Based on "http color slash slash maytheoddsbe-ever-in-your-pants dot tumblr dot com slash post/57687636153/obrozey-au-stiles-dies-and-comes- back-as-a"

Stiles generally had a difficult time with minor details. For example, thanks to one fruitful afternoon pumped full of Adderall, he could recite all the states and capitals alphabetically. He just couldn't keep which capital went to which state straight. Like, where the hell is Augusta?

Little details like that, fine, but he was fairly certain Kali had stabbed a freaking pole through his chest. That's not the sort of thing his drug-addled brain liked to screw up. Didn't he die? He was fairly certain he'd died.

Oh god, he DIED. His dad was going to be a wreck. Stiles started. Coming back from the dead might scare his father a bit, but if that asshat Jackson could get away with it, so could Stiles. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

Oh great, he was in the morgue. He really needs to find a new group to hang out with. No seventeen year old should be able to identify the morgue so easily- especially not in a darkened room.

He leapt from the table and headed for the door. Reaching out, he felt for the knob in the dark. Weird. He remembered the heavy door feeling a lot more solid last time. It was almost like pushing against water, almost like he could just walk through it.

Maybe he was a zombie and his sense of touch was screwed up. Maybe he'd have super cool zombie powers!

His fingers found the knob and he let himself out into the hallway. Mrs. McCall was standing near the desk with a stack of folders in her arms. She looked like she'd been crying. Waving triumphantly, he jogged over. "Hello, Mama McCall!"

She ignored him and turned on her heels, heading towards the lobby. Wow, she must be really mad about his brush with death. He followed her out and was trying to get her attention when they passed the Sheriff heading in the other direction. Mrs. McCall put out a hand, as if to try and stop him, but he brushed her off and stormed on.

This was not good. Stiles called out, "Dad!" His father made no indication he'd heard him. "Dad, please just look at me. Please!" The Sheriff came to a dead stop. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but instead of turning to him, his father slammed his fist against the door to the morgue. Bang.

"Dad." Stiles ran to him, but his dad didn't look at him. "Dad, it's like you can't even…" His breath caught in his throat. Eyes widening, he felt sick to his stomach. "You can't see me."

Fuck. He really died.

Choking back sobs, he stood in shock. He was freaking dead. Turning from his grieving father, Stiles ran as fast as he could in the other direction. Patients and doctors and LIVING people passed him in flashes of color and blood.

Dead. Alone. Ghost.

No one could see him. No one reached out to stop the sobbing teenager. He was alone. And DEAD.

He turned a corner and ran smack into a wall. Or should he say, right through a wall. It gave no resistance as he fell into a darkened room. That would have really hurt if weren't for the whole DEAD thing. Pulling himself off the ground, he looked around. Just some unused patient's room.

"Stiles?" He whipped his head around. Scott was sitting in the opposite corner, tear stains evident on his cheeks. "Stiles, is that you?"

"Scott, buddy, you can see me?" He slid down next to his best friend, who nodded, confusion written across his face.

Scott furrowed his brow. "Yeah, but you're…" He winced, afraid to sound insensitive, but too hopeful not to ask. "Dead. I saw your body, Stiles."

"Yeah, well, you're a werewolf and now I'm Casper the freaking Ghost."

Scott's face lit up and he gave a watery smile. "Could be worse."

"How could this possibly be worse?"

"You could be dead." Scott gave a half-hearted shrug, too relieved by the reappearance of Stiles to be too upset.

"Point taken." Stiles looked down. "But, Scott, I AM dead. My dad can't see me. No one can see me."

"Except me."

"Except you."

They stared at each other for a few morose seconds.

Scott stood and unthinkingly offered his hand to Stiles, who pointedly ignored it. "Let's go see Derek. He's got to have an answer for this."

They reached his apartment in no time. Stiles was cheered up slightly by the fact that he could ride the bus for free. Invisibility and death had their perks after all.

"Derek?" Scott called out, pushing the sliding door aside. "We need to talk to you."

"We?" The Alpha stepped from the shadows; the darkness drawing deeper bags under his eyes. "Scott, there's no one else here."

Scott smiled, "Stiles. He's here."

"Stiles died." If anything, Derek's face looked more shadowed.

"No, he didn't. He's standing right next to me." Scott turned to his best friend, only to find the space next to him empty. Derek looked concerned. "I swear, he was right here. He died, but he came back and he was a ghost and I swear he was here. We rode the bus!"

"Scott, there's no such thing as ghosts."

"Says the fucking werewolf." Stiles popped out of thin air behind Derek. Scott grinned and pointed at him.

"There! I told you!"

"Scott, there's nothing there." Derek was really starting to look worried. "Have you slept yet? Why don't you lie down for a while. Take Isaac's bed."

Sighing, Stiles reached out to touch Derek's arm. As soon as he made contact, his eyes widened and he disappeared again.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled and stepped towards the other Alpha.

"Up here, buddy." Stiles was floating near the loft's ceiling. "I hate this disappearing thing. Ah!" He vanished again.

"Scott." Derek grabbed his arm with a vice-like grip. "Go home, talk to your mother. Sleep. I know what it's like to lose someone close to you. I get it, okay. We're all going to miss that hyperactive little sh— the point is, take care of yourself." Pulling him to the door, Derek released his elbow and clapped him on the shoulder.

Scott glanced back into the loft for Stiles, but he hadn't reappeared. Maybe he was just following him invisibly. Frowning, Scott made his way downstairs and got back on the bus. He watched the city scenes flash by. This whole situation was messed up.

Stiles died. His best friend died and came back and disappeared all over again. Why was this nearly routine in his life?

Oh yeah, he was bitten by a feral werewolf and introduced into a crazy heap of supernatural evil. Gee, thanks, Peter.

"Scott!" Stiled reappeared at his side, flopping down into the bus seat. "This whole appearing thing is starting to become a bitch."

"You're back!" Grinning, Scott went to pat Stiles' arm, but his hand went right through him. It was like sticking his hand in that ice bath that he'd submerged Isaac in. He yanked his hand back quickly and looked up to see Stiles wearing an expression of horror that was probably mirroring his own. "You're cold!"

"As the grave." Stiles punned, grimly. "Let's go to Deaton. He's our best chance to get me back to my dad."

They made their weary way to the veterinarian's, not speaking. Sticking his hand in Stiles was not something Scott had ever planned to do and wasn't that a horrible line of thinking. Christ.

Deaton's light was on, so they entered the office. "Sir?" Scott called, letting himself into the back area. "Wait here, Stiles."

His boss was working diligently on an injured kitten. Normally Scott would offer to help, but Stiles took precedent.

"Deaton, I have a supernatural kind of problem." His boss looked up, bemused.

"And what would that be? Druids? Alpha packs? A banshee?"

Scott grinned in spite of himself. "A ghost." Deaton put down the kitten and wiped his hands on his coat.

"A ghost? You don't mean… Mr. Stilinski?"

"Stiles, yeah." Swallowing hard, he gestured towards the front lobby. "Only I can see him, but he's definitely here. He's a real ghost, sir."

"Oh, I have no doubt. If there was ever anyone who had a chance to cheat death, it would be our resident blabbermouth."

"Oi, that's MISTER Blabbermouth to you, creepy witch-like animal doctor!" Crossing his arms and walking right through the mountain ash gate, Stiles entered the room. "Sorry, Scott, I just can't stand around doing nothing."

Stiles was pissed. Not at anyone or anything in particular (except that bitch Kali, where did she get off on killing him?), just at his predicament. He glared at Scott and motioned at him. "Get the info we need. I can't be a ghost forever. Tell him I'm here."

Scott gestured towards him. "He's right there, Deaton."

"I know." His boss smiled. "The sensors went off. He completely ignored my ghost-proofing and probably has no idea how he was able to do it. I cannot see or hear him, but I know where he is."

"Ghost-proofing?" Stiles laughed darkly. "He's making that up."

Deaton continued, "Mr. Stilinski. I'm sure you're confused and angry right now. Most spirits are. You, however, are not a ghost. Not in the traditional sense, anyways."

The two boys gaped at him. Stiles shouted, "Then what the hell am I?"

"You, son, are an imprint." The vet unknowingly spoke over him. "Some very tenacious souls are able to cling to life for a couple hours, maybe even half a day. You know, the fact that you're still around fourteen hours after your death is extremely impressive. Most souls let go around three.

You won't be here much longer. I bet you've already experienced some of the symptoms of parting. Random disappearances and sudden bursts of anger. Relax, tell Scott anything you want done after you are gone for good. Any final requests?"

Stiles gritted his teeth, unable to stop a couple tears from falling down his cheeks. "Scott. Tell my dad I love him. There's a bunch of photos in my top desk drawer he'd probably want." He gasped, holding back sobs. "Could you and your mom have dinner with him a couple nights a week? He's not going to take this well and I don't want to meet him in the afterlife too soon. Take care of him for me. Please." That choking feeling in his throat gave way to a pathetic whimper.

Scott was crying too. "Yeah, Stiles. I can do that. He'll be watched over. Don't worry."

Stiles gave him a watery grin. "Is it too much to ask you to erase my internet history?"

"Anything, man. Anything."

"Pass chemistry for me. I want to be able to tell that asshole Harris if I see him that we exceeded his expectations." Stiles was flickering in and out now, like a poor television signal. "Kick Jackson in the balls. Can't believe he's living life without Lydia. What a moron."

Scott sobbed harder. "I will, I promise."

"Scott." Stiles reached for him. "I love you, man. You're my brother. Don't forget that."

"I won't. I won't. I wo—"

"Don't forget me." With that, Stiles flickered again. He opened his mouth, as if to add a last word, but vanished for the final time. He was gone, for good.