Chapter Text
Stiles' teeth gritted against the pain and the sorrow and kept running - running from the sounds of shouted orders, random gunfire, the beat of combat boots upon the ground and the jangling sound of chain and keys. Lydia ran beside him, weapon in hand and tears on her face, keeping the coast clear. Not that it kept Stiles from getting whacked in the face by every single fucking branch in the woods. Give him a crazed werewolf any day, anything but running through the woods at night.
"Where is she?" Stiles gasped, wincing and digging his fingers into his chest to distract himself from the awful, searing pain. Damn hunters. Can't aim a gun for shit. They couldn't just shoot him in the head and end him there instead of making him limp through the midnight-dark woods with one bullet in his thigh and another in his side. That would've been kinder, he thinks. Lydia had said it's better than the alternative, but Stiles failed to point out to her that there's a god damn bullet in his gut and they're no where near a hospital. He'll die anyway. Just slower. And he'll just have longer to mourn. As he's bleeding out and his organs are shutting down, he'll still have time to cry.
But, somehow, all of that wasn't a concern at this moment. There were more important things at hand than just dying.
"Just up here," Lydia said. "Just around the corner. There's a hut - she said she'll be there."
"A hut?!" Stiles groaned when his leg nearly gave out, but clambered back to a run and kept pushing. "A-a hut?! There's a dozen fucking hunters with guns on our asses and we're going to corner ourselves in a hut?! "
Lydia shot him a nasty look. "I didn't choose a hut, now did I?!" Lydia huffed and ran ahead, and as they climbed through a sudden wall of thick brush, they entered a small clearing with, indeed, a hut. A tiny, wooden, hand-built hut with moss covering the timber roof and rocks shoved into the walls to fill the holes that the rotting wood left. A soft orange glow came from within, shining through all the cracks in the walls, roof and door alike. It was possibly the most pitiful excuse for a 'hide-out' Stiles had ever seen.
"Olivia!" Lydia shouted as they approached the miserable thing.
"Come inside," called out a soft, unconcerned female voice from within, completely lacking any sense of urgency or fear for the dozen hunters currently gaining ground, going by the voice shouting to the others, "I heard them! They're up here!"
Lydia yanked open the crooked wooden door, and Stiles was honestly more surprised that the damn thing stayed on its rusty hinges than he was to see a pristine, beautiful, decidedly large interior to the tiny, run-down shack.
The two of them pushed their way into the strange hut and Stiles pulled the door shut behind him. As soon as he did, there was a distinct click-clack locking sound, and, peering out of the small, old, cracked window, Stiles watched the small clearing around them melt away, instead giving way to trees and brush, turning back into the thick of the woods just in time for the dozen or so hunters to run right by, oblivious to any kind of structure.
Oh, man, Stiles has never loved magic more.
Stiles turned around, finally allowing himself to relax, and, with a heavy sigh, promptly collapsed.
There was no one to catch him.
Peter would've caught him.
Had he not gotten himself shot in the head like a fucking moron.
Stiles felt tears try to sting his eyes as he pushed himself up from the floor to lean back against the wall with weak, shaking limbs. He shoved away the memory of the most remarkable man he's ever known falling heavily to the ground just five hours ago. Lydia helped him to his feet and he tried not to sink back to his knees and just give up.
He just had to push on. There were more important things at stake than love.
Even though, not so deep inside, he disagreed wholeheartedly with that statement and wanted nothing more than to wail and scream and get brutal, bloody revenge.
"You must be the two of the Hale pack," said the woman; a tall, gorgeous woman with long, dark brown hair and bright green eyes. She looked picture-perfect and absolutely striking, even though she wore no makeup, and perhaps that's why she seemed entirely ethereal. Or, perhaps it was because she radiated magic like heat radiates from a flame. Her name was Olivia Moon, and she was the only true witch left.
Kind of like a true Alpha, except much cooler, because she can kill an entire army with just a snap of her fingers. But good luck convincing her to do that to the hunters. She'll never take a life. In her words, she's strictly benign.
Unless, of course, it came to the end of the world.
"Yes, I'm Lydia, and this is Stiles," said Lydia, stepping forward and extending a hand. Olivia set down her tea and smiled, reaching out to take Lydia's hand in hers, and kissed the back of it.
"It's an honor to meet both of you," Olivia said, touching Lydia's face softly before making her way toward Stiles. Lydia blinked widely and Stiles was slightly terrified he'd get the same treatment, though, when she reached him, she only looked him over, cocked her head, and dipped her head in a respectful nod, mumbling, "Dear boy of the wolves, I'm so sorry for your loss."
Stiles paled, and couldn't respond. She turned away.
"The honor is ours," Lydia said, holstering her gun. "Miss Moon, it's time."
Olivia turned to her. "I know. The Alphas and the Omega are dead." Stiles closed his eyes tight, wincing, willing away the images of Derek being ran over, a dozen arrows pelting Scott in the chest and abdomen, and Peter being gunned down right beside him. One after the other, every single time Stiles thought they'd gotten away, one of them was taken from him. "Soon, the Betas will join them in death," Olivia continued in a painfully soft voice. She looked off in the distance. "The woman of fire has captured the man with the badge."
Stiles' eyes went wide as his breath left him. Finally, the tears fell. Kate had his dad. He can't fucking believe the hunters had somehow convinced a necromancer to bring her back to life. Except, maybe he can believe it - they're oh so good at torturing until they get what they want.
"And soon, the fate of Beacon Hills will fall," she went on, calmly wandering back to her tea to take a long sip. "The woman of fire was not meant to come back. All of time has changed. No longer will the pack of misfits be able to contain the secrets of the other-life. In two years time, dangerous knowledge will be unkept, and the entirety of the world will open their eyes to a truth they cannot be ready for. Wars of unfathomable casualties will lead to an uninhabitable world, destroyed by the fear and hatred of humans and their mighty weapons, and the anger and retaliation of other-beings and their mighty powers."
"Why can't we just kill the hunters?" Lydia asked. "Then the secret stays safe."
"Events have already shifted." She looked between the two of them, then stepped eagerly up to Lydia, holding the cup out to her. "Drink, dear."
"Don't," Stiles barked. Despite the alliance they'd built over the years with their resident, all-powerful prophetic witch, he's learned not to accept liquid, or solids, or powder or smoke from fucking anything magic, no matter the nature of their agreement.
Olivia looked over with a soft smile, retracting the cup from Lydia. "One must make time undone." She walked over to Stiles. "One must retract into their past selves." She held the cup out to him. "One must die, for this world to end, and another to live."
Stiles frowned, trying to decode what fucking enigmatic bat-shit crazy shit she was saying. He glanced down at the steaming cup of dark brown liquid. Olivia followed his gaze.
"It's chamomile, darling." She said with a smirk. "This is not an easy decision to make on a stressed stomach."
"I'll do it," Stiles said. "Whatever it is, I'll do it."
She cocked her head. "You'll die, for the rest shall live?"
"Yes."
"Stiles!" Lydia objected.
"He's dead, Lyds!" Stiles snapped at her. Tears still ran down his face. There was no stopping them now. "They're all dead. Derek, Erica, Scott Isaac... Peter... Soon even my dad. They're all dead."
"You don't need to die, too!"
"I'm already dying!" He lifted his hand from his stomach, showing her the blood. Feeling the cold sweats he'd been trying to ignore. "Besides. If it's my life for all of theirs..." He looked at Olivia. "It's not a difficult decision at all. I'll do it."
"Come," she said, reaching out to touch, but pulling back at the last second. "Come."
"Stiles," Lydia objected, but he ignored her. Olivia led them through the interior, down a small hallway, and he followed. "It should be me. We agreed, it would be me. I'm the only one us with a connection to the afterlife."
"Not entirely true," Olivia offered. "Though it never was you, sweet Banshee." She looked over at Stiles. " You carry the aura of the Void. Carry it as if it's a part of you."
Stiles brustled. "There was a spirit-"
"Not of the Nogitsune, no." He paled when he realized just how much knowledge this woman really had. "But of travels you've yet to have." She tapped her own temple and winked. "Time was never quite so linear with me. Neither, so, with you, it seems."
Sighing and shaking his head, Stiles accepted that he wouldn't be able to understand everything Olivia Moon says, just like Deaton - an enigmatic asshole - and simply followed as she led them into a small bedroom.
She gestured to a bed and walked around it to open an old cedar chest. "You're about to fight through the flow of time, tooth and nail, so to speak." Stiles sat down on the bed, and she handed him a small, purple crystal, just the size and soft, smooth shape of a pebble. It was shiny, colorful, and completely unremarkable. Then, she handed him a single reddish gold feather and looked into his eyes with an intense expression he couldn't decode, but which still gave him chills. "You're going to want something to hang on to." Then she reached out and set her fingers on his temples and both of their eyes rolled back.
In his head, he watched his entire life rewind. All of his good moments, his bad moments. Boring moments, regretful moments, important moments, absolutely meaningless moments. His moments with Peter. His moments with Dad. Moments with Scott and the pack and everyone he loved.
All the way back to the beginning of it all, starting his sophomore year of high school with Scott by his side. The very day that Scott got bit.
Finally, she let go and Stiles gasped, coming back to himself. He felt like he was on fire. Sweat was just about dripping down his face, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. "What was that?!" he gasped.
"That is what you will hang on to." She leaned back to reach into the chest, and then...
She aimed a revolver at him.
An old revolver, etched in runes and covered in moss. Lydia, who had been quietly biting her lip by the door, pulled out her gun and shouted frantically at Olivia to put hers down. She paid no attention to her.
"You will die," she said once again, "that others might live?"
Stiles stared into the barrel of the gun as his heart tripped a beat. "I-I don't understand."
"There cannot be two consciousnesses at once," she said as if it was simple fact. "You will die here. And your consciousness will arise there, at that moment."
Stiles blinked, and considered this. And realized he had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into.
Olivia had said, years ago, that when the time came that everything came crashing down, to go to her and she would give them the tools to fix it all. To rewind the clock.
They had never asked what the hell that actually entailed. They'd never talked. They'd never even had dinner to discuss exactly what being a true witch was all about. They'd never even met face-to-face. For all they knew, Olivia could just be really good at faking being an all-powerful entity and he could be dying for no reason at all... But she was their last resort. She was their only chance, now.
He took a steadying breath. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You must change the course of the future. Prevent it all from happening. Prevent the woman of fire from returning. Keep the secret intact. You must save the world - it is not yet ready for the other-life." She paused for a moment. "I have faith in you, boy of wolves, to save us all."
"But-but you don't need to send me that far back! Kate only came back a month ago! That- What you showed me was years ago!"
"I showed you nothing. I simply unlocked all of your memories. You choose where to surface. You must hold on to it. Resurface a month ago, before the woman of fire returns, and stop it from happening. Focus on it - hold on to it."
"Wh-what?! I-..." A tear slid down his face. He looked over at Lydia, wishing that someone would help him. He was finally out of his depth. His dad, his best friend, his love, they were all dead, and somehow it was up to him to save the entire world?! Somehow, if Olivia wasn't just absolutely bat-shit crazy, these events turn the whole world into a warzone between humans and supernatural creatures? And somehow, right now, shooting Stiles in the fucking face was supposed to solve it all?!
What if he just dies, right here?
What if she just kills him, and nothing changes?
"Stiles," Lydia said through a broken gasp. He looked at her, and remembered all of the times he would've given anything to hear his name come from her lips. But not like this. Not like she was desperately clinging to the last image and the very last memory of him that she could. Not as he did the same.
"Lyds," he whispered as more tears fell down his face. "I'm sorry."
Olivia pulled back the hammer. The runes glowed brightly. The small crystal in his hand began to buzz and burn.
Stiles thought of Peter.
He didn't hear the gun go off. He didn't feel the bullet impact his skull. He didn't feel anything.
He was dead.