Sam! [Stiles hissed the hunter's name, peering around the corner of the Argent's basement. It was dark down here - he could barely see anything - but if Sam wasn't here, Stiles didn't know where they were going to find him.]
Because RNG hates Sam =(willneversayyesAugust 11 2012, 21:23:12 UTC
[Sam blinked several times, trying to lead the fog in his head and figure of if the voice was real. He'd been researching the Argents as he'd promised, when he was ambushed from behind. He knew- thanks to his dad's training- that he'd been tied up and held captive for more than three days. His body was torn apart, steadily bleeding wounds on his arms and legs, and a cut just under his left eyes. Every other inch of him was bruised, attesting to the Argents desperation for information. They'd asked about Derek's pack, which he could easily claim he knew nothing about. But when they'd started asking questions about Stiles, Sam shut up real fast. He wasn't going to tell them anything, even if they killed him.]
Stiles?
[His voice was rough with disuse, but nothing short of hopeful. If Stiles wasn't really there, he'd be heartbroken.]
Sam, [Stiles stepped cautiously out from behind the wall, scanning the room for the hunter. Stiles had been calling Sam for two days when a short, intimidating man had parked himself in Stiles' passenger seat claiming to be Sam's brother. The man - Dean - said he'd found him through the police station, and that Sam was missing.
After a small favor from Erica and a few hours worth of digging, Stiles and Dean had come to the conclusion that Sam had been taken by the Argents.] Where are you?
[Relieved to hear that it wasn't a hallucination cause by blood loss, Sam forced more strength and volume into his words. Stiles had come for him. He couldn't help the warmth in his chest at that.]
[Stiles barely hesitated when he finally spotted Sam in one of the shadows, slumped against a wall. He quickly made his way over to the older man, kneeling beside him. He couldn't see Sam's injuries in the dim light, but he hoped they weren't too bad...]
Allison's home, but the rest of her family is out. Are you okay, what's - [Stiles cut off, gaping as he turned Sam a little, spotting the bruises and gash on his face, eyes tracing his form to note the abrasions and wounds covering the rest of his torso.] Jesus Christ!
[His response was instant and instinctual, though it was the opposite of the truth. He wasn't sure he could even stand after three days of being restrained. But Stiles didn't need to deal with any more crap than he already was, so he tried for an apologetic smile. It looked more like a pained grimace.]
If by okay you mean on the brink of death, yes I'd agree with that statement. [Stiles replied, gaping slightly as he took in Sam's injuries; hands fluttering as he didn't know where to put them without hurting Sam.]
We can go on another one sometime, [Stiles brushed Sam's hair out of his face, tilting his head gently to look for signs of a concussion.] What happened? What did they...what did they do to you?
They wanted to know about Derek's pack. I told them I didn't know anything, but they didn't believe me. And then they wanted to know about you. They got angry when I stopped answering their questions.
[Sam liked to think he'd been in worse situations than this, but he couldn't think of any. This was pretty bad.]
I'm okay, Stiles. Really. I'll heal.
[Hopefully he could call on their resident angel to make sure it got done quickly. He didn't have time to go through the recovery process. Not when Stiles- okay, and Derek and his pack- were in danger.]
You're not a werewolf. [Satisfied that Sam didn't appear to have a concussion - small mercy - Stiles quickly stripped off his jacket and tore the sleeves, tearing them into strips.] And we are getting them arrested, by the by.
I'm going to wrap this around your arm now, and see if I can slow the bleeding so we can leave... [Stiles held up on of the strips, gesturing towards the largest wound in Sam's left arm.]
[Stiles didn't know what the Argents could possibly want to know about him, but they had to have been watching him to know Sam was helping him.]
There's no proof, Stiles. Your dad will never be able to hold them.
They used gloves, and sanitized the weapons they used. There won't be any blood on them.
[It was a nice thought, though. Having the Argents out of commission.
He nodded as Stiles explained what he was going to do, bracing himself for the pain he knew was going to accompany it. The last thing Sam wanted was for Stiles to think he was hurting him.]
They can't just do this. You're not even involved in this! [Stiles mentally tagged on a yet to the sentence; they had been intending for Sam to get involved, but now Stiles was rethinking that. This wasn't his fight - and he shouldn't have had to go through this; it was bad enough Derek had...]
I'm sorry. [Stiles apologized before carefully wrapping the strip around the wound, tieing it tightly. Hopefully the pressure would stop the bleeding. He moved to Sam's other arm, holding up another strip of fabric.]
I became involved the minute I approached you, Stiles. And I'm not going anywhere until the job is done.
[And he was sure Stiles was safe, but he wasn't going to say that out loud. That was a thought he'd have to deal with himself once he got back to the motel.
He let out a slow breath as Stiles tied the fabric around his arm, forcing himself to stay quiet.]
[Stiles shook his head, frowning. If Derek had any doubts about Sam's loyalty, he wouldn't now.]
[Stiles tied the other strip carefully, then reached down, squeezing Sam's hand comfortingly.] Do you think you can walk? [While Stiles couldn't carry the man out, he knew plenty of people who could.]
[Sam very carefully braced his hands on the arms of the chair, pushing himself into a standing position. He didn't let go of the chair, letting his legs remember what it was like to stand. They tingled as circulation rushed back to them. He took a slow step, reassured when he didn't collapse.]
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Stiles?
[His voice was rough with disuse, but nothing short of hopeful. If Stiles wasn't really there, he'd be heartbroken.]
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After a small favor from Erica and a few hours worth of digging, Stiles and Dean had come to the conclusion that Sam had been taken by the Argents.] Where are you?
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[Relieved to hear that it wasn't a hallucination cause by blood loss, Sam forced more strength and volume into his words. Stiles had come for him. He couldn't help the warmth in his chest at that.]
Be careful. I don't know if anyone's home.
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Allison's home, but the rest of her family is out. Are you okay, what's - [Stiles cut off, gaping as he turned Sam a little, spotting the bruises and gash on his face, eyes tracing his form to note the abrasions and wounds covering the rest of his torso.] Jesus Christ!
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[His response was instant and instinctual, though it was the opposite of the truth. He wasn't sure he could even stand after three days of being restrained. But Stiles didn't need to deal with any more crap than he already was, so he tried for an apologetic smile. It looked more like a pained grimace.]
I'm sorry I missed our coffee date.
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We can go on another one sometime, [Stiles brushed Sam's hair out of his face, tilting his head gently to look for signs of a concussion.] What happened? What did they...what did they do to you?
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[Sam liked to think he'd been in worse situations than this, but he couldn't think of any. This was pretty bad.]
I'm okay, Stiles. Really. I'll heal.
[Hopefully he could call on their resident angel to make sure it got done quickly. He didn't have time to go through the recovery process. Not when Stiles- okay, and Derek and his pack- were in danger.]
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I'm going to wrap this around your arm now, and see if I can slow the bleeding so we can leave... [Stiles held up on of the strips, gesturing towards the largest wound in Sam's left arm.]
[Stiles didn't know what the Argents could possibly want to know about him, but they had to have been watching him to know Sam was helping him.]
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They used gloves, and sanitized the weapons they used. There won't be any blood on them.
[It was a nice thought, though. Having the Argents out of commission.
He nodded as Stiles explained what he was going to do, bracing himself for the pain he knew was going to accompany it. The last thing Sam wanted was for Stiles to think he was hurting him.]
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I'm sorry. [Stiles apologized before carefully wrapping the strip around the wound, tieing it tightly. Hopefully the pressure would stop the bleeding. He moved to Sam's other arm, holding up another strip of fabric.]
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[And he was sure Stiles was safe, but he wasn't going to say that out loud. That was a thought he'd have to deal with himself once he got back to the motel.
He let out a slow breath as Stiles tied the fabric around his arm, forcing himself to stay quiet.]
I'm okay. Do the other one.
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[Stiles tied the other strip carefully, then reached down, squeezing Sam's hand comfortingly.] Do you think you can walk? [While Stiles couldn't carry the man out, he knew plenty of people who could.]
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[Sam very carefully braced his hands on the arms of the chair, pushing himself into a standing position. He didn't let go of the chair, letting his legs remember what it was like to stand. They tingled as circulation rushed back to them. He took a slow step, reassured when he didn't collapse.]
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