"Ow," Stiles mumbled, his sight hazy. His first reaction was to say, "Scott?" But when his surroundings faded into his line of vision, he realized Scott wasn't anywhere near him. Wherever he was, he was cold. He blinked, trying to move his hands, but found his hands tied behind his back and his feet tied to the legs of the chair he was sitting on. "What the...Hey? Where am I?" He asked out loud, but heard nothing but rustling behind him in response. He was facing a door, and saw a cart with medical equipment on it. Determined to figure out where he was, he tried rocking the chair to move it, to see what or who was behind him. After a few tries, he got the chair to turn, and he turned to his side to see what was behind him.

"...oh my god." He said as he viewed rows of hanging bodies on meat hooks. "...oh my god. This is not...this is not good." He looked around for an optional exit, but there weren't any windows.

"Don't worry," A woman said from across the room, walking out from a steel door. It swung shut. He stared at her outfit - a white bloody apron, and yellow gloves.

"I'm...I think it's too late for that." He said, his voice cracking as she got closer. He winced as he tried moving his now sweaty hands, but the ropes were tight. "I...why am I here?"

The woman reached the metal cart, and she spun it ninety degrees so it was even with his chair. Picking up a meat cleaver, she ran her gloved finger over the sharp side, then grabbed a knife sharpening rock and started grinding it against the edge. Stiles swallowed loudly, not bothering to cover up how disturbed he felt by this situation.

"You know why you're here, I'm sure." She smiled jovially, continuing her task of sharpening the edge of the instrument she was holding. "So when did they do it? I find it laughable they let you out before the transformation was complete. When did they introduce you into the pack?" She set the knife sharpening rock down on the metal table, and held up the cleaver. "We like keeping our numbers down in Beacon Hills. The Hales have an issue with that concept. It's not shocking that they're losing the turf war. Trying to recruit teenagers...that's just humorous."

"Turf...oh my god, there is a mafia. There is a mafia and you're cannibals," Stiles said abruptly, shaking his head, "No- you've got it wrong, I didn't...I'm not like, in any mafia, I just...I held a baby, that's it. I just held their baby. I'm not part of any gang war, I swear, I won't say anything about this, I just...just let me go home."

She laughed as she leaned forwards, ruffling his hair. He recoiled in disgust. "I'm sorry Stiles. But you know too much. My Sean has been watching you at high school." She leaned forwards, sniffing his jacket. "Ugh. You reek."

"...of...I mean, I wear deodorant." He gave her an offended look.

"Of dog," She said as she reached down to cut his hand tie, then the ties on his legs as she said, "Don't run. It'll make this so much worse." Stiles froze in place as she yanked off his shoes, then grabbed the arm of his jacket, tugging it off of him. His mind was racing with possibilities as he looked around the room- then saw the rock laying out on the metal table. Without delay, he grabbed it and swung it towards the woman's head, sending her flying to the floor. He took off towards the metal door in his socks, barely looking over his shoulder as a deafening roar erupted from where the woman was. Almost scared out of his skin, he grabbed the cold handle of the door and tried yanking it open, but then spotted a key code pad next to it.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Stiles said in an exasperated tone, slamming his hand against the metal door and looking back. Among the hanging plastic-wrapped bodies, he could see a huge form of something strange looking crawling towards him. The sound of a cell phone going off rang through the room, and the creature scuffled over out of sight, and a low voice could be heard.

"What do you mean the alarm system - David? Damn it!" The phone was thrown at the floor and skidded across the cement. Stiles was walking cautiously against the back of the wall, his breathing shallow and his hands shaking from the cold.

The lights went out, and now he was immersed in the darkness.

"Stiles...you've been so good until now. Come on, I just want to talk." He felt the outline of a shelf, and started walking by it, trying not to make any noise. He could hear the scratching of something across the floor as it moved. He didn't respond to it, whatever it was. Instead, he tried to feel the cold stone indentation, which meant there was another hallway. He quietly shifted around the wall, trying to feel in the darkness where he could go without making a sound. "If it's not me, it'll be someone else, Stiles. Isn't it better to get it over with now? This war isn't going to end today, Stiles. How unfortunate they dragged you into it."

His hand hit another door, and it made a low thumping sound. Cursing, he flung himself against the door and felt out the door knob, barely closing it behind him and locking it as he heard a thud on the other side and a loud screech. He hit the wall and tried feeling out a light switch, which he flicked on immediately. It was a stairwell. "I'm in a basement," He said to himself as he ran up, gripping the railing. He stopped, looking back at the bottom of the steps - there was a crowbar. He padded down the steps again, retrieved it and then started up the stairwell. In his hurry, he hit the cellar door to the outside, then flung it open. Crawling out, he looked around in the darkness. He started off towards the woods, running across the cold ground, trying to get as far away from this house as possible.

When it felt like he couldn't run anymore and civilization wasn't anywhere in sight, he passed out against a tree, breathing heavily. He was covered in sweat and leaves, scratches on his arms from running past branches recklessly. Sitting down on the ground, he held the crowbar against his chest protectively as he listened to the chirping of crickets. "Fuck." He said out loud, putting a hand over his face and trying to bite his lip to keep from crying out of frustration. What the hell was that back there? Glancing around with water building up in his eyes, he made sure he was alone before he breathed deeply, relaxing. It was short-lived, because at that moment he heard a crunch of forest turf nearby, and he tensed up. He brandished the crowbar threateningly as he stood to his feet, and said, "I will stab you I swear to god I will kick your ass! I might look weak but this is a really heavy crowbar! Stay back!" He stumbled in a circle, trying to look in the direction of the sound.

"Calm down, diva," A man emerged from behind a thick tree, smirking as he put up his hands. "Not going to hurt you. Peter Hale. I think you know my nephew. Actually, I know you know my nephew. I'm going to have to ask you to follow me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Stiles said as he pointed the crowbar at Peter, using both hands to wield it. The short brown haired man walked up, looking at the crowbar before he reached down and slowly removed it from Stiles' hands with one small tug, which sent Stiles falling forwards. He tossed it aside.

"We can do this all night, or you could just come with me and get some answers. I'm sure you're confused."

Stiles picked himself up off the ground, clenching his teeth together as he stood back up. "I'm not going anywhere with you, are you deaf? I said I'm not going anywhere with you. If you have a phone, I'd gladly use it, but I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't know how many times I have to say that for you to get it through your head."

Peter shrugged, reaching in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He held out to Stiles. Stiles stared at the offered smart phone, and cautiously reached out to take it from the other, but Peter snatched it back and held it in his hand. "If you want to use it, you have to come with me."

Giving him a look of disbelief, Stiles threw his hands in the air and said, "Are you kidding me? I just was abducted- the second time in two weeks, let me remind you, and you want me to go with you willingly? Do you people think I'm stupid? I'm at the top of my class! I'm smart! I'm not going with you!"

"You look cold," Peter commented, ignoring Stiles' display of ego. "I have blankets in my car."

"I don't want your damn blankets. I'm not getting in a car with you. Look, I just want the phone to call my dad." His eyes started to water again and he pointed at the phone, then motioned for Peter to give it to him.

Peter laughed, then said, "What? You think if you cry I'll give you the phone? If I give you the phone, you're going to take it and run." Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth agape.

"No I won't. You're making unfair judgments of my actions. I would make the call right in front of you and then give the phone back. Honest."

"So I give you my phone, you come with me. You get a minute." Peter walked towards Stiles, then handed him the phone. "I'm counting in my head so you better dial fast."

Stiles stared at Peter, holding the phone in his hand. He turned on his heel and took off into the darkness, jogging as fast as he could. He made it around several trees before he hid behind one, and lifted up the phone. He hit the button to make the screen illuminate, and then stared at the passcode screen.

"Oh, you have to be joking." He swore as he glared at the passcode screen, pressing all 1's, then all 2's. He was about to enter 3's when a hand reached out and grabbed the phone from his hands, and he jumped as he looked at the stranger from earlier.

"Don't lock me out of my phone. By the way, you looked like a runner. And we really don't have time for this." Peter said as he reached over and grabbed Stiles, wrapping his arms around him from behind and keeping his arms pinned against his chest as he struggled. He carried him a ways before Stiles started openly protesting.

"This is just weird. I can walk. I can walk." He insisted, and Peter gave him a resounding,

"Nope." He grimaced as he made his grip tighter. "You picked this when you ran." They reached an old antique-looking car, and Peter let go of Stiles for a split second as he opened the back door, shoved him in, and then shut the door. He went to the trunk and popped it, grabbing three blankets before he tossed it in the backseat with Stiles, right at his face. "Cover yourself up. You're making me cold."

Stiles gave him a dirty glare as he shut the door again, and climbed in the front seat. Reluctantly he started unfolding the blankets and put them over his lap, finally feeling the warmth returning to his legs. Even though it wasn't the middle of winter, it wasn't near the end either.

Peter started the engine and then started off down the road, and they drove a ways before he turned on the radio. Beck's I'm a loser Baby came on, and he turned it up. Stiles looked out the window, staring at the things they passed. Nothing looked familiar, how far out were they? Unless they were going through the woods...which would make sense, if they were going to the Hale house. After the song changed to Headstrong by Trapt, Stiles turned to look at Peter.

"Hey, are we going to Hale house?" He asked, trying to not sound afraid.

Instead of responding, Peter said, "Shhhhh." And went back to listening to the song as he drove. Stiles glared at Peter's headrest, then looked out the window again. He stopped for a moment as a shadow caught his eye- was it a shadow? Something zoomed past a few trees, going faster than the car was going. He leaned forwards and squinted, but it was gone. He looked at the rear-view mirror, finding Peter was looking back at him.

"What was that? Did you see that?" Stiles said, then slid down in his seat when there was no response again. He felt like he was being taken from one dangerous situation to another with no say in the matter. His will to speak was being diminished with every time he was ignored. As Godsmack's I stand alone came on, Peter turned it up again. When they finally pulled up to the Hale house, Stiles stared out at the building in the dark, remembering when Derek took him there just to scare the shit out of him. Peter got out and instead of letting Stiles out, he walked up to the house, his hands buried in his pockets.

"Shitty chauffeur," He said to himself as he looked at the house, wondering if he was supposed to go in. He leaned over to look in the front seat, and found his luck was a bit better than it had been earlier in the day. "He left the keys. He left the fucking keys!" He pushed the blankets off himself as he crawled over the middle of the seat, and then got into the driver's seat. He looked towards the house, and realized Peter was walking back towards the car. Without further hesitation, he wrenched the engine into motion, and hit the gas so hard he had to swerve to avoid a tree. He could hear Peter yelling at him, but he ignored it as he hit the gas and sped off down the street. He sped all the way to Scott's house, and veered into his driveway. He jumped out of the car, walking up to Scott's house and opened the door and shut it and locked it.

"Scott," He said pitifully, his voice strained. "Scott, where are you," He walked up his steps, and heard Scott's door open and saw his friend up at the top of the steps. He rushed down the steps and grabbed Stiles in a hug, rubbing his back as Stiles sobbed.

"Stiles, Stiles, oh my god. I'm here, don't worry. Thank god they found you." They sat down on the steps, Stiles leaned on Scott. "When those masked people picked you up at school..."

"Scott, I've been sucked into a gang," He said, his eyes watering. "And I just stole a car."