𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 | stiles stilinski ² ✔️

XXXII. TAKEN

The Stilinski car pulled up outside a large, historic building that had metal fencing wrapped all the way around it, meant not for keeping people out, but for keeping the people inside it. Stiles' mouth was slightly agape as he turned to look back at his dad. Noah only offered him a pursed-lipped smile before averting his eyes back to the mental asylum his son would be staying in for a while.

As soon as Stiles opened the car door the cold bit at his pale skin and forced his eyes to water, the hoodie over his body doing nothing to defend him. The sound of a motorcycle growing closer came as no surprise to Stiles or Noah as Scott pulled up by the car, ripping his helmet off and jogging towards them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott looked at Stiles, noticing the bags under his eyes.

The hazel-eyed boy could see the dark circles contrasting against Scott's tan skin too, but unlike Stiles, Scott liked to pretend that they weren't there. However, Stiles couldn't avoid the feelings he was experiencing, the anxiety that was eating him up every single day for the past week since that night.

"Because we wanted to avoid something like this," Noah sighed.

"It's only seventy-two hours," Stiles reminded Scott.

The werewolves brows furrowed, "this is the same place Barrow came from. The guy that had a tumor inside of him filled with flies. Not to mention what Harper would think."

Scott's last statement only caused Stiles to wince, his hazel eyes casting away from his best friend and to the ground. Any time her name passed anyone's lips, it was as if someone had hit him in the chest with a hammer. It hurt just to hear about her.

Upon gaining no answer from Stiles, Scott looked back at his dad, "you don't know everything yet."

"I know enough," Noah shook his head, "Nogitsunes, Kitsunes, Oni, or whatever they're called."

Stiles shrugged, "no, that's actually all surprisingly correct."

"Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's. And it terrifies me," Sheriff Stilinski admitted, "I'm heading down to LA tomorrow to talk to a specialist."

"Then why are you putting him in here?" The Hispanic boy tried to reason with him.

"He's not," Stiles answered for his dad, "it was my decision."

"Stiles, I can't help you while you're in here."

"And I can't hurt you," Stiles protested, "or Harper if she..." He swallowed, not being able to finish his sentence.

Scott paused for a second, his heart aching at the mention of the brunette also. "Deaton's got some ideas. Argent's calling people. We're gonna find something. And if we can't..."

"If you can't," the Stilinski boy cut him off, moving closer to his best friend, "if you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay? Make sure I never get out."

Noah sighed, "come on."

He began to walk towards the gate, leaving Stiles and Scott alone for a couple of seconds. Scott looked at Stiles hopefully, praying that he would change his mind.

"What about Harper?" The McCall boy pleaded, using her as a last resort.

The tension could've been cut with a knife, it was so thick. Stiles didn't want to talk about his girlfriend. For the past week, he had been stressing and ripping his hair out over whether she was okay or not.