World Away ➳Book 1 | TW&SPN

(un)familiar

okay, yes, Stiles is probably very disproportionate compared to Sam in the picture but it took me ages trying to find the right scenes and images so...

-///-

Stiles had been chained against a pillar for years (what he thought), but was merely and hour or two. Slowly, he could feel his wrists cutting against the cold manacles that bound them, in the hope of freedom soon; but were effortless attempts.

Turning his attention over to the straw bag, that was wrapped around his head. It blinded all his senses, with occasional strands of light that sliced through the material, glimpses of hope? he wondered. Stiles tried shaking it off by thrashing his head either side, but only drained his energy further.

Unexpectedly, the humane noise of a cough formed from somewhere in the room, with Stiles. First instinct was to panic of who (what) could be contained with him, but from the limitless films Stiles had seen, most times it turned out to be a familiar face, linked with attackers motives.

"Hello?" Stiles cried out.

Without realising, Stiles had carried on jerking his head as his panic rose. Eventually it slipped off and dropped onto the ground. He automatically squeezed his eyes shut and cautiously blinked them open - adjusting to the new light. But worse: a familiar surrounding.

Eichen House basement.

"Shit, shit, shit--" he breathed, with each yank of his frail arms. Yet, the outcome was more pain and most definitely more blood - feeling it slip away.

"S-Stiles?" a weak voice quivered out, "Is that you?"

"Lydia?" Shocked how he hadn't seen her, Lydia was slumped in the corner. Dried blood stained her temple. Similarly like Stiles, restricted against a column that was cemented to this hellish room. "What the hell are we doing here? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I honestly don't know," she answered, still in her feeble voice, "I went to the library this morning for some space away from my mom, and this 'guy' showed up. Said he was an FBI agent and if he could ask me couple questions about Michael and Adam's death's. So we went outside, and the next thing I know, he throws me in a van. I only just woke up when I heard you moving--"

"Wait, wait," Stiles interrupted, "this 'guy', did he look grizzly, like half-shaven, quite buff? And go by "Agent Singer"?" Stiles knew exactly where this was going.

"Yeah, oh my God, was he the guy that got you too?" Lydia asked, some how seeming eager.

"I don't know, I didn't see them. But I got a bad feeling it was. Ah, God, I knew we shouldn't have trusted them." he said softly to himself.

"What are you talking about Stiles?"

"Him and his brother, the Winchesters, came to Scott's earlier today, and told us they were hunters after they saw Scott and them were werewolves. But I knew it couldn't have been a coincidence that the moment they show up, all this crap unfolds on us. As always!" Stiles answered.

"Well, we need to get out of here and warn the others," Lydia suggested, but of course, Stiles had the same vibe.

All Stiles sees flash through his mind was both his and Lydia's terrific encounters (together and singular) of Eichen House. Ultimately, ending badly for one person or another. This fear and terror started regenerating Stiles. He knew he could do this - detach the shackles from his anatomy.

But instead of the relieving sound of them doing so, the creaking of the door at the top of the banister replaced it, and a large object began plummeting down towards him. As it laid lifelessly on the floor adjacent to Stiles, Stiles screamed slightly, and a silhouette was casted across the same ground.

Her heels cracked the metal as easily as glass shatters, and her sweet, summer skirt bounced in the air. The light that both struck n through the window and door gap, Stiles saw his crush standing meters before him. Before he spoke, she filled in his questions.

"Don't worry, Stiles, that's still your beloved girl trapped in the corner. As if she's really clever enough to escape from me," she said.

Already, Stiles knew she was evil. Her merciless eyes narrowed at him, with her cold smile sitting on her perfect face. Even the way she walked showed how empowering she thought herself to be - the real Lydia is, but shows it with pride and honour.

"And who are you?" Stiles questioned.

"Oh, hold on a moment, deary," she replied. She hooked her arms under the 'thing' that fell moments before down the iron stairs, and heaved him across the opposite direction to Stiles. "Let me deal with this lumberjack first."

She sat him against another pillar and yanked his arms round the back, surprisingly they didn't break them, but they did wake the guy up. He slowly tried moving as any normal person does when they come back to consciousness, but the girl was having none of it.

"Samuel, if you want me to hurt you again, I will." Stiles could hear the clanging of chains, that she was using to tie Sam up too, but finished as she yanked and tightened them, along with a wince from Sam.

"Sam? What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you the guys doing this?" Stiles asked as he was awfully confused.

"What? No. We told you: we're hunters," he replied.

"But, Lydia said it was Dean that took-- Oh." Stiles thought he had a solid case against them,  but then remembered that was before he saw that shape shifting into other people is actually a thing.

"Damn, Stiles. That took you a while," the shapeshifter mocked, "and the only reason I did kidnap you was 'cuz I thought you were one of the smart ones."

"Okay. Fine. But you didn't answer my question: who are you?" Stiles asked again. This time, more demanding.

"Think you should be asking 'what', not 'who'. But, let's start with yours, shall will?" she said.

She walked back into the darkness, with all eyes from Sam, Lydia and Stiles trying to follow her, but struggled. When she submerged back into the glistening sunlight, she was a new person - literally.

She was head to toe in jet black clothes like a combat agent would wear; even her hair was like the night sky and darkness of a deep cave combined. Yet, her eyes were a contrast, as they were clouds of a storm brewing - paradoxically, hints of red streaks were amongst them as if the lightning bolts created. It was only her lips that held the boldest colour of blood.

Behind her, she dragged a wooden stool which placed in the centre of the room and sat down. "Let me tell you a story of girl called Desconocido."

-///-

okay, basically, next chapter is this 'Desconocido's' backstory cuz I'm trying to space it out so
-emma