He'd spent a few days in there already, maybe it wasn't longer. He hadn't been keeping track anymore. He didn't want to really. The ice pack Derek had tossed him earlier sat on the side of his face that was swollen still with the broken nose and cheekbone, the black eyes were less raccoon looking now. He was glad for that, though his face felt just as sore and stiff at times. His eyes were cast toward the window that was left open, it was something to do. Just stare. Just try not think, but who was he kidding. He couldn't stop thinking. He couldn't switch off.
His notebook was only two or three days old and it was filled. Some of the pages were filled with the word 'Heal' over and over again. Other's had names and numbers and lines, diagrams, and only half of it might make sense to the normal person. The rest was in true Stiles jibberish form. He lay on the mattress unmoving, pajama pants and a t-shirt that obviously wasn't even his as it was huge on him. Nothing was the same anymore. He couldn't see clearly, couldn't move anymore. He could barely feel anymore. He could hear though, and he listened closely to try and figure out who was at the door.