Work Text:
Stiles stumbled, his hands flying out and catching himself against a tree before he could fall. He was breathing heavily, and next to him, he could hear a similar sound.
“Just out of curiosity,” Scott gasped, “which half of the body are we looking for?”
“Huh?” Stiles questioned, turning to his friend. Stiles couldn’t help but pause, he blinked once. Twice. Three times. It still didn’t make sense. That was not Scott, not the Scott he knew and was familiar with. Stiles watched as this imposter raised an inhaler and took a breath.
“Which half,” Scott gasped, “are we,” he continued, “looking for?”
Stiles pushed himself from the tree, unsure of how to play this. If this was a trick, which he assumed it was, then answering in the wrong way would only alert his captors that he knew something was off.
“I didn’t think about that,” Stiles said slowly. He eyed Scott the best he could in the dark. They did a good job, replicating his friend, especially from before the bite had happened.
“And, what if, whoever killed the body is still out here?” Scott asked, walking ahead, still clutching on to his inhaler as if it was his lifeline.
“Also didn’t think of that,” Stiles responded automatically. It all felt too real, as if it was something more than an illusion, and Stiles had seen his fair share of illusions. Something that Peter had always been eager to point out on bad days where nothing around him felt real.
“It’s comforting to know you’ve planned this out,” Scott laughed, resting against a tree.
“I know,” Stiles grinned, unable to help himself. It had been a long time since he had seen Scott this carefree and happy. Truly happy. It made Stiles ache to know where this narrative lead, to know that Scott was bitten and turned into something he never wanted, something he had hated until he was forced to embrace it.
“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight?” Scott asked, holding his hand out hopelessly, and even though it wasn’t how the story went, Stiles found himself passing the flashlight over. He wanted to keep his friend happy and safe, to keep him out of harm's way, even if his friend wasn't his friend.
“Just take it easy,” Stiles suggested. “I don’t want you drawing everyone’s attention –” Stiles trailed off, leaving just the sound of Scott trying to control his breathing. “That’s it,” he gasped. “Come on,” Stiles said a little louder, bounding forward with a grace that he never had at this point.
“Stiles!” his friend called, waving the flashlight.
It wasn’t the first time Stiles had relived this moment, he had returned to it in his dreams a few times, considering what he would do differently. What he might change. How one little action would forever alter the future that had been so carefully laid out for them. Stiles made his way closer to where his dad would find him, to where he would be taken away so Scott could be bitten. Just a few trees away, Stiles stopped, what if – what if he didn’t? What if he wasn’t caught? Or taken away? What if Scott was taken out of the woods?
Stiles ducked behind a tree as Scott called out for him, following the direction Stiles had taken but continuing on where Stiles had stopped. If what Stiles thought was right, the illusion would end as soon as it got off track, without a baseline, there would be no continuing. Or at least, it wouldn’t be stable and he could find a way out.
As if on cue, a range of different dogs began to bark.
“Hold it right there!”
Stiles peaked from behind the tree as Scott fell back and a deputy stepped forward.
“Hand on!” Stiles dad shouted, and just his voice made Stiles’ heart jump. “This one is one of my delinquents.” It had been so long since the Sheriff had been so calm and relaxed, even with the alcohol he had snuck around Stiles. The future did not deal any of them nice hands, his dad especially. The Sheriff never managed to cope with the idea of hiding evidence, even if it was to protect his son, it tore at him and wore him down before Stiles’ eyes.
“Sheriff,” Scott gasped, trying his best to play it cool as he looked around in wonder.
“Stiles tell you about this?” Noah asked, shining his own light beyond Scott.
“No!” Scott said a little too quickly to be believable.
“Where is he?” Noah asked.
“He’s at home,” Scott said, much more confidently than he had started. It made Stiles smile. Back then, he and Scott would cover for each other without a single thought, always trying to keep the other safe and out of trouble. “He told me he wanted to sleep for tomorrow,” Scott continued. “We start school again.”
“I know that,” Noah sighed.
“It’s just me. In the woods,” Scott said glancing around him, almost giving away his lie. “Alone,” he added for an extra effect and Stiles couldn’t stop himself head-butting the tree. It was obvious.
“Stiles!” Noah called, shining his flashlight about again. “You out there?” The Sheriff paused for a moment, almost as if he expected Stiles to admit he was hiding and show himself before he sighed. “Well, young man,” he said, taking Scott by the shoulder. “I’m going to walk you out of here, and if my son is about, he is going to meet you at the car and take you both home. Understood?”
“Yes Sheriff,” Scott nodded.
Stiles waited, half expecting the world around him to crumble and dissolve until he was back in his real body. Stiles didn’t quite know what to do as he was now. He missed the calmness in his mind, even through this illusion, he could feel the eccentrics of his younger self before he was able to calm himself. There was a jittering in his body, one that had been gone since the Nogitsune. Stiles grew even more frustrated as the illusion continued to play, how the chill in the air penetrated his clothes, sending a shiver down his spine. Deciding he couldn’t wait any longer, not with the police moving ever closer, Stiles began to head out of the woods, following the path he and Scott had taken to get to this point.
It was dark all around, the trees casting shadows among the already dark woods. Stiles reached for his flashlight before remembering that Scott had taken it with him, whispering a quiet curse, Stiles continued onwards, his hands brushing against the trees as he tried to find his way. It was darker than he remembered, and there was the scent of damp grass all around. Stiles didn’t know if he was going in the right direction, stumbling and feeling the tree trunks until his fingertips were almost too cold to keep stretched out away from him. Stiles wanted to chalk this up to an insanely vivid dream, he wanted to be able to wake up and forget the cold, to ignore the uneasiness that was steadily growing inside of him without his consent. Each swallow felt thick, and each breath felt heavy, even as Stiles made his way slowly. He itched to pull out his phone, to turn the light on and guide his way, but he knew it wasn’t a smart idea, not when the police were around him, so close that a light would alert them.
To Stiles’ left, there was a low growl, one that effectively silenced the surrounding area. Stiles could swear that he felt the tree under his hand shiver, and the air seemed to still with the other animals around. Stiles froze, he knew that sound. The last time he had heard it was from a feral Omega, one that had stalked Leo, one that Stiles and Malia had to dispose of before Scott caught wind of it. There was one difference, the Omega’s growl had been a higher pitch than the one he just heard, it hadn’t made breathing difficult for a moment, nor had it made Stiles’ body flood with adrenaline.
To his surprise, Stiles felt the jitteriness and the need to move disappear. His mind cleared and he took a second to consider his next action. He could run, but running never ended well. Someone running would signal a hunt, and Stiles didn’t fancy being mauled, even in an illusion. He could stay where he stood, which also would probably end in some form of mauling. There was no obvious way to win, even if he tried to slowly back away, that would trigger a hunter’s reaction. There were no friends to turn to right now, no pack behind him, not spark inside of him that had been honed to help keep him alive and safe. Stiles was human. Alone.
Determined, Stiles moved slowly. He was not going to die, even if this wasn’t real. He lifted his foot, feeling the eyes on him, before moving it back slowly. Once he had his foot on solid ground again, began to shift his weight backward onto that foot, preparing to do the same with the other. Glancing around, Stiles saw nothing but darkness, there were no glowing eyes, no further sounds around him that he could use to place whatever was watching him. Stiles didn’t know where it was, or what exactly it was. Whilst it wasn’t certain that it was a were-creature of some sort, Stiles didn’t hold hope that it was a regular creature, this whole illusion was back in Beacon Hills and Stiles knew Beacon Hills. He waited with baited breath, trying to hear exactly what was happening around him, but all he could hear was his own breathing.
In the past, Stiles would assume he had been left, and continue on as if nothing had happened, but Stiles had learnt a lot since Scott had originally been bitten. He knew how patient everyone could be, even insane and possessed-by-hunger as a feral Omega was typically seen to be. Stiles wet his lips, he was tempted to run, just to get out of view, to put as much distance between himself and whoever this was.
Suddenly, as if everything around him had grown tired of the waiting game, things began to be moving in fast forward. Even without moving, Stiles found himself laid flat on his back, staring up into red glowing eyes. He felt the warm breath wash over his neck and face. Scrambling back, Stiles kicked and flailed his arms, more concerned with getting away than facing the Alpha looming over him. Stiles had never had had positive experiences in this position, most of them ended in maiming and this one seemed very close to ending the same way. Stiles tried to push the mountain ash around him, forcing the Alpha back in the process, before he realised that he couldn’t, not now, not in the illusion around him.
Stiles was lost in his own panic and the fact the Alpha had backed away from him hadn’t registered until Stiles was wriggling away and turning onto his front. He stood quickly, not looking back as he ran. It went against what he knew but he wasn’t thinking clearly, he just needed the distance between himself and that Alpha. Stiles just hoped that his side would stop hurting and he would make it out of the woods before the Alpha caught up to him.
That was too real. The stitch in his side was real, the woods were real, the cold was real, the Alpha was real. The thoughts were blurring into each other as Stiles continued to run, all he managed to conclude and settle on was that it was all real. There was a reason it didn’t feel like an illusion, somehow it wasn’t. It wasn’t an illusion. It wasn’t a dream. Somehow, Stiles was being chased by an Alpha, he was back in Beacon Hill, which he had left years ago.
“Stiles?” A voice called as soon as Stiles breeched the woods, finally running out of trees to pass.
Gasping, Stiles slowed, he didn’t know why but he felt safer here than he did. He could still feel eyes on him, he knew that the Alpha was watching. Bending at the waist, Stiles tried to slow his breathing, his hands on his knees. The Alpha wouldn’t reveal himself, not yet. Stiles was confident that he was alright for now.
“You ok dude?” Scott asked, rushing over as fast as he could, oblivious to the pair of eyes watching them both.
“Yeah,” Stiles wheezed, “fine, just fine.”
“Your dad knew you were there,” Scott said, worrying his mouth a little. “He demanded that we go straight home.”
“Sure,” Stiles nodded, mostly controlling his breath enough to stand upright. Turning back the way he came, Stiles scanned the edge of the woods, trying to convince himself that he had been followed. “Did you see anything?” Stiles asked.
“Like what?” Scott asked, squinting as he looked over at the trees and followed the same path Stiles’ had looked. “There’s nothing there,” Scott pointed out.
“Oh,” Stiles said, unsure of just how much he should tell this Scott. Stiles didn’t know where he was, and he really didn’t want to ruin any greater plan that might be in place. “I could have sworn… it was probably nothing.” Stiles lifted a hand, pressing it to his side, which still screamed from all the running he had done. “Let’s go,” he added, finally pulling his eyes from the tree line.
All too soon, Stiles was laid in his bed, unsure of what to do. He had dropped Scott off, neither of them saying much more beyond a goodnight to each other, and gone straight home. His side still hurt, but Stiles was doing his best to ignore the lingering pain. If he didn’t think about it, it wasn’t real, wasn’t that how it worked?
With a sigh, Stiles pulled his phone from his pocket. It was an older model, not that it surprised him. He was growing more resigned at what the signs were pointing at. Even though he was expecting it, Stiles couldn’t help but stare at his phone in shock when he saw the date, even going as far as to google what the current year was. It was with a quiet curse that Stiles pulled himself from his bed. He wanted to sleep, to pretend that it wasn’t real, that everything was just another dream, an insanely vivid and scarily realistic dream. It was easier than admitting that he had somehow managed to get back to the night they had found half of Laura’s body in the woods, or rather, the night Scott had when Stiles was taken away.
Stiles could remember everything so clearly, the fights that he had fought with his pack, the reluctant people finally working together without threats of violence, even after they had spilt apart, how they would stay in contact and keep each other updated on what was happening. It was a bad system, but one Stiles enjoyed. He had needed the space from the pack, from the chaos that Beacon Hills had brought him. He needed to get away from the place both his parents had lost their lives, where most of his friends had been hurt and lost the innocence inside of them.
Shaking himself, Stiles tried to focus back on what he could remember, not the lingering thoughts he had about being back home, being surrounded by dead people. If Stiles was back at the start of the Supernatural entering his life, that meant that the Alpha he had run into was none other than Peter Hale. The same Peter Hale that was currently in the hospital, still with burns covering most of his body. The Peter Hale who had terrorised his friends, and the same man that Stiles had left Beacon Hills with after Malia was killed.
Peter had been a great resource to Stiles, offering every drop of supernatural lore he knew and Stiles just ate it up, digesting every scrap that was given to him. As if it happened yesterday, a memory came to Stiles, one that had happened before they had both left Beacon Hills, back before Stiles and Peter got along as well as they did.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
“Peter?” Stiles had called carefully. Seeing the older man turn his head, he decided to ask before he lost his nerve again. “I wanted to know if there is something that can stop a feral Alpha.”
“A feral Alpha,” Peter repeated, raising a brow. There was an air of amusement, one that made Stiles fume at the thought of him being amused. Peter had been a feral Alpha, there was no doubt about that.
“Yeah, like when you woke up. What would have stopped you going and…” Stiles waved his hand, not wanting to mention all the murders that the man had committed, that was still a touchy subject for him, and Stiles didn’t quite feel confident enough that if he mentioned Peter’s niece, that Stiles would still be alive at the end of it.
“That is different,” Peter said dismissively, looking back down to the book he had been reading.
“How so?” Stiles asked forcefully, he leant forward from the couch he was sat on, his eyes solely on Peter. Stiles had been thinking possibilities over for months, and every single one he had led to possibly worse conclusions, so he did want input and Peter was knowledgeable.
“I had brain damage,” Peter said.
“Ok fine, what would have stopped you?” Stiles asked, his frustration showing in his tone.
“Whatever it is that you’re planning –” Peter said sharply, looking up, only for Stiles to cut him off.
“I’m not planning anything,” Stiles huffed. “What would I plan? As far as I know, time travel isn’t a thing! I’m just curious.”
Peter paused for a moment before inclining his head ever so slightly, accepting Stiles had a point. That small pause did spark Stiles’ interest, perhaps time travel was real, and Peter knew at that time. Would that have changed anything? If he had told Stiles, would Stiles have chosen to go back? Maybe. Although it was less likely at that point than it was after Stiles had seen the true Peter Hale, the one that truly mourned and hurt from his time as an Alpha, from his time in the coma and even from his time being dead.
“I don’t know,” Peter had admitted finally, answering Stiles’ original question. He raised his eyes and met Stiles for a moment before Stiles broke the contact.
“There has to be something,” Stiles pushed, he stood up and began to pace. Sometimes it helped him clear his mind, to make things make more sense.
“My beta rejecting me didn’t help,” Peter pointed out.
“So if Scott accepted you –”
“It would have sped up my healing. No guarantee that would have stopped me,” Peter shrugged, cutting off Stiles’ suggestion. “It would have been a stronger bond, that is all, nothing concrete. The supernatural isn’t so sure.”
“What if he had helped?” Stiles asked, the words tumbling from him before he could stop them. “Not overruled but pointed out –”
“It would be seen as a challenge,” Peter said in an amused tone. He met Stiles’ eyes again when the teenager paused his pacing.
“What if – what if there was another Alpha,” Stiles asked slowly. “Before - before Laura, before you had enough strength to kill them that is –”
“It is likely I would have fought against any bond that began to form,” Peter said idly, putting his book away and turning to Stiles. “I would need to heal enough to agree.”
Stiles paused for a moment longer, thinking over the options. He could feel Peter’s calculating gaze on him, and rather than making him doubt himself, it helped Stiles. It was nice to have the man’s full attention, something that he rarely gave anyone.
“So another alpha would be a no-go?” Stiles repeated, waiting for Peter’s nod. “What if your beta had accepted you, but under the condition –”
“Challenge,” Peter said simply. Stiles groaned, of course, werewolves would take everything as a challenge.
“Drugs?” Stiles suggested, he half expected Peter to have shut down his suggestion.
Peter hummed, “It would stop me,” he admitted. “With a beta available speeding my healing –” he hummed again. “You would have to be careful, there may not be anything that could keep a wolf sedated but still able to heal.”
“Think of it as a last resort?” Stiles offered. “A good beta that doesn’t go against everything you want would be helpful as well.”
“Not when all I wanted was to get revenge,” Peter pointed out lightly. He gave Stiles one last stare before he picked his book back up and continued where he had left it.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Not wanting to waste a single moment, Stiles jumped from his bed. Peter had thought Stiles planned something, what if just talking had been enough of a plan? He’s known the supernatural to run on less than that after all. Taking a breath, Stiles lifted his jacket and t-shirt slowly, deciding he couldn’t put it off. As he suspected, on his side, there was a bite.
Stiles had never wanted to be a wolf. He turned down every offer that was given to him, even with Peter’s encouragements. He had been told so many times that he would be magnificent, ruthless, and so much more a werewolf. Stiles knew the process, if he didn’t die, he should be able to teach himself control. He had been able to control his anger before, Stiles had constantly been angry for so long, that was his main fear.
Stiles ran his fingers over the bite on his side, across the crusted blood. Drawing his hand back, his fingers were clean, letting out a shaky breath, Stiles accepted it. He never wanted to be a wolf, but he would be damned if he isn’t going to embrace it with all he had.
Stiles didn’t know how he was going to handle this. He had tentative plans. He needed to visit Peter. He needed to re-learn how to control his heart rate. He needed to figure out what he would say to Scott and his dad – if he told them anything at all. Mostly, Stiles didn’t quite know if he would be able to handle the knowledge of what would happen. He didn’t want to challenge Peter, Stiles knew that the man had so much experience on him that even with his other memories, he’d be at a disadvantage. There was just no way that Stiles could get a hold of any wolfsbane that would be useful in keeping Peter calm and out.
Trying not to dwell, Stiles planned. That was his specialty. After school, Stiles would go to the hospital, he would make his way to Peter’s room, avoiding the nurses. Stiles wouldn’t admit what he was doing, he’d stay for a while, maybe talk a little but he didn’t want to give away that he knew just yet. Stiles wanted to make it seem like he was drawn to Peter by the bond, by the fact he was Peter’s beta and Peter needed the strength. Bonds did develop faster with contact, they grew stronger. It would be hard, especially knowing that this Peter was not his Peter, not the man he had spent years with.
Stiles wouldn’t interfere, not with the revenge plan, he thought it would be best to draw Kate Argent back to town, to dispose of her completely. To ensure she was dead. That would help Peter move on, just a little. It would ease his bloodlust, and after everything Kate Argent had done, Stiles wanted nothing more than to see her suffer. From Kate Argent’s death, would come Gerard Argent. Even if Peter had no issues letting the older man walk freely, Stiles did. That man deserved to rot, and Stiles would gladly do everything in his power to make sure that he did just that.
Knowing the future threats, Jennifer Blake, Theo and the Dread Doctors, everything that stemmed from those few things; Stiles had the advantage. He would make sure Beacon Hills did not become a beacon once again, even if it meant taking out every threat. He was even positive that the Alpha pack would be an easy target, especially with what he knew.
Perhaps that is exactly why Peter thought Stiles would be a magnificent wolf, even as a human he had a bloodlust that grew with every action that hurt the people he cared about. Stiles would help Peter, even if it was the last thing he ever did.