fixing things (shouldn't be this complicated) [Teen Wolf]

Seventh Step, Or, Shit, Meet the Fan [2]

A/n: Eh. Ehehehe. Eh. Hi. Um. It's been a while? EEK *runs to dodge the tomatoes* I'm sorry, okay?! Finals took over the brain and then Christmas shopping, that had to be done, as well as opening presents and and and - oh, shucks, all y'all don't care, ya just want story. Here, then!

Seriously, though, sorry this was a month's delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it. In fact, I'm going to say it does, whether or not you agree. Muahaha. *evil grin*

Enjoy~

:~:~:~:

It does take hours, but not as many as Stiles thought. He only gets a little distracted by a search in Google for "how to tell if a house belongs to a mass-murdering psychopath" that comes up with way too many results, not all of them crackpot, either. He's briefly sucked into some real-life accounts of people living next door to a murderer, but gets back on track surprisingly quickly. He's cleared all of one street and moved on to the middle street when he sees it. Or rather, it stops him.

"That's it," Stiles murmurs.

He stares at the nondescript house on his screen, the lawn grown slightly wild but nothing otherwise out of place about it. The house itself is one of those cutesey cottage types, with shutters painted blue and bay window lined with white curtains pulled back by ribbons, and kitschy decorations Stiles has no doubt Kate had someone pick out for her.

When Stiles clicks on it to zoom in, he gets hit with a sense of ...loathing. Of being in tremendous pain but still moving, grass cool under his feet and scratching around his ankles. Of snarling at that stupid gnome, the same one he sees on the screen, when he trips over it, nearly crashes to the ground. Maybe he did, he can't seem to remember, only that it felt overwhelmingly like he had to get out of there, get back to Beacon Hills, back home.

Only home wasn't home anymore, but an untwisted version of it. A version that he was glad and not glad about at the same time, a version he was trying to protect, he would protect, with his own life, if need be. That was where he belonged, not in this hunter bitch's basement being tortured for her sick amusement.

A hand on his chair shakes Stiles out of whoa, a really vivid flashback. That was in black and white, for some reason. He blinks up at Derek for a minute, not really seeing him, before his brain kicks into gear.

"I've got it!" he says excitedly. "That's the house, the one I was in before I broke out!"

"Wait, you broke out?" Derek asks, gaping at him. "How did you do that?"

Stiles has to think about it. "I don't know, dude, but I think I was in really bad shape. Like, really bad. Maybe they gave up on me or something?"

No point in telling Derek, or anyone, he had actually died. For the second time. That brought up waaaay too many questions, some of which Stiles wanted to know the answers to himself, like what was that freaky stuff in the white place about? The fireflies coming from the nemeton, then the thunderstorm - what the fuck? Also, why was he in that white place again? If he had died, but not as a sacrifice, shouldn't he have just gone wherever people actually go when they die? Deaton – Older Deaton - had said the white place was limbo, after all, not actual heaven, or afterlife, or hell, so...

Yeah, no, not mentioning that. Since he's perfectly happy to leave behind the memory of that place, that poses no problem for him not to mention it.

"Anyway, no, but this is it! This is where your dad is being held!"

Derek looks dumbstruck. "Oh, my God," he says softly. Then, "Oh, my God!" he yells. "Laura! Doctor Deaton!"

"Deaton!" Stiles adds.