Okay! So I WASN'T going to add another chapter this week, but everyone's been so lovely on here, on Tumblr – seriously. You guys are all wonderful people. And the theories people have about the show are incredible! For realzies, it's impressive deduction.

It's so crazy how similar elements of this fic are! It makes me laugh now – Stiles over the intercom, the riddles and such. AND AS FOR THE PEOPLE THREATENING TO TAKE STILES AWAY FROM ME… YOU'LL NEVER TAKE HIM. :) And it warms my heart that some of you thought of me during the episode! Oh, how you know I love angst! 3

Chapter 11

Because I'm Dreamin' Of You Tonight

Stiles doesn't know where he is.

He's wandering, that's true, but that's the extent of his knowledge. "H-Hello?" He calls out, his voice weak. How did it get that weak? It was almost pathetic.

Stiles tentatively raises a hand, blinking to try and get everything in focus. It was hard because it was dark. It was so, so dark.

He hears a rustling.

Stiles can't help but stumble, making something fall off the counter he was propping himself up with, a clattering sound resounding in the room. But what is this room? Why was he even here? And more importantly, how did he get here?

A steady drumming begins. Stiles can feel it in his core; it's making his chest tremble. His fingers quake beneath him as he gazes around.

"Who's there?" He calls, his voice trembling. "Who are you?"

XXX

"Oh my God, get him out!" Scott shouts, rushing over to the tub.

Deaton places a hand on his chest before he can make another step. "Scott, no." He demands, his eyes widening.

"Why the hell not?" Scott shouts, staring at the shadow of Stiles beneath the ice. "He's drowning, we have to get him out!"

Deaton takes a breath. "Yes, I will admit that this is true, but you need to know all of the facts."

Derek, who'd been stewing in the corner of the room, slams his hand against a counter. "Then tell us the facts! You can't just take us into a room like this and demand the world!"

Deaton's gaze falls to Stiles. Stiles' eyes close, losing the fear and petulance. His body fades a bit and relaxes, only turning into shadows. A few people gasp. "W-Where'd he go?" Lydia asks shakily, leaning closer to the tub. "He was right there, he was here."

"Yes," Deaton states. "I wasn't sure of it, but I am now."

Derek's voice is even, but quakes with each syllable. "Why don't you start from the beginning. And make sure not to leave anything out."

XXX

Stiles is finally able to get to his feet. It takes him a few tries, but he manages to stand up, surveying the entire area. There are no lights. A shiver crawls up his spine, and he knows his mind is playing tricks on him, but it feels like it's snaking into his head.

All he remembers is the movie. He was at the movies with Scott, Kira, and Lydia and he started to drift off… and then he was here. Everything else was nothing.

His hands are shaking. He can feel the precipice of the panic attack starting, like his toes were at the edge of a cliff and he was being nudged further. He stares at his fingers, counting them over and over, but he always reaches ten. Always ten.

Real.

Real, real, real. The terror is always real.

"S-Scott?" He croaks, his voice shaking with every sound. He knew it was a long shot, but even when there was no response, his chest heaves. For some reason, he always assumed Scott would be there, he would always rush in, it never occurred to him to have a backup plan. The plan was always Scott.

What if he couldn't be saved?

He falls back to the ground.

It's like his legs just couldn't take anything anymore and literally collapsed beneath him. His breath is shaky and erratic, but it fills the air like a cloud. It's all he can hear. He knows he needs to quiet down, but what's the point? If anyone is here with him, they already know.

And he has a feeling there's someone here with him.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, desperate tears rolling down his cheeks. "P-Please…"

XXX

"It started after the ritual concluded. I noticed there was something off with Stiles – something he wasn't telling." Deaton says, still maintaining a good distance in between the pack and the tub. No one's rushing toward it anymore, but it's clear he isn't about to take any chances. "I assumed it was because Stiles had actually shut his door, but he felt bad that you two didn't reach yours, so he just wasn't going to tell you. I figured I'd let him do that in his own time.

"But then, when I was going to drain the tubs, I noticed something. Something a little off with his tub. At first I thought it was a trick of the light, something that the shadows of the clinic played on me, so I didn't think much of it. I cleansed the tubs that contained Scott and Allison, but then I heard something from Stiles'. The water – it moved."

"Moved?" Scott repeats, his eyes widening. Everyone looks at him harshly, a few people telling him to shut up.

"Yes, Scott. Moved. The water shifted. I can't believe it took me such a long time to realize it. I have to applaud you – your reactions were not as severe as mine. When I saw Stiles in the depths of the waters, I almost reached out for him myself – to pull him out. But then it occurred to me.

"Scott, you mentioned a car accident." Deaton finishes.

Scott doesn't say anything at first, waiting for the story to continue. It isn't until someone nudges him does he get out, "Oh, I'm allowed to talk now?" Lydia casts him a dark look. "Yes – Stiles was in an accident on his way to the Nematon. He had surgery for that a week ago. No one knew how serious it was."

"You mentioned it briefly to me when I inquired about the effects of the Nematon. I didn't give it much thought, unfortunately. I've been dealing with the supernatural for far too long and Stiles has been around, it almost feels like he's supernatural. It's easy to forget the humans. So I didn't give it a second thought. I assumed he was fine. After all, what's a car crash to a werewolf? But the cruel fact is, Stiles is not a werewolf.

"But then, when I looked into the water, I saw him staring right back at me. His eyes wide, full of fright. But it didn't make any sense because he'd just left with you. How could he be in two places at once? But then he disappeared."

"Real or not real." Lydia mutters quietly. Everyone turns to look at her questioningly. Tears are falling freely from her eyes and she's leaning against a wall for support. "It's what he did – the files all on the walls. Real or not real. When it was not real…"

"…he's in the tub." Scott finishes, the realization hitting him like an anvil. "Oh my God."

"S-So what you're saying is," Lydia manages, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whenever Stiles can't remember what's he's done, whenever he blacks out or can't decipher what's real, he's – he's—"

"Drowning." Deaton finishes when it's apparent she's not going to be able to finish it. "Back in the tub. Holding his breath desperately to stay alive. On the wrong side of the door."

Scott looks as if he's about to pass out. "The wrong side of the door."

"I didn't know." Deaton says, the first time they've ever heard his voice crack with emotion. "If I had been thinking clearly, if I knew the amount of brain trauma Stiles incurred due to the car crash, I never would've suggested this. In his vulnerable state – his injury, his mental state – his susceptibility to the supernatural was uncharacteristically high."

Derek growls. "Susceptibility to the supernatural? Can you talk like a normal person and just say what's happening?"

"Stiles isn't Stiles." Deaton states. The bluntness makes Derek wince, even though it's what he asked for. "Or, I suppose I should amend, Stiles isn't always Stiles. But that line? The line of what's real or not real? It's blurring. And his eyes are opening in the tub far more than I would like."

"Eyes are opening in the tub, what does that mean?" Scott pleads. "I'm sorry, I just don't understand! Stiles usually is here to explain what I don't get. He can explain it in a way I understand and he's not here – he's in the tub and I'm freaking out and I don't understand—"

"Scott," Allison places her hand on his arm, and his tirade simmers down. She looks as if she's about to cry, but her jaw is set. "There might be something else in Stiles' body. And every time it takes over, it makes Stiles—"

"Drown." Scott finishes, his lip trembling. "That's not fair. That's Stiles' biggest fear."

"What?"Someone asks, but Scott isn't sure who it is.

"Stiles' greatest fear is drowning." He repeats, remembering all the times he had to coax him into pools or lakes. Stiles usually played it off that he didn't want to alarm people with how pale his chest was, but Scott knew what was the real case.

Derek looks at him. "That doesn't make any sense! He spent two hours treading water while holding me up and drowned himself voluntarily – twice! That can't be his biggest fear. He literally travels around with werewolves."

"That's the thing, isn't it?" Deaton says softly, casting a glance over his shoulder. "It's crazy, the things we do for the ones we love."

XXX

It felt like he'd been in the room for years, when it probably was only an hour or so. All he'd heard was scratching and moaning. It was awful, like waiting to be executed.

Tears ran freely down his face now, his breath barely reachable. To be honest, he was wondering if he'd pass out before anything got to him.

The thing is, he doesn't think he's ever been so terrified. It burrowed into his body – into his soul. He can't remember experiencing anything like this. Because there was someone here with him, but he didn't know who. He didn't know where he was, what was with him, or even how he'd get out.

Is this how it ends? He thought miserably. To be honest, he's disappointed. There were so many cooler ways to die.

Die.

Stiles' breath hitches at the thought. Sure, he's had close encounters with death and he's seen people die – God, has he seen people die – but he's never had to endure the agony of sitting and wondering about death. About his last breath. The last people he'd see. Shit – he never even told Scott about the forest. What about his dad? Who's going to look after him?

He's sure as hell not going to die on the ground.

Stiles forces himself up one last time, his head whipping around. "W-Who's there?" He calls out, sucking in breath like it's his last one. "I know you're here, so fucking come out, you coward!"

"My dear Stiles," A voice says, echoing in the room. It bounces around, swarming around him like bees, waiting to attack. "I have no intention of killing you. That wouldn't be very prudent on my part would it?"

"Who are you?" He screams, the fear eating him alive. A drumming gets louder, repeating over and over again, a steady cacophony of beats ringing in his ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. "What do you want with me?"

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"I've waited a long time for this. We'll do it together, Stiles. We'll take them out.

One.

By.

One."

XXX

"What do we do?" Isaac asks.

Isaac always seems to ground the group back to reality, but no one has an answer.

"Our first order of business is figuring out what has a hold of him. That will determine our course of action." Deaton states, leading everyone outside the room. "We need to act fast. Possession isn't just about control of someone's body – it's about the physical wear it has on the possessed. While Stiles is the ideal candidate for such an undertaking – young, strong, surrounded by the supernatural, and still human – such is his weakness. He's still human. So, regardless of what's going on, Stiles' body is going to wear out at some point. The will a point in this endeavor that, even if we expel whatever's got a hold of him, it may be too late."

"How would we know when we reached that point?" Scott asks, clearly struggling to keep his temperament even.

"The short answer is, we won't."

"Do you actually know anything?" Derek shouts. He knows he should keep his temper at bay, but holy hell, this conversation isn't helping in the slightest. "Because we have a real, actual problem."

"I'm sorry if my answers aren't satisfying your need, Derek, but these are the facts. Every human is different. What his body can tolerate is entirely up to Stiles. And in the meantime, I think it's best that no one tells him that the tub is still here."

Allison frowns. "Why's that?"

"Because right now there's a strange relationship happening. Stiles is in what you would refer to as Limbo. Neither dead, nor alive. That is dictated by whatever happens next. Whatever's possessing him needs his body to continue functioning, otherwise it's vessel dies and it along with it."

"Stiles." Scott says through gritted teeth. "He's not a vessel, he's Stiles."

Deaton sighs. "Of course." Scott knows he doesn't mean anything by it. After all, he's been dealing with this supernatural bullshit for years. It's probably easier to remove yourself from it. "My concern is the tub. If whatever's possessing Stiles realizes he's drowning when it's taken over, there's only one obvious answer."

"Drain the tub." Lydia finishes. "It's the only way that works out for him. He can kill Stiles without actually killing his body."

Deaton nods. "And then there will be nothing left to do but kill the body."

Scott's heart palpitates. "We'd have to kill Stiles?"

"It's wouldn't be Stiles anymore, Scott."

It didn't matter. It would still look like Stiles. It still would sound like Stiles. To him, it would be Stiles.

"And if this goes too far, and Stiles stays under water for too long? I'm afraid it'll be the same outcome."

Scott shuts his eyes. This world doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. And he realizes it's because of one thing: he's never had to figure it out. How will he do it now? He can barely handle being the 'True Alpha,' let alone be one 'demon watch.'

"I've been texted you guys for ages!" A voice calls.

Everyone stares, their eyes wide. Stiles marches through the doors of the clinic, his skin still a ghastly color with deep circles ensnaring his eyes. He smiles at them, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They're… empty. Hollow. "Way to make me think you all died." Stiles mutters. "Wouldn't that be the worst thing, like, ever?"

Scott feels a very real fear creep into his chest. "Dude, are you okay?" He asks when Stiles grins at them all, leaning against the receptionist counter. His moments are too still. Too precise. Too… non-flail-ly.

But Scott knows the answer. He only needs confirmation of his fears. He needs to get used to noticing what too him so long before. He needs to come to terms with the fact that Stiles might not be Stiles.

"I'm fine." Stiles states matter-of-factly. There's a vindictive glint in his eyes as he smirks, surveying everyone. "What'd I miss?"

A/N: I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON. I remember that interview where we found out Dylan's greatest fear is drowning and I may or may not have incorporated it because I'm despicable.

Please let me know what you think!