Clunk!

Stiles unconsciously stirs in his sleep, shifting his feet in the covers, but settles back into gently snoring.

Scratch! Thud.

He blearily opens his eyes and peers up at the ceiling. He tries to tune his ears into the soft noises of the dormitory. Nothing. It was probably the rattle of the dryer in the basement. Just as the freshman's eyes flutter closed…

Thump, squeeeeeak!

Stiles sits straight up in bed and glances around the room- the pitch black room. His heart has started to pound hard in his chest. He shakes his head because this is stupid. The nogitsune has been gone for close to two years. In another landmark achievement, he hasn't even had a nightmare about it in three months… okay, one month at least.

"Joe? Joey, are you back already?"

His roommate was supposed to go home for the weekend, but maybe he changed his mind. Maybe his parents sent him back already- his personality is like a limp fish; he wouldn't blame them.

Thunk!

Stiles jumps so hard his back slams into the headboard. His heart rate has skyrocketed. He reaches to the bedside table for his phone. It's not there. His baseball bat is right by the door, but that's so far away. He's not even sure he could find the door now if he had to because the room is so dark. There's not even a light from his alarm clock- something must have happened to the power. Something or someone…

Stiles gulps as he reaches over the side of the bed one last time. He pats his hand over the table. Briefly his fingers graze the cool plastic of his phone, and he latches onto it like a lifeline.

Pressing 1, he dials his dad and puts his right arm down to brace himself against the headboard.

"Stiles, it's two a.m., what's wrong?" his father's alarmed voice resonates through the phone.

"I'm in my dorm," Stiles gasps. "There was… then it…" He's too focused trying to force his words out to notice the dark hand creeping up the wall beside his arm.

When the ice cold form grabs his wrist, Stiles screams in holy terror. The spastic flail of his arm throws his phone into the wall to his left. He wails again as he pulls his arm free of the deadly grasp and falls from the mattress to the floor.

No sooner has he hit the worn carpet than a hand slides from under the bed and grabs his ankle. He feels himself being pulled into the inner depths of hell itself, but he isn't going to go without a fight. A scream bellows up from his soul as he struggles and fights against his ancient attacker. He kicks hard once… twice… until he feels the evil fingers release from his flesh.

Bounding to his feet, Stiles runs for the door. He fumbles with the knob for a second before the door opens. With the slight light coming in from the hallway, Stiles can see the creature rising up from the floor and lunging forward. He bursts out into the hallway and doesn't look back.

"Stiiilesss…" a gravelly voice calls after him. "Stiiilesss…"

The young Stilinski runs for his life down the deserted hallway. He knows the lights are flickering behind him, and it's coming. The nogitsune is coming.

He slides around the corner and into the stairwell. His feet pound the dull white tile as he spirals down, down. He rests his back against the second floor door and clutches his hand to his chest. Dear God, he prays, let this be a dream.

One… two… five… ten fingers.

"Stiiilesss!"

It's real.

Stiles opens the door and runs. He dodges the many opening doors as the other residents come out to see what the screaming is about. He uses his adrenaline boost to run the last three hundred feet to the bathroom.

Knowing it won't help, but willing to try anything, he throws the trashcan in front of the door. He lunges up and over the corner stall. He slams his fist through the window glass and pulls out the biggest shards. Sliding through the opening, he lowers himself onto the rain-drenched stone ledge. Not so gracefully, he swings down onto the first floor patio and sets his feet on solid ground.

He stealthfully pops the lock on the window to the dining room and slides into the kitchenette. He grabs a knife and settles down by the refrigerator.

"You're here!" the Dean of Students exclaims as he sees Sheriff Stilinski bounding down the hallway. Derek is close behind. "Thank you for finally getting here."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Beacon Hills is three hours away and I got here in," he raises his eyebrows as he looks at his watch, "an hour and three minutes. I should have turned my sirens on."

"That's not…"

Derek interrupts. "What happened?"

The Dean sighs, "We're not sure, but now he's locked himself in the kitchen. We can see from the cameras that he has a knife. He's threatening to kill himself if anyone goes in. The campus police and the counselor have both tried. Stress of transitioning to campus life affects many students, but this is…"

The Sheriff goes to the barricaded door. "Stiles! Tell me you're okay!" He hears a whimper. "Please, son. Don't hurt yourself. Everything will be alright."

"Don't try to come in!"

"Okay, Stiles. Just calm down. You're okay." The Sheriff runs a hand across his hair in the tried and true Stilinski manner. "You called me, Stiles, and you were scared. What happened?"

"I… I'd rather die than…"

"Than what, Stiles?"

A group of students has gathered at the end of the hallway. They're all chattering about what's going on. Derek turns his head when he hears a somewhat familiar voice. He turns toward the group and picks out the young man and the guy he's talking to.

They both still as the murderous looking Hale looms above them.

"Joey, right?"

"Um…" he tries to clear his throat. "Yes. Why? Who are you?"

"I'm Derek; Stiles' boyfriend. I've heard you during our Skype chats. There's something different, though. What's wrong with your voice?"

"Laryngitis."

"You're lying," Derek growls.

Mr. Stilinski has made his way over. "Boys? Something you can fill us in on?"

The second boy tries to run, but Derek grabs him by the collar. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Stiles is a freak. He wakes us up at night mumbling about shadows and voids and crap. We thought it would be funny…"

"Joey was the one under the bed!" Damien shakes under Derek's grasp. "I… I just held the camera. Stiles, he… he kicked Joey in the throat when he grabbed his ankle. We… it was just a joke. He tried to call after him, but his throat… He ran away."

"Thank you boys for confessing," the Dean smiles. "It's good to know it was just a practical joke."

"Just a practical joke?" the Sheriff asks incredulously. "My son is locked in the kitchen with a knife- suicidal because these two decide to prey on his biggest fear."

Joey cocks his head to the side smugly. "It's not our fault he has a vivid imagination and watches too many horror movies."

Derek looks him dead in the eyes. "It's not our fault that two years ago he was held captive by a psychopath and watched one of his best friends die right in front of him. It's not our fault that now because of you two idiots, his recovery has to start all over again!"

"Mr. … Mr. Hale, Mr. Stilinski, I assure you, the administration will take…"

Stilinski doesn't even spare the Dean or the boys a glance. "Save it."

Derek runs back to the door. "Stiles, he's not back. You're okay. It was Joey playing a horrible joke. You can come out."

"No! How do I know you're real? It's all… I counted. I'm awake, but… there's always a trick."

"Our code, Stiles." Derek presses his forehead to the door. "Only I know my biggest childhood fear…"

"Okay."

Derek gulps as he looks at the Sheriff. He starts to hum, then… "Rubber Ducky, you're the one, squeak squeak, that makes bath time so much fun."

He can hear Stiles softly reply "Quack, Quack."

The Sheriff furrows his brows.

Derek huffs and shrugs his shoulders. "There are pink underwear hanging on the rack beside him. WHOSE pink underwear?"

"It's his towel, you weirdo," Stiles mumbles somberly.

Derek turns back to the door, "Stiles, I'm coming in."

He forces the door open. Everyone can see Stiles standing petrified in the small dorm kitchen. The knife gleams in his hand.

He lets it fall and leaps into Derek's arms.

"Shhh… Stiles, you're okay. You're okay."

Stiles goes home with his dad and boyfriend. He doesn't sleep for two days.

"Babe, it's okay. It was just Jo…" Derek tries to explain again as Stiles pulls the mattress off his bed.

"Don't. Say. His name. And, it doesn't matter." He drops the mattress at his feet. "It doesn't matter if it was Void or if it was him, or whoever. They were in my room. They were hiding- waiting and watching. I was s-l-e-e-p-i-n-g, and he was UNDER my bed. I didn't even know. Don't you get how messed up that is?!"

Stiles sleeps on the mattress on the floor for a week.

Not even the pack surrounding Joey and Damien in a dark alley one night and scaring the living daylight out of them helps.

"Check my room one last time."

The Sheriff fights back an eye roll because he knows how freaked out Stiles truly is. He looks around the dorm room once again. "It's all clear. Stiles, are you sure about this? They offered to give you a private room. Are you sure you're even ready to be back?"

Stiles winces as he nods. "I have to be. Void stole my life once before; I'm not giving him the power to do it again. I'm fine. And, Joey's a butt, but not every room mate is. I want a shared room because there's no way I'm locking myself away from everyone forever." Stiles flops down on his bed. "I'm moving on. Again." He grins, "And if I put a dead fish in Joey's pillowcase, who's…"

"Stiles!" the Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales and gives in. It's just a fish after all; he'll find it tonight and it will be over with. "I'm going to pretend like I didn't hear that just this once, okay?"

"Okay."

Stiles doesn't tell him about the potion he had Deaton apply to the fish that causes… well, on second thought, maybe it's best no one knows.

End.