14 Void
Stiles stayed behind Peter. Leaning over to peek past his shoulder counted as staying behind him. Even so, Stiles couldn't see much from their vantage in the tree line. The ravens had rented a hotel room at the edge of town, literally adjacent to the forest. Derek said hikers tended to use those rooms. So did people who couldn't afford rooms farther into town or didn't want to be seen.
"Sit still," Peter snapped in a whisper. "I still don't think you should be here."
"I'm not supposed to be alone, remember? So I have to be here, unless you wanted to sit at home with me while your betas do the work." Stiles wasn't about to wait it out while the pack captured one of the ravens. He knew Peter wasn't either.
"Scott would have stayed with you." Peter barely spared a glance for Stiles. He kept his eyes on the street by the hotel.
"Without Scott in the field, we wouldn't know the hunters were coming, and we'd be caught with our pants down." Stiles wondered if Scott had been spying on Allison. He used to do that on Stiles' world.
"Someone else would have noticed them too."
"Didn't happen. Can't prove it."
Peter pushed Stiles away from his shoulder. "Focus. We won't have a second chance if you mess this up."
"Aw, Peter, I thought you were going to protect me."
"If you get me killed, what I'll do is haunt you." Peter's eyes flashed. "Now, focus. They'll be here any moment."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "You'll hear them before I see them."
"Not if you're drowning them out. Be quiet."
Stiles shrugged. He tapped a finger against his leg. Stiles tried not to feel like he was creeping on Peter as he watched Peter's eyebrows furrow down in concentration. His beard looked overgrown today, like he hadn't had time to maintain his Perfect Hollywood Stubble this morning. Peter kept rolling his shoulders, impatience or stiffness.
Unless... was he nervous?
"They're coming," Peter whispered. "Remember, speak logically and only to Allison. No emotion. No Lydia. Try not to even look at Lydia."
"Sure," Stiles lied. He wished they'd gone after the ravens a day or an hour sooner to avoid the hunters. He wished a lot of things, but they couldn't just let the hunters have the ravens, so now they had to do this all wrong. Stiles tugged Peter out of the bushes.
An older woman was passing by walking her dog. She eyed the two men, then the bushes. With a sniff, she turned and walked her dog back the way they'd come.
Stiles didn't have time to watch her go. Peter pulled him along. It was too late to back out now, Probably had been for a while. They walked together toward the hotel as if ready to confront the wereravens with no idea the hunters had neared. Peter took Stiles' hand and tugged him back like he'd changed his mind, like he'd just noticed the hunters.
Allison and Lydia turned the corner just in time to see. They froze. Stiles stumbled very convincingly since it was only half fake. Peter tugged him back up by his arm and caught Stiles against his chest. Stiles rubbed his shoulder. Peter could have let him trip. That wouldn't foil any plan.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Lydia demanded. She reached a hand under her jacket but didn't draw it back out.
"I wanted to adopt a bird," Stiles said.
Peter grunted.
"The pet store is farther into town," Allison advised. Her eyes darted to Peter and held there.
"I don't think their birds know much about interdimensional travel," Stiles said.
"New hobby?" Allison gave a tight smile.
A man stepped out of his hotel room. He walked to the vending machine and bought a bag of chips. The machine tried to keep it, but the man gave it a good shake. He returned to his room with his chips.
"I just want to get home," Stiles said when the man was gone.
Allison looked at Lydia. When Lydia turned her head, the scarred side of her face was toward Stiles. He'd seen it before, but in poor lighting. It looked like lightning had struck, probably her shoulder, and the wound had spread to her face. It probably covered her torso and neck too, but she kept much of her skin covered. Allison nodded, and they both turned back to Stiles.
"You're not going home," Lydia said, a wicked grin spreading over her face. "The ravens can't help you." Everyone had talked like Lydia would lose all reason at the sight of him. She didn't seem calm, exactly, but she was in control. It was the kind of control you found riding a wave of chaos. Stiles remembered it well, no matter how hard he wished to forget.
Peter still held Stiles' hand, so Stiles squeezed it hard. This was a trap. They needed to leave. He let himself feel the panic so Peter could smell it on him.
Lydia laughed with no hint of joy. "I was there when you switched places. I didn't understand at first, but I know now you're not him, which means this world is safe from him. You are never going home."
"So, you're cool with condemning another world to dealing with him?" Stiles asked. Peter must have missed or misunderstood his signal. Or they were already surrounded.
"Yes." Lydia hurled the word like a knife.
Allison said, "Until we know you're a killer, our code protects you, Stiles. But not Peter."
Still, Peter held his ground. "We can't exactly fight here," he pointed out.
"You can't wait here forever," Allison said, "and it will get dark eventually."
Lydia added, "I don't think this Stiles is as... helpful as your old one."
Stiles turned his back to her, but he had to tilt Peter's head with a hand on his cheek to make him look away from the hunters. "Follow me," Stiles said. He squeezed Peter's hand, this time to assure him he had a plan.
The ravens' rooms were on the first floor, only several meters away. Allison and Lydia followed but kept out of arms reach. No one answered when Stiles knocked on the door.
"They're in," Peter confirmed.
So Stiles began knocking continuously. He switched hands when his knuckles got sore. Just over a minute in, he started tapping out rhythms to keep himself entertained. Peter stood with his back against Stiles' so he could see the hunters and keep them at bay.
The door swung inward. The man who had almost killed Stiles dragged him forward. Peter forced his way in and slammed the door behind them. Stiles locked it. Peter set his claws against the raven's throat until he let go of Stiles.
The man took a step back. He was tall, imposing in a way Stiles wouldn't have expected from a trickster bird. The other two ravens in the room fit Stiles' mental image better, lean and lithe, built for speed and agility rather than force.
"We've been looking for you, Stiles," the raven's alpha said. His voice was deep. He hadn't chosen a threatening tone, but Stiles remembered that voice from the night he was attacked more clearly than he remembered the man's angular face.
"I found you first," Stiles said, pointing his finger in the bird-man's face. "And I'm guessing if you had a secret exit, this room would already be empty."
"So you did know you were surrounded," the young man on the bed said. He had slicked-back red hair and a pierced lip.
"Introductions," Stiles suggested. "I'm Stiles. This is Peter. Our good friends outside are probably going to kill us all."
The raven's leader cocked his head with a smirk. "Call me Jacob."
The redheaded raven rolled his eyes but raised a hand and said, "Merc."
The last raven stood in the corner farthest from the door with her arms crossed. She had dark skin and close-cropped hair. Her eyes lingered on Jacob for a long moment before she spoke. "I'm opposed to this course of action, but you can call me Piper for short."
"Great," Stiles said. "Now I know you have a plan to escape the hunters, or you wouldn't have knowingly let them surround you. We need in."
Merc cocked an eyebrow. "You're surrounded too, genius."
"But I'm a powerless human whose friends are all gullible wolves. You're tricksters. I doubt you often get tricked yourselves."
Piper gave him a flat look, obviously unimpressed. Merc smirked though, and Jacob eyed Stiles like he expected to find some hidden meaning in Stiles' reasoning.
Jacob crossed his arms, and Stiles couldn't tell if it was casual or meant to 'casually' show off his biceps. "Tell me how we're supposed to escape then."
"I don't know. That's your job." Stiles held his hands up in front of him.
Jacob cocked his head the other way. "Last time we met, killing you was my job."
If Jacob had known about Stiles so soon after he arrived, it stood to reason he'd already known about Peter and his pack. "You knew Peter would save me," Stiles said. "He even did it the way you most wanted."
The bite would have precluded becoming a raven. Sacrifice would have strengthened Stiles' connection to the nemeton rather than the void. Jacob had approached Stiles on a recruitment mission, and bought time to plan their next move while Stiles recovered from the attack. The bite and sacrifice would also both have been faster. Stiles wondered if they had found the ravens at all, or if they'd been lured here from the start.
Merc folded a dollar bill into a paper plane and threw it to Piper.
"Really?" Stiles asked.
Piper shrugged.
Merc said, "Gotta entertain ourselves somehow."
Jacob spread his hands. "We can turn into birds, Stiles. Has it occurred to you that our plan is to leave you behind here?"
Peter growled, "You realize I can hear lies, correct?"
"Can you? Where is the lie?" Jacob's smug grin was echoed on Merc's face. Piper rolled her eyes.
Peter hesitated.
Stiles wondered if it was possible to hear lies from tricksters. Even Stiles could lie to werewolves sometimes. If Peter hadn't thought to doubt his hearing, he should have answered that leaving them behind was the lie. He and Stiles had seen Jacob turn into a raven the night he attacked.
"All of it was a lie," Peter said with confidence that Stiles couldn't see a flaw in even though it couldn't be real, not against tricksters. "Either your friends don't share your skill, or I didn't see what I thought I did."
Jacob grinned. Piper threw the dollar plane back to Merc. Stiles guessed Piper had bet on Stiles and Merc on Peter.
"Do we have time for this?" Stiles asked. The hunters were right outside. They had no doubt surrounded the room by now.
"I find it's best to give them a little time to get away," Jacob said.
"You've already done it," Stiles realized. "How?"
"We're tricksters," Merc said. "We tricked."
"I'm afraid information is for ravens only," Jacob said. "Unless you already know..."
Stiles glared. They could be lying about this too. "Wolves and ravens in the wild work together and play together. They form friendships. They're important allies."
Jacob laughed outright at that. "We're also human, and humans notoriously tear each other apart."
"You already did that," Stiles snapped. "The room hasn't changed, so you tricked the hunters into leaving, right? How? And how many did they leave behind to watch the room?"
"Two," Peter said. "One is Allison, I think."
"You think?" Stiles demanded. Why hadn't Peter said something sooner?
"I don't know her as well as Scott." He shrugged. Shrugged!
"Time to go," Piper said. She opened a window opposite the door.
"Stiles hasn't figured it out yet," Jacob said.
"He ain't gonna. Let's go," Merc insisted, standing and joining Piper at the window.
Stiles frowned at the window. He and Peter stood at the wrong end of the room. If the hunters had left, they were chasing a decoy. If it was one of Peter's betas, they would have left more to guard the alpha. Lydia would have stayed personally unless she believed Stiles had run, or at least he thought so. She seemed calmer than everyone said, but maybe that was because she knew he wasn't really Stiles, not to her.
"You can create illusions," Stiles said.
Jacob nodded. Merc shoved a wad of cash into Piper's hands and leapt out the window. Stiles let Peter keep hold of his arm as they approached the window with Jacob behind them. He wasn't sure it would do much good, but he thought it made Peter feel more confident.
Once outside, Jacob clapped Stiles on the shoulder and said, "Don't call us. We'll call you." With a wink, he transformed into a raven. Merc and Piper transformed and flew away. Stiles still didn't know whether the lie Peter heard or the birds they saw now were illusions.
Peter grabbed Stiles' hand and pulled him into a run. They had to go deeper into town to avoid the hunters in the woods, which was opposite the direction of Peter's car. None of the streets and buildings here were familiar to Stiles. Beacon Hills had grown larger in this universe than his own, where trees still covered this area.
By the time they reached the Hale's house, Stiles was beyond out of breath and wheezing painfully. He thought his heart would beat its was out through his throat. He'd already puked.
But the hunters never saw them, and Peter had already confirmed the rest of the pack got out safely. Apparently, Stiles ran so slowly that Peter could text without falling behind.
A truck was parked in front of the house. Peter checked his watch with a curse.
"Did you seriously schedule a meeting for after we kidnapped a wereraven?" Stiles gasped out, drawing a desperate breath between each word.
"Contractor for the mountain ash baseboards and window treatments you suggested," Peter explained, not the least bit out of breath.
Stiles wasn't sure he had ever hated anyone more than he hated Peter in that moment.
Inside, they found Derek talking to a stranger with a tool belt. This couldn't be more than a consultation. At most he would measure the house. Why did he need to wear his tool belt? Was it just looking the part?
"Uncle Peter," Derek called with a smile that even Stiles almost couldn't peg as fake. "Will you explain please that quality wood is essential. We will not put subpar materials into this house. Have you seen this tile?" Derek turned back to the contractor for this and motioned to the floor. "Does that look like cheap or basic taste to you?"
Stiles snorted and started coughing to cover it up. Derek was absolutely convincing. He also wasn't wrong, so Stiles wondered where the act ended. If the floor wasn't marble, it was made to look like it convincingly. He basically lived in a mansion.
Peter somehow made a glare smarmy and began ranting about wood and soil. They must have researched this. No one cared this much about baseboard wood. Stiles guessed they were playing the part of rich eccentrics to explain their need for mountain ash specifically. He left them to it so he could grab a shower and a nap.
He knew it when he woke up in a dream. Lydia sat beside him, staring at the wall.
"I got here before you, I think," she said. "Do your dreams wait for you when you're awake?"
There were bags under her eyes. Her skin was pale, and her fingers kept jittering against the pink fabric of her skirt.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine." The jitter ran off of her in visible waves.
"But?"
"Other You thinks I'm pushing myself too hard and not getting enough real sleep." She shook her head.
"It's the middle of the day," Stiles said. "If you're so tired, maybe you should nap instead of talking."
"No." Lydia spun and surged forward to grab Stiles' hand. "We spoke to a raven today, about Amara."
"Funny, I spoke to some ravens too. I think I passed some sort of test."
"Lair said werespiders move people between universes to feed off the displacement energy, but that Amara wants something more from you—Other You."
"Displacement?" If other him was displaced, then so was he, but Amara wasn't here so far as Stiles could tell. She needed something specific to Other Stiles' energy when displaced. Stiles had sacrificed himself to the nemeton, but was much more strongly connected to the void after being possessed by the nogitsune. Other Stiles was the opposite, tied primarily to the nemeton with a little bit of void in his eye.
Lydia said, "You need to talk to Peter about the binding. You said it's fraying." Her eyes were wide, but Stiles didn't think her stare focused on him. He had seen her like this before. She had nearly died.
"What binding?"
"On the demon eye."
"I'll ask," Stiles promised.
"I saw him die, Other You. I can't tell anymore if the spider or the raven is killing him. He just keeps screaming and screaming in my head about how I was supposed to save him." Lydia's grip on Stiles' hand tightened.
Stiles pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. "You will. You'll save us both," he promised. "Ravens can create illusions. Warn the others not to believe everything they see."
Lydia shivered in his arms.
"There's one more thing I need you to do for me," Stiles said.
"I will," Lydia agreed, turning her face up so she could look into his eyes.
"Scream for me. Drown out all that extra sound, and then sleep. You can dream about me if you want. I won't notice."
She laughed, if weakly. "Cover your ears."
He did, but the scream still pierced through him so he thought he would shatter.
Stiles woke with half-formed ideas and half-remembered dreams jumbled together in his mind. He must have continued sleeping after Lydia left. He blinked up at the ceiling of his room—Other His room—and wondered how long he would be here before he stopped correcting himself. If he was lucky, he'd never find out. He missed his dad and his friends.
A knock sounded from the door.
"Stiles," Peter called through the closed door. "Can we come in? The contractor needs to measure your room."
"Yeah, coming," Stiles said as he scrambled off the bed.
In the hall, Stiles grabbed Derek and tugged him out of the doorway. "Can you do without Peter a few minutes? I need to talk to him."
Derek nodded. "Did you speak to Lydia?"
"Yeah. You might not want to listen. It's not catastrophic, but it's also not good news. We can share it with you more privately later."
"I'll be alright," Derek promised.
With a frown, Peter pulled Stiles away to his study.
As soon as Peter shut the door, Stiles said, "She says the binding is fraying."
Peter froze. He took a deliberate breath and swallowed to clear his throat. "That shouldn't be possible."
"Well, it is," Stiles pointed out. They probably had time since Lydia wouldn't be able to speak to Stiles again until this evening at the earliest, but that didn't mean they should waste it on what was obviously not true.
"You don't understand, Stiles. We had dozens of emissaries, witches, supernatural librarians, anyone who would agree came to study the binding. It was too advanced for most. One said it was the single most powerful binding she'd ever seen. Not a one could find any weakness." Peter collapsed more than sat in his chair.
"Was it built for interdimensional travel?" Stiles doubted any of their experts would have looked for that.
"I don't know."
"That's not all," Stiles said. "Lydia said the werespider moves people to a different universe and feeds off their displacement. That's probably what she took Isaac for."
Peter nodded but didn't speak.
Stiles asked, "Do you know anything about displacement? Could that affect the binding?"
Peter's eyes flashed. "I don't know, Stiles."
Stiles didn't have the patience for Peter's fragile ego. "When it frays, does he become the demon, or do they both die?"
"They die," Peter snapped. "He was so focused on making sure the demon never survived him that he forgot to think maybe he'd want to survive it. Apparently, that's part of why it's so strong. he didn't build in a back door for it to take advantage of."
"Then we need to fix it. How was it made?"
"He tattooed it into his skin with the same ink we use for the pack bond."
Stiles barely resisted commenting that he had to hide his wrist but other Stiles literally had facial tattoos. He needed to stay on topic and keep Peter there too. "Can he just make more?"
"No. It uses my blood." Peter rubbed his temple like hopelessness gave him a headache.
Creepy. "You're still alive in that world."
"But not as his alpha."
"Can he use Scott's blood?"
"Scott's not his alpha either." Peter let his hand drop to his desk.
"You adopted me. I'm sure Scott did the same."
Peter paused in his self-pity to cock an eyebrow. "Adopted?" He shook his head. "I doubt he's been there long enough to really consider Scott his alpha. Just think how you view me. You know I'm the alpha here, and you'll work with me, but I'm just the tool you'll use to get home to your own pack, right?"
"Okay, but Scott's a true alpha," Stiles said. "That could make a difference."
"Maybe." Peter conceded.
"What else did he use besides your blood?" Stiles asked.
"Mountain ash and ethanol, both easily available on your world, I'm sure. He empowered the ink among the nemeton's roots, so we'll just have to hope your tree stump is strong enough."
The nemeton may have been cut down, but it wasn't weak. He'd seen its power when the darach used it.
Stiles asked, "Why did he use your blood instead of his own?"
"Human blood has no supernatural properties." Peter sighed and covered his eyes. "Even if he could make more ink, he'd have to discover exactly how it began to fray and write that into the binding, assuming the binding would accept an amendment. I think it's designed not to. He couldn't just trace over whichever part is damaged because even if it took, it would only fray again."
"So there's a chance he can do something to buy more time to find a real solution," Stiles pointed out. "See how optimism helps more than pessimism. Now, how does he find out what went wrong?"
"I'm a werewolf, Stiles, not a witch. I don't know."
"Yeah, but on my world you used a banshee, the full moon, and your nephew when he was alpha to literally return from the dead, so I'm not buying that you don't know anything about magic."
"For a failure, I'm quite impressive," Peter noted. "But Stiles will have to find what went wrong on his own. We can't observe it from here."
"How far into the fraying does it kill him?"
"When he loses control. It will look like the binding is gone. When the demon seizes power or is separated from Stiles, it activates the last defense." Peter clenched his jaw.
"So could he write a new binding when this one fails but before the demon has control? Or while it's in the process of taking control?"
"If he doesn't mind probably failing."
"Only probably."
Peter scrubbed a hand over the stubble along his jaw. "Most likely," he corrected, "but less than definitely. If he wanted to use different blood, I think he'd have to start over anyway."
"So there's hope. Lydia was... less than clear, so maybe he already thought of this. I'll talk to her next time I have the chance to be sure." Stiles tapped his fingers on Peter's desk. Something about Isaac was nagging him. "Have you noticed any strange werewolves appearing in Beacon Hills recently?"
Peter sighed. "Why?"
"We've had several from a neighbor pack go missing. Maybe Amara moved them here to feed before she got me switched around, like she almost did with Isaac."
"You survived because of the void. Doesn't that mean crossing universes should kill them?"
"Maybe werewolves heal fast enough to survive," Stiles suggested. "Back home, Other You passed through a portal from the Wild Hunt's train station and survived even though we saw it kill a human."
Peter sighed. "I'll look into it."
"We could look into it."
"Are you going to sniff them out with your human nose?" Peter raised an expectant eyebrow.
"No, but I know them, and I know a few places they might hide. And if we find them, a friendly face might be better than yours."
"Fine," Peter sighed. "Together, then."
Stiles grinned. Maybe it was unfair to consider it a victory when Peter had just been told his packmate was sort of dying, but Peter was insufferable enough that Stiles couldn't help himself. The grin faltered only a moment later. "We'll have to think of a way to get them home too."
"Focus on finding them first," Peter advised. "We'll want to reach them before the hunters do."
Satomi's betas would think Allison, Lydia, and Chris Argent were friends.