Chapter Four
During off season, Coach Finstock liked to make the lacrosse team run with the cross country team. It wasn't such a terrible idea. However basically everyone on the lacrosse team already had a personal exercise regimen. So the only person getting unfit in the off season was the coach himself. It was still good for the lacrosse team to be active together. Finstock said it helped to culture a sense of team unity. Something about those who run together, win together.
But Stiles didn't really mind it. Running gave him time to just be to himself. Running was easy to him. He always had an excess of energy to burn so it was a good activity for him. Stiles was definitely not the fastest, but he had the most stamina. Many of the times he could outlast the cross country team while he couldn't outrun them. Not that he really minded, he wasn't in it for the medals or the recognition. The activity of running gave him time to be left alone to his own thoughts. Well, most of his own thoughts.
After he had seen his eyes go black for the first time, Stiles had decided to embrace the demon inside of him. Although he wasn't entirely sure that Aeterna was a demon at all. He was something else—something more concentrated. But he had never hurt Stiles, so he was all right in Stiles' books. According to Aeterna, Stiles had made a deal with him when he was a boy. Not that Stiles remembered this or anything it entailed. Apparently, Aeterna needed a host to survive in because he didn't have his own physical body.
"Can you make a body? It seems a little lame for you to just piggy back on people,"
How rude. Of course I can.
"Well," Stiles checked his watch for his running time, "Why don't you?"
Aeterna sighed in Stiles' head.
Think of it this way: you need calories from food to keep your body running and functioning, correct?
Stiles shrugged.
I don't have the same energy source as you do. Therefore I cannot maintain a physical body for long periods of time.
"So, how would you be able to make one?"
I would borrow your energy.
"Borrow my energy? Why does that sound less than ideal?" Stiles asked, pausing to check his pulse.
You have more energy than most. It goes along with your magic.
Stiles rolled his neck and shoulders. He stretched his arms and held himself up on a nearby tree to stretch his calves and thighs.
"Look, I don't know how I feel about this magic stuff,"
Aeterna laughed.
You're fine with me sharing your body, but you draw the line at magic? What if I told you there was so much more in this world you didn't know about?
Stiles frowned, "What kind of things?"
Things that you couldn't even imagine.
There was a small sound. Stiles blinked and looked around the tree. There was a baby bird on the ground, chirping. He looked up and saw a nest in the tree. The chick must have fallen from there. Stiles knelt down next to the chick. If he touched it, the mother wouldn't care for it. The chick continued to chirp.
It's broken its wing. This is you Stiles. You're weak and helpless. But I can help you. I can make you soar.
Stiles felt his eyes bleed black. It was an interesting sensation. It was like his body was covered in felt. He was warmed and safe in this embrace. He blinked and the darkness was gone from his eyes, but not his soul. He checked his watch and started his timer again. With a step and a gentle crunch, he continued on his run.
When Stiles had agreed to start learning magic, he had no idea what that would mean. Aeterna had him reading books mostly. They were all on the theory of magic and the basic foundations.
Too many good mages have destroyed themselves because they skipped the basics. Pathetic really.
It was actually quite interesting. Stiles probably would never have found let alone read those books. One Saturday morning Stiles awoke feeling tired and sore to find a stack of old, leather-bound books on his desk.
"Where did these," his voice trailed off as his head pounded. He walked in to his bathroom and ran a hot shower. As he was scrubbing his body, he noticed bruises forming on his skin. He frowned.
"What in the world," he mumbled. Where had those come from? He hadn't bumped in to anything in weeks. Even if he had, there were more than normal even for his clumsy self. His head pounded again and he winced. He leaned against the sink, water still dripping from his hair. When he looked at himself in the mirror he groaned.
"Aeterna," he breathed. His eyes were brown, but the black ring around them was thicker than normal. The whites of his eyes were grey as if the black had washed in to the whites. That usually happened after Aeterna did one of his things.
I went and retrieved your materials. I hardly think it is any reason to be so unhappy.
"What did you do? Fight an entire army along the way?"
Let's just say a few people were none too happy to see me again.
"So even you have enemies huh?"
Useless details. But since I do it is an even better idea to be prepared for them at any moment.
"Your enemies and all the supernatural right?" Stiles asked sarcastically.
As I have told you, this place is a hot spot for supernatural activity. Why do you think I was drawn here? Certainly not for the city life.
"Okay okay. God stop yelling. My head hurts enough as it is," Stiles winced and held his head, "Can you let me know when you're going to use my body and go for a joy-ride?"
If you so desire. Do you also wish to know what I do while in control of your body?
Stiles thought about this for a second, "Honestly? Probably not. But if I ever ask you have to tell me. Deal?"
This seems to be a fair enough trade. Deal.
Stiles returned to his room and got dressed. He put on a faded Captain America shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His dad was out on patrol today and Scott was working at the veterinary clinic. So that left Stiles all to himself and the new books on his desk.
"So where do I start?"
At the top.
"Easy enough," Stiles whispered. He grabbed the first book and opened it. The book was in a completely different language.
Stiles blinked at it, "Uh, how do you expect me to read this?"
Aeterna let out a sigh of annoyance.
Must I really do everything? Very well, give me a moment.
There was a sharp, piercing pain in Stiles' head like a needle was poking in to his skull. The shock spread across his brain and he let out a noise of discomfort. Clutching at his head didn't do much good either. It hurt so much. The pain focused between Stiles' eyes and he went cross-eyed before squeezing his eyes shut.
"Aeterna!" He yelled. Instantly the pain disappeared and Stiles gasped. He recovered his breath, "What was tha—" his voice got caught in his throat when his eyes fell on the page. Suddenly he could read the script on the book easily.
That was just the beginning. This is not going to be easy in the least, Stiles. There will be a lot of pain along the way.
Stiles swore he heard Aeterna purr slightly at this.
But it will be well worth the agony. That I can promise you.
The boy sighed and shook his head. He opened one of the drawers on his desk and pulled out a white bottle. He twisted the cap off and shook out two aspirins. After thinking about it, he shook out a third and then swallowed them dry.
"Then let's get to work," Stiles murmured as he pulled a fresh notebook from his shelf situated behind his desk.
Fire and wind magic were the easiest for Stiles to grasp right away. He also didn't have much trouble with the darker arts such as alchemy and potion making. He was really glad he had his Jeep and a weekly allowance or else getting some of the things for his potions would be really difficult. His dad might start to get curious as to why boxes from "Witchraft N' More" kept showing up on the doorstep. So better to bypass it all together. Stiles ended up fixing up his mom's old flower garden so he could grow herbs and other plants that were a little more difficult to acquire. He got the seeds from another of Aeterna's mysterious sources.
Stiles also fell in love with working with runes. He loved the archaic power they held. He was even throwing around the idea of getting a few tattoos that would help power up his spells. It wouldn't be that bad. He could make a potion to numb the pain afterwards. But he would have to find a shaman who could do the procedure correctly. It wasn't that he needed magical ink or anything like that. The runes would be calling forth the true strength of Stiles' inert magic and amplifying it sort of like a stereo that you plugged in to your phone. Not to mention Aeterna's own power already swirling around inside of Stiles. While Stiles was plenty powerful on his own, if Aeterna wanted to put even the tiniest bit of his own strength in, the spell was strengthened by no less than eight times. The dude was kind of terrifying.
One day Stiles was looking at himself in the mirror. Since starting training with magic, he had also had to discipline his body. His muscles were becoming more refined and toned. He nodded appreciatively.
"Hey Aeterna," Stiles began, "How do you think I would look with tattoos?"
Hm? You plan to get tattoos? Do you really thirst for power that badly?
Stiles shrugged, "It wouldn't be so bad. Besides, you're always telling me to be as strong as I can. Also, tattoos are badass. I could be covered in them and girls would be all over me."
I suppose. I know a family of Druid emissaries who live nearby. I'm sure one could do the proper procedure. Would you like to design it or shall I?
His eyes traced the lines of his muscles and looked over his skin. The power brimming just below the surface was something no one knew about—not even Scott.
"I can do it. I know what my strengths and weaknesses are. You do too, but I know how I want to shape those."
Aeterna laughed.
You haven't taken this much control of your training for quite some time. Why the sudden initiative?
Stiles was quiet for a moment. Then he was pulling a sleeping shirt from the pile near the sink over his shoulders.
"No reason."
It's the nightmares, isn't it? That's adorable. You are actually taking heed to your instincts.
"What the hell Aeterna? Are you making fun of me now? You know just as well I as do that mages can have great skill in premonitions and seeing the future."
Well yes, I know that. But I'm not sure if you fully grasp this concept just yet.
Stiles huffed in annoyance, "Okay sure. I don't know how to interpret them yet. But I can tell that something big is coming to Beacon—something bad."
That's a start. Whatever it is, you'll be ready. Especially if you go through with your tattoo idea.
His bed sank under his weight. He inhaled deeply and let out a sharp breath. He opened one of his herbalism books and began to do some light reading. Herbology was one of his weaker focuses, but he was working on it. School started back up again in three weeks and that would definitely put a damper on his magical studies. He would have to balance his magic with his schoolwork, much to Aeterna's displeasure. But Stiles had made a valid point—if he started to decline in his performance in his studies or lacrosse even, Scott would notice and probably tell his father. Who was to say that the sheriff didn't sniff out the truth? Not that he had in the last eight years but now Stiles was waist deep in the occult. There was a lot more for the sheriff to use to put two and two together.
It was around midnight when Stiles put his book down and turned off his bedside lamp. He had his dream journal on the nightstand for when he woke up. Ever since he had started to dabble in dreams, he began to write down his own to interpret them later. He took a deep breath and started his breathing exercises. He needed to empty his mind and bring forth his subconscious. The more he was open to the future, the better the results of his dream casting would be. So he calmed himself to a trance-like state and slipped off to sleep.
The forest was dark and not even the moonlight shone through the canopies of the trees. Stiles looked around and all he could see were trees. They were in various stages of decay and few still retained their leaves.
How strange, Stiles thought as he moved forward. The ground under his feet crunched with each step he took. His eyes burned from something in the air—smoke perhaps? It made seeing a bit difficult added on top of the glaring darkness. His left foot caught on something when he tried to pull it up to take a step. He stumbled but caught himself easily enough on a nearby tree. When he righted himself and pulled his hand away from the trunk. His palm was sticky with something. Stiles swallowed as he examined his skin. He had thought perhaps it would be sap but it was blood. The coppery smell entered his nose and made him shiver.
Stiles had heard a lot of tales from Aeterna, so normally horror didn't really scare him. But this dream—all of this was really freaking him out. He was just grateful he had learned how to wrangle his consciousness in the dream. Lucidity was key in getting to the bottom of a dream's message. So he swallowed and continued on his way. Something had settled in his bones and was pulling him. The miasma became even thicker and it became difficult to breathe. Stiles coughed a few times before mumbling a small charm for clarity. It seemed to do the trick for the area around him and allowed him to breathe once more. But he wasn't prepared for what he saw when he looked up.
Before him a three-story home was ablaze. The flames engulfed the structure in an impregnable cage. Smoke billowed out from the top of the fire and coated the sky in dark purple smog. Even then, no heat came from the inferno. Stiles stepped in to the clearing the house sat on. As soon as he did, it was like a switch had been flicked. Ghastly faces appeared in the flames. They screamed and pleaded. Stiles flinched and covered his ears. The sound was so piercing it was making his head spin. He looked up and counted the spirits—the number could be significant later. There were eight faces in the flames. He couldn't tell their gender or age, but he knew that they were suffering. They couldn't break free from this world and weren't able to move on. What was holding them there, Stiles wondered.
Even still, the feeling in his gut did not relent. He had not yet found the true meaning of his dream. So with a thick swallow, Stiles continued to step on the burning porch. He touched the doorknob and it was cool to the touch. The flames moved through him like whispers of air. It was strange because the flickering fire actually gave him the chills where they touched him. The house and everything inside of it was intact and the fire was as much a ghost as the spirits screaming at him were.
He wondered around the house, following the pull in his stomach to the stairs. He walked up them one at a time. They held his weight. The sounds of the fire raging around him hissed and popped at him. The spirits had quieted but their faces were stuck open in pained screams. When he reached the second floor, he turned right. There was a room at the end of the hallway and the door was slightly ajar. As Stiles moved closer to the door he began to hear voices from inside. They weren't saying anything coherent and there were only two. In fact—wait, had that been a moan? The door was warm when Stiles placed his palm on the grain and pushed it open.
The room was fairly bare. A window on the exterior wall, a single three-drawer dresser, a closet, and a bed were contained in the four walls. There were two people on the bed. From the sounds and motions, they were having sex. Stiles kept his groan to himself because of course he would be a peeping tom in his own dream. His eyes raked appreciatively over the man who held himself above the person below him. The man had sculpted muscles that tensed and flexed as he moved. He had a triskele tattoo square on his back between his shoulder blades. The black ink glistened with the sweat that covered the man's skin.
Stiles moved his eyes to finally look at the person under the man. He froze when he saw who it was. The person below the man was himself. Stiles stared at himself as his face contorted in pleasure. Moans and keens of bliss left his mouth to join the sounds of the fire crackling around them. He put his hands up on the man's chest, begging and pleading for him not to stop. To go harder, faster, yes, yes! The man obliged and Dream Stiles threw his head back with a shout.
Then his eyes snapped open and they were the solid black. His lips pulled back in to a wicked grin to reveal perfectly white teeth. There was only a small flex in his forearm before his fingers sank in to the flesh of the man's chest. He reached deep in to his chest with such force that the man's ribs cracked with ease. When Dream Stiles pulled his hands back out, dark scarlet blood ran down his arms in rivulets to drip on his face. Between his fingers was the still beating heart of the man. Blood dripped from the organ on to Dream Stiles' face. He laughed with glee and licked at the droplets closest to his mouth. The red stained his teeth as he continued to smile.
Blood coated Dream Stiles' chest as it pooled from the man's chest cavity. Yet he continued to thrust in to Dream Stiles. Stiles felt bile rising in his throat. The spirits resumed their shrieking and the sound of the fire whooshed back in to the plane. Dream Stiles turned his blood splattered face towards where Stiles was standing in the doorway. His black eyes sent a chill through Stiles' body and caused him freeze on the spot.
"This is you," Dream Stiles said, "This has always been you," he laughed and laughed as the heart in his grasp slowly stopped beating and flames engulfed the room.
Stiles awoke with a gasp. He was covered in sweat. His limbs shook as he scrambled from his bed and hurried in to his bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he was violently sick. He was shaking so badly he fell to his knees. The image of the man's gaping chest cavity was burned in the back of Stiles' eyelids. A few minutes of collecting himself, he was able to stand to make his way to the sink. He rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face. But he was still feeling shivery while waves of heat caused him to sweat.
When he walked back in to his room, he glanced at the digital clock next to his bed. The display showed him it was 3:26 in the morning. In the darkness, he felt around the top of his lamp for the knob to turn the light on. It flicked on and Stiles winced, closing his eyes for a second. After adjusting to the light he opened his eyes and grabbed his journal. The dream still left him feeling weak and fairly disturbed. But he needed to write it down to analyze it later. So he grabbed the black pen and opened his journal to the next fresh page. He inhaled slowly and exhaled through his nose. He let his hand sketch out the triskele that had been on the man's back in the top right-hand corner of the page.
As he pressed his pen to the first line on the page, a howl sounded outside somewhere. Stiles frowned and looked towards his window. Wolves hadn't been in this part of California for years. His mind drifted to the fire in his dream. Fire in dreams could sometimes represent calamitous change. What could that even mean? Stiles shook his head and quickly began to recount his dream before he forgot anything.