A/N: Look, a new story! My first multi-chapter story, in fact! This story is complete (5 chapters, and then an epilogue) so I'll be posting chapters frequently. There will be some warnings in future chapters, so I'll say those when I post those chapters. In the meantime, enjoy the first chapter, and please review!
...
"I can't believe we're doing this. Yet another wild goose chase for Derek."
"You know, Stiles, Derek is usually right about these things."
Stiles frowned at Scott's response. "Seriously? Whose side are you on?" He glanced at Scott as they trudged through the woods, and when no reply came, Stiles continued, "I mean seriously. You're the big bad true alpha werewolf, right? Why do you even listen to Derek?"
Scott gave him a long suffering sigh in response. "Because, as I have said about a hundred times before, Derek has more experience. I trust his judgment in... Werewolf stuff."
Stiles snorted. "Werewolf stuff?" he mocked, speeding up slightly to keep pace with Scott. "You're right in one thing, though. Derek always knows what's going on with supernatural stuff. How does he do that, anyway?"
Scott could tell, from years of experience, that Stiles would not be ending the conversation any time soon. He was on a roll now. So, with a quiet sigh, Scott sped up slightly, just enough to stay in front of Stiles, and prepared himself for a rant.
"It doesn't make sense, you know," the human was enthusiastically continuing. "How does Derek know about a wolf with no pack less than a week after he... Or she, I guess... Appears in Beacon Hills? What does Derek do all day, frolic through the woods sniffing trees?"
Scott grinned, but only because he knew Stiles couldn't see. He didn't want to encourage his hyperactive best friend, but the image of Derek in a tutu, running through a field and throwing flowers had just popped into his head... And that was enough to make anyone laugh.
"Do we know anything about the person... Sorry, werewolf... That we're looking for?"
Scott sighed and shook his head. "Not really. We don't think he's killed anyone or bitten anyone, so we're not planning on attacking him. Just finding out who he is and why he's here."
"Wait wait wait," Stiles said, his voice sounding slightly rushed. "We don't THINK he's killed or bitten anyone? Seriously?"
Scott shrugged. "Well, he hasn't killed anyone, for sure. We'd have heard if he did. Biting, though... That's a little harder to determine. Hopefully we'll find him, explain the situation, and he can be on his way."
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt you think it'll be that simple."
Scott threw his arms up in the air and responded, "When are things ever simple in Beacon Hills?"
Stiles just shook his head, opening his mouth to reply, when Scott's phone rang. The two teens shared a significant glance, and then Scott pulled out his phone. "It's Derek," he mouthed to Stiles, before answering it. "What's up?" Scott asked, and then he listened intently for a moment. "Got it," he finally responded, "see you in a few."
Stiles was staring at Scott, and he grinned when the werewolf hung up. "Derek found him?" he asked, hopeful.
Scott nodded, grinning back. "Let's go see what this guy is about."
…
Less than two hours later, Scott and Stiles were walking through the woods again, this time toward home. After a moment of silence, Stiles asked hesitantly, "Did that seem… anticlimactic to you?"
Scott nodded in response, feeling a bit ill at ease. "Yeah," he answered, glancing at his best friend. "I didn't think he would just… leave."
"For a supposedly out of control alpha, he seemed pretty reasonable," Stiles agreed. "I mean, if we believe him, then he hasn't attacked anyone in the time that he's been here."
"Why should we though? Believe him, I mean."
Stiles just shrugged. "Well, if he actually does leave, that would be a pretty good indication that he can be trusted." Suddenly, the human grinned. "After all, not all werewolves are evil, right buddy?" he said, shoving Scott with his shoulder.
Scott just laughed, and the two of them finished the walk home in companionable silence.
…
For a week, everything was back to normal. It seemed that the alpha had kept to his word, and had left Beacon Hills alone. There were no reports of suspicious deaths or animal attacks, nothing to signify that any supernatural danger had taken hold. For a moment, everything was peaceful.
But everyone knows that moments don't last long.
…
It was a Friday night, and the Sheriff was working late. So Stiles cooked himself some spaghetti, making sure to save some so his dad could eat whenever he got home. Then he called Scott.
The phone rang twice before his best friend answered. "Stiles!" Scott said, and Stiles grinned. "What's up?"
"Well," Stiles answered, "I'm home alone tonight, so I was wondering if you wanted to come over?"
There was a hesitation on the other line, and then Scott answered, "Dude, I'm sorry, but I'm actually at Kira's place right now."
Stiles' face fell, but he tried to keep his voice bright. "Oh," he responded easily, "Yeah, that's fine. Um, maybe another time?"
"Yeah, definitely," Scott answered hastily. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"
"Yeah," Stiles answered quietly, but Scott had already hung up. The human sighed, turning his phone off and dropping it onto his bed. He was in for a long, boring night.
After about an hour of playing video games by himself, Stiles decided that would be easier to just go to bed, even if it was only ten o'clock. If he stayed up, he would just be reminded of how bored he really was.
So he went to bed, forgetting that his phone was still turned off, and not realizing that it had fallen onto the floor beside his bed.
…
When Stiles woke up again, it was still dark out. He rolled over, looking at the clock, and saw that it was only one o'clock in the morning.
"Great," he muttered to himself, realizing that he had only slept for three hours. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Dad?" he asked, sitting up slightly. It wouldn't be the first time his dad had come home from work after midnight.
The footsteps paused, but no answer came. Stiles frowned, peering into the darkness uncertainly. His eyes hadn't adjusted yet, and the house was dark, so he couldn't see much in his room or the hallway. After a moment, just as he was starting to think he had imagined the footsteps, Stiles heard them start up again. Stiles reached for his baseball bat, which was usually next to his bed, and then cursed quietly when he realized that he had left it downstairs after accidentally attacking Scott the week before.
The footsteps were still coming closer, and Stiles had no way to defend himself.
He reached for his phone, which was usually sitting nearby, and then remembered that he had turned it off the night before. Stiles pulled himself out of bed, stumbling slightly in his haste, and grabbed his phone from its position on the floor. His heart was pounding, the footsteps had just about reached his door, and the phone wasn't turning on. "Come on, come on," he muttered to himself, willing the device to turn on.
The screen finally lit up, just as Stiles felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and everything went black.
…
When Stiles woke up, the first thing he was aware of was pain. A splitting pain in his skull, the feeling that hundreds of hammers were smashing into his head at the same time. Not a very pleasant thing to wake up to.
The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't move. And for a teenager with ADHD, that was a problem. Wiggling slightly, Stiles was able to figure out exactly why he couldn't move. His arms were stuck behind him, wrapped in what felt like coarse rope. His legs were held by the same material.
He was trapped.
He also couldn't see anything. At first, Stiles thought that it was just because the room was dark, but after a moment of waiting for his eyes to adjust, he knew that wasn't true. There was some sort of cloth over his eyes, blocking any view he might have of where he was.
And that was the main problem—Stiles had no idea what had happened, or where he could possibly be. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night, he remembered hearing footsteps, he remembered trying to turn his phone on… but that was it. He had no idea who had taken him, or how long ago that had been, or where he was.
And now he was starting to panic.
Because Stiles had woken up in a strange place, unable to move, once before. And that was a memory he had tried hard to forget.
But it was coming back to him now.
…
It was cold, very cold, when Stiles had woken up then. And he couldn't move. His leg was trapped, and it HURT. It was dark, too, and getting colder. Too cold.
But his phone, miraculously, was in his pocket. So Stiles called the one person that he could trust, without a doubt, to find him.
Scott.
And Stiles was terrified, and in pain, but he tried to hide it when he talked to his best friend.
Until he heard movement, and knew he wasn't alone.
And then he had seen a form appear in the darkness, speaking another language, and then switching to English, and then asking him riddles, and then...
…
With a massive struggle, Stiles pulled himself out of the memory. This was NOT the Nogitsune. It couldn't be, because they had defeated it. They had killed it. Scott had killed it.
But Stiles was no closer to figuring out what was actually happening to him. One thing he was certain of—nothing good was going to happen.
He wracked his brain for what felt like hours, trying to figure out who would have any desire to kidnap him. But as he thought, his headache just got worse and worse, and thinking became harder to do. Stiles' thoughts became even more scattered than normal, and he found that he couldn't focus on one idea for longer than a few seconds.
Despite the uncomfortable chair he was apparently tied to, Stiles felt himself starting to relax, and everything slowly slipped away.
…
Scott McCall felt like a terrible friend. He knew, of course, that it was perfectly reasonable to spend time with your girlfriend, but still. Not only had he chosen not to spend time with Stiles, he had totally blown him off in their brief phone conversation.
And now he felt like an ass.
It was ten o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, and Scott was home alone, so he decided to call Stiles and try to make up for it. He dialed quickly, the number memorized, and then waited.
After ringing five times, it went to voicemail.
Scott frowned, but decided to leave a message. "Hey, Stiles," he said, and then hesitated. What did he want to say? "Look, I'm really sorry about last night… Maybe we could hang out today? Call me back when you get this." After thinking for a moment, Scott decided to call the Stilinski house too. Stiles was probably sleeping or something, but the sheriff would probably be home.
The phone only rang twice this time, and then was answered by the sheriff. "Scott?" he asked, sounding surprised.
Scott smiled. "Hey, sheriff. I just called Stiles' cell, and he didn't answer, so I was just checking in… He sleeping or something?"
There was a hesitation on the other line, and Scott, without reason, felt like there was a vice grip squeezing his chest. Something was wrong.
Sure enough, the sheriff's voice was quiet and serious as he finally answered, "Scott, Stiles isn't home. I got home from the office around two, and his room was empty, so I just… I figured he was with you."
Scott swallowed, heart pounding. He had no idea what this meant, but he knew it wasn't good at all. "No," he answered, "I spent the night with Kira last night. Stiles called me around ten, asking me to come over, but I told him I couldn't." Oh god, what if something had happened? What if the last thing he ever did with Stiles was hang up on him? "Want me to come over and see if I can sense anything?" Scott asked, keeping his own fears quiet.
"Yeah," the sheriff answered, sounding flustered and worried. "Yeah, that would be good." Scott didn't bother answering. He just hung up the phone, stuck it in his pocket, and sprinted outside.
He had a best friend to find.
…
Scott felt sick. He and the sheriff had scoured every inch of Stiles' room, but all they had found was Stiles' phone, which was lying haphazardly on the floor next to his bed, and his baseball bat, which was lying in the hallway. Scott had smelled antiseptic on the bat, and the sheriff, looking agonized, had told him what that probably meant.
Someone had used Stiles' own baseball bat to knock him out, and then had cleaned away the evidence.
So they didn't have any clues, just a cleaned off bat and a faint scent of fear.
And blood, but Scott decided not to mention that to the sheriff.
Scott had left the house after that, feeling nauseated and desperate for air. Now he was just pacing the Stilinski's yard, trying to put his thoughts in order. Who would want to kidnap Stiles? It didn't make any sense. Scott had always expected that he would be taken someday, being a true alpha and everything, but Stiles?
Suddenly, it hit him.
Of course no one would want to kidnap Stiles just to have Stiles. This had to be about him. Scott McCall, the true alpha. No one would dare to go after him, but if they knew anything about him, they would know about his friends too.
Scott McCall, the stupid werewolf who's friends with a human.
Suddenly, Scott heard his phone ring. He flinched, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, but grabbed his phone out of his pocket.
Blocked Number
Scott frowned, but answered the phone anyway. "Hello?" he asked, hesitant.
"Scott McCall," responded a voice, sounding calm and cold.
Scott froze, swallowing tightly. "Who is this?" he demanded.
The voice chuckled. "My name is Blake, but that's not really the important thing here, is it? I'm assuming you've noticed by now that something is missing."
Scott's hand tightened on his phone in anger, and he struggled to control himself. "Where's Stiles?" he growled.
Blake laughed again. "Sleeping, right now," he responded, sounding completely casual about the whole situation. But when he continued, his voice was hard. "I recommend you follow my instructions exactly, Scott, or… Well. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Scott took a breath, trying to focus his attention on Blake and what he was saying. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, trying to make his tone as harsh as Blake's. He needed this guy to understand that he was serious.
"It's very simple, actually. Do you know the abandoned house at the end of Lake Street?"
"Yes."
"Tomorrow at three, I will be in the basement of that house. Meet me there, and bring no one with you. I don't want you telling anyone about this conversation—not the sheriff, not your mother, not your pathetic little pack. If you tell anyone, I will know about it."
With that, the line disconnected. Scott lowered his phone to his side, hands trembling. The short phone call was enough for him to know that this guy Blake was completely insane. And knowing that he had Stiles… Scott shuddered.
He needed to find out what Blake wanted, and then he needed to get Stiles back. Whatever the cost.
...
A/N: Also check out my AO3 profile (ladybug114) for some fics that aren't posted here!