Imminent Future (Teen Wolf x Maze Runner)

The Nemeton

Thank you so much to everyone still reading this little old thing! I have since embarked (finally) on a bigger project, "Silver and Salt". If you like this short-story and/or are a Potterhead, check it out! ;)

          The canopy of trees blocked out the moon's light, casting eerie shadows onto the ground. There was no cool breeze sweeping through the forest, shifting the branches. No birds sang and no crickets chirped. All was silent, and all was still.

           Until they came along. Their feet snapped twigs and crunched leaves, the sound catching in the ears of the Supernaturals among them, resounding with booming volume.

           Snap! Isaac couldn't help but wince as a particularly loud one cracked beneath Stiles' feet.

          "Could you be any louder?" He snapped, completely shattering the weighted silence that hung in the air.

          "That just made it worse," Stiles shot back, "Talking is certainly-"

          "Stiles!" Scott interrupted, exasperated by the pair's near constant bickering, gesturing to the forest looming before them, "We're splitting up." Stiles took a moment to gape at his friend, who, in his mind, was having a stroke of extreme idiocy. Or perhaps it was a death wish?

          Stiles exclaimed disbelievingly, "Have you seen a horror movie? Ever? You never split up, ne-"

          "Don't worry, I'll stay with you for a while." Allison assured him. Wanting to argue his point further, Stiles rounded on his friend, only to find that both Scott and Isaac had already vanished. Stupid werewolf abilities....

          Allison stalked past him and into the gloom, notching an arrow and holding her bow in position, ready to raise it from the ground to an enemy at any given moment. Her expression was one of determination, set on finding her best friend.

          Stiles, equally determined, loped after her, not wanting to be left behind in the field they had previously occupied. Where there was no cover, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Stiles threw one last glance back at his trusty jeep, sitting patiently at the edge of the forest nearby the 'Beacon Hills Preserve' sign, before slipping past the tree line after Allison.

          Leaves still crunched underfoot, and Stiles could almost hear Isaac chastising him. The underbrush stretched it's sharp fingers towards them, trying to capture their legs in it's grasp. Branches defied them, blocking their path and scratching their faces and arms as the pair shoved them out of the way, Stiles attempting to swat them with his baseball bat.

          The silence and his own exhaustion bogged him down as he trailed after the experienced huntress, who's soundless steps were placed with practiced accuracy. Weaving through a maze of darkness and branches swinging out of nowhere, he could feel his own hope slipping by the minute. An icy chill ran down Stiles' spine, gripping his heart and sending it plummeting into the depths of doubt, chasing away any fleeting amusement. Would they really find Lydia in such vast woods?

          It was far too soon when Allison decided they had to split up, surely coming to a similar conclusion herself. They could cover more ground, but that barely increased their chances. She headed forwards to the right, pointing him at an angle left. Stiles was reluctant to separate himself from the talented archer, who he knew would be the one to defend him in battle, were the Darach to attack. Despite his admiration for the wooden weapon, well, it wasn't really an effective weapon whatsoever when dealing with the Supernatural.

          Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but decided that he would feel much worse speaking and disturbing the dense silence again, so instead Stiles followed her instructions and trudged through the woods. And then, with each step away from Allison and the rest of the pack, away from safety, he became increasingly jittery. His hands shook with anxiety as he reached up to push more branches out of the way, a sweaty grip unsteady on the bat, not eager to make noise without protection. As if he was alerting the monsters to his presence, calling them to his exact location.

          Crack! Stiles whipped around at the sound only to receive a solid smack in the face. Brushing away the offending branch, Stiles peered into the night for any evidence of a threat. However, he saw nothing. No glowing eyes.

          Glowing eyes that emitted so little light, yet captured your attention and drew you to them, pulling you into that lonely little world where only fear exists. No shadowy form. The dark shape that leapt out of the night to attack, bearing those monstrous glowing eyes. Together, they could pin you in place, so you wouldn't be able to move, frozen with fear alone.

          Stiles shook himself out of his thoughts and turned his back to the noise, going deeper and deeper into the Preserve. Stiles didn't dare call Lydia's name, too wrapped up in his fear that something sinister would hear. What exactly he was afraid of, he wasn't too sure, but it definitely had to do with the Supernatural.

          After what felt like hours and hours of walking and wincing at the loud noises his footsteps emitted, the trees began to thin out. Curious, Stiles walked faster, getting closer and closer to an area where he could see the moon's beams peeking through the canopy. Finally, he burst through the tree line, and into a moonlit field with a gargantuan tree stump sitting in the center.

          The white light made the stump glow with ominous energy. An energy that seemed to beckon Stiles closer to it, calling him to service for an unknown cause. Vines snaked over the stump, as if they were trapping it to its place in the ground, and the smallest of plants perched upon it, miniscule leaves stretching up to the starlit sky.

          Stiles knew this tree, known as the Nemeton, a 'beacon' of the Supernatural. The very source of all their problems. The beginning and the end.

          "Who's there?" Lydia's whisper was carried by the wind. He could just make out the very top of her strawberry-blonde hair peeking out from behind the Nemeton.

         "It's Stiles! I'm here with the others....but they're....in other parts of the forest," he explained as he ambled towards her. The helplessness of their situation dawned on him. If the Darach was around, there was no hope for his bat to overcome her. However, at the same time a certain comfort came with the company of another being.

          Now that he wasn't alone he felt his confidence (albeit very little to begin with...) returning, slowly dripping back into his consciousness. Stiles dropped his bat to the dirt and kneeled beside her, taking in her form. Lydia was a disheveled mess, her hair a tangled rat's nest, eyeliner and mascara smeared and set in streaks down her cheeks from tears. The ink cut through her porcelain skin, making it stick out all the more.

         "No!" Lydia yelped as his fingers scrambled to untie her bindings, "It's a trap, she's just waiting for you to come. Leave! Qui-"

          "Too late." Jennifer cut in suddenly, appearing behind Stiles. Her head was tilted to the side slightly and her mouth was curled in a wicked smirk as she gazed upon her victims. Everything had worked out just as she planned. No matter who had found Lydia, her power could overcome them. Although, it was strange that the Nemeton had chosen to call forth a human.

          Jennifer clutched a black silk bag in her right hand and a coil of thick rope in the other, waiting patiently for their moment to be used. Lydia looked on in horror, unable to do anything as Stiles scooped up the bat and swung. Easily, she stepped out of range, quickly stepping forwards afterwards to catch the bat before Stiles could turn it's momentum back in the other direction. Jennifer ripped it from his hands, a measly human grip nothing to her, and then she was swinging it towards his head.

          Baseball bats were a lot more effective on humans.