Chapter Text
He began his new life slumped over with a pounding headache, surrounded by cold metal and stale, dusty air.
The ground lurched downward, and his head slammed into the siding. He let out a hiss of pain, rubbing the spot as the world continued to sink. Out of all the ways to wake up, this had to be the lousiest. The elevator– yes, that's what this was– continues shaking and swaying, and the blinked as a thought surfaced.
Stiles. he thought. My name is Stiles.
He tried to recall more– a mother, a father, a pet– but, nothing came. Vague and general things surfaced: a car, blue and shining; a school bell, but no faces, no voices, no names, except his own.
Stiles. My name is Stiles. My name is Stiles and I'm alive. If he had nothing else, at least he had a name and breath in his body. There was hope in a name, and hope in breathing.
With a final shudder and a piteous groan, the elevator stopped, throwing Stiles back again. There was nothing but darkness around him in every direction, and a coil of fear settled in his chest, squeezing at the hope. This wasn't right; this didn't feel right in the least. He wanted out; needed out before he lost his breath and his name and every last blur of a memory he had.
"Someone help me!" he screeched, to who, he didn't know. But, there had to be someone, just had to. He needed there to be.
There was a loud clanging above him, and a straight line of light shone down from above him. Stiles sucked in a relieved breath as the light grew, and the sound of metal doors being slid open sounded. The brightness blinded him once the doors were fully open, and he shielded his eyes with his arm, turning away.
He heard voices above, and the hope and the fear both raised their heads at the same time.
"Look at that shank." "I wonder how old he is?" "He looks like klunk in a t-shirt." "You're the klunk, shuck-face!"
"Hope you enjoyed your one-way trip, Greenie." one of the voices boomed. "There's no way back."
Confusion and curiosity joined the fear and hope; some of the voices were familiar, others entirely foreign. He pulled his arm away, giving his eyes a few moments to adjust, and saw face staring down at him, some pointing. They were all teenagers, he noted; none too much older than him.
A rope with a loop at the end was lowered down, and Stiles hesitantly stepped into it, clinging to it as he was hauled up. As he got closer, hands grabbed for him, pulling him until he was tossed onto the ground, gasping to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. There goes one of the last things I've got.
He looked up, and saw a boy standing above him— older than most of the group, with black hair and some stubble already dusting his jaw. There was an odd look on his face; curiosity mixed with a slight fear and a bit of relief.
"Nice to meet you, shank." the boy said, and Stiles knew he'd never forget the words he spoke next. "Welcome to the Glade."