#wicked: you can’t change the system from within and bodies will litter the ground if you try

[nicollekidman]

galinda is an agent of the state and elphie is a terrorist which is extremely hot but also means i’m allergic to happy endings and/or juvenile fluff

[rubyredhoodling]

Some John Wick Shit

Derek awakens to the slow knitting of bone and muscle. His brain feels raw and exposed as the world begins to swim back into focus. The cold concrete under him, for once, feels comforting, but the harsh blue light from the fluorescents, sting the back of his eyeballs and fires a sharp wave of pain into his skull.

His body feels sluggish and heavy, his mouth is sour and dry. Distantly, he can pick out a faint whispering, something low and foreign that Derek isn’t sure he would understand even if wasn’t concussed. Eventually, enough of the haze lifts that he can flex his left hand.

“Hey, welcome back, big guy.” A familiar voice quips.

Derek groans and tries to roll himself forward towards the bars. A flare of heat explodes into his veins, making him hiss and clench his entire body.

“Take it easy. They gave you quite a beating. You also got two doses of wolfsbane running through your system, so it’s going to be awhile.”

He waits for the burning to subside into a tolerable throb before he stretches one of his hands towards the water bowl near the front door of the cell. Gradually, he pulls it closer to his face and leans over to take a long drink. His vision is clearing but his head is still pounding.

“How long was I gone?” He rasps.

“Six hours.”

“Shit.” Derek glances towards the new empty cell in their row. “Where’s Faye?”

The witchling offers a wan smile. “She’s gone.”

“It’s too soon for them to take another.” Derek forces himself onto his elbow and tries to think against the stream of pain. “We’re supposed to have at least two more days.”

“It wasn’t like Jacob.” His voice tightens with emotion, but he clears his throat to smooth it into something calm and even.  “Our kind don’t last long under these conditions. Faye was old and a caretaker, she wasn’t trained to endure this sort of damage, it’s amazing she lasted this long.”

It’s odd to hear those words coming from the boy’s mouth. Stiles hardly looks like an adult, especially with the patchy hint of stubble along his jawline. Out of the sixteen that once shared this block, Derek had not expected Stiles to survive this long. He was lean when they first arrived and a month later the boy was starting to get skeletal. Under the drugs Derek feels his wolf reaching out towards the boy, trying to offer comfort through non-existent pack bonds.

“Stiles…”

The witchling shakes his head so Derek foregoes asking a question he knows the answer to. Instead, he redirects their attention to the plan.

“How long do you need?” He asks, settling himself back onto the ground.

“Need is not the question.” Stiles dries his wet face with the back of his hand. “Rest. I’ll tell you when it’s dinner time.”

--

Derek is startled awake by violent thrashing outside his cell. The guard under Stiles’ is slowly turning purple under the weave of his long fingers.

“Nice of you to join the party, big guy. You wanna grab that keycard so we can get out of here?”

Derek spies the bloodied employee ID near his water bowl and makes quick work of the door. The wolfsbane is mostly out of his system but the sudden blood rush combined with adrenaline makes him dizzy. The guard’s eyes finally roll back and Stiles begins to pull various items from the man’s pockets.

“Cameras are down but we have ten minutes until the shift change.” Stiles hands him a stun baton and a wallet, before offering up his wrists. “I’ve only got a little juice left but removing the iron could buy us a few more minutes.”

Derek frowns at the shackles. There’s a bolt of iron pierced through each of his forearms. Stiles shakes his arms impatiently and Derek focuses all his strength on snapping the bindings off and pulling the bolts out of the witchling’s flesh. The scent of infection mingles with fresh blood but Stiles shudders with relief.

“Thank you.” He sighs.

Derek grunts a response and quickly shoves him towards the entryway.

They encounter two more guards. They’re quickly dispatched and stripped. Two more flights of stairs and they find themselves in an abandoned lot in some nondescript warehouse district. Derek hits a couple of keyfobs until a pair of headlights flashes at the far end of the lot, and starts to jog towards it when he realizes Stiles isn’t behind him.

The witchling is staring up at the light in the third floor window.

“Stiles, we have to go.” Derek urges.

“I don’t think I can.”

“What are you talking about? The next shift is going to be here soon!”

“I need to know.” Panic ebbs from Stiles’ body and is replaced with something calm and cold. “Someone did this to us. What if they’re doing this to other people? I can't leave, not without knowing if there's other places like this."

They watch each other for a moment. They’re barely both standing. Stiles wounds are still bleeding and Derek can still feel the last echoes of wolfbane in his muscles. Every instinct within him is screaming to get them to safety but he can’t move. Stiles tilts his head and lifts his hand out.

“C'mon, Derek. Let’s finish this.”

--

They watch the warehouse fire from the ‘comfort’ of a Motel 6. They’re in some shittown in New Mexico. Stiles powers through fifteen tacos and half a pizza before crashing. Derek only manages half that before throwing up, he settles for half a liter of soda and Stiles' leftover pizza crusts. After his stomach feels more settled, he bundles their trash, grabs a discarded blanket, and settles into a chair to keep watch.

-

He rouses late into the evening to the sound of Wheel of Fortune and the smell of greasy Chinese food.

Stiles’ face looks a little fuller and the holes in his arms have healed over into angry, glossy circles. The scent of infection is gone and replaced by a bitter anxiety, considering their situation, it’s a world of improvement. He has freshly washed clothes that look a size too big and smell heavily of cheap detergent. Derek shifts himself off the scratchy comforter and stretches his limbs. His spine pops and cracks, sending a blissful relief through the rest of his body. For the first time in weeks, he feels normal.

“I guess wolves really are nocturnal.” Stiles smirks over a square takeout box of  noodles.

He tosses a bottle of water. Derek catches it and drains it greedily while glancing around the room. There's a variety of snack food and take out spread over the twin bed, and the floor is littered with empty containers and candy wrappers. There's also a new pair of backpacks and a old worn duffle that smells like the car they stole.

“You’ve been busy.”

“I require more calories than sleep.” Stiles preens at his haul.

"I can see that." Derek nods towards the devastation and grabs a carton of kung-pow shrimp from the nightstand. "Besides the shopping spree were you able to figure anything out?"

"The last thirteen hours have been enlightening." Stiles nods slurping another mouthful of noodles. He idly digs at his food for a moment. "I want to let you know I appreciate you helping me last night. You had a chance to make a break for it but you stayed anyways."

“No, you were right, no one else should have to suffer like that.” Derek offers him a small smile, but Stiles is focused on digging for stray peanuts. An odd weight settles between them as the witchling mulls over his next words.

"Look, it’s not much but the black backpack is yours. It has everything you need to get you as far as Sonoma. There's a bus stop about a mile up. I suggest keeping a low profile until you reach civilization."

“I don’t understand.” Derek furrows his brows. “What about you? What about the information you stole?”

“I sent it off to an associate to decrypt. I was able to do a little researching on my own. I have a pretty good idea where one of their safehouses is.” Stiles tosses the carton into a trash bag on the floor. “I think I have a thirty-two hour window before they move another shipment.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me getting to Sonoma?”

“Nothing, but I said I would be your ticket to freedom, thus Sonoma.” He waggles his fingers in a jazzy fashion. “This is where we part ways, wolfman.”

“You’re going to take on those hunters by yourself?” Derek says incredulously. “You’re still healing!” 

“Hey, you weren’t looking so hot with poison in your veins either, pal.” Stiles glares. “I’m not as fragile I as seem.”

“You’re still not up to fighting capacity either.” Derek stabs his chopsticks into the half eaten container. “I’m coming with you.”

Stiles laughs. It’s an oddly boyish sound but lacks real mirth. “Look, spilling a little blood because you’re trying to escape, that’s understandable. This...this is going to be a revenge story, black cowboy hat, John Wick, shit. Not everyone has the stomach for that kind of business.”

Derek narrows his eyes.

“Yeah, well not all of us like to sit on the sidelines, witchboy.” Derek growls. “After a month of torture and seeing all those people be taken to who knows where, I think a little revenge is in order.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment, contemplating the lines in his face. 

“Are you really sure you want to kick in with me, wolf? It’s a long way down this rabbit hole and it won’t be clean on the other side. Can you live with that?” 

“Yes.”

"Well then, this sounds like this is the start of a terrifying relationship." Stiles grins, eyes bright with mischief. "I look forward to rampaging with you, Mr. Wolf."