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The plan is simple.
Kidnap Stilinski. Wait for Captain Humanity to come running. Kill Captain Humanity. Expose the fact that the ‘Repress the Wolf’ movement Captain Humanity figureheads is actually leading werewolves to insanity and eventual euthanasia by the government. Kill Mayor Argent. Rule the city. Fix everything.
Derek’s always been a fan of simplicity.
"He didn’t even have his door locked,” Erica says as she dumps the body into a chair.
“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, as he riffles through plastic shopping bags on the ground for the zip-ties. “You’d think the best friend of Captain Humanity would have better security.”
“Then again,” Erica says with a smirk and a quirked eyebrow, “if he’s friends with Captain Humanity, it’s no surprise that he’s an idiot.”
“Did you leave the note?” Derek asks.
“Yeah,” Erica says. She glances at Boyd. “You left the note, right?”
Boyd raises his eyebrows at her.
“Good,” says Derek.
He’s itching to turn on the television, but he knows it’s too soon. Alphas don’t hover around the television two minutes after they’ve kidnapped Captain Humanity’s best friend. They wait at least an hour.
“Where are the zip-ties?” Isaac asks, breaking into Derek’s thoughts.
“They’re… not in the bags?” Erica says slowly, propping the body up with one hand as he turns to look at Isaac.
Isaac, crouched over the pile of bags, shakes his head. “No. We bought them, right?”
“You were the one who put them in the cart,” Erica replies.
“No, I didn’t,” Isaac says, staring at Erica. “You did. You were debating between the name-brand and the store-brand.”
“Yeah, but then I handed you the name-brand ties to put in the cart,” Erica says.
There’s a pause.
“Shit,” says Isaac. “I thought that was the one you didn’t want.”
“Why would I have handed you the one I didn’t want?” Erica demands.
“To put back,” Isaac says obviously.
“Why the hell—”
The chair’s duct-taped leg gives out, and both the chair and the body go sprawling to the ground.
“Well, I’m not the one going back to the store,” Erica says insolently.
Derek sighs.
“But doesn’t it bother you that people will know who you are?” Isaac is asking, an hour later. “Like, oh, yeah, that’s Beta Boyd, everyone used to have to hide their erasers from him before recess, otherwise he’d eat them.”
“I didn’t eat erasers as a child,” Boyd says blandly. “And no one recognizes my name. My Pack is dead.”
Erica rolls her eyes. “Bring it up at least five more times before dinner, I dare you. You sound like Derek. Anyway, it’s not about the recognition, it’s about the cool factor. You could pick any name you wanted.”
“Yeah,” Isaac chips in enthusiastically.
“Like Beta Shadowex?” Boyd asks, raising an eyebrow at Isaac.
“Beta Shadowex is a cool name,” Isaac defends immediately.
Erica snorts.
“Like Beta Temptress is so much better,” Isaac says pointedly.
“Shut up,” Erica snaps, punching him. “I’m waiting for Beta Luxe to die so I can have her name, and you know it.”
“Whatever,” Isaac says, and turns back to Boyd. “Look, the point is, you have to pick a name, because maybe we didn’t get to choose to be evil or werewolves or whatever, but we can at least pick a cool name.”
“I like my name,” Boyd says blandly.
“Ugh. Seriously?” Isaac demands.
“Could you possibly have the hundredth edition of this conversation somewhere else?” Derek asks, pressing Ctrl+R on his laptop to refresh the Beacon Hills Herald website. Again.
One day, Erica and Isaac will figure out that the reason Boyd doesn’t pick a name for himself is solely to annoy them. Derek finds that amusing, but there is the unfortunate side effect of Erica and Isaac never shutting up about it.
“Oh, I’m sorry, where else are we supposed to go in a one-room warehouse?” Erica grumps. “If you wanted privacy, you should have invested in a house instead of some dingy leftover from the Industrial Revolution.”
“Go… get pizza. Not carry out.”
“But aren’t we waiting for Humanity to show up?” Isaac asks.
“It’s not even on the news yet,” Derek answers, glancing down at his laptop to make sure that it hasn’t magically appeared.
It hasn’t.
He pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and tosses it to Erica, who catches it with a look of glee. “Go.”
Erica and Isaac scramble for the door. Boyd hangs back.
“Do I have to?” he asks, looking disgruntled.
“Yes,” says Derek.
Boyd stares.
“If I let you stay behind, the other two will want to know why they couldn’t stay here, too,” Derek tells him, because his Betas are actually toddlers.
Boyd sighs, but follows Erica and Isaac out of the warehouse.
Derek refreshes the webpage again.
Jackson Whittemore, the son of local socialites, died publically and horribly from government-approved Xapien drugs, two years after having been bitten. The media converged like flesh-eating ants, and for the first time in almost a decade the anti-Repression movement had hope.
Derek—half-crazed with new Alpha power, desperate for Pack, hopeful in light of the publicity that had surrounded the Whittemore brat’s death—took the opportunity to rescue Isaac from the Stage IV facility. He’d lined up a sketchy deal with a warehouse, because no one wanted to deal with werewolves who weren’t Repressed, and when it came time to sign the lease all Derek could focus on was the Beta in the backseat of his car growing twitchier by the minute.
After the drugs wore off, he knew Isaac would be dangerously feral for weeks until his body washed itself clean of the Xapien. Derek needed this space, and he needed it now.
“Send the money to the PO Box,” the landlord told him, licking his lips. “If you come near me again and I’ll blow yer fuckin’ head off. Don think I won’t. I got enough Nordic Blue to load a canon.”
"You said a grand a month,” Derek stated.
“I said fourteen hundred,” the landlord replied. “Guess that famous wolf hearing ain’t so good after all, is it?”
It was certainly good enough to hear the click of a gun being cocked under the table.
Derek signed the contract.
When Derek is sure the Betas are out of earshot, he turns on the television and desperately flips to the local news channel. There’s no mention of anyone having been kidnapped. Just a story about the rising number of frozen yoghurt joints in downtown Beacon Hills.
That’s okay. Derek can wait. There’s a reason he had his Betas buy three packs of Oreos when they’d picked up the zip ties.
The body grunts, head rolling.
Derek closes his laptop and jumps to his feet, rushing over to turn off the main lights in the warehouse. He kicks the bags of groceries under a table as he goes, and pulls off his shirt so that he’s left in only his trademark jeans and wife-beater. When he gets back to the body, it’s letting out a low moan.
Derek squares his shoulders and readies his smirk.
"Good morning, Stilinski,” he says, voice pitched low and resonant. “I hope you’re comf—”
The body grunts and goes limp, unconscious again.
Derek blinks.
Fifteen minutes later, the head rises with a quiet groan.
Derek clears his throat. “Good morn—”
“Mrpgh,” says the body, and slumps.
An hour later, the Betas are still gone and the body is still unconscious. Derek is attempting to Google ‘how long does chloroform knock a human out for?’, but the proxy filter that Isaac had set up isn’t letting him. He feels like he’s in middle school again, trying to search for images for a Language Arts PowerPoint, but being felled by the stupid school filters at every turn.
He’s two seconds away from disabling the damn thing, when a gravelly voice speaks up.
“Where’s my dramatic villain introductory monologue?”
Derek just barely manages not to jump. He hastily closes the laptop and glares at the now-awake Stilinski.
“I didn’t think you were worth the effort,” he lies.
“You thought I was worth the effort of kidnapping, though,” Stilinski argues. “Right? This is a kidnapping, isn’t it? It’s either that or some really weird sex game I never consented to—it’s kind of hard to tell in the dark. Can I get some light here?”
“No,” Derek snaps.
“No, I can’t have light, or no this isn’t a kidnap—uuuuuggghh. Oh my God, my head. Am I still in my pajamas? If I throw up on my pajamas, I’ll kill you.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll kill you,” Derek replies.
“Okay, definitely kidnapping,” Stilinski says unevenly. He’s breathing in through his mouth and out through his nose. Derek can hear it.
He realizes, then, that he’s a loss for what to do. He can’t give the speech he’d prepared, now, because he’d look like an idiot. The Betas aren’t here to babysit Stilinski while Derek waits for the world to catch on to his disappearance. And it’s not like Stilinski is anything more than a hostage.
Derek tells himself it’s only awkward if you let it show, just like sitting alone in the cafeteria during lunch, and reopens his laptop. He waits for it to load the login screen.
“Is this some sort of weird secondary torture?” Stilinski asks, after a few minutes. “Forcing me to watch you destroy your eyesight by only using one light source to read?”
“I’m a werewolf, idiot,” Derek says. “My eyesight will always be perfect.”
“Oh, well, excuse me,” Stilinski retorts. “I didn’t realize that I was talking to a werewolf. I take it you’re one of the evil ones, then, if you’re—”
He stops.
Derek refreshes the news page again. He wonders if there’s something wrong with the website.
“You know,” Stilinski says slowly, “you look an awful lot like that one dude. The Alpha dude. You are, aren’t you? You were the one who led that crappy attack on Gerard Argent.”
“It wasn’t crappy,” Derek says stiffly.
“It so was.”
Derek scowls, flashing fangs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Stilinski has the gall to roll his eyes.
“I don’t actually need you alive, you know,” Derek threatens.
“Then why am I?” Stilinski asks.
“Bad PR,” Derek deadpans.
Stilinski gives him an incredulous look.
“The less people I kill, the more accepted I’ll be as a leader once I kill Argent and take over the city,” Derek explains, raising his eyebrows. “There’s more to being an Alpha than slamming your fists around, you know.”
“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Stilinski says.
“Think it over and let me know when you figure it out,” Derek replies shortly.
He shuts his laptop and tries to sniff out where Isaac put the chloroform. He may not want to kill Stilinski, but he wouldn’t mind a few hours of peace while he waits for Captain Humanity to get his shit together.
The chloroform is nowhere to be found. His idiot Betas probably took it with them when they went for pizza. And the media still hasn’t published anything about Stilinski’s disappearance.
“So I’m obviously here because of Scott,” Stilinski says, apropos of nothing.
“Scott?” Derek repeats, before he remembers that his current strategy for dealing with Stilinski’s chatter is ignoring him.
“Captain Humanity,” Stilinski says obviously. “He has a real name, you know. Dude, didn’t you do research before you decided to kidnap his best friend?”
Derek only just stops himself from retorting that he had, in fact, done hours of research before executing his plan. Captain Humanity is his sub-arch-nemesis. Of course he knows that his real name is Scott.
He’d just forgotten.
“And you’re waiting for the media to catch on, judging from the way you keep refreshing the same page,” Stilinski goes on, unconcerned.
Derek scowls at him.
Stilinski rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“You don’t lock your door, you have no security system, and you’re a high-profile figure in a major city,” Derek replies flatly. “You redefine the word idiot.”
“Oh, please,” Stilinski snorts. “High-profile. I’m, like, medium-profile at best, and those are just on the days when Victoria wants me to do some human-werewolf friendship publicity stunt with Scott.”
Derek curls a lip. He’s seen those stunts, and every single one makes him sick.
Captain Humanity, so non-werewolf and Repressed that he’s managed to keep his human best friend, even invite him over for dinner and share a steak on the full moon without losing control. Meanwhile, werewolves all over the city are going mad from Xapien, ending up in mental wards and eventually being put down like rabid dogs.
“FYI, if you’re waiting for someone to notice I’m gone, which I’m assuming you are, you might be waiting a while,” Stilinski puts in.
"We left a note,” Derek tells him.
"I see Scott like once a month—he’s so far up his girlfriend’s ass that they could audition for The Human Centipede 3,” Stilinski says. “And I live alone.”
“I’m sure your boss will notice when you don’t show up today,” Derek points out.
Stilinski smiles hollowly. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”
“Don’t you have a… girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
Derek vaguely recalls Stilinski hanging off of someone’s arm, the last time he’d appeared at an event with Captain Humanity.
“I’m between relationships as well,” Stilinski says.
“And no friends? Family?” Derek asks, trying not to let the sinking dread in his stomach creep into his voice. “Seriously?”
Maybe Stilinski is lying. Maybe he’s just playing with Derek, attempting to throw him off his game.
But Derek can hear his heartbeat, and there’s definitely no lie when Stilinski shakes his head and says, “Nah, not really. Just people I hang out with sometimes.”
“Kind of pathetic, isn’t it?” Derek asks, scowling. “You get kidnapped and no one even notices?”
“Says the guy living in a warehouse who’s too afraid of a scrawny human to turn the damn lights on,” Stilinski shoots back. “We won’t even start on your idiotic plan to kill Argent. I know toddlers who could out-strategize you in a game of checkers.”
“Argent needs to die,” Derek says with sudden fury, hands tightening into fists to prevent his claws from shooting out. “He deserves to die.”
“Yeah, so you can rule the world instead, I heard,” Stilinski says irritably. “Clearly, all our problems would be solved if you were in charge. I’m sure Robespierre thought the same thing when they executed King Louis XVI.”
“You have no idea,” Derek snarls. He feels his teeth grow at the memories of Boyd’s Pack foaming at the mouth, eyes bulging, snapping madly against their restraints. “You have no idea what Argent has done, the things that he’s covering up, the—”
Stilinski laughs.
Laughs.
Derek snarls and lunges, and it’s only the sound of the warehouse door rattling open that snaps him back into his mind before he rips Stilinski’s throat out. Half-wolf, he hunkers into himself and finds the heartbeat of his Betas, of his own body, and waits until he feels the fur completely recede.
“I see things are going well here,” Isaac remarks.
“Shut up,” Derek replies.
“Dude, do you run an after-school program?” Stilinski asks, twisting his head to get a look.
“Oh, yes,” Erica purrs, sidling past Stilinski, running a hand down his arm. “Sometimes he even lets us call him Daddy.”
Stilinski looks wonderfully revolted.
Still, this is not exactly the evil image that Derek is going for. Less Pedo-Bear, more… Violent Revolutionary. Evil Violent Revolutionary.
“That’s enough,” Derek says, rising from his crouch. “Where’s my wallet?”
Boyd tosses it to him. Derek flips it open to make sure all that’s missing is his cash.
“How come you don’t have the TV on?” Isaac asks. “We’re all over the news.”
“What,” says Derek.
“Really?” asks Stilinski, perking up.
Isaac turns the TV on.
“You’re the Horrible Alpha?” Stilinski asks, minutes later. “That’s a terrible name.”
“That’s not my name,” Derek snarls.
Erica just barely muffles her snort of laughter.
“It’s Alpha Horrible,” Derek says, scowling at the news reporter. “They’ve got it wrong. They’re probably doing it on purpose to make me look bad.”
“Yeeeah,” says Stilinski slowly.
“It’s still going to be a few hours before Humanity shows up, right?” Isaac asks. “We’ve still got time?”
Erica looks down at her clothes and makes a face. “I should change.”
“To something less or more slutty?” Boyd asks.
“More,” Erica says. “Duh.”
“Classy,” Boyd replies.
“Nips and gents,” Derek reminds her, because Erica sometimes likes to push his rule about her outfits whenever they’re doing something big. From the look on her face, this had been about to be one of those times.
“Wait,” Stilinski says slowly. “Wait, wait, wait. Oh my God. I’m a diversion.”
Derek blinks. He’s pretty sure all of the Betas blink along with him.
“I am, aren’t I?” Stilinski says, sounding surer with every word. “You’re going to get Scott, the media, and three-quarters of BHPD here in wherever the hell we are—the slums, probably—and while they’re all distracted rescuing me, you’re going to, like, bomb the bejeezus out of the Xapien factories or something. Holy shit. Your strategy is like a thousand times better than last time. Go you!”
Silence.
“Well,” says Erica.
“Three-quarters?” Isaac repeats weakly.
“That’s… not your plan, is it?” Stilinski realizes.
“Not so much,” says Erica. “But it should be. Derek—”
“No,” Derek says flatly. “We’re sticking to our plan.”
Erica gives him a disbelieving look. “You are such an idiot.”
"Three-quarters,” Isaac says, wide-eyed.
“They’re not actually going to send three-quarters of the police after one person,” Derek says, managing to sound blasé instead of panicked.
“Actually—” Stilinski starts.
“No. We are not deviating from the plan, and we are not bombing the Xapien factory,” Derek growls, cutting him across. “As exciting as that might sound, there’s the minor problem of us not having any bombs. We are sticking with the original plan, and that’s final.”
Isaac raises his hand. “I read an article on About.com on—”
Derek snarls and Isaac shuts up.
“What is the plan?” Stilinski asks curiously.
“Shut up,” Derek answers.
“Oh, God, it’s something really bad, isn’t it? You’re going to demand money, or a—a speedboat or something, aren’t you? It’s probably even worse than that. Like, Step 1: Kidnap Stiles. Step 2: Wait for Scott and crew to show up. Step 3: Kill them all.”
Derek’s impulse is to defend his plan—just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s stupid—but he fights it back at the last second.
"This is just wonderful,” mutters Stilinski.
“Shut up,” Erica tells him, and flounces off to change.
Boyd and Erica go off to patrol—Erica in approved clothing—and while Derek doubts that either of them will actually be effective as an early warning system, he lives in hope. Anyway, he trusts them with this more than he trusts them to babysit Stilinski.
On the television, Captain Humanity is giving an impassioned speech to the press about rescuing his best friend. Isaac is munching on Oreos as they watch.
“So,” Stilinski says, at the commercial break. “You’re Alpha Horrible, lame-name extraordinaire, but I don’t know your name, other person.”
Isaac twists an Oreo apart. “Beta Shadowex.”
Stilinski straightens. “Wait, like Fantomex?”
“Yeah!” says Isaac, brightening.
“Oh my God, dude, that is awesome!”
Derek has no idea who Fantomex is, or why Shadowex is apparently a cool name while Alpha Horrible is not. Alpha Horrible is a perfectly good name. It’s descriptive and accurate, and unlike Shadowex, it’s actually a real word.
“—best unlocked character on Avengers Alliance, dude, totally worth finishing season six—” Stilinski is enthusing.
Isaac shakes his head. “I haven’t played, I just read the comic—”
“Oh, dude, definitely play if you get the chance,” Stilinski says. “So good.”
“Both of you, shut up,” Derek orders.
"Chill out, grumpy cat,” says Stilinski, as Isaac moodily eats another Oreo. “You know, I can’t help but comment—”
“We’ve noticed,” Derek mutters.
“—this is all kind of low-key for being an Evil Den of Evil, isn’t it? We’re eating Oreos in front of the TV. I’m pretty sure that this was exactly my plan for the day, except maybe minus the zip-ties. I always imagined Evil Dens of Evil having, like, more manacles and time spent alone in a tiny dark room, and less… eating Oreos.”
“You’re not eating Oreos,” Derek says.
“No one was eating Oreos,” Stilinski replies. “Oreos are not evil. I do give you points for location, though, because this abandoned warehouse thing is definitely creepy. Do you rent this place? You know they’re going to access your tax records and this is going to be the first place they look.”
“Watch the television, Stilinski,” Derek says, scowling as he tries to focus. Captain Humanity is back on the screen.
“Why?” Stilinski asks. “It’s not like Scott’s going to tell everyone his super secret plan to save me on national television. He’s not even speaking, he’s just reading what Victoria wrote for him.”
"Shut up anyway,” Derek says.
“Victoria, like Victoria Argent?” Isaac asks curiously.
Derek gives up.
Stilinski nods. “Yeah. She’s the most terrifying PR agent you’ll ever meet. If you look really closely? You can see the flesh of her enemies stuck between her teeth.”
“She’s Gerard Argent’s… daughter?” Isaac frowns. “No, sister? I remember seeing her with some guy when I was in Stage III.”
“She’s married to Argent’s son,” Stilinski supplies.
Derek had known that. Isaac would have known it, too, if he’d read the links that Derek had emailed out to his Pack prior to kidnapping Stilinski.
(Further proof that none of his Pack actually use the email addresses that they’d given him.)
"They’re dating?” Isaac is demanding, having apparently discovered the torrid love affair of Captain Humanity and Gerard Argent’s granddaughter.
“Yep,” Stilinski sighs. “Idiots in love. They’re sickening, really.”
Derek’s phone vibrates. It’s a text message from Erica.
Nothing so far. How much longer do we have to do this? FYI, this is still a stupid plan.
“Is Erica giving up?” Isaac asks, momentarily distracted from his gossip fest with Stilinski.
“Just complaining,” Derek replies.
“She’s already walking back, isn’t she?” Isaac says, smirking.
Derek grits his teeth and ignores him.
When he first rescued Isaac, Derek spent almost a month roaring and slashing and flashing red-hot Alpha eyes until Isaac began to develop some semblance of self-control. The battle recommenced every full moon for over a year. Erica, when he rescued her, was cowed much the same way.
Derek knows that this isn’t how his mother would have brought werewolves off of Xapien. He knows that he hasn’t been the best Alpha to his Betas, and he knows that there’s a reason they have next to no respect for him.
He still has the memories of the first time he had Alpha’d out on each of them, though—the way their eyes had widened in fear and respect and recognition. Most days, that’s enough.
“To be honest,” Stilinski is saying, sobering a bit, “Allison is one of the main reasons that Scott’s stayed with this Captain Humanity bit for so long.”
“That and he’s a total moron,” Isaac mutters.
Stilinski shrugs, instead of getting loud and defensive like Derek expects him to. “A little. He was also attacked by a rogue Alpha, which is kind of a little bit traumatic, you know? He’s just scared and trying to do the right thing.”
Isaac tenses almost imperceptibly.
“There is such a thing as shades of grey, you know,” Stilinski adds, before Isaac can say anything. “Scott’s not the devil incarnate.”
Isaac snorts. “Not if you’re human.”
“Not if you’re anyone,” Stilinski stresses. “Look, Scott is—he’s just scared and in love and confused, okay? And, you know, it doesn’t help that all of the werewolves who aren’t on Xapien are frigging supervillains.”
“It’s not like we chose it,” Isaac protests.
“No, Alpha Horrible over there chose it for you,” Stilinski retorts.
“Society chose it for us,” Derek snarls, teeth lengthening. “Why don’t I bite you and we’ll see which option you choose?”
"No! Jesus, no, put the fangs away!” Stilinski yelps, straining against the zip ties in an effort to lean away. “Holy crap. All I’m saying is that even if Gerard Argent is the evilest old-man douchebag on the face of the Earth, you’re not accomplishing anything by evil-ing him back.”
“What are we supposed to do, talk about it?” Derek sneers. “I’m sure Argent would gladly call off the quiet genocide of my species if we just had coffee together and I explained things to him.”
“No, that’s not—” Stilinski breaks off, looking frustrated. “Look. Your plan today was to kidnap me, wait for the cavalry to arrive, and then what? Kill them all?”
Derek glares.
“I’m assuming you guys haven’t been developing secret biotechnology or atomic weapons, but just for argument’s sake, let’s say you do manage to kill Scott and like twenty police officers,” Stilinski says. “Then what?”
“And what do you suggest?” Derek demands.
“A plan with actual intelligence?” Stilinski suggests. “Playing within the system instead of trying to destroy it?”
“We’re not allowed in the system,” Derek growls.
“Yeah, but—”
Stilinski cuts himself off.
“What?” Isaac asks curiously.
“Nothing,” says Stilinski, as Derek glares at Isaac.
On the television, the press conference is ending.
“Look,” Stilinski says, when Isaac goes out to help scout. “If you go ahead with this plan, you’re going to die. All of you.”
Derek ignores him. There’s a commercial for KFC on, and he’s been craving BBQ chicken for weeks.
“You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. My dad was police chief for five years before he died, and I was practically raised by the BHPD. They are going to crucify you, dude.”
There are large parts of Derek that, quite frankly, welcome that idea.
“And you guys don’t really deserve to be crucified,” Stilinski continues. “You’re not evil, you’re just kind of terrible at planning things.”
"We’re monsters,” Derek replies.
“Oh, please,” says Stilinski. “You eat Oreos. Gerard Argent wouldn’t be caught dead eating an Oreo.”
“Pseudonymous,” Stilinski says, after another period of silence.
The name rings sharply in Derek’s ears, in his bones, pulling his attention away to the newscaster predicting the death of the Horrible Alpha on the screen.
“What about them?” he asks, almost against his will.
“They lost me my last job,” Stilinski says. “Lydia Martin—she was Jackson Whittemore’s girlfri—”
“I know,” Derek bites out.
Jesus. Of course he knows. When the Whittemore brat had died and the media had been covering it night and day, talking about unknown side effects of Xapien—that had been when he’d rescued Isaac. He’d been so sure, then, that it would end, that the media would find out about the madness and the euthanasia and Gerard Argent would finally fall.
But nothing had happened.
Until Pseudonymous.
“Right. Well, she and Danny Mahealani, they created Pseudonymous after he died,” Stilinski tells him. He pauses, sucks in a breath, and then continues. “Lydia’s… been after me to join them for weeks. She orchestrated me losing my job to help with that—which, you know, doesn’t really endear me to her because I liked that job, but I guess it’s all for the best anyway.”
“They’re recruiting you,” Derek says disbelievingly. “Captain Humanity’s best friend.”
“I told you, he’s really not my best friend anymore,” Stilinski says, and hesitates. “I—I thought he was. But the Scott I know… he wouldn’t have had a freaking press conference before coming to find me.”
Derek is tuned in to Stilinski’s heartbeat, waiting desperately to hear it skip or speed up.
“Get me a phone,” Stilinski say. His resolve is hardening before Derek’s very eyes. “I can call Danny, tell him I’ll join up. They’ll get us out of this mess.”
“No,” Derek says flatly.
“You’re going to die,” Stilinski says.
“What a shame,” Derek mutters.
"Yes, it would be,” Stilinski says.
Derek raises his eyebrows.
“I mean, you can’t plan worth crap and you’re kind of an asshole, but you know, at least you’re trying to do something,” Stilinski says.
“Do or do not,” Derek replies. “There is no try.”
“Fine, then, you’re doing,” Stilinski corrects irritably. “It’s still a hell of a lot more than ‘doing not’, which is what I’ve been… doing. Doing the not-doing. Look, the point is, I think we’ve got the same goals here, it’s just that you’re going about it in the completely wrong way, and I’ve been too chickenshit to try at all.”
“Oh, we have the same goals, do we?” Derek all but snorts. Stilinski’s laughter echoes sharply in his mind.
“Okay, so not the goal of you running the city, because seriously, worst idea ever. But ending Xapien, the Repression movement, reestablishing the idea that werewolves can function in society without being drugged to the gills—general equal rights for the supernaturally inclined?” Stilinski raises his eyebrows. “Ring any bells?”
“And you’re going to fix all that with Pseudonymous?” Derek asks skeptically.
“Pseudonymous is big, dude,” Stilinski says. “I know they haven’t done anything since that time they took out the entire television network to air that video of the Stage IV Repression facility, but that’s not because they haven’t been busy.”
“Right,” says Derek.
Forgive him if he’s a little skeptical. It’s literally been years since that video aired.
“I’m not asking you to join,” Stilinski says. “Just let them help us out. You don’t deserve to die.”
Derek grunts.
“You’re not a horrible Alpha,” Stilinski adds.
On the television, the troops are rallying.
"Shut up,” Derek says, and stalks off to find another pack of Oreos.
“What about your Betas?” Stilinski tries. ”Committing suicide by cop is all fine and dandy for you—apparently—but do they know they’re going to die today? Do you want that for them?”
Derek licks the cream off of an Oro half. “They knew what they were getting into.”
He’s turned the television off so he doesn’t have to watch video of the police trooping over here to kill him, but somehow, the lack of news is actually worse. He feels too large for his skin. He feels like running.
“You know, somehow, I doubt that,” Stilinski says dryly.
“The moment they were bitten, their choices became Xapien or evil,” Derek says curtly. “Erica and Isaac both nearly died in Stage IV, and Boyd watched it kill his entire Pack. After that, being evil for a few years and eventually killed seemed like the better option.”
“Jesus,” Stilinski says.
Derek eats the cookie halves. They’re dry in the mouth, making his tongue thick and his throat burn.
He gets a perverse pleasure out of the thought of his autopsy, and the sight his stomach full of partially-digested Oreos.
"Is it a pride thing?” Stilinski asks, minutes later. “You sort of seem like the type—which, dude, so am I. When I was in third grade I wrote a paper for my teacher on why three times two was five, rather than admit I’d gotten the problem wrong. It was like a page long, which might not seem like a lot, but it is when you’re in third grade.”
“It’s not a pride thing,” Derek replies through gritted teeth.
The Oreos are gone, the press conference had ended over an hour ago, and his Betas still haven’t seen anything unusual in the area.
“Don’t you trust me?” Stilinski asks winningly, flashing Derek his best smile.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Derek says shortly.
“Well, that’s lame,” Stilinski says. “Who do you call to take you home from the dentist after a root canal?”
“We’re werewolves, we don’t get root canals,” Derek says.
Stilinski rolls his eyes. “It’s the principle of the matter. There’s got to be somebody you trust, or—”
Something is moving.
“—you know, a person, werewolf, whatever, that you distrust less—”
“Shut up,” Derek snaps.
“But—”
“There’s something outside,” Derek snarls, which shuts Stilinski up.
The warehouse is silent.
Derek can hear the softest of footsteps, like a cat’s, just outside the warehouse. He can hear the heartbeats of all three of his Betas and three sets of footsteps, but they don’t match up. Boyd’s footsteps are there, but the two other sets that he doesn’t recognize. Erica’s and Isaac’s heartbeats are also slower, more even than they should be.
It occurs to him that he hasn’t heard from his Betas in at least fifteen minutes, maybe more.
Unease slides over him like ice water, and he feels fur prickling under his skin. His fangs are growing and red is beginning to creep into the edges of his vision. Outside, he can hear the footsteps getting closer. He thinks he can make out four or five sets of lungs working.
The main door to the warehouse slides open, and Derek only just stops himself from charging the figures in the door when he recognizes the faces.
It’s Lydia Martin, flanked by Danny Mahealani, who has Erica and Isaac over either of his shoulders, and trailed by an ever-placid Boyd, the only one of his Betas presently conscious.
“Let’s make this quick,” Martin says, pulling out a box-cutter.
Derek growls, claws out.
Mahealani flashes red eyes right back at him, and Derek is momentarily startled out of his aggression.
When did Mahealani become a werewolf? An Alpha werewolf, no less?
“Don’t bother attacking,” Martin tells him breezily. “We’re just here to grab idiot-features over there and then we’ll be out of your hair. Also, Danny went into your tax records and changed your residence, so the entirety of the BHPD is currently twenty miles south of here surrounding another abandoned warehouse. You’re welcome.”
“Idiot-features?” Stilinski repeats indignantly.
“You don’t have a security system,” Martin replies, giving him a disgusted look. “You didn’t even have your door locked.”
“Hey! That’s victim blaming!”
“Shut up, Stiles,” Mahealani interjects, as he sets Erica and Isaac on the ground.
“How did you find this place?” Derek demands.
Martin and Mahealani both turn to look at Stilinski.
Stilinski gives Derek an embarrassed little grin. “Uh. Yeah. Next time you kidnap someone, dude, make sure that you verify they don’t have their phone in their pocket when you tie them up.”
Derek fights down a snarl of rage.
He’s going to kill his Betas.
“It’s a good thing you finally gave in today,” Mahealani says to Stilinski. “You don’t want to know what Lydia’s next move was going to be, if getting you fired didn’t work.”
"Yeah, well,” Stilinski says, as Martin cuts his zip-ties. “As I was just telling Sir Growls-a-Lot, I’m sort of a little attached to my pride. And I’m loyal to a fault. A big fault. Like, San Andreas Fault fault.”
The zip-ties fall away and Stilinski sighs as his hands are released, rotating his wrists vigorously.
“Put this on,” Martin instructs, handing Stilinski what looks like a nicotine patch. “Rip off the back, place it over your heart. It’ll hide your heartbeat. I’d tell you to watch your chest hair, but Danny says you don’t have any.”
Stilinski goes bright red.
Derek abruptly remembers whose arm Stilinski had been hanging off of at all of those Captain Humanity publicity stunts. He feels a flare of irritation at Mahealani and scowls at him accordingly.
“I have chest hair!” Stilinski protests.
“You stopped waxing?” Mahealani asks, looking at Stilinski with renewed interest.
“Maybe,” Stilinski says, glaring. “It was a phase, okay?”
"Flirt later,” Martin orders, already heading for the door. “We’ve got a tight schedule to keep. Stiles, you’re going to fake an escape, call Scott, tell him you got out on your own—I’ll give you the address you’ll lead the police to in the car—and then you—”
“Wait,” Stilinski interrupts. He turns and looks at Derek, a searching look on his face. “You—”
“Go,” Derek grits out.
Stilinski doesn’t move, his eyes flicking between Boyd and Derek. “Either of you…”
“I’m good,” Boyd says easily, which, frankly, surprises Derek.
“Stiles,” Martin says, giving him an impatient look.
Stilinski gives Derek a strange look, glances at Boyd one last time, and then follows Martin and Mahealani out. They shut the door behind them, and it echoes loudly in the empty warehouse.
On the floor, Isaac and Erica are still out for the count.
“Why didn’t they knock you out?” Derek asks, after a moment.
Boyd shrugs. “Didn’t put up a fight.”
“You should have went with them,” Derek mutters, turning to stalk off to his private corner of the warehouse.
To… think.
A week later, there’s a copy of Leadership and Self-Deception: Getting out of the Box left in front of the warehouse. Tucked between the pages is a slip of paper that has an address written on it. Derek waits a week to check it out, just to be safe.
It’s a house.
“I want the room with the bay window,” Erica says immediately.
Isaac and Boyd both turn to stare at her, betrayal written on their faces.
“I’m the girl,” Erica informs them.
“We can draw straws for rooms,” Derek says, because transparency and a commitment to equality are important to maintaining positive relations between all members of a team.
Two months later, the morning news informs Derek that Grzymisław Stilinski is a traitor to his species, a member of the terrorist organization Pseudonymous, and wanted for the theft of important government documents. On the television, Captain Humanity gives a speech, blinking too much and losing his place on the screen reader multiple times.
Derek mails a pack of Double Stuff Oreos to Danny Mahealani with instructions to pass it on.