#creeper derek

He stares with sleep bleary eyes at the half gallon of orange juice on his counter and considers texting Scott to ask him if he was raised by wolves. But Scott didn’t have orange juice last night, did he? No, there was pizza and enough Mountain Dee to leave them both sterile, but he doesn’t remember Scott having a glass of OJ before he left.

It’s not just that.

There are things he doesn’t remember buying, shoved in his cabinets and in his bathroom; food, band-aids, things like that. He knows he must have bought them at some point, because there they are, but he’s always a little cautious when he checks the expiration dates of things. What if this stuff has been back in the cabinets for months? Maybe even when he first moved in? Nothing tastes stale, though, so there’s that.

When he comes home one day to find his door unlocked, he gets a little worried.

He looks around, but nothing seems to be stolen. His TV and his laptop are still there, his money is still tucked up in the light fixtures. He must have just forgotten, which is odd in and of itself. This isn’t exactly a high crime neighborhood, but he’s the Sheriff’s kid, and keeping the door locked at all times is sort of second nature to him now.

Little things start to bother him. Like how his books are sometimes out of order, or a door being open wider than he remembers leaving it. He hasn’t been able to find his favorite shirt in days, and sometimes a light is left on.

He’s thinks he knows what the problem is. He’s been waking up tired recently, a lethargic weight in his muscles that makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning some days. He’s not on anything, so he’s left to assume that this is something similar that happened when he was nine. He grew out of sleepwalking early on, but he knows it can be triggered by stress and whatnot, and he has been feeling oddly paranoid lately.

There’s really only one way to be sure.

He sets up his laptop webcam to record during the night. The picture will be shit, but he leaves his lamp on that night anyway to be sure he can at least see something. If he is sleepwalking, it’s just a matter of seeing his doctor, maybe taking some time off of work, and focusing on getting as much school work done in advance as he can.

When he wakes up, his lamp has been shut off.

He clicks it off and on to be sure that it’s still working before going over and checking his laptop. Six hours of footage. This’ll be fun to sort through. He decides to at least eat something while watching and heads to the kitchen to grab a banana and a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He makes sure he’s comfortable before sitting at his desk and playing the footage at double speed. He drinks half the bottle before his digital self even falls asleep. Nibbling on a piece of banana he watches as the times stamp runs and absolutely nothing happens.

Until it does.

Stiles fails, sitting up in his chair and rewinding the footage before playing back at normal speed.

What?

Stiles watches as someone enters his room from off camera. The person doesn’t skulk around like a prowler, instead walking up to the bed as if it’s nothing, as if it were only natural. Stiles forces the lump in his throat down as he watches the man pull off his shoes, and suddenly his sheer bafflement becomes a sickening twist in his stomach as the man undoes his belt, stripping down and sliding into bed with Stiles, reaching over him to turn out the light. The screen turns to a grainy black.

Stiles is pretty sure he’s having a panic attack.

Dizzingly, he reaches over for his phone to call his dad, but his hand doesn’t respond to his command to grip it, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud. His limbs feel heavy while his head feels light. This isn’t a panic attack, he thinks as his hand knocks over his bottle of water and his vision gets blurry. He’s not even coordinated enough to jump when arms encircle him from behind and lips press again his ear.