Nightmares of a Broken Winchester

Chapter 14: Dreams and Nightmares

    "Stiles! Stiles! Stiles!!!"

    Stiles had shot up from the hard ground and tried to clear his vision for the sunlight that nearly blinded him. He shook his head and rubbed both of his eyes with his hands. However, when he brought them up, he immediately felt a strange liquid brush against his face as he rubbed his fingers on his eyelids. When he he finally opened them, he screamed in horror to see that his hands were covered in fresh, gripping, dark blood. It had stained his pale fingers as droplets fell to the ground among the bloody puddle near him. He looked up and was baffled to see that the sky looked different. The sun was shining down upon him, but instead of a clear blue sky, he saw that there were clouds of grey and copper as the sky was now a burning red. What in the freaking hell is going on? He wondered. He's never seen anything like this before.

    "Oh my god, no, no," gasped Stiles as he looked around him to see stone and flesh meld together by blood. Dust and ash flew in the wind as it rushed past him. The humid air brushed against the sweaty skin underneath his shirt. He flinched when he accidently placed his hand on a dead man's face. Stiles groaned and crawled back until he bumped against another body. Stiles panicked as the body he saw before him was in fact his adopted father, Noah Stilinski. There were bruises here and there upon his body, some so deep that blood was dripping from them.

    "No, no, no," Stiles panicked as he tried to to shake the man he called father awake. Noah however, he didn't respond. There was no whimper, no grunt, no moan. He was silent. His skin was cold against Stiles' fingers. Stiles choked on the air as he just realized that his father was dead.

    "No, no, no." Stiles mumbled to himself. He looked down to see what he was wearing. He was wearing his normal clothes, only to find himself covered in dirt and blood. His hoodie clung to his bare torso underneath, and his jeans were ripped and scorched. He also saw that he was standing on a sidewalk with a few cracks or cement rocks sticking up from the ground. He slowly brought his head up to see what he never thought he would see before. Beacon Hill, his home, was now in ruins. Buildings had crumbled and the roads were decorated with the bodies of residents from his neighborhood or people who lived in Beacon Hills. With each step, he was careful not to trip over any of the former townspeople of this abandoned city. But this didn't make any sense to him. He had barely learned that Beacon Hills was going to be attacked by Storybrooke raiding monsters. Had they arrived too late? What happened? Why did they attack Beacon Hills? He didn't know!

    He remembered that he, Dean, Sam, Scott and Henry were driving here to Beacon Hills, and that Castiel had gone to Storybrooke to help the poor kid's family. How could he not recall what had happened right after?! Was he knocked out unconscious? Was the Impala attacked? What was going on here?! All he knew was that he was in trouble, for in the distance he heard roaring and growling. Slowly he turned to see something, a creature emerging from the fog. This creature had glowing red eyes that could burn through your very being. They were dominating. Pure rage mixed with confusion spilled from his voice, "Who are you? What did you do to my home? I'm not afraid of you! Come at me man!"

    Despite his need to stand strong, his voice betrayed for he whimpered a bit. No matter how far he was, he couldn't miss the wicked smile that appeared on the monster's face. At last resort, Stiles grabbed a bat from the ground, it was scorched and battered but it appeared useful enough to defend him. "Come on," Stiles yelled.

    The mysterious figured howled in the distance. Hell no, come really? A werewolf!? The creature growled as it charge after Stiles. Without hesitation, Stiles sprinted through the rumble and screamed for help, "Help! Help! Help! Help, please!"

    But no one answered. No one came to help him. The only thing he could hear was the rushing wind as it blew the dust into his eyes. Stiles tried to cover them as best he could without tripping over the bodies and becoming lunch for the beast trying to kill him. He scanned the area to see a few empty buildings with more bodies with a huge dust cloud rolling towards his direction. Suddenly, a light bulb had switched on in his head. It was a gruesome idea but if it could work, he didn't care. Immediately, Stiles grabbed some of the cold blood upon the streets from the dead people. With a groan in disgust he covered himself in the disgusting substance, from his shoes to his face. Out of everything in his life that he had to do that was disgusting, wrapping himself in dead people's blood was the worst. It felt foreign and disturbing as his body started to shiver more and more.