cywscross | time is relative (Pt.1) (Reply)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Summary: Stiles cannot foretell events at the drop of a hat. He isn’t a fortune teller or a clairvoyant or even a seer in the strictest sense of the word. But he does see things, ripples of what was and what will be, echoes of the lives he touches, and while he thinks what he can do is more trouble than it’s worth, maybe he can still make the most of it.

Stiles knows – long before the doctors even come back with the first test – that his mother will die. Kids at school call him a mama’s boy for clinging to his mom so much but Stiles can see the end loom closer and closer with each passing year, has seen it since he learned to take his first steps and his mother beamed with pride, and he wants as much time with her as possible before she goes.

At first, he doesn't understand enough to do more than cry and babble about wanting his mother to stay, and then he doesn't understand why he can see things about people that nobody else can.

Once, in the car on their way home from the supermarket, he tells his parents about the woman they passed in the ice-cream aisle – how she has red eyes and sharp teeth, and how neither of those things will help when she’s trapped in a house on fire.

He gets scolded for his overactive imagination. Imagination is good, but he mustn’t be mean.

So Stiles never brings it up again, or any of the other flashes he gets about people. He’s smart. He sees the alarmed look that his parents exchange, and he realizes for the first time that the things he sees should not be said out loud. Normal kids don’t go around spouting weird things. Normal kids can’t See.

That’s how Stiles learns to stay silent without staying silent. He talks, he rambles, he makes his parents smile when he tells them about defending a boy named Scott from a bully named Jackson, but he never says a word about the things he truly wants to say.

Like-

He and Scott become fast friends, and when they high-five each other for the very first time, Stiles sees someone older with the same crooked jaw, falling in love with a warrior princess who will stand her ground and refuse to let her family take away her kindness.

Or-

He passes a girl in his class with hair the colour of autumn leaves, and as they each go their own way without acknowledging the other, he sees a lifelong sister willing to drop everything and take the first flight home when he calls her in a panic.

But it isn’t always the future. Sometimes, he sees the past, sees how this one’s grandmother died a year ago or how that one’s brother ran away and never came back.

And he doesn't see things all the time. Occasionally, he can even get through an entire day without seeing anything but the present.

But that’s only occasionally, and sooner rather than later, Stiles begins marking those days as his lucky ones.

It isn’t fun to know so many things. It isn’t fun to give his mother a hug and see the people who will be at her funeral.

It isn’t fun to go to the doctor’s when he is four years old, finally able to understand some of the things he sees and wonderinghopingpraying that he can change it. So he pitches a tantrum until his mom promises that they can get a checkup together, only for the doctor to return with a worried frown and a “we’d like to do a few more tests, Mrs. Stilinski”, and Stiles is forced to watch as the blood drains out of his parents’ faces.

It isn’t fun to know that it is already too late.

~0~0~

It’s worse when he sleeps. One would think it would be better, what with no one in his dreams but himself, and so he should dream of nothing.

Instead, he dreams of Beacon Hills, its past – bathed in the blood and violence of a war between humans and beasts – and its future – rife with monsters and death and tragedy.

Stiles doesn't understand most of it but it isn’t too far a stretch to accept the possibility of other creatures out there. After all, he himself isn’t exactly your average human being.

In the end, he tries to put it out of his mind for the most part. First rule – no point getting worked up when your head is already full of too much knowledge.

He sleeps less and less over the years. By the time he’s nine and his mother dies, a doctor would probably diagnose him with chronic insomnia.

~0~0~

He does his research, of course. It’s even kind of cool, for a while. He googles superheroes and superpowers, and eventually, he narrows it down to retrocognition and precognition, like Blindfold. Which is a bit sad because he thinks Blindfold is a bit sad, not to mention he prefers Spiderman, if he could choose, but, well, at least he has names for his powers now, and he’s never been one to feel sorry for himself. It is what it is so he’ll suck it up and carry on.

~0~0~

Claudia Stilinski dies. Stiles has been mourning for months. For years. Arguably for as long as he can remember.

His dad, not so much, but Stiles knew this was coming too, and he’s prepared for it. He tries to be a good son, shopping for groceries and taking out the garbage and doing his homework even when the house is empty for days because his father is sleeping down at the station once again to avoid the ghosts in their home.

And on the nights his dad does come back, Stiles cleans up the empty beer bottles, makes sure his father won’t choke after passing out on the couch, and wakes him up in the morning in time for work with a glass of water, painkillers, and a healthy sandwich to take with him.

And through all that, Stiles waits for the day that the Sheriff will remember that he may no longer be a husband but he’s still supposed to be a father.

~0~0~

“Hey, are you okay?” Scott nudges him a little, big brown eyes concerned.

Stiles musters a grin and nods. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

Scott squirms uncomfortably. “Well, your mom-”

It’s been seven months since then.

“-and you look more like a raccoon than usual,” Scott finishes.

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face. They're both used to him walking around with faint bags under his eyes nowadays, not all that visible if you're not looking for them since Stiles has long since grown used to keeping erratic sleeping hours, but some days are worse than others, and Scott – for some reason – always has to point it out.

“I could ask my mom for something that might help,” Scott offers not for the first time.

“It’s fine, Scott,” Stiles shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I was just up late studying for the math test this morning.”

Scott immediately makes a face. “I think I failed it.”

Stiles cocks his head. He sees a test paper with a C+ on it. He blinks, and Scott’s gloomy features return. “Nah, man, you studied a lot, remember? I’m sure you passed.”

Scott perks up hopefully. Stiles has never told him about his... ability, but almost since the very beginning of their friendship, Scott has always taken Stiles’ word at face value, and the fact that Stiles is never wrong either about harmless little predictions like the one he just made has only compounded that.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

They bump fists, and Scott brightens, and then the warning bell rings, and they race each inside for their next class.

Stiles’ raccoon-eyes are forgotten. He doesn't mention that he’s been dreaming of fire for the past five nights during the few meagre hours he managed to fall asleep for, which is new and not so new at the same time. On one hand, historically speaking, the waking flashes he usually gets have never really contained all that much fire. Beacon Hills has a good fire department, and they've never had a single forest fire in all the years that Stiles has been alive even though it’s California and the summers can get ridiculously hot.

But on the other hand, he dreams of roaring flames these days, and for the first time in years, it makes him recall the woman in the grocery store, the one with red eyes and sharp teeth, trapped in a burning house.

Except unlike that time, when the flash he got was a distant thing from a random stranger, the fire he sees in his sleep these days feels infinitely more urgent.

He’s seen no people though. Not even a building, or trees.

Only fire.