It's been a while since we've seen Stiles, so I thought I'd dedicate this chapter to him. Enjoy!

Time no longer existed to Stiles. Without any windows to filter in the daylight and darkness, he was left to guess how long it had been since that shapeshifting freak had left him tied there to that chair. He didn't know how many hours he had spent wrestling with the ropes around his wrists and ankles, rubbing his skin raw. He didn't know how long he had slept after slipping into a fitful slumber. He didn't know how long he had spent praying to whatever or whoever was listening that his dad and Scott would realize he was missing and come find him before he died in this damp, dark hole, leaving his less charming evil twin to assume his life and execute whatever undoubtably evil plan he had set out before him.

"Come on, Dad," Stiles muttered. He wasn't sure if it made him crazy or in fact saner that he was now voicing his thoughts aloud. He also wasn't sure he cared one way or another. So what if he was crazy? "It's not like that's anything new." He chuckled grimly to himself. "I guess it was only a matter of time before I cracked."

He'd been able to feel this place - these circumstances - pulling at the loose threads that made up his sanity from the moment he first arrived there. It was like all his worst nightmares had come true, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

Stiles fists balled behind his back, clenching and unclenching, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands just so he could feel something. He was crawling in his skin, the torture of sitting there helpless almost worse than torture itself. His last dose of Adderall must've been wearing off, which had to mean he'd been there for a day at least. How much damage had his body double managed to do in that amount of time? And just how good of an actor was he that he'd be able to replace Stiles of all people?

"I like to think that I'm a complex kind of guy," he voiced aloud, once again fidgeting with his bindings. "Step into my life, why don't you? Jokes on you, jack. My life's a mess. I wonder if Scott has bored you to death yet by preaching the importance of education for the eighteenth time; or if Dad has driven you out of your mind with his lectures on maturity and impending adulthood." A humorless smirk plastered itself on his face.

"They're the worst, aren't they?" he said, almost as if he'd be able to convince himself of the legitimacy of such a statement. Anything that remotely resembled some grim form of joy or amusement faded from his features, replaced by grief and longing for what he feared he may never have again. He missed Scott. Whatever argument they'd had before they last parted was a distant memory by now, and Stiles would give anything to have it again if it meant he was with his best friend.
He missed his dad, lectures and all. All he wanted was to wrap his old man up in a big, tight hug and never let him go. He wasn't sure what would happen to his dad if he never made it out of here, and he didn't want to think about it. He'd seen how the man drank after Stiles' mother had passed. He tried to hide it, but Stiles was never as oblivious or innocent as he would lead his father to believe. He knew the scent of whiskey at far too young an age to be considered innocent and had had to guide his dad to his bed after a late night just a few too many times to be considered oblivious. Still, his father had far too much on his mind to need anything else to worry about, which is why Stiles had made it his life's mission to do whatever he could to ensure his dad that he could take care of himself.

"Yeah, Stiles, you're doing a fine job of that." Maybe he was a little in over his head in his supernatural dealings. He was only human, after all. Did he ever stand a chance in the world of werewolves and kanimas?

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Stiles' ears perked as the sound met his ears - footsteps, no doubt. He didn't dare let himself hope that it might mean rescue. He was glad he hadn't raised his hopes as the door to his prison flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud thud! He watched himself - or rather the weird shapeshifter creature - strut toward him, face twisted in a cruel grin.

"Hello, Stiles," the creature greeted, coming to a halt only when their toes were nearly touching. "I hope you've found our accommodations to your liking."

Stiles had to suppress an eyeroll. "Lucky me. My captor is a real comedian."

"Well, I can't take all of the credit for this wit," the shifter admitted. He raked his fingers through his hair, a playful smirk lighting up his face. "I inherited it from my gracious donor."

Stiles' brow furrowed. So, it wasn't just his form that this creature had adopted. It was also able to mimic some of his character traits. The teen couldn't help but wonder what else his captor had received from him.

"So, you got my looks and my charming sense of humor. You must be killing it with the ladies," he joked, though his voice was devoid of humor. "What else of mine did you get?"

"Oh, Stiles. I am you. I have your looks, your wit, your memories. Your friends are never going to find you, if that's what you were hoping to hear."

Stiles did his best to hide his discouragement at this latest revelation. The shifter had even his memories? If he had all of Stiles' traits and memories, how long would it take for his dad and Scott to find out he was missing? He was sure they would eventually find out, whether they detected something wrong, or whether the shifter decided to reveal it to them himself, but the question was whether or not Stiles would live long enough to see that happen. He still didn't know why he was even alive.

"What do you need me for then? Sounds to me like you have everything you need." The creature didn't need a living host. He had taken the form of two people Stiles knew to be deceased.

"Almost." The shifter tapped a thoughtful finger against its chin. "See, I've planned this all out, but I need something to fall back on. I can't rely on keeping your form until this is all over and done with. I may need to change forms again, and if I do, I need to be able to switch back to yours when I'm done. Unfortunately, I am unable to do so without a... sample." That predatory glint from their first session returned to his eyes as he studied Stiles.

Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he was reminded of the bizarre chain of events leading up to the shifter taking his form. At least now those animal attack scenes made some sense - the victims, not just attacked, but attacked by something after a meal. So, this was the thing that had committed such heinous acts. Stiles found a brand-new fear stirring inside for what this strange creature was capable of.

"So... you need me alive." For now, he added grimly and silently. "But why? I mean, what is this all for?"

Stiles' captor shook his head back and forth, clicking his tongue. "Oh, Stiles. You never could shut up, could you?" He reached out a hand, gently patting the teen on his freckled cheek. "You have been a fine ally to me in all this. For that, I'll reward you with a little food for thought to keep your mind busy down here in your prison."

Stiles found himself almost grateful to his captor at that. He couldn't stand being trapped down here with nothing to do but guess what his captor had in store for him and his friends. He banished such feelings, however, unwilling to grant this monster any kind of gratefulness.

"Let's just say your friends, the Argents, have something I need," the shifter explained. "Something I have been looking for for a long time. Now, it's within my grasp. With your form, I should have no trouble gaining admittance to their home and retrieving it. I just need to act carefully. The Argents are skilled hunters, and it would do me no good if they found out something was up before I'm ready."

Stiles frowned, considering this. "What could the Argents possibly have that you would want?"

"Oh, just some old trinket really. An heirloom that rightfully belongs to me. The Argents have no doubt amassed an impressive collection of artifacts over generations of hunting down the supernatural."

"Aren't you taking this all a little too far? I think you'll find their minds a little more open these days. They don't even hunt anymore. Why not just ask for it back if it really is rightfully yours?"

The shifter scoffed. "You'd like me to be so foolish, wouldn't you? No, they'd never give it up. Not to me at least. To you, on the other hand? Well, I suppose that's something we will have to see for ourselves."

Thanks for reading! I always love hearing from you guys, and your support does a lot to help me fight my writer's block. Let me know what you think so far or follow my story if you haven't already!