Chapter Text
Stiles really shouldn't be doing this...
Well, he really shouldn't be doing this alone. But when had Stiles ever done what he was supposed to?
He had to admit though, traipsing through a forest in the middle of the night was a lot scarier when you didn't have your werewolf best friend by your side. Not that anything could be done about that now, Stiles was on a mission... sort of. He was collecting information for the pack, and no he didn't have to do that by himself and yes he was going to anyway. Call it whatever you want; pride, insecurity, stupidity- but, contrary to popular belief, Stiles knew what he was doing.
To some degree.
Beacon Hills had recently caught a virus. A virus that was was dark, and smokey, and left people with no recollection of their actions when they finally broke out of whatever daze they were in. Scott thought it was a witch, Derek thought it was some kind of evil spirit (Stiles had laughed at him when he suggested it and then almost peed himself from the resulting glare he got).
Either way, the issue was that none of them really had any idea what was happening so Stiles took it upon himself to do some research.
To be totally honest, Stiles didn't know exactly what he was looking for. According to his original hunt for leads, which consisted of mindlessly scrolling the internet for anything interesting, something similar to this had happened a decade ago. A sinister, choking fog had swept the town for about a week before disappearing for seemingly no reason.
As it often did with Stiles, that first nugget of information sent him spiraling down a rabbit hole of poisonous gasses and airborne diseases, eventually leading him to an obscure website written entirely in ancient Latin. Stiles had proceeded to print out the achingly long paragraphs of text and enlist the help of Lydia to translate them, which she did flawlessly, although not without complaint.
Which led to Stiles stumbling through the woods with only the sickly glow of the moon to guide him. The light seemed to warp the world around him and twist reality into a weird, silvery, alternate dimension.
A more superstitious man would probably be worried about that.
Stiles knew he was searching for a tomb of some kind, the website that Lydia translated for him expressly stated that whatever evil mist was causing trouble would be residing in a tomb or graveyard. He'd already checked out the town's graveyard and found nothing out of the ordinary so this was the next logical step.
Said tomb was supposed to be in the forest somewhere but the text hadn't been too clear on directions, probably to stop curious teenagers from wandering in to poke at things they shouldn't be poking. Well, it couldn't keep Stiles away forever.
The only warning Stiles got before he was thrust into something way above his pay grade was silence. Eerie, all consuming silence that felt as if it were a physical weight pressing down on him. He hadn't even been aware that there was noise in the forest until it was stripped away with a ferocity that made him shudder.
Oh Stiles was so not meant to be here.
But still he continued on, "Holy shittt, I'm so screwed." Stiles muttered to himself, his voice sounding like it was echoing through the trees. He almost tripping over a large protruding root at the sound of his own voice being turned around on him. His ears were beginning to hurt from the pressure- any longer and Stiles was scared his eardrums might burst.
Following the few painful seconds of silence came a low buzzing, unnoticeable at first and gradually growing in volume until it seemed to surround Stiles as he broke into a run, pressing his hands to his ears and sending a prayer to any and all Gods that might be listening.
His skin erupted into goosebumps, the hair on his arms and neck standing on end as if they were charged with electricity and from the powerful zaps he was hit with every few seconds, Stiles would say that they were in fact charged with electricity.
He was so not meant to be here.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" If anyone told Stiles he was yelling, he'd vehemently deny it. He could barely hear his own voice above what sounded like thousands of chirping cicadas. His mad dash was halted only by the sight of a looming stone structure... at least he'd found the tomb?
Stiles didn't have time to take in the area surrounding the monument, didn't have time to notice the crisp, brown grass and scorched trees, he didn't see the snaking coil of smoke slip between the cracks of stone just seconds before he wrenched the door open and flung himself inside, slamming the heavy wooden exit closed behind him.
The inside of the tomb was dark and cold, the kind of cold that you swore you could feel in your bones. Stiles was just glad that whatever was causing the din outside couldn't seem to reach him in here, a tentative touch of the hair on his arms determined that he was also no longer a sparking mess.
Whilst Stiles prided himself of being the member of the pack who came up with most of their plans, he was also still a seventeen year old with ADHD, and he'd forgotten his phone.
It wasn't that he couldn't find it, Stiles knew exactly where it was. He could almost see it sitting at the bottom of his bag where he'd chucked it to muffle the sounds of messages pinging from Scott complaining about girl trouble.
Stiles had no way to contact anyone and no way to know if the buzzing of energy (he'd decided that's what it was, definitely something magical) was still ongoing without risking getting electrocuted again.
The chill was really starting to get to him now and Stiles begun to wish he'd brought a thicker jacket, his teeth were chattering so hard Stiles was concerned for the state of his jaw. So preoccupied with stopping the destruction of his bones, Stiles didn't notice that he wasn't exactly alone until the shadowy presence materialised in front of him.
"Dude," He startled, staring at the cloudy figure, "Or not, you don't... look human." Stiles whispered with an awkward laugh. This was it, this was where he died, he was face-to-face with some sort of black, evil... fog...
Wait.
"Have you been haunting the town and terrorising people? Because that's so not cool and we'd really appreciate it if you'd stop." Stiles breathed out, mostly terrified but also slightly in awe of what he was seeing.
Now that he was actually looking at the shape it seemed kind of humanoid. It was tall enough to touch the ceiling of the tomb, it's neck (maybe) having to bend at an odd angle to fit inside- the tomb wasn't small either, at least 6ft tall and around the same width. Stiles realised with a strange sort of detachment that his eyes refused to focus on the thing, every time he tried to get a good look at it he'd find himself staring at the floor or the wall just behind it, like his eyes were sliding right off.
Stiles also realised that there was almost certainly some mind control magic going on because there was no way he should be this calm right now.
The thing took a step towards Stiles, or maybe it was floating, was gliding a better word? It slipped right up to his face and Stiles got the distinct impression that he was being assessed for something, like a check-up at the doctors or his dad trying to determine if he was actually ill or just faking it to get out of school. Seemingly pleased with whatever it found, the figure slowly reached out a shadowy palm and placed it on Stiles's forehead, was he being blessed?
He felt silly for even thinking it, it was more likely to be a curse.
Whatever mind voodoo was occurring had really started to kick in, any thought of running and even any twinge of discomfort was washed away in steady waves, leaving behind a sturdy sense of peace that Stiles never wanted to leave.
Tendrils of smoke began seperating from the thing's main body, they swirled around Stiles's legs and feet, gracefully twirling higher and higher until they were level with his face. Stiles felt the sudden, desperate urge to take a deep breath, so he did.
The little wisps of black fog slipped into his mouth the second he opened it, gliding down his throat and dissipating into his body. More pieces of smoke started breaking off as well, slipping away faster and following their brethren into Stiles as he inhaled.
Then it was over, and the smoke figure was gone.
As much as Stiles would love to say that he strolled right out of that tomb and everything went back to normal, that wouldn't be entirely truthful. Yes, someone did stroll right out of that tomb but it wasn't Stiles, not really.
The calm that had enveloped him before had shattered the instant they completed whatever weird ritual that was, and then Stiles realised he couldn't move. Sure he was moving, but he wasn't the one making it happen.
Holy shit he'd been possessed.
Again.
Stiles groaned inwardly, why did supernatural creatures enjoy taking control of him so much? It was just like the Nogitsune, but maybe with a bit more awareness.
Speaking of awareness, where was that thing taking his body? It had begun trekking back through the forest as soon as they'd left the tomb, the buzzing had stopped though... silver linings Stiles, silver linings. At least it was somewhat entertaining- the thing inside Stiles was walking like it was drunk, maybe his controls were harder to manage than it's previous possessions. For once in his life Stiles was glad that his brain worked a little different from most people's.
It was weird, being conscious of what was going on but having no control over it. With the Nogitsune it was like chunks of time were missing, as if he was periodically blacking out. This sort of felt like he was stuffed into a wind-up toy and just let out into the wild.
What did the thing even want with Stiles? That was assuming it wanted anything at all, the previous reports of this happening just left behind a very confused, but mostly unharmed, individual.
Maybe it was taking Stiles for a joyride.
Now that Stiles was really thinking about it, he could feel another presence inside him, like there was someone sitting very close to him and shoving their face directly in his. In other words, invasive, it felt invasive. Out of curiosity Stiles focused all his attention on the thing residing within him, giving it a mental prod. There was no reaction so Stiles did it again, and again... and agai-
An wave of irritation pulsed through him, almost as if his whole body was beating like a heart. Stiles could safely say it was the strangest thing he'd ever experienced. Those were his emotions, the annoyance was familiar in so many ways but at the same time he could tell that it wasn't his. The pulses slowed and eventually came to a stop, and so did the thing walking Stiles. He hadn't paid much attention to their surroundings while they were walking, too eager to experiment his new tenant.
The tenant in question lifted Stiles head to let him take in where they were. It was Derek's loft, why were they at Derek's loft? Didn't the thing- wow it was getting tiring to call it that, Stiles was just gonna call it Joey. Didn't Joey know that Derek would kill them both if they woke him up?
Maybe it just didn't care, or maybe it knew something that Stiles didn't, which would be weird. And would give Stiles a major case of FOMO.
Joey walked Stiles right up to Derek's door, stumbling over it's new feet just like it had in the forest. Well, at least someone would realise something was up if he couldn't manage to walk in a straight line without tripping. Joey knocked on the door, it's wrist flopping around madly. Seriously, it was like this thing had never possessed someone before and Stiles new for a fact that wasn't true.
Derek opened the door after just a couple seconds, looking unsurprised to see Stiles standing outside. Joey sent a pulse of anticipation through him at the sight of the dark haired man and Stiles returned his own wave of 'I've got a really bad feeling about this' which Joey didn't seem to care for. Scott peaked round Derek's shoulder, grinning when he saw Stiles.
"Dude what took you so long?"... okay so apparently Joey did know something Stiles didn't, was there a reason they were meant to meet tonight? Stiles wracked his brain but came up empty. And then Joey started to talk.
Or, well it tried to but talking with someone else's mouth must be extremely difficult because it wasn't going well.
"Sooo, I'mhere annd readyt to ruuumblle!" Joey punctuated the very bad sentence with an even worse air punch of celebration. There was a beat of silence and Stiles was eagerly awaiting the moment someone realised what was going on.
Except they didn't.
Scott gave Stiles a fondly exasperated look and turned his head to Derek, who was watching Stiles intently. "Don't worry about him, he's probably just had way too much adderall today, right?" Scott faced Stiles again, looking at him expectantly.
Joey frantically nodded it's head, "Yessir!". Stiles felt like he'd been frozen, the only reason he hadn't been panicking before was because he had the upmost faith in Scott. They'd known each other forever, who else was going to realise he wasn't acting the way he usually did?
A sudden idea burst into Stiles's mind. Werewolves, he was surrounded by werewolves- he hadn't noticed it before but Erica, Boyd and Isaac were also perched on a worn down sofa behind Scott and Derek. Werewolves could smell emotions, hormones, maybe if he just got scared enough one of them would notice something wrong.
Stiles began rapidly bringing up every single memory that could cause him distress; his first real argument with Scott, the realisation that Lydia really wasn't into him like that, his mom getting sick, his mom getting really sick, his mom dying, his dads health, the Nogitsune, every single thing he'd ever felt the tiniest bit guilty about- stealing that pen from class when he was seven, eating the last slice of Scotts birthday cake when he was twelve, lying to his dad every day, dragging Scott into this life-
It was working, Stiles could feel the panic clawing at his throat, threatening to part his lips on a scream, it was working.
Until it wasn't.
As if Joey had caught on to what Stiles was doing, it fought back, pushing all the dread and misery down back into the depths of Stiles mind. With another searing wave of terror, Stiles realised he was being pushed down too. His vision was blurring at the corners and the voices around him drifted further away, sounding like they were underwater. Fuck, it almost worked, Stiles had been so close.
A sense of defeat smothered him, was it Joey's freaky hypnotic magic or just Stiles's own acceptance? He had know way of telling. He could barely see anything anymore. Stiles took a final shuddering breath and prayed that whatever Joey had planned wouldn't get anyone killed.
With that, Stiles let himself be pushed to the back of his mind.