Stiles jumped over the first floor balcony and ran across the wooden bridge behind the hell house.
Stiles ran through desolated woods over uneven ground. The light of the full moon cast moonbeams through the trees lighting the way. He cut his bare feet on rocks, slid over rain slicked grass, and stumbled over tree roots but he didn't dare stop running. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own harsh breathing. He'd been chained up in that damp moldy basement, in one spot for so long, that he was out of shape and already tired and he hadn't even gotten that far yet.
The air smelled clean and fresh like dirt, grass, and whatever plants grew in the forest. It was so much better than the dank basement that smelled of unwashed bodies, rotting food, and the coppery smell of dried blood. Stiles was naked and freezing. The last time he remembered being outside it was spring. The tight black v-neck and skinny jeans Lydia had brought him had been perfect for the weather and an evening at Jungle.
He missed the protection that clothing provided from the weather and searching hands against naked flesh. His abductor, Matt had cut them off of him that first night and never replaced them with anything else. The air in the basement was always cool and the cement floor hard and sucked any warmth out of his body no matter how much he curled up to try to keep it in.
It must be late autumn or the beginning of winter because the tree branches scratching at his hands and face were bare of any leaves. He kept looking behind him but he didn't see Matt. When he couldn't run anymore he just walked as fast as he could and waited for the stitch in his side to go away. He listened for the sounds of people, cars, or anything that would indicate he was close to civilization but there was nothing. He felt alone and so scared and all he wanted was his dad. His dad was the sheriff of Beacon Hills and he would take care of him and protect him and make sure no one ever hurt him again. Thoughts of his dads strong arms around him and his smell; gunpowder, molasses, and old spice were the only thing that kept Stiles going.
Out of nowhere it started to rain. Just what stiles needed. He was hurt, naked, and already cold and now he had a thunderstorm to contend with.
Stiles had been walking for an eternity and it was so cold and his thoughts were becoming more and more sluggish when he tripped over a tree root and rolled down a steep hillside. His body crashed through fallen leaves, mud, and rolled over tree stumps before he finally came to a stop on even ground. He tried to get up but he couldn't move. His entire body ached especially, when he tried to sit up he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and wrists. He fell back with a groan.
He looked around and all he could see was a copse of bushes and he could hear the sound of rushing water nearby. In a break of trees above he could see the full moon;full, bright, and beautiful. Walking and crawling were out since he'd seemed to have broken both his ankle and his wrist.
He flopped back onto the forest floor as tears ran down his face and sobs wracked his body. It wasn't fair. He finally got away and his dad would never know unless someone came across his decomposed corpse. He'd be a story on the Id channel with experts trying to piece together the last hours of his life, his dad desperate to help. Soon Stiles wasn't cold anymore as his fingers and toes and then finally his entire body became numb and he was so sleepy.
Stiles lay naked on the wet grass and listened to the storm raging above him. He was thankful for the pelting soothing rain as it washed over his battered, bruised, sliced skin.
He watched lighting brighten the wrathful sky above him. The awesome sights and sounds were the last he would ever witness as his blood seeped out of him, mingled with the rain, and sank into the wet soil beneath him. The sound of a powerful storm had always been his favorite music.
Stiles felt this uncontrollable need to burrow into a small space even though he knew he was alone. So he dragged himself over to a huge log covered in weeds and curled up along side it. He would have preferred a nice tiny cave but he was out of luck. It really didn't matter because soon the soothing sound of water and full moon were calming and he was just so tired. If he was going to die he'd rather die here than in that basement curled up in a tiny cage like the others
right before they died.
As he drifted away the sound of howling and the rustling of bushes registered in his groggy mind he turned his head to the unbelievable sight of a huge black wolf stalking towards him and as Stiles fell asleep he remembered that there were no wolves in California especially with red eyes.