Teen Wolf/Maze Runner fanfiction

Chapter 9

*A/N****Hey guys!! About 400 reads, which is kind of, you know, AWESOME, and I've felt bad I haven't updated! Hopefully this will become more of a priority and I'll update more. Enjoy <3 =D

He contemplated trying to fall asleep - it might make it less painful - but it probably would have been impossible. Soon after most of the Gladers quieted down, a sensation shot down his spine, making him tense. His heart rate quickened, and for some reason, his lips formed a smile, as if he was enjoying the power he felt flowing through him.  But his feeling of invincibility quickly died down when he started to transform. The familiar pain washed over him, the terrible, terrible feeling of tightening skin only making him more on edge.  Soon his vision was bathed in scarlet infrared. He couldn't see the Gladers, or Stiles, but he could smell them. But he didn't want to kill them - not yet. He wanted to mess with them, show them what they were up against. He wanted to show them not to mess with him.  The one thing between him and his unsuspecting targets were the walls of the Slammer, the well-intended flimsy barricade that the Gladers had built. He turned around to get a better look at the rusty chains that tied him to the window. He pulled his arm back slightly, watching with mild satisfaction as the chains clattered to the floor. This would be easy.  Scott moved towards the door, catching his reflection on a shard of glass. He stared into it for a few moments, caught in his own gaze, before sizing up the boarded-up door. He closed his hands around one of the middle planks and pulled backwards, all the while his other senses alert for any signs of activity the humans in the Glade might produce. The plank popped off, the nails it had been bound with falling to the floor, creating an echoing metallic sound. "What was that?" a Glader whispered. "Did you hear that?"  Then Scott heard Alby's stern voice. He could tell that he was trying to sound fearless. "Just ignore it, Luke. Go to sleep. Won't have you slackin' off in the morning 'cause you're sleep deprived."  Scott pulled another plank off, and then another, until there was nothing left but the door itself, with its already-broken lock.  I'll hide first, Scott decided. Then they can't run. He waited a few minutes for the Gladers to settle down again, though most of them were freaked out by now because of what they heard going on in the Slammer.  Once he thought their attention was elsewhere, Scott pried the door open and shot out of the Slammer, heading for the Deadheads. When he got there, he stood for a moment, panting a little, and looked through the trees towards the Gladers. The fire they'd made earlier was dying down, but it was enough to illuminate the faces of Alby, Newt, and a few other Gladers Scott couldn't quite put names to. "He's definitely out," Newt told Alby. "Door looks pretty broken to me." "Get the other Greenie. Get Stiles. We won't lose any Gladers because of this obstacle the Creators decided to throw at us," Alby muttered in a hushed whisper. Newt nodded and began looking for Stiles.  But they wouldn't find the hyperactive 'Greenie', because he was already looking for Scott. He figured that maybe if he, Stiles, could get to Scott before Alby or Newt, maybe Scott would be okay. Maybe they'd all be okay, if there was ever such a thing as a happy ending.  Stiles was looking in the right place. He didn't dare go in the Deadheads, because they creeped him out, especially at night, but he was walking along the inner line of trees. "Scott! Scott, are you over here?" Stiles whispered. "Please don't kill me?"  Scott was watching his best friend from the depths of the Deadheads, doing his best to stop the low growls coming from his throat. He didn't want to give his position away.  But Stiles must have heard him. His eyes locked with Scott's yellow ones, and for a moment he froze, maybe too scared to move, maybe too fascinated. Then Scott broke the silence with a low growl, his eyes flickering towards the Homestead."No, Scott, don't, okay? They'll hurt you, they'll kill you - you'll kill me -" Stiles muttered. "Where is he?" Scott growled. He dragged his claws down the bark of a tree, closing his eyes with  satisfaction from the scraping noise it made. "Who?" Stiles whispered. "The Alpha."  Stiles blinked and glanced back towards the Homestead. Scott was looking for Derek? For help, or to kill him? "Forget him. Forget Derek, okay, Scott? Don't even look at the other kids. You know what, Scott? Derek might actually be in these woods somewhere -"  Before Stiles could finish his sentence, Scott growled and pushed his friend out of the way. He started running towards the Homestead, first on two legs and then he dropped down to all fours. "Scott! Scott, stop!" Stiles shouted. He chased after Scott, but his friend was a werewolf, after all, and he couldn't catch up.  Scott was surrounded by unaware Gladers. It was unnaturally dark now, so dark, in fact, that even Scott had difficulty seeing. The only reason he knew the moon was out was because he could feel its constant pull."Nate, 'sat you?" a Glader whispered. Scott's gaze whirled and locked onto the speaker, who was huddled in a flimsy sleeping bag. The Glader rolled over and saw Scott's eyes glowing in the dark. He was quiet for just a heartbeat. "Nate - No, Alby! Newt!" the Glader screamed. He struggled to get out of his sleeping bag, but Scott showed no interest. He turned and invited himself into the Homestead, heading straight for the stairs. As soon as he entered the hallway, Allison's sweet, nostalgic scent reached his nose, and one half of him - the real Scott, maybe - wanted to go into her room and check on her, make her feel safe. The other half dominated, though, and he crept past her door and followed Derek's scent instead. It lead to the door at the end of the hallway - the same room he'd fought Ben in.  He could already hear Alby and Newt running into the Homestead, and Scott could smell their mix of fear and anger. Because to them, it wasn't the Creator's fault for sending Scott here. It was Scott's fault. It was Scott's fault that he was trying to kill people; it was his fault that he'd destroyed their Slammer. "Stop!" Alby ordered. He was at the other end of the hallway, and as Stiles had predicted, he was dual wielding knives. Newt stood behind him holding a pocket knife and a weird tube. "If you go in there, if you hurt that stranger, we will use these against you," Alby warned, huffing.  Scott's gaze lingered on the knives for a few moments before he shrugged them off and entered Derek's room. Derek was pacing by the window, clenching his fists so tightly it was a wonder his bones didn't shatter. "Greenie! I know we've been treatin' ya like klunk, but there's no reason to go off an'-" Newt started, but Scott interrupted him. "You don't understand," Scott snapped. "None of you do! He's the Alpha. He has power. Can't you... can't you feel it?"