fixing things (shouldn't be this complicated) [Teen Wolf]

Sixth Step, Or, Houston, We've Got a Problem [1]

A/n: This chapter is labeled as #evilauthorisevil in my notes. I'm not sorry. *evil grin* Also, when I wrote this, I was operating off mistaken assumptions of their memories transitioning from s3 to s4. Oops.

:-:-:-:

The room is white. That's the first thing he notices. It's white, stark white, and it's blurry. He blinks to try to clear his vision.

Well. The blurriness disappears, but the stark whiteness doesn't. Great, he's in the hospital. Again. Bracing himself for the sight of a heart monitor and things stuck under his (his mom's) skin, he sits up.

...Wait. This isn't a hospital room. Blinking, he stares around at the long, cavernous...chamber he's in, long enough that he can't see the other end. White tiles line the walls and floors, and large, square fluorescent lights follow the ceiling down its length. Pillars stretching from floor to ceiling pace evenly down both sides of the chamber, disappearing into the white distance.

What is this place? A closer look at the walls, the floor, the pillars offer no clue as to the answer. He's moving without really realizing, heading in the direction that the pillars, lights, and tiles all seem to point to – the whiteness. Maybe he'll find the answer at the other end of the room.

Yet he hesitates before he goes very far. There's something...weird about this place. Not just all the whiteness and the total lack of explanation whatsoever, but something else. Something that – he's not scared, exactly, but this room has a sense of ...something in its atmosphere that makes him – him, the master of charging in where angels fear to tread - want to tread carefully.

Since horror movies and his own personal experiences have taught him that it's better to go up against a supernatural creature directly instead of running screaming (that's how they always get you), Stiles continues to put one step in front of the other.

And keeps stepping. For a long time.

Things get hazy after a while, as he passes by scenery that is the exact same as the one by which he just walked. His thoughts slow down, as his vision glazes over, and he slows down to a shuffle. He starts feeling separated from his body, like he's starting to float out of it, and the only connection he has to it are invisible puppet strings, and even those are thinning to hair's widths in keeping him together.

He's not quite sure whether he wants them to break or not. On the one hand, flying. On the other, where would his body go? It's his body, he doesn't want to leave it behind. Wherever he's going, he'd like to take it with him, put it in a safe place so he can come back to it later.

This is the thought that slows his shamble to a stop. He stares dully at the horizon, the continuous line of lights and pillars pointing the way. There doesn't seem to be any end to it, this path that leads to a bright, bright white – maybe it goes on forever? Maybe the white isn't anything, just an enticement to keep coming, when there's nothing for him to come upon and find.

If that's the case, then what's the point? Why move if there's nothing to move for? He casts a glance around him. The scenery is the same, the exact same. Actually, it doesn't look like he's moved at all. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe he only thought he was moving, but in actuality he's been in the same place, staring into the distance and looking stupid.

He waits for the annoyance to set in. He has better things to do with his time than to go on his version of the NeverEnding Story. Can't quite remember what those things are, but he knows he has them. Just....

Oh, whatever. There's no point. He's here, he's not going to get anywhere else, and he's...bored. Tired. Not like physically tired, but he just doesn't want to do anything. He's...unenergetic. Yeah, that sounds better. He's unenergetic.