A/C Thank you to all of you reading this! I really really appreciate it and I hope you enjoy this next chapter

Derek stood in the center of his pack's new dwellings with his arms crossed. Erica and Boyd stood in front of him. It was another one of their training sessions. This week's lesson: control. Of course the best way of mastering this was to berate the betas with personal pain. It was Erica's turn.

"Erica… stop pretending you're beautiful. Just because you got the bite you doesn't mean anyone likes you anymore than they did. Now you're just a slut to them," Derek started with a haunting grin. Part of this was true, she had become dependent on her assets, but the cruelty he was spewing was just to spike her blood pressure.

The stab of his words was evident across her face. It quickly turned into a building rage. Still, she did not change.

"I see a little steam there, Erica. Did you feel that way when they all laughed at you… when you were lying in a puddle of your own piss? And all those boys thinking to themselves, I would never touch a girl like that," the Alpha continued with a tinge of internal guilt at his harsh words.

He continued on and on until she inevitably changed and pounced towards him with all her might. Derek easily deflected her with a sigh. He actually thought for a moment that she might maintain her human state. She was improving, but it wasn't good enough.

"And you lost," he stabbed.

"You know what, Derek, how 'bout I through all your personal shit at you and we'll see how much control you have," Erica challenged as she got herself together and headed towards her Alpha with a death stare.

"That's not the point. You lost control and that's the end of it. You can't take this stuff personally. I'm training you, not babysitting," he shot back.

Before the conversation could continue any further, Isaac burst into the warehouse.

Derek's attention averted towards the news he was bringing.

"They're gone," Isaac started in an exasperated tone, "As far as I know they were put under arrest last night and they were just sent out to the detention center this morning."

A slight flicker of anger sparked inside Derek. Not only did he know that Jackson was the Kanima and currently passing off as a victim, but two of his own (whether Scott would admit it or not) were imprisoned.

"God dammit…" said Derek in a muffled shout of anger.

"Wait, what happened? Why are they under arrest?" Boyd asked to the group feeling out of the loop. Erica also looked as though she didn't know what was going on.

"Jackson is the kanima," Derek explained, his voice filled with disgust. "And our two geniuses decided to kidnap him in Stiles' Dad's police van."

"And there were sent to prison?" Erica demanded, actually looking a bit concerned.

"Yes, because Jackson is going for attempted murder," Isaac dropped.

There was an eerie moment of silence between the pack.

"Well I guess we're gonna have to find Jackson," Derek said.

And with that he headed out the door.

He was in the cell for three minutes before the anxiety began. Stiles felt trapped within the small space where he would be living for who knows how long. Most of all he was ashamed. He wasn't supposed to be here. This was not the kind of son he was supposed to be. But it was his idea to start this whole mess in the first place. It seemed like everything that happened the last year was his fault.

Stiles knew he had to pull himself together. He knew already that this kind of mindset would not help him survive in here. He had to wear a mask of strength and apathy. Scott was already beginning to attempt this, but Stiles of course could see through it.

He could hear footsteps approaching his cell causing him to silently hope it was not his new friend from earlier. Unfortunately for him, it was.

"Hey, buddy, how do you like the new crib?" the guard asked with a malicious smile through the bars of the door window.

Don't respond. Don't respond Don't respond.

He responded.

"It's a fixer upper, but it has potential," Stiles threw back at him.

The guard let out a cold chuckle of slight amusement.

"You are something else… but you better watch yourself around here, kid. Some people here bite with their bark," he chuckled at first but then went into a serious somewhat threatening tone.

"I guess I'll see for myself," Stiles challenged.

Dammit, Stiles. Stop talking for god's sake.

The guard gave another hollow laugh. "I have something for you," he started as he bent down and opened the food slot on the bottom of the door.

Stiles was relieved to see it was only clothes. He could tell this guy was a bit fucked in the head and for all he knew he could shove a dead squirrel under there… unlikely, but a possibility all the same.

Looking at the man cautiously, he went to pick up the clothing. They looked pretty basic: a white t-shirt, faded blue pants made out of a cheap cotton material and a matching jacket. But it was then when he noticed a white-almost transparent glob on the crotch area. With the realization of what it actually was he dropped it like a hot coal. When he looked back up at the door, the guard was gone but he thought he could hear a faint laugh in the distance.

He was disgusted. What kind of game was this? Stiles had enough problems being locked up with his werewolf best friend for something they didn't do. He didn't need this psycho on his back. There was always that one person of authority who had to hate him.

With an exasperated sigh he carefully picked up the pants, holding them with two fingers, and dropped them in the sink. Letting the water flow on them he turned around and closed his eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a throat being cleared. It was him… again. This time with a shit smirk on his face.

"I need your clothes, buddy," he said looking him up and down.

Stiles knew he couldn't say anything about what just happened. It would make him look weak to acknowledge it.

"I'm waiting for the pants to dry," Stiles remarked sharply.

"I. need. your. clothes… now," the guard restated, this time on the verge of anger.

Not knowing what to expect from this guy he began to take off some of his layers. He didn't want to let go of his red sweatshirt. It had been there for him… as much as an article of clothing could be. Next was his short sleeved plaid shirt which Jackson used to mock saying it was right out of the second grade. Fuck Jackson. No really, fuck him, he thought as he remembered the asshole who put them here. And then he reached for his t-shirt. He hesitated for a moment. The last thing he wanted was for this guy to see his bare anything. Clenching his teeth, he peeled it off slowly and threw it on his bed.

The guard looked like he was waiting for something.

"I need all of them," he stated with a huff.

"Can I have a little privacy?" Stiles asked. He wasn't about to take anything else off in front of this weirdo.

"Nothing is private anymore," the guard smirked.

Seriously? he thought. Now he was getting nervous. So this guy wanted to watch him strip. Great.

After a moment of hesitation the man added, "Look, take them off or I'll take them off for you." It was a threat and Stiles knew he would follow through.

Slightly trembling, Stiles began to unzipper his jeans and pull them off. He was left just in his boxers. He was thankful he wasn't a briefs sort of guy. There was another moment of hesitation. It was then that he knew the guard was going to watch him take off everything.

He was not going to let his guy break him as degrading as this whole situation was. Stiles took the boxers off and gathered his own clothes in a bundle, shoving them through the slot with a look of defiance.

He expected some sort of remark or dig but the guard merely said, "See you later," in a haunting tone.

It was over… for now.

Stiles refrained telling Scott what happened when they started their first full day at what was officially known as the Vallejo Juvenile Detention Center. He didn't say much of anything when they were reunited. Scott looked like he was in some sort of daze, but not in the enduring puppy-dog look he normally faceted. It was more of a "what has my life come to" sort of expression.

After yesterday's events, Stiles was thankful he hadn't run into that guard again. They were escorted down to breakfast by what appeared to be another guard in their block. This one looked rather thick with a constant look of confusion. He was pretty large and muscular which was most likely why he got the job in the first place.

That day they learned the lay of the land at Vallejo. First off they discovered that the food was practically inedible, but Stiles predicted that from all the prison movies he'd seen. Everything was either solid or covered in a rancid gravy-like substance. The food wouldn't be there main problem in that cafeteria. Stiles didn't care for the looks they were getting from a lot of the other inmates. It was like they were scheming how they were going to break his bones.

Then they made their way through "classes". Unlike Beacon Hills, the classes here consisted of a teacher attempting to give a lesson while most of the inmates ignored them and carried on with their own conversations. They seemed to be opposites of the guards and not very trained to be teaching in such a situation. Stiles was disappointed to find that he and Scott only shared one class together: general science. Of course, his favorite subject. The only plus side was that Harris wasn't teaching it. The rest of his classes he had to shrink into the corner hoping not to be noticed as the puniest guy in the room. He already had a few guys wolf whistle at him as he made his way down the aisle of desks. As much as he knew to ignore them, he gave them an exaggerated smile that clearly stated: "fuck you".

But, he survived the first day of classes. Following that they had a free hour. The first half of it was dedicated to homework, reading in the library or art instruction while the second was a mandatory gym period. Stiles never felt more like he was in a prison movie than when he stepped out onto the concrete athletic area outside with Scott. Many of the tough guys were involved in serious basketball games while others with substantial status claimed the handball courts. Scott and Stiles didn't really know what they were supposed to do so they sat down against the chain link fence overlooking the basketball game.

There was still no sign of their cell guard. Stiles cautiously peered around every minute just to make sure he wasn't around. Even so, he felt better with Scott there and yet weak at the same time.

"So, how was your day," Stiles asked with the tone of a 50's housewife.

"Okay I guess… I just keep wondering when anyone is going to tell us what's going on with the case and all," he shared with his newfound chronically depressed voice.

"I'm sure my Dad is working on it. He's probably more upset than we are about being here… and Derek! I think in his own little sourwolf way he kind of cares… and all this has to do with Jackson. This has to have something to do with whoever is controlling him," Stiles said trying to help his best friend maintain some sense of hope.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Scott replied with his mind in another place.

Stiles knew where that place was. It was far away from here… and probably with Allison in his arms. As much as he rolled his eyes at Scott's gooey eyed romance he was glad that his friend loved someone that much. Just like she was an anchor for his werewolf problems, she would be an anchor here in their confinement.

His train of thought was broken when three large figures shadowed over him and Scott. They were all equally tall and menacing. One of them had a striking resemblance to Mike Tyson in Stiles opinion, something he knew he should never share aloud. A large white guy with a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck seemed to be their leader.

"You guys just sittin' here waiting to be someone's bitch?" the leader asked in a serious tone. The other two seemed to think it was more amusing than he did.

Stiles could've sworn he saw a flash of gold flicker in his friend's eye.

"Just minding our business," Scott began in a flat tone, "And it's gonna stay our business." His later words contained a gritted anger that Stiles was familiar with after a few incidents in the last year.

"Huh, is that so?" Mike Tyson asked with a chuckle, "Well you see little man, you're near our court… and we don't like bitches near our court."

Stiles knew that they were just looking for a fight. He feared Scott might give them one with all that pent up anger over the last few days ready to burst. It was his cue to interject.

"Very understandable," he said with a hint of nervousness in his voice as he put his hands in front of him to signal that they didn't want any trouble, "We'll get out of your way…"

Sure, he sounded pathetic. But he wasn't about to let his friend take of these guys and risk showing his little wolf face to everyone in the yard.

"I'm not moving," Scott stated defiantly, "Why don't you go back to your game?"

Oh shit.

"I don't think you understand something, pretty boy, you're at the bottom of this fucking food chain. Now I'm feeling slightly generous so I'll give you another chance… get the fuck out of here," the leader.

"Fuck. You." Scott grimaced and stood his ground.

It didn't take more than a second for the first punch to be thrown. The huge alpha of sorts outweighed Scott more than 100 pounds. Stiles rushed to help his friend and get him out of there before Mike Tyson pushed him against the chainlink fence. He could see a crowd forming around them, mostly cheering on their attackers. Out of the corner of his swollen eye, Stiles could see blood dripping from Scott's forehead that made contact with the concrete. He also saw a glimmer of gold flash once again.

"SCOTT," he yelled as he ducked another punch from the third guy who remained silent, "PLEASE DON'T TURN."

Before he could say another word he was punched in the gut. The world was starting to get fuzzy and he could taste blood in his mouth. Stiles would have lost consciousness if the whistle hadn't blown.

The circle of inmates broke up and the boys went back to whatever else they were doing leaving the three basketball players and Scott and Stiles on the ground.

Stiles tried to sit up despite the dizziness. As everything came back into focus, his stomach dropped. The guard from his cell was standing right in front of them.