Stiles, his name is stiles.
It’s hard to breath when your dead.
It’s like sucking in air through a sippy straw, or breathing into a paper bag a million times. The air is like chalk, or at least it left that film all over Ians mouth. There wasn’t any noise, and maybe he would have been glad, no more clicking and the sound of the rushing water, but it was like silence upon silence. It wasn’t real.
But the one thing that stayed was the pain.
Pain in his skull, it was pressure pure and simple. Too many thoughts that weren’t his own, screaming at him. Feed, feed, feed. Kill, kill, kill. Behind his eyes he could watch the thing, what had devoured him, he could watch it do the same. A new kid, a new face, a new scar to add to his conscious.
Something was oft about the boy this time, he was aware. He knew nothing was right. He had opened the door, while ian and the others, they hadnt. They.. They had been taken over slowly, much slowly than this boy. By the time they noticed, it was over. They were gone, all but him, because ian, no matter how much he wished his brother would pull the plug, he knew he’d live until he expired.
But for some reason ian wanted to suffer and he pushed, his hands balling until his ears rang. Sound flooded him, pain lacing through his head again and again, sound was painful. But he ignored the pain for the kids name, saying it outloud.
“Stiles, his name is stiles. ”