Lonesome Town

Thumb nail wedged between his teeth, his knee bouncing frenetically, Stiles stared at the departure boards. They hadn’t stopped doing that flipping thing since he’d got here. Sometimes it felt almost hypnotic, like he could slip back into that comatose state, other times each click was another twang of his nerves. If the right tune was played maybe he’d explode. It’d be one way to get out of here at least.

Stiles huffed out a breath and tried to slow down the rapid beat working its way through his body. His gaze ticked away from the board, scanning the crowd again. There had to be some way of escaping this place. People seemed to be managing it. Maybe most of the others hadn’t noticed it, but he’d always been good at spotting those inconsistencies. He’d have strung the clues and coincidences together, literally. People snatched from Mystic Falls, maybe from those other towns too. The weird ass desiccated cowboys that could turn invisible whenever they felt like it. The gunshot that had transported him to wherever this place was. Folks back home forgetting them.

Growling under his breath, Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face and then pushed up out of his seat. There might not’ve been many people awake in here, but the ones that were seemed to want to talk for the most part. He’d been putting the clues together from them, storing it all away in a brain that usually ran like a hamster on a wheel. Ghost Riders, people being gathered up almost like their souls were being reaped, but instead of people back home mourning the dead they were forgetting them. Some people were whispering about ways out, mysterious people popping in here and popping back out with people who’d been trapped – he was gonna believe that when he actually saw it for himself – people vanishing when their loved ones started remembering them. Hell, if it was that easy he should’ve been out of here by now. Between Lydia, his dad and the rest of the pack they had to be suspecting something by now.

Impatient, Stiles started to pace around. He took a circuit round the whole waiting room every couple of hours, ticking time off by it like how many days he’d actually been here mattered. Talk to the people who made eye contact, try and break through to some of the others. Get the hell out of the way when those things swept in here with new captives. Routine wasn’t gonna stop him losing his mind, but maybe it’d slow down the process a little at least. Especially since he didn’t have his usual chemical crutch in here.

From the entrance to the tunnel he hadn’t brought himself to explore right down to the end of yet, to the payphone that hadn’t connected to anybody when he’d tried it. He’d swear others had been talking into it, but who knew if they’d just cracked. From the departure boards to the door of what looked like an engineering room, complete with a radio that hadn’t worked for him either. It was like everything in here was meant to give you hope, but when you looked deeper than the surface, it was all a lie.

Nodding to a couple of people as he passed, Stiles started down the second row, skirting around it before he headed for the radio room door again. He might as well give it another go. The fiftieth time had to be the charm, right? A guy was close to it, not in the room yet, but maybe harbouring the same idea. Stiles hurried over, his grin instant, antsy. ”Hey man.” Slapping a palm against the guy’s shoulder, playing up the friendliness, he lifted his chin towards the radio room. ”You gonna try and get through to someone out there?” Maybe there was a knack to the damn thing, one he hadn’t managed to find. It wasn’t like he was patient enough to take his time with it.

Tagged: DEAN WINCHESTER * Word Count: 668