Witch Hunt (Stiles Stilinski)

Train Stations 137 and 146

After agonizing for what felt like several hours, Stiles sat down in the crowded train station. He'd combed the place over and over again, ignoring anyone whose hair was not long and blonde like June. June, whose face materialized in his mind with crystal clarity as soon as Stiles arrived to wherever he currently was. Her dark blue eyes, her bold expression, her rounded face and small stature, she was becoming real, but Stiles was having trouble finding her.

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that she was the one he'd broken out of Eichen House, or the one who could magically move a storm around a nemeton, or how she'd protected him, even saved his life. With a slight bit of discomfort, he also recalled how he'd once accused her of sacrificing people, and how there were many other reasons why he suppressed that memory. Most importantly, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten his promise.

His promise to prove himself to her, whatever it took. He thought of only her as his slid his key out of the ignition and surrendered himself to the Ghost Riders, thought of her face when he'd told her that he didn't need her, when he gave up on her. He knew coming here was the right option, the only option for him. His only mission was to find her and tell her he loved her, and wait for their friends to rescue them in the meantime.

But did part one of that mission have to be so damn difficult?

The ringing in his ears turned to a distant chorus of Please don't forget I love you, and Stiles sighed. He sat down, ignoring the itch of his arm underneath the brace he wore and devised a plan. Or something to bide his time. He looked around at the people he was next to, and wondered if they knew exactly where they were since being taken.

He peered over at the two boards reading Arrivals and Departures, then settled his gaze on the doctor who sat next to him. "Excuse me," He whispered, and she peered over at him. "Where are we?"

She looked at him quizzically. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, answered, "We're at the train station."

"Right. Okay. Helpful," Stiles licked his lips and tried again. "Which train station exactly?"

She peered at the board, "Train station number 137."

Unease had been sitting in his stomach since the moment he arrived, but now it began to bubble more prominently within Stiles, and he stared around once more. No one was going to be able to tell him exactly where he was. "Did you see me come in?"

"No," She shook her head. The doctor wasn't annoyed with him, but she didn't look like she was in the mood to talk.

"How long have you been here?"

She shrugged, "Maybe an hour?"

Suddenly, the older man sitting further down the bench that had been engrossed with a newspaper spoke, "We got here at the same time. It's been at least six hours."

"Six hours?" Stiles realized time was seemingly lost on these people. It hadn't felt like that long, surely. But nevertheless, the man nodded, then returned to his newspaper. Stiles turned back to the doctor. "Where are you going?"

She looked as though the answer was on her lips, but could never escape her mouth. Confused, she couldn't seem to reply. Glancing at Stiles, she began to dig around in her lab coat and scrub pockets. "Uh - I had a ticket with me somewhere. Um..." She trailed off, trying to find her ticket.

"Do you always travel in your work clothes?" Stiles asked her.

"I must have been in a rush."

Stiles left the woman to search for her ticket, as his eye had caught a closed ticket booth at the back of the room. He strode over to it, reading the sign that said Back in five minutes. Staring at the rest of the booth, he realized that the actual ticket booth might not have been occupied in the last five years. He dragged his finger along the counter and brought it to his face to see a thick coating of dust.