Stiles absolutely does not freak out.
No, he is a calm, and rational human being.
He certainly doesn't spend five minutes flickering the listening rune on his shoulder on and off, wincing as he hears a cat meow down the street and a baby cry for its toy two stores down.
No, Stiles would never run his palm over his arm, almost reverently, tracing the patterns of his runes like they're holy text. He definitely doesn't have tears in his eyes, that would be ridiculous.
Stiles is a liar though and he totally spends fifteen minutes sitting in Deaton's car, eyes wide and breaths stuttered and quiet.
It's another half hour before he starts the car and heads back to Deaton's, mind not even on the road as he looks at the lock and binding runes on his wrist.
How many times has he used those to get out of a sticky jam? To unlock a door and help tie bad guys up in perfect knots? Stiles doesn't know what he would have done without his runes in the past, what would have happened to him if he was well and truly defenseless.
He can still remember the fear that gripped him before he convinced Deaton to carve him like a turkey, when a group of hunters had caught him alone and he'd been forced to draw a shielding rune on the concrete floor in his own blood.
Stiles shivers at the memory as he parks the car outside of Deaton's, touching his speed rune as he takes the stairs.
He lets out a breathless laugh, smile too big for his face as he races up the stairs. It takes him only twenty seconds to climb three floors and he's not even breathing hard. It's like he just took a step and suddenly appeared there.
Stiles flexes his arm, watching the spiral and twist of the speed rune shimmer and glow and quietly rubs his thumb over it, rubbing away the magic.
He didn't know how much he missed this part of him until he has it back, giddy with the fresh magic still thrumming through him.
Fuck, he hasn't felt this good since the scars healed. It's like he didn't even notice how much of him was missing before, since he carefully avoided thinking too much about it.
It's weird, he thinks, as he unlocks the door to Deaton's apartment, that the witch would do it so freely.
What had she said before she touched him? The memory is fuzzy, a roar in his ears where her words should be. It's almost exactly like what happened when the timekeep grabbed him weeks ago, when he whispered into his ear and held his body.
The woman couldn't possibly be a timekeep though, could she? She was normal looking. The timekeep he saw was pitch black and shaped like a person. Stiles decides she can't be a timekeep, but bites his lip, unsure.
He doesn't actually know enough about timekeeps to make a guess. He warily eyes the stack of books on the coffee table by his couch, sighing. He'd looked it up days ago, as soon as he slept off the energy he used warding the Hale house, he'd looked for a translate website online.
But, while Google translate launched early 2007, he guessed, from all the hype they were giving it on Google, he guesses they don't actually do more advanced translations until later. Right now, he can only do Spanish, German, French, and English translations.
Stiles really fucking hates 2007 and everything about it.
He sets his bag on the counter and goes about putting everything away in the closet. He goes against Deaton's filing system and just shoves all the bottles next to each other on a shelf. He's going to be using them soon anyway since, he checks the calender on the other side of the room, the next new moon is in twelve days.
Stiles determinedly does not look at the other date circled in a red sharpie, since he does not need a reminder that he only has almost four weeks until the eclipse. Thinking about things like that is seriously not good for Stiles' mental health.
The computer has switched to a screen saver in his absence, neon colored pipes running all over the screen. He shakes the mouse and isn't sure whether he's happy or upset that his bug actually did what it was supposed to.
Stiles really doesn't have the stomach to read what ever Derek talks to Kate about. Instead of looking at the messages to filter out which ones are Kate's, he goes back to the phone records and looks for which number Derek text the most. After he finds it, he enters it in and CTRL + A's the entire log without looking at it. He pastes' it to a word document and starts printing it out, sighing regretfully as the words "sweetie" and "baby" stand out against the white paper.
Stiles quickly looks away and flicks on the TV, watching the news absently, he thinks it's something about a book releasing tonight, he isn't paying attention, until the thirty pages of text finish printing. He only copied ones from the past two weeks, but he figures there has to be some blackmail material in there. He'll look through it later, he decides, stomach twisting in revulsion.
Once the printer stops making that godawful sound, Stiles hops up and quickly shoves all of the pages into a manilla envelope he scoured the drawers for and licks it shut, not even sparing it a glace. If they're anything like what he saw last time he hung out with Derek, Stiles shudders at the memory, then he has no doubt he'll vomit again.
And he's been doing so good about not hurling his lunch lately.
Stiles writes 'PRIVATE TIME TRAVEL BUSINESS' on the folder in a thick black sharpie and shoves it to the bottom of his bag, wanting nothing more than to get it out of his sight. Then he grabs one of his mom's books at random and puts it in there too, hoping it's good enough.
He's been meaning to visit his mom again anyway.
He doesn't sit outside the hospital in a jumble of angst like last time. Instead, he practically runs through the corridors until he gets to his mom's room. He doesn't even wait for her to sense him with her ward and pushes open the door.
And then screeches to a halt as he sees a familiar face sitting next to his mom's bed.
"Um," is the only thing his brain can supply.
How could he have forgotten that he used to be so tiny? Fuck, his head really is shaped like an egg.
"Szczęsny," Claudia says, and it takes a few seconds of gaping before he realizes she's talking to the younger him sitting beside her, "How about you go get yourself a snack, huh?"
She thrust a five dollar bill in his hands. The kid looks between Stiles and his mom skeptically, but then seems to sigh, resigned, and takes the money from her.
"I'm coming right back," He warns her with a stern finger, and Stiles feels a blush heat up the back of his neck. Jesus, was he always that protective? Stiles remembers the way he acted when Allison ended up in the hospital last May from an accident when she was stringing her bow, and sighs. Maybe he'll grow out of it someday.
Claudia doesn't seem to mind though, smiling at him indulgently, "Of course, kochanie. Remember, if you get those cookies you like you're going to have to take your other pill right before."
Young him grumps and Stiles instantly remembers his early days of ADHD, when he'd have to take a morning pill and an afternoon pill as an instant release. Life hasn't exactly been hard ever since he stopped taking his pills. It's been, well, almost normal, actually. Sometimes his mind wanders, but nowhere near the amount that it used to when he was off of them.
Stiles wonders if he grew out of his ADHD without anyone noticing, if maybe he just is like this naturally.
Younger him gives him this look as he passes. It's not particularly threatening, or anything, it's just. Unnerving. Have his eyes always been that big? Jesus. How do people make eye contact with him so often? He's like a deer.
"You have two minutes before he's crouching beside the door to listen in. What are you doing here, Szczęsny?" Claudia asks him, smiling.
Stiles decides not to tell her how easily it slipped his mind that he used to walk here after school. How could he have forgotten how much trouble he would get into with his parents all the time? "That's a dangerous road, Stiles," His dad used to say to him, sighing sadly. It did nothing to deter him from spending time with his mom, though.
Her greeting last time he was here suddenly makes more sense too. Ty Bachorze, she had yelled when she pulled open the door, you brat.
"I went to that store downtown," Stiles says as he sets his bag down on a vacant chair and starts unbuttoning his flannel. He lays it over the back of it, watching as Claudia's eyes narrow in on the runes around his arms. "They haven't worked since I was sent back. I don't think I told you that last time I was here-"
"You didn't," She cuts him off, and there's something in her eyes that makes Stiles pause.
"Right," He draws out, "I guess I must have skipped that part. But, look, there was this woman there, alright? And she- Mom, she fixed them."
"Did she now?"
Her tone doesn't give anything away. It sounds so wrong for his mother to use, the woman who laughed freely and let her anger roar whenever she was mad. Stiles looks at her, trying to catch what's wrong.
"Are you mad that I'm here?" He asks her, hating the way his voice catches.
Her face instantly drops, "No, no, no of course not kochanie. You're welcome here anytime, you know that, right?"
Stiles scratches the back of his head awkwardly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, "I assumed it was okay," He tells her, looking away, "You're just acting... different."
Claudia grabs his wrist and tugs him to face her, lips in a line, "I was just shocked to see your arms. You wore a long sleeve shirt last time you were here. I, um, wasn't expecting it and I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome."
Stiles bites his lip, "Is there something wrong with my arms, mom?"
She drops his wrist slowly, patting the top of his hand, and shrugs, "It's not the way of the iskra to mark yourself. We prefer to draw ours into the earth, not mutilate our bodies."
Stiles flinches back from the tone of her voice, and she instantly looks apologetic.
Did Deaton know back when he asked him to do this? Is that why he seemed to hesitant to do what Stiles had asked? Stiles looks down at the floor, suddenly feeling wrong in his skin for reasons he can't even understand; like he's disappointed his mom somehow.
Claudia lets go of him and sits back on her bed, "It's just a cultural difference, I suppose."
"Right," Stiles says, and is careful to keep his bitterness out of his voice. He'll have to ask Deaton about it later. He has to focus on the Hale's for now, he tells himself, forcing away the sick feeling inside of him. He grabs his back and pulls out the book, "I know you said I would figure something out but I seriously don't have any idea what this thing says. Deaton even tried to translate it and he got nothing."
She holds out her hand for the thick book and runs her hand across it soft, smiling at the worn pages, "He wouldn't be able to read it even if he was fluent in Polish," She tells him, smiling mischievously. She turns it over and taps on a mark at the book. It's small, almost unnoticeable. "Your babcia was somewhat creative in her young age. She made this rune, did you know that?"
Stiles instantly bites down on his tongue, keeping in the comment threatening to spill out. No. He doesn't know that. How would he know that? It's not like she ever actually took the time to tell him any of this. He manages to give her a jerky shake of his head in response.
"It keeps anyone not accepted into the Leśniewski line from being able to read it," Claudia tells him, her maiden name rolling off her tongue, "Because this? Stiles, you brought me your pradziadek's journal. Do you understand how many families would kill for this book?"
Claudia opens it, smiling at the slanted writing, "Once you get past the soup recipies, it's full of knowledge of our kind."
The door opens quickly and Stiles practically breaks his neck turning to see who enters. It's him again, of course, holding a box of chips a hoy cookies and a bottle of apple juice. Claudia reaches over and tugs his transformers backpack off of his chair and opens the front pocket. She shakes a small, blue pill out of an orange bottle and holds it out to him.
Young him huffs but takes the pill, taking a quick chug of apple juice.
"How much longer do I have to use these ones?" Young him, well, he doesn't whine per say, but there is definitely a tone being taken.
"Just a bit longer," Claudia assures him, but young him shakes his head.
"I was asking him," the young boy says casually, looking over at Stiles, who sits ram rod straight at the sentence.
"What?" Claudia and him ask at the same time, sharing a look.
He rolls his eyes, "I'm not an idiot, mom. I saw him leaving the hospital last week and I know he got into the house without breaking in," He turns to Stiles, "Thanks for that, by the way. I got grounded from Mario Kart. Hope your happy."
Both Claudia and Stiles continue to sit still in a small form of horror. Stiles isn't too shocked, actually, because he definitely could have been more careful. Did he completely forget what he used to be like, or did he just block out this entire year? His detective game has seriously dropped since he was twelve, fuck.
The kid huffs, "You didn't even try to hide our moles."
"Who immeditately thinks 'time traveling self from the future' and just goes along with it?" Stiles asks, seriously impressed with himself. He'd reach over and knuckle bump the little dude, but Claudia looks ready to have an anuerism.
He shrugs, "I don't know! I didn't want to cause, like, a time paradox, or something. Scott and I watched The Butterfly Effect a few weeks ago. I took it as a sign."
That seems to shock Claudia out of whatever funk she was in, "That movie is rated R! Co ty sobie myślałeś?!"
Young him rolls his eyes and grunts, "Not the point right now, mom."
Stiles raises his eyebrows, remembering what Claudia said last time he was here. He's not acting how he remembers, or how Claudia described; quiet and too afraid to even look at her. Is he taking his future self's presence here as a good omen? Or is it just giving him something else to focus on?
Knowing himself, Stiles is going for the latter.
"I'm telling your father about this, młody człowieku."
"You're taking this well," Stiles observes, recalling how, once it settled in that he was in the past, he sulked and whined for three weeks.
"Of course I am," Young him says, "Stilinski's are awesome at rolling with things."
"Right." Stiles says, as an idea pops in his mind. He looks at Claudia out of the corner of his eyes, watches her rapidly texting on her flip phone, presumably to his dad or Melissa. "So, Stiles," It feels wrong to call someone else his name and watch them respond to it, "Wanna be my Robin?"
His mom freezes, tensing up immediately.
Young him smiles big, white teeth almost blinding as his eyes brighten, "Of course!" He shouts excitedly, "Dude! I've been waiting for you to ask me for help for weeks."
Stiles smiles back at himself and walks over, sitting in the chair next to him.
"You need to be friends with Isaac Lahey," Stiles says, grabbing young him by the shoulders and staring intently into his own eyes. It's really weird, and if he thinks about it too much he feels the beginnings of a headache pinching between his eyes.
Young Stiles doesn't look impressed with the demand and makes a face, "Isaac smells like rotten fish."
"That's what happens when you get locked in a freezer because your dad's crazy," Stiles shrugs casually in a 'what can you do' gesture.
Claudia looks increasingly horrified with this turn of events, "Szczęsny, please, I'd rather we didn't-"
"Well, I'd rather we do," Stiles cuts her off quickly, shocking both himself and her. He steps back from young him, who looks lost and his eyes snap back between Stiles and Claudia, biting his lip in apprehension.
He walks over to his mother, sitting on the bed with her hands fisted in a knuckle white grip on her thin bedding. Gently, he unwinds her fingers from the fabric and tries to rub soothing circles into her skin with his thumb, "It's okay," He tells her, trying to get her to understand, "Mom," His voice cracks on the word, "Trust me. He's ready."
"No he's not, Stiles!" She hisses in a whisper, pulling her hand back sharply. Stiles ignores the tug of pain he feels at the motion and stands his ground, "You're not even ready for it! You're just a child yourself, and he's just a-"
Stiles' eyes harden at the words and he glares at her. It hits him suddenly, all the emptiness he felt when he was twelve, how fucking lonely and scared he was as he stood beside his father at her funeral, the way he had to ride his bike down to the grocery store with money stolen from his dad's pockets just to keep their house stocked for a solid month after her death, and he grits out, "I haven't been a kid since I was his age, either."
Her mouth goes slack, but he barrels on, "Look, it's going to happen, okay? I know that, and you know that, fuck, even dad knows that, as much as he tries to ignore it," He drops his voice to a whisper, "Him? He doesn't know that, and when it happens, it's going to pull the rug out from under him."
She looks away, but not before he can see tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. His heart stops at the sight, and before he knows it, he's reaching out for her, pulling her into a hug. She hugs him tight, crushing him to her small frame, and he can hear the ragged breathing that means she's crying.
"Do you know how happy I was when Deaton told me?" Stiles whispers into her ear, "I was so ecstatic, mom. I was just- Having that part of you? That spark that you had? It made me feel- It was like- I-" His words catch in his throat and he swallows, trying to hold back the sob slowly climbing up his throat. He clenches his eyes shut and burrows into her shoulder, "When I started learning, I didn't even know you had it too, but it was the first time in years I felt like you were there."
She pulls him impossibly closer, a broken sound escaping her throat, and she nods against him, crying out her permission as she rocks him back and forth.
"I'm so sorry," She's saying over and over, "I'm so, so sorry, miłość."
When she finally releases him, he turns around to see young him eating cookies and pretending to read the back of his juice bottle.
"Watching your glucose intake?" He teases, trying to break the ice. He tries to casually rub his eyes, hoping he doesn't have any tears there.
"Yep," The other Stiles says, popping the p, "Gotta start changing things now If I don't want to look like your ugly mug someday."
Stiles reaches over and flicks himself on the head, smiling at the squawk.
He gets a glare but it's really ineffective. Has he always looked like he was pouting when he tries to be angry? Jesus. No wonder no one ever took him seriously. Stiles fights the urge to poke at the baby face sitting across from him.
"So," He starts, playing with a cookie like he's considering throwing it at his future self's head, "What was that about Lahey?"
Stiles sighs and rest his head on his hands, "You need to be friends with him. And Erica Reyes. And Vernon Boyd."
Young him's face is carefully blank, "What."
Stiles ignores him, "And you need to convince dad that Isaac is in an abusive home."
Both Claudia and Stiles' eyes widen at that.
"So, I just like, pity befriend these kids and the future all works out?" Young him asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
Stiles laughs suddenly, but it's bitter and off and makes Claudia eye him worriedly. Fuck, he wishes everything was that simple. Nothing about this is easy. Every time he solves one problem, he feels like he finds two more in front of him. It's all just piling up, and every time it feels like he can breathe it's like getting punched in the gut all over again. If he thought sophomore year was a constant panic attack, it's nothing compared to this. That timekeep was a fucking asshole for doing this to him.
"Kinda," Stiles just says, instead of the rant on the tip of his tongue. He pushes aside the weird sense of loneliness that's seeped inside of him, because he seriously cannot deal with that right now. He's going to break soon, he can feel it, but he needs to keep it together for now. Just for a few more hours, he tells himself. "You genuinely like them. They're my friends in the future, and they're really awesome. You know Erica? She reads comic books. She thinks cat woman is the best antihero, but I figure it's okay for her opinion to suck, you know? And Boyd's way better than Scott at watching scary movies, and he doesn't even eat all the popcorn. Isaac, well, Isaac's really great at making mac and cheese, dude, and he actually knows the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek."
Young him's eyes practically sparkle, "Seriously?"
Stiles nods, "Seriously. I'm not gonna steer you to a crappy future."
Claudia looks like she wants to reprimand him for the word, but her eyes are still filled with worry. Her mothering instincts are probably acting up. Fuck.
Stiles looks away from her.
"So, that's it?"
"That," Stiles says, "And, you need to give up on Lydia."
The reply is instant, and completely obvious, "No."
Stiles raises an eyebrow, "Dude."
"No."
"Man-"
"You don't understand, I love her."
"I've been there-"
"Then just tell me what you did wrong, so I can do the exact opposite of it!"
"I'm trying to help you."
He snorts, "You're doing a bad job of it."
"Look," Stiles says, sighing. How did Scott not beat him over the head during puberty? "Lydia. She's. She's Lydia, okay? I know she's a strawberry blonde goddess, and I know she's smart and amazing and all things good in the world, but kid," He tries to say it as gently as he can, "She's never going to love you."
He can practically see the kid's heart breaking.
"But-"
"No, listen to me, okay? You don't love her, you love the idea of her. Do you even know her?"
"I know she's smarter than me and hides it, and I know she likes perfume that smells like pink roses, and I know she likes dark chocolate more than milk and-"
"That isn't her, man." Stiles tries to tell him, "Those are just facts about her, okay? Trust me. You're better as friends."
And his eyes instantly light back up, "Wait, are you saying we're friends in the future? That's perfect! I could make her fall in love with me like that!"
Stiles fights the urge to bash his head against the wall. Claudia stifles a laugh behind her hand, and Stiles sends her a mean look.
"Kochanie," She says after she calms down, "I think you need to listen to yourself." Everyone in the room ignores the absurdity of the statement. "He's been there, and he knows what's best for you, alright?"
Finally, the kid drops it. Stiles really doesn't know how to explain to his twelve year old self that this situation doesn't revolve around Lydia Martin.
He huffs, but quickly changes the subject, "So, what do those things on your arms mean? I thought dad said I wasn't allowed to get a tattoo?"
Stiles and his mom share a look, involving lots of eyebrows and mouths moving in silent letters. It takes a few seconds, but finally Claudia nods her acceptance and sighs.
Stiles grins and moves his left wrist in a fluid motion. It's been a while since he's done this, usually favoring electricity and fire, but he can't risk setting off a smoke alarm or taking out half the hospital's power. It's slow work, since he's not used to it. He never mastered it since he never thought it was too important. It's just water, right?
Young him's face is awed as moisture slowly seeps from the air into a sphere in his palm. It swirls around, moving into a tornado cone, roving around his hand.
"A friend of a friend knows someone who can cause a small storm," Stiles tells him, smiling at the dazed expression, "Or, so the rumor mill says."
He clenches his fist suddenly and the water stops moving, crackling as it slowly freezes over. He opens his palm and the icicle falls into it, causing him to hiss lightly at the sudden cold.
"What." Is all young him says, blinking rapidly.
Stiles gets up and dumps the icicle in the sink, watching as it slowly melts down the drain. He turns and leans back against the counter, waving at his mother. She bites her lip, looking terribly conflicted, but finally nods.
She tells him everything. She's an iskra, or a spark, and so is her entire family. She tells him what it means, about the differences between witches and sparks, about what he can do with the proper training and guidance. He jumps in every now and then to explain a cultural difference. Like, how mentor's for new sparks in America are found outside the family, but iskra's prefer to keep the magic within the family. Not all sparks have to become emissary's, but their ties to both the supernatural and the natural are considered valuable.
"So, I can do magic?" He asks, gaping.
Stiles shrugs, because it's as good of an explanation as any. It took him a while to understand the difference between using magic and being magic.
"Basically," Stiles says, walking over and sitting back in his chair. "But, it's up to you. We aren't like witches. They have to practice, or else they go crazy with pent up energy. With us, our magic has settle before we're able to do things like that neat party trick I just did. Witches can do things like that from the time they're able to walk. You aren't magic, you're just able to manipulate it."
"You don't have to learn," Claudia says, looking like she's ready to beg him not to, "You can forget we ever had this conversation, if you want to."
Stiles fights the urge to glare at her, because really, it should be Batman's job to tell Robin to stay at the manor. Not Alfred's.
The young boy looks over at Stiles, and asks, eyes big and wide, "Is it good? To learn? If you had the choice, would you do it again?"
And he nods, because being a spark has always saved him, in the end. It's always been the thing that's made him more than a human, that's kept him tied to the pack and his friends, "But my situation was different from yours. I didn't learn about any of this until I was sixteen, and if I do this right, you shouldn't be put in the position to have to do what I did."
"Who would teach me?" He asks, and his voice sounds small and determined at the same time.
They both look to Claudia, who sighs, "I can't do much more than keep up the ward on my room lately. I could send you to your wujek in Poland, but I don't think you'd like having to leave your dad."
"No," He says, "I don't want to learn if I have to leave him."
"Deaton could teach you?" Stiles suggest, shrugging, "I could help, maybe, and it would technically still be in the family. Right?"
Claudia's lips tighten, "I'd prefer Marin, if I had the choice. Something about Alan never sat right with me, personally."
Stiles chuckles, "Nothing about him sits right with anybody. I'm pretty sure Talia only trust him because she can kill him."
Claudia laughs, "When your father and I moved here, he sought me out about fifteen times one day before I finally had to just throw him into the nearest wall and tell him that I wanted nothing to do with taking over his pack."
He snorts, because, fuck, the mental image of his mother doing that to Deaton is hilarious, and says, "I'll get Marin's phone number, then. Deaton's nice, and he's letting me stay there while I figure everything out and stuff, but I really think Marin would be the better choice the second time around."
Stiles remembers her determination the last time he saw her, her take no shit attitude, just how gray she saw the world, and knows he's making the right choice. She's also great at listening, since she's a certified therapist, and he knows that young him is going to need that desperately in a few months.
Claudia bites her lip, twitching like she wants to say something, but then decides against it. She reaches for the book on her bedside table and flips it open, leafing through the pages.
"Szczęsny," She says, looking over the book at young him, "Your future self was sent back in time by a creature known more commonly as a timekeep. Your pradziadek was in a, uh, romantic relationship with one of them and, because of that, our family has more knowledge about them than most in the entire world."
"I still don't understand how that worked," Stiles mutters, grimacing at the memory.
His mother calmly slaps his arm, "You, be nice. Timekeeps are, basically, made out of the dust between universes, or," She looks down at the book, mumbling to herself, "Alternate realities. They're able to manipulate time the way our kind can manipulate magic, but they don't do it as freely. There's a set way each universe is supposed to go, with small inconsistencies that can be changed. Set points in time are things that have to happen," She looks up and explains, "Like World War 1 and 2. If a World War 3 happened, it would be going against the timeline. Things like that.
"Sometimes, to keep things moving along at its natural pace, a timekeep will have to take the body of another. These bodies are freely given, in exchange for a deal. If a timekeep can make it happen, then the giver will receive it the next day. Some people compare it to making a deal with the devil, as something always seems to go sour with them.
"Ah, um, we're going to skip this page," She mumbles, "He wasn't very good at poetry, your pradziadek."
Young him giggles, and Stiles just smiles. He'll have to translate those later, maybe, if only for a good laugh.
"Um, their eyes. Stiles, when you called that timekeep to you, did its eyes change colors?"
Stiles nods, "Yeah, uh, I think it went from orange and gold a lot?"
"Well, that would make sense. Each of their eyes have a layer of time, except white which is just normal vision. Orange is all timelines, like the course of how the timeline is going and should go. Bright orange is all universes, which is kind of the same thing. And Gold is one persons personal timeline."
She turns a few more pages, a blush on her cheeks, "Someone really should have edited this years ago," She coughs, "Um, a timekeep can send a person back in time, but it eats at their energy and leaves them vulnerable, so sometimes they'll have to trade to go back. Szczęsny, do you remember ever making a deal with your timekeep?"
"He said something when he was touching me," Stiles shrugs, moving his arm along his shoulders and side like the timekeep did when it grabbed him all those nights ago, "Maybe that's what it was doing? I don't remember what it said, though."
Claudia barely conceals her glare at his runes, "Did you hear anything when Alan was carving those into your skin? I've heard that the process can take away some of the senses."
Stiles shrugs again, because he doesn't really remember what he felt when Deaton was placing his scars on him besides the rush of power. He tells her as much.
His mom looks back to the book, sighing, "Well, it doesn't matter now I suppose since that witch helped you out."
"Speaking of the witch," He cuts her off, "I was wondering, is there any chance she could be a timekeep? She seemed to know more than she let on..."
Claudia snorts, "I doubt it. This says that timekeeps can't cross their own timelines, and I doubt that if this one messed up enough he had to send you back to fix its mistake, that he'd let any others of his kind anywhere near here. I think you're safe from any surprises from their kind, kochanie."
His mom looks over at young him, pointing a finger at him, "You are not to do what he has done, agreed?" Young him eyes the scars on his arms and nods, looking away. "Marin knows enough of the iskra to teach you that way, not this Western version."
Stiles looks away and bites at the skin of his thumb, adding another feeling to the pile of ignorance for today.
"Szczęsny," His mother calls. She closes the book in her lap and sets it off to the side. When he looks up, her eyes are sad and full of pity, making his heart clench, "You understand... You know that you can't go back to where you came from, right?"
And Stiles nods, because he's suspected as much, but the words hurt in a way he never expected. It feels like a rock lodged itself in his throat and he fist his hands, nails digging into the skin of his palms. He's known this, has accepted it, but it just.
Knowing that he'll never see any of them again, the way he loves them, fucking feels like a knife to the gut.
"You affect the timeline," She says to him, and turns to his younger self, "And you're effected by the timeline. You two have to remember that."
"I have to go," He says quickly, "Thanks for uh, thanks for everything, mom."
Stiles stands and kisses her on the forehead. He leaves the book next to her, hoping it'll be more use to her than him since he can't even read it, and shoves on his flannel.
Young him stands and comes over to his side, holding out his hand, "It's going to be an honor saving the future with you, Batman."
Stiles smirks.
It's weird to hug yourself goodbye, but they manage it with minimal awkwardness.
"I'll come by in a few days, okay?" Stiles reminds him, rubbing his hand over the prickly mess of a buzz cut, and young him nods enthusiastically.
"I can't wait!" He says, eyes bright and he's practically jumping with anticipation.
Stiles chuckles and closes the door behind him on his way out, sighing sadly as he can hear his little voice buzz excitedly at his mother. At least he broke that barrier, he thinks, smiling to himself.
There's activity behind him, people talking loudly and doors opening and closing. He's not too surprised since it's a hospital, but when he turns to start heading toward the exit, his blood runs cold.
The man is almost bald, that's fore sure, with a few sparse white hairs here and there. He has a brown coat on, one Stiles is sure he's seen before, and his wrinkly hand is shoving a small capsule back into the pocket as he stands at the nurses station. There's a woman next to him with long blond hair. He can't see her face, but she's standing in a familiarly cocky fashion with her hands shoved into her jacket pockets.
No, he thinks, frozen in place, mouth falling open, it can't be.
The short nurse glares at the man and hands him a clip board; points a stern finger at him and says, "Now, Mr. Argent, you're aware you're signing yourself out of here against medical advice, correct?"
Gerard laughs, the sound of his nightmares hitting him like a swift kick to the gut, and signs his name on the discharge form, winking at the young woman standing next to him, "Deary, don't you worry about me. I may be an old man, but I know how to take care of myself."
Stiles promptly spins around and vomits into a conveniently placed trashcan.
Fuck.
Notes:
Co ty sobie myślałeś?! - What were you thinking?!
Miłość – (noun) love
pradziadek – great grandfather
babcia - grandmother
kochanie – sweetie, sweet one, sweetling, etc.
iskra - spark
wujek - uncle
młody człowieku – young man