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Are you afraid?

Chapter Text

Stiles’ POV

 

Stiles wasn't ashamed to admit that he blacked out sometime during the latter stages of the spell, he was proud in fact, that his already fragile grip on consciousness only slipped as the agony in his body increased to an unbearable level.

 

He held out for as long as he could…

 

He did his best.

 

But nobody came.

 

And that's okay, because as soon as he let go, it all stopped. All the pain and the disappointment, the sadness, and the anger. All of it went away, and something new began growing in its place, something blindingly bright and burning with an intensity to rival a thousand dying suns.

 

Eyes flashing open Stiles inhaled deeply as a soft exclamation of surprise fell from his bloodstained lips “oh”. Distantly, Stiles registered the sound of a voice speaking but the words didn’t sink into his brain, he was too distracted. Did the sky always look that way? He wondered absently whilst stumbling to his feet, his heart thudding in his chest.

 

It was so…beautiful.

 

He wanted to touch it, to soar up and run his fingers through the milky way like a freshwater stream, and watch as the constellations part under his touch.

 

We could if we wanted too.

 

Tilting his head slightly to the side Stiles listened to the soft whispering in his brain, smooth and hypnotic as it crooned sweet nothings into the odd blankness of his mind.

 

We can do anything we want Stiles because we're a Spark, a being of unlimited power. Can you finally feel it? coursing through our veins like liquid gold?

 

Fingers twitching at the words, the teen licked his lips almost subconsciously, the rusted tang of blood bursting across his tongue as he finally realized what the light pulsating inside his chest like a miniature supernova was.

 

His spark.

 

No more skinny, defenseless Stiles, a burden to the Pack, to Scott, to our father….to Derek.

 

He liked the sound of that.

 

Stiles hadn't felt strong in a long, long time.

 

“Stiles?” a soft pained whisper broke through the haze which had swept over him like a tidal wave when the voice spoke. Head snapping around Stiles stared blankly at his dad and Derek, eyes taking in the way his father was crouched defensively over the werewolf in heavy confusion.

 

He hadn't even noticed they were there.

 

Taking a step forward Stiles almost stopped, his senses momentarily blowing up with the sickly smell of blood before he quickly managed to block it out. Something tugged at his gut, like dread but stronger, and Stiles found himself moving without thought, closing the small distance between himself and the injured Alpha. Almost instinctively Stiles’ spark reached out, assessing the damage as the teen cradled the werewolf's face in his hands. The sheer list of broken things in Derek's body wasn’t promising at all, especially not when the Alpha wasn’t healing as he should be.

 

“Sourwolf” Stiles breathed out, a sad frown tugging at his lips. Derek was dying, desperate gurgling breaths as punctured lungs filled rapidly with blood, growing further and further apart until finally, they would stop. His dad was talking to him, but he needed to concentrate, he needed to save Derek, leaning down slowly Stiles moved on instinct and slotted his lips against the werewolf’s focusing on pushing his Spark through into the other man.

 

The kiss was wonderful.

 

It was everything Stiles had hoped kissing Derek would be like, and completely opposite to every single kiss the teen had shared with Nick. Every single thing about Nicholas was like playing with fire, a passionate and all-consuming game that made Stiles yearn for more like some sort of addict crying out for their next fix. But fire was dangerous, it takes and it takes and it takes until there’s nothing left, nothing but ashes and smoke.

 

Derek, in stark contrast, was like the ocean. Deep and mysterious to most, but not Stiles, no, he could see the beauty in the unfathomable blue waters, could appreciate the soothing lull of the waves that in a split second could turn into somebodies watery grave. The ocean was quiet, but it demanded respect in a different way then fire.

 

Feeling his Spark work quickly and thoroughly to knit Derek’s skin, bone and organ tissue back together Stiles finally pulled back, confident that the Alpha would survive. Standing up Stiles almost flinched when the voice returned to his head, the same cloud of confusion falling over him as it did before when he woke up.

 

The voice was meaner this time, vicious like poison in his brain and dredging forth fears from the deepest and darkest corners of his psyche.

 

He’s afraid of us Stiles. Look at him, he’s staring at us like a monster. Staring at us like we’re something dangerous. Disgusting even.

 

We need to leave, we need to run.

 

His dad held out his hand, and he stepped back instinctively. He could feel it, the trepidation trembling just beneath the surface of his father’s facade and shame began to swell inside of his chest.

 

“Mischief?”

 

Unable to handle the crushing weight of his own father’s fear of him and what seemed like a thousand other indescribable emotions that the older man was experiencing at that moment, Stiles reached out for the Spark within and tugged, never flinching as a white light swallowed him whole and he felt himself disappear.

 

~~~~~~

 

When the light left his skin and retreated inwards once again Stiles found himself in an all too familiar apartment. A sinking feeling birthed itself in his stomach and Stiles hugged himself for comfort, why was he back here?

 

The voice answered.

 

Safe here, nobody can follow.

 

Frowning Stiles shook his head, speaking his fears out loud without fully meaning too “what about Nick?”.

 

Dead.

 

Blinking Stiles felt the air catch in his throat in shock, and a pain blossoms across his chest like an ache. He knew it was wrong. Knew that his love for Nick was a twisted mockery of the real thing, and drenched in nothing but manipulation on the Warlock’s part, but it still ached something visceral to hear of his former boyfriend’s death.

 

A tear slipped out and the teen rushed to brush it away, angry with himself for feeling sadness for a person who lied and used magic on him to change his memories, to knock him out and tie him up and drug him. Come to think of it, Nick probably used his magic a lot of other times and Stiles just didn’t realize. Why would he? It’s not like the first thing you think of when you meet a hot guy who’s interested in you is, ‘Could this person be supernatural and using magic on me?’.

 

No, because that’s ridiculous!

 

Rubbing his hands up and down his face Stiles resisted the urge to scream in frustration, he was making excuses up for himself. He should have known someone like Nick wouldn’t want anything to do with him without having a sinister ulterior motive.


He was so STUPID!

 

His spark pulsed angrily and something shattered in the apartment causing the teen the pause and look around in confusion before spotting Nick’s vintage whiskey decanter set in thousands of tiny pieces on its slate tray. Sighing softly the teen collapsed onto the couch and ran a shaky hand through his hair, no wonder his dad was frightened of him, he was unstable, out of control. He was everything he didn’t want to be the moment Deaton told him about his blasted spark!

 

No, we're strong. Everyone else is just jealous.

Jealous of us, of our power.

They want to trap us, make us weak.

 

As the voice spoke something began to bubble to the surface of his skin through his veins, a spiderweb of black that seemed both gas and liquid at the same time the way it shifted and moved with each throb of his pulse. Stiles watched both weary and fascinated as the black essence made its way around his forearm, twisting around his wrist before expanding to cover the back of his hand almost as if it was cradling it.

 

We won’t let them.



Derek’s POV

 

He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Because one moment Stiles was there, caressing him, kissing him.

 

And the next, he was gone.

 

It didn’t matter that his wounds were healed, it didn't matter that Nick was apparently dead, killed by John's own hand.

 

None of it mattered.

 

Because he didn't save Stiles.

 

He didn't keep his promise.

 

John assumed he was in shock, and Derek didn't bother to correct him, just sat there on that damp grass in front of the lake and hated himself. Hated himself for failing once again at being an Alpha and protecting his Pack.

 

“We should get back to the car, son. I don't …. I don't think Stiles is coming back here tonight” the sheriff's hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, the picture of strength in a crisis as if Derek couldn't smell the sheer despair rolling off the older man in waves. Nodding Derek stood up, wincing slightly in disgust as the fabric of his shirt stuck stubbornly against the skin of his abs, glued there by the corpus amounts of blood he'd been leaking only moments ago.

 

He really needed a shower.

 

Both men remained silent as they trekked their way back up the hill and back to where the car was parked, neither in the mood for talking. To Derek's surprise, instead of climbing into the passenger seat John stopped outside of the driver's side and held out his hand “give me the keys, I'll drive”. Furrowing his brow the Alpha opened his mouth to argue only to receive a frighteningly firm look. “You nearly died tonight kid, and I don't know where that falls on your fucked up supernatural scale of trauma but for me, it falls pretty high. High enough that I don't think you're in the right state of mind to be driving. So give me the keys”.

 

Huffing out through his nostrils Derek held back the urge to pout like a scolded child and handed the Sheriff the keys reluctantly before sliding into the passenger side, scowl fixed firmly in place.

 

“It's late, we're best off getting a motel room for the night and then we'll come back tomorrow and have a look around for any clues as to where Stiles might have gone” John reasoned as he turned the key in the ignition and waited for Derek to respond. Clearing his throat Derek uttered his consent as the older man slowly drove them back onto the main road. “Yeah sure. Sounds like a good plan”.

 

The motel they ended up at smelled of mothballs and stale cigarette smoke with the most outdated 80s decor you could ever imagine, but it had a (relatively) clean bed and a (semi) working bathroom so Derek found himself unable to complain. He could afford much better, but right now the last thing on his mind was upgrading the services because all he could hear in his mind were Laura's words of warning.

 

“You and your pack need to stop it, because if you don’t… then you’re all going to lose Stiles , and a lot of innocent people are going to die

 

He’d failed.

 

He’d lost Stiles.

 

And now people were going to die.

 

Tears hidden underneath the lukewarm spray of the showerhead Derek let the blood roll off his skin and swirl down the rusted drain in rivers of light pink as he pretended not to hear the broken sobbing of the Sheriff through the paper thin walls.

Chapter Text

John’s POV

John would be lying if he said he had gotten any sort of restful sleep during that fragile stretch of time between settling down for the night on the creaky motel bed, and the second the sun began to rise in the sky. The same couldn’t be said for Derek of course, not that the older man blamed him at all, healing from near death sounded exhausting and John wished the Alpha to have as much rest as possible before they headed out again.

Glancing at the heavily snoring figure sprawled on the other bed John made sure that Derek was sound asleep before pushing himself up off his own battered mattress as quietly as possible. Still dressed in last night's clothes, albeit now considerably more rumpled, the Sheriff slipped on his shoes and picked up his jacket which lay discarded on an ugly vomit green coloured armchair beside the motel door.

Shrugging on his jacket John contemplated leaving the werewolf a note before deciding against it, he only planned on going to the diner across the road and picking up some breakfast and coffee, it wouldn’t take too long, and by the sounds of it, Derek would be out for the count for at least a few more hours. Content with his decision John unlocked the door, taking the key with him as he stepped outside of the motel room so he could re-lock the door behind him.

He was really craving some bacon right now.

 

----- time skip -----

 

Guilt had crept up by the time John approached the smiling elderly waitress at the dinner and he found himself reluctantly ordering a broccoli and tomato omelette and a black coffee to go instead of the much-desired bacon. Carrying the tray of coffees and two take-out bags back across to the motel the Sheriff froze a few feet away from their room when the door suddenly splintered outwards with force.

John blinked once, then twice.

And then laughed.

Eyes crinkling and tears threatening to leak out of the corners, John stood laughing heartily as Derek Hale steadily grew redder and redder until even the tips of his ears had turned a bright shade of embarrassed scarlet.

Sometimes John found himself forgetting just how much of a kid Derek was, the Alpha having already perfected the art of radiating a sense of deep maturity from every pore. But now, looking at the werewolf as he stood in the doorway eyes wide and cheeks flushed, John couldn’t help but draw comparison to a sheepish child who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Clearing his throat a little as the older Stilinski continued to chuckle good-naturedly, Derek rushed to explain his actions “I woke up and you weren’t there. I panicked”.

Raising a brow the Sheriff continued walking forward an amused tone to his voice as he quipped “I can see that. I’m still not paying for the door though”. Brushing past the Alpha John gave himself a mental pat on the back as he spotted the corner of Derek’s lips twitching upwards in a telltale show of a smile.

Placing the coffees and the brown paper bags on the small wooden table at the far left corner of the room, directly opposite Derek's bed, John waited for the werewolf to join him before pulling out one of the battered wooden chairs and sitting down.

“Didn't know how you liked your coffee so I picked up some sugar and cream” John plucked out his own cup before pushing the tray towards the werewolf who had taken a seat opposite, earning a slight nod of gratitude. Next, John started unpacking the bags, placing a medium sized polystyrene carton in front of himself with a few napkins and a plastic fork before handing three bigger cartons to Derek.

“Got you three servings of Betty's traditional breakfast cause I remembered Stiles telling me how much you and the Pack can eat after training or healing from a fight” the older explained in response to Derek's look of confusion as he poked his fork through his omelette.

“Thank you”

Humming in acknowledgement of Alpha's sincere words, John quickly occupied himself with cutting his meal into smaller bite-sized pieces, the silence stretching out between two men as they both became consumed with the task of eating. About halfway through his omelette and after taking a long sip of bitter lukewarm coffee the Sheriff started speaking once again, drawing Derek’s attention away from the already half-empty second carton of greasy goodness.

“I was thinking we should go back to the lake after breakfast, get a head start on collecting any evidence that might lead us to where Stiles might have gone” his words were steady and controlled, completely conflicting with the way his stomach clenched. Anger and hurt spreading through his veins at the memory of his son staring straight through him, as if he didn’t even recognise him, or even worse, didn’t care that he was there. The image of two swirling orbs of white and black swallowing up the space where warm familiar honey should be imprinted in his mind like a brand.

Truth was, John was terrified.

Terrified that something had gone wrong and that he’d never again see his wife’s eyes reflected back at him from the face of a son he loved so very much.

 

Stiles’ POV

 

Anxiety and turmoil soothed by the sweet murmurings of the voice, Stiles found his heartbeat slowing back down to its normal pace, exhaustion seeping into his bones like a virus. Slumping back against the sinfully soft cushions the teen found himself unconsciously tilting sideways, tucking his legs upwards and curling into a ball as he whispered into the air.

“I’m so tired”

The voice replied wisely.

Our body is still adjusting, it's not used to the power, we just need a little more time.

Nodding in understanding Stiles yawned widely, his jawbone cracking slightly with the force of it as he struggled to remain awake.

We can sleep now. We're safe here.

Humming lightly in response the teen snuggled deeper into the sofa like a sleepy kitten, his eyes sliding shut as a mumble fell past his lips “okay”.

 

????? POV

The teen finally drifted off, consciousness slipping deeper and deeper into the comforting embrace of sleep as their body went lax against the sofa.

Meanwhile, it waited patiently, a minute passed, and then another, and then another until twenty minutes had passed in total. A tedious thing indeed, but they needed to be sure that the Spark was fully asleep before they could take control, even just a flicker of awareness from Stiles would ruin it all.

Finally satisfied that their unknowing vessel would remain asleep they uncurled themselves slowly, black tendrils spreading out towards every muscle, nerve and organ in the body like a fast-acting virus. Inch by inch long forgotten sensations returned to them, and for a split second, they almost slipped up, almost lost their hold all together because of the sheer overwhelming ability to feel again! Feel the fabric pressed against their cheek, the air filling their lungs and the lingering taste of blood on their tongue. Eyes blinking open they grinned triumphantly at the empty room, elated at their success.

It had finally happened, after all those years of waiting around that demon Nicholas, forced to follow in the shadows like some pathetic little creature. Made to wait until the perfect opportunity arose, an opportunity to go back, to live again, to get revenge.

Such a shame the slimy piece of dog shit had to snuff it right before they could inflict any of the payback he so rightly deserved. But then again….. This body they had taken refuge in had the same satanic powers as the Warlock didn’t they? ...Perhaps there was still a chance to get the retribution they had so desperately craved for so long. Unfamiliar sounding laughter bubbled out between parted lips and began to fill the air with the echoes of their glee.

Yes.

This would all work out perfectly.

Chapter Text

????? POV

 

Sitting upwards slowly, they gave their new toes a little wiggle and their new neck a crack as they tried to get used to having a body again, so many limbs, so many muscles. Being a formless mass of energy was certainly much easier. But then again, having a body had its advantages….

 

Eyes snapping towards the kitchen they grinned before leaping up to their feet, swaying only slightly as they assimilated to the sudden shift in position before setting off, one step steadily in front of the other. The muscle memory of walking was rapidly coming back to them, it helped of course that the teenager had such a similar stature and build to themselves when they were alive, it was almost like slipping into a well-worn pair of breeches.

 

Bounding excitedly up to the kitchen island they plucked a particularly juicy looking red apple out of a crystal fruit bowl and bit into it with vigour, sweet juices spilling past their lips to dribble down their chin as they hummed in sheer delight.

 

They had forgotten how good food tasted!

 

Wiping absently at their now sticky chin they grabbed another apple and placed it into the pocket of their hoodie for later, after all, 258 years of being dead made a person very very hungry. Hell, maybe they’d even try one of those modern food establishments, a Taco Bell! Or Wendy’s!! From what they observed they were quite popular with the American populace. Storing this little idea away for a later they headed towards the bedroom intent on searching for anything which could help them with their goal.

 

Bringing Nicholas back to life.



Stiles’ POV

 

Music was playing. Soft, and classical, with sweet notes plucked expertly from violin strings combining beautifully with a melodious sound of a piano. Hundreds of wax candles twinkled like little stars, their glow held up by ornate sconces fixed along the pillars separating each arch in the ballroom's towering walls. On one side the arches housed paintings and statues of all kinds, and on the other, they held large windows overseeing the grounds. Spaced evenly across a rich hand painted ceiling hung two magnificent crystal and gold chandeliers, with even more candles held within their opulent grasp. Bodies danced underneath the heavenly light, feet sweeping across smooth stone flooring with practised ease as silks and velvet material of all shapes and colours twirled and twisted whilst dozens of men and women stepped and turned just out of each other's grasp.

 

It was a truly breathtaking sight.

 

But they had only one thing on their mind, or one person so to say. Gaze sweeping desperately across the expanse of the ballroom, they expertly avoided the stares of the various young women lining the sides, perfect faces and pretty dresses hoping to catch their attention, an endeavour which proved futile. They were almost ready to give up their search when suddenly, a flash of deep crimson fabric embroidered in the most delicate of golden threads caught their eye, and their heart began to beat fast, stomach fluttering in anticipation.

 

They only knew one man who would be bold enough to wear such a grand colour.

 

Like a puppet on a string, they began to weave through the crowd, mumbling quiet apologies as they rushed to catch up with the rapidly disappearing figure, pausing only once as they lost sight for a brief heart-stopping second. A second which seemed to last a lifetime until the movement of red caught their eye once again, a figure slipping through a large wooden door back into the mansion’s sprawling hallways. Following obediently they strode down the familiar layout of their childhood home, white leather dress shoes slapping against the polished surface. Servants flittered to a fro, kept busy from the large event occurring within the ballroom, an event they really shouldn't be staying from….

 

Selfishly pushing that niggling voice aside they followed their heart, blazing a determined trail down the grand staircase the royal purple silk fabric of their lavishly tailored justaucorps trailing behind dramatically. Biting their lip they swallowed back a smile as they realised where they were being led.

 

Into the garden.

 

Following the cobblestoned path down into the twisting green hedges they travelled deeper and deeper into the maze, the lanterns hanging on wrought iron poles lighting the way as the stars above hid underneath rolling clouds. It was cold, bitter air stinging their face and fingertips, turning the flesh a sore shade of red, but they paid no mind. Finally, they reached the centre, the light grey gazebo with its domed roof coming into view, a familiar meeting place, and just as they thought, the man they’d been searching for all evening stood at the centre, back facing them. Cautiously stepping forward they spoke up, voice breathless with barely hidden excitement as it travelled through the late winter night.

 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come”

 

The figure turned, finally allowing them the honour of gazing upon the striking blue eyes they had grown to love so much. “Would you find it in your heart to blame me if I hadn’t?” Nicholas asked in reply as they found their feet climbing the stone steps, themselves drawing closer to the other man in a move as natural as breathing. A weak laugh fell from their lips, words of honesty following suit “I fear if it came down to it, I would find my heart incapable of blaming you for anything Nick”. Trailing their fingers along the freezing surface of one of the stone pillars they tried to ignore how their palm tingled with the urge to take Nick’s hand in theirs.

 

Air from their lips frosted outwards, a silver puff of smoke escaping into the night as they came to a stop in front of the older man, temptingly close, but just out of reach, poetic, and just like the dance back at the ballroom.

 

“Shouldn’t you be inside? Tonight is after all, entirely for you” in an unexpectedly hostile move Nicholas rose a single cold brow in their direction. Swallowing down the intense confusion at their lover’s attitude, they lifted one shoulder upwards and shrugged, speaking with a nonchalant tone “I should think it’s such a big event that even I, the guest of honour, will not be missed for a while”.

 

Nick's expression darkened considerably, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed down upon them like a disapproving parent “and what happens when your father grows weary of your childish games? Surely even you understand that there are only so many balls a young wealthy man such as yourself can leave empty-handed from before certain suspicions are drawn”.

 

Neck and cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being talked down to in such a manner, they felt their eyes grow slightly wet, chest aching with the insinuation that they were not taking their own situation seriously. As if they hadn’t already spent many sleepless nights mourning the inevitable loss of the life they loved, the loss of their freedom. Contrary to the older man’s tone, they weren’t a child ignorant to the injustices of life because of their privileged upbringing, and now, as they approach their 18th year of life, forced to begin courting for the inevitable marriage to a woman they will never truly love, they were even more aware of the unfairness.

 

Blinking back tears, they clenched their hands into two tight fists at their sides as they hissed angrily through clenched teeth, bristling with offence at the accusations in Nick’s words. “Do you honestly think me foolish enough to be blind to my own fate? Because I can assure you, Nicholas, I am more than aware that my time of freedom is growing shorter and shorter each day!”. The evening was not progressing how they intended at all, instead of sweet whispers of love and gentle caresses stolen in the dead of night, they were confronted with this unfamiliar and vicious side of their beloved.

 

And they weren’t sure they liked it.

 

Nicholas seemed even more disappointed at their answer and they couldn’t help the swell of shame that arose in response, it was almost embarrassing how easily the older man could make them feel petulant with a simple look. The feeling of shame only worsened when Nicholas began speaking, a harsh laugh flavouring his tone “forgive me for believing that there was even a small chance that you were merely being naive about this entire thing. I’m afraid the idea of you willingly going along with your father’s grand scheme just struck me as such an absurd notion. Seems I was wrong”.

 

Tilting their chin upwards defiantly they curled their lip in anger as they snapped “I’m afraid not all of us are blessed with a life devoid of any form of responsibility Nicholas! I have a family, I have duties! I cannot simply run off with you and abandon it all because I am unhappy with the idea of doing what is expected of me by taking a wife and settling down”.

 

With that said they turned on their heel and began walking away, stubbornly ignoring the voice calling out to them in fury and desperation.

 

“Henry!! HENRY!! DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM ME! YOU CAN NOT WALK AWAY FROM THIS, FROM WHO YOU ARE!! DO YOU HEAR ME?! YOU’LL NEVER BE HAPPY”

 

The scenery in the dream started to fade, blurring at the edges like an impressionist painting before dripping and melting into black. The ground fell out beneath them and they began to plummet, a scream tearing its way out of their throat.



????? POV

 

Ridiculous, absolutely unbelievable.

 

An entire apartment owned by a 1000 year old Warlock and not ONE fucking book on resurrection, not even a chapter in a book! Gripping their hair in frustration they chewed their lip in a vain attempt to prevent the scream building in their chest from ripping forth.

 

Their time was running short, the early morning sunlight already starting to stream through the windows into the Warlock’s bedroom as the stirrings of Stiles’ conscious rippled across their senses with increasing intensity. Standing up they gave a vicious kick at the open chest in front of them in anger, Nicholas had kept anything of importance in that chest, spellbooks included, if there wasn’t a spellbook on resurrection in there then odds are the Warlock didn’t have one.

 

Instinctively ware that with every passing second Stiles was drawing himself closer to the surface and thus drawing himself closer to discovering his wonderful little Voice wasn’t all that it seemed to be, they headed back to the couch, leaving the mess behind them. Silently fuming over their rotten luck they settled into position and sighed heavily, ready to loosen their grip and let the Spark back into the driver’s seat.

 

And then it hit them.

 

There was still one book they hadn’t looked through, the book Nicholas used on Stiles! If ever there was a book which could hold the answers they needed to resurrect the Warlock then surely that was it! Grinning in excitement at their revelation they began forming a plan, all they had to do was convince the teen to go back to the lakeside and retrieve the book.

 

Simple.



Stiles’ POV

 

Groaning loudly Stiles brought a hand up to his face and scrubbed tiredly at his still closed eyelids as he pushed himself upwards with the other arm. Spine cracking and popping stiffly at the movement the teen finally blinked open his eyes reluctantly.

 

Jesus, he bemoaned to himself mentally. It feels like he never slept at all. Glancing wearily out at the window Stiles sighed tiredly at the beautiful morning sunshine before deciding to get up and take a shower. Knees cracking as he straightened up he let out another groan as he stretched his arms above his head and bent his spine slightly backwards, trying to force out the lingering soreness in his muscles.

 

THUD

 

Blinking in confusion Stiles froze mid-stretch, gaze dropping to the red apple which rolled slowly along the floor beside his feet. Eyebrows scrunched the teen bent down and plucked the fruit up from its position lying on the hardwood with a small “huh”.

 

He didn’t remember putting an apple in his hoodie pocket the night before.

 

Rubbing the ruby flesh with his thumb in deep consideration Stiles shook his head, deciding he was still far too exhausted to contemplate the mysteries of random pieces of food appearing in his clothing. Taking a bite Stiles slowly ate the apple whilst walking around the apartment in an attempt to locate a second bathroom, he really didn’t want to shower in the one attached to Nick’s bedroom, too many memories.

 

All the while, it didn’t even occur to him to question the absence of the Voice in his head.

 

Chapter Text

Hello faithful readers!!!

Basically, I hate where this fic is going. I've written myself into a corner and I have no idea how to write myself out of it. So I'm re-vamping the sequel. Taking it in a different direction :D I'll be taking the fic down in a day or so and re-uploading it with a fresh chapter :D

Thank you for sticking with me!!! and I promise this new take is going to be EPIC