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The Devil In Me

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Stiles grew up knowing something was not right with him. He felt it within his soul, the darkness lurking in the depths of his subconscious. He tried overpowering it, smiling brightly at the world around him, finding joy in his day to day life, and basking in the love his mom and dad showered him with.

Stiles knew he wasn’t normal, and it took a disastrous sixth birthday and a boy with a broken arm for his parents to finally tell him the truth.

Stiles doesn’t really remember the day all that well, doesn’t remember the in-between bits either. All he could recall was the morning, when he woke up energized and vibrating with excitement. He remembered jumping out of bed, racing to his parents’ room to wake them up. It was an amazing day, with Stiles finally a ‘big enough boy’ to help his mom in the kitchen. Scott came over near the end when all the tables were stacked, and Melissa helped put up the final touches to the decorations. His school friends came streaming in, some Stiles didn’t know by name and some he didn’t know at all. It didn’t matter really, they weren’t Stiles’ friends, given he only had one but there was cake and party packs, and everyone was happy.

Until some kid stole Scott’s hot wheels and raced around with it. The parents were too far away but Stiles was nearby. He watched on as Scott ran after the kid, his chest heaving as his small lungs fought to keep up with his body. Stiles remembered yelling for the kid to stop and he remembered how angry and scared he was; at the kid for being so mean and for Scott who Stiles knew couldn’t breathe properly.

Next thing Stiles knew darkness evolved him and silence claimed his world for a moment and when he returned to the present, yelling and screaming and crying bombarded him. His eyes snapped over to the loudest, gaze dropping to the kid who’d had Scott’s toy as he withered in pain, tears soaking his face, arm cradled to his chest. The kid’s parents appeared suddenly, as well as Melissa and Stiles’ mom and dad.

Melissa handed Scott his inhaler, holding him as she rubbed his back and chest.

Stiles’ mom dropped down before him, cupping his face gently between her faces. “Stiles, baby, are you okay? What happened? Who hurt you?”

Stiles, confused at the question, frowned at his mom. “I’m not hurt, Mommy.”

His dad had napkin in his hand which he pressed to his nose. “You’re bleeding, buddy.”

And he was. He didn’t remember falling. He knew he wasn’t hurt because he wasn’t in pain. He felt dizzy though, especially when his dad pulled the tissue back to reveal it soaked with blood. His blood.

He swayed and his mom caught him in her arms. She picked him up, seating him on her hip, turning around to watch as his dad went over to check up on the screaming kid. Marty, Stiles thinks his name was.

“He was being mean, Mommy.” Stiles revealed, knowing he can trust his mom. He was also too weak to think of anything else to say really. “He had Scotty’s toy and he wouldn’t give it back.”

Stiles looked down at the toy that laid discarded and forgotten on the kid’s right side, the hand which had been holding it now too broken to hold anything.

“What?” His mom asked, soft and gentle like always. She turned her head, ducking down and Stiles shifted to meet her eyes. She stared at him for a second. “Mischief, did you see what happened?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, it got all dark and stuff and when it was light again, Marty was on ground.”

His mom said nothing, but her arm tightened around him and her hand cupped his head. Stiles closed his eyes, sinking into the embrace, suddenly sleepy. He closed his eyes and gave in, faintly hearing his mom call to his dad.

 

*

 

“It’s called a Void, baby.” His mom said.

“Like a robot?” Stiles asked, confused.

“No, honey. It’s like an emptiness. It something that is nothing and, my mom’s brother had it too.” His mom sniffed, looking over to his dad who was sitting on the other side of Stiles’ bed.

“Am I gonna die?” He asked, fear quivering his voice. Uncle Klaus was dead so that must mean that Stiles was going to die too if he had what Uncle Klaus had.

“No.” His mom squeezed his tiny hands, her brown eyes all strong and sure and Stiles believed her with all his soul. “But mommy and daddy are going to talk to a lady that can help. You remember Aunty Talia, right?”

Stiles squinted at her but nodded.

“She can help you control it so that you don’t have to feel all cold and dark when you get angry. Does that make sense?”

Stiles nodded, only to pause a beat before he shook his head.

His dad shifted, gaining his attention. Stiles looked over, brown eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. “Kiddo, what mommy and I are trying to say is that this Being inside of you, it will make you do things you don’t wanna do, but Aunty Talia can help you control it so that that can never happen, again.”

Stiles felt his lips tremble, fear claiming his emotions. He tried shoving it down, terrified that the bad thing will use it to control him, again. Arms wrapped around him and warmth chased away the emptiness he’d felt slowly creeping deep within him. He burrowed further into his mom’s and dad’s embrace, wanting them to cloak him completely so that nothing and no one could take him away.

Stiles cried himself to sleep that night. The screams from Monty echoed in his head. It only fell silent when he’d fallen asleep, his face pressed into the curvature of his mom’s neck, little hands reaching back, grasping onto his dad’s shirt, his limps wrapped around them both, holding onto their warmth, knowing they could beat the Void.

 

*

 

He met a boy today.

Derek Hale.

He’s Aunty Talia’s son but he isn’t the oldest. He had a little sister who was just a baby named Cora but three older brothers and a sister.

His older sister was Laura and Stiles liked her a great deal. She let him chase her around and laughed at all his jokes.

James was Derek’s biggest brother. He looked nothing like Derek, but he was quiet like Derek. He would sit around, listen to everyone talk and let Stiles talk on and on without getting annoyed. He even let Stiles tackle him that one time, but he didn’t enjoy playing with little kids, Stiles could tell, so he let James be. Stiles understood the need to be alone. Sometimes, when Scott was too tired to run around, they’d lay on the grass and tried not to talk at all, only speaking when they noticed an awesome shaped cloud in the sky.

Aaron was Derek’s second biggest brother. He liked teasing Derek, Stiles picked up, poking fun at him and Stiles didn’t like that very much. He remembered Aunt Talia telling him to focus on his anger but when he saw Aaron pull at Derek’s ear, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.

He willingly let the darkness take over. He let that cold feeling envelope him from head to toe, knowing he needed to protect Derek. When he came too, he was laying on the couch, covered in a sheen of sweat with a cool cloth draped over his forehead, wet hair clinging his face and his mom’s finger slowly stroking his cheek.

When he had enough energy, Aunty Talia asked him how it happened, and he told her. He was honest and he’d hoped Aunty Talia would stop Aaron from being mean. Only, that wasn’t what happened. His mom explained to him in a shaky voice that the Void had snapped Aaron’s fingers, the ones which had been pulling at Derek’s ears.

“Honey, I know you want to help, but you don’t want to hurt people, right?” His mom asked him, her brown eyes soft and understanding.

Stiles shook his head, his identical brown eyes sweeping the room until they fell on Aaron. He felt pain strike his heart, shame filling him when he saw the way Aaron’s green eyes were locked on the floor, his hand curled against his chest, fingers slowly wiggling.

“I’m sorry, Aaron.”

Aaron looked up and gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay, Stiles.” He looked to his left where Derek stood, his green and grey eyes staring widely at Stiles, his lips parted to reveal crooked teeth. He looked funny, Stiles thought. His ears were big, and his hair was all messy, kinda like Stiles’ but different, ‘cause Stiles’ hair made him look like a baby when he was way older.

Stiles looked over to Aunty Talia. “What now?”

“Now,” She gave him a strong smile, her eyes, brown like dad’s coffee, locking with his. “We work on your control, because we now know your trigger.”

Stiles nodded, shakily. “Okay.” He looked at his mom, waiting for her to nod too only to see her biting her lip, her own warm eyes filled with tears.

 

*

 

It was on a cold day when Aunty Talia allowed him to give him into the darkness, his thin wrists cuffed together, a circle of mountain ashes surrounding him as he sat in the dungeon-like room in the Hale house. His mom and dad had given him kisses and Derek had held his hand as he was led into the room, the hold slipping when Stiles stepped over the mountain ash.

“Okay, Stiles. Mr Deaton is going to say a few words and when you feel Void coming, I want you to follow him out. Just like you practiced.”

Stiles nodded, his hands trembling with fear as he looked around him.

Aunty Talia looked over and gave Mr Deaton a nod. He stepped toward Stiles, giving him an encouraging smile. Stiles looked past him, glancing around him, searching for his mom and dad. His heart race when he couldn’t find them.

He closed his eyes.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Stiles remembered Aunty Talia saying everyone would be upstairs and only her and Mr Deaton and Derek would be here.

For some reason, Stiles trusted Derek more than Laura and James, and having the funny looking boy around made it easier for him somehow. Opening his eyes, Stiles looked around again, his heart calming when his gaze settled on Derek sitting in the dark corner, his own eyes on Stiles, too.

They held their stare as Mr Deaton continued speaking in a funny language. He didn’t understand what the doctor was saying, but he felt the effects of his words.

He felt Void (Everyone called the thing inside him that and Stiles had figured there was no harm in doing the same).

He felt the darkness slowly slither through him; its presence chilling. It felt like ice water was being poured into his blood and Stiles shivered. He clenched his jaw, his teeth jumping against each other as they chattered. Looking over at Derek with scared eyes, the other boy met his stare with a small smile that looked anything but happy.

The iciness crawled its way through his body, climbing higher and higher and only then does Stiles close his eyes, feeling himself follow the thing’s path. His mind froze and his body tensed and then he felt himself relax even though he wasn’t at all relaxed.

His mouth opened and he spoke. “This is interesting.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped opened. He felt nothing for the people in the room.

The voice that had spoken echoed through his head. “I was wondering how long I’d have to be trapped in this pathetic excuse for a human.”

His tongue felt thick, forming words Stiles hardly uttered. His hands lifted and Stiles pushed himself forth, remembering Mr Deaton saying if he wanted to know, he had to been willing to see it for himself. Stiles felt himself walk and gasped when he realized, he was standing behind himself.

Scared, Stiles looked around, head snapping left and right. He saw Derek, Aunty Talia and Mr Deaton but they weren’t looking at him. He looked down at himself, saw his shaved head as he looked around the room. Stiles felt the movement in his own neck, but he knew he didn’t move it.

This was Void. He stumbled back, hitting a wall a few steps later. He looked around and saw nothing behind him. When he pushed, his hands pressed against something that wasn’t there, like an invisible barrier. He briefly wondered if this circle was like Wonder Woman’s jet.

Stiles turned, knowing he was trapped inside, with no choice but to watch as Void looked down at his body, lifting Stiles’ hands, wiggling Stiles’ fingers, pinching Stiles’ arms and legs.

“I must say, I hadn’t expected to be reunited with the Hale bloodline so soon.” Void said. He made Stiles’ eyes look darker than usual, colder and lifeless. It wasn’t like his mom’s eyes. “Hmm, would any of you be so kind as to tell me why I have an audience? Usually, I’m trapped inside this child’s head, listening and talking to him only.”

Aunty Talia’s eyes flashed red for a second. “You’ve been talking to Stiles?”

“Why yes, of course. His descendants are mine. We need to have a ‘strong relationship’ as your people like to call it. I want to get to know the boy, is all. After all, he’s so passionate, and oh the angry...”

“He is nothing like you.” Derek snapped, stalking over to Stiles’ body. Stiles jumped when he felt his throat move as Void burst out laughing. It was a chilling sound.

“No? I know his people. I am his people, now.” Void sneered. “They called upon me thousands of years ago to fight with your people. They were good men, but all good men have a dark side.” He looked over to Mr. Deaton. “You know this, don’t you, Emissary?”

“Are you saying you fight with the Hales?”

“I fight with no one.” Void scoffed, rolled his eyes so hard Stiles felt the pain in his own. “I am merely reminding you of our shared history. This boy, unfortunately for me, is the vessel I am trapped with. I can do nothing, thanks to you fools meddling in my business.”

Aunty Talia looked down at Void and Stiles moved to stand behind his body, wanting to see what Aunty Talia would say. He saw her eyes bleed red, a bright color that had him filling with safety and comfort.

Void chuckled, looking down at their chest. “See, I already feel safe around you. I image he’d do just about anything to protect you.”

Aunty Talia’s upper lip curled. “You will not manipulate the boy.”

“I have done nothing of the sort.”

“Two boys were injured because of you!”

“No, Stiles wished the harm them. I was simply the loaded gun, he was the person behind the trigger.”

Mr Deaton stepped forward. “You will not feed off this boy’s good heart.”

Void tilted his head to the side and Stiles felt himself mimicking the motion. “Chaos has no sides. It simply is. I am Chaos, and no matter the boy’s intention, he will unleash it. Every man in his bloodline does.” Void sighed sadly, but Stiles knew he wasn’t sad or upset. He was nothing. “Dear Klaus Gajos, was not strong enough for me. It pained me, truly, when he passed, leaving me here, trapped in this child.” Stiles felt Void’s disdain toward him, and he frown in confusion. “However, he has the spark.”

Mr Deaton froze, and Aunty Talia snapped her head over to him, her shocked expression betraying her. “Are you sure?” Mr Deaton asked Void.

“Alan.” Aunty Talia said but Mr Deaton ignored her, eyes fixed on Void when he stepped forward once more.

“Oh, yeah. I can feel it within him. I haven’t felt it for centuries, but I know it.” Void looked over to Derek then and the boy’s eyes widened at the sudden attention. “You anchor him. Let’s pray you’ll continue to do so for years to come.”

Then Void snapped his head back and closed his eyes.

Mr Deaton jerked forward. “No! Wait!”

But darkness had already covered Stiles’ vision of everyone. He felt something grip his arm, felt it’s icy, burning touch and before he knew it, he was dragged into a black hole. His lung squeezed with no air to breath, his heart thundered, begging for relief and his head tightened, pain exploding all over him.

It lasted forever and yet it didn’t. Stiles sense a hovering warmth and latched onto it.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt weightless, his body numb. He blinked, saw the blurred-out form of Mr Deaton as he broken the circle with his shoe and then arms caught him just as he dropped to the floor.

“Mom! His nose!” He heard Derek say.

Something warm ran down from his nose, the metallic scent of blood making him nauseous. His head lolled to the side, dropping on something soft and warm.

Something breathed against his ear.

“It’s okay, Stiles. I have you.”

Darkness claimed him.

 

*

 

A few months later, Aunty Talia told him about werewolves and anchors.

He was sworn to secrecy and just like that he had yet another secret to keep from Scott.

 

*

 

Stiles never forgot that experience. He never forgets Void’s voice in his head or the feeling of him in Stiles’ body.

He fought against the darkness with Scott’s help some days, finding joy by playing with his friend.

He fought it when his mom started acting strange. He accidentally broke her wrist when she struck him, hand smacking him in the face, yelling and screaming at him. She called him a Monster that night.

He battled with Void for control when he found himself seated beside his mom’s hospital bed, wanting to be there for her, even though she hated the very sight of him.

He wanted to be there for her. Him, not Void. He held her hand as she took in sharp breaths, looking up at her with wide brown eyes, meeting orbs which mirrored his. Stiles kissed her on the cheek just as the machine made a loud noise, flat-lining as there was no heartbeat to make it jump.

His dad took him to Talia’s house that night. All Stiles can remember was laughing and then crying and then laughing and then crying. Void taunted his dad and Stiles cried for his mom.

They locked him in the dungeon that night but Derek came down hours later, silent and angry, no longer the happy boy Stiles remembered. His eyes were blue, icy and electric, but they weren’t cold. They brightened in intensity when Derek felt something resembling joy and paled when he was sad and quietly.

Derek stayed with him until Stiles had won over Void. They passed out on Derek’s bed, the other boy having gently led Stiles up the stairs to the main floor, by-passing his dad who was knocked out on the couch, up more stairs which lead to the upper floor where Derek’s room was. Neither of them said anything and Derek didn’t flinch when Stiles moved to grab his hand in the dead of night.

 

*

 

Stiles nearly lost control when he heard about Mr McCall. He had forced himself to keep his distance whenever Scott’s dad came to town to visit his friend. However, when Stiles overheard that Mr McCall fell ill shortly after the incident which landed Scott in hospital with a concussion, he felt the familiar blend of anxiety fueled fear, resulting in him reaching out to the one thing he knew would give him an answer, only to discover Void had fallen silent.

He knew why. Talia had explained to him in great detail the capabilities of his Spark. It was powered by belief. If Stiles believed, it would come to be. He spent weeks imaging Mr McCall in pain, headaches and nausea and all the bad things Stiles suffered from when he gets sick.

Stiles never told anyone this harsh truth, feeling the familiar shame and self-hatred which accompanied him like it was another thing invading his body, sharing it his thoughts and emotions as though Stiles was nothing more than a host for the parasite to do with as it pleased. Deaton said no one knew how powerful Stiles’ Spark was and Stiles knew that it must be more powerful than Mr Deaton expected because Mr McCall was in Washington when he became ill.

 

*

 

Stiles remembered the day he heard about the Hale fire.

He’d been sleeping restlessly in his bed when a cold icy voice echoed through his head: Chaos has rained upon the Hales’, Stiles.

He’d shot up from his bed, his body shivering but his heart remained a burning organ, fighting off the full effects of Void’s influence on him.

“Are you going to save them, Stiles? No?” Void’s cruel laugh drifted through his mind like an unwelcome breeze and Stiles scrambled out of the bed, his bare feet touching the flooring, pounding against the hard surface as he raced out his room, and burst into his dad’s.

“Dad! Dad!” He leaped on the bed, onto his dad, shaking him awake.

Blue eyes snapped up and his dad’s attention zoned in on Stiles. Hands grabbed his arms, sky eyes frantic as they took Stiles in with a fierce precision.

“Stiles, what—”

“Derek, dad! It’s Derek! He’s in trouble, you gotta help him. Get up! Get up! Dad, get up! Derek—”

“Stiles, kiddo, stop, what do you mean—”

“Void, said! There’s no time! You have to help them! HELP THEM, DAD! NOW!”

 

But it was too late…

A fire, Dad told him.

Stiles, clad in nothing but his pajamas and sneakers demanded Dad take him to the station, reasoning that Derek and Laura needed him. His dad vehemently denied him this, but Stiles countered it by informing his dad that was too young to be left alone and his dad had no other choice but to oblige.

When they arrived at the station, Stiles jerked himself out from the safety of the seat belt, hopping out the car door without his Dad’s permission. The moment his feet touched ground, Stiles followed the warmth bubbling out from the depths of his heart, trusting it and knowing it would take him to Derek.

And there he was.

Dressing in black jeans, a thick woolen hoodie with a blue thin blanket covering his shoulder. Derek looked up a second later, green and grey eyes red from tears and Stiles bit back a sob as he raced over, closing the distance between them in hurried strides. He heard yelps of surprise from the other deputies, but Stiles didn’t care.

Once in reach, he wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck in a gripping hold. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He kept saying, turning his head into Derek’s bare neck, feeling the other boy do the same.

He felt a sliver of cruel satisfaction course through him and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his arms tightening around Derek, drawing him in to prove that that sick emotion was not his.

Derek lifted his head a bit and whispered into Stiles ear, “Leave!” An animal-like growl bled through his tone and the disgusting emotion vanished.

“I’m sorry, Der. I tried, I did. I was too late.”

Derek’s held him tighter and Stiles fell silent. The words, which he now realised were stupid and meaningless as the day they were uttered to him when his mom was buried: I’m sorry. An apology? For what?

‘I’m sorry’ didn’t bring anyone back. He was too late; he didn’t deserve Derek or Laura’s forgiveness.

A big hand pressed against his back, and slowly began rubbing up and down. “Thanks for coming.”

Stiles nodded.

When Derek ended their hug with a final squeeze and a clearing of the throat, Stiles stepped away and situated himself beside Derek on the bench. All around him, Deputies were wondering around, casting Derek sympathetic looks and Stiles confused ones.

No one knew about Derek and Stiles’ friendship. Scott knew but he didn’t know, which made it often difficult to explain to him why Derek, a boy 5 years older than him hugged Stiles like he was family, and why Stiles naturally sought Derek out through physical contact.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Derek shifted closer, lifting an arm, the thin blue blanket secure in his hand, as though he was spreading a wing and offering Stiles shelter beneath it. Without hesitation, Stiles pressed himself up against Derek’s side, gripping the edge the blanket around him, effectively cocooning them.

“Do you know who did it?”

Derek bowed his head, and the sharp line of his jaw flexed. Stiles stared up at him, his heart trapped in his throat. When Derek nodded, Stiles felt the lump expand and he attempted to swallow around it.

“Does Laura know?”

Once again, Derek paused before shaking his head.

He scanned the room, looking for any sign of Laura, and when he came up clear, Stiles turned back to Derek, whispering and praying the bustling noise of the station drowned them out, “Are you gonna tell her?”

Green and grey eyes lifted, meeting his and Stiles felt his expression crumple at the sight of the pleading countenance. Biting down on his inner cheek, Stiles contemplated what to say. Laura needed to know. He needed to know, but, Derek… He couldn’t betray Derek.

Something cold touched his tummy and Stiles defiantly allowed Void to make his presence known. Stiles knew He wouldn’t do anything, not here, not now. Derek wouldn’t let Void take complete control –

Void.

Suddenly, it struck Stiles that he could no longer head over to Hale house to play with the others. He would never see Derek’s cousin’s, Jessica and Mila. He would never show off for Peter… He would never taste Talia’s hot chocolate, which was as homely as his mom’s honey tea had been. He would never hear James, Derek’s dad, gentle encourage Stiles to allow Void control but showed him that Stiles was in charge.

An arm wrapped around his shoulder and a nose pressed against his hairline as Stiles leaned toward Derek for support.

“Who – who made it?”

Derek exhaled and Stiles smelt the coffee on his breath. “Uncle… Uncle Peter made it but we gotta go to the hospital to figure out how bad the damage is. I don’t know if anyone… No.” Derek shook his head and Stiles lifted his to looked over at his friend as he visibly disagreed with himself. “No, I know. I know… no one could have survived that.”

Unable to say anything, Stiles wrapped his thin arms around Derek. The embrace was awkward, but he didn’t care.

Moments went by with Stiles holding Derek and Derek silently mourning his family. Stiles couldn’t imagine what this must be doing to his wolf. He never got the complete story behind Derek’s blue wolf eyes, but Aunt Talia had implied the meaning behind it during one of her lessons. He knew Derek wasn’t a murder.

He knew it just like he knew his very soul was brighter than anything Void possessed. He never asked, and he might never ask.

Suddenly, a dark thought occurred to him. Stiles shifted in Derek’s arms, lifting his head, his eyes rising to meet Derek. The tips of their noses brushed, and Derek leaned away from him just as Stiles did the same.

Stiles swallowed, cautiously voicing his thoughts. “We could do something about it, if you told me who hurt you.”

Derek tensed up against him and his eyes hardened. “No way in hell.”

“Derek, I can give in—”

“No, Stiles.” Derek hissed at him, glaring. “No, I would never want you to do that. No.”

Stiles pressed his lips together.

A fragment of Void’s hungry presence seeped through Stiles’ mental block, his body shivering at the intrusion.

Derek leaned in, opening his mouth to say something when Stiles heard a voice call his name, “Stiles?”

Both their head snapped up and over to see a barely composed Laura standing a good distance from them. The heat of Derek’s body against his side vanished as Stiles slipped off the bench and ran over to her. She grunted at the impact of his body colliding into hers. She was taller than him, as she’d always been, with Stiles’ head now reaching her chest. The surprise lasted for a second before she curled her arms around him, one around his head to draw him further into the embrace, the other around his body to keep him in place.

He didn’t dare offer her the same request he had Derek. And even if he wanted to, his mind shifted off the topic onto something else when he felt something connect with his Spark. The warmth was an echo of that which only one other person ignited.

Stiles leaned away, head tipping back as he stared up at her green eyes. “Your eyes? They red?”

Her lips, raw from having been gnawed on, pressed together. She said nothing and she didn’t have to.

The knowledge of her eyes cemented what he already knew but prayed it not to be true.

His eyes burned and Stiles felt an echo of darkness as it hovered over his mind. No! No! You are not taking this away from me! Leave! Leave!

He felt Void press against his barrier and Stiles buried his face in Laura’s chest.

I want to help. I can help, he wanted to say.

“No, Stiles… We can help. You know, we can. It would not be cruel. You know it. I know it. Darkness such as this can only be enveloped by another form of darkness. We are the Darkness, Stiles.” Void broke through, whispering sinisterly into his consciousness.

You destroy. I don’t. We are not Darkness. There is no “We”!

Void shook his shoulders and Stiles pressed his lips together firmly to smother the smile Void attempt to split across his lips – their – No! His!

“Give in, Stiles. Denial is a dangerous game.”

The arms holding Laura dropped and Stiles stepped away from her. He blinked rapidly, praying Void hadn’t made him appear cold and unforgiving. Hesitantly, he looked up and met Laura’s concerned stare. A moment passed between the two and then she sighed, her hands dropping on his shoulder, forcible turning him, steering him toward Derek.

Derek, with eyes now clear, stood up, all trace of past tears removed. The slump of his entire body however revealed his pain. The last remaining Hale’s (No! Peter made it, remember), shared a look over Stiles’ head before Derek too turned and together the three of them entered his dad’s office.

His dad was slumped over his desk with his hands planted on the wooden surface and his shoulders hunched up, head bowed and shielded between them.

At the sound of his door opening, Stiles heard his dad sniff before he turned. His newly composed expression crumpled at the sight of the Hale’s and without prompt, his dad hurried over and wrapped his arms around them both, Stiles moving out the way just in time, so he wasn’t squished between them.

“I’m so sorry, kids. We’ll find out who did this. Hunters or not, we’ll get them.”

Stiles frowned, hearing the truth in his dad’s voice but knowing he night never be able to keep his promise. The tips of Derek’s spiked up black hair lowered as he pressed his head into dad’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Uncle John.” Laura muttered wetly.

When they pulled away, his dad looked down at him, and Stiles saw the sorrow and the plea for forgiveness for not listening sooner. Stiles said nothing, nor did he do anything in response.

Looking back up, Dad said. “You kids need a lift to the hospital?”

Derek and Laura shared a look, “We can’t. We have to find a place—”

“That’s taken care of. You’re gonna be bunking in Stiles’ room, he can sleep with me.”

Stiles crinkled his nose at the thought of sharing a bed with his dad.

Dad caught the expression and gave him a stern look, silently expression his resolve on the subject.

Derek and Laura visible slumped as though a giant weight had been removed from their shoulders and Stiles felt like a jerk for even having a problem with it.

“Thanks, Sheriff.” Derek mumbled.

“Thanks, Uncle John.”

With a broken smile, Dad said. “You ready to head back?”

They left the station together, Dad appointing someone in charge for the time being. Everyone understood, as did Stiles, Laura and Derek when Dad had to leave two hours later.

It was Stiles who snuck into the room three hours after they had all gone to bed to find Derek and Laura sitting up on his bed, their arms around each other, their heads leaning against the other’s. Stiles came to a freezing halt at the sight, mentally chiding himself for encroaching upon their moment.

Red eyes and blue eyes flashed, the darkness illuminating the iris’s further.

“Sorry—”

“Get in here, Stiles.” Laura sniffed.

In the blink of an eye, Stiles found himself between them both, holding each of their hand in his, his palm curled around Laura’s and his fingers laced with Derek’s. He closed his eyes, his heart sighing in relief when he found Void nowhere near them. Slowly, he channeled his connection with the Hale Pack, finding remnants and echoes of those that were lost still lingering on and gently he pushed it out, imagining it blanketing Laura and Derek’s grief.

Both of them gasped and Stiles gripped their hands tighter.

“Stiles…”

“Stiles, what are you…”

He couldn’t really explain, because he didn’t know himself. All he knew was that the dead never remained dead, not truly. They lived on, their essence or soul reverberating through the earth in echoes. Stiles still felt his mother to this day, only not as strongly as he once had. She lived on through him and through the world and the moment’s she’d had and had been a part of. In that manner, Stiles wanted to show that the Hale’s were not gone. Though Derek and Laura may never see them again, he needed them to know they would never be forgotten.

“Oh, Stiles…” Laura sobbed, her head falling onto of his.

He never released his grip on their hands. He held on as Laura fell asleep, curling up toward Stiles, their legs tangled together. Derek faced him too, but he was not asleep. Instead, he blinked slowly at Stiles, drowsy but unwilling to give in, their heads touching.

In the dead of night, Derek whispered. “I think we’re gonna leave Beacon Hills.”

Tears burned his eyes and Stiles allowed them to run his cheeks. He sniffled and said nothing.

What was there to say?

Nothing.

“We are alone, once again, Stiles.” Void whispered to him later that night.

Stiles gritted his teeth and found he could not fight against the proclamation, for it was true.

 

*

 

They said their goodbyes.

It was heart wrenching and soul crushing.

Derek was the last to draw him into a hug. “Look after yourself.”

Stiles nodded, blinking past the tears.

Clearing his throat, Derek drew away, his hand vanishing inside his pocket only to pull out a moment later, producing a piece of wood. Staring down at the foreign object, Stiles saw the Triskelion engraved on it, the Hale Pack symbol. He knew because he’d spent a whole day perfecting its shape by drawing it over and over at age 6, with future plans to transfer it onto his skin as a tattoo, like his mom’s butterfly tattoo on the base of her neck.

Derek reached out, offering it to Stiles who took it, touching it with great care, discovering that it wasn’t wood at all but a metal; bronze.

“What is it?”

“It’s a medallion. It’s been in my family for generations. It’s supposed to help us with control.” Derek spoke gently and softly. Stiles looked up, brown eyes wide and apprehensive. “Mom used it on Laura, and later on me but I didn’t really need it because—“ Derek cut himself off.

“Because what?” Stiles question.

Derek shook his head. “Nothing. The point is, its used to help us with control. Mom said we had to repeat three phrases,” He reached out, forefinger tracing the curvatures, continuing, “Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

“Why?” Stiles asked softly.

Derek’s large hand enclosed around his, curling Stiles’ fingers around the medallion, and subsequently inside Derek’s hold as well. “To show that power is not fixed. You have the power to decide how powerful you can be.”

Stiles swallowed, hearing the message and the unsaid words.

“You keep it. Show that son a bitch who’s boss, okay?” Derek asked, his tone pleading.

Stiles nodded firmly.

A small smile tugged up Derek’s lips, though it didn’t remain there. With a heavy sigh, the other boy reached over, cupping the back of Stiles head to draw him into a hug, pressing their cheeks together like they did when they were kid and Stiles was fighting Void with everything in him.

“I’m gonna miss you, Stiles.”

Stiles allowed more tears to fall, closing his eyes as he brought the medallion, now curled in his too small fist toward his chest, holding it close. This was his connection to the Hales’, proof that they existed.

“Me too, Der.”

Then they were gone.

With his world slowly closing in, chest tightening and squeezing, Stiles allowed Void control, passing out in father’s arms the second the Derek and Laura’s car was out of sight.

He knew Void wouldn’t do anything. There was nothing more to destroy. Stiles just couldn’t handle the destruction which laid at his feet.

First his mom.

Now the Hales.

In that moment, Stiles knew, though he hated the knowledge the second he accepted it, he knew that if push comes to shove, Stiles would protect those he loved, just to stop them from leaving him. He would fight to protect them from this world, even if it meant allowing Chaos, allowing Void to be released upon this world.

“Very good, Stiles.” Void chuckled darkly and Stiles felt his lips move, uttering those very words.

To who, he didn’t know.

He just knew Void had the wheel. Not for forever, just for now.

Good?

No.

But necessary.

Chapter Text

Void remained dormant if Stiles avoided any situations which could trigger him.

His dad lost himself in his work and later a bottle. Stiles held back, muttering “Alpha, Beta, Omega” whenever he had to deal with it. He moved in with Melissa for a short while, just to get away, feeling Void quake beneath his skin, the darkness icy as it teasingly touched him, poking at his Spark, feeding off it.

Stiles never heard from Derek, again. But he kept in touch with Laura.

He visited Peter as often as he could. He tried to heal him, pull him out from his coma, but he couldn’t.

After a month of failure, Stiles, fed up, went over to Deaton, Scott’s boss, demanding an explanation as to why his Spark wasn’t working, only to have the man tell him cryptically, that the Spark was not a wishing tool, it was a source of energy. Stiles had called bullshit, recalling Deaton saying the Spark acted on his will, but Deaton shrugged, apologetically telling Stiles he didn’t know much about the Spark, but that Stiles had to trust it.

Stiles and Void battled every day, every hour, every minute and every second.

On days where he felt too drained to get out of his bed, he stayed away from school, and allowed Scott to visit him only for an hour before his Dad – per Stiles’ request – gently reminded Scott that Stiles was sick and needed to rest, that he could come back tomorrow.

Sick… Yeah, he was sick. But there was no cure for what he had and he feared this curse would soon poison everyone he touched.

He thought he had it under control.

And then Scott, on his way home from work one chilly night, got bitten.

And Stiles’ two lives collided.

 

*

 

“Scott, listen to me! I am not lying! You have to trust me!”

“Lycanthropy? Stiles, you’re insane! You can’t seriously---”

“I do, because it’s the truth! Let me take you to my dad, alright. He’ll tell you.”

“Your dad?”

“Yes! You need to know, Scott.”

“Know what?”

Stiles paused.

“Everything.” He whispered and Void laughingly echoes the sentiment.

Scott looked at him, eyes wide with disbelief and Stiles saw the fear in them. Then, his best friend sighed. “Okay.”

 

*

 

Stiles didn’t see Scott for two days.

Until his best friend showed up at his house exactly an hour after school let out, eyes distrustful and swimming with fear. “Can you tell me more?”

Stiles let him in, completely.

 

*

 

They were coming from school, heading to Stiles’ house. Scott spent the whole drive gushing and waxing poetry about the new girl, Allison Argent. He even sighed her name, twice. But his love-struck train of thought came to screeching halt when Scott abruptly cut himself off.

“Dude, check it, there’s a cool car outside your house.”

Void vibrated in delight, and Stiles tensed up, his hands curling around the steering, his knuckles bloodless white. The car stood there, parked behind his dad’s work car, smooth and carefully situated against the side curb, windows now tinted, gleaming black in the afternoon sun, the body of the car reflecting a distorted view of its surroundings. Stiles parked his Jeep just behind it, a small part of him tempted to ram right into the rear.

“Do it. He deserves that at least.”

“Shut up, Void.” He accidentally forced out aloud.

The creaking of his car door opening stopped and Stiles, with his mind frozen in fear of rejection, turned numbly to look at a wide eyed Scott. His friend had been nothing but accepting of Stiles and his “condition”. He understood, to some degree what Void was, but even though he knew of Void’s presence and unavoidable influence on Stiles’ daily life, Stiles still held back.

He hardly interacted with Void out loud, having back and forth conversation mostly in his head, but often-times, he slipped up and his thoughts became vocal, which left him with a narrow eyed, gaping Scott and a glaring Dad.

“What did he say?” Scott cleared his throat, exiting the car as casually as he could.

Stiles appreciated the effort. He knew, had Scott not been a supernatural creature himself, he would not be this accepting of Stiles and Void. Whether he meant to or not, he would have shunned Stiles, marginalizing him and slowly and surely shuffled Stiles out of his life.

It sucked, but it was true.

“Nothing important.” Stiles gritted out.

“You wound me, Stiles.”

With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Stiles marched up to his front door, opening it for Scott to walk in, wondering if he would sense the presence of another. Sure enough, his best friend tensed up moments after stepping over the threshold, brown eyes wide as they snapped over to lock with Stiles.

Casting him a reassuring grin, Stiles gripped his shoulder and tugged him along. “Dad, we’re home.”

“Stiles?” A cautious voice called out.

His heart hammered on in his rib cage and Stiles mentally hissed out to Void: ‘control it!’ He felt Void’s hesitation to follow his order, but a moment later, his frantic heart was beating calmly. His hand on Scott’s shoulder slipped as they entered the living room, and there he was.

Sitting on the couch, body turned to face his dad where he sat in his armchair. He looked the same, only older. His ears were no longer big, his skin was no longer littered with a random pimple, his eyebrows were still as thick and wild as the last time Stiles saw him, though.

He still wore a too big leather jacket, his hair looked less ‘purposefully-bad ass’ and more natural, and his eyes were still the same pale grey-green.

Derek stood up from the couch the moment Stiles stepped further into the room, meeting the heavy stare before nodding in greeting. “Stiles… It’s good to see you.”

Holding back the anger Void egged on, Stiles returned the nod. “Same.” His eyes flickered past and over Derek, onto his dad who watched the exchange with sad blue eyes. “We’ll be in my room.”

His pulled at Scott’s jacket, his friend stumbling at the force as they headed for the stairs, Stiles stomping up every step and his heartbeat as calm as ever. Entering his room, Stiles tossed his bag on the floor at the foot of his bed, closing his eyes and muttering a small incantation. Warmth burst forth, his fingertips tingling and his nerves crackling as Stiles sealing his room.

“Who was that?” Scott asked the second Stiles opened his eyes, happy to no longer be feeling dizzy.

Purposeful and not truly emotionally driven ‘wants’ drained him more than his others. Deaton had explained it in a very complicated manner, stating ‘your Spark is activated by your belief, and a battle of wills between yourself is harder to win’. Basically, his Spark would easily give him what he desperately wanted, or needed, but fought him on what he demanded.

Like putting a soundproof barrier around his room so Derek, who he knew was listening in, could not hear a word he and Scott spoke.

Lowering himself onto his bed, Stiles answered. “Derek Hale.”

Scott, who found himself a place at Stiles’ desk, spin his swivel chair to face him. “Hale? As in the kid you used to hang out with? The kid I replaced? ”

“Yep.” Stiles popped his lips. “And you didn’t replace him. You both are housed in different compartments in the cavity that is my heart.” His deadpanned in a mock robotic voice. “His compartment has definitely shrunk in size, though.”

“Didn’t his family all—”

Dark eyes flashed up and Scott fell silent, his teeth clinking together at the force of his jaw slamming shut.

Regret flooded him and Stiles cursed, “fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Scott shifted in the chair. “It’s okay. I was being insensitive.”

Ah, the wonders of personal growth.

Falling back, Stiles sunk into his rumpled bed sheets, running a hand over his buzz cut. He remembered the day he decided to shave off all his hair. It had been on the Anniversary of his mom’s death and Void had taken over for a brief moment during Stiles’ many panic attacks. The residual effects of the small act left Stiles unfeeling, numb and careless. He shrugged when his dad asked him how he was feeling, if he was ‘Stiles’ or ‘Void’, and later that night, he point-blank told his dad to drink himself to death if he wanted to, he would be okay.

When the coldness faded and disgust for himself made itself known, Stiles had asked his dad to help him ‘get clean’. They had drawn him a bath, and his dad had left him there to soak in some herbs Deaton had given, popping in only to pull Stiles out of the water when he’d remained under it for too long. The last thing he did that night was shave his hair.

It became therapeutic.

“You never did tell me why you hated him so much.”

Stiles scoffed. “I don’t hate him. Hating him requires me feeling something for him. Which I don’t.”

Scott gave him a look. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pressed his lips together, wondering if he should tell Scott the real reason why he felt the way he did toward Derek, a boy who’d once meant so much to him. A boy, who—

Just then, a thought occurred to him and the next second Stiles had his bedroom door ripped open, his spell shattering although he didn’t’ really care. He raced down the stairs, his panting as he spun the corner, eyes wide and fearful.

“Why are you here, alone? Where’s Laura?”

Grey-green eyes looked up, dark brows crinkled together, and Derek pressed his lips together.

His dad stood up from the armchair, “Stiles…”

“No.” He whispered, his body tensing up, his hands curling in fists as cold numbness slithering up and all around him, excited at the new change in emotions. “No, that can’t be… Tell me it’s not true!”

His dad’s blue eyes widened, his hand moving to his side holster. “Stiles, remain in control.”

But Stiles wasn’t paying attention to his dad, his eyes once warm turned a darker, icier shade. “Tell me, where she is, Derek.”

Void pushed at him, trying to gain full control.

Derek swallowed, his flashing blue as they danced from father to son. He seemed to have made a decision, “She died. A couple of days ago.”

His voice, the one who answered next, was his own but also not. “Where?”

“Stiles, enough.” His dad said.

Derek remained silent.

“I asked you a question, Derek. Where did Laura died?”

“Stiles.” Was that Scott?

“Void, stay out of this!” His dad demanded.

But it wasn’t Void who was in control, it was Stiles. He took a step forward. “Tell me who did it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s the truth.” Derek shot back, glaring up at Stiles from where he remained seated. “I don’t know who did it. All I know that it wasn’t a hunter. It’s why I came to your dad.”

It wasn’t a hunter… Meaning there was no way the sheriff’s department could get involved, meaning there might be no connection to the Hale fire. Stiles ran his eyes over Derek, taking him, his Spark simmering under his skin, revived in the presence of Derek. Stiles opened his clenched right fist, his limb becoming numb as Void claimed it as his own.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know.” They spoke.

“The hell he is.” His dad interject.

Derek glared at him, his pale eyes flashing icy blue as they dropped to Stiles’ hands. “This isn’t your business, Stiles.”

Stiles… Not Void. Derek knew, somehow that it was Stiles who was in control. His right hand slowly gained feeling and his Spark flash on within him.

“This is Pack Business, right? I’m Pack, therefore it’s my business.”

“Are you?” Pale eyes shifted over his shoulder. He felt Scott move behind him, taking a step toward Stiles. Derek’s stare hardened.

Stiles blinked and Derek flew back, body colliding with the cushions of the couch, face screwed up in face, teeth gritting together. He distantly heard Scott yell his name and his dad calling out to Derek, but his attention was focused on Derek, and Derek alone.

A part of him wanted to make Derek feel what he feels, make him understand, but another part of him reminded himself of what happened the last time Stiles had trusted Derek to care about his feelings. It had ended with him, passed out on his bed, shivering as his Spark called out for a connection Derek had long since cut.

“Stiles, stop it. Now.” His dad ordered.

Stiles swallowed, his heart aching at the sight of Derek panting in pain on the couch. He clenched his hands into fists, blunt nails digging painfully into the palms. Something warm touched his shoulder, giving him a small tug and Stiles willingly followed.

“Let’s go back upstairs.” Scott suggested.

Stiles turned and followed after him, risking a final glance over his shoulder to see his dad holding Derek by the shoulder, guiding him up, asking him if he was okay. Derek nodded, his face still pinched in pain. Unable to take the sight, Stiles turned away in shame.

 

*

 

His control was slipping.

Fear and anxiety accelerated his heartbeat and he felt the unwanted delight course through him as Void fed on those emotions. He felt his grasp on his identity slip when Scott revealed Derek had died, blacking out for a second only to come to with Jackson stumbling back, hand cupped over a bloody nose and Scott roughly tugging him back.

Stiles had to turn around, body tensing in an effort to mask the laughter would bubble on within him, his lips spreading into a smile that wasn’t his own.

“Let me out, Stiles.” Void hissed at him.

“Dad!” Stiles screamed, his throat burning with horror. In his hand was the Hale medallion, clutching in his grasp. He vaguely heard his dad’s bedroom door slam open, his own bursting open an instant later.

Terrified blue eyes locked with his and warm hands cupped his face. “Stiles? Stiles, come back. What is it, son? Tell me, what’s wrong.”

“Let me out, Stiles.”

His chest heaved as a sob tore through him. Stiles grappled with his mind, forcing out the words, Void tried to hold in. “He’s angry. He’s angry. I don’t want – Don’t make me leave here.” He was babble, words such as “out” and “stop” spilling out but Stiles had no idea what he was saying.

“Okay, okay.” Hands guided him back, blue eyes remaining forever in his sight. His dad pressed the Triskelion disk against his chest. “Say with me, Stiles, come on: Alpha, Beta, Omega. Say it. Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alpha, Beta, Omega…”

He repeated the mantra over and over. He gripped onto the disk, kept his eyes and Spark locked and focus on his dad, lips moving, forcing out words that were his own. His could feel Void battling for control, thirsty for the madness and pandemonium of Beacon Hills.

Stiles didn’t know how long his dad remained by his side. It felt like hours and years all accumulated into this chasm of darkness.

He passed out to the sound of his dad’s voice repeating the words, “Alpha. Beta. Omega.”

He shivered as his Spark fought to remain in control, his will a hurricane storm, leaving Stiles lost in the raging tempest.

 

*

 

Derek was alive.

As was Peter Hale.

 

*

 

“Explain this to me!” Stiles demanded, storming through the clinic, following Deaton as he calmly walking further into the room. The doctor pulled out a large book and handed it over to Stiles.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Deaton’s cool brown eyes locked with his. “I can’t give you the answer you want, Stiles. I am an Emissary; I can’t knowingly interfere in this. But I can offer you the materials you need to make an effective and informed decision.”

Stiles glared at him. A moment past, with Deaton not budging an inch. Exhaling harshly, Stiles snatched the book from his hands. “Thanks for nothing.”

Then, Deaton’s voice drifted over him. “Tread carefully as you journey through this, Mr Stilinski. In a world of war and blood, chaos almost always prevails.”

A cold shill ran down Stiles’ spine. He turned to look over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting Deaton’s.

“You are a Spark. Your power is your will. Be mindful.”

 

*

 

That night, as “Shattered by Trading Yesterday” softly filled the silence, someone knocked on his bedroom door. Stiles, with eyes burning from endless reading, barely lifted a head or stopped making notes as he called out. “Yeah, dad?”

There was a pause. “It’s Derek.” Came the deep voice that was most definitely not his dad.

“Oh.” He returned to his book, but his hand stilled. “Well, can you do me a favor and kindly get the fuck out my house?”

A heavy sigh permeated through his door, sinking into Stiles. “Stiles, please. I just wanna talk.”

He refused to give in that easily. “You had that chance already, buddy. Don’t let the door hit your little werewolf ass on the way out.”

“Oh, come on, Stiles. Look, how about this? I say my piece and if, at the end, you don’t want to see me again, I’ll try and stay out of your way.” There a thump on his door.

“That a promise?” He sneered out the word ‘promise’, knowing Derek could hear his tone, its implication and the emotions wafting of him. Sighing, Stiles tossed the pen in his hand, watching as it cluttered onto his table. “Fine.”

He turned in his chair, lips pressed together, jaw clenching and unclenching as he watched his door click and open, the hinges whining as Derek slowly inched it opened. He held his glare, meeting those hesitant grey-green eyes. A part of Stiles’ resolve shifting at the sight, knowing how sincere Derek wished to be to Stiles to be that open with his emotions.

They never hid much from each other growing up. There was no reason to, and Stiles used loved that about his friendship with Derek, the ease in which they accepted each other, the lack of worry about being rejected or judged. It was simple. It was innocent.

Until Death invaded their lives once more, taking and taking from them without thought or regard of the destruction it left behind.

Derek made his way to Stiles’ bed, sitting down on the edge, sneakers planted, and legs spread as he faced Stiles. What little light Stiles had on in the room added to the suspense which hovered them both, enunciating their lack of familiarity now that they were seated in the same room, sharing the same space.

“I don’t got all night.” Stiles broke the silence, feeling bare under Derek’s assessing eyes.

Derek exhaled through his mouth, lifting a hand to run over his jaw which was now dusted with stubble. Their age different was never an issue, but now, as Stiles found himself face to face with a much older Derek Hale, while he sat there in a 16-year-old body that still sported some baby fat, their age difference couldn’t have been clearer.

“I know I was a dick to you.” Derek started, ignoring Stiles’ responding scoff. “I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, so I’m not asking you to forgive me.” Grey-green eyes danced to and fro and Stiles remained unresponsive. “When Laura and I left for Beacon Hills, it was to get away from it all. We planned to come back one day, to come visit, but I couldn’t do that.”

Stiles felt his throat move, speaking words his mind refused to hold in any longer. “I called you, Derek. I called you, every day, for two months. Laura, said you didn’t want to—”

“I know what she said.” Derek cut him off, before Stiles could finish. “I know what she told you, I was there. I know I was an asshole for cutting you out like that, knowing I gave you the impression that we would stay in touch, but… when I got to New York, I couldn’t talk to you.”

He knew his mask cracked, felt it splinter as a familiar tightness formed in his eyes. He prayed he didn’t start crying. His Spark was acting up, he could feel it pulse in the back of his mind, its warmth, as it rejoiced in being the in the presence of a Hale.

Stiles listened on as Derek continued to say, “I had this secret that I just wanted to forget about it. And then, I had you calling me and my sister trying to survive for me.” Sadness deepened Derek’s voice.

Stiles’ hands gripped onto the arms of his chair, holding himself back from launching out and over to Derek to wrap him in his arms.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you or talk to you. I missed you so much, Stiles. But I couldn’t risk it.”

A frown marred Derek’s face and Stiles mirrored it with his own confused one. “What are you talking about, Derek?”

The other boy shrugged. “If I kept in touch, I feared she would find you too and hurt you. Laura was stuck with me, and I couldn’t abandon her, but you… I couldn’t drag you down with us.”

“She?” A sour taste filled his mouth. “You talking about Kate Argent?”

Derek’s head snapped up so fast, Stiles’ neck ached in sympathy. Grey-green eyes widened, in equal fear and shock. His lips parts, the tips of his bunny teeth peeking out as he attempted to recover from the reveal. “How… you know?

Stiles nodded gravely. “I figured it out a couple of weeks ago. Put two and two together.” His Spark ignited and Stiles watched as the tension within Derek’s shoulder eased away as his posture loosened.

Kind eyes met his. “You’re still doing that.” Derek commented.

“Doing what?” He played dumb.

“Taking away the pain. You did with Laura and I that night we came back.” A sad smile flickered across Derek’s features and a dejected sigh escaped him. “I’m sorry for not answering your calls, Stiles.”

Silence fell between them. His music played softly in the background, offering no comfort or peace for the tension hovering over them both. Derek was waiting for Stiles to respond, to react to the new information, but all Stiles could do was stare at Derek. This was the kid who held his hand and allowed Stiles into his bed when being alone at the Hale house triggered Void.

This was the kid who never flinched away from him when Stiles was Stiles, who never held Void’s actions over him. He never blamed Stiles for allowing his anger to get the better of him.

He accepted him and cared about him.

Talia once referred to Derek as Stiles’ ‘Anchor’. At the time, Stiles had no freakin’ idea how monumental such a role was. Now, having witnessed a fraction of it with Scott and Allison, Stiles understood.

He wondered if Derek was aware of the importance Stiles placed on him back then.

“Did you tell anyone else about… what you know?” Derek broke their silence.

Stiles hesitated, before ultimately shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“My dad can’t do anything about Kate. I checked and all the evidence is circumstantial. There is no legal reason as to why your family didn’t escape. I know, we know that it was because the bitch lined every exit with wolfsbane, but we can’t really use that in court, so…” He chewed on his bottom lip.

“So, Scott doesn’t know?” Derek lifted a disbelieving eyebrow.

“He knows Allison’s family is bad shit crazy. And Chris Argent definitely knows his family is crazy as fuck, but I haven’t told anyone about… that.”

That… They both knew what ‘that’ referred to.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Licking his lip, Stiles exhaled and hefted himself off the chair and crossed over to Derek, sinking onto his mattress. He pressed his shoulder against Derek, holding the contact, feeling a smile growing when he felt Derek press back with a gentle push.

Derek turned his head and met his smile with a gentle one of his own.

“Fuck, okay, fine. I forgive you.” Stiles groaned in mock exasperation. “You still got a lot of grovelling to do to get back into my good graces, though.” He warned light-heartedly.

Features smoothing out as his smile grew and Derek nodded. “I kinda figured. It took me giving you my Batman comic book the last time I accidentally ate your pancake to get ‘back in your good graces’.”

“You didn’t accidentally do shit. You still had pancakes in your plate.”

“Yeah, but mine weren’t chocolate chip.”

Stiles snorted, laughing under his breath. Warmth and love flowed through him, like a gentle current of waves of emotions. His innate connection to Derek, powered by his Spark, relish in his presence and the emotions he kindled within Stiles.

Now, it’s no secret that Stiles had a little crush on Derek growing up. His mom used to tease him about it, making his blush redder than a tomato and when she brought it to Derek’s attention, he’d simply shrugged and said ‘okay’. That response had the whole room ‘aww-ing’.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Stiles asked.

Derek’s eyes flickered over to the book sitting abandoned on his desk. “I don’t want to disturb you. I know you’re busy –”

“You’re not disturbing me. I need to take a break anyway.”

“Okay, then. Sure.”

That’s how they found themselves stretched out on Stiles’ bed, Stiles under his covers and Derek on top of them because ‘we aren’t kid’s anymore. I’m an adult and you’re a minor in the eyes of the law. Who also happens to be your dad’.

He fell asleep with his cheek squished against a bulky shoulder halfway through Captain America: The First Avenger.

 

*

 

Everything took a turn for the worst.

As he said there in the hospital, suit rumbled with a raging Jackson, Stiles mentally counted down the hours when he would easily slip into Lydia’s hospital room. Her parent’s hardly left her side, Jackson glared at him whenever he so much as looked in the general direction of her room.

When the time finally came, Stiles found himself standing at the side of her bed, staring down at a peaceful looking Lydia. Inhaling shakily, Stiles muttered. “Okay, Stilinski. Just believe. Just believe.”

With trembling hands, Stiles gentle pressed his fingertips to Lydia’s skull. He closed his eyes and slowly picture the violet flame within him grow (His Spark – he always pictured it as a purple flame). He felt its warmth, soothing and light, pour through the lengths of his arms right down to the tips of his fingers. He waited for the heat to permeate into Lydia, but he couldn’t. He sensed it, deep in her mind, something fight back.

A force, though he couldn’t identify it, was fight him. Inhaling deeply, he pushed and pushed and pushed, searching for any weaknesses until, finally, he felt a crack in her armour, the split reverberating into him like a phantom pain. He held back his wince, ignoring it, knowing a single distraction and all his efforts would have been for nothing.

Fear, pain, loneliness and confusion struck him, like dagger driving deep into him. Stiles gritted his teeth, forcing the emotions to remain secondary. He shuffled through her emotions, knowing she might hate him for invading her mind like this, without her consent, but he needed her to know.

Flashes of Peter, eyes red and elongated fangs courses through her mind. She was scared. Stiles knew how terrifying all this shit could be in the beginning. He’d helps Scott like this before, when he’d had first shift.

Slowly, Stiles pushed out images of Jackson and her mom and dad. He manufactured the feeling of safety, love and understanding. His felt his Spark intertwine with her essence, imaging multiple red threads all interlinking, all of them providing her with comfort.

“It’s okay, Lydia. If you wake up, you’ll be safe.” He whispered under his breath, the words echoing louder through his head and subsequently through hers.

“You just have to wake, okay.”

 

*

 

Chaos and Death was all around them.

Stiles watched as Jackson throw a Molotov cocktail, only to have the Beast, to have Peter Hale, catch it. All around him, he felt the angry, the despair, the fear and the hope within everyone. He sensed it in the earth, he smelt it in the air.

“Allison!” He heard Scott shout, but he was too late. Peter turned and flung the self-igniting Molotov cocktail right at Scott. Allison’s cry of fear cut through the air just as a body, black and leather clad, soared through the air, tackling Scott out of the way before he was hit.

His insides hardened, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Coldness and darkness alike shrouded him and Stiles found himself submerged in it. His Spark contracted and Stiles was expelled from his body. Nothingness claimed his limbs, the ghost of his body moving running through him.

Stiles watched as Void laughed darkly at the sight of Peter, moving Stiles’ arm, hand and palm up. He felt his lips move as Void used it to grin almost joyful at the horror before him. Peter let out a demonic roar, his beast like silhouette bending forward as if to intimidate Void.

A malicious smirk fitted itself on Stiles’ face, and he felt the delight rippled through him like an alien slithering through his being, trying to find a place to attach itself too. Helpless and detached, Stiles watched Void slowly curl his hand into a fist, hearing Allison, Scott and Chris screaming at him, asking him what he was doing. Allison knew nothing about Stiles, and Chris had an inclination that Stiles was something, but now, as Void stood there with dark eyes and a spiteful smile, there was no hiding Stiles nature from anyone now.

Jackson gaped at him from a far.

Derek stared ahead, glaring angrily. His eyes flashing a cold blue, but he remained crouch over Scott protectively.

“My, are you angry.” Void spoke, taking a step closer. Stiles’ hand burned and he knew Void was channeling his Spark, its natural warmth burned as it turned colder and colder, leaving his fingertips on fire. Peter roared, stumbling back and away.

Heartache cut through him as he heard the anguish in the roar, the plea for Void to stop. Stiles found back, but his anger toward Peter for what he did to Laura and Lydia, his agony at the memory of Scott whose entire life was flipped upside down and would now never be the same again and the grief at the thought of this being Derek’s last relative, won in the end.

Void fed off every single of those emotions.

As Peter’s tormented roar echoed and cut through the forest, drowning out everything and anything, Stiles felt disgust crawl through him as the shadowed form of Peter’s wolf started glowing red.

“It’s fire that you want, is it not? Fire and pain.”

Oh God… No.

Void chuckled in his voice, finally curling Stiles’ fingers in before flashing them a part. Stiles watched on in horror as Peter burst in flames, only the fire licked from within.

He was burning Peter from the inside.

He was…

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, ears rings as piercing screams from all over tore through him. Allison, Chris, Jackson, Scott… All of them screamed in horror at the sight.

“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Stiles screamed out, feeling his arms moving to grip his hair, only he when he looked he remained still.

ENO-UGH!” His voice, his voice tore through his throat. Dizziness spun his mind, his chest squeezed as Stiles was slam back into his own body, his limbs and every surface of his form exploding in pain.

Stiles ripped the power which enveloped Peter back, feelings it’s strength ricocheted into him.

A dark laugh passed his lips.

Stiles groaned in pain.

Peter roared on and the ground beneath his feet quaked as the force of footsteps stomping down on it – He knew it wasn’t actually shaking, it couldn’t but his Spark was connected with anything and everything.

And then, hands, warm and soft hands framed his face. “Stiles, hey, hey, opened your eyes.” That annoying voice –

Another laugh and his lips moved as Void said, “Stiles is gone.”

“VOID, ENOUGH! IT’S OVER! LEAVE!”

Stiles latched onto the sound of Derek’s authoritative voice, his Spark reacting to the gentle yet deep voice, to the underlying growl which bled through. The numbingly cold tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs jerked off and back. Stiles scrambled, relief rocketing through him when he felt his body respond accordingly, hand gripping onto leather, heaving him up.

Arms wrapped around him. A hand cupped the back of his head and Stiles turned his face into Derek’s neck, feeling his body shiver as Void slowly relinquished control, leaving behind a hallow hole.

“It’s okay, Stiles. It’s okay. Breathe. I got you.” Over and over, Derek whispered into his ear, his voice sinking deep into Stiles’ bones, his soul warming up as his Spark found it’s Anchor: Derek Hale.

The fear and disorientation that had encompassed him, like a wet blanket wrapped around his face, smothering him with each passed second, dissipated. His Spark percolated through him, warming him inch by inch, section by section. He focused on Derek and only Derek, terrified that anything other than Derek will trigger Void.

“That’s it.” Derek encouraged him gently. “You hear me?”

Stiles nodded, feeling and hearing Derek sag against him in relief. Hot breath caressing his cheek as Derek sighed. Seconds away from giving in the warmth and succumb its comforting embrace, a pained gurgle drifted over to them.

Pulling away, Stiles turned his head to see, just a few feet away from them, the soot covered body of Peter as he trembled in pain. Self-loathing poisoned him at the sight, and Stiles’ eyes shifted away when movement from the corner of his eyes caught his attention.

He looked over, his eyes burning with unshed tears as his gaze fell upon the horrified expression of Scott, Allison and Chris, the hunter’s cold blue eyes frozen on Stiles, the barrel of his gun aimed at him.

“What are you?” Chris asked, stepping forward, arm reaching out to push his daughter behind him.

“Dad.” Allison’s protested in vein.

“Put the gun down, Argent.” A growl ordered. Stiles felt the vibration against his back and his arms tingled, like live wire's.

“Not until I get an answer.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –” Stiles stumbled over his words. He heard the quiver in his voice, heard his own fear and weakness. “It wasn’t me. I tried to stop him. He wouldn’t stop.”

Realization washed over Scott and his best friend broke away from Allison’s grip on his arm, skidding over to stand between Chris and Stiles.

“Sir, it’s not what you—”

“Get out of the way, McCall.”

“Just listen-“

A pained whimper cut Scott off. Everyone’s attention snapped over to Peter. Stiles’ body moved before he could register his actions, his legs protesting against the exertion, but Stiles paid it no mind, pushing past everything. He stopped beside Peter’s burned body, self-hatred causing acidic bile to rise in his throat at the sight of blue eyes dancing around, very much alive.

“His alive…” He heard Scott exhale beside him, shock overriding the horror he’d just expressed at Stiles.

Pained, Stiles turned to Derek, looking over his shoulder to see the distress clear in his pale eyes. He wanted to apologize, wanted to beg for Derek’s forgiveness for doing this to his Uncle, for allowing Void to use his Spark to enact this horror. Needing to do something, anything, Stiles closed his eyes and spread his hand over Peter’s body, leaving it to hover over him.

He used everything within, feeling himself empowered in ways he’d never felt before. Stiles’ arms heated up, and he distantly heard Scott gasp and Chris’ baritone voice but he was too far gone. He fueled his Spark, the heat transitioning into a flame touch as he searched deep inside Peter’s light or aura or something, gravitating toward a sweet essence that he knew had no place inside a man like Peter. He enclosed his Spark around it, like a thin layer of skin, securing it and with one final push he ripped it out, his arms snapping up and over as he pressed his Spark into Derek.

His purple flame lit up, glowing brighter and more hotter than ever. His veins were fire, and Stiles felt droplets of sweat run down his face and nose, but he needed to do this, needed to make sure this Spark – the Alpha Spark, did not die with Peter Hale. It was Laura’s Spark, It was Aunt Talia’s Spark, it belonged to Derek.

The moment he felt the spark cement itself into Derek, he withdrew, pulling his powers back to him, back within him. With the heat and force now gone, Stiles felt lightheaded, the earth beneath him unstable.

Derek gasped. “Stiles, what did you do?"

Weakly, he forced out. “I fixed it.”

Something wet touched his upper lip and Stiles lifted a hand to brush it away, pulling his hand away to see the tips of his fingers coated in blood. “Oh, shit.” He exhaled.

Listless, Stiles felt his body tip back, a soft cushion touching his back a second later, supporting him. “Stiles! Hey, Stiles! Don’t do this – Derek, what’s wrong with him?”

He was falling some more.

The world no longer felt cold, but instead it felt dizzyingly hot. The scent of pine and wet soil wafted up his nose. Familiar hands framed his face and Stiles blinked, once and twice, meeting ruby red eyes.

Aunt Talia’s eyes.

He helped.

He wasn’t a monster.

Something soft press against his temple. “No, you’re not, Stiles.”