A/N: I’m working on a Void Stiles piece that just came to me when I heard the song Titanium by David Guetta on the radio. This is just the beginning. I was looking through my masterlist, and realized most of my Void Stiles fics lined up with this, kinda on their own, so I’ve put them together, making a backstory for the reader. It jumps around a bit, but I’ve marked the times. I’m sorry if it’s confusing.
Warnings: Some language. Maybe a little bit angsty. Some Fluff. Some Humor. Not much at this point.
I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.
Or Apple/Siri. Or the fox song. Just covering my bases.
Stiles woke up screaming yet again, the third time tonight. You rushed over to him from the chair you had been sleeping in a few feet away, his father not far behind, running in from the hall and grabbing his flailing son, trying to contain him, whispering calming things in his ear.
“It’s not real, Stiles,” you offered supportively, firmly gripping the hand you held, causing him to look at you.
“Which part? Before I started screaming or this?” Your heart broke at those words. Your friend couldn’t even tell if you were still the nightmare or actually there comforting him.
“Before. Want me to prove this is real?” He nodded slowly, sniffing softly as he swiped at his tears, eyeing his father briefly with caution, as if preparing to find himself still in a dream.
“How many fingers do I have?” You held up your hands, all your fingers extended and had him count, his voice slightly relieved when he made it to ten. You smiled, then handed him a small whiteboard you wrote on. “Read this.”
He looked at the board and squinted like a person with bad vision trying to read an eye chart. You flicked on the bedside lamp and he let out a small cry, reaching up and rubbing his eyes. “Oh. That helped.”
You laughed softly as he read the board with no problem, his voice trailing off at the end, his eyebrows narrowing. “Hi. My name is Stiles, and I like to eat oranges.” He looked at you. “You are very strange.”
“Had to think of something obscure so I knew you’d believe me.”
“You okay, son?” His father spoke for the first time, his voice quiet, almost broken.
Stiles patted his father’s arm still wrapped around him protectively, smiling weakly. “Yeah, pops. I’m fine.”
His father retreated from the room, but not before you saw him swipe at a tear as he rounded the corner into the hall.
“You wanna talk about it?” You asked Stiles softly, once again taking his hand and rubbing his knuckles softly with your thumb.
He nodded a short, decisive nod, staring at his comforter. “Will you come lay with me while I do? I promise, no funny business. I just need to feel you next to me since I know you’re real.”
Climbing into the bed, you each lay on your side, face to face, your foreheads nearly touching, his hot breath fanning across your face. He stared down and away, not looking you in the eye. Hooking a finger under his chin, you raised his face so now your noses almost touched. “Stiles. It’s okay. Just tell me.”
“It’s…. It’s like I’m stuck. Stuck in this…. Hole, this canyon like hole, and everything just echoes. It’s dark, and I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. I feel like I’m drowning in the darkness. Who knew emptiness could be so claustrophobic?”
“I know what you mean,” you said softly. “It’s like when I used to go camping with my dad. Being out in such wide open spaces makes you feel so small, it’s almost suffocating sometimes.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly, looking away as his lip began to tremble. He bit it, trying to hold in the sob, his face screwing up more and more the harder he tried. Closing his eyes tight, a few tears slipped free and you pulled him into you as he began to sob, rocking him and gently rubbing his back until he quieted.
“I just feel so alone. And helpless. Like everyone needs my help, needs me for something, I don’t know what, but I’m trapped in this place and can’t get out. I’m afraid to move in case something is on the ground, or I’m on the edge of a cliff or something. And all I keep thinking is, ‘I gotta get out of here’. And then I wake up screaming. I feel like there is something I’m missing. Some important part of the dream just before I wake up, making me scream, but I can’t remember it. Or maybe I just don’t want to.”
“Dreams are tricky things. Don’t think too much of it. I used to have a dream that ice cream is made of feathers and corn.”
Stiles pulled away from you slowly, his face making you laugh as he looked at you skeptically. “What? The point is it wasn’t true.”
“You are a very odd person.”
“And that is why you are my best friend. Two peas in a pod, both of us quite odd.”
Stiles groaned, his head falling back into your chest as you laughed. “Please stop trying to write poetry. We established years ago you suck.”
“You know what rhymes with that? ‘I don’t give a duck’.”
He groaned again. “Autocorrect changes your text once and no one lets you forget it.”
“Nope,” you smiled.
Two Weeks Later
You had only been gone for two minutes.
All you had done was peed.
But when you climbed back into your bed at evil-o'clock in the morning - also known as hours you should be sleeping, and class should not be in just five hours - rubbing your eyes, you immediately leapt out and reached for the bat Stiles had given you.
What you had felt in the bed was most likely human, and it felt like soft, lovely skin.
But you didn’t share your room with anyone.
A soft snore came from the lump under your covers, your eyes adjusting to the dark after the ray of sun that was the bathroom light.
“Stiles?” You whispered, the features of your friend slowly coming into view. You gripped the bat hesitantly, rolling your finger in a procession of decision.
Stiles was the Nogitsune, you knew that, but you also knew he had hardly slept at all these last few weeks, and the thought of waking him hurt you too deep in your heart.
You let the boy sleep, until his eyes began to race behind his eyelids, muttered cries of anguish and defiance tumbling from his lips. His brow creased, and you knew the Nogitsune was knocking.
“Stiles?” You whispered a little louder, shaking his shoulder slightly, his muttering increasing in volume. “Stiles! It’s me!”
“Y/N?” The line in his forehead deepened even further. His voice was soft and disbelieving, shaking and fearful, and you hated it. He sat up slowly, looking very confused.
“Yes, Stiles. It’s me. Come back. I need to talk to you.”
“Back? Where did I go?” He spoke with his eyes closed, his features starting to melt into the sarcastic, softer Stiles you knew. “You are right here with me.” He even smiled a little bit, gesturing to you. Exactly to you. Even though his eyes were closed. Maybe Stiles wasn’t there after all.
Gripping the bat tighter in one hand, you took his gently in your other. “I’m not exactly sure where you went, but you’re dreaming right now, and I need you to wake up. I need you to explain something to me.”
“Well, for starters,” you spoke hesitantly, and couldn’t hide your smile. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
“What? That’s ridiculous. I’m not…” He trailed off, taking his free hand and sticking it under the covers pooled around his stomach, patting his way down until he made a ridiculous face, tilting his head to the side slightly, and taking in a sharp breath as his hand stilled. “Yep. I am most definitely naked. And I most definitely do not have an answer for that.” His raised eyebrows and smirk, along with the coloring of his cheeks was Stiles, and you began to laugh, his eyes fluttering open at the sound.
He looked at you blankly for a moment, then wide eyed. “What the hell?! This was real? Aw, hell!” He gathered the covers up around his chest frantically, and you laughed.
“Hang on. Let me go and grab you some clothes, then we can talk.”
He nodded frantically, and you smiled, glad that Stiles was back. Turning to walk over to your dresser, your smile faded when you caught a glance of Stiles in your peripheral as you passed by your mirror.
He stared at the back of your head with a smirk that was definitely not his own, his head tilted just a little too much, and his eyes a hollow that somehow glinted with mischief, his eyebrows raised in too sinister a way.
The Nogitsune had played you. And won. But the real question was, what was this new game, and how could you beat him?
Later That Week
Backing up slowly as the shell of your best friend stalked toward you, you got an idea. Sticking your chin up in the air in defiance, you stopped, making the Void stop, narrowing his eyes at you. “Okay, trickster. Riddle me this. What does the fox say?”
He cocked his head to the side in that creepy way that sent chills down your spine. “What do you me-”
Not even bothering to let him speak further, you let out a small cry of triumph, allowing yourself a smug smile. “Nope! Wrong.” Holding your phone up to your lips, you held down the button, waiting for the little vibration. “Siri, what does the fox say?”
Your phone dinged in recognition before Siri gave her answer. “Ring-a-ding-ding-ding-dinga-dingy-ding!”
A look of shock quickly fading to anger passed over the Void’s face, his eyes narrowing further. “I do no-”
You held the button down again, the vibrations cutting off his rebuttal. “What does the fox say?”
“Stop that!” his voice was angry, but you saw a glimmer in his eyes of amusement, and you knew deep down that it was Stiles, laughing on the inside.
You made your phone vibrate one more time, saying each word with emphasis, the grin on your face a growing, permanent fixture. “What. Does. The. Fox. Say.?”
Your phone dinged, and the Void stared at it angrily while your stare never wavered. “Hmmmm…. Let me think about that….. I’m not sure I can process that request at this moment.”
Your growing feeling of triumph was quickly diminished to nothing but fear once again rising in your chest as the Void simply grinned at your phone, slowly raising his eyes to meet yours.
Later That Night
You sat on the floor in front of the couch, the form of your best friend with his arms bound behind him and silenced with duct tape over his mouth slumped, his head hanging in what looked an extremely uncomfortable position down and to the side, sleeping fitfully.
You had been told, no matter what, to not remove the tape, but the thrashing of you friend got more violent, he began screaming with his eyes shut, scrunching them tighter and tighter with every second. It faded to a pitiful sound as you heard him mutter pleas, bargains with someone or something. “Let me out!” You thought he said one of the times, and your breath caught in your throat.
You had been Stiles’ friend since kindergarten. You had been there through it all, and you knew he had a recurring dream of being shoved in a locker, unable to escape.
Despite the order, you removed the tape, unable to take the whimpering anymore.
His eyes snapped open, and you immediately sensed it was not Stiles staring back at you. But you weren’t afraid. You schooled your breath and heart beat to stay steady, and even had slight satisfaction from ripping the tape painfully off the Void’s face.
“You’re not human,” he said with a smirk, raising his head, leaning it slightly the other way to stretch, resting his ear against his shoulder as he stared at you. Leaning a little further, he glanced behind your ear, seeing the sign that meant you were yourself. He grinned. “But then again, I see you’re not supposed to be.”
“Let me speak to Stiles,” you said calmly, keeping your rage canned inside. You would never let this monster feed off of you. That was the biggest sucker punch you could currently give.
He chuckled, making a clicking sound with his cheek. “Nope. No can do. Sorry. Just you and me, sweetheart.”
“Stiles, I know you can hear me,” you began, never looking away from the eyes so eerily like your friend’s, yet….. Void of that spark. The way they narrowed at you made you feel both triumphant and a little wary. “Come back to me,” you began quietly. “Come back to us. Make your move.”
His eyes widened, hope sparking back into them, but you didn’t let yourself believe it for a second. “Oh, I’ve already made my move, and it’s lovely in here. So spacious and quiet, well, most of the time. I do have this one neighbor who won’t stop yacking unless I threaten to make him watch as I kill someone he loves. But other than that…. It’s just dandy in here.”
You took a deep breath. “I wish I could hate you.”
He smirked. “Oh, come on, don’t you already? I mean look at me. I live in the body of your best friend. I’m evil, and I’m killing people. What more do want of me?” He ended with a dark chuckle.
“Honestly? I want my friend back. But I’ll wait. I have a move planned, and it’s going to screw up the rest of your game.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, his response somewhat grumpy. “There’s a reason why foxes and wolves don’t get along.”
Rising to your feet, you smashed the tape against his mouth again. “Yup. Because you should never trust a fox. They are tricksters, right? How am I doing so far?” He nodded, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “Wolves on the other hand, we’re loyal, and we mean what we say. Our pack is our family, and we will die protecting what we love. So don’t for one more second think that you are going to move even one more step in your little game, bozo.” You smiled, knowing Stiles would approve of your nickname. You were nose to nose with the Nogitsune now, and you felt your smile fade to a satisfied smirk. “Because I know Stiles, and as soon as I get him back, out of your screwed up little mind, we are going to kick your ass.”
Three Weeks Later
“Hello?” You heard Stiles’ voice through the phone, and you smiled faintly.
“Hey, Stiles,” you said weakly.
“Y/N?” His voice had grown sullen and quiet, taking on a very serious tone. “You okay? You sound….. Off.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” You weren’t. You hadn’t slept in days, or maybe you had slept for days, you couldn’t tell. The nightmares were all too vivid and lifelike, that they all bled together now.
“You missed the game,” he said with a sniff - he always did that weird sniff thing, or clearing his throat when he changed the subject - his voice flat. “You said you’d be there.”
“I know,” was all you could say, tracing patterns on your desk lazily. Slowly you counted your fingers, closing your eyes in relief when you only counted five, letting out a soft sigh.
“Then why weren’t you?” Stiles’ voice trembling slightly, whether in anger or sadness, you couldn’t tell, brought you back to the conversation at hand. A very real conversation. You strummed your fingers on the desk, counting to five repeatedly. Whether it was to keep you awake, or remind you you were awake, you couldn’t remember.
A knocking on your door made you jump, and you rose to your feet, taking a step back from the door.
Building up the courage, you finally walked over, twisting the knob and taking a step back as you let the door swing open, revealing a very pissed looking Stiles.
And for once, you’re stunned into silence, words failing you once again as you stand under angry eyes. Usually you had a sarcastic remark ready and waiting to fire at your friend should you bump into him, but not now. It was all you could do to remember you were awake. Touching your fingers to your thumb, counting to five repeatedly helps you stay upright.
His eyes searched you, trying to find an answer you do not carry. A puzzle piece jumbled in with the rest. The needle in the haystack. They narrow, and look you up and down, from head to toe, and he can tell something is off.
You want to scream, you want to just shout at him that you are not okay, that something is wrong, that you need help, but something is standing in the way, not allowing you to speak. Keeping you at the line where you questioned which side you were on, reality or a waking nightmare.
Anger flares in his eyes, but quickly turns to sadness as they reach your face finally again.
“Where were you?” The voice a broken whisper, pain dripping from its very essence.
You don’t answer. You just stare at the calendar next to your peg board, all the numbers and words starting to blend together. You glance to your board, a smaller version of his with red string connecting various photos, and then at the gaping hole that held the photo you now had in your hand.
Tight lips and a quick nod are the last thing you see before he turns away, leaving, walking out of your life forever. Or so it feels like. Usually he puts up such a fight.
You try to cry. You really do. But you can only force yourself to whisper once he is out of sight, staring down at the picture you’d tried so hard to find. So hard to memorize. You crumple it and let it fall to the ground, what was once your smiling faces now creases in the paper, in a ball at your feet.
“I was trying to remember you.”
You barely register what happens next.
Looking down, you count too many fingers, too many toes, all your posters have turned to gibberish.
You wake up screaming, in a mass on the floor, your bedroom door still wide open, and Stiles kneeling in front of you, whispering reassuring words as he lifts you into his arms. He mumbles something about how you just passed out and then suddenly started screaming.
On the way out of the room, you notice the picture in it’s rightful place on the pegboard, not a crease in it.
“I was trying to memorize….” You mumble, but Stiles shushes you soothingly. He’s shaking, you can tell he is terrified, but he’s putting on a brave face for you. You lean into his shoulder and whisper, “I was dreaming about you,” before the world went black.
One Week Earlier
“It has to be you, Y/N,” Scott said quietly.
You looked over to Lydia where she stood next to him. “But you’re his tether. You pulled him back last time.”
She shrugged, smiling somewhat sadly. “That was last time. This is this time. I pulled Stiles back. I didn’t have to deal with the Nogitsune, and I don’t particularly want to, to be honest.”
“They’re right,” Derek said, walking over slowly, arms crossed tightly as always, and you turned to look at him, dreading the sincerity you saw in his eyes. “The Void side of Stiles has taken quite an interest in you. Maybe you can talk it into leaving, or changing hosts or something. I mean, send it over to Peter and I will gladly take care of the rest for you.”
Lydia huffed as Scott slammed his palm to his forehead, letting his hand scrape down his face in exasperation.
You smirked. “Derek, as much as I like that plan, it’s obvious Peter wouldn’t stay that way for long.”
Derek looked over to where his Uncle sat in a chair on the other side of Scott’s living room, both glowering at each other. “We can keep trying and hope it sticks.”
Deaton walked over, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. “Back on subject,” he looked at Derek pointedly before turning back to you, “they are right. What you would have to do is very dangerous. Very risky. You’re trying to out trick the trickster, who has had hundreds of years to perfect his moves. You have to be careful and play your pieces just right, not too aggressive, before you make your divine move.”
“I have to change the tide,” you said softly, looking over to where the shell of your friend was sobbing in front of Melissa, and you started to move towards them without thought, stopping at Deaton’s hand on your arm. Looking back, he met your eyes as he held a finger to his lips before flicking his gaze back to the couch.
Melissa removed the tape, and almost instantly, the tears streaming down his face melted into that sarcastic grin the Nogitsune continuously twisted onto Stiles’ features. Slamming the tape back onto his mouth, Melissa came over to join you all where you stood in the kitchen.
Looking back at Deaton as he gave your elbow one reassuring squeeze before letting go, he gave you a single nod, his face almost apologetic.
“Whatever you guys are going to do, do it soon,” Melissa said as she joined the rest of you. Her arms were crossed much like Derek’s, wound tightly around herself like a shield. “That thing is taking over the body of a boy I consider a second son, and that is not okay.” Letting her arms fall, she pointed across the room at the Nogitsune, and you all turned to look at him. You could tell he was smiling under the tape across his mouth as he tilted his head to the side somewhat disconcertingly. His eyes narrowed as he stared at you, sending chills down your spine. Looking between you and the fox she was still pointing to, Melissa leaned in slightly closer to you, looking you right in the eyes, speaking quietly in a voice that left no room for argument. “Go kick that smug little son of a bitch’s ass. And bring back Stiles. You’re our only chance, Y/N.”
Glancing at Melissa once more, then back to the Void, whose shoulders shrugged in a small laugh, you stood up straight, letting your eyes flash their brilliant golden yellow briefly before turning back to Scott. “What do I have to do?”