TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Stiles & John POV:

Stiles watched his reflection in the mirror. He had dark circles under his eyes, the result of lying awake all night, pondering about what he had done wrong. The now purple hand-shaped mark on his face stood out on his pale skin. He didn't know if he was supposed to go downstairs, or wait until his father called him, as he usually would've done twenty minutes ago.

Meanwhile, downstairs sat an irritated John. He looked up at the clock. He knew Stiles was supposed to be at school in five minutes, but the lack of noise upstairs made him consider forcing Stiles to stay home. He probably had a bruise, and he couldn't risk any teachers starting to ask questions.

Stiles was the last thing left from his lovely wife Claudia, and he couldn't let her son get trapped in the foster system. He would feel too guilty about that. That still didn't mean he liked that hyperactive little bastard. Years and years of frustration with the kid came to the surface yesterday. And to be honest, he felt like Stiles finally got what he deserved. He should have been lying in bed for a few hours at the time he got home. But no, the brat had to ask him if he was okay.

Of course, the alcohol spoke for him, as he started yelling things at Stiles, things no child should hear from their parents. But he deserved it, a little voice in his head keeps nagging. John started to get lost in his thoughts again, so he looked back up at the clock.

It really was time to leave for work, so John stood up and went upstairs.

'Stiles!'

He really didn't mean to let that sound so harsh, but it did.

Stiles immediately jumped from the sitting position on his bed, to his feet.

'Y-yeah dad?' Stiles slightly stuttered.

One smack, and the kid's scared out of his wits, John thought, disappointment visible in his eyes.

Stiles saw it. It was only there for a second, but he saw it. What did i do wrong now? He asked himself.

'You're staying home today,' John spoke, and grabbing a confused Stiles by his wrist he added 'and don't even dare try and sneak outside.' To make his point more clear, he squeezed Stiles' wrist. Hard.

Stiles quickly nodded, the pain becoming almost unbearable as he felt something, maybe a bone, snap. John looked him up and down, and all of the sudden pulled him closer and said

'If you tell anyone, i'll personally make sure you'll never live to see daylight again.'

Stay calm. He doesn't mean it.

Looking in John's eyes, he saw a stranger staring back. This wasn't his father anymore!

'I have to leave now.' And with that, John went downstairs. Stiles dared a glance out of the window, and saw John start the truck. As soon as the rumbling sound of the engine was out of range, he ran downstairs towards the back door.

He tried it. It was locked. John had locked the freaking back door.

He couldn't even think of him as his dad anymore. Not after the threat.

He tried every single window, but the house was completely locked. He thought about breaking a window when he realized he hadn't even tried the phone. But looking behind him, it wasn't on it's usual spot. That's weird... He decided to try and find it on the second floor.

He ran upstairs and looked around, until he spotted John's cell. He practically sprinted towards it and grabbed it with both his hands.

He dialed the number and waited.

beep beep... beep beep... bee- 'Melissa McCall'

He wanted to cry from relief, when suddenly he heard the front door swing open downstairs, and his father came in.

Shit. He must've realized he forgot his phone!

'Melissa, it's Stiles. Please help me!' he whispered.

'Stiles? What's going on? Do you want me to call 911?'

'No! It's my dad, he... h-he, i- i can't...' Stiles was sobbing by now.

Suddenly he felt the cell phone being grabbed out of his hands, and his father shoved him up against the wall.

'WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?' John yelled.

John slammed Stiles' hand multiple times against the wall, and Stiles dropped the phone. Stiles was screaming by now, since it was his bad hand, the one that John already grabbed before.

John back-handed him in the face, and he fell.

'Get up!' John screamed.

He tried to scramble to his feet, but he couldn't stop his knees from buckling, and as soon as John's fist connected with the side of his head, he slipped away into a blissful darkness.