His Turn

Metal (3)

Stiles' head throbbed. A lot. His head felt like drums were being banged inside his skull, begging to be released. Stiles pried his eyes open and lifted his head. He was in a metal chair with metal chains around his feet and wrists. There was a metal table with another metal chair, opposite of him. The walls were metal, the floor was metal, and the door was metal. Everything, in the room, was metal.

"About time." A gruff voice said. There was a creak and a man walked through the door. He had black hair, wore all black, and he had green eyes. He walked into the room and sat in the look-alike chair, across from Stiles. The man held a stack of papers with a picture of Stiles, on the front. He pulled another object out of his pocket. A wallet. Stiles' wallet. "Stiles Stilinski. 17. Lives in Beacon Hills, California. Well, you're a long way from home." Stiles remained silent. "Oh, come on! You're not gonna beg to be released?" The man mocked. "Maybe I should threaten you." The bulky man pulled a knife and brought it to Stiles' chin. "Nothin' to say? That's a little disappointing."

"Sorry to disappoint." Stiles murmured.

"You're fine. I have some reading to catch up on, anyways." The man said it. He pulled the stack of papers and placed them in between them. "This is interesting. You're alone." The stubbly man flipped through the file. "Aw. Mother; dead. What a shame. Sorry for your loss." The man said in a mock hurt tone. 

"Stop talking." Stiles' threatened. 

"Oh! Did I hit a nerve?" The creepy man smirked. He kept reading. "But we are just getting started! No siblings. You had a group of friends but um I don't see them. So, where are they? Mhm?" The man leaned on his elbows. "What was it, mhm Scott? Ya! Your best friend? I don't see him." The guy kept talking. "Lydia? Derek? Issac? Allison? Allison almost died. But she didn't. She's not here. None of them are here. And where's your dad?" Stiles' hands turned into fists. "I mean parents are supposed to look out for their kids. So where's yours? Oh, nevermind. Looky here! Dear old dad, Papa Stilinski, dead." 

"I suggest you shut up," Stiles said in a monotone voice. Anger. That's what was bubbling up. Anger, guilt, fear, hatred, were creeping closer and closer to the surface. He was determined to not show any emotion.  

"Now, now. We wouldn't want you to lose your temper." The man grinned. Stiles realized something. The only way to get out of this is to do what he does best. Annoy the hell out of everyone. 

"Oh, I don't have a temper," Stiles smirked. leaning back in his uncomfortable chair. 

"Really?" the man asked, mockingly. 

"Yes. See all the things you say, are true. Unfortunately, I have no parents, no siblings and no friends. I'm alone. Which means, no one is going to look for me. Which might be what you want. However, having no one is my advantage." Stiles smiled. 

"Is that so? You have no one. You're alone and no one wants you. How is that your advantage?" The man asked, leaning closer. 

"Well, like you said, 'I have no one.' This is true but that means I'm reckless. I don't have anyone that will miss me if I'm gone tomorrow. I'm thinking of survival right now. Survival brings out the worst in people." Stiles smirk widened. 

"Survival does do that." The man rested his hands under his chin. "What about your uncle?" 

"Uncle Phil?" Stiles asked. "Haven't seen him in years." 

"Yes but you were supposed to meet him. What would he think if you just disappeared? His dead brother's son. The last thing he has of his brother." 

"He'll be fine," Stiles said,

"Will he?" The man raised his eyebrows. 

"Ok. This has been a fun distraction but I'm officially bored. So, let me talk to your boss." Stiles said. 

"I am the boss. It's only me." The man smiled. Stiles chuckled. That chuckle turned into a laugh, which turned into a full on laughing fit. "Stop laughing." Stiles wiped tears away from his eyes. 

"You must think I'm stupid." Stiles turned serious again. The man shrugged. "Listen, creepo."

"Chuck." The skinny man grunted. 

"Ha. Really? Chuck? Well, I guess I can't talk." Stiles smiled. "Anyways, Chuck. I know you're not the boss. You wanna know why?" 

"Enlighten me." The man exasperated. 

"I know you're not the boss because I've been through these types of things. I know that the boss comes in later. Not first, like you did. I also know that you are probably close to the boss but still not the boss. I know there are people listening to this conversation. Probably your boss and a few others. They're most likely deciding what they want to do with me. I also know you have a team. There's the boss, you, then the people in the SUV, then the people who are listening, and finally there are the people who were in the airport. And yes I know that I was being followed by more than just one person." Stiles' smile never faltered. "I also know that you were sent in here to threaten me. That's why you brought up my past. So you could establish the fact that you know me but I don't know anything about you. You and your boss were hoping to scare me. Great job, by the way. You did a really good job. I would have been sold if it weren't for the fact that I know all about this." Stiles pointed his hand around the room. 

The man smiled making Stiles' to falter. Then the man started to clap. 

"You were right!" The man exclaimed but it wasn't to Stiles. "He's perfect." 

The door creaked and revealed a man Stiles knew all too well. 

"Uncle Phil?"