Stiles apparently has a type. You know unfairly attractive for this worldly plane while having perhaps some of the best wit around? The kind of wit that could be spoken with only facial expressions. Bonus if they gave Einstein a run for his money. Oh he forgot to add Alpha because it was now a thing, perhaps even a kink if he was going to be really honest with himself.

Or the one where Stiles realizes that his life should be a MTV show because the drama he has is worthy of cable television.

Or the one where Stiles meets another pack and gets to understand that Bella and Sookie really had the worst luck ever and he is not them but really it's reading like he is.

P.S. Tinkerbell is a bitch.

It's telling of the life Stiles lives that he isn't really surprised to wake up in a holding cell after getting abducted from the parking lot of a club. He wasn't even surprised to realize his wrist were shackled and chained to the wall. Life choices man. Stiles blinked a few times to try to clear his head while the rest of his body caught up to the fact that it was alive still. He looked around his cell noticing that someone else, two somebodies, were with him. They looked beat up with bruises and dried blood over their clothing and body. Thinking he needed to know how badly he was hurt before he started planning any way to escape, Stiles started to check himself to the best of his current abilities to figure out how bad it was this time. It felt like there was dried blood on the side of his head, he really had to get better hobbies if he had an intimate knowledge of what dried blood on your head felt like. Stretching and bending the rest of his body he felt a few cuts here and there but relatively he felt alright.

Sitting back against the wall, Stiles tried to figure out a way to get the chains off. He already knew his normal means of getting out, yes he has lived the last two years of his life in questionable ways you don't have to remind him thank you, were not going to work. His back pocket, where he kept the lock picks and other perfectly harmless but really useful odds and ends, was empty meaning he couldn't go ahead and use that path to escape. He tried the chains next. Shaking them up and down and trying to measure the space and pull it. It was tight enough that he wasn't going to be able to just slightly push his fingers out their sockets to slip out. He was going to have to break a bone or two if he really wanted to get out. He thought he needed a new life if he knew it wouldn't be an issue, he had done it once or twice before. Stiles only had one problem with his little plan. Self-experience told him that it was a pain in the ass to do anything else once you did it. He was lacking in supernatural healing and going on what he saw so far, he wouldn't have any backup once he escaped the cuffs. He nodded to himself after a few more minutes of contemplation; he was going to have to be a little bit patient. He had no clue where he was, no idea why he had been taken exactly, and he wasn't sure what he would do after he got out of wherever he was.

Did Stiles mention that one of the hardest things he ever had to do was to sit still and wait for something to happen? That it was like a physical reminder of all the times he would be forced to wait in the hospital to see his mother slipping closer and closer to death's door? That it reminded him of all the nights he would stay up waiting for his dad to get home; praying to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in, much less one that listened to him, for his last parent to live past this night? Knowing that all he could do was wait and let the Faiths deal with it? The same Faiths which so far had showed him little love if this was the life he was dealt in the luck of cards.

No? Oh well.

Stiles opened eyes had no memory of closing and found himself in another room tied to a chair. His mouth was dry like there was cotton stuck inside- it was a nice tell that there was a high chance of being drugged. He considered trying to talk but thought better of it, conserving his breath for when it was needed. You know the drill-screaming until your throat feels like it's bleeding as much to express your pain and to hope that maybe you'll finally be able to just pass out from the pain. He was going to need more than new hobbies if he wanted to get out of a life where he could write a handout or really let's be honest, a damn New York Times bestseller novel, on the best and worst ways to deal with being kidnapped and tortured.

There was one light in the room and it hung above his head. Someone was going for cliché much. He tried upsetting the wooden chair only to find out that it was actually bolted down. Whoever had him here had imagination and had obviously planned ahead for any what ifs; he felt the little tingle of spark that told him the chair was made of mountain ash. He sighed thinking that this in so many ways had gotten worse now; he couldn't even lie to himself that this wasn't a supernatural issue. This had supernatural spray painted with red all over it. His life. ladies and gentleman, one adventure after another.

He barely had time to register the rustling of what sounded like light brushes of fabric against skin before he felt the slam of a needle jam itself into his neck. Stiles gasped silently trying to keep still lest he jerk too hard and break the needle. Turning his head the moment it was removed he had just a second to glimpse the curling smile of his captor.

Fucking fairies.

It was just his luck, more a lack of it that this was happening to him. This will be good for you Stiles. Don't worry about anything Stiles. I know the area Stiles and nothing will happen to you Stiles. You're too paranoid Stiles. Who cares if you're going to be in another state Stilinski? You're going to be alright Stiles, there'll be just a few witches at the house you're staying at nothing more. You're going to have the most boring summer ever. You're going to miss not having action in your life. Nothing will go wrong. Obviously everyone and their mother was wrong if this was the peaceful, normal, and boring training vacation they all proclaimed it to be. This was everything Stiles secretly (not so secretly) feared would happen to him. He was so freaking right. Anything that can go wrong will eventually go wrong.

Deaton had suggested it right before school ended and the fumes of happiness, senior year here we come and all that happy we passed jazz, could settle and make Stiles think about just staying home and soaking up a nice and perhaps last pack full summer. It sounded like a nice deal; two months in Oregon with a known and old coven of witches and sparks who could help him to refine what ability he possessed and hopefully give him better direction into what he apparently Stiles wasn't a hundred percent normal homo sapien, he was something that was a bit witchy, spark, and something else completely magical that Deaton thought it best if he met others. The man already had his hands full with Lydia, who apparently was a necromancer witch and was inclined to think it was a nice idea to try to drag Peter back to the grave. "I brought him above, I can send him back below." was the last thing Stiles heard her yell once she got the hang of things and disappeared with intent to destroy.

The thing is it was perfect. It was beyond perfect. For the first time in two years Stiles finally felt like he had some measure of control in his life. He didn't have to hide any of his interests, he didn't have to keep second guessing himself, and for the first time since his mother died, he could ask all the questions he wanted and get smiles instead of sighs, eye rolls, or snarls. They embraced him as someone special and interesting. He learned so much about everything, granted he didn't know what he was yet but it was going so well he didn't care. In the light of a pregnant moon that shimmered and bloomed Stiles could be honest with himself, he thought about never going back to Beacon Hills. He felt horrible the next day for thinking it. But in those moments, when it felt as if he could do anything and choose any path without any ramifications? He was ready to run away to this paradise.

The world decided that he needed to have a reality check.

Life thought it would be cute and remind him what kind of bitch it was.

Stiles got getting the message loud and clear. Nothing lasts forever, especially when it's as good as it was for the past few days.

Pain like hundreds of wasps stinging and claws ripping into his skin yanked him by the throat back to the world of the aware. He tried catching his breath only to wince when he moved his mouth; lips split and raw with pain. Breathing hurt, like a dull and shattering pain that worked its way inside out. He didn't have to lift his shirt to know that one of his ribs was bruised or near broken; Gerard gave him first-hand experience with the feeling. Stiles only wished he could actually know the full extent of his damage; it would make it easier to plan a way to get out of this.

"You're finally awake. And here I was thinking that I would finally have a silent audience." Stiles jerked his head around to stare at his captor. He had forgotten about her while cataloguing his injuries. The fairy, or perhaps pixie, stood dressed like a homeless hipster Tinkerbell. She was boney thin with eyes that flickered colors worse than Derek's ever managed to do on his magical princess days. He squinted at her trying to figure out why she looked so damn familiar. The last time the pack had played (which really that's using the word in the worst possible way one can) with a member of the fae, kids were getting abducted left and right because the music told them to come. Needless to say that particular fae had nice late permanent dinner date with death.

"So, what happened to you? Did Peter Pan get tired of you when he grew up?" he started. It probably wasn't the smartest idea of an opening to use all things considered. You know pissing off the villain who is in control of the pain you're getting is never a good idea. Sure Stiles could claim he was clever but he could never say the same for his life preservation skills. The punch to the face wasn't a surprise and based on the memory of the last time the power behind it wasn't either. Once the fear of the little stars floating above his head taking over his mind had faded, Stiles chanced a look at the pixie. "My bad, I meant to say even Captain Hook wasn't desperate enough to want a Tinkerbell reject like yourself." He sneered spitting blood onto her already torn outfit.

Stiles heard the distant buzzing and hum of what sounded like a hundreds little wasp and flies before he felt the stabbing pain.

The knowledge that burning flesh smelled like bacon was something he thinks he could have lived the rest of his life without ever knowing.

"-ing, 'you reap what you sow'. Really I should put a spell on you to make sure you can't talk at all. Imagine that little mouth of yours sealed away. Maybe I'll sew it up for you? Or should I give you the same fate as Maria in the Pit and the Pendulum? I could use the tongue of a virgin." she threatened in a sadistically fond way.

If Stiles was feeling charitable and not waking up from a pain induced blackout while being dragged against stone cold floor, he would have given her 7 out of 10 on her villainous threat skills. Peter was better though, much more creative. Hell Lydia could smile while telling you in the most graphic detail exactly how she would take pleasure in cutting out your bowels and frying them the stove before feeding it to you better than this. Eye of newt went out of style the second time he met a witch. He needed to get a better life if he could actually rate warnings for future bodily harm rather than actually listen to them.

"Does that mean you're Torquemada and my beauty is leading you into temptation? Because if so, really I'm sorry you can't handle all this jelly-" he quipped out as her nails dug into this neck cutting off his air.

They suddenly stopped moving before Stiles was jerked up and brought close. She would've been considered as pretty if it weren't for her, well you know, the ragged outfit and evil cannibal aura she carried around. She had big round aquamarine eyes that glittered even in the low torch light that lined the walls. Her hair was that blue black that only anime or dye bottle could ever really make work well and she had lips that were plump yet thin. She was everything a model could only wish to be at 5am in the morning without makeup. She was pretty. She was beautiful, even with her shark like teeth that gave him the chills as she smiled at him.

"Unlike like my darling but stupid sister I actually do have a poetic sense to my life." She purred.

"So the depravity is actually genetic. It's everything else that makes you 'unique'?" Stiles countered.

She shook her head at him never letting her smile slip. "Lamia was a fool who thought that time had stopped having meaning after the Greeks, which really was what killed her. She couldn't, how do you humans like to say, 'get with the times?"

"G-g-god she was that much an old hag? I take it back. You look wonderful for a grandmother Tinkerbell." He stammered out with a false laugh trying to get something other than her really disturbing grin to slip onto her face. Her ability to maintain a smile through his admittedly lack luster snark is something to be awed and feared. Someone that grins through insults only grins because they have something worst in store for you.

"Do you know what my name was? I was called Titania long before I changed my name a few years after. Do you know what I was called, hmm?"

"Demona? Raven? Bitch?"

"Maleficent. Someone has to inspire you humans every few decades. Thanks to you, I'll be able to live up to the name."

"I'm not sure you can convince me to ask you why." Stiles countered as he struggled to get out of her too tight grip, which only made her grin into a full on smile. She kept her stare on Stiles as she waved her unoccupied hand around in an infinity twirl that forced a wooden dungeon door to swing open. Magic. Great. Stiles did not like where this was going at all. He had played enough World of Warcraft, enough dungeons and dragons, hell he had lived enough and been kidnapped enough to know that this was not the door he wanted to go into. This is not the door you are looking for.

"You could say I was inspired by fairy tales," she taunted as she yanked him closer and closer to the door before literally throwing him inside so hard he slid the last couple of feet until the wall stopped him. The slamming of the door closing felt too ominous without the added fact of her grinning at him through the bars. "Remind me again, what happens to little red? Oh, that's right. She gets eaten. By. The. Big. Bad. Wolf."

Stiles didn't even have the chance to point out that the wolf gets cut open via the Huntsman's blade before he heard the growling start up right next to him. He startles and tries crawling as far away as he can get from the feral sounding growls. He doesn't get away far enough before his back is already against another wall and two pairs of bright blue glowing eyes open up to stare at him. He tries to swallow the first whimpers of fear crawling its way up his throat with sticky hands. This is bad. This is really bad. But it could always be-

"A little red for a big bad red!" She laughs out over the growing growls.

-worse. Stiles can hear his heartbeat as if it's right there, pumping right next to his ears. He can feel it punching away at the boxing balloon of his calm. He can only imagine how loud the terror must sound to the wolves. He doesn't think the stench of fear smells too pleasant either. In the shadow of the bleak light, he can see another shape moving to stand up behind the two betas. He can't care too much about the fact that Maleficent is still cackling as she walks away like a villain well pleased. He moves slowly to the left trying to inch away from the coming danger. This is not going to end nicely.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" a girl like voice sings in the room much closer than he had previously thought.

Stiles swallows deep pushing against the wall as if he was Kitty Pryde and actually could phase through walls. "He's a great big sis-"

A rush of blue blurs across his vision yanking him up and slamming him up against the wall before he can even think about escaping. Did he have a sign across his body that said ' if found slam into things?' or something close to that? He didn't deserve to be manhandled this much. Callused tipped fingers grabbed hold of his chin tilting his head away from eyes of blue to a wicked grin and blazing pools of red.

The grinning alpha licked his lips, and honestly, Stiles isn't sure if he should still be afraid or turned on because god that looked sinful. He does not get any help from the guy either when his nostrils flair and his grin grows even more promising. He leans in closer towards Stiles' left ear and for a few seconds he honestly thinks he may be more at risk of dying from fear then mortification at mistimed lust. Fuck. Death isn't supposed to look hot. 'Please don't sound sexy. Please don't sound sexy.' he pleads to Fate to listen for once.

"Certainly not I?"

Fate is a bitch.

Comments always welcomed :D