Chapter Text
Stiles always thought that his mother was a bit weird, even before her illness.
She never let Stiles do certain things such as looking at the books in her “special” cabinet. His dad never explained anything either.
It was one day when both of them went out for their anniversary that Stiles decided to take his chance. Using a bobby pin and an online video, Stiles successfully unlocked the cabinet and peaked inside.
There were ancient books and runes, written in words Stiles didn’t know. But at the sight of them, something in him warmed as if comforted. Like in a trance, he moved towards a book in particular.
This book had only one recognizable word on its cover, “Sparks”. The papers inside had his mother’s handwriting, in which she seemed to be taking notes. Luckily for him, the contents of the book were in weirdly fonted English. It seemed really old.
ℒℯ𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃—Stiles began reading—𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉ℴ 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝓉 ℴ𝒷𝒿ℯ𝒸𝓉𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝒻 𝒾𝓉．．．
Underneath, his mother wrote: He nearly broke one of my dishes yesterday by using this. I still thank the Nemeton for saving him from miscarriage, but I fear that the abilities it gave will doom him.
Stiles was confused as to who “he” was, but he continued onward to the next highlighted area. The next few notes looked much more frantic.
ℒ𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈： 𝒜 𝒩ℯ𝓂ℯ𝓉ℴ𝓃 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋ℯ𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒷ℯ𝒶𝒸ℴ𝓃 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓊𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒶𝓁， ℯ𝓂𝒾𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒾ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝓅ℴ𝓌ℯ𝓇．．．
A ripped piece of paper which was taped to the page read: I had to cut it down in order to protect him.I think I just made everything worse. I felt it in the wind, the remnants of a dark spirit escaping. I was able to escape, but I know it will go for my son.
That isn’t the worst of it. With the Nemeton gone, the telluric currents are all out of balance. I think they are tethering themselves to him, making him more dangerous. I should tell him the truth and teach him control, but I can’t bring myself to tell him what he is.
I told Noah not to light fire around him anymore. They burn too bright when he is near-
That was all Stiles could read before his parents got home. He locked the cabinet with the book back inside, rushing to his room. He laid on his bed, trying his best to act like he didn’t do anything mischievous while they were gone.
The door creaked open.
“Shh- he’s sleeping...” he heard his mother giggle.
A soft kiss was placed upon his forehead, and he sighed as he felt his dad lift the covers over his shoulders. Then they left his room, the doors behind them.
It was then that Stiles decided that he wouldn’t go to look in his mom’s cabinet anymore.
He was happy just the way things were. Him and his parents were happy together. And that was all he needed.
Stiles...
Stiles...
Stiles...
It was late into the night when Stiles heard something calling his name.
It sounded so close and... hungry.
There was a scream. High-pitched and absolutely terrified. It was his mom.
His dad said it was just a nightmare and that she would be fine. But just from under his fingertips, he could feel something so wrong.
Even worse, he could hear laughing.
Everything was in fact, not fine. His mother was getting worse due to an illness known as frontotemporal dementia, according to the doctors.
Deep down, Stiles knew she would just keep getting worse and worse, evidence being her wandering and giggling at night.
One some days, she wouldn’t even recognize Stiles.
“Mom?” He asked while walking down the hallway. No answer. Stiles was unsettled by the silence of the house.
“Mom?” He asked again.
Creak
He turned around at the noise behind him. His mom was down the hall, hidden under the shadow of the wall, hiding her face from view.
“Hi, honey,” she answered with a flat tone. “I’m bored. Let’s play a game.”
The young boy fixed his footing on the floor unconsciously, as if his body could tell something bad was going on. “What type of game?” He asked.
Claudia Stilinski smiled at his curious face.
“How about a game of Go?”
Stiles leaned on the bed side of his mother's hospital bed. Her illness had rendered her to stay in bed, the smell of medicine taking over the space. Stiles didn’t like that smell. His mom should’ve smelled like coffee, like books, like home.
The woman in question had placed her piece on the board. Stiles had started to finally get good at Go, winning every now and then. His mother would have the proudest smile when he did, urging him to play again.
Go was all they ever did together lately. Well, aside from the tricks.
His mother would have these... episodes at times. One moment, she was the same warm person she always was, and the next she was mumbling riddles under her breath with glazed eyes. His dad would always usher him out of the room when she got like that.
It’s not like the riddles were creepy or hard to figure out.
It was just that they were really random.
It was one particular night when both him and his mom were alone. Sheriff Stilinksi was off on a case—something about a giant fire at the Hale Estate. By the way his father rushed, it must’ve been urgent. So, Stiles simply sat with his mother, playing Go.
That is when it started happening again.
Suddenly, Claudia asked Stiles a series of questions.
“What gets bigger the more you take away?”
Stiles hummed in thought before answering, “A hole.”
His mother seemed pleased by the answer, asking
something else. “What gets wetter the more it dries?”
“A towel.”
“Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it?”
“A shadow.”
“When is a door not a door?”
This riddle was a reoccurring one that Stiles never quite got to answer. Whenever his mom got around to asking it, his father or a strange man with a shaved head would intervene.
But, with the moment to finally think about it, Stiles was drawing a blank. His mom moved a Go piece.
“When is a door not a door, Mischief?” She asked again.
The answer was right on the tip of his tongue. And without thinking, he blurted what he thought was correct.
“When it is ajar.”
His mother smiled. It was nice when she smiled on most days. But this smile was... different. It was forced, almost like a grimace. And instead of the usual warm tone it has on her appearance, the room felt just a little colder.
Stiles shivered. “It’s kind of chilly in here,” he stated. “I’m going to go ask for a blanket.”
He hopped off the chair, seeing as he could barely touch the floor while sitting down, and skipped out of the room.
Claudia’s eyes never left his form as he left.
Stiles, struggling with holding the blanket above the ground, knew something was wrong.
As he made it back to his mom’s hospital room, he frowned as he realized that her door was left ajar.
He could have sworn that he closed it behind him. Stiles entered the room.
No one was there; the game of Go left on the bed. His mother was close to winning as he examined it. But, with Stiles’ next move, he could change the course of the game and take the victory.
A divine move.
“Hehe...”
There was giggling outside the room, one of which Stiles followed. It echoed from one direction to the next, as if he was being preyed upon by a predator that liked to play with its food. It circled and teased him.
Behind it all, he could also hear the sound of buzzing. Like an annoying fly in your room in the middle of the night. Eventually, Stiles found himself on the rooftop. The buzzing was much louder up there.
From down below, there were several ambulances, most of which had body bags. Stiles gagged at the smell of burnt flesh.
Someone seemed amused at his reaction as there were shuffles of laughter from over his shoulder.
“All of this chaos and distress...” She began.
Stiles turned around. But, instead of his mother, it was a creature in black clothing and covered in bandages.
“... it’s all delicious.”
Stiles can’t remember how it happened. His ears were still ringing.
But... there was a light. There was a spark.
It was so fast, so sudden. Everything in Stiles hurt, but in the most freeing way possible. But his body continued as if on a mission, the person within him begged him to stop- STOP STOP.
“NO!!!” The beast yelled.
It was too late. Stiles peaked over the edge of the roof where many bystanders screamed in terror.
His mother was on the floor. His mom was on the pavement. There was a puddle of red on the floor and a hole in her chest.
Stiles looked down to his hand which was covered in the same morbid red. In there sat a fly.
It decayed until it was dust, until it became the black within his veins.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the hotness of tears begin to form. He pulled away from the edge as he finally processed the image of his mother’s corpse. He sobbed as he heard his dad’s scream of agony when he made it to the scene.
His breathing turned frantic; his breathing became too fast and loud to his ears. The gasping turned into choking. And the choking turned into laughter. It was so raw and hurt.
Stiles’ eyes flashed purple.
“I devour order to make myself whole. What am I?” He hiccups to no one between his cries.
Below, his mother shuddered as if gaining control of her mind. Even so, her body did not have long.
Under her breath, she wheezed. “Chaos has come again...”
The last thing she saw was her husband cupping her face in confusion.