A/N: So, a darker version of Stitch's nightmare from Lilo & Stitch 2: Stitch has a glitch. I loved that movie more than the first, and may do a slightly darker re-write or sequel. Eventually. Any 'L & S' Fanfics I do will only have the first two movies as canon (although other points from the third movie and the tv show may be brought up. Very strong maybe).

So, I JUST re-watched this movie, and was inspired to write this :3. Enjoy~

EDIT: Jeez, this was on, like, six hours of sleep. Looked so much better yesterday.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned L&S, the third movie and tv series would have gone down differently. And we don't talk about Leroy. So me no own.

The Nightmare

It was the first time the dream had come like this. Before, it had been a lovely dream, one he dreamt of after his creation, when he was nothing more than the destructive monstrosity called 626.

But now, as Stitch, it was a terrible nightmare.

The day was like any other; sunshine after the rainy season, the air hot but not scorching, a sky bluer than his fur would ever be. It was lovely. Picturesque.

Then it wasn't.

A storm would roll in, not that he minded; rain wasn't his favourite, but the boom of thunder and surge of electricity gave him a strange kind of delight, like Lilo when she saw the fireworks.

It was the 'storm' that came before, the one caused by him that ruined the dream.

He was plucked from the comfort of the living room, where the room had begun to grow darker, like the sky, and a hollow chill had sprung up. Kauai didn't get cold rain. What was going on? Looking around frantically, he found the house empty of any presence and menacing. The door swung open violently, smacking back and forth as the wind increased in pitch and fervour. But before he could close the door, or find his O'hana, he was suddenly gone.

Clouds, fluffy, white, and innocent would surround him, and he would find himself at the helm of their hovercar. What was he doing here? He looked down suddenly. His old outfit? The prison-like one? He didn't wear that anymore, it had been destroyed. Where had it come from? The poor little alien's mind clouded with confusion. Then he noticed his arms, the 'extra' set out, and he felt the little spines and antennas, sensitive to the air. Something wasn't right.

This is where the dream got harder to understand.

Especially since it was now a nightmare.

A pain would spring up in him, coiling hotly from the center and out. It was so sharp that he yelped. Then a pounding headache, like electricity surging and frying his brain. The land grew sketchy around him, a green haze tinting things, or a blackness cutting through randomly. He heard a sound like the television spitting on the fritz. He found some control, gripping the wheel and bringing the ship lower, towards the ocean. He didn't like this feeling, and incoherently thought he must get rid of it. What had caused this pain inside him? Underneath it all the instinct to destroy bubbled up. He let it. Why shouldn't he? Something was destroying him from the inside out, burning his very being. He leveled the ship suddenly, before zooming through the crystalline sheen of water, and aimed the ship at the beach. He grit his teeth. His ears had begun to ring shrilly, and he smelt metal.

He saw some people, trying to enjoy the Hawaiian sun. Anger coursed through him, than an insane laugh ripped through his throat, echoing. Why weren't they in pain? Had they caused this? They certainly weren't helping him; enjoying their day and building things. The instinct gripped him again, then the buzzing came louder and he spasmed this time. The pain was worse, yelps ripping through his hysterical cackling. He momentarily lost control of the ship, plowing vertically through sand and overturning a few beach chairs. He heard a thump, but didn't see what happened through the haze.

What was he doing again? Oh, yeah, destroying things. That was nice. Wait - no it wasn't. Why wasn't it? He was made to destroy, right? And he enjoyed it, very much. But why did this strange feeling cut through him? What was it - guilt? fear? Why would it be - oh. Right. Lilo said it's bad to destroy things. People could get hurt. He had to listen to Lilo. Where was she? The answer came through, almost vague and strange. At home.

He turned the ship, mumbling a strangely-pitched 'sorry' when he tore apart a convenience store, effectively scaring the lady who worked there. A small thrill went through him, but the guilt was stronger. He was almost home, anyways. Lilo would know what's going on.

He sped through the woods, until their house came into view. On the porch he saw her, waving her hands, with glossy eyes filled with tears. What was wrong? Why was Lilo sad? He heard her cry out, "Stitch! Stop! Why are you doing this?!"

He was confused, and gasped in pain. Another attack, shredding through him like lightning, the pain so sharp he screamed, then dissolved into laughter not at all happy or delighted. The pain hadn't compared to the one in his heart, after all. He had disappointed Lilo. And now he was about to hit her house. Look at that. Wait. Why didn't he-

There was no time as the ship crashed in a plume of almighty fire, scorching his fur but not making it to his skin. Oh yeah; fireproof. Why was he in this place of fire? He got distracted as he watched things burn to ash, a sort of delight rekindling in him. The pain from the last attack lingered, a dull ache that took a good chunk of his attention. Instinct fought with pain, and out of frustration and the will of both, he began to tear apart the flaming wood, ignoring burning embers that sizzled near his eyes, unaware of splinters cutting through flesh and leaving him bleeding. He hurt, dang it! It must have been the fire! That caused the attack!

So confident was he in his addled conception, he tore even fiercer though wood and burning fabric, the buzzing and static even louder than before. He didn't hear the blaze of fire, nor Lilo's shout for him to 'get out!' Eventually he made it to the porch area - though by no conscious decision - and saw Lilo in the corner of his vision. He gave her a crooked smile (the terror in her eyes only dimly registered. After all, shouldn't she be happy? He was. Look at all the destruction! It was sure to ease his pain.) He ripped a hunk of railing and split it, chomping on one half just to feel his teeth splinter through the weak material.

Lilo rushed up, grabbing his arm away. "Stitch, stop! This is our house! What's wrong with you?!"

Reacting before he could think (not that his thoughts would be that coherent), he shoved her off roughly. She got up again, but when he swung around, his claws grazed her cheek. It was shallow, but the force threw her to the ground. He stopped, seeing the tiniest bit of blood dribble slowly, tears following faster. A different pain coursed through him, worse than the attacks. He got control, suddenly, and leaned forward slowly. "Lilo?"

She scrambled back away from him, opening her mouth. But instead of screaming at him to get away, her voice was calm.

"Stitch. Stitch! C'mon it's time to wake up!"

He sat up suddenly, whimpers and growls absent. The shock of wakefulness sent him shooting up to the bottom of Lilo's bed, hanging on with his impossibly gripping claws. He gazed around wildly, breathing heavily. His eyes settled on Lilo, who tilted her head and looked at him strangely. "... Nightmare?"

Stitch nodded.

She sighed, and smiled, clearly excited and worried at the same time.

"You know what that means."

He gazed blankly at her.

"Time for a therapy session!"