Chapter Text
Stiles eyes pop open meeting the sun head on forcing him to close them and submergeing himself back in the peaceful darkness that came with unconsciousness.
Oh my God, where the hell am I? Was the first thing Stiles thought pattern lead him to.
And then, ow! Because his head hurt worst than that one time Scotty had thrown a freaking rock at him (Stiles had okayed it, he had eaten Scott's last red vine. It was a suitable punishment) when they were eight.
Stiles groaned, raising a hand on instinct to his forehead. A new wave of pain shocked him to his core as his fingers touched the wound. Jerking his hand back Stiles let out a weird mixture of a gasp, a groan, and a hiss.
Stiles did not remember getting banged on the head. In fact, the last thing Stiles remembers is falling asleep to the sound of the news playing from the living room, while (he guessed) his dad watched on, and even that's fuzzy. He remembers the curdling feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach from that night, but can't remember why he felt that way. He can remember thinking something big was about to happen, he just can't remember what said 'big thing to happen' was. His memory was disjointed and left him with the same feeling he got when he was walking in the hallways of the Science Museum that had glass floors and a dark expanse below. And trust him, those days never ended well for him. Panic attacks usually came after that.
A cough bubbled up inside his throat, letting it out he sat up which only caused him to get nauseous and fall back down on the dirt ground surrounding him. The coughing continued, making him feel even more nauseous than before. His mind was spinning and each hack felt like his brain was playing ping-pong inside his skull.
He was so lost in his pain that he barely recognized the helpfull hands sitting him up and patting his back. But he did, because he instantly latched on to the strangers clothes, and it's kind of hard not to recognize that someone's there when you're holding on to that stranger. Stiles also recognized Stranger could also be Kidnapper, but at the moment Stiles wasnt paying to much attention to detail (which he probably should be).
When the coughing spell finally wore itself out Stiles was only left with the problem of learning how to breathe again. Which Stiles had expertly learned how to do back in the fifth grade, what with his track record of panic attacks. Drinking in the air, Stiles allowed himself to reopen his eyes–which, when did that happen?–only to see a long stretch of tan neck with a hint of stubble, which suggested he hadn't shaved in a long while.
Apparently, in the middle of Stiles' coughing fit Stiles body had decided that Stranger Dude's shoulder was a great place to cough in to. It was pretty comfortable, Stiles had to admit. Not too boney, but not too much muscles to where it hurt to lay your head on, which was exactly what Stiles was doing.
To a stranger.
Who may or may not be his kidnapper.
Could also be rescuer.
Still.
Stiles jerked away, limbs flailing about, successfully hitting the–well, more like smacking the dude about. Stiles flailed his way out of Stranger Dudes arms and on to the leafy ground as spaztasticlly as ever.
"Who the he–" Oh God, Stiles gagged.
He could feel the familar churning in his stomach as his head spun once more. Having enough brain power to realize he needed to turn his head or risk vomiting on himself (Stiles didn't want to do that again), he did so heaving up whatever the hell he had had for dinner last night (he couldn't even remember that).
"You need to stop moving, you got hit on your dumb head. You're just gonna make it worst." Stranger Dude ordered.
To hell with that–did this dude seriously just insult me?
Stiles opened his mouth to yell again but noticed his vision wasn't quite right, everything was smudgy and spinning. Stiles blinked hard, trying to clear his vision but it did nothing and probably just made him look more dumb than Stranger Dude already thought of him.
Great. Just, great.
"Drink this."
And, uh, no thank you. Stiles was not going to drink anything from Stranger Dude who could very well be Kidnapper Dude. Stiles tried to shake his head 'no' only to feel the starting's of that horrible churning in his stomach again and stopped mid head turn.
Cool metal was forced to his lips and roughly pushed in before Stiles felt a trickle of what he thinks is water and then–definitely water, because now it's like a freaking stream flowing into his mouth.
Stiles chokes.
"You're supposed to swallow it."
Oh, sorry, that's what I was supposed to do? Didn't realize, thanks for clearing it up tho.
The metal can is pulled back and Stiles starts to cough again, which hurts worst now cause his brain feels like it's swelled to way past his skulls capacity. The taps on his back are in no way gentle and Stiles starting to think Stranger Dude has no idea what bedside manner is. The insulting and the hitting is not something you do to a sick (nearly concussed) person.
What? Was he raised by wolves?
"Please... stop." Stiles manages to gasp out between coughs and just pained grunts from Stranger Dudes 'helpful hands'.
The patting stops almost instantly and Stiles finally feels like he can breathe again.
Again.
Seriously how many times was he going to almost cough himself to death? It's a new record.
"Drink this," pause "it'll help." The last part isn't helpful like, at all, because it sounds like Stranger Dude doesn't really believe it, so Stiles of course really doesn't believe it. But Stiles has never been known as a Negative Nancy for no reason.
Slowly (after the metal can is handed to him) he takes a sip, feeling as a the lukewarm water slides down his surprisingly dry throat. It does help slightly because Stiles can finally make out the face above him without having to squint.
His face matches his voice. Dark, brooding, and mysterious. All three things Lydia would of called ho–wait why was he talking about Lydia in past tense? Lydia was still alive for all he knew, but then Stiles remembers he didn't know nothing.
A flash of red hair and a distant scream startle him. The red hair is definitely Lydia's, he would remember that hair anywhere, the scream too, although its different then anyone he's ever heard her let out. It's not her typical happy, girly, squeally scream. It's filled with fear, pain, and most of all desperation. He thinks she screaming a word, but he can't remember what it was. He doesn't remember that happening, he doesn't remember anything happening. Stiles feels like he's missing something and not just memory.
Something big.
A crash startles Stiles into reality.
"Dammit." Stranger Dude curses.
At any other time Stiles would of said 'oops' or 'my bad' but right now all he could think of was the memory that he knew was a memory and not just a figment of his fatigued brain, an wonder what it was about, and why it happened.
"...was the last I had, idiot." Stranger Dude is yelling at him, Stiles gives him a sheepish look but it doesn't quail Stranger Dudes anger.
The dudes nearly growling.
"What are we supposed to do now, hmm?" He raises both his eyebrows and waits for Stiles to answer.
This confuses Stiles, because there are stores all around and hospitals too, Stiles thinks. He needs a hospital, why didn't Stranger Dude take him to one?
"A store?" Stiles suggests.
Stranger Dude stares at him like he's insane, which Stiles thinks is unfair, he hasn't done anything to warrant that response, yet.
"I'm not playing around, kid."
"Neither am I. Stored have water, earth has stores. The equation equals out."
Stranger Dude is quiet for a minute.
"How hard did you hit your head?" He asks.
"Uhm, I don't know." Stiles admits.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Stranger Dudes voice is filled with resignation that Stiles just does not get.
"Like, I can't remember how I got here."
Stranger Dude sighs once again, as if his worst fears have been realized and looks up to the heavens. "How long?"
Stiles frowns.
"What was the last day you remember?"
"Obviously the last day I remember is the last day I–"
"Date. What was the date?" Stranger Dude growls out.
Stiles thinks back hard. Searching through the parts that he really remembers trying to find the calendar that sat in their kitchen, stuffed with post-it notes.
"January 15."
Stranger Dude closes his eyes in full resignation and mutters under his breath "You've got to kidding me."
"What?" Stiles asks/shouts and Stranger Dude shushes him.
Shushes him, when only a minute ago he had been the one yelling.
Stiles roles his eyes and in a quieter voice asks. "What's wrong?"
Stranger Dude stares at him, brow wrinkled, face in what seams to be a permanent grimace.
"It's July 6th."
Stiles blinked. No, not possible. It was a lie–had to be, there was no way Stiles could lose six months of his life.
It does fit well with your memory pattern, Stiles, a very Lydia-ish voice filled his head creating a small pang of... something in his heart. Stiles chose to ignore the pang like he ignored the voice. Even though Lydia was usually right.
"Okay, psycho man, I believe you. I really do, but... uh, I gotta get home. Soooo...."
"There is no 'home's' anymore. Even if yours did last, it obviously didn't last long." Stranger Dude crossed his (very) muscly arms and continued to stare down at Stiles with no hint of amusement.
"What the hell does that mean? Did the rapture happen while I was out? That's not freaking fair, He left someone! Hey! You left me!" Stiles yelled at the heavens, as if that would work.
"Oh my God." Stranger Dude muttered under his breath.
"Exactly."
Stiles got up and looked around him. It was daylight, probably near noon (dads at work), and they were in the woods. It was eerily silent.
"Where are we? Cause I'm seriously getting a Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibe right now. Are you gonna kill me? Because that totally defeats the purpose of the whole helping thing, you did dude. Unless you're one of those ones that like to play mind tricks in which case, I'm leaving." Stiles rambled. Like usual.
Stranger Dude rolled his eyes. "Stop talking."
"Oh my God. You sound like Harris." Stiles groaned.
Stranger Dude narrowed his eyes. "Just shut up, and sit down. We can't get back to camp till mor–"
"Woah, wait. You think I'm actually going with you? Uh, yeah, no. Not happening dude. Thanks for the water and all but I'm going home–"
"No you're not–"
"You really are my kidnapper aren't yo–"
"I saved your ass, you were stringed to a tree as live bait–"
"Wait, what? I was hanging in a tree–"
"Keep your voice down you idiot they'll hear–"
"Who's 'they'? I thought you saved me, why are we still hidin–"
"You never stop hiding no–"
"Who the hell are we hiding from dude–?"
"Shut up. You'll lure them to us–"
"Just answer my question–"
A twig snapped.
"Shit–" Stranger Dude hissed.
"What was that?"
Stranger Dude grabbed Stiles' wrist. "C'mon."
"Let me go!" Stiles yelled grabbing the guys other arm as he tried to grab Stiles' other arm.
"Shut. Up."
A loud groan came from behind Stiles. Turning to see what it was Stiles nearly screams only to have a hand clamp around his mouth stifling his scream, because what is in front of him a few feat away is not human.
It looks like it had at one point in time been human, but it definitely wasn't now. It's skin was falling off half his face (making it appear as though he had two heads) his skull in full view. It's skin itself was a disgusting shade of grey and it's eye looked like it was about ready to pop out.
Stranger Dude backed him up slowly to where they were hidden behind a tree.
His mouth free Stiles whispershouted "What the hell was that?"
Stranger Dude gave him a look that clearly stated 'isn't it obvious?' which it was not.
And then Stiles' mind clicked. Oh.
"That's... 'Them'?"
Stranger Dude nodded then put his finger to his lips. Stiles replied by zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Stranger Dude rolled his eyes and then ducked to look on the other side of the tree.
He turned back around.
"Run."
Okay.
Stiles ran, half by his own accord and half by the guys 'helpful hands' pulling him along. Stiles never thought he would actually like this guy but right now... he could kiss him (not that it would be very hard in the first place).
Breathing hard Stiles ran alongside his savior, jumping over tree roots and ducking under tree branches deeper in to the woods. Stiles had no clue where they were going but apparently God-I-really-need-to-learn-his-name did because he ran the path they were on like it was his walk home.
The groaning got louder as they kept going and it came from all sides, Stiles couldn't breathe, his head was pounding, he was getting nauseous again–Stiles fell.
The wind knocked out of him Stiles wheezed as he lay on the forest floor. Looking around him Stiles couldn't see the guy that saves him, he was gone. He had left Stiles, Stiles was alone in a forest filled with... creatures that looked like they wouldn't mind having him for a meal.
He was alone.
He was alone, he was alone.
HewasaloneHewasaloneHewasaloneHewasalone–
Stiles couldn't breathe, there was no oxygen getting to his brain even as he sucked in air. Nothing was getting through.
He was going to die.
Stiles curled up into a ball shoving his hands over his ears, not wanting to listen to the moans and groans of the things around him.
He knew death was soon–either by panic attack or things. Stiles was going to die, he just knew it.
Everything was messed up, he couldn't remember what had happened, he couldn't remember anything. He didn't know where his dad, Scott, Lydia, Allison, or even Jackson were, didn't know if they were still alive. He didn't know what those things were, he didn't know why they were here. He didn't know where his savior had gone–
"Gggrrruuuuu..."
Stiles jerked.
It was one of them, they were right behind him, he could feel there breath on his back as it crawled toward him, leaves crunching in its wake.
Slowly Stiles turned his body to face the creature.
His heart broke in time with his voice.
"...A-Ally?"