Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People always thought that being dead was easy. He was one of the people that easily believed that.

Until he died.

Turns out it was just a comfort for the living. Nobody cares how the dead actually feel. Especially the ones that are stuck. He did have to admit that it was easier than being alive. Ya know because of body maintenance and leaving the house. -which he couldn't do, by the way.

It was a car accident. Nothing cool or heroic. Just Average. His baby, Roscoe, had gotten out of it alright, but he hadn't been so lucky. He was driving home, within the speed limit, when a car came from the opposite way going double the legal limit. It had veered into his lane and clipped one of his head lights before speeding off. His car had spun off the road and into a ditch. The whiplash had cracked his head against the window. At least, that's what he thought happened. It was over fast.

When he 'woke up', he was at home. In bed. Like the accident never happened. He walked downstairs to find a cold and empty kitchen.

"Dad?" He yelled.

There was no answer. The microwave read six in the morning. His dad would be up soon if he didn't already get woken up by his yelling. Stiles reached to open the fridge so he could make breakfast. His hand went straight through. He tried again and again with whatever he could reach, but he couldn't grasp anything. His chest felt tight like there was a rope being pulled tighter and tighter around it. He blacked out as the sound of glass shattering filled the room.

The next time he gained consciousness it was night time. He was in his room again and there was a bitter taste in the back of his throat as he walked out. The kitchen light was on. He descended the stairs slowly and peeked inside. John sat at the table in full uniform, eating a box of take-out. He was pale and stared at Stiles' usual spot with dull eyes.

"Stiles." He said forlornly.

His heart jumped into his throat.

He choked out, "Dad?"

John set down his fork and dropped his head into his hands, "I wish you were here, son."

Stiles stumbled back, the movement silent to the living. Was he dead? That couldn't happen. He hadn't even experienced life, yet! He'd just started his sophomore year of high school! He'd never been on a date. He hadn't even exchanged ten words with Lydia Martin, yet. He'd wanted to go to college and have a career. He wanted to meet people and have more than one friend. Scott was- Oh. Scott. He was alone now. His best friend. All alone.

What was Scott going to do? They didn't really have anybody besides each other to rely on. How was he going to make it this year? Everything was easier with your best friend beside you. He wished Scott was here now, actually. It was kind of hard to process being dead, and some comfort from his beanie-baby best bro sounded great. What was he supposed to do? There was no light waiting for him to walk into or obvious unfinished business. Where was Jennifer Love Hewitt when you needed her? His guilty pleasure was feeling pretty ironic right now.

Maybe it was his dad. Yeah, that was it. He couldn't leave his dad all alone. The man was obviously still grieving. It had been...well he actually didn't know how long it'd been. Stiles went to the calendar by the front door and felt his jaw drop.

"A month?!" He yelled, "What kind of bullshit is this?!"

He fumed. If he'd been dead for a month then why was he just now finding out?! This was ridiculous. He stomped back into the kitchen and froze. His dad was staring at his spot, but he he had angry tears running down his cheeks. Stiles' heart tugged, and he felt his own eyes prick with emotion. Without warning, John stood up and marched to where Stiles knew he hid his alcohol.

"Dad, don't." He said.

He rushed over to his dad's side and pleaded. He set his hand on his shoulder but it phased through. John stopped. Stiles watched him take a few breaths before he sighed like he would when he was in the middle of particularly hard case.

"I need to go to bed."

John closed up the take-out box before putting it in the fridge and tossing his fork in the sink. Stiles watched him leave the kitchen with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Goodnight, Dad."

Chapter Text

Stiles watched in an excited manner as his dad ran around the house nervously. He was finally taking Melissa out on a date. He'd been there for the phone call, and his dad's flustered demeanor would be forever imprinted in his mind. Scott totally would have owed him money if he were alive. He watched his dad take an hour to decide what to wear before finally giving in on the one Stiles picked out. John didn't know, but that didn't matter. Stiles had been practicing with manipulating material objects, so it hadn't been that hard to separate a suit jacket by pushing a few hangers away when John wasn't looking. He tried to make minor adjustments to his outfit when he knew his dad wouldn't notice but the man wouldn't stay still. He wished he could have really been there for this moment. Scott was probably going through a similar situation.

John looked nice in his matching black slacks and blazer and Stiles was radiating joy as he talked nonstop about the date.

"You guys are gonna' have so much fun. I bet Scott's gonna' try to give you 'the talk'. Okay listen, I know you and you'll be nervous at first but you can do this. You've liked her for a while, and she'd be crazy not see what a catch you are."

His dad checked his hair in the bathroom mirror- for the millionth time- before fiddling with his cuffs and heading into the living room. He turned everything off quickly and grabbed his keys before he left.

Stiles sighed happily before flicking the TV back on.

He popped into the hallway with a huff. It'd been three months since he'd died and even though he'd been practicing to be a corporeal-incorporeal, he still sometimes lost consciousness and had time unaccounted for. The longest time so far, besides the initial one month, had been two days. So, when he walked downstairs and found tons of boxes filled with all their stuff lying everywhere, he was terrified. Voices were coming from the living room as he made his way over. Melissa was holding his dad's hand and rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder. He noticed Scott sitting in the armchair across the room.

"Scott! Dude, you look great! Since when were you so ripped?"

He bounced across the room, and Scott tensed. Stiles raised an eyebrow as he waved a hand in front of his face. Stiles watched as he subtly flicked his eyes around the room.

"Scott, are you psychic or something?" He asked, bewildered.

Melissa called him over and he startled as Scott got up. It..almost felt like they'd brushed shoulders. Melissa said a couple things to him before patting his shoulder and leading his dad out. Stiles watched as he grabbed a few compacted boxes headed upstairs. He stalled a minute or two before reluctantly following. He'd felt(?) Stiles. Scott had reacted to his presence. He walked into his room and found him taking his clothes out of the closet and placing them in boxes. It stirred something inside him.

"Oh."

He went back into the hallway. All the walls. Everything. Was empty. It was cold for him. Like the room had dropped several degrees. Scott's banging around in the other room caught his attention. He gloomily sauntered back into his room. He was sitting on the edge of Stiles' bed with his head bowed looking at a picture.

"What's..ah, this is kinda' embarrassing. Not for you obviously. You don't know I'm here, and I'm basically a walking second-hand experience. Dude, don't look at it like that. It was a milestone, okay? Sue me."

Scott smiled, "You dork."

It was a picture taken of them at the beginning of Freshman year after they found out they'd made the lacrosse team. Scott's mom had taken them out for ice cream, and Scott had chocolate all around his mouth while Stiles' was stained cotton candy blue. They both made ridiculous faces at Melissa while she took pictures on her phone. She sent some to him at his request, and he'd bashfully gotten some prints made. Seeing Scott's sad smile was like he'd been poked with a hot iron.

He was going to be all alone in this house. His dad was moving out and taking everything with him. Nobody could see or hear him. He was dead and losing things he didn't know he still had. Cold cold tears spilled over his eyes.

"Scott-" His voice cracked, "Scott, man, don't go."

He'd long since gotten back to packing up Stiles' room and was in the process of clearing out his desk.

"Scott." He said, "Scott, look at me."

Nothing.

"Scott, please."

He pulled against Scott's arm and was shocked to find purchase. Also the fact that Scott flew across the room and landed flat on his bed.

He hadn't touched anyone in over three months.

His hand tingled, and he phased away before the thought even entered his head.

Yelling. Lots of yelling.

"Fine! I don't care what bedroom you want, Cora!" A gruff male voice reverberated through his skull.

"Then I'm taking the guest bedroom!" Cora- presumably- yelled back.

A pause, "Mom said to stop yelling or we'd wake up the spirit!"

Stiles raised his eyebrows. No more words were said as he watched people move in and out of the house, bringing in boxes and setting them down. He sat with his legs through the poles off to the side of the stairs, watching reluctantly. It stung horribly to be stuck with a family he didn't know after his dad left. No wonder ghosts got pissed off. This shit wasn't fair.

The man and young girl, Cora, left while big muscly movers came in and out with furniture. Stiles wondered briefly if his ghostly pissed off state warranted mischief. The only things he could think of involved injury and while he was a ghost, he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. The name Cora sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it and like an itch you couldn't scratch- it bothered him. He must've phased out in boredom because when he came to, it was dark outside. The guy, who he saw had adorable bunny teeth, was currently directly under him with a ladder. He carried a woven trinket that seemed to vibrate pleasantly to his eyes. Stiles watched him climb the ladder disinterestedly. The man stopped right between his legs, and Stiles' eyebrows once again made acquaintance with his forehead.

The man reached into his pocket and Stiles off-handedly said, "Come here often?"

He jumped like he'd been electrocuted and literally fell off the ladder. Stiles flung out his hand on reflex to grab him and caught his shirt. He hung for a second and then went through his hand.

"Holy shit."

He looked and saw Cora standing in the doorway of the kitchen with her mouth hanging open. A tall woman with long brown hair and an athletic build stood behind her, looking like she wanted to scold her. The man was sprawled on the floor looking pale as porcelain.

"Oh my god. You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." Stiles snickered to himself.

"Mom." Cora whispered.

Stiles perked up and looked back to the two standing women. Cora's eyes wandered back and forth above the ladder where he sat and the woman's eyes seemed to pierce him. Her eyebrows were drawn together in concentration while Stiles waited for his brain to reboot.

"Mom, that's Stiles Stilinski." He said, slightly hysteric.

He whipped his head down to see the man who was now crouched on the floor. After two months of nobody paying attention to him, being the focus of three people had him flustered.

He locked eyes with the guy on the floor, "Y-you can see me?"

He nodded, and Stiles could have turned into a puddle of goo. The picture of pure elation.

He phased down in a snap and stood in front of the ladies.

"You can see me, too, right?" He asked excitedly.

Cora jumped but the older woman nodded, "My daughter cannot, but my son Derek and I can."

The itch had been scratched, "Your name wouldn't happen to be Talia, would it?" He ventured.

She smiled lightly, "It would."

Stiles let out a breath, "Okay, okay. That makes sense. Hey, are you guys psychics or something? I think Scott might be psychic, too. He acted all weird when I got close to him. Not that I was doing weird stuff to him! Or anybody else for that matter! That's gross. And rude. And totally not my thing. It might have been a real test of morals if I could leave the house and do stuff but that ain't happenin'. I mean, do you know how much Law and Order: SVU I've watched? All of it. I've seen every episode made. It's hard to stay occupied with a limited amount of resources and that whole being free all day, everyday thing. Not to mention the loneliness. I'm pretty sure I'm twenty percent more crazy than I was when I died."

Talia screwed her mouth up but it was Derek who spoke, "You aren't dead, though..?"

Stiles turned around, "Are you asking me? Isn't it kind of obvious?"

To illustrate his point, he stuck his hand through the wall and moved it around jerkily.

Talia cleared her throat, "Last I heard, you were alive and breathing."

His brow scrunched up in confusion, "Well, when's the 'last you heard'?"

"Yesterday."

What?

Chapter Text

Yeah, wrong. He was definitely dead.

He gaped, "Like yesterday yesterday?"

Talia relocated them to the living room while he continued to ask questions. He silently fumed at all the new furniture that took up residence in place of his. Full boxes were scattered here and there at seemingly random intervals, but he begrudgingly admired their nice sectional, wishing he could feel its plush comfort. Cora sat in the middle by her mom while Derek sat at the end looking transparently uncomfortable.

"Mr. Stilinski, please, have a seat." She said.

"Just 'Stiles' if you don't mind." He wearily corrected. "And I'll stand, thank you."

Talia nodded, "It's understandable to think you're dead." She acknowledged with an inclined head. "But your body is alive and well in Beacon Hills Hospital."

"So...what? I'm catatonic?" He quaked.

She did the thing where she twisted her mouth, "Dear, it isn't unusual for patients from a car wreck to go into coma or catatonic state. What is unusual is how physical you are." It bothered him that he couldn't read her expression and he's gotten really good at it, too.

He blushed comically, "Come again?"

"Oh my god." Cora said under her breath.

The limited lighting in the living room flickered at his spike of annoyance but otherwise didn't show on his face.

Derek piped up, unperturbed, "You're able to affect the living beyond normal extent."

"How so?"

He flinched at the multitude of judgy looks that were unanimously thrown at him.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." He conceded, "How does this exactly work? I mean, I could wrap my head around ghosts cranking out some mojo but if I'm not dead..?"

"You aren't." Derek snapped.

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't quite believe you wholeheartedly." He snarked back.

Talia gently cleared her throat, "Boys."

"What I don't understand is how you didn't think it was weird to be able to be able to do all this stuff." Cora interjected.

"Well, I've never been dead before soooo-"

"You aren't."

"Oh my god. Did we not just go over this? Because I swe-"

"Boys."

Stiles watched in shock as her eyes turned from a brutal red back to a dark brown. The lamp in the corner busted its light bulb, and he jumped. The room was cast in the dark except for the light from the kitchen spilling in and reflecting in the Hales' eyes. He felt his unbeating heart, squeeze in fear as he looked from each set of mirroring eyes to another.

"What the.."

Werewolves.

"Werewolves?" Stiles weazed.

"I don't think it's that hard to wrap your head around." Cora said in a bored manner.

"Dude," he said with exasperation, "You're werewolves?"

A proactive Derek moved them to the kitchen, where Stiles felt another bout of sadness hit him at how it's changed. How it's not his anymore.

"Can you stop that? I'm freezing!" Cora shivered.

He shrugged halfheartedly and waited for Talia to come back after she cleaned up the glass. Turns out that the Hales have been werewolves for as long as they can trace their linage. There have been five generations of Hales thus far in Beacon Hills; Talia's great grandparents, her grandparents, her parents, her, and her children. Stiles can tell she takes pride in her family's history here by the way she lights up about it. He soaks it up like a sponge. The Hales have always been very private but not a single shady thing has been said about them- and if there were, none have made it to public, at least. Their reputation was fierce and untarnished and apparently perfect enough to warrant many teenagers fantasizing about them. Which, by the way, he would say is completely founded due to the fact that every Hale he's set his eyes on has been insanely attractive.

Having said that, he's heard way too many stories for it not to be partially weird to see them in person. Some of them at least. Their family is huge.

"Laura is gonna be so jealous she didn't get to meet you first." Derek looks like he agrees with his sister but is also trying to hide it with a frown. "She's staying at the old house but now she's probably gonna' be over all the time. So, thanks for that, Pseudo Poltergeist Stiles Stilinski." Cora nodded sagely.

He barks out a surprised laugh because woah didn't see that coming. First impressions really didn't do her any favors but Stiles appreciates good sarcasm from almost anyone. Except maybe Jackson. Yeah, never Jackson. Ever.

He mock bowed, "Of course, Miss Hale."

Derek huffed, "Can we stop playing and figure out what's going on?"

Stiles decided that Derek was kind of a dick.

"From what I've gathered so far," Talia began carefully. "There's some kind of supernatural in town that we've missed. You must be a side effect of that."

Oh. Ouch, Momma Hale. No matter how nicely it's said, being called a side effect kind of stings. She must know this because she's giving him puppy eyes that are really unfair for a woman with so many kids. It's kind of weird that she can't focus on his eyes or, really, any of his features but it's not worth it for him to bring up.

"There are more than werewolves?" He asks with barely restrained excitement.

"More than you'd care to find out. Trust me." Derek grumbles.

Bitter and dickish. What a lovely combination.

He shook his head enough to make it fly off his shoulders, "I can assure you it's quite the opposite. I'm still reeling over, Jesus Christ, werewolves, but I know tons of weirder stuff than that so it's not, like, shattering my perception of life. Maybe it should be? That would be normal right? But still. Wow. Werewolves. And Hales. In my house...er. Not my house. Your house. Because you live here now. And I don't. Oh my god, I'm stuck here and it's not even my house anymore. Where I lived my entire life. Geez, this makes it even more awkward because I don't even have the right to be here.."

There's shocked silence and then Cora says, "Riiiight. Um, monster of the month anyone?"

A smidgen of embarrassment settled on his shoulders as Talia pointedly does not look at him, "We should start with where your body is. At the hospital."

Stiles pulls himself out of his funk by stating eagerly, "Scott's mom works there!"

All three of them exchange a look.

"..Scott..?" Cora starts.

"..McCall?" And Derek finishes.

He looks at them inquisitively, "You know Scott?"

They share another look.

An idea pops into his mind, "God, did you wolfify my best friend? Is that how you know him? He's in your brood."

Talia raises a single, sharp eyebrow, "Our pack, actually."

Stiles could feel a torrent of babble stirring in his mind, waiting to spew out, but Cora jumped into action before any of it could, "Um, Stiles! It's probably not what you think."

He's not sure why she feels the need to be on defense from him. He isn't mad at them. He just wants to know about it. Months of talking to himself have made him eager for any kind of communication and probably too abrasive.

"You see," Cora began. "Scott really struggled with you gone. People felt sorry for him at first. Everybody knew you were close.."

He gaped, "But? What happened? What do you mean at first?" Anger began to coil in his stomach.

"He was just so-" She struggled to find the right words. "-downtrodden? He was sad and, just, messed up without you there. Like he was living with a weight dragging him down. It wasn't long until people started messing with him. A couple of weeks maybe. They'd hurt him and push him around and-"

Stiles realized she was trying not to tear up and failing.

"And he didn't even care enough to fight back."

He physically recoiled at the thought. Even an upset Scott was enough to make him want to punch the lights out of whoever made him that way. But hearing this version of him that he'd never experienced, this broken Scott, broke his heart and made him hate the fact that he was in a car wreck even more.

Cora sniffled, "That isn't it. His asthma got worse, too."

Stiles panicked, "Worse? How much worse?" He flailed.

"He'd just start having attacks in the middle of class, I heard. He had to quite lacrosse and started walking to and from school because he couldn't ride his bike for fear of another attack."

She exhaled, "I brought it up to mom. The bite. It was after Scott had another attack but he'd used up all of his inhalers. It happened during lunch and there was a whole crowd of people just watching as it happened." She snarled, "He would've died if there wasn't someone with an extra one. Erica Reyes. She saved his life while everyone was gawking. Ran across the lunchroom and I don't think I've ever seen her move so fast. She pulled him up straight, practically jerked him, held this circle thing to his mouth and told him to breathe in deep."

"Wow."

"I gave her the grossest affectionate hug ever, and she started to have a seizure. She's got horrible luck."

Stiles decided right then that he wouldn't forget Erica Reyes.

Chapter Text

Instead of warning him about Laura, he thought, they should've given him a heads up about Peter. Mr. hot-dad-that-isn't-a-dad. Honestly, it would've been more appreciated

"Oh...Peter." Talia's eyes widened in surprise.

A mocking grin fixed to his face, "Dear sister, it would seem you've blocked my number again."

For the first time, Stiles spotted a flicker of uncertainty flicker across her face, "You're quite persistent. And annoying, I might add. I thought you were in Mexico?"

"As you can see.." He gestured to his crisp, business suit, "I've returned."

Talia carried on without anymore cracks in her façade. Stiles watched silently from the banister as they hugged and behaved passive aggressively nice to each other. Derek came in and separated them with a well placed comment about unpacking. Talia pecked her son on the cheek before walking away in relief. Stiles watched like a creep as the men hugged, and Peter talked about his trip to Mexico. He listened as attentively as if it were he who was being addressed. Derek flicked his eyes over to where Stiles' legs stuck through the spindles adjacent of the banister, the place they first met, but chose to continue ignoring him. He puffed his cheeks childishly at being excluded.

He was thankful for all the activity that the Hales seemed to be obsessed with; apparently, they had to be doing something at all times. Stiles could relate a lot better to that than they probably assumed. It gave him something to focus on instead of the gaping hole of loneliness that wanted to consume him anytime he paid it the slightest attention. Sometimes it would get more persistent, and he'd annoy his house-mates to distract himself

His initial freak-out to the existence of werewolves was rated a 3/10 by Cora; he couldn't help but feel a bit smug about that. If he hadn't accidentally discovered it, it would've taken him a while to figure it out anyways. The Hales were just normal. They did normal family things all the time, and it was easy. Stiles reached new levels of jealousy over only a few days of knowing them personally. It was the little things that gave away their supernatural identities. Well, if you count 'little' as picking up a big and muscly Derek Hale across the back yard. It was fenced in, but that wasn't the point. Cora wasn't afraid to show how strong she was, reveled in it, you could say. Mrs. Hale was more subtle. She didn't put timers on when she cooked and smelled them while they cooked. It was weird but would've taken him a while to catch on to.

The only person who wouldn't regularly engage him was Derek. But really, he wasn't that interested in Derek; he was a dick and not very fun to talk to anyways. However, now there was, metaphorical and literal, fresh blood.

"-and would that be him? Staring creepily from the top of the stairs?"

Stiles snaps out of his monologue and smiles. He pops down beside the pair and holds out a hand.

"Stiles. Nice to meet you, Peter." He says eagerly.

He seems the slightest bit startled, "And you, Stiles."

Stiles focuses before shaking hands eagerly with the man. He exudes amusement that's a little off putting but unimportant to Stiles in that moment.

"I'm more versed in spiritual beings than my other familial counterparts here, so you don't have to try so hard. Although, I'm sure Cora exhausts you to no end."

He sighs in relief and nods, "No kidding. She always wants to wrestle."

"I heard that!" A voice from the other side of the house yells.

Stiles grins.

Derek rolls his eyes and walks off into the living room. He thinks it's funny how such a big guy can be so prissy sometimes.

"That's surprising. I would've thought he'd be your favorite." Stiles looks at him like 'why on earth would you think that' and Peter sighs, "He's nearly as gifted as I am with spirits. It would make sense for you to want to be around him more. Talia can hear you fine, but what she sees of spirits is more energy than form. Cora can only hear well. It's no wonder she likes to wrestle with you; It keeps her on her toes."

Stiles' mouth forms a small 'o' as Peter brushes past with purpose. He walks into the middle of the living room, diagonal from Derek, and clasps his hands together.

"Family Meeting, everyone...Spirits welcome." He added hastily.

Cora races into the room and jumps onto Derek. Stiles winces sympathetically because Cora, what the actual fuck? Talia approaches them with a thin raised eyebrow while Peter is smiling with a predatory glint at everyone. The alpha settles at the end of the couch, away from her atomic children, for the moment.

"So," he starts, "I heard about this little situation from my favorite busybody and couldn't help but give my assistance."

Talia stills and gives Peter her full attention. Stiles catches Derek's eye and mouths 'Laura?'. He nods grudgingly and follows his mom's example, ever a good beta.

"Stiles, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of going to the hospital before I came."

He shrugs.

Peter smiles, "Alright then, break out the old crucifix, holy water, and garlic. We have a vampire in the Beacon Hills Hospital."

The sound of Stiles' jaw is unheard as it detaches from his head and hits the floor.

Chapter Text

"Oh, my god. Really? Does this happen all the time? You guys don't seem very, uh, surprised about this."

He's unhappily surprised by the glare he receives from Derek. It actually startles him enough that he actually feels bad for a second. But then he remembers that Derek's actually kind of a jerk, so it doesn't matter. Peter waits patiently for him to pay attention as he stares Stiles into submission.

"Right," He turns away, "This is a time sensitive situation; the sooner we act, the better off Stiles will be."

"Why? Am I in danger? Is this some kind of Twilight thing? Do you guys have a feud?"

Peter looks at him with excitement, as if realizing something, "Vampires don't just feed from people's blood, Mr. Stilinski."

The way Peter said his name makes a blush spread across his face as he feels sudden, unidentified embarrassment.

"Their 'food' ranges from normal human sustenance to that of spiritual nature- which is much more dangerous. I'm certain that you aren't the first victim; however, you seem to be the only one that's still alive. There've been a few convenient deaths lately."

"Bu-"

"How is that? They're nearly perfect killers." Derek steam-roles over his words, not paying him any attention.

Talia clears her throat, apparently done with letting her brother have the spotlight, and says swiftly, "We can address that after we save Stiles' life. If you went to the hospital before you came, then we don't have much time."

Stiles loses focus on what she says after that. An invasive pleasure spreads along his thighs at a creeping pace. He feels acutely exposed in the Hale family room, but they haven't noticed. A second after he notices the numb tingling, the air gets thicker in his throat. A large burst of pleasure directly on his crotch makes him gasp and sway on his feet.

Cora scrunches her face. Being the least invested in the conversation and having the most sensitive hearing, she notices his disturbance.

"Stiles?" She asks confused.

All eyes turn to him, and he rocks to his knees. A building pressure settles at the base of his spine as a shiver crawls up it. There's shouting, but he isn't there. For some reason he isn't receptive of them. His eyes are open wide, but everything is dark and fuzzy. Hands are on him, running across his chest to his thighs. Bile is heavy in his throat as he lashes out at the too-close feeling. Someone screams, and he feels the pressure inside him release. It's disgusting.

Lack of energy leaves him gasping and tired. His eyes go from black to blurry and then normal. The muffled voices come back all at once, and he cringes away from them. This movement makes him realize someone has their arms locked around his shoulders. And they're on the floor. And he's crying. No wonder it was cold.

The living room looks wrecked. All the furniture is pushed up against the wall. Picture frames are broken or smashed on the wall. And Cora.

Her entire left arm is dripping blood, and it looks like she got into a fight with a hairdryer. Peter is holding her other arm while Talia stands protectively in front of them. Stiles looks around to see what the threat is and figures out Derek is the one who's holding him. Digressing from the fact that he thought Derek's muscles might feel a bit nicer wrapped around him, he notices that all the furniture is pushed away from himself. Cora's eyes flick around his general area as if she tries hard enough, she can see him. Pain doesn't seem to be a thing that's bothering her despite the amount of blood running down her arm.

Derek's arms suddenly feel like they're smothering him, bringing the phantom touches back full force.

"Get off me, right now." It comes out desperate, and he hates himself for it.

The arms loosen for a second before clamping down tighter. Real panic seizes his heart and makes his breath stutter in his chest. A chorus of "stop", "please", and "let go"s come out of his mouth over and over before he's let go. Derek is yanked off him while letting out a string of curses. The cold trails on his cheeks seem to burn as he wipes them off. Wrapping his arms around himself, he sinks his blunt fingernails into his arms. It grounds him as he closes his eyes.

Bright pain tears at his chest, and he screams.

When he opens his eyes, the lights are bright, and the smell of death is prominent.

Chapter Text

He hurts all the way to his bones, but he loves it. It might take him a minute to really process what's going on, but can you blame him? He's elated by the energy it takes to open his eyes and keep them that way. Just moving his aching fingers and feeling them pulse is enough to make his heart rocket in his chest. The mirrored sound of its beat finally breaks through his cocoon of self-indulgence enough for him to acknowledge where he is. The burning smell of disinfectant and rigorously, chemically cleaned sheets is bittersweet to him. He may hate hospitals, but he's forced to love them in this moment.

A quiet snore brings his attention to his bedside. There, in a rumpled sheriff's uniform, sits his dad. His head is thrown back in what is sure to be an uncomfortable position, but it makes him tear up far too easily. The even rising and falling of a chest almost lulls him back to sleep.

The door creaks on its hinges as Melissa McCall strolls in with a hefty styrofoam cup in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Stiles watches as she 'tsk's at his dad good-naturedly, and he's reminded of not being seen or heard. The heart monitor picks up, and Miss McCall turns to look at it and then him. Her eyes get impossibly big, and both the drink and her clipboard fall from her hand. One lands on the floor but, unfortunately, the other lands top-down in his father's lap. He jumps up with a shout and dances around funnily enough to pull a weak laugh out of Stiles. It hurt for him to do but was nothing to the look on his dad's face. He seemed frozen in time, mouth hanging open and eyes as wide as Miss McCall's. He offers a close-lipped smile and tries to push down the stinging spreading through his nose.

"Hey."

His voice comes out barely reaching a whisper. It acts as a trigger for his dad, and then he's wrapped in the arms of a blubbering man that just had his whole world handed back to him. Melissa has a big smile on her face that makes his heart squeeze. An unwarranted wash of confusion pushes against his mind, and he reels. John's taken his hands in his own. If he wasn't so weak he might've said something about how it hurt.

"Stiles, son, talk to me." He pleads.

"Hi, Dad."

His voice is even quieter than before, and he huffs irritably. His face is wet with tears that feel good sliding down his cheeks. It draws a lot of energy from him, but his dad squeezes his hands tighter. The door flies open, and a team of nurses come flying in. John reluctantly stands aside while they look over his stats and prod him. They ask him questions that he doesn't process well and usually ends up responding to with "I'm tired". There are many smiles directed at him, but the confusion is almost suffocating. That isn't how he feels.

He wakes up unaware he even went to sleep. The room is empty and bright as his eyes flutter open. They adjust slowly, and he wonders if he'll feel this happy every time he wakes up now. The bed sheets are rough on the pads of his fingers as he smooths them against the fabric over and over. It's easier to move now, but getting up takes his breath away. The spiky feeling he usually get from running his hands over his head is dulled from being unmaintained. He finds the scar tissue from previous stitches and pokes at it; it's tender. That nor the thought of physical therapy can dampen his mood. His skin tingles pleasantly, and he can touch things again. He zones out just feeling things for an embarrassing amount of time. He knows he could be high from medication or something, but he can actually sense everything in the room. It's a static sensation that doesn't provide him with anything other than disappointment at the moment. If this was the effect of drugs, he might become addicted to the intimacy.

Scott came to visit him in the afternoon and broke down crying the moment he entered the room. He squished him into the best bro hug ever and left him with tingles going down his arms.

"You have no idea how happy I am to have you back, man." He said tearily.

"I have an idea, you big puppy dog." He says pointedly.

His red eyes get a bit bigger, "You do remember?"

"Of course I do. I spent-" He counts off on his hand, "-three months being corporeal, one of which I wasn't even conscious for and the other two being utterly miserable. I would've- I would've completely lost my mind if the Hales couldn't see me." His hand starts to shake, so he sets it down.

Scott gets this spacey look on his face.

"Scottie? Hello? You good?"

He jerks back to Stiles with a tentative smile, "You feel like having anymore visitors?"

"Like wh-?"

The door to his room is thrown open with fervor and bangs against the wall.

"Miss, please. There are other patients trying to relax."

He doesn't hear the muted response from the nurse because there's a beaming Cora Hale staring him down from the doorway. She launches herself from there and lifts him off the bed with her hug. More tingles race across his skin; A breathless laugh is forced out of him. Scott gasps, and Cora is pulled hastily off of him. He watches as Derek rushes to shut the door, and his heart jumps- echoed by the monitor beside him.

"What is that?" Scott asks.

Stiles follows to where Scott is pointing and jumps. The riveting sensation he's been feeling are literal sparks. Instinctively he tries to swat them out, but that yields a laugh from behind Talia. Peter steps around her with a shit-eating grin smacked on his face.

"Ooh, I so love it when I'm right."

Stiles feels the breath woosh out of him, "Would you like to explain? Please?"

Talia backhands Peter on the back of his head and scowls. Stiles gulps.

Chapter Text

The sparks tapper out as he's left with no contact. Sitting in the hospital bed with all of these eyes on him, he feels exposed. Sensitive to everything. Vulnerable. He tenses up tighter than a clam and waits. Everyone seems frozen. Cora stands scowling at her mom while Derek looks like he's trying to press himself through the door to get away. V-necks look good on him, Stiles notes. Peter steps forward to his bedside and clears his throat- looking partially chastised.

"Okay, then. Stiles, you're a spark." He sets a firm hand on Stiles shoulder that he leans into subconsciously. "The gist of it is that sparks are beings with innate energy that they can transfer into magic."

Scott just stared in a daze, and Stiles' jaw hung limply.

"The reason you're still alive is solely because of that. Thankfully, our mighty alpha here," He throws a hand back to Talia. "-dispatched the creature that was feeding on you. A vampire. As you'll remember from my impromptu lesson..?"

Stiles nodded jerkily as his memories resurfaced.

"Right, well, it couldn't touch your spark and wouldn't dare do anything that would leave human evidence. You should make a full recovery. Oh, Scott-" He turned sharply. "I'm terribly sorry that your mother might have to pick up more shifts due to the sudden disappearance of one of their nurses."

His sharp smile was completely insincere, but poor Scottie nodded anyways.

"It-" Stiles' heart hammered in his chest. "It's dead, right?"

He could feel hot flashes starting over his body. The faster beeping of the monitor made his stomach tighten.

Talia stepped forward, "Dispatched. She's in custody. Locked in our basement for the time being. She won't be able to get to you ever again."

"Yeah. Yeah. Oh- okay. I-"

He exhaled harshly, and a flood of tears poured down his face. His hands went up immediately to hide it. The plastic clip on one of his fingers clacked against his forehead; he didn't notice. He heard the shuffle of feet and then a chilling snarl. He looked up and saw that Scott's face had morphed, and he was baring his teeth towards the Hales. Cora puffed up her chest in offense as Talia pulled them back. Stiles' throat ached with the effort of being quiet and not blubbering like a baby. The phantom touches felt like they could be relived all too easily in this place. All he wanted was someone familiar to tell him it was okay.

"Scott." He croaked.

It brought a whole new flood of tears that he tried to wipe away, unsuccessfully. Scott turned around with brilliant, gold eyes. Stiles reached blindly for his hand and clutched it greedily while uncontrollable tears rolled down his cheeks. There was a drum pounding away in his head while he closed his eyes.

"She," He started shakily then shook his head. "It..um..Right before I got here..Before I woke up..In my living room.. I, uh, got this feeling.. that that-" His throat fully closed up, and he couldn't talk anymore.

Scott was shaking. Or maybe it was Stiles. Perhaps both of them.

He had never felt so violated. His skin crawled like there were bugs all over him; he gripped Scott's hand tighter. The armor he'd built up his whole life was stripped away from him in less than a day. His insides burned with a strong feeling he couldn't place; it made him want to move- want to scream. All at once the sound of shattering glass fills the room. Suddenly, he feels like he's been unplugged, energy draining from his body quickly. A burning smell permeates the air, but he can't bring himself to move as his eyes droop lower and lower.

He's startled awake by a growl. His eyes are crusty and, no doubt, horribly puffy as he rubs at them. There's no one in the room that he can see, and he feels pretty stupid when he realizes his stomach was the thing making sounds at him. The entirety of his body is sore as he moves off the bed. It takes some effort to get all the way to the restroom and back. He's out of breath just from a trip across the room. The brief look into the mirror made him gasp and wish he hadn't. He'd jerked back in surprise at his own reflection, thinking it was someone else. Dark bruises had seeped into his under eyes, and the small amount of muscle he had had gone and turned to fat, but even that seemed to have shed while he was here. It was weird to look at. He was weird.

A stranger even when I'm back in my own skin.

Melissa came in soon after he called for a nurse. Her pearly white teeth were practically shining as she wheeled in the food cart.

"It's always good to see you awake. I brought you some of the good stuff, too."

He smiles as she talks. He's got a feeling she did this even while he wasn't awake, just carrying on a conversation. Eventually he starts to question her about what happened when he passed out. She seems bewildered by the "electrical surge" the occurred and busted his monitors and light bulbs. Scott and the Hales were made to leave afterwards for cleanup. It's only the next day which makes him give a sigh of relief. If there was one thing he didn't want to go through again it would be losing time. Stiles really doesn't want her to go; he could talk for hours now. But she has her job to do and he isn't the only patient. His voice is hoarse once he's alone again; talking really is underappreciated. He doesn't like the silence in the room it causes. The muffled sounds from the rest of the hospital are also too quiet. It a mixture of too much sound and not enough that makes it displeasing. The room doesn't have a tv, oddly, so he decides to just hum. It's just a simple tune from an obscure song that he hasn't listened to for years but must've blasted his ears with for days at a time. It isn't in order, and he'd definitely get the words wrong if he tried to sing it, but it eases some of the discomfort in his chest. The longer he sits in the room and looks around, the more he starts to notice things. Peter's words about being a spark echo in his head. If he has his own energy does that mean he can sense others? Maybe it's one of those "real recognizes real" situations. The living things in his room are the only things that are alarming to him. The few plants he has seemed to accumulate over time seem to have sheen to them. The flowers on his bedside are nice frangipanis, and he busts out laughing after that processes. They're part of the dogbane family and he thinks he can guess who they're from. The outburst breaks his concentration and the flowers look the same again. It's interesting in the way looking at a complex painting is but frustrating like finding the meaning behind it. Ambiguous in nature. Stiles thinks it's pretty neat.

Hell, he doesn't know anymore. His life these past few months has been so topsy turvey that the budding sense under his skin- the awareness of things around him- is going to have to try a lot harder to throw him off his game.

I've been in a car crash. I've been a ghost and gotten an un-routine check-up from a sleazy vampire. I've busted light bulbs with just my mind and tossed furniture across the room. I've met a family of werewolves- a pack- and wrestled with Cora Hale. Magic or not, I can do this. 

Leaving the hospital was weird. Part of it was because he'd been forced to use a wheel chair. That was a fun conversation. But as his dad started to drive him home, he realized they weren't going back to his house. Something ugly turned in his stomach, but he tried to ignore it.

"Where have you been staying?" He asked.

John's face draws in confusion before opening in surprise and then frowning again.

"I forgot to mention it. But.. I've been living with Melissa. I sold the house."

He was clearly braced for Stiles to freak out, and that's when Stiles realized he wasn't supposed to know that his dad wasn't living in their house anymore. He tried to quickly change around his emotions into something believable.

"..Oh."

Yeah, great job, Stiles. That wasn't suspicious.

"I didn't want to. There just wasn't much of a choice in the matter.."

"Because of me." Stiles finished for him.

John's hands tighten on the wheel, "Stiles, I know what you're going to try to do: This is not your fault. It was an accident. Some stupid person wasn't paying attention or they were drunk or or-"

Stiles set a weak hand on his shoulder. It wasn't hard to see how difficult things had been for his dad. The lines in his face have gotten better in the last few days, but Stiles isn't a fool enough to think he'll be over it this soon.

Scott is very excited about being able to live together. He greets them with a beaming smile when they pull into the driveway. John watches helplessly as Scott makes his son get in the wheel chair. He has a sneaking suspicion that Stiles might warm to the chair in a hazardous way that could possibly end with another hospital visit and seeing as how Scott is looking at his best friend, it's not unlikely that he'd go along with whatever he wanted right now. Everyone who knows Stiles knows that his biggest and maybe only weakness is Scott- and his puppy dog eyes.

Stiles whispers accusingly, "That's not fair. You're an actual dog now, dude. That has to be cheating or something, right?"

Scott shrugs innocently and wheels him into the house while Stiles grumbles. Everyone who knows both Scott and Stiles knows that it goes both ways.

Chapter Text

He doesn't get to go back to school immediately. Foremost, his dad reminds him, he has physical therapy. It's just to rebuild his weakened muscles that haven't been used in so long, and Stiles gets it. It doesn't stop him from getting majorly frustrated, though. Melissa helps him through it the most. Her late-night pep talks keep him motivated because she knows how people who go through it are. Scott, he can tell, now has some serious abandonment issues. He helps Stiles with nearly everything physical around the house, which is not what you're supposed to do, Scott. Melissa wants to throttle him.

When it comes to school work, though, he's pretty much on his own. Stiles figured he would end up roughing the rest of his first semester from home with his computer while Scott's roughing it with other teenage leeches. He mentions this girl called 'Allison' nearly every time he comes home from school. Stiles can see him hesitate right before he talks about her like he wouldn't before, and Stiles knows it's probably his fault. Stiles can reassure him for as long as he wants, but he can't push Scott into something he isn't ready for. On the other hand, ever since Scott gave his number to Cora- She threw me up against a locker, Stiles!- they've been chatting back and forth constantly. She's a lot more talkative over the phone.

He also finally met Laura. She volunteers at the rehabilitation clinic outside Beacon Hills, where he goes. It had been a very unwanted shock when there was a sudden whirlwind of russet brown hair all in his space. He'd glared hard enough that she'd taken a step back in surprise. It was a messy first meeting, but she'd apologized and sheepishly introduced herself. They'd gotten along quite well after that. She had a penchant for telling embarrassing stories about Derek. He was an asshole so Stiles enabled her to no end.

Despite the relief the Hales and Scott gave him, he felt up to his ears in school work. He and his dad had worked it out with the school that if he completed all his missed coursework before the final deadlines, then he could attend the next semester regularly. Doing almost an entire semester's worth of work in a little under two months was something he challenged himself to. He had zero time to stress, so Scott did it for him- the stressing. Actually, he made him go out to buy him reading glasses after school one day, so he could read his textbooks easier, and he came back with Derek Hale.

"Scott, I wanted something to help me see better, not someone. No offense, Derek. I'm sure you can read."

He grumbled something that was probably a scathing comment under his breath, judging by the look Scott gave him as he set the bargain brand bag on the couch beside Stiles.

"Okay, what can I do for you, Sourwolf? Need help snatching Little Red?"

Derek gave him a sarcastic laugh that sounded more like a puff of air with an attitude problem.

"We already caught you."

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, ending with him just pursing his lips.

"My mom wants to invite you to dinner now that you've settled a bit." He continued.

Stiles frowns subconsciously, "That's nice of her."

"You don't have to come." Derek said oddly carefully.

"Uh, what? That's- I'll come. When is it or like what day did you want me to come?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Scott move into the kitchen.

"Whatever day is best for you. Laura said you have a lot of school work."

For some reason Stiles feels his face heat up. He scrambles to grab his laptop.

"Um," His self-made schedule glowed on the screen. "Monday or Tuesday is good for me. Let me know when you can. Do you have my number?"

"Would I be here if I had your number?"

Stiles stared, and Scott frowned.

He coughed, "Yeah, I guess not. I'll put it on a Sticky for you."

Derek left as soon as his fingers touched the paper.

Stiles was bouncing with energy outside the Hale House 2.0. His knuckles had barely brushed the door before it was ripped open and Cora's beaming smile was directed right at him.

"Stiles!" She cheered.

Careful of the dish in his hand, she wrapped him in a bear hug and pulled him inside. He was briefly stunned into silence by her exuberant welcome. He was more used to her snark and dark humor than the cheery girl who gives people hugs. Even Scott, who was decidedly oblivious, knew she was practically allergic to genuine emotion. There wasn't much time to dwell on that before he was being swept up by a different Hale. At some point he lost the food he brought in, but Stiles figured it probably made it to where it was going. He was oddly at ease surrounded by so many people, but it was weird being able to touch them. Cora was a menace in that regard. She kept constant contact with him, pushing and prodding him without shame even after Talia scolded her for it. By the time dinner was ready to eat, he'd somehow been wrangled into a wrestling match after dinner.

Uncle Peter saved him from anymore violence related promises by placing him between himself and Derek. Cora's pout was exaggerated and probably only twenty percent real.

Once everyone had sat down, Talia cleared her throat an everyone quieted.

"Everyone, thank you for taking the time out of your schedules for a little family dinner. I'm glad everyone seems to be doing well, our guest of honor most notably."

Stiles feels the eyes of the pack on him and smiles nervously at Talia.

Her eyes light up, "We are so glad you've accepted our invitation. Cora was going to tear the walls off if she didn't get to see you soon."

"Mom!"

"Anyways." She winked at her. "Only hearing about you from Laura or Scott is so maddening." The others at the table shifted, hearing the discomfort caused to their Alpha. "It's good to see you're in better health, Sweetheart. May the moon watch over you."

Around the table, everyone repeated the last phrase. Stiles felt a light flush on his cheeks as his stomach flipped.

"Okay!" She clapped her hands together. "Enjoy the food!"