Chapter Text
Chapter II. 2012
Derek came back. He came back at the worst possible time, the time when Stiles needed him most, when he couldn’t even truly help himself, much less anyone else.
There are things he’s never said, things he probably will never say. Chief of is how close he came to giving up the fight against the void-fox. He might have, were it not for Derek. Really, there’s a reason why the nogitsune hated the wolf from the get go, and tried so hard to kill him. Stiles had been fighting for so long… a moment came when he thought he’d nothing left to give. Derek’s return proved him wrong, it made him pull up a well of strength Stiles knew not he possessed.
He thinks that might have been the moment the nogitsune realized it wouldn’t be that easy. There might have been a time when Stiles contemplated surrender, out of sheer exhaustion more than anything else. But that possibility vanished like smoke the moment Derek Hale showed up. It’s… even without saying a word, Derek was capable of giving Stiles the will to fight. The nogitsune tried to break that, tried to break Stiles, to break Derek, it failed.
He’s not saying it was an easy victory. Because it wasn’t. It was in fact very, very hard. Stiles still came close to losing the fight. It was only his spark, his magic, that saved him. And the fact that the human teenager knew so little about it all, that the fox could not use it against him. When the void-fox kicked him out of his own body, in an attempt to kill him once and for all, instead Stiles’s own spark reacted and he got a new body of his own. A brand new body, without the wear and damage and deep scars of the old one…
Granted, this meant that when the final battle took place shortly afterwards, Stiles could barely move. On the one hand, it was a new body! It felt like his whole body had gone numb, or fallen asleep on him and he was just getting it to work. On the other hand, it was brand new, with no nerve damage, no deep tissue harm, no scars… It was a good thing, really. But at the same time, Stiles had gotten used to working around all the hurts in his old body, moving a certain way, avoiding certain motions, a brand new body without all that? He had to re-learn how to even walk! Also, as he’d eventually learn, the new body wasn’t entirely human…
He’s not a kitsune (thank the gods!) but he’s not entirely human either. His senses are slightly heightened, his reflexes as well, and his healing is definitely above anything a human possesses.
All of that isn’t the real issue, though. While things aren’t perfect, and Stiles knows that one day he’s gonna have to fully process the fact that his body was changed without his consent, that he’s been changed against his will. He knows he can deal with that. No, the real issue is more mental. Is… he knows he’s not actually responsible for all the people the nogitsune killed while in his body. The people at the hospital, and the station, and even Aiden and Allison! He, Stiles, did not kill them! He knows that. On the latter two, it wasn’t even the nogitsune itself that killed them, but rather Noshiko’s oni, after it took them over. It’s the fact that Stiles knows the void-fox went after all of them because of him! The fucking nogitsune went after his friends, his family, his pack!
He knows everyone at the hospital, how could he not after all the time he spent there when his mom was sick? Same with the station. Following his mom’s death he kept having panic attacks, needed to always know where his dad was, that he was safe (it was that which led to him getting that police scanner installed in his jeep, and his obsession with his dad eating healthy); so he spent a lot of time at the station as well. The school, the team! Those are obvious enough. And of course, his friends, his pack… only, should he still consider them his pack when he barely sees them anymore?
He doesn’t blame Lydia. He knows she’s been dealing with her own trauma, having wailed for both Allison and Aiden. She told Stiles she doesn’t blame him, and he believes her, she just has to process her own grief. Isaac is gone, same as Chris Argent, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he’s running away from his grief over the loss of his girlfriend, or the fact that in her last moments that same girlfriend chose to give her last words, her last smile, to her ex instead of him… The real issue though, is Scott. Stiles understands that he’s grieving Allison. Even if they were no longer together, she was his first love, they had all this star-crossed-lovers, Romeo&Juliet thing going on, he gets it! But even days, weeks, after it’s all over, when even Kira, even Peter, have dropped by to visit, to make sure he’s alright, Scott hasn’t shown up. Not even to check-in on Stiles, not even to say hello. Aren’t they supposed to be best-friends? Brothers? Isn’t Scott supposed to be his alpha?!
Only, he’s never cared about being an alpha, has he? Just like he never cared for being a beta. Scott has only ever been interested in how being a wolf will give him things (health, skill at sports, popularity) and never what responsibilities might come with that. Not like Derek, who with or without an alpha spark has never stopped doing his best to look after everyone.
Stiles cannot help but wonder, does Scott blame him? For Aiden, for Allison… Is that why he won’t visit? Truth is, he’s too afraid to ask.
xXx
When first Christmas and then New Year come and go, Stiles doesn’t actually realize it at first, nothing beyond the fact of it being Winter Break. It’s not the fact that his dad’s working, his dad always works during the holidays, there’s nothing new about that. But usually he at least insists on them having breakfast together and exchanging presents on Boxing Day at the latest. He’s so busy nowadays, Stiles doesn’t really blame him. It was bad enough, after Matt’s attack, and the darach’s own murders did not help matters any; the nogitsune placing a bomb in the sheriff’s office only made worse something that was already pretty bad. They’ve lost so many people at the station, not only deaths, but those who either had to retire due to injuries, or who chose to either retire, resign, or move elsewhere, afraid that they might be next. So of course those few left have to do what they can to fill in the gaps. It’s not like Stiles’s dad is the only one pulling double and triple shifts in an attempt to make due.
But no, his dad’s workaholism is not the reason why Stiles misses the date entirely. It’s… it’d have been easy enough to find out. The moment he logged into any of the forums he’s been carefully cultivating a presence in over the past few years (in order to gain trust and information from various individuals in the supernatural community). In fact, the moment he turned on the computer at all, he’d have been able to see the date. Thing is, he hasn’t done that. Not his phone either. He’s barely even left his room, even his bed, at all, in weeks! Facts that are pointed out to him, at volume, by none other than Jackson Whittemore when he comes into his room one day.
Stiles can only blink because, what the hell is Jackson Whittemore even doing in his bedroom so early in the morning in fucking December?!
“It’s January already, stupid,” Jackson points out bluntly. “Also, late afternoon, closer to evening, in fact. Which you’d know if you even bothered looking out the window, or even opening it.”
As he says that, the other teenager opens Stiles’s blackout curtains, ignoring Stiles’s comments about him liking things as they are.
“It smells awful in here, like something up and died,” Jackson states. “What the hell happened?”
“I killed people, didn’t you hear?” Stiles blurts, burying his face as deep as he can under his pillow, since he’s not being allowed to keep the darkness in his whole bedroom.
But wait, no! Stiles doesn’t believe that. He knows that it was the nogitsune’s fault, not his own… He does know that, right? Then why does a part of him not believe it?
“I heard a fucking demon killed people,” Jackson answers. “Not like you decided to go on a murder rampage or anything. Feeling guilty for the things someone else did with your body doesn’t mean you’re actually responsible for those things.”
“How do you know that?” Stiles cannot help but ask.
For all answer Jackson flashes his beta-blue eyes at him. The eyes, the memory of what they mean (murder blues, the hunters like to call them, though as Stiles has since learned, they’re not actually a sign that the wolf has killed, not even that they have ‘murdered innocents’, like the hunters claim; but rather that they feel guilty for deaths, whether they were involved at all or not). And of course Jackson would know, having been the kanima, and been used as a murder-puppet by both Matt Daehler and Gerard Argent. Of course he’d know exactly what Stiles is feeling!
Jackson takes full advantage of Stiles’s shock at the flashing of eyes to pick the human off the bed, sheets and all, and carry him to the bathroom, dumping him into the tub and then opening the shower full force before the other teenager can even think to react.
“What… What the hell dude?!” Stiles splutters.
The water isn’t actually freezing, surprisingly, which shows a level of premeditation on Jackson’s part. Also, a degree of kindness that Stiles isn’t entirely sure what to do with.
“Wash-up,” Jackson orders. “I’m going to strip your bed, clean things up a bit, hopefully it won’t smell quite so rank once it’s aired-up.”
Stiles could be petulant and refuse to do as told. He could even be extremely childish and refuse to even move from the spot where Jackson dumped him. And while there’s a part of him that really wants to be petulant, and childish and immature and so many other things… the greater part of him knows that there’s no point to it. Such actions will hurt no one more than himself.
It’s… so maybe he’s not quite as recovered from the insanity that was the nogitsune as he thought. Some of it might be Scott still not getting in touch with him. He hasn’t heard so much as a word from his supposed best-friend, his brother, since winter break began, and barely anything at all even before that. But Stiles cannot have his own mental and physical health depend on Scott. It’s… alpha or no alpha, Scott has never been any good at taking care of anything, not even himself (the continuous loses of his inhalers, forgetting his meds, needing other people to keep an eye on what he’s eating in case he has a bad reaction, come to mind); Stiles cannot depend on him. Though apparently there are others he can, in fact, depend on…
After a shower, and getting dressed in a pair of old skinny jeans that while comfortable are more close-fitting than he usually goes for, and a dark-blue henley that’s a bit tight on the shoulders and loose on the arms and waist (and which he’s pretty sure is not his!) Stiles makes his way downstairs. At some point Jackson grabbed his damp sheets, and the rest of the bedclothes and put them in the washer, apparently. He also took all the trash from Stiles’s bedroom and opened both windows wide, same as the door. It’s not perfect, but definitely better than it was before (the smell was, in fact, starting to get to Stiles, even with his -mostly- human nose).
He finds Jackson waiting for him in the kitchen. He’s sitting on one of the stools by the island, and in front of him are three styrofoam containers, and two cups. Stiles can smell the eggs, sausage and potatoes that must be in one of the containers. The logo on top confirms that they’re from that place on Main and 5 th that does breakfast foods all day (he loves that place!). He opens the first container to steal a bit of hash-browns before turning to the second one, expecting to find pancakes to round-up the ‘full American breakfast’, instead he finds french-toast with berries and a small pot of honey (actual honey, not syrup). He blinks in disbelief.
“What…?” Jackson asks, sounding more than a little self-conscious, even as he pulls the third container (a giant burrito) to him. “You do still prefer french-toast to pancakes, don’t you?”
Right. Stiles doesn’t know if he ought to be shocked that he’d forgotten Jackson knew that, or that after so many years Jackson still remembers such a thing…
Back when Claudia Stilinski was still alive, Sunday brunch at the diner was a family tradition. His dad took it as an excuse to eat eggs and beans and hash-browns, always a big plate; and of course pancakes drowned in syrup. His mom on the other hand preferred to eat waffles or crepes with fruit and maybe yogurt instead of eggs and the like. Stiles on the other hand, while he liked the traditional breakfast just fine, he soon realized that he did not like the diner pancakes, they were too thick and heavy for him, and the waffles had a strange texture for his tastes. That was when he got introduced to the french toast with fruit and honey that one of the new cooks was trying out at the time. He loved them.
Stiles remembers the Whittemores having lunch there several times, usually after some weekend activity or other Jackson was involved with. This was before their enmity came to be (before Stiles’s mom died, Jackson found out about the adoption, and the two of them fought over something Scott said or did… Stiles cannot even fully remember what it was, exactly). Stiles can hardly believe that Jackson remembers Stiles’s old order.
It’s as good as it’s ever been. Stiles finishes every bite, until he isn’t hungry anymore. And he won’t even say he hadn’t realized how hungry he was; rather, he’d stopped paying attention to it. Food just didn’t seem important for a while there.
For the longest time not a word is said. Stiles eats his food, drinks tea, while Jackson drinks one of his own strange-concoctions-that-shouldn’t-be-called-coffee. Stiles keeps waiting for Jackson to say something, but the other teenager won’t even look at him, just drinks, and turns to look at his mobile every so often. Eventually it’s Stiles who breaks:
“How do you do it?” Stiles blurts out. “How do you move on knowing that you killed people? That your hands destroyed so much…? And there was nothing you could do about it.”
“I don’t,” Jackson answers honestly. “I don’t know if it makes it better or worse, but I don’t actually remember any of the things I did when I was the kanima, when either of them were my masters. I mean, I know what they had me do, I know…” he looks down at his hands, and for a moment Stiles regrets even asking, as he sees the shadow in flashing blue eyes. “I know I was used as a weapon, to kill people. And I… I feel a degree of guilt for it all, it’s why my eyes are blue. But I don’t actually remember any of it.”
Stiles has to actually stop and consider that, is that better or worse than his situation? It’s no picnic, remembering all the things the nogitsune did. Granted, he doesn’t actually remember every single thing, especially those that happened early on; but truth is that the more he understood what was going on, the more aware he became, even as he kept being taken over. On the other hand, he also remembers fighting the void-fox every step of the way. Remembers only giving in when innocent lives were at risk. And even as he capitulated, he was already planning his next move. It’s what allowed him to eventually free himself.
Would he rather not remember? Now that he actually thinks about it, no. He cannot help but think that not knowing would be worse. Because Stiles is the kind of person who takes pride in his mind. Knowing he did things, bad things, and yet not having memory of any of them… it’d drive him crazy (he very carefully does not stop to consider the specifics as to why, the fact that he connects forgetting with sickness, with his mom…).
“I’m not going to tell you to stop feeling guilty about things you did not choose to do,” Jackson adds. “It wouldn’t work. I know that. What I will tell you, is that you should remember that you fought. And I know you did. It’s just who you are. You fought, and you won.”
“Doesn’t change all the people that died,” Stiles cannot help but mutter.
“No, it doesn’t,” Jackson agrees. “But how many more would have died as well if you had not kept fighting, if you had not won?”
Stiles isn’t sure he’d call it winning. Is having survived enough to call it that? The nogitsune was trying to kill him when it kicked him out of his own body, and Stiles lived. Stiles is pretty sure that Dr. D hasn’t stopped to consider what made such a thing possible, or maybe he actually believes that the nogitsune did that on purpose (giving Stiles, its enemy, a new body on purpose? Really?!). But in any case, if Dr. D realized what actually happened he’d know Stiles isn’t quite as useless as he’s always believed (tried to make him?). In any case, he supposes that, considering the odds, and the nogitsune’s actual intentions, surviving can be called a victory. Still…
“I’m not the one who defeated the nogitsune.” Because he wasn’t, that was all Scott. And Kira, a bit.
“Oh come on!” Jackson actually scoffs. “Are you telling me that McCall could have actually defeated that demon without you?!”
It’s obvious what he believes already. And Stiles… There’s a part of him that really wants to defend Scott. Despite how bad things might be for the time being, despite how bad a friend, an alpha, Scott might currently be. He’s still Stiles’s best friend, his brother (isn’t he?)! But at the same time, he cannot help but think back to the fight, to all the times he had to insist that the nogitsune was a master of illusions, that all he was doing were illusions. How both Scott and Kira kept trying to fight back even though it wouldn’t do them any good… Stiles wants to believe they would have gotten it right in the end. But would they? Kira, being a kitsune herself, probably would have realized what was going on eventually, but Scott? And they needed him to win that fight, so…
In the end Stiles just shrugs, because what else can he possibly do?
He’s just finished his tea when Jackson orders him to put on some shoes (he’s barefoot) and grab his keys, as they have places to be.
“What?” Stiles asks, because really, what’s going on now?
Of course, Jackson, because whatever else might happen, he’s still a jackass at the best of times, refuses to give any explanation. And when Stiles starts dragging his feet he actually threatens to carry Stiles out of the house like a sack of potatoes and drop him in the trunk of his rented car. Stiles decides not to push; not because of any possible indignity, but he thinks something like that might actually make him sick, and he’s sure that fantastic food won’t taste as good coming back out like that.
It doesn’t take long for Stiles to realize where they’re going exactly: the preserve, not far from the old Hale House. Derek, Peter, Lydia, Ethan and even his dad are all there, seemingly waiting for him and Jackson (Ethan takes him aside one moment, right as Stiles is starting to hyperventilate, trying very hard not to look at him; assuring him, in a clipped, gruff but very sincere tone that he doesn’t blame the human for the death of his brother, that was all on the oni, and the nogitsune). Stiles realizes it then, these people before him, right here, they’re his pack with or without an alpha. They’re his friends, his family, his pack.
That night is spent with all of them together, reconnecting, learning to move on after all the horrors, the losses, the fear. They learn to lean on each other, to trust each other, and themselves, again. And it’s good. It’s a good first step (new year, new life, right?).