Chapter Text
Ten years.
When I thought about it, it felt like an eternity, but looking back, it was as if I’d stepped outside the town limits only yesterday. Time had bent, fractured, and tangled into itself, and here I was, returning home the very next day. Except, there were ten whole years standing between then and now. Ten times three hundred and sixty-five days, ten different birthdays, and new lines etched onto my forehead. A lot could change in ten years; people, feelings, places, and even dreams. They could all shift, turning into complete strangers.
But Beacon Hills was exactly as I remembered. Everything was just the way I’d left it when I ran from this town to join the FBI after the great apocalypse. The familiar faces, though perhaps older now, were fundamentally the same. The buildings, the houses, the small businesses...
Beacon Hills High School. I slowed the car down for a brief moment, pulling up against the curb. Looking up, I watched the teenagers in the courtyard and the school buses lined up. It was painfully nostalgic. This school’s courtyard, the lacrosse field, and these hallways had once overflowed with the supernatural; we had died, we had killed. We had suffered losses. Looking back now, we had endured far too much pain, yet all I felt was a bittersweet yearning for the past.
Shifting the car back into drive, I cruised through the last few blocks until the streets finally bled into the neighborhood where Scott and I had shared our childhood. The moment the roof of my house came into view, my hands gripped the steering wheel with an excited twitch. I was actually here. I was back.
"Oh my God."
My venerable blue Jeep was sitting in the driveway, entirely the way I remembered it. I’d left the keys with Scott when I departed, and during our subsequent, rare phone calls, asking about the Jeep had never crossed my mind. Dad was usually so busy that he’d only mention things were fine in town and leave it at that. Now, seeing the Jeep in the driveway, it felt like the final piece of the puzzle falling into place. Maybe Scott was here visiting my dad, who knew?
I parked by the curb and grinned as I got out. "Two birds with one stone," I muttered to myself. Locking the doors, I made my way toward the front porch. I was only halfway there when the door swung open, and I threw my arms out with a wide smirk. "Scottie! So you did hear me com—"
I was one hundred percent sure this wasn’t Scott. Unless my best friend had somehow managed to de-age instead of growing ten years older, and unless getting a tan meant turning stark white, things had seriously gone off the rails. I stared at the kid with strands of brown hair falling into his face; he had to be at least ten years younger than me. He wore a flannel shirt over a graphic tee. Blinking a few times, he looked from me to my dad, who had just materialized behind him in the doorway. "Uh, hey?"
My jaw dropped, and I yelled in pure horror, "Dad! Tell me you didn't!" The old Stiles inside me was still very much alive.
Dad grimaced, stepping out onto the porch and crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't be ridiculous, Stiles. For Christ's sake..." Then, his face paled, mirroring the kid standing between us. "Stiles?"
I looked back and forth between the two pairs of eyes staring at me, trying to figure out exactly what kind of welcome I had envisioned. It definitely wasn't this. I had at least expected a happy hug from my dad or some small surprise welcome from Scott. My best friend was a True Alpha; he should’ve sensed me coming half an hour ago. Then again, my dear friend had always been a bit of a dork. I couldn't hold it against him.
"Yep, it's Stiles, folks. I'm home! Woo... hoo?" I threw an awkward fist into the air. "So... did I catch you at a bad time?"
"So you're Stiles," the unfamiliar kid said, breaking the silence. His hazel eyes scanned me uncomfortably, finally lingering on the Jeep. Tossing his brown hair back from his face, he gestured toward the blue vehicle with his chin. "Are you here to take the Jeep?"
My mouth hung open as I looked at the Jeep, then back to him. I narrowed my eyes, clapped my hands together, and finally gave up, asking, "No offense, but who exactly are you?"
Dad suddenly bolted from the doorway, grabbing the kid by the shoulder just as he was about to speak, and pushed him along with a foolish grin. "He was just leaving. Right, kid? Tell Scott that Stiles is here. Hurry it up a bit." It sounded a lot more like a warn him than a tell him, but I couldn't dwell on it too much as I watched the kid hop into the Jeep and drive away. We both stood there, watching the Jeep pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street.
"Son," Dad said. Hearing him, I spun around, stepped into his open arms, and let out a deep breath. "I missed you."
This was it. I was home. Tightening my grip, I murmured, "I missed you too, old man." I felt him chuckle. Stepping back, I took a good look at him: his face had fallen, the wrinkles on his forehead had deepened, and the light in his eyes had dimmed. I could have easily burst into tears right then and there, but he ushered me inside, shattering my little dramatic moment.
"Was I the one messing up the house, or did you just become super organized since I’ve been gone?" I chuckled, scanning the place as I took off my jacket. Everything was neatly put away. Usually, because Dad overworked himself, there would be empty bottles, cups, plates, dirty t-shirts, or at least cluttered paperwork scattered everywhere. But I didn't see a single thing out of place. Frowning, I pressed my lips together. "Looks like a woman's touch has—"
He smacked the back of my neck before putting his hands on his hips, giving me a stern look. "You seem to be in peak form, but that's enough for today, don't you think?"
"Copy that, Sheriff." I raised my hands in surrender. "I'm just surprised, is all."
"Eli helps me clean up," he muttered, picking up a few stray papers from the coffee table and shoving them into a drawer.
I stared at him in silence. Without even asking who Eli was, I knew something was wrong. Because even though he had closed the drawer, he wouldn't turn around to face me. Looking at his back, I realized I recognized this posture. I had seen it when my mom was in the hospital. I had seen it when I was slowly dying because of the Nogitsune. Whenever Dad looked like this—with his shoulders slumped and his back hunched—something was invariably, terribly wrong.
"Right, that’s it. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or what? You’re acting incredibly sketchy, and I want to know what’s happening before it’s too late."
Rubbing his forehead, he turned around, his pinched expression only confirming my suspicions. "Stiles... I just wasn't expecting you to show up unannounced. That’s all."
"Oh, right, my bad. Sorry for not giving you a heads-up before coming to my own home, like some random stranger."
"Stiles! You know that’s not what I meant! It’s just your timing..."
I closed my eyes and threw my head back. "Fine," I said, trying to force myself to calm down. "Just tell me what exactly is so wrong with my timing."
Dad looked around as if the right words were actively dodging him. My eyes followed his gaze, landing squarely on the coat rack at the entrance of the living room. Something hanging there caught my attention—it looked like a strap made of sleek fabric. Frowning, I stepped toward it, but the second I reached out, Dad snapped, "Stiles!" I turned back, arching a single eyebrow at him.
"This is exactly what I mean by you acting sketchy. It’s like a toddler is making a mess and you’re trying to—" As I spoke, I flipped the fabric over in my hand, and the words died in my throat. My eyes unconsciously followed a sash as it slipped from my fingers and drifted to the floor. "Rest in peace," I read, the words a faint murmur. I snapped my head up to look at him. "What is this? Did I miss someone’s funeral?"
Chewing on his upper lip, Dad let out a heavy sigh and muttered, "In a manner of speaking."
My heart dropped into my stomach. "Was it someone we know? Oh my God—Lydia?" I clutched my head in my hands. After I’d left town, our brief, going-nowhere relationship had fizzled out over the phone, and I hadn't heard from her since. "How could you not call me? I can't believe—"
"For God's sake! Calm down, kid. Martin is perfectly fine."
Keeping my hands glued to my head, I pressed on, "Is it Scott then? I think I'm gonna throw up." Holding my mouth, I frantically scanned the room.
"Stiles Stilinski! Nobody is dead, okay?" He grabbed me by the shoulders, giving me a firm shake. His blue eyes searched my face. "Everyone is fine, alright? The funeral was for someone... distant. From out of town."
I pulled my hands away from my head and pressed them against my chest. "I was literally a hair's breadth away from meeting my creator, Sheriff. Would it kill you to spit out an explanation a little faster?"
A knock at the door made me jump. "That's gotta be Scott," I grinned. Hurrying out of the living room toward the door, I was already rambling. "Man, we have so much to catch up on..." I swung the front door open, a massive smirk on my face. Sure enough, standing right there—with his tan skin, asymmetrical jaw, and beautifully clueless expression—was my best friend, Scott McCall. "Dude!" I threw myself into his arms, hammering his back like crazy. "Wow! It feels like it’s been a century..."
Snapping out of his shock, he wrapped his arms around me, and I heard him mutter to himself, "Stiles, you're actually here." That brought a smile to my face. I patted his back a couple more times before stepping back. We held onto each other's arms, staying close. Scott gave me a quick once-over, his eyes narrowing as his expression slowly softened. "Man... you haven't lost a single drop of your energy. I missed this."
I rolled my eyes. "I turned thirty, Scott, not sixty. What is—ugh, never mind. Oh man! I have so much to tell you! Just last month, there was this weapon smuggling case—and even before that, you won't believe it, but this ring experimenting on exotic animals—whoa, is that Lydia?" I cut myself off, staring at the redhead standing a step behind him. I was only just noticing her. "Jesus, grant me strength, you’ve gotten even more beautiful with age, Lydia. And where's Malia? Dude, am I interrupting something?"
"We broke up," Scott blurted out, sounding entirely robotic.
I blinked. "Oh, right... okay. I didn't know that. Did you tell me? I might have forgotten. There was just so much on my mind, it must have slipped—"
"STILES, FOR ONE SECOND, JUST BREATHE!" Scott shouted, gripping my arms, making me jerk my head back. I furrowed my eyebrows, staring at his angrily contorted face and his chest heaving with frustration. Pro tip: when you drive across the country to visit your best friend, expecting him to drown you in a decade’s worth of pent-up affection—yeah, don't. That’s not how it goes. At least, the Scott standing in front of me wasn't drowning me in anything remotely affectionate.
I wrenched myself out of his grip and looked around. "What is wrong with all of you today?" I snapped, gesturing toward my dad. I had driven for days; I was running on fumes, utterly exhausted. Yet here I was, walking on air because I was seeing them, while everyone else was acting like my literal existence was an inconvenience. A sudden, cold thought hit me—they didn't want me here. That single realization was enough to make whatever confidence I had left completely evaporate. "I came because I missed you. I hopped in my car the first chance I got, and... you can't blame me for expecting a warmer welcome. I don't under... stand... No. No way."
That was the exact moment I finally understood why everyone was so tense, so guarded, so utterly on edge. As Scott took a step forward to calm me down, the body hidden behind him shifted into my line of sight. At first, my brain stubbornly refused to process the image. Holding my hands out in front of me, I took a few steps backward. I froze when my spine hit the doorframe. One of my hands flew to my mouth, burying my lips. If I didn't, I was going to scream.
"Stiles, calm down, okay? I'll explain everything." My friend was still trying to play peacemaker.
Me? I was completely locked onto Allison Argent. The girl whose death I had caused back in high school—the girl who had haunted my nightmares ever since.