𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 | ❝ run like the wind, and see how long it takes for your problems to catch up with you.❞
oliver sanchez is a fan of running away from his problems, but when his problems start chasing him, things become complicated. 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓...
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{2.9}
"Where to Next"
***
OLLIE'S KNUCKLES HURT.
He had been knocking on Stiles's door for several minutes, and was starting to feel a knot twisting in his chest. The door was locked - which was strange. For a police officer and a neurodivergent borderline criminal, the Stilinski's don't seem worried about their safety behind the closed doors of their home. Nevertheless, Ollie couldn't turn around and leave. He just couldn't. Every second he spent knowing that Stiles thought that he was dead added a new fatal injury to his already beyond repair psych. He couldn't bear the thought of bleeding out before seeing him again.
And he couldn't be missing. Nobody would hurt Stiles before they would hurt someone else.
"Merde!" Ollie slammed his fist against the door. He felt tears well in his eyes as he listened, fruitlessly, for some sign that there was someone inside. "Please!" He yelled, leaning his forehead against the door. His voice was hoarse, as if he just woke up, and he felt a deep tiredness that seemed to etch further than just his muscles as he tried to force himself to take deep breaths. "Please open the door! Mr. Stilinski! It's me! It's Ollie! Stiles! Stiles, are you there?" He hit his fist against the door again, certain that his knuckles would be bruised the next day. "Please!" He felt tears burn his eyes, the small golden knocker that Stiles's father loved blurring in his vision. He sounded like a child - he felt like a child.
But he was desperate. Nobody had seen Stiles since after the game - hours before. His Jeep never left the school parking lot. He had just vanished. Ollie could assume that the Sheriff was looking for him; but that meant that if neither of them were home, he was still missing. Stiles was missing at the exact moment that Ollie wasn't anymore.
And then he heard it. Footsteps. He thought that he was hallucinating (given the past few days, it honestly would not be all that surprising) but then the door swung open, and Ollie stumbled; his foot catching the edge of the doorframe, causing his knees to hit the ground painfully.
His head jolted upward, his eyes wet and pathetic like a puppy. But it wasn't Stiles he was looking at - but it was his eyes. "M-Mr. Stilinski," he accidentally stuttered, and didn't have any real self respect left to care all that much.
Noah Stilinski looked like he was staring at a ghost. Dramatic irony? Yes. Perhaps. Ollie figured he may as well be a ghost. But he wasn't - and he didn't exactly have time to care about the older man's perspective of things.
"Oliver..." his voice was surprisingly steady, although his skin was drained of all color and Ollie noticed that his hands were trembling at his sides. "Oliver-"
Ollie sprung to his feet. The hardwood floor sent echoing thumps throughout the small home as he thundered up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the pain in his joints. "Stiles!" He yelled, his eyes feverishly scanning each doorway he passed. He stopped in front of the familiar doorway of Stiles's bedroom, a sharp pain in his chest making him hesitate as his hand grabbed the doorknob. He didn't know what he would do if Stiles wasn't inside. He actually had no clue.
