Chapter Text
Stiles felt like a forest fire. Wild, untamed, destructive to everything he touched. The flames licking ever so close to his skin. Leaving him so cold on the inside. All the heat coming from around him.
All he wanted to be was a little warmth, when there's not a lot of warmth left to go around.
He lay there, staring at his ceiling, it constantly morphing to show him that he still wasn't saved, that he's still not right, that he's not really him.
His ceiling has always looked the same.
There was still the glow in the dark stars him and Scott put up what felt like a decade ago. The same white paint with a slight mark near the door where they had somehow gotten a jelly toy stuck.
He wanted to burn it down with him inside it. He wanted to feel like he was alive and not still possessed. He wanted to make sure it would never happen to him again.
Instead he's making lists, doing research, skipping school, just for now. He wanted to burn that down to the ground too. That's where most of the pack was right now.
Allison was still in the hospital, Chris having called an ambulance beforehand. Before everything went down. He was grateful but he also wished Chris had shot him when he had the chance. But there wasn't anything he could do about the past.
But he was close to figuring out if that was a lie or not. He'd been researching the past few days on how to change 'past grievances to the world' as Deaton's old tomes kept referencing.
Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could go all the way back. Change everything. Keep the Hales alive, keep the Nemeton alive, save all his friends.
All he had to do was figure it out. He had to. There wasn't another option.
There was no point in him trying to sleep at this point. It was four am and he was buzzing. His skin felt too tight. His magic in his chest pulsing, demanding movement. There was no sleeping for him recently, no more than an hour a day.
He pulled back his duvet and sat upright on his mattress. Stiles stayed there for a while, just breathing. He didn't want to get up, pretend to be a person again, pretend that he was 100% all him, pretend that he wasn't broken from the inside out. He didn't want to be <em>him</em> anymore. But he wasn't allowed that privilege. Wasn't allowed to be the victim in all of this. Not when he kidnapped Lydia, not when he almost killed Allison, not when he was the weak link in the first place. This was all his fault.
He hadn't seen his friends since everything was finished. He wouldn't even bother to call them friends at this point. Not when they didn't want him to even be near them, when they hadn't even bothered to see him. He knew his father kept the security cameras in his room on, he knew the pack had all been to see Allison in the hospital for her 'burst appendix' as everyone was calling it.
He sat alone and studied. Was trying to right his wrongs. He had no plans to go back to school, not when he could fix it all. He knew one of the wolves checked up on him every now and then. It confused him. At first he thought it was Derek as he liked to come by and push Stiles around but Derek was busy with his pack, he didn't have time to check up on him like twice a day. Though he did check up on him right after everything went down and Stiles was back to being Stiles. But he could feel it, the warmth of the wolf. His spark was bright and blossoming, he only wished it was before it all happened. He could have been stronger but now he could at least sense danger. This didn't feel like danger, it felt like death.
No, it was probably Peter. He'd made a list of possible candidates and he was at the top. He didn't know why he was always there but he was. It was confusing but he didn't really care, he didn't know how to anymore. Peter and his mother often used to have friendly coffee dates. He knew that. He'd been to the Hale House at least once, he remembered.
Either way, it was most likely the half undead werewolf poking around his house.
But other than that he was alone. His father was always at the station. Too busy to look at his son after what he'd done.
Stiles couldn't bear to look at himself either.
With a sigh, he stood. The world spun for a moment and he took a breath to steady himself. Next was the massive, heavy as fuck tome on his bedroom floor. One of many he'd gotten from the vet. It didn't matter anymore, he was dead. Chewed up and spat out by the gargoyle that passed through last week. The books showed up the day after on his desk.
He'd made notes and even more notes on top of that. Loose papers and sticky notes littered the floor around the book he was focusing on. He'd spent all of the past week researching and then cleaning the entire house. He'd needed a purpose because he was seriously worried about him not having a reason to keep going. He figured he'd start from the top down. So he'd headed into the attic early that morning, organised the Christmas, Halloween and thanksgiving decorations before moving onto the pictures. And finally, right at the back of the open space was a chest. A real old thing, tattered after years of no care.
Inside had been journals, tomes, bestiaries. Everything you could imagine.
He'd learned, in his empty house, that he had magic, as did his mother.
There were letters, documents and treaties. It was a treasure trove and everything he wished he'd had earlier. Reading through his mother's journals he learned that his father knew. He knew everything. That Stiles would have a spark, that he was only half human, that he came from a strong lineage of magic users and his father had never told him.
He was a drunkard and a bad father and an abusive man. But not to others, he was the sheriff, a man of duty and honour. It was almost as if they thought he would have a perfectly good reason for having to beat his son since the tender age of eleven.
He wasn't a good father but he was a good man. Maybe. Stiles didn't like to dwell on it.
He'd stopped his deep clean of the house to scour everything written in his mother's journals.
It was how he'd learned that Peter often brought gifts from the Hale Vault to his mother and vice versa. It was the safest place in Beacon Hills after all.
He needed in that vault.
But for now, research. Lots of it. He glanced at the slowly brightening sky and began his work.
It wasn't long until he felt that familiar warmth outside again.
It was now or never he guessed.
"You're allowed in y'know." He had to clear his throat, unsure of the last time he'd actually spoken to anyone and boy was that a depressing thought.
The squeaking of the roof declared he wasn't actually going insane and narcissistic to think anyone would care so much as to come check on him. And as the cherry on top, it was definitely Peter slipping seamlessly into the room, careful to not step on any of the papers strewn haphazardly on the floor.
"I see the little spark is coming into his power." It was gentle somehow. Peter had always been softer to him. Apart from the crazed almost murder, but Stiles didn't hold it against him at all. He'd probably do the same in his shoes.
Peter looked around his messy, hazardous room.
"Anything for you Stiles, you know that," it was as sincere as he could be. He wanted this to end too. "What do you need?" Peter was curious but mostly he was ready for it all to stop, one way or another.
"In the Hale Vault, there should be a book, one that has this symbol on the front." Stiles handed him a piece of paper, yellowed from age but the ink still visible. It had the Hale insignia but around that was a larger circle split into segments. Under it, an upside down Nemeton. It had taken him time to realise it was just a Nemeton, not cut down brutally.
He could tell by Peter's silence that he knew exactly what it meant. What it meant for Stiles and what it meant for him. Another chance. He held his breath.
"I'll get you anything you need. As long as I can...my fiancé...we were expecting. I never got to meet them. If there's any chance I can-" Stiles cut him off,
"-You'll get to meet them, I promise. Our memories should be intact after the ritual, I just need that book, it has the ingredients inside it and I just, I need to, I..."
Now it was Stiles time to freak out.
"Stiles. Breathe with me. Just breathe. We can do this, we will do this. There's no other choice. Now breathe with me." Peter slowly managed to calm him down. It's just, this meant everything to him. He didn't know how long he'd be going to go back but maybe, just maybe, they could fix everything. His mother, the Hales, it was almost too good to be true. Except the ritual, in gruesome detail, tells of what is necessary to rip yourself through time. And it was long, drawn out, and very painful. Stiles had gotten used to the sight of blood, that's what he was thankful for the most. After everything, he needed to be used to it.
"Let's go on a small trip to the vault shall we? I think you need to get out of the house and quite frankly we need that book as soon as humanly possible." Peter remarked, bringing him back from wherever he went for a moment.
"Heh. 'Humanly' possible." Stiles snorted.
"Quite." Peter chortled. It was the first time Stiles had seen anything as close to a real smile on that man's face. It was... soft.
Seeing the sunlight, feeling its warmth, Stiles felt almost human.
"Why is it so blindingly bright out here jeez. Unnecessary." He moaned, so close to giving up immediately and forfeiting already, unused to life outside of the house, his room.
"Come now Stiles, the sunlight won't kill you, it won't even kill vampires." Peter trailed off and no it was not okay to end that sentence like that.
"You're not...You're not gonna continue that sentence and that's just rude. Plain rude. A guys gotta know if vampires are real okay, not knowing can lead to death of said guy and said guy needs all his parts intact." Stiles gestured to all of him. Together. Intact one might even say.
"Well then do come along, my car's just around the corner. And yes vampires are real," They both began the stroll at a brisk pace, "All they need is a charmed object on their person that will protect them from the sun. Most use rings or pieces of jewellery, a brooch, an old fancy locket. So if you do see someone wearing old fancy jewellery that doesn't suit them, remember to be polite, will you? Manners are everything to older creatures." Peter informed him.
"Huh that's actually really good advice. Thanks Uncle Peter." It had kind of slipped out. The uncle part but he was so used to Derek calling him that, it kind of was how he thought of Peter in his head.
Peter looked over for a moment, a kind of fondness in his eyes, before turning away again. Not even breaking stride.
"Well at least someone is taking my advice at least. You should see Derek, I've never seen my nephew so lost. It makes me worry for our next battle." And it was then that he realised they really were battling for their lives. All of them, most of them just children but in the middle of a supernatural war. Just children.
"Come now, I'll even let you ride up front like a good boy." The smirk on his face said that Peter knew full well how Stiles was feeling and that it wasn't good.
"Screw you Uncle Peter." At least he wasn't as lost in his thoughts as he would be thanks to him. Stiles could get lost in himself for hours. It was seriously a problem.
"Now now, I'm not into children. Although if I do recall, you're a year ahead of your peers and what, almost eighteen I believe? I understand why you're coming into your powers now if that's what you're thinking. Much too early. Most don't reach maturity until they are eighteen themselves. Which is when they begin training, did you know?"
The leather interior of the car was somehow cool against his skin even though it must have been sitting in the sun for a while. The black seats matched the black paint job and Stiles couldn't see Peter having a car less 'him' than this one.
"No...I didn't know that." He just thought he was a late bloomer or something. Every journal and tomb he had read had mentioned training from an early age but then having a ceremony and then beginning their role in packs and covens and whatever else. He didn't know they didn't get their magic until their eighteenth birthday. He wasn't privy to what that ritual ceremony thing entailed though. He wondered if he would lose his magic if they went back in time. When they went back in time.
The rev of the entire purred to life, and like when he was little, sat in his fathers squad car, he drifted off.
Sleep having finally consumed him for once.
He awoke by the gentle shuffling of his shoulder. Which is exactly why Stiles freaked the fuck out and honestly he was slightly worried about the fact that the knife he had permanently hidden up his sleeve missed it mark by a small margin.
He should have coated it in wolfsbane or something but then they'd smell it coming. Maybe mistletoe?
Either way, Peter learched out of the crouching position he was in, the blade nicking his throat ever so slightly. Almost as if Peter was expecting a bad reaction.
"What in the fucking hell..." and boy he did not know Peter had it in him to swear, he was always so proper, if a little creepy.
"You missed! Stiles we both know you can't afford to miss if something attacks you. Even though I would never do such a thing, I'm quite insulted that you would attack me like this."
And yes there was a hint of sadness to his voice but the alarm was ever so clear. He was clearly panicked. Almost like he expected Stiles to just gently wake up after everything that's happened. Ha. No.
Not a chance.
"...I'm sorry." Stiles didn't know what else to say. And he truly was sorry. He didn't mean to half leap out of the car to attack Peter. It was an accident really.
A large sigh.
"One day, when we go back, you'll be accepted into the pack and you'll be able to feel the strength of an actual pack bond and these kinds of things won't happen again. I promise. You'll be able to sense your pack and be comforted by it most of all." It was the most sincere he'd ever heard him. But most of all he was wistful, like he was remembering a good time a long time ago. And Stiles guessed he was. It made him all the most convinced they needed to do this.
The fact that Peter said the pack would welcome him with open arms really did make him want to cry. Ever since Scott was bitten, ever since he found out that werewolves might actually be real, all he wanted was just to be pack, no doubt about the fact, just just wanted to be undeniably pack. When Scott had betrayed Derek and used him to bite Gerard against his will, if Derek had offered, he might have even joined his side. If only with the promise of a pack. But Derek decided that there was no Scott without a Stiles. Even though he hadn't been a part of his scheme. It was just. A terrible feeling. Bruised, beaten and bleeding and Derek lumped him with the same person that he was beaten for. It was a fucking joke.
He wanted that feeling of pack. Of comfort. He didn't know what he had now but he couldn't feel any pack bonds, couldn't feel that comfort, that feeling of safety. Another joke but this time it was on him. How could he expect to be pack after what he'd done to his friends?
"I'm so sorry."
Another sigh.
"You don't have to be sorry, not after what you've been through little pup."
A hand in his hair, soft and gentle. An ache of long forgotten memories.
He huffed at the title he was given and shooed his hands towards the outside of the car so Stiles could have some room to get out. They were parked at the old Hale house.
"Let me guess. Old creepy tunnels that lead all over the town." Stiles chimed merrily.
"Of course, dear Stiles." Peter smirked back. The merriment was false. Peter knows it too.
"Dark?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Mouldy?"
"Where else would mould be!."
"Please don't say wet. Please don't say wet!."
"But Stiles, we'll be underground, the excitement will override everything else."
"It won't override my wet socks." He muttered.
Peter's laugh echoed in the surrounding trees, merging happily with the sound of the birds.
They began making their way into the house, descending into the basement which was fucking HUGE!
It spread the entire length of the Hale house which was massive to begin with.
"How many people did you say lived here?" Stiles chattered. Kind of overwhelmed with the task at hand. He never did like cold dark places.
"I didn't. There were eleven of us. Only three of us survived it, along with Cora somehow....My fiancé...Lucinda, Lucy she-"
Stiles gulped. He had seen the files, seen everything except the bodies. He sort of didn't want to know. But he had to if he was going to change it, change everything. Nothing could be left to chance. Nothing. At all.
Peter blinked heavily, "-She was pregnant. Twins in fact." A large sigh, like he was just...tired of it all. Like he was still mourning it deeply. Like it wasn't going to go away ever. "We were going to build a little cottage on the Hale land, not far off from the main house as well. We were going to have the whole family help. Even Patrick was learning how to- how to..."
Oh god he was crying oh fuck he didn't know how to do the comfort thing!! Jesus Christ okay, hand on the shoulder, easy. It had been so long since anybody had shown themselves to be vulnerable around him.
Stiles reached over, hesitating slightly, before Peter leaned into it himself. Something blossomed in his chest, warm and soft. It felt undeniably Peter and he didn't know why but he assumed this is what family felt like. He hadn't felt like this since his mother. God his mother.
They stayed like that for what seemed like forever. Just listening to the gentle spring breeze, an occasional drip, the quiet groaning of an old house. Soon enough though, Peter straightened, wiped away his tear tracks and marched towards what looked like the eastern wall.
"Now then, Dear Stiles, Let's move on shall we?" Stiles was understandably confused but he was just gonna let Peter do his thing, whatever that was.
"I'll just stand here then, while you just, I don't know, stare at a wall until it reveals a magical tunnel or something. And yup, that's definitely a tunnel, how did you do that? What the hell?!" The wall that was previously just a wall was now sliding into fucking nothingness and revealing, wouldn't you know it, a human sized tunnel in the centre of the wall. Wild, the Hale family was wild. Stiles would refuse to ever believe otherwise. God damn Hale's with their fancy tech and their old money and their showing off and yeah, Peter was smirking. Darn Hale's.
The tunnel was dark and definitely smelt like it was creepy and full of dead animals. Which was now something he was hyper aware of that might actually be a thing he finds in the tunnel cave thing. Which would be gross. So gross. He didn't want to see that. He had had enough of dead things and dead people.
As if Peter could sense his rising panic, he placed a single hand on his back, leading him into the darkness of the tunnel.
Stiles had not realised it would be thins dark though, he could barely see past his own face.
If it wasn't for Peter he would have tripped over something and panicked. Not that he tripped over much anymore. He'd become rather still as late, less energetic, less Stiles. He thought everyone would be grateful for the reprise but every time he went to the grocery store the clerks just looked at him like he wasn't human. He guessed maybe he wasn't anymore anyways.
The hand on his back was steady and warm. He was so grateful for it. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him other than Peter.
"These tunnels have been under this city for over one hundred years now." Peter continued, just as Stiles' heart felt like it was going to start beating out of his chest. "They were hand dug by the Hale family many many years ago to help protect the town and the family. They were made with the help of druids back when the Nemeton was whole and times were more peaceful. When pulling magic from the ley lines in the town was easier. Back then the Hales were less well established, Talia had not been born yet and ascended on her mantle of America's most well respected Alpha.
"However, they kept the peace well enough. The family being large and wealthy and strong was enough to keep many creatures from venturing into Hale territory. The Nemeton was cut down the night after the full moon one summer. We don't know who by but we had our suspicions. It made all our relations strained. Our Father, Christopher, was sleign not long after by an Alpha. And although that Werewolf should have gained the Hale Alpha Spark, My sister Talia gained her title as Hale alpha. Beginning her long reign as the most well respected Hale Alpha not even including being able to Full Shift blah blah etc ad nauseum. My sister as you can see was practically born to be a walking target I'm afraid."
Stiles was utterly fascinated by this side of Peter. You could tell that before the Hale Fire he really was a good uncle. Maybe not the best from what he had heard from Derek and Ennis but definitely not as bad as he was when he was mad from being in a coma and manipulated. It was kind of heartbreaking to see. Stiles knew he would have been a good father. He would have loved his twins till his dying breath and then probably have come back just to protect them for even longer.
He spoke like he was weaving a story just for him, and he supposed he was.
He couldn't see him but he could just imagine the light in his eyes and the way his laugh lines would come out as he spoke. That he was doing this just for Stiles? It meant a lot. He hadn't seen any kindness from anyone for a long time. His father? Scott? ...No. Not a single shred of kindness. Not for a long time in fact, way before he was possessed.
It had stopped bothering him a long time ago.
"Ah and here we are!"
Finally they'd reached another door, or at least that's what Stiles thought. Another creaking door and a small click later and then he was in the light once more. This time in a rather large room in what seemed to be part of an aqueduct of some sort.
"The Hale Vault my dear child!"
"Where are we?" What else could he say, he was a curious child?
"Under the world renowned Beacon Hills High School of course!" And what? Since fucking when was this under the bloody school of all places?! He wouldn't be surprised if Peter could smell his frustration and pure indignation. Because what.
He had heard of the Hale Vault from the numerous books scattered on his bedroom floor. Surprisingly not from the ones from Deaton but the ones from his mother. I mean Stiles always knew Deaton was a shifty fucker but it was nice to know the Hales and his mother didn't trust him either. But to think it was beneath him all this time. He was kinda fucking pissed.
"This is bullshit, I demand to speak to your manager."
"Come now Stiles, I certainly didn't choose to put it here." Was that a chuckle? That was totally a chuckle. Not cool.
"Wow man totally pegged you for the kind of guy to put that in motion. I'm disappointed dude!" Yeah that was a good choice. The absolute indignation on Peter's face, illuminated by the industrial strength lights hanging from the ceiling, was something else alright.
"Now to think I brought you to our family's most sacred plot of land only to have you insult me. How crude. I'm hurt!"
The fake pouting and hand delicately placed over his chest belied his apparent hurt and to be fair, it was hilarious but Stiles decided to stop poking the wolf if he wanted to keep all his fingers intact anyways. A habit he'd adopted recently.
"Pschhh whatever you say mister fun police. Where do we even start anyways? This place is huge. Like packed to the brim. What do you keep down here? Everything? Jeez."
He walked up to the nearest bookcase and just looked at the thing. It was tall, as tall as the ceiling and at first he had thought it was some kind of dark wood but up closer it looked more like some sort of treated metal. Nickel maybe? He combed the books with his eyes, too scared they would fall into dust if he touched them.
Peter obediently started answering his questions while choosing his own bookshelf to look over.
"Each bookshelf is sorted by date. But the most important books are stored on the shelf that you're looking at. Good finding. Including magical books and bestiaries', we also keep yearly photos of the current Hale pack, journals that are passed down from Alpha to Alpha as well as treaties and contracts between hunters, packs, clans and what have you. We of course also have gifts from others, talismans, sacred objects and lots of equity and a substantial number of bonds worth several million. If that gives you some idea of what is generally in here." Peter slowly looked over at Stiles, who had just stopped halfway to listen but just stared at him once the words several millions left his mouth. Stiles wasn't even shocked at his point. Okay, he was a little shocked but Jesus Christ several million like seriously??? Holy shit.
Unnecessary but okay.
"Why though? Don't you have it all in bank accounts?" Stiles was a little confused but he did remember from his father's line of work that sometimes it would take time to transfer funds over to the next of kin following bereavement but several million?
Peter seemed to understand anyway.
"The money is for in case others, either hunters or other packs, would try to cripple us financially and we would need to have access to funds in the meantime, either to live off while we stayed close and worked from home or to make a quick escape or in rare cases to buy ammunition, weapons and wolfsbane from hunters or magic users. For use for our human or human equivalents in the pack. When we go back, I would ask that you teach Patrick some magic if he is capable. We knew he had some kind of Spark but Deaton was adamant he found a better teacher in another pack. He knew the forest like you do. And it knew him back, welcomed him. The only magic he knew was how to grow flowers. He can help defend us. Please."
There was a yearning in Peter's face, like he knew Patrick wouldn't have been able to save them but maybe the children, maybe helped them survive until the emergency services got there. Anything.
"If you take over the research while I sleep and find me some defensive magic to teach him and some large scale offensive magic for me, we can get right on it. Theoretically we need more manpower but I really don't think it's a viable option. At least right now anyway. We need some ingredients as well so we have time to find them. Now that Deaton is gone we can just pick up what we need from the vets. Kinda sounds like there will be some useful stuff here though which is nice. Just need to find that book which hopefully we'll do quick-"
Peter had raised his hand.
Instantly the panic started to set in. He kept quiet.
"Don't panic, I watched you do it, but you're holding the book we need. Okay? No need to panic."
Stiles slowly looked down and lo and behold, he was indeed holding the book they were looking for. The symbol staring him in the face, bold and looking like it wasn't hundreds of years old, like it had just been used, sat forgotten on a desk for just a moment. He could feel his heartbeat start to accelerate. But before he could get much father, he could feel the book. Not just the book itself but it felt warm, like there was magic in it, so much magic and each piece felt different. Some cooler than others, some more energetic, some plain peaceful and grounding. He closed his eyes on an exhale and slowly reached his Spark out towards the source of magic.
He felt at peace but at once so much more. Like this was his family and they were all greeting him coming home. They were pulling him in what felt like a certain direction. Opening himself up more, he understood what they were doing. He took his left hand, slowly running it over from the spine to the opening, taking another breath he opened it.
Peter's sharp inhale told him all he needed to know.
Stiles opened his eyes. In front of him was the spell they needed. It was time to get to work.