Work Text:
Stiles woke up in absolute darkness.
That, by itself, wasn’t too alarming. After all the trauma he’d been through over the last couple of years, he’d found that a room without even the smallest light source was less anxiety-inducing than one in which shadows obscured corners and danced across the walls.
So, the darkness wasn’t what made his heart beat painfully hard in his chest, and his lungs work too fast to breathe properly.
No… It was the hard, cold surface he was lying on and the sounds he was slowly becoming aware of—faint, irregular dripping that echoed a little, as if he were in a cavern of some kind.
He didn’t remember going into a cavern. Not that he thought there were any notable caverns in the area in the first place. But… that didn’t have to mean anything since he didn’t remember where he’d been before… this… at all.
He still remembered his life up until… when? His childhood seemed to be accounted for. His memories of high school were intact, too— regrettably so, he was tempted to say, even though it hadn’t all been bad. Sometimes, it was all about the people you met along the way, right? And he wouldn’t want to go back to not knowing some of them.
Others, on the other hand…
Was that why he was here—wherever “here” was? Had someone taken him because of the people he called friends and family? The people he called his pack, even?
Graduation was coming up. It was less than two months away now unless he was missing some memories. Or unless he’d been unconscious for a long time.
He didn’t feel older. But Peter probably hadn’t either when he woke up from his coma. So, unless he found a way to leave this place, he didn’t have enough information to make an educated guess.
Becoming aware of the smell of smoke and decay dragged him out of his thoughts. It felt old, and it had a distinct feeling of being settled into almost every surface around him.
How the hell could he tell that? That wasn’t how human noses worked!
A sudden rustling, coming from where the smell wasn’t as bad, startled him into paying even closer attention to his surroundings. It made him realize that someone was approaching him because the rustling slowly broke apart into steps, breathing, a heartbeat, and… were those quietly muttered curses?
The voice sounded both familiar and not.
Who—
And suddenly, there was light!
Stiles’ eyes protested this development by sending a sharp stab of pain into his brain, making him press the heels of his hands against his eye sockets.
Ouch!
“Oh!” the voice said, sounding as if it was coming from only a step or two away from him. “You’re awake. That’s good. I didn’t want to have to drag you out of the tunnels all by my lonesome.”
That voice!
Carefully, Stiles opened his eyes, only to see a figure standing at the mouth of such a mentioned tunnel—all the way across the room. Huh!
As he continued to squint in that direction, the figure apparently got the hint and lowered his flashlight.
It still took Stiles a moment to adjust to the brightness, but then…
“Peter???”
“Looks like your brain still works,” the man snarked back at him. At least that hadn’t changed, even though something about his voice still sounded off to Stiles. “I wasn’t sure how well that famed werewolf healing deals with a head injury like yours.”
Wait… what?
“Werewolf healing?”
He’d like to ask a more eloquent question, but words were failing him right now. There were so many things that made no sense, and Peter’s little speech was the icing on top.
“Huh…” Peter hummed, a thoughtful look on his face. “So, still firing, but not on all cylinders. Noted. How much and what exactly do you remember?”
A growl echoed in the air around Stiles, and—
Since he hadn’t taken his eyes off Peter since the man had arrived, he knew for a fact that the growl hadn’t come from him. And Stiles knew with bone-deep certainty that the two of them were alone. So, that left only one conclusion.
“Have I ever told you that your intimidation tactics don’t work on me anymore?” Peter asked, smirking his most annoying smirk. “Took me longer than I’d like to admit, but in the end, you’re still just a high school senior. And I’m the one with a degree in talking circles around even hardened criminals. I wouldn’t need your… assets… to take you on and win.”
Yes, there was only one conclusion: Somehow, they’d ended up with their roles reversed. And it didn’t sound like it was a recent thing.
The question was how he’d break the news to Peter. He couldn’t just say, “Hey, you know that I should be the human and you the werewolf?” without the man thinking him insane. Especially since he’d apparently been down with a head injury—an injury he didn’t feel and couldn’t remember receiving. Peter would totally assume something had gotten knocked loose in Stiles’ brain.
So what had happened between the last thing he remembered—which he still wasn’t sure about—and now? Had he been transported to a parallel universe? Had his memories been altered? Was this only a very vivid but ultimately unrealistic dream?
Also, what had caused it and how could it be reversed?
Because one thing was for sure: He didn’t care for this reality. He’d never wanted to be a werewolf, and the longer he stood here and thought about it, the likelier it seemed that he was a born wolf now. And if that was true, what else got reversed? Did it mean that his family got burned? Was his father dead now? Was this basement—and he was sure that in his own reality, this would be below the burned Hale house—part of the house he’d grown up in?
“What happened?” he asked, wincing when his voice cracked on the second word.
“You first,” Peter said. “You still haven’t told me what you remember.”
“I’m really not sure how well we know each other here, but can you trust me? I have a very good reason why I need you to answer me before I tell you anything.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed at Stiles, and the man started to smell of sharp interest. Had he already figured out that he had an imposter—so to speak—on his hands?
“You’ll adjust your answer accordingly, you mean. That’s not very trustworthy in my books.”
“Says the lawyer, of all people,” Stiles groused and must have hit the jackpot with that guess because Peter only shrugged in response, not denying the claim.
It was kind of fascinating, really. No matter what the reason for this role reversal was, there were still some unpredictable dynamics in play. He couldn’t reliably draw conclusions of the “if Peter’s human and I’m a born wolf, then I must have had a large family that got burned in a fire” sort. Because their ages were apparently still the same, but Peter had a completely different profession than the wolf Stiles knew. Both their fashion senses differed, too—which he only noticed now that he’d started to pay attention to the details. That could only mean one thing: Every little difference here had far-reaching consequences, and he couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.
So he’d have to be honest… but only if he knew what kind of minefield he might have to navigate.
A couple of tense minutes later, Peter must have concluded that Stiles really wouldn’t say more until he had more intel because the man sighed one of his signature put-upon sighs and said: “You were down here with Derek to look for an old Hale heirloom that could help us with the current snake infestation in the preserve. You must have activated a ward we didn’t know about because Derek came running to me about how you were all but electrocuted and hit your head hard enough that even human ears were able to hear the bone crack. He managed to drag you out of the room and then came to get me.”
Okay, wow! There was a lot to unpack here. Wards and Hale heirlooms seemed to hint at a magical bloodline. That they’d looked for it here probably meant that the Hales used to live here and might still have been arson victims. Which made Stiles tentatively hopeful his dad was also still all right.
Which… it might be callous to be relieved for himself upon learning of someone else’s tragedy, but he couldn’t help it. His dad was still the only family he had left—that he cared to associate with, at least.
… And none of this was relevant to the current clusterfuck he was caught in.
“Snakes?” he managed to ask the one thing that didn’t make sense in Peter’s report.
“Nasty little beasts that have proven to be both sapient and magically proficient. My research sadly hasn’t brought up any clues about what exactly they are yet, but we were hopeful the heirloom would be able to counter their magic.”
Why did that ring a bell? Stiles had the strangest sense of a déjà-vu all of a sudden, and the next sentence he said felt like he was repeating himself for some reason.
“And you just have a powerful heirloom lying around in a place you thought was easy to get to, and you haven’t tried to retrieve it before?”
“It’s well protected, isn’t it?” Peter sneered, obviously unhappy about having his diligence questioned.
“Not that you knew that until today.”
“Unfortunately. I’d have come down here myself if I’d known. The magical talent in our family might have been reserved only for the women, but that hasn’t stopped me from learning all the theory there is to learn. Maybe I could have made a difference.”
“There’s a lot of conjecture in this thought process. Also, if only the Hale women can do magic, what good would the heirloom be to you?”
“It’s passive protection, and it’s supposed to protect anyone innocent of whatever threat it’s used against.”
Okay, Stiles couldn’t fault this logic. But… “What about that ward, then?”
“I honestly have no idea. When Talia and Laura died, Cora was still too young and untrained to keep up the rituals that are needed to keep the wards strong. I was sure that none of them remained.”
That was also a logical conclusion to come to. All right. So, Stiles’ situation was caused by a series of events that couldn’t have been prevented unless someone had the Second Sight. Which was unfortunate in the sense that Stiles had nobody to blame it all on. Fortunate, though, in the sense that there likely wasn’t someone’s hidden agenda to fight against. Not that any of this brought him closer to being able to go home again.
“Now,” Peter’s sharp tone pulled Stiles back from his musings. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know—and then some. How about you keep your end of the bargain?”
Fair. But Stiles still doubted that Peter would easily believe his tale.
“Soooo…” he hedged. “You probably won’t like it if I tell you that I don’t remember anything of what you just told me, will you? None of that meshes with anything I do remember. I don’t seem to have any truly recent memories. There are only certain facts I know about my life, and almost all of what I’ve seen, heard, and felt since waking up is a direct contradiction to those facts.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed at him, but he seemed willing to humor him for the time being.
“Like what?”
“First and foremost? Before I woke up here, I was human, and you were the born wolf. A hunter family that cared little about the Code burned your house down about eight years ago now. And what’s left of your family—you in particular—has dragged me deeper into supernatural shenanigans than is probably good for my life expectancy.”
Peter stared at Stiles, frozen in his spot and his expression carefully blank. Stiles wondered how much of what he’d said sounded familiar to the man. Did the Argents exist here? Did the Hales die eight years ago? He didn’t dare to ask.
“I want to accuse you of lying,” Peter said eventually, “but I know you well enough to be sure you wouldn’t play a prank on me in a serious situation like this one.”
“I’m glad you believe me. I expected a far worse reaction.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Am I convinced that you believe what you say? Sure, no question about that. But that doesn’t mean what you say is actually true.”
Trust Peter to call Stiles’ theory into question, however unknowingly it might have been.
“What’s your guess, then? That cracking my head jumbled my memories well enough to present me with a false past?”
Granted, it was an easier explanation than jumping into a different reality. But everything in Stiles violently rejected that theory. He was absolutely sure he didn’t belong here. Especially since the longer he talked to Peter, the more he felt like something important was missing. He had the feeling they should be closer—emotionally speaking. As it was, there was a chasm between them right now that simply felt wrong to Stiles.
“That’s more believable than some magic that somehow switched our roles to some extent. How would one person’s head injury change the lives of who knows how many people?”
“Oh, I’m very sure that your life remains unchanged. And your Stiles has likely also always been a wolf. What I’m saying is that I believe I was transported into a different reality. A parallel universe. Something along those lines. I’m here right now, but it’s not my world. And I’d really like to undo whatever brought me here. I want to go home. I want to be back at the place where things make sense.”
“Let’s say I believe you’re right. Then how do you suggest you do that?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet. Remember that I only woke up in this wrong universe, or whatever, mere minutes ago.”
Peter sneered at him again, and it felt like a stab between Stiles’ ribs. He’d been past this phase in their interactions for more than a year back home. He wanted their easy banter and friendship back. What the hell had happened here that they were reluctant allies at best?
“Anyway,” Stiles continued, determined not to let this affect him too much, “what did you say? I—your Stiles—activated some kind of ward? Do you know what it was supposed to do?”
For a moment, it looked like Peter didn’t want to answer. All that did, though, was make Stiles straighten and stare him down, unwilling to cave and agree that the man was right. Because he wasn’t.
“There were several kinds,” Peter finally said, clearly still reluctant, but his interest in a puzzle apparently winning. “Down here, the majority of the wards were geared towards protecting the property. Keep the bad out, but allow a safe escape if needed. From what I could tell when I examined their anchors, those have all been defunct for years.” He paused, tapping his chin in deep thought. “Back when I was maybe six or seven, I overheard my mother talking to Talia about a secret stash directly under the heart of the house. It’s supposed to be the place where they stored anything that needed to be exceptionally secure but easily accessible. To them, that is. So, the vault was not an option for anything that they might need in an emergency. I wouldn’t have thought that an object that provides passive protection would need to be secured in any special way, but since it wasn’t in the vault…”
“So, you’re saying the stash stayed warded despite nobody having maintained the wards in years?”
That actually sparked a memory. Something that felt like he’d heard or read about it not that long ago. What had that been? Something about magic that was anchored directly to the ley lines? Did a ley line run under the Hale house? He couldn’t remember, so he asked and immediately felt like Peter wanted to pull all of Stiles’ thoughts from his brain. Could the man stare any more intensely at him?
“What do you know about this kind of magic?”
“Something I must have learned recently. I do all kinds of research for the pack, and I’ve gotten fairly good at prying secrets out of Deaton. These days, mountain ash isn’t the only thing that does my bidding.”
“You can do magic.”
Wow, the disbelief paired with a dose of jealousy was plain in Peter’s voice. Nothing Stiles could do about that, though.
“Imagine my and everyone else’s surprise when we learned that. As far as anyone knew, magic ran in neither of my parents’ bloodlines. The current theory is that at some time in the past, there must have been a magic user in my ancestry, and I was the guy in whom the talent manifested again.”
“Shouldn’t you be able to tell where the ley lines are, then?”
“You’d think so, but the longer I stand here, the less I can tell what my senses are trying to tell me. Must be because the kind of magic that werewolves possess is incompatible with human magic. My Peter wasn’t able to follow the lines either unless aided by maps. And any kind of sense memory my mind may have brought over is all but gone now. So, what about it? Ley lines here, yes or no?”
“Both, I think. I know there isn’t supposed to be one, but some of the magic that was worked here in the past wouldn’t have been possible without direct access to one.”
“Makes one wonder if it’s possible to redirect the natural flow of a line. I’d almost say there’d be negative consequences, but that’s a gut feeling only. Spotty memory or not, I’m fairly sure the extent of my knowledge about ley lines begins and ends with the fact that wards can be anchored to them instead of to an object if you want them to be permanent.”
“That much is true, at least.”
“Well then… that’d explain the active ward. But what exactly would it do?”
“I’d have to guess, unfortunately. Derek said he’d stayed behind you, so I can’t tell if he, as a Hale, would have been able to pass through.”
“If you’re incredibly unlucky, only a female Hale might have access. Is Cora around? We could check without her help if you want, though.”
“So I could potentially get electrocuted myself?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Stiles couldn’t help but tease. Too bad that this Peter wouldn’t tease right back. Instead, he got a pointed look in reply.
“It’s buried under my lack of accelerated healing.”
Fair point, Stiles had to admit. And yet…
And yet, the thought of checking had taken root in his brain. Not to see if Peter would be able to pass, however. For some reason, the urge to try again himself was suddenly overwhelming and very, very hard to resist.
Why was that?
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Peter snapped, and Stiles froze in place.
Huh?
When had he gotten half across the room? He didn’t remember moving at all. But the need to keep going thrummed wildly under his skin. It was a highly disconcerting feeling, to say the very least.
“You know the definition of insanity?”
Peter’s question felt like a non-sequitur, but Stiles found himself answering automatically anyway: “Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
“Exactly! So why were you heading for the ward as if you’d be able to just walk through this time?”
“What if I don’t want a different result?”
“What? Do you have a death wish?”
Hey, for a human, Peter had a surprisingly strong grip on Stiles’ arm! If he were in his own body, he’d definitely be developing a hand-shaped bruise now.
“I can’t explain it, but it feels like it’s beckoning me—like I only need to come a little closer to get the answers to all of my questions.”
“Has it occurred to you that this might be a failsafe? A way to eliminate a threat completely? You might not be suicidal on your own, but the ward might not give you a choice if you come too close.”
“Awww, are you worried? And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.”
“Don’t!” Peter growled, and while it was a good approximation of his Peter’s growl, it still sounded so very wrong to Stiles and only increased the urge to get close to the ward again. Peter’s hold on him would never be able to stop him.
And sure enough, only seconds later, they were standing right in front of the ward barrier. Stiles couldn’t see it, but he felt it. It was a faint electric hum that raised the hairs on his arms. Rational thought said to take a step back, but he was rooted right where he stood.
The sense of déjà-vu was overwhelming now.
He’d stood here before, exactly like this: Peter half a step behind him, his fingers digging into Stiles’ arm as if he were debating pulling him back.
Stiles closed his eyes at the rush of another set of memories. Suddenly, he knew he’d heard the story about the snakes before, too. Which meant that both realities were having the same problem, and both Peters had found the same potential solution. Which also meant that both he and the other Stiles must have come into contact with the ward at pretty much the same time. So, here he was now, likely having switched places with his other self, and the thought that trying to pass through the ward again would fix what got broken grew and grew in his mind until it became an absolute certainty to him.
Was this insane?
No doubt about that at all! But his magic was based on belief and intuition. He knew that both traits had never steered him wrong before. And on the off-chance that they did…
If this version of Peter was right and the ward was manipulating him to obliterate himself… Wasn’t that—maybe—better than having to live in this world where everything was just wrong?
The only regret he’d have in that scenario was that he’d be leaving his own Peter behind. And that thought actually hurt.
Still, he had to try.
He raised his hand, reaching for the humming wall of energy.
Before Peter’s sudden yank on his arm could pull him to perceived safety, there was a flash, and pain raced up his arm and through his whole body.
Everything went black.
~
“Stiles? … Stiles! … Wake up, damn it!”
Stiles woke to one hell of a headache and an infernal whine in his ears that refused to quit.
Ouch!
His instinctual groan hurt his throat as if he’d been screaming for a while.
“Oh, thank the stars and the moon…” he heard a familiar voice close to his still ringing ears. And then there were hands supporting his head, and the pain started to recede.
Stiles let himself bask in the floaty feeling for a moment, but the need to open his eyes became too hard to resist.
The first thing he noticed was a faint glow to the side like someone had dropped either a flashlight or a phone. It gave him enough light to see someone leaning over him.
“There you are,” said the voice, a smile clearly audible if not visible on the person’s face.
And then there was a pair of glowing blue eyes.
Peter!
His Peter!
He lurched upwards and found himself in the wolf’s arms, their faces pressed to each other’s necks as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Which it wasn’t… Or it hadn’t been, until a moment ago.
Sure, they’d been close for a while now, but this was new. Exciting. Right in a way that felt like coming home.
“Never do that again, you hear me?” Peter whispered and tightened his hold on Stiles.
“Never do what again?” Stiles rasped on autopilot, his brain-to-mouth filter well and truly shot.
“Scare me like that. You were unconscious for almost half an hour. Then you convulsed, and there was a flashover from the ward barrier to your chest. You didn’t breathe for over a minute.”
Stiles had never heard Peter sound so scared. And… his wolf had a point, didn’t he? A bit more caution from now on would probably be a good idea.
Of course, that didn’t solve their most pressing problem. They’d still have to find a way past the ward if they wanted the preserve to be infestation-free anytime soon.
But for the time being?
For the time being, he’d revel in having his Peter back. The one who cared. The one Stiles cared for in return. Although “cared” might not be strong enough a word to describe what he was feeling now.
That was something he was willing to explore in more depth soon. He was looking forward to it.