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Stiles saw Derek’s fist coming. Of course he saw it coming, it was impossible not to see it coming. It didn’t stop said fist from colliding with his jaw and sending him sprawling across the floor again. Stiles had stopped counting the number of times that had happened once he’d passed twenty. “You know, it’s kind of impressive you’ve managed to punch me this many times without breaking my jaw given the whole werewolf strength thing you’ve got going on,” Stiles snarked, dabbing at the corner of his lip to see if he was bleeding.
“And it’s impressive that you’ve let yourself get hit this many times and you still can’t seem to defend yourself, never mind activate these mysterious new powers of yours.”
“I’m starting to doubt they exist myself,” Stiles groaned, wiping the smudge of blood on his finger off on the floor as best he could. “But when you said you’d help me figure out how to use them, I thought it’d involve more introspection and thought and maybe research, not you using me like your new favorite punching bag.”
“Who says you’re my new favorite punching bag at this point,” Derek folded his arms.
Stiles blinked, “Did…did you just make a joke? Who are you and what have you done with Derek the Sourwolf?”
“Do I need to punch you again already, or would you prefer I still give you the next thirty seconds to catch your breath?”
“I’ll take sixty and double it, thanks,” Stiles grumbled, pushing himself to his feet with a sigh. “You know pattern recognition says maybe you attacking me over and over isn’t going to do anything so maybe we could try something else?”
“Considering terror and the possibility of getting hurt is the only trigger you’ve experienced thus far that made anything happen, do you have a better idea? Would you like me to dangle you over the balcony instead?”
“I think I’m good, actually, but that’s a great sales pitch.” Stiles growled. “Maybe it really was just the tail end of a dream that felt real. This was a stupid idea,” he stepped around Derek to head for the door.
“You know that’s not a good sign either, right?” Derek turned over his shoulder, arms still folded.
Stiles stopped with a sigh, “And why is that, Derek? Enlighten me.”
“Because the last time you saw someone who looked exactly like you it was a thousand year old dark spirit hell bent on killing us all and wreaking as much pain and havoc as possible,” Derek murmured somberly.
“What, so you think he’s still in there?” Stiles barked, tapping his temple and fighting to keep his pulse from rising, “you think Void’s still banging around up here in my head and all it takes is one bad day for him to come back out? Or am I just such a traumatized little flower that I’m still dreaming about the demonic fox who screwed with my head for months on end and I just need to work through some trauma? Maybe hitting me again will help. Go on, try it!” Stiles yelled, shoving Derek back a step, though Derek barely budged.
“Seems like that hit a nerve,” Derek said wryly.
“Of course it did, oh wise and powerful Derek!” Stiles couldn’t keep his voice down, “I had a monster in my head for months, tearing apart my sanity piece by piece and making me hurt every single person I care about! In what world would that not be the most sensitive, painful nerve you could possibly–” His sentence was cut off by Derek’s foot flying at his face. Stiles moved to cover his eyes and duck backwards…only to find himself standing several feet away by the stairs while someone else got kicked in the sternum and went flying backwards, landing with a dull thud on the concrete. A someone else who looked exactly like Stiles, down to the chunk of hair on the left side of his head he couldn’t get to cooperate that morning. Stiles stepped forward apprehensively and prodded the stationary figure with his toe. It was solid, and squishy, like it was human, but there was no real life behind its eyes. “Well that’s…unsettling,” Stiles managed. As if on cue, the double started to dissolve, collapsing into a cloud of rust colored mist that drifted along the floor in strands and weaved their way into Stiles’ pant legs. “That’s…even more unsettling,” Stiles gulped.
“And yet your new powers are very, very real,” Derek nodded, “so I guess this wasn’t such a stupid idea after all, was it?”
“You’re on thin ice buddy,” Stiles growled, “what if that hadn’t worked? I would’ve probably broken my head open on the floor and you’d end up at the hospital explaining to Scott’s mom why you decided smashing my skull apart was a good idea to test my abilities!”
“You were angry and emotional, so it seemed like a good time to see if the mortal peril would do the trick. And it did. Now we just have to work on you being able to summon these things when you’re not in life-threatening danger. And get them to do things other than be meat shields for your body. Simple enough, right?” Derek shrugged casually.
“Okay seriously, are you possessed now, or…”
“I’m trying to be helpful, Stiles, take advantage of it while it lasts, why don’t you,” Derek rolled his eyes. “Now, summon one of those things and make it punch me,” Derek dropped into a fighting stance.
“So we just got me to actually summon one of these things for the first time semi-intentionally and now you want me to just magically give it commands? How?!”
“Not magically, you just need to think about what you need it to do. Probably.”
“I’m not following.”
Derek relaxed and sighed, “I can’t believe I’m the one who has to explain this to you of all people, but in all likelihood these clones…doppelgangers…take your pick of what you want to call them, are created with tasks in mind. So far their only purpose has been to prevent you from getting hurt in an immediate moment, hence them turning inert right after doing that. So try and get one to go on the offensive. Simple.”
“Yeah, simple,” Stiles muttered, closing his eyes and clenching his fists, attempting to visualize Derek…and punching him in his stupidly perfect jawline. “It’s easy for you to say to just do things, your powers are hyper literal where you just grow some jowl hair and claws and call it a day. I have to make a whole new self just to punch you in the face!”
“And yet, you still haven’t done so.”
“Shut it and let me focus!” Stiles swung wildly in the direction of Derek’s voice and to his surprise he heard a crack and thud and opened his eyes to another version of him standing over Derek, who was holding a hand to his jaw. Out of morbid curiosity, Stiles lightly kicked like he was punting a soccer ball and the double kicked Derek square in the nose, much harder than Stiles had kicked on his end.
“WHAT THE HELL, STILES!?” Derek shouted as he fell backward. Evidently intent in your mind’s eye mattered a lot when it came to giving these things instructions. Good to know. Stiles stepped forward to offer Derek a hand up and before he could even take a couple steps, a second – or perhaps third…this was confusing – Stiles folded out of the kicker and stretched out a hand. Derek begrudgingly took it, eying the stony eyed clone with suspicion. “Why did you need an extra one just to do something new?” he muttered, circling the clone, who stood there briefly before vanishing into a cloud along with its brethren, both snaking their way back to Stiles.
Stiles shrugged, “Hell if I know, I just thought of wanting to do something and all of a sudden it was doing it. I’m as lost as you are.”
“Maybe it has to do with the type of intent?” Derek mused, “wanting to hurt someone and wanting to help someone aren’t exactly similar ideas, so maybe your clones can only do something in accordance with what you originally created them to do. Makes me wonder if more than one can be assigned to the same task though…”
“Like having three of them kick you in the balls at the same time?”
Derek frowned in Stiles’ direction, “Sure Stiles, like three of them kicking me in the balls. Thank you for your valued contribution to this discovery process.”
“So you really don’t have any frame of reference or stories or anything about what this whole illusion cloning thing could be?” Stiles took a couple steps forward, trying very hard not to summon any more doppelgangers this time, “because I would really appreciate it if that fancy beastiary you guys have could give me any tips. I really don’t need another me popping up behind my desk because I want to smack the math teacher for putting a nasty problem on the test.”
“We can ask Noshiko if she’s sure, but no one’s ever heard of someone surviving a Nogitsune possession before. So we’re in pretty uncharted territory. Even then, who’s to say this is really about Void at all?”
“You just heavily implied it was a few minutes ago, Derek. Did that kick to the face cost you half your remaining brain cells?”
Derek ignored him and continued, “What I mean is the Nogitsune could create illusions, deceptions, sometimes even make them tangible, but always flawed. This is…not that. You’re creating more yous that feel and look like you. Albeit with a lot more strength than you could possibly have in those pathetic scrawny arms.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part,” Stiles grumbled, “so what’s your point? The magic was in me all along? I could always make more of me and Void just helped me let it out?”
“Maybe, maybe not, maybe you got a little bit of Void’s powers and made them your own. How would I know? Still, it’s interesting that they’re clones. Probably says something about you.”
“What? How?” Stiles scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going if you’re going to keep insulting me every two sentences.”
“As if you don’t do that to me anyway,” Derek bit back, “but that aside, Void always liked having minions, drones, subordinates, lackeys, whatever you want to call them. The Oni sure, but even when he was in your head he’d never duplicate himself. It was always someone else’s image he’d use against you. Even your own. So making more of yourself…is a you thing.”
“Oh no, so I don’t want slaves. Riveting information I’m learning about myself, Derek, can we get back to actually talking about the magic I apparently have flowing through my bloodstream?”
“We still are,” Derek said flatly, “it’s noticeable that your version of Void’s powers just makes more of you. And apparently can’t make anything else. I doubt it’s because of a lack of creativity, so apparently something in your brain is only willing to rely on you and yourself and no one else. Does that ring a bell?”
“It sounds like someone is projecting,” Stiles prodded a finger into Derek’s chest. “You’re the one with the whole loner schtick. I have friends. Several friends even, none of whom are my psychotic uncle and most of whom are my own age.”
“And yet when conjuring images to help you, all you think of is yourself,” Derek murmured, not breaking eye contact. “What, don’t trust your friends to come when you need them?”
“That’s…back off, Derek,” Stiles’ finger curled into his fist, “I don’t need you turning into Sigmund Freud on me and armchair analyzing my psyche.”
“Sounds like another nerve,” Derek shook his head, “if you keep on bottling that up, who’s to say when it’ll explode. And then maybe you really will be left alone with you, yourself, and the empty-eyed clone husk that kicked me in the face at a critical moment. Then what? I’m not sure these things can actually talk.”
“WILL YOU SHUT UP?!” Stiles shouted. As if on cue, three more of him appeared behind Derek, eyes as empty as ever. One clapped a hand over Derek’s mouth, the second grabbed his throat with both hands, and the third grabbed him from behind and grappled him to the ground. As Stiles watched, the first one began pummeling Derek with punch after punch to the face while the other two kept him from getting up…though Derek didn’t seem to be fighting back. Stiles wasn’t sure how long he stood there, breathing heavily, letting them wail on Derek before he inhaled sharply and the phantoms vanished again, leaving Derek sputtering and coughing on the floor. “Derek, I…”
Derek held up a palm, “Don’t. Don’t go groveling and apologizing and starting a pity party, Stiles. You’re pissed because you know it’s true, and it’s tearing you apart. And someone telling you the truth to your face just makes it worse and makes you want to hit something. I’ve been there.” Derek stood up, rubbing the bruises the doppelganger had left on his neck, “But now that you’ve gotten the chance to vent a bit…maybe we could take a second to acknowledge just how deeply incorrect your assumption about the future is. Especially when the past is already disagreeing with your stupidity.”
“What are you–”
“Saving you from the Nogitsune, you moron. Scott never gave up on you, Lydia never gave up on you, people gave their lives to try to make sure we didn’t lose you, and I know full well they’d do it again. But here you are in the aftermath still feeling like you’re all alone and can only rely on yourself. Like everyone’s going to abandon you the moment you screw up. More news for you, you screw up constantly.”
Stiles blinked, “Is this supposed to make me feel better or…?”
“It’s supposed to make you recognize that anytime the voice in your head, evil fox spirit or not, tries to tell you that you’re alone or that people don’t care about you, you should punch it, just like you punched me.”
“Technically the magic doppelgangers with enhanced strength punched you,” Stiles corrected, “if we’re being pedantic.”
“We’ve still got daylight,” Derek shrugged, “if we keep practicing maybe you’ll get your own punch in. Not that it’ll hurt.”
“Oh that sounds like a challenge,” Stiles huffed, “if I get my me squad to hold you down long enough, one of those punches should hurt. Eventually.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
“...hey, Derek? Why did you…volunteer to do…this?” Stiles asked, struggling not to bite back every word.
“Because I saw something familiar that I knew I could help with…or at least I had to try,” Derek said quietly. “And whether you believe it or not, you can count on me too, you know.”
“I believe it,” Stiles nodded slowly, trying to suppress any reddening in his cheeks, “but I’ll believe it more once I’ve landed at least three times as many hits as I let you land on me.”
“Good luck with that,” Derek managed a smirk.
‘Training’ soon became a regular pastime. It’s an open question which one of them enjoyed it more.