Side Effects

Control

         Stiles finally reached the bathroom, a small closet-sized bathroom. He grabbed onto the sink and put his weight on it, he leaned over and looked at himself in the smudged mirror. He looked sleep deprived and exhausted, this was not particularly new but it seemed like a fresh pair of bags under his eyes formed for this special occasion. Far from home, stuck with hunters, and was hunted down and taken by a witch, not his worst experience, but also not helpful.
         He turned on the sink and splashed some water on his face, wanting to feel as refreshed as possible at the moment. Stiles yanked out a paper towel from the dispenser next to him and dried his face and hands. He looked in the mirror once more, he didn't know what his next move was at this point, he knew gave Sam and Dean time to talk, most likely about him. He wasn't worried, he was sure Sam's overprotectiveness would overpower any doubt Dean could have about him. No, his worry was greater than that, what happens when he goes back home? What other supernatural creatures know how to find him and the pack? Stiles has no issue believing that witches exist, they pale in comparison to what he's faced, but he doesn't believe that the one witch that kidnapped him was the only one interested in him and Scott's pack, this has to be bigger than what it seems.
         Just as Stiles was readying himself to go out to faced Sam and Dean again, he felt extreme dizzy, so much as to lose balance and fell on to the tiled floor. His head was spinning, he began hearing whispers, harsh, angry whispers.
         "Get out! Go back!" Stiles heard, repeated over and over, somehow he knew what the whispers meant, go back to where him and Sam were held captive. Stiles felt a sudden rush, a desperate need to get out of the diner and go back to the witch's house immediately.
It felt like the worst panic attack if his life, not only did he feel like all the air in the room had vanished, but the small room seemed to shrink by the second. Stiles hurriedly clawed at the bathroom door, trying to grasp the door knob. When he did, he threw open the door and almost fell out, he was able to gain back little balance and took in what he could of his surroundings.
          Down the tiny hallway, to his left, was a way back to the tables of the diner, to the right, was a back door exit. Stiles didn't want to leave, he wanted to go home, but there was a force driving him to his right. He pushed the door open, now standing in the back parking lot of the diner, most likely where the employees park their cars. By this time, Stiles noticed he was inadvertently hyperventilating, it feels so much like a panic attack, but it can't be, it's different.
         Stiles went towards the closest car, a red car, and he felt it again, the pull to do something he really didn't want to. He lifted his elbow and smashed the driver's side window, his elbow immediately dripping blood and adorned with small shards of glass. As we unlocked the door and sat himself inside, he thought about how much this reminded him of the nogitsune, trapped in his own body while someone else calls the shots, but Stiles knows that it's not the nogitsune, the nogitsune engulfed him in evil and misery, this was more a feeling of a terrible first person game that he can't control and it scared him to no end.
         Before he could realize what he was doing, he was facing inner working if the car and crossed the wires he needed to get the car started. At the sound of the car's hum, Stiles pulls out of the lot as fast as he can and heads down the road they came from.
Despite the paralyzing fear of something like similar to the nogitsune happening all over again, Stiles tried his best to gain back most of his own actions. But every time Stiles attempt to take back his mind, he got a harrowing migraine that would fade so long as he didn't try again. Stiles took a moment and desperately grasped onto what he could always count on, his reasoning, at this point it was all he could count on.
Stiles forced his mind to focus on the how, who, and why. It took a lot of of attempts to focus, his mind didn't want him to think, just drive. Through the piercing migraine, Stiles could gain little, but enough. It was the witch, of course it was, she isn't done with him, he had escaped and she used her magic to do this to him. After gaining that bit of knowledge, his mind pushed him out again, the migraine subsiding and driving faster, the need to go to the witch intensified.
He couldn't go back, no one would know he's there, Sam doesn't know he had abandoned them and he didn't quite tell his dad everything, and the witch would definitely make sure he couldn't escape again. It couldn't happen again, he couldn't survive again.
With this new and greater fear overwhelming him, Stiles mustered up all the physical and mental strength he had and swerved to the right, heading off the paved road and onto desert dirt. Stiles pushed for more control, no matter how painful, and took his hands off the wheel and his foot off the pedal. His free hands flew to the back of his neck, as far from the steering wheel as he could manage.
The pain soon went away as the car halted to a stop a few hundred feet away from the main road. A few seconds after the pain faded away, so did he. Stiles sat there, alone, unconscious, and bleeding. It was all too much.