Hello! I'm probably not going to keep a regular schedule on updating this but I don't plan on abandoning

this EVER. I don't own Teen wolf, if I did Stiles would have ended up with Peter or Derek and Scott would

have been a better friend. I hope you enjoy~

Line


I died.

At this point I wonder why I even care anymore. It's not like it was my first time experiencing death.

Granted, being pushed down the stairs by your mentally ill mother isn't a nice way to go. If I was a regular 9 year old I would be traumatized for life; seeing as I'm a 42 year old woman in a 9 year olds body I might just be slightly unbalanced instead. Then again, I developed memories of a past life (and death) so being slightly unbalanced is more than likely an understatement of epic proportions.

I wasn't always this way; I had a great childhood (the second time around, because my first one sucked). A father who loved me unconditionally, a mother who wasn't slowly losing her mind, and an awesome twin brother whose only problem was getting people to pronounce his name correctly.

In the beginning I didn't remember my past life; all I knew was that I loved my family. Going to the park and playing on the swings (because I was going to fly dammit) or the monkey bars (watch me, dad look I'm doing it) was the highlight of my day. Going to school and having to learn boring things from boring teachers was the pit fall of my day. Having a best friend and older brother thrown into the body of my twin was the greatest thing ever. Laughing and playing with my family was the life I've always wanted, I was happy.

Then my mom got sick.

It was a gradual process. At first it was just some headaches. Come home from school and try to keep quiet because mommy was taking a nap, her head hurts.

Then it turned into migraines; but mommy was fine, she didn't need to go to the doctors.

Then she collapsed.

It was the worst moment of my life (at the time); she wouldn't wake up. The doctors moved in and out of her hospital room but they wouldn't tell us what was wrong. Dad was upset, the most upset I've ever seen him (even more then the time I fell -cough-jumped-cough- from the second story window with a blanket -cape- tied around my neck; don't worry, a bush caught me).

Even my big brother (he insists that the 12.8 minutes between our births is important) was silent and still. He is never still. Sure he has his moments of silence, usually when we get in trouble but never have I seen my brother stop moving. He's always fidgeting, always flailing. Mom said it was because he was special (ADHD) I just thought he did it because that was just how he is.

So we sat and waited.

. . .

Frontotemporal dementia.

That was the first time I saw my dad cry.


In the beginning I didn't know what frontotemporal dementia was; neither did my brother, so we did what we did best, we researched it.

My brother was the kid that asked a billion questions and still wanted to know more, this is probably why I was known as the 'silent' twin; why would I need to talk when my twin asked everything needed and more?

Looking back, we probably worried our parents a lot; one twin who couldn't keep their mouth shut and another that wouldn't open theirs.

As we grew older we noticed that grown-ups hated being asked questions, especially 'stupid' ones (how could a question be stupid?) then we learned about the wonderful creation known as Google.

Over time our google-fu powers (because we are kickass ninja researchers) only grew stronger, which led us to finding out everything we could on frontotemporal dementia.

Death

Our mother was going to die.

Our dad kept us out of the loop even though we spent more time with our mom in the hospital than he did (he was recently appointed sheriff), but that's ok, we didn't tell him that we already knew.

So we took mom home, because the doctors couldn't do anything for her and she wanted to get out of the hospital. Life went on.

We went to school.

Dad went to work.

Mom stayed home and slept most of the day.

It worked.

It wasn't fine; it would never be fine, my mom was dying, but it worked.

Then she lost it.

My brother and I got home from school and tried to stay quite in case mom was sleeping. I went to the kitchen to get us some drinks; my brother went upstairs to check on mom. Climbing up on the counter was easy (even if I wasn't supposed to), getting the cups down was simple, hearing my mother start screaming was horrifying.

I ran upstairs in time to witness my brother come tumbling out of our parents' room; the look of fear etched on his face chilled me to the core. Frozen, I watched as he came running towards me, waving his arms frantically. Watching my mom come swinging after him a few moments later boiled my blood and warmed my body back up in time to do something about it. No time to think, just act.

I ran forward the few feet still between us and grabbed his hand, pivoted on my left foot and dashed toward the stairs. We didn't make it.

Our mother lunged, missed grabbing us, but managed to shove us off course.

We fell.

I don't remember much of falling; for all I attempted to fly by jumping from dangerous places it never felt as falling down those stairs felt.

I landed at the bottom

There was a body on top of me

My mother was still screaming

I blacked out.

When I awoke, I was in a hospital. Drowsy, I wondered if I fell asleep while waiting for dad to come pick us up from visiting mom.

Then I remembered.

I remembered everything.


Turns out I was in the hospital for over 6 months in a coma.

A miracle they said; I was a miracle because I died. My heart stopped beating.

Apparently when I fell down the stairs I landed first which resulted with my bigger brother landing on top of me. My skull fractured, I lost too much blood in the ambulance.

My heart stopped before we even reached the hospital.

Somehow I came back; my heart started beating again, but no matter what they tried I wouldn't wake up. They thought I would be in a coma for the rest of my life and if I did wake up I would never be the same.

They had no idea.

I'm sure they meant something about being paralyzed due to my vegetable state, not because I regained memories of a previous lifetime.

Thinking about it, my dad and brother probably had it worse than my mother or me.

Sure I regained a lifetime of memories while my mother was slowly losing hers but my brother and dad had to watch this happen.

A wife and mother slowly dying, a daughter and sister balancing the fine edge of life and death while unresponsive; it must have been emotionally excruciating watching half of your family slowly wither way.

My mother died on August 14th, 2004.

I woke up a week later.


It took a while to get me released; the doctors wanted to run a bunch of tests.

It was annoying as hell.

The only reason I didn't lose my cool was because I had my brother by my side the entire way. He got to take a few weeks off school; mostly because once he learned I was awake we became conjoined twins instead of fraternal.

He helped me more than he realizes. During the first couple days I was still acclimating to not only 6 months spent in a coma but also a lifetime of memories as well. His presence helped me realize who I was, where I was, and how to accept yes, this is reality.

When I woke up from my coma I was different. I was more quiet (if that was possible), reserved, and I spaced out often. I didn't smile as much, didn't mind eating vegetables as much (in fact, I preferred them), and I was always touching my brother in some way.

The doctors put it off as quirks from waking from a coma and fracturing my skull; I put it down as combined habits from two different lives.

It was fine though because I wasn't the only one who changed. My brother was still loud and spastic as ever but in my absence he became more mature, more sarcastic. He didn't look through rose tinted glasses anymore and that optimistic outlook on life vanished; in its place was a realist you wouldn't expect in a 10 year old, but it was ok because he was still here.

My father on the other hand didn't change for the better. He rarely visited me except for the initial reunion when I woke up to him crying over me.

He tried to explain it away by saying being the sheriff was a busy job; I knew better. The few times he came to visit he smelled strongly of alcohol and couldn't keep eye contact with either me or my brother.

I recognized the signs of a budding alcoholic; considering my last life's adoptive father was an alcoholic helped to emphasize the similarities.

My brother knew too, he had to with the way he kept looking at our dad when he came to visit. Maybe not to the extent I knew but he wasn't stupid, he probably looked up the possibilities online.

It was hard to see the once loving man I knew as my dad turn into a husk of his former self but with my past life memories the revelation probably wasn't a hard to take as it could have been.

A week or so went by and I was finally ready to leave the hospital. Looking around I knew I didn't want to come back. My mother died here; I died here.

I may have a past life's memories of Anna Green but she's dead now; she died at the age of 33 due to a car crash.

Adelajda Stilinski died at the age of 9 due to falling down the stairs.

I wasn't Anna or Adelajda anymore, I was reborn into a combination of both and I would live the rest of my life to the fullest with the knowledge given to me.

Turning to look at my brother I smiled for the first time in 6 months.

"Ready to go home, Stiles?"


AHHHH, I'm done! I had this idea swimming around in my head for a while and it just would not leave me

alone! To tell the truth, I have no idea where this is going. I know I want to involve magic/spark, maybe get

some rune magic involved because its awesome but other than that I'm pretty open to ideas.

Romance will happen eventually but this Fic will not be centered around it.

Tell me what you think about this in the comment section! I would love some feedback~

Ciao~