Stiles woke up to a small dark room filled with stale air. Of course, he thought bitterly, because this was his life now. Getting kidnapped by whatever supernatural creature that decided to lurk in Beacon Hills was part of his weekly routine.
His hands uncomfortably twisted from the chains connected to the ceiling, only given enough slack to have his elbows touch the top of his head. He took note that the rest of his body was unrestrained. His hoodie was gone and his t-shirt was smudged with stains from god knows where. Stiles shook his head, frustrated at himself for making a move as stupid as to leave his back vulnerable to a belligerent werewolf because he fucking knew who had put him here in this cliche-looking dungeon. And once he got his hands around the motherfucker's throat he won't let go until his dad comes to ship his ass off to jail.
"Aw, that angry look on your face is precious. I wonder what you could possibly be thinking about."
Stiles snapped his eyes to the source of the voice. Theo stood in the middle of the dark room with his hair styled with disgusting amounts of product, his hands clasped behind his back. Typical. The bastard had a smirk plastered on his face and Stiles wanted nothing more than to slap it right off. But since his hands are out of commission right now, he'll just have to settle for a glare. "Oh nothing. I was just contemplating the different ways I could kill a werewolf. I was up to seventeen before you rudely interrupted me."
Theo chuckled, walking forward and revealing a syringe that had previously been hidden behind his back. "I'm sorry," Theo said, feigning innocence, "but this won't take long." He held the needle up to Stiles's eye level, allowing him to see the sloshing gold liquid within. Stiles gulped down his fear because he did not want to give Theo that kind of satisfaction. Theo's eyes traveled over his body in a predatory gaze, settling on his eyes. Stiles could tell that the piece of shit was drinking it all in and loving every second.
Unexpectedly, Theo raised a hand to touch his cheek, lightly touching the skin in a caress. Stiles tried to inch away from him but Theo firmly grabbed his jaw and moved it back to face him. "If you'll just relax, this won't be as bad," he grinned while stroking Stiles's jawline with his thumb, making the boy's stomach curl. He brought the needle close to Stiles's neck and Stiles tracked the movement with horrorstruck eyes. His heart was jackhammering and if he didn't know any better, he'd say that it would burst out any minute. Breathing became a strenuous chore and nausea soaked through him entirely.
"Wait, w-what is that? W-wait, stop," he choked out, too freaked out to stop his fear from showing. Theo paused, the corners of his lips twitching up when he saw him in a sweat. Panic was evident in Stiles's whole body language and the rapid rise and fall of his chest had his ears pounding with the rhythm.
"Calm down, it's just something to give me what's mine." Theo meaningfully looked at him before launching forward to attach his lips to his own, right as Stiles felt a prick in his neck. He squirmed against Theo but the bastard was on a mission. Stiles felt him sloppily lick across his lips and had to hold back his vomit while simultaneously pushing against a wave of fatigue as the bizarre liquid was being forced into him. He kicked and shouted but Theo was strong and kept their lips in a bruising lock, biting down on Stiles's bottom lip in wanton. Stiles managed to land a kick to Theo's elbow, jerking his body and the needle away. The needle shattered when it hit the floor, the last few drops of gold liquid dripping onto the moldy concrete.
Theo cursed and backhanded Stiles in fury. Stiles thought he'd be in for an onslaught of pain but Theo, fortunately, moved away and started pacing the room, barely making coherent words. Ignoring the sting in his cheek, Stiles uselessly fought against his chains, the injection and forced kiss making his skin crawl. He felt the liquid hotly stirring inside of him, afraid of what effects it'd bring out. Oh god, he's going to mutate into something monstrous, isn't he? He'll become mindless and hell bent on destruction—something unrecognizable to the pack. If it came down to it, they will have to kill him. He won't let himself hurt anyone else, not after the Nogitsune. Stiles shuddered at the unwanted memories and bit back a groan from the uncomfortable churning in his stomach.
"—it'll still work out. Everything just needs to be set." Theo stopped pacing and stood up straighter by the end of his sentence. He closed in on Stiles and, without any warning, struck his head with enough force to knock him out instantly.
Darkness encased him in a choking hold. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He was caged in, unable to move his limbs much, and dread washed over him. He tried raising his hands to count his fingers, to make sure that this wasn't a dream, but all he was met with was black. Reaching out, he felt something solid against his hands, sandy particles dusting over his face that made him sputter. Dirt, he was surrounded by dirt. No, he was buried by dirt. How he ended up like this, he doesn't know.
Taking clumps of dirt into his hands, he started digging toward what he assumed was up. Every time he'd remove another handful, a shower of dirt and compose would rain over his face. His arms ached. His face felt stiff and itchy. His nails felt disgusting and he's pretty sure that the slimy tendrils on his chest were worms. But he doesn't care. He doesn't know how he got trapped underneath the ground but he sure as hell wasn't going to rot here. He had to get out. He had to find someone and get answers.
Removing another clump, he saw a sliver of moonlight peek through the darkness. His heart fluttered with hope, giving him that extra push to finally break through the surface. He hauled himself out of the hole and rolled onto his back, facing the looming moon with half-lidded eyes. Weakly lifting his hands up to the moonlight, he started counting. One, two, three, four,. . . ten. He had ten fingers, which made him breathe out in relief despite his horrible situation.
He knew that he was deep inside the preserve, not a sound of civilization breaking through the silent wisps of the night. He was exhausted and ached all over. He definitely won't be able to walk the distance towards help.
He laughed spitefully at himself. Despite having dug himself out of his literal grave, he'll still die. Maybe a mountain lion will prowl by and decide to dine on his corpse. Or maybe a wolf. He giggled at the thought, only to cough from the scratchiness in his throat.
How would his dad take the news of his death? How about the pack? He grew closer with all of them, even Derek, after the whole debacle with the blacklist of supernaturals wrecking havoc on the town. Just the other day, he, Derek, Scott, Kira, Isaac, Allison, Erica, and Boyd had a pack night over at Derek's loft, one filled with a Batman marathon, buckets upon buckets of buttery popcorn, and a heated debate about what to watch on their next pack night. Stiles fought for Star Wars because Scott still hasn't watched the whole thing yet, but he was outnumbered by a vote of six to one. Derek refused to vote but that was just expected. The majority opted for Avengers even though Stiles had already seen it enough times to recite their lines from memory.
Stiles chuckled bittersweetly. Now he won't get the chance to watch the adventure movie with the pack. Or watch anything with the pack for that matter. He was going to die here. Alone. And that was the most frightening thing. He won't get to find out why he was buried in the middle of the preserve at the dead of night; he won't get to see his loved ones one last time. His eyelids felt like concrete blocks and he couldn't resist the need to just close his eyes. All he saw were the pretty, shining stars in the night sky as he surrendered to the welcoming hands of oblivion.