Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Jeff Davis et al. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: spoilers for season 3, mentions deaths off screen
Stiles heard the door give under the pounding it was taking and he knew it was now or never. Scott was charging towards him across Derek's empty loft, all red eyes and fury and nothing left of the boy he loved like a brother. The mountain ash circle would hold against the others, but not Scott, not for long, so he lifted the knife.
It had taken him hours to prepare the ritual and he knew Derek had to be dead or incapacitated, which left just him.
"Save them all," he said, calling on the power he felt inside and then thrust the knife right through the symbol he had carved into his own chest and into his heart.
He really did not expect to open his eyes just in time to see Jackson, in full kanima mode, jump onto the hood of his jeep. Lydia screamed and scrambled out of the door and Stiles did the same, more on instinct than anything else. He ran towards Scott as every cell in his body screamed at him and then fell over because if felt as if he was being ripped apart.
Everything was playing out around him, everything that had happened before, just like it had then. Lydia spoke to Jackson, Derek and Peter killed the kanima, Jackson came back, only this time Stiles was writhing on the ground and Scott was more worried about him than Jackson.
"Stiles, what's wrong?" Scott asked and Scott's hand on his back felt like it was burning.
He was changing, he could feel it, old becoming new as his current self forced himself onto his previous self. He was aging, blending as months compressed into minutes and it hurt. All he could do was twist and convulse on the floor of the warehouse as magic warped his body.
"What's happening to him?" Allison wanted to know.
"Stiles?" that was from Lydia.
"Stay back," Chris Argent.
When it finally left him gasping on the ground he couldn't move, could barely breathe.
"Stiles," Scott's voice was urgent, but his touch was gentle, as if dealing with a wounded animal.
At that moment Stiles wasn't sure he wasn't.
"Stiles," Scott tried again and Stiles managed to mumble something, but it wasn't coherent. "Lydia, what happened to him?" Scott wanted to know.
"Nothing," Lydia said; "he was fine. Just normal Stiles until we got out of the Jeep."
"That scar just appeared on his hand," Derek said and Stiles just about managed to peer at his left hand to see the marks.
It had been just as everything went to hell; Scott had gone crazy, just for an hour and left claw marks to prove it. Stiles had looked back only days after and wished everything had stayed that way, just for an hour. Mentally he tried to gather himself and make his body move; he had work to do.
"His hair's changed," Jackson said, of course Jackson would notice a thing like that, even after just dying.
Stiles decided he had to do something or jumpy people were going to react. So he dragged his arms under him and pushed off, standing as fast as he could and then wobbling in place. Everything felt very surreal and he stood for a few moments, back to the others, trying to find his equilibrium. The magic was supposed to fix things, save everyone and put the town back together, not like this, he had never expected this. Slowly he turned to see his friends as they were supposed to be, not the twisted caricatures they had become.
"Oh my god, look at his eye," Allison gasped.
So that had come too.
"That's what you get when you fight off demon possession," he said, voice still tinged with the power he had been using.
Now Peter looked worried.
"You," he said and pointed.
Then he moved before anyone could stop him, dodging round the others to get to Peter. He grabbed the werewolf by the neck and threw Peter against the side of Chris' truck with magically enhanced strength.
"Leave him," he growled, "or I will tear you out."
"Never," Peter hissed back, werewolf blue eyes going sickly green as the demon revealed itself.
They had never figured out how long the demon had had Peter, only that it had twisted all of Peter's fears and desires to its own ends until Peter had unleashed hell on Beacon Hills, almost literally. Stiles was not letting that happen again.
He started chanting under his breath, a mixture of Latin, Celtic and Arabic that had been seared into his memory through need. It was the only way to get a demon out of a host and he had used it too many times. Before they had realised it was too late, that they needed something greater, they had tried to save the possessed. It always worked, only problem being about half the time it killed the host and it always left something behind. For him it had been the eye, for Danny claws on one hand. Part of him hoped it killed Peter, the vindictive part.
The magic was building under his skin and it pinned Peter to the vehicle, Stiles' touch only needed to transfer it now, not hold the werewolf in place. Peter was snarling and trying to get away as a phantom wind whipped around them both. Stiles answer was to snarl back the words of the banishment.
"I will win, human," Peter growled, voice as twisted as his face was becoming.
Stiles did not so much as pause in his chant and just stared into the demonic features.
He remembered the pain and the evil clawing at his soul. He had been one of the first exorcised and it had been both the worst and most amazing experience of his life. It had been terrible, but there was absolutely no equivalent in normal existence to the feeling of joy and relief as the darkness was ripped away. It was literally impossible to describe to someone who had not been through it and it had changed him forever.
He was shouting now, each word, clear over the noise Peter was making. This demon had had this soul a long time, leeching off it, and it took a lot of power to tear it away. How long it had sat, like a cancer, warping Peter's thoughts was impossible to tell, but Stiles knew it was not recent. He could see Peter splitting under his hand, the echo coming away and leaving behind the real person. Peter was screaming now and Stiles let go, stepping back even as he continued his chant.
Peter writhed against the vehicle, struggling with unseen forces holding him there. His body looked to actually be coming apart and he was bleeding from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, even his ears. If he had not been a werewolf, Stiles suspected Peter would have been dead already.
Holding out his hands, Stiles focused everything he had on the creature before him. It was ancient and had grown powerful on Peter's machinations, but Stiles had the deaths of friends and family as his motivator; the twisting and destruction of everyone he loved, and there was no way he was going to lose. Screaming the words he let the spell have everything he had left and it felt as if the world exploded.
He woke up on his back feeling like he had gone ten rounds with Deucalion to find Derek staring down at him. He remembered their last kiss, just before Derek had gone down to hold off Scott and the others to give him time to complete the ritual. He wished he could kiss those lips again, but he was too tired to move. He wasn't even sure he could put enough brain power together to talk.
"Did he just say he wanted to kiss me?" Derek sounded utterly perplexed.
So maybe he could speak after all and his brain to mouth filter was even worse than usual.
"Stiles," Scott leaned into his field of vision, "if you are Stiles."
"'m," was what he managed to say deliberately.
"What the hell was that?" is what Jackson wanted to know.
"That was an exorcism," Chris said and also leaned into his field of vision. "Who are you and what did you do with Stiles?"
"Am him," he said, doing his best to make the real words reach his mouth, "but ten months time."
"Time travel, that's possible now?" Isaac sounded like that was one step too far.
Stiles tried to laugh, but it didn't work too well. It came out as kind of a wheeze and he tried to sit up to get more air and also failed. Chris was nice enough to reach out, take his hand and help him. Derek put a hand on his back when he almost fell straight back the way he came.
"You claim you're from the future?" Scott asked, looking dubious.
"Peter opened a portal to their place," he said, because they had stopped calling it Hell, that was only one interpretation, "and we closed it, but not in time. So many people dead or worse. I used the Anselm ritual to fix it, didn't know I would end up here."
"Anselm," Chris sounded like he was about to blow a gasket.
"Yeah, you did that when I suggested it the first time, then you died so we did it anyway."
Chris just gaped at him and then stepped forward, neatly ripping the front of his shirt. Right there on his chest was a scar in the shape of the ritual symbol with the line of the stab wound through it and about the only thing he could think was at least it wasn't still raw and bleeding.
"Jesus," Chris said, clearly unable to believe what he was seeing.
"What is the Anselm ritual?" Scott asked.
Stiles looked at Chris, he did not want Scott to know that. He had known he had to prove what he was saying and only that would do it, but he did not want Chris to explain it all.
"Mr Argent?" Scott’s tone suggested he was not above insisting.
"It is possibly the most dangerous ritual there is because it grants one wish," Chris said, "any wish. What was your wish?"
"Save them all," Stiles said simply.
He really hoped Chris would stop there.
"It requires human sacrifice," Chris did not stop.
Scott was staring at him open mouthed.
"You killed someone?" Scott sounded like he didn't believe that and Stiles wished he could go back to that sort of innocence.
"You misunderstand," Chris said before Stiles could formulate a reply. "The human sacrifice is the caster."
"You killed yourself?" Scott's voice had got even higher and louder.
"There was no other way," he protested.
"Human sacrifice is nothing to be messed with," Chris said.
Stiles actually managed to laugh this time.
"Tell that to the Darach," he said, because, as usual his mouth was ahead of his brain.
Chris was just frowning at him now.
"Who were you thinking about when you said 'them all'?" Chris finally asked as everyone else just stood there in abject confusion.
Deaton had told him to focus on specific names, explained he needed to be exact, but his mind had betrayed him. His thoughts had gone everywhere in his panic and he had been thinking with his heart more than anything else.
"Holy crap," he said as it dawned on him he might have included everyone he cared about just by accident.
He hadn't known or cared about anyone the kanima had killed or Peter when he was the alpha, but there were others after that. It was beginning to make sense why he had been thrown back to this particular time.
"Erica and Boyd," he said as ideas rushed into his head like an avalanche, "we have to find them before the alphas, or maybe it's too late for that, but I know where they took them. Oh, Derek, they've got your sister too."
"My sisters are dead," Derek growled at him.
"Not this one, name's Cora, she's feisty," he replied.
"Cora's alive?" Derek looked utterly shocked.
"What alphas?" Allison wanted to know.
A loud groan interrupted proceedings and it looked like Peter wasn't actually dead after all. Stiles couldn't decide if he was pleased or not because he honestly had no idea what Peter's psyche was going to be like now.
"Whole pack of them run by a guy called Deucalion, way over dramatic, likes to refer to himself as a demon wolf," he said, thoughts falling over each other. "All Gerard's fault, by the way. Did he have anything to do with cutting down the nemeton, just for the record, because he seems to have caused everything else in this town? Allison, y'know if you'd like to make up for trying to kill all your friends again, stabbing your grandfather through the heart would really be a huge favour to the world. Oh and because he's a wuss and won't tell you and it's going to cause all sorts of friction we really do not need, your mom was trying to kill Scott the night she was bitten. About the only one who is about the code is your dad, so listen to him."
Allison was staring at him open mouthed.
"Alphas, Darach, demons, anyone else confused?" Isaac asked in a slightly plaintive tone.
"Let's get out of here," Chris said, clearly having had just about enough; "we can go to our house, talk this through."
Stiles could virtually feel Derek bristling at that suggestion.
"How about my house," Stiles suggested before there was an argument, "kind of neutral territory?"
"What about your dad?" Scott asked.
"Don't you think I'm gonna have to explain a few things now?" he asked and gave his friend a look.
He had one lurid green, vertically slitted eye that he could probably cover up with a contact lens for school, but there was no way he could get it past his dad. It was time to have the whole werewolf conversation and this time he had proof so his dad was just going to have to deal. Frankly he also desperately wanted to see his father because the Sheriff had been one of the first casualties. It had been in the first skirmish and his dad had died and he'd been possessed and everything had just gone downhill from there.
"Stiles' house," Scott decided firmly, probably having seen the desperation in his eyes.
"But," Derek and Chris tried to protest at the same time.
"Stiles' house," Scott repeated and there was the alpha waiting to be that Stiles knew was inside his best friend.
Both Derek and Chris decided to shut up after that and Scott and Allison helped Stiles stand.
"Does anyone have anything Jackson can wear," he said, "because his wiener is really distracting?"
For the first time someone cracked a smile so he decided his job was done.