Never Stop Running

N I N E

3rd Person POV

When Newt finally came to, his head was pounding. Well. pounding would be an understatement, since it was more like the world felt as though it was spinning at a faster pace than normal, and the mere thought made him want to vomit. When he finally opened his eyes though, his first thought went directly to his boyfriend, who's head lolled forward so that his chin was resting on his chest. It was clear that the brunette had put up a fight to be where he was, considering that small scratches and bruises that scattered his body, as well as the deep and gruesome gash lining just above his eyebrow.

It pained the blond teenager to see his boyfriend like that, and when he could no longer resist the urge to approach him and make his position more comfortable, he found his body was restricted. Newt did his best to take in his surroundings despite the situation with his bindings. The floor was cold and hard, like concrete, and really uncomfortable to sit on. It was covered in dirt and dust, making the several sets of footprints immensely noticeable from any standpoint. He rose his head to look past his boyfriend, who was tied tightly to a wooden post, or root would be a better word, and the wood all around it looked as if it were ready to rot away. They seemed to be underground, considering the cooler temperature, as well as the roots from an enormous tree looming above his head. Newt noticed an aged man staring at him with piercing blue eyes, and he jumped in shock.

"Who are you?" The man asked, and Newt couldn't quite tell if he was being polite but guarded, or straight up hostile. He was hoping that he was actually pretty cool, but Newt doesn't know the guy, so he can't jump to conclusions like that.

Newt looked around for a moment for see if the man was talking to him. Once it was made clear that he in fact was directing that question toward him, he cleared his throat, raising his chin to feign confidence. "'Name's Newt. Yours?" His accented voice echoed off of the dirt plastered walls, and the man looked at the teen warily.

"Chris Argent," the man replied before turning his gaze to Thomas, who was still out, and the blood from his head wound continued to drip down in a disgusting manner that made Newt cringe. "That's Stilinski's boy, isn't it?"

Newt shrugged, taking this time to keep a steady gaze on Thomas, allowing for himself to calm just by looking at him. "From what I've heard, he was. But he isn't anymore," Newt replied carefully. He didn't want to reveal too much information, but on the other hand, who really cared anymore anyway?

Chris eyes the boy carefully. "Noah may not be alive anymore, but Stiles is still his son. They've been looking for him for years now."

Newt's eyes widened. Thomas' father had died? But that wasn't what Newt meant by his statement, and he rushed to correct himself. "No, shank, what I meant was that his name is Thomas now. I wasn't aware of what happened with his father." He lightly tugged on the bindings once again, but they wouldn't budge,

Lines formed between Chris' eyebrows, as well as on his forehead. "Newt, what happened to him in the past five years?" His voice seemed to have lost it's edge; the edge that had been sharp and cutting to more dull and approachable.

Newt eyed the man distrustfully, and opened his mouth to reply, before he was cut off with a groan. The boy's attention snapped to his boyfriend again, and at the same time, a door slammed before footsteps resounded down the creaky steps. A young woman appeared, and if Newt wasn't gay, he would have found her attractive. She had flowy brown hair that cascaded midway down her back, and porcelain skin that made her eyes sparkle a bit brighter.

"Ah, hello boys! Hey Stiles, have you finally woken up from you little nap?" The woman asked, and Thomas looked up from his chest to glare at the woman ferociously.