Payment (revised)

Chapter 34

*WARNING*: more then any other chapter this chapter depicts heavy scenes of violence and gets pretty gruesome just an fyi

The song for this chapter is In The Air Tonight Natalie Taylor's version. Hope you enjoy! Also thank you for all your comments bc they are so fun to read I'm just rlly bad at answering them :)

edited: 5/15/20

edited: 11/22/23

Stiles awoke with a fog smothering his thoughts, and cotton obstructing his throat.

The spit of gun fire sounded from somewhere far enough away that it seemed like a fever dream.

Stiles cursed himself as he realized he must have fallen asleep.

He knew it wasn't safe to let his guard down, not when Gerard or Kate could barge through the door at a moment's notice. Stiles had to be prepared for an attack, always.

But as time continued to inch by since he found himself in the Argent's grasp, dehydration was taking its toll. Stiles's paper hands were trembling, the room tottered like a seesaw if he stood up, and light turned to pinpricks of pain if he didn't squint.

By his estimates, it had been about a day and a half since Stiles had been in captivity. The small luxuries he had originally been grateful for, despite himself, now grated on his nerves. His cot and the tray of food they served him three times a day mocked him. It was a mimicry of what life actually was, and it made Stiles yearn for what he had been taken from. If Gerard's original play had been to lure Stiles to his side of this war, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Stiles winced as another shot sounded in his head.

From what he remembered of his science classes back at school, the average person could survive about three days without water. Stiles was adamant to not be part of that average.

Knowing he had already risked too much by letting himself succumb to slumber, Stiles pushed himself up to a sitting position on trembling arms. He was scared to accept the fact that the small movement made his chest heave.

He was growing weak, and he didn't think it was all in his head.

Whether he was ready or not, Stiles's body had surrendered to the inevitability of death.

As sweetly as that extended unconsciousness called to Stiles, he resented the part of him that had given up so easily.

Stiles knew Derek would be looking for him; he knew Derek would always come for him.

But what happened if Derek was too late?

What would happen when Derek found Stiles's listless body sprawled across the floor, empty lungs stillborn?

These questions betrayed Stiles. They were a dripping, barnacle laden anchor on his mind, existing only to silence him.

It was exactly what Gerard wanted.

Stiles swallowed thickly; Derek would find him in time.

He had to have faith in what was out of his control. But every new inhale dried his tongue and left him gasping for something, anything, that would stop the sand granulating his throat. Hope seemed out of reach.

Stiles's head lolled back, colliding with the wall behind him. It didn't help the throbbing in his temples. Each pulse of blood rushing through his head coordinated with an imaginary fire of a weapon. It was the sound that had awoken him in the first place. The gunfire of his aggravated brain.