Stiles Stilinski | Teen WolfalotofadderallSeptember 25 2012, 23:00:10 UTC
[Stiles' head hurt.
Running. Blinding pain. Darkness. No, the darkness came before. Running in the dark. Blinding pain. More darkness. Why was he running? Lacrosse? No, he never plays lacrosse. And they have stadium lights. Why was he running? Danger. Pain. Dark.
But it wasn't so dark anymore; there was light behind his eyelids. Still pain, in his temple, but not as bad as before...he'd been knocked out. Running from danger, knocked out. This wasn't shaping up well at all.
Stiles cracks open one eye, pupils dilating to accomodate the sudden light. Something's touching him. No, someone. He's on a bed...and it's not his.
Oh this was not good at all.
Well, then again it might be. Maybe he got drunk and lucky at the same time. Stiles tries to focus on the figure holding him...
The man has to be at least 23, which makes this completely illegal...and judging from the way their legs are tangled Stiles is definitely banking on illegal.
Oh God, he's been kidnapped. That would explain the running. The pain. FuckHe tries not to move. He
( ... )
Re: Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolfwolfy_samSeptember 26 2012, 01:40:17 UTC
[The past ten hours had been a blur. A wendigo had wandered into the pack's territory and while it hadn't taken Sam long enough to determine what it was, tracking the damned thing had been another matter.
[Until it got wind of Stiles. Sam hadn't been far when he'd heard the cry of alarm. The beast was running down Stiles. He'd shifted without even thinking about it, joining the chase and taking out the wendigo.
It wasn't until he'd shifted back that he realized Stiles had fallen, a terrifying bruise forming at his temple. Sam had checked his pulse, his breathing and carried him back to his apartment. He couldn't take him to a hospital, so he laid with him in his bed, waiting for him to wake up.
Sam might have drifted a bit, arm possessively slung around him, only stirring when he heard the quiet sound of terror.]
[I can see that. Stiles just stares at the man as he stirs, consciousness lighting up the man's face. He has a very pleasant face - if Stiles wasn't so uneasy and scared, he'd probably be drooling.
Stiles wonders if something horrible is about to happen. Death, or possibly something more unpleasant and scarring. He doesn't recognize the room, the bed, or the man, and he's starting to freak out, so the underlying current of familiar doesn't quite register.] ...Please don't hurt me? [Worth a shot, right?]
Hurt you? [Relief is swiftly giving way to confusion as Sam sits up. He picks up a penlight from the bedside table and gives a quick flash into his eyes, checking his pupils, the response time.] Stiles.. why do you think I'd..
[Sam pulls up short, choking on a pained sound.] You don't.. don't know me, do you?
[The man sits up, giving Stiles a little more space, and he lets a rattling, shaky breath from his lungs, trying to push past the fear. He inches away a little, only to freeze again as the man shines a light in his eyes.]
N-no. [Stiles answers softly, still rigid and trying to calculate how fast he is versus how fast the man could probably grab him. It's not looking hopeful.] ...I've never seen you before in my life.
[Sam can't quite hide the look of heartbreak before he's able to wrestle his emotions under control. Take care of Stiles. He can cope later. Grieve for what's been stolen from him. From them both.] Okay. My name is Sam. I'm a friend.
Can you tell me the last thing you remember? Even if it's just a name, that'll help.
...Sure....Sam. [Stiles isn't sure if he should believe that or not. How would he even know a guy as old and good-looking as Sam?] ...I was running, something hit me.
[Before that? It's a bit of a blur, but Stiles is pretty sure he helped set a guy on fire...no, an Alpha. Right, werewolves...]
I know. You were being chased. I got you out of there. [He swallows hard.] Do you remember Scott? Or Derek?
[He toys with the idea of calling Cas, but there's no guarantee that healing him up will restore the memories he's lost. Memories of them. Of Sam loving him.]
'course I remember Scott...and Derek. [Stiles adds grudgingly, watching Sam flicker through a few emotions. He's less frightened, now, since the man doesn't seem like he's going to chop Stiles up with a meat cleaver and scatter his remains.] ...How do you know them? [And me...]
[Okay. That's good. At least they're not starting completely from scratch.] I'm a newer member of the pack. Just.. relax. Stay here a second, I'll call Derek and Scott and they can get you home to your Dad.
[Sam withdraws into the other room, making a couple of calls.]
Derek, he's fine. What? No. Took a hit to the head. [A short huff.] No. He doesn't. He doesn't remember me. What? All right. Ten minutes.
[He takes a moment to compose himself before moving back towards his bedroom. Stiles didn't know him, didn't trust him and it hurts.]
Huh? [Stiles blinks in confusion, but Sam has already moved away, out into what Stiles presumes is a living room. It only takes him about a second to realize that the only pack he knows of is Peter's, and then he's looking around the room for a weapon or some kind of escape. No way in hell was he going down to Peter's pack without a fight nevermind that Sam didn't seem to want to hurt him. He wasn't being bait, either.
Stiles pauses to slip on his sneakers, and as he moves to tie them he notices a picture. It's Sam, a short guy, and a gruff looking man in a filthy hat advertising a junkyard. Why did they look familiar?
Doesn't matter. He has to get out of there, find Scott, and figure out what the hell happened. Stiles tiptoed over to the bathroom, looking for something useful. All he finds is a razor and some shaving cream. Why aren't there any damn windows in this place?
Stiles locks the door, bracing himself by the toilet. He doesn't know where his cellphone is - he either dropped it in the woods or Sam stripped him of it.]
Stiles, I.. [He couldn't have gone anywhere. There were no doors towards the back of the apartment. His scent is everywhere, on the bed, the pillows, on his skin.
[The bathroom door is closed. Fuck. He was hiding from him. Sam sat down on the bed and for an instant buried his face in the pillow, dragging in the scent of the young man he loved. The young man who was hiding from him. Sam sits down on the corner of the bed, dragging his hand across his face.] Stiles, I'm not going to hurt you. Derek and Scott are.. they're on their way.
Trap? Stiles.. [Familiar exasperation becomes something infinitely more patient as Sam hauls in a breath] Scott's part of the same pack. I know who he is and this isn't some kind of elaborate trap for him or Derek, okay?
[There's some movement outside and Sam sets a small heavy box near the door.] You know what wolfsbane is, right? What it can do? There's a knife treated with bane in that box. If you'll feel safer, take it.
Scott would never join Peter's pack! [Stiles snorted as Sam claimed he wasn't trying to trap Scott and Derek.] Yeah, and I'm Paula Dean.
[Stiles listened carefully to the movement, gripping the makeshift weapons tightly.] What the hell are you doing with a wolfsbane knife? [Not that Stiles trusts that's what's in the box. This could just be a trap to get him to come out. Stiles' heart is jumping in his chest, his head is pounding, and he's really, really confused. He's not sure what to believe, and he's being a little overly-paranoid.]
Peter is dead. He has been for awhile now. Derek's the alpha of the pack. You brought me to him when I first came to Beacon Hill.
The knife is for my brother. Incase my control slips and I hurt someone, or threaten to hurt him. Call it insurance, okay? You can smell it on the knife when you open up the box.
Running. Blinding pain. Darkness. No, the darkness came before. Running in the dark. Blinding pain. More darkness. Why was he running? Lacrosse? No, he never plays lacrosse. And they have stadium lights. Why was he running? Danger. Pain. Dark.
But it wasn't so dark anymore; there was light behind his eyelids. Still pain, in his temple, but not as bad as before...he'd been knocked out. Running from danger, knocked out. This wasn't shaping up well at all.
Stiles cracks open one eye, pupils dilating to accomodate the sudden light. Something's touching him. No, someone. He's on a bed...and it's not his.
Oh this was not good at all.
Well, then again it might be. Maybe he got drunk and lucky at the same time. Stiles tries to focus on the figure holding him...
The man has to be at least 23, which makes this completely illegal...and judging from the way their legs are tangled Stiles is definitely banking on illegal.
Oh God, he's been kidnapped. That would explain the running. The pain. FuckHe tries not to move. He ( ... )
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[Until it got wind of Stiles. Sam hadn't been far when he'd heard the cry of alarm. The beast was running down Stiles. He'd shifted without even thinking about it, joining the chase and taking out the wendigo.
It wasn't until he'd shifted back that he realized Stiles had fallen, a terrifying bruise forming at his temple. Sam had checked his pulse, his breathing and carried him back to his apartment. He couldn't take him to a hospital, so he laid with him in his bed, waiting for him to wake up.
Sam might have drifted a bit, arm possessively slung around him, only stirring when he heard the quiet sound of terror.]
Stiles? Hey, you're safe, okay? I've got you.
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Stiles wonders if something horrible is about to happen. Death, or possibly something more unpleasant and scarring. He doesn't recognize the room, the bed, or the man, and he's starting to freak out, so the underlying current of familiar doesn't quite register.] ...Please don't hurt me? [Worth a shot, right?]
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[Sam pulls up short, choking on a pained sound.] You don't.. don't know me, do you?
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N-no. [Stiles answers softly, still rigid and trying to calculate how fast he is versus how fast the man could probably grab him. It's not looking hopeful.] ...I've never seen you before in my life.
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Can you tell me the last thing you remember? Even if it's just a name, that'll help.
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[Before that? It's a bit of a blur, but Stiles is pretty sure he helped set a guy on fire...no, an Alpha. Right, werewolves...]
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[He toys with the idea of calling Cas, but there's no guarantee that healing him up will restore the memories he's lost. Memories of them. Of Sam loving him.]
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[Sam withdraws into the other room, making a couple of calls.]
Derek, he's fine. What? No. Took a hit to the head. [A short huff.] No. He doesn't. He doesn't remember me. What? All right. Ten minutes.
[He takes a moment to compose himself before moving back towards his bedroom. Stiles didn't know him, didn't trust him and it hurts.]
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Stiles pauses to slip on his sneakers, and as he moves to tie them he notices a picture. It's Sam, a short guy, and a gruff looking man in a filthy hat advertising a junkyard. Why did they look familiar?
Doesn't matter. He has to get out of there, find Scott, and figure out what the hell happened. Stiles tiptoed over to the bathroom, looking for something useful. All he finds is a razor and some shaving cream. Why aren't there any damn windows in this place?
Stiles locks the door, bracing himself by the toilet. He doesn't know where his cellphone is - he either dropped it in the woods or Sam stripped him of it.]
Reply
[The bathroom door is closed. Fuck. He was hiding from him. Sam sat down on the bed and for an instant buried his face in the pillow, dragging in the scent of the young man he loved. The young man who was hiding from him. Sam sits down on the corner of the bed, dragging his hand across his face.] Stiles, I'm not going to hurt you. Derek and Scott are.. they're on their way.
You don't have to hide from me.
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Come and get me! I can take you. [With a razor and some shaving cream? Good plan, Stilinski.]
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[There's some movement outside and Sam sets a small heavy box near the door.] You know what wolfsbane is, right? What it can do? There's a knife treated with bane in that box. If you'll feel safer, take it.
I'll wait in the living room, okay?
Reply
[Stiles listened carefully to the movement, gripping the makeshift weapons tightly.] What the hell are you doing with a wolfsbane knife? [Not that Stiles trusts that's what's in the box. This could just be a trap to get him to come out. Stiles' heart is jumping in his chest, his head is pounding, and he's really, really confused. He's not sure what to believe, and he's being a little overly-paranoid.]
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The knife is for my brother. Incase my control slips and I hurt someone, or threaten to hurt him. Call it insurance, okay? You can smell it on the knife when you open up the box.
Reply
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