Sam doesn’t know how long he’s been there. It’s all become a blur of beatings and starvation and blood. They’re trying to beat the humanity out of him, reduce him to nothing more than a feral creature. Did he have a family? A pack? He doesn’t remember.
Once a month they shove someone else in his pen. Attempt to breed him during rut. Crossbreeding an Alpha wolf with a human to give them.. what? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He’s an Alpha out of control, barely human anymore. Anyone shoved inside, male, female - he mates with them, but violently. No one has survived yet.
The tiny part of his mind that is still fully human grieves for the blood on his claws, the cries in his ears. But with every death, that human spark dims a little more.
Sam huddles in the corner, comfortable in his wolf form. At least with his thick coat he’s not cold. His captors will beat him for it later. Let them try. He’ll kill anyone who gets too close. If they want a monster, he’ll give it to them.
Stiles is shaking as they lead him down the hallway, naked and pumped full of one drug or another. He doesn't know what it's supposed to do to the wolf, or to him, but he can only pray it helps him survive.
His dad's been out of a job for upwards of six months, and they need cash. Fast. So Stiles went and...maybe somewhat illegally gotten some. They're not supposed to use minors for testing, but a few debateably-insane scientists did it anyway. He hadn't told his dad where the money had come from no matter how much he yelled, and now here he was, when he was supposed to be at Scott's for the weekend, parading to his death.
They've told him the wolf isn't supposed to be in Rut right now; they want to try it when he's calmer, and with a kid, too, it might work better. Maybe if they introduce Stiles before the rut, it'll help the wolf warm to him...or maybe he'll just ouright kill him.
Still, they haven't missed the wolf's rut by much. It's about three days out, so it's probably building...and oh God, Stiles is going to dieHe
( ... )
His nostrils flare at the scents, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Handlers. Pain and savagery and he was half-starved. They hadn’t fed him in two days and even then the meat had been gamey at best. Sam raises his head as the man.. no.. not a man.. a kid was shoved into his cell. He can smell the drugs beneath his sweat and fear. Drugs to alter his scent, to make him more appealing to a wolf, in the estimation of his captors. All they did was make his nose itch.
Tall and gangly, all legs and arms, he huddles in the corner furthest away from Sam.
Smart. The last one had startled him and died for their mistake.
Slowly Sam uncoils, standing to his full height, a ruddy wolf the size of a pony. His frame is corded with muscle, his ribs prominent beneath his fur. Slowly he pads closer, scenting the air, trying to catch his true scent beneath all the drugs. Rut is just a warm itch at the back of his mind, building, but he’s still in control of it. At least as in control as he can be.
[Stiles swallows, hard, backing into the cold corner as the wolf approaches. They didn't tell him if it was a male or a female, just 'the wolf'. He'd been too worried to remember to ask.
It smells like pain in here. Cold, depressing pain; and the wolf probably hasn't been bathed in a while either, so there's that. He huddles in on himself for warmth, eyes flickering over the wolf's visible ribs.
And because he's Stiles, he just has to talk. It's all he knows how to do.]
P-please. Can you...are you... [Or make an attempt to talk. But there's something more frightening about an animal approaching rather than whatever its human form may be, and Stiles falls silent.]
His fur is matted with blood, which can’t be helping things. They don’t bathe him often enough and when they do, it’s with a hose of frigid water that leaves him freezing and cramped for hours afterwards. Sam keeps coming, lowering his head to sniff at his skin. It’s a faster way to read a human then talking, and he’d been shifted so long, it was easier to default to the wolf in him.
But the long limbs and pale skin remind Sam of himself. Gangly and awkward and afraid.
Sam rubs his giant head against his bare skin, leaving a mark of his scent behind. They’d pumped the human full of drugs, trying to make him smell like an Omega approaching heat. The wolf pheromones clashing with his very human scent are confusing.
He’s cold. Shivering. Sam knows what it’s like to be cold in the pen.
The wolf curls around his body, offering him the warmth of his fur. Rut hasn’t set in, he can at least give him a night without freezing.
[Stiles holds perfectly still when the wolf brushes against him, wondering if it was a pre-meal move. He's feeling kind of sick, though whether it's from the drugs or the nerves, Stiles doesn't know. He didn't even say goodbye to his dad.
He stays frozen for a long time when the wolf curls around him, trying to slow his heart rate, but it doesn't look like it's going to eat him...for now. He wonders if it will shift - if it doesn't kill him, it would mate with him...is he supposed to mate with it while its still a wolf?]
Oh God...please. [Stiles breathes softly, to himself. Just keep his dad safe, he's willing to die. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't.]
Sam learned early in his captivity, you slept when they let you. He drops off to sleep almost immediately, curled around the shivering body of the human they’d given him. Wolves were also social animals, contrary to the whole ‘lone wolf’ cliché and Sam was lonely. The human, who was still talking to himself, wasn’t a handler. He didn’t smell like hate and anger and pain. Maybe this would be different. He hoped it would
( ... )
[Eventually, Stiles falls asleep. The wolf is warm and his own skin starts to heat up and contribute; he nods off, cheek slackening into the wolf's fur, bordering on comfortable.
And then the hose.]
Wha-what huh- [Stiles splutters, indirectly hit by the water when they blast the wolf with it. It immediately snarls and attacks, but the handlers go about their job with harsh aloofness and beat it back into submission. Stiles presses back against the wall, eyes wide and unable to assist. The wolf wasn't hurting him, why had they done that
( ... )
Sam sinks into unconsciousness and makes no real struggle to return. His body can heal while he sleeps, sparing him further pain. It’s the cold that wakes him, or really, the lack of cold. He’s been moved, wrapped in a few thin blankets. His brow furrows as he stirs. He hasn’t been treated with such courtesy since his capture. It’s confusing. Instead of waking with a snarl, looking to attack anyone near, Sam sits up slowly, tugging the blanket around his shoulders.
His eyes are no longer hazel. They’re stuck the brilliant gold of a wolf. He’s been in wolf form for so long since his capture, they don’t shift.
Stiff and cold, he moves until his back is against the wall of the pen. Rut is starting to set in now. He should talk while he can and raises his eyes to the young man. Christ. He’s just a kid. Now to talk. Another thing he hasn’t done in a very long time. He licks his lips, remembering how to form words. Sam extends one of the blankets to him. “T-t-th-thank you.”
[Stiles is huddled in on himself against the wall, shivering. He's dry, now; the wolf has been out a few hours, but it's absolutely freezing down there in the cell. So he's more of an icicle than dry, really. He's been dozing fitfully, mentally exhausted from the nerve-wracking, ever-present threat of death since he stepped into the building so very far above ground.
He starts when Sam stirs, cringing back against the wall just in case. The man's eyes are molten gold, definitely not human, and oh God this is it. He's going to lunge across the room and kill Stiles.
...But he doesn't. Instead, the wolf retreats against the wall, and offers him a blanket. Stiles swallows thickly, but doesn't move, keeping still.] ...You're welcome.
[Sam makes a face as he tries to find the right words. His voice is rough with disuse as he holds all the blankets out. He speaks haltingly.] I have fur. Can shift. You don't.
[When Stiles makes no move to come for the offered blankets, Sam crawls closer, wrapping them around his body. His touch is fumbling, trying for gentle, but it's a feeling he's unused to.
Sam can't help himself when he's closer, sniffing along his skin. He can smell the chemicals and something.. else. Home. Startled, he back up, eyes wide. No. It's not possible. He'd.. he'd found his mate in this hellhole. With a low, keening sound that was more animal than human, Sam closes his eyes.]
[Stiles doesn't object to the blankets, afraid to speak. He lets the wolf sniff him, eyes wide, cautious and watching, but his brow furrows in both concern and wariness when the man backs up, looking at him like he's a death omen or something and keening...he can't help but be sympathetic.] You...are you okay?
[The wolf has closed his eyes, and while Stiles wants to give a sigh of relief maybe it's the moment of peace before he pounces.
Stiles tries to stay silent, but suddenly he's coughing, shuddering as it feels like something's burning in his chest. The drugs...what the hell are they doing?]
[His eyes snap open when he starts coughing, making quiet, alarmed sounds. Crawling closer again, Sam sniffs his skin, nosing against him. Human things like personal space are forgotten. His mate is in pain.]
Drugs. The drugs. You.. [The wolf nuzzles against his cheek again, trying to soothe him. His pheromones start filling the air.] breathe.
What is - that - [Stiles coughs, quieting as the wolf nuzzles at him, but something's burning through his veins. Wolf pheromones, intended to spur the Alpha faster into rut. Nevermind the incompatibility with a human body system.] They...they injected me with a bunch of...I don't even know...
[He smells so good. Like an Omega and heat and everything in his body is begging Sam to matetakeclaim. Sam rubs his cheek into his chest. His wolf is rising, demanding to take him.] Pheromones. You.. you smell like home.
[Sam presses in closer, his breath coming quick, his rut starting to rise.] Don't run. Don't fight. P-please.
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Once a month they shove someone else in his pen. Attempt to breed him during rut. Crossbreeding an Alpha wolf with a human to give them.. what? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He’s an Alpha out of control, barely human anymore. Anyone shoved inside, male, female - he mates with them, but violently. No one has survived yet.
The tiny part of his mind that is still fully human grieves for the blood on his claws, the cries in his ears. But with every death, that human spark dims a little more.
Sam huddles in the corner, comfortable in his wolf form. At least with his thick coat he’s not cold. His captors will beat him for it later. Let them try. He’ll kill anyone who gets too close. If they want a monster, he’ll give it to them.
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His dad's been out of a job for upwards of six months, and they need cash. Fast. So Stiles went and...maybe somewhat illegally gotten some. They're not supposed to use minors for testing, but a few debateably-insane scientists did it anyway. He hadn't told his dad where the money had come from no matter how much he yelled, and now here he was, when he was supposed to be at Scott's for the weekend, parading to his death.
They've told him the wolf isn't supposed to be in Rut right now; they want to try it when he's calmer, and with a kid, too, it might work better. Maybe if they introduce Stiles before the rut, it'll help the wolf warm to him...or maybe he'll just ouright kill him.
Still, they haven't missed the wolf's rut by much. It's about three days out, so it's probably building...and oh God, Stiles is going to dieHe ( ... )
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Tall and gangly, all legs and arms, he huddles in the corner furthest away from Sam.
Smart. The last one had startled him and died for their mistake.
Slowly Sam uncoils, standing to his full height, a ruddy wolf the size of a pony. His frame is corded with muscle, his ribs prominent beneath his fur. Slowly he pads closer, scenting the air, trying to catch his true scent beneath all the drugs. Rut is just a warm itch at the back of his mind, building, but he’s still in control of it. At least as in control as he can be.
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It smells like pain in here. Cold, depressing pain; and the wolf probably hasn't been bathed in a while either, so there's that. He huddles in on himself for warmth, eyes flickering over the wolf's visible ribs.
And because he's Stiles, he just has to talk. It's all he knows how to do.]
P-please. Can you...are you... [Or make an attempt to talk. But there's something more frightening about an animal approaching rather than whatever its human form may be, and Stiles falls silent.]
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But the long limbs and pale skin remind Sam of himself. Gangly and awkward and afraid.
Sam rubs his giant head against his bare skin, leaving a mark of his scent behind. They’d pumped the human full of drugs, trying to make him smell like an Omega approaching heat. The wolf pheromones clashing with his very human scent are confusing.
He’s cold. Shivering. Sam knows what it’s like to be cold in the pen.
The wolf curls around his body, offering him the warmth of his fur. Rut hasn’t set in, he can at least give him a night without freezing.
He hopes he doesn’t kill him tomorrow.
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He stays frozen for a long time when the wolf curls around him, trying to slow his heart rate, but it doesn't look like it's going to eat him...for now. He wonders if it will shift - if it doesn't kill him, it would mate with him...is he supposed to mate with it while its still a wolf?]
Oh God...please. [Stiles breathes softly, to himself. Just keep his dad safe, he's willing to die. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't.]
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And then the hose.]
Wha-what huh- [Stiles splutters, indirectly hit by the water when they blast the wolf with it. It immediately snarls and attacks, but the handlers go about their job with harsh aloofness and beat it back into submission. Stiles presses back against the wall, eyes wide and unable to assist. The wolf wasn't hurting him, why had they done that ( ... )
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His eyes are no longer hazel. They’re stuck the brilliant gold of a wolf. He’s been in wolf form for so long since his capture, they don’t shift.
Stiff and cold, he moves until his back is against the wall of the pen. Rut is starting to set in now. He should talk while he can and raises his eyes to the young man. Christ. He’s just a kid. Now to talk. Another thing he hasn’t done in a very long time. He licks his lips, remembering how to form words. Sam extends one of the blankets to him. “T-t-th-thank you.”
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He starts when Sam stirs, cringing back against the wall just in case. The man's eyes are molten gold, definitely not human, and oh God this is it. He's going to lunge across the room and kill Stiles.
...But he doesn't. Instead, the wolf retreats against the wall, and offers him a blanket. Stiles swallows thickly, but doesn't move, keeping still.] ...You're welcome.
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[When Stiles makes no move to come for the offered blankets, Sam crawls closer, wrapping them around his body. His touch is fumbling, trying for gentle, but it's a feeling he's unused to.
Sam can't help himself when he's closer, sniffing along his skin. He can smell the chemicals and something.. else. Home. Startled, he back up, eyes wide. No. It's not possible. He'd.. he'd found his mate in this hellhole. With a low, keening sound that was more animal than human, Sam closes his eyes.]
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[The wolf has closed his eyes, and while Stiles wants to give a sigh of relief maybe it's the moment of peace before he pounces.
Stiles tries to stay silent, but suddenly he's coughing, shuddering as it feels like something's burning in his chest. The drugs...what the hell are they doing?]
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Drugs. The drugs. You.. [The wolf nuzzles against his cheek again, trying to soothe him. His pheromones start filling the air.] breathe.
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[Sam presses in closer, his breath coming quick, his rut starting to rise.] Don't run. Don't fight. P-please.
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