A/N - Hey guys, sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to get this teaser out before working on the rest in earnest tomorrow. I had a bunch of family over today which side-tracked me, and it's now 1 am (yawn). This has been a blast writing, but not as much as seeing some of your reviews which I appreciate beyond words. Hope you enjoy.

Stiles strode through the house, not really paying any attention to where he was going. On some level, he knew this was incredibly dangerous. The goat-thing could come for him at any time…but part of him wanted to meet it, the thing that had killed innocent people, the thing that had hurt Jackson and Lydia and trapped his friends, the thing that just might possibly be his great-great-grandfather. He felt sick with guilt, and frustrated that Derek (with his constant over-protectiveness) tried to patronize him by saying it wasn't his fault that they were here. Who knew but that his heritage might have given him some kind of subconscious drive to return here? That would almost be a relief compared to the alternative: the dumb idea was all his alone. Either way, he was responsible.

The more miserable he made himself, the angrier he became. Why was his life always so fucking traumatic? First, he loses his mother… the most wonderful human being on earth, the one who loved him more than anything, more than her own life. And she had to be taken from him. Then along comes Peter goddamned Hale, the evil Alpha that turned his life upside down. Sure, he got through that business as well thanks to his friends, but that was also down to sheer luck. You'd think that would be enough adventure for anybody, you'd think that the gods would look down and say "Gee Stiles, we gave you some crap hands in the card game of life, here's a nice winning lottery ticket! But oh, no. Now he gets his friends stuck in a dimension that looked like the inspiration for the people that built Hell, with virtually no way to escape that he could think of. Their food supplies were practically gone, and it wouldn't be too long before they all went crazy and killed each other or else starved to death, or got killed by the creatures that walked here.

The thoughts whirled around and around in his head, sick fury collecting into a hard knot in his stomach and seeming to push itself upward. He dimly remembered feeling this sensation once before, the night Derek threw him out of his house…

?

Stiles stopped in mid stride. He had never really examined the events of that night in his memory, he was just happy that Derek had found him when he…

?

How the hell had he gotten out there in the snow?

Stiles struggled to remember. Derek had thrown him out…then,,,something about his neck. Stiles reached around and touched the back of his neck as he had done that long ago night. He had looked at the blood on his finger…and that was the last thing he remembered. He felt that same anger that night, and it seemed to push up into his brain and blot out everything else. And then…

…then he was standing over a naked Derek with a large branch in his hand, and Derek was injured. Had Stiles struck him? Yes, he thought he might have. Maybe several times, and then…Derek mentioned his Mom, and how she always worried about him going outside without his jacket. She was so fussy over him, like he would break if she weren't careful. Kind of how like Derek was ever since that night. As well he should be, since it was his fucking fault Stiles was out there in the first…

Stiles growled, and his hand shot out and punched a hole in the nearest wall, taking out a good sized chunk of drywall. There, moldering away for who knew how many years, was a skeleton in the remains of an archaic looking workman's uniform. Stiles looked at it, and when the skeleton suddenly lurched to its feet, its bones clattering to a hideous attention, he only felt his anger increase. Here was the next event in the Stiles Stilinski Horror Hit Parade. The old walled-up by accident workman coming back to life to seek bloody revenge against the living, who just happened to be Stiles, the Boy-Who-Never-Had-Enough-Fucked-Up-Shit-In-His-Life.

Stiles growled again, his eyes burning a furious yellow, before the left one suddenly dimmed to a dead black. Fangs pushed their way through his gums…but not the fangs of a Beta werewolf. These fangs were one and all the triangular teeth of a shark, and with a hideous crackling sound, a second row pushed out from behind the first. And then a third. Stiles felt his right ear stretching into a point. The left one remained human…but his left temple began to throb with a hideous pressure. The Beta claws slid smoothly out from his fingertips…but on his left hand, the claws grew an extra inch and became hooked.

As the skeleton's hands lunged forward to wrap themselves around Stiles' neck, Stiles grabbed the bony arms with a strength to rival the Alpha's. He snapped the bones like twigs, and then grabbed the cobwebbed rib cage and pulled the skeleton from its resting place. Slamming it down onto the floor, he brought his foot down on the skull, whose mouth was open in a silent scream.

SLAM!

The skull vaporized, and Stiles fell to in a frenzy, breaking the skeleton and pulling apart the bones and smashing them to bits until nothing was left but a heap of dust and some shreds of clothing. A horn burst through his left temple, the skin quickly healing around it while it pushed upward, black and sleek and dripping with blood.

Stiles looked up, grinning insanely. A strange sensation filled him as the two monsters in his soul struggled to fit together. The essence of the creature that tormented them in this house was never meant to bind with the human race; the two species were too alien too each other, leading to genetic anomalies (like ADHD) and the early deaths of the offspring as the human half finally broke down into the disordered chaos of cancer. But the essence of the werewolf is to make everything about its host stronger, and it easily adapted to the strange alien genes within Stiles…genes that would have destroyed him eventually if not for the relentless and powerful life force the werewolf bestowed. What was once a young boy was now a creature that had never existed before and likely never would again…if the multi-verse survived his presence.

Stiles hyperactive mind began to work at a lightning fast clip as he pondered his next course of action. Destroying his enemy was of utmost importance. If that skeleton was the best the goat-thing had to throw at him, then Stiles was going to have no problem taking it apart. But the wolfish instinct within him preached caution. Taking on a powerful enemy alone was not the way of the werewolf; he needed a Pack.

He sent his awareness down through the house. He sensed his old Pack there, fearful and weak, two already being consumed by his enemy. They would be of no use to him; fear only fed his foe. He needed a Pack that was beyond fear. Without knowing quite how he was doing it, he sent his mind into a dozen other worlds that connected to this hell-dimension, alternate timelines that contained analogs of his old Pack. The first world he looked into contained a nearly identical history to his own, but the relationships had all turned out different. Here Derek was dating Jackson, Scott was with Lydia, Allison in love with Ted and Danny mated to Stiles.

In another, Peter Hale was victorious against the Argents, with Scott and Derek his rabid followers and lovers. Together they slaughtered all of the residents of Beacon Hills before going on to the next town where Peter infected everyone with the bite in the first Act of what would eventually be a Werewolf Armageddon.

A third world was amusing in its own way. The Hale fire had never happened, and the Pack had never even discovered the existence of werewolves. Derek and Laura were married to werewolves from another Pack and led carefree untroubled lives.

The fourth world…ahhhhh! Now here was an interesting prospect. In this world, Stiles was dead, having frozen to death in the snowstorm nearly a year ago. He watched with morbid interest the events that led to this, finally filling in the missing gap in his memory…but Derek never came for him, having slept the clock around and learning of his fate the following morning when he was confronted by a bitter and angry Pack. Over time, they descended into madness, eventually slaughtering an emotionally crippled Derek along with anyone that had ever crossed Stiles. They gave themselves over to worshipping his memory while torturing each other and themselves.

These guys were perfect. Let his enemy play at conquest with fear, a mere child's toy…Stiles would use rage, a far more potent weapon.

Stiles made his way to a music room on the fourth floor. The room was filled with every type of musical instrument conceivable, including some that were never seen on Earth. In one corner stood a lone grandfather clock. Stiles pointed his finger at the clock and twirled his finger around until he reached the point in time he wanted in this parallel Earth before opening the glass door and entering.

{}{}{}{}

The Nega-Pack emerged from the burning Hale house, giving the hanging body of Derek Hale only a passing glance as they gathered on the front lawn. Stiles emerged from the grandfather clock in the foyer of the burning home, and the Pack shouted in surprise when they saw him, a half-demon/half-werewolf coming through the flaming doorway…it must have made quite an image.

They took in his visage silently, not daring to speak lest they offend what looked like their very god come from Hell.

"Hey guys!" Stiles said brightly.

Scott fell to his knees, tears flowing into his thick beard as he shoved his unruly hair away from his eyes.

"St-Stiles? H-how?" he began. Stiles cut him off.

"No time for chit-chat, since you guys decided to burn the only portal to this place. Somebody fucked with me, and I need you to help kill him. Who's with me?"

They all cheered, and Lydia actually came over to him and groveled at his feet, whining for attention. Stiles kicked her away. "Get up, R-tart. This is a highly dangerous mission. Some of you may die. Others will face their worst fears, a torture beyond imagining. So, if you're into that kind of thing, let's go!"

Stiles walked back into the house followed by the giggling and leering doubles of his friends. They entered the grandfather clock after him, not questioning the bizarre events…but just ecstatic that their loyalty and servitude was about to be acknowledged and rewarded.

After they all entered, a chunk of ceiling fell and destroyed the clock, a small kindness done to this otherwise horrific world.