Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"This spell would come at a price,"

"I know Deaton you've told me a million times"

"Any and all bonds that you once had will completely dissolve. Your pack mates will not recognize you."

"Again, I know."

"If you at any time receive the bite…"

"Oh for the love of everything holy I fucking get it just do it!! I thought I made it clear that I would be willing do anything and everything to protect my pack. I'm not going to change my mind!"

" I want you to know what you're getting into Genim. Bear with me. A human body cannot handle the spirit of a wolf. It's naturally feral and as such may not recognize you as the host to the infection that results in the 'turning' It may kill you."

"aaaaaaaAAAAHHHHH!!!" The scream was near deafening to even his own ears. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe! Shit shit shit shit. Calm down calm down calm down look for your fucking anchor Stiles look for—

Another choked breathe escaped the beta's (once upon a time there was a--) throat as he became aware of his surroundings, almost sobbing when his vision didn't adjust like it should have. It took time for him to place his mental and physical state. He cringed as he became highly aware of his distinctly human eyes which couldn’t see well in the dark and his human ears that couldn’t so much as pick up the quiet whistling of the wind right outside of his window. The amber eyed teen looked down, clearly trying to regroup and grab at the loose ends of his unraveling emotional state (and clearly failing because oh god his hands were shaking and when he began counting he couldn't concentrate enough to count to four) and then his eyes began to go all swirly and his head throbbed as the irrational fear just kept building and building. 

A whine left the child's (because that was what he was, wasn't he?) mouth before Stiles could stop it as he felt his heart in his ear and could feel chills running down his spine and then there was the feel of metal sliding oh so delicately across his skin and he ached oh god he ached. 

The nightmares had been getting worse. So much worse and half of the time he forgot that he was indeed in control of his body and that the Nogitsune was stuck inside some box underground. 

But the pain wasn't exactly... the same. When he'd been possessed there had always been a rush of excitement that came along with the fear (Deaton had explained it to him as a leak in the feedback loop--a flaw-- that had allowed Stiles to sense a draft of the demon's emotions within himself) but now... all he felt was pure unadulterated fear... and then there was those other emotions that had taken time for Stiles to piece together: 

Confusion

Grief

Hurt

Anger

That last emotion had been strong lately and was affecting daily life (it kind of reminded him of--no he'd sworn himself to never think of that again).

Stiles let out a sudden yowl of pain as the throbbing in his chest become sharp, cruel and so very--

The boy let out a gasp as he suddenly felt like he couldn't breath, his throat constricting around him and he just couldn't take in a full breath--

Stiles couldn’t see, vision swarming, and the still somewhat logical part of him (which was shrinking very quickly) informed him that he was either having a panic attack or a seizure (he was too busy trying to breathe, excuse him for not being able to think clearly!).

Oh god it was probably one of the worst attacks he'd had in a long time (since mom--). And then there was that build up. That terrible fucking buildup. Like something was caught in his throat and he just-he just needed to get it out! Oh god he felt like he was going to throw up. 

Having been too caught up in trying to calm and even himself out Stiles never noticed when someone entered the room but it didn't take long from him to register the sound of someone calling out his name,and then he was being pulled into a tight embrace that made him want to stretch and scent mark the hell out of the familiar hands, the familiar body,that smelled of whiskey (goddammit he'd been drinking again hadn't he) and then that scent that would always linger after being at the station all day.

But wait. 

His mind was starting to backtrack on itself and all he could think about was: 

Wasn't his father dead?

He'd remembered the elder's screams as the Sheriff had been ripped apart by inch long claws and multiple canine teeth. 

He was regressing. 

"i—-s o——" What? What?!

Stiles couldn’t hear anything over the howling. The utterly and completely deafening howling.

...so that was what had happened....

—x—

"Oh god Melissa— what’s hap—"

"You have to calm down. Stiles is going to be fine." A woman’s voice rang out. Loud. Too loud. And oh god that smell--the hell? 

"God dammit Melissa that wasn’t a panic attack. I’ve seen his panic attacks and they’ve never been this intense. Hyperventilation, shaking, choking, I was prepared for all of that but this? He was seizing Melissa. Crying and whining like-like a wounded animal! What kind of attack is that?!"

"I'm sorry I don't know John but I need to go I'm sorry!!"

"God dammit Melissa—!"

Stiles let out a low whine as the pain started up again, not as strong as it had been before but it still hurt like a bitch (the whining was from him wasn't it? maybe?). His throat felt raw, like someone had taken a shredder to it. Had he been screaming (he couldn't remember)? The aching in his chest was much more prominent than it had been previous. It was a physical sensation that rang much deeper than any superficial wound. There was nothing physically wrong with him though, he'd have been much happier if there were.  

"-iles. Stiles! Come on kid look at me, that’s it look at me," The teen could feel a callous hand combing through his messed up hair (which was thankfully no longer in a buzz cut) . When he felt somewhat balanced Stiles tried to say something in proper english. 

"H-hurts…" He finally choked out, clenching his eyes to the pain that had suddenly spiked in his neck immediately after. 

"I know, I know, it’s ok kid. You’re fine now, there’s nothing to worry about. Melissa!" Stiles flinched away from the noise as the call rang in his ears rather painfully. Like he didn’t have enough of a headache, jeez. It was getting worse and he could swear that he could hear the sound of something with claws tearing at something up there.

It took a while but she eventually came around (it was a busy night and Stiles wasn't her only patient). By the time she had walked through the door way the amber eyed teen had tightly curled himself away from his Dad’s touch and into a small ball at the edge of the hospital bed (oh god that smell was so bad, he hated hospitals sooo much), shaking. The clawing was getting so much worse and he felt so unbalanced and wrong. 

Like he'd broken up into little pieces and someone was trying to fit them together in the wrong way with crazy glue.

"What’s wro—oh my god Stiles!" She immediately went over to the other side of the bed and started reaching her hands over to calm him. Stiles couldn't understand what seemed to possess him but just seeing those hands coming towards him (blood so much blood) made him flinch and scramble away in terror. He continued scooting away from the nurse, and in an attempt to avoid all contact (his dad had been reaching for him as well) he had begun to try and climb the wall. 

The nearly feral teen bore his teeth at her, at both of them, while letting out a pretty impressive replication of a canine growl (he'd had lots of amazing role models in that department). He would snap at her if she even tried to get close. If he had fur his hackles would have been up and had he had claws... let's just say that there would have been quite a bit more color in the sheets and walls. Stiles nearly bit off the Sheriff's hand when the male had tried to move his hand near him once again. He appeared to have learned his lesson as he finally understood that the boy was seeing them as a threat rather than an ally.  Stiles honestly didn't really understand what he was doing anymore. He was back in that dark dark place that he had been happy to call home years ago (it didn't feel like years. It felt like centuries). The pain, the feeling of being an injured animal surrounded by a group of unknown threats just wouldn’t go away.

When he looked at the two he didn't see the worried facial expressions, he saw viscous blood covered smiles ready to burst out into laughter the minute he shed a tear. 

He saw claws in place of blunt fingernails

He saw fangs in place of nearly blunt canines

He saw eyes filled with red red red red

"Stiles… it’s just us. It’s ok." More growling. Stiles snapped when the man stupidly tried to reach for him again (apparently he hadn't learned). The feral boy curled his legs up into his chest so that neither would have access to them (The female had tried to put her filthy hands on him again). 

"What do we do?"

"Call Scott, he might know what to do!"

Alone. Pack. Pack? Where where where where. Threat. Unknown. Who? Familiar scent, not pack. Where’s Pack? Alpha? Pups? Dead dead dead dead dead DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD.

With every second that passed and with every word that crossed his mind his skin became much more pale and cold. so cold. 

And with that Stiles lunged for the side of the bed and threw up his meager lunch, shaking heavily as he did so, wanting nothing more than to scream in anguish and then curl up and die. 

He sobbed and let out a loud mournful cry (howl) before his emotions became too much and the hurt was just too unbearable. 

He promptly passed out, only awake enough to hear the worried screams of his caretakers. 

His pack was dead what did he have left to live for?

—x—

"--t was never this bad!! I want to know what is wrong with my son and why he was wailing like he just lost a a-"

"Sheriff Stilinski you need to calm down. The Nogistune must have caused more damage than I previously thought."

"I thought you were the expert with this kind of thing--why couldn't you tell!!"

"Possession differs with every host. Some symptoms don't show up for years after the possession occurs."

"Deaton, what do we do?"

Deaton...Emissary?

Stiles' nostrils flared as he initially tried to take in the scents of those surrounding him but was instantly enveloped by something…less desirable. Mainly the overwhelming odor of dog and cat. As the teen became more and more aware he realized that he was restricted, his arms and legs tied down with some sort of rough twine. He pulled at his arms and growled when he realized that he couldn’t get free. He couldn’t get fucking free. Stiles let out a warning growl as he felt the strain in his fatigued muscles from trying something that would be impossible in his weak state (But something in the back of his mind told him that he wouldn’t have been able to do it in any state).

"Stiles. Stiles, calm down. You’re safe." At the voice his low growling immediately stopped. The words were familiar (or more so the person the words came from) and the younger stilled submissively, feeling fingers digging gently into the back of his neck. It was familiar, Stiles knew those hands (Mate mate mate). He arched himself into the hand that was clearly anchoring him, seeking the familiarity as if needing air. Oh god he needed it, he needed it so badly. In his feral state he was convinced that the hand was the last of his many dead lifelines and if he let go (or should he say should the hand let go of him) he'd shrivel away. It was warm. It was comforting. Well, it was until the hand tightened and became more restricting rather than a method of providing comfort did Stiles realize that it was wrong. He whimpered as the grip tightened, claws digging in slightly, warning the boy to stay still.

"Need…" He gasped out, his voice coming out low and raspy, almost as if he hadn’t spoken in years.

"Need? Need what Stiles?"  The amber eyed boy snapped at the voice. It was a soft sort of demanding, but it was still an Alphas voice. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want it. Only one alpha could command something from him (he had refused the other alphas for a reason).

Stiles whimpered again as he felt the claws almost piercing skin this time. It was distressing and uncomfortable. The Emissary was speaking. He should answer him but he couldn’t obey. Needed Alpha. Needed real Alpha. The pup digging his claws into his neck was not his alpha.

This was all wrong wrong wrong.

"Deaton? What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Stiles?" The voice was urgent and Stiles recognized it as the soft-alpha’s voice. The voice sounded so very concerned about him but Stiles wasn’t pack so…?

"I've seen something like this happen only once but it shouldn't be possible in this case," the Emissary replied. He sounded almost shocked. Almost.

"What?" The Emissary's confusion was echoed by the little alpha.

And then finally Stiles found a way to speak. Or should he say his resident found a way.

Stiles gave a giant heave, his back arching into the metal underneath as the pain gave way to rage at the one who had fucking dared to lay a single claw on him (Only pack was allowed to do that. Only pack. And this--this clone had no right to touch him!)

As soon as the human's (sort of) eyes snapped open they met the eye’s of the one who was trying (key word: trying) to calm him down by shoving claws in the back of his neck as if he had the fucking right to.

Those blue eyes made him want to scream in outrage.

It gave his more primal half enough incentive to take control of their vocal chords. 

"Get your fucking claws out of my fucking neck or I swear to Buddha, God, Allah, and whatever nonexistent and existent religion there is that I will shove wolfsbane down your throat and watch you choke on it omega.”

Stiles watched the wolf’s (rather hypocritical to say that now) eyes widen in surprise before they narrowed, burning with something akin to rage (the omega looked insulted and rightly so).

"Derek. Let him go. He doesn’t have a stable grip on reality." He snapped at the voice who dared to call him insane.

"Like hell I don't. I haven't been this livid in what's apparently been years." The voice was gravely and while it was Stiles' voice that spoke there was a hint of beast that made it obvious that the one talking was definitely not his human and more rational half. It was more so the other who was pretty damn angry at having realized that it had spent years in a self-induced coma. This wasn't supposed to be happening. 

Without anything to hold himself down (it was only now that he realized that while his limbs had been bound, what had really held him down was the werewolves at his side) he was finally able to lift his upper torso to give a glare straight at the blood traitor (Oh god. no no no no nonononono. Please don’t do this. Please don’t do this. You’ve given enough information away as it is!).

"If I had the strength I’d have clawed your eyes out by now. You have the audacity to look at me and act concerned!!” The animal screeched bucking against the binds (he could already feel the bruising). 

"Stiles, I— why are you so angry at me? No, wait, are you even Stiles?" The soft-alpha’s eyes hardened at the thought.

"Stiles… my pup still goes by that name? Where are we Emissary? WHERE ARE WE?!" He snapped his head to look at the only familiar person in the room, about to speak again only to be interrupted .

“‘My pup’? Before we tell you anything, you tell us who you are. You aren’t the void, you don't feel like it, so what are you?” The omega speaks!

The amber eyed male's head tilted as he only took a second to glare at the former alpha (Derek, his name is Derek) before turning back to face the blood traitor (His name is Scott goddammit!! And he hasn't done anything!!).

"Void? What the hell is a void? What have you idiots put my human half through?" The wolf was getting angrier and angrier the more they spoke (who the hell was he kidding, their silence would have pissed him off just as much). His silent growl became more prominent as he took note of the damage in his current body.

"Why are we so damaged? Why can I feel darkness in our heart and why are we so weak?? Or more importantly, WHY are we HUMAN?!” His voice was increasing in volume the more he spoke and he bore his teeth, trying to look as threatening as possible.

"How about you tell us something we consider more important: why were you locked inside a human?" He let out an inhuman growl before attempting a lung and bite at the man who they had once called a friend who was so obviously not anymore. 

"I am not human. We're not human. What have you done to us??!!" Not-Derek and the Emissary both took a step away from the feral man.

"Stiles is human. However, you are obviously not. But you’ve been in his head asleep, I suspect, since he was a child." Deaton said, his tone purely professional voice that had always annoyed him. But not just that, no. No one was telling them anything and was dodging every question that they threw at the strangers (they're not strangers, if you'd only listen--).

"You talk high and mighty but you know nothing."

"I know about as much as you which IS nothing. I'm making guesses because you are giving me nothing. As far as you’re concerned you woke up in a foreign place where things aren’t as they should be. What was the last thing you remember before ‘waking up’?”

They took a deep shuddering breath, rolling back their shoulders, as if contemplating an answer(when had they started referring to themselves as they?).

After a minute they finally spoke

"The last thing I remember was my alpha telling me to run," was what ended up coming out of their mouth and then suddenly everything felt like sunshine and daisies and just the general feeling that everything was right.

Everything seemed to click into place and it was as if the rippling waves that had been rolling and heaving under his skin were finally settling and they had become him again.

"I remember now... and I'd rather not talk about it," were his final words, quiet and demure in contrast to the anger that had permeated his entire being only moments ago (they were finally together again and it felt amazing) before black filled his vision and he fell back against the table. The last thing he heard was the frantic calling of his chosen name before he let himself fall into unconsciousness.

 He was back.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for him to realize that there were certain things that he should  have expected when he came back (or went back, tomayto tomahto).

And no, he wasn’t talking about how it felt like the sky was bluer or the air was cleaner or that type of bullshit because he’d never been poetic, that had been his mother and he resembled his mother very little (no matter what Derek or his dad said--Derek had never even known his mother so how would he know? Probably through Talia.... rambling again whoops).  

Stiles was talking about the little things.

Like how Scott used to cling to him (it didn’t take long to realize that he was indeed ‘the other parent’).

Or how Lydia, perfect Lydia who had worn nothing but pretty dresses and high heels in high school, wore (godforbid) sweat pants in elementary and middle.

But then there were also the things that he tried to figure out how he had missed.

Like how Issac would come to school with bruises lining his face and torso, always giving complete bullshit excuses about how he had walked into a pole or had tripped down the stairs (no one was that clumsy). And Erica (his Cat woman) who barely came to school at all with her never ending list of blue slips and excused absences (sometimes when he visited his mom in the hospital he’d see her…).

It was… it hurt to watch his pack go about the way they were, with Lydia ignoring him and Jackson the bully that he was, picking and prodding at everyone he considered lower than him  (Though Jackson had taken to giving Stiles these weird looks and avoiding him, and in extension Scott).

Stiles wanted to desperately change those things, he desperately wanted to change it all, he wanted to bring them all together and be a family like they had been (or would be). But… for some reason everytime he tried he failed miserably.

Erica was never around so he could never talk to her, Issac avoided people like the plague, Lydia ignored him completely (which wasn’t unusual), Jackson just… seemed extremely freaked out by him for one reason or another, Scott didn’t like him hanging out with other people, and Derek--

Derek was practically untouchable.

The universe was completely against it.

And so seven years pass with little to no change of any kind. After a few years he gave up on that approach, realizing that is wouldn't happen like that.

Sometimes... he would just lay awake wondering if he did the right thing (if this would actually change anything). He’d remember how whenever the radio he’d stolen from his dad (he had no delusions of it being borrowed, he’d stolen it) his heart would leap into his throat and he’d think this is the one.... but then it would turn into something about a kid that had been stupid enough to trespass into a stupid ‘haunted’ building or some burglary or something insignificant like that (Stiles defined a lot of things as insignificant if it was outside of the pack).

It still struck Stiles as weird though, the fact that he couldn’t remember exactly when he’d been turned. Was he sixteen… or seventeen? No, he had to have been younger than that. Or not?

He’d often get his nerves bundled in knots before being distracted by something around him, the smudges of paint on the wall, a text on his phone, anything really.

He hated having uncontrollable ADD

The years passed quickly...and he grew into long limbs that he was much more familiar with and eyes that glowed a bit too bright for a human of any kind. It was… a bit disturbing at how much his stance, his very being screamed 'predator!!' despite being painfully human to even supernatural eyes.

Jackson had good instincts, it seemed.

There were few things that could scare this Stiles, the Stiles that had lived with both unbridled joy and such horrible loss.

As he grew older… his memories from before began to fade and suddenly it was hard to remember that the pack he’d once loved had been the people he saw in this lifetime. Sometimes he would lie awake at night for hours trying to keep the image of Erica’s confident smile as she learned how to fight, Boyd’s patience when dealing with the two other newly turned betas, and Isaac’s determination despite how scared he’d been.

It had begun with small, thoughtless things like what type of cereal Isaac used to eat in the morning or other random things of the same nature but… then it became worrisome.

Stiles began to forget their birthdays, the everyday typical routine that each of them led, the events leading up to Derek’s turning, important memories blurred and…

Sometimes he thought that maybe it had been all just a dream: all of that happiness, the joy he’d felt from finding a family again. Sometimes he’d think that all of the pack was just a fictitious creation his mind made up to compensate for the loss of his mother and the lack of support from both his friend and his father.

The only thing that kept him remembering was when he saw their faces everyday.

The wary looks from Jackson.

The scared, caged looks from Isaac.

The distant, almost pained stares from Boyd….

And not to mention that despite the fact that he was human now… he'd been touched by the supernatural too much and too many times to come off as 'normal' to anyone who had any self preservation (Scott seemed immune somehow, he'd never know). 

Ya, time traveler and sort of werewolf. He was a walking billboard of 'what could be'.

By the time he had turned fifteen he had once again perfected the ‘asshole best friend’ towards Scott and the ‘rebellious teen’ for his Dad. 

Stiles convinced himself he was happy. He was happy.  

Going out to find half of a dead body? Routine. Bringing his best friend along for the ride? Also routine.

At first he didn’t remember that there was something special about that night in the woods, memories dusted as he was prodded at by Scott and teased and taunted right back.

The minute he heard those dogs though?

Have to keep going, just keep go--

He’d began to run and leave Scott behind without even noticing. He looked behind him to see that his best friend was struggling to keep up (he had severe asthma) and tried to slow down but the call of his name--

“Stiles is at home Mr Stilinski. I was uhhh here to get some late night practice for lacrosse try outs tomorrow.”

“Stiles! Wait up! Stiles! Stiles!!”

And then suddenly there was light flashing in his face and dogs getting up close and personal.

“Hold it right there!”

And he’s being lifted up and interrogated by his dad (well his luck was terrible wasn’t it). He forgets for a moment that today was the day and instead frantically covers for Scott because it was his fault and he didn’t want his puppy of a best friend to get in trouble with his mom.

He’s being hauled into the patrol car when he realizes what he’s done and suddenly his face is pasty white and one of the deputies is leaning in and ask if there was something wrong. Stiles nods his head, oddly quiet for the first time in a long time and the female deputy hesitates but takes the assurance.

Stiles pays no attention to his surroundings as he waits in the car. He can't think about anything except for no no no no no.

Because he’d just doomed Scott to either Death or Lycanthropy.