Chapter Text
There was an explosive crack of thunder from above and lightning illuminated him briefly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long enough for any of them to aim accurately with their tranquilliser guns. They were under instructions to bring him back alive – he had no such compunction. The cries of those who came upon him were horrifying.
Anyone who got between him and the chain fence was eviscerated, giant claws slicing through clothes, skin, bone as if it was nothing.
Seventeen guards died the night he escaped.
The fence was inconsequential – he balanced on top of it and threw his head back to howl, the sound long and loud even in the middle of the thunderstorm. A mournful feeling took root in his heart when there was no reply. Why would there be? He was unique – there were no others like him.
He bounded off into the surrounding forest, leaving behind the chaos of that place. The angry shouts faded into nothingness behind him as he ran, the miles disappearing beneath his powerful legs with little to no effort. He had never been this free – never been allowed to run until his lungs and heart were pumping furiously, the blood rushing through his veins, the taste of blood in his mouth.
Part of him wanted to go back – he had unfinished business. The ones who had done this to him would pay – he would make sure of that. But first – first he wanted, longed for home. He wanted to be surrounded by his family, lick his wounds, build his strength.
But he would be back.
He ran on through the driving rain, instinctively heading home.
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“What the fuck do you mean, he got away?”
“Are you deaf? He killed seventeen of my god-damn men, leapt the fence like it was nothing, and took off!”
“Have you at least sent people after him?” She turned and scowled at him.
“I’m not stupid – of course I have!” She stalked around the room, the need to destroy something riding her hard. “None of my teams have been able to keep up with him – reports say he’s going faster than we ever registered during routine evaluation.”
“Fuck! Where’s he heading?”
“Home – of course.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” They stood in silence, both of them recognising what a shit-show the night had been. “I’ll call – it was my guards who let him escape.”
“I almost envy the ones who are already dead.”
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A naked man staggered into the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department building.
He was soaked through from the thunderstorm, body gaunt and showing signs of abuse, hair and beard an overgrown mess. Greenberg immediately hollered for assistance when he realised it wasn’t just another full-moon crazy, and Detective Stiles Stilinski came through just in time to catch the man as he collapsed. Stilinski lowered him gently to the ground, wrapping him in the blanket Greenberg quickly provided, hands gentle as he smoothed through the tangled hair to reveal his face.
“It’s Peter Hale.”