Chapter Text
(Art by the AMAZING KikiDoesFanfic!!)
Stiles Stilinski yawns widely as the train he’s in rattles past a way station for the last time before making its way to the end of its route: the Beacon County stop, where Stiles will be getting off before taking a taxi to Beacon Hills, the town that he will be staying for the next year.
Looking at the rain outside the window he’s leaning against, graying out the view too much for there to be even the slightest hint of a horizon, Stiles takes a moment to appreciate how the weather is reflecting his mood; dark and depressing, with no sign of it lighting up any time soon.
Apt, considering that he was sent off with the barest of goodbyes, despite the fact that he won’t be back for a good long while and there’s a high chance no one will be visiting him while he’s gone, either.
Grimacing, Stiles takes his phone out of his pocket in a desperate attempt to lift his spirits, not really surprised to see that he has no new messages or voicemails. One of the main reasons he pressed so hard to spend a year in the country was because he didn’t really have any friends to be left behind.
Although, there is a bit of an ache that there isn’t even a message from his father, the latest being more than a week old and telling Stiles that he needed to buy a few groceries for the house, as they were out of milk.
“Oh my god! Have you heard the latest rumor??”
Attention pulled from his phone for the moment, Stiles lifts his head and watches as a pair of giggling girls - maybe a few years younger than him - take a few seats down from where he’s standing, one of them with her own phone out and being waved excitedly.
“Please tell me that you’re not still hanging out on that weird occult site...” It sounds that this is a long standing argument between the pair, making Stiles smother a laugh when one girl gives the other a glare for the comment.
“It’s been legitimized by more than one influencer and that’s not the point!” The girl gets shushed when her voice causes a few people to look over, but she doesn’t let that stop her. “The point is that there is this channel that you’re supposed to watch whenever it’s raining! It’s said that it’ll show you your true love!!”
Stiles immediately tunes out the rest of the conversation, scoffing to himself as he leans against the window again. He highly doubts that the occult site is as legitimate as the girl was saying, if it’s giving out that kind of advice.
Seeing your true love by watching TV... Another scoff leaves Stiles’ lips as he closes his eyes to maybe sleep the rest of his trip away. If only it was that easy...
The motion of the train, as well as the soft tapping of the rain outside, does manage to lull Stiles into a kind of half-sleep; he knows he’s dreaming, but there is still the sense that this isn’t really something that he can control or immediately pull himself away from.
He can also see himself standing on the train, darkened and the only light coming from the window that he’s leaning against, before pulling himself to a straightened position. His gaze is pulled to the end of the car, the rest of the occupants nothing more than dim shadows, to the... creature? monster? standing at the other end.
The being is a good eight, nine feet tall and has what looks like a colored mask covering the lower portion of their face, the train too dark to see what color or shape they might be, the rest of the body encased in shadow with the barest flicker of a long, flowing cape at the ankles.
The creature slowly lifts one hand, also encased in a darkly colored glove, and points directly at where Stiles is standing. A sudden blue flame lights in its eyes, highlighting the curves of the mask over its mouth and throwing shadows along its face as a voice thunders through the train like the tolling of a monstrous bell.
I AM THOU
THOU ART I
Jerking away from the creature, Stiles pulls his head up as noise and light falls back into place around him. The girls are still arguing about the validity of the site that one of them was on with a low buzz as background from the other train passengers, the sound of the rain has dimmed to a light drizzle. Then the train’s intercom is announcing the last stop coming up, and there is a slight rumbling as the train slowly comes to a stop at its destination.
Stiles looks around himself in the hope that someone can explain to him what the hell just happened, what the fuck that creature was, and whether he was just sleeping and his brain decided to give him a weird ass dream as some sort of present for leaving his shitty life in the city.
(He resolutely ignores the part of him that whispers about the visions and waking dreams that his mother had when her sickness worsened to the point that they had to keep her at the hospital.)
Nobody seems to have realized anything has happened, nor are they looking Stiles’ way in concern or dread or fear or anything like that. Deciding to follow their lead - and freak out about a potential mental break later - Stiles pulls his suitcase from the shelf it was laying on and begins to make his way out of the station.
The driver that was hired to take him to Beacon Hills doesn’t look much older than him with dark shades covering his eyes, and he only grunts at Stiles’ greeting, quick to take his bag and stuff it in the back of his car before he climbs back into the driver’s side.
Stiles is left floundering for a few moments before the guy revs his engine, making Stiles feel like he would have no issue leaving his charge standing in the middle of the road, and driving all his worldly possessions away into the sunset.
Welcome to Beacon Hills, Stiles...
Hopping into the car and snapping his seatbelt around him, Stiles continues to try to get something out of this guy that isn’t grunts or growls. It’s the most painful ten minutes of his life, and it only stops when Stiles finally throws himself against the backseat with a frustrated huff.
Still exhausted despite his supposed catnap on the train, Stiles decides that - since this man is so against speaking to him - he is gonna try to get some real rest in the hopes of making a positive impression on the Uncle his father shoved him off on.
After a few moments of silence, a soft jazzy melody fills the car and Stiles opens one eye to see the driver quickly looking away from him, a bored expression on his face when Stiles mumbles out a thank you.
To the surprise of no one, a grunt is his answer.
This time, when his eyes finally slide closed and stay there, Stiles is sure that he’s asleep.
The proportions of the car that he’s in now are far too exaggerated; long like a limo - he also doesn’t remember a full-on bar along one side - a strange fog outside the windows that Stiles has the uncomfortable feeling is full of something, and the people sitting across from him are... rather odd, to say the least.
For one thing, the man has the longest nose that Stiles has ever seen; it hooks down over his chin, and Stiles is of the mind that the hands the man has folded over his mouth are more to keep his nose from covering it than any other need...
He also is paler than Stiles himself, has the most insane eyebrows, and when he notices that Stiles is staring at him, grins far, far, far too widely for a human’s face.
“Ah. We seem to have a visitor...”
The man’s voice is higher than Stiles expected; more Mark Hamill’s Joker than the expected Christian Bale’s Batman, and that unnerves him more than anything else. It makes Stiles flinch a little, the way that voice crawls along his spine.
“A guest with a rather intriguing future ahead of him...” The man trails off into a chuckle, making the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck raise as wide eyes - with a single pinprick of a pupil - focus on him. “And only just beginning to awaken as well...? Very intriguing...”
There is a polite cough from the woman next to him, which makes the strange man come back to himself with a shake of his head and resume his unnerving smile.
“Of course, where are my manners? My name is Igor and I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I shall be a... well, we shall say a guide of sorts as we begin your journey this day.”
“And what kind of journey is it that I am supposed to be taking?” Stiles is surprised that he can talk right now, sure that he would be struck speechless like he had been on the train.
Another laugh follows his words, and Stiles can’t help but rub at the back of his neck and try to repress a shiver. Igor watches him the entire time, not even blinking once, and Stiles starts to wonder if he really has lost his mind.
“This place is on the edge of dream and reality, mind and matter... It was created as a way for us to speak with you, but is only allowed for those that have taken a ‘contract’ to enter.”
“As far as I know, I haven’t really entered any contracts...” And I don’t really plan on doing it now, especially not with some pointed-eared, bug-eyed madman looking figment of my imagination or the slow breaking of my mind!!
Igor’s grin - impossibly - grows even wider, almost as if he can hear Stiles’ thoughts and finds them amusing. “It may be a fate that awaits you in the near future... Now, would you be so kind as to tell me your name?”
Stiles is pretty sure that his expression is very clearly saying how ridiculous he thinks that request is, and he can’t help but quip, “Bruce Wayne, multimillionaire and secret crime fighter.”
“I have no problem calling you by such a name, as that last part may be more true than you believe...”
Another cough comes from the lady next to Igor, somehow conveying both impatience and urgency in the noise, and Stiles takes a moment to really look her over while she says something too soft for Stiles to hear:
She looks a bit older than him, closer to his Dad’s age than his own, but that might be more due to her silver hair and how she’s dressing than anything else; she doesn’t have any noticeable wrinkles, and is wearing an old fashioned dress with a high black collar and buttons down the front. The whole outfit immediately makes Stiles think of old plane movies with a stewardess, which he doesn’t believe that she would appreciate...
The dress is a deep blue that matches the interior of the limo that they are in, and without her black shoes and stockings - along with the silver shock of her hair, held back by a (what else?) blue ribbon - she disappear into the blue surrounding her.
The other is the shade of her skin which, while a more normal tone than her partner's, still has a slight glow to it that gives a slightly otherworldly essence to her flesh. Add that to the agelessness that Stiles noticed before and it keeps him from really allowing himself to relax, despite not seeing anything off-putting to her right away...
“My compatriot has reminded me that we truly need a moniker for you, no matter if you make the contract or not. So, we shall try this again; will you introduce yourself, visitor?”
A low hum vibrates from the back of Stiles’ throat as he thinks about what is really keeping him from telling this guy his name; he’s already in a limo with him and, aside from really creeping him out, Igor hasn’t done anything to hurt him.
Not yet, at least...
“It’s Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”
“Hm... Still keeping a part of yourself hidden, are we? I commend you for following the letter of my request, if not the spirit.”
“Yeah, well... Call me crazy, but giving my name to someone with pointed ears and part of something ‘on the edge of dream and reality’ doesn’t sound like the brightest idea.”
Igor laughs and nods before flourishing his hands, a table in front of him that Stiles has just now noticed has been slowly covered by a deck of cards, shifting and spreading themselves out in a star-like pattern.
“Now, let us take a look into your future, shall we?”
Blinking, Stiles looks down at the cards - blue, like everything else here - and frowns at the design there; a large blooming tree with thick roots curling along the bottom, the top a deep green and the roots a dark shadow, surrounded by a sunburst pattern all along the edge of the tree and winding designs on the edge of the cards themselves.
“Do you believe in fortune telling?” Igor doesn’t bother to wait for Stiles to answer before he continues, “It’s so very intriguing; the results are always different, despite each reading being done with the same cards...”
A chuckle, then: “Life is much the same way, is it not? The same principles, at least.”
Stiles is filled with the uncomfortable certainty that this man knows what happened to his mother, that he knows the thoughts that Stiles has about this whole bizarre experience, and finds the entire thing amusing.
Igor flips over the first card before Stiles can really wrap his head around how that makes him feel, revealing a towering building haloed by black smoke, bisected in two by a curl of roaring fire, the shadowy forms of people falling through windows into the foggy background of the card.
There are also the Roman numerals for sixteen - XVI - on the bottom, but it is the building itself that draws Stiles’ attention.
“Hm...” The sound that falls from Igor’s lips does not sound curious, more delighted. His cheeriness has started to unnerve Stiles more than his form. “The Tower in the upright position represents the imminent future. Ruin and terrible catastrophe may be following you to your new home...
He’s a monster, John! He’s trying to kill me! Death follows him, wherever he goes!
Stiles tries not to show how much those words affected him as Igor mutters something about the next card indicating the future beyond The Tower, all too aware of the Woman in Blue’s sharp gaze.
The next card is one of the moon, but a bright yellow crescent taking up most of the face, a dark midnight blue covering the opposite side, with a sea green background. For some reason, there’s a lobster along the top of the card, and Stiles can’t help the snort that leaves him when he sees it.
He almost misses the numerals - XVIII - as he raises his head to look at Igor again, wondering at what will come out of his mouth now.
“The Moon, in the upright position.”
Stiles gathered that much, thanks.
“This card represents ‘hesitation’ and ‘mystery’.” Igor’s tone tells Stiles that he isn’t surprised by the card, nor by the look Stiles is giving him. “Very interesting, indeed...”
“Listen, if this is just some sort of scheme to get me to sign this ‘contract’ of yours-”
“It seems that you will be greeted by a great catastrophe upon your arrival, and then have an overwhelming mystery that will be imposed upon you.” Igor interrupts, his gaze flickering over Stiles, making him feel picked apart and deeply examined. “In the coming days, you will enter a contract of some sort, and then you will return here.”
Stiles blinks.
“Wait... You’re not the one that I make the contract with?”
“Oh no.” Igor shakes his head slightly, a gloved hand coming up to wave the comment away. “I did say I was to be your guide, yes? I am only to show you the path, your contract will place you upon it.”
There is a soft sigh from the Woman in Blue as Igor continues, “The coming year appears to be a turning point in your life, in your destiny. It appears that if this mystery remains unsolved... that future, that destiny may be forever lost.”
A shiver goes along Stiles’ spine at that, a certainty that ‘forever lost’ doesn’t just mean a missed opportunity. “And you said you were a guide? What, exactly, do you do?”
“My duty is to provide assistance, to make sure that the worst does not happen. Hence, why I have come to you now, before you have made the contract, to perhaps explain a few things in order for you to grasp your destiny more securely.”
“Explain??” Stiles lets out a disbelieving scoff, catching the barest flicker of expression in the Woman in Blue’s face. “You haven’t explained anything!”
Igor must have seen where Stiles’ gaze has gone, because he lets out a soft ‘ah’ of remembrance.
“I have neglected to introduce my assistant to you, haven’t I?”
Way to change the subject, asshole...
“This is Margaret. She is a resident of this place, like myself.”
“My name is Margaret. I am here to accompany you through your journey.”
“'Accompany me'?” The way that Margaret echoes Igor causes another one of those uneasy feelings to travel along Stiles’ spine, making him once again wonder if he’s just not having a very, very intense hallucination.
“We shall attend to the details another time.” Igor smiles and Margaret nods as Stiles tries to pick just one of the many questions clambering to be answered to give voice to. “Until then, farewell...”
The fog from outside of the car seems to slowly seep in just enough to obscure Stiles’ vision, a blaring horn cutting off his demand to know more, know anything at all.