Prompt Post 01
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These posts will remain open to preserve the fic contained within.
It’s his phone that wakes him up in the morning, trilling loudly from somewhere on the floor. Stiles grunts and falls out of his bed, scrambles across the floor with his eyes half-open. He picks it up hastily and slumps against the floor.
“Uh, hello?” his voice is hoarse to his own ears, and he clears his throat.
“Stiles? Where the hell are you? Is something wrong?” It’s Scott.
“Jeez, no, uh. Wait, where am I supposed to be?”
There’s a pause. “School, Stiles. We have a test in like, half an hour. Are you sick or something?”
Stiles opens his eyes and looks over at his alarm clock. Already after ten. Oh shit.
“No, I’m, I’m fine. I’m coming now. Slept through my alarm,” he mumbles. “See you in a bit.”
He hangs up and struggles to his feet, pulling his shirt off as he goes. He turns back to make his bed, only stopping when he sees the trail of blood in his sheets, smeared across his pillow.
“What the hell?”
He lifts up his pillow, trying to figure out how he managed to bleed all over himself last night.
The memories come back to him slowly, easing into his head while he speed-showers. The cat. The - the bite. Last night, when he’d looked at his arm -
He lifts it up, but there’s nothing there to see. No scratches, no bite marks, no bruising. He stands there staring until the water runs cold, which kicks him back into motion. It must’ve been a dream, he thinks, as he gets dressed and rushes out of the house. The whole thing was just a dream. But that doesn’t explain the blood, nor the uneasiness in his belly as he drives to school.
--
He’s almost late to the test, but manages to slide into his seat just as the teacher is about to do attendance. He grins at Scott. Scott doesn’t grin back, though, just frowns at him and leans forward.
“Seriously, are you okay?” Scott whispers.
“Dude, I’m fine,” Stiles says, digging a pencil out of his bag.
“So you survived the cat attack, then?” Scott asks. Stiles goes very still.
It wasn’t a dream, then. Stiles looks down his wrist, turning his arm to try to see if there’s some kind of mark he missed. But his skin is clear, normal. There’s no bite. It makes no sense. He realizes Scott is still waiting for an answer, so he nods.
Scott snorts. “You need to stop trying to pet strange cats, Stiles. You know they don’t like you.”
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, staring down at the test in front of him. But the words don’t make much sense, no matter how long he looks, and he keeps glancing at his wrist. In his mind, he can see the bloody and swollen skin, the black bruises all up his arm. It seemed so real, last night. So terrifying.
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I can't wait for more!
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