Prologue: Welcome to My Nightmare
Stiles knows he's dreaming the second he opens his eyes because the first thing he sees is Theo, hovering over him, his stupidly pretty face a mask of bone-shattering concern. Even though every fibre of his being is screaming that this feels more real than anything he's experienced in the last four years, his brain is screaming back that it has to be a dream because the last time Stiles saw Theo, he was literally being dragged kicking and screaming into a hole by his long-dead sister. The Theo Stiles knew also wouldn't be looking at him with that expression on his face.
Before he can even begin to contemplate the fucked up depths his brain seems to have taken him to, all his senses suddenly rush him at once, and his eyes slam shut as he groans, sounds crashing together in his ears and a myriad of smells assaulting his nose nauseatingly. There's a dull, throbbing pain in his stomach like he's been slammed into by an eighteen wheeler. Or run through with a wolfsbane laced spear, his inner monologue helpfully supplies, and Stiles frowns.
"What the hell is going on?" He means to ask it calmly, but it comes out as a growl that shocks him, and it's answered by several whimpers from around the room. Blinking his eyes back open, Stiles squints suspiciously when he sees Theo still loitering beside him, hand held just above Stiles' chest like he's not sure if he's allowed to touch.
Deciding to ignore Theo for the moment, Stiles rolls his head to the side to try and work out what nightmare land his subconscious has dropped him in this time. It's Derek's loft, apparently, and Stiles has had many a dream set Derek's loft, only they usually involve less clothes and more sexy touching. And Derek is usually there, not Theo, Mason, Malia, and – what the actual hell – Isaac, who are all crouched around him anxiously.
Stiles blinks again, because it's the only thing he can think of to do, and groans again too. Just because he can. He sits up, elbows wobbly but oddly strong beneath him, and Theo finally makes up his mind, hands closing over Stiles' shoulder and helping him upright. That's what makes Stiles snap; the soft, gently touch, almost familiar against his skin like Theo's touched him a hundred times. Like Theo has a right to touch him after everything he's done.
The roar Stiles lets out has those gathered around him diving for cover behind the miscellaneous furniture in the room. Stiles leaps to his feet, staggering slightly as his senses almost get overrun by all the sounds, scents, and emotions in the air, and he scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his head. "This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream," he chants, pulling his hands away and discovering long, cruel claws where his nails should be. "This is just a dream!" he roars the last word, can't help it he's so overwhelmed, and the windows rattle.
Malia snarls from where she's wedged behind the couch, and Mason whines, eyes flashing gold. What the fuck? Stiles can feel his breathing getting laboured, his overly HD vision beginning to swim with black spots, and his mad dash for the bathroom isn't short enough. Stiles' grip on the sink is so strong he can hear the porcelain splintering and grating under his hands as he retches violently, splattering the white with black gunk. A vile, oily taste fills his mouth and nose, his eyes watering as he continues spitting it up. Vaguely, some distant part of his brain acknowledges it as his body rejecting wolfsbane poisoning.
Outside, he can hear the others arguing with each other, Isaac yelling, 'Theo, no!' just as the bathroom door is nearly ripped off its hinges. Stiles whips around to face the chimera head on, imagining he looks quite the picture with black bile staining his chin and clawed hands thrown out slightly as he practically tears his own lungs out with the ferocity of his booming howl. He's ready for a fight; ready to end this dream now.
Theo freezes in his tracks like he's been slapped, and his head falls to the side, neck bared and chest quivering as he whimpers in distress. He looks over at Stiles from under his lashes, and Stiles takes a physical step back at the bright blue wolf eyes. Time slows down as Stiles turns back to the sink, heart hammering in his ears as he raises his gaze to the mirror. Staring back at him over a set of near-nightmarish fangs are the glowing red eyes of an Alpha.