Author's note: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, they have motiviated me into continuing this story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter, I have enjoyed writing it. If I am going too fast with the plot and Stiles learning more about his dreams, tell me and I'll rewrite this chapter.
Chapter 7: Stiles's Long Weekend
The first time Stiles heard a name, a honest to God name, in his dreams, it was Friday night. He was exhausted and didn't even have time to slip off his shoes before he was out like a light. He was just so tired, and couldn't keep his eyes open.
"Some men are born to plow fields. Some live to be great physicians, others to be great kings. Me, I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that. And I wouldn't change a thing."
He saw a blonde man, weary eyed and in pain. But he also saw something much more than that. He saw a strong man, a strong king. He might've looked pale and weak, but there was this inner strength, still glowing bright like embers in his deep blue eyes. He also saw his best friend.
The scene changed and he was in a room, sitting on a wooden floor. The room seemed more expensive than his old home, a small hut with dirt flooring. He was cleaning boots, and there was a man with brown hair and a stubble on his face. He was young, and had a jovial grin. He seemed familiar.
They were talking, about what he couldn't even recall. The memory began in the middle of the conversation, so he didn't even know what they were talking about.
"If there's one thing I learned from my father's life, is that titles don't mean anything. It's what's inside..." The man slapped his knee with a cleaning brush. "that counts."
He pretended to be in pain, letting out an "Ow."
He rubbed his knee, grinning at the older male who he also considered a friend. Just not as close of a friend as the blonde king was.
The final scene he saw was a dark woman, wearing black with pale green eyes. Her glare was full of hatred. The woman's eyes burn a similar gold and she casts something, a medallion, into the bright, burning flames. Hissing sounds followed and the flames disappeared. A creature, a snake-tree, is revealed. The witch smiled in glee.
"Take it you've never met a Fomorroh before." she giggles happily as the creature hissed again. "Aw, he's a little grumpy."
She pet the Fomorroh, looking back at him and grinning. The witch seemed happy, gleeful at the chance to hurt him. He couldn't recall how he ever earned her hate and her desire to kill him.
"He's not used to being out in the light. No, my friend, I've called you from your depths for a very good reason."
He knew she didn't have to explain what she was planning. She didn't have to give anything away. The reason she did it was to instill fear in him, to make him scared. She wanted him to suffer.
The magic using woman took a dagger and sliced one of the necks of the numerous connected snakes, severing one of the heads. It writhed, and he realized in horror that it was still alive. A new head grew back in it's place on the main body. He felt unsettled. He could've lasted through torture, but he didn't know what was going to happen now. He thought he was prepared for anything she threw at him. Now, he wasn't so sure.
"Fomorroh are creatures of dark magic. Even if you cut off their heads, you cannot kill them. Another will just grow in its place." the woman explained, not that he really wanted to know.
He tried to put on a brave front. He glared at her, conveying his returning hate. But inside he was dreading what was coming.
"In the days of the Old Religion, they were revered by the High Priestesses as they allowed them to control people's minds."
Disgust and fear and anxiety overcame him. No! He knew what she would want him to do. She would want him to kill his best friend, the king. He couldn't do that. No, no, NO!
She approached him, triumph in her eyes. He glared at her, disgusted and scared.
"The Fomorroh will suck the life force out of you. Everything that makes you Merlin will be gone. And in its place there will be just one thought. One thought that will grow until it's consumed you completely. One thought that will be your life's work. you will not be able to rest until it's done. And that one thought is simple. You must kill Arthur Pendragon.
She placed the creature at his neck, and it burrowed inside him. He felt pain, more pain than he could ever remember feeling. It was everywhere. It spread to his entire body. He cried out as it squirmed under the surface of his skin.
God, God make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!
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John woke up to the sound of screaming. He ran towards the sound, Stiles's bedroom. Running inside, the father noticed his son wasn't in danger. But he was trapped in his dream. Stiles was laying there, crying and screaming as if he was being tortured.
"Stiles!" he exclaimed, running towards the bed and grabbing the warlock's shoulders. The teen struggled to get out of his grasp.
Suddenly his eyes snapped open, flashing the brightest gold it's ever been. A mini explosion occurred, the window exploded outwards and books and papers scattered. The ground shook for a second before his eyes faded to brown, and he started to take deep took one look at his father's worried and concerned gaze and started to cry in earnest.
His dad wrapped him in a hug, feeling him sob against his chest. After several minutes, John laid his now dozing son back in the bed before going around the room, cleaning up the books and papers. He cleared what was left of the window into a trashcan and put a tarp over it, making the room dark except for the hall light through the open door. He then went outside and swept the rest of the glass up. It was early morning and the sun was barely above the horizon. It was darkish, with only just enough light to let John see where he was going.
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God, he hated headaches. Stiles definitely was in pain on Saturday morning. It was the morning after he locked Scott up, the morning after the full moon. They had explained everything to Scott. How he was bit, how it wasn't Derek, and also Derek taught Scott more about werewolves in general. Of course, they didn't mention Stiles's visions and memories, but they did explain why Derek helped and how Stiles has been communicating with him for the past week.
He couldn't recall much of the last dream. Just a beautiful face with cold, hate filled eyes and pain in the back of his neck that spread throughout his body. It felt like he was being burnt alive. His blood had boiled and his skin was stretched too tight. He was glad his dad woke him up, because the pain faded to nothingness when he was conscious.
The other dreams was still in his memories though, like all of the others. He remembered Arthur, and the man with the long brown hair and friendly brown eyes. He wished he could remember the second man's name though.
At first the dreams were random, seemingly at a thousand different timelines and eras. But lately it's been dreams of the same people in a medieval time. A time of castles and swords and Knights. A time where there wasn't any electricity, there were candles instead. Where women wore thick gowns and men wore tunics and trousers with boots. But it wasn't strange to him. Stiles just wished he knew what was going on, what was happening to him. All the magic cases he found online, that may or may not be entirely truthful, didn't speak of strange dreams of a past. He heard of seers, but they usually see the future.
He needed to know. There was only one person he could think to ask for help for something like this. He needed someone to assist in studying and finding an answer, because he couldn't take the dreams. They were like nightmares, but he somehow knew they were real. It terrified him.
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After calling Derek and asking for help, he showed up at around noon. John was at work since it was a Saturday. It was around lunch so he made a sandwich for himself. A knock on the door alerted him of the werewolf's presence.
"Come in!" he exclaimed, knowing the older male would hear him wether or not he yelled or whispered.
Derek walked in, and suddenly Stiles felt a bit awkward. He was sitting at the counter, eating, and Derek was just standing there. Finally, he decided enough was enough.
"Just sit down Sourwolf," he muttered, standing up with his empty paper plate to throw away. "You want a sandwich?"
Derek grunted an affirmative as Stiles threw away his trash. Stiles asked what he wanted on it and he said he didn't care. After getting like five types of meat and shoving it on a piece of bread with mayo and some Cheetos, he put a silver bowl on the top of Derek's plate and revealed it like some expensive dish.
"Ta da!" he said, wiggling his fingers in the air. In a funny voice, similar to a snobbish butler, he asked if the werewolf wanted some entertainment with his meal while Derek gave him a nonplussed look.
"Observe!" ordered Stiles.
He cupped his hands and concentrated in what he wanted to happen. Once he got a clear mental image, he blew in his hands as his eyes flared gold. He opened them and a dozen butterflies escaped. All of them were the colors of the rainbow.
"Of course when you can do virtually anything with magic to show me and you choose rainbow butterflies." Derek muttered, but Stiles noticed that his eyes revealed all the awe he kept hidden from his voice.
Stiles laughed at how ridiculous that thought was. After he calmed down, he ran into his room before coming backstairs, holding a book. It wasn't very big, and seemed like some storybook.
"Okay, so this is the only book I have that even mentions magic and but it just mentions the Old Religion. It describes it as if it is just a legend though. It just talks about the eye color change when using the magic and the varying ages and power ranging. It doesn't have any spells, but I usually don't use any anyway so it doesn't even really matter. And I can't find anything else and there isn't anything on the internet. I suggest that we-"
"Stiles," Derek interrupted. "Shut up."
After Stiles stopped talking, Derek told him about the vault under the school. He said that there might be something in there regarding magic. After driving to the school, Derek showed him that the vault was under the sign at the high school. The Beacon Hills High School sign moved sideways, revealing a hidden staircase underneath. Stiles gaped at it in shock. THIS was under his school? SERIOUSLY?!
"Stiles." Derek said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You coming?" The werewolf seemed to have a smug expression on his face.
"Yeah, yeah okay. L-lets go." he stuttered as he followed the older male down the steps, trying not to trip as they went through the darkness.
The room was all made of stone, with shelves displaying the most random and unique things upon them. There were jars with the most random things and a whole bunch of books. Everything was covered in dust, as if no one had been there for years. There probably hasn't been any people in here. It was a secret vault. He wished he knew the story behind it, the history. For some reason, history and science were always his top subjects, and his favorite subjects.
For some reason, the atmosphere of the room and the uniqueness, as well as his curiosity of the place gave him a sense of nostalgia and a bit of homesickness. It was so strong it was like a hurtful ache in his chest. It was the feeling he had when he went to his mother's grave and remembered all of the good times they had together and the love she held for him. That was the ache in his chest. That was what he was feeling when he walked in the room.
The lights switching on caused him to be distracted from his feelings and thoughts, and he was secretly glad. Looking around, the light revealed the dirtiness more and the feeling of the place's age.
For the next few hours, Stiles and Derek searched through the books of the place. There was also a computer, but Stiles doubted they'd find anything useful. Plus, just because the information he found was on the internet, it didn't mean that it was all that truthful.
"Look Derek!" the warlock exclaimed upon finding a leather bound book. It had the same tingling sense that he felt around creatures of magic. It seemed familiar. That was when it dawned on him.
"What's so special about that book? You haven't even opened it up." Derek looked perplexed.
"D-Derek!" Stiles exclaimed again. "I-It's the book!"
"What book?" the werewolf asked.
"F-from my dream. It has the same tingling sense. I heard muttering in the dream. He was talking about a spell working out or something. He sounded sort of desperate, as if it had to work! Maybe I can recognize the page he was on!"
"Who? What point of view were you in the dream?" Derek asked.
"W-well I was looking at the pages a-and-"
"Were you watching someone read the pages, or were you reading the page yourself?" the man cut him off, seeming like he was realized something.
"There wasn't anyone there, and I was holding the book." Stiles stated, looking confused at what he was trying to say.
"So who was speaking, who was wanting the spell to work?"
"I-I don't know. Th-there was no one else in there. But I could of sworn I heard a voice..."
"Was it you speaking? Were you wanting a spell to work? Have you seen this book before, was it yours?" Derek asked rapidly, millions of ideas in his head.
"N-no it couldn't have been me. It didn't sound like me. And its not my book. I've never seen it before, I thought it was just a dream. How did I see this book in the dream?" his voice started to get quiet towards the end, as if he was mumbling to himself.
"Stiles, this sounds familiar to me. I just can't remember!" Derek seemed genuinely frustrated, as if what he wanted to say was at the tip of his tongue but he couldn't recall exactly what he needed to.
"Let me see if I can use my magic to find the page I was on." the warlock said, eyes turning gold.
The pages turned by themselves, flipping to a page at a rapid rate. His gold eyes scanned the pages at a surreal rate. They stopped instantly, only a few seconds after starting. Stiles eyes read over the page at a slower, more normal rate. The longer he read, the bigger his now whiskey colored eyes widened.
"Oh my god."