Mischief Mondays Chapter 21: Stetopher - The Death and Resurrection, a teen wolf fanfic

Teen Wolf || Stetopher || The Death and Resurrection of Allison Argent || Stetopher || Teen Wolf

Title: The Death and Resurrection of Allison Argent – Mischief Mondays Series

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Jackson Doesn't Leave, Pack Alpha Peter, two packs, Spark Stiles, post-Nogitsune, hurt/comfort, fluff, past character death/resurrection, f/f, m/f

Main Pairing: Chris/Peter/Stiles

Side Pairings: Scott/Allison, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia, Malia/Kira, Ethan/Danny

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski (part of both packs)

Hale Pack: Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Cora Hale

McCall Pack: Scott McCall, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Danny Mahaelani, Ethan Steiner, Aiden Steiner

Summary: The McCall Pack and the Hale Pack are abducted by a higher power, so three of their members can stand trial for 'defiling the sanctity of life'. Peter, Allison and Stiles have to stand trial for forbidden resurrection magic. One of them is found guilty of the charges.

The Death and Resurrection of Allison Argent

Mischief Mondays Series

Stiles was out of it, head feeling hazy, as he tried to take stock of what was going on. Marble, high columns, fancy decorations. The Hale Pack. And the McCall Pack. All of them. They were all coming to it too, to varying degrees, groaning and holding their own heads. Whatever had happened to him had happened to all of them. He didn't know if that was good or bad. But before he could decide either way did a woman stalk up to them. Her hair was in intricate braids, her lithe body wrapped up in golden-white robes and Stiles was mortified to identify her by her clothes.

"Who speaks for the group?"

The priestess had an air of authority and danger to herself and Stiles was instantly wary. They needed to play this one safe. However, with his two packs, safe was rarely an option. Both Peter and Scott stepped up, putting themselves between the stranger and their respective pack.

"Me," they said at the same time, because of course they did.

The Alphas turned to glare at each other, Peter growling softly. "You don't speak for me, Scott."

"And you definitely don't speak for me, or my pack, Peter," Scott countered.

Heaving a sigh, Stiles stepped up. "Hey. How about the only guy who is actually in both packs speaks for the group as a whole? Since neither of you speak for the other."

A long moment in which Scott and Peter, once again, glared at each other, before they turned toward Stiles and nodded. Not that he was surprised by that, he knew he had both Alphas wrapped around his little finger. More or less, anyway. With a grim expression did he turn toward the priestess, who was by now watching them with impatience and badly contained anger.

"I do," Stiles raised his head. "What do you want from us?"

"Three of your people are to be judged in front of the Atheneon Court."

Stiles winced. Part of him had hoped he'd misread the robes and the overall setting, but nope. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. He turned toward his packs, multiple confused eyes looking at him. Scott furrowed his brows, stepping closer.

"A court?" Scott whispered. "Judged?"

"Yeah," Stiles swallowed, looking around. "The Atheneon Court is the court of the gods, or 'higher beings'. It's… a big deal. A really big deal and they don't exactly argue parking tickets here."

"I've never heard of it," Peter narrowed his eyes. "Why do you know about it?"

"Three AM research binge like four months ago," Stiles shrugged. "Started out with the Greek gods, slipped further into other pantheons and their interactions and yeah anyway, the Atheneon Court was founded by Athena but consists of members of various pantheons, to judge those who breach the laws of the supernatural world and offend the gods at large. Aka, really bad shit."

Chris grunted and rested a heavy, reassuring hand on Stiles. One look from the hunter drew Stiles' attention back to the priestess, who was still staring at them intensely. Right.

"What… are the charges?" Stiles tried to keep his voice from wavering. "Who are the accused?"

The priestess' steely, gray eyes surveyed the group and settling on the three people one by one as she named them. "Peter Wermund Hale, Allison Argent and Mieczysław Stilinski are accused of defiling the sanctity of life. You speak for the group, will you be their representative?"

"Stiles," Peter growled, a clawed hand reaching for Stiles' shoulder before Stiles could speak.

"Not this one, Peter," Stiles interrupted the Alpha, turning to lock eyes with him. "You may be a big shot lawyer in the real world, but the Atheneon Court is… I got this. I know what this is. I know what the rules are. Trust me on this, Peter. I'm our best bet out of this."

The Alpha growled again and ground his teeth together, but he didn't argue with Stiles. Because Stiles had the werewolf's trust, and that knowledge made Stiles' heart flutter, nervous and warm.

"Yes," Stiles declared firmly, holding the priestess' eyes. "I represent the accused."

"Very well," the priestess nodded, seeming pleased. "How do you wish to be tried?"

"Separately," Stiles answered without missing a beat. "I have different defenses for each case. And, if I get a say in it, I'd like to start off with Peter Hale's case."

There was murmuring among the priestesses before the high priestess nodded. "Acceptable. The trial starts tomorrow morning, your packs will be provided food and room."

Stiles bowed ever so slightly. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Dread settled in his belly. He was so fucked. There weren't words for just how fucked he was.

/break\

Chris was fairly sure that this was his worst nightmare come true. Their pack and the McCall Pack woke up in a marble temple of sorts, three of them were supposed to stand trial. Not just any three. The three most important people in Chris' life. His daughter, his mate and the boy him and his mate wanted to court. Peter and Chris had talked about this at length, during the possession, when they nearly lost their boy. They agreed that after the possession, their boy needed to heal first, he needed to concentrate on himself, not on trying to navigate a new relationship. And now he may lose them.

"Calm down, love," Peter whispered lowly, pressing a kiss to the top of Chris' head.

"How," Chris growled, one arm around Peter and the other around his daughter.

The two packs had been shown a suite, with a common room and two bedrooms that would each house one pack. Right now, they were all huddled together in the common room. Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Derek, Isaac and Cora were gathered in a half-circle around Chris and Peter, huddled close in this new and dangerous territory. Chris was holding Allison, but she was also clinging onto her own mate, being the Alpha Mate of the McCall Pack. The look on Scott's face was completely wrecked as he clung onto Allison like he could somehow protect her from this. Lydia, Malia, Kira, Ethan, Danny and Aiden completed the circle by gathering around their own Alpha Pair.

Stiles stood next to the two Alpha Pairs, his arms crossed, a bit of distance to everyone. He was the odd one out, the only one who was a member of both packs. Him and Scott had joined the Hale Pack together, back when Derek had still been Alpha, before Derek had given up the Spark to save Cora and Peter had claimed an Alpha spark by killing Kali. Even though Scott had risen to become a True Alpha during all of that, Stiles' loyalty to the Hale Pack never wavered. His loyalty to Scott was just as strong though and, in the end, the two Alphas agreed that Stiles could be part of both packs equally. Chris couldn't help but smile a little at their special boy.

"What does this mean?" Lydia asked, looking at Stiles. "You know what this is, explain."

"Yeah, what… what does 'sanctity of life' mean?" Kira turned toward Stiles too. "Like murder?"

"Well then," Cora said, eyes on Peter. "Suppose Allison and Stiles are off the hook in that case."

"No, not murder," Stiles snorted a little. "The gods couldn't care less about humans killing each other. No, it's more… the opposite. The sanctity of life, for the Atheneon Court, refers to the end of life and bringing someone back. Resurrection magic is forbidden."

"Not to repeat what Cora said, but guess we only have to worry about Peter then," Isaac noted.

Chris took a shaky breath, running one hand over his face before leaning more into Peter. His eyes wandered over his pack. Ever since he'd become Peter's mate, become Alpha Mate of a pack, he felt strong pack bonds and they were a truly reassuring presence in his mind. Boyd and Erica were curled up together, the mated pair rarely separated. They also sat the closest to Stiles, a bond forged in a basement. On either side of them were Isaac and Cora, Derek next to his sister and Jackson on Derek's other side. Beside Jackson, the McCall Pack started with his mate. There had never been a chance that Lydia would have joined a pack under Peter, she was still dealing with the trauma that Peter had caused her while he'd been feral, but she had been willing to join Scott's pack.

"Stiles," Boyd pressed softly. "Prepare us at least somewhat for tomorrow."

Sighing, Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose. "They took the entire packs as possible witnesses. They know someone broke the rules and they narrowed it down, but gods aren't actually all-knowing, they will have to investigate. It's up to us to prove them wrong."

"Good, good. How do we do that?" Scott asked pleadingly, clutching Allison's hand.

"They're called the Atheneon Court because they… dive into the mind," Stiles admitted after a moment. "They'll evaluate our memories for what truly happened. You can't lie or weasel your way out. Don't worry, they can't alter memories or mess with them, they'll just… view them."

He looked at Peter with reassuring, warm eyes. Memory tampering had taken so much from Peter already and Chris had felt his lover tense in his arms at the idea of someone messing with his memories again. Leaning in, Chris gently kissed his wolf to calm him some.

"We should… We should all get some rest," Stiles suggested with a pinched expression. "We don't know whose memories they're going to view, beyond the accused, and it's supposed to be exhausting, from what I read in the texts."

"Stiles," Malia reached out to grab his wrist. "Do you really know what you're doing?"

The coyote held Stiles' gaze, one arm around her mate, drawing support and strength from Kira. Her and Peter were only just building a relationship to each other and she must feel anxious about potentially losing the father she had only just discovered she had. And Stiles? Beyond Kira, he was probably the most important person to her, Chris knew they'd formed a strong bond in a whole different basement, relying on each other in the torture of Eichen House.

"Yes," Stiles spoke evenly, offering her a small smile. "I do know what I'm doing. Trust me."

"Always," Peter whispered gently and the looks on everyone's faces reflected his reassurance.

/break\

Before they entered the court room, Peter scent marked his entire pack and his daughter one last time. Taking a deep, calming breath, he tried to brace himself. Stiles stepped up between him and Allison, taking one hand of each and offering them a last, weak smile.

"Don't talk. At all. Not even when spoken to. I'm speaking for you. Trust me. Okay?"

"Always, darling," Peter promised once more, gently rubbing the back of Stiles' hand.

Stiles also took a deep breath before he stepped through the doors, followed by Peter and Allison, with both packs going in after them. Peter had no illusions about what was going to happen here. If these higher beings could access memories to judge, then Peter was done for. He had resurrected himself, after all. The only thing he could hope for was that Stiles would get himself and Allison out of these false accusations. Christopher was going to suffer enough losing Peter, he could not also lose Allison and Stiles. Peter needed them to be fine, by the end of this.

They approached the front and stood behind a high table in a line, facing the priestess from yesterday and six other similarly dressed people. The packs sat behind the trio in the audience.

"Peter Wermund Hale," the priestess from yesterday spoke up. "You stand trial before the Atheneon Court for defiling the sanctity of life through your own resurrection. How do you plead?"

Peter swallowed and looked at Stiles, who stood with his head held high and not an ounce of fear in his eyes as he held the priestess' gaze. "Not guilty, high council."

Well, that was unexpected. The packs murmured in surprise too. Hadn't Stiles said no lies?

"Present your case," the priestess instructed, hard eyes on Stiles.

"To be guilty of defiling the sanctity of life, one must willingly and consciously participate in the act of a resurrection," Stiles spoke with so much certainty, his chin raised in challenge in that way Peter found so utterly charming in the spitfire Spark. "Peter Hale wasn't capable of making this conscious decision. We're pleading not guilty by reason of insanity. After six years in a coma and without a pack, he was out of his mind when he woke up, acting on pure instinct, not his own free will. And we submit his memories of the deed into evidence to prove it."

Insanity plea? Appealing. Peter tilted his head curiously, regarding Stiles curiously. Stiles turned toward him and took his hand again, worry on his face now. The next moment, Peter realized why. There was a strange sensation overtaking him as the court invaded his mind to take the evidence that had just been offered to them. Peter staggered back some, his eyes widening when a projection of his own mind unfolded around them. Flames and screams. It was a disorienting swirl of chaos. He swallowed hard as he gripped Stiles' hand like a lifeline.

The flames and screams suddenly made room for the hospital room ceiling as Peter's eyes snapped open, the biting scent of an Alpha werewolf flooding his senses all over again and, judging by the looks on the others' faces, theirs too. His memories of first waking up were being shared with both packs, including visuals, auditory, scent and, most likely, also tactile sensations.

Danger. Alpha. Threat. Protect the territory, Peter's thoughts echoed through the court room.

He knew he'd been feral, but thinking back on it, it had never felt quite that severe. Now, living in that memory like it was happening all over again, was overwhelming. Watching as the hospital faded away to the woods, the way his hackles had raised when he'd seen Laura without seeing her. No recognition of her as a person, only the threat of an invading Alpha. The taste of blood on his tongue and the overwhelming sensation of power as the Alpha spark passed onto him.

Pack, his mind demanded with single-minded focus. Need pack to protect the territory.

Peter closed his eyes as his memories of turning Scott and latching onto his revenge were speed-run before everyone. It was an instinctual demand from his wolf, to keep the territory safe. An Alpha needed pack, he needed to avenge his pack. They needed to suffer, needed to die, for what they had done to Peter and to Peter's family. They watched how Peter had attacked Jackson in the video-store, his inner wolf growling. Strong beta. Need third beta. But before he could turn Jackson, Lydia's scream echoed through the courtroom, vibrating in Peter's very soul. Banshee. Powerful. Danger. Useful? No more death. Never again. He'd fled from her, but when he saw her next, on that lacrosse field, his instincts told him to take her. Never again. No more death. And then he sank his teeth into her, feeling the connection between them form. No more death.

"As you can see," Stiles' voice was wholly unaffected, like he hadn't just first-hand experienced what Peter had done. "He wasn't in his right mind, wasn't acting out of nefarious reasons to cheat death. His instincts told him to survive, so his wolf did everything it could to ensure that."

There was murmuring among the priests and priestesses before the representative nodded. "A scattered mind can not intentionally defile the sanctity of life. Well-argued, young Spark. Return to your chambers, we will take a break until the evening to try Allison Argent."

Stiles nodded and bowed his head a little. Wait. That was it? Peter was… off the hook? But he had actually done it. He stared at Stiles, utterly bewildered. The Spark grinned impishly at him.

"I told you I know what I'm doing, Peter. You should know better than to doubt me."

"Oh, I didn't doubt you, darling. I just assumed you meant you'd be able to get Allison and yourself out of this. Not me," Peter blinked, before he swept Stiles up in a tight hug, scent-marking him.

"C'mon, Zombiewolf, let's get back to our chambers. Living through the first couple weeks of your feral state was actually fucking exhausting," Stiles whispered against his neck.

As soon as they stepped out of the court room, Peter found himself pulled into a hug and kiss by Chris. The hunter lingered, gently holding Peter's face. There was pain in his eyes and oh. Yeah. Chris had just experienced all of that too. Peter couldn't help it, his eyes wandered to the McCall Pack. He saw Lydia and Scott standing with Allison. He tore his eyes away from them and instead followed their guard back to their assigned chambers.

"You really… didn't know it was Laura," Derek whispered, his voice was rough.

He didn't look at Peter, but he walked next to his uncle. "I… really didn't."

It was the main thing that still stood between them. Part of Derek had never believed Peter that being feral was what made him kill her, that he hadn't done it just for the power. Peter swallowed hard, feeling too emotionally raw. All he wanted was to curl up against Chris right now. Derek reached out and ran a hand down Peter's arm, startling him a little.

"I'm sorry," Derek's voice dropped even further. "I never… I didn't know what it was like for you. What it… really felt like, to be… feral. Alone. I didn't… I'm sorry, for abandoning you."

Peter didn't know what to do with all of these emotions, so he simply nodded. He could feel Lydia's gaze on him where she was walking between her own mate and her best friend. There was not going to be a heartfelt moment between them, Peter knew that. What he had done, whatever state of mind he'd been in, had traumatized her. His own trauma was no excuse for the trauma he had caused. But he could still see that there was a certain degree of understanding in her eyes when they looked at each other, before she returned her attention to Jackson, leaning into him for comfort.

/break\

They all ended up in a big pile in the common room, both packs entangled with each other, drained from this morning's experience. Stiles was fully knocked out, his head on Erica's stomach, legs thrown over Scott. Erica was gently petting his hair while snuggling back against Boyd, who was wrapped up around her from behind. Peter was much more clingy than usual, buried into Chris and trying to catch his breath after having to relive this horrible phase of his life.

"I love you," Chris whispered, brushing a kiss to the top of his mate's head.

They'd been brought lunch, but everyone had only nibbled a little on it. The twins, Danny and Jackson were sitting together and eating the leftovers, whispering among each other. This experience had been draining on them all, to be thrown into someone's memories like that.

"I don't know about you guys, but I am now feeling incredibly confident about tonight," Kira piped up. "I mean, Stiles got Peter off the hook and he's the one who actually got resurrected?"

"Yeah," Ethan grunted, arms crossed as he stared at Stiles. "Didn't expect that."

Danny gently elbowed his boyfriend for that, shooting the wolf a soft warning look. "Stiles is dangerous, if he wants to be. And it's all his mind. You shouldn't mess with him."

"Oh, we do know that," Aiden muttered next to his twin-brother.

Chris chuckled lightly, his gaze dropping to the boy in question, who was still deeply asleep. He hadn't known that it was possible to fall even more in love with Stiles, but evidently it was. Knocking on the door disturbed the moment and then the guard entered. Time for the next round.

"Okay, okay, okay, I am wide awake," Stiles yelped as he jolted awake, blinking wide-eyed.

"You got this, Stiles," Allison smiled at him, all dimples and optimism.

His smile in return was a little more strained. The group once again followed the guards, but this time when they reached the door, Stiles shook his head at Peter. Cleared off his charges, Peter was to sit in the peanut gallery with the rest of them. The Alpha was clearly displeased and while Chris hugged his daughter fiercely, Peter pulled Stiles into a hug and scent-marked the boy. When the couple stepped away from them, both Stiles and Allison got pulled into a hug by Scott.

"I'm gonna be fine, Scott," Allison promised, gently kissing her mate.

Scott nodded stiffly and fell back, finding comfort from Lydia and Isaac as the group entered. The priests and priestesses were once again awaiting them, looming before them in a foreboding manner. Stiles held his head high as him and Allison came to stand before them and Chris found himself once again awed by the boy's stubborn, fierce bravery.

"Allison Argent," the head representative spoke up. "You stand trial before the Atheneon Court for defiling the sanctity of life through your own resurrection. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, high council," Stiles once again claimed, to nobody's surprise this time.

The priestess regarded Stiles with steel in her eyes. "Present your case, young Spark."

"To be guilty of defiling the sanctity of life, one must willingly and consciously participate in the act of a resurrection," Stiles repeated his opening from Peter's case. "Either by executing it, or by instigating it to be executed by others. Allison never willingly or consciously participated in a resurrection and was not aware of what was going on, thus she can't be found guilty."

Chris frowned at his choice of words. Not aware of what was going on?

"We submit her memories into evidence to prove that…" Stiles' voice wavered for the first time since all of this had started. "That she was unaware of her own death, or her resurrection. Neither did she instigate it, nor did she have any part in executing it."

"What," Allison blinked and turned to him. "Stiles, what are you talking about, I never died."

As with Peter earlier, her memories unfolded before them. Chris jerked away a little when he realized when that was. The final hunt for the Nogitsune, when the demon had driven a blade through her and Chris had nearly lost her. He leaned heavily into Peter for support as he was over come by her feelings, the pain of the stab-wound, the concern for Stiles, the fear she'd felt. More memories hit them but they were skipped through, like someone flipping through a book, thumbing the pages and looking for something but not finding it. Until they paused. Like two pages that were stuck together and needed to be pried apart to reveal what was hidden.

"Someone manipulated her memories," the priestess spoke in a tight voice.

The memory shifted. The blade driven into Allison's guts, the taste and feeling of blood on Chris' tongue was nauseating as he felt what she had felt in that moment. She was looking directly at the Nogitsune, wearing Stiles' face, dark smudges around his eyes, skin paler than Stiles' and insanity in his eyes as he smiled down at her wickedly. How much Chris hated looking at the demon when it looked like their boy. The Nogitsune's face twisted into horror, eyes widening and filling with tears.

"No, no, no, Ally, no," Stiles gasped out in the memory, desperately pulling Allison closer.

Chris felt the echo of the hug, the boy's warmth as he gathered Allison up in his arms. This whole memory experience thing was truly unsettling to him and he couldn't help cling onto Peter.

"It's okay, Stiles," Allison whispered in the memory. "It's not your fault. It's okay, it's…"

Her voice trailed off as the memory faded into darkness, the last thing anyone saw was Stiles' tear-streaked face, the last thing they heard was Stiles' soul-piercing scream of Allison's name. Chris felt sick to his stomach. What was the meaning of this? Had… Had she died? And someone had manipulated Allison's own memories of it, to make her forget?

"Let's cut to the chase and wrap this up," Stiles' voice echoed in the silence of the court room after the memory faded away. "I'd rather finish now and not take another break, if you'd please."

"Very well," the high priestess looked at him. "Mieczysław Stilinski, you stand trial before the Atheneon Court for defiling the sanctity of life through your own resurrection. How do you plead?"

At this point, Chris didn't know what to think anymore. Allison was guided back to the stands and collapsed into Chris' arms, Scott wrapping around her from the other side, overwhelmed by the realization that she had indeed died. Chris felt dizzy and overwhelmed, his eyes on Stiles. Their boy stood there, all alone, with his chin raised high in challenge, not backing down.

"Guilty," Stiles spoke evenly. "For the willing and conscious planning and execution of the resurrection of Allison Argent, against her consent and without her knowledge."

Chris felt sick to his stomach, unsure what to do with this. Stiles had brought Allison back? He was a Spark, he was powerful, but this powerful? Peter wrapped his arms around Chris from behind, holding him tight. Grounding him, while Chris felt as though his world was slipping away.

"Very well," the high priestess looked impassive. "We will move on to sentencing then-"

"No," Stiles injected. "I do plead guilty. But I motion to not be tried as human."

"Sparks may hold the magic of the gods, but you are still human," the priestess said.

Stiles bowed his head ever so slightly. "True. But I wasn't human when I resurrected her. I was… something more. I motion to be tried as a god. And… I submit my own memories as evidence."

Chris reached a shaky hand up to rub his face. Everyone in the pack was whispering and murmuring to the point that he priestess had to call for order just as a new memory unfolded.

/Stiles' Memory\

He stood in the middle of his bedroom, only that it seemed so much larger. No walls, just an endless void around him. He started pacing, heart-rate picking up as he ran his fingers through his hair. Allison was dead. Allison was dead and it was his fault. If only Chris had shot him in the loft, the way he'd pleaded with the man, then Chris' daughter would still be alive right now. This was his fault. If he hadn't let the demon in, if he'd been stronger, if, if, if…

"And this spiral of self-loathing is helping, how?" Peter asked amused as he materialized next to Stiles, his eyebrows raised. "You're the clever one, darling. Fix it."

Stiles froze in his pacing, looking at Peter. "Why are you here. This is my mind. Isn't it enough that I have a chaos demon live in it? Am I now also being haunted by you, Zombiewolf?"

Peter laughed and it made his pretty eyes crinkle in that way that made Stiles' heart flutter. "I don't know why I'm here, sweetheart. This is your mind, you tell me why I'm here."

Zombiewolf. Stiles frowned and straightened up. The one person Stiles knew who had died and come back. Fix it. His mind had conjured up the one person who had successfully resurrected himself, while Allison laid dead in his arms in the real world and he had retreated into his mind.

"Fix it," Stiles whispered and turned toward his conspiracy board, all blank. "How?"

"Figure out what I did and then do better," Peter offered, stepping up to Stiles.

"Okay," Stiles swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm the clever one. I can figure this out."

He lifted a hand up to his cork-board and a photo of Peter appeared pinned to it. With some distance, next to it appeared a picture of Allison. Figure out what Peter had done and recreate it.

"How did you do it, Zombiewolf?" Stiles frowned, side-eyeing Peter.

"Don't look at me," Peter shrugged. "I'm not the real Peter. I'm a figment of your imagination. I can't tell you anything you don't already know. I can only be snarky moral support."

"So just like the real deal then," Stiles muttered annoyed. "Okay. What do I know about your resurrection? You used Lydia, you activated her banshee powers and tethered yourself to her."

A picture of Lydia appeared above and between Allison and Peter, a post-it-note beneath her saying banshee – death – tether – magic. A red thread tied Lydia's picture to Peter's and Stiles also tied it to Allison. He was going to need the banshee's tie to the afterlife.

"What else did I do, darling?" Peter asked gently, resting a calming hand in Stiles' neck.

"Derek," Stiles replied tensely. "You used Derek. Why did you use Derek? What role did he play? He's your blood, you used his blood because he's your blood. Family."

Derek appeared next to Peter, tied with a blue string and labeled family. Stiles turned toward Allison and summoned a picture of Chris, tied to Allison with blue string and labeled family.

"But will I be enough?" Chris asked as he materialized on Stiles' other side. "Is that all Derek is?"

Stiles' frown deepened. Clearly it wasn't, otherwise his subconsciousness wouldn't pipe up in that dark, pleasant voice. Guilt gripped his heart tightly as he looked at Chris. He had to figure this out. Chris would hate him for this, Scott was going to hate him, he was going to hate himself, he-

"Not the time," Chris growled, resting a hand on Stiles' lower back. "Focus, Stiles."

Peter's hand was still in his neck, both of them grounding him, allowing him to take a deep breath. "No, Derek isn't just family. Derek was his Alpha too. Among pack, the bond to the Alpha is the strongest. Maybe Peter used that as another tether, the way he tied himself to Lydia?"

Stiles added another string and another label to Derek and at the same time summoned a picture of Scott to mirror it on Allison's side – Alpha. Okay. Okay, that was… something. Was that all?

"That's not all, darling, and you know it," Peter whispered. "What did Derek do to me?"

Oh. Stiles swallowed hard and added another string and another label. Murderer. With a shaky hand did he summon a picture of himself on Allison's side, with the same label. Peter hummed pleased.

"Banshee, family, Alpha, murderer," Stiles whispered. "What do I do with this? You were actively haunting Lydia for weeks to resurrect. I don't have that much time and I don't… they can't know. They can't know that I killed her. I have to fix this first. I have to fix this alone."

"No you don't," Scott's voice was as optimistic and reassuring as ever. "You know you don't have to do anything alone, bro. I always got your back. You're not alone."

"Yes, Stiles," Lydia agreed. "You aren't alone."

Stiles turned to look at his two friends who had materialized behind them. Great. More figments of his imagination. Super helpful. What he needed weren't more mouth-pieces for his own thoughts, what he needed was the real deal. He needed them, the real them. But he couldn't.

"Why not?" Chris asked. "You have the real ones right here with you, baby. You know that."

He rested a hand on Stiles' chest, over his heart, and it took Stiles a moment to comprehend, mostly because his brain tended to blue-screen whenever the real Chris would slip in a pet-name and though Stiles knew it meant nothing, calling Stiles 'baby' was probably the man's equivalent to calling him 'kid', because that was all Stiles was to him. Chris had Peter. Stiles' eyes wandered to Peter, who stood next to Chris and looked at Stiles with that warm and fond expression.

"I don't know what you mean," Stiles whispered in frustration.

"Try this," Peter grinned and grabbed some yarn to toss at Stiles.

Stiles blinked confused, holding the bundle, with Peter still holding onto the string. It took Stiles a moment before his eyes widening. His pack-bonds. He had pack-bonds to both packs. A pack-bond was a tie between souls. He had a direct link to their souls, to them.

"Okay," Stiles rolled his head slowly, letting his neck crack. "I'm gonna use my Spark and tap into my pack-bonds to access what I need from you guys so I can bring Ally back. Piece of cake."

Peter's eyes sparkled pleased as he grinned at Stiles and took the yarn back. Instead, Chris, Lydia and Scott tossed differently colored yarn at Stiles. They sparkled and felt alive. Visual representations of his pack-bonds to them. Stiles gasped out as he felt the connection. Peter grabbed his shoulder, holding him steady so Stiles didn't go down from the overwhelming sensation. The longer he focused, the more wobbly his knees felt, his heart racing in his ribcage.

"Stiles," Chris' voice was filled with concern. "You've been trying for too long. You're pouring too much of your magic into this. You're going to kill yourself and it won't accomplish anything."

"I'm not strong enough," Stiles' eyes watered as he stared at the picture of Allison.

"Darling," Peter whispered, voice near dangerous as the closet door creaked open behind them.

Stiles tensed and turned toward the door. When is a door not a door? When it's ajar.

"Doors aren't one-way," Peter murmured. "The door's open and that goes both ways."

"Peter," Chris growled in warning. "That's too dangerous. He could lose himself."

"Are you seriously arguing in my mind? You aren't even real!" Stiles yelped. "Stop it!"

Though he appreciated that Chris was being the protective angel on his shoulder. Stiles' eyes were on the closet door. The door he'd first opened in his dream and let the Nogitsune in. Peter was right. Doors went both ways. If the Nogitsune could access him, did that mean he could access the Nogitsune…? With the power of a thousand year old chaos demon, he'd be strong enough, right?

"Let's find out," Stiles whispered before stepping up to the door.

He entered it and disappeared into the darkness. When he stepped out again, it was a bit like an outer body experience as he saw himself walk on the ceiling of his bedroom, exiting the closet on the wrong side of the door. Upside down. He looked different, too. His mind conjured up a form that reflected the merge between Stiles and the Nogitsune. Nine pitch-black tails whipped behind him, his fingers black like they had been dipped in ink, with sharp claws, as sharp as the teeth that showed when he smiled viciously, two triangular, black ears sticking out between his hair. His eyeballs were as black but his irises were a burning silver. He looked like a beast and felt like a god. The power he held was overflowing, pulsing and buzzing under his skin. In that moment, he knew, deep down, that he could do anything, so he reached a hand out, down toward the floor. The yarn he'd dropped when he had walked into the basement rose up to curl around his hand.

His eyes glowed brightly and so did the yarn. The pack-bonds. They pulsed with their connection. With his free hand, he reached out toward the picture of Allison and a silver thread manifested between them, glowing even brighter. Stiles wrapped it around his wrist and pulled.

"You aren't staying dead, Ally," Stiles whispered, his voice a dangerous growl. "I'm not allowing it. I'm not losing you. You're my friend. You have people you matter to, who love you."

He snarled as he pulled harder and the room around him started to shatter, until only darkness was left. He knew what that meant, knew he was breaking himself up. He was taking short-cuts for something that was supposed to be a slow process, something that should happen in a different way, not orchestrated by a single person. His Spark flickered in his chest, like embers before they'd turn black and cold. Stiles kept pulling, with all his Spark and all the demon's powers that he now held. The fox-ears laid pressed against his head as he bared his fangs. Out of the darkness, Allison came stumbling, right into Chris' arms. For a second, Stiles startled as he realized that Chris and Peter were still here. While Chris gathered Allison in her arms, Peter reached up for Stiles.

"That's enough now, darling," Peter murmured softly. "You did it. It's okay."

Stiles blinked down at Peter, still upside down. Sluggish, as exhaustion caught up with him. Peter smiled at him, in a way he'd never seen the real Peter smile, and held his arms open. Like a puppet whose strings got cut, Stiles fell from the ceiling and into Peter's arms.

"You did good, baby," Chris whispered with a smile of his own, looking at Stiles.

The Allison in Chris' arms faded, because she was just a representation Stiles' mind provided of what he'd done. He'd used his pack-bond to Allison to pull her back from the dead and the real Allison was back in her own body. There was one last thing he needed to do, he needed her to forget that she had died, so she could live. There was no need for her to remember the pain, remember that Stiles had killed her. She'd hate him for it. It was enough that he'd hate himself for it for the rest of his life. Chris got off the floor, now that Allison was gone, and stepped up to them.

"Why are you still here?" Stiles asked confused. "I did it. I solved it."

"You're not done yet, little fox," Peter raised his eyebrows. "You took its power and made yourself something new. Something beyond human. Is that what you want?"

No. No, it wasn't. He just wanted to sleep. Closing his eyes, he leaned against Peter's chest.

"Not yet," Chris whispered gently, brushing Stiles' hair back. "Close the door first."

He was so tired. How did his brain still have energy to think of these things and urge him on?

"You know the answer to that, darling," Peter chuckled, carrying Stiles to the door.

He put Stiles down on wobbly feet and Stiles reached a shaky hand out for the doorknob. The door was back. His room was back. Shattered to pieced and distorted, but back. He didn't think he had enough energy left to close the door. Peter and Chris on either side of him reached out and rested a hand on his, on the doorknob. And in that moment, Stiles realized why they were still there. Why they'd been the first ones to appear and stayed the whole time. They were his anchors. Right now, his anchors to his humanity, specifically. Not allowing him to lose himself to godhood.

"I can't come back to you, to the real you, if I'm this," Stiles whispered numbly.

Peter and Chris made soft noises of agreement and rested their free hands on his back as the three of them closed the door together. The fox-features faded away from Stiles and he collapsed forward.

/Memory End\

"A god," Stiles' voice was shaking badly. "A god can't defile the sanctity of human life. I was a god, I know that. The merged power of a spark and a minor chaos deity was flowing through me and I was so much more. Gods can toy with mortal life however they want. And did."

Stiles was struggling to hold his head high, still reeling from the memory of the bone-crushing exhaustion he'd felt after giving up his godhood, using the last of it to lock the door and seal it for good, ultimately exorcising the Nogitsune. The priestess stared him down hard before the court dissolved into mist around them and the next moment, their packs stood in the middle of the preserve like all of this hadn't happened. Stiles wished it hadn't. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to fight the tears, his whole body shaking. And then he was hugged.

"You brought me back to life," Allison whispered in disbelief. "The demon killed me and you… you became a god to bring me back to life. You risked losing your Spark to bring me back."

"I killed you," Stiles forced out, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm…"

He spent what felt like eternity in her arms, crying while she thanked him. By the time he had no more tears to cry, everyone from the packs aside from Scott, Chris and Peter had left. Scott pulled him into a fierce, tight hug before he took Allison with him and left too. Left Stiles with his anchors. He tried to avoid looking at them. They'd been in his memory, had felt everything he had felt. All the warm and overwhelming emotions he had for them.

"C'mere, baby," Chris whispered gently, pulling him close. "Let's get you to a bed, you need rest."

"Y… You're just… just gonna drive me home?" Stiles hiccuped out a watery laugh. "You just watched me kill your daughter and bring her back and felt what I feel for you and you just-"

Chris' arm wrapped tightly around Stiles' waist, holding him upright and close. "I don't call you baby because I think of you as a kid, Stiles. And we're not driving you home."

"Yeah," Peter agrees from Stiles' other side. "I will require curling around you for the next ten hours, at least. We all need rest and sleep. We can talk after, but you're coming with us."

Stiles blinked confused, looking from Peter to Chris, just to be kissed on his cheeks by them both, the two staring at him with such soft and loving gazed and oh. Okay. He sagged against them in relief as he realized that maybe it was okay. Maybe he could rest. Maybe he could have them. They caught him, because they were his anchors. He smiled faintly. It was going to be okay.

~*~ The End ~*~

Author's note: Oh I have had this idea bouncing in my head for a solid half year now. I'm glad I could finally set it free :D