Mischief and Chaos Chapter 1: The Boy and the Fox, a teen wolf fanfic

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Title: Mischief and Chaos – The Spark and the Void

Tags: m/m, canon divergence, Nogitsune Stiles, Spark Stiles, Pack Alpha Peter, True Mates, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, fluff, explicit intercourse, oral, m/f

Main Pairing: Peter/Stiles

Side Pairings: Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia, Chris/Sheriff

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Noah Stilinski, Chris Argent, Allison Argent, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Danny Mahealani, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Claudia Stilinski, Vernon Boyd II, Anita Boyd, Alicia Boyd

Summary: Stiles' mom is dying and in an attempt to run away from it all, he ends up at a clearing with a cut-down tree that talks to him. He makes a deal with a dark fox to ease his mother's mind and gains a life-long companion for it. And then there's this new girl at school, Allison, who decides to be his friend. His life unfolds a little different from thereon out.

Mischief and Chaos

The Spark and the Void

Part 1: The Boy and the Fox

Stiles was lost in the woods when his entire life changed.

He was seven years old, freezing cold, crying and all alone. His mom was sick. He didn't know the details, adults never shared details with kids, but he knew that it was bad. Could see it on his father's face. Nobody said the words to him, but deep down, Stiles knew he was going to lose his mom, knew that she wasn't just sick but that she was dying. And with that realization, he just… ran.

He ran out of the hospital room, out of the hospital, behind the building out into the woods.

He ran past trees, stumbled over roots, startled at animal noises all around him, but never stopped. There was no destination he was running toward, he didn't know the preserve all that well. Sure, their family had gone on some hiking trips, him and his dad had gone camping this summer, but he wasn't exactly an expert. To him, the preserve was just a gathering of trees that all looked alike.

His fingers were numb and his cheeks stung, feeling all the colder from the drying tears still running down his face, his lungs burned and so did his legs, until they finally gave out. Stiles just collapsed forward, landing on a large, low tree stump. His breath was rash and short, coming out in visible puffs in the stinging night air. For a while – minutes that felt like hours – did he just lay on the tree face-first, gasping for breath and crying his last tears.

Once his breathing calmed down enough that he was no longer struggling did he roll over onto his back, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish, eyes in the sky. It was already dark. Had it been dark when he left the hospital…? He couldn't remember, all he remembered were his dad's sad eyes and the tubes sticking out of his mom and the stinging scent of the hospital. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles tried to take deep breaths, but his still aching lungs struggled to take them in.

Slow, little one, a soft, female voice whispered in his ear. Slow and deep.

Stiles took a shuttering breath, slower this time. And another. And another. When he opened his eyes again, he felt a little better. Still cold and achy though. He spread his hands, feeling the riffled rings of the wood beneath his fingertips. Feeling the tree was strangely grounding and the breaths came a little easier to him.

His eyes found the clear night sky, lit up by countless stars. When Stiles first got made fun of for his moles, his mom and squished his cheeks and kissed every single mole, telling him that they were like stars on his face. Many nights, him and his mom would sneak out onto the roof and lay on it to gaze at the stars and try find constellations that looked like his moles.

Was his mom going to leave the hospital again? Would she ever lay with him on the roof to look at the stars again? How much time did he have left with her?

He squeezed his eyes shut again and wished. He wished so, so hard that they had more time, that he could help her. She had to get better. She couldn't leave him. He refused to believe that this was it.

We hold so much power, but what you are trying is even beyond us, little one.

This time, Stiles startled at the voice. Earlier, he hadn't fully registered it, too much in his head. But now he heard it more clearly. Like a whisper carried on the wind as though the voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Stiles looked around, frantic and wild, trying to spot the woman. But there was nobody here. Only him.

The tree beneath his palms felt warmer and when Stiles turned to look at it, there seemed to be something like smoke coming off of… the wet spot where he had cried on. The smoke was pretty, greenish-blue. When Stiles reached out for it, it curled around his fingers, making him giggle.

This is a place of magic and of sacrifices. You are magic and your pain and heartache is a sacrifice of its own, little one. You are so young still. Too young for this pain.

"Where… Where are you?" Stiles asked softly, looking around, still trying to spot the woman. "Can you help me get back to the hospital, Miss? I think I'm lost?"

I'm afraid I can't guide you back to where you came from. But I can guide you where you are supposed to go, if you'd like.

What did that even mean? He was supposed to go back to the hospital. His parents were definitely already worried about him. He hopped off the tree, looking around for the woman.

"Uh, yes please?" Stiles replied unsure.

The wind picked up but in strange ways. It seemed like it twirled around him for a moment, embracing him, and then it got stronger, pushing against his back. Stiles more or less stumbled along and though he didn't notice, the forest parted for him. The grass beneath his feet leaned away and even the trees bent ever so slightly, building a path for their boy.

Stiles didn't know why, but he let the wind guide him, even as he wondered about the woman.

Come and visit me again and I will guide you, my young Spark.

/break\

Over the following months, Stiles kept going back to the tree stump, until she became his tree. She was warm and comforting and didn't make him feel like a little kid, the way the doctors and nurses and even his parents did, all acting like he didn't understand what was happening to his mom.

Her name was Nemetona, but Stiles called her Nemy. And she was the voice in his head.

(Stiles knew it wasn't good to hear voices. There was probably something wrong with him. Maybe the same thing that was wrong with his mom, because she was hearing and seeing things that weren't there either. She kept getting worse. Irrational. The other day, she had thrown a dish at Stiles, not recognized him. He'd run out of the house and thrown himself on top of Nemy and cried for hours. Here was safe. There was no sickness, no yelling, no hospital smell here. Only Nemy's kind voice in his head and the soft scents of the forest around him.)

"I'm gonna lose her," Stiles whispered sullenly, staring up at the sky. "I'm already losing her."

Because she was losing her mind, forgetting who he was – who she was, too, she wasn't the woman he called 'mom' anymore, not always, and it frightened him. There was a chittering sound, one that he had heard a lot in the past weeks. It always got a little darker in the clearing when he heard it.

There is so much chaos in your mind, kit. Beautiful chaos and from what I can sense, there is so much more chaos in hers. I can help her.

That wasn't Nemy's voice. Slowly, Stiles sat up and looked around, even though he knew that was pointless. The voice was as much in his head as Nemy's. For a moment, Stiles thought he saw two glowing, yellow eyes in the forest, but then the glowing dots came closer and he realized they were just fireflies. The insects buzzed around Stiles' head for a moment before settling down on the tree.

Her name was Nemetona, but this place was called a Nemeton. A place sacred to her, she'd said. Where druids used to make sacrifices in her name. Apparently, Stiles had accidentally strengthened it by making his own sacrifice. Spilling his tears on sacred grounds. But he wasn't a druid. Not that he knew what a druid was. Nemy explained that they used nature to perform magic.

Stiles could perform magic. Because he wasn't a druid, but he was something Nemy called a Spark. Her Spark, specifically. Though Stiles didn't really know what that meant either. But she kept her promise, of guiding him where he was supposed to go – and that, apparently, included toward his magic. She'd been whispering into his mind how to channel it, how to become one with it.

There wasn't much he could do, but his will could bend the bushes, make the flowers and grass grow. He liked the way they sounded in his mind, soft songs that let him know how they felt.

(There was definitely something wrong with him, because people shouldn't be able to hear plants.)

"It's not chaos," Stiles declared after a long moment of watching the fireflies. "It's mischief."

That was what his mother always said, anyway. He'd cause trouble and his dad would complain about the chaos and then his mom would laugh and pick him up and kiss his nose and say that it wasn't chaos, it was mischief because he was her little Mischief, and no harm had been done.

Chaos caused harm and pain, mischief caused laughter and joy.

Very well then. You'll be mischief, I'll be chaos.

Stiles tilted his head at that, frowning. "Can you really help my mom? Nemy says we can't."

Nemetona isn't chaos or mischief. She is sacred. Divine good. I'm not good. I can do more than her.

Mh. That sounded bad. Stiles patted the tree beneath him. She'd been teaching him things and comforting him, but when he'd asked if his magic could help his mom, she had told him that it couldn't. That what his mom had was beyond help. It had made him angry.

I can't save her. She is beyond saving. She will die. But I can still help her. We can help her.

"How," Stiles frowned deeply, watching the fireflies take off the tree again.

We can ease her mind. Take her chaos and pain. Let her have peace and be the woman she was.

Stiles bit his lip. He wanted to save her. But helping her would be good too, he supposed.

"How can we help her? What do I have to do? Can you teach me magic that Nemy can't teach me?"

You have to let me in, Stiles. If you let me in, you can have my power and we can work together.

"Let you… in?" Stiles frowned and looked around.

There was a locked door, between the trees. They'd bent and interwoven at the top and between their trunks were two large door-wings, carved with figures. The clearing was dark like it was the middle of the night now, a starless and moonless night, even though Stiles had come here in the morning. It shouldn't be night yet. The two fireflies flew over to the door, each sitting down on one handle on the winged door. Stiles hopped off the tree.

Don't open the door, my little Spark, Nemy's voice was filled with pleas and despair.

The wind picked up, pushed against him, like it was trying to keep him on the Nemeton, away from the door. Stiles kept pushing against it, using his will to push against it. The wind still pulled on the trees and grass and bushes around him but parted for him, because he willed it to. When Stiles reached the door, he grabbed both handles tight.

"You promise?" Stiles asked. "You promise you can help her?"

I can help her. We can help her. We will be magnificent together, Stiles. Just open the door.

Stiles opened the door and was met by darkness. Pure, all-consuming darkness. He took a stumbling step back and watched how something slipped out of the darkness. No, not out of it. It was like the darkness itself was spilling over and taking form. The two fireflies from earlier came to merge with it and by the end of it all, there was… a fox. A small, pitch-black fox with golden-glowing eyes like fireflies. It had unnaturally many tails, which made it look like a Pokémon. Like a Vulpix.

"W… What are you…?" Stiles asked, just a little afraid.

"I am a kitsune. An elemental fox spirit," the fox replied. "I am the endless void of darkness, destruction and devastation itself, I am chaos incarnate."

"That's a bit long," Stiles frowned. "Can I just call you Void?"

The fox blinked up at him and tilted its head. "Yes, you may call me Void."

Stiles nodded pleased at that. "How do we help my mom, Void?"

Void sat up on his hindlegs and stretched long against Stiles. "You just have to let me in, Stiles."

The black fox dissolved into shadows and melted into Stiles. The next moment, Stiles woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and frantic as he looked around the clearing. Bright as day, birds chirping, no door. Rubbing his eyes, he let himself fall against the tree again. Just a dream then. Okay. Yeah, giant doors and shadow foxes weren't real, why would…

Just because I live in the realm of dreams doesn't make me unreal, kit.

Okay, so the voice was still there. Stronger than before. It used to be a dull whisper, like it came from far away. When Stiles closed his eyes, he could see the black fox in his mind, looking curious.

Let's go and help your mom, kit. You held up your end of the bargain, I will hold up mine.

Stiles hummed and got off the tree to walk back to the hospital. Every step he took, the shadows of the trees around him seemed to darken and lengthen, like they were reaching out for him. They used to scare him, the strange shapes that trees could throw, but now the shadows felt like… old friends.

Because they are. They are ours. We are darkness.

Humming again, Stiles reached a hand out for one of the shadows. It curled around his fingers like a material thing, making him giggle. The wind became harsh again, cold and biting.

What have you done, young Spark. Nemy sounded desperate.

Stiles tilted his head as he left the clearing. "I'm helping my mom."

/break\

"Oh Mischief, my little Mischief."

Stiles giggled and squirmed in his mom's arms as she kissed his moles one by one. She hadn't done that in months. In the corner of the hospital room, the shadows were darker than everywhere else and vaguely fox-shaped. Void was sated. He had eaten the chaos in her mind, allowing her a reprieve of calm sanity.

"Your new friend is interesting," Claudia noted, her eyes on the shadows.

Stiles tensed. An ear perked up in the shadows, Void barely lifting his head.

"You… can see him too?" Stiles asked softly, surprised.

He was still sure it was all in his head. Nemy, the magic, Void too. Claudia hummed, her arms wrapped around his waist and her chin resting on his head. Her gaze still on Void.

"I connected with her mind when I ate its chaos," Void said. "The connection lets her see me."

He sat up and stretched, very much like a cat, before stepping out of the shadows. Well. He was still made of shadows, but he seemed more solid now. Probably because he ate well. His firefly-eyes stared up at them before he hopped onto the bed to join the Stilinskis.

"Thank you for your help, little fox," Claudia smiled and reached out to pat his head.

He bared his fangs and hissed. "I am not a pet! I will not be treated with such indigni—Oh."

The hissing stopped and one of his legs jerked when Claudia scratched him just between the jaw and ear. Stiles giggled and burrowed himself more into his mom. Devastation and destruction himself, loving his scritches.

"You're not freaking out about the talking fox?" Stiles asked curiously.

"Mh. I've seen stranger things in this town," Claudia smiled down at him, her dark brown eyes warm and loving and without pain in a way that Stiles had missed dearly. "You will see stranger things still too, just give it time."

"Like what?" Stiles stared wide-eyed.

"Werewolves," Claudia's grin nearly split her face. "Maybe, if you are very careful and quiet in the forest, even fairies. There are so many things in this world that fill it with wonder, Mischief."

"Most these things tend to be dangerous," Void pointed out before curling together on the bed.

"That is what he has you for now, little fox," Claudia smiled again and patted Void between the ears. "You will protect my Mischief when I can't, won't you?"

"Mh," Void tilted his head. "He will show me beautiful chaos. And I will protect him for it."

Claudia laughed, pressing a kiss to Stiles' head. "My Mischief and my Chaos."

Author's note: This is tomorrow's oneshot. It outgrew me and I decided to split it into a two-parter for this Wednesday and next Wednesday. You may note the chapter count is 1/7, because I noticed 7 distinct plot sections to it and it made more sense to me to split it into chapters instead of just crudely halfing it. You may not be surprised when I say this story ran away from me. I also don't want to treat it like a multiple chapter story in the sense of dragging the posting out for months. This misbehaving beast WILL be treated as a oneshot, if it wants to or not. It WILL be posted between today and next Wednesday.

Now, this is a real slow-burn in that Peter will only join the plot in chapter 3. The majority of this fic focuses on Stiles' childhood and the heavy canon divergence I apply, because I had so damn much fun world building in this

Next chapter, the Argents will join the plot and Stiles will make some friends that aren't trees of millennia old fox demons!