Payment (revised)

Chapter 34

Each thump was met with a crisp kick of a pistol.

Except the more Stiles paid attention the more he realized the shots were far from being in his head. Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated. Sure enough, the corresponding beats began to stray from each other, and Stiles wondered how he had thought them to be the same at all.

It was a thing of magic. Stiles had taken the throbbing in his skull, and subjected his enemies to its abuse.

A light flickered alive, deep inside of him.

His next choices could mean the difference between life and death.

Stiles swallowed with all he could muster, trying to wet his tongue. He got up, agonizingly slow, and braced himself against the wall. The ridges in the plaster scraped his hand.

Stiles pushed himself off the panel and made his way to the door. His legs tingled with numbness, and his muscles protested, creaking as if there wasn't enough lubricant to sanction their use.

With too much effort expended, Stiles gripped the locked door handle to brace himself. His knuckles turned white as it closed around the cold nub. This was it, this would decide Stiles's fate.

If he was going to fight or disappear beneath The Argent Clan's vice.

Not trusting his voice, Stiles turned his fingers to a fist and banged against the door.

Three booming hits rippled through his room and beyond it.

No guards answered.

The light inside of Stiles shone brighter. For the first time since the boy had been here, no one was patrolling his door.

After his initial discussion with Gerard, Stiles knew he would go out of his mind if he didn't have human connection. He'd disappear into the four walls that stood like soldiers around him. Stiles had called out, desperate for someone to answer him.

A guard had gruffed out a reply.

Yes?

Someone was there.

It had soothed Stiles, though he knew the guard felt no sympathy for him. It had given him a menial task that he had clung onto for sanity.

The task in question; annoy whoever had been assigned the unfortunate duty of overseeing Stiles until they lost their minds. It was only fair that if Stiles was going down, so were his enemies.

The boy would ramble endlessly at each guard who stood watch at his door. It became a game to see how quickly he could get them to break, or beg him to shut the hell up. None of them ever figured if they just stopped answering him he'd have eventually lost interest and quieted down.

Now there was no guard on the other side of the door, and the more he strained his ears the more it confirmed the sounds of fighting.

Stiles was afraid to let himself dream, but he'd never been good at holding back.

Unable to contain the glow, the bulb surrounding the light inside him shattered.

Derek was here.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey! I'm here! I'm here!" Stiles screamed, tearing at the chords that strained against his neck.

The pain and weakness that plagued him had subsided.

The boy was throwing himself at the door like a caged bull, knowing he might be using the last dregs of his strength for nothing.

Still, the fighting had drawn closer, so close that the gunshots and deafening screams were starting to dig a hole in Stiles's eardrum.