september, 2011.

why this was happening, he had no clue. the panic attacks, the hallucinations, the nightmares. oh, not to mention the anxiety. it was all so weird. surely, it couldn't have been just from the trauma of being a part of a surrogate sacrifice ritual, right? right?

and maybe those eight hours of sleep he'd gotten in the last three days weren't doing him much good. but even if he did try to sleep, he'd literally have to scream to wake himself up. hell, he didn't even know if he wasn't in a dream right now.

he lifted his head up from his desk, the laptop right next to his head. his eyes widened slightly, realizing that he had been asleep this whole time - and this time, he didn't wake up screaming and crying because of a nightmare, he was perfectly fine. as fine as anyone could be in his situation, anyway.

there were some papers on his desk, too. probably homework that he'd have to finish later.

sleepily, he grabbed a random sweater, pulling it over his head. then, he may or may not have snuck into your house through the window, like he usually did.

"heyyy," he drawled out, leaning on the wall next to your window. he looked exhausted, almost as if he hadn't slept for ages - which, frankly, wasn't exactly too far off the truth.

"hey, stiles," you greeted, closing the book you were reading. "c'mere."

he did, flopping onto the bed next to you. the more you looked at him, the more you began to realize something.

"stiles, is that my sweater?" you asked, tilting your head to the side.

"..maybe?"