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The video rental place was out of Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 2. Stiles was pretty pissed about it, since he’d driven all the way to the other side of town to get it. It wasn’t on Netflix, and he didn’t have enough time to find and download a legit version from the internet. They’d just have to watch Pacific Rim again, as Stiles had a hankering to see Derek’s Are you kidding me? face, which was never more hilarious than in the wake of the dumbest awesome movie ever made.

He had it on his computer so that he could inflict it on his alpha whenever he wanted, but he figured, since he was here, he could pick up some snacks. The betas would finish them in a hot minute, but they’d be tasty while they lasted, and he might even get to eat some himself if he was quick.

He just had to decide whether he wanted Sriracha-flavoured popcorn or classic caramel. Contrary to what the internet assumed, not everyone liked the good old cock sauce, and he might get complaints. On the other hand, he could probably convince Isaac that it was pizza flavoured, and then they’d all be able to laugh at the smoke coming out of his ears. Stiles had fond memories of wasabi peas on the pack night last halloween, and the bright shade of red Isaac’s cheeks had turned.

He picked up both bags, tucked the two litre bottle of Mountain Dew under his arm and weighed them both in his hands. He closed his eyes and imagined the scenarios that might play out if he put one or the other back, and how he might feel about it.


Stiles looked over, taking a step to the side, since he figured he was blocking the popcorn display, but the guy next to him just smiled and went back to perusing the chip rack, barely waiting for Stiles to respond with his own friendly grimace of acknowledgement. Stiles went back to his popcorn, which he really needed to decide on soon. The condensation from the soda bottle was starting to make the sleeve of his over-shirt damp, not to mention cold.

“Nice night.”

Stiles glanced over again, mild annoyance pricking him at the guy’s apparent compulsion to make small talk. “Yep.”

“It’s warm for autumn, isn’t it?”


“Be getting colder any day now.”

“Hmm.” Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket. He juggled the bottle and the bags of popcorn, balancing one on his chest, and started texting for the dual purpose of looking busy to try to fend off more inane comments about the weather, and asking Scott if he was a terrible person for getting the Sriracha.

“When’s the next full moon? Gotta be soon, right?”

“Yep, couple weeks.” Thursday from next, to be precise. Stiles’ Google Calendar was flawless.

The man laughed, and something about it made the back of Stiles’ neck prick with unease. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Stiles looked up from his phone, and nailed the guy with a hard look. He wasn’t looking at the chips anymore. He was looking at Stiles, his eyes glued to his face, intense, unnerving and alpha red.

Behind the alpha, another man stepped into the aisle. He hovered at the end of a row of chocolate bars, silently watching. Seconds later a woman joined him. Stiles let his eyes drift around the store and he counted three more betas staring him down.

“I hear you know a lot about that sort of thing,” the alpha said.

“Who told you that?” Stiles said, tonelessly. The bag of popcorn crinkled in his hands under his tightening grip.

“News travels amongst people like us. We hear things.”


“Word has it that a Hale is alpha in this territory again. That he’s turned a bunch of teenagers and they’re all,” a slow smile curled on the alpha’s face, “hanging out around his old place.”

He laughed and shared a weird leer with a beta who was lurking by the refrigerators. Stiles suddenly felt like he needed a shower.

“Huh,” Stiles said, shifting his feet. “Is that right?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Sorry, I know about as much as you, so--”

“You misunderstand. You’re going to tell me. Everything.” His eyes glowed red again and his betas flashed theirs in answer. Blue. All of them had blue eyes. Stiles took a step back, but the alpha shot his hand out and captured Stiles’ upper arm in a steel grip.

“Don’t bother,” the alpha said, softly. “Just don’t.” Stiles could feel the prick of claws against his skin and he nodded. Trying to run while surrounded like he was would be stupid.

Slowly and deliberately, he dumped the popcorn bags back on the shelf and when the alpha let go of his arm, he set the bottle of Dew on the floor. He realized he still had his phone in his hand with a new message to Scott still open on the screen. He had a fleeting thought of sending a distress text to the pack, but the alpha snatched it out of his hands and pocketed it before he could type the first letter of SOS.

The alpha put his hand back on Stiles’ arm, and the closest beta took the other one. They only had to exert a little bit of pressure and Stiles was walking with them, closer to the exit and whatever plans they had for him.

He tried to make eye contact with the checkout guy as they passed. Stiles didn’t recognize him at all, so he probably went to the catholic high school. That didn’t stop Stiles from attempting to communicate telepathically with him when their eyes met for a brief second. I’m being kidnapped, you fuckhead, he thought desperately, but the kid’s eyes slid away to the screen of his laptop and the alpha gripped the back of his neck in a warning.

Two beat-up cars waited, headlights on and engines started, in the parking spaces right outside the doors. The ones with the wheelchair signs. Dicks. He sat in the back, in between two of the betas, while the alpha sat in the passenger seat. They were quiet the whole way, though the alpha made a call as the car pulled up outside a sketchy warehouse. He’d started the conversation with a clipped, “Dave here. We’re almost inside.” Stiles didn’t know if being kidnapped by a guy named Dave made him feel better or worse about it.

Stiles was pulled out of the car roughly, and towed into the big empty building. Circles of yellow light from the fluorescent lamps pooled on the concrete floor in uneven lines, about 8 spots in total. In one of them, there was a table covered with papers and half-full water bottles, in another, a raft of mattresses with no sheets. The one in the middle of the room illuminated a sturdy chair, and Stiles wasn’t surprised to be steered there and tied to the strangely ornate wood. He wondered if a grandma somewhere was rolling in her grave at the horrific misuse of her dining set.

The alpha--Dave--handed Stiles’ phone to one of the two betas who’d tied him up, then gave a piercing whistle. More werewolves emerged from the darkness--Jesus, how many was there?--and they all clustered in a loose circle around the table for a mission report, supposedly.

The two huge betas who’d done the tying up stuck around, one ear each tilted toward the chit chat, and their eyes trained on him. The one who had his phone dropped it to the ground and Stiles could see a new message notification on the screen for half a second before it was crushed under a massive foot. Maybe it’d been Scott, warning him about this enemy pack. More likely, it was one of the pack getting on his case for the lack of movies and snackage.

Stiles winced at the little pile of bent metal and shattered glass, then thought of what his dad was going to say when he had to buy yet another phone for him before the warranty was up. Then, he was struck by how surreal it was that he was here, tied to a chair, in mortal peril and he was dreading his dad’s Disappointed Face.

Stiles’ nose started to itch a few minutes later. His hands were still tied, so he tried to see if wrinkling and contorting his face would get rid of it. It didn’t. It just kept itching and prickling and bothering him, until he needed a distraction or he was going to go insane.

“You guys do your own decorating?” He asked Tweedle-huge and Tweedle-huger. “‘S nice. Very villain chic. Classic, you know? Who needs alarm systems and running water when you’ve got...rats, I guess?”

Neither of the guys even grunted in acknowledgement, and their eyes stayed fixed on him.

“I also really like what you’ve done with the master bedroom,” he prodded, jerking his head toward the mattress flotilla. He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that they were a mistake, but his tongue continued on without him. “Separate bedrooms--I mean, beds--are so 50s anyway.”

Maybe the hit shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but he hadn’t been ready. The beta’s backhand was brutal and Stiles’ neck hurt from the force almost as much as his cheek did. After that, apparently he was fair game. They didn’t taunt him, or ask him for information. Just took turns slapping him across the face until he could feel his lip splitting and the blood vessels in his skin breaking.


The pain was making him a bit stupid, so it took him a second to realize that the alpha was finished with the team meeting. They’d spread out around the warehouse, and in the dim light, Stiles took the time to count them. There were nine of them--plus Dave--that he could see. That didn’t include the most shadowy corners where he couldn’t hope to see with his human eyes and any that were stationed outside.

Dave dismissed his two lackeys with a wave of his hand and slowed to a stop about 5 feet from Stiles, arms crossed and expression thoughtful. Stiles licked his lips. They were burning hot and the blood had started to go tacky already. It tasted horrible.

“I may have misled you a bit, Stiles,” Dave said, with a fake, regretful frown. “I don’t need you to tell me anything. I know all about your adorable pack. All the precious little betas. A hunter who didn’t have the stomach to kill her puppy dog. Derek Hale, the weak baby alpha. And you,” he closed the distance between them and tipped up Stiles’ chin with his thumb. “The pet human.”

Stiles jerked his head away, then hissed at the pull on his neck. A part of Stiles was relieved that it didn’t look like he’d be interrogated. Gerard had been a soft touch compared to what these guys were probably capable of, and Stiles had no idea how much pain he could withstand before he sang like a bird, no matter his strong will. The other part of him was more scared than ever. If they didn’t want information, what was he doing here?

Dave sighed and straightened, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got a problem with your alpha, Stiles. Well, not him, specifically, but you know how it goes. Sins of the father and all that. I don’t want to get into it with you, since it was before your time, but the bottom line is, someone’s gotta pay.”

“I get the feeling that someone’s gonna be me,” Stiles said, his voice steadier than he’d expected.

Dave laughed, and clapped his hands together. “Very good, how clever you are! That’s what everybody says about you, you know. ‘That human who runs with the Hale pack, he’s a smart one. Where would they be without him?’” Dave leaned forward with his hands on his knees, smiling condescendingly. “Do you wanna know what I think, Stiles?

“Not really, but--”

“I think I know exactly where they’ll be without you.” His voice was soft. Gentle, but clear as a crystal blade. “They’ll be nowhere. Adrift. Devastated by what happened to their defenseless human packmate and crumbling under the weight of their guilt. Because what happened to you will be all. Their. Fault.” He walked his fingers up Stiles’ knee and Stiles’ anger flared at this guy’s fucking playfulness.

“That’s bullshit. They know that I chose this life. If I get killed, that’s no one’s fault but mine. And yours, you asshole.”

“Oh, Stiles,” he said, on a laugh. “You’re not going to be killed. You’ll be very much alive. More alive than you’ve ever been. They’ll lose a packmate, alright, but not to death. Just to me.” Dave reached out his hand, sharp nails extended, and ran the backs of his knuckles down the side of Stiles’ face. As Stiles watched, his fangs dropped down into wickedly sharp points and his eyes glowed red like an ember from deep within. He leaned in closer, and whispered, hot breath tickling Stiles’ ear, “and what fun it will be.”

Up until that moment, it had never crossed his mind that that kind of assault was something he should be worried about. It hadn’t been further from his mind when he’d been taken by Gerard. He’d been preparing himself for a beating, and hadn’t been shocked by the warm up he’d goaded the betas into. But if this guy meant to do what Stiles thought he meant to--Stiles’ brain short-circuited for a minute and he could see Dave’s growing smile at what must be a slack-jawed expression, but he found he couldn’t give any other reaction.

“You really are something, Stiles. I don’t think they appreciated your particular qualities nearly enough in your old pack.” Dave stuck two of his own fingers into his mouth and pulled them out with a slick noise, then took advantage of Stiles’ mind wipe to push them past Stiles’ lips. Stiles gagged and tried to rear back, but there wasn’t any give in the chair or the ropes. The fingers were gone again before he could bite down. “It’s a good thing you’re going to be with me now. I’ll appreciate every part of you, sweetheart.”

Stiles heard a few of the betas laugh, but he was too busy attempting to pull away from Dave’s lips to really get pissed at them. It wasn’t much like a kiss. More of an owning press of an open mouth, with the ghost of suction. When it was over, the cooling saliva on his cheek made him want to throw up.

Dave swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, his fangs fully extended now, and his face beginning to contort into something more lupine. He snapped his fingers at a pack member, who untied the ropes confining Stiles’ quaking limbs. “I’ve been waiting a long time to collect my due from the Hale pack.”

Another beta grabbed a dirty mattress from the other side of the room and pulled it closer to the chair. Dave picked Stiles up by the throat, holding him high enough that his toes barely touched the floor.

There was no more human left in Dave’s voice as he growled, “I’m going to make you feel every wrong they ever did me.”

The alpha threw him onto the mattress and then all Stiles could see was inky black, cold blue and heart blood red.