shadows || emptier than the void pt i

i.

- - - - - -

They had been trapped in a collapsing cellar underground: Melissa, Chris, Noah, Isaac, and Scott. Stiles was supposed to meet them, supposed to save them with his trusty aluminum bat. But he never came.

"I'm gonna kill him later!" Isaac growled, but his death threats were cut off with a scream as he caught one of the crumbling support beams.

"Isaac!" Scott shouted, lunging over and taking some of the weight. The strain eased in Isaac's face, but not by much. Scott was, in comparison to Isaac's six-foot-two, quite short.

Isaac grunted, knees trembling as the weight crushed him. "Go, get out of here!"

Scott hissed in pain, spit flying from his mouth. "Not without you!"

With the sound of crunching wood, beams sank lower, but the weight was suddenly lifted. Looking over their shoulders, they saw that the sheriff had freed himself from his bonds and positioned a fallen beam to support the crumbling ones. But it was splintering by the second; it wouldn't hold for long.

Without taking a breath to thank him, Scott snatched his mother and Chris and bolted for the steps, Isaac and Noah hot on his heels. He could feel the cellar collapsing behind him, air rushing out as if a monster had roared in an action movie.

All five of them collapsed to the ground far away from the Nemeton, breathing hard and muscles aching.

"That was intense," Isaac gasped, rubbing his hands across his dirt-smeared face. Scott nodded, pushing himself up onto his elbow.

"Good thinking with the beam," he said to Noah. "How'd you get free so fast?"

"I'm honestly not sure." Noah groaned, making old man noises as he stood and leaned against a tree for support. He gingerly tapped his leg to the ground, and Scott realized he smelled blood. "Not sure if it was my police training or the fact that Stiles and I would play bank robbery when he was little. I always had to be the victim with my hands tied behind my back like that." His eyes widened, as if he remembered something. "Stiles," he said under his breath.

"Are you bleeding?" Scott asked, pointing to his leg. The sheriff rolled up his pants leg and winced, but it was only a small scratch. He waved his arm dismissively and turned to help Melissa up from the ground.

"I'll walk it off." He started sweeping the landscape with his sharp eyes, brow wrinkling. "Hey, Stiles was supposed to meet you in that cellar, was he not?"

"Um...yeah." Scott shook his head. "I dunno what happened to him."

"Happened to him?" The sheriff suddenly looked panicked. "You're telling me there's a freaky melted-face-lady and an alpha pack roamin' around the streets, and you don't know where my son is?"

Isaac stood up behind Melissa and dusted himself off. "We'll find him," he promised. "He's probably fine."

- - - - - -

It felt like they searched for hours. Though Scott knew he could cover more ground without the sheriff, he insisted on sticking with him, knowing that he would be the one to find Stiles since they were such close friends. And his premonition had been right.

Just as he and Noah were going to call it quits and head back to the station to start a search party, Scott caught a whiff of Stiles' scent in the air. And it was thick with blood.

"I think he's in trouble," Scott said, voice shaking in fear. "This way!"

Through the trees, Scott could see smoke rising into the night sky, spotted the Jeep crushed against a tree. The road behind it was empty and devoid of cars, no sign of trouble. Without waiting for the sheriff to catch up, Scott broke out into a sprint.

The hood was crumpled into the trunk of the tree, glass from a headlight sparkling on the ground from the moon, but it didn't seem like Stiles had been hit by another car. Stiles himself was pressed against the window of the car, apparently unconscious. Ignoring the bolt of panic that stabbed into his stomach, Scott yanked open the Jeep's door with a metallic whine.

Stiles fell back limply into Scott's arms, his head lolling violently to the side. Scott caught a glimpse of a huge, bloody gash on his forehead as he dragged him out of the car and laid him onto the grass. He couldn't help but notice that Stiles' seatbelt hadn't been buckled.

He could hear Stiles' faint heartbeat, but one hand still flew to his neck and the other clamped around his wrist, checking for a pulse. Scott heaved a sigh of relief as he found it, though it wasn't as strong as it had been the only other time he had had to check it, during health class last semester.

Stiles was going to die, Scott realized, unless they could get him to the hospital in time.

"Stiles, can you hear me?!" Scott shouted as the sheriff's urgent footsteps ran closer and closer. "Stiles! Wake up!"

As Noah broke through the tree line and caught a glimpse of Stiles lying on the ground, his composure was shattered with a shard of agony. He threw himself down on the ground next to Scott, hands fumbling for his police radio.

"I've got an 11-80 on--uh--Sycamore and Main, off the side of the road!" He grasped at Stiles' shoulder, staring into his son's face with horror and panic. "And it's my son, dammit, so get off your asses and get down here now!"