Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles makes a trip to the nemeton early in the morning and invites Peter along. Stiles has a huge crush, (he might maybe be in love with him) on the older werewolf and Peter is sweet on him too if the wolf is honest with himself. Stiles is excited and has decided to finally tell Peter how he feels and practically skips out to the tree with the silent wolf behind him.

He's chattering on about all kinds of things to buy time until finally they're both in front of the magic stump. Stiles rubs his hands together because he might as well just be blunt and say it but when he turns away from the stump Stiles breath leaves him harshly as Peters fist thumps against the bottom right of the boys chest. Not a hard thump but one immediately followed by intense pressure on the inside.

Stiles can't get his voice to work and makes small swallowing noises in his throat as he stares at his chest in confusion. Then the scent of emotional agony bursts from Stiles as he watches Peter pull the blade of a dagger out of him and drop it to the ground. He looks up at the man he was about to confess his feelings to, face a picture of devastated disbelief, shaking his head as his instincts kick in and he tries to push away from Peter.

He tries to scream but the other man grabs his arm and covers the boy's mouth, tipping him back onto the ground until he has Stiles laying on his back as Peter straddles his thighs. Peter suddenly smells heartbreak so strong on the air he could choke on it as he pins the increasingly struggling teen's shoulders to the nemeton's roots.

He removes his hand from the boys mouth when Stiles starts coughing, blood spattering his lips moments after. The older man shushes him repeatedly, "It's not going to hurt, Stiles. Shh, there's no pain." Black veins trail up Peter's arm as he catches the hands pushing and hitting frantically at his chest and shoulders, Stiles kicking uselessly at the ground, shouts gurgling out of him. Stiles struggles to take short, pained breaths, panicking as he chokes as blood leaks out the sides of his mouth, staining his cheeks red.

The boy starts twisting his body desperately but he's not strong enough, and Peter can hear angry little shrieks mixed in with the gurgles and gulping as Stiles struggles in refusal over what's happening to him. "That's good, Stiles, you fight it. I knew you'd be a fighter, it's just one of the reasons why you've always been my favorite. That's why it had to be you, Stiles. The spell needed the blood of the person I love most."

He leans closer to the boy who stilled at his words, blood dribbling steadily out the sides of Stiles' mouth as he takes too small breaths and tears dilute the blood on his cheeks. The scent of sadness, betrayel and anger pour from the teenager in waves, "You're the only person I've never hated," Peter sighs, "and unfortunately for you, that's as close as I get to love." He sighs again and looks down at Stiles' weakly jerking body, "Although I will admit, I would've loved to fuck you just once. But you know how sacrificial magic feels about virgins." Stiles chokes and turns his head to look at the nemeton just two feet away from them. Something shifts and darkens in Stiles' gaze when he turns back and meets the werewolf's eyes in a cold glare that Peter's never seen on this face before.

The smell of the teen's fear and hurt is replaced by pure white rage and hate just like some of Peter's first memories after waking from the coma and it just keeps getting stronger. Stiles' hands shoot up to scratch at Peter's eyes, roaring at him through the blood and snarling wetly. It excites the wolf in him and Peter bares his teeth in a pleased, predatory smile as he pins Stiles down hard. He'd rather take Stiles anger than his heartbreak anyway and Peter feels himself finally start to enjoy this like all the other times he's killed someone.

As Stiles shouts and struggles, he can feel the boy weakening under him, Peter coos down at him with a fascinated smile, "You're going to make me so strong, Stiles." Stiles' snarls gurgle out of him like a beast as his body loses strength, becoming weak as a kitten. Peter can hear his heartbeat slow and the boy gulping repeatedly as his mouth overflows with red. Peter feels a last weak press of nails into his skin and doesn't blink his eyes as the young heart stops entirely, staring into the boy's beautiful eyes as they dilate and Stiles' body goes quiet and still, the end of the pain causing the black veins in the wolf's arms to fade.

It's but a few seconds before Peter feels the power slam into his chest and stagger him backwards into the clearing. He's already shifted and clawing at the ground as the power keeps growing, coming into him in waves until there's so much it starts to hurt and he's about to claw at his chest where it's centered when he feels it shift slightly into place like a dislocated joint and the pain diminishes leaving only the raw buzzing power.

Peter doesn't fight the instinct to shift completely into a wolf as he feels the alpha power settle into his bones and his eyes glow a fierce red with a black hue around the edges, his head tipping back to howl his victory but instead he bites deep into the flesh of his own forearm to stifle the sound. It wouldn't do to give the game away to sensitive ears after his first big move. He's an alpha again. He's THE alpha again. That pack of misfits isn't going to see it coming when Peter strikes against them. But not yet, Peter reminds himself, releasing his teeth from his limb trying to rein in his adrenaline fueled shaking, now is the time for him to fade into the background while they tear themselves apart over Stiles' murder. He's counting on them being foolish enough to let themselves become weaker than ever because of it.

He makes a point not to look back at the grisly scene when he picks up the knife and leaves. He knew what this would cost him and he has to live with his decision, even if he knows he's going to miss the boy's company. But Stiles was also the only one who ever figured out his plans and could've stopped him, it was another reason he was so fond of the boy. After going home to his apartment and showering thoroughly he waits a few hours befire he calls in an anonymous tip about finding a body in the woods as a last favor to Stiles and sits back to wait.

As the police dogs track a scent leading closer to the old root cellar, the sheriffs body is already cold with dread, he's felt it all day but prays that he's wrong. When the police break through the trees and they see Stiles' body laid out in a pool of blood at the base of the stump, Parrish wisely doesn't try to stop the sheriff from falling to his knees and cradling his son in his arms as he screams. After half an hour without the man's grief getting any calmer, the effect the man's howls of anguish are having on the other officers is noticeable, Parrish reminds himself that Stiles grew up with a few of them. It takes four officers to drag the sheriff away until he finally collapses and sits eerily quiet in the back of an ambulance.

As the officers process the crime scene they drive the two Stilinskis together to the hospital where the sheriff watches from the side as the medical examiner completes his work but allows the father to take the hose from him when it's time to wash the boy's body off. The sheriff's tears don't stop pouring as he bathes his son for the very last time with shaking hands, apologizing over and over again, promising Stiles that it's going to be okay even though its never going to be okay again.

Melissa eventually comes in and pulls him away afterward. When he comes upon a disbelieving looking Scott in the halls he grabs the boy's shirt and shoves him against the wall, shouting in his face, "Where were you when he needed you, Scott?! You were supposed to keep him safe but you didn't! Get away from him, get away and don't you dare come back until you find the person that did this! I don't want to see your face until then or so help me God I'll shoot you so many times-" the nurses pull him away and a stone-faced Melissa leads a weeping Scott outside.

The sheriff refuses to leave the hospital, he stands in the morgue and looks at his son, he won't leave his boy alone in this cold place. He calls Lydia and tells her to meet him right fucking now and not tell anyone where she's going. He waits and when she arrives shortly after she hesitates in the doorway and the sheriff feels a little bad that she had to learn about Stiles' death this way, but she visibly gathers herself and steps into the room.

The sheriff tells her he knows she can't change what happened but he just has to know, he has to know if she felt anything when Stiles died, if she can feel anything from his body. She's a banshee and the only one who might be able to give him answers. She steps closer to his son laid out on the table and pauses with a frown, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye before taking a deep breath and seems almost scared as she hovers her hand over Stiles' chest, a knife wound under his ribs the only sign the teenager isn't sleeping. The sheriff watches her eyes move back and forth, but she grits her teeth and presses her palm to the cold skin.

Almost immediately she starts shuddering and tears pour unchecked down her cheeks as she stares hard into empty space. The sheriff waits until it looks like she's in pain before pulling her away. She falls back choking, clawing at her throat and as he catches her she starts screaming so loud it hurts his ears and she's trying to twist out of his arms, hitting at his chest. He let's her go and she immediately scrambles over to the corner wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her head there as her shoulders shake violently as she tries to hold back sobs.

The sheriff's heart breaks further, not for her but for his son whose last moments must have been so awful if what Lydia's response is showing him is correct and he breaks down, collapsing to the floor and sobbing again. When he catches his breath again he looks over his shoulder at Lydia whose head is bent with her cheek on her knees, eyes wide as she stares emptily. He tells her to tell him what she saw or felt in a voice so grief-stricken she shouldn't dare refuse. He stands up and looks at his son's face as he hears her say in a small voice "I could feel what he felt as he was dying. He... he was so hurt by what was happening to him it felt like my heart was going to explode and he couldn't breath, oh god, I could feel him choking. It hurt so much, but not physical pain, it just felt like my heart was being squeezed and I couldn't breath... then there was so much anger all of a sudden...I can't explain it...there was too much emotion for me to register anything else..." she finally looks up at the sheriff's tense back. "But there was no pain. I promise. I'm so sorry, I can't, I have to go." She runs out of the room and the sheriff doesn't try to stop her, just starts stroking his son's cold cheeks saying "It's gonna be alright son, I'm right here with you. It's going to be okay," and breaks down again.

Derek drags a broken but determined Scott to the nemeton, he'd do it himself but Scott says it's his job, no one else's, but it's too hard, he can't do it alone. Derek still can't quite believe Stiles is dead. Yammering, brilliant Stiles who always seems to survive anything despite only being human. Derek remembers how many times Stiles would throw himself between danger and the people he cares about even though he was the most fragile of all of them. He had never met someone so brave and loyal.

He tears down the police tape around the area and makes himself focus on finding a scent or some clue to help them avenge his pack mate's murder. But other than the overwhelming scent of blood, rage and emotional anguish he can't smell anything else. He knows the location has to be a clue but the town's been quiet ever since they defeated the alpha pack. There's nothing for them to work with but the smell of Stiles' emotions.

The scent reminds him of when he felt his pack bonds snapping one by one during the fire that killed his family and he realized Kate was behind it. The scent of hateful betrayal is so strong that it chokes him and he has to stagger away and put his head between his knees as he feels the crushing pain in his chest. Scott whimpers next to him, he can't take the smell of his best friend's anguish and blood either. It makes Scott feel the need for someone to hold him like a child and tell him it's gonna be okay, but he knows it's not okay. His best friend was murdered so cruelly and abruptly and he doesn't know what to do.

He and Derek support each other out of the woods and remain silent all the way back to the pack house. Isaac is comforting a sobbing Lydia next to him on the couch when Scott walks in. She pauses only to look at him and open her arms before they're both sitting on the couch next to each other. They both cry until exhaustion sets in and they just can't any more.

Derek and Isaac give them space to themselves and Isaac asks his former alpha if he has any clues or ideas about who could've done this. Derek tells him what they found and that so far the only thing he can be sure of is that Stiles knew his killer. A stranger couldn't be responsible for that much betrayal in the air and Derek stops to wonder if he should be suspecting the people closest to him. But none of the werewolves in his pack would have anything to do with the nemeton's magic and he's almost sure that's why Stiles was killed practically on top of the old tree trunk.

Maybe the darach somehow survived and was responsible but Stiles wouldn't be heartbroken about that, just really really angry like his scent suggests he was when he died. He takes a deep breath and listens to his alpha and packmate's sorrow in the other room and thinks, maybe Lydia?, but no, even she wouldn't be cold enough to hold Scott through his tears if she did this, but he makes a note not to exclude her from suspicion completely.

Isaac suggests maybe it didn't have anything to do with magic at all but Derek feels in his gut that it's significant. Who would kill Stiles over the nemeton with a knife instead of claws... unless the knife was to keep from leaving clawmarks behind. Derek wonders when Stiles' detective habits rubbed off on him. He wonders about Scott for a split second before dropping the thought, Scott wouldn't kill anyone, especially not Stiles, no matter what he had caught Stiles doing. Stiles' father would rather die and Isaac wouldn't be able to pull this off with so few clues left behind.

Then his thoughts trail off, where's Peter? Peter knows magic and is smart enough to use a knife and leave no clues but what could he get out of it? And he doesn't think Stiles is niave enough to feel so betrayed by Peter because the teen was always the one reminding the rest of the pack that Peter shouldn't be trusted. It doesn't make any sense.

The living room is quiet and he and Isaac go to see what's happening. They find the two with swollen eyes and Lydia's too upset to fix the mess of her hair but she still answers Derek's questions "you were at the hospital with the sheriff and th-...and Stiles. Why?" Lydia visibly flinches and looks up at Derek's question then at Scott, hesitating momentarily before saying in a small voice "the sheriff wanted me to see him. He wanted to know if I could tell him what happened." "Did you?" Scott asks hopefully. Lydia shudders and draws her knees up, laying her head on them "I could feel what he felt but I don't know who did it. Just that it hurt Stiles more than the pain did. Actually, there wasn't any pain." Her eyebrows furrow "He couldn't scream but I could still hear him in my head." Tears start to fall down her cheeks again "He tried so hard to fight and he was so angry and then..." she trails off and looks down to avoid their eyes but Scott prompts her "and then what?" Derek can see her biting her lip before whispering without raising her head and its only because she's audience to werewolves that they hear her. "I didn't tell the sheriff this part but... Stiles kept thinking the words 'How could you? How could you do this to me?'"

It doesn't give them any new leads. Derek huffs and scrubs a hand over his face, how did everything go to shit so fast without them being able to stop it. All they know is that Stiles drove himself to the woods and was betrayed by someone he knows...knew.
Lydia and Peter both seem like good suspects but why would they do it? What did the killer want? Revenge? To make the pack weak with grief? Power? Derek sends a text to his uncle telling him to get his ass there now.

They all look up when Peter gets there just a couple minutes later and Derek's too surprised to see he brought Deaton with him to remember what he wanted to ask his uncle. Deaton seems sympathetic, especially for Scott, but says he doesn't know anything other than the usual reasons for someone sacrificing a virgin at the nemeton. That gives them all pause and they wonder if maybe that's why Stiles was targeted, but it still seems too personal for some rogue druid to have done it. Deaton says if they were looking for power, the more emotional the sacrifice, the stronger the spell.

Scott suggests Jennifer Blake might have somehow lived and done it but Peter simply says, "She didn't do it. She's not able to do anything anymore." It's not comforting but everyone's too upset to care that Peter basically admitted to killing her and they're a little relieved that they don't have to worry about her anymore. Derek puts Deaton on the suspects list anyway.

Peter's more quiet than usual so maybe he's not as unaffected by Stiles' death as Derek would've expected. Maybe Peter's past remarks that Stiles was the only one of them that had any sense was more of a compliment aimed towards Stiles than an insult to the rest of the pack than Derek thought. But he still thinks Stiles would be more angry than hurt if Derek's uncle was to blame. There are easier ways to gain power than magic, all Peter would have to do is track down some ailing alpha and rip his throat out. Maybe the killer is someone outside the pack that Stiles knew, he had a lot more connections than people gave him credit for so the killer could be anyone really.

------

It storms that night, rain and thunder so loud that it keeps the werewolves on their toes. The sheriff went home after being convinced by Melissa and sits on Stiles' bed and drinks himself stupid for the first time in years.

At the nemeton, Stiles' blood washes into the ground as lightning strikes the area repeatedly. There's a rumbling sound before the ground quakes violently, the earth around the tree cracking open until it stops as suddenly as it started, followed by eerie silence as the rain continues to pour down. The ground where Stiles died shifts as worms crawl up frantically through the loose soil, followed by wet fingertips emerging and anchoring on a root and an arm follows it up. Another muddy arm shoots up before the soil parts and an unrecognizable figure stuggles to pull itself out of the ground. A head comes up and there's an unnatural, pained scream as it arches its head back into the rain before it climbs onto the nemeton's stump and collapses, the dirt slowly washing away until a nude form is left behind. The figure doesn't breath, there's no heartbeat yet it stirs and starts crawling in the direction of town with its eyes closed.

The sheriff is woken by thunder so loud he feels it in his bones and strange sounds downstairs so he grabs the gun left on his son's bedside table. He staggers drunkenly down the stairs, the house dark due to the storm raging outside killing the power. He looks around his living room in the darkness, he can see the rain outside his open back door and a trail of mud leading past and behind him. He spins around and raises the gun only to come face to face with his soaking wet son. His dead son. The gun clatters to the floor and he collapses to his knees, staring up at Stiles' naked and dirty body, there's a near black scar under his ribcage like he got up and walked out of the morgue. John stares up at the impossible sight, "Stiles?"

The boy blinks and seems to realize where he is all of a sudden, looking down at him confused and worried, "Dad?" Then Stiles gets down on all fours in front of his father, "Dad, whats wrong?" John stares at his son in shock as Stiles looks around like he's just noticing that he's naked before raising his confused gaze up, "Whats happening? I- I don't remember how I got here. Was I sleepwalking?" The sheriff pulls his son into his arms with a strangled sob and holds him tight, praying with all the faith he has that he's not dreaming, "It's okay. It's okay, Stiles, it doesn't matter. I've got you now. It's gonna be okay, son." Stiles still looks confused but he lets his dad hold him desperately tight.

Derek wakes up to Scott shaking him roughly and pulling him from his bed by the arm. "Come on, Derek! Get up NOW! We gotta go, you gotta come with me!" Derek follows Scott only because his alpha looks only a moment away from a hysterical breakdown and lets Scott drive them and Lydia to the sheriff's house. Derek starts to fear that they're going to find another Stilinski dead today. Scott calls Deaton from the car and orders him to follow them over, he hangs up without waiting for a response. Scott drives onto the lawn in his haste and goes barging through the sheriff's door, Derek relaxing a little when he can hear a heartbeat inside and looks oddly at Lydia when she heaitates on the doorstep looking shaken.

He nearly bowls Scott over where he's frozen in the archway to the living room. Derek understands why when he sees the sheriff holding his very alive son wrapped in a dirty wet blanket against his side on the floor, a gun nearby almost under the couch. Derek smells booze and the scent of confusion is rampant in the room, there's something off here but he can't put his finger on it. Stiles looks at Scott as he kneels and slowly moves closer, reaching a hand out like he's afraid Stiles won't be there if he touches him. "Stiles? How are you here?" Stiles face contorts further in confusion and he speaks "What do you mean? Where else would I be?" Scott and the sheriff make a sobbing sound at the same time and Stiles looks alarmed now, backing away from Scott and his father's arm, looking around the room like they're the odd ones here before whispering in a scared voice. "What happened? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"You died." Lydia says from behind Derek and everyone else in the room flinches except Stiles who just looks more confused and worried, shaking his head back and forth, "What? What do you mean? That- that can't be," Stiles looks scared and his dad moves closer to him again and says gently "Stiles, what's the last thing you remember?" Stiles squints and turns his head away "Um. I woke up this morning feeling really good, then... I don't know. It was dark and loud and then I was here." He looks up at them but something in their faces must make him believe them and he looks small suddenly before turning to his dad. "I died?" The sheriff chokes but he manages to nod, and Derek realizes what's throwing his senses off. Stiles doesn't have a heartbeat, he looks at Scott and the even more freaked out look suggests the alpha noticed too.

Derek hears a car pull up outside and goes to meet the annoyed vet, but the annoyance turns quickly to shock and curiosity when Deaton sees what everyone is so focused on. The next hour is spent with Scott and the sheriff informing Stiles what happened and the vet asking questions and staring in awe at the boy. It's obvious Stiles doesn't like it so Deaton retires to the kitchen while the sheriff and Scott stay with Stiles.

Lydia joins Derek in the kitchen, she seems more scared of Stiles than anyone else and hasn't even gotten close to him. When Deaton asks Derek if Stiles has a hearbeat only to be told no he seems even more excited. "I've never heard of something like this occurring by accident and certainly not for centuries and even then you're highly unlikely to succeed." "What?" Derek snaps at him. Deaton turns to him, eyes gleaming like a kid at christmas, explaining in his usual enigmatic way, "Nature is cruel, Derek, even the greatest of men all die eventually, and magic is no exception to that rule."

"Is he a ghost?" Lydia asks nervously. Deaton turns to her and smiles a little, "Not a ghost, Lydia. Ghosts can be created by violent or emotional deaths but they have no physical body to inhabit. Stiles isn't in his original body and he's alive, yes, but not like you or me. He has no heartbeat and I'm sure if you checked you'd notice he doesn't need to breath either." Derek turns his attention back to the boy in the living room and finds it to be true, but it's not comforting.

"So what is he?" Derek's getting annoyed by the veterinarians constant vagueness. Deaton, "Well, that's the question, isn't it? But first, Lydia tell me, have you touched Stiles' body since he died?" She looks worried by his question and nods, Deaton asks, "And what happened?" Derek turns to her and she backs up defensively, "I didn't see anything. I just felt...what he felt...when he died." Deaton prompts her, "And what emotions did you feel?" "Betrayal, like my heart was being torn out but also so much anger."

"Did you feel any love?" They both look at the vet when he asks, she slowly nods. Deaton's smile is back and Derek demands answers. "I think a spell was cast, but this type of spell requires the caster to love the person they sacrifice, love them more than anyone else." Derek and Lydia look at each other in horror and the vet goes on, "But it wasn't meant to bring Stiles back. It was meant to take from the sacrifice and give to the caster. The person who did this would've got what they wanted but if they messed up the ingredients then it could've backfired without them knowing about it." Derek stops him, "Wait. Backfired? You mean whoever did this is dead?" Deaton gives him a look for the interruption, "Not dead, but not whole either. There's no way to properly bring someone back to life without using their original body as a host."

"What ingredients did the killer get wrong?" Lydia says this time. Deaton explains, "The spell calls for a sacrifice of the person the caster loves most. Stiles coincidently being a virgin would've just made the spell stronger and more pure. But... if Stiles was killed by the person HE loves most, under the right circumstances, it could make the spell go both ways. A betrayal of one's love like that can be considered its own sacrifice if Stiles had enough intent behind it."

Derek interrupts him again "Stiles loves his father more than anyone and the sheriff would never do this." "I never said he would. I'm simply saying, magic doesn't always react the way you expect it to. Intent can be just as important as any other part of magic and if Stiles unknowingly cast a spell at the time of his death with the sole intention of coming back to avenge his murder, using his broken heart and rage to fuel it, his history with the nemeton would make it more likely for the magic to make an exception."

They're quiet for a moment then Derek says "You said you can't come back to life without your original body, Scott's already checked and Stiles-" he hesitates and lowers his voice, "Stiles body is still at the morgue." Deaton, "Yes, that does make this a first, but Stiles has already technically died and been returned to his body by the nemeton when the darach tried to kill his father, so the nemeton would know exactly how to rebuild him. Only the perfect sequence of events, enough power, and so far unknown intentions could've made all this happen. There's more here than meets the eye and even I can't know something like that."

"Well, who would?" Derek's finally fed up with the other man's cryptic statements, but Deaton just smugly replies, that creepy smile on his face, "Stiles would. Even if he doesn't know how he did it, him and the caster are both included in this spell and only they would know what made this time so unique."
After Deaton leaves, Derek tells the sheriff and Scott what was said and they brainstorm hoping to get a few ideas.

The sun's coming up and the storm seems to have blown itself out. There are reports of debri all over town but the sheriff doesn't leave his son's side. They make breakfast but Stiles says he isn't hungry and just sits there while everyone else eats. He wants to know what Deaton said but they agreed to leave a few parts out and tell him the shortened version. Isaac comes over and is filled in but has to go to school so Derek stays with the sheriff and Stiles. John asks Stiles more questions about the last thing he remembers but gets nowhere. Derek bluntly asks Stiles if he's been harboring a secret crush on anybody. Stiles' silence is more telling because he doesn't blush and his heartbeat isn't there for Derek to listen to for a lie. What's most interesting to Derek though is that Lydia had said she had no clue Stiles had died until his father called her to the morgue afterwards.

The sheriff keeps asking how Stiles is feeling and finally Stiles snaps and says "I'm fine, all right! Apparently I died yesterday but everything's hunky dory and I don't feel or remember anything! I don't feel tired or hurt and I'm starving but I don't want any food in the kitchen! And I can tell you're lying to me about what Deaton said and I don't know why you won't just tell me because I don't remember what happened! I just want to be left alone, god dammit!"

The sheriff wilts under his son's words and Stiles apologizes and hugs his dad. "I don't know what's happening to me, and I can't figure it out unless I know as much as you do. Please, just tell me." he pleads with his father and after the sheriff shares a look with Derek he says "Deaton said... that you might've loved the person who killed you more than anyone and that's why you're alive now. He's never heard of a person coming back from the dead like this, but Stiles, he could be wrong."

Stiles stiffens and leans back with a blank look on his face. "I loved them? More than you?" Stiles asks his father. His father grimaces but asks if Stiles knows what Deaton meant. Stiles looks hesitantly at the both of them before putting his head in his hands "What I remember...I was happy, like more than usual...I was gonna tell someone something... it was supposed to be a good day, not like...not like this." Stiles' shoulders slump and he gets up and excuses himself to his room, says he needs some time alone. When his father goes up to check on him an hour later, Stiles is missing.

Chapter Text

Stiles puts some clothes on after storming up the stairs and sits on his bed, trying to figure out what happened to him. He remembers bringing Peter with him into the woods yesterday, telling the older man that he knew better than to go near the nemeton by himself anymore as an excuse to get him alone. He also remembers what he was going to confess to the werewolf and the excitement and nervousness, half of him sure it would go well and the other half afraid of being rejected.

But he doesn't remember dying, he tries focusing harder but it's just blank. His next memory is wetness and dirt, his fingers digging into the mud but his eyes must've been closed because he doesn't know where he was. And then he woke up with his dad crying in front of him and looking at him with such a terrified look in his eyes that Stiles was afraid he was going to look down and see him pointing a knife at his father.

But then everyone came over and started talking about him beyond Stiles' hearing and Stiles honestly hates it. He hates how they were talking about his death as if he didn't have a right to hear, when if anybody did it was him. He almost always figures things out before anyone else and they were going to keep him out of the loop again. Well, he wasn't going to let them figure this out without him, he needed to know the truth. He has questions and he needs answers, and some of them will be too painful for him to ask his dad about. He has to know what happened to him, he has to, and more than anything else he needs to know how he died. And as far as he can tell the only people that knows what really happened are himself and Peter and whoever else was possibly there. The truth is always somewhere, he just has to find it.

He climbs out of his window and walks down the street. He doesn't think going to Peter is a good idea just in case it was the older werewolf who killed him. He hopes not but he knows that Peter is capable of killing his own family when they have something he needs. And if Deaton is right and the nemeton is at play then it's a possibility Stiles doesn't want to dwell on. Just considering it is too raw when he still has feelings for the man so he pushes the thoughts out of his head.

He looks up from watching his feet while he walks and finds himself in front of the hospital. It happened earlier too, the span of time it would normally take to travel somewhere missing from his mind. He can't feel the cold but a shiver goes up his spine all the same as he abruptly realizes why he would've come here. He reluctantly walks into the building and sneaks past nurses to ride the elevator down to the basement. He walks through the white hallway until he finds the door to the morgue. He doesn't see anyone inside through the little window so he pushes it open and walks up to the rows of freezers. He spots the drawer with his last name on it and goes to open it but hesitates with his fingers on the handle.

Not many people even in the supernatural ever experience having to look at their own dead body. Stiles considers that he's probably supernatural now too, since he's a dead guy walking and all. But before he can decide how he feels about any of this he needs to remember what happened to him. So he grits his teeth, opens the door and pulls out the drawer.

He stands next to his sheet covered body, suddenly unsure if he wants to see it but he thinks if he's dead he shouldn't be so squeamish. Except it's HIS body. He died and more than that somebody murdered him and the part of him that is still in love with Peter is desperate not to see the proof that he's the one responsible.

But even Stiles can admit that it all makes sense, he just doesn't want it to. He had such faith that Peter was misunderstood, that there was a real person under all that danger and intrigue. But he's also always admired the part of the wolf that was pragmatic enough to have a way out of any situation, no matter how dirty his claws got from it.

And the part that Stiles has always kept closest to his chest was when Peter offered him the bite. Peter saw something in him that no one else in the pack did. They always see an annoying human who was friends with Scott. But that's not the truth and Peter saw it too. Stiles is smarter and more resourceful than the others and he and Scott haven't really been friends since before he became a true alpha. It's half the reason Stiles enjoyed bantering back and forth with Peter, like it was their own little private joke, a reality that only they were smart enough to see.

But standing in front of his own corpse brings all that crashing down and even though Stiles wants to be angry, right now all he feels is sadness, for what could have been. Stiles sniffs and tells himself to get it together, he's dead, he's not allowed to feel sorry for himself until he knows why. He reaches forward and flips the sheet off the top half of the body.

It's a shock. Stiles didn't think it would be easy but seeing himself laying there, eyes closed and skin white makes him freeze up and want to curl in on himself. His face looks so unnatural to him, it's not quite the same as what he's always seen in the mirror, the lines are more stark and his expression is blank, limp but not like he's sleeping.

Stiles makes himself look away, gaze darting down to his chest and landing on the injury that killed him. A diagonal knife wound not even a couple inches across, it's a brownish color and there's a slight discoloration around it. He reaches up, wondering exactly what organs were damaged only he barely touches it before yanking his hand back as what feels like an intense static shock jolts up his arm and lodges in his throat.

The sensation burns and he stumbles back as he coughs and chokes, knocking something metal onto the floor as he bumps against the counter behind him. It feels like someone has their hand down his throat and it hurts. He chokes, hands grasping at his neck as he falls to his side on the tiled floor. His body convulses, twisting back and forth as the pressure grows, his eyes burn and he can feel tears leaking from them. But the worst part is the feeling of being unable to breath, trying desperately to suck in air but every gulp just making the sensation worse.

Then there's a popping sound in his ears and the sensation disappears like it was never there. He lies there panting, only he remembers hearing Scott mention that he wasn't breathing anymore and when Stiles puts a hand to his chest and holds his breath, the usual need to inhale doesn't come. He doesn't feel his heartbeat either and putting his fingers to the artery in his neck confirms he doesn't have one. He can't even feel the cold leaching into his skin from the floor underneath him.

He scrambles to his feet, staring wide eyed at his body on the table, and even though he doesn't feel the familiar anxiety he can still think it in his mind. He's really dead. The knife wound apparently led to his lungs and he must have choked to death because of it. It's the only explanation for what he felt and he feels the first whispers of fear about finding out the truth of what happened to him.

He covers his body back up and pushes the tray in, closing the door and leaning his back on it as he tries to figure out what to do next. He hears a noise outside and runs out of the room and into the elevator, brushing past someone he doesn't recognize in a white coat along the way.

------ Peter's POV-------

He's sitting next to Malia on a park bench, watching children of different ages play on the fields of grass. She's smiling at him, she's never done that before and it feels like the sun shining on his face. She starts telling him about how excited she is to finish high school, how she plans to move down to South America to be with her aunt Cora and finally go back to embracing her animal side. How excited she is to be away from all the crazy shit that happens in Beacon Hills and to just be at peace again. Nothing to worry about except hunting for smaller game.

He puts his arm around her shoulders and tells his daughter that he might just join her. They can be a family, them, Derek and Cora. They can put their pasts behind them and he feels the first bloom of hope in his chest that he's felt since before the fire. His cheeks hurt with the unfamiliarity of smiling.

But when he turns to look at her she's not smiling back at him anymore. Her eyebrows are pulled together in confusion as she says "What are you doing here?" Then a look of alarm crosses her face and she looks down at his claws, dripping with blood but he doesn't understand how they got that way. Then she's pushing at his chest as blood sprays against his smiling mouth and he can taste the coppery liquid on his teeth. She's screaming, head tilted back, shaking it frantically back and forth.

His hands push something wet and warm into his mouth and he doesn't know what it is as he chews quickly on it. He pushes more past his lips and chews. It happens again and again before he even has a chance to catch up, choking as it slides down his throat in chunks.

He notices it's quiet now and opens his eyes, sees her lifeless eyes staring up at him accusingly, her chest torn open and parts missing from it. His hand pushes another mouthful in and he chews, looking down at his bloody arms. He swallows and it's only when his hands move of their own accord to pull one of her lungs out of her chest cavity that he realizes what he's swallowing, even as he bites a mouthful of the tissue off. Tears spring to his eyes as he looks down at the mangled corpse of his daughter, unable to stop himself from taking another bite.

Peter hears screaming. Loud, broken screaming and his chest burns like it did all those years ago when the fire burnt his esophagus bloody. His eyes snap open, clawing at whatever's nearest, sees that it's his bed sheets as he realizes that he's the one screaming. He stops, choking on saliva as he takes in deep lungfuls of air, sweat damp on his skin. "It was a dream", he says aloud, "Just a dream."

He looks around himself, he's alone in the bedroom of his apartment. He retracts his claws before covering his face with his hands, trying to calm down, reassuring himself that it wasn't real. He still smells blood though and he's sweating so much his hands come away wet. They're sticky and he looks down at them, expecting to see a clear glisten but they're red.

He panics, hastily turning on the bedside lamp and leaving a bloody smear behind. He looks back down at his hands and sees that it's not only them that are bloody but the top of his chest too. The coppery smell of blood is deep in his nostrils.

He throws the sheet off him and stumbles into the bathroom, leaving more red smears as he turns on the light. The image that greets him in the mirror is horrific, his whole face and down his neck is covered in blood. He starts repeating "No, no, no". He hasn't seen Malia in days but he's suddenly not so sure that it was a dream at all.

He calls Malia on his cellphone and after a few tense rings she answers with an irritated, "What?" Peter hangs up and slides down his bathroom counter, hands covering his mouth. The dream felt so real, he can still taste and feel the chewed flesh as he swallowed parts of his daughter. He looks at his bloody hands and grabs the edge of the sink to stand back up, putting the phone on the counter and washing the blood off of himself.

Chapter Text

After Stiles disappeared the sheriff and others went out frantically looking for him. Derek and Scott ran out to the nemeton as the most likely place Stiles would go. And then, an hour later, all the wolves heard Lydia start screaming.

A car horn wakes Stiles, opening his eyes sees there are trees surrounding him. He sits up, not sure where he is. Wait, he can see the roof of a building through the forest. He stands and goes closer to the treeline, recognizing the back of the hospital.

He guesses he didn't get very far after his little visit. The sudden memory of the suffocating sensation flashes through his mind causing his throat to close up for a moment. He stumbles, catching himself with a hand on a tree as the feeling disappears as suddenly as it came again. Stiles sighs, confused and frustrated as he walks forward until he sits down at the edge of the trees.

He inspects himself to see if there's anything different, any sign he did something he's unaware of. He runs his hands over his face checking for blood but they come away clean. That's a relief at least, he didn't eat somebody last night and it takes him a moment to realize he's not hungry anymore, he feels warm inside and full.

He doesn't have his cellphone with him, it's probably with his dad after... whatever happened to his father while Stiles was dead. He starts walking towards home, angry that someone would take him away from his dad. Then Stiles feels sad in a way he hasn't since his mom died. Someone killed him. His life was over, just like that. He had so many plans and goals, his entire future was ahead of him.

He hears the low rumble of thunder and looks up, gray clouds have rolled in, blotting out the sun. Great, Stiles thinks, he's going to get soaked. At least he can't catch a cold, he thinks with morbid irony. He trudges along as the rain starts sprinkling, his thoughts cycling from anger over his death and sadness that his life was ended at such a young age. He hadn't gotten to have a relationship or even have sex yet.

Stiles stops walking; he had been in love, though. He was in love with Peter and he was going to risk it all to tell the werewolf that day. What happened? Did Peter reject him and leave him in the woods only for him to be attacked later? Did Stiles and Peter fight after Stiles confessed and Peter really was the one who killed him? But Stiles was stabbed, so it hopefully wasn't the older werewolf. So who, then?

Stiles stands there with his arms wrapped around him, the rain pouring down in heavy sheets. He's soaked to the bone but he doesn't feel the cold, he just feels clean. He looks around because he's lost track of where he is and jumps so hard he falls to the ground when he sees a woman standing on the sidewalk just a few feet away staring at him.

He looks at her from where he's on the ground, leaning back on his elbows. She just peers back, a blank look on her face. She's wearing a white robe and slippers, she's older and slightly heavyset with thick curly blonde hair down to her shoulders. She slowly reaches a hand out to Stiles, he's still freaked out and confused. He thinks she's wants to help him up so he hesitantly reaches for her outstretched palm.

Their fingers touch and Stiles' head jerks back as his mind is thrown somewhere else. He's looking out through the woman's eyes, sees her robe and slippers, remembers years of her empizema getting worse and choking her more and more. Now she's bed ridden and weazing at the hospital with a constant oxygen mask. Her throat stops working during the night and she suffocates to death, scrabbling clumsily at the mask. She can't breath and then it all goes dark.

Stiles comes back to himself gasping, he chokes roughly and feels like he's going to throw up, turning onto his hands and knees on the sidewalk. He jerks around, looking behind him for the woman but she's not there anymore. The sheriff's cruiser starts to drive by then stops, his dad rushes out and ushers Stiles into the car, asking where he's been, if he's okay.

Stiles stares over his shoulder, scanning the neighborhood for the strange woman but she's just gone. The sheriff takes him home and calls Deaton while Stiles is in the shower. Deaton tells him that wandering is very common amongst those who come back from the dead. He's been scanning his books but hasn't found something that fits Stiles just right yet and needs more time. John growls "no use bastard" after he hangs up the phone.

-

Stiles stands in the shower, knowing he should feel the heat of the spray. His skin is pink, he'd turned the hot water almost all the way up. He touches over the scar under his ribs, looking down at the brownish flesh, thinking about his situation.

He's dead. Somebody killed him. And yet for some reason Stiles is still here. He's not really sure how he feels about that. There's the heartbreaking, staggering shock of it and Stiles wishes he could just go back to his old life so much it hurts. But somebody murdered him. He thinks back to the same words coming through Jackson's mouth from Matt. Stiles thinks he understands now why Matt couldn't just let it go and needed to make someone pay.

It hurts, oh god, it hurts. More than any other life event ever could. It's a ball of pain in your chest greater than any break up or death of a loved one could ever equate. The death of the people around you is a tragedy but still a natural one, one you've been taught to handle. Your own death is paralysingly terrifying, but at the very least there's comfort in knowing your troubles will be over and you hope you'll wake up in a better place.

But when you're still around after you die? That's something unnatural that you haven't been prepared for. Now Stiles truly understands Peter and Matt's need for revenge. The truth is that when someone kills you, when someone is so cruel as to murder you before your time, to steal all that possible life from your soul, there's sadness and agony, yes. But also an all consuming rage that can only be directed at revenge for it can't help but spill out of you no matter the comfort new life brings.

Stiles thinks about Peter and cannot help but have to believe that the man he's secretly been in love with since he offered Stiles the bite in the garage, couldn't really be the one who would kill him in such a premeditated fashion. That night, Peter took the time to try and woo Stiles to his side, he appreciated and respected Stiles in a way no one else ever had. His love for the werewolf has been a constant, every noon and night, for years. A secret no one knows about except him.

Even if Stiles didn't work up to confessing his love to Peter before he died, Peter still liked him enough to have no possible motive for wanting Stiles dead. Stiles is certain of it. The only thing that would make Peter kill anyone necessary is his obsession with becoming an alpha again. And Stiles can't do anything for Peter to achieve that, save tying down an unfamiliar alpha and presenting it to the older man with a bow. So there would be no reason to suspect Peter as being the one responsible for Stiles' murder.

Peter probably left after whatever it was they talked about at the nemeton. Stiles either stayed behind or was on his way home when someone else came along and stabbed him, when he was alone and vulnerable. Maybe Jennifer survived somehow and saw Stiles as a convenient and fitting sacrifice to the great stump. Or for all they know it could've been a human and Stiles was just a crime of oppurtunity.

No, Stiles thinks, it must've been someone he knew or his killer was especially brutal otherwise why would he come back to life afterwards? Or perhaps it has nothing to do with the way things happened at all, maybe something that occurred previously in Stiles' life is what brought him back? Sacrificing himself to the nemeton could've been powerful enough, without Stiles even being aware of it, to bring him back from the dead.

At this point Stiles knows he's grasping at straws and the only thing that's going to shine any light on this mystery is answers. Answers he's only going to get by going out and finding them, no matter where he has to look.

He turns off the water and steps out of the tub, drying himself off and walking to his room with the towel around his waist. He gets dressed, pacing in circles around his room after, thoughts racing with questions, mumbling to himself, "He wouldn't kill me. He wouldn't." Stiles rubs his scar through his shirt and looks up at his dad when John suddenly interrupts his thoughts from the doorway, "Who, Stiles?"

Stiles is looking confused at him as the sheriff steps into the room, an earnest look on his face, "Was someone with you, when you went into the woods that day?" Stiles shakes his head as he starts to turn away but is turned back around by his dad's hands on his arms, "Tell me who you were with so I can help you!" Stiles looks up at his father, unable to answer his question, still convinced someone must've stabbed him on the way back to his jeep.

"Where was I found?" John blinks, "What?" Stiles, "Where was my body found?" The sheriff squints at him in confusion, "Next to the nemeton. Why?" Stiles looks down, well that rules out all the possible places he could've been on his way home so he asks, "When did I die?" John removes his hands and stands straight, disturbed as he recalls what the coroner's report said, "Sometime around noon that day, give or take a couple hours because it got cold." So, Stiles thinks, around a few hours after he went to the preserve with Peter at ten.

Stiles goes and lays on his bed, facing the wall, the sheriff stands still in the middle of the roon. Stiles doesn't look as he asks, "do I seem different?" John hesitates, scared talking about this will somehow make him lose his son again. He can't go through that, not again.

John takes a few steps and sits down on his son's desk chair, "You've gone through a terrible event, Stiles. It would make anybody a little different." "But how am I different? Do I even seem like myself?" "Of course" John starts then stops before saying, "your personality is still the same, there's some physical changes is all."

Stiles turns and sits up on the bed, crosslegged and clasping his hands leans forward and looks up, "but I'm still me?" John, "Yes, Stiles. You're still here with me and I can't" the sheriff's voice breaks, "You're here. And that's all that matters."