Thursdays Childe

It was a Thursday when his eyes turned as black as pitch.

Authors Note: My first Teen Wolf fic! and it's about demon!stiles. I really not sure if I've managed to portray everyone correctly which is why I haven't wrote and/or posted any Teen Wolf before but I am new to this fandom but ohmygod it gives me so many feels and Stiles is such a pretty angel! Also, everyone should just listen to Stiles Stilinski because everyone else is stupid.

Authors Note: To prove I can actually write something short because they all seem to be chaptered ones now. Also, Stiles is my baby.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own Teen Wolf. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not mine.

Stiles had gone to bed, relatively normal - well, as normal as a teenage boy with ADHD and a werewolf for a best friend could be - and dead-set on ignoring the tugging in his stomach as he had stared out of his window, unusually still and uncommonly silent as he gazed with blank eyes at the black mass of cloud that had hung suspended in the air just above the Stilinski house.

He had collasped upon his bed, clad in only an old hoody he had pinched from Scott when the transition had forced his bulk to become bigger and a pair of ratty, barely used boxer shorts before happily curling up underneath his numerous blankets and stuffing his head under the pillow to block to diming light of the sky from his vision.

Rather than lamenting over the rather suspicious absence of the wolves, he paid no mind to their disappearence, sure that they - a Beta and an Alpha - would be able to look after themselves - or rather, Derek would look after himself whilst trying to make sure the rather dense Scott didn't get distracted by thoughts of Allison or a bunny (perhaps to Scott, they were the same thing, Stiles had always thought Scott was a bit stupid, if not rather dumb. Hell, even before becoming a werewolf, Scott would snuffle in his sleep and yelp as if he was chasing Thumper around the garden; it had become a source of pure enjoyment for Stiles and pure embarrasment for Scott).

When he had awoken, his eyes had opened but his body didn't obey his commands.

He watched from inside his own head - feeling like his mother could have felt when he had slowly saw her fall prey to her cancer, sat silently and wasting away in that hospital bed - as this foreign entity, this demon turned Stiles' body to and fro, running admiring eyes over the soft flesh and silver scars that littered his body.

A hand lingered of the small pin-prink marks that Peter Hales fangs had left upon his wrist.

They would always be there now, no bigger than that of a pencil lead when sharpened, none of the pack new about his two new additions and Stiles wanted to keep it that way. Scott didn't really count because he hadd only cocked his head to the right and sniffed only to draw a confused face before saying that there was a new scent mixed in with Stiles. (There, Stiles had primarily panicked and kicked Scott out of the window where he landed in a thorny rosebush in Mrs Next Doors Garden but Stiles had paid no mind because he was putting his mad research Googling skills to the ultimate test to find out why some of frickin' Peter Hales scent had infused into his. And than came the fact that Stiles found out that when an Alpha offered a human or fellow wolf a bite on the wrist, it was a mark of Courting. In otherwords, Peter Hale - Peter Hale! - had been planning to Court Stiles - oh holy hell)

"This will do very nicely," The stranger inhabiting his body said as he exhaled smoothly; and it wasn't Stiles but it was Stiles' voice. It was cold and smooth and dark but beneath it lay Stiles' usual warmth and giddiness and Stiles couldn't help but beat his metaphorical fists bloodied upon the invisible ward that trapped in in the depths of his own mind, cold and dank and wet in a dark corner where red eyes loomed and spirits tried to draw him in; his mothers corpse laid out in front of him, cold and dead with her tightly curled brown hair splayed around her head like a blackened halo as her ice blue eyes stared at Stiles, deaddeaddead.

"Getout!" Stiles screamed, voice hoarse and high-pitched, shaking with his terror and his anger as he fought and fought, beating himself bloody as he tried to gain control but he couldn't and he could only watch with helplessness as the demon in his body laughed and laughed that horrible laugh that gave Stiles chills and made him want to curl up and cry.

He could only watch as the demon ran a hand down the bodies chest, long but blunt nails creating thick red welts that clashed sharply with Stiles' pale skin, the hoody having been discarded with fervent hands that admired Stiles in a way that made Stiles want to flash a neon torch with the words 'BAD-TOUCH!' firmly entrenched within them.

Really? Could it be classed as the bad-touch if it's your body - only someone else is making you do it? Here, Stiles put his head in his hands, temporaily forgetting where he was and what type of incident he was in. How was this even his life? Seriously, how?

Stiles could only surrender himself to the will of the demon, watching helplessly as the demon opened his wardrobe only to tut with his hands upon his hips - and really? trust Stiles to get a fashion-forward demon inhabiting his body - before digging around for the pair of leather pants that Stiles had pretended not to notice Erica slip into his room along with a black short sleeved shirt that left nothing to imagination.

This demon wasn't looking to fit in; he was looking for trouble.

It was when the demon was back in front of the mirror screwed into the back of his door did Stiles know who - or precisely what - they may have been dealing with; where his normal warm brown eyes used to be, Stiles could only find dark blackness, cold and never ending and Stiles couldn't help the picture of Severus Snape from Harry Potter popping up in his mind and making him give a deranged snort; what was even stranger was the fact that the demon saw the pictured form and let out an odd sounding snort that stopped Stiles in his track.

But it was the blackness of his eyes that sent his mind into over-drive; he had stead-fastly managed to translate the entirity of Gerards bestiary, though slightly disappointed by the fact that the old man had gone the way of technology, he had copied everything into a large, leather bound book as well as transferring it to his computer as back-up; he might not have been as smart or a genius Lydia Martin but he wasn't entirely stupid.

He strained his mind, struggling before managing to remember the page that had been before Spirit-Wulfs - born wolfs where their wolves were attached to their spirits, their souls and could never be parted from - and after Necromancers - normal humans apart from the whole raising the undead thing which Stiles had thought was pretty cool; until it mentioned the fact that the undead would be just that, the undead with really no mind or order but with a single entity which is to do their masters or mistresses bidding, which; awesome with a capital A.

He remembered black-eyes and the words demons, coldness and hell and the word Lucifer which sent a chill down his spine; before his mother had died, they had been very religious, Amanda having been a devout Catholic and John wanting to do anything to keep his wife happy but that was before, and with his mothers death, Stiles lost his faith in God.

But he had remembered those lessons, the olde scrolls with sometimes undecipherable writing upon the parchments with the words black-eyes and possession and demon scratched into them.

But in his musings, the demon had begun to move and Stiles was but a driving passanger as his eyes resided back to his normal brown as they walked - or sauntered more like - to his old jeep and in his own mind and trapped in his own body, Stiles let his jaw drop because Demons were supernatural creatures so why would they need something like cars when they can freaking run like a cheetah?

Like a puppet whose Master was contorting the strings, the demon - he really needed to find out the demons name, for gods sake because he just couldn't go around saying he had been a meatsuit for a demon, well shucks, he wouldn't have been able to do that anyway because who wants to know anyone who had been a meatsuit for a goddamn demon? -Stiles' body was forced towards the burned out husk of the Hale House, blackened and crumbling but still the home of Derek, Erica, Isaac and Boyd as well as on occasion, Scott when he wasn't being such a douchenozzle which was pretty much all the time.

He had only stepped onto the bottom step of the Hale House when the porch was flooded, Stiles wrinkled his nose a the scent of woodland and pine fresh invaded the air, feeling a swell of hope bloom in the human he was inhabitating. He couldn't have that, now could he?

"Stiles!" Scott, exhuberant, dense Scott McCall, hadn't even noticed anything was wrong as he bounced forward towards Stiles, looking more like a furry, woodland creature than a frickin' werewolf - "Seriously Stiles, how is this even a werewolf?" "Shut-up," - and he couldn't help but wonder why on earth an Alpha would ever want to bite this monstrousity of a werewolf whow as more likely to play with the fucking bunnies than eat Thumper.

Stiles stiffened when he felt Scott wrap arms around him, before the miserable excuse for a werewolf bounced back to stand next to Allison.

"My name," Stiles started, voice cold and Derek - the Alpha obviously and the demon only rolled his eyes because seriously? That jawline was kind of ridiculous and the hair was so much better on Lucifer than Derek. "Is not Stiles,"

The blond girl - Erica - frowned, her red painted lips pursed sternly. "Did you take to much Adderall, Stilinski? Because I think it's messed with more than your hyperactivity,"

"Dude, I'm pretty sure your name is Stiles, unless you're going by Geni-," Scott was cut off by a wave of a hand. He froze for a second before he was suddenly flung back, through crumbling walls and destroyed furniture to land on the other side of the shell, shocked and disorientated but otherwise unharmed. Derek, having stood stoic and silent til then, roared. His eyes had bled to red even as his canines had elongated to fangs. Stiles clapped his hands together, feeling a morbid sense of thrilling happiness well up in him.

"Now this is more like it!" He yelled, grinning widely as he bounced up and down.

Derek, having forced Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Allison behind him despite them being wolfed out and Allison at the ready with a knife that Erica had withdrawn, made no attempt to approach Stiles - or rather, the person or thing that was wearing Stiles' face and body - frowned, eyebrows heavy and daunting as he stared into Stiles' usually warm brown eyes.

"What are you?" He growled, voice dark as he stared at the body of his human pack mate. With a wide grin, white teeth shined as Stiles only gazed at him. Stiles' head tilted to the right, that same, glinting and inhumanly wide smile still set upon Stiles' face. He blinked once-

And Derek, startled, lept back claws held out front of him as he bared his fangs at the thing that was Stiles but wasn't. This thing, this thing with the blackened eyes and the too-wide grin wasn't his Stiles; his Stiles was warm and brown-eyed and couldn't fling a werewolf with merely a wave of his hand.

"I, my dear Alpha," Stiles said, voice taught and tight with a sort of darkness that held the gripped with fear; their own emotions amplified by feeling the others fear as it became a stench in the air. "Am something that even werewolves fear - but, oh you wouldn't know about that would you? Because you never bother to read, do you know how long it took Stiles to figure out what it was? Not even five minutes, and yet here you all are, supernatural beings and one - useless - hunter and you don't even know," The thing let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You call yourself 'supernatural creatures',"

"What Are You!" Derek barked out again, voice harsh as he demanded an answer.

He didn't see Stiles move, suddenly he was standing at the foot of the porch before he was standing in front of Derek, one supernaturally strong hand gripping is throat in a grasp so tight it started to choke him, lifitng the much heavier and older man from the floor.

"You are in no position to demand anything, wolf!" Stiles roared, lips curling to expose white teeth as the human lifted the Alpha werewolf. "Least of all from this human or me!"

"St-Stiles!" Derek choked, seeing from the corner of his eye his pack stiff and frozen with merely a wave of the demons hand. His clawed hands scrabbled at Stiles' hand, rivulets of blood escaping and marring Stiles' pale skin with a red that seemed to burn into Dereks eyes.

"My name," The demon snarled, eyes black as pitch and paying no attention to the fact that his meat suit was fast loosing blood. "Is Acham!" Anger flashed through the stark eyes and Derek felt panic well up in him as the hand around his throat spasmed before he was thrown through the air as if he was weightless, flying ungracefully into a thick trunk of a tree before falling heavily onto leaf and branch strewn forest floor.

Blackness encroached upon his vision and his last sight was of Stiles with the black as pitch eyes, smirking at the pack; the stench of sulfur sharp in the air.