Game Changer

Part 1

Disclaimer: Once again. I do not own Teen Wolf or it's characters. Sadly.

Or Apple/Siri. Or the fox song. Just covering my bases.

Xxx

Stiles woke up screaming yet again, the third time tonight. You rushed over to him from the chair you had been sleeping in a few feet away, his father not far behind, running in from the hall and grabbing his flailing son, trying to contain him, whispering calming things in his ear.

"It's not real, Stiles," you offered supportively, firmly gripping the hand you held, causing him to look at you.

"Which part? Before I started screaming or this?" Your heart broke at those words. Your friend couldn't even tell if you were still the nightmare or actually there comforting him.

"Before. Want me to prove this is real?" He nodded slowly, sniffing softly as he swiped at his tears, eyeing his father briefly with caution, as if preparing to find himself still in a dream.

"How many fingers do I have?" You held up your hands, all your fingers extended and had him count, his voice slightly relieved when he made it to ten. You smiled, then handed him a small whiteboard you wrote on. "Read this."

He looked at the board and squinted like a person with bad vision trying to read an eye chart. You flicked on the bedside lamp and he let out a small cry, reaching up and rubbing his eyes. "Oh. That helped."

You laughed softly as he read the board with no problem, his voice trailing off at the end, his eyebrows narrowing. "Hi. My name is Stiles, and I like to eat oranges." He looked at you. "You are very strange."

"Had to think of something obscure so I knew you'd believe me."

"You okay, son?" His father spoke for the first time, his voice quiet, almost broken.

Stiles patted his father's arm still wrapped around him protectively, smiling weakly. "Yeah, pops. I'm fine."

His father retreated from the room, but not before you saw him swipe at a tear as he rounded the corner into the hall.

"You wanna talk about it?" You asked Stiles softly, once again taking his hand and rubbing his knuckles softly with your thumb.

He nodded a short, decisive nod, staring at his comforter. "Will you come lay with me while I do? I promise, no funny business. I just need to feel you next to me since I know you're real."

Climbing into the bed, you each lay on your side, face to face, your foreheads nearly touching, his hot breath fanning across your face. He stared down and away, not looking you in the eye. Hooking a finger under his chin, you raised his face so now your noses almost touched. "Stiles. It's okay. Just tell me."

"It's.... It's like I'm stuck. Stuck in this.... Hole, this canyon like hole, and everything just echoes. It's dark, and I can't even see my hand in front of my face. I feel like I'm drowning in the darkness. Who knew emptiness could be so claustrophobic?"

"I know what you mean," you said softly. "It's like when I used to go camping with my dad. Being out in such wide open spaces makes you feel so small, it's almost suffocating sometimes."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, looking away as his lip began to tremble. He bit it, trying to hold in the sob, his face screwing up more and more the harder he tried. Closing his eyes tight, a few tears slipped free and you pulled him into you as he began to sob, rocking him and gently rubbing his back until he quieted.

"I just feel so alone. And helpless. Like everyone needs my help, needs me for something, I don't know what, but I'm trapped in this place and can't get out. I'm afraid to move in case something is on the ground, or I'm on the edge of a cliff or something. And all I keep thinking is, 'I gotta get out of here'. And then I wake up screaming. I feel like there is something I'm missing. Some important part of the dream just before I wake up, making me scream, but I can't remember it. Or maybe I just don't want to."