Stiles had only been a child when the ships arrived. In reality, he didn’t remember it. He was busy with kid stuff. His biggest concern was whether he was getting the red hot wheels car or the blue one for his birthday. The ships landing, the aliens, and the war, that was all adult stuff. It didn’t effect Stiles, not until his father left. All abided body men were being forced to enlist and fight against the invaders.
In that moment, with his father standing in the door, the war became real for young Stiles. John just tussled his hair with a smile on his face. He promising that when he returned, he would teach Stiles how to play catch and drive. Stiles cried for days, after his father left. His mother tried to console him. But her sickness made her weak. Most of the time, young Stiles was looking after him instead.
In the space of a year, Stiles went from a carefree fun loving little boy, to a sad orphaned five year old. Stiles was put in the medical tent. He was an errand boy. He would fetching towels, clean bandages, and other medical supplies. The first time Stiles walked into the tent and saw all the blood, he fainted.
It got steadily easier, and he soon became accustomed to men laying on the medical beds, bleeding out. The medical tents only yards away from the battlefield and it became impossible for Stiles to sleep without the sound of the bombs that shelled at all hours.
He spent the next fifteen years in the medical tents. He did what he could to help the soldier as they came from the battlefields. He missed his father, and hated the aliens for taking him away. He thought that maybe he could go and be a soldier. He could fight, and die with respect like his father. He could take some of the alien scum with him as he went.
But Melissa, one of the nurses, had convinced him that he was better than that. He could put what he knew to a good use, and save things instead of killing them. So he went from errand boy to trainee. He learned to remove shrapnel and mend with stitches. Most of the soldiers still died, but it as good experience. Most of the time he just watched and clamped things, allowing the real doctors to work.
It had been a long shift, and Stiles’ clothes was covered in blood. He was tired and ready to curl up on his cot in his small tent. It wasn’t much, but it was his home. But he didn’t make it to his house. Stiles tried to cry out, to alert one of the guards, but he didn’t get the chance.
The strong hands that covered his mouth prevented him from warning anyone. He felt the adhesive against his lips, preventing him from any sounds. The bag that was placed over his head prevented him from seeing. Those same strong arms pulled him from the path, towards an unknown location.
Stiles couldn't classify the nooses he heard as a language. It was mostly grunts, groans and the occasional growling sound. The hands that guided him would change direction every time a different noise was made. Stiles felt like he was being lead through a labyrinth. He easily lost track of the turns. He found himself lost. He didn't know where he was.
Finally, he was pushed to sit against something solid. He could feel cold metal against him arms. Wherever he was, it was silent. He could feel the ropes around his wrists. They were wrapped to tightly and he could no longer feel his fingers. He was frightened and confused.
The darkness suddenly became blinding light as the hood was ripped away. Stiles moved to cover him eyes, only to have remember that him arms were tied behind him back. He hissed in pain. He blinked and him eye adjusted. He looked up to see an unknown man. Only a table separating the two of them.
"If I take this off, are you doing to scream?" Stiles shook him head. The man quickly ripped the tape from him lips.
"Jesus!" Stiles hissed. The tape had taken a layer of skin with it. Him chapped lips were now bleeding. But he paid it no mind. His attention was on the man. It took him only a minute to recognize that the other figure wasn’t human.
There was no mistaking his origins with the marks on the man’s face. The marks were reflective, a light green against the man’s pale skin. The colors matching the figures green eyes. Stiles couldn’t help but be taken aback. For all the hatred that he had for the other species, Stiles had never actually seen one. He had heard stories about what they were like from the soldiers. But he had never seen on in person. Stiles hated himself for thinking that the figure before him was actually attractive. He shook off that thought, choosing to focus on his anger.
"Where am I?" Stiles hesitated. "What do you want with me?" The man said nothing, he just stared at the human. "I will not be some experiment for you to run tests on. That won't happen. I won't let you." Stiles glared at the man.
He fought against him bounds. He had heard stories about human being taken only to never be seen again. Stiles didn't want to be one of them. The alien before him rolled his eyes. He pushed from the table, pulled Stiles to standing. His strong hand around Stiles’ forearm. He led them from the table. Stiles tried to struggle, but the man's grip was like a vice.
It only took a second for Stiles to see the man lying on the nearby table. Stiles struggled against the hands, but he was pushed forward. The man on the table was hardly breathing. His chest barely rose before it fell again.
His chocolate skin was tinted red with blood. Large gashes covered his body. It was gruesome even after everything Stiles had seen. The man stopped him beside the bed. Stiles turned his head away, unable to look for more than a moment.
"Can you help him?"
"I don't know anything about your kind."
"He's human. Can you help him?"
"I'm not a doctor."
"Can you help him or not?" The alien’s voice was cold and harsh. It rumbled in his chest, almost like a growl. Stiles tried to turn away in fear, but he was still being held tightly.
"I can try. Alright! But you’ll have to untie my hands." The alien’s green eyes locked with his browns and for a second it was as if he was reading him mind.
"You're going to run."
"No! I'm not.” Stiles lied. “The longer you keep me tied up, the closer he gets to dying. Do you really want to risk that?" Stiles saw something flash in those greens eyes, before they were stone once more. "Let me try and help him." The alien hesitated before quickly cutting the bounds.
"You help him, and you won't be harmed." The alien ordered. His voice was cold.
"Understood. But I'm going to need an assistant." Stiles looked at the man, who looked like a deer in the headlights. "Look, I don't know where anything is located. All you have to do is get me the stuff I tell you, alright?"
Stiles didn't wait for a response. He washed his hands and snapped on overly large latex gloves. He began listing off the supplies before the alien could respond. He was quickly away, fetching the items.
Stiles began to work. Hoping for his own wellbeing that his training would come in handy. The alien watched his every move. He hovered over him as he inserted the IV and hooked him to the ECG machine.
"What is that?" The alien asked concerned when he infused the pain killer with the IV line.
"It'll help with the pain. Get him to relax some."
The numbers on the monitor began to stabilize. The numbers were lower than they should be, but they were stable. The alien stood across the table from him as Stiles began to stitch the gashes. Stiles found it hard to focus as it watched him. His hands were shaking as he finished one of the last cuts.
The injuries man's breathing had improved, but his numbers were still low. The blood he had lost was significant. Now with the wounds sealed, the man’s blood pressure should increase. Stiles sighed.
For now, the man was alive. Stiles looked to him capture. The alien was studying the injured man, a look of worry on his face. Stiles didn't realize until that moment that the alien had taken the injured man’s hand in his.
"He's stable, but he can't be moved until his numbers are high. Is there a place for him to go, a bed maybe?" The alien pulled back a curtain to reveal several beds and monitors. "Good." A silence fell over them. "When do I get to go back?"
"When he's better."
"He is better... At least better than when I came in. Will you please just let me go?"
"You are needed here, in case something happens to him. You will leave only once he is awake."
"That could be days! People will wonder where I am. They will try to find me."
Stiles looked at the alien that was now across the room from him. He didn't seem to care. Its arms folded across its chest and he shrugged. His eyes were fixed on the injured man.
Stiles found it an opportune moment. He broke out in a run, headed for the door. He didn't make it far, not even all the way across the room. The alien was faster than him, and within seconds arm were around him. He was forced back into the room. He struggled and kicked but the alien was stronger than him. He was forced back into the chair.
"That was not a smart move." The alien’s voice was a growl. Stiles’ hands were tied behind him back, to the chair. "If his condition worsens, than you tell me. Until then, I want to hear nothing from you."
"You don't care about us… about humans." Stiles called as the man reached the doorway. He froze. "Why does is matter if he gets worse? Or better? You hate humans, you want us dead. He dying would be just another win for you... creatures." He allowed him bitterness to show through in his voice.
"No sound from you unless he gets worse. Don't try to escape, there's no way out."
"If he gets worse, how will I tell you if you’re not here?"
"I'll hear you." He exited without another word.
Luckily the monitor was easily read from where he was chained. The man’s vital signs continued to rise. The threat to stay silent seemed real enough that Stiles didn't speak. So he watched, and waited. His arms beginning to ache. He could feel the dread in his heart. No one would come for him. And there was no way out. He was going to die.