The camera shop is open, neon twenty four hour sign taunting him with its mere existence. Stiles eyes it, sighing.
The street is empty, making him wonder what time it is. He couldn't have possibly been gone for more than an hour, but it's too quiet out and the bookshop is closed. He wonders if Laura and the others even got their books, or if Derek and Laura got worried for him and went looking.
Stiles looks up at the roof of the buildings, squinting as if he can catch a glimpse of a werewolf having a temper tantrum.
He takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs expanding in his chest like an ache, and pushes his way into the store.
A bell dings as the door opens. There's smooth jazz playing over the radio and Stiles makes a face at it, forehead twitching painfully as it tugs at the cut on his eyebrow. He presses a hand to it, wishing for a mirror to make sure he doesn't look like he was just attacked or something.
There's a noise, something being dropped, an 'oomph', and then a frazzled looking young man appears behind the counter, smiling sheepishly.
"I," He starts, "Uh, sorry! We don't normally get people in this late!"
He gestures weakly behind him and Stiles sees a clock framed on the wall. He frowns at the time, one am, and steps closer to the counter.
Where did all the time go? How long was he with Melanie? Was he just laying on the floor for two hours, struggling to breathe, before Laura and the others found him?
"Rush order," Stiles shrugs in explanation, ignoring the way the man is looking at his forehead. "My friend came in here earlier to drop off my camera?"
A look comes over the man's eyes as he sighs. He steps back from the counter and toward a machine that whirrs and buzzes. Next to it, there's a box with holders in it ranging from A to Z. His fingers flitter over to the H section and he pulls out the only packet in it.
"I don't know what's going on," the man says, "Or why the content of these pictures is so... disturbing, but I want no part in it. If you or your friend comes in this store again, with pictures like these, then I'm going to have to call the police."
Stiles raises an eyebrow at the man as he reaches for the pictures. Once they're in his, thankfully steady, hands, Stiles doesn't say anything. He flips open the flap and slides the glossy pictures into his hand.
They're there, exactly as he took them. Kate and Derek sitting close, Kate leaning into Derek's space, Kate and Derek kissing. Stiles feels sick again just looking at them.
He shakes his head, disgusted. Derek's face flashes in his mind, the hurt and betrayal that was there only a few minutes ago before he ran away.
Stiles' Derek has never looked at him like that, like he upset the careful balance of the world. Stiles' Derek always looked at him as if he could make the world right again, like Stiles could fix it.
Stiles' jaw clenches as he nods to himself, because he's going to fix it. He's going to fix the world for Derek, he's going to set everything right.
"Is it legal to look at the pictures you print?" Stiles asks distractedly, "I've always wondered."
Stiles shoves the pictures back in the envelope, folds the top with a bit more force than necessary and turns without waiting for a response.
The car is where Stiles left it, three Harry Potter books piled in the front seat. Stiles' stomach flips in guilt for ruining this night for Laura, remembering how excited she was earlier. He pushes it down though, ignores it in favor of putting the pictures in the envelope and starting the car.
It's when he turns on the ignition that it hits Stiles, that he has enough information to take down Kate Argent. He's done what he planned, has everything put together, but there are so many ways for this to play out that it leaves his chest hurting.
Stiles has never killed before, for as much blood lust in his veins he's always had Scott there to keep him level headed. Scott, who wanted nothing more than to stop the constant fighting, to seek peace and keep everyone safe, and Stiles' heart hurts as he thinks of his brother.
Scott would do the right thing, but which option is the right thing in this case? According to Scott, it would be the one with the least amount of causalities.
But what if something goes wrong at the trial? What if Kate spins a story about Derek helping her plan the murder? What if the Argent's have enough money to bribe someone in the court room? What if what Stiles has isn't enough and Kate walks free? What if-
There are too many scenarios burning in Stiles' mind. He reaches into his bag for his cellphone, dials the number to the hospital with a long ago ingrained muscle memory.
Claudia will know what to do, he assures himself, except no one answers his call.
Stiles checks the time on the dashboard, frowning when he sees it's one in the morning. His mom's a light sleeper though, the phone should have woken her up. Stiles calls again and gets the same response as last time.
He doesn't think too much of it, sometimes his mom would ask for morphine on the tough days, and puts it out of his mind.
Stiles calls Deaton and isn't surprised when the man answers on the second ring.
"Stiles," he greets, voice thick with sleep, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I need advice," Stiles says, clutching the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pulls out of the parking space.
He passes Brad down the street, still staring up at the sky like his entire life is a big question mark. Stiles' stomach swims with guilt but he ignores it. Laura can deal with her own goddamn boyfriend.
Stiles blurts, voice only a bit hysterical, "Look, today has been the day of hell, okay? I finally got the text message transcript, I got my rune powers back from some mysterious coven lady who, honestly, I'm still not sure isn't out to kill me, I may have let the magic bomb drop on this version of me, but hey, it's not my fault right, kid's me. He had to have figured it out sometime, okay? Oh, and I tracked Kate and Derek to some stupid fucking cafe and got pictures of them making googly eyes at each other. Then Talia and Laura had to tell me that I'm pack, which, thanks for the support but also the added guilt trip plus pressure combo, y'know? And," Stiles laughs, sounds more like a panicking intake of air if he's being honest with himself, "Guess what else? I managed to put Gerard Argent in a coma, make a truce with the current Argent matriarch, find out that Kate Argent made a fucking deal with a fucking timekeep and, on top of everything, I traumatized poor Brad!"
"Brad?"
Stiles rolls his eyes at the phone, "Not really the point of that."
"Sounds like you've had a rather interesting day Mr. Stilinksi. I, on the other hand, had the rather unglamorous job of checking a dog for tapeworm." Deaton drolls.
Stiles makes a disgusted noise, "I really didn't need to hear that."
There's a beat of silence, then, "Oh, I'm sorry, were we not sharing the details of our days?"
"Don't be a dick, Alan, it doesn't suit you."
"Look, Stiles, this is what comes with the territory. As Derek's emissary, you took on responsibilities like this. I thought you had understood that at this point. Things get hectic, people get hurt, but it is always for the greater good."
"Yeah," Stiles says, "I didn't really call you for a pep talk, dude. And, by the way, you're horrible at them. Duly noted."
There's a rustle on the end of the line and Stiles pictures Deaton shrugging carelessly, "It's one o'clock in the morning, Stiles. What do you need? Also, are you coming home soon? I'm technically responsible for you, I believe."
"I just," Stiles sighs, looks around at the street signs as if they hold the answers to his problems, "I need you to tell me what to do. What's the right choice? About Kate? You never told me what you thought about it."
Deaton makes a considering noise, his voice seems to take a more serious tone as he says, "Is there ever really a right choice, Stiles? For us, there isn't. As emissary's, our jobs are to keep balance. Keeping balance doesn't always mean doing the right thing for yourself or just one person, though," Stiles thinks of Morrell, of how she killed her alpha without a second thought, "It means doing what's best for all. You can't be a lawful good, not in this life. You have to see the whole board, Stiles, try to look and see how it affects every player. Then, you'll have your answer."
Stiles whines, low in his throat, "That's not an actual answer."
Deaton hums, "No, I suppose it's not, but it's the one you need. Whatever option you pick, Stiles, I just want you to know that I'm proud of you either way."
Deaton ends the call, leaving Stiles feeling more confused than ever.
He spends the rest of the drive running over the board in his mind, looking at it from all vantage points, trying to find any weak spots or angles. To kill or not to kill, that is the question. He sends out his pawns, but the other side has just as many to protect it.
When Stiles pulls up to the apartment, he still doesn't have an answer.
It's warm inside, couch calling to him like a beacon. Stiles tugs off his shoes, letting out a languid sigh. He's never been this excited to sleep in life, body begging him to just lay down and rest.
He still has something he needs to take care of first, because Stiles likes to procrastinate things even if they're things he really wants to do. It's an affect of the ADHD, he thinks.
There's a plate of spaghetti sitting on the counter with saran wrap over it and Stiles' mouth waters as he sees it. He scoops a bite, sending a mental huge thank you to Deaton for seriously being the best person in the universe. Stiles still doesn't know what he would have done had the veterinarian not taken him in. Would he be staying that the Hale house in their spare bedroom? Would he have cracked and begged Derek to stop seeing Kate?
He thinks of the timekeep and wonders if another alternate-alternate time line if that had been the case.
Stiles washes off his plate, and the left over pots in the sink, dammit Alan, and puts them away before getting down to it.
There's another envelope in the table drawer and he writes in thick sharpie "TO: BEACON HILLS DEPUTY STILINSKI" on the side of it, because he seriously can't just walk up and hand them an envelope with "important time travel business!" on the side and be expected to be taken seriously.
Stiles doesn't even know yet if he's going to turn Kate in or not, the question looming along the horizon ominously, but it's nice to be prepared. Maybe tomorrow he'll talk to Talia about what he should do, but he remembers their talk earlier and isn't too sure she won't just tell him to go for the throat.
He remembers Deaton telling him to keep balance, and sighs to himself. Is killing Kate keeping balance? Morrell killed to keep balance. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Scott wonders if there's a better option.
Stiles kinda wants to go find this time line's version of him and beg him to not become an emissary. Spark? Fine, go for it, play with runes and elements to his hearts content. But emissary? Nah, too much thinking required.
It's an option to explore, certainly.
He transfers the texting transcripts and the photos into one folder without looking at them too hard, stomach squirming at just the memories they invoke. The only thing that keeps him calm is the knowledge that Kate will pay soon, hopefully. No matter which option Stiles chooses, at least she'll pay.
It's that thought that comforts him as he shrugs out of his flannel. It's fine, he tells himself, he'll go to bed, and when he wakes up, the solution will be obvious.
Stiles can dream, can't he?
Just as he's about to tug off the rest of his clothes, his phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. Stiles considers ignoring it, it can't be anything good at almost two in the morning and he's bone tired, but Stiles checks it anyway.
He grins at the hospital number and answers with a, "Hey mom."
Only it's not his mom who answers.
"Stiles, Stiles I-I don't know what to do!" Little Stiles said, and damn, Stiles felt with him. Do all Stiles' feel the same confusion across the time lines? He'd have to ask someone someday. "Mom, I- there was a loud beeping and they made me leave the room."
Stiles stomach plummets to the floor at that, panic instantly rising from where he had hidden it, "No, what- what are you talking about, kiddo?"
His heart races as young him says, "I was staying with her! Because dad has the night shift and Scott and Melissa are the only one's who'll let me stay over on a school night but they went to visit Scott's abuela and, and mom said it'd be okay if I stayed with her and t-then there was this loud beeping and her eyes were closed and, Stiles I killed her, Stiles I killed mom I-"
Stiles throat constricts but he rushes, "No, hey no, kid don't do that okay? Mom's not dying, that's, she doesn't die until October I-"
If anything, that does nothing to calm himself down and Stiles winces at the panting, and he realizes that young him is having a panic attack. He forces off his own fear, the one squeezing his rib cage around tight his heart, and tries to make his voice sound reassuring and firm, like his dad, but only coming out desperate, "Stiles? Stiles, I need you to breathe, okay? Come on, count with me. Can you do that? Three breaths in and one long one out okay?"
He hears the shaky intakes of breaths and something that sounds like a sob, "Stiles please, Stiles come save her!" Little him demands, voice shaking and wet and Stiles' entire body goes limp at the words, "Please, use your magic!"
"I won't need to use it, okay bud?" Stiles says, "She's not dying, alright? I swear, she's going to be okay-"
"In your time she was!" Little him shouts, full of anger and fury and pain, "You came back here and you started changing everything- what if you changed this too?"
Stiles knows that's just the panic talking, knows that he would say anything right now, but it cuts him deep and he blanks, trying to look and see if he did anything that could have-
There's more sobbing, noises rushing in his ears, and then he hears a voice in the background, familiar and panicked demanding what happened and young him is still crying, "Dad's here, I- Stiles please come save mom, please-"
His dad asks who Stiles is talking to and the call ends, leaving Stiles with shaking hands and heart palpitations.
The thought keeps running through his head. Could he have messed with the time line like that? Is it possible? He looks back at every interaction with his mom, with everyone since he came back, trying to see if he did something, if he changed anything too big, if it's his fault.
When he was younger, he was alone in the room with his mom when she died. He remembers his dad smiling at him before he left, telling Stiles to look out for their lady. Keep her safe, he'd said with a wink and Claudia had laughed him out of the room. She'd been sleeping one second and dead in the next, and he remembers the crippling ache in his entire body, screaming that it was his fault.
This feeling is fifty times worse.
Stiles rushes to the magic cabinet, needing to summon the timekeep and demand if it's his fault, if he did something that could have changed this. There's a thrumming deep in his bones, begging him to know if he killed his mom again.
There's a crinkling in his pocket and Stiles grabs at it, distracted, pulling out the picture of Kate Argent from earlier.
He stops, everything freezes as he looks at it.
Kate Argent, who made a deal with a timekeep that shifted everything off focus. Kate Argent who made such a huge mess of the time line that the timekeep had to come fix it. Kate Argent, who's the reason that Stiles is back in time in the first place, is still alive and breathing while his mom is dead.
His eyes glow, rage making him snarl at the picture as he rips it up and tosses the pieces over his shoulder. He grabs blindly, finding a map shoved in the back of the closet.
It's old, yellow with age, but crisp and stays flat when he folds it out on the floor. He remembers Lydia telling him that blood is always more accurate and doesn't even think twice before scouring the kitchen for a knife.
He slices his palm, so angry that he doesn't even feel the pain, and dips two fingers into the mess to draw a compass on the center of the map, shaky and messy and quick. He doesn't care for fineness right now though, body working on auto pilot as he pictures Kate's face in his mind.
It takes no effort to make flames ripple from his palms, fire burning hot and bright with his hate and pain. He touches it to the edge of the map and watches it explode in a quick fire, crumbling into ash instantly.
It takes a second, but, as expected, the image floods his mind, Kate sitting at a local dive bar, flirting with the bartender and chugging back beers, and she looks so happy and carefree that it makes him shake with fury.
The image spans out until he gets a name of the bar before slowly fading from his mind.
Stiles presses his palm into his black undershirt to stop the bleeding and grabs his bag and his keys. He doesn't even look back before slamming the door shut on his way out.