Where is My Mind? (Sweet Dreams Are Made of This).

Chapter Two


It was his own personal hell. He felt lost and so alone. This place was torture. Every minute, every second: pure torture.

Watching Stiles lay there, eyes open, unseeing, doing nothing, slowly obliterated Derek. He had been there for the last week, every day, sitting beside Stiles, desperate to see some reaction. The sheriff stopped by periodically, always bringing food for the wolf. No words were ever exchanged between the men, both preferring to avoid talking. The confused look that had painted Mr. Stilinksi's when he first acknowledge Derek's constant vigilance had melted into one of sympathy and gratitude.

Scott and Jackson were also regular visitors, though their visits were more sporadic and much shorter. They understood that Stiles was in a state of deep shock, but were unnerved by the way that Stiles's eyes remained open.

It unnerved Derek too. He was so used to seeing those eyes filled with expression and warmth, and even fear, that the blankness was just … so wrong.

The sound of light knocking pulled Derek from his thoughts. Turning towards the door, he was faced with the battle-scarred Lydia Martin. Bruises blemished her once flawless skin and cuts and scratches were woven in a fascinatingly morbid pattern on the expanses of exposed skin. She favored her left side, almost cradling it. Derek recalled that she had been bitten on there, and vaguely recalled that he should look into why she was alive and still human, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Lydia nodded and gave an uncharacteristic smile before she hobbled towards Stiles. Derek's body tensed, remembering that this was the girl that Stiles had talked about the entire time they had known each other. Lydia's demeanor remained soft as she watched Stiles.

"He saw the real me," she whispered. Derek's eyes snapped to hers, a growl building in his throat at the soft expression painted across her face.

Unaware of the storm brewing the werewolf, she continued. "I've put so much time, years actually, pushing down everything that sets me apart. And no one, not even Jackson, saw through it," she said, her words slow, broken at some points, a combination of emotion and exhaustion slowing her down. "But he just breezed right through my defenses and … found me."

"He has a talent for that," Derek gruffly said, recalling all of the times the young man had unknowingly cheered him up or made it hard to not smile.

Lydia turned her critical eye on him. She looked at Derek for a few minutes. He suddenly understood why Stiles found her so interesting: there was a lot more to the girl than the world had noticed.

"He's going to be fine," Lydia said, staring into Derek's eyes. Despite everything she had been through, her strength and confidence rang through out her words, her belief reflected in her eyes.

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It was his own personal hell. He felt lost and so alone. This place was torture. Every minute, every second: pure torture.

Stiles felt like he was destined to play out the same scenario over and over again. Forced to run for his life as a gigantic wolf chased him, only to be cornered and prepared for slaughter, it was soul-destroying. Every time he closed his eyes, right before he was certain that the wolf's fangs were going to rip into him, he was met with long stretches of nothingness.

At first Stiles thought he had died, that this void was what the afterlife was like. Then he would open his eyes and find himself in the same forest, the beast absent. He had felt joy, relief. Looking around, he had risen from his defensive crouch and had begun to walk away.

It only took moments before he would hear the wolf growl and then the same scenario played out, the only variance being how Stiles was cornered. Some times he tripped, other times he ran until he couldn't run anymore.

He lived in an abusive cycle. Stiles had lost count of how many times this nightmare played out. The only thing he was sure of was that wherever his mind led him, it was not a happy place. Tall, ominous trees and an endless night, the only light being that of the full-moon which glared from it's place in the heavens.

Then there were the moments where he would close his eyes right before he was sure that the current attack was going to be the last one, the final cycle. He had thought to die this way was cruel; now he would think death merciful. During those moments this world was frozen, like it was rewinding and setting the stage for the next show.

It was during those moments that Stiles took comfort. It was those moments where Stiles understood that he was no longer in reality, that he was a slave to what seemed to be an endless nightmare. And he then he could remember. Faces, sometimes names, would flit through his thoughts. They were quickly fading; time moved differently in this nightmare world. There was no way to tell how long he had been there … or how long he would remain.

He clung to those faces. He knew they defined him, he knew they were important. The faces gave him comfort, a reason to keep running. The longer he kept his eyes closed, the longer he could see them.

But, eventually, he had to open his eyes, and the nightmare resumed full force, like now. Stiles found himself crouched, in the clearing where his dream always reset. Standing, he took a few steps, waiting for the tell-tale sign of the beast.

He wasn't disappointed. A loud growl tore through the clearing, making the hairs on Stiles neck stand on end. Letting out a strangled sob, Stiles took off, likes he always did, the beast not far behind. He begged silently for mercy, to wake up; he even begged for death. He begged for his father and the fading face of his mother to give him strength. He begged for help from whoever Scott McCall or Lydia Martin was. He begged for the beautiful raven-haired man to save him.

No help came. In Stiles's world, help never came.

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Lydia stood beside Stiles a little while longer, affectionately gazing down at his blank face. Derek was bothered by the emotion in her look, but kept quiet.

"How are you?" she questioned, limping away from Stiles's bed and towards the seat next to Derek.

"I'm fine," Derek replied gruffly, not used to someone asking him that question.

Letting out a huff, Lydia turned in her seat and fixed her gaze on Derek. "Don't lie to me," she said, continuing despite the glare Derek shot her. "I'm a lot smarter than people give me credit for. Actually, I'm a lot smarter than most people, present company not excluded."

Derek could feel the familiar tingling in his eyes begin to grow, knowing they were seconds away from igniting into the bright electric blue hue that colored them whenever he was angry. "Do you want a repeat of the dance?" he threatened.

Lydia balked for a second, images from the night of her attack assaulting her senses. Derek watched as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, an emotion akin to remorse blooming in his chest. He knew how imposing wolves could be, and to have to face off against an alpha would be a great deal more intimidating for a human. But the second she opened her eyes he had new found respect for the woman. She wasn't going to back down, no matter how scary he seemed.

Stiles was the same way.

"I don't know how to feel," Derek said as he stared at Stiles's open eyes.

Lydia was quiet before she broke the silence. "How long have you been in love with him?" she questioned. She thought she was going to receive no response, that Derek was going to ignore her or turn and take a swipe at her. She was surprised when she received an answer instead.

"Since I laid eyes on him," Derek said, his voice emotionless.

"Love at first sight?" Lydia asked, trying to keep things as light as possible, afraid she might scare the wolf off.

"I looked into his eyes and saw so much light and life," Derek said. "He drove me crazy, can be annoying as hell and can't stay focused for more than minute, but he was perfect. And I was afraid of that. That I would let myself want it and that like everything else, it would be taken away from me. Now I won't ever get to tell him that. That I love him. That I want him and only him."

Lydia's breathes were ragged, strain and surprise both a contributing factor. "Quit saying that," the redhead said, her anger evident in her tone. Derek turned towards, his face still blank. "Don't talk about him in the past-tense Derek. He is going to come through this. I bet you he is going to jump up and start talking any minute," Lydia confidently said.

Derek turned back to look at Stiles's, praying for just that to happen, wishing that some divine force would help him, would bring Stiles back to him.

No help came. In Derek's world, help never came.


AN: Okay, so there is chapter two! Thank you guys for all the awesome reviews and kind messages. I would love to hear what you guys think or if you think I should continue this. Please, let me know!