Chapter Text
Stiles lifts the strap of his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder and sighs as he stands outside the brick building. It takes a moment to steady himself before he feels like he is ready to enter. Boyd and Erica have the day off today, so he will have literally no one to watch his back. It’s bad enough when Boyd is there to stand up for him, but without him… Stiles doesn’t even want to think about what’s in store for the day.
“Hey, Marco,” Stiles smiles as he sees another trainee walking toward him.
“Hey, Stilinski,” Marco stops beside Stiles for a moment on his way to his car. “Watch out for Whittemore today. He came in half an hour early to shift just to get ready for you.”
“Great…” Stiles nods. “Can’t wait.”
“See ya.”
Stiles doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a deep breath and opens the door.
---
After throwing his duffle in his locker, it doesn’t take long to prep his uniform and make his way to the apparatus room to start checking the trucks. Most of the guys are already half way through the truck check, but being the newbie, Stiles has to work on the old rundown fire truck that they never actually use. It’s a pointless job, but they make him do it every single shift. He starts opening compartments and running through the checklist he has already memorized.
Making his way to the back compartments, he unlatches the hose deck and starts to pull the door up. It’s in that same instant the door moves up on its own and Whittemore lunges out with a scream. Stiles flails backward screeching loud enough to wake the dead. The entire room erupts into laughter, all at his expense.
“Jackson! I swear to…” Stiles starts only to be interrupted by a sudden silence. He looks to his right and can see the Chief stepping out of his office. Arms crossed. Unhappy.
“Stilinski. My office. Now.”
---
Stiles trudges across the apparatus room toward the Chief’s office. He knocks softly on the door before opening it. “Chief Argent?”
“Come in, Stiles.” Chief Argent moves behind his desk and sits down.
Stiles closes the door and moves to sit down as well.
“Stiles, I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Do with me?!” Stiles shrieks. “They’re the ones picking on me, and I’m the one in trouble?!”
“Don’t yell at me, Stilinski.” He leans back and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Kid, you’re here because I was best friends with your dad for half my life. I owed him a favor. But, this is turning into too much.”
“Again, not my fault. It’s Whittemore and his goons.”
“They prank you because they know you’ll react. You’re an easy target, even I have to admit.” He sighs again. “You’ve made some connections with Boyd and Reyes, but with the others… Stiles, you haven’t even tried. We’re supposed to be a brotherhood.”
“They won’t give me a chance! I trip on the hose on my first day, and they won’t let it go. I ruined any chance of respect from them before my first day was even over. I became the joke. Newbie who can’t even walk straight, and I’ll never live it down.”
“I don’t want to have to do this…”
“Chris, please. Give me another chance.”
“Good grief, kid. I’m not firing you, just listen.” Argent stands and walks over to the shift board. “Headquarters isn’t working out for you. It’s just too much for the other guys. They can’t handle their work when they’re focusing on you.”
“Again, not my fault.”
Chris continues without stopping. “We’re short staffed this go around. Boyd and Reyes are off on their four day kelly. And, we just got a driver who called in sick from an outstation. We don’t have the funds for anymore overtime.”
“And…”
“I have to send someone from Headquarters to cover the station. You’re the newest of the new hires on duty today, so it’s you.”
“Okay, so…” Stiles smiles. “This is good. This is a good thing. I get away from Whittemore and his crew of idiots. Why don’t you want to do it? I swear I’m ready! I’ve been on this department for six whole months now. I can do it! Please, Chris.”
Chris drops his head. “It’s Station 4.”
Stiles freezes. “No.”
“Yes, Stiles. I’m sorry. I don’t want to…”
“Then don’t. Please, no. Anywhere but there.”
“I said I don’t want to have to do it. But, you’re the newest hire.”
“So, low man on the totem pole gets sacrificed?!”
Chris rolls his eyes. “It’s only for this go around. Three shifts.”
“I’ve heard plenty of stories about that station in the time I’ve been here. People go running and screaming from the building. Those that survive that is.”
“It’s not THAT bad…”
Stiles waves his hands in the air. “Chris, you’re out of your mind! There’s no way… He’ll kill me! He’ll smell the fresh meat and attack!”
“Stiles. It’s three shifts. Just go. Do your job. Mind your own business. You’ll be fine.” He motions for Stiles to stand. “You’ve got to be there by radio check. That’s thirty minutes. Grab your gear and get going.”
Stiles stands and moves toward the door.
“You’ll be in my prayers, kid.”
---
A crowd gathers as the other firefighters realize Stiles is packing up his gear. Whittemore leans against the row of lockers with a smirk.
“Chief finally come to his senses and fire your clumsy rear?”
“No,” Stiles straightens as he lifts his gear onto his back. “He’s sending me to a station.”
“Yeah right,” Whittemore hisses.
“I’m serious. He trusts that I’m ready. He knows I’m good at my job.”
“What station is it,” Greenburg leers.
“St…” Stiles swallows his nerves. “Station 4.”
The crowd of men is eerily silent. Even Whittemore has turned pale. Stiles quietly moves past them and walks toward the door.
As the men recover from their stupor, Stiles can hear them begin to chant after him. It begins as a whisper and then grows and grows. “Hale Hole… Hale Hole… Hale Hole… Hale Hole…”
---
They call Station 4 the Hale Hole for a reason. The captain has been described as the devil himself. No one lasts more than a few shifts without calling in sick, asking for a transfer, or quitting their job entirely. And, these aren’t just rumors created by Jackson Whittemore and his jerk squad to scare the new hires. Even Boyd and Erica have warned him of the horror stories of the Hale Hole. Even the chief was reluctant to send Stiles out.
He’s dead meat. He can feel it already. This is his last day to live. Goodbye cruel world.
He parks his Jeep in the parking lot and gathers all his bags of gear. Looking up at the building is like looking up at the Grinch’s lair. He’s never met the mysterious recluse. The guy never comes to lunches or events at Headquarters. He never does anything with any of the other guys. It’s been said that he even locks up his food so none of the others take it. Even the ketchup. Like anyone in their right mind would steal anything from a man described as having a personality like hell on earth.
Stiles realizes he’s still standing in the parking lot when the door to the station opens. He gasps as he hears the crunch of boots on the sidewalk. Standing at the door is a mountain of a man. Broody, dark hair and eyes. At least two days worth of scruffy beard showing even though firemen aren’t allowed to have facial hair. You see, your mask doesn’t seal right if there’s hair in the way…
“It’s 7:30!”
Stiles snaps out of his thoughts. He swallows and hurries to the door. He plasters a smile on his face and holds out his hand. “Hey! I’m…”
“Stilinski. You’re late.” The grump of a man walks back through the door without a single word more, leaving Stiles alone on the doorstep.
Stiles sighs and hangs his head. “Welcome to Hale.”