Sorry it's taken so long to write this! I've been super busy and uninspired. I had a vision for where this was going but now I think it's taking me in another direction, so I've been trying to figure that out. This chapter is in Stile's POV, which is new. I hope you enjoy it!


Stiles Stilinski can think of only one thing that he truly wants right now: his pillow.

Lying on the ground, bruised and utterly defeated, in an underground tunnel of which he doesn't know the location, Stiles should definitely have a list of about a hundred things he desires right now, the top of which should not include his pillow. But that's all his mind seems to be able to focus on: a strong longing for the thing that always makes him feel most at home.

Longing for anything else, or anyone else, has become unbearably painful. At first, he thought only of his friends and family: Scott, Lydia, Malia, his father. Stiles replayed memories like videos in his mind: Scott joking with him at Lacrosse practice, laughing at how comedically horrible Stiles was at it; Malia jumping up and down with excitement when she could finally control her claws; his dad working with him to solve a case, pretending that he was annoyed by Stiles' persistence even though Stiles could tell he was proud; and, finally, Lydia. She was everywhere in his memories.

Sometimes, he remembered the times they'd spent endlessly searching the library for clues, picturing the proud look she would give him when he'd figured something out. He used to live off of one of those looks for weeks. Other times, he remembered the countless occasions in which they'd saved each other, for it reminded him that she was a constant in his life, and that gave him hope. Most of the time, though, was spent remembering their last moments together: the sweet taste of her lips, the way she had pulled him to her with a shocking intensity, the look she gave him when he'd finally let out the words that had been caged within his heart for years.

That was all ruined once he realized that, as he was holding on to these memories, his loved ones were losing them. Time after time, he's had to keep reminding himself to have faith. His friends have always come through for him before, and he's certain they will now. But each moment he spends chained to the Horsemen's walls chips away at his hope, feeding his doubt.

Stiles hasn't seen another person in a long while, and he has no way of knowing the time or day because there's no link to the outside world in his cell. All that surrounds him is thick, grey walls and cold, hard ground. His clothes are tattered and bloody, a reminder of his escape attempt. There is no escaping now, that's for sure.

Sometimes, when there is nothing else to do but worry about his imminent death, Stiles imagines his friends living on without him. In his mind, their lives are lovely. Scott gets into the veterinary program at the school he wanted to go to, and he reunites with Kira once she's controlled her Kitsune. Malia graduates high school and goes to find others like her, to create her own pack of were-coyotes. And Lydia goes on to become a highly respected doctor who helps supernatural creatures on the side. They're all happy, oblivious to the fact that Stiles ever existed. Sometimes, Stiles wishes this for them.

And sometimes, he wishes that the Horsemen would just kill him already. He has no idea why they haven't yet; it makes no sense. There has to be some reason, though whenever he tries to discover it, the thought slips from his mind.

The Horsemen are powerful when it comes to the brain. Stiles doesn't know how they do it, but they seem to have a power that allows them into your head, not controlling, but erasing your thoughts. Somehow, they're able to take away memories and ideas, but they can't make them.

Stiles senses that this is important, but has little time to dwell on the fact before the thought dissolves from his mind.

He often wonders why they haven't taken his memories. It would seem that their plans for him involve him remembering his past, and he's glad. What an awful thing it would be to never have known the people in his life, to never even realize that his life, which had once been full, is now empty. The worst part would be not noticing the void, since he wouldn't be able to remember that there was so much love in his life once.

All of a sudden, Stiles begins to feel drowsy, a little trick the Horsemen play on him from time to time. His eyelids drop and in no time he's nearly asleep, but not quite. And because he's not quite asleep, he hears it: a loud banging sound, like a rusty, heavy door opening. Then, there's a few muffled footsteps, shoe soles scraping the ground. Most of him wants to drag his mind into the land of unconsciousness, but a small part of him, the part not being persuaded by the Horsemen, barely manages to stay alert. Stiles senses that he's not supposed to know what's happening right now, which is precisely why he needs to find out.

For the first time in a long time, Stiles thinks he might have a chance to escape. Where there's a way in, there's always a way out. Until now, Stiles hadn't known anything about the layout of this place. Now he can piece together some of the clues. And if the Horsemen have other prisoners, their attention might be pulled elsewhere. For a brief moment, Stiles Stilinski allows himself to hope.

But then he hears a voice from the other cell, and suddenly he's defeated all over again, and scared out of his mind. Because he knows that voice; he'd know it in any place, forming any words. There is only one word that voice screams now: his name. But he can't reach that voice, that beautifully haunting voice, as the dregs of sleep continue to pull him under. He knows that anything he does or says is futile, but that doesn't seem to matter. All he can think about is getting to her.

"Stiles!" she screams in his memories, her voice both thrilling and terrifying. Oh how he'd wished, so many times, to hear her voice again. But now he wishes she had stayed there, trapped in his mind instead of this place.

"Stiles!" she yells in the present, pulling him from his memories.

Stiles attempts to crawl over to the wall, desperate to see her, or even just hear her more clearly. But his body won't cooperate, and his limbs fail him. The only thing he manages to do is reach his hand out toward her voice, his fingers stretching as far as they can go. This takes all of his strength, and, still, it's not enough.

"Lydia," he breathes, the last of his willpower gone. Then, with his arm stretched towards the girl he loves, Stiles passes out, the sound of her piercing screams echoing through his mind, following him into his dreams.