A/N: Prompt by whumpster-dumpster: As they wait for Caretaker to come out of the story from a small supply run. Whumpee falls asleep in the car. When they wake up, the car's already left the lot and moving again. Except it's not Caretaker driving.

"Wait, wait, bro, where are w-we going?" Stiles asked, as Scott turned Stiles' jeep away from the road that led to his house, and instead was heading into a less residential part of Beacon Hills. He was resting, had his head against the cold windowpane. Even that made him shiver. The heat was blasting, and he was wearing layers, but he couldn't get warm. And his body ached.

"Just have to make a quick stop at the clinic," Scott answered. "Deaton said—"

Stiles cut off his friend, letting out a groan.

"God, man, is there anything I can do?"

Stiles just let his groan turn into a whine, pouting with his lips pushed outward.

He felt terrible, and he'd tried lying to Scott about it earlier, but he'd felt his pain. No sense in hiding it now.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to let himself fall into sleep — it was at least something to do till they got back to his house.

The jeep stopped, Scott got out of the car. When he blinked open his eyes they were parked behind the vet clinic. Stiles had a horrible memory of running Scott through with a katana right out here. His hands shook. Stiles gripped his knees as tightly as he could with weak, trembling fingers. And then he did his best to doze off. He took deep breaths, growing used to the pain. The exhaustive aching lulled him to sleep.

The door opened, and Stiles tried righting himself, holding his arm against himself at the pain.

"Wow, Scott, that was fast."

Someone climbed into the car, the weight and movement of their body distinctively different from Scott's. The door closed. Stiles turned.

And he saw himself.

Void's eyes were dark, but red-rimmed, and they seemed to have shadows underneath them. His hair was messier than Stiles', and he was still in the T-shirt with the hole ripped right through it.

Stiles' stomach lurched at the memory of getting his own stomach cut into, and it happening with his own hand.

"Not Scott," the Nogitsune responded, a smile bred from chaos turning its lips.

Stiles tried the handle, tried the lock, but his door wouldn't open. He was biting his tongue, even as it was out to rest against his bottom lip.

"Come on. Come on! Hey! Let me go!"

The Nogitsune put Roscoe in reverse.

Stiles tried rolling the window down, and that was stuck too. He started banging on it.

"Scott! Scott! Scott!"

He punched it with his fist, and then curled up in his seat, biting his lip as he winced in pain, cradling his throbbing hand to his chest.

They pulled out of the parking lot, and onto the road.

"Where are you taking me?" Stiles asked. "And where the hell is Lydia?"

"Waiting."

"Waiting." Stiles frowned. "Waiting for—for what?"

"Us."

"Is she hurt?" Stiles demanded.

Void said, voice low, harsh, "I think you should be more worried about yourself."

Stiles sat up straighter in his seat, and he licked his lips. Facing the pale, sickly-looking, evil thing that had stolen his body and completely spit out Stiles in a new one, he felt his eyes tearing up.

"You already took my body!" he cried. "What more do you want?"

"Chaos. Pain."

Stiles' jaw was slack at that answer, and he lowered himself in his seat. He wished he could go right through the upholstery, maybe disappear. He desperately wanted to escape. It wasn't like the game of Go in his head — something he'd hardly understood — but whatever this was was still impossible. There were surely rules laid down, rules that he couldn't even begin to know or understand.

"Alright, well, you've had enough of it," Stiles argued.

"Not yet… Stiles."

Usually this was where Stiles would try to question, interrogate, find out what was going on, but he couldn't.

"Like I promised. All your friends are going to die."

A tear trailed down Stiles' cheek, and he put his hands over his ears.

Still, he heard, "We're going to kill them."

A sob shook Stiles' shoulders, leaving his mouth.

"Starting with Lydia. First I'm going to eat her pain. You're going to inflict it. She's going to hurt because of you. She's going to die because of you. Anata no yūjin wa subete shinu tsumoridesu."

"I don't… I don't know what you're saying!" His voice came out as a whimper.

"Anata no yūjin wa subete shinu tsumoridesu!"

Somehow, this time, Stiles' mind translated: All your friends are going to die.