't a stranger. He's known him for four years, now. Or maybe it was
only three-and-something. It was a while, in any case.
He still knows less about him than any of his other employees.
He calls Lydia. He can sense her mocking lip-purses through the phone.
"You're an orphan."
"Me?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
The mattress creaks above him.
"Your dad... he didn't..."
"He died in the fire with everyone else." Which isn't what Stiles had been
about to ask, but he found he didn't want to know anyway.
Derek had a little rubber ball that he bounced off the cell wall. It pinged
back and forth from the concrete to the meat of Derek's hand like a heartbeat.
                                       X
Stiles wouldn't have thought twice about jacking off if he still shared a cell
with Isaac Lahey. Isaac Lahey might have slept through it or ignored it or even
slipped a long-fingered hand underneath his scratchy blanket.
But this was Derek Hale, not Isaac Lahey.
(Stiles didn't even dare try.)
                                       X
Scott still wouldn't look him right in the eye. Scott and Isaac were both out
in the yard today, which made Stiles look for a blue moon in the sky. (He found
none, only a pale sliver like a clipped fingernail.)
Isaac was buried in Scott. His hand was in Scott's pocket, arm slipped tight
around his waist like he was afraid Scott would evaporate in the midday heat.
Scott rested an arm across Isaac's shoulders with an ease that might have come
with spending too much time with Stiles.
(Isaac was a good three inches taller than Scott, but he was hunched over as to
better curl into his side.)
Isaac Lahey leaned toward Stiles, face pale and pleading and nearly tearful.
"I  didn't! I would never... please. I wouldn't. Never."
Stiles says his name like a benediction, and Isaac Lahey scrambles to free
himself from Scott. He latches onto Stiles like he intends to sink in his fangs
and bleed him dry.
(Scott looks a little more forgiving.)
Isaac nervously pulls away from him like he expects another rebuttal. (Retreats
back to Scott.)
Stiles asks, and Scott tells him that Allison visits. (Both of them.)
                                       X
It takes a year to all come together.
Stiles has claimed a tiny set of bleachers in the corner of the yard. Derek
casts a shadow over him, Scott and Isaac sitting a row down beside his feet,
and one Danny Mahealani reading his paperback on the highest bench. (Stiles is
told he belongs to the cell one right to where Scott and Isaac are foisted.)
(They're all called fags now, but five is too many to push around at once.)
                                       X
Boyd comes off the bus one afternoon, wrists and ankles chained.
Isaac Lahey is on him as soon as he comes too close. Long fingers, deep eye
sockets. Blood, blood, blood. (Boyd's shouts and Isaac Lahey's scream of
something like victory.)
Boyd comes back into the yard blind in one eye. He whispers up to Stiles, the
fight long gone from his broad shoulders. Stiles stares down at him from his
bench (feels Derek angrily puffing on the back of his neck).
Stiles smears the underside of his white sneaker on the bench below him. He
points. (Boyd sits.)
Isaac Lahey slithers into place on his left, and Stiles kisses him lewdly on
the corner of the mouth. Isaac's eyes are alight with triumph when he returns
to Scott.
(Stiles had thought about refusing Boyd.)
(Six was better than five.)
                                       X
Danny jokingly calls him a tyrant. (Danny screams supplication instead as Isaac
Lahey throttles him in the shower.)
Danny's bruised mouth on his cock is the sweetest thing Stiles has ever felt.
                                       X
Stiles calls them his family. (Oh, does he love his family.)
                                       X
Jackson comes to visit him, finally. He tells him that Lydia is still having
phone sex with Erica. (Stiles is impressed by her dedication.)
Jackson says he misses them.
Stiles gives him a name and a number. (Stiles tells him to get caught.)
                                       X
Jackson Whittemore comes straight across the yard towards Stiles' family one
day. He still reeks of Peter Hale's cologne.
Jackson and Danny hit it off, but not in the way Stiles was expecting. (Maybe
he should've listened all those times that Jackson insisted he didn't like
dick, no matter how many of them he'd taken up the ass.)
Jackson takes to sitting on the highest bench. (Stiles lets him believe that it
means anything.)
                                       X
Derek kisses him, and Stiles' mouth is clumsy. (Stiles hasn't been kissed in
years.)
Derek pushes him up against the wall, and oh god, it's been so long. (Stiles
comes in his pants like a teenage boy.)
Derek mouths at his throat and chest and stomach and thighs until he's hard
again. (Stiles feels as pensive as slow piano music.)
 Derek fucks him with their faces close and their chests brushing and Stiles
unravels like a spool of thread.
(Stiles notices Derek Hale again.)
                                       X
They don't speak of it, and it doesn't happen again, but Stiles can't keep his
eyes from drifting back to Derek again and again. (It's magnetic.)
Isaac Lahey and Scott are so in love that it burns Stiles' eyes. (He almost
wants to tell Isaac to get on his knees again, just so he can see the light
fade from their eyes for once.)
(He doesn't.)
He sees Allison visiting them both when Lydia comes to see Stiles. (He's glad
he didn't.)
(Allison was too smart for all of them.)
                                       X
Derek's tongue curls around his cock, and Stiles whines and bucks. The older
man folds himself over Stiles' lithe paleness, their skin brushing and
sticking, and Stiles is so hard he thinks his dick might burst. Derek moans,
all in his throat, his erection digging into Stiles' hip with insistence.
Stiles wraps a hand around it and strokes, watching with wide, dark eyes as
Derek shakes above him. He brushes a thumb over the slit, smearing away the
pearl of precome, and Derek snarls. His fingers find Stiles' entrance and push
inside, and Stiles' legs jerk and twist against the mattress. His tongue curls
over his teeth, kittenish, and Stiles babbles nonsensically as Derek rubs into
that bundle of nerves that makes Stiles' whole body light up. Chest heaving,
Derek pressed the head of his quivering cock against his entrance and Stiles
hisses at him to do it, do it, do it already. Derek pushes inside, slow and
sweet and with his teeth set in his bottom lip like it hurtto go so slowly, and
Stiles dies a little death.
(That's when Stiles wakes up.)
                                       X
Stiles hasn't been hesitant in years. (Not since he was a bumbling teenager.)
He's hesitant when Derek's words spill over him.
"Happy birthday." (His second in prison.)
Derek presses a pack of smokes into his hand and withdraws quick as a snake.
(Stiles doesn't smoke.)
(He starts.)
                                       X
Jackson makes lots of enemies. (It's his nature.)
When one surges up behind him in the yard one day as he swaggers his way toward
the bleachers, Stiles sees red.
(Jackson had barely made a sound when the screwdriver slipped between his
ribs.)
Stiles had sprung off of the bleachers even faster than Derek, fisted the shiv
in his pocket and brought it to meet Peter Hale's chest twenty-two times.
                                       X
Stiles was sentenced to life in prison.
(It took weeks for Danny to rustle him up a new shiv.)
                                       X
Derek beats a stranger to death in the showers.
(They add thirty years to his sentence.)
He does it again.
(They give him life.)
When Stiles asks him why, he glares as if Stiles should have known.
"I'm getting out the same time that you do."
Stiles feels an angry warmth prickle across his chest; watches Isaac Lahey's
eyes narrow.
                                       X
Isaac Lahey strangles the first skinny boy he comes across.
(Stiles doesn't ask this time.)
Scott sobs when Isaac flutters his way over to Stiles to tell him what he's
done. Stiles feels that same thrill; smiles at Isaac Lahey and strokes his ear
with a thumb and tells him how proud he is. (He swears Isaac gets hard at the
praise.)
Stiles' eyes fall upon Boyd.
(So Boyd does it too.)
(Stiles is pleased, but he doesn't smile at him.)
(Boyd hangs himself two weeks later.)
                                       X
Scott gets out, and the last thing he does is shake his head at Stiles, eyes
sad. (Stiles knows he's asked too much of him.)
(They never see each other again.)
                                       X
Jackson returns from the infirmary at last and shares a long look with Stiles
over Danny's shoulder; nods. Stiles blinks coolly at him; nods.
                                       X
There are five of them for a few months longer, then Jackson gets out. (He
doesn't come back.)
Nine months later, Danny follows him.
                                       X
There are only three of them then, but they're killers now. (They don't even
get called fags.)
Stiles thinks he finds peace on a dirty set of bleachers in the corner of a
prison yard.
When Derek kisses him again and they fuck quietly on the bottom bunk, Stiles
knows he's found it.
                                       X
Isaac Lahey cries sometimes. (Usually after he's spent too much time staring at
the sun and a single wet tear creeps out of the corner of his eye.)
Stiles tells him he'll go blind like that.
Isaac Lahey says that he's worse than his father ever was.
"Come back to me when you beat and fuck your own kid," Stiles says. (Isaac
Lahey almost smiles.)
                                       X
Stiles doesn't know how long it's been. He just knows that both Derek and Isaac
taste like cigarettes (Derek's come has gone sour, but Stiles sort of likes it)
and that Isaac Lahey hasn't aged a day, though Stiles is pretty sure it's been
a long while.
                                       X
Stiles is pretty sure he and Derek have stopped fuckingand started making love.
Derek only ever touches him gently, even with his pale eyes. (He looks at
Stiles like he fucking loves him, but he never says it.)
Lydia calls and says Scott and Allison have gotten married, and their visits to
Isaac Lahey dwindle down and eventually stop entirely.
Lydia stopped calling, and Erica had stopped a long time ago.
(One of the last things Lydia tells Stiles is that Erica overdosed not long
before Boyd knotted up that bedsheet. Boyd had never even known, and neither
had Erica.)
Stiles called it long-distance Romeo and Juliet.
(Is that why Lydia stopped calling?)
                                       X
Stiles starts coughing. Derek lends him a concerned stare, and Stiles waves him
away. It's only the cigarettes catching up to him.
"I don't cough," Derek says.
                                       X
It's only when Isaac Lahey's left temple fades to gray that Stiles realizes how
long it's been. His own hair is longer than it's ever been. (Stiles looked at
Derek's hair too, but it's as dark and short as ever.)
Derek asks him one night to dance, and it reminds Stiles of a movie he'd seen
ages ago that he can't quite remember the name of. He only squints at Derek,
who looks disappointed.
(Stiles agrees two days later, and Derek's smile nearly splits his face.)
When Derek picks him up and mock-twirls him around, Stiles feels as feather-
light and foolish as a child.
                                       X
He learns of his father's passing on his birthday.
(His wheezing isn't crying, that's just how he breathes now.)
                                       X
Isaac Lahey is the most faithful man he's ever known. (Stiles wants to regret
hooking him and reeling him in and holding on until all of the life drained out
of him, but he can't.)
He tells Isaac Lahey that he's a good friend, a good man, a good person. (And
like every day, Isaac Lahey looks at Stiles like he hung the moon.)
                                       X
Stiles calls his family old men, and they all crack a smile on the little
bleachers in the corner of the yard.
                                       X
Derek's hands feel as soft as old leather in his own.
                                       X
Stiles has a dream that they get married, so he calls Derek Mr. Stilinskiand
Derek scoffs and calls him Mr. Hale.
                                       X
(Isaac Lahey calls them both fools.)
                                       X
Stiles dies the same day he laughed at Isaac Lahey and told him his English
accent was sub-par and that he would never make it to the big screen.
                                       X
Cancer, they say. We didn't catch it.All Derek hears is buzzing.
                                       X
Derek and Isaac Lahey request to share a cell. The warden frowns, but his
assistant gently reminds him, so he indulges two old men.
End Notes
     further warnings
     mentions of physical and sexual child abuse, underage sex and
     statutory rape, dub-con situations, self-harm scars, drug addiction &
     use & overdose, and suicide. allusions to rape/non-con but nothing
     graphic.
     elaboration upon untreated mental illness, abuse of authority,
     homophobic slurs, graphic sex, semi-graphic violence, attempted
     murder, and murder. monogamy is also not really a thing, if that
     bothers anyone.
     I'm already considering writing a companion piece to this (most
     likely either a prequel or something from a different POV). if you're
     interested in that, let me know. thanks for reading!
     yours,
     byanose
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