Hey! This is my first Teen Wolf fanfiction, so be gentle! Someone on Tumblr asked for an extended scene after Stiles' nightmare and I quickly made one, but then realized how much I loved writing it! The premiere has me stoked, so I thought I'd do a longer fic to pass the time.

Now, I don't expect this to be the route the show takes it at all, but I had this idea when I was thinking about how the darkness can affect each of them – and what would happen if it manifested in one person?

Chapter 1

When Is a Door Not a Door?

"Not to sound like a broken record here, but do we all remember the last time you all did this?" Isaac drawls, leaning against the wall.

"It's hard to forget when you keep reminding us," Stiles snaps, rubbing his hands together.

It's not like he could forget anyways.

Stiles notices Isaac's eyes flit toward Allison ever-so-slightly, even though he knows the gesture isn't missed by Scott. He can see Scott's jaw clench as he stares straight into Deaton's eyes, pretending not to notice. Stiles sighed. Before he's be mildly annoyed by the creation of this love triangle. Stiles might've even commented on something. But if anything, it was a welcome distraction for what he was staring at.

Rubbing his hands together, Stiles stares at the tubs of ice water. He closes his eyes. Is this a dream? He asks himself, wishing there'd be an answer. There never was.

That was the terrifying thing. It wasn't the fact that he was hallucinating at all. It was the fact that he couldn't trust anything. His eyes darted everywhere he went, he felt as though he was on the brink of a panic attack at any second, his vision wavered from time to time – it all happened all the time. Who could live like this? Who could survive?

Well, if Kira was right, no one.

"Too bad I had to torch this Polar Plunge experience on Yelp," Stiles says, trying to break the tension in the room. Between everyone ignoring the tubs of ice water, Scott ignoring Isaac, Allison ignoring Isaac, Isaac ignoring Scott and Lydia examining her nails as she grinned to herself for no longer being the crazy one, he felt the need to break the silence. It didn't fall like his usual jokes did, because nothing of this was funny. And no one was even trying to laugh. Stiles reaches his hand out to the side of the tub, trying to calm his fingers from quaking. He shivers when his palm presses against the cool steel, his body shaking. "I mean, great build up, but horrible after effects, amirite?"

"Stiles," Scott breathes, but Stiles can't help himself.

"It's not that I don't think you're a very hospitable—" Stiles struggles for the word as he gestures at Deaton. "Ambiguous Supernatural Vet Man. I'm just giving you a few critiques so you can improve your experience for future guests. We all know that a little constructive criticism never hurt anyone."

"I have some constructive criticism for you," Isaac says. "Shut up."

Stiles glares out of default, but he knows he's rambling. He can't help it. His gaze keeps catching sight of the water and he's trying to convince himself that having a panic attack wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't help anyone. He has to keep talking to get all the energy out, otherwise it'll manifest in his hands.

"Is there any other pleasant ways to kill us?" Stiles asks and a few people groan. "I get it – drowning and hypothermia, a tried and true method. But has anyone considered perhaps a sleeping spell? I know it's very Disney, but werewolves exist and I think—"

He stops.

It happens like it always does.

A sign. A sign he wouldn't pay attention to under any normal circumstance. Something about getting your animal shots or loving dogs – Stiles didn't know. Seriously didn't know. All the letters weren't making sense. His hands gripped the sides of the tank.

"Stiles—" He hears, but it sounds far away. It's not annoyed like before, but he's too focus to figure out the emotion.

"Don't let them in," he mutters to himself, but he isn't aware that he's doing it. "Don't let them in,"

The letters start dripping from the poster.

His grip tightens. Stiles feels a catch in his chest, like someone's punctured his lung and he can't get them to quite fill right. He thinks someone's beside him, but the letters. The fucking letters – they're falling to the floor. "When is a door not a door," he repeats to himself quietly. There needs to be words to fill the silence. "When is a door not a door, when is a door not a door? Do not let them in. Don't let them in."

The hole in his chest gets bigger. It feels like a void and darkness is peeking around the corners of his vision. "Don't let them in." He has to fill the silence. Stiles always has to fill the silence. "When is a door not a—"

"Stiles!"

Someone grabs his wrists and yanks him away from the tub, throwing him against the wall. Stiles slams against the back wall, blinking as he tries to get his vision into focus. His breathing slows and when he's calm enough, he looks up to a face he doesn't expect. Isaac.

Isaac stares at his hands before returning his gaze to Stiles. There's something behind his eyes – is it fear? Pity? Stiles isn't sure.

"Dude!" Scott cries, grabbing Isaac's shoulder and yanking him around. "What the hell was that? You could've seriously hurt him or sent him further into his panic attack!"

"I-I don't know," Isaac says, looking back at his hands. "He wasn't breathing a-and I thought, maybe if I-I shock—"

"Scott, it's fine," Stiles says, albeit shakily, as he steadies himself to stand. A few people gesture to help him, but he's up before they can. "It worked, didn't it?" He rubs the back of his head. "Can't a guy go a few days without a head injury?" He tries to joke.

No one laughs.

Isaac gives him a mournful look. "You guys really have to do this, don't you?" He asks quietly. "This – This is real and it's bad, isn't it?"

No one answers. No one has to.

After a few resigned seconds pass, Deaton clears his throat. "If we're going to do this, we better get started. Now, as you know, this may not achieve the results you want." Stiles stares at the floor. He's heard the spiel before. No human can live like this. A human isn't prepared for the strife. They weren't built strong enough.

Maybe it was him who wasn't built strong enough.

The three take their places besides the tubs. "There is a different chemical balance in this bath and we are on a time limit. Because you've already died and been brought back, we have to do this under the human body specifications. If you are not revived within an hour, we'll have to bring you back."

"An hour?" Allison asks. "That's all we get?"

Deaton nods solemnly. "As you can see, there is great risk. You could be doing more harm than good if things go awry. That's why, for the last time, I have to ask you. Are you sure you want to take such a drastic measure?"

The three look at each other. Sure, there's fear. But there's also resignation.

"We do this." Scott says definitively. "That's what we do. We may not always have the best plans and they may not always go how we hoped, but we try. We'll never stop trying."

Stiles smirks. "We're impudent little bastards that way."

He tries to keep the smirk on until he's underwater. If he's going to die, he'd like it to be with some semblance of himself.

XXX

"No!" Stiles screams. "No! No, no! Wake up, Stiles! Wake up! This isn't real!"

"Son!"

The Sherriff is in the room quicker by the night. Before Stiles can flail out of bed, his father has him in a vice-grip, pressing him against his chest. "I got you, kid. I got you." He whispers in his son's ear. "It's okay, I got you."

Stiles grips his dad's arms, his entire body trembling. "They were going to get in. Deaton was going to let them in."

"It's not happening, Stiles."

"I-It was going to get worse!" He wails, his entire body trembling. "It was going to get s-so much worse!"

"It's not, Stiles!" Mr. Stilinski says forcefully. "You are fine. You are here and you are fine!"

"They were going to come in!" Stiles whimpers. "When is a door not a door?"

Mr. Stilinski closes his eyes. If he had a dollar for every time Stiles muttered that riddle out the past few weeks, he wouldn't need to be so worried about losing his job. "There's no door, Stiles. It's shut. It'll always be shut as long as I'm here."

Stiles grips him and shuts his eyes, hoping, for once, the darkness would be a comfort. "They were going to come in."

XXX

Stiles doesn't even look at the signs on the walls. It's to the point he can't decipher what's real or not real and, even though he hasn't entirely given up on trying, he doesn't like the reminder every day. So he ignores the signs that paper the school hallway and their jumbled letters.

"Dude, you look like crap." Scott says when he sees Stiles.

"Hello Stiles, how are you? I'm doing great Scott, thank you for being such a considerate friend." Stiles murmurs as he heads to his locker. With once glance at the jumbled symbols, he sighs. Lifting the lock up to Scott, Stiles presses his head against the locker while Scott fiddles with the dial. Stiles hears the click and grimaces. How did this become his life – his own friend has to unlock a door for him?

"Seriously, though." Scott says quietly. "This whole not sleeping thing is getting out of hand. You look wrecked."

"That's because I am wrecked, Scott." Stiles murmurs, putting his books away. "I don't need a recap about my less-than-Chippendales appearance because I'm gloriously aware, thank you."

"Stiles—"

"Have you seen Lydia?" Stiles asks suddenly. He's not sure why, but the impulse to see her hits him like an electrical current. It's strange – he's been in love with her for years, but this was more than yearning. A part of him needed to see her, so desperately, it felt like his heart was going to explode from his chest.

Scott shrugs. "Not yet. She's probably driving Allison to school, you know, with everything."

"Yeah," Stiles says, not convinced. He gazes around, but still no sight of her. "Maybe they stopped for coffee or something."

"Yeah, dude, that's probably it." Scott says eagerly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's just get to class and get this day over with."

Stiles glances around the hallway once more, as if he's not entirely convinced it's real. To be honest, he isn't. "Right. Class."

XXX

He can't pay attention more than usual. Stiles blinks from time to time to encourage his presence in this world, but only receives worried looks from Scott. Stiles has to angle himself away so he doesn't keep seeing that face Scott uses when he's trying to get you to open up to him. Sometimes the dog similarities are too much with those puppy dog eyes. Good thing he'd built an immunity up against it for years.

Stiles finds himself gazing around for Lydia, even though she isn't even in this class. He can't get over it – this desire, this feeling to see her. It's like something is pulling at him. He needed to see Lydia. He needed to see her right now, otherwise it felt like his chest would explode.

"I need to use the bathroom." Stiles states.

Not a question. He's out of his desk before the teacher can even protest.

Stiles bursts into the hallway, peering around. "Lydia?" He calls. It's stupid for him to do so and he knows. He feels foolish doing it. He waits for people to poke their heads out the door at his stupidity, but it never happens.

Creak.

Stiles whirls around, the sound of a door opening causing panic to course through him. "Lydia?" He calls again, but it's weaker. His chest heaves.

The lights in the hallway flicker. Or, maybe they don't. Maybe it's because his breath is shortening. Maybe it's because dots are forming around his eyes.

He sees her.

Stiles sprints down the hallway, every breath more difficult than the last. It seems like it takes ages to reach her, even though he knows logically it's not true. Not that logic really ever helped him in the first place.

She's standing there. She stares at him. At him. Her glassy gaze hits his chest and he waves a hand in front of her face. "Lydia? Are you alright?" He shakes her shoulders a bit. "Lydia, seriously, are you okay?"

She doesn't say anything.

The lights are definitely flickering.

Stiles turns around, trying to keep calm. This is no place to panic. This is no place to panic. This no place to—

WAKE UP.

Stiles stares. All the posters – all the signs he'd been deliberately ignoring all day – only have one sentence on them. Once sentence written over and over again.

WAKE UP.

WAKE UP WAKE UP.

WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP.

"Oh my God," Stiles breathes, stumbling to remain on his feet. "Oh my—"

Lydia's eyes awaken. Stiles stares in fear as she scrunches her face.

Emitting a high-pitched, terrifying scream, Lydia covers her ears. All the letters on the poster start to shake, crumbling as if made from ash. Stiles clamps his hands over his ears, watching the letters disintegrate and pool on the floor, covering the linoleum tiles with blackness.

"Wake up!" He screams. "Wake up, Stiles!"

The blackness creeps closer to him and Lydia. Removing his hands from his head, Stiles reaches out and pulls Lydia close to him. Her scream pierces his ears, but he makes not move to cover his ears again, but just holds her close.

The scream stops.

Lydia leans in close and whispers gently, "Wake up Stiles."

XXX

"NO!"

Stiles leaps to his feet.

Surrounded by white, he's never felt so alone. He can feel the energy pulsing in the room, like he's not supposed to be here, but it's exactly where he needs to be.

He maneuvers around, trying to get a grip on his breathing. It takes him several minutes before he recognizes the three tubs. Even more before he notices the doors.

He careful steps closer to the tubs, afraid of what lies within their depths. Peering over the edge, his heart palpitates when he sees the still bodies of Scott and Allison within the depths of their water. They look dead. Well, he supposes they are, but it's different to see them. He can understand why Isaac didn't want to do this again. Peeking in his tub, he's surprised to find it empty.

That's when he realizes he's completely wet.

Placing his hand on his chest, he stares at the doors. "This is real," he murmurs to himself. The doors sit at the head of each tub, each door slightly ajar from its necessary resting place. "I hope to God this is real."

Stiles stares at Scott and Allison. "Wake up!" He shouts, gripping the sides of their tubs. "For the love of God, wake up!" He shakes them, but they remain underwater. Their eyes do not open. They do not wake.

Stiles stares at his door. It's barely open. It's frustrating that such a simple crack would wreak so much havoc on his life. He makes a step toward it, but stops when he sees Scott and Allison again.

Groaning, he rushes over to Scott's door. It doesn't budge upon impact, so he anchors himself against Scott's tub, screaming as he pushes the door. Ice water pours on his back as he does and he cries out. But he doesn't stop. Not until he hears the resounding slam of the door in its frame.

The same technique is used for Allison. It takes even longer, her door pushed a little further than Scott's. By the time he's finished, Stile's is panting, his muscles aching everywhere. He presses his cheek against the ground, the cold floor nice.

One door left.

Stiles reaches out, dragging himself across the ground to his door. Wrapping his fingers around the side of his door, Stiles uses it to pull himself forward.

Creak.

The door nudges open.

"Shit," Stiles curses when it opens wider. "Shit, shit, shit."

He scrambles to his feet, watching as the door continues to move away from the frame. Nothing is on the other side but an immense blackness – devoid of
an color that would make it friendlier. It looks like the end of everything.

Stiles presses his back against the door and tries to get it to move. It does so begrudgingly, but after several minutes of heavy exertion, it's still wide open.

Darkness surrounds his eyes. "No," Stiles breaths, but his hands are already falling. He can hear his labored breathing as if it's the only sound in the world. "No, please."

His hands slide from the frame. He can't hold up his head. He doesn't get another plea out before it gets dark.

XXX

"I have researched many ways to kill people and not get caught, so help me, Stiles Stilinski!"

Stiles winces at the shrill voice. He coughs and a loud smattering of sighs echo around him. "Dammit, Stilinski!"

Stiles blinks a few times and finds himself overwhelmingly surrounded by everyone. "'Sup guys? Why are you invading my personal space so elegantly?"

"Yup, he's fine." Isaac chuckles.

Everyone smiles.

"I take it you were as unsuccessful as we were?" Scott says, offering a hand to his best friend and helping him up. Stiles finds it odd that he's lying on the vet's table and gives Scott a look. "Dude, you weren't waking up. After our hour was up, Allison and I got out just fine, but you wouldn't wake up. Deaton was about to go all crazy vet on you."

Stiles smiles weakly. "Well, you know I have a flair for the dramatic."

Allison looks down. "So this was pointless."

But there's something different about them, Stiles notices. They're standing up straighter, their eyes brighter. In fact, Allison has color in her cheeks for the first time in weeks and Scott's smiling freely.

"That was real." Stiles mutters to himself. He can't shake the vision of his open door from his mind and his gaze falls to the ground.

"You didn't answer my question," Scott asks again, but Stiles is barely paying attention. "I guess it didn't really work for you either?"

Stiles looks at all of them. "Wha – oh, no. Totally pointless. It was a nice nap, though."

Finally, some people laugh.

Except one person. One person stands in the back, his arms crossed, studying Stiles very carefully. Deaton arches an eyebrow, looking from Scott and Allison back to Stiles. Stiles purses his lips. The message is very clear. He lie was very strong.

It only didn't convince one person.

A/N: What'd you think? I tried to adapt the style of the show – jumping within dreams. I hope I *may* have fooled one person (in my dreams – right)?

If you have time, tell me what you think in a review and if you think it's worth continuing. I'm super stoked about this new season!