Chapter Text
The house was finally devoid of everything that had been accumulating in it over the years. Stiles looked around his old room, his amber eyes gliding over the bare slate blue walls, lingering for few seconds on the surface near the corner, where his bed used to stand. A slight nostalgic smile crept over his lips.
He remembered the day he put on his green hoodie and pretended to be a dragon. Crawling under the bed, into his dark cave, grabbing mom's hand whenever she'd dare to stick it under to try and steal his precious treasure. Which was actually just a bowl of caramel candy.
He remembered, how she’d lied in bed with him every evening, stroking the hair away from his forehead, reading from an old fairy tale book. He used to adore the colorful pictures, listening to his mother's voice as he closed his eyes and fell asleep enveloped by her warmth.
His heart clenched a bit more looking at those blue walls. It was as if all her traces had been removed from the place. It no longer felt like a home.
Stiles felt his eyes sting a little. But his phone rang, before any of the tears could slip free. He pulled it out of his back pocket and accepted the call without even checking the screen.
“I'm fine,” he forced out, looking out of the window.
“I know...just...if you needed me over...”
Stiles ran his hand over the short hair on his scalp, frowning to himself slightly. The buzz cut made him involuntary think of the reason why he’d cut it so short again after all these years. He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side.
“Scott, I'm fine. Really. Well not, ya know, but...as fine as I can be right now, I suppose,” he looked around again. “If you could relay that to everyone so they don't try to call me every ten minutes, that would be grand.”
“Yea, sure buddy,” Scott did sound a bit sheepish at that. Stiles would bet they were all listening in on the phone call in the pack house anyways. He counted on that either way. Damn werewolves.
“But you'll owe me like -... ,” his best friend's voice was suddenly interrupted by a loud clatter followed by a high pitched whine and hurried shuffling. “Ah jeez, I told you not to climb on that...wait! Stiles, I'll see ya later okay...I need to....” The call ended abruptly.
Stiles would have been more worried, wasn't it for the fact that this occurred in the pack house a lot lately. Scott's little werewolf daughter was apparently in a 'climbing phase' and tried to conquer every surface that went higher than her knees. Which was basically all of the furniture.
So Stiles just smiled fondly and pocketed his phone. He left his old room with one last look and closed the door behind him. The hallway led straight to the stairs and Stiles passed the bathroom and the spare room without a second thought, stopping only a few steps before the stairs, looking right.
He imagined his dad's room was...well, pretty much same as his at that moment. Blank. Stiles let this fingertips slide over the wooden door and down to the golden-like handle, but didn't dare to open it. He only tapped the door few times, hoping he'd change his mind, but he didn't. It was still too raw.
So he flung his way down the stairs, relishing in the way they creaked, avoiding the living room and heading straight to the kitchen. He touched the door frame and stared at it for a while.
It was probably very stupid of him, but he liked this part of the kitchen the most. Because every year on his birthday his parents would take a pen or a sharpie, let him stand with his back to the door frame and note his height with a short horizontal line. It was always fun to compare how much he'd grown over the years.
He traced the highest one. It was an inch lower than his present height. The number '2011' was written right next to it. The year the crazy show started. Not something one could forget that easily, especially since he was the one who started the whole roller coaster. He was the one that had gotten them all involved....
The fond smile slid off his face, replaced by a guilty grimace. He wasn't gonna think of it. He wasn't... just as he thought he was indeed gonna slip into the painful past, his phone chimed again. This time just barking twice like a happy puppy, announcing a new text message.
He pulled it out and glanced at the time. Yep, just on time for the next check up. Not sure if he was annoyed or glad, he slid a finger over the screen and opened the message.
Husband<3 Stiles.
Rolling his eyes, he sat on the wooden floor like many times before and typed back his answer.
'M ok! Tell Scotty I owe him shit'
Husband<3 Can't. On patrol.
'Explains y u dunno that this numbr has been pack-banned for the next hour. AT LEAST!!!'
Husband<3 I am just some random stranger texting you from in the middle of the woods then.
Stiles sniggered, staring at the screen. Not that that was hard to imagine. God knows that happened way too often right after they met. 2011 suddenly seemed like a pretty good year.
'Ur such a creeper msgin random ppl, man :P'
'Sides, d be weird for a married man to cuddle a random stranger'
'Better yet, sex him up'
Husband<3 'I'll make you a good price.'
'Duude, thats so not fair! Nu-uh you crossed the holy line of our marriage agreement'
Husband<3 'Unless I'd give you a husband discount. That would be probably like 50% off.'
Stiles rolled his eyes, catching a glimpse of his wedding ring. It was a simple smooth thing that enveloped his finger just right. Of course the band was made of silver, come on, that was like the best joke of the century. He could always claim his husband couldn't possibly be a werewolf, since he's obviously wearing silver. That thought cheered him up immediately.
He turned his hand so it was palm up, using his thumb to push the ring up his finger, not pushing it off completely, just to uncover the skin usually hidden behind the band. He traced a part of the thin black tattooed line with his fingertip.
'Combined with mate discount its 100 pct off, am sure!'
Husband<3 ' Pleasure doing business with you.'
'Freeeee pleasure!'
'Can feel ur eyes rolling right now.'
'R they?'
'Did they get stuck?'
'Can u even read dis?'
Husband<3 'Stiles.'
‘Wut?'
Husband<3 'Need to run. Take your time. Stay safe. Say goodbye from me too.'
'Okie dokie.'
With nothing else left to do with his phone, he just let it hang loose in his hand, swinging it gently from one side to the other. He should’ve probably gone back then anyways. Left fast. Like pulling off a band aid. The same pain, but in a short burst.
And yet he didn't move, simply breathing in the lingering scents of his lost home. But he couldn't smell mom's apple pies, nor dad's liquor. He couldn't smell spring flowers, or greasy curly fries either.
His lips thinned. It was just an empty shell now. It didn’t even belong to him anymore. He was just saying goodbye and then handing the keys to the new owners the next morning.
Stiles sighed as he got up from the dusty floor and patted his hand lightly over his pants, removing the dust that might have gotten stuck to the dark blue fabric. There was no point staying here anymore, really. He checked the place twice already, just in case something was left behind. Not to mention the pack had already done so two days prior. Nothing could escape those keen werewolf noses after all.
Felling the logic pushing him gently out of the house, Stiles walked slowly to the door and opened it. He felt his heart clench tightly as he looked back into the empty space.
“Goodbye...” he croaked, feeling his throat turn dry. He swallowed reflexively. Then he closed the door behind him and locked it properly, pocketing the keys next to his phone, which immediately started ringing again. He couldn't tell who exactly was calling this time, nor did he really care, so he ignored it until it stopped.
The driveway was also empty. Stiles didn't want to park there anymore. It was meant for his dad's sheriff cruiser after all. And as he walked to his baby blue jeep standing on the right side of the road, he couldn't help but remember all the times his dad drove him around in that car.
The way they smiled at each other over junk food, the one night he let him turn on the lights on the roof, the times they drove around in the middle of the night until Stiles shook off his latest panic attack...and well, there was the one time dad locked him in the back. Well okay, it might have been more than once, but who's counting...
Of course, that's when his phone rang again. Just as he was getting into his jeep. Alright, it was starting to get a tiny bit annoying. He pulled out his phone, glaring at the screen flashing 'Lydia' and threw it on the passenger seat next to his. He would be in the pack house soon anyways.
Stiles naturally forgot he should only lean carefully onto the seat, not to slide around like a seal on a beach. That's why he was instantly rewarded by the slight irritation on his lower back. He huffed and pressed the clutch, turning the key in the ignition. He shifted gears before driving away from the house with his foot on the gas pedal.
The fact that he was fairly distracted by his tattoo probably helped. He only glanced in the rear-view mirror once before turning left, heading for the preserve.
And yes his phone did start to ring once again, but no, he didn't turn his gaze from the road, nor did he let go of the steering wheel. The emo check-up could wait for a few more minutes, thank you very much. He was fine.
Stiles just patiently followed the road up the woods, calming himself with the picture of his finally finished brown tattoo. Mentally tracing the lines covering his body always steadied his mind effectively.
He started under his palm, imagining the two thicker lines spinning right next to each other, filled with a lightning shape zig-zagging between them. They climbed up around both of his arms symmetrically, like snakes sliding over his back, right under his shoulders and meeting in the middle.
A bit higher up his spine, right under the nape of his neck, sat a triskelion that was barely covered by his shirt. Nothing much surprising about that, he guessed, sliding with his mind over it's three interlocked spirals. It made him inadvertently think of his husband's triskelion too. His magic tinkled slightly along the lines.
The rest of his back was covered by an image of a tree. It's trunk sliding down his spine in thick vertical lines, spilling onto his lower back into thin intertwined lines representing roots. Right now the brownish roots did fade into nothing right above his backside. With the right amount of particular magic, they would glow and extend down his legs and into his soles, connecting him with the earth.
His shoulder blades were all covered in branches. All of them curled inwardly, supporting the triskelion in their design. The tree didn't even have any leaves, it just looked as if somebody stacked snail shells onto the trunk. Stiles sniggered at that.
And before he could continue with his mental and literal journey, guess what? The phone started ringing again. For the love of everything magical, seriously? They couldn't wait like 10 more minutes, could they? Stiles grabbed the phone, sliding his fingertip over the screen, barely noticing Lydia's name flickering over it.
“What in the name of-...” he started, pushing the gas pedal a bit lower, hearing his engine roar angrily. Supporting his mood. Perfect. He wanted to continue the sentence of course, but today was apparently the international day of unfinished sentences, so Lydia interrupted with a stern and slightly shrill voice: “Stiles, you need to-!“
It didn't really surprise him that her sentence didn't even continue. What did surprise him though, and rather unpleasantly to be honest, was the sound of an ear-piercing panicked howl that was carried to him over the treetops on his right side.
And Stiles knew that howl. And he knew all those other howls that joined the havoc in that instant too. He slammed on the breaks, his tires squealing on the asphalt in protest.
“What the hell is going on!?” He spat into his phone, jumping out of the car after grabbing his supply bag from the back seat and shouldering it in a hurry. He didn't even bother closing the door, (nobody would dare steal his car anyways) running in the direction the howls came from.
“Not so sure...,” Lydia wheezed, obviously running too. “Derek called... caught... weird scent... went to check with... Isaac... we're almost there!”
Stiles wasn't even sure he registered what was said after the first word. The fact that Derek howled for the whole pack to come could only mean it was something really dangerous. Something that couldn't be stopped by two huge wolves.
“Keep them safe!” He yelled into the phone, clutching it in his hand as he ran between the trees. Well, at least he ran reasonably fast thanks to all those years of running away from dangerous beasts. Not to mention the intense werewolf training.
But it still wasn't fast enough. Not when he heard the howls again. A command to gather ASAP. They were further away from him than he first thought. Shit. He wanted to swear aloud, but it would only disturb his breathing, so he quickly swallowed the words, reaching back and grabbing a tiny plastic packet from his rucksack with his free hand.
“Stiles!” He heard Lydia’s voice shriek from his phone.
“I'm on it!!” He yelled back.
Stiles moved his left hand closer to his ear so he could hear more, perhaps catch some clues about what was actually going on, but there was only vicious growling in the background followed by a low pitched whine. Isaac, his brain supplied.
With no time to spare he squeezed the small plastic bag, which popped open from the pressure, red liquid spilling over the inside of his hand. He needed to be faster. As fast as a werewolf, at least.
Stiles brought the thumb to his mouth, licking over the tip covered in the red liquid, tasting iron. Yes, he was going to stubbornly call it 'the red liquid'', not the obvious 'blood of my werewolf mate'. He wouldn't wanna get sick thinking about it too much right then, thanks. He just needed his magic to imitate the pattern of a werewolf’s speed.
With that in mind, he took in a steadying breath, smearing his fingers down the nape of his neck in a precise motion, not caring if the collar of his shirt got dirty or not. It might have looked like a smudge to an untrained eye, but it was in fact a sigil that signified speed. He felt a jolt of magic surge through his body which was being emitted from the triskelion.
Faster, he thought.“Faster,” he whispered, pushing his muscles, rushing his magic, mentally picturing Derek as he ran, his muscles moving effortlessly. It made the tattoo glow golden down his spine, no doubt extending the tree's roots down his legs.
Stiles opened his eyes, irises glowing. Well, at least the pack claimed they glowed golden sometimes when he did magic. Barely anything changed from his point of view, unless you count the blur that suddenly swallowed the surroundings. He would have enhanced his sight too, but there was no time now. He just needed to be faster.
So he ran, weaving his way between the trees, avoiding the roots rather successfully. His breathing didn't even speed up, muscles leaking the energy from the magic within him. He could feel the parts of the tattoo falling together like a well oiled machine, strengthening his Spark remarkably. It took him ages to find the right combination, to design the perfect mosaic, but finally he had succeeded just a few days prior. Well, he had hoped for a test run first, true, but this would have to do.
Stiles was rather relieved when he started to hear snarls, whimpers and shouts, echoed by his phone. He pushed his legs ever harder, eager to see for himself. Finally the trees opened up to a fairly spacious clearing. Ah yes, he knew it well. Just last winter, the pack had had the most epic snowball fight in the history of snowball fights right here.
Running out from between the trees, he stopped swiftly and scanned the scene in front of him. Well, it did look quite bad for them, sadly. It made him cringe inwardly. Seven wolves were scattered around the space, most of them circling the weird hovering creature that looked like a...well it was pretty much a dementor with long sharp claws.
He spotted Lydia kneeling in the grass on the other side of the clearing with her hand on a sandy wolf. So he ran to her, keeping to the trees, not letting his eyes slide off the monster. It was trying to slash at the chocolate brown wolf – Boyd, who jumped out of the way, while the charcoal black one circled around the dementor, snapping at its body.
It was like the creature knew what was going to happen, it easily avoided the razor-sharp teeth with a drunk slide to the right, letting Derek land on the ground unharmed. The wolves just circled around it, regrouping, while it tried to slash them with its claws. He could see Derek moving his body so he would always stand between Stiles and the dementor. Reassured, he tore his eyes from the fight and latched them on the strawberry blonde next to him.
“Lydia!” Stiles knelt next to her, touching her shoulder. “What the hell is going on? What the fuck is that weirdo thing there? Are you okay? Is Isaac alright?”
He had a lot more questions that threatened to spill out of his mouth, but Lydia stopped him with one fierce look.
“I was hoping you'd know.”
“I've never seen anything like that. It looks kinda like a dementor. Could it be a dementor? A soul-sucking vampire dude?” He laid his hand on Isaac's motionless body, surging his magic into his fingertips. He could feel the blood rush inside the wolf's body, the heart evenly pumping. Much to his relief, it seemed Isaac was simply unconscious.
“I have no idea. I tried everything I had at hand - mountain ash, poppy, fairy dust...but nothing worked on it! I don't know what it is Stiles. I don't know. I should know, I should...” she shook her head, looking at him with her wide panicked eyes. “I am a horrible Emissary...”
“Now, now...ya know that's not-...did you try to talk to it or something, maybe it's only attacking, cuz of all those angry wolves around.” Well he could hope for an easy solution, couldn't he?
“I don't think it came over for a friendly chat, Stiles. It was already trying to claw out Isaac, when we arrived,” Lydia spat out, putting her hand protectively over the slumped mass of sandy brown fur. “And Derek wouldn't attack nor howl like that without a reason. You must know that!”
“Just covering all the bases,” he shrugged and then caught her hand in his own. “Let's see what happened then, shall we?”
After scribbling a connection sigil into his palm, Stiles put his hand flat on the ground. It was still covered with the remains of the 'red liquid'. He dug his fingers into the moss, flashing a worried look at the wolves, but dismissing it quickly. They were holding their ground well enough and this would only take a few seconds anyways. So he closed his eyes (Lydia doing the same without a second thought) and let a wave of his magic descend down his arm, over his hand, into the earth.
Well, it wasn't the most reliable source of what happened, but Derek was too busy defending the pack to let them know the details and Isaac was pretty much out of it, so the memories would be almost impossible for him to find.
Stiles could see his tattoo glow from behind his eyelids, bright red melting into white as the flashback hit him. It was like a wave that flooded his senses, rendering him helpless against the possible danger in the real world, but he trusted the pack to protect him if necessary.
He tried to ignore all the different smells infused in the memory before they could overwhelm him and turned his head to the right, as he heard a wolf approaching. Isaac emerged as a sandy wolf from between the trees, looking around with focused eyes, shifting his ears as if he was trying to find a sound that wasn't really there. He bowed his head and sniffed, looking confused for a second.
As he trotted into the clearing, the dementor-like creature appeared out of nowhere and towered over him. It brought down its claws at an alarmingly high speed, aiming for the wolf's head. Isaac managed to duck out of the way somehow, probably purely by instinct, although he only succeeded partially. His body slumped with a pitiful whine, warm blood seeping into the fur on his head.
The creature started to approach him once again, but was interrupted by a thundering howl, accompanied by a huge black ball that leaped out of the woods, slamming at full speed into the frail body that was covered in a raggedy black robe. An attack like that would have probably broken lots of bones under normal circumstances, but normal obviously didn't apply.
Derek positioned himself in front of Isaac's slumped body and snarled threateningly. Just as the creature was about to attack again, Lydia grabbed his arm forcefully, pulling him out of the flashback. Fingers squeezed his biceps with far more strength than she should’ve been able to muster. The blue manicured nails dug into his bare skin.
“Stiles, I...” she started, her voice turning grim. “I feel like screaming.”
A chill ran down his spine, the flashback dismissed immediately. He glimpsed ears turning their way and postures stiffening. And that was when a pained wail tore through the dreadful silence, led with a barely noticeable whoosh. The white wolf fell to the ground and the dementor turned his hollowed eye sockets in Lydia's direction, lifting his bloodied claws into their line of sight, as if it wanted to force her to finally let out her scream.
It only lasted a fraction of a second though, because the coffee brown wolf roared, red eyes glowing ferociously. All the wolves shifted their stances, snarling loudly and attacking from different angles. The creature was forced to slide away from the white bloodied heap on the ground to successfully avoid all the attacks.
Cora could meanwhile grab her mate's unmoving body, pulling it carefully to Stiles and Lydia, whining pleadingly. The strawberry blonde hurriedly took out few vials from her purse and assessed the wound carefully. It was a really deep cut that, for some reason, wouldn't stop bleeding.
“It's okay, it's okay, Brandon,” she mumbled, opening the vial containing a white liquid serum, letting few drops land on the wound. “I will not scream. I refuse to.”
Stiles put his hand on the white wolf's hip, surging a wave of his magic to enhance the force of the healing draught. The bleeding stopped at once. Lydia smirked triumphantly and put each hand flat on either side of the wound, bringing the ragged edges together so it could seal itself faster. It was a significantly slower process than usual though, similar to wounds afflicted by an Alpha.
Stiles glanced up and saw a furious Cora leap back into the battle, jumping and then sinking her teeth into the creature’s wrist, yanking on it with a mighty force. She should have ripped it all off, considering the arm seemed like just thin bones held together by sickly-colored skin. But something in the air shifted and Cora lost her hold on the wrist, toppling backwards.
“We need a different plan, werewolf strength doesn't seem to affect it. It either avoids the attack or cancels it somehow, see?” Stiles pointed at Scott's unsuccessful attempt to get under the creature and strike from that seemingly vulnerable point, while the others posed as a very dangerous distraction.
“And as you pointed out, none of the magical weapons seem to work either,” he added, his mind whirling frantically. “If we had more time to research...”
“Peter might know. But he stayed behind with Chris to protect the others. Maybe if I called him-...” Lydia suggested holding Brandon's slowly healing injury.
“There's no time for that! That thing can injure them, but they can't injure it. We can't keep healing one wolf after another...we need a way to buy us some time, at least.” He could feel the solution on the tip of his tongue, but wasn't able to spit it out.
Thinking aimlessly, he glanced to the fight and saw the creature slip out of the tight knot of wolves with some weird shift in the air, heading straight for them. Stiles wished for some amazing shield that would protect them, but since Lydia already mentioned mountain ash not working it was all in vain.
The dementor raised his claws, but three of the wolves bound for him at top speed and locked their jaws into his robe, yanking him back forcefully. The momentum carried it few meters back involuntarily, the sudden movement wrenching away the floaty hood, uncovering the bold head for Derek's huge opened jaw. The teeth snapped shut over its skull. But the crack didn't come.
Stiles must have blinked or something. Because in one second the head was right there, ready to be crushed like a melon, or better yet - a chicken egg. But in the next second, its whole body shifted like hot air, appearing behind the black wolf. Well fuck.
Derek's teeth clamped painfully as he barreled into the ground at full speed, rolling over the moss. Stiles was sure he heard some bones crack, seeing the front leg dislodge slightly, making the wolf's shoulder stick out rather obviously. Anger bubbled inside of him, restarting his brain.
He would have run to check on Derek, but the wolf was already getting up, moving his front leg into the correct formation, fractures probably healed already. He leapt between them and the creature, ready to defend them, if necessary.
“Okay so I've got an idea. It's a bit far-fetched but...what if I tried to banish it?” He mused, squinting his eyes at the signs on the side of dementor's head. Nothing he had ever seen before, but he might as well try to remember them. “I still have that shell that your parents got me from the Mediterranean Sea. I could use it as an anchor.”
“No, you've seen how easily it transports,” Lydia countered, smearing some salve over Brandon's healing pink scar. “It would just pop back in.”
“Well, that would suggest it's here for some special reason. Maybe if I banish it elsewhere, it'd just...I don't know... try to kill some fish instead?” He wished for more time. Time to think. Time to...wait a second.
“Maybe I could combine the banishing sigil with the one for future time and send him...into the future?” It did sound way too insane, didn't it? It was true, he was good at combining the sigils to achieve two or three things at once, but messing with time was a whole new level.
“How far into the future could you send him?” The strawberry blonde frowned.
“No idea, no freaking idea. I would need something to symbolize the exact future, but...not sure...do we have some other plan? Like, anything?” He asked, examining the clearing desperately. The wolves weren't doing so well. Boyd got caught on his leg, hobbling out of the way, Jackson's ear was hanging loose and bleeding over his left eye.
“Maybe I could use the triskelion. It might not be good enough though.” Stiles opened his backpack, pulling out a bag of small, white, flat stones. He'd use them for the magic circle, or well, the elliptic shape he'd manage to put them in anyhow. It had never ended up being a perfect circle, but luckily, it didn't matter much.
Lydia stuck her hand into her purse as well, pulling out a white plastic piece. Kind of like a weirdly shaped sharpie with a blue top. “Use this as the future symbol.”
He took it, eying the plastic piece incredulously for a few seconds. And then he took in a sharp breath. Oh. There was a little plus sign on it. Oh. He shot a glance between her and Jackson. The carmel brown wolf circled behind Scott, paying them no attention at that moment. Although, he was obviously aware of their location for he growled at the creature every time it moved closer to them.
“Does he know...?” Stiles whispered, forgetting they were under a huge time pressure.
“Stiles, really? Are we gonna do this now?!” She barked impatiently. Right, well so much for that. He didn't even comment on her outburst as he turned his back to her, unlacing the knot on the satchel. Then he just pulled out the little white pebbles, putting them around in a relatively loose circle that was big enough for him to sit in. He sat in cross-legged, putting the positive pregnancy test carefully on his lap.
While he was drawing the swiftly designed combination of two sigils on his palm (just with an ordinary blue pen this time), he caught sight of Lydia informing Scott about the plan. The wolf just nodded slightly, looking around at the other wolves who obviously got the memo because they all re-arranged once again. Stiles never got how they understood themselves in their wolf forms, but yeah okay, no time for musings now.
Gold glowed down his arm, following the outlines of his tattoo, lighting it on fire like dry grass. The tidal wave made out of pure magic reached his wrist almost instantly, attacking the blue lines he had just written. The sigil was illuminated without delay, singing with magic. The little pebbles shivered slightly and turned over. Right, here we go.
He took the pregnancy test into his other hand and stood up, his eyes probably gleaming golden, looking for the target. Which was suddenly nowhere to be found. What the-... Stiles looked around frantically, catching a glimpse of a blurry shape to his right. He thought he heard some panicked growls, pawns hitting the ground, scattering the grass or moss or even dirt...
All he could feel was the painful spasm in his right hand as its claws hit it. His muscles contracted uncomfortably, fingers shaking numbly. But the creature was right there in his reach. How stupid of a move was that, he mused, did it really think one small injury would distract his magic that effectively? Well, that was not how it worked, buddy.
He pulled the injured hand away a little, tearing the claws from his flesh, encircling his bloody fingers around its talons, pulling the creature closer with a grunt. His tattoo glowed even brighter with the added blood sacrifice. It made him smirk victoriously.
He locked his eyes on the dementor's expressionless face, kicking the little pebbles his way, extending the circle around it too. “Don't mess with my pack,” he snarled smashing his left palm into the creature's forehead, surging his magic through the sigil. It burned up his spine as if he was hit by a lightning bolt, not that he knew how that felt, he just assumed so.
And then there was light. A light way too bright for his eyes. So he let his eyelids fall down, dropping the monster's talons from his grip and covering his eyes with his forearm instead. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, something grabbed his spine. It jerked him forcefully down and he fell, his body burning unnaturally. Oh yeah, that wasn’t really normal, he thought, fear blocking his brain's ability to think clearly.
The fall took ages. It couldn't have possibly been that way though, could have it? It's not like he got stuck in some Alice in Wonderland fantasy. It just felt like it took forever. It was weird. He was weird. Like he couldn't reach his body, like he couldn't connect his brain to his muscles. He didn't know what to do with the out-of-body experience, but he vaguely hoped he wouldn’t break his spine hitting the ground. Derek wouldn't be super happy about that. No, scratch that, he'd be quite furious...
Lost in thought and totally out of the focus, Stiles' back finally connected with the ground. And yep, it hurt quite a lot, but at least he could feel his body once again, so that was a plus. He wasn't so fortunate though, feeling his head snap in the momentum which resulted in him hitting the back of his skull on the mossy surface. Pain exploded in the back of his head and he immediately grabbed for it, curling onto his side. Fuuuck.
He let a violent sob escape his lips, dry heaving severely from all the dizziness. He couldn't even make out his surroundings anymore, his vision was swimming like that of a drunken sailor, on a boat, in a freaking shit storm.
Seconds ticked away and luckily he felt the pain subdue slowly, although the lightheadedness remained. Careful as to not irritate his head bump, he traced it lightly with his fingertips, but the skull itself seemed relatively stable. There wasn't even any blood. He pulled himself up slowly, resisting the urge to throw up all over himself.
He was in his room. Oh my God, did he just fall off his own chair? He glanced at the fallen chair begrudgingly, seeing its little wheels still turning around in lazy circles. He shouldn't have followed that with his eyes, seriously, because it made him dry-heave uncontrollably.
Stiles rose shakily to his feet, stumbling out of the room into the bathroom across the hall, reaching the toilet just in time to empty his stomach into it. His body shook wildly, stomach clenching painfully. He felt tears slide down his cheeks. What the hell? He seemed to be suffering from a serious concussion. Maybe he should’ve considered calling his dad, or well...an ambulance?
He drew a raggedy breath, tasting the disgustingly sour tang in his mouth. He was still really dizzy, so not caring any longer, he pressed his head to the cold toilet rim, praying for relief. It did help a bit, Stiles had to admit, as he managed to flush the toilet, letting his hands fall down into his lap. He stared at them numbly, hoping he wouldn’t throw up anymore.
Okay, well this might be the concussion speaking, but his left hand looked very disturbing for some reason. He couldn't quite muster his thoughts, but… there was something about his hand that irked him. He glared at it, flexing his fingers easily, turning it palm up, palm down, repeatedly. Stiles feared he might have somehow gotten retarded. Can a severe concussion cause a brain meltdown? Probably. He was in so much trouble.
But still, he frowned at the hand. Wasn't there a finger missing or something? He counted them a few times. Nope, all five in place. His eyes slid involuntarily over his wrist and up the pale skin of his arm. Well uh...that was kinda weird too, although it was completely normal. Lovely oxymoron there, doofus. His arm was totally fine, except maybe a bit lanky, covered with moles and a thin layer of hair as any other human. If he was a wolf, he'd probably freeze his ass off. He almost huffed out a laugh, but stopped himself when he became confused.
His brain suddenly felt way too full, actually it felt like that since the freaking chair tried to murder him, but he only now noticed, thanks to the subdued pain which had made his brain automatically restart. Wait! What the hell!? Okay, this whole thing was getting really weird, like really, really weird.
Did the spell transport him into his old house? He groaned, raising his head from the toilet rim. Yep, this was totally the bathroom he used to share with dad.... And then he stopped cold in his tracks, holding his breath as his thoughts raced with lighting speed.
He did just run out of his old room, which was far from empty and looked the same as it had in his teenage years, at least from what he could see through his swimming vision. Even the bathroom was full of stuff. Oh no, no no...
He glanced at his arms again, his mouth hanging open in shock. No wonder it seemed so weird to him, his tattoo was gone! It couldn’t be true, he thought, sliding his arms disbelievingly over his fair skin. It took years for him to undergo the whole process - it hurt like freaking hell and he almost fainted once! And now it was gone? Just like that?
He couldn't believe it. It had to be some kind of a lunatic dream, a fever delirium, a concussion hallucination perhaps. His breath came out in a huff, speeding up as he reached for the sink, pulling himself up to stand properly in front of the mirror. Stiles had to make sure, so he pulled up his shirt, turning around slightly so he could sneak a peek at his back. Nothing. He could feel cold sweat forming on his face, a chill running down his spine.
He caught the horrified look in his own reflection and paled significantly, realizing his face looked young. He ran his hand over his features. It definitely wasn't the mirror, it was his face! He could suddenly feel his heart beating against his ribcage, trying to jump out of it like a bird escaping a cage.
Okay, so he wasn't exactly that stupid. The spell must have malfunctioned and sent him back into the past, that much was obvious. Why the young body though? It didn't make any sense. Did the spell age him backwards? Why would it do that… he thought back distressed, trying to remember the sigils. His memories were so blurry, he couldn't recall much.
He did combine banish with future, so he could banish the creature into the future, right. And he used the...oh shit. So that's why the fucker sliced up his hand, to disrupt the ritual! He must have dropped the pregnancy test from Lydia. So what did it leave him then! What did he use his magic for? Why the past...
And then it hit him. Banish, future...did he just accidentally banish his future? His heart clenched painfully, as he bent over the washbasin heaving again. He coughed few times, spitting into the drain. So, he got himself sent accidentally back in time and erased the future in the process? Was he gonna have to relive the whole thing once again? He could be already stuck in a huge time loop for all he knew.
Stiles felt his head throb, his thoughts scattering around his head anxiously. His skull might’ve jumped apart at any moment and pressing onto it with the palm of his hand wouldn’t help much, would it. He couldn't stop fearing that he'd have to live through all those years once again.
Stiles tried to calm down, breathing in deeply, but the oxygen didn't reach his lungs. His head throbbed again, like water pushing onto the dam, holding it together. And then the dam broke and he could literally feel his memories slip. It made the panic attack inevitable. Trapped in the young body, his brain clearly couldn’t even sustain the memories, because it was lacking all the connections created over the years.
He would lose it. He would lose it all. All the pack memories, his dad, oh hell, even Derek! No, no, no, please...his breath came in way too short. Actually, there wasn't even breathing of any kind involved, he knew. His chest just kept rising and sinking uselessly. The room turned left, jerked right and he found himself clenching the basin on instinct to not sprawl on the floor.
He needed to stop the panic attack, his brain supplied, red lights flashing behind his eyelids as he closed his eyes. Well thanks, brain, how would you propose I do that? He mused feeling the full blown panic attack reaching its slimy numbing fingers into his head.
Reflexively he reached for his wedding ring in vain hope, because it obviously wasn't there. He wasn't happily married. No husband at all. His eyes latched themselves on the ring finger, looking for the tattooed line. Nothing. No mate either. No huge pack. He...was lost. With that thought his knees gave way, black invading his sight, eating out the light at the edge of his vision while he desperately tried to get some oxygen into his deprived lungs.
He would faint soon, that much was true. He would faint and then all his memories would be gone and the whole roller coaster would start again. He should’ve fought it, but he was so tired, his whole body hurt, why wouldn’t he just let the dark swallow his mind and...wait, what? No, no, can't, Derek would kill him, he would...probably rip his throat out...Stiles searched desperately for his breath, managing a shallow gulp at last.
“With his teeth...” he huffed weakly, trying to catch more air, succeeding only partially. But it was a start. He just needed to strengthen his anchor, which was ridiculously hard, considering all the memories of his anchor were slipping between his fingers like chinese noodles. His brain couldn't keep them, but maybe his magic could.
Stiles grunted, taking a deep breath that helped his vision clear a bit more. He pulled himself upwards again with the help of the washbasin and stumbled back into the hallway, his head only nearly missing the door frame. He needed his anchor and he needed it now, else the slight control over the breathing he regained would slip away again.
His body ended uncomfortably stretched over the table, just because it was the closest thing to hold onto. He slid his shaking hand over the mess on it, finding a black pen. It would have to do.
Stiles gritted his teeth, pressing the tip onto the base of his ring finger, drawing a uneven line as he tried to retrace the black tattoo that once sat there. It wasn't straight at all, it wasn't even continuous, but it was there. A reminder of his anchor. He turned his hand over, repeating the process, feeling the dizziness edge away slightly as he drew one breath after another, the next steadier than the previous.
His head still throbbed, leaking, but at least he was sure he wouldn’t faint anymore. He ignored everything else, concentrating on the band drawn around his ring finger. There were still some memories left, he just needed to contain them. With no idea how to exactly do that, he drew a circle on the back of his left hand and drew the same sigil for future as before. Now came the hardest part.
Sadly, his younger body only had a dormant Spark, which meant there might not have even been enough strength in it to work the sigil. Come on, he thought. It had to work, he knew how to do it, he just had to teach this body to respond to the mental command. “Come on,” he wheezed, closing his eyes in concentration. Nothing happened and the panic used that to latch itself onto him again.
Stiles grabbed his ring finger desperately, so tightly it was almost more painful than his head. He imagined Derek standing in front of him breathing evenly, so he matched his breath to his. He pictured his wolf, restless under the scrutiny of the full moon, his eyes glowing with radiant blue, his fangs and talons extending with a perfect example of discipline. He could control his powers, he could control his gifts. They belonged to him, so he could command them on will.
The Spark burst alive in his chest, spreading its thin. warm tendrils through his blood. Stiles' amber eyes flashed as he moaned happily, arching his body, surging the lazy magic down his arm into the sigil. His head stopped hurting, a numb, tired feeling settling over it. He took a steadying breath smiling to himself just a little bit to celebrate this small victory.
Utterly exhausted, he slid down the table onto the carpet, his body feeling like an over-cooked spaghetti pasta. Mustering the last drops of his strength, he brought his left hand to his mouth, kissing the jagged line of the mate ring and letting his mind be finally swallowed by darkness.