???????, stiles stilinski

𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐘

Loud ringing from his phone drew Scott out from the deep sleep he had been in. Given the life that he and his friends had been living in the previous year, his phone was very rarely off. And the peace that would amount in the moments it was off, was not worth missing a potential wake up call.

Reaching for his phone, he read the name on the screen and was instantly flooded with concern. "Hey, man. What's up?"

When he received no response but weighted breaths, he sat straighter. "Stiles?" With his breathing growing heavier, he listened to the background noise from the call. Hearing nothing that concerned him more than the rapid rise and fall of his best friend's chest. "Stiles? You there?"

"Scott? Hey, l'm here." Stiles finally rushed out, his voice quiet and seemingly terrified.

"Are you okay?" Other than the boy's gasps for air, there was no response. "Can you hear me?" Scott pushed again, climbing from his bed to stand. Scott found in moments such as these, he preferred to be on his feet. Typically pacing. It made him feel more alert and less likely to pass out due to the sleep deprivation he found himself fighting often.

"Scott, I don't know where I am." Stiles whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know how I got here. I think I was sleepwalking." Stiles hushed. Some rustling could be heard in the background, giving Scott the hint that he was somewhere on the floor. Possibly sat or lying down. The ground seemed rough, like gravel or dirt.

"Okay, um, can you see anything? Just tell me what you see." Scott pushed.

"Ah, it's dark. It's hard to see." Stiles described minimally. "I think there's something wrong with my—"

As the call cut off, Scott's breath latched in his throat. Rapidly, he tore the phone from his ear and dialled Stiles again. Hitting voicemail each time. Every time Stiles' chipper recorded message interrupted, felt like a stab to the wolf's gut.

"Hey, this is St—" Scott cut off the phone, resorting to trying once more before he rallied the group and his family to trace the Stilinski boy.

"God, come on!" He shouted, calling one more time. When the line was simply quiet, a spark of hope shot through him. "Stiles?"

"Scott, I don't think I can get out of here. I can't move." Stiles rushed out, his voice still lower but desperate to give as much information to Scott as he could.

"Where are you?" Scott asked, pacing around his room as he gathered his things together.

"I don't know. I don't know. It's too dark. I can't see much and something is wrong with my leg." Scott's heart dropped. If he couldn't walk, it was down to them to find him. "It's stuck on something, and it's, I think it's bleeding."

"How bad, Stiles?" Scott asked frozen to the spot. Stiles could be heard grunting as he moved around. "Stiles, how bad is it? Stiles, are you there? Can you hear me?" Scott shot quickly, not gaining a response to any of his questions.

"Ah, there's some kind of smell down here. Something smells terrible." Stiles spoke, not answering the questions. "It's brutal. My eyes are watering."

"Okay, listen, I'm calling your dad. And Lia—"

"No, no, no, no, don't! Just don't call them." Stiles rushed out. "Promise you won't, they already worry about me too much. Scott, please."

"But what if I can't find you?" Scott worried, not fathoming not telling his best friend's father or girlfriend. His girlfriend being his childhood best friend also. Not to mention the fact she would quite literally kill him if he didn't. "Stiles, I can't make a promise like that."