Hey everyone! Why does Teen Wolf always drag me back in?! I say I will not write another hella long fanfic, and then I saw the commercial for final season and went, "Fuck. Welp, time to write a huge fic again."

BECAUSE we all know that Stiles' biggest fear is that people are going to move on from him, abandon him, and leave him all by himself. So sure, let's ERASE HIM FROM ALL REALITY. That'll be a great mind fuck for an emotionally damaged character.

So, I wanted to write that terrifying fear of being forgotten and then what leads up to the resolution.

Also, Kira is still here. Because fuck that.

The End in the Beginning

By ChasetheWindTouchtheSky

He remembered the day the earth changed.

Stiles somethings thinks about the way everything shifted and he no longer felt comfortable walking the roads he walked every day. He stepped in his Jeep and it didn't feel like his. He drove to school, but there was something about it that felt like he shouldn't be there.

He didn't realize it was because in this new world, he wasn't.

XXX

"Alright kids, let's break it up." Sheriff Stilinski sighs when he walks into the Martin household, wishing he could pretend to not see the alcohol in cheap plastic cups and several high schoolers in the corner taking a drag of something that he is almost certain isn't a cigarette. "If you are out of here in five minutes I will not be taking you all to jail."

He scans the room, looking for someone, but unable to see them in the crowd. He feels that pull of parental affection as he is somewhat proud that he can't find this person. He hopes they're in bed, deciding to pass on the yearly Lydia Martin blowout.

When he catches sight of the person, he shakes his head. He knew they could never turn down an invitation from the Lydia Martin.

"Scott!" Sheriff Stilinski calls out, wading through all the teenagers who were sprinting as fast as they could.

Scott McCall is in the corner of the room with his arm around his girlfriend Kira, surrounded by the rest of his packmates. The Sheriff lumbers up to him and crosses his arms. "Care to explain how this is the definition of "low-key birthday party?"

Scott at least has the decency to look a little foolish. "We genuinely thought it would be! I guess Lydia's been having these crazy parties for such a long time, they just assumed it would be the same this year. Everyone else brought all this alcohol, not us."

"Likely story."

"It's true," Lydia says with a casual flip of her hair. "I was actually looking forward to just hanging out, but then people started showing up. No thanks to someone."

Mason flushes and looks to the ground. "You invited all those people last time at the lake house!"

"I didn't invite them – that was Liam!"

"Oh right."

"Alright son I wish I had," the Sheriff sighs and Scott straightens a bit at that. "Please just pick everything up so I don't have to file a report about this too, on top of all the supernatural shenanigans you guys get yourself into. My weak heart can't take it."

"It wouldn't be so weak if you ate better," Scott mutters.

The Sheriff glares. "Do you want me to rethink the whole jail thing, McCall?"

"No sir."

"Good. Clean this up, call your mom so she knows that you're not in an alcoholic stupor, and then get some sleep."

"Sir, werewolves can't get drunk."

The Sheriff snorts. "Save it for a naïve parent. I've been dealing with teenagers for too long to even begin to believe it."

The Sheriff takes a moment and looks around. For some reason, he feels like something is missing. There's one other person he needs to speak with and make sure they're alright. But he's looking at Scott and the entire pack – they all seem to be there. Scott and Kira, Mason and Liam, Lydia and Malia. They're all there.

They're all there.

XXX

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Stiles is saying, running his hands through his hair. He tries to talk himself down from a panic, but he can't bring himself to stop.

His vision is growing dark and he's shaking from head to toe. He tries to catch his breath, but it's already ran away from him, too far for retrieval. Stiles drops to his knees, clutching his chest.

Smack.

Everything rushes back and he's left there blinking at someone who is nothing but a fuzzy form. But like the television slowly coming back into focus, he sees Lydia kneeling in front of him, her eyes filled with concern.

"…I think I like your old way of helping better." He says shakily, holding his cheek. "But thanks."

"Anytime."

Lydia grabs his wrist and looks at him, her eyes too big for someone who knows everything will be alright. "What's wrong?" She asks, but Stiles knows she already knows what's wrong.

"Liam," he gasps. "He had no idea who I am. Fucking Liam – I've walked that little bastard through so many full moons and he goes and forgets who I am."

"Stiles—"

"And it's not going to stop. Soon Kira will forget me, Malia, you, Scott, my D—" Stiles chokes, unable to hide his tears now. He doesn't care that he's kneeling in front of Lydia Martin and crying. IF there were ever a moment to do it, it's now. "My Dad." He whispers.

That's when the sobbing hits. Everything is too much. He bends over, burying his face in his fists. "Stiles," he hears Lydia's voice, but it seems distant. "Stiles, listen to me. We'll figure this out. We always figure this out. We won't forget you."

Stiles looks up, his eyes filled with tears.

"You will."

XXX

Melissa McCall starts her shift like she does every day: with a cup of coffee.

She runs her hand down her face, reminding herself that if she didn't, Beacon Hills would probably fall apart. "Mom!" Scott calls, running over with a small bag that she knows is some breakfast.

Melissa casually glances behind her son as if she expects there to be another person. She tells herself that she expects Kira on their way to school, but remembers her son rides a bike and why would she expect someone else?

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how much I love you in this moment." She says, trying to shake off the feeling of something missing.

"Just in this moment?" Scott laughs.

"Other moments too, but it's much stronger here." She laughs, her gaze flickering past her son.

"Everything alright, Mom?" Scott asks, frowning. "You smell weird."

Melissa groans. "How many times do I have to say: stop using your freaky werewolf powers on me! I would like to maintain some semblance of normalcy in this life."

"It's not like I can help it!" Scott exclaims. "I'm just very attuned to you!"

"Nice try, my little delinquent." Melissa rolls her eyes. But Scott doesn't let up. He looks at her with those huge, brown eyes and she sighs. "I just – lately – feel like I'm missing someone. Which makes no sense." Scott's frown deepens. "What?"

"I've been feeling that same way too," he says absently. "I was wondering. How did we become friends with the Sheriff?"

Out of all the questions she was expecting Scott to ask, that wasn't it. "What?"

"I was thinking about this the other night at Lydia's party. We're so close with the Sheriff, but why? It doesn't make any sense."

Melissa laughs. "Oh honey, you and your memory. It's because—" And she stops. It's like something is there, but it isn't. She desperately tries to reach for it, but to no avail. "I – I don't know. His wife? He was here a lot when she died. That must be it."

But she knows that Scott doesn't believe her, just like she doesn't quite believe herself.

She looks behind him.

"Scott!" Someone calls and both of them look up and see a teen running their way. He flails a bit and slides until he stops right in front of him, his eyes darting and looking around, terrified. "Scott! Scott!" The kid keeps saying.

"Woah man," Scott says, putting his arms out protectively for the person. A little more instinctual than Melissa understands, but she convinces herself that it's because of the werewolf thing. "Are you alright?"

"Scott please," the teen pleads, his eyes filling with tears and his breath drawing short.

That's when Melissa goes into action – she knows the beginning of a panic attack when she sees one. "Honey, calm down." She says quietly, stepping from behind the nurse's station and putting her hands on his shoulder. "Count backwards from ten for me."

The teen looks manic, but obliges, his breathing slowly coming back to normal. She stares at his amber eyes and there's something warm and familiar about them. Something inside her is breaking and she doesn't know what, so she pushes back. "Are you okay?" She asks him, eyes his hands which are shaking.

But he doesn't respond. "Scott, you said that we would be further. I just spoke with Malia and—"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The teen stills.

It's a heartbreaking sight to see and Melissa doesn't know why.

He takes a step back and looks at Scott with an expression filled with hurt and betrayal. "Scott," he whimpers, his words breaking. "Scott, please."

Melissa looks at her son who is clearly upset, but she doesn't know why. "Man, I'm so sorry, can you remind me your name? Who are you?"

The teen's chin trembles and Melissa knows he's very close to tears. She wants to reach out to comfort him. "You promised." He says, the words quiet and haunting.

Scott seems beside himself. "Dude, I'm so sorry I forgot your name. But what do you need? I'll help."

The teen takes another step back, bringing his hands up to his face. He curls them into fists, tears streaming down his face. His gaze turns back to them.

"I'm scared."

Scott opens his mouth again, but the teen put his hands up to stop it. Bowing his head, he turns the other direction and moves toward the exit.

"Goodbye Scott."

XXX

"I'm next." Stiles says, his words hollow.

Nobody really knows what to say to that. A part of Scott wants to deny it, but everyone would know it was a lie. "No," he snaps, shaking his head. "No, I won't allow it. I won't allow you to be forgotten."

They're all at Deaton's, surrounded by books. Nobody could pinpoint what was happening in Beacon Hills because no one could remember.

Stiles sits down in a chair, putting his hands in his laps and staring at his fingers. Scott frowns. He knows his best friend. He knows that look. Stiles is getting lost in his head and when he goes too deep, it's hard to yank him back out. "Stiles, do you hear me?" Scott repeats. "I won't let it happen."

Stiles doesn't answer.

Scott can feel his control slipping to the point where Liam and Malia are wincing. He tries to get it under control, but can't. He knows his eyes are flashing red and he can feel the pin pricks of his claws in his palm. "Why." He states. "Why Stiles? Why would they go after him?"

Deaton is in the corner of the room, his hand holding a place in a book. "They target people who have a drastic effect on reality. People they think cause the most change for a large group of people. It's says here, Ghostriders often take months to plan because of the fragile nature of reality. There are webs throughout so many people, it's a delicate process to take a calculated risk. It seems that they've deemed Stiles as someone to have the most effect from wiping him out of reality."

Stiles flinches, but still doesn't say anything. It scares Scott.

"But why? Why him specifically?"

"Because he always figures it out." Lydia says, her voice a bit dead. She clutching the collar of her shirt – an action Scott recognizes as a nervous twitch she's gained along with her Banshee powers when she's trying to control them.

"Perhaps," Deaton says. "but I think we need to understand that this goes deeper then stopping them. There are people all over the world who've been erased. We need to figure out what they all have in common."

"You want us to figure out what forgotten people have in common?" Malia deadpans, her eyes an electric blue. Unlike Scott who is flickering, she just maintains a certain level of half-shifted. Scott doesn't have the heart to try and get her to calm down when he can barely keep it together himself. "What kind of stupid plan is that?"

There's movement in the corner. One person has been quiet this entire time. When he shifts, metal scrapes on metal and his presence is demanded to be known.

"No."

The Sheriff has always been a man of few words, but Scott can't help but be a little afraid of his conviction. "Hell no!" He shouts, his gaze blazing in Deaton's direction. "If you think I'm going to forget my own son, you're wrong!"

That makes Stiles look up. His eyes are wet and his cheeks are red from clearly trying not to cry, but he looks at his father as if he's the only thing that matters in the world.

"This is not happening." The Sheriff states, no waver in his tone. No fear. Just determination. "My son is not going to be forgotten. Ever."

Stiles laughs an empty laugh, his gaze going back to his fingers. "I'm sure that's what everyone said," he says. "They couldn't tell you now."

"Absolutely not." The Sheriff continues to be firm. "We're going to figure this out, son. Because a world where you don't exist? Quite frankly is a world I have no interest in."

XXX

"Sir, I know you're the Sheriff, but you have to move your Jeep off the school property."

The Sheriff looks up from his desk, confused. "I'm sorry?" He asks.

Parrish sighs, handing a picture to him. "I don't know why you've kept it there, but it's been three weeks. It needs to be moved."

The Sheriff frowns. "Why is my wife's old Jeep on the school property?"

"Wait. You didn't know it was there?"

The Sheriff pauses. Now, he knows he's getting older and his memory isn't quite what it used to be, but this seems extreme. "…no." He admits, taking the picture from Parrish's hands. "How did it get there?"

Parrish shrugs. "I have no idea. All I know is that the faculty have been complaining that it's taking up room of people who actually attend the school. I didn't realize it was yours until I ran the plates. It's registered to you, your wife, and some name I can't pronounce for the life of me."

The Sheriff rips the paper from his hands and frowns. "That's… that's my wife's father's name. But not his last name."

"Excuse me?"

The Sheriff points at the name. "That is my father-in-law's name. That is my last name."

"I'm aware, sir."

"Just making myself clear," The Sheriff says with a smirk. "But why would he be listed here? And as a Stilinski?"

Parrish shrugs. "Maybe they were confused and thought it was your father?"

The Sheriff shakes his head. "We bought this Jeep after he died. We would've never registered it under his name."

Parrish looks uncomfortable. "What?" The Sheriff snaps.

"So… are you going to move it?"

XXX

Stiles sits at his mother's grave.

"I can feel it, Mom." He whispers, his hands trembling. He hasn't been able to get them to stop for a while now and he gave up trying. "I feel… empty. Like there's no place in the world for me anymore. Maybe there never was…"

He says what's been on his mind, but is too afraid to put into words. But now?

Now he has bigger things to be afraid of.

"I was always afraid they'd move away and forget about me. That I'd be that weird kid again with no friends and no one to talk to. Just like I used to be. And after all that bullshit with Theo and the chimeras, I thought it'd be okay. Scott and I had our fight, we had our problems. And I thought it'd be fine. But it's all happening. They're all forgetting me. And Dad—"

Stiles chokes, wiping away a few tears.

"Dad, he keeps saying he'll never forget me. He says even with the supernatural bullshit, I will always be his son and he'll always remember."

Stiles reaches out, his fingers brushing against his mother's name.

"But what if he doesn't?"

XXX

Lydia Martin sits straight up in her bed. Her throat is on fire as if she'd been screaming, but her mother isn't in her room, so she knows she didn't.

But there's a name. A name that she can't quite shake.

She slips on her shoes, grabbing her purse and keys.

XXX

Stiles remembers the moment when the last person forgot about him.

He sits in his room, surrounded by pictures with holes. "N-No," he breathes.

Stiles watches as he fades away from each one. In between his mother and father, there's nothing more than a hole. Scott is no longer sitting with someone on the lacrosse bench. Derek is now just angrily glaring at nothing, instead of Stiles putting ears on him in a photo. In the center of the photo of the pack, he sits, flanked by Scott and Lydia.

Stiles holds the picture frame in his hands, his fingers trembling.

His picture slowly fades away. He watches his face disappear.

Until it's no more.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling down his nose.

They promised they'd never forget him.

Stiles can hear the sound of hoof beats in the distance growing closer. His shaking grows until the picture frame slips out of his hands and smashes on the ground, the glass shattering.

The horses are close.

They stop.

They promised they'd never forget him.

XXX

They lied.

XXX

Scott rubs his eyes, groaning at the pounding on his door. He opens it to a disheveled Lydia Martin – something he'd never seen before in his life. "Lydia, it's like 3 in the morning. My mom's going to kill me. Is everything alright?"

But it's clear everything isn't alright. Her eyes are bloodshot and she's wearing slippers instead of shoes. She looks around, her keys shaking in her hands.

"What the hell is a Stiles?"

A/N: And so it begins! I thought it'd be heartbreaking to have Stiles watch everyone forget him. I guess, if you guys like the premise, I'll probably put up some more!

Love you dearly and leave thoughts if you have a moment! 3