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It had to have been a veritable explosion. What else could have knocked Stiles onto his back? - well, aside from the pack of teenaged werewolves and, oh yeah, the raging medium they were confronting.
Stiles tried to roll over to his side, working his way up into a half-reclined position. Blinking his eyes to clear the weird haze impeding his vision, Stiles looked around to see his pack surrounding him with various levels of concern twisting their faces. The medium was gone, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he should consider that good or absolutely miserable.
‘Stiles, are you okay?’ Scott asked. Stiles opened his mouth, and it was like another explosion blew himself back into his body.
‘Fuck, what?’ Stiles looked around to see darkness, a stark black that was definitely not in the warehouse he just left his friends in. Like some vaguely twisted drive-in theatre, Stiles could see, from his point of view, what he - his body - was doing.
But wait, his body? Stiles tried desperately to wiggle a limb, scream; but it was like he was cut away from his body, forced to watch as something took the reigns.
Suddenly, from the strange first-person shot, Stiles saw his pack shoot away from his body, all hunched bodies and bared teeth.
‘How rude.’ Stiles was pretty sure his voice never sounded like that, not once in his life. But it had come out his mouth, his lips shaping those words, and that deep, smooth voice pushing itself out of his voice box. Stiles was helpless to stop it, to control it; hell, to get its attention.
‘I’m sure Stiles taught you better than to ignore guests.’ Stiles could almost feel the twisted smirk pull across his face. Derek’s eyes were already a deep red, hairs growing, teeth becoming more feral. Stiles feared, for the first time in a long time, that Derek would literally kill him.
‘Ah, ah, ah,’ the voice continued playfully, a wide grin so unlike Stiles’ mocking Derek’s offensive stance. ‘You wouldn't dare hurt your friend. While there is no doubt I could withstand your little clawing, I’m afraid this lovely piece of skin would suffer horribly from such pain. And let’s be serious,’ the voice continued with a velvety tone, ‘I will leave this body to die as soon as you so much as breathe on me.’
Stiles almost wanted Derek to go ahead and strike; the feeling of being trapped in his own skin, helpless to fight back or take control, was foreign and in a whole new realm of frightening. But Stiles knew Derek couldn’t possibly harm him. There may have been a time when Stiles constantly harbored that fear, but now, after everything they’ve been through, Stiles doubted Derek would see to his injury.
‘Demon,’ Derek hissed through fangs, ‘release him.’ And woah, demon. The word nearly knocked the breath out of Stiles. Demons were real - that was easy to accept, given his life. But demons - or at least, this specific demon - inhabiting human bodies and taking perverse pleasure out of pushing other supernatural creatures to kill its host was a whole new ball game.
‘That would be far too easy,’ the demon purred. ‘Besides,’ it continued, rolling Stiles’ shoulders in a smooth movement Stiles himself could never pull off, ‘I’m starting to like it in here.’
Derek growled loudly, eyes flashing and teeth gnashing. The others growled along with him, making the cacophony reach levels to the point that even Stiles - wherever he was - could very nearly feel the resulting thrum through his body.
‘What does your master want?’ Scott asked. ‘Maybe we can work something out.’ Scott was, if anything, an optimist. Stiles hoped that his death (for that was certainly the future awaiting him) would not depend on Scott.
‘Master?’ the demon repeated, the word rolling off Stiles’ tongue like a scientific name for an awful disease. ‘I have no master.’
‘Then whomever summoned you, what did they expect you to accomplish?’ Scott’s hands clenched and unclenched, struggling to not do something rash, like rip out Stiles’ blackened eyes.
‘Oh, nothing much,’ the demon replied leisurely, sitting comfortably with Stiles’ legs criss-crossed and hands resting in his lap. ‘They pretty much gave me free reign to do whatever I can to fuck with you guys. And with a human on the team, you just made my job so much easier.’
Derek let out an enraged roar, moving forward almost instinctively before pulling back violently.
The demon laughed, an icy sound that had Stiles shivering. ‘Oh, it is so delightful. Like watching puppets flail about on strings.’
‘We can get rid of you,’ Derek growled. ‘We can send you straight back to the depths of hell.’
‘And risk destroying your poor mate?’ Stiles cocked his head and conjured a surprised expression. ‘And werewolves say mating is forever. I wonder how long dear Stiles would stay with you after you leave him physically and mentally handicapped for the rest of his life?’
Derek recoiled from the demon as if its words were a physical blow. Stiles’ own heart throbbed, his seemingly disembodied hands clenching at his sides.
‘Hey! Yo! Fallen angel!’ Stiles called into the emptiness.
Stiles felt a smile twitch onto his face as the demon said, ‘Hold on, I’m getting a call on the other line.’
Derek’s face twitched in recognition and his body seized up violently, like he was forcibly restraining himself. ‘Stiles!’ he roared. ‘Stiles, are you in there? Stiles!’
‘Sshhh,’ the demon hushed, soft voice a jarring difference from Derek’s. ‘The reception isn’t that good.’
And suddenly, it was there, wherever there was. It wasn’t a tangible being, but Stiles felt its presence as if it’d been standing right in front of him.
‘Stiles,’ the demon purred, a wicked smile present in its voice. ‘Pleasure to finally meet you.’
‘Sorry, I can’t honestly return the sentiment.’ Sometimes, Stiles cursed his insatiable smart mouth.
‘Cute. Now, what can I do for you?’
‘Are you going to hurt my friends?’
‘Hurt your friends? Hm, that’s an idea that I did not seriously consider before.’
‘Quit fucking around!’ Stiles’ chest was straining under the pressure of his racing heart, and if he had a solid body, he would have had been sweating bullets. But fear was not important, not an option now.
‘So fierce! My, I almost wish that’s what I was summoned here for; I’ve no doubt you’re a spirited thing when it comes to defending your pack.’ Stiles swallowed the bile climbing up his throat at the demon’s disgustingly sweet voice. ‘But alas,’ the demon sighed, ‘I have no reason to go after the pups. Really, I was just meant to be a thorn at your side.’
‘So it wouldn’t be too much to ask for you to get out of me and go back to Hell?’
The demon laughed, a strangely humourless noise, saying, ‘No,’ with as much glee as a negative response can handle.
‘I - if you promise not to hurt my friends … I’ll let you stay.’
‘Oh, will you?’ the demon said, not bothering to mask its surprise; Stiles could almost see the raised eyebrows.
‘Okay, I realize you can just as easily take over my body whether I like it or not, but don’t you think it’s a lot healthier if we maintain a status of cohabitation? I mean, you still get the benefits of harboring inside my vital teenage body, and I get to have a neat creature living in my head without any strings tied. That’s like the damned’s dream, right?’
There was an odd beat of silence, then, ‘You’re serious.’ Not even a question. Stiles bit back his tongue to hold back claims of serious presumption.
‘Like a heart attack. Which, I hope my poor body does not become a victim to if we disagree on something like shampoo brands.’
The demon chuckled, a dark mirth in its tone. ‘I hope you do not disappoint,’ it said. ‘It’s been too long since I’ve lived with someone worth their humanity.’
And without warning, Stiles was thrown back into the fog. Suddenly in control of his limbs, he felt like a newborn, unprepared with the sudden weight of arms and legs and a head, and not sure what to do with them.
He blinked several times, ridding his eyes of the blackness that shrouded them seconds before. He slowly took in the sight of Scott and Derek flanking opposite sides of his body with weirdly similar looks of concern and relief on their faces, the rest of the pack hovering awkwardly not far behind.
‘Stiles, are you back with us?’ Scott asked hesitantly, his hands shifting restlessly with his claws peeking out and receding with each breath.
Stiles nodded shakily, looking over his nervous packmates before resting on Derek, who was trying so hard to maintain his steely face, even as Stiles saw the corners of his eyes sag in relief. ‘I’m here,’ he whispered. ‘I’m me.’
He allowed Derek to pull him up to his feet, allowed his hands to rest gently on his lower back, allowed his weight to rest heavily on the older man’s. He allowed all of this with a heavy heart, studiously ignoring the echoes of a whispered phrase in his head: ‘Honey, I’m home.’