#doctor schrader

[whoops-im-obsessed]

If I had a nickel for every time I had a character who was an english puzzle enthusiast turned unwitting detective with an L name that isn't his own, childhood trauma, and an estranged brother, and where the plot involves some kind of identity hijinks and swapping with the brother in some way, and he is assisted by a redhead and a child and one of them has a name which means 'of light/light-giving', and he at one point goes to visit his school mentor who taught him about puzzles as part of an investigation, and there is some angst about how he has no significant other or family and he's a terrible driver

I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot but is better than no nickels at all ig anyway go play professor layton and watch ludwig

[chicafinal]

stephen maturin: i only have two vices, drugs and journaling

[fanonical]

need to trap these two in an elevator and see which one leaves in one piece

[theninth09]

random thiam headcanons bc why not

they don't use pet names with each other. they only call each other by their names, their last names and insults. the only time they do say stuff like babe, sweetheart, etc is when they're being sarcastic/want to annoy the other

they both wear silver jewelry. liam prefers bracelets and necklaces, theo prefers rings. liam always takes theos hand and plays with his rings

liam listened to nightcore as a 10-13 year old and when he's older it's still one of his guilty pleasures

theo likes figs, liam likes strawberries. no particular reason why, i just think they would

when liam has a bad mental health day, theo cuts him fruit, cuddles him and just tries to take liams mind off of things by playing video games and watching movies instead of forcing him to talk

theo immediately Knows when its a bad day bc hes so in tune with liam. he brings him food that isnt just snacks, doesn't go easy on him w video games bc he knows that would just upset liam further, lets liam lay his head on his chest so that he can listen to theos heartbeat (and at the same time liam holds onto theos wrist, so that he can feel it too)

both have sleep paralyses occasionally. theo mostly sees tara and the dread doctors when it happens, liam often sees brett

theo doesnt like snakes or spiders (hes not actually scared of them, but snakes remind him of the dread doctors (bc of the ouroboros symbol) and spiders of the one that tried to infect him)

theo does like thunderstorms and in general listening to the rain. thunderstorms in particular make him slightly uncomfortable due to his unpleasant experiences with electricity (dread doctors possibly electrocuting him, kira being the one to stop his attack & sending him to hell, getting tortured by schrader) but that exact discomfort is also what draws him to them. he finds this aspect of nature fascinating and grows to love them/appreciate the beauty of it (shout out to beloved oomf for this hc, check out their account on twt <3)

[usermischief]

chapter 57: chaos rising Warnings: violence, blood

You can read it on AO3 as well.

“Isaac.” Stiles kneels beside him. The cold blood drenches his sweatpants. What happened? Who is this? What are you so afraid of? Or rather, who? But none of these questions roll over his tongue. “Are you hurt?” Stiles asks instead. His fingers tremble as he reaches out to touch him. If anyone dared to hurt him-

His hand does not connect with Isaac, almost like he doesn’t exist.

Unless it’s Stiles who doesn’t exist.

At least not here.

Stiles touches his face, strangely relieved when his fingers brush over his warm skin. There’s no guarantee with the supernatural. The Dread Doctor’s mask might as well have killed him, and he simply didn’t notice. He’s no longer in pain. Still, why would he be in a different room in a completely different situation? Besides, he feels alive. Very much so. His heart beats in his chest. The room makes him feel cold.

“What do you see?” Valack’s voice seems to echo around the white room, coming from everywhere.

The mask is supposed to allow him to see the future. Is that where he is? The future? Or a path that may or may not become their new reality in hours, days, perhaps weeks. Unless they get out, unless they’re saved.

Or they save themselves.

Stiles stands up again, gaze wandering across broken glass and destruction, over blood splatters on the wall, until it catches on a person shrouded in shadows that could not possibly exist in this room. His heart skips a beat as their eyes lock – one bright and amber, a color he got used to seeing in the mirror every day – the other dark and silver. They both crinkle in amusement.

Before he can stop himself, Stiles takes a step back. “What did you do?”

A chuckle fills the room.

Isaac whimpers softly.

“Pożyjemy,” Stiles hears his own voice breathe, “zobaczymy.” He watches his future self get to his feet, shadows moving with him, around him, until he stands – and Stiles recognizes they aren’t shadows.

It’s his fox’s aura.

Stiles swallows. “How’s that going to help me?” This isn’t the time or place to drag his babcia’s favorite quotes to the forefront of his mind. He needs to focus on things that matter, like how they can get out of this, for example.

“This has not happened yet.” The fox spreads its arms wide, an almost manic glint in its eyes. “But it could.” Suddenly, it’s right in front of him, the shadows blocking virtually all the light. “Pożyjemy, zobaczymy.” It grins, eyes flashing in amusement.

Then it shoves him.

Stiles crashes to the ground hard. His head ricochets off the stone floor. Pain explodes in his head, and the stench of leather and blood fills his nostrils. He struggles to remove the mask as he tries to control his breathing. A panic attack down here isn’t a fucking option.

“Get this thing off!” Valack bellows, his voice barely audible over Stiles’ blood rushing in his ears.

“Stiles!” Isaac’s voice is coming from somewhere to his right. “It’s okay. We’ll help you, but you need to calm down.”

Despite the edge of anxiety in his voice, hearing him talk dislodges the panic in Stiles’ throat. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay. Whatever he just saw doesn’t matter. Isaac is fine. Everything he just saw might become nothing more than a nightmare.

Stiles takes another breath as he lowers his hands.

Only a moment later, he’s ripped to his feet. The sweet stench of alcohol mixed with the scent of leather. Stiles recoils, but the grip on his left shoulder is nearly unforgiving. Stiles grinds his teeth until the mask finally falls off a moment later.

It hits the ground with a thud too loud for the silence in the room.

Stiles stares at Schrader, who stares right back at him, fingers digging painfully into his shoulder. Stiles twists his mouth into a smile. “I saw you,” he whispers, knowing full well he’s lying. “Dead.” Unless he isn’t lying. With the amount of blood he saw, he might be telling the truth because it wasn’t Isaac’s. “You’re going to die down here, Schrader.”

Without hesitation, Schrader grabs him by the throat, anger burning in his cheeks.

“Schrader!” Valack’s voice is pure steel.

For the flicker of a second, Schrader very clearly considers defying the orders. Then he steps away and crosses his arms over his chest. Something about his face tells Stiles they shouldn’t end up alone in a room with him again. Only one of them will make it out alive that time.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Valack sounds a little too much like Stiles’ old chemistry teacher, “what did you see?”

Stiles doesn’t answer immediately. He glances at Isaac, holding his wide-eyed gaze for a few seconds. If he’s honest, Stiles is not entirely sure what he’s seen besides Isaac and too much blood. He can’t tell if that other Stiles is him in the future or simply a manifestation of the nogitsune.

But the eye.

Stiles barely resists the urge to reach his hand up. It wouldn’t matter anyway. He’ll have to wait until they’re back in the cell. Last time he checked, however, there was merely a blotch of silver in his iris.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Stiles turns to face Valack. “You and everyone who works for you, dead.”

---

“It looks normal.” Isaac tilts his head a little to the side, squinting at him. “I think.” Smiling apologetically, Isaac lets go of Stiles’ chin and pulls his shoulders up. “Theo would probably see a difference.”

Stiles pulls his legs to his chest. “Yeah…” His heart aches just thinking about him. They haven’t been apart this long since Theo returned to Beacon Hills. The distance is wearing him down, mainly because Stiles has been nearly disconnected from the ley lines since wearing this fucking collar. Theo’s spark made him feel safe; now, he can’t even tell if Theo is still alive. It makes him feel lost and alone despite having Isaac by his side.

“Do you think you can find him with that thing?” Isaac leans back on the mattress, hands folded on his stomach as he contemplates the ceiling. “It’s one of their masks. Shouldn’t it help you track chimeras?”

And then what? Stiles wants to ask. What good will it do them if they know where Theo is? Perhaps knowing Theo is okay would ease his mind for a moment. But without a way to talk to him – even if he could talk to him. Valack is expecting their friends to rescue them. Stiles would end up leading all of them into a trap.

“I don’t even know if it showed me the future.” Stiles lies beside Isaac, feeling weirdly protected between the wall and the werewolf. “Maybe it showed me what I wanted to see.” But what it truly did show him was only blood and no bodies. So, did it really reveal what he’s been fantasizing about? Because all he wants is to kill Valack and Schrader in the worst possible way.

For a moment, Isaac is quiet. “And you want them dead?”

Stiles nods slowly, unsure. It’s easier to talk about this with Theo. His views on violence and murder, especially premeditated, are a lot more relaxed.

“Okay.” Isaac pauses, tapping a finger against his wrist, “how do we do that?”

“Do… what?” Stiles eyes Isaac with raised brows.

Isaac shrugs, a sheepish grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. “How do we kill them? We can’t do anything from in here.” Either he’s misjudged Isaac’s opinion on murder, or perhaps the time spent down here has changed his mind.

Whatever it might be, Stiles isn’t going to complain. “Well, if I could get out of this collar…” he trails off, grinding his teeth. If only. That’s not going to get him anywhere. They need something concrete. A plan. A way to get Stiles out of the collar and Isaac out of this cell. They’re useless in here.

They’re going to die in here.

Isaac nods. “Any idea how we’re going to do that?”

“I’m working on it.” Stiles gets back to his feet. There’s no way he can come up with a plan while he’s lying down. He needs to move. Fuck, he needs some fresh air. He needs the sun, his friends and family. Most of all, he needs Theo. His absence hurts. The distance is a constant ache he’s not able to shake. It’s slowly but surely burning a hole in his sanity. Not being able to feel him, it makes him feel so fucking empty. But it’s not just Theo. It’s everyone. His dad. Kira, Lydia, even Brett, Jackson, Danny, and the chimeras. He’s gotten so used to being around them all the time. Right now, he’d sell his soul for a glimpse of Peter Hale.

Further proof that he’s losing his mind.

Stiles lets his gaze trail over everything in the room. A sink, a toilet, a mattress, and some poor excuse for bedding. That’s all they have to work with. “What if you don’t touch it?”

Drawing his brows together, Isaac props himself onto his elbows. “Touch what?”

“The collar.” Stiles sits down next to him and grabs a fistful of bedding. It’s thin enough that Isaac could wrap it around his hands and grab the collar, but maybe that also means it’s too thin. With as much poison as this collar has, it’s highly likely no fabric in the world might stop it from hurting Isaac. That’s probably why they aren’t worried about leaving them unsupervised. “Forget it.”

Isaac grabs him by the arm, not allowing him to stand up. “At least let me try it.” If he’s offended by the lack of confidence, he doesn’t show it. Isaac is nothing but stubborn. Whether or not he believes he can get the collar off himself, he is not going to drop it before he’s tried it at least once.

“Okay.” Stiles nods. “Don’t overdo it, though. You won’t be getting help down here.”

“I really love your optimism,” Isaac retorts as he tests out the thin fabric of the bedding. A moment later, he drops it with a little shake of his head and looks around the room. There is not a lot in there he could use. He sighs, “don’t tell Theo about this.” Then he yanks his shirt over his head.

Stiles squints at him. “Are you afraid of Theo?”

“Afraid,” Isaac tells him while awkwardly wrapping his shirt around his hands, “might not be the right word.” Goosebumps cover his skin, but Stiles doubts they have anything to do with Theo and more of the clammy cold down here. Isaac’s expression, however, seems troubled all of a sudden. He lowers his shirt-clad hands and studies Stiles for a moment. “He wasn’t exactly stable last time I saw him. Satomi mentioned it’s not uncommon for new mates to lose it when separated for too long… and with Theo’s history…” Isaac shrugs briefly, gaze dropping to his hands. “I’m worried that by the time we’re out of here, Theo will have done something he won’t be able to come back from.”

It’s a worry they share, even though Stiles hasn’t allowed himself to think about it yet. While Theo may not require an anchor to stay grounded, his human side certainly does. Theo’s first instinct will always be violence. There is no doubt in Stiles’ mind. He will always struggle with possessiveness and over-protectiveness, and he will never fully fit into any pack structure — not even one he leads as an alpha. As much as Theo craves a pack, the Dread Doctors molded him into a lone wolf. It will take years to undo that damage. Maybe they will never truly “fix” him. Stiles is okay with that. He doesn’t want to fix Theo. It doesn’t matter to him either way.

But that doesn’t make Isaac any less wrong.

Although Stiles hopes Jackson, Peter, and the chimera pack will be able to ground Theo, he isn’t stupid enough not to expect the worst.

“You know he’s coming,” Isaac says softly. “Sooner or later, nothing’s going to stop him… if he knows you’re here.”

Stiles nods. If his message got through, if anybody could sense him being at Eichen and told Theo, there will be a point of no return for him. He’ll come here. He’ll run right into the trap Valack set up for everyone trying to save Stiles, the same trap Isaac walked straight into by deciding to go on a solo mission. “Even more reason to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“Right.” Isaac moves his fingers and rolls his shoulders. “Let’s do this.” He hesitates, just for a moment, then grabs the collar. Neither of them moves, waiting for something to happen. When Isaac doesn’t tear his hands away in agony, Stiles allows himself a flicker of hope. Maybe they can get out like this. Maybe, for once, it’s easy.

But it’s not.

It never is.

The collar doesn’t budge, not even when Isaac pushes his fingers between it and Stiles' neck, making it uncomfortably hard to breathe, and he tries his hardest to break it apart. The collar presses against the nape of his neck, making the constant burn more noticeable than usual. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on Isaac’s forehead. The werewolf’s expression twists into pain for nothing more than a heartbeat. It’s gone so fast Stiles might not have noticed it if he wasn’t looking for it. “Stop.”

Isaac presses his lips together.

“Isaac, drop it.”

The first response is a snarl of frustration, but then Isaac pulls his hands away.

“Show me.” Stiles reaches for the shirt, surprised and highly irritated when Isaac pulls away. It’s pointless. Unless Isaac wants to sit with his hands wrapped up in his shirt until dinner arrives, Stiles will see how much damage this stupid idea caused. “Please, just— show me.”

Huffing out a breath, Isaac holds his hands out. “It didn’t hurt at first,” he mutters, “I thought I could do it.” The fact that he’s defending his action doesn’t exactly bode well.

Stiles carefully tugs the fabric away, expecting the worst. A sigh of relief escapes him when he finds the palms of Isaac’s hands an angry red. It’s surely not bad, but at least the wolfsbane didn’t break his skin. It would’ve, surely, if Isaac kept going. “You should hold them under cold water. That should help a bit.” Although he couldn’t imagine Deaton being so careless, part of him hoped it would work. Pushing this would only mean Isaac getting more and more hurt, and the last thing they need is Isaac being defenseless down here. “You think we got to wash this too?” He gets up and follows Isaac to the sink, holding out the shirt.

“Probably a good idea.” Although Isaac does not look too happy about sitting shirtless down here. He takes the shirt from Stiles anyway. “So, what’s Plan B?”

Good question.

“I’ll figure something out.” What he needs is a reason for Deaton to take off the collar. A medical emergency would probably be the easiest way to achieve that. After all, both Valack and Deaton need Stiles alive. If he dies, the nemeton dies with him, and so do the chimeras. He can’t gamble their lives away like that.

Stiles folds his arms over his chest, watching Isaac rinse out his shirt with cold water.

It’ll be a while until he can wear it again, but it’s probably the better option than to risk getting a reaction all over his chest an back. The amount that’s in his shirt won’t kill him, but it will certainly be highly uncomfortable — maybe even painful. Down here, a little goes a long way.

“We have to convince them to take this thing off you.” Isaac wrings out his shirt and looks around the cell to find the best place to let it dry. Unfortunately, that would be the side of the sink.

Glancing around the room again, Stiles weighs his options. Aside from banging his head against the edge of the sink or toilet, there aren’t exactly many. “Maybe if we ask them very nicely.”

Isaac looks two seconds away from smacking him with his shirt. Instead, he drops it on the edge of the sink and studies his hands again.

“How bad is it?” Stiles draws his brows together. The idea was stupid, and he should’ve never brought it up in the first place.

“Not too bad, but it might take a couple of hours to heal.” Isaac wriggles his fingers and then looks up, shooting a small smile in Stiles’ direction. “I got shit like this all over my body from some herbal coughing syrup I took as a child. Still don’t know what caused that.”

Stiles chuckles, collapsing back on the mattress. “Yeah, Mom grew herbs in our yard for her tea. The chamomile gave me the worst allergic reaction…” He trails off, staring at Isaac’s hands.

“That’s the scheming face I’m afraid of.” Isaac crouches down in front of him, arms crossed over his thighs. “What are you thinking about?”

“An allergic reaction.” Stiles blinks slowly and then springs to his feet. That’s surely a way to get this collar off. “Deaton doesn’t just need me alive. He needs me strong enough to survive long enough to separate the nemeton from me.” And Valack needs him strong enough to use the mask because Stiles doubts he’s happy with the answers he gave him.

Squinting at him, Isaac stands up, too. “If you haven’t noticed, your neck’s been an angry red since he put that thing on you.”

Stiles waves his hand around. “I need you to bite me.”

“What?” Isaac stares at him as if he’s grown a second head.

“I need you to—“

“No,” Isaac interrupts him. “I heard you. I don’t get it.”

“You’re a werewolf.”

“Fascinating, but I still don’t have any clue what you’re talking about.” Isaac raises his brows and crosses his arms, pulling his shoulders up for a shrug. “How about you start at the beginning? I don’t speak leaps of logic very well.”

Stiles blinks. Right. “Sorry.” He’s so used to talking to Lydia when making plans. She usually understands where he’s coming from and what he’s aiming for. Her calculating logic brings order to Stiles’ thoughts. “Like I said, Deaton needs me healthy. This collar is effective enough to keep my powers in check, but it’s not hurting me enough to make me weak the way the injections did.” Injections he could heal from simply by feeding. With Isaac close by, that’s not going to be an issue; in fact, it won’t be an issue no matter who’s close by. They will get out of here, and God help whoever decides to stand in their way. “If I get weaker again, Deaton will have no choice but to take this thing off. When Theo accidentally nicked me, it was basically an allergic reaction.”

“Yeah, one that almost brought the school down on everyone,” Isaac points out, running a hand over his face, “and nearly killed you.”

“Because Theo’s an alpha.”

Isaac stares at him, lips pressed into a thin line. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he is not a fan of this idea. “And I’m not. It might not even work.”

It has to work. They have to do something to get out of here before Deaton gets to start his ritual. Stiles can’t die down here. He refuses to die down here. “Then you bit me, and we figure something else out.” Whatever that might be.

Sighing, Isaac sinks onto the mattress. He’s not happy. Not even a little bit, but he nods to himself as he stares at the empty hallway outside of their little cell. “We should do it after breakfast tomorrow.” Isaac sets his jaw resolutely, locking eyes with him. It’s a mystery to Stiles how he can keep telling the time in here. “People here are afraid of you. If you heal, we can pretend someone’s trying to poison you.”

Absolutely nobody down here would be surprised if one of the orderlies slipped some shit into his food — unless Deaton is personally checking it every time. “Okay.” Stiles sits down next to Isaac. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” At least, he hopes it is. If this doesn’t work, all he can cling on to is Deaton fucking up the ritual.

Isaac studies him for a moment. “You think Valack wants you to put on the mask again?”

“Of course.” Stiles crosses his arms over his knees, staring out into the hallway. “I’m surprised we’re not still down there.”

“Sounds like you’re not expecting a good night’s sleep.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh. “No, no, I’m not.” In fact, he’d be very surprised if they had the chance to put their plan in motion before Valack drags him back and puts that mask on him, expecting different results. Still, Valack wants him to find something, and he most likely wants him to do so before Deaton is finished setting up his little ritual. “I give him two hours.”

“I’m going to sleep for a week when we’re out of here.” Isaac closes his eyes, scrunching his face a little as he tries to get comfortable.

When they get out. Stiles leans his head against the cold tiles behind him. When. Letting out a long breath, Stiles closes his eyes as well. Yeah, they’ll get out of here, one way or another.

---

When Stiles opens his eyes, he’s surprised to find himself in the same room he’s just left. Well, technically, he’s still in there. However, the last time he put on the mask, the room was white and covered in blood. This time, Valack is lying on the chair, staring at nothing. His eyes and mouth are wide open, almost as if he’s died screaming. There’s no wound on his body, no blood coming from him, yet it’s splattered all over his body. None of it seems to be his own.

Stiles turns to the corner Isaac would be standing in. Isaac is gone, but Schrader is slouched there, throat ripped open by what can only be claws. Isaac. Part of him hates seeing it. Not because Isaac killed someone. They both knew it would come to that if they had to fight their way out of here. It’s just that Stiles wanted to be the one to rip his head off. Still, he’s glad Schrader will find his demise violently and with no hope of survival. He doesn’t deserve anything less.

He turns further, gaze following the blood drops on the ground, until he’s facing the door. Isaac stands there, claws out, ready to strike yet frozen in time.

“That’s where the fun begins.”

Stiles whips back around.

The fox is grinning back at him, still wearing his face, still shrouded in the aura of shadows. Its arms are crossed over the back of the chair.

Stiles distinctly remembers not seeing him there. Then again, he doesn’t remember anything being like this. “Why is everything different?” If he saw the future, or at least a possible outcome, something must’ve changed to cause this change.

“Because we’re at a crossroads.” The fox snaps its fingers, plunging them into momentary darkness before they return to the white room. “And this is all in your head.” At first, everything seems the same. There’s blood on the ground, but nobody in the room. Then he sees it: Isaac, sitting in the middle of the room, holding Stiles’ lifeless body in his arms. Tears have left lines in the dirt and blood on his face, but Isaac isn’t crying anymore. He’s staring into space, seemingly unable to move and refusing to leave Stiles’ body behind.

His heart hammers in his chest, and Stiles grabs the table's edge to hold himself up.

The fox snaps its fingers again.

This time, Stiles sees himself bending over Isaac’s body, a single arrow sticking in his chest. His eyes are wide and empty, staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing. Deep down, Stiles knows it’s his fault. He can tell he did something wrong. He’s failed Isaac, and now he has to suffer the consequences. Stiles doubts he’ll ever be able to forget his screams as he begs Isaac to wake up, but the black lines have reached his heart. The poison has killed him. Slowly. Agonizingly.

In this scenario, neither of them will make it out alive. They’re both going to die in the basement of this fucking hellhole.

“Stop,” Stiles breathes, his voice shaking from unspilled tears.

Another snap of fingers, and they return to Valack’s little hideaway. “You needed to see the risk in poisoning us.” The fox looks disinterested while studying Valack’s dead body, as if nothing that happens really matters to it. Perhaps it doesn’t. Kira’s fox took a life of its own as well, not caring about who it hurt as long as it got its way. He wonders if Noshiko still struggles with her fox or if she has managed to become one with it.

Stiles takes a steadying breath before he asks, “It would work?”

“It would.” The fox snaps its gaze, boring into Stiles’, “but we’d be too weak. If we were to survive Deaton’s ritual, we wouldn’t be strong enough to protect Isaac. One of us will die.”

And that’s out of the question. Stiles won’t allow Isaac to die. They’re both getting out of this hellhole alive. “How do you know? Does the mask-“

“Show us the future?” The fox’s laughter is cold. “There’s no object capable of that. This mask, however, offers us the ability of extrasensory perception. The psychic power to-“

“Acquire information without the help of any known senses, I know.”

The fox all but smiles. “We made a good choice with you,” it whispers, pushing away from the chair. “We could’ve been unstoppable.” It sounds almost fond of the idea, but its features darken again as it steps forward. “We still can be.” Its promise is more than tempting right now. Being unstoppable would surely get them out of here in no time, or at least once the collar is off.

But at what cost?

Stiles noticed a difference in his powers after fully accepting the nemeton. However, part of him still refuses to take down the mental barriers that keep the nogitsune out. It feels too soon, too dangerous, no matter how helpful it would be to access even the smallest amount of its power. The thought of letting it in still feels like it won, after all. Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready to face all the consequences of becoming one with the nogitsune in his head. 

“Why am I seeing this?” Stiles gestures around. At this moment, it seems best to ignore the promise. While he’s accepted being a nogitsune and using its powers, feeding on pain and chaos, part of him remains uncertain of the fox in his head. After all, it is a remnant of the nogitsune that once possessed him. It’s most likely not any less murderous than it used to be.

If it's offended by Stiles ignoring it, the fox doesn’t show it. It merely folds its arms over its chest, standing eerily still as it regards Stiles. “Because we’re looking for a way out. The mask helps us see them.”

“I don’t see how my or Isaac’s death is helpful in that matter.”

The fox chuckles again, cocking its head to the side. “Death is a way out.”

But not the one Stiles wants. Biting the inside of his cheek, he studies Valack’s face. He wonders what happened to him. Is it his doing? Is it the fox’s?

Is it theirs?

There are no signs of strangulation, no snapped neck, and no indication of any other trauma to the head or body that could’ve caused his death. Something killed him. Stiles darts his gaze back to the fox, who has not looked away from him for a second. “How do we get here?” Even if there are more outcomes, perhaps even safer ones, this is a way out that leaves Isaac unharmed physically and mentally.

This might be their best chance.

“You trust us,” the fox replies, stressing every single word by stepping closer until they’re almost nose to nose.

Stiles raises his brows. “Trust you?” His heart hammers against his chest. Trusting it seems like the doing of a madman — or of someone out of options. His gaze darts back to Valack.

Perhaps Stiles is both. 

“Yes.” The shadows darken at the response, drowning nearly all the light from the room as anger swells like a wave — anger so ancient, it makes the nemeton’s power feel insignificant. “We have proven ourselves to you. We helped save Theo’s life, or do you think the nemeton could’ve done it without us?”

“And you have proven to be willing to murder my friends.” Although Stiles doesn’t remember much, he does recall the urge to kill anyone who dared even thinking about taking Theo away from him. His fear of losing him might have made him irrational, yet Stiles doubts that if he were entirely himself at that moment, he would’ve allowed any harm to his friends.

The darkness vanishes after a sigh, and the fox looks tired. Perhaps the collar is affecting it more than it lets on. “We’re not your enemy, Stiles.”

Stiles exhales and turns away, focusing on Isaac standing frozen in the doorway, claws dripping blood. There’s determination on his face, eyes slightly narrowed. He’s alive. He’s unharmed. He’s good. “How do we get here?” What do I have to do to kill Valack and Schrader and keep Isaac alive? Because that’s what matters. That’s the only thing that matters, and if he has to bring his fox into the fold, then so be it.

“We need to get the collar off. You need to trust us.” Shadows are licking around Stiles’ shoulders. The fox is standing so close he can feel its breath on the nape of his neck. “We can trick them.”

Yes.

Stiles widens his eyes. Yes, they can. Isaac doesn’t need to bite him. All Valack needs to think is that he’s dying.

“We’re too valuable to Valack,” the fox whispers, dark laughter clinging to its every syllable. “He won’t let us die.” 

It’s tempting. So very fucking tempting, but Stiles knows it’s dangerous too. Kira’s told him all about it, about how the fox is not easy to subdue — and if she already struggled with it, Stiles has little doubt that he’s going to fail miserably. But it’s their ticket out of here, Stiles knows it is. Perhaps it’s also time to fully embrace every single part of him. If he needs help, he can ask Noshiko and Kira. They both went through this, and they both succeeded. Keeping the fox out will only get him so far, especially after accepting the nemeton with open arms.

“How do we do this?” His stomach twists when the word rolls over his tongue. We. The nogitsune, the nemeton, and Stiles. Them. Together. A team. One force to be reckoned with. It still feels like a bad idea, but it’s going to be fine. They’re going to get out of here with everyone unharmed.

Because they have to.

The fox chuckles, a dark sound so unlike Stiles’. “We shake on it.” It appears in front of him, grin wide, hand outstretched.

But there is still the issue of losing control. It might not happen, yet it is a very likely possibility. He’s been a kitsune, or at the very least part kitsune, for only a few months. Keeping the lid on the remnant of a thousand-year-old nogitsune won’t be a walk in the park. Not at all. “Isaac—”

“We won’t touch him,” the fox says, sounding sincere — as sincere as a fox can sound in his mind. “We won’t make the same promise for anyone else standing in our way.”

“I don’t care about anyone else,” Stiles replies and grabs the fox’s hand. Everyone else can go to hell for all he cares.

Shadows wrap around him instantly, drowning him and everything else in darkness. He closes his eyes, letting himself fall and be caught by something ancient, something nightmares are made from.

Stiles snaps his eyes open, returning to a room of silence. The pain the mask usually causes is gone. He feels strangely calm, his heartbeat steady in his chest. He tries to move his hands, but Valack made sure to lock him down — for his own safety, of course. They’re hot against his skin. Poisoned too. It’s not just the collar they need to get rid of.

He curls his fingers around the armrest. First things first, he needs to act the part until he’s able to spit out the hallucination. Because if he can’t do that, then there’s no getting out of here.

But this should be easy. Manipulation, after all, has become his second nature. All he needs to do is concentrate. Under normal circumstances, that would be an issue, but even his brain cooperates in life-and-death situations.

Stiles closes his eyes, remembering the diary of the girl Theo gave him what feels like ages ago. All the things he can do with just his mind – and he can see it already; himself, having a seizure, bleeding from his nose and mouth.

It takes seconds for Isaac to call for him, panic painfully clear in his tone. Hearing him makes it almost impossible to keep the hallucination up, but Stiles can’t risk stopping – not now. Not when he’s this close to finding a way out.

Because Valack is panicking too, just for an entirely different reason, “I cannot lose the nemeton.” Although it is the fox he needs. But Valack doesn’t care about details. He wants to keep him locked up down here for selfish reasons, power, an advantage, perhaps even to keep an eye on supernatural creatures or to have someone who can tell the future with the help of this mask; such a pity he didn’t believe Stiles when he told him he’d die. It would’ve prepared him better for this very day.

The mask is pulled from his face, allowing Stiles to see past the darkness and his hallucination. Isaac is staring down at him, eyes wide and filled with panic. Schrader and Valack are there as well. While the latter worries he might lose his newfound prized possession, Schrader seems more entranced, almost as if he’s enjoying his view a little too much. It wouldn’t be surprising if that were the case.

“Get it off.” Valack gestures in the direction of his neck.

After a moment, Schrader looks up. “Boss, I don’t think-“

“Listen to me,” Valack snaps, yanking Schrader closer by the collar of his shirt while he keeps staring down at him, seemingly frozen in fear, “I don’t care what your business with torturing this kid is, but I want him alive. Take that damned collar off!” He shoves him off before returning his attention back to Stiles, probably worrying about what he’ll tell Deaton if this goes south.

Good thing he won’t have to worry long about this.

Schrader fumbles with his keys, and Stiles makes sure to change his hallucination enough for him to lie still. He can’t risk this going wrong now. It’s easy. Bending the illusion to his liking feels like second nature, like something he’s been doing since before he learned to walk. Schrader pushes the key into the little lock, believing nothing amiss.

Good.

The collar opens with a soft click, and the second the cold metal leaves his skin, power rushes back into him so fast it makes him dizzy. It’s bad enough that Stiles doesn’t have the energy to get up immediately. Since Schrader is currently unlocking his handcuffs as well, it probably isn’t the worst idea to remain still for just a little longer – even though looking up at Isaac’s distraught face makes it hard to keep the illusion up along with the power rushing back into every fiber of his body. He didn’t expect this much power, although he should’ve probably expected it. He’s holding more than just the nemeton’s power now. Having unlimited access to the nogitsune’s power does make a huge difference.

Schrader steps back, metal clanging against metal. Stiles doesn’t move. Not immediately.

“Check his pulse,” Valack orders.

But Schrader shakes his head. There’s no way he’s getting close to Stiles again without any security. His precaution is smart, and a little bit unsettling – and Stiles has an inkling as to why that might be. Although nobody is pointing a weapon at him any longer, Isaac remains calm and unmoving. Stiles can manipulate what he sees, but he cannot hide his steady heartbeat. Isaac caught on.

Good.

Muttering something under his breath, Valack approaches him, probably trying not to look like a coward in front of his most unhinged orderly. His movements are slow and hesitant. Stiles can smell his fear, spice and sweet. Noticing it comes with a surprising hunger. As much as he would like to draw this out, to make Valack shiver and fear, he’s too starved to enjoy this for long.

The very second Valack bends over him, Stiles grabs his face. Instantly, the illusion shatters.

Isaac is on Schrader, all his anger culminating in the attack. He doesn’t hold back. Not for a second. The first punch breaks enough bones in his face to make Schrader nearly unrecognizable. If that hasn’t killed him, the second punch for sure does.

One less person to worry about.

Stiles cocks his head to the side, returning his attention to Valack. “That was easy.” He chuckles before slamming Valack onto the chair, keeping him down with a hand around his throat. Valack opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say a single word. How very surprising to see him speechless. People who say Stiles talks a lot haven’t met Valack. If someone’s in love with hearing themselves talk, it would be Gabriel Valack. “Let’s see, Gabriel, what are you afraid of?”

“I have Theo!”

Although part of him expected this to be nothing more than a weak attempt to distract him, Stiles can’t help but hesitate. There is the possibility of Valack getting his hands on Theo. It’s Theo, after all. Stiles wouldn’t put it past his boyfriend to go on a solo mission, doing exactly what Stiles would do – and what Theo keeps trying to stop him from doing. Recklessness might be Theo’s least favorite trait about him, but that goes both ways. “Do you?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s check that really quick.”

Accessing the ley lines happens in a heartbeat. Stiles doesn’t even have to close his eyes. He finds Theo within seconds, and while he’s not at home, he’s also not inside Eichen. But close. A little too close.

The operating theatre.

At least he’s not alone.

“And here I thought we’d be honest with each other, Gabriel.” Stiles sighs. “How disappointing.” With a single shake of his head, Stiles presses his fingers harder against the vulnerable skin of Valack’s throat. He can feel his heartbeat pick up, can sense his panic filling the room. Slipping into his mind comes just as easy. There are no barriers, no defenses to keep him out. Valack’s mind is a blank canvas for Stiles to create his worst nightmare.

Interestingly enough, the thing Valack fears the most is being locked up down here again. In the dark. All alone. It’s easy enough to create after being locked up down here himself for a while. No food. No company aside from the monsters Valack left down here, lurking in the shadows just outside of Valack’s view, vanishing whenever he turns his head to catch a glimpse of them. Stiles puts him into this nightmare, not allowing him a way out – until Valack’s screams disappear, and the man is nothing more than an empty shell.

Stiles pulls his hand back and turns to look at Isaac, who is standing in the doorway, watching, waiting. “They’re in the tunnels.”

“Idiots,” Isaac mutters, rolling his eyes.  

“Are you surprised?”

Isaac doesn’t reply immediately. He studies him, almost curiously, for a few moments. “No,” he replies then, curling and uncurling his fingers. His skin is still covered in blood. He didn’t even bother to wipe Schrader’s blood off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Because I’ve yet to encounter a spontaneous eye-color change that occurs naturally.” Isaac raises his brows. The smile on his lips does not reach his eyes. He’s skeptical. He doesn’t trust him.

Stiles doesn’t find it in him to judge Isaac. Although he’s not been possessed, he went through shit because of the nogitsune too. It was an infection that was caught by everyone Stiles has ever touched, and he wishes he could make it better. “I’m me, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Stiles crosses and uncrosses his arms, suddenly weirdly self-conscious about fully embracing the nogitsune. “But I guess that’s what everyone would say.”

For a moment, Isaac doesn’t reply. It’s almost impossible to know what’s going on in his head. “I reckon, yeah.”

“I was right, by the way.” Stiles is aware there’s probably nothing he can say to make Isaac trust him fully, and while this does hurt a little, he can’t blame him. “Your bite will poison me.”

“You could be lying.”

“I could.” Stiles pulls his shoulders up in a slow shrug. It’s fair of Isaac to be careful around him. After all, he just killed Valack with his powers – something he wasn’t supposed to be able to do. It wasn’t supposed to be in his nature. “But we both want to get out of here, right? So, how about we call it a truce until we’re with the others?”

Isaac clenches and unclenches his jaw. His gaze darts from Stiles to Valack’s body. It lingers there for a few seconds as Isaac’s probably considering the chances of getting stabbed in the back or abandoned. They’re both aware he needs Stiles to get out of here. Isaac narrows his eyes slightly before he locks eyes with him again. “You think we can still get out through the showers?”

“Yeah, we can.” And if not, Stiles will make them a way. He caused quite some damage the last time. Surely he can do it again.

After another few seconds of silence, Isaac nods and slips out the door.

Stiles follows him instantly. It’s probably a good idea to use the time they have before everyone figures out what happened down here. Although he is ready to clear them a path, it doesn’t mean Stiles is hoping he’ll have to. If he’s got any say in this, he’d prefer to get out of here as quietly as possible. Their chances of doing so would be easier if he knew the time of day. He’d prefer to break out at night because that’s when the basement should be completely empty.

As they’re rounding a corner, the hallway in front of them is completely empty. Their first hurdle is the door a few feet away. Although it probably shouldn’t be hard to break the lock and get them through.

“Is the electric lock going to be an issue?” Isaac asks, stopping next to him. He keeps his distance to the gate, glancing at the invisible line of mountain ash with a sneer. If not for that, Isaac could break the lock, and they’d be out of here in no time.

Stiles wonders if he can somehow rip it off. There’s no way he will be able to break it. Supernatural strength or not, he’s not as physically strong as Isaac. “I doubt it,” he says anyway. If he’s not strong enough to do it by hand, he’ll use magic instead. They’re getting out of here, even if it’s the last thing he does.

But the moment his fingers nearly touch the bars, they bump against some invisible force. A glimmer of blue light emanates from absolutely nowhere, leaving a soft prickle upon his skin. Stiles yanks his hand back.

“What was that?” Isaac asks, an edge of panic in his voice.

Stiles’ heart pounds in his chest. They both know exactly what that was. But that’s impossible, right? He was able to walk in and out of Eichen House multiple times now. The mountain ash was never a problem. Why now?

 Still, Stiles reaches for the electric lock again. Maybe he was accidentally brushing against one of the bars. He’s stressed and running on adrenaline. Maybe he just imagined this.  His fingertips brush against an invisible wall once more, and again, even if only for a brief second, he can see the mountain ash flash at the contact. This isn’t his imagination.

They’re locked in.

“No.” Stiles pushes his hands against the bars, watching as the wall of mountain ash glows in the otherwise dark tunnel. The touch doesn’t hurt. It’s merely a weird tingle, but that isn’t exactly a relief right now. Because they’re stuck. They’re locked in. But that’s not possible. It shouldn’t be.

How can they be locked in?

“Magic, mate. You can still use magic.” Isaac grabs Stiles’ shoulder and yanks him around. Despite his reasonable tone, he looks just as panicked as Stiles feels. They were both banking on Stiles being able to walk out of this place without any issue because that’s how it’s supposed to be.  

“Right.” Stiles nods, trying his best to calm himself. “I’ll break the line. It’s going to be fine.” Peachy even. This is nothing more than a minor setback.  

“Yes,” Isaac agrees as he steps away to give him more space. “Destroy the floor, break the line.”

Sounds easy enough. Plus, he’s done that before. Multiple times. He’s good at destroying the ground. It shouldn’t be a problem. They’re standing right on top of a bunch of telluric currents. The ley lines are powerful here. He can absolutely break the line. A little bit of mountain ash won’t be able to stop the nemeton’s power, right?

Taking a steadying breath, Stiles crouches down and presses his trembling fingers to the cold stone. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to take several deep breaths. His heartbeat slows as he finds the ley lines responding to his call. It takes seconds until the ground rumbles and roots break through, bringing back memories of the night Theo got hurt. Stiles opens his eyes. He can’t dwell on that now. The past is the past. Now, he needs to focus on getting him and Isaac out of here.

And they’re close, so very close. It will take only a few seconds until the roots have reached the gate and destroyed the line of mountain ash.  They’re so close to getting out of here. Once they’re through, they’ll only have to get upstairs and get to the showers. They’re basically out of here.

But then the roots slam against the wall of mountain ash and crumble to nothing.

Stiles grinds his teeth and stands up again, ignoring Isaac’s cursing. No. No. Absolutely not. Stiles darts his gaze around the room, looking for anything that might help. He will not be bested by fucking mountain ash. The roots have left some rubble behind. Fine. That might work. He lifts his hands, focusing on the biggest pieces around him. His muscles ache, almost as if he’s trying to lift the rubble with his bare hands. Merging with the nogitsune clearly doesn’t mean he won’t have to feed anymore.

And he’s starving.

Badly.

Since being down here, he was only able to feed just enough to heal. Using his powers, especially the nemeton’s magic, takes its toll on him. Still, the rubble rises off the ground even if a little hesitantly. It works regardless, and that’s all that matters right now. They can figure the rest out once they’re out of here.

Stiles takes another deep breath and hurls the rubble forward with all his might. Once again, the stones slam against the wall of mountain ash. The gate is left standing without a scratch.

Stiles is about to scream.

“Guess you’re not a chimera any longer,” Isaac deadpans, running his fingers through his hair.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Stiles said ‘yes’ to the nogitsune and turned himself into a kitsune, a real one. Not a chimera. He didn’t even know that was possible – and isn’t this what Noshiko and Satomi have been afraid of when they tried to poison him all those weeks ago? He doesn’t get it. Why would they be afraid if he’s stopped by a single line of mountain ash?

Stiles curls his hands into tight fists. “Lucky me.” He kicks one of the larger stones next to him, wincing at the pain coming and going in flashes. They’re out of their cell, and yet, they’re still very much locked up. All because Stiles trusted the nogitsune. He was so desperate to get out of here, to protect Theo, that he trusted the fox in his head and got himself into an even bigger mess.

“What now?” Stiles stares at Isaac, hoping he’d come up with another idea. Maybe there is something Stiles is missing. As powerful as everyone thinks he is, right now, he’s nothing if not fucking useless.

“We probably shouldn’t stay here.” Isaac grabs Stiles by the arm without missing a beat and leads him back into the room they’ve just come out of

His gaze catches on Schrader’s completely unrecognizable face, and his breath catches in his throat. Stiles knows Isaac doesn’t shy away from a fight, but he’s never seen this level of violence from him. Not that he’s got any room to judge. Stiles glances at Valack’s body. He’s enjoyed doing that, and he’d gladly do it again.

“Someone’s going to check out what happened after that commotion.” Isaac closes the door behind them. “Can you hide us?”

“We need to get out, Isaac.”

“We need a plan,” Isaac snaps back, “and that means we need time. So, if someone comes looking, you need to hide us, got it?”

Stiles stares at the werewolf. For all the times Isaac hated being in charge of anything, he has zero qualms ordering him around. “Yes, I can.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the ground. “But they’re going to know something’s up when they see what I did.”

“Then you should come up with an idea fast,” Isaac suggests cooly. “That’s something you can’t screw up.”

What the fuck?

Stiles stares at him.

Isaac blinks a couple of times, and then his face falls. “I’m sorry.” His tone softens just as his expression turns guilty. “I don’t know why I said that.”

But Stiles does, or at the very least, he’s got a hunch. “Not a chimera anymore, remember?” While he’s always been able to cause strife within others, it used to take more time until it affected the emotions of everyone around him. Looks like now he’s got full access to the nogitsune’s powers instead of a mere fraction of them.

Great. Nothing beats learning about all these changes while they’re in Eichen House’s basement of horrors with no way out.  

“Bloody hell.” Isaac sits down in front of one of the shelves and lets out a breath. “I didn’t mean that. I just want to get out of here.”

That would make two of them. Stiles sits down next to Isaac, scooting close enough that their arms and legs are touching. “I did fuck up though.” If he’d known what would have happened by accepting the nogitsune, he’d never have done it. His being a chimera was their ticket out of here. The only other way of leaving Eichen House is being escorted out by one of the orderlies, and they all know that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Deaton made that very clear.  

Isaac shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known.”

But maybe he should have. Before letting the nogitsune fully in, they were two separate entities. Stiles was nothing more than the glue holding them together. They were co-existing, all needing each other to survive. Stiles would’ve died back in junior year if the nogitsune didn’t leave remnants of itself inside of his new body. The nogitsune and the nemeton would’ve killed each other if not for Stiles being their vessel. They were sharing a body, and Stiles just so happened to be able to benefit from both of their powers. Now, they’re one and the same. Now, a nogitsune is wielding the nemeton’s power, and Stiles doesn’t want to think about what might happen if he ever loses control.

“Who knew I’d ever be excited about seeing Theo.” Isaac grimaces.

Stiles stiffens. “I can talk to him.”

“Yes,” Isaac says, eyes widening in delight, “yes, you can.”

“I might not be able to hide us at the same time, though.” Stiles draws his brows together, watching as Isaac scrambles to his feet.

The werewolf gestures dismissively. “I’ll figure something out. Want me to turn off the lights?”

“Yeah, that would help.” Stiles pulls his legs to his chest and closes his eyes. If he’s entirely honest, he’s not super into the idea of asking Theo to come to him mere moments before all of Eichen figures out two supernatural creatures are on the loose. However, if they don’t get out of here, Isaac is going to die, and Stiles might too. Valack might’ve been interested in keeping him alive for his own benefit, but Deaton wants the nemeton. He doesn’t care what might happen to Stiles as long as he gets it.

Moments after the room is plunged into darkness, Stiles can feel himself slipping into the in-between that connects him to the ley lines. The place is welcoming him home still. There is a sense of safety in this realm that Stiles is unable to put into words. Maybe it’s the proximity to the ley lines, or maybe it’s Theo’s spark. It’s stronger when touching him directly. Just feeling him in the first place fills Stiles with so much longing it hurts everywhere. He’s missed Theo this whole time, but now that he’s so close to him again, it’s impossible to ignore the distance between them.

When he finds them, Stiles settles onto a ley line closest to Theo. He wishes he could kiss him, hug him, or at the very least see his face instead of merely a silhouette. Instead, he has to watch him sit on something, arms crossed over his thighs. He’s keeping his distance from the others. Even Tracy is pacing on the other side of the room.

Stiles lets his gaze travel over the people he can see; Peter, presumably leaning against a wall, arms crossed over his chest, is the one closest to Theo. It’s nice to see that the two of them are at least managing to be in the same room. Stiles wonders if Jackson is here as well. Brett is standing in the middle of the room. Judging by his stance, he’s propping himself up on a table, studying something lying on top of it. Corey, Josh, and Hayden are standing on the other side of it.

“Since we know he’s alive-“

“We knew he’s been alive the whole time,” Brett interrupts Theo without looking up from whatever he’s studying, “because your betas didn’t drop like flies.”

“Since we know he’s alive,” Theo repeats, sounding a little more pissed off than usual when being in the vicinity of Brett, “I don’t get why you refuse to let me in there.”

Brett lets out a long breath and turns to look at Theo. “Because I value my existence. If anything happens to you, Stiles is going to have a field day with me.” It would almost be funny if it weren’t true.

“So?” Theo pulls his shoulders up.

“Boys.” That’s his father, and he sounds more than resigned. Judging by his tone alone, it’s pretty clear that their interactions have not become any friendlier with Stiles out of the picture.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Good to know nothing’s changed.”

Theo whips his head around, staring straight at him. Something that didn’t happen the last time. He kept looking in his direction, but now? Now, it’s like Theo can actually see him.

“Well, you know Th-“ Brett cuts off, glancing around the room as if he’s not entirely sure he heard that right. “Stiles?” That didn’t happen the last time, either.  

“You can hear me?” Stiles blinks in confusion. He thought it was the mating bond that made all of this possible. Then again, he does share this weird connection with Brett as well, and who knows what changed because he’s essentially leveled up. Somehow, he has the feeling that there will be a bunch more surprises awaiting him in the near future. “Never mind, I-“

“Kiddo?” The hopeful tone in his father’s voice nearly shatters his heart. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

As much as he missed Theo, he also missed his father. It was easier to ignore his feelings when he had Isaac to keep him company. They stopped each other from wallowing in their misery, but that doesn’t mean Stiles didn’t have moments, especially just before falling asleep, when he naively wished his father could tuck him in again even though he’s not a little child anymore. It was way worse before Isaac became his cellmate.

“I’m okay, Dad,” he says, even though he knows his father can’t hear him. Perhaps if he could, he would’ve tried to keep his voice steadier.

Theo slips off his seat. “He said he’s okay,” he says as he walks towards him, and Theo only stops when he’s standing right in front of him. Nobody says anything. They’re all watching Theo as he’s raising a hand as if to cup Stiles’ cheek – only to touch nothing but air.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best to keep it together.

“How is Isaac?” Brett asks, looking in his general direction but not directly at him.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles opens his eyes again and looks from Theo to Brett and back again. “We’re stuck.” He would love to linger, to spend more time right here, right now. But Isaac is waiting for him. Time in this place is complicated. “We’re not in our cell any longer, but we can’t get out.”

“What,” Theo starts, then stops, most likely furrowing his brows in confusion. Stiles didn’t have any issues going anywhere the last time they were down there. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t you get out?” The question ‘what’s wrong’ hangs heavy in the air. The only reason Theo isn’t asking about it might be the presence of Stiles’ dad.

Stiles wishes Theo wouldn’t ask so many questions for once. “I can’t cross mountain ash anymore.”

“What?” Brett asks, pushing away from the table completely. The alarm in his voice makes everyone in the room clearly nervous.

“What’s going on?” his dad asks, panic sneaking into his voice.

Stiles focuses on Theo and Theo alone. “I need you to listen to me,” he says in a low voice, fingers itching to grab Theo’s face, to cup his cheek and press their foreheads together, “I would never ask you to come and get us, but– Deaton wants the nemeton. If he finds us, he’s going to kill Isaac, and I’m going to be thrown back into this fucking cell, and I– I can’t go there again, Theo.” Despite his best efforts, his voice finally cracks.

Theo reaches for him again, this time for his hand, and he growls in frustration. “I’ll get you out, I promise.”

“We’re holed up in an old office–“

“Stiles.”

He whips around and then looks up, trying to locate the direction of the voice. Then it hits him. Isaac.

“I have to go.” Stiles swallows, forcing himself to step away from Theo. “An old office on the lowest floor.”

“Stiles!”

“Please, be careful.” And he pushes himself away from the ley line. Within seconds, Stiles snaps back into reality, gasping for air like a drowning person.

Isaac grabs his shoulders, worry etched onto his features. “Someone’s coming.”

Part of him is still clinging to the ley lines, refusing to let go. Stiles shakes his head, trying to get rid of the drowsiness that comes with surfacing from that other realm. His gaze darts across the room as he grabs Isaac’s shirt and pulls him next to him. It’s easy to pretend it’s empty, easy to see it right in front of his inner eyes. Valack is no longer lying on the chair. Schrader’s body doesn’t exist. The collar doesn’t exist in this version of the room, and neither does Stiles and Isaac.

When Isaac mutters something under his breath, Stiles knows he’s been successful.

And not a moment too soon.

The door bangs open, followed by the light turning back on. Nobody says a single word. Nobody enters the room either. For what feels like forever, nothing at all happens. The silence is almost more unnerving than anything else. Stiles isn’t good with silence, especially not the one that means someone is lurking in the darkness.

Waiting.

Stiles gets why Valack was afraid of that.

Something metal clangs against the ground. Stiles digs his fingers into Isaac’s arm, blood rushing in his ears. The silence drags on. It’s impossible to tell how much time is passing. Seconds are most likely creeping by as Stiles holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable to happen – whatever that may be.

The silence is suddenly broken by a loud pop and Stiles breathing in a mouthful of dust. Or sand. Or a powder. Whatever it is, it burns his mouth and, nose, and throat. It burns enough to destroy his focus. The illusion shatters within seconds around them, and there is nowhere else to hide.

Stiles raises a hand, trying to shield his face as he’s still coughing up his lungs. What the fuck?

Next to him, Isaac gets to his feet. A low growl fills the room.

Every fiber of Stiles’ body wants him to stop, not to approach, to sit right next to him where it’s safe. But Isaac doesn’t. He moves fast, his footsteps echoing next to Stiles’ coughs.

Until they don’t.

Isaac howls in pain, and Stiles is pretty sure his heart stops for a few seconds. Still coughing, he lowers his hand and tries to focus on what is happening while his throat feels like he’s choking on sandpaper. No. Stiles’ gaze catches on the arrow sticking out of Isaac’s chest. While the arrow itself would not be a problem, the yellow substance clinging to it sure the fuck is. He’s instantly going through everything he knows about yellow wolfsbane. Mostly, he’s considering how much time Isaac’s got left. Brett was merely nicked, and everything went bad for him fast.

That arrow is way too close to Isaac’s heart.

“I can help him.”

Stiles shoots Deaton a look. It’s no surprise he’s the one behind this fucking powder. When people realized they were out of their cell after Stiles caused a commotion a while ago, Deaton most likely expected Stiles to try to hide them. In that sense, he’s a lot more dangerous than Valack. Deaton knows what he’s up against and how to deal with it. Since the powder didn’t affect Isaac, it’s most likely wolf lichen.

Grinding his teeth, Stiles scrambles to his feet. He doesn’t feel weaker than before, but his throat and mouth are burning.

Powdered wolf lichen will stop him in his tracks. Good to know.

“I’m going to kill you.” Stiles is aware he probably doesn’t look all that threatening as he all but stumbles over to Isaac, voice shredded as if he’s been screaming all night. Even though all he wants is to crouch down, to help him., Stiles knows he won’t be able to do anything. Not alone. But Theo is coming for him. All they have to do is hold out until Theo is here, and Isaac’s going to be fine. “I’m going to kill all of you.” He curls his hands into fists as he assesses his situation; Isaac is dying behind him, and Deaton is surrounded by six guards – two on his left, two on his right, and two right behind him.

There’s a line of mountain ash in the door.

They’re locked in.

Deaton raises his hands. “There is no need for violence at this point,” he says as if there aren’t six armed hunters surrounding him.

“You shot Isaac.” Stiles can feel his nails bite into the palms of his hands.

Isaac wraps his hand around Stiles’ wrist, and the amount of pain he’s in makes Stiles almost jump out of his skin.

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, he turns to the werewolf. He’s still aware of everything surrounding him, apparently, but he’s sweating, and his face is red. There are no black lines, no visible poison. But Stiles doesn’t need to see it to know it’s working overtime, not as long as Isaac’s grip is vicelike around his wrist.

“Take it,” Isaac says, using his other hand to drag the arrow out of his chest. It only doubles the pain. “Take it and get us out of here.”

“Stiles, you know you won’t be able to cross mountain ash.” Deaton doesn’t even sound surprised, almost like he knows exactly what happened to Stiles, what he did. Perhaps he’s been hoping this would happen.

Then again, “You won’t be able to separate the nemeton from me any longer.” Stiles looks back at Deaton as he grabs Isaac’s hand just as tightly. He’s not going to take a lot of his pain. Just enough to take the edge off, maybe give Isaac more strength to fight the wolfsbane. Taking too much from Theo has taught him a lesson. There’s a point where Isaac’s body would simply stop fighting the poison, and Stiles is not going to risk this. He can fight them off as long as it takes Theo to get here – and once he gets here, it’s not going to be pretty for Deaton.

The smile he gets in return is more than just unpleasant. It seems as if Deaton has been able to mask his real feelings better than Stiles expected. “I don’t need to.” He pushes his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “All I need is for you to get back in your cage.”

With how relaxed Deaton acts, Stiles doubts he expects anyone to come to Stiles and Isaac’s rescue anytime soon. Which, in turn, begs the question of how much Deaton truly knows about his powers. Valack and Deaton both have their own approach. While the latter has learned how to deal with the supernatural himself, Valack relies on the people around him.

But with Valack dead and Deaton thinking he’s got him cornered-

A scream echoes through the basement. Loud and shrill enough to make Isaac wince and duck his head despite the wolfsbane putting him through some of the worst pain Stiles has felt as a nogitsune.

Stiles smirks.

Lydia.

“You’re so fucked.”

Deaton’s smile finally vanishes. His new expression is cold. “Take the fox. Kill the wolf.”

Six arrows point at Isaac. Not a single hunter dares to step over the line of mountain ash.

“Nice to see what you really think about us.” Stiles lets go of Isaac’s hand and tugs his arm free from the concerningly weak grip. Without hesitation, he steps in front of Isaac. He promised him they’d get out of here together, and he’s got every intention of keeping that promise – no matter the lengths he will have to go to. After killing Valack and Donovan, a few more won’t make much difference. “You want to kill Isaac?” Stiles curls his fingers slightly, feeling the familiar heat of his energy against his palms. “You will have to go through us.”

Deaton cocks his head to the side, watching Stiles for a moment as if to contemplate his next steps. Then, he gestures for the hunters to lower their weapons. “If you let me in, I can help him.”

Stiles isn’t that stupid. “No one is going to touch him.” Narrowing his eyes, he targets the light in the room first. The bulb explodes into a thousand tiny shards. Some of them hit Stiles, but he’s hardly bothered by it. They’re plunged into momentary darkness. Fear spikes in the room as everyone scrambles to find their flashlights.

Pathetic.

Even with a line of mountain ash separating them firmly, everyone cowers.

Stiles hurls a ball of energy at Deaton. It crashes into the shield of mountain ash, illuminating everyone on the other side for a few moments. Someone shrieks.

There we go.

Stiles does it again, and when the light illuminates Deaton’s face for the flicker of a second, he looks genuinely concerned. Probably because he knows mountain ash isn’t foolproof. Scott got through it with the help of the nemeton. It nearly killed him, but he got through. So, Stiles could too – or he could, at the very least pretend to try until Theo gets here.

Three pairs of flashlights turn on. Full kitsune or not, Stiles prefers the darkness. Perhaps he does so now more than ever.

“Get in there,” Deaton orders, gesturing for the hunters to move forward. “Shoot him too, if you must. But make sure not to kill him.”

Stiles quirks a brow.

Isaac coughs behind him. Coughing wasn’t a good sign for Brett. Coughing meant he was vomiting, too. And that meant he was close to death.

Stiles whirls around, and his heart lurches in his chest when he sees Isaac slumped over, body spasming viciously. He drops next to him, frantically grabbing his face. His eyes move rapidly behind his lids. His breathing is too shallow. Fuck. Sharp. He needs something sharp. A knife. A shard of glass. Anything would do right now.

His gaze cuts to Schrader’s body. Stiles is sure he’s carrying a knife, but running over there means exposing Isaac. No matter how quick he is about it, he’s not going to risk leaving him defenseless. Not for a single fucking second. “Isaac.” Stiles grabs his face again, shaking the wolf. “Isaac, please, open your eyes.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. Isaac was supposed to stay untouched.

Glass crunches next to him.

Stiles is on his feet in a heartbeat. Four of the hunters are in, and two have stayed with Deaton. Without a second thought, he’s on them. There’s no time for nightmares. There’s no room for niceties. The first hunter he gets to is young, maybe in his mid-twenties. He’s the one who’s enjoyed pointing wolfbane arrows at Isaac. Stiles snaps his neck and grabs the collar of the next before his body hits the ground. He’s older. Maybe in his late forties. Maybe he’s a father. Maybe he’s not. Stiles knows they think they keep monsters locked up, but the reality is quite different.

His plea for life makes Stiles grin.

Then he smashes his face against the wall with all his might. Twice for good measure. His body drops like a puppet. His face warrants a closed-casket funeral.

“We told you,” Stiles says without turning to Deaton, “you’re all going to die.”

Terror is the poignant stench in the air. It matches his anger.

Stiles grabs the knife from the younger hunter’s belt and crouches down next to Isaac again. They won’t try again to interrupt him. Not anytime soon. Deaton could try to send an army into this room. Not even one would make it out alive. Stiles would make sure of that himself. “Thanks for teaching us, by the way.” He’s not forgotten how to help someone poisoned by yellow wolfsbane.

Carefully, he lays Isaac on the ground. Seeing him right next to the dead hunters makes him feel queasy, but he knows it’s only for a few moments. With a flick of his wrist, the ground rumbles once more as a couple of roots shoot out of the ground, wrapping around Isaac’s shoulders and hips. The bruises will be worth it in the end if it means he’ll survive because there’s no way Stiles will be able to hold him down and make an incision.

“Stiles!” Deaton bellows, the edge in his voice betraying his desperation. Healing Isaac will take away his leverage. “You could kill him. Let me help you.”

“Come in,” Stiles whispers, snapping the knife open, “see what happens.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Isaac for a single second. No one is going to do anything stupid, not with how terrified they all are – frozen in fear, that’s how he likes them best.

For now.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Stiles presses and cuts Isaac’s shirt open with a surprisingly sure hand. He pushes the fabric aside. His heart is pounding in his chest. His own anxiety starts to match his wrath. Yes, he could kill Isaac very easily. But he would also kill him if he did nothing. Isaac is not going to die tonight, not by his hands or anyone else’s.

And he won’t allow that.

Isaac will get out of here alive.

Stiles licks his lips, then presses the blade into Isaac’s skin right between his collarbones. It sinks in so easy, only emphasizing how vulnerable Isaac has become. Stiles releases a trembling breath and then drags the knife down. Yellow dust releases into the air, and with every inch of skin he cuts open, Isaac’s body relaxes more and more – until he stops moving completely, and Stiles pulls his hand away.

For what feels like an eternity, the cut doesn’t heal, and Isaac doesn’t breathe.

“Come on.” Stiles whispers, looking for a pulse. It’s there. Weak. But it’s there. Stiles stares at his own bloody fingers pressing against the stark pale skin. Time feels frozen as he waits for something to happen.

And then Isaac gasps for air. His body starts healing. His breathing becomes regular again, but Stiles remembers how long it took Brett to regain consciousness after being poisoned. The worst is over, but the things ahead of them might not be much better.

Stiles lets out a shaky breath, allowing the roots to vanish as he gets back on his feet. Now that he knows Isaac will be perfectly fine. He can focus on the issue at hand again.

Getting them out of this hellhole.

Flicking the knife between his bloody fingers, Stiles watches Deaton – and Deaton does nothing but look back at him. Although he is still tucked safely behind the line of mountain ash, Stiles figures he seems a lot more concerned now that his only leverage is gone. Even with four hunters pointing their weapons at him again, he looks like someone who knows they’ve lost.

With Lydia causing chaos somewhere in Eichen, it won’t take long until everyone is here.

“Isaac still needs treatment.” Deaton’s voice is steady, but his expression is unconvincing.

Stiles narrows his eyes and stops flicking the knife. Instead, he points it at Deaton. “We’re going to kill you.” He might not have gotten to kill Schrader, but he sure as hell will not allow anyone to get his hands on Deaton but him. All of this, it’s his fault. He locked him up down here, separated him from everyone he loves, and put a collar on him like he’s a fucking dog. He’s not going to get away with that.

Grinding his teeth, Stiles throws the knife right at Deaton’s face. He didn’t expect anything to come from it. The mountain ash is still separating them after all. Yet Deaton flinches out of the way, and the knife hits the wall directly behind him, sinking into stone instead of hitting the wall of mountain ash.

Stiles blinks.

Huh.

Looks like there is a way through the mountain ash after all – and Deaton knew that anything not touched by his magic can still pass through.

“Alan,” Stiles croons, watching as the hunters exchange nervous glances, “you kept secrets from us.” Their fear keeps escalating, and Stiles wonders how much of his influence the mountain ash truly keeps out. If he can sense them that much, perhaps he can play little tricks on them, too. After all, the mountain ash isn’t quite as impenetrable as it once seemed. “That’s not very mentor-like of you.” Then again, he probably should’ve expected it. Deaton has never been particularly forthcoming with information unless it was strictly necessary or beneficial for him. Maybe Deaton didn’t want anybody to know about the mountain ash’s biggest weakness in case he ever needed to lock up a supernatural creature. If they’d known about this, a lot of things could have been avoided tonight.

“Stiles, I need you to think about what you’re doing.” Deaton steps closer to the door but doesn’t dare cross the mountain ash. “You’re not in control.”

“Oh, no, Alan, we’ve never been more in control than we are now.” Stiles crosses the room. With every step he comes closer, the hunters take one back – right up until one of them hits the wall and flinches when his head hits the knife. “We’re going to get out of here,” Stiles whispers, cocking his head to the side. His anger is still burning out every other feeling. There is nothing he wants more than to return the favor and become Deaton’s worst nightmare before tearing him limb from limb. “This is your only warning: run.” Stiles grins as he pushes away from the doorframe.

The longer he drags this out, the more he can feed.

And he’s been starving for so long.

The hunters don’t waste a single second, but before they’ve made it out of Stiles’ sight, the first one drops like a stone. His face smashes against the ground, eyes wide in panic as his body refuses to cooperate.

Tracy appears out of nowhere, nicking the other three before they have the chance to realize what happened to their partner.

For the first time Stiles has known him, Deaton is truly afraid. It’s a sight to see, something he wishes he could relish in it for a little longer. However, Deaton whirls around.

Only to be stopped in his tracks immediately.

“Boo,” Theo smirks and grabs Deaton’s throat. His claws dig into the vulnerable skin in a way that’s too familiar — and just like that, Theo rips the man’s throat out like it’s made from paper.

It’s too easy. Too fast.    

Stiles steps away, curling his lips in disgust as Deaton falls to the ground, one hand pressed against the wound as if that could stop him from bleeding out. Just like Valack and Schrader, Deaton only thought he held any power over him. No, he’s not powerful. Not like this. He’s dying in seconds, bleeding out right at his feet.

There’s nothing satisfying about watching the light go out in his eyes.

Pursing his lips, Stiles nudges Deaton’s lifeless body with his foot. “That’s not very nice,” he whispers and snaps his gaze up to lock with Theo’s. “You don’t steal other people’s food, Theodore.”

“What’s wrong with his eye?” Tracy asks as she steps next to Theo, brows furrowed slightly.

Corey shifts a little behind Theo. “Are you sure you’ve got this under control?”

Theo rolls his eyes. “Just get Isaac.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and shifts in front of the door again. No one is going to touch Isaac. No one.

“Theo?” Tracy asks, eyes darting back and forth between him and Stiles before she grabs his arm as if to pull him out of harm’s way.

Thisbitch.

After everything she’s done, not just to him but to Theo as well, Tracy still has the nerve to act like nothing at all has happened — like she has the right to touch what’s his.

Stiles raises his hands. The hunters’ flashlights lift off the ground at his mere command. He can feel the exhaustion nag at the back of his mind. The nemeton’s powers are still costly, but it’s about time Tracy learns a lesson. He smirks. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

“Great,” Theo mutters, “I hate when he’s right.”

Without waiting another beat, Stiles crushes the flashlights and plunges them into darkness.

[psychoticblorbobattle]

Current submissions!

Sydney O Sargent, Camp Here And There - 2

Dr. Rose Cotter, Smile (2022)  - 1

Josh Washington, Until Dawn - 1

Harrowhawk Nonagesimus, The Locked Tomb - 4

Emily, Class of 09 - 1

Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd, Fire Emblem Three Houses - 2

Azuma Michinaga, Kamen Rider Geats - 1

Leo Tsukinaga, Ensemble Stars - 1

Futaba Sakura, Persona 5 - 1

Yuki, School-Live - 1

Rena Ryuugu, Higurashi - 2

Catra, SPOP - 1

Sara Chidouin, YTTD - 1

River Song, Doctor Who - 1

The Master, Doctor Who - 1

Abed Nadir, Community - 1

Russell Hobbs, Gorillaz - 1

Keichi Maebara, Higurashi - 1

Ichiro Umoregi, Akuma Kun (2023)  - 1

Vivia Twilight, MDARC - 1

Protagonist, MIABOMIABOM/MOABOMOABOM - 1

Idia Shroud, TWST - 1

Hal 9000, A Space Odyssey - 1

Winnie Schrader, Wozwald - 1

Twenty-three contestants so far! Submissions end on the 15th, so if your character isn't here, please get them submitted asap!!!

[laytonnpcbracket]

ROUND 1 POLL 5 SIDE A

About the NPCs:

Andrew Schrader, first appearing in Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box, is a doctor in archaeology. He is Hershel Layton's friend and mentor.

Otherwise known as: アンドルー･シュレーダー博士 (Japanese); 슈레이더 박사 (Korean)

Allan is a citizen of Labyrinthia that is known to be uptight.

Otherwise known as: サチウス (Japanese); Mario Pech (German); Gaffio (Spanish): Basilio (Italian); Malchance (Dutch)

[glassesglasses2]

Question

Are there any medical doctors that we know of in Professor Layton? I know Andrew Schrader, but I don't think that doctorate is in medicine.

[ulkaralakbarova]

Once called “Father Frank” for his efforts to rescue lives, Frank Pierce sees the ghosts of those he failed to save around every turn. He has tried everything he can to get fired, calling in sick, delaying taking calls where he might have to face one more victim he couldn’t help, yet cannot quit the job on his own. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Frank Pierce: Nicolas Cage Mary Burke: Patricia Arquette Larry Verber: John Goodman Marcus: Ving Rhames Tom Wolls: Tom Sizemore Noel: Marc Anthony Nurse Constance: Mary Beth Hurt Cy Coates: Cliff Curtis Nurse Crupp: Aida Turturro Dr. Hazmat: Nestor Serrano Rose: Cynthia Roman Kanita: Sonja Sohn Cokehead: Larry Fessenden Captain Barney: Arthur J. Nascarella Dispatcher (voice): Martin Scorsese Dispatcher Love (voice): Queen Latifah Drug Dealer: Michael Kenneth Williams Voice in Crowd: Craig muMs Grant Mr. Oh: John Heffernan ICU Nurse: Judy Reyes Griss: Afemo Omilami Mr. Burke: Cullen O. Johnson Sister Fetus: Julyana Soelistyo Neighbor Woman: Graciela Lecube Neighbor Woman: Marylouise Burke Mrs. Burke: Phyllis Somerville Neighbor Woman: Mary Diveny John Burke: Tom Riis Farrell Arguing Russian: Aleks Shaklin Arguing Russian: Leonid Citer Man with Bloody Foot: Jesus A. Del Rosario Jr. Big Feet: Bernie Friedman Prostitute: Theo Kogan Prostitute: Fuschia! Mr. Oh’s Friend: Matthew Maher Mr. Oh’s Friend: Bronson Dudley Mr. Oh’s Friend: Marilyn McDonald Homeless Man in Waiting Room: Ed Jupp Jr. Homeless Man in Waiting Room: J. Stanford Hoffman Concerned Hispanic Aunt: Rita Norona Schrager Naked Man: Don Berry Street Punk: Mtume Gant Grunt: Michael A. Noto Bystander: Omar Scroggins Stanley: Andy Davoli Miss Williams: Charlene Hunter Club Doorman: Jesse Malin I.B. Bangin’: Harper Simon Drummer: Joseph Monroe Webb Club Bystander: Jon Abrahams I.B.’s Girlfriend: Charis Michelsen Dr. Milagros: Lia Yang Arrested Man: Antone Pagán Bridge & Tunnel Girl: Melissa Marsala Weeping Woman: Betty Miller Pregnant Maria: Rosemary Gomez Carlos: Luis Rodriguez Crackhead: Sylva Kelegian Dr. Mishra: Frank Ciornei Nurse Odette: Catrina Ganey Nurse Advisor: Jennifer Lane Newman Police in Hospital: John Bal Police in Hospital: Raymond Cassar Drunk: Tom Cappadona Drunk: Jack O’Connell Drunk: Randy Foster Homeless Suicidal: Richard Spore Fireman: James Hanlon Fireman: Chris Edwards Police Sergeant: Mark Giordano Cop in Elevator: Michael Mulheren Cop in Elevator: David Zayas Cop #1: Terry Serpico Cop #3: Floyd Resnick Surgeon: Megan Leigh Screaming Man: David Vasquez ICU Doctor: Joseph P. Reidy Urchin Prostitute (uncredited): Erica Bamforth Child Zombie (uncredited): Peju Bamgboshe Policewoman (uncredited): Carolyn Campbell Club Kid (uncredited): Michael Carbonaro Catatonic Patient in Suede Coat (uncredited): Joe Connelly Cop #2 (uncredited): Brian Smyj Film Crew: Director: Martin Scorsese Screenplay: Paul Schrader Editor: Thelma Schoonmaker Director of Photography: Robert Richardson Producer: Scott Rudin Producer: Barbara De Fina Conductor: Elmer Bernstein Co-Producer: Eric Steel Boom Operator: Louis Sabat Casting: Ellen Lewis Associate Producer: Jeff Levine Unit Production Manager: Bruce S. Pustin First Assistant Director: Joseph P. Reidy Associate Producer: Mark Roybal Executive Producer: Adam Schroeder Still Photographer: Phillip V. Caruso Music Editor: Bobby Mackston Production Design: Dante Ferretti Costume Design: Rita Ryack Set Decoration: William F. Reynolds Art Direction: Robert Guerra Hairstylist: Joseph Coscia Key Hair Stylist: William A. Farley Makeup Artist: Jane DiPersio Hairstylist: Scott W. Farley Makeup Artist: Leon Weisinger Production Supervisor: Shell Hecht Script Supervisor: Martha Pinson Camera Operator: Vincent Galindez Stunt Coordinator: G. A. Aguilar Visual Effects Supervisor: Michael Owens Visual Effects Producer: Jill Brooks Construction Coordinator: Glen Pangione First Assistant Camera: Gregor Tavenner Steadicam Operator: Larry McConkey Wigmaker: Carol F. Doran Carpenter: James Cappello Chef: P.J. Haines Driver: Carlos Bernal Set Medic: Rich Fellegara Special ...

[ryutarotakedown]

went into the trunk to save and it kind of messes me up that the only two entries in layton's journal so far are 1) im gonna go check on my friend the doctor and 2) our only clue right now is the molentary express so we got tickets. he doesn't include the very relevant in-between material that andrew schrader's dead. i guess some things he can't bear to put in writing

[call-me-rucy]

So this idea, as most of my headcanon-like-things, would be canon-non-contradicting. As in, we build from the canon and into the void.

My two main pillars rn are:

The obelisk in Layton's office.

Schrader's role in Eternal Diva.

First point is an obelisk in an exposition glass in Layton's office which at some point he says was a present from Schrader. And you know where else is this obelisk seen? In past Leon's office, in Azran Legacy.

Schrader had the only remains of Ambrosia known before Descole stumbled upon the whole thing. He also had the (presummably) only map to it. An "Ambrosia expert", according to Layton. And Ambrosia was known as Azran, because if not, Descole wouldn't be after it.

Also, why was Emmy at his house? Layton, his long-time friend and student doesn't know where he lives by the start of Pandora's Box. Speaking of the start of Pandora's Box, before then, Layton's new office was his, so that means that in Eternal Diva he still had an office at Gressenheller. This pushes the idea that ED was not a mid-week thing, but a weekend/summer vacation period, which would be fine, except it means Emmy miraculously got ahold of Schrader's address (an info he hadn't even given Hershel directly) while the university was closed.

Wouldn't it be even Occam-razory to say, Emmy knows where Dr. Schrader lives because he's with Targent because of Ambrosia.

So here would be the plan for the story, or implied story in the story:

Be Schrader

Get two doctoral students, Triton and Layton

Both very good lads, but being honest Triton has more future, he has more passion so you get him on your team and that's how he ends up being credited on the dinosaur of London's Museum.

Discover a mysterious seal that aligns with the legend of Ambrosia

Suddenly this gets you a lot of attention from specific people

You cooperate with them because they help you with your Ambrosia research :D

Whoops, it's a cult/evil organization :( Too late though :/

Try to quietly stand to one side so they ignore you

They mostly do, but a couple of years later you get an order

"You will choose Hershel Layton or else :) Cheers, Bronev"

So you choose Hershel Layton over Triton whose dealing with fatherhood at the moment so it's not a big of a deal. Possibly.

(See how we've now made it so it checks out that Hershel and Clark grew distant after Luke's birth?)

Layton's not bad at all after all.

Targent leaves you alone for the most part. You still get invited to weirdly specific Azran conferences. And asked about Hershel Layton.

When Layton's assistant appears asking about Ambrosia on a weekend you only think it's half weird, you only realize how truly rare it is when you don't know how she got your address.

Has anyone ever written something where Schrader is associated with Targent? I've seen Schrader vs Targent but not Schrader and Targent. I'm now writing my big bang piece but the more I think about it, the more it writes itself.

[lutiaskokopelli]

Shady Schrader

Welcome everyone.

I'm here to talk about this guy.

Andrew Schrader, reknowned doctor in archaeology as well as Hershel Layton and Clark Triton's mentor, despite his kind characterization and features, is indeed shrouded in mystery. Note that I wish not to enter the giant worldwide conspiracy stuff or anything, and I'd love to keep him as the nice guy we all love and who never really tries to keep his life a secret; but honestly? There are so many holes in his occurrences, so many tiny coincidences, I just can't help but wonder. So please, if you ever find ideas or theories as to how to solve them in-universe, you are welcome to discuss.

#1: Schrader vs Targent

The doctor has been known for quite a long time, as well as an esteemed mentor for both Hershel and Clark-- who are themselves getting quite popular in the archaeology/geology domains. His interest for many different artifacts, including the mysteries of Ambrosia, would have made him an interesting and probably worthy target for Targent. And yet, as far as we know, he's been making his research undisturbed for quite a long time: he owns maps, articles, decent knowledge about the Azrans -- not to mention that in the movie, he owns a rune containing the Ambrosian Armoiries, and states that it is "The only [proof that Ambrosia is more than just a myth] that was ever discovered", if only officially; and he's the one to study it, inside his own flat. Even if Targent kept a lot of that knowledge hidden from the official archeology field, Schrader "officially" must be one of the most esteemed archaeologists, especially towards the Azran Civilization, if he is deemed trustworthy enough to just bring the rune back to his flat for some time -- I think that if he were just a "talented" archaeologist, he'd still be asked to keep the rune in a museum or an institute, and study it there.

So. First conclusion: Schrader is not just anyone in the PL archaeology world. He's esteemed and trusted, and he's probably one of the most knowledgeable of his time on a variety of topics -- including the Azran Civilization. Considering this, and considering the fact that he's had that job for probably decades, did Targent ever come to him? If so, what happened? Apparently, Schrader is still alive, and Targent hasn't been stopped by him either (though honestly, the contrary would've been quite unbelievable). So, what happened? One could have thought that maybe Schrader was “SO” popular and esteemed by the archaeology world, maybe that made him unreachable by Targent... And yet, well, let me just remind how easily Don Paolo could break in. Maybe that’s not proof enough, but... That kinda just removes some of the credibility in that hypothesis.

#2: Schrader and the Crown Petone

That’s canon. He contributed to the construction of the Crown Petone (probably by giving funds), and given the photo in which he appears alongside Oswald Wistler around the ancient map (the one Emmy takes from him when she runs away from his flat to get to the plane and reach Ambrosia), apparently they’ve become friends, or at least colleagues of some sort, and they must have discussed much of the Ambrosia matter.

I could totally imagine that Schrader had no idea of what the Crown Petone really was about (nor that it could turn into a boat, or if he did know about it I’d be pretty worried). I can imagine that it could just be a “coincidence.” But why? Maybe he’s just a fan of any artists who are inspired by ancient myths or whatever, but given how this special project turns out, if he did spend some time around, maybe he could have noticed something. Maybe.

Well, I’ll admit that aside from just the tip of the iceberg, there’s probably not much to do to explain it; the meta side will explain the coincidence by simply stating that it was all for the sake of conveniently placing a nice little cameo of him in the movie.

#3: Schrader and the Herzens

Let’s do some maths. In the movie, there’s visual proof that he already owns the Elysian Box (considering that it’s actually there in-universe, instead of being there only on the meta sense in order to just be some silly cameo that the producers didn’t think through enough to just make sure that they could have it appear at all). The prequel part of the movie (which includes the scene in which Schrader appears) is set about two or three years approximately before the Pandora Box game.

But, here’s the catch: the message Sophia wrote to Anton, then hid inside the box, was written on her deathbed (that’s very highly implied both by the letter and by Mr. Anderson stating that, days before her death, she locked herself in her room and spent the whole time writing). When was her death? One year before the game.

Aka: Schrader owned the Box BEFORE Sophia could write the letter.

The letter he sends to Layton, stating that he “finally” got his hands on the Box, might be taken as proof that, if he did own it at some point, then he lost it for years, then “finally” found it again-- this time, eager to open it despite the risks-- then yes. That one could work. ... Aside from the fact that the Elysian Box is apparently, let’s say, elusive. Schrader had the means to not only find the elusive box once, but twice? That’s pretty far-fetched. You’d almost start to wonder whether he found some help...

... Unless his research might’ve led him to the actual owner(s) of the Box, of course. What if he first found the Box around the time of the movie, studied it, investigated about it and eventually found one of its owners -- aka, Sophia -- then decided to return it to her? Then, after her death, he either takes it back, or learns that it got lost again and tries to find it again, this time even more curious as to discover what exactly its value and myth are all about -- eventually leading him to open the Box, after warning Hershel.

This is pretty messy, but I think I got most of the clues and questions I found. Don’t hesitate to add more, or to add your own explanations and theories!

[professorlaytonparallels-blog]

The Elysian Box

Actually, it’s been in his possession for three years, since Eternal Diva.

Did Schrader just forget?

[moviesinfocus]

Zack Snyder's JUSTICE LEAGUE Gets Justice For Filmmakers

Zack Snyder’s JUSTICE LEAGUE Gets Justice For Filmmakers

The history of Hollywood is littered with people who have been chewed up and spit out by the dream factory. Films have been written, shot and edited, only to have the wonderful minds behind them cut out of the final stages. Heck, directors have even been removed from projects before they could even wrap principal photography. In the end, many of these mangled projects go down in legend as “the…

[usermischief]

chapter 56: a touch of despair Warnings: needles

You can read it on AO3 as well.

---

“Isaac!” Stiles can hear his panic echo inside the cell, down the hallway. It travels so far, but Isaac remains unconscious. “Please,” Stiles whispers, struggling to figure out what to do. “Isaac, please, wake up.” With trembling fingers, he reaches out in an attempt to shake him. But he can’t touch him. He can’t, not after what happened to Theo. They beat Isaac up and threw him in his cell as if he’s nothing more than a midnight snack. But he is. Not just to Stiles. He knows they’re going to use Isaac as leverage; they’re going to use him to make Stiles behave. “Wake up.” Stiles kneels on the cold tiles, hands outstretched. His heart races in his chest. There is nobody to ask for help. Not here. Not in Eichen House. “Isaac, please.” But begging won’t wake him up. Taking a deep breath, Stiles crawls closer. The thought of touching Isaac makes his throat close up. The memory of almost killing Theo is too fresh in his mind. It’s too easy to lose control, especially with how starved he is. He needs Isaac awake to know when it’s too much.

He needs him to wake up.

Stiles needs him to be okay.

He moves to sit next to Isaac and curls his fingers into the bloody shirt. “Hey.” His voice trembles as he starts shaking the other boy. “Isaac, wake up.” He shakes him stronger, sensing the pain he’s in through the thin fabric. “Come on, wake up. I need you to—“ Stiles cuts off, frustration and tears making it hard to speak, even harder to think.

And he’s so fucking hungry.

A soft groan reaches his ears.

“Isaac?”

Blue eyes flutter open. For all but a second, Isaac is looking at him. His split lips move into a grin, and he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘found you.’

“Isaac!” Stiles yells, but the werewolf has slipped right back into unconsciousness. “Fuck. Fuck.” Fucking idiot. Did he really try to find him all alone after the Dread Doctors dragged him off? What was he thinking? He shakes him again and even risks slapping him across the face.

Once.

And that alone already gives him a taste of the pain the other boy is in. It should worry him, but his body responds like a starving person finding food for the first time in days. Days. Has it been days? Stiles has no clue how long he’s been in here. How long ago did the Dread Doctors take him? Why did they leave him here?

What did they do?

Isaac groans again, and Stiles looks down at him, trying his best to smile. “There you are.”

Grunting an incomprehensible response, Isaac closes his eyes again.

“No, stay—“

“I’m awake,” Isaac mutters, his voice so low it’s hard to tell how long he will stay awake. “I’m awake.”

Stiles swallows and scoots back onto the mattress, tugging Isaac by his shirt. Moving him with only a bit of help already brings him to the edge of his strength. He’s on his last two legs, and as much as he’d love to get as weak as possible just to spite Deaton and Valack, this place is the last he wants to be defenseless in. There are worse things down here than the two wannabe scientists.

Schrader is one of them.

“Do you want me to take some of your pain?” Stiles feels selfish asking it, but he also knows werewolves won’t heal when they’re in too much or no pain at all. It’s a win for both of them, really.

Isaac nods. “That would be nice.”

“Okay.” Stiles licks his lips, curling his hands into tight fists before letting out a breath. “But you need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

For a moment, Isaac’s so still, Stiles isn’t sure he passed out with his eyes wide open. Then he nods slowly, and only once. “If you help me sit up.” That’s probably a good idea. The relief of pain can be overwhelming. It’s a feeling Stiles has gotten quite used to now, but there’s still a huge difference between someone taking the pain away from you or the pain vanishing because you’ve healed.

Stiles shifts onto his knees again and hooks his arms around Isaac’s shoulders. It shouldn’t take this much effort. He’s a fucking supernatural creature, but he couldn’t even have gotten Isaac into a sitting position if the werewolf didn’t help him. If Isaac notices it, he doesn’t say anything. Just like Stiles doesn’t say anything about the little whimpers, Isaac can’t keep away. His heart aches for him, and the question slips past his lips before he can stop himself. “Why?” He sits back on his heels. “Why did you follow them?”

Pushing himself a bit further upright, Isaac raises his arm almost as an offering. “Because Theo would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”

While that’s probably true, Stiles can tell that Isaac is lying to him. “Fine,” he mutters, swallowing once more before curling his fingers around Isaac’s wrist. “Don’t tell me.” For a few seconds, Stiles forces himself to hold back, just so he knows that he can. He can control this. His hunger does not get the best of him. But his resolve breaks much quicker than he would’ve liked.

And he doesn’t care.

Not when it feels so good to finally feed again. His whole body is flooded with renewed strength, and his muscles relax as the pangs of hunger finally diminish.

The relief, however, doesn’t last long enough. Stiles struggles to believe he fed more than a few seconds before the collar around his neck starts burning him again, sending hot flashes of agonizing pain through his neck, head, and chest. Stiles drops Isaac’s arm as if that’s the whole reason for his pain. Instinctively, he reaches for the collar.

But Isaac grabs his wrists. “Don’t.”

“Let go.” Stiles tries to yank his arms free, but Isaac’s grip is iron around his wrists. Slowly, the bruises on his face heal. The pain vanishes too, something Stiles would be relieved about, but that sends his body into a panic after having been starved for so long — and, now, this fucking— “get it off,” Stiles begs. “Please, please, get it off.” He can feel something running down his neck. As much as he wants it to be tears, Stiles can tell it’s blood. He can feel his body trying to heal the damage the collar is causing.

Isaac tightens his grip, eyes widening ever so slightly. But for the most part, he seems to be able to keep his expression in check. “I can try. Don’t touch it, okay?”

It’s going to be impossible not to, but Stiles nods anyway. He just wants this thing gone. He needs it gone. He can’t deal with—

But Isaac hisses when his fingers as much as brush against the collar. He yanks his hands back, watching as his skin takes its time to heal. “What the fuck is in this thing?” His gaze flicks up, staring at Stiles, the collar, and then his fingers again.

Stiles would laugh if he weren’t in so much fucking pain. He grabs the poor excuse of a sheet, knuckles turning white under pressure. Of course, Deaton lied to him. He said it himself. He wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating Stiles. It’s hard to imagine Deaton hasn’t known about Isaac beforehand, so all he had to do was making sure Isaac couldn’t so anything about the collar either. “Highly concentrated mistletoe, wolf lichen, and, apparently, wolfsbane,” Stiles says through his teeth. Maybe it’s time Stiles stops underestimating Deaton, too. He may not know everything, but he knows enough to make his life down here very fucking hard.

“Come here.” Isaac pats the spot next to him.

Stiles follows the suggestion almost instantly and slumps against the werewolf.

“I can take the edge off.” Isaac grabs his wrist, and Stiles watches his veins turn black as the pain leaves his body.

A laugh bubbles out of him, and if it hadn’t, he probably would’ve cried. Not being alone in here should make him feel better, but Stiles is stuck in the place of his worst nightmares, and Isaac is stuck here with him. There’s a reason why Valack allowed them to be in this cell together. Stiles has an idea of what that might be. After all, he and Deaton have been complaining about him not cooperating.

Isaac is their leverage.

“You should’ve stayed away,” Stiles whispers, pulling his hand away when his skin stops knitting itself back together. The hunger hasn’t returned, but he feels hardly any stronger than before feeding — and that’s what this was about. They don’t want Stiles to be strong. They just need him to stay alive long enough to do whatever they think they can do.

Shaking his head, Isaac bends his legs and crosses his arms over his knees. “I couldn’t find Erica in time. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.”

Stiles sinks a little further down the wall and leans his head against Isaac’s shoulder, staring out into the bright, empty hallway in front of their now shared cell. “I wish you would’ve.”

Scoffing, Isaac leans his head against his. “Guess we have to disagree on that.”

---

They’ve gotten food four times before Schrader returns to the cell, this time accompanied by two other guards — both heavily armed with crossbows.

Isaac stiffens next to him and scrambles to his feet. His spirits are still up despite having been here for as long as Stiles must be. Four days. Maybe five. Stiles isn’t entirely sure how many meals he’s missed by simply refusing them or being punished for not cooperating. It’s hard to keep track of time in a place that always looks the same, that never gets fucking dark. Sleeping is a little easier now that Isaac can offer him a bit of relief from the light by lying on his side in front of him. But overall, it doesn’t do a lot. Isaac considered propping the mattress up, but Stiles knew the few moments of relief wouldn’t be worth the consequences.

Stiles grabs Isaac’s arm. “Stay calm,” he whispers, squeezing his wrist in warning. “Do what they say.” He doesn’t want Isaac to get hurt, not when he’s going to be the reason for it. Stiles would prefer not to have that guilt piled on top of everything else. As much as he misses Theo, maybe it’s a good thing Isaac is down here with him.

“Corner that mutt,” Schrader orders the two other hunters before opening the door.

The hunters slide inside, their eyes darting from Stiles, who steps away with both hands raised, to Isaac, who does exactly what Stiles asked — he stands in the corner. He doesn’t move, although he looks like he’s two seconds away from ripping everyone’s head off.

“What do you want?” Stiles watches Schrader enter the cell, holding a small satchel.

Schrader raises a brow at Isaac. “You got him trained well.”

“You don’t train your friends,” Stiles remarks before he can stop himself, “but you wouldn’t know that.” The moment he says it, Stiles wishes he could take his words back. There’s no telling of what Schrader will do — or who will be punished for his mouthing off.

Schrader chuckles, and then, not even a heartbeat later, he backhands him so hard Stiles’ head flies to the right. “Watch your mouth.” His voice is low and threatening, the manic glint in his eyes the only warning Stiles gets before Schrader grabs his jaw and slams him against the wall. “It would be a shame if something happened to it.”

A low growl fills the cell.

“Or him.” Schrader smiles.

Stiles swallows. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles as best as he can. His heart jackrabbits in his chest. The hand vanishes, but Stiles doesn’t exactly feel any sort of relief. His state of panic comes and goes with Schrader. It seems like his body remembers what his mind does not. He barely remembers seeing Schrader the last time he was here. All he knows is that he’s met him before and been scared of this place ever since he set foot in here for the first time. Stiles always thought Brunski was to thank for that, but he starts doubting that Brunski was the only person to blame.

“Doc wants your blood.” Schrader pulls out a tourniquet, dangling it in front of Stiles’ face like a threat. “I recommend you do what I tell you from now on. I don’t draw blood often.” The smirk makes that statement a clear lie.

But Stiles nods anyway. “Sure.”

Schrader doesn’t move away, not allowing Stiles an inch of freedom. They’re too close, almost chest to chest, and at this point, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Schrader heard his heart judging by how hard it’s hammering against his ribs. “Give me your arm.”

As requested, Stiles follows the command and turns his head away, fixing his gaze on the corner of the mattress. The thought of needles is enough to make him squirm. The last few times, they came with an injection down here. Nobody cared much about being gentle. Stiles doubts Schrader will do much better by drawing blood. Not that it matters. A needle is a needle, and Stiles would prefer if it stayed away from his body as far away as possible. Not looking at it is the best course of action if he doesn’t want to faint or throw up. He doubts Schrader would be very happy about that.

His sleeve is pushed up roughly, the tourniquet pulled too tight.

“Pump your fist.”

Stiles leans his left cheek against the cool tiles and does as he’s told. It’s impossible for him to relax or to keep his mind occupied with something that isn’t the fact that one of the people he’s terrified of is about to push a needle into him.

“Issues with seeing blood?” Schrader asks, sounding terribly amused as he disinfects the hollow of Stiles’ elbow.

“Issues with—“ Stiles grinds his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath and not go through with what he wanted to say. “No,” he says softly, looking up to find Isaac smiling at him. Looking at Isaac might be the better option than staring at the floor.

Schrader pats his cheek. “Good boy.”

Stiles wishes he could kick him in the balls for that. Instead, he takes a deep breath and keeps looking at Isaac, who tries to smile even though his eyes are murderous.

At least until Schrader pokes him with the needle, only to pull it out again with a chuckle. “Missed it.”

Swallowing another insult, Stiles opts for a short chuckle himself. “Happens to the best of us.” It’s fine. As long as he doesn’t look at it. It’s going to be fine. So, he looks at Isaac. Looking at Isaac is safe. He grinds his teeth as Schrader repeats the process twice, just to fuck with him, but Stiles also knows that a lack of a response is something that bores people like Schrader endlessly.

And he seems to be right because Schrader happens to be successful the fourth time and draws his blood without further comment. He opens the tourniquet.

Stiles forces himself to open his fist. Despite having gone through the worst of this procedure, he still feels a bit like throwing up. He gave his doctors hell as a child, and now he wishes he’d be at a hospital because he doubts any of this equipment is sterile. Then again, it’s not like it matters anymore. The only shit that’s actually harmful to him is already wrapped around his neck.

“That’s it for now.” Schrader pulls the needle out and yanks the tourniquet off unceremoniously. After putting everything back into the satchel, he grabs Stiles’ jaw again. “Next time,” he says as his grip turns painful, “you’re going to behave exactly like this from the beginning, or your dog’s going to get hurt. Are we clear?”

Stiles wouldn’t have pegged Schrader as someone who gives second chances, but he takes what he can get at this point. So, he nods.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Schrader stares at him for a little while longer. It’s almost like he’s waiting for a reason to hurt Isaac or Stiles. He’s got to be under strict instructions not to because Stiles wouldn’t put it past him to find an excuse. But he leaves without doing or saying anything else, and his hunter buddies follow him dutifully.

Isaac lets out a long breath. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Get in line,” Stiles mutters, checking his arm for any marks, but they’ve already healed like nothing had happened. He swipes away a drop of blood that’s escaped.

“Any idea what they need that for?” Isaac sits back down on the mattress.

Stiles shakes his head. It’s a good question. “They wanna separate the nemeton from me.” Even that is still a fucking mystery to him. How the hell are they’re going to do that? “Maybe they need to see if I’m anemic.” He collapses next to Isaac and puts his chin on his knees. Whatever they need it for, it’s probably not going to be good.

---

Stiles drops the stale piece of bread on the tray and pushes it away from him. If he makes it out of here, he desperately needs something real to eat. He can’t stand another day of bread and whatever they add to it. “You think they’ll come for us?” Stiles would prefer to sound less hopeless, but the light and the quiet and this fucking place is getting to him.

“You think anything’s going to stop Theo?” Isaac’s lips quirk into a tired smile. It’s probably not a great time for him either, locked up in a small cell in the basement of a nightmarish place.

Sighing, Stiles hugs his legs to his chest. Although Isaac isn’t wrong, he hopes that Theo listened to him when he told him to stay away, if he even heard him. After all, he was asleep. It’s entirely possible Theo couldn’t hear him or thought it was nothing more than a dream. It’s also very possible Theo knew it was him, but he ignored his request. If he’s being perfectly honest, the latter sounds the most like Theo. Nothing will stop his boyfriend from getting to him, not even fully armed hunters, who are expecting them to come. “They might not even know where we are.”

Isaac breaks his bread apart and studies it for a moment. “Brett can feel you, can’t he? And Jordan can track the nemeton.”

“I guess, yeah.” Stiles leans his cheek against his knee and studies Isaac’s face. His body language wants to say, ‘Everything’s fine,’ but something about his face tells the exact opposite. Stiles can’t blame him. He feels the same way. “But I haven’t been able to feel the ley lines since wearing this shit.” He points at the collar around the neck, and the last time he was in touch with the others through the ley lines, it didn’t sound like they had any idea where he was. “How did you find me?” Stiles remembers hearing him talk when he first realized that Theo could hear him.

Almost tentatively, Isaac nibbles on the bread. He scrunches up his face in disgust but doesn’t drop it. “I saw them walk into the tunnels. It’s where I lost them.” Isaac shrugs, glancing at him before returning his attention to his food. “Corey mentioned there used to be one of their operating theaters down here. So I went looking… and before I knew it, I woke up here. It’s like they’ve been waiting for me.” Yeah, that’s not surprising. They were probably posted up in the tunnels after figuring out where they got in the last time. 

Or maybe the Dread Doctors lured him here.

Stiles still doesn’t quite understand why the Dread Doctors just… gave him up. Either they can’t use the nemeton’s power as long as it’s connected to him, or they’re already done with whatever they needed from him. But Stiles didn’t feel another chimera the last time he connected to the ley lines. Does that mean they failed? Or does that mean they succeeded? But he can feel Theo, and Theo is a success. The chimeras need the nemeton. They can’t exist without one. It doesn’t make sense.

Sighing, Stiles falls back onto the mattress. “Why’d you go alone?”

Isaac plops down right next to him, shoulder pressed against his. Having him down here with him is most likely the only thing keeping Stiles sane at the moment. “Because everyone’s been too busy coming up with a plan. I lost the Dread Doctors in the tunnels and went straight to Satomi. I should’ve gone to Theo instead.” Isaac grimaces a little. “He wouldn’t have waited, but now Jackson and Peter have him on lockdown. They’re worried he’d do something stupid.” Great, Theo is never going to forgive them.

“So, you decided to do something stupid instead.” Stiles wants to be grateful, but he wishes Isaac would’ve been smarter. Thankfully, he went to his alpha, though, because otherwise Valack would’ve gotten his hand on Theo.

“Someone had to.” Isaac chuckles and crosses his arms over his stomach.

Stiles sighs. “You know Jordan and my dad will never let us go anywhere alone ever again.” Theo will most likely never let him out of his sight, either.

“Guess we can kiss colle—“ He sits up without warning, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Schrader’s coming back.”

Fuck.

Stiles pushes himself into a seating position. As much as he would like to pretend that Schrader has found himself down here to torture one of the other inmates, he highly doubts it. Knowing his luck, Schrader has been assigned to him and him alone. And lo and behold, this walking nightmare turns the corner with a smile. Following him are the same two hunters from the last time. One of them has a different hairstyle, so one day seems to have passed between then and now.

He can’t wait to see the sun again.

“It’s shower time.” Considering how excited Schrader sounds, it’s almost hard to believe Stiles really has the chance to finally clean himself up. He hasn’t seen fresh water since he broke out of that fucking tube, and who knows how clean that’s been. “Let’s go.” He claps his hands.

Isaac and Stiles exchange a glance as they get to his feet.

“Both of us?” Isaac asks. It’s a good question. There’s no way they allow them to go into the showers together.

“You think I’m stupid?” Schrader opens the cell door. Like yesterday, the two hunters step inside and corner Isaac, who doesn’t fight back once again. “We’ll do this one by one, and you’re coming with me.”

The last thing Stiles wants to do is follow Schrader anywhere, much less shower when he’s close by. But he’s not having much choice, and Stiles really wants to shower. He’d kill for a set of fresh clothes as well. Maybe today is his lucky day. To be fair, every day he doesn’t have a supernatural nose is his lucky day. It’s not the prettiest smell down here by human standards. Isaac’s most likely not having a great time.

Schrader produces a little key and unhooks the chain from Stiles’ collar. “You don’t need that any longer, do you?”

Stiles cuts his gaze to Isaac for a moment. Under different circumstances, freeing him would be a stupid idea. But Stiles wouldn’t abandon Isaac. “No.” He’s not about to do anything that could risk Isaac’s life. They’re both bound here by keeping the other person safe. It’s such an easy way to control them, Stiles is almost mad about it. He takes a breath. “After you.” He focuses on Schrader again, who leaves the cell with a chuckle, and Stiles follows him.

The hunters step out and close the door, but they’re not leaving with them — not because there’s a risk Isaac could run. It’s because that way, all Schrader has to do is call them, and Isaac will be punished for Stiles’ wrongdoing. 

Or just because Schrader is in the mood.

Stiles keeps his eyes locked on the man before him, trying to block out the other supernatural creatures in the cells surrounding him. He remembers the sluagh he saw when they visited Valack down here. Stiles has absolutely no interest in seeing Donovan again, or maybe even Caitlin. It’s enough if their deaths are in his head. He does not need to be reminded of them by seeing something that pretends to be them for no other reason than fucking with his head.

Schrader leads him through a door and down another short hallway. Stiles knows the way. He’s mapped it out for days before they broke Peter out. At this point, he’d probably find it in his sleep — and Schrader probably knows that. Perhaps that’s why they are going to the exact showers they used to break in. It’s another way of proving to Stiles that he has the upper hand.

As if that isn’t clear enough yet.

When they reach the showers, Schrader unlocks the door and gestures for him to walk in first.

The room is cold and empty, but Stiles spots a set of fresh clothes — light gray sweatpants, a dark blueish gray shirt, and a pair of socks and boxer briefs in dark gray — as well as a towel. At least he can get rid of the clothes he’s currently wearing. He didn’t exactly expect something that nice from the people down here. Folding his arms over his chest, Stiles can’t help but glance toward the gutter. Even from here, he can see that it’s been screwed shut again. There's no way for him to get out, but maybe Isaac’s got more luck. If only he’d leave if Stiles told him to.

“Looking for something?”

Stiles all but jumps out of his skin. He stumbles forward, bringing distance between him and Schrader. “No, I just— no.” He shakes his head and then glances at the closed door. Is he going to stay in here while Stiles showers? That’s not necessary. There’s nowhere for him to go, and there’s nothing he can do in here aside from showering.

“Good.” Schrader sits on one of the benches, stretching and looking like he’s getting as comfortable as possible. “For a moment there, I was worried you’re thinking about doing something stupid… like trying to escape.” Of course, he knows. That’s exactly why they’re here. That’s exactly why he got that chain off him. Schrader is waiting for him to act up just so he can punish Isaac.

Without replying, Stiles retreats further into the showers. He goes for the one farthest away from Schrader and turns it on. The water hitting him is ice cold, and for a moment, he worries it’s going to stay that way. He seems to be lucky for once because it turns warm only a few moments later. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. With the water running, he hurries back to the clothes and the towel. There’s not much he can do about privacy, but the low walls, at the very least, give the illusion.

He places everything on the bathtub before stepping under the shower. The feeling of wet fabric sticking to him makes him want to peel his skin off, but Stiles has absolutely no intentions of undressing in the middle of the room. He’s never been the biggest fan of locker rooms, but this situation is a whole new level of fuck that.

Slowly, Stiles gets rid of all his clothes, tossing them onto the cold tiles in front of the poor excuse of a shower stall before stepping back under the water and allows himself to close his eyes and relax for a moment. He hasn't received a time limit, but Stiles doubts that the water will stay warm for long down here — or that Schrader will let him relax for more than five minutes.

“You know,” Schrader says, sounding so conversationally, strangers could think they’re old colleagues, “I’ve been wondering. Do you remember me?”

Stiles opens his eyes. The words make his heart speed up, and for a few moments, he’s not sure if he should respond.

Schrader continues talking before he gets the chance to. “Because you looked pretty spooked that first day.”

No matter where this conversation is headed, Stiles has no interest in having it in the shower. Since there’s no soap, he starts scrubbing himself off as best as he can with just water. “I thought I saw your face before,” he replies quietly, unsure if his words are even audible over the sound of running water. But he never knew his name, and he doesn’t actively remember anything else — or anything about Schrader that he might’ve heard. He wonders if Oliver talked about him, or if the nogitsune saw something, or if perhaps Stiles just connected his face to the time he spent at Eichen, a time he’d prefer to forget after what happened with Malia and Oliver, Meredith and the nogitsune in general. He hates how sketchy his memories of everything are because he hadn’t slept in days, was hopped up on multiple drugs, and was possessed by a goddamn fox demon. Sometimes, he isn’t even entirely sure what happened did happen.

But that goes for most of his possession. Stiles thought he witnessed everything the nogitsune did. The more time passed, however, the less sure he was about it.

That still doesn’t explain why Schrader makes him feel so damn anxious.

Why not Brunski? Because he’s dead?

And does he really want to know?

“That sedative should’ve knocked you out completely.”

Stiles hears the bench creaking as Schrader gets up. He turns the water off and rushes to the towel, wrapping it around himself before turning to face the other man again. “So it was you,” he says when the real question refuses to roll over his tongue.

What did you do?

“Who sedated you? No.” Schrader seems highly amused at that. “We never met while you were awake. Or so I thought.” He just stands there, looking at him, with his arms folded over his chest and a grin on his lips. Stiles would love to punch clean off.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps away and grabs his clothes. Stiles doesn’t much care about being dry as long as he’s dressed. “So what?” he asks, unable to hide the panic creeping into his voice, “You came creeping into the room while I was knocked out?” Well, only mostly, apparently, because some part remembered Schrader’s face enough to be afraid of him. If they never met otherwise, Oliver must’ve told him something, but the kid said so much Stiles only half-listened most of the time. Not that it matters because it turns out he’s not wrong to be afraid of Schrader.

“Brunski talked about you.”

Stiles freezes after putting on the boxer briefs. The way Schrader’s voice grew cold did not go unnoticed.

“Mostly about how much he’d enjoy punishing you. Probably because of who your father is.”

That wouldn’t be the first person who hated him because he happens to be the sheriff’s kid. Swallowing, Stiles reaches for the pair of sweatpants.

But Schrader curls his fingers into his hair and yanks his head back. “And then you killed him.”

How ironic. Stiles created a nightmare from a face he saw while heavily sedated, and now that nightmare became reality. He can’t decide if he’s more pissed at himself or Schrader, who continues to prove there is a reason to fear the darkness creeping into Stiles’ dreams. “I didn’t kill him,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to betray his anger. “He did that himself.” His mouth does it for him.

“Your friend is lucky,” Schrader whispers, “that this is going to stay between us.”

Before Stiles can ask what ‘this’ is, his head is slammed against one of the tiled half-walls. Pain explodes behind his left eye, spreading quickly throughout his whole head. Blood gushes from his left brow, covering his sight. The fingers leave his hair, and when Stiles tries to move, his whole world shifts to the right, and he slams to the ground. His left brow pulses like a fucking epicenter of pain.

Stiles curls his hands into fists, biting back the whimper trying to escape his mouth.

A foot connects with his rips.

Again.

And again.

Stiles screams out in pain, not sure how to fight him off with blood in his eyes clouding his vision — not sure if he should fight him off or if that would make things so much worse, not just for him, but for Isaac too.

When Schrader stops, Stiles isn’t sure how much time has passed. It’s hard to keep track when pain ebbs and flows as his body deals with the damage. Perhaps that’s what made Schrader even more mad. The bruises don’t last. There’s nothing to marvel at but his memories.

“For my sake,” Schrader spits, kicking Stiles’ shoulder to roll him onto his back, “I hope you survive.”

Stiles grins up at him, exhausted and with the first pangs of hunger echoing in his bones. “I’m going to kill you,” he whispers, tasting blood in his mouth as he pushes himself to his feet. The movements still hurt, his body not entirely done with healing him. “But before I do, I’ll make you cower and whimper and beg for your life like the pathetic waste of a human being that you are.” He curls his hands into fists, eyes locked on Schrader, who retreats a single step before he catches himself and straightens to his full height again. Not once does he reach for the walkie-talkie to punish Isaac for Stiles’ threat. “Even Valack knows what you are.” And Valack is the one making the decisions around here. He is the one who decides if Stiles’ behavior is worth punishing Isaac. Schrader used Stiles’ fear against him. Simple psychology and Stiles fucking fell for it. “That’s why you’re down here, aren’t you? Did they catch you watching inmates in the shower?” Every single word makes Schrader angrier and angrier; the room is full of his rage, giving Stiles enough to draw from. But he’s learned his lesson. He won’t take too much. Not this time. This fucking collar has brought him to his knees the last time.

And so has Schrader.

“Watch your mouth,” he seethes, crossing the room, still not reaching for the radio.

Stiles was right. His word means nothing down here. “Or what?” he drawls, smile widening as Schrader abruptly stops. “You gonna stick me with needles again? Or are you going to stick me with something else?” 

Schrader’s face flushes red with anger. It comes as no surprise when he brandishes a syringe, no doubt filled with wolf lichen. He didn’t bring a weapon, probably thinking that Stiles would comply, that he would sit here and take it and not put two and two together. He shouldn’t have given him a second chance the first time Stiles mouthed off to him. He should’ve never told Stiles what really happened. It’s the mystery that kept the fear alive because now Stiles knows who Schrader really is.

A pathetic man, desperate for power over those who already have none.

Before either of them can move, the door to the showers flies open, and Valack bursts in, followed by at least four other nurses, who instantly point their weapons at Stiles. Two of them, he realizes, are the guys Schrader left behind with Isaac. Looks like one of them called the big boss.

Stiles raises both of his hands. He’s not stupid enough to mouth off now, but he can’t help but smile.

A vein ticks very visibly at Valack’s temple as his gaze flies from the blood on Stiles’ face to the syringe in his subordinate's hand. “Schrader,” he says in a dangerous tone, then turns to the others. “Bring him back to his room.”

“May I get dressed first?” Stiles asks, pointing briefly at the clothes behind his back.

Valack gestures briefly, something that could potentially mean, ‘Do as you wish.’

Stiles doesn’t waste a second.

---

“I really want to tell you how bloody stupid you are, but—“

“You don’t really have any room to argue.” Stiles rolls his shoulders and leans back against Isaac’s shoulder, closing his eyes with a sigh. Although he’s not necessarily afraid of Schrader any longer, this place is still scaring him. For multiple reasons. Waiting for the inevitable, for Deaton or Valack to do whatever they brought him here for — and see them fail. Hopefully, or succeed, if that means the chimeras will stay alive. Stiles can’t do much more than hope. After all, it’s all he can do besides running his mouth. He can’t use his powers, and he can consider himself lucky he’s still able to heal, or the whole thing with Schrader could’ve ended very differently.

Isaac leans his head against Stiles’. “What do you think everyone’s doing?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says as he opens his eyes again, squinting a little as he adjusts to the light again. There’s no way to tell what they’re up to right now. Planning, maybe. If Peter and Jackson are making sure Theo can’t do anything stupid, Stiles at least won’t have to worry about that. With Isaac missing too, however, the Ito pack got dragged into this whole mess, and Stiles doubts Brett will take very kindly to people kidnapping members of his pack. “But maybe I can find out.” He very much doubts it since he’s felt cut off from the ley lines ever since Deaton put this collar on him, but he can, at the very least, try.

Isaac squints at him. “And how are you going to do that?”

“Remember when you thought Theo lost his mind?”

For a moment, Isaac simply stares at him. “You’re kidding. You talked to him?”

Stiles shrugs. He did something for sure. “When I got in touch with the ley lines, I somehow managed to hear you… through Theo. Maybe because of our bond. I’m not sure how it worked, but it did.” With how badly Stiles usually clings to Theo’s spark, it’s possible their bond evolved into something else entirely.

Isaac opens his mouth, then thinks better of it and shakes his head. “Fine, what’s the plan?”

“Put the mattress against the wall. Maybe hiding in the shadows…” Stiles trails off with an almost helpless shrug. Hope is the only thing they’ve got left, but he doesn’t want to waste it on something that has nearly no chance of working. “If we get caught, we might lose the mattress, though.” Unless Valack is trying to make up for what happened with Schrader, which is highly doubtful but not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Most likely considering the possibility of having to stay here indefinitely without a mattress, Isaac looks out into the hallway, arms crossed over his knees. Eventually, he sighs and stands up. “Fuck it.” He pulls Stiles to his feet as well. “Let’s try it. Whatever.” Without further ado, he grabs the mattress and props it against the wall, leaving just enough space for Stiles to crawl behind it.

Which he does.

The reprieve from the light is already worth the risk of losing the mattress. His muscles relax for the first time in days, even his heartbeat slows down. A world of stress and anxiety falls from his shoulders. If he hadn’t known before how much light could affect him, this would certainly be his awakening. Sighing, Stiles shuffles around until he’s on his back and fully hidden behind the mattress.

“And?”

“Could you please give me a minute?” Stiles rolls his shoulders and folds his hands over his stomach. After taking another deep breath, he closes his eyes. But his hopes are pretty quickly quenched when he’s feeling nothing. Not a tug. Not the whisper of a ley line. All he can feel is the collar around his neck, almost as if it’s trying to strangle him, to drag him under and keep him away from the ley line at any and all costs.

He’s trying to remember the wildness of Theo’s spark, to grasp onto this feeling, but he can’t hold onto it. All he finds is emptiness.

Taking a shaky breath, Stiles opens his eyes again. Sure, he expected it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get in touch with the ley lines, but he hoped— he fucking hoped — that he could at least get a glimpse of Theo, a brush of his spark. He’d take anything right now to find Theo, feel him, and know he’s still there. It’s a stupid thought. Of course, Theo is still there. Theo would never abandon him. Not even Tracy being back worries him in any type of way.

But he misses him.

Painfully.

“Stiles,” Isaac says only a second before he pulls the mattress away, “someone’s com— are you okay?”

The answer to that would be ‘no.’ Not even in the slightest. But Stiles doesn’t want to worry Isaac any more than he necessarily needs to. They don’t exactly have time for heartbreak right now. “I’m fine.” Stiles gets to his feet, wishing he could take this collar and shove it down Deaton’s throat. “Who’s coming?”

Isaac grimaces. “Valack.”

“Great.” As much as Stiles clings on to the hope that they get out of here because their friends somehow manage to break in and out a second time in only a short amount of time or luck is on Isaac and his side for once, the far bigger thing that gets him going ever since Schrader attacked him in the showers is revenge. He’s out for blood, and he will kill everyone who’s involved in this plan. Thinking they can control him and push him around, it’s going to be their downfall.

But Valack remains confident, at least judging by the smile he wears when he comes to a halt in front of the cell. “Am I interrupting something?”

“My inner peace.” Stiles steps right up to the glass and crosses his arms. He’s not particularly interested in having a conversation with him at the moment. He’d prefer to smash his face into a wall.

“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you.” Valack pushes his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit pants. “I regret to inform you that Schrader will continue to be responsible for you.” Regret isn’t exactly a feeling Stiles gets from the other man, and judging by Isaac rolling his eyes, he’s probably right about that. “Nobody else is willing to take care of you. It seems like you frighten them.” His last words are accompanied by a wrinkle of his nose as if the mere idea disgusts him.

Isaac steps next to him, cocking his head to the side. “You’re frightened, too.”

Valack clenches his jaw, the only response he allows himself before continuing the conversation as if Isaac never said anything. “Schrader will be under the supervision of me or Deaton, so there won’t be a repeat of what happened earlier today.”

Drawing his brows together, Stiles studies Valack. He never even considered that it might have been a possibility to get rid of Schrader. That’s why he never mentioned or demanded it. However, Valack trying to get another orderly to work with him is interesting. After all, he never looked particularly invested in Stiles’ well-being, much less his survival. “What do you want?” Stiles smiles at the man, watching as surprise crosses his features for all but a second before he tries to cover it up by fixing his tie.

“There is something I need you to test tonight,” Valack informs him, not quite looking at him but trying his best to make it seem like he does. “I think it would be wise to feed beforehand.”

Isaac scoffs.

Stiles raises his brows. “Feeding is useless with this thing around my neck.”

“Of course.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice, but Valack smiles through it. “Well, then you might as well feed right before.” He straightens his jacket. “You two will join me after dinner.” With a nod, more to himself than Isaac or Stiles, he turns around and returns to wherever he came from.

“The fuck does he want?” Isaac mutters, pushing the mattress back into the corner with a frown.

Good question.

---

“Ah, wonderful. Come on in.” Valack waves them into a room that should not exist anywhere in a 20-mile radius of a health facility. It seems to have been a former cell, but the glass wall has been partially removed. There’s a chair in the middle of the room, the walls are filled with desks and cabinets filled with various different things.

Most of all, filth and cobwebs.

“How was dinner?”

Stiles and Isaac exchange a glance over the orderlies' heads. Even they seem a little confused by Valack’s facade. “Stale.”

“Predictable,” Isaac adds, pulling his head away when one of the crossbows gets a bit too close to his face. They’re dripping wolfsbane. It’s hard to tell which one, but there is absolutely no outcome of Isaac getting poisoned down here that could have any chance at a happy ending.

“Speaking of predictable.” Valack puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pushes him not so gently towards the chair in the middle of the room. “What do you think about predicting the future?”

Stiles sits down, not any less confused now than when Valack first told him he wanted to see them after dinner. “Like… fortune-tellers?”

“Clairvoyance.”

“So, like a psychic.”

Valack stares at him with a frown, clearly annoyed that Stiles is missing the point — which he is, very much so. They locked him up here to separate the nemeton from him. Now he’s in a room that violates every hygiene regulation for a hospital, talking to a madman about the possibility of predicting the future. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Did you go to a psychic, Gabriel?” Stiles raises his brow.

“It seems,” Valack says, sounding more than unamused about the turn this conversation took, “something lifted your spirits again.”

Stiles chuckles. “I just can’t imagine you falling for card tricks, is all.” Even though he doesn’t like to admit it, Valack is too smart for that. He can’t see him believing anything said to him in a tent at a fair for a horrendous price.

“If I remember correctly, Lydia Martin is able to predict death.”

“Death we’re able to avoid if we’re fast enough. The future isn’t set in stone, Valack. Things can always change.” There are exceptions to the rule. His mother, who assured him his fate was not written down by three old women who share one eye, was such an exception. She couldn’t change her future, no matter how hard she and her doctors tried. “Is that why you wanted me down here? Because the nemeton can’t predict the future. I can’t help you.” There may be many things the power of the nemeton might be able to achieve, but none of them have anything to do with psychic abilities.

Valack shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s the fox I need, specifically, your powers of electromagnetokinesis.” He turns around, humming in a way that seems too delighted for Stiles’ liking and pulls something out of the set of drawers right behind him.

The thing turns out to be a Dread Doctor’s mask.

Stiles all but jumps off the chair, stumbling over his feet as he does so. It’s not hard to imagine what’s supposed to happen with this mask. The Dread Doctors have similar powers to kitsune’s that much he’s managed to gather. After all, Stiles, Kira, and Noshiko are immune to what they can do. It’s no surprise that all of their gear would need similar powers to function.

But Stiles is not about to touch any of that shit. “Get that thing away from me.” 

Two people grab him, holding him in place, as Valack lifts the mask a little higher. “This mask was created by The Surgeon. He managed to harness electromagnetic fields within this very mask, giving the wearer the ability to utilize clairvoyance.” He sets the mask onto the abandoned chair, fixing Stiles with a smug smile. “Unfortunately, only those possessing similar powers can wield this power. Which means that you will put on this mask and tell me what you see, or Mr. Lahey will die a very slow and painful death.”

Stiles presses his lips into a thin line. That threat doesn’t come as a surprise, and he really wishes they’d be more creative. Unfortunately, this is all they need to have Stiles do exactly what they want. “It would probably be easier without this collar.”

“Certainly,” Valack agrees, propping his hands next to the mask, "I managed to extract your DNA from your blood. Rest assured, even without full access to your powers, you're still very much a fox." The smile falls from his lips as he picks the mask back up. “Sit, or you will be seated.” Time for fun and games is very much over.

Grinding his teeth, Stiles yanks his arms free from Schrader and the other orderly. One day, he’s going to kill this man, and he’s going to enjoy every single fucking second of it. He returns to the chair, sitting down and glancing in Isaac’s direction. There’s no room for him to move, either. One wrong move and the two orderlies will poison him. 

“You see,” Valack says as he steps in front of him, “some things are set in stone.” The smile returns, and it’s the last thing Stiles sees before the mask is put on him.

For a few seconds, nothing seems to happen. All Stiles senses is the smell of old leather — and hopefully nothing more than that, as well as the crackle of electricity. It’s impossible to see out of the goggles. They’re broken and dirty and—

Without warning, a sharp pain starts at his left temple, spreading extremely quickly until it feels like Stiles’ head is splitting open. He screams in pain, trying to grab the mask, to rip it off. But someone grabs his arms. He’s pulled up and pressed against the chair. Someone is yelling something he cannot hear over his own screams. There is no future in this mask. There is nothing in this mask.

Only pain.

“Please,” Stiles screams.

There’s more yelling. More screaming. Something is crashing.

And then, there’s silence.

Stiles blinks his eyes open.

“What do you see?” Valack’s voice is distant and quiet, like he was talking to him through a wall.

Carefully, Stiles raises his hands to his head. The mask is gone, so is the chair, the room, and everyone else inside it. He’s alone in a different room. It almost looks like the one he’s woken up in a few days ago. But why would he be here again? A shudder runs down his back. It’s so awfully quiet, so wrong.

Stiles takes a step forward, but his foot catches on something on the ground. Furrowing his brows, he looks down.

And there’s Isaac, cowering at his feet, hands folded over his head, almost as if he’s protecting his face from something — or someone.

Stiles crouches down, about to grab Isaac’s shoulder, when he catches sight of something else.

Blood.

There’s blood everywhere.

[manicpixiedgoblin]

Nervous Young Inhumans

Masterpost

Chapter Seven.

Ellie told herself he’d text soon, things would be fine. His phone didn’t even ring when she called and going to the cops had never been an option.

She had Hank through Marie, maybe, but she’d never go to him if it meant in any way exposing Jesse or anyone she cared about.

She adhered to the ACAB mentality.

So she went to work, came home and cracked her knuckles anxiously all day.

When she did that in front of him he always took her hands in his to stop her.

She got more anxious thinking about it.

When she saw a missing poster for Walter she started stressing out more.

Later in the day, Diane Pinkman called her to tell her a cop had stopped by to question her about Jesse and his old high school teacher.

She feigned ignorance but got increasingly concerned. No one contacted her.

No one relevant to the case showed up at the hospital.

Her anxiety increased throughout the day as she checked her phone and saw no calls. Only a text from Diane asking if she knew where or how Jesse was.

That and the recurrent image of the MISSING posters all over town for Walt.

***

Ellie went to the only place she knew, a vet who used to do some illegal stuff after hours but now kept his nose clean. She knew he still knew some people, and he’d helped her back in the day when she’d needed NARCAN and he’d found her panicking outside a drugstore in her car.

She went in empty handed. He let her in discreetly, hoping her scrubs might make the pet owners think she was assissting him with something.

“I told you I’m out of that business,” he said the moment the door closed.

“You remember that guy you once asked me to help you suture here? When I was still a student and you were still not out?”

“Maybe. What about him?”

“I need his number.”

“He changes his number. And he doesn’t do side jobs now.”

“Caldera, it’s important. I just need him to track someone down. Something, even. A license plate.”

“Kid, I really don’t have his contact anymore. I can get you another PI but he’s above ground, if he finds anything illegal he’ll probably report it.”

“You still owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit - I helped you once, you helped me once. Don’t come back here without a pet.”

***

She let everyone know someone she cared about, an old high school teacher, was missing. If he came in, they’d let her know right away.

So when in the middle of her rounds one of the nurses told her Walter H. White had just been checked in, delirious and dehydrated, she ran to the room where he was listed as a patient.

His wife and kid were already there, and the rest of his family was on the way.

“Are you his doctor?” Skylar asked her.

“Oh, Mrs. White, no I’m - I’m an old student.”

“Do you know what happened?“

“Not yet, but let me go in and check with his head doctor.”

Inside the room, Walter was awake. He looked like shit, but he was awake.

“So you don’t remember anything before that?” Hugh was asking him, apparently assigned to the one patient she’d needed to talk to.

“Can you give us a second?” Ellie asked.

“Oh, Ellie, he’s fine,” Walt said, and then pretended to be flustered, “I’m fine,” he pretended to correct himself.

“Do you know him?” Hugh asked her.

“Yes,” she came closer to the bed, “what happened?”

“He stumbled into a supermarket naked, doesn’t remember anything before that. His head oncologist is on the way.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. Wow. What a shit plan.

“Well, I’m glad you’re safe,” she started backing out of the room.

“We’re all safe now,” Walter smiled at her. She didn’t smile back but left the room more relieved than she’d felt going in.

***

She got a text from Badger with a simple js fine cant talk now.

That was all she had. She couldn’t press for more.

Ellie went home and lay face up on the couch, her back aching from work and stress. She alternated between smoking on the balcony and pretending to watch a DVD. She didn’t feel like eating or sleeping.

On the news, she’d seen Tuco’s death, Hank Schrader’s involvement, and Jesse’s stupid, bouncing car in the background.

She rubbed her eyes every time she thought of it. Though it was about time he got a new car.

She drove by his house on the way to the hospital. The RV was gone and the cops were parked outside, however he’d managed that.

Ellie knew there was nothing left to do but wait.

***

Her knuckles ached from all the cracking.

“A hooker? IN A MOTEL WITH A HOOKER?!” she screeched at no one under her breath between cigarette smokes.

It was probably staged, right? Like Walter’s stupid fucking psychosis. But her stomach still contracted thinking of it.

She’d only found out by bumping into Marie on her way to visit Walter in the hospital.

“I can’t believe you dated him,” she’d said, making a face.

“He’s… complicated, yes.”

“Complicated? Hank’s complicated, honey, that kid’s insane. Prostitutes and dirty motels and - oh no - it’s disgusting thinking about it,” she shook her hands and head, “they were smoking crystal meth. Ugh.”

Ellie had acted like the girl disappointed in her high school boyfriend she was expected to be.

***

“I called my dad first,” Jesse said as he got into her car outside the police station, “I don’t think they saw, right?”

“No, Jesse, they didn’t see.”

He looked down between his legs.

She clenched her jaw and didn’t say anything, afraid anything would come out only in anger.

She opened the windows and lit a cigarette.

“Thought you didn’t like smoking in the car,” he said, lighting one for himself.

“Thought you could get laid without paying for it,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“El, it was just a cover, ‘kay? I was-“

“I don’t think I want to know this time. Whatever. Where should I drop you off?”

He was silent.

“I thought we could maybe go for a Cinnabon…”

She didn’t budge.

“Or just breakfast, y’know?” he finished.

Of course he played those cards. Cinnabons had been her favorite food her whole life, particularly after she’d had to live off fast food when her parents died. But even as a kid, be it homemade, or those aluminum rolls, from whatever bakery, cinnamon rolls were her favorite food. And the best were from Cinnabon.

“Where, Jesse?”

“The mall or, y’know… Waffle House.”

“Jesse, where do I leave you?” she looked at him. He stared and raised his hands in defeat after a second.

“I wasn’t with her.”

“If you wanted you could be.”

“What does that mean?”

“Whatever.”

Another pause. Tuesday noon, and she’d left work for this.

“Do you have a place to go, Jess?” she softened.

“Breakfast.”