Chapter 2 - Aftermath

Scott didn't know how he had ended up in this situation, but at some point his world had turned upside down. There was something about Theo that was bothering him, and he was starting to wonder whether he was doing the right thing by trusting him. Then there was Stiles, someone that Scott had thought he knew inside out, but who had ruthlessly killed a man and called it self-defence. Kira had lost all control over her kitsune self and, now, Liam had lost all traces of humanity, bearing down on Scott with a terrifying lack of restraint.

Misery swelled within him as Liam's eyes flashed and his jaws snapped, and Scott swallowed against a burning sensation in his throat. He had been defending himself half-heartedly so far, but Liam was backing him into a corner and Scott knew that soon he was going to have to either fight properly or give in.

God help him, but he didn't even need to consider his options. Before Scott, Liam had been just another normal teenager; it was his fault that Liam had been dragged into this mess of death and destruction that seemed to follow him everywhere. He didn't deserve everything that had happened to him, and it was inconceivable to Scott to hurt him further. Liam growled in his throat as he readied himself for a final assault, and Scott's chest tightened. With an effort, Scott forced his body to shift, feeling his claws retract and face smooth back to a human silhouette. His instincts were screaming at him to snarl, to fight back, to survive, but Scott ignored them.

This was his choice. And if he was going to die, then at least he would die as a human.

He closed his eyes, listening to the rush of blood pumping through his veins as his heart pounded against his chest, and he was so focussed on himself that he wasn't prepared when a loud crash sounded from his left. Startling, his eyes flew open, and Scott and Liam whipped around in unison toward the source.

The library doors had swung open and between them stood Stiles, watching them with none of his usual anxiety evident in his stance. In fact, Scott realised with surprise, he was radiating disapproval.

Liam growled threateningly, with a surge of fear Scott realised that Liam was now glaring at Stiles, fangs bared. "Stiles, run!" Scott yelled, suddenly desperate. Thirteen years of friendship could not be erased in four days, and Stiles was terrifyingly human.

To his surprise, Stiles didn't respond. Instead, he set his eyes on Liam, head tilting with an odd expression of curiosity gracing his face. He took a step forward, and Scott yelped in surprise as the lights flickered. He ducked to avoid a shower of sparks falling from an explosion above him, and when he looked up again, Stiles was standing right in front of Liam.

Liam snarled, eyes flashing, and with a powerful arm swung sideways with clear intent to send Stiles flying. Scott's heart pounded in his chest and he automatically leaped toward them, but even as his feet left the ground he knew he wouldn't make it.

What happened next stopped him in his tracks.

The blow connected, but Stiles didn't even budge. Instead, he looked down at Liam's arm with a scornful expression on his face, and in a flash reached out one hand to grip Liam's wrist firmly. Liam twisted, using his left hand to try to break the grip, but for all the good it did he might not have bothered. In fact, Stiles was completely ignoring Liam's efforts, and instead of struggling with him reached out two fingers to gently touch his forehead.

Liam's eyes rolled back the second Stiles' fingers met his skin and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Stunned, Scott couldn't react fast enough to catch him, and even as he reassured himself that Liam's heart was still beating steadily, he felt an icy wave of fear wash over him.

He raised his eyes to Stiles, who was now watching him with that same odd expression. Not Stiles, he reminded himself furiously. Whatever was standing in front of him was not his friend, and was definitely not human.

He let the wolf surge forward, and his voice was thick through his fangs when he spoke. "Let Stiles go," he growled, threateningly.

Not-Stiles smiled slightly. "No," he responded. He stood still, hands raised in a universal expression of peace, and Scott watched him warily. He didn't want to attack him for fear of hurting Stiles and Liam didn't look injured, so he waited, trying to figure out what he wanted.

He was rewarded when Not-Stiles continued without prompting. "Stiles and I have a deal," he explained. "I needed a body, and he wanted your safety."

"No," Scott protested, a portion of his fear giving way to dread. What had Stiles done? "No, let him go. That body belongs to him, you can't just take it!"

"That's right, I can't," Not-Stiles answered, infuriatingly calm. "I need consent, which Stiles gave to me in return for keeping you and your pack safe. So what you need to do is take Liam and go home, I'll sort out the rest."

Scott shook his head, not giving in. "Why should I believe you?"

"I don't really care if you don't," Not-Stiles said bluntly. "Go home, Scott. Tomorrow, the Dread Doctors will be gone. Hayden will be healed, and Theo will have left. You can finish your senior year in peace. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I want Stiles," Scott answered weakly.

Not-Stiles raised an eyebrow. "You turned Stiles away," he pointed out. "But that doesn't matter now. I'm doing this for Stiles, not for you. It was his wish, and I keep my promises."

He turned, and Scott desperately searched his mind for something, anything that would stop him from leaving. He was saved from answering when Not-Stiles paused, and looked him once more in the eye.

"I can destroy the Dread Doctors, but there's always a chance you will be faced with danger in the future," he said. "If you need me, pray. I will be here."

With that, he turned and walked out the door, and there wasn't a thing that Scott could do to stop him.

"You just let him walk away?" Malia's voice was nearing a shout as she paced Scott's living room, hands clenching and releasing alternately at her side. She spun back toward Scott, eyes flashing blue. "How could you?"

Scott shook his head. "There was nothing I could do! He took Liam down with a touch of his hand, Malia. And I couldn't fight him – what if I just ended up hurting Stiles instead?" Malia growled at him, before giving herself a shake and resuming her pacing. Scott couldn't blame her, he had frustratingly few details that he could share about her boyfriend's disappearance, and if their situations were reversed he doubted he would be taking the news any better.

Lydia's face was pale, but after the initial shock she seemed to compose herself. She had been silent for a while, but now she turned to Scott, face set in concentration. "Okay, he said to pray if you need him. Have you tried?"

"Of course," Scott snapped. A hurt expression flickered across Lydia's face, and he berated himself silently. The last four days had been so hard; he had never gone so long without Stiles and he had not been prepared for how badly he would miss him. It wasn't just his company, he was so used to Stiles being there through thick and thin that being without him was like missing a limb. It was unsettling, and he had been on the verge of losing his temper for the entire four days. Now, Stiles was in the wind, he had been doing everything he could to avoid the thought that maybe this time he wouldn't come back. The prospect of facing a world without Stiles was weighing on him, and he wasn't ready to deal with it yet.

"I'm sorry, I just…" he trailed off, and Lydia managed a weak smile in response. Scott sighed before continuing. "I tried praying the minute he left, and I've been trying on and off ever since then. Of course, I have no idea who or what I'm supposed to be praying to, so who knows if the message is actually going through, if the whole thing wasn't just a sick joke. Either way, there's been no response."

Lydia considered his words, and he could almost see her mind turning before she spoke. "Well, I suppose if it really is as powerful as it seems, then it's almost certainly smart enough to know that you're just trying to make it come back at this stage. Maybe the message is getting through, but it's deliberately not listening."

Scott wasn't sure if she was trying to be comforting, but if so she was doing a terrible job of it. His stomach churned, and he stood abruptly from his seat, moving to the window and pressing a hand to the wall as he stared into the night. God, Stiles, where are you? The darkness offered no answers, and he felt a hollow loneliness expand within him.

"Okay, let's think about this logically," Malia said. Turning his back on the window, Scott saw her abandon her pacing to take a seat, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched Lydia intently. "We don't know much about this thing, but whatever it is, it told Scott to pray for it. So what do people pray to? God?"

"You're trying to say that God possessed Stiles?" Scott asked incredulously.

Malia glared at him. "No," she said, "I'm just thinking out loud. Besides, you're a werewolf who's currently talking to a werecoyote and a banshee. Is the idea of God really that insane?"

Scott didn't have a chance to respond as Lydia interjected. "No, it's not. But it's also probably not true," she pondered aloud. Her eyes were fixed on something distant, and with a jolt Scott realised he recognised her expression from the many times he had watched Stiles unravel a mystery inside his own head. He pushed the memories aside and leaned in to listen.

"People don't just pray to God," Lydia explained. "They pray to saints, angels, all sorts of things. I mean, if we're going to go down this route, than it's probably unrealistic to restrict ourselves to the Christian faith. People pray to deities of most religions, and then there's all of the dead faiths that don't really exist anymore. Pagan gods, that sort of thing." She sighed heavily. "Plus, if you stretch the definition a little, you could almost consider devil worship a form of prayer."

Nausea burned in Scott's stomach, and he felt it clench as her words sunk in. "That's too many," he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else. "How are we ever going to find him when there's so many possibilities?"

For a minute, the air hung heavy with silence. He heard Malia choke back a sob, and he could almost feel the misery emanating from Lydia, before he watched her pull herself together in front of his eyes. "We search," she said firmly. Her green eyes were flashing, and she wore a determined expression that she had once used to rule the school. The stakes were much higher now, but she was fiercer than she ever had been, and Scott knew there was no stopping her when she set her mind to something. "We'll research, and we'll use every resource we have," Lydia continued. "We'll get in touch with Deaton and Argent, and we're not going to stop until we find him."

Malia straightened in her chair, and despite himself Scott felt lighter, a small flame of hope catching fire in his chest. Stiles was still missing, but they weren't giving up on him. He made himself a promise, then and there. He would bring Stiles home if it was the last thing he did.

Jophiel stood quietly behind the door, watching the wolf inside. One more to go, and then his obligation to his vessel would be complete.

The men who called themselves Dread Doctors had fallen easily, in the end. They were just men, after all, and their trickery with magnetic fields had no effect on Jophiel. Indeed, he had watched as their scornful expressions turned into shock, before quickly sliding into terror as they tried and failed to stop his approach. They had tried to run, but Jophiel had more than enough grace left to seal the exits, and their fists slammed furiously against solid wooden doors as they realised that they were trapped.

Jophiel had no grudge against them himself, so he did not draw out their deaths. Three quick thrusts of his hand, and their hearts were lying on the floor next to their lifeless bodies.

The girl had been more difficult. She was compiled of so many different beings and had lost so much of herself that he had not been able to rebuild her completely. Instead, he had helped the many parts of her to fuse together more smoothly, had removed the poison sliding through her veins, and helped her body to recognise the many different parts of her as her own. Her breathing came much easier and her tortured body was much more relaxed when he left, and he hoped it would be enough.

And now all that was left was the wolf. The boy had not yet noticed him, focussed on the meal before him at an empty table, so Jophiel decided it was time to reveal himself.

He stepped into the room, and the wolf turned in surprise, eyes glowing a brilliant amber. Catching sight of Jophiel, his eyes flickered back to his human blue, and the boy smirked. "Come for a hug, Stiles? To have a cry on my shoulder?" he drawled.

Jophiel tilted his head, considering. He could almost feel the hatred radiating from his vessel at the sight of this boy, and he could understand why. There was an edge of cruelty to the wolf, and it grated.

Pressing his lips together, Jophiel took a further few steps into the room. The wolf raised his eyebrows, standing from his chair and turning to face him. "Nothing to say, there's a first," the wolf commented.

"Stiles isn't here anymore," Jophiel replied, and then he smiled. "But I owe him a favour, and there's only one thing that he asked of me."

He had a moment to appreciate the wolf's expression twisting to one of horror as his eyes widened, then he reached forward dug his fingers into the wolf's neck. When he pulled back, throat dangling from his hand and blood dripping onto the floor, he couldn't help but feel satisfied at a job well done.

His world was fire.

Stiles had been possessed before, and he thought that he knew what to expect. Being a passive passenger in his own body, nightmares and dreamscapes interspersing with even more horrifying reality; that was what he had been readying himself for in the moments before he gave himself away.

This was altogether different.

There were no dreams, no nightmares. All that existed was heat, light, and pure unadulterated agony as he burned in eternal fire. He wanted to scream, but he had no mouth, and he wanted to beg and plead for escape, but he had no words. Instead, he just existed, a formless thought bathed in flame.

Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of the outside world, but it was a foreign plane to his level of existence and the figures there had no meaning. He retreated further into himself, giving more and more of himself away as he struggled to block out the pain.

His world was fire, and he desperately fought to escape.

And after a while, his world was fire, and it was all he had ever known.