Welcome to my lair...

Stiles stared up at the ceiling, yawning. He hadn’t thought about how dull being in prison would be. Of course, he could probably get out if he wanted to but he knew it was better to be patient. He just wished he knew what time it was. There was no light coming through the window but that didn't really narrow it down. He momentarily considered shadow walking to find a clock but decided after his multiple collapses he shouldn't really be using his power so trivially. He hadn't tested it since he'd arrived at Fangtasia, for all he knew he was still too drained to do anything.

Tara had gone quiet as well, whether she’d fallen asleep or just didn’t feel like talking Stiles didn’t know. She hadn't said much after he'd revealed his history, which he understood. It sounded crazy to him and he'd lived it.

The silence was broken by keys and the creak of the cell block door, followed by footsteps.

A peculiar sensation rippled through Stiles, like every single nerve was jolted in rapid succession. A dizziness settled over him, but not the nauseous lightheaded dizziness that came before he collapsed. This was… euphoric. He felt heat flooding his body and his breath became ragged as he stumbled to his feet, moving to press against the bars in an effort to catch a glimpse of what had triggered it.

“Tara, wake up. This lady paid your bail. You're free to go. Straighten up. I don't wanna see you back in here again.” Kenya said, before turning to address someone Stiles couldn't see. “My shift's over in five minutes. There's papers to sign on the way out. You know the drill.”

“Thank you, Kenya.”

“Who are you? Why'd you pay my bail?”

“My name's Maryann. Forrester. And I'd like to help you, if you'll let me.”

“What are you, some kind of social worker?”

“Yeah, that's about right. Kenya knows me. I'm in and out of her all the time with people in your position.”

“My position.” Tara’s voice had started to take on a defensive tone.

“DUIs, minor assaults, public drunkenness. You know, those times when things go just a little too far. It can happen to anyone. Now, I expect you have your reasons?”

“Yeah. I got reasons.” The defensiveness had amped up.

“Well, I would be very happy to give you a ride home,” Maryann offered.

“No, thanks.”

“Well, they gave me your address. You can't walk there, it's too far.” Despite the concern in her voice and the continuing warmth that was flowing through him, something about her persistence grated on the rational part of Stiles’ mind. It was just… hard to focus on when the rest of him felt so good.

“I can... I got kicked out.”

“You don't have anywhere to go? No family? No friends?”

“I don't want them to see me like this. It's okay. I'll think of something.”

“I mean, you can stay at mine,” Stiles called, slotting his arms through the bars. “But I live next door to Rene so…”

Maryann took a few steps, moving to stand in front of Stiles’ cell. A half smile played across her lips as she swept her eyes over him. They slowly moved to lock with his and Stiles felt a fierce jolt inside of him. The shock subsided quickly, replaced with an ecstasy that bordered on painful.  Part of him wanted to look down, sure that if he checked his arms he’d see black veins, but he couldn’t tear his gaze free. A peculiar sense of recognition stirred inside of him, a kinship that he didn’t fully understand. Maryann’s smile grew, before she turned away to focus back on Tara.

“Tara... I'm sure you've barely slept or eaten. Why don't you come to my home? Just till you get things figured out.”

“I don't know, I...

“Oh, no, no, there's plenty of room. I do this all the time. It's sort of an informal halfway house.”

“Doesn't seem right.”

“I know what you mean. But you can shower, you can wash your clothes. You can let me feed you. Then you can go on your way and my conscience will be clear.”

“You're not a Jesus person, are you?”

“No. No. Nothing against religion but not a Jesus person. Okay. Well here's my card, in case you change your mind.” She started towards the exit. “Good luck, Tara.”

Tara hesitated for a moment before calling after her.

“Wait.”

Stiles stood mute as Tara followed the strange woman out. The moment the cellblock was empty, his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the floor. His body was trembling and he felt like something had been ripped away from him. He tasted copper on his tongue, his fangs having sprouted at some point without him realising. 

He took a few deep breaths, concentrating on calming himself. Slowly his breathing returned to normal and the world steadied once more.

What is she?

Whatever she was, he was pretty sure he’d just found what had pulled him to Bon Temp to begin with.

Stiles was still lying on the floor, half asleep, when he became aware that he was being watched. He rolled onto his side, opening his eyes to see a pair of shiny professional looking shoes. He lifted his head.

“Peter,”

The wolf crouched, the ghost of a smirk on his face. His eyes ran over Stiles’ bruises and, although his expression didn’t change, something flared inside his eyes.

“Darling, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

“What time is it?”

“Around 11. I got here as fast as I could.”

“How much did Sookie tell you?” Stiles asked, moving into a sitting position.

“The basics. You defended her from an attack. Assault charges. I had her send me photographs of her bruises. Now, tell me everything that happened and I will get you out of here.”

So Stiles did. He told Peter about the night at the bar, about hearing Sookie scream before something stopped her, about Rene punching him and about getting him into the walk in. Then he told him about Andy Bellefleur, the arrest, their previous encounters. Peter stayed quiet throughout, nodding occasionally. When Stiles finished, Peter straightened up.

“I’ve got this. But i need to know, how far do you want me to take things?”

Stiles considered for a moment. Peter could get him out, but the wolf could also do far more damage if he allowed it. He could see the anger in the man’s eyes, carefully contained but unmistakable. He thought of how much he hated seeing a cop abuse his position to settle personal grudges, how unfair it was that so many of the people at the station in Beacon Hills had been killed by the kanima yet people like Andy Bellefleur got to run around unchecked.

“Eviscerate him.”

Peter smirked and nodded. He went to the cell block door, leaned out and shouted.

“Does anyone actually work here?”

Stiles strained his ears and heard the faint sound of hurried steps, of muffled curses, before Andy’s voice rang out through the cell block.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Peter Hale. I am Stiles Stilinski’s lawyer and I’m here to discuss his release.”

“He’s not being released.”

“We’ll see. Now, is your sheriff in?”

“No.”

“Call him. I want him present during the interview.”

“I am the officer assigned to this.”

“And according to my client, you have demonstrated behaviour that falls under misconduct towards him. Call your sheriff, or I will escalate this matter.”

There was a moment of silence and then footsteps retreated. Peter returned to Stiles’ cell. 

“What a vile little man.”

Peter said it so casually that Stiles couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Peter’s face softened slightly and he crouched down, reaching through the bars to entwine their fingers.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too. I like it here but it’s been hard.”

Peter squeezed his hand.

“Not much longer. I’ll be able to leave soon.” He paused, considering his words. “I found one. In Nevada. I was actually in Las Vegas when Sookie called”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve been tracking them for a while. They’re migrating, leaving bodies occasionally but not enough to really draw attention. I’ll get them soon, before the Hunters pick up on the pattern. Then i can officially cut ties with Beacon Hills.”

“When you do… would you want us to go somewhere else?”

“I was thinking New York.” Stiles bit his lip. Peter sighed softly. “You want to stay?”

“Kinda… yeah.”

“I can’t say I ever imagined myself settling down in the middle of nowhere Louisiana but… if it’s what you want… i’d be willing to try.”

Before Stiles got a chance to reply, Peter’s head turned sharply towards the cellblock door. He rose quickly to his feet, Stiles doing the same. A few minutes later, Andy came in with Sheriff Dearborne beside him.

“Evening Sheriff Dearborne,” Stiles greeted. “Sorry if we got you out of bed.”

“Stiles,” the Sheriff nodded before looking at Peter. “You’re the lawyer?”

“Yes. Peter Hale.”

“Okay. Follow me, i’ll take you to the interview room. Andy, get Stiles out of cell.”

A disgruntled Andy unlocked the cell and handcuffed Stiles, before ushering him out of the cellblock and over to the interview room he’d been taken to during his very first visit to the station. Once inside, Sheriff Dearborne seated himself across from Peter and Stiles, Andy went to sit beside him but stopped when Peter cleared his throat and gave a pointed look at Stiles’ handcuffs. Andy removed them and slouched into his seat.

“Let me start by saying, thank you Sheriff Dearborne for joining us. Did the detective explain why I requested your presence?”

“No he didn’t.”

“Well, the reason is simple. This detective has demonstrated that he holds a grudge against my client and has already acted against police regulations in pursuit of his petty vendetta. Stiles came to the station previously, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And following that encounter, your detective looked up my client’s information and contacted a family member, informing them of his location. Stiles is over eighteen, the detective had no right to do so and by sharing the information, he actively placed Stiles in a position of danger. Stiles did not file a complaint at the time, as he was fearful of what the detective might do. However, once this matter is closed, I will be filing one with the Professional Standards Bureau. At minimum. Stiles informs me that this appears to be a recurring pattern with the detective, using police procedures to settle personal scores.”

“What does any of this have to do with him assaulting someone?” Andy snapped.

“I am merely laying out the reasoning behind my request for the Sheriff’s attendance,” Peter responded calmly. “I do not believe that Detective Bellefleur is capable of providing unprejudiced judgement.”

“Understood.”

Peter gestured for them to proceed. The Sheriff nodded to Andy who seemed to puff up a little bit, no doubt trying to make himself look more intimidating.

“Mr Stilinski was arrested for assault against Mr Lenier. During a gathering at Merlotte’s Bar, an altercation took place inside the bar which resulted in Mr Lenier being knocked unconscious and locked in the walk-in refrigerator.”

“You’re referring to him defending his friend, Sookie Stackhouse, from an attack by Mr Lenier who was attempting to choke her?” Peter asked.

“That’s his story, yes. However, the bar was dark and there is no way of verifying that Miss Stackhouse was attacked by Mr Lenier. The only people that we know were in the room were her, Mr Lenier and Mr Stilinski. He could have easily been the one to attack her. Or she might not have been attacked at all.”

Peter removed a slim envelope from his pocket and removed two photographs from inside.

“These photos were taken by Miss Stackhouse. They show the bruising on her throat, which is consistent with manual strangulation. So clearly, she was attacked. And the finger marks look too large for Stiles to have done it. But, whether you choose to believe that Mr Lenier was the one who attacked her or not can be set aside for the time being. When he was found in the walk in, was he still unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“Was he face down or face up?”

“Face down”

“Stiles, can you show the officers your wrists?” Peter asked. Stiles placed his arms on the table. Alongside the ingrained ligature scars were a ring of bruises clustered around each wrist, thicker in places where multiple fingers had pressed down. Andy bristled, clearly picking up on what Peter was implying.

“Those could be from his handcuffs.”

“If you placed handcuffs on him hard enough to bruise, that’s yet another damning indictment of your ‘abilities’ as an officer of the law. Besides, handcuffs would leave a mark of consistent thickness. These are fingerprint bruises, which is consistent with Stiles’ statement at the time of the incident that he was held down by Mr Lenier, a fact that is supported by the bruising on his face and the lack of defensive wounds. He was unable to protect himself, which also means he would have had no way to knock Mr Lenier unconscious.”

“A set of shelves was pulled down, he could have knocked it down with his leg,” Andy insisted. Beside him, Sheriff Dearborne closed his eyes, clearly exhausted by his colleague. 

“And if he had, then it would have been accidental or self defense. Other than being knocked out, did Mr Lenier have any injuries?”

“He had five lacerations on his arm.”

“Stiles?” Peter looked at him for an explanation.

“My fingernails, when he first started hitting me. I tried to push him off, dug my nails in. That’s why he had those.”

“Any other questions Detective Bellefleur?”

“No,” Sheriff Dearborne said before Andy could speak. “The assault charges are dropped. Stiles, you can go.”

“Bud-” Andy started to protest.

“No Andy!” The Sheriff shut him down. “They’re leaving, you’re going to fill out the necessary paperwork and when I come back in for my shift, we’re going to have a very long conversation.”

Peter put a hand on Stiles’ back, guiding him from his seat and out of the interview room.

“I told you I’d get you out,” he said smugly as they left the station.

“I never doubted you,” Stiles told him. “I’m just confused. Rene had to know that those charges wouldn’t stick. Was he just trying to be petty? I outed him as a serial killer, you’d think he’d have bigger priorities instead of-” He stopped abruptly, freezing in place. Panic seized him and he tried to summon his shadows to transport him but they didn’t come.

“Stiles?” Peter asked.

“We need to get to Sookie. Fast.”

All the lights were on at the Stackhouse home. After Sookie had called Peter (a nervewracking experience after she remembered some of the things Stiles had said about him), everyone had lapsed largely into silence. Jason had shown up an hour later to check on Sookie, with Amy in tow, and that had just aggravated matters. There was a palpable tension between the couple along with a nervous energy. They had eaten dinner before retreating back to the living room, where Sam did his best to comfort Sookie. She was blaming herself for Stiles’ arrest. Of course, that had been when Bill had shown up and attacked Sam for touching her. Sookie had kicked him out, rescinded his invitation and curled up in a ball of frayed nerves in the armchair.

She found herself wishing Tina was there, something she could hold and comfort herself with the simple joy of the cat’s purrs. Those thoughts quickly turned sour as the image of Tina’s makeshift grave came to mind.

Stiles’ phone vibrated beside her, lighting up with a text. She let out a small sigh of relief as she scanned it.

“Peter texted. He’s made it to town, he’s heading to the station. Says Stiles should be out soon.”

“Thank the lord,” Adele murmured. Sam gave a slight smile. The only person who didn’t seem happy was Jason.

“Who’s Peter?” he asked.

“A friend of Stiles. He’s a lawyer. Stiles asked me to call him when he got taken in. He said he should be able to get the charges dropped pretty quickly,” Sookie explained.

“Are we sure that’s a good thing?”

“What do you mean, Jason?”

Jason looked around nervously, eyes flicking to Amy in hopes of getting support from her. She quietly excused herself, going to the kitchen to make more coffee.

“I just… we don’t know the guy, not really.”

“He saved my life. Rene was trying to kill me.”

“I mean, we don’t know it was Rene.” Sookie glared, Jason continued hurriedly. “Stiles has barely been here two weeks. Rene has been here longer, shouldn’t we trust his word over a stranger? You have to admit, the kid’s pretty weird.”

“Jason Stackhouse,” Adele said firmly. “If you can’t say something nice, you stay quiet. Stiles has helped Sookie out, he’s helped me out. He’s just had a rough time of things, you will not cast aspersions on his character, is that understood?”

“Yes gran…”

Sam’s phone rang, the ringtone a sharp knife through the charged conversation. He stepped into the hall to answer it, returning a few minutes later looking apologetic.

“There’s some kind of crisis down at the bar.”

“I thought you closed for tonight?”

“I did but Terry went in to grab something. Looks like someone broke in. I have to go check the damage, but i’ll come back as soon as I can. Jason, you take care of them, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sam left, the sound of his car quickly fading down the road. Jason sighed and looked over to the still annoyed Sookie.

“I wasn’t trying to imply anything when I said it might not have been Rene. I just… i’m just hoping that my best friend ain’t a serial killer is all.”

“I get it, i do. I wish it was someone else.” Sookie gave him a strained smile. “I know Arlene has had some bad boyfriends but they’ve never murdered anyone before.” Jason let out a humourless laugh. “So, is everything okay with you and Amy? You seem… kinda tense?”

“We had a fight, nothing serious. I just-”

There was a loud crash from the kitchen. Jason got to his feet.

“Amy?” he called. No answer. He looked to his sister and his gran. “Stay here.”

Jason crept from the room towards the kitchen. As he drew closer, he could hear a steady dripping noise.

“Amy?” he called out again, softer this time.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Jason stepped through the kitchen door. The broken coffee pot lay in shards on the floor, coffee forming a cooling puddle around it.

Drip

Drip

He inched closer, moving around the table. A strangled noise broke free when he saw Amy. She was sprawled against the wall, half sitting half laid down. A jagged tear bisected her throat, a painful vicious looking cut filled with rage. Blood stained her top, ran down her arms. One hand was rested on top of an overturned chair, ribbons of crimson hanging from her fingertips, suspended for a moment before falling to the tile with a quiet drip.

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