Nerves fired. Stiles heart was beating again, but when his eyes flew open, he still couldn't breathe. There was a heaviness that was crushing him, even though Stiles could feel the cold. He wasn't buried all the way now. He had thought Lydia finished burying him. Terrified, he expected to see her showering dirt over him with a shovel. For a moment, he thought he did, but the girl standing over him wasn't Lydia. He didn't recognize her at all.. where did Lydia go? Where did he go? Confused and powered by instinct, Stiles wildly struggled against the rest of the dirt that covered him. His eyes were blown wide with panic, pleading for help as he barely even managed to wheeze. He needed to sit up. He reached, desperately trying get out, he didn't want to be right where Colleen told him he would end up, even if it had been far too late. He still couldn't breathe.
Destiny rooted Stiles up from his grave, and once he was on solid ground, he began to hack and heave, coughing up clumps of dirt and bile as he slumped forward on his hands and knees.
He remembered the look on Scott's face. He remembered the look on Lydia's faces, but the last thing he saw before dirt dropped into his eyes was the moon.
After that? He tried to hold his breath for as long as he could. He really did.
Even when Stiles could mostly breathe again, he was still shaking, his last moments before losing consciousness on repeat in his mind. His skull was throbbing, his chest was tight and every muscle ached from the struggle, but he quickly tried to scramble to his feet. The world was spinning, and Stiles dropped back down to his knees again. He was still struggling to breathe, but nothing could stop him from pulling himself towards the grave beside him.