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Mieczysław Stilinski is born in 1994. He dies twenty-two years later, saving the Fae Queen.
Mieczysław Stilinski is born in 1994. He is not alone, and things will not be the same.
~
He doesn’t know where he is, what exactly drives him, what compels him to lunge forward and grab the man by the edge of his jacket, dragging him close. The words that erupt from his mouth are not his own. He does not think of them, someone else forms them with his tongue. This is not new. This is how his whole life has proceeded: he operates at the will of another force. He always has.
“Peter Hale,” He says, and the corner of his mind that is always his, even when his body answers to the other being, notes the name in case it becomes important later. “Left Hand of the Hale Pack, be wary. Be strong; the threat comes.”
Then he blinks and his other self is gone, and Stiles is left blinking, grasping for his own thoughts. Usually his other self, Mischief he called himself, was kind in his retreat, often explaining things to Stiles even if his explanation was just why he couldn’t share more, and tried to be gentle in his control, but this retreat had felt different. When he reaches for Mischief, he can only find an aching sense of loss and hope, combined in strong grief. There is a hint of exhaustion too, as though reaching out had exhausted Mischief, though it never had before.
“ Mischief?” He asks, but all he receives in response is the sensation of his other self curling up inside of him, trying to contain his pain. “ Are we okay?”
No answer.
When he finally turns his attention outward once more, he’s shocked to find the man, Peter, crouched in front of him. Usually when Mischief speaks like that, knowing more than he should, people turn and run. No one has ever stayed.
“There you are,” Peter says. “You weren’t really cognizant there for a moment.”
“Why are you still here?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I have some questions. What did you mean by what you said? Where did you hear it?”
Stiles bits his bottom lip, worrying it. He isn’t supposed to tell anyone about Mischief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Peter chuckles, “Come now, boy. Surely if you know I’m a werewolf, you know that I can hear when you lie to me.”
A werewolf. Stiles makes note to ask Mischief about it later, when he feels better. He knows that Mischief will either tell him the truth, or simply refuse to share information. His other self never lies, that responsibility falls to Stiles.
But not today. If the man can really hear his lies, then Stiles will have to tell the truth.
“I don’t have anything else to tell you. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll scream. My dad is a deputy you know.”
Amusement. From Mischief. He must be doing well.
Peter’s eyes flick around the near empty street that Stiles is on, and he shakes his head. “Fine, I won’t ask anymore questions, but I won’t leave you here either. I don’t know how you got here, but you’re a child and you shouldn’t be alone. How old are you anyway?”
Stiles hesitates.
Mischief speaks to him then, gaining a little strength every moment that Stiles takes the lead. “ You can trust him with yourself, just not with me. Not yet. We have to help him first.”
“Help him what?”
“Save his family.”
And then Mischief is gone once more, and Stiles knows he won’t hear from him for some time. His other self is in pain, and quite focused on bottling it up so it won’t affect Stiles. He’s done it before, when Stiles first met Scott, or when Mischief has convinced him to take Erica, Boyd, and Issac under his wing. It usually meant that Stiles would gain a new friend, and that Mischief would take a while to warm up to them, despite his insistence that Stiles befriend them in the first place.
Some days he doesn’t want to do as Mischief insists, he knows that it often makes his other self ache, for reasons he never admits to. Yet he always does it, at Mischief’s insistence that he’ll hurt more if Stiles doesn’t.
“Boy,” Peter says, waving a hand in front of his eyes.
“I’m ten.” Stile admits, assessing the other man. He doesn’t look like a werewolf, or even like someone who enjoys the woods.
“And what’s your name? So I have something to call you when you… check out.”
“Sorry. ADHD.” Stiles shrugs. “I’m Stiles.”
“And where are your parents?”
Stiles looks around, trying to get his bearings. Sometimes Mischief forgets about things like parental supervision and takes him places he shouldn’t be. One time they’d actually left town before, only barely getting back in time to avoid their father noticing.
They’re only four blocks from where he started his day, in front of some fancy law firm.
“Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.” Stiles informs him. “I went for a walk.”
Peter snorts, “Quite a walk for an unsupervised 10 year old, especially if you’re supposed to be in the hospital.”
“I’m not.” Stiles answers, mood souring. “My mom is. She’ll be dead soon.”
Mischief returns then, stronger and sooner than Stiles had anticipated. He wraps his consciousness around Stiles’s own, their personal version of a hug, and sends as much comfort as he can. “ We’ll survive this. It will hurt, we’ll grieve, but we will survive.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Peter tells him. “What is wrong with her, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It doesn’t matter. The doctors can’t do anything.”
They walk back to hospital in silence, but Stiles doesn’t mind. Instead, he studies Peter and thinks of every werewolf movie he can, trying to sort out what he thinks could actually apply to this man, in his nice suit and jacket.
He leads Peter back to his mother’s room and takes a seat by her side where he listens to Peter introduce himself. He’s a lawyer, prosecution, which means Stiles’s father can actually like him.
Peter lies about where he found Stiles, claiming he was simply walking by the front of the hospital and found him on the bench there. He winks at Stiles as he does so, and Stiles can feel Mischief shifting in his mind, grieving in a way he hasn’t before.
“Why is Peter different from the others? It wasn’t as intense with them, even Scott.”
Mischief hesitates. “ They were younger. They looked different. Peter. He looks almost as he should.”
Stiles doesn’t press. He knows Mischief won’t tell him more.
He watches as Peter leaves, noting that he does peek at Claudia’s medical file when he thinks nobody is looking. The act sends a wave of HopeGriefAnger through his body, but he knows it isn’t his. He pays it no mind.
~
Cora Hale sits at his lunch table two days later. Right next to Erica, which makes Stiles bare his teeth protectively. Oddly enough, that makes Cora smile at him.
“Um, hi?” Isaac squeaks, and Stiles remembers that he’s always admired Cora for her refusal to take any shit.
“Hi,” Cora tells him, turning to stare Stiles down. “We’re friends now, come to dinner tonight.”
“No.” Stiles tells her, before Mischief can send him anything more than a tendril of apprehension. “I’m busy.”
“With what?” Cora asks, eyes narrowed as she looks over his ragged group of friends. Stiles and Mischief both curl their fingers into tight fists at that.
“My dying mother,” Stiles retorts savagely, enjoying the way Cora flinches away from him, as well as his friends' own wide eyes. They know he doesn’t really talk about it much, and he has to wonder what they’d say if they knew he’d told another Hale just yesterday.
Cora sighs. “Tomorrow then?”
“Are all of us invited?” Stiles asks, waving a hand over to include his companions.
Cora bares her teeth, and Stiles finds himself wondering if she too is a werewolf, or if it’s just Peter.
“She is. Most of the Hales.” Mischief piques up. “ Remember that if you have to lie. Half truths are better.”
“They can come,” Cora replies through gritted teeth. “Tomorrow at five.”
“ Go.” Mischief commands. “ It must be done.”
“Will it hurt you?” Stiles asks, remembering the hints of strong emotion from their first encounter with a Hale.
“ Yes,” Mischief hesitates. “ Probably even more than yesterday.”
“Why should we then?”
“It will hurt more if we don’t.”
“I can probably come?” Scott offers tentatively, looking toward Stiles
He nods. “I’ll ask my dad.”
Isaac shrugs, his eyes sliding around nervously, “I’m not sure if I can.”
Mischief sends a pang of anxiety throughout their body, “ We need to watch him. I don’t know when it will start.”
“What?”
“His father is going to hurt him. Once he has, we must convince him to tell Dad. That’s the way to end it.”
A fierce surge of protectiveness flows through Stiles, this time all his own. Isaac is his, has been since Mischief first sent him to speak to the boy, and he takes care of his.
“If you need a ride or anything, I can help.” Stiles informs him, making sure to hold his eyes as he does so.
“I can come,” Erica offers. “But, and I hate doing this, only if you think your house is trigger free, or at least won’t have a lot.”
“Triggers?” Cora inquires.
Erica stares at her lap, suddenly shy again. When it comes, her answer is quiet, almost inaudible, though Cora seems to hear it clearly. “I have epilepsy.”
“It will be,” Cora decrees, her eyes shining with determination.
Boyd nods. “I’ll see.”
Then Cora leaves, leaving Stiles to lie and feign ignorance about why she sought him out.
For a moment, Stiles is angry at Mischief for putting him in this position, but that quickly fades. Mischief is simply doing his best, trying to make the world better. No doubt what’s happening now is no different than taking in Erica and Boyd and Isaac.
~
When he mentions going to the Hale’s house, his father is leary and his mother is insistent.
His mother wins.
The next night finds Stiles in the backseat of his mom’s Jeep, talking to Isaac about what to expect. As far as they know, Cora has never had anyone over for dinner let alone five people. They wonder what family members will be there, as well as what food they’ll be having.
Personally, Stiles wonders about how he’ll be separated from his friends. Obviously someone wants to talk to Mischief, not that they know that.
“ It will be okay,” Mischief promises. “ I will take care of you.”
Stiles looks at Isaac, and thinks of the other friends Mischief has brought him. He looks around the car, at the strange etchings that Mischief had scratched into the seat with the promise that they would make him safer. Then he thinks about Mischief’s own grief, how he carries it with him even after ten years of living, mostly, as a child in the Stilinski household.
“ I know, you don’t want me to suffer like you.”
Mischief laughs and laughs at that, though he never explains why.
“ No Stiles, I’ve made sure that you’ll never be me.”
~
The Hale house… isn’t what he expects. For starters, it’s deep in the woods, with a long winding driveway that makes Isaac sick. It also is huge, far larger than any house Stiles has seen, though not quite the mansions on television. Not exactly what one would expect from a werewolf in the woods.
Stiles bounces on his toes as his father introduces himself to Mrs. Hale, or Talia as she insists upon being called, eager to move along with the night. The only way out is through, and he is ready to move on past this awkward nervousness that’s been resting in his stomach since he met Peter. He doesn’t even know if it belongs to him, Mischief, or both.
His dad claps him on the shoulder, “Alright boys, I’ll be back at eight. Mrs. Hale has my number if you need anything.’
Then he is gone, and Isaac and Stiles are ushered inside.
Scott and Erica are already there, staring at Cora with wide eyes as she says something about her plans to grow up and climb all of the world’s tallest mountains.
Stiles had to bite back a smile at that, even as they join the others on the area rug they lay on. As defensive as Cora had made him feel yesterday, she seems quite taken with his friends now. He doesn’t quite relax, but watching Erica in a place she feels safe is always nice, and not something he gets to see at school.
When Scott arrives, he fits in perfectly, even with Cora’s addition to their group, and Stiles has to stare at her curiously. He knows that she was put up to this, but he wonders if perhaps she’s started to enjoy their company.
They’ve been laying there for an hour, talking and laughing and playing, when Cora’s older brother enters the room.
“Derek.” Mischief sighs and there’s a feather light touch of GriefRegretSorrow before it disappears behind an iron wall of nothingness.
“ Mischief?” He asks, frightened by the sudden loss. Usually his other self speaks to him or someone else before putting his walls up. There’s always a reason.
“I’m fine.” He promises. “I just couldn’t let you feel what I feel. If I did, the werewolves would smell it on you, and then what would you say?”
As it is, Stiles quickly notices that Cora and Derek’s heads have both snapped towards him, and they no doubt smelled his fear when his other self disappeared. He notes that Derek has stepped back, eyes wide, and that Cora is glaring at her brother, and he realizes that they think he’s frightened of Derek.
He shakes his head, “What now?”
“Be a child. Enjoy yourself. If the Hales’ wish to speak to you, they will come. Do not seek them out.”
“ And about Derek?”
“Leave it.” Mischief suggests, “ That’s what I’ll have to do. Nothing we can do will heal my hurts, Stiles. All we can do is make sure that you never have anything like them.”
“Stiles,” Cora’s voice is soft as it breaks into his state of disattention. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Boyd suggests. “He does this all the time.”
“ADHD,” Stiles offers with a shrug.
She doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t care. She’ll never guess the truth, not even Stiles has managed to do that.
“If you did I’d be shocked.”
“One day.” He promises. “ One day.”
Dinner is served then, a simple affair consisting of tacos, but an enjoyable meal nonetheless.The Hales around the table are Derek, Cora’s sister Laura, their father Mark, Talia, and Peter, and conversation quickly turns to asking the kids more about themselves.
Stiles notes how careful they are to ask everyone the same questions, but it doesn’t escape his notice how when he speaks Talia and Peter lean in, occasionally exchanging glances. He doesn’t think he’s told them anything of interest yet, Mischief hasn’t spoken during the entire meal, but their behavior confirms why he’s really here: information.
“Let's play outside,” Cora suggests, and the others readily agree, though Erica does so cautiously.
They follow her outside, into a backyard that is composed solely of wild grasses and trees and quickly begin a game of hide and seek tag, with Cora seeking. Stiles knows right away that she has an unfair advantage, as she bee lines right to him. As he runs from her, he’s shocked by her sudden burst of speed, and the gentle push that sends him tumbling into a giant puddle of mud and filth.
“Sorry, Stiles,” Cora says, but he sees no true regret in her eyes, just amusement. “If you go see my mom I’m sure that she can find you somewhere to clean up, and something else to wear.”
“Go. This is it.”
And so Stiles returns to the house, leaving his friends playing. Talia is already waiting in the kitchen with a fresh set of Derek’s old clothes, and Stiles cannot bring himself to be shocked. The game of tag was likely planned from the beginning. She leads him to a bathroom where he cleans himself as quickly and efficiently as possible. He isn’t nearly as muddy as he’d originally thought, and the process doesn’t take long at all.
When he emerges from the bathroom, Talia is gone and Peter has taken her place.
“Come on, pup. Let’s go explain everything to the alpha.”
Stiles follows wordlessly, Mischief rising within him, ready to take over as needed.
“Stiles,” Talia greets him as he enters an office lined from floor to ceiling with books. “How do you know about the supernatural? Neither of your parents seems to.”
Stiles starts. He’d never even considered that. “They don't. Or at least, I don’t think they do. Do they?”
“We haven’t told them, if that’s what you’re asking. We merely want to know how you knew about our pack, particularly Peter’s position.”
The relief that Stiles feels is all his own. He doesn’t want to share Mischief with his family. No doubt his father would think it a symptom of the same disease killing his mother.
Mischief rises then, sliding past Stiles, as one would a person in a tight hallway, to take the reins of their body delicately from his hands.
“In certain circles, Peter is famous for his work”
“True,” Peter drawls. “Those circles aren’t often frequented by ten year olds though.”
“True. Here it is then: sometimes, I know things, things I shouldn’t know. And the fact of the matter is that very soon, your pack will be under attack by hunters who don’t follow the code.”
“Do you have names?” Talia asks, “Reasons?”
“Kate and Gerard Argent need no reason. They’re sadistic and evil and they will kill you all, down to the children.”
“The Argents?” Talia mutters to herself.
“Chris Argent is the best of the lot. When you find proof of the others intentions, I recommend involving him.”
“Do you know him?” Peter asks.
Mischief hesitates, thinking.
He takes too long, and Peter continues, “Does he know you?”
“You would have to ask him,” Mischief deflects. “Now I think I should be going, before the other kids wonder where I am.”
And Mischief steps back, handing control back over to Stiles, no one the wiser.
Nobody stops Stiles when he leaves.
~
“How was it?” His dad asks, as Isaac and him crawl into the back of the Jeep.
Isaac beams, “It was so fun! Cora said that she’ll start sitting with us at lunch some days, and that she’ll invite us all over again.”
“What about you, Stiles? Did you have fun?”
Stiles stops, and thinks about it. Playing with Cora had been fun, but he still doesn’t know enough to feel comfortable around the Hales. Mischief had informed him about the supernatural, even saying that in a few years he would be able to use magic himself. The fact that they’re werewolves doesn’t bother him, it’s the way that Mischief feels around them. All that Stiles wants is to keep him safe, but his other self insists upon placing himself in situations that make him unhappy.
“Yes,” Stiles admits. “I had fun.”
“Don’t feel bad for enjoying yourself,” Mischief admonishes him. “ You’re a child, Stiles. It isn’t your responsibility to take care of me. If i had a choice, you wouldn’t have to worry about anything at all.”
“You can’t take my worries away, but you do help with them. Without you who knows what would have happened last time Dad left us alone with Mom.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you. You deserve to grow up well.”
Stiles’s dad continues. “I’m glad you boys had fun. I’d never heard you talk about Cora before, so I wasn’t so sure what was going on.”
“You know me,” Stiles smiles. “I’m always making new friends.”
Mischief lets out a snort of laughter at that. “ If it weren’t for me you would have stopped with Scott.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”
~
The next school day finds Stiles pulled into the library by Cora. Her grip is far stronger than a normal eleven year old’s would be, and Stiles finds himself looking her over for other signs of her werewolf heritage. There are none.
“Cora,” He greets, giving in to the knowledge that he’ll never be able to escape her grip and walking beside her. “What’s going on?”
“My pack has more questions for you.”
“And I have class!”
“It’ll be quick.”
They find themselves tucked into a quiet corner, and Stiles raises a brow at her. “What are the questions then? I don’t have all day?”
“I’m supposed to ask if you know when, where or how?”
Stiles hesitates, sifting through the information that Mischief has accidentally let slip in his moments of grief. There isn’t a lot of it, just the thought of blonde hair and the name Argent, which they already have.
“ Let me step in?” Mischief asks, and Stiles acquiesces.
“I can’t say more than I have. In fact, by speaking to your family again after the initial warning, I’ve put myself and my loved ones in danger. Cora, I’ve told your family everything I can, but tell them if they chose to continue asking anyway, to come themselves. You’re too young to receive the answers they seek.”
“I’m older than you!” Cora objects.
Mischief smiles sadly, “I’m too young to know the truth too.”
Then they stand and leave, switching control as they do so.
“ When you said that you’re too young to know, you meant me, didn’t you?”
“ I did,” Mischief admits. “ You’re only ten, and you know if I had my way you wouldn’t be a part of this at all.”
“I know that you aren’t… like me. That we aren’t normal, but how can you be old enough to know these things. You’ve been here with me for the last ten years, doesn't that make you my age?”
“Body and spirit are not the same, Stiles.”
The rest of the day seems to drag on, as Stiles contemplates his other self. It’s not that he’s never thought about Mischief before. He knows that most people don’t share their body with a mysterious force that knows too much and tries to improve the lives of everyone around. The world would be a much better place if that were the case. It's just… he has always thought of Mischief as his ; he never stopped to wonder if maybe Mischief wanted something more from life, if he didn’t want Stiles.
He knows what Mischief would say, if he shared his thoughts with him, but he has no desire to hear it right now. A reassurance that Mischief doesn’t mind his situation, that he loves Stiles, won’t erase the paralysing fear that Mischief isn’t meant to be with him. That he should have a life away from Stiles.
“ Mischief?”
“Stiles?”
“Who were you before you were me?”
“I’ve always been you, Stiles. I’ve just been around longer, seen a few more things.”
“That doesn’t make sense, or explain how you know things that no one else does.”
“No, I imagine it doesn’t. Unfortunately, it’s like I told Cora earlier. I can’t speak on the matter any more, not unless I want to put the both of us at risk.”
When Stiles leaves school that day and heads towards his bike, (he’s been trusted to bike home since he sat his father down and explained that he knows the truth, knows that mom is dying and he should be by her side as much as he can) he’s not shocked to find Peter Hale leaning against it. A quick glance around reveals Cora getting into her mother’s car, where Peter had no doubt just come from.
“Stiles,” Peter grins. “Would you mind if I walk with you?”
Stiles looks him over, noting that the three piece suit has been replaced with jeans and a v-neck shirt. “Sure, but you’re walking my bike.”
Peter just chuckles and takes the bike by the handlebars. “So, let's talk about what you told my niece.”
Stiles glares at him, almost laughing when he realizes that Mischief and him were equally responsible for that action. “Not here, Cora can still hear.”
“Right, and she’s too young.”
Stiles shakes his head and starts walking, sinking down and letting Mischief up. They walk in silence for several minutes before Mischief judges the distance far enough.
“No one is ever old enough to hear how their family dies, but a child especially shouldn’t.”
“You know how we die though, and you won’t tell us anything about it.”
“I’ve told you enough to make you wary. Hopefully, that will be enough.”
“But wouldn’t it be better to tell us everything, to be sure that we would survive. You don’t want our deaths on your conscience, do you?”
Mischief stops walking, turning to look at Peter. Stiles knows the look they have on their face, he’s seen it in the mirror the few times he’s angered Mischief. Their eyes will be looking more golden than brown, and there will be a predatory gleam in them. He can feel the way their mouth is twisted into a snarl, and he’s ready for how Mischief essentially spits his next words.
“And tell me, Peter Hale, should I sacrifice myself to save you when I’ve already given you so much? I warned you of a danger you never even knew of, I told you who to expect it from. Find out the when and where and how on your own. Are you or are you not a left hand?”
Peter’s own gaze is cold as he responds. “You know that I am, but it seems that you don’t quite understand what it means to be so. I’ll tell you, Stiles. It means that I put my pack first, even over the life of a ten year old boy. If telling me how to save my family endangers you, I’m willing to help protect you, but I’m not willing to risk my pack for your own safety.”
Mischief spreads their lips in a defeated grin, “Hello, Peter. I knew you were in there somewhere.”
“What do you know that I don’t?” Peter asks, but Stiles can see the discomfort in his eyes. Mischief's last words have thrown him off of his game.
“I’ll be honest with you then. It’s not myself that I’m worried about, it’s what will happen to my family once I’m gone.”
“Your mother?” Peter asks, and Stiles perks up within himself. “We can help her if you help us, you know. I saw what she has, the bite-”
Stiles doesn’t hear the rest. For the first time in his life, Mischief turns against him shoving him down inside of himself. He feels his consciousness bend under the weight of Mischief’s own, until even his own little corner of his mind has shrunk smaller than ever. He feels claustrophobic, something he’s never felt, even when Mischief controlled his body and took him out of town, and when he attempts to peer out of his own eyes, he finds that Mischief has walled him in.
“ I’m sorry. I can’t let you stop me.”
He can’t get out.
~
For the first time in a decade, Mischief makes the body he inhabits fully his. No, not Mischief. Stiles isn’t able to hear him anymore, and if he’s going to do as he is then he wants to die acknowledging who he is: Stiles Stilinski dead and born again in the same body as his younger self, sharing even as he changes the world and the future.
He stands straight, in a way his younger self never does, in a way he hasn’t even when he’s in charge, forced to pretend to be the younger man. Finally, he lets his true self shine through. Even his early glare had been untruthful, hiding the depths of grief and suffering that he’s been repressing for ten years now.
“Peter Hale,” he says, and he lets himself address not just the Peter before him, but the Peter he had once known, and the Peter this Stiles would never know. “If you go to my mother tonight, if your alpha offers her the bite and swears to accept my family into her packs, then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“I thought you were worried about protecting your family?”
Stiles smiles sadly, “This is protecting my family. If they’re pack, I don’t need to be there. They’ll have you and Talia. Besides this, this should be enough change. Even when I’m gone, I can’t imagine that things will be what I fear.”
“Alright,” Peter answers. “Let’s go to your place then, and we can call Talia from there. She’ll be more than willing to give your mother the bite.”
They walk in silence, and Stiles ignores Peter’s questioning looks, no doubt the man is trying to determine what exactly changed within Stiles. He won’t guess it. If Stiles himself weren’t living it, he wouldn’t even believe it.
When they arrive at the house, Stiles seats himself at the kitchen table.
“Call your alpha, explain what I’ve promised. If she’s willing, have her come get us and take us straight to the hospital. I won’t be talking until I’ve seen my mother accepted into the pack.”
~
The drive to the hospital is filled with tension.
“I know what this feels like to you, that I’m holding your family’s safety over your head.” Stiles tells them. “That was never my intention. I want the Hale’s to thrive, I just don’t want to leave my family uncared for when I die.”
“And you’re so sure that telling us how we die will end in your own death?” Talia replies with her eyes meeting his in the rear view mirror.
Stiles’s smile shows all of his teeth. “Oh yes, maybe not in the way that you expect, but I will be gone. I’ve done more for my family than they’ll ever know, and I couldn’t in good consciousness leave them unable to defend themselves. If mom is a werewolf though, especially if she has a pack... I’ll be able to leave. I won’t have to worry like I would if she were to die.”
They park the car and Stiles leads the way to his mother’s hospital room. It’s an odd experience for him. He usually doesn’t pay attention to his mother when his younger self is with her, he mourned her a long time ago and had no desire to do so again. He’d never thought that the bite might save her; Derek hadn’t been sure when he’d asked all those years ago and Stiles had taken that to mean that it was probably impossible rather than an admission of ignorance.
“Stiles,” She whispers when she sees him.
“How did you get here?” His dad asks, eyes sharp as he looks at the Hales. “Why are you here?”
“We can save your wife,” Talia answers, eyes cutting from his dad to his mom. “Claudia, we can save you.”
“The doctors said there’s nothing left to do,” Claudia says softly, her eyes resting on Stiles. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”
“I know,” Stiles says striding up besides her and taking her hand. “I know, and if you chose to ignore what the Hales have to say you will die, right here in this bed on December thirteenth. Dad and I will grieve for you; he’ll start to drink and I’ll spend the next couple years taking care of him instead of the other way around.”
“What is going on?” His dad snaps, glaring at Talia and Peter. “I don’t know what you’ve been saying to my son, but I don’t appreciate it. Get out!”
“They haven’t been telling me anything,” Stiles looks over to him. “Sometimes I just know things. Magic is real, Dad, and the Hales are werewolves.”
“Stiles, Mieczysław, magic and werewolves aren’t real.”
Talia clears her throat, and Stiles and his father both look at her in time to see her shift her face into her beta form. “Actually, Deputy Stilinski, werewolves are very real, and if Claudia is willing, we’d like to turn her.”
“Turn her,” his dad repeats, face white as he falls back into the chair behind him. “Into a werewolf?”
“Only if she’s willing,” Talia repeats, turning towards Claudia.”There’s no guarantee that it will work, not everyone survives the bite. Even if you agree and live through it, being a werewolf isn’t all good. There are people out there who would hunt us, kill us for nothing more than what we are. You’ll need to join a pack, ours is open to you and your family of course, but it’s important to know what being a pack entails. It’s closer than family, it’s a bond that you’ll be able to feel, every moment of the day, and you’ll have to spend time with the pack to maintain it or risk becoming an omega and going crazy.”
“But there’s a chance I would live?”
“Yes, Mom,” Stiles answers. “It’s a better chance than you have now, and, if it takes, you’ll be stronger, have better hearing, and a sense of smell like never before. You’ll be superhuman.”
“And if it doesn’t take?” His dad asks. “She dies sooner?”
“Yes.” Talia replies. “I won’t lie and say it’s pretty. It’s not, if the bite doesn’t take it will hurt, and Claudia will suffer.”
“Stiles,” his mom says suddenly. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should take it. It won’t kill you anymore than what’s already killing you.”
Resolve hardened, Claudia looks to Talia, “I’ll do it. I’ll take the bite.”
“Then there are arrangements to be made. Deputy, you’ll need to check her out of the hospital, tonight, the sooner she receives the bite the better, claim she got into a new medical trial. That way if she does accept the bite when she’s ready to reintegrate into society she’ll have an excuse behind her sudden recovery. Claudia, more than likely if the bite takes you’ll have to hide at our home for several months, pretending you're still abroad receiving treatment, is that acceptable?”
“Yes. Besides, it will give me time to figure out being a werewolf.”
“Indeed it will,” Talia chuckles. “Deputy, if you’ll go check her out Peter and I will gather all of her stuff.”
Stiles watches his father leave, and turns to his mother as the werewolves set to work, preparing her for travel.
“Mom,” he says, and his throat suddenly dries up.
“It’s okay,” She smiles, running a hand through his hair. “I understand, it’s a lot to take in.”
“No, it isn’t that. Mom, after you take the bite, things are going to be different. Not just for you, but for me as well. We’ll be okay, we will, but remember to be gentle with me. I’ll need it.”
“Stiles,” She says, her hand catching his. “Is everything really okay? I don’t have to do this.”
Her eyes flicker over to the werewolves pretending not to listen, as if wondering if they were behind his strange behavior. Stiles just shakes his head and raises to his feet, pressing his lips to her forehead.
“Yes you do Mom, things will be worse if you don’t.”
When his dad returns, the room is suspiciously quiet, everyone in deep thought.
Stiles sighs and walks over to Peter, poking the man in his side. “Let's get this show on the road.”
From the look on his face, the man understands that he means more than just his mother’s changing.
~
When his mom takes the bite, she is laying on the plush couch of the Hale den, surrounded by her family and future pack. There are lit candles, and dimmed lights, and they’ve tried to make her as comfortable as possible.
“Pack,” Talia addresses them warmly, and Stiles realizes with a start that he can feel the fledgling bond that means the alpha has accepted him, all it is waiting on is his own acceptance. He ignores it, content to leave that decision to his younger self. “We have gathered here today to welcome the Stilinki family into our ranks. I know this is not how we usually do this, much more rushed than usual, and lacking certain ceremony, but our sister does not have the time for such time. We act now, without tradition in hopes that by acting quickly we can spare her the rejection of the bite. That being said, she is pack now, and if the bite is rejected, we shall mourn her as such and care for her husband and son as such.”
Then Talia kneels besides his mother, his father taking a spot besides her, and leans in to puncture the flesh of his mother’s side with her teeth. His mom gasps, jerking into the air, and then lets out a soft moan, and falls back to the safety of the couch.
As the pack gathers in close, a hand lands on Stiles’s shoulder. He follows it back to its source, unsurprised to see Peter.
“It’s time, pup.”
Stiles chuckles at the title, and nods. “It is.”
Silently, he follows Peter to the same sound proofed study he first used to tell Talia and him of the Argents.
Throwing himself into a chair, Stiles nods at Peter. “It's smart of you to do this now. My parents are both distracted, and Talia can’t leave my mom’s side meaning that you can do whatever you deem necessary as Left Hand without worrying about your Alpha overruling you.”
“You’re a clever boy.” Peter tells him, sitting across the desk from him. “Now tell me everything you can about the Argents, starting with where your information comes from.”
“That information will have to come last. I suspect that that bit of information is what will prove to be fatal for me.”
Peter steeples his fingers and stares down at him. “Alright then, tell me your story however you deem fit.”
“The names that you’re looking for are Kate and Gerard Argent. When they try to kill you, they do it by having Kate pose as a substitute teacher and seducing Derek. She rapes him and manipulates him into telling her about the escape tunnels and when the whole pack will be gathered. Then she lines every exit with mountain ash and sets the whole place on fire while everyone is asleep.”
“Only a handful of you survive, none of the human members of the pack, and not your alpha. You barely make it out yourself, in fact you end up in a coma for six years.”
“You say this like it’s already happened, like you know for a fact that I go into a coma.”
“Because for me it has happened. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that there’s more to me than you can see. The truth of the matter is that I am Stiles Stilinski, but I’m not the Stiles Stilinski of this time. I grew up unaware of the supernatural. I was in high school by the time I knew what really happened to the Hales, that Laura was your Alpha, that she feared the hunters enough to abandon you here, alone and vulnerable.
“You killed her Peter, after six years of constant pain and loneliness, you killed her and took her alpha power. But you were insane, and the power couldn’t heal that, so you bit my friend Scott against his will and dragged me into the supernatural.
“Long story short, we killed you. You resurrected yourself of course, and formed a tentative alliance with our pack. After that, well, we survived, for the most part.”
Peter looks at Stiles, assessing him. “And what, you came back in time to stop it? How?”
Stiles snorts, “God, no. When it came, my magic was wild and sporadic. I couldn’t control it, the result of a possession in my earlier years. So, the pack sent me to the Court of the Fae to learn. The queen took a liking to me, so when the attack came, I was with her.
“I burned myself up, using my magic to stop the attackers. There was nothing left of my body. I remember looking down at a pile of ash, and then back at the Queen who promised to thank me for my service.
“Then she spoke my true name and I woke up in the body of a squalling infant, my mother standing over me. I wasn’t alone either, I shared the body with the Stiles of the time, just a little baby at the time, but me as I had once been. The first year or so, I occasionally left the body and appeared in the Fae Realm where the queen explained it to me.
“My reward was the chance to change the human realm. You see, for the Fae, time is different. Whatever I do here won’t affect them. So I got to possess the body of my younger self, trapped as a child, my only companion, a boy who I would never let to grow up to be me. But there was one thing I wasn’t allowed to do, or else the Fae Queen would come for me.
“I was never supposed to share who I really am, or what happened. I was never supposed to tell the truth, to change the future by revealing it. Oh, one sentence here or there, a small warning, those I could get away with. The Fae don’t care about that. But what I’ve done here, what I’ve told you, that’s what will kill me, Peter Hale.”
Peter’s eyes are dark as he searches Stiles’s own. “Why do it then?”
“Because by doing so, I’ve ensured that the future will never come to pass. The younger Stiles will be able to figure who my future pack was, he can protect them. I’ve already gotten you to accept my parents, they won’t perish the ways they did in my timeline. Stiles will get both of his parents.”
“At the expense of you,” Peter adds quietly. “Someone who shared his body, no doubt he considers you family too?”
“Maybe,” Stiles answers, “But I’ve always been willing to die for my pack, and this is no different. Besides. He’ll have all of you to help him through it.”
Peter says something, but Stiles doesn’t hear it over the sudden roaring in his ears. It drives him from his chair to his knees, and he knows this is it, the Fae’s displeasure. Still, he can’t let them take him yet.
Diving deep within himself, Stiles finds the corner where he bricked in his younger self. Grimacing, he rips the walls down as quickly as he can, ignoring the ghostly hands that tears at his soul as he does so.
“ Stiles!” He cries. “ Stiles, come back, claim your body.”
The response he gets is soft and small, “ You hurt me. You.”
A sudden wave of grief puts through him, but there’s no time. He can feel the Fae ripping him from their body despite the hooks he had set on his way to Stiles. Every second he lingers is painful, and yet he cannot abandon Stiles now.
“ I know, and I’m sorry. If there was another way, a way I could have saved everyone- Enough of that. Stiles, I love you.”
The Fae nearly have him now, so he quickly releases his memories of the day to his younger self, sharing with him his mother’s transformation, and his own connection to the Hale pack, who he really is. All he hides is how the Hales die, and what Peter does, worried that the knowledge paired with Stiles' own memories and emotions will be too much for his younger self.
This Stiles is soft, young, and Mischief wants him to stay that way.
Then the Fae are upon him, and he is no longer able to reach Stiles at all.
~
He’s angry when Mischief comes for him, hurt about what his other self had done to him. The anger multiplies when he realizes that it’s been nearly half a day, and what Mischief has done. He doesn’t want to lose part of himself, even if it saves his mom, even if Mischief was never meant to be.
Then Mischief is gone; he’s empty and alone and scared.
“Mischief?” He says. He’s on his knees in the Hale study, a trickle of blood running from his nose. “Mischief? Stiles?”
There is no response.
Peter catches him as he falls to the ground and weeps.
~
Stiles wakes up in Talia’s arms, seated on the ground besides his mother’s couch. He rubs his eyes, trying not to cry again.
“Mom,” he rasps, leaning in to look at her. “Mom, are you okay?”
Talia shushes him gently, “It’s okay, Stiles. The bite took. Your mom is going to be okay, though she’ll sleep for a day or so.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“He’s getting us food,” she answers. “I normally wouldn’t have sent him, new pick members should stay with the Alpha for as long as possible to cement our bonds, but I didn’t think you’d want anyone else to come in here, even if they had food.”
“Why didn’t you go? I could have stayed with him.” He wipes a snotty nose on his sleeve, not caring that he’s behaving like a much younger child.
“I’m your alpha, and you’ve just had a traumatic experience while your pack bond is fresh. Neither one of us would do well if the other were to be away right now.”
Stiles thinks about it, imagines if Talia had left him and experiences the same welling of grief that had occurred when Mischief had been taken. He shoves his face into the crook of her neck, letting the tears flow as she rubs his back.
“It will be okay, Stiles. We’ll take care of you.”
“But he’s gone.” Stiles cries. “He’s gone and I’m alone, I’m empty!”
“He is gone,” Talia agrees. “But you aren’t alone, and you aren’t empty. Look inside of yourself, can’t you feel your pack? We’re here for you.”
“But you aren’t him.”
“No, and we won’t try to be. Your loss is real Stiles, we respect that. All we can do is be here for you, to help you through it. I hope you’ll let us.”
~
Stiles experiences the next few months as something that happens around him, not something he is a part of. He watches his mother recover, learn how to control her new abilities. He watches his father return to the man he was before his wife got sick. He feels nothing.
His parents try to understand, they try to be there for him, but they don’t understand. They can’t understand what it’s like to share your life so completely with another human being.
They ask him to compare it to pack bonds one day and he leaves the room. What he had with Mischief wasn’t a pack bond. They were one soul doubled sharing a body and a life. Mischief had been him, simply an older version. He hadn’t understood till the end exactly what Mischief was, but he had always known the man to be a part of him.
And now that part is gone.
At school his friends also try to understand, and he’s forced to lie to them again. He hates Mischief in those moments, when he tells his friends that he’s just worried about his mom off in her medical trail in Poland.
At the same time he loves him, because Mischief had saved his mother, their mother, for him. Mischief had known how much it would hurt to lose her, had lost her before.
On the days when it’s all too much, when all he wants to do is sit and cry, he finds Talia. Out of everyone, his alpha understands best. Not perfectly, not even she can relate to sharing a body for ten years and the loss that comes with it, but better than most. She doesn’t try to fix anything, or to relate to him. She just holds him through his pain and lets him talk about Mischief.
His parents never do that. Hearing about him makes them uncomfortable, as if by not knowing about him they had failed Stiles somehow. As if his existence meant there was something wrong with Stiles.
He avoids his parents when he wants to talk about Mischief. The discomfort on their faces only makes him angry, after all Mischief had died for their mom. Why couldn’t they love him?
Stiles doesn’t run on their first full moon as a pack. He doesn’t even stay at the Hale house as his family has been doing. Instead he spends the night at Scott’s dreaming of a True Alpha that will never be. He won’t ever let Scott be a werewolf, not with the memory of him dating a hunter’s daughter.
He doesn’t have many memories of the future. He doesn’t think that Mischief meant to share any. They seem to have come over with the memories of that day he’s been locked within his own mind, unable to even see or hear.
He wonders if they are part of Mischief’s reasoning. What he was trying to prevent by dying.
He wonders if he’ll ever know.
He refuses to return to his own house. That was a place he shared with Mischief, not a place that he'll ever face alone. He’d never so much as slept alone before, and he’d rather not start in a house that has only his father. At least by staying with the Hale’s he can be sure that there is always someone around, someone to keep their pack bond open while he sleeps.
At the Hale house, he only has one problem. Peter. He refuses to look at the man, to spend time with him. If Stiles senses Peter’s pack bond in a room, he won’t enter it. If Peter enters a room that Stiles is already in, he gets up and leaves. He loathes the man, the sight of him reminds Stiles of Mischief being ripped from him. He blames him for Mischief’s loss; if he had never walked with them that day after school Mischief wouldn’t have left him.
He doesn’t regret that his mom lived. Only that Mischief didn’t. If he had to choose one of them, he honestly can’t say who it would be, only that he’d accepted his mother would die and he’d never even considered that Mischief could.
~
“Mom,” Stiles says, nearly four months after her change and the loss of Mischief. They had moved back into their own house a week ago, though Stiles still sleeps at the Hale’s every night. He cannot stand to sleep in his own bed, terrified that one day he’ll grow used to it; that he’ll figure out how to live life with Mischief, that he’ll grow used to his emptiness.
“Misch-,” She stops herself, no doubt hearing the thundering of his heart, scenting the acrid stench of his panic. Stiles hasn’t let anyone call him that since he lost his other self. Mischief, despite originally being a nickname from his mother, had never been him; he had given that name away as soon as he had received it. It was a name he had bestowed upon his other self, and not one he could bear to hear now. “Stiles, Mieczysław?”
“Do you think, do you think that they actually killed him? Or do you think something else happened? We don’t know anything about the Fae. We don’t know... we don’t know if he suffered”
“Oh, Stiles,” She says, sweeping him into her arms.
He notices that she never really answers him.
He wonders if he’ll ever know.