Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles was officially over it.

The nightmares, the sleep paralysis, the inability to distinguish reality from dreams. All of it.

He thought he’d escaped once they’d defeated the Nogitsune. Once Allison had slain the Oni with her silver arrows and allowed Scott the chance to sneak up behind the frankly terrifying carbon copy of him and give it the bite.

Things were refreshingly calm for a few weeks after that. He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

Last night, he’d woken up mid-scream to his dad holding him from behind. He loved his dad, really, but he was sure it was just as painful for him to witness as it was for Stiles to repeat the agonizing cycle of stiltedly being forced back into consciousness.

It didn’t help that his mom went through the same thing, before she died. The nightmares. The hallucinations. Death.

He didn’t want his dad experiencing that again. He just didn’t know what else it could be.

Tonight, Scott had insisted on staying the night to keep an eye on him. He’d rolled through his bedroom window and staked his claim at Stiles’ desk chair. He hadn’t moved since. And, yes, Scott had waited until Stiles was done eating dinner with his dad to enter the house. He was just considerate like that.

For his part, Stiles just went along with it. He knew Scott meant well, even when he was overbearing and didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. So there Scott stayed, and Stiles resigned himself to trying to get an early night’s sleep.

Scott had only just begun to doze off in his sprawled position across Stiles’ rolling chair when Stiles began to whimper.

Scott wouldn’t have been able to hear it had it not been for his enhanced hearing, he’s sure. All the same, Stiles’ breaths were becoming more rapid, and the whimpers were gaining volume. Scott stood, approaching the bed carefully.

“Stiles,” he whispered, reaching a tentative hand forward.

His best friend didn’t stir.

Scott placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and shook.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat before he suddenly lurched upward, eyes flying wide open.

Scott jumped, startled, before grasping tight onto Stiles’ other shoulder.

“Hey,” Scott rushed out, his voice still calm and steady. “It’s me. You’re awake, you’re fine, it’s fine.”

A few harsh breaths escaped Stiles before he looked Scott in the eye. The boy’s eyes were dazed and slightly glassy, but the longer they met Scott’s reassuring gaze, the more they became focused.

“Scott,” Stiles let out, reaching out to clutch the other’s forearm.

Scott was relieved Stiles wasn’t too confused, but he could see the latent panic in his best friend’s face clearly.

He shook his head. “He’s gone, Stiles. The Nogitsune’s gone.”

Stiles released a shaky breath, looking down at his lap. “I know,” he mumbled.

Scott didn’t think he sounded too sure of that.

“I know that. Logically, I know that,” Stiles said. He wrung his hands together. “I just don’t want it to be the alternative, either.”

Scott knew he meant the dementia. They’d broached the topic before, back when they didn’t know it was all part of the Nogitsune’s scheme. Just like he’d promised Stiles at the hospital, before his MRI scan, Scott would help. He’d do something– anything. As long as Stiles was safe.

“It might not be that, either,” Scott pointed out.

“‘ Might ’,” Stiles snorted, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes.

Scott gently whacked Stiles’ arm. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” he insisted. “It could be something completely different.”

Stiles looked up at him, a glimmer of hope beginning to embed itself in his eyes. “Like what?” he asked.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out.”

Chapter Text

“Wake up.”

Stiles felt a cold fingertip poke his cheek. “‘M not sleepin’,” he mumbled.

“Then tell me why we’re the only ones left in the room,” Lydia’s voice came from above him.

Stiles lifted his head from where it rested atop his folded arms to see Lydia and Allison standing in front of him, Lydia with her arms crossed and Allison biting her lip, slightly concerned. In that moment, Stiles was reminded that Allison was an angel, and he loved her. Stiles loved Scott for bringing her into his life. Stiles told her as much.

Allison smiled at him, proud.

Lydia leant both of her hands onto the desk, staring at Stiles head-on. “You’re stalling,” she tutted.

“And you’re worrying about nothing,” Stiles said, standing up and swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Then tell me why you look like you haven’t slept in days,” Lydia trailed after him, slotting herself against his left side. Stiles heard Allison not far behind them, closing the door to the classroom on her way out.

Stiles shot Lydia a sharp look. “I’ve slept,” he argued, but even he wasn’t too confident in his answer.

“For minutes at a time, maybe,” Lydia pointed out.

Stiles sighed. She wasn’t wrong, exactly. Even if Scott was the only person whom Stiles had told about his nightmares, he still figured Lydia knew, too, if she wasn’t already on her way to figuring it out.

“We’re just worried about you, Stiles,” Allison said, flanking his other side.

Stiles whipped his head around to send a weak glare her way. If Lydia knew he still had nightmares, so did Allison. That was the thing about those two: they were kind of a package deal.

“Worry about someone else,” Stiles tried, quite pitifully. What he’d hoped was a deflecting tone came out as more of a petulant whine, and Stiles found himself mentally cursing out every deity he could think of in hopes they were within hearing range.

Lydia and Allison both shook their heads too in-sync for Stiles’ liking, and he figured now was as good a time as any to attempt his great escape, before they tried anything à la The Shining.

One step too far in front of the girls had Lydia shooting her hand out to wrap around his wrist, and Stiles was yanked back in place to walk in step with her.

Harry Houdini would be ashamed, Stiles supposed. So much for fleeing the scene. Stiles needed better plans if he ever thought he could pull one over on Lydia– or Allison, for that matter. For how sweet Allison was, she could be truly menacing when she wanted. Stiles would appreciate it, normally, except he was currently not in the mood to be on her bad side. Or ever in the mood for that, really.

He could appreciate her viciousness from afar– shooting arrows at her enemies any time of day, using carefully-crafted words that hit just the same as her sharpest arrow. Afar was good. Afar from Stiles, afar from Stiles’ general vicinity. Afar was great.

Allison was not afar from Stiles now, however. Instead, she was right next to him, and he knew she was just as irritatingly concerned as Lydia; she just wasn’t showing it.

The way Lydia’s fingers tightened around his wrist zeroed his focus back onto how she had no qualms, whatsoever, about making her concerns known. He looked down at her, in all her 5’3” fury, and swallowed.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say, but Lydia beat him to it, steering him around the corner and depositing him next to a waiting Scott, who stood just out of reach of the school’s exit.

“This isn’t an intervention,” she said, crossing her arms. “But it very easily can be.”

Stiles glowered, giving Scott the best hardened gaze he could manage. Scott, for his part, winced in what Stiles took as confirmation for letting the girls know about his nightmares, but otherwise looked unrepentant.

Lydia huffed, causing Stiles to look back at her.

“You can’t deny you haven’t been sleeping well,” she started, pinning him with a look that Stiles knew meant he was supposed to keep quiet or regret it on pain of death. “You also can’t deny you’ve been having nightmares. Two irrefutable truths.”

Stiles didn’t want to risk speaking, so he just nodded, albeit begrudgingly. He shot Scott another glare out of the corner of his eye, only half meaning it this time. He knew Scott only meant the best for him.

“What isn’t true is that you have dementia,” she said.

Beside her, with a nod, Allison added, “That we know of.”

“That we know of,” Lydia relented. “And we’re going to make sure of it.”

Stiles looked between all three of them. “Great,” he huffed, “And how’s that? Because it feels like you’ve all already planned this, and I’m just along for the ride.”

Allison wrung her lips. Stiles stared at her, a long, unrelenting gaze, and she had the audacity to just shrug at him. At least she mouthed, Sorry, but he knew it was mostly since she realized he’d figured them out, and not because they went behind his back to plan something.

Stiles just sighed and brought a hand up to rub at his temple. “Well?” he drawled, looking at each of them, expectant.

“Deaton,” Scott said.

Stiles couldn’t help it when he just closed his eyes instead of giving a response. This time, when he rubbed at his temple, it was because of the very real headache he could feel growing, even if mostly out of annoyance at his friends once again resorting to confiding in the local veterinarian, of all people. It really didn’t matter to Stiles that the man was an emissary. No one else needed to be brought in to Stiles’ so-called “troubles.” Hell, he’d take Peter over Deaton, but he wasn’t touching that thought with a ten-foot pole– laced in wolfsbane, just to be sure– any time soon.

Great, Stiles thought, as Lydia once again grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the blue double doors of the school. Fantastic. Just what he needed.