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Stiles knew something was wrong. He just wasn’t sure what. At first glance, nothing seemed wrong. His parents were fine. Scott was fine. Lydia was fine. There wasn’t even anything major in the news. But Stiles knew there was something happening. Something had felt off nearly the whole day. From the moment he’d seen his mother that morning, he’d just known. But without any idea what it could be, Stiles had gone to school like normal. He dodged a group of younger Hales in the hall as he slammed into the locker next to Scott.
“Dude, something’s up,” Stiles declared.
Scott frowned at him. “What? Are you and Lydia fighting again?”
“No–”
“Are Lydia and Allison fighting again?”
“No.”
“Are your parents–”
“No one’s fighting! Everyone is fine. They’re getting along fine. The town is quiet.”
“Then, what’s wrong?” Scott asked.
Stiles scowled. “Something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know!” Stiles exploded. “Something! Everything feels off, and I don’t have any clue why!” His outburst had people staring at the pair of them. Including Lydia, who had been talking to Allison. Stiles saw her roll her eyes and start towards him. “Dude, it’s driving me crazy!”
“Stop making a scene,” Lydia hissed. She grabbed one of Stiles’s arms and dragged him down the hallway into a classroom that was mostly empty. “When we got together, you agreed no more paranoid ranting in public. What has gotten into you?”
“Lydia, there’s something wrong,” he started.
“The only thing wrong is your head, Mischief.”
Stiles froze. “What?”
“Cut the paranoia crap out. If you still feel like something’s wrong after practice this afternoon, I will help you look into it.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Until then, please, pretend to know where your brain cells are.” She smiled sweetly before she turned, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she strutted away. The bell rang and the teacher whose classroom they’d been in frowned at Stiles. Stiles forced himself to move before he could be questioned. He didn’t go to his homeroom. Instead, he practically sprinted to the locker room. Thankfully, it was empty. He dropped his backpack on the floor and found himself gripping a sink to keep himself upright.
That was wrong.
Lydia was wrong. They weren’t together. He wasn’t Mischief.
Not since his mom died.
Finally, Stiles knew what had felt off. His mother was dead. There’s no way she should’ve been able to hug him that morning or tell him that she loved him. Stiles looked up at himself in the mirror. His mother was dead. Things felt wrong because they were wrong. This wasn’t real life. His mom was dead and nothing could change that.
Something across his vision shattered. And Stiles remembered. No wonder things felt wrong. There was so much wrong. His mom, the Hales, Lydia. Now Stiles just needed to figure out why things were different, if they needed fixing, and how to fix it. First step when the world turns upside down was usually Derek. But, if Derek’s memories were blocked like everyone else’s seemed to be, he wouldn’t know who Stiles was. After Derek, Stiles would usually try Lydia, but that would clearly be pointless unless he could find a way to jog her memory. Which was going to be harder than it had been for Stiles. Stiles had two huge blaring signs that his life was right from the very start of the day. His mom and his name. Most people don’t have things like that. It would take time to get people to remember, assuming they needed to remember. And Stiles didn’t know if he had time to spare. He didn’t know what was going on!
So, plan C. Find someone who would have access to sources that would help Stiles figure it out without that person needing their memories or their previous lives.
Only two people fit the bill and only one would actually help.
Peter lived in the same apartment he had. He frowned when he answered the door. “Can I help you?” Peter asked, scanning Stiles. Stiles scanned him right back, immediately noticing Peter’s eyes.
“Your eyes are the wrong color,” Stiles blurted. “They’re supposed to be light blue. Not dark blue.”
Peter’s frown grew. “They are light blue.”
“They definitely aren’t,” Stiles declared. He ducked around Peter into the apartment. “Maybe that’s like a sign of who’s under the spell. Could make it easy to figure out who’s got memory issues, but doesn’t help with the whole figuring stuff out thing.”
“Excuse me?” Peter let the door close. “What are you talking about? And who the hell are you?”
Stiles dropped his backpack on Peter’s couch and headed for the bookshelves. “You still keep the magic books in the same place right? ‘Cause this feels like some kind of spell.” STiles scanned the books until he spotted the one he was looking for. A grimoire from a witch who specialized in memory magic. “Bingo.” Peter snatched the book from his hands. “Hey!”
“That is enough. Who are you?” Peter snarled, just the barest hint of wolf in his voice. The dark blue around his eyes, which had been solid when Stiles arrived, now had small white cracks growing across it. Interesting.
“Careful, Zombiewolf,” Stiles said with a smirk. “I need that.” Stiles grabbed the book back and dropped onto the couch, starting to flip through the pages.
“You know,” Peter muttered, looking stunned.
“Sure do.” Stiles kept most of his focus on the book. “Are there any creatures that can mess with memories on a large scale??” Stiles paused considering. “They’d also have to be able to change reality or somehow convince at least a dozen people that they have. Which is why I’m leaning toward a spell of some kind.”
Peter sat down in an armchair across from the couch. “Who are you?” he asked again, voice much quieter than it had been.
“Stiles. There’s something going on and, right now, I’m the only one who knows. You were the only person I could think of that might help even if you don’t remember me.” Stiles looked up from the book at Peter again. “So, thoughts? Spell or creature? Good or bad thing? I’m coming in half-blind here and I can’t even ask the Sourwolf since he’s got no clue who the heck I am.”
“Sourwolf,” Peter repeated curiously. Stiles frowned at him as the white cracks in his eyes spread until the dark blue shells suddenly shattered, revealing Peter’s usual icy eyes.
“Uh, Peter?” Stiles asked cautiously.
“It’s both,” Peter said firmly, after blinking several times. “A creature and a spell. Memoria Factorem. You won’t find her in any book.” He sat back in his chair. “She’s a rumor, if that. A former priestess of the Greek Titan Mnemosyne who committed some crime against her patron. I’ve never heard what exactly, just Memoria’s punishment. Cursed with eternal life and a never ending hunger that can only be fed by manufactured memories. Lies that are believed so deeply they feel true. Over the centuries, she’s learned how to feed. The rumor is, she targets young packs, clans, covens, or any group of supernaturals. She finds the weakest link and uses the bonds to spread her curse to the whole pack. I’ve heard that the curse gives them what they want, like a djinn, and whatever ripples are caused by the changes are what she eats. But it isn’t real. It’s all a dream and every false memory the curse makes is drained until all that’s left are never-waking shells. Not alive but not dead. Trapped in a dream until their bodies finally give out. No pack who’s faced her has ever survived.”
Stiles stared at him. “That’s a whole lot of conclusions to draw from one question,” he said.
“Not the question. There was a young coven in Los Angeles that was found unresponsive two months ago. Authorities said a gas leak, but it had Memoria Factorem’s rumors doing the round again. No pack or full group has survived, but one member of the coven woke briefly before she passed. The druid who had been trying to help them was reportedly told her final words. ‘Break the Blue’. After that, the whole coven died over teh next week. When you arrived you said my eyes were the wrong color. And something shattered across my vision when my memories returned.”
“Break the blue,” Stiles realized “The blue eyes. If we can get all of the real people to remember, to break the blue eyes, then we can get out. Assuming this is Memoria.”
“Its the only thing we have to go on. And we know that it takes her time to feed. You broke her spell less than twelve hours in. Hopefully that gives us a better chance than the young coven. That message wasn’t passed on until three weeks after they were found. And they were found two days after one of their members was reported missing. It’s likely that their bodies couldn’t recover even once the spell was broken.”
“Okay, but what if you’re wrong and it’s not the memory chick? Then we’ll have wasted time and maybe missed the real solution. A rumor is still just a rumor until we have proof.”
Peter pursed his lips. “Then we divide and conquer. I go through my considerable sources and you start trying to get our pack to recall reality.”
“Wait. What? Me? Why me? I’m usually better at the research stuff or the hitting things with a bat. Not talking.” Stiles flailed some. “I mean, my talking usually gets us into trouble!”
“Because you say too much,” Peter smirked. “But in this case, that will be a good thing. My memories were inaccessible until you mentioned the ‘Sourwolf’. And besides all of that, for the moment, it’s just the two of us. And you know the pack and their histories far better than I.”
Stiles scowled. “Counterpoint. You heal. I don’t. This spell has people back from the dead. Tell someone that is bound to make them angry. Especially the werewolves who may decide to finally make good on the threat to rip my throat out!”
“Stiles,” Peter sighed. “We are wasting time.”
“Fine!” Stiles threw his hands in the air. Then he tossed the grimoire onto Peter’s coffee table. “I’ll go spend the day breaking hearts and getting yelled at.” He started for the door.
“Your bag,” Peter said. Stiles let out a frustrated growl as he went back and grabbed his backpack. “Good luck.” Stiles flipped him off as he closed the door behind him.
Stiles wasn’t sure who was affected so he decided to start by making a list of people he thought would be spelled, then he chose the person on that list most likely to listen to him. Which was why he was walking into the Sheriff’s Station in the middle of the day. The moment he saw his dad’s eyes, he knew he’d been right. The dark blue shell was there like it had been for Peter, but there were already thin cracks forming. The Sheriff dragged Stiles into his office and closed the door. “Mischief, do you have any idea how worried your mother was when the school called? Where the hell have you been?” Noah hissed.
Stiles flinched at the name. “Visiting the Zombiewolf,” he said. He watched as more cracks formed.
“Who?”
“Peter. Peter Hale. The undead werewolf that you were, horrifyingly, flirting with at the last pack meeting.”
More crack. “Excuse me? Mischief–”
“Stiles. Not Mischief. Not since she died.”
“Stiles,” Noah breathed. The blue shells shattered and he gasped. “Oh, Stiles.” Noah pulled his son into a tight hug. Stiles hugged him back just as tightly. “Kid, I’m sorry. I know that name hurts.”
“Not as much as seeing her did,” Stiles mumbled. Noah nodded. After a moment, they finally broke apart.
Noah sighed. “All right, Stiles. What the hell is going on?”
“Let Peter explain. He’s researching. Was at his apartment when I left. I have to go to school and remind Cora Hale that her whole family is actually dead and that Allison’s aunt did it which I also have to remind Allison of. Plus, I have to tell Boyd about his sister, Isaac about his brother, and Lydia about losing her mind. Oh, and Scott about being a werewolf. And then I have to find Derek freakin’ Hale and remind him of the literal hell that is his life,” Stiles said. “And I don’t even know if that’s everyone. We haven’t stopped to check for pack bonds since after Jackson left after the gods damned kanima!”
“Stiles, breathe,” Noah ordered. “Give me something to work with and I can help. What is happening?”
“The pack got spelled. Memory thing that may also be a connected dreamscape. Real people either remember life as it happened or have these weird dark blue shells over their eyes. A big enough reminder of real life can jog the memories and break the spell.”
“Okay. See? Next time, start there.” Noah shook his head. “Get back to school and fixing this. I’ll make sure no one here is real, check on Melissa, then see if I can help Peter, yeah?”
“Yeah. Uh, right. Good plan.”
“Stiles.”
“Going!” He tried to look calm as he headed back to his jeep. He felt a chill and looked around the parking lot, but there was no one else there. So he got in his jeep and drove to school. It was during his study hall period so Stiles hoped he could find Boyd or Erica before anyone else found him. He was not that lucky. He was peering into classrooms when someone grabbed him by the hood of his jacket and dragged him out of the window. She pinned him to the lockers with an angry snarl. “All right, Stilinski, spill,” Cora demanded. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but your sm-behavior is getting weirder.”
“My sm… my smell?” Stiles asked. “Dude! I’m an idiot! Werewolves have advanced senses! The real ones are gonna be able to tell something’s wrong just by smell! That may make some of this easier when I’m trying to convince them something’s not right.”
Cora bared her teeth and Stiles knew that under the cracking blue shells, her eyes were glowing gold. “Who told you?” she growled. She lifted him slightly off the ground by his shoulders.
“Whoa! Easy! Not a threat! I’m trying to help!”
“Who told you?!”
“No one!” Stiles managed. “I figured it out sophomore year when your crazy uncle bit Scott!” Cora dropped him instantly. “Jesus. What is it with Hales and slamming me into things? I swear Sourwolf taught you that.”
“Sourwolf,” Cora repeated, much like Peter had. But the shell over her eyes hadn’t shattered yet.
“Yeah. Sourwolf. Big grumpy Alpha who likes to toss the pack human around and lurks like a creep instead of talking to people. Sourwolf,” Stiles huffed. The cracks spread, and Cora tilted her head. “You know, your brother? Derek? He’s the Sourwolf.” Her eyes narrowed and Stiles watched in fascination as the blue shattered to reveal gold. She let her beta shift fade with a groan. Stiles grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Fucking hell, Stilinski. What the fuck is going on?” Cora asked tiredly.
“A very annoying, possibly deadly dream spell that made us believe dead people weren’t dead,” Stiles sighed.
“Us?”
“I’ve lost people too,” he snapped. “Go bother Peter or try and get Derek out of the spell or something.” Stiles looked in the classroom he’d been checking before Cora had interrupted him, but couldn’t spot any of the pack. When he turned back to the hallway, Cora was still there. “What?”
“Derek would only believe something like this if it came from you,” she said, gesturing around them. “And I’d rather be buried alive than have to spend any extended time with Peter.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and started toward the next classroom. “Then go chase a bone. Bother Isaac. Talk to the dream people. I don’t care as long as it’s not following me.”
Cora followed him. “You’re not wandering around here alone.”
“That was my plan, and your presence isn’t going to help anything.”
“Okay. Put it this way. I’m not letting you walk around a potentially dangerous dreamscape on your own.”
“I can take care of myself,” Stiles huffed.
“Don’t care. I’m the one who’d have to hear about it if you got hurt,” she said. “Besides, I can track people. You can’t.” Stiles stopped and glared at her. She flashed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Werewolf.”
Stiles groaned. “Fine! Whatever. Just let me do the talking.”
“Liek anyone could stop you,” she snorted.
“Just find Boyd or Erica. At this point, I don’t care which.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair tiredly.
“Mischief!” someone yelled down the hallway.
“Mischief?” Cora frowned. Stiles grimaced when he spotted Allison coming toward them.
“What happened to werewolf?” Stiles grumbled.
Cora ignored him. “She has her crossbow.”
Allison jogged down the hallway, blue shells solid over her eyes. “We need to go,” Allison said, trying to grab Stiles. Cora pulled him away before she could. “Look, Hale, this doesn’t involve you.”
“Stiles stays with me,” Cora growled.
“Stiles?” Allison frowned. A horrible scraping noise came from the same direction Allison had come from. Instantly, she had her crossbow aimed at the corner and stepped to block Stiles. The scraping noise got louder.
“What is that?” Stiles asked. A figure turned the corner. It looked like a woman, but her skin was grey. Her stringy white hair went past her shoulders. Her eyes were glowing the same dark blue as the shells on their eyes. She was wearing a tattered tunic dress that had originally been white but was covered in stains. Glowing black chains dragged behind her, attached to cuffs on her wrists and ankles. And her mouth hung open as she glared at the three of them, like her jaw wasn’t attached. “Fuck.”
A chained hand rose and a bony finger pointed at Stiles “You will fail.” The figure’s jaw didn’t move. Her voice seemed to come from all around them. “I will feed.”
“Time to go,” Cora decided. Allison fired an arrow but it passed right through the figure. Allison stepped back.
“You will fail,” it repeated.
“Find Lydia,” Stiles said, taking Cora’s hand and reaching for Allison’s shoulder.
“I will feed.”
“Find Lydia. Now!” Stiles got his hand around Allison’s wrist and the three of them were off. Cora went as fast as she could without leaving the humans behind as they headed toward the library. Allison stumbled initially, but had quickly found her feet and raced along with them. They burst into the library panting. Cora let go of Stiles and pointed at an irate Lydia Martin.
“What the hell?” Allison said. Then she shook her head. “No. We need to get Mischief out of here.” She tried to grab Stiles again, but Cora stopped her.
“Stiles stays with me, huntress,” Cora growled.
Lydia, who had been storming over to the table Stiles was using to support himself as he caught his breath, faltered. “Stiles,” she said. Stiles looked up and saw large crack forming in the blue shells over her eyes.
“What was that?” Cora demanded, slapping Stiles’s shoulder gently. Well, gently for a werewolf. It was still hard enough to bruise Stiles.
“Memoria Factorem,” Stiles managed, rubbing his arm. “Otherwise known as Peter was fucking right and we’re all gonna die. Again. Gods! Can we get a fucking break?!” He looked at the ceiling.
“Peter? Peter Hale?” Allison said. “Since when do you know Peter?”
“Since he bit Scott. No, wait. Give me a sec.” Stiles took a deep breath and focused on Lydia. The cracks were big now and he could see spots where the blue had chipped to let her normal green through. He sighed. “Banshee. Nemeton. Mountain Lion,” he said. The blue shattered and Lydia gasped, covering her mouth. “Do not call me that. Ever. Again.” She nodded. Stiles turned to Allison. Her eyes were still covered with solid blue shells. Not even starting to crack. Stiles frowned. “Kate Argent started the Hale House fire.” Allison staggered back like he’d slapped her. Thin white cracks formed. “Also, and I really hate reminding you of this, your mom is dead. Derek bit her and she killed herself rather than live as a werewolf.” The cracks grew. “Oh, and Scott is a werewolf and has been since you met him.” Her shells still didn’t shatter.”
“Mischief, what–” Allison started.
“Stiles,” Lydia corrected sharply. “He stopped going by that name after his mom died.” For some reason, that was what made the blue shatter. Allison blinked rapidly. “Allison?”
“Oh gods,” she breathed. She looked around with wide eyes.
“It’s coming,” Cora said suddenly. “We need to keep moving.”
“It?” Lydia asked, frowning. “Memoria Factorem. Memory Maker?”
“She’s after Stiles, but I’m not sure why,” Allison said. “All she said was Mischief will fail. I will feed.”
Cora grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and aimed him at the other door in the library with a shove. “Less theorizing, more escaping. We don’t even know if we can fight that thing.” The scraping was close enough that Stiles could hear it again.
“Okay. Splitting up,” Stiles said. “That thing’s after me for some reason so I have to move fast. Allison, you and Lydia see if you can get to Peter and find a way to beat this thing. I’ll send packmates your way as I find them.” He glanced at Cora. “Assuming they go.” Derek will be the last one I try to get since I know he’s gonna be the hardest, so I’ll text you when I’m headed to him. Good?” The scraping got louder and Lydia looked at the door they’d entered through in alarm.
“Move!” Cora ordered, but none of them had the chance as the woman floated through the wall into the library, eerie eyes fixed on Stiles.
“You will fail,” she said.
“I heard you the first time, lady!” Stiles snapped.
“Ears!” Lydia warned. She gave them half a second before she screamed. The world shook. All of them staggered in pain before Lydia stopped. Stiles hit the floor. Memoria flickered several times, but solidified before anyone else could recover. She flung one of her chains at Stiles and it wrapped around his wrist. It burned. She whipped the other chain around his other wrist. Then she started dragging him toward her.
“I will feed,” she declared.
“Stiles!” Cora grabbed him around the waist and dug her feet in. Allison fired her crossbow at Memoria pointlessly while Lydia helped Stiles frantically pull at the chains around his wrists. Being the rope in a game of tug-of-war between a werewolf and an ancient Greek memory monster is never a good idea. And Stiles, despite his best efforts, still fell on his ass when he and Lydia managed to get the chains off.
“Run!” Stiles said, scrambling to his feet. All four of them bolted out of the library. “Cora, get us to Boyd!” Cora nodded and sprinted ahead of them. She led them through the halls to the chemistry classroom. They were all panting, trying to catch their breaths.
“Lydia, do not scream again,” Allison said weakly.
“Connected dreamscape. Banshee screams shatter it temporarily but it also hurts everyone in the dreamscape. Good to know,” Stiles mumbled.
“Why the hell is she so focused on Stiles?” Cora demanded.
“First one to remember?” he suggested.
“We’re staying with you,” Lydia said. “If we stay together, we have a better chance of keeping her away.”
“I’m fine.” Stiles shook his head and looked into the classroom. He put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself, holding back a hiss of pain from his new burns.
“Oh my gods! Your hands!” Allison exclaimed. She grabbed his hands and held them in front of her palm up. There were bright red burns all over them. Lydia looked alarmed and snatched one of his hands from Allison. Lydia shoved his sleeve up to reveal even worse burns wrapping his wrists.
Stiles jerked his hands away from them. “I’m fine,” he snapped. He pulled his sleeves down.
“You have second degree burns,” Lydia said. She looked at her own, pale hands. “Why did the chains burn you and not me?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna grab Boyd. Will you either go find Peter or at least call him and update him while I retraumatize Boyd?” Stiles huffed. He pushed into the room and Cora followed him in. The teacher looked at them oddly. “Um, the office sent us to get Vernon Boyd? His mom’s in the office.” Cora gave Stiles a look. He shrugged.
The teacher just sighed. “Very well. Boyd.” They waved their hand at the door. Boyd looked doubtful and there were already large cracks in the shells over his eyes. Stiles forced himself to grin and held the door open for Boyd. Cora shoved Stiles into the hall before she let the door close behind them. Lydia and Allison were standing a little ways down the hall whispering into Lydia’s phone. Boyd crossed his arms and glared at Stiles.
“What did you do?” Boyd asked.
“Got chased by an ancient memory demon thing,” Stiles said flatly.
“Not a demon!” Lydia called over her shoulder.
“Spirit! Creature! Whatever! She’s mean and powerful and trying to kill us!” Stiles yelled back. Boyd glanced over his shoulder at the classroom like he wanted to escape.
“Stilinski,” Cora huffed. “Focus.”
“I’m focused. I also don’t care enough about getting the memory-lady-who’s-trying-to-kill-us’s name right.” Stiles crossed his arms, wincing when that irritated his burns.
“Can’t they hear you?” Boyd asked, pointing to the classroom. Stiles leaned around Boyd to look through the window at the students who were all still staring blankly at the teacher who had resumed droning on. “You’re yelling and they haven’t even noticed.”
“Of course not,” Stiles said after considering it for a second. “If they acknowledged my yelling, then they would also have to acknowledge why I’m yelling and that would require acknowledging that this whole reality isn’t real.” The cracks in Boyd’s eyes grew.
“She’s coming,” Cora said suddenly. “We need to go.”
“All right. Who’s closer: Erica or Isaac?” Stiles asked.
“What about Scott?” Allison asked with a frown.
“He’s going to take longer to break,” Stiles replied easily. “I figure we kidnap him and break him on the way to get Derek.”
“Isaac. End of the hall,” Cora said, bringing Stiles’s attention back to the task at hand.
“Let’s go.” Stiles sprinted down the hall with a grin.
“Stiles!” Cora snapped, following him.
“Stiles?” Boyd said, just loud enough for him to hear. Stiles ignored Boyd and focused on finding Isaac. He spotted the other boy in the last classroom on the hall. He didn’t wait for Cora before barging in. It was Coach Finstock’s class. He wouldn’t care.
“Sorry Coach!” Stiles said. “Need to steal Isaac.” Stiles went over to Isaac’s desk and tried to tug him out of his seat.
“Bilinski, what the hell?” Finstock said.
“Stiles, she’s here!” Cora yelled from the hallway. Isaac still hadn’t moved.
“Isaac, buddy, we gotta go,” Stiles tried.
“Go where?” Isaac crossed his arms and glared at Stiles, solid blue shells over his eyes.
“Bilinski!” Finstock snapped.
“Okay. We’ll do it here. Your dad. Box freezer. Kanima. Ringing any bells?” Stiles hissed.
“Stiles!” Cora warned. Stiles could hear the scraping of chains again.
Cracks started to form in Isaac’s eyes. “What are you talking about?” he said, but his voice was shaking.
“You were the big guy’s first beta. You’re an asshole and you’re annoying as fuck, but you’re also pack and my friend. So please, come with us before the crazy memory lady gets here.”
Cora came into the room with a growl. “Time to move,” she declared. She grabbed Stiles by the hood and started dragging him out of the room. Isaac followed them, looking dazed. The scraping was louder in the hallway and Memoria was by the chemistry classroom. Boyd was pulling Allison and Lydia with him as he ran away from here.
Once again, Memoria pointed a long finger at Stiles. “You will fail,” she said loudly. The wolves all flinched from the volume. “I will feed.”
“Picked the wrong pack, bitch!” Stiles yelled back. Cora steered them to the stairs. She was almost carrying him up them. When he glanced back, he saw Boyd doing the same for Lydia and Isaac helping Allison. When they got to the second floor, Cora aimed him at a classroom.”
“Erica,” she said.
“Got it. Boyd, come on. Cora, see if you can get Isaac all the way.” Stiles slammed into the classroom and ignored the startled yell from the teacher. Several students also jumped and some even stood up. Including Erica. She had thin cracks in the blue of her shells.
“Mischief?” Erica said, sounding confused.
Stiles let out a growl. The name hurt almost as much as the burns. “No,” he said firmly. “It’s Stiles. And I swear to anything listening that if the Sourwolf calls me that, I’m gonna leave all of you here and find my own way out of this hellscape.”
Erica looked like she was searching for a response to that, but her eyes flicked behind Stiles, to where Boyd had followed him in. The shells shattered. “Boyd,” she breathed. Stiles glanced at Boyd to see that his blue was gone too.
“Great. Wonderful. Beta trio back in business. Let’s go. We still have to fix Scott and Derek and get out of here,” Stiles said tiredly. He walked back out into the hallway where Isaac, Cora, Allison, and Lydia were all waiting. Isaac still had the cracked shells over his eyes and Stiles let out a groan.
“He doesn’t believe me,” Cora said.
“Or me,” Allison added. Lydia just rolled her eyes.
Stiles groaned again. Then he grabbed Isaac by the shoulders and forced them to lock eyes. “Isaac. The scarves. Fuck is with the scarves?” he said as seriously as he could manage. For some reason that Stiles probably would never understand, it worked. Isaac jerked away from Stiles, looking both confused and offended. “Finally. All right. Two to go. Where’s Scott?” He turned to Cora.
“Hang on,” Lydia said. “I talked to Peter.
“Unless there’s a way to kill this thing, it can wait,” Stiles snapped, “I’d rather avoid the lady with the burning chains.”
“Stiles, this is important. We think we know why she’s targeting you.”
Stiles frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’re the only one who can get through to everyone,” Cora huffed, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.” Stiles looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Look around, dumbass. You figured out exactly what to say to get each of us there. Plus Scott and Derek will only believe this kind of thing coming from you. If she gets you, that’s game over.”
“Exactly,” Lydia agreed.
“I’m not the only one,” Stiles started.
Allison cut him off. “Yes, you are.”
“Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We still have to grab Scott and find Derek. Memoria’s reasoning aren’t gonna change how this goes down.”
“Yes, they do,” Lydia growled. “She’s closing in on you. She almost got you. So we need to hurry.”
“This is the opposite of hurrying, Lydia!” Stiles whined.
“Listen, you idiot!” she yelled. “You take the betas to grab Scott. Allison, Cora, and I will find Derek and bring him to you. We’ll all meet at Peter’s apartment.”
“Works for me,” Cora decided.
“No. Wait, hang on! Weren’t you the one against splitting up?” Stiles said. He was ignored and promptly manhandled by Boyd toward the stairs.
“Don’t let him touch her chains!” Allison warned. “They burn him. Don’t know about anyone else because only him and Lydia touched them.”
“Got it! No chains for Batman!” Erica chirped. She and Isaac flanked him as he was carried down the stairs by Boyd, who was holding him like a wet cat. The bell rang as Stiles was set on the ground floor and the hall started filling with students.
“This’ll make it harder to find Scott,” Isaac said.
“Easier to grab him though,” Boyd pointed out.
“I’ve got his scent,” Erica announced. “This way!” She took Stiles’s hand and pulled him after her.
“I could do without all the manhandling,” Stiles grumbled. “I would also like to find Scott. It’s not like I’m gonna run off.”
Suddenly, someone else ripped Stiles away from his beta bodyguards and pulled him to the side of the hall. “Dude,” Scott said. “Where have you been? You’ve missed almost the whole day! Your mom was texting me asking where you were. What the hell is going on?”
“Seriously, I need people to stop with the grabbing of the Stiles!” Stiles shouted. “Derek is one thing, but the rest of you doing it is getting out of hand.” Erica finally pushed her way through the crowd of high schoolers with a growl. She pulled Scott off Stiles and Scott was immediately grabbed by Boyd and Isaac. “Huh. Where’s that teamwork during training?”
“Stiles,” Boyd said flatly.
“Right. Jeep.” Stiles turned toward the front entrance in the slowly clearing hallway and froze when he spotted Memoria. “Oh come on!” She raised her bony finger. “I will fail. You will feed. We know!”
“Cafeteria,” Erica decided. ANd off they went, Erica once more dragging Stiles alone. Scott fought the betas’ grip on him, but, thankfully, with Derek working on strengthening the pack bonds, they had all gotten a bit stronger. And Scott, who refused to participate in any kind of pack thing unless he was attacked, had not. Boyd and Isaac had no problem dragging the struggling teen out through the cafeteria and back around to the front of the building where Stiles had parked. Stiles opened the back and they threw him in.
“Hey!” Scott yelped. “Mischief, what the fuck?”
“Please use teh bat,” Stiles said, slamming the door.
“Can I ask?” Erica said as they went for the front doors.” About the name.”
“My mom’s nickname for me. I switched to Stiles after. And the only one calling me that after was dad. When he was half a bottle deep. You know, until today.” Stiles climbed in the driver's seat and Erica got in the passenger's side.
“Mischief,” Scott started.
“It’s Stiles,” he hissed sharply. He jammed his key and started driving before Memoria could find them. He had until they got to Peter’s to get through to Scott. “All right. So back to basics. Scott, you’re a werewolf. So are Erica and Boyd and Isaac. Which means, you’re stuck there until we get through to you.”
“Mis–”
“Seriously, if you want me to be nice about this, you won’t use that name.” Stiles glared at Scott in the rearview mirror, even though Scott wasn’t where he could see it. He was looking out the back window. Why was he… “Oh. Shit.” Memoria was gliding along the road behind them, chains drifting behind her and finger still pointing at Stiles.
“What is that?” Scott asked quietly.
“Memoria Factorem. She wants to kill us and leave us stuck in this dream world and eat the manufactured memories we made to cope with the changes she made.”
“What?” Isaac asked.
“She’s the bad guy!” Stiles clarified. “Anyway. Ignore her. She’s not gaining on us yet. Scotty. Dude, focus. Need you to listen. Werewolves. Yeah?”
“Werewolves,” Scott said. “How do werewolves relate to the flying memory lady?”
“Bad guy,” Stiles repeated. “Gods. Just listen! You got bit by Peter and turned into a werewolf. Which made it hard when you started trying to date Allison who was from a family of werewolf hunters.”
“Stiles, chains!” Boyd warned. “Move right!”
Stiles swerved and a chain slammed into the pavement next to his jeep. “Fuck,” Stiles muttered.
“Other side incoming!” Isaac yelped. Stiles swerved again and saw the pavement crack, sending debris all over the road.
“Gods fucking damn it. Look. Scott. Pay attention to me. Allison. Breakup at the school because of Peter. Then Gerard and the fucking Kanima threatened Melissa. And you, like the dummy you are, even after so many people fucking died, you decided that ‘no! I don’t want to be in Derek’s pack’. Just because his Uncle, who was crazy at the time, bit you. But then you had to use me and Alli to keep from going omega and now we’re here.
“Here?” Scott whimpered.
“Being chased by a fucking memory creature that you probably let in! Here! You know, our weekly death defying stunt!”
“Go left!” Boyd ordered. Stiles swerved again, narrowly avoiding the chains.
“Damn it, Scott! Open your fucking eyes. You’re a werewolf!” Stiles snapped.
“Right!” Isaac shouted. Stiles swerved. He swung wide around the corner onto Peter’s road.
“Oh my gods. This isn’t real,” Scott breathed.
“She’s using both of them!” Isaac said. Stiles threw the jeep abruptly in pack, letting it screech and slide.
“Out!” he ordered, throwing open his door and the chains wrapped around the jeep’s tires, jerking it to a halt. Stiles tried to roll with his jump to minimize his injuries. It still fucking hurt. Memoria ripped the back tires off his jeep with a screech. She threw the tires with a fling of her chains.
“You will fail!” Her voice was loud enough that it hurt Stiles’s ears. Stiles looked up at her as she swung a chain at him. He flinched on instinct, expecting to feel it wrap around one of his limbs. Isaac let out a yell as he appeared in Stiles’s field of vision. He disappeared a second later as Memoria used the chain that had wrapped around Isaac’s torso to throw him out of the way. “I will feed!” she yelled.
‘Isaac!” Stiles exclaimed. She whipped her other chain at him and it wrapped around his leg with a hiss. He could feel his ankle burning. Then he was being dragged toward her. Memoria looked like she was grinning around her grotesque jaw.
“Stiles!” Erica yelled. She and Boyd each grabbed an arm, trying to pull him away from Memoria. After a moment, Scott was there too, trying to pull the chain off Stiles’s leg. When he glanced up at Stiles, his eyes were brown again. Memoria shrieked and flung her second chain again. It wrapped around Scott and she threw him in the opposite direction of Isaac. Then the second chain wrapped around Stiles’s free leg.
“You will fail!” Memoria screamed. “All of them winced, but Erica and Boyd kept their grip. Not that it was helping much.Stiles may not have been being pulled toward her anymore, but Memoria was still getting closer. It was only a matter of time before she had Stiles. “Mischief will fall to me! I WILL FEED!” Stiles felt the betas’ hold slipping. They’d almost made it, but if Stiles was the only one she killed out right, there was still a chance they could get through to Derek. Stiles pulled his arms free from Erica and Boyd.
“Stiles!” Boyd snapped. But Stiles was already being dragged closer to Memoria. Erica scrambled to grab him. Memoria jerked Stiles out of her reach. Manhandled to the end then.
“Go find Derek!” Stiles ordered, not taking his eyes off Memoria.
“Stiles!” The Sheriff’s voice startled him and he spotted his dad trying to break out of Peter’s hold on him near the entrance to the building. “No! Stiles!”
“You have failed,” Memoria said triumphantly. Then a roar washed over them and the world seemed to shatter. Memoria let out a wordless scream.
And Stiles gasped awake.
Derek didn’t believe Cora. Or Allison. And he didn’t even know Lydia before she stormed into his loft with the other two. But Derek had been missing something the whole day. Everywhere he looked there was a hole that he didn’t know how to fill. The silence of his loft was stifling instead of comforting. The space felt wrong. Empty in a way it should. He kept reaching for his phone, wanting to call someone, but he couldn’t find the right name. So he let them talk.
He still didn’t believe them.
“Memoria Factorem is a rumor that Uncle Peter used to scare us as kids,” Derek said. “Nothing more.”
“Dammit Derek! She’s real! She’s real and she’s got us trapped and she’s hunting Stiles!” Cora yelled.
“Cora,” Lydia soothed, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Stiles,” Derek repeated. He knew that name. That name was important. He could feel his wolf snap to attention. But he didn’t know why. He didn’t know anyone named Stiles.
“Yes. Stiles,” Allison said. “He’s in trouble, and we need you to help him. You don’t have to believe us about anything else, because, once we get to Stiles, he’ll tell you the truth.”
“Derek, either you come with us now or I scream and try and break the dream that way,” Lydia decided. Derek frowned and narrowed his eyes at her. Allison flinched and Cora’s eyes widened in alarm.
Cora flashed her eyes at Derek. “Do not make her scream. Those screams hurt enough when we’re not sharing a dreamscape,” Cora said with a shudder. Derek’s frown deepened.
“Banshee,” Lydia said, gesturing to herself. “Now come on.” She turned on her heel. Cora shoved Derek at the door.
Derek went with the three girls. He may not believe them, but it was his only lead on finding what he was missing. On figuring why Stiles was important. They shoved him in the back of Lydia’s car with Cora. They kept talking as they traveled the familiar route to Peter’s apartment, supposedly trying to jog his memory. Silence fell when they turned onto Peter’s street. There was a mummy looking woman with glowing black chains on her wrists and ankles. The ones on her wrists were wrapped around the legs of a teen with messy brown hair wearing a red hoodie. His arms were being held by a blonde girl and a black boy both wearing leather jackets. Off to the side was another boy with blonde hair, holding his ribs as he staggered towards them.
“Stiles!” Lydia gasped as she slammed on the breaks.
“Mischief will fall to me! I WILL FEED!” The voice was the loudest thing Derek had ever heard. Suddenly, Stiles was being dragged back toward the creature, arms free from the other teens. The girl tried to reach him while the other boy lost his balance. The chains were given a sharp pull to keep him out of her reach. Derek ripped open the car door and ran toward them.
That was Stiles. Derek couldn’t loose him too.
“Derek!” Cora snapped.
“Stiles!” A main in a police uniform cried from the door to Peter’s building. Peter was holding the man back. “No! Stiles!”
“You have failed,” the creature said, with Stiles now just feet away from her.
Derek had to save him. He had to save Stiles.
He did the only thing he could think of.
He planted his feet and roared with all of his might. He was the Alpha and that creature was not getting his mate.
The creature screamed as the world shattered around them.
Derek woke up in the hospital. In the bed next to him, Cora gasped awake. If he stretched his hear, he could hear the rest of their pack all waking up in the rooms around them. Cora looked over at Derek with wide eyes. “Stiles,” she breathed. But Derek was already moving. He ripped the IV out of his arm and all the leads off his chest. He stormed out of the room, heading straight for Stiles. Stiles and the Sheriff were in the same room at the end of the hallway. When Derek made it to the door, he saw Stiles. Stiles looked paler than normal, with bandages wrapped around his wrists and ankles. But his amber eyes were bright when they met Derek’s.
“Good to see you, Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a grin. The Sheriff looked over at Derek and gave him a firm nod. Derek nodded back, but stayed focused on Stiles.
He’d known for months that Stiles was the lynch pin in his pack. That they all worried about the human. And he’d known that his reactions to Stiles being hurt or in danger weren’t strictly platonic. He’d thought that it was just his wolf, latching onto Stiles because Stiles had latched onto his betas. He’d even talked to Peter about it, trying to find out why it happened. Why he cared so much about Stiles. Peter had suggested that he’d chosen a potential mate. Derek had stormed off, convinced it was just his wolf.
The dreamscape had shown him a world without Stiles. One where they’d never met. Where Derek’s family was alive, along with the rest of his pack. Everything he’d lost before was back. But without Stiles, he’d felt hollow. Missing him without knowing what he was missing.
That hadn’t been ‘just his wolf’. The spell had erased the rest of the instincts Alphas had with their packs. Made him a beta again. His wolf couldn’t have latched onto Stiles as a potential mate. He’d never met Stiles. Missing Stiles had been all Derek. Not instincts messing with his head or his wolf making choices without his knowledge. Derek had missed Stiles. Had needed to fill the hole left by the talkative teen in his life.
And now, looking at Stiles with his cocky grin, hearing that annoying nickname, Derek had to admit what he’d been denying. His wolf wasn’t a separate entity making choices on it’s own. They were one and the same. His wolf hadn’t ‘latched on’. He really did see Stiles as a potential mate. Derek had made that choice.
Maybe someday he’d get the courage to tell Stiles that.