Archive of Our Own ^beta

Of course it was Peter. It's always fucking Peter.

"I've lived my entire life in a nightmare." He hissed, staring at the McCall-Hale pack with a dangerous grin. "Now you can enjoy yours." He then threw his hands to the ground, causing a cloud of green to engulf the room.

Yeah, I should probably explain. You see, the pack was having yet another showdown with the psychotic werewolf. Things were going well, Derek was handling on his own so far, making sure the rest of the pack stayed hidden until they were necessary. There was no point making them fight if it wasn't needed. That was until all the supernaturals caught the scent of something interesting in Peter's pockets. It smelt like regular wolfsbane, but something was off about it, there was a difference in the scent that none of them could place.

"DEREK!" Scott yelled, gaining the attention of the older male. Knowing that the jig was up, the rest of the pack came out of their hiding spots, lowly growling at the sadistic man in the corner. Well, all but Stiles and Mason. The only humans of the group didn't possess the ability to growl like an animal, but Stiles' glare more than made up for it, his eyes hardening and standing up taller, stepping out of the role of sarcastic, spazzy Stiles Stilinski, and into his true character of Thomas Edison. Malia took a moment to look at him, noticing a change in his scent. It was less sweet, the smell of cinnamon with undertones of vanilla drained away to be replaced by that of a wild field and crackling fire with a hint of ozone. It appears that she wasn't the only one who noticed the difference, Liam, ever the baby of the pack, also looked over, eyebrows furrowed in confusion which just increased his puppy-like looks.

"I got this, Scott." He replied in a commanding tone. Despite losing his alpha-ness to save his sister, he retained an alpha complex, often slipping into the role of leader and taking charge. Peter let out a laugh- a deep, grating laugh, before reaching into his pockets, coming out with them clenched. The oddly scented wolfsbane only got stronger, now reaching the nose of the younger Hale, who's eyes widened in shock. "You wouldn-"

"Oh, but I would, dear Nephew." He replied, his eyes taking on a crazy look. "I've spent my whole life in a nightmare." Peter hissed, staring at the McCall-Hale pack with a dangerous grin. "Now you can enjoy yours." He then threw his hands to the ground, causing a cloud of green to engulf the room. The pack barely had time to see that he was gone before they were all sucked into a shared head space.

"Where are we?" Lydia asked, always one for knowledge. The strawberry-blonde looked around the area, perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowing in frustration. The dark emptiness left room for questions that would all be answered in due time, not that she knew that.

"I think the better question is why are we here?" Kira replied, looking around with a wary gaze.

No one got a chance to answer before Derek popped out of existence and the scene around them changed. It was the first of many scenes they would be shown that night.

***

"Stiles, have you gone yet?" Scott asked, looking at his pacing best friend in concern. The boy didn't answer, instead was worrying on his thumb, not stopping even when the tangy taste of blood coated his tongue. "Dude, stop." The alpha ordered, grabbing the brunette by his shoulders and forcing him still. "Whatever happens, it can't be that bad compared to the rest of ours." He tried in a voice that sounded like what he was saying was supposed to be soothing, but the words themselves were ignorant and insensitive.

Scott probably figured that not a lot of bad things had happened to Stiles, and it's not his fault I suppose. Noah hadn't told the pack that Stiles had been taken, only telling them that he was visiting family for a while. Four years was a long while, and they had started to get suspicious, but then Stiles came back. Although he wasn't strictly Stiles, he jumped at every little noise, always looked as if he was on high-alert, sometimes didn't respond to his own name, and one time Scott had climbed through his bedroom window during the night, only to be greeted with a knife to the throat and a furious looking Stiles.

"Scott, this is literally making us relive our worst memories. I have a lot of bad memories." The human scoffed as he shrugged his shoulders free of the werewolf's large hands.

The were in question only nodded absentmindedly, probably figuring that his friend was talking about the nogitsune, or the memories he had of his mother. Not that Stiles could remember Claudia in the slightest, the only memories he had regained were the ones of the people around him, his mother was not one of those people, so his memories of her remained in the void of his mind somewhere.

Suddenly, the blackness morphed once again, but this time it was Stiles who recognised the scenery. The wrecked street and burning surroundings were hauntingly familiar to him, showing a memory he never wanted to relive. He could no longer see the pack, but he knew that they were watching, separated from him, but watching. He could feel the weight of the pistol in the back of his jeans, it was calling to him, reminding him of the life it would soon claim. Stiles could feel the confusion of the others through the pack bond, none of them recognised anything about this, not the street, not the cars, not the blonde with feathery hair and black veins creeping up his face.

Stiles walked the short distance over to his friend, choking back a sob at the sight of him. The madness in his eyes was almost too much, he knew that this would be the feature of his nightmares for a while to come.

"Hey." He called the familiar words, hating every fibre of himself in that moment. "Newt, it's me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?" The sound of his voice caused something to clear in the blond's eyes, the insanity now lurking beneath a layer of warmth.

"I bloody remember you, Tommy." He almost whispered. The warmth suddenly drained from his eyes, leaving them cold, but still clear. "You just came to see me at the Palace, rubbed it in that you ignored my note. I can't go completely crazy in a few days."

It shocked the pack how much raw pain was coming from their friend, and it hurt that they couldn't go to him. Despite wanting answers about the situation, Lydia figured that they shouldn't pry into this, it was clearly something he didn't want them to know about, otherwise he would have told them.

"Then why are you here?" He asked, the pain evident in his voice. "Why are you with... them?" The boy that Stiles called Newt, looked back at the monsters behind him, then back at Stiles.

"It comes and goes, man. I can't explain it. Sometimes I can't control myself, barely know what I'm doing. But usually it's like an itch in my brain, throwing everything off-kilter just enough to bother me- make me angry." He explained, looking down at his shoes.

"You seem fine right now." Stiles replied, his whiskey-coloured eyes brimming with sadness. The pack could feel the despair, the crushing depression rolling off of their pack-mate and that was something they longed to fix, but the invisible barrier preventing them from doing so was in the way still.

"Yeah, well. The only reason I'm with these wackers from the Palace is because I don't know what else to do. They're fighting, but they're also a group. You find yourself alone, you don't have a bloody chance."

"Newt, come with me this time, right now. We can take you somewhere safer, somewhere better to-" Newt laughed, and when he did his head twitched strangely a couple of times.

"Get out of here, Tommy. Get away." Stiles bit his lip, almost causing it to bleed.

"Just come with me," He begged, his voice sounding pitiful, but he didn't care. Stiles knew that this was a memory, that nothing would change, but he so desperately wished that it would. He would give anything to not have to do this again. "I'll tie you up if it makes you feel better." Newt's face suddenly hardened into anger, his words shooting out in rage.

"Just shut up, you shuck traitor! Didn't you read my note? You can't do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like always? I hate you! I always hated you!" The pack gasped in shock, several of their eyes brimming with tears at the crestfallen expression set across the brunette's features.

"Newt-" He tried, but was interrupted.

"It was all your fault! You could have stopped when the first Creators died. You could've figured out a way. But no! You had to keep going, try to save the world, be the hero. And you came to the Maze and never stopped. All you care about is yourself! Admit it! Gotta be the one people remember, the one people worship! We should've thrown you down the Box hole!" Newt's face had turned a deep red colour, spit flying from his mouth as he yelled. He took lumbering steps towards Stiles, his hands balled into fists.

"I'm gonna blast him!" A guy yelled from the van that Stiles had gotten out of. "Get out of the way." The pack again had no clue who this man was, but Stiles seemed to know him and felt trust towards him. With a hurt expression, Stiles turned towards him slightly.

"Don't! It's just me and him! Don't do anything!" He turned back towards Newt, who was now a lot closer than he was before. "Newt, stop. Just listen to me. I know you're okay in there. Enough to hear me out."

"I hate you, Tommy!" He was only a few feet away now and Stiles took a step back, his hurt turning to fear as he knew what was to come. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you can't even do the one and only thing I've ever asked you to do! I can't even look at your ugly shuck face!" Stiles took two more steps back, his fear and hurt were battling for dominance inside his mind.

On the one hand, there was a furious Crank walking towards him, yelling about how he hated him, but on the other hand, this was Newt, the guy that Stiles had been in love with since the Maze.

"Newt, you need to stop." He begged, his voice cracking in a way that didn't happen before. "They're going to shoot you. Just stop and listen to me! Get in the van, let me tie you up. Give me a chance!" It was hard enough to do the first time, Stiles knew that killing Newt a second time would completely break his psyche. There would be no coming back from it.

The blond screamed and rushed forwards, his cry almost drowning out the sound of the Launcher shooting an arc of lightning that skidded and crackled across the pavement, only just missing them by a foot or so. Stiles froze in place, staring at the face that haunted his dreams, which gave Newt the opportunity to tackle him to the ground, knocking the breath from his lungs. He struggled to breathe as his old love climbed on top of him and pinned him down, and not in the way he wanted Newt to.

"I should rip your eyes out," He hissed, spraying spit over Stiles' face. "Teach you a lesson in stupidity. Why'd you come over here? You expected a bloody hug? Huh? A nice sit-down to talk about the good times in the Glade?" Stiles shook his head, an overwhelming wave of despair washing over him as he knew what was coming next, yet his hand still slowly reached for the gun tucked into his waistband. "You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy? Did I ever tell you? No, I don't think I did." Stiles wanted to cry out, to make this stop, but nothing would stop it except finishing the memory.

He didn't want to have to listen to this memory again, it destroyed him hearing it the first time, and the second was bound to have similar effects. Knowing that the pack was watching all of this made it worse, somehow it felt as if they were intruding on something private, and in a way they were, this was something he wanted to keep private, wanted to keep to himself. He couldn't deal with their anguish on top of his own.

"What happened?" Stiles choked out, knowing that it was coming soon. His hand slipped around the gun, resting his forefinger on the trigger guard.

"I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all... your ... fault!"

Without warning, Newt twisted around and grabbed Thomas by the hand holding the gun. He yanked it towards himself, forcing it up until the muzzle was pressed up against his forehead. "Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!" Stiles fought to pull his hand away, and he was sobbing now, tears streaming down his face, not that Newt saw, for this was only a memory, and all he would see is how Stiles' face looked in the moment.

Newt was too strong however, the Flare must have given him extra strength, because there was no way he could have kept it pushed firmly against his head with the strength of a normal human.

"I can't, Newt, I can't." He begged, but it came out as choked sobs.

"Make amends! Repent for what you did!" The words dragged out of him, his whole trembling with the effort. His voice then dropped to a harsh, urgent whisper. "Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery." Even after a year, the words still horrified Stiles.

"Newt, maybe we can-"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!"

"I can't." He cried, his words coming out as a defeated whisper.

"Do it!"

"I can't!" He yelled again, still struggling for possession of the gun. He knew it wouldn't matter though, it would end the same way.

"Kill me or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!" He roared, the madness clear in his eyes.

"Newt..." He trailed off, looking into the crazy, brown eyes of his love.

"Do it before I become one of them!"

"I-"

"KILL ME!" And then Newt's eyes cleared, grasping to the the one last trembling gasp of sanity he had. His voice softened as he spoke the last words he ever would.

"Please, Tommy. Please." With his face covered in tears and his heart crumbling in his chest, Stiles pulled the trigger.

Just as quickly as the scene appeared, it faded away into the darkness that was now comforting to Stiles. Anything was better than that cursed street. Too soon for his liking, there were people at his sides, crowding around him and asking stupid questions that have obvious answers.

"Are you okay?"

"What was that?"

"What was wrong with him?"

"Who was he?"

"Where were you?" They all asked at once.

"ENOUGH!" He screamed, his voice cracking pathetically at the end.

Stiles was fortunate that he was last, and the black nothingness was slowly bleeding back into the room they were actually in. As soon as he could see enough, he quickly pulled himself up and ran away at Runner speed, surprising his friends. Scott made to go after him, only to be held back by Mason. The other human figured that his friend needed to be alone right now. If the memory was anything to go by, Stiles would be needing comfort soon, but not now. For now he just needed to be alone.