[ It should come as no surprise that when Derek was placed under arrest and into holding, he wasn't exactly given the best treatment. They knew better than to directly mistreat him, due to the risk that presented to themselves, but most of his... Current hosts weren't exactly the most hospitable people around. The cell was cold, cramped, and not well kept. The constant ring of mountain ash at the edges had him anxious and more contained than the bars did, and they knew it.
Restless, and worried about his pack, he spends most of his time placing the boundaries of his cage, or continuing his workout even at the occasional jeer sent his way. It's something to pass the time, something he's always done when he's needed to go out of his head.
Now, he sits on the edge of his cot, leaning onto his knees, eyes closed as he tries not to think about his pack being without him, with the Argents out there. A target had been painted on them, and there was nothing he could do because there was a line of rowan wood around the outside of his holding cell.
[Plan Alpha had come into mind about two weeks into Derek's period of being gone.
Stiles had watched his best friend practically tearing himself apart trying to keep their pack together--without their alpha they were lost and fragile, and Scott, while valiant and brave, was no substitute. Being the token human, Stiles was the only one able to visit Derek, and he'd gained more visitation rights by blurting out that he was Derek's lawyer.
So it hadn't been the most well thought out plan. But Stiles had run with it, formulated a plot, and started doing the research into how the hell they were going to get Derek out of this mess. It wasn't his fault--it was an act of defense. Stiles wasn't stupid. But with the bias and the ban against wolves in it's full, often bloody effect, he was more concerned with how he was going to convince twelve other people otherwise. Part of it was keeping Derek and the pack as tightly knit together as possible while he worked his sleepless nights through evidence, and that was where Plan Alpha had come in.
When Stiles gets let into the holding cell to go over evidence, there's something immediately different about him; namely, his outfit. The flatcap, the button down shirt, all the same, but he's wearing a big leather jacket that very clearly doesn't belong to him. Stepping into the cell and letting the officer shut it behind him, Stiles glances over his shoulder in an attempt to be smooth and see if he's gone before walking up to Derek and muttering.]
Gimme a hug, big guy.
[It takes two seconds before he very abruptly, and without any other warning, throws his arms around Derek. The jacket hasn't just been in his possession--it's Derek's, old.
And it's been worn by every member of the pack for at least two days.]
[ As the door opens, Derek opens his eyes and looks up from under his brow to see who's coming in. His senses are dulled behind the defenses they've set in place, so he's wary until he sees that it's Stiles they're letting in. He frowns, brow furrowing as he catches sight of his jacket on his shoulders. But he doesn't say anything, and knows better than to get up until the door's been shut again.
He's about to ask him what he's doing, why he's raided his closet, and how the pack's doing. But then, Stiles is hugging him, and he goes mute and tense. It's both the action, and the sudden swarm of scents that hits him.
He bristles, but relaxes eventually. Enough to bring his arms up, slipping them under the jacket and around Stiles, fingers fisting in the material of his shirt. While the pack has come and gone to visit him, this is, unfortunately, the first time he's really had contact with them. Ducking his head, he closes his eyes and tucks his nose under the line of Stiles' jaw.
The amount of things that Stiles' has done for him and the pack strikes him there, and a little bit of the tension eases out of him. Having his wolves' scent there, brought to the human amongst them, is something that he's lacked for weeks now. Never mind how his own mind has been running on overdrive to try and figure out what they're going to do.
At first, he wasn't sure about Stiles acting as his lawyer.
[Derek's tensing is a bit worrying at first, but as usual, Stiles continues to barrel forward--his interactions with Derek tend to amount to swinging around a torch in a pitch black room and hoping he's aiming in the right way. But feeling Derek relax after a few seconds sends a squirm of pride to his chest, and he hugs him a little tighter, muttering into his ear.]
Yeeep, that's right, roll around in it. Seriously, make this thing smell like eau'd Derek so I can go home and get summararily sniff-attacked by a bunch of werewolves. [His tone is mostly joking, though, and he mumbles against Derek's broad shoulder, talking quietly in his ear where he knows the guard outside won't hear him.] They miss you. Erica says if you shank someone you'll up your prison cred, whatever that means.
[And then, with a little more urgency.] I think I got something. It's not--it's not perfect, but it's the best we've got and you have to promise not to maul me before I tell you.
[Because when Derek finds out they've been working with Allison, after she threatened their entire pack? This is going to be ugly.]
[ Closing his eyes, Derek buries his face into the junction of Stiles' shoulder and neck and steps in closer to him, shifting his arms so that the inside of the jacket will better smell like him. It's a brilliant idea, in lieu of them actually having him there with them. And he can tell how long each of them wore the jacket, whether they just wore it or if they hugged it to them or laid on it. They're all there, too, and a quiet falls over him. Not peace or real contentment, but relief.
He inclines his head, just slightly, towards Stiles' mouth as he speaks to let him know he's listening. There's no answer at first, safe for a quiet and tired huff at Erica's errant comment. ]
If it weren't already a thing, it'd mean that I'd have a reputation that screams "don't fuck with me." [ He's a little hoarse as he speaks, but it's largely from disuse. Save from the visits the pack pays him, he honestly doesn't talk to anyone.
That probably lends to his image.
But the humor leaves him, and he opens his eyes to look at what little of Stiles that isn't obscured by jacket. His cheek grazes along the shoulder of it, almost in an absent nuzzle, and he lets out a gruff sound. ]
[He winces mentally but continues on, steadily. Stiles has always had this secret idea that maybe if he keeps talking, if he proves his point then someone won't try to shoot it down before it ever gets off the ground. Usually that involves the other party listening to him first, and he's not completely sure if Derek's planning on doing that. So the words that come out of his mouth are fast, but steady, and he looks Derek right in the eye while he talks, the only thing fidgeting his fingers.]
She might have gotten us the exact piece of evidence we needed, don't look at me like that. [He pulled away earlier as he started to speak; Stiles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper.] Allison was supposed to burn this, but she held onto it for the fact that she is definitely a really good person even if she kinda had a couple weeks of Crazy con Carne and passed it on to Scott when he came to visit her out at--wherever she is, and Derek, just. It's a suicide note.
[ Stiles is right in thinking that Derek isn't entirely intending to listen to him right off the bat, at least not without interjecting something into it. But even as he jerks back like an agitated dog, brow furrowing and expression the very definition of sour, Stiles continues on and he keeps his jaw wired firmly shut. He's not happy about this, not after everything that the Argents have done so far-- Christ, his life is a fucking mess when it comes to that family-- but he listens.
And his eyes track Stiles' movements, but his hands stay secured at his waist rather than reaching out for the note. He knows that there's someone at the door, possibly watching them, and he's not about to take a piece of evidence from Stiles. Not at the risk of hearing them say that it's been tampered with. Instead, he lets out a low rumble, almost confirming that he heard him out and is considering everything. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
(incarcerated)
Restless, and worried about his pack, he spends most of his time placing the boundaries of his cage, or continuing his workout even at the occasional jeer sent his way. It's something to pass the time, something he's always done when he's needed to go out of his head.
Now, he sits on the edge of his cot, leaning onto his knees, eyes closed as he tries not to think about his pack being without him, with the Argents out there. A target had been painted on them, and there was nothing he could do because there was a line of rowan wood around the outside of his holding cell.
He can only wait. ]
no subject
Stiles had watched his best friend practically tearing himself apart trying to keep their pack together--without their alpha they were lost and fragile, and Scott, while valiant and brave, was no substitute. Being the token human, Stiles was the only one able to visit Derek, and he'd gained more visitation rights by blurting out that he was Derek's lawyer.
So it hadn't been the most well thought out plan. But Stiles had run with it, formulated a plot, and started doing the research into how the hell they were going to get Derek out of this mess. It wasn't his fault--it was an act of defense. Stiles wasn't stupid. But with the bias and the ban against wolves in it's full, often bloody effect, he was more concerned with how he was going to convince twelve other people otherwise. Part of it was keeping Derek and the pack as tightly knit together as possible while he worked his sleepless nights through evidence, and that was where Plan Alpha had come in.
When Stiles gets let into the holding cell to go over evidence, there's something immediately different about him; namely, his outfit. The flatcap, the button down shirt, all the same, but he's wearing a big leather jacket that very clearly doesn't belong to him. Stepping into the cell and letting the officer shut it behind him, Stiles glances over his shoulder in an attempt to be smooth and see if he's gone before walking up to Derek and muttering.]
Gimme a hug, big guy.
[It takes two seconds before he very abruptly, and without any other warning, throws his arms around Derek. The jacket hasn't just been in his possession--it's Derek's, old.
And it's been worn by every member of the pack for at least two days.]
no subject
He's about to ask him what he's doing, why he's raided his closet, and how the pack's doing. But then, Stiles is hugging him, and he goes mute and tense. It's both the action, and the sudden swarm of scents that hits him.
He bristles, but relaxes eventually. Enough to bring his arms up, slipping them under the jacket and around Stiles, fingers fisting in the material of his shirt. While the pack has come and gone to visit him, this is, unfortunately, the first time he's really had contact with them. Ducking his head, he closes his eyes and tucks his nose under the line of Stiles' jaw.
The amount of things that Stiles' has done for him and the pack strikes him there, and a little bit of the tension eases out of him. Having his wolves' scent there, brought to the human amongst them, is something that he's lacked for weeks now. Never mind how his own mind has been running on overdrive to try and figure out what they're going to do.
At first, he wasn't sure about Stiles acting as his lawyer.
Now, after two weeks?
Derek is sure he's in good hands. ]
no subject
Yeeep, that's right, roll around in it. Seriously, make this thing smell like eau'd Derek so I can go home and get summararily sniff-attacked by a bunch of werewolves. [His tone is mostly joking, though, and he mumbles against Derek's broad shoulder, talking quietly in his ear where he knows the guard outside won't hear him.] They miss you. Erica says if you shank someone you'll up your prison cred, whatever that means.
[And then, with a little more urgency.]
I think I got something. It's not--it's not perfect, but it's the best we've got and you have to promise not to maul me before I tell you.
[Because when Derek finds out they've been working with Allison, after she threatened their entire pack? This is going to be ugly.]
no subject
He inclines his head, just slightly, towards Stiles' mouth as he speaks to let him know he's listening. There's no answer at first, safe for a quiet and tired huff at Erica's errant comment. ]
If it weren't already a thing, it'd mean that I'd have a reputation that screams "don't fuck with me." [ He's a little hoarse as he speaks, but it's largely from disuse. Save from the visits the pack pays him, he honestly doesn't talk to anyone.
That probably lends to his image.
But the humor leaves him, and he opens his eyes to look at what little of Stiles that isn't obscured by jacket. His cheek grazes along the shoulder of it, almost in an absent nuzzle, and he lets out a gruff sound. ]
Promise.
[ Still. ]
no subject
Scott and I talked to Allison.
[He winces mentally but continues on, steadily. Stiles has always had this secret idea that maybe if he keeps talking, if he proves his point then someone won't try to shoot it down before it ever gets off the ground. Usually that involves the other party listening to him first, and he's not completely sure if Derek's planning on doing that. So the words that come out of his mouth are fast, but steady, and he looks Derek right in the eye while he talks, the only thing fidgeting his fingers.]
She might have gotten us the exact piece of evidence we needed, don't look at me like that. [He pulled away earlier as he started to speak; Stiles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper.] Allison was supposed to burn this, but she held onto it for the fact that she is definitely a really good person even if she kinda had a couple weeks of Crazy con Carne and passed it on to Scott when he came to visit her out at--wherever she is, and Derek, just. It's a suicide note.
She committed suicide. The bite didn't kill her.
no subject
And his eyes track Stiles' movements, but his hands stay secured at his waist rather than reaching out for the note. He knows that there's someone at the door, possibly watching them, and he's not about to take a piece of evidence from Stiles. Not at the risk of hearing them say that it's been tampered with. Instead, he lets out a low rumble, almost confirming that he heard him out and is considering everything. ]
You're using it.