Stiles woke up with a gasp, and clutched his stomach in the same exact spot where he stabbed himself with his knife. If he thinks about it, he could still feel the pain of stabbing himself. In books and movies, if someone dies and is brought back to life, they won't remember a thing, but he did. It was awful and horrible, remembering all the things he did while being possessed by a demon and going through Hell, literally.
Stiles shook himself out of his thoughts and lifted his shirt up a little. He looked at the thin red line on his stomach. It was a haunting reminder of him committing suicide. He lowered his shirt and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Why did he wake up again? He knew it wasn't because of the nightmare, but something else. He shrugged and turned over, then felt someone staring at him. He rolled back over and almost screamed like a little girl. There was Derek-fucking-Alpha-Hale sitting in the computer chair, watching him sleep. The fuck?
"Holy shit. What are you doing here? Are you trying to be a pervert or something?" Stiles couldn't help but blurt out, and Derek just scowled at him. If it was possible, his eyebrows probably scowled at him too. He must be really rusty, if Derek breaking into his room didn't wake him up.
"I need you to look something up for me." Derek said and Stiles resisted rolling his eyes. What does he have to research, that he already fought?
"What do you need me to look up?" Stiles asked.
Stiles looked at Derek. He seemed hesitate. "A pack of Alphas." Stiles almost flailed out of his bed.
He had fought a pack of Alphas with another group of hunters and Stiles and his group barely made it out alive, but the other hunters, only two hunters made it out. Only two Alpha members died and the others ran off somewhere. Play dumb, Stiles thought, as he looked at Derek.
"Is that even possible?" Stiles asked. "I mean, how does that even happen? Is one Alpha, the Alpha of the Alphas? Or are they like the King of Alphas? Maybe they're the Overlord of the Alphas? Or—" Stiles rambled, only to get interrupted by Derek.
"Stiles. Shut up." Derek said and left through the window.
Seriously? Through my window? Next time use the door you fucking hyena. Stiles wanted to shout at Derek, but decided he didn't want his throat to be ripped out by werewolf teeth. Wait. Did he see the scar on my stomach?
Stiles started walking down the sidewalk, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He had no idea why he decided to walk to school and now started to walk towards a path, that he knew wasn't towards his house. He didn't know, why or how he where was going. It felt like he had some sort of a pull leading him there.
He tried to turn around, but his body wasn't cooperating with him. He entered a pizzeria and found an older looking man with brown hair, and wrinkles. Stiles sighed, and walked towards the table.
"Hi." Stiles hoped he didn't sound so bitter.
The man nodded. "Stiles." Stiles somehow ended up sitting at the table. "Now. We can eat." The man sounded so happy and a waitress holding a medium sized pepperoni pizza appeared. She set the pizza on the table, a couple of plates, two cups, and a large pitcher of soda. Stiles hesitantly grabbed three slices of pizza.
"Not trying to be rude or anything, but what do you want?" Stiles asked, biting into the slice of pizza, and then taking a drink of soda.
The man, Death, looked at Stiles. "Your friend Jason. I found his soul in one of Lucifer's Cages." Stiles were pretty sure that was one impressive spit take he ended up doing. Stiles looked at Death, shocked. "But he's fine now. I managed to rescue his soul, but now he has a wall blocking the memories of when he was in Hell. It'll tear him up badly if he were to know what happened to him and it might make him insane if he were to know. He might have hallucinations."
Stiles became oddly silent. He'd been to Hell three times, and been in a cage twice. He didn't enjoy having those memories of what had happened to him during those three times he went to Hell. "What happened to his soul?"
"The soul cannot be broken. It can be scarred, but not broken." Death said and Stiles stared. That so did not answer his question.
"But I remember what I have been through in Hell, and I'm not upset by it." Stiles said.
Death looked at Stiles. "I know. But you're more mature than him."
Stile stared. "He's fourteen," then he remembered something. "What was Jason's soul doing in Hell anyway?"
"I don't know." Death shook his head. Stiles couldn't help but wonder what Jason did. Death started to get up. "Let's go."
"Where?" Stiles asked, but he had a sneaky suspicion that he knew.
"Let's go ask him." Death said and they left the pizzeria, to the parking lot.
Stiles saw a double-door, black Charger. The license plate on the black said Goodbye on it. Death tossed Stiles the keys and the sixteen year old couldn't help but smile. It was another car he wanted to drive, besides Derek's camaro. At least Death is nice enough to let him drive.
A/N: This isn't a good chapter right. I based Death off of Death from Supernatural and yes, I did borrow some of their stuff for this. Sorry it's short and took me so long to update. I think I'm getting Stiles to be in character a little. Constructive criticism is welcomed. But Stiles is very much human.