Chapter 1: Prologue
Stiles opened up the door with his keys and stepped in. He put the key in the small bowl by the door and walked in. The lights were all off. Stiles thought that Derek was taking a nap or something because he usually liked the rooms bright and lit at all times. Stiles unbuttoned his plaid shirt and started walking inside. His first stop was the kitchen. He made a sandwich and ate it slowly while scrolling his phone. He had a few questions and comments on his latest shoot and Stiles took the time to answer them.
Sandwich finished, Stiles cleaned up the kitchen, not that there was much to clean any way. Derek liked to clean and he kept the house fairly neat. Stiles slipped his plate in the dishwasher and wipes his hand on the kitchen rag. He went to his laptop and opened it, checking the progress of the case. He was sure Allison was getting all the help she needed but it was a lot she had gone through. And to have to tell all of that to a bunch of strange people in a closed case court was gonna hurt no matter how better her support system now.
Stiles also checked the news for anything new, but it was the same. Always the same. Debates on why it was all a bad thing to have happened to Gerard Argent and that he was innocent and former fellows coming out in droves in interviews that no, he was not, he was a monster wearing a human suit. The debate went on as if it would have any bearing on the real case, but Alison’s safety might be better upped. Gerard had many fanatic at his beck and call and it would be better to be cautious. Feeling disgusted with what he had read, Stiles closed his laptop and stood up.
He was a little worried. Derek, no matter how deep a sleep, would shuffle in whatever room Stiles is in a few minutes after Stiles returned. He would still not sit until told to. And he would only sit at the foot of Stiles foot. He liked to be on the ground and put his head on Stiles’ lap so that Stiles can brush his hand along his hair. He was clean shaven now, with just a scruff he liked to rub at Stiles’ thighs and cheeks. He still spoke too less, expressing too much in grunts and gestures, but Stiles let him be. It was nearing the full moon and he was bound to be restless, but there was no sight or sound of Derek and Stiles went to find him.
He looked through each room thoroughly, picking up the bed sheet to see if Derek was hiding under the bed or behind the sofa. Stiles was getting real worried now. There was not a peep out of him. Stiles headed to the bathroom, his hands gripping the small black device in his pocket. He didn’t want to call Peter, but the quicker the better if Derek is missing. The bathroom was not lit as well. So Stiles stepped in and put on the light, immediately seeing Derek, his back turned to Stiles. He was rumbling lightly. Stiles swallowed. He pulled out the phone when Derek looked back at him, his eyes yellow and bright.
Stiles took an involuntary step back but it was already late. Derek roared a loud 'No!' and jumped towards Stiles, his eyes insane and his claws out, out for the kill.
Stiles looked around the room, pulling at his collar. He hated the white cotton shirt that made him look more pasty than usual. The pants were cheap fabric and itched him. There were about three dozens of chairs in the room and half of it were filled with fidgeting people like him. Most were teenagers, although there were younger children there too, looked about 12 or so. There were older people too, one looked to be 35 and he had a hard look on his face. His eyes flicked around, his mouth shaped into a sneer and looking murderous.
There was sounds on the stage. So Stiles turned back to the front while ignoring the urge to take off all his clothes and rub his body against a tree like a bear.
An old man holding a thick stick, who Stiles instantly recognized as Gerard Argent, the patriarch of the camp walked into the stage followed by a gaggle of people, walking sedately and head bowed. There were three men and five women and a girl that walked behind him. Argent smiled at them nicely, but Stiles notices how his smile did not reach his eyes.
“Welcome,” Argent said. “Welcome to this place of peace and serenity. Welcome to the Church of the Spirit of Jesus. Welcome to faith all ye unfaithful. Welcome to your new home, your new world, welcome to the wide arms of Jesus and his faithful few. Welcome to the solution to your problems. Welcome to your destiny and your destination. Welcome, to all of you. You are going to look back someday and see this day as the start of your new life, that I promise you. You are our new fellows, our new cadets in our preparation for the war in name of Jesus almighty, and I say welcome, you all, all of you. If you are brave enough, good enough, faithful enough, you will see heaven this side of life. So welcome again, to my humble abode, and your new address.”
Stiles frowned. This didn’t sound like a ‘feelings’ camp as his counsellor had suggested. Jennifer Blake has swore up and down when Stiles had finally brought in his father that this was just the place Stiles needed to reset his mind and body. His ADHD was escalating, his depression increasing and his isolation from society worrying his father. After Scott left, Stiles was left bereft and too lonely for his good. Everyone avoided him at school and he started acting up inspite of his meds. Finstock just screamed at him to take a run every now and then, but the night Stiles put the razor blade to his wrist, watching the skin dimple under the edge of the knife, he knew he needed help.
So he had gone to Blake. She had been sympathetic enough that everything had just tumbled out of his mouth. Scott leaving and his anger and jealousy over it. His father ignoring him so much in lieu of work. Him being so alone and lonely. Him being possibly bi…
Blake had jumped at that, insisting that there is a camp that will do him wonders over the summer. She convinced his father even better and now here he was, in the high walled bunch of buildings that made the Church of the Spirit of Jesus. It felt more like a cult church than a real church but who was Stiles to be sure yet without some research. So he decided to keep out a good look and see that he didn’t have to try drastic measures to escape. There was an air of being in a prison more than being in a camp. All he activities were innocent enough, but there was a somewhat sadistic turn to them usually than not.
The first day was induction. They had to take an oath with their hands on their hearts that they will swear to uphold the name and the principles of the church and keep the good of the church in every step they took. Stiles found the oath too much of a order and a threat in disguise so he merely mouthed the words in mumbles and did not say them at all.
That earned him the first mark of his stay as he was informed after induction. His punishment was to wash 100 dishes in the kitchen. He would not be let tar the good name of the church and his induction was a sign that he was in the right place and he would need lots of guidance and instruction. The first furl of fear bloomed in Stiles’ heart then. It was too much like a prison to his liking and he did not like the situation at all. When he demanded that he be given a phone call to his father, he was denied, saying that too was part of his punishment.
“That is not a punishment. This is torture. You cannot keep me away from my father!” Stiles insisted.
“That may be so, but you earned it with your own pithy actions. You should ask for forgiveness in time and maybe you will be granted a minute of your father’s time. Do you think he is not happy to be away from you the way you are? I have read your papers Stiles, and you are a burden to be around anyone sane and capable. Your father may love you but I doubt he actually likes you and how sad is that, that a father cannot like his son because his son is an amalgamation of mistakes. You are in the clutch of the devil and you must persist and only then and then you will be a good man, worthy of your father’s time,” Gerard Argent said to him, with the same cold smile.
“Wha, what are you saying. I know my father loves and likes me, what sort of bullshit are you saying, I want out of this, this is bollocks…”
Stiles was suddenly on the ground, his knees screaming at him, tears in his eyes as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Gerard had just hit him in the knees with his stick, making Stiles fall and stop talking.
“And how do you know? Know in your heart? You don’t. but I know because I am a father and I would be ashamed to have such a disappointment of a son. That I know without any doubt. Maybe you should reflect on that.”
Gerard left him like that, his insecurities bubbling and roiling in the pit of his stomach. What Gerard had said sounded true. What if…?
There is a real Church of the Spirit of Jesus in Japan but it has nothing to do with this fictional one.
The sudden sirens made Derek change directions immediately. He fell down on the bathroom ground and began to howl in pain, hands clutched over his ears as his ears were assaulted by the sharp sounds coming from the devices hidden in the corners. Stiles stepped forward and tried to pry Derek’s hand off his head, the sirens already silent, but Derek just scooted away from him, tears in his eyes, a litany of ‘sorry, sorry’ falling from his mouth at the same speed as the tears. Stiles followed him but Derek crouched into himself and began to bite at his hand as his breath hitched with the sobs. Stiles topped going towards him and stood still, even stepping back some to give the space Derek immediately needed.
Derek was too busy swaying to and fro and biting his arm and blood seeping through his teeth as it splattered into his torn tee shirt, Stiles noticed. Not knowing what to do, Stiles called Peter and got him on the first ring.
“Put me on the speaker,” Peter ordered. Derek’s distress went even higher hearing Peter, his alpha’s voice. Stiles was seriously worried that Derek would chew right through his arm.
“Pup! Derek. Stop. Stop that right now. Tell me what happened,” Peter ordered, but Stiles could hear the subtle fear under that order. Peter was probably on his way already and Stiles couldn’t blame him. What he must be feeling by the pack feels was unimaginable if Peter sounded so shaken.
Derek had thankfully stopped biting his arm but he had his arms covering his head and he was hunched into himself and he was still swaying a bit, his sobs loud and clear in the silent room. His ‘sorrys’ were just garbled sounds but he had not stopped saying it. Stiles sat down on the bathroom floor not caring that the ground was cold, it must have been cold to Derek too, or not, Stiles was still confused about the whole werewolf metabolism. They sat like that for twenty minutes, Derek’s sobs lessening in intensity and he sounding tired now. He still refused to meet Stiles eyes but he was clearly leaning towards him.
Stiles scooted near till he was sitting by Derek and then slowly, so that his moves were telegraphed clearly, put his hand on Derek’s head. Derek gave a choked sob. Stiles started to run his fingers through his hair and Derek turned towards him fully, aligning his body to Stiles and leaning into him, Derek really tired after the attack. Stiles wrapped a hand around the whining werewolf and rubbed his shoulder.
Ten minutes later there was a frantic knock on the door and Derek flinched.
“Shh, its just Peter. Come with me Derek, its just Peter.”
Listening to Stiles, Derek stood up, his breath still hitching as he wiped his eyes. He must have been able to smell Peter and Chris must not be along with him because he went easily enough with Stiles to open the door. It was indeed Peter the other side of the door and he looked bad. He had a packet in his hand but he just handed it to Stiles and immediately enveloped Derek into a tight hug. Derek started sobbing again, snot and tears flowing on his face but Peter let him wet his shirt with the said tears and snot. Peter pulled him to the sofa and sat down on it, Derek pulled into his lap like a small boy sideways while he cried and cried some more.
Stiles, seeing that Derek was in capable hands, went to make the tea that Derek liked. It was a mild one that smelled of flowers and woods and Derek liked to hold a hot cup of it and sip at it slowly while inhaling the fragrance. By that time, Derek was half asleep, Peter’s shirt half wet and one of Derek’s hand holding on to Peter’s arm. Stiles put the teacup down softly but Derek did not make any movements. Peter let the big man lay on his lap and nod off, too protective of his only pack and beta to do anything more.
“Did he say what happened?” Stiles asked.
Peter pursed his lips. “He didn’t say.”
“Is he going to be OK?” Stiles asked this time.
Peter looked at Derek’s soft face and said, “As ok as he is capable of being.”
Stiles nodded at that. “He saw the mobile I pulled out when I saw him and he charged at me. I think he remembered.”
Peter said testily, “Of course he remembered. He always remembers, that is the thing. He remembers everything and it breaks him so bad. I always feel his pain and his genuine hurt in his pack bond. I wish I could take all of it away if I could. I wish I could do at least that much as his Alpha.”
“You said something about removing his memory last time?” Stiles wondered aloud.
Peter shook his head. “I realize it is impossible now. I asked Chris about it and the imprisonment was too long for me to intervene in a a supernatural way. He will have to live and win through it one day at a time, just like others.”
“There are no like others Peter. There is no other human or werewolf that had gone through what he went through and still be sane.”
“That’s only because he found you. Lucky enough that you were unfortunate enough to end up in that horrible place. The fact that he found his mate when he did is what saved him. Or doomed him, I don’t know. He is what he is Stiles, I just wish I could make it hurt less for him,” Peter said.
“Me too,” Stiles said, “me too.”
Derek stirred then. His small nap done, and now for the aftermath. Derek climbed down from Peter’s lap shamefacedly and looked at Stiles once before almost running to his room. The door closed with a soft thud and both Stiles an Peter looked after it.
Stiles sighted. “You are staying the night, yes?”
“Where else would I be Stiles?” Peter asked with a sad smile.
“With Chris?” Stiles raised his eyebrows.
Peter looked at the closed door and sighted, saying, “Not tonight.”
Odd numbered chapters will follow one story and even numbered chapters will follow another. if you want you can read like that too.
Stiles was back at his bunk the next hour. They shared four bunks to a room and nine people to the room, one sleeping in the scant space in the middle of the four bunks on a mattress, the door barely open to let the people in. Jared struggled with this as he was fat and short and the door too small and from what Stiles had heard when Jared had requested another room with an accessible, they had just laughed at his face and told him to lose his blubber. Jared was just 13 and Stiles could see he was having a hard time in the camp. All the supportive shit they spouted on the first day in the office when his father came to leave him there, didn’t seem to cover one ounce of what was really going on.
His father would never have left hi in the place if he had known how they treated people.
Or had he known and left him still, Stiles wondered. Stiles had met some of the others in the camp and everyone seemed to be different and have difficult problems. There was Erica, who was an epileptic, but was recovering well in the quite atmosphere. There was Isaac who was in the place because his father though him not straight enough. There was Boyd, who was depressed and supposedly addicted to anti depressants because he saw his sister die or didn’t see or something. There was Allison, the quite granddaughter of Gerard Argent. Then there was bright and fierce Lydia, who was in the place for what reason even Stiles wasn’t sure.
There were others too. Children as small as 12. People as old as 40 maybe. The older were harder and got punished often. Not to say that the smaller were not punished as well. The worst punishment that Stiles had to face was the two by three rooms with not enough space to sit but had to stand slightly hunched over because there was no space, and was restricted to the worst of the crimes. They had to pull out a hysterical Stiles before his hour was out the first time with cuts on his hands from knocking the doors repeatedly. Stiles made sure to never end up in that room again, no matter what he did. His docility was reinforced with rigid ruthlessness and Stiles found himself broken and down and his hint of spark almost extinguished.
He heard Isaac talking to Lydia how his father had used to beat him up because he didn’t date and assumed that he was gay. What he was was asexual. He wasn’t into dating people at all. When he tried to tell his father that, he had gotten a scoff to his face and another severe beating that landed him in the hospital. After he had left the hospital his father had picked him from the hospital and brought him to the camp, telling them to beat the gay out of him. Gerard has agreed, saying that he would pull out every ounce of gayness from his son and give him back cured or dead. That had satisfied Isaac father. Stiles was shocked. That a father could say words like this, would prefer their children dead than being gay or asexual and he regained his confidence.
He had to get out of this concentration camp. For that was what it was. For he had heard the other stories too. His ADHD meds were being handed out by the camp doctor. But they didn’t feel like they were working. He was always abuzz with thoughts and he found it difficult to concentrate on his so called lessons that was just propaganda masked as chaters of self fulfillment.
“Why do you let the Devil sway you so?” Ennis asked. “Stiles you are actually a straight and rightful man of the world but you let the devil sway you and find men attractive and divert you from the work of the good God. You call yourself Bisexual, but there is no such thing as bisexual. There is nothing but straightness in a human being because he is made in the image of the good God and god would never deviate from his own laws. You cannot love a man, you are a man, and a man can love another man only as a brother, nothing more, nothing else. You know this. You are aware of this. You are aware of how wrong you are. You were made with the rightful way of a man and woman making love in the presence of god and that is how you should behave.”
“Who told you I am bisexual?” Stiles asked startled.
“Miss Blake was kind enough to share your information with us. She is a Christian therapist, an alumnus from our institute, and one of the best we have ever had. She has brought so many of the lost and confused to our doors that we cannot be more proud of her. She is a good Christian and knows how to stay her fellow beings from towards the Devils way. You say you are bisexual, but you must know that you are straight man pretending to be gay. There is no rightful way a man will be bisexual when he is in the light of the god’s truth. You just find the attention alluring of being a deviant and you find the way Devil influences you intoxicating. You must stop that. You must. Or else you will have to face the consequences.”
Stiles was rattled. It was all treading too close to the truth of his being. His ‘session’ ended after such a long winded speech on how he was just a man pretending to be gay for attention and Stiles left confused and conflicted. Is that why he thought himself bisexual? To get attention he was no longer getting at home and from Scott? Was that it?
Erica was off her meds too, which made her prone to attacks and she would inhale half of her after each attack in the public. Boyd was not getting his meds as well and he seemed to always seem to swim in a never ending sea of misery. Jared had taken to crying each night. But Stiles, confused and more confused was just unable to help Jared in any way.
At least till the day he came into the room and found Jared trying to cut his wrists.
Peter slept in Derek’s room that night. Stiles had no complaint. He would have many nightmares this night so it was better that Peter was there to soothe him. Stiles made another couple of sandwiched on a plate, took out a bottle of water from the fridge anp out both, the plate covered in saran wrap, in front of Derek’s room. If Derek was too distraught then at least Peter would be able to smell the food and water. For himself he unpacked a frozen dinner, and putting the TV on mute started watching something black and white. It was some horror feature and there were poorly made vampire flying about. Stiles gave a slight chuckle before his face straightened back into a sad look.
It was hours before Peter came out of the room, the plate empty and the bottle half full. He put both on the TV table and sat near Stiles with a long sigh.
“How is he doing Peter?” Stiles asked.
“Not good. Not good at all. Maybe this was a wrong step. Maybe I should take him with me…” Peter said.
“He cannot stand Chris, Peter. You can’t make him go through that. Not again.” Stiles insisted.
Peter curled his lips, his hands splayed before him. “Then maybe its time I make a choice. Choose my nephew and pack over the man who let it all happen.”
“He says he didn’t know. Not really. And he was under, under Gerard’s thumb, as mute as a mouse under him, fearful of him. You can’t throw him away now if only for Allison,” Stiles said.
Peter pursed his lips. “Derek had a flashback today. He was in the kitchen when he heard some one laugh and it sounded a smidge too much like Gerard. He was hiding in the bathroom because of that. And when he saw you pull out the mobile, he didn’t realize it wasn’t black but the pinkest pink in the universe. He is awash with regret and fear and is afraid you will send him away.”
“I will never do that Peter, you know that. And you know I never blame him for whatever happens. He can’t help it.”
“He should have never gone through that experience in the first place at all. He should have been with me. He should have been safe. He should have been, should have been the safest with me.” Peter put his hand over his eyes and didn’t speak for some minutes.
Stiles turned back to the TV and let Peter have his moment of peace.
“It will be a hard few days for him now. He will be over apologetic, clingy and apologetic that he is clingy and need lots of attention. Maybe I should move in for a few days?” Peter asked looking at Stiles.
“You know you are always welcome here. And Derek will feel better having you nearby as well. But, will Allison be safe alone with her father?” Stiles aksed.
“Allison had never been safe with her father,” Peter laughed bitterly. “Even Allison has not forgiven him and if one step of courage was all it took to erase every bitter thing off the face of this earth, we might have been some other species by now.”
Stiles turned back to the TV. He had classes in a few hours but he didn’t feel like sleeping. He didn’t like looking at the news too either. They kept using the picture from the first day of her freedom and her eyes looked so sad and defeated. Lydia kept a good track of her and visited as much as she can, but even she had her work, had to help with the case and couldn’t be there for her all the time. Stiles sometimes felt like calling Allison to his house, but then he would become afraid that seeing Derek would be too triggering.
It was a mess. The whole thing was a mess and Gerard Argent sat in a comfy room under protection while the case was going through the court and Stiles was hit by the unfairness of it all. He had seen the posts, the outcry, the deliberate erasure of Allison’s victimhood and he was not sure how much he could take. And that wasn’t saying mush considering that he hadn’t taken much at the hand of Gerard thanks to Derek. But it was still a punishment and still an obstacle to carry through and Stiles was afraid for all of his friends. His father continued to tell him that law will take care of things, but things did not seem to be going that way.
Stiles fell asleep on the sofa itself, his head thrown back. When he woke up, Derek was sitting at his feet, his head in Stiles’ lap and sleeping curled up around his legs. Stiles didn’t stir just let Derek sleep as he is. He must have ben unable to sleep with Peter and here he was, back at his mate’s feet. Stiles rubbed his face with his hands and mused. Mates. Mates meeting in a conversion camp where Derek was made the stuff of nightmares and Stiles his one of his to be victims. Could the world get any funnier or God any more real.
Stiles took to running his hands through Derek’s hair and Derek turned into him more while sound asleep. Stiles wished he could take as much as possible hurt from Derek and make it better. He wished he could make it better for everyone of his friends but he as helpless himself. Living in a safehouse provided by Peter for Derek’s sake. Going to classes each morning like a fugitive. Not seeing his father everyday even if he wanted to because he had to gather as much evidence as he could for the sake of his son.
Life was hard at the moment, but it need so necessarily be forever. Stiles hoped that such a ray of sunshine fell on all of his friends and family as well. It was the worst, but it could always get better some day.
“You have to help him,” Stiles insisted to the men pulling Jared ahead of him.
The man sneered and said, “Faggots will get all and exactly the help they need. So keep out boy before I decide you need a disciplinary pronto.”
Stiles tumbled a bit but he kept following the man ushering Jared into the medical tent, holding him by the scruff of his neck. “He is a child, you cannot just ignore him like this.”
“And that’s one day of solitary in the shed for you Stilinski,” the doctor calmly said as he set to stich up Jared’s wrist. He didn’t use any anesthetic and was rather crude in his sewing as if he wanted Jared to have a deliberate scar on his forearm.
“He is a child!”
“Two days it is. Ennis, if you could be as kind as to take Stilinski up to the solitary room.”
“With pleasure, doc,” Ennis gleefully answered.
Stiles began to fight as Ennis dragged him away easily. “This is illegal! You will have the law to answer to. My father will come and find me. You just wait and see. My father…”
A resounding slap stopped Stiles from saying anything more. He looked on at Ennis in the light of the lamps set high on the grounds as he pulled out a key chain and unlocked that horrid space with a snap. Something like a frisson of pure fear ran through Stiles and before he knew it, he was running away from Ennis and the solitary room. He did not make more than five steps when he was bodily slammed into the floor, all the weight of Ennis fallig on him.
Stiles’ breath left him with a rush. And he couldn’t draw in anymore. He began to thrash but Ennis took his sweet time to actually get up off him. Stiles was gasping and bend double as Ennis locked his hands with a handcuff and began to shove him towards the room. Stiles tried to dig his feet in, but Ennis was much stronger and soon Stiles found himself standing in the four feet three room, bending a little because his head touched the ceiling. The walls were crate wood and Stiles could look out of it easily enough. But there was no place to sit of even stand properly and Stiles was agitated.
The situation frightened and shook him so much that he had a panic attack and vomited all over himself. The smell was rank and his throat felt like it was on fire, but there was no water and there was definitely nothing to wipe off the sick. With shaking fingers, Stiles removed his shirt, wiped himself down as best as he could, threw the shirt in one of the corner and sat himself down in the other corner, as much as he was able to with his skinny body and tried to fall asleep.
Sleep would not come. Soon it was lights outside and people were moving about. Stiles tried to call out to some of them, thirsty now and desperate but the people went on as if his cries were not heard at all. Like he was not even in the shed. Stiles knew that anyone who helped will be gifted a whole week in the solitary but this was beyond inhuman. Stiles continued to cry till he could not anymore. After noon, someone came and threw a jug of water on him and left again. Stiles tried to lick up the water from his skin and the ground but it was not enough.
Someone came in the evening and did it again but Stiles was smarter this time. He had taken his shirt back from the corner, where the sick had crusted over. He scratched the worst of it away, took off his pants as well and waited in patience for the next jug of water. When they threw the jug of water at him again, Stiles tried to catch as much as possible of it in his clothes and after the door was locked, started to suck the clothes. There wasn’t much this time as well, not enough, but Stiles persisted.
It happened three more times, Stiles getting desperate every time they just threw the water away from him. Then he was pulled out in the blinding light of the sun and escorted to his room, where he was again handcuffed to his bead headstand and given a jug of water to drink. Stiles drank greedily and finished the whole jug only to be sick all over himself again, just bile coming out of his empty stomach. He had drunk too fast. This time one of the other boys bought him a jug of water and Stiles wiped himself with half and drank the other half in small delicate sips.
Jared was nowhere to be seen, and just after two days in solitary, Stiles was afraid of toeing outside the line by himself. He felt weak and small and desperately wanted his father. But he did not bring up his father before those monsters again. It only hurt him to do so. So he went to the group meetings where he was no longer mouthing off to whatever they said and he went and had his meals of the most pathetic food without arguing about it and then went to sleep without trying to ask anymore questions.
Stiles hoped that he would be quiet and silent and they would finally let him go to his father. That is until he saw Jared again.
“Jared!” Stiles cried out when he saw the clearly abused boy, with patches on his skin in different hues of bruises. He looked much thinner too and his lips was split and his wrist covered with tight bands. “Jared,” Stiles cried again after him, but Jared was gone, a show of misery and shame etched on his face that Stiles didn’t think he would forger soon. And suddenly he was furious. He was maddenly furious that someone would do this to a child. A small child at that.
He stalked up to Ennis and before Ennis could give his usual sneer, slapped him in front of everyone. Everyone stiffened and stopped what they were doing to stare at Stiles, their mouth opening an O of despair. Before he could lug Ennis again, Ennis pushed him onto the floor and stepped on his hand with his steel shoes. Stiles screamed as two of his fingers broke immediately. He continued to scream as Ennis took hold of his hair and towed him to the main building, fuming all the time.
“Solitary is not enough for you little pest. The beast it is then for you,” Ennis said before shoving him into a dark room. Stiles whimpered clutching his hand, bidding goodbye to his freedom as he waited for the nest part of his torture to begin. Suddenly he jerked and looked behind him. Something had just growled at him and as he peered at the dark, two red eyes seemed to jump at his face. Stiles gave a loud fearful scream at that and fainted.