Stiles' head hurt. He didn't know why his head hurt or why it seemed so difficult to open his eyes and find out… but he did know that his head hurt worse than it had that morning when Derek had unceremoniously shoved him into a locker… wait, was it that morning? Everything was fuzzy. He could feel warm, comfortable drowsiness beginning to take over his mind but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He had to figure out what it was, and to do that he would probably have to open his eyes. He groaned as his eyes slowly cracked open and was startled by the glaring yellow light that immediately assaulted them. He could've sworn it was nighttime. He'd been going somewhere… where had he been going?
He'd been on his way to someone's house… Scott's? Yeah, he'd definitely been going to Scott's house. He was admittedly a bit slow at the moment, but his foggy brain was reasonably sure that he was not currently in Scott's house. He looked around at what seemed to be some kind of industrial roof. All he could see was gray metal seemingly stretching for miles and some empty fields in the distance. He would've been nervous about the height if it weren't for the fact that the roof was enormous and he seemed to be somewhere in the middle of it. He looked down and noticed that he was tied to a rickety wooden chair. "Yeah… tying someone to a chair does usually imply ill intent…" he mumbled to himself, panic starting to bubble up in his chest. He vaguely wondered if he might be dreaming, but then immediately dropped the idea because he was pretty certain a person's head couldn't hurt this badly in a dream. His desire to understand his predicament was soon overwhelmed by the nearly unbearable urge to go back to sleep. The cozy darkness of exhaustion crept its way up into Stiles' mind and he welcomed it gladly.