Archive of Our Own

Being dead is like a dream.

There is a vague senses of clarity, of perfect, beautiful images and peace. Then there is the darker side, the nightmares and shadows that you want to wake up from, screaming at the top of your lungs.

The only thing about being dead is no matter how many times Stiles counts his fingers, there are still ten of them.

This isn't in his head. This is real.

He doesn't even realise he is dead at first.

Everything is normal. It's sunny outside. Like, full on hot summer weather that makes Stiles feel lazy and relaxed as he wakes, pulling on clothes. He stretches lazily, and hops downstairs. His dad is chewing noisily on a piece of toast and his mom is weighing out flour, humming a sweet melody under her breath. It's idyllic, but wonderfully normal and everything Stiles craves just for that moment. He lingers in the doorway, unwilling to step forwards and break up the scene. He just wants to stands there and have it last forever.

His mother looks up, spotting him and he reluctantly slips in. "Morning," he greets them. "It's a great day, huh? I shouldn't say that, because that's usually when things go wrong, but today? Nothing is going to go wrong." He's determined to make it so, to match this wonderful atmosphere that is going on. Everything is bright, cheerful, if a little fuzzy around the edges. His dad grunts something that could have been a greeting, as he stands taking his plate to the sink. Stiles begins a raid on the fridge, shifting aside the milk and leftover pizza from the night before, looking for the orange juice.

"There's cereal in the top cupboard," Claudia tells him as he stands up, dumping the juice on the counter. He grabs a bowl and the box and pours himself some. He eats it loudly, crunching and relaxing back as his mother makes idle comments on things.

"That's wonderful," and she uses his full name. It makes him grin, because the way she pronounces it is beautiful. It always makes him smile.

He drops his bowl by the sink and finds himself wandering into the lounge, stealing the remote from where his dad sits. "Hey!" the Sheriff then proceeds to grumble as Stiles changes the channel.

Stiles glances at the remote, "You want it?" he grins, "Then you can come and get it," and he flops down on the other sofa, channel surfing.

"I was watching that," the Sheriff's complaints go unheard as Stiles settles on what looks like a bad werewolf horror movie. This should be entertaining, if nothing else.

The screen doesn't agree with him, as bad static flickers across it. Stiles' grin slips off his face and his brows furrow a little bit as the screen fuzzes up again, looking progressively worse with every passing second.

"Hey, dad?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder, "What's up the TV? I thought you fixed it." His dad is peering down at his book and looks up at Stiles' query.

"He did," his mom hums, from where she's got a bowl of cookie batter in her arms, spooning it over and over as she stirs.

Stiles looks back to the screen with shrug, "Well it's broken again." he says, and there's something disconcerting about this. He feels like he should be whining about this, complaining. It's an error in the perfect life, but he can't find it in him to care that much. After all there are more important things than television to worry about.

At least - he thinks there is. He just can't remember what.

"Don't be like that, sweetie," he mother croons from the kitchen, "I'll get your dad to have a look at it. You could go over to Scott's instead. I'm sure his TV is working."

"It's broken." Stiles shakes his head, turning the TV off. It's not like he wanted to watch it anyway. He chucks the remote back at his dad and it hits him in the side, flopping on the sofa. His dad appears not to notice.

"Just be back for dinner. And cookies!" his mother laughs and spins around with a grin, and Stiles glances at her, because for the first time he realises they're having completely different conversations. It reminds him of the time he'd been ten or so, and had not yet been diagnosed with ADD. He'd hated being cooped up in the house, and had practically lived over at Scott's house, while his mom tried to persuade his dad to fix the TV as a form of entertainment.

He should do that now, go over to Scott's house and hang around playing video games and muck around like they used to before the werewolves and kanimas and druids. That's what he had done then.

Then. Or now, Stiles can't really tell. Because the pictures on the wall are years old, and his mom is baking cookies, something she hadn't done since--

That's when it hits him. And he wonders how he didn't remember this earlier.

His mother is dead.

“Isaac’s missing.”

“What?” Stiles’ seat scraps along the ground as he stands abruptly. “I thought he went off with Argent to France?”

Kira trails into Stiles’ bedroom behind Scott, looking about curiously. She’s never been there before, and she cautiously takes a seat on the edge of his bed while Scott begins to pace. “He didn’t go. Argent said he changed his mind. But I can’t find him.”

“Well, maybe he changed his mind again,” Stiles reason with a shrug, minimising various windows on his computer and slamming a school text book shut. “He’s prone to doing that.”

“He’s been gone for a week,” Kira comments, “Argent flew out last Friday. Isaac hasn’t been around for a week. Nobody has seen him.”

“Well, duh,” Stiles spins around to look at the pair, “It’s the winter holidays. I haven’t seen anybody all week, excluding you two, Malia and Lydia. Hell, I haven’t even spoken to Derek beyond a phone call which lasted about three seconds before he hung up on me.”

Scott pauses, “Exactly. You’ve seen everyone who’s been in the pack. Isaac is pack.”

“Who left to go mope around in France,” Stiles points out. He’s feeling like the devil’s advocate here, but he thinks they’re worrying over nothing.

But then considering what they’ve all been through, they probably have a right to be worried. Especially considering Isaac’s already bad past, but Stiles personally thinks he’s gotten over that if he feels able to wield it as a weapon of sympathy the way the annoying beta does.

“If he is missing,” Kira points out, “And let’s, just for now, assume he is,” she shoots a glance at Stiles but he doesn’t comment, “Then we need to find him. Even if nothing is wrong, then knowing where he is will still make us all feel better.”

Stiles grins, “Luckily we have our very own bloodhound.”

Scott throws a bundled up hoodie at him and he grabs it laughing, pulling it on. It’s red even, and there’s something about that which makes Stiles smile, as the kitsune and werewolf head for his door.

Everything about the situation isn't like that moment so many years ago. It is the moment, right down to his mother's replies to whatever he had said back then. He'd been in such a peaceful state of happiness he hadn't even noticed until he did, spotting the flaw, finding the thread.

He remembers his mom dying, so many sleepless nights, her confusion as the dementia slowly wrecked her mind. He knows what happens afterwards, the days of finding his dad drunk, of sneaking over to spend the night crying next to Scott, of later letting Scott sneak back to his house to rant about his arguing parents.

He’s been stuck inside his own head enough to recognise a lie when he sees it. His one hand trails over his own fingers, counting them, but if this is a dream, it’s a very good one.

He has ten fingers. The façade is perfect, except it’s not. It’s too perfect. Too precise.

It blurs around the edges, and he’s the oddity in this scene. The sense of discontent and the lack of interaction as everything plays out around him, Stiles standing there, wondering.

He doesn’t know how he got there.

It swamps him suddenly, the realisation that he's stuck in this illusion. That someone is trying to brainwash him into thinking he's in a happy, peaceful household of seven years ago. That none of the shit with werewolves had happened and he was still just a stupid, naïve kid.

He can't breathe, and he barely realises he is stumbling out of the living room towards the front door. He yanks it open, and half falls out into the night time forest.

His head is swimming and it takes a while to notice the change in scenery. To notice Scott sitting on the ground, peering mournfully at a bottle of Jack next to a small fire. He's moping about Allison, and Stiles remembers this. Remembers this moment. Allison had broken up with Scott (‘taking a break’ Scott corrected him) and so Stiles, being a good friend, had taken him out in the forest to get drunk. Which worked so well, not counting in Scott's werewolf metabolism.

They're his memories, Stiles realises. He's stuck in memories. Happy memories.

He takes a moment to relax, because nothing bad is going to happen. At least not now. In a few moments he'll start panicking, making attempts to get out but for now he'll relax. He studies the soft lines of Scott's face, his best friend looking so relaxed, and so much younger. None of the weight of alpha-hood is on his shoulders. There are no bloody lines clawed across his face from when Stiles had last seen him. No red eyes. No ripped out throat.

Scott isn't dead.

Stiles blinks, backtracking.

Scott isn't dead here.

But Scott is dead somewhere else.

Stiles remembers.

There are fangs and blue-ice-eyes and teeth and a body falling with a thump. Hands claw at the earth and Scott peers down at him with worry in his eyes, just before something lashes out at him, tugging him away. He sees his friend, sprawled on the ground, trying to push himself up but he’s already lost so much blood.

A dark shape looms over. Something sharp digs into his chest as ice-blue leans down, breathing on him, hot and heavy. "It's nothing personal." ice-blue purrs. Claws curl over his heart, making little indentations through his t-shirt and jacket. "But then again, considering you threw a Molotov cocktail at me - I guess it kind of is."

Scott cries out, but it's not his throat the claws swipe across in one swift movement. It's not his blood that goes flying in an arc through the air.

It's Stiles'.

He can feel three lines burning on his throat. There is a wet horrible gurgling sound when he tries to drag in air.

"It isn't personal."

It's probably the blood loss, but he hears voices. He's dying too, he knows that. The air he sucks in doesn't reach his lung. There are three open slashes on his throat like diced meat.

"Except… I guess it kind of is."

He's not really aware of anything. That is to say, it's like those last few moments before you fall asleep that you never remember anyway.

"Oh, Scott. You and your pack never stood a chance."

But he knows it won't be long before Scott follows him and Kira. Stiles wheezes one last time, pretending that he might even wake up after this.

Then he just.

Stops breathing.

And everything stops around him.

This is how Stiles dies.

He's dead.

Stiles curls up in the woods, the memory replaying just a few metres away, Scott's one sided conversation with a Stiles long gone.

No. Not Scott.

Scott is gone. Scott is dead.

Stiles is dead. Stiles got his throat torn open by a vengeful wolf.

Who then probably turned around to rip open Scott--

The memories keep sinking back. He curls up tighter, and tries not to panic, makes a half-hearted attempt to breathe and then gives up in favour of freaking out for fifteen minutes or so.

When he's finally calmed down enough to think, the memory around him has changed to a dark room. People are dancing, swaying, and he's there with Lydia, chatting. It's the winter formal of his sophomore year, he realises numbly.

Not that it matters. Because Stiles is dead. He is dead.

Stiles is dead. It's okay though. Not that death is anywhere within the region of okay, but at least his friends are all dead too.

He thinks. He's pretty sure he remembers their deaths, and he tries not to dwell too long on that.

That's not exactly okay, but it means they should be here, right?

Because this is heaven. These are his best moments. These are the happiest moments of his life. His mom and dad. Scott. Lydia.

But it's just a façade. An illusion. He doesn't want that. He wants the real Scott, the real Allison and real Mom.

His mom died when he was twelve. Allison died three months ago when the Oni stabbed her through the chest.

Scott died just after him, his throat torn out over Stiles as his vision slipped into nothing.

So if this is heaven, they should be here, right?

Then why can't he find any of them?

He shoves his way through another door. There are always doors, doors and forests and dark corners through which he loses himself in, only to find himself in another memory.

He whirls away from a four-year old Scott and shoves through the playground doors.

It's his bedroom and Lydia is sitting on his bed, curling red string around her fingers.

Another door.

He and his dad sitting in the patrol car eating curly fries.

He and his mom picking flowers for the garden.

He and Scott joking around in the back of Harris’ chemistry class.

Until finally Stiles falls through one door and out onto a wooden floor, and an unfamiliar ceiling.

There is enough of Isaac’s stuff hanging about the McCall residence that Scott can find something fresh enough for a decent scent. He inhales the scarf Stiles had given him deeply; nose wrinkling as the scent of Isaac hit his senses.

There is a creak and in the doorway Agent McCall freezes upon seeing Scott attempting to inhale Isaac’s scarf.

Scott chokes, dropping the scarf and trying to look innocent. Kira looks up from where she and Stiles have a map of Beacon Hills splayed open on the table.

“What are you doing here?” Scott demands. Stiles chews on his lip, and begins folding up the map. They’re working out where Isaac has most likely wandered off to.

“Can’t I visit my son anymore?” McCall spreads out his hands, gaze drifting past to where Stiles and Kira shift guiltily.

Scott jumps on them as an excuse, “I’m hanging out with my friends,” he says, “Maybe another time.” He voice is cold. Stiles shoves Kira her jacket and grabs his own, as they stand.

“We were just on our way,” Stiles sidles up to Scott’s side, “But it was nice seeing you around, Agent,” he sneers the word slightly.

“Where are you going?” McCall demands, sidestepping in front of the door.

“Out.” Scott shrugs, “I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

“I just picked this up at the Sheriff’s station,” McCall is holding up a picture that Stiles can’t see clearly, “The Sheriff wanted me to drop it off for you. Probably as a warning not to go out wandering at night.” He shoves the paper at Scott. “There’s some sort of cult out, and this town is weird enough as it is,” his gaze is concerned, even for a Grade A douche of a blob fish. “I just want you safe, Scott.”

Scott is staring at the paper, and Stiles stops, turning and craning his neck to see. Scott wordlessly shows it to Stiles and the teen’s breath catches in his throat.

It’s a torn up bloody carcass of a deer.

In its side is a curled spiral.

It’s a symbol of revenge.

And barely visible in the picture, but clearly there - easily recognisable to them - is a large, huge, massive tree trunk.

The room he falls into looks like some sort of bar, wooden sideboards, drinks, a pool table in the far corner of his vision, and a ceiling fan spinning over his head.

There is the sound of a chair scraping and a murmured 'woah' of confusion. Someone moves over and Stiles rolls over and up before the guy can get to him. Stiles is on the defensive, but he has nothing to threaten the guy with. He flails a bit, grabbing onto the nearby counter for balance.

"Well that's a first," the stranger says, and he takes in the guy, and his first impression is 'mullet'. "Not that many people manage to get out of their heaven," the guy whistles.

Stiles takes a moment to process this, "Get out?" he repeats. It sounds as if everyone is caged in their own little prison of memories.

Was this death? Was this heaven?

Should Stiles even be in heaven?

"Yeah," the guy nods enthusiastically, "Out of their heaven. Personal best times of your life. This is mine," he spreads out his arms, gesturing to the bar, "My beautiful Harvelle Roadhouse. I died in this place y'know?" he laughs, and Stiles assumes that morbid sense of humour is appropriate, considering they're both dead and all. "How did you get out of yours?" the guy gestures to the door behind him.

Stiles turns around, and it's closed, as if it had never been open. "A shit load of doors," he mumbles. "All of them ajar," he quirks his lip and turns back to the guy, "Can you do that?" he asks, "Just wander between people's… heavens?" he's not sure of the terminology yet.

The mullet-guy shrugs, "Not meant to. The angels usually stop that, but they haven't been around for a while."

"Angels?" Stiles repeats, feeling lost.

"I'm Ash," the guy finally introduces himself, and holds out a hand.

Stiles blinks at it, "I'm… Stiles." he says, shaking the hand weakly and grabbing a chair. "Can I… can you visit anyone's heaven? If I opened that door and just…" he waves a hand around. "Keep going?"

"You'd probably get lost." Ash sweeps up a computer from the bar and sets in down on the table, flipping it open, "I can't even tell where you came from at this moment. Give me five minutes and some details; I can get you back--"

"NO!" Stiles' shout startles even himself, "I spent ages trying to get out!" he emphasises. "I need to find my friends. I didn't mean to end up…" he shrugs, looking around, "Here."

Ash whistles again, "Lucky you found me then. Then again, maybe it wasn't luck." there is a twinkle in his eyes, "This place works like that sometimes."

Stiles taps his fingers against the table, considering his options. It's making him twitchy just sitting here, and though he's dead, his brain is still firing in a million different directions at once. "I should be off then. See how lucky I get in locating my friends."

"Wait a minute there, kid, Stiles," Ash waves a hand and Stiles sits down before he's barely begun to stand, "Moving through heaven isn't easy. Your dramatic entrance was kind of impossible. Everyone's isolated up here, and you either need a hell load of angel symbols or to share a heaven with somebody already. Luckily," he grins, "I can manage the former - just tell me who you need to find."

"Scott McCall," Stiles blurts out. Ash nods and ducks his head to his computer. "He's been my best friend since we were four. He got killed with me - at least I'm sure he did." his throat bobs reflexively. "We always said we'd die together. Sometimes we almost broke that promise. But in the end…" he shrugs.

"If you don't mind me asking…" Ash frowns at Stiles, interrupting his thoughts, "What's with the…" he waves at his neck. Stiles' own hand paws at his own neck gingerly.

He can feel what Ash means. There are raised lines scored across his throat.

Stiles' hand drops suddenly, as he remembers claws and blue electric eyes. "Werewolf who killed me," he sighs, "Like I said, there was this guy with a revenge vendetta against us. He went on a massacre against us."

Ash's jaw drops, "Werewolf? You know about the supernatural?"

"Yeah… I guess you do to…" Stiles traces pattern in the wood, focussing on the whorls. It's weird. He's not exactly having trouble focussing, and his mind is still firing a million different ways at once but when he puts his mind to it, he can think clearly, remember his goals.

Remember his death too, a vivid 3d movie playing in the background, "The asshole wanted to be an alpha, so he tried to steal his power by going after my pack. That's why he killed Scott. I'm pretty sure he killed Scott. I mean… I might be wrong, god, I hope to anything I'm wrong, I just sort of assumed… I mean he got ripped up pretty badly and I know werewolves can heal, but from that? There was so much blood… but then again he's an alpha, and it was a beta that did that to him..."

Ash's fingers had been flying furiously over the keyboard and now they stop. "Your pack." he says shortly, "And this Scott… he's a werewolf? But you're not a werewolf."

Stiles looks up, mouth opening and closing silently for a while, "I can be in a pack," he retorts finally.

"But you're human." Ash's hands drop away from the keyboard, "And they're all assumedly werewolves."

"Well, no. Kira's a kitsune and Lydia's a banshee."

Ash shakes his head, "But you're human. And they're not." he slams the laptop screen down with some sort of finality about it, "I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"What?" Stiles gapes at him, "But you said--"

"I can find any human soul in heaven for you. But werewolves and banshees? They're not human. And therefore they're not in heaven."

Stiles stands suddenly, chair falling over backwards, "That's stupid!" he snaps, "They're my friends! They should be here… why the hell aren't they here? If they’re not here, then I as sure as hell shouldn’t be here… not after what I did… Who the hell decides just because they're not human that they don't end up here?" He begins pacing angrily, "Where are they?" he demands.

"They're monsters," Ash shrugs, "And all the monsters end up in Purgatory."

The deer carcass is gone when they get there, but the smell still lingers in the air, even to Stiles’ human nose. “Do you think what ever did this took Isaac?” Kira asks, because that is currently their only working theory.

The car is parked next to the road a five minute walk away, while the three of them wander around the dead Nemeton. Scott is standing unnaturally still and Stiles stops in front of his friend.

“What is it?” he asks, “Do you… can you sense something?”

Scott is frowning, “I can smell Isaac,” he says, “But I can’t… the scent doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s like it’s just… like someone dropped his bag here or something…

Kira spots something on the ground and crouches down, fingers trailing through the soil, “This is where my mom buried the nogitsune, isn’t it?” she asks rhetorically, “Is there some sort of space underneath…” she stops when the soil she was scrabbling through falls into a crack and she lifts up her hand, watching as the dirt sifts through.

“The root cellar,” Stiles realises, and steps back, “There’s a root cellar under--“

He’s cut off by Scott’s gasp and his alpha dropping to the ground and clawing, “Isaac!” he shouts, “Isaac!” his hands grown claws and he scrambles in the dirt. Kira scrambles back, away from his mad scramble, dirt flying everywhere as Scott begins to dig.

Stiles chokes, “Scott, don’t…” but it’s too late.

The dirt sifts down and down and Scott’s claws find cold flesh.

Stiles is full of indignation and anger. Scott and Lydia and Kira and Isaac and Derek aren't monsters. (He's assuming Derek is dead here, for all he knows the guy is alive and kicking, probably looking after his cousin).

He's never really been afraid of death itself. What scared him the most was leaving his friends and family behind because, as he once told Lydia, death doesn't happen to you, it happens to the people around you.

But now his friends are dead too, which means he hasn't left them behind.

Instead they've left him behind, the weak, frail human stuck in heaven, alone with his memories.

Some heaven this has turned out to be.

He slumps down on the floor, back to the bar. "I need to find them," he barely even realises he's said it. "I need to find them." he looks up at Ash, determination burning in his eyes, "Can you get me there? You know it exists, so there must be a way to get there!"

The computer tech looks shifty, deliberating for a long moment, "I'm pretty sure," he says, "But once you get there, you can't come back."

It hits Stiles suddenly like a punch to the gut. He's human, but so are his dad and mom.

His mom - that means she's here somewhere, and he could find her again… spend time with her. There is a dull ache in his chest.

But she's happy. She'll be living through the best times of her life without worry, without a care. She's not Stiles - she isn't going to be spotting the thread and unravelling the red string. And Stiles doesn't want to be the one to pull it out from under her.

He feels a pang in his gut, because he's going to have to choose. Friends or family.

If he goes to the home of the monsters he can never get back.

He swallows down the churning feeling in his stomach, "I need to find someone." he says.

"You want me to open you a door to Purgatory?" Ash sighs, resigned.

Stiles shakes his head, "Not yet. I need you to find someone in heaven."

Stiles isn't the only human member of the pack.

Scott’s like a mad raging beast as Stiles wrestles him away from the tree trunk, “Don’t!” he shouts, trying to avoid flailing claws, “Scott, now isn’t the time.”

Scott is sobbing, and Stiles’ own eyes are stinging with tears. Kira is turned away, hands over her mouth and looking horror struck towards Stiles.

“Come on,” Stiles drags Scott away.

“But… Isaac…”

“Is dead.” Stiles feels cruel, but Kira catches on and she’s helping him, kitsune strength grasping Scott’s hand and pulling him along, “And the killer could still be around.”

Something vibrates in his pocket, and Kira nods to tell him that she has Scott. Stiles drops his grip to grab his phone, knowing the number before he sees it, “Lydia?” he asks.

“Stiles,” she sounds choked and full of tears, “Thank god, I just… I had a dream… and I keep hearing…”

Stiles’ breath catches, “Where are you?” he asks, “Lydia… where… where are you?”

She sounds confused when she answers, “I’m at home. I just woke up…”

“Stay there!” Stiles emphasises, “No, wait, get to Deaton’s. Or the McCall house, somewhere with mountain ash. We’re coming to get you.”

“Where are you?”

“We’re at the Nemeton… just stay there…”

“You’re at the what? No… no Stiles, please…”

“It’s Isaac,” Stiles chokes out, “He’s dead.” It’s too sudden. Too sudden, too fast. “Lydia, we think it’s a wolf. There was the revenge symbol carved into a deer, and now this? They’re after our pack. Whoever it is will be after you…”

“Stiles…”

“Call my dad. I’m going to call Malia and Derek. Kira and Scott and I are going to meet you at the clinic, okay?”

“Stiles…”

“Find some wolfsbane. Or mountain ash… a weapon… anything…”

“Stiles…”

He stops suddenly, hearing the tone of her voice break as she whispers his name.

“Why… why are you whispering?” he asks, and his own voice has dropped.

There is a sniff and he can almost see her weak smile, “Don’t… don’t die, Stiles. I don’t want to scream for you from beyond the grave.”

“Beyond the… Lydia?” Stiles asks, frowning, “Lydia! Lyds!”

The call drops with a dull noise, but in the silence that follows the air still vibrates with the distant sound of a scream that even his human ears know come with heralding death.

Ash scrawls in sharpie on the door. The symbol he writes there glows and he gestures Stiles forwards with a grin. "See you soon," he calls, as Stiles shoves it open and stumbles through.

It's blinding and disorientating. He blinks and looks around, finding himself in a corridor. A door is closed nearby and there are muffled sounds from inside, laughter as something falls over and a thump as something or someone falls off a bed.

There is a pause and Stiles hears Scott's voice asking about brakes. There is a hiss of surprise and mad scrambling.

Stiles pushes open the door to Allison Argent's bedroom and she freezes, mid-pulling a top down over her bra. "Stiles!" she hisses in surprise and alarm, and then blinks, looking around. Scott doesn't appear to notice Stiles, pulling on his jeans and half hopping, half stumbling to the window.

Stiles feels guilty for a moment, that he's breaking up Allison's perfect heaven here, but then he imagines what her reaction would be if he didn't at least attempt to find her.

"Scott, what are you doing?" Allison frowns, as Scott continues to make his way to the window, "It's just Stil--" Scott vanishes outside, just as Victoria Argent appears at the top of the stairs. Allison's breath hitches in her throat as Stiles steps to one side.

"Hey, Alley Cat," he grins weakly, running a hand through his hair. It tugs at his fingers, and Allison frowns, because back when she and Scott were still dating Stiles’ hair has still been short.

Victoria is talking to Allison, the memory running in the background, and Allison is still staring at Stiles. "This isn't how it went," she whispers.

Stiles perches on her bed, "I'm sorry," he says, "Do you… do you remember the nogitsune? Please, please, tell me you remember."

The door closes as Victoria Argent leaves and Allison is left standing there, head tilted to one side. Her hand presses to her stomach and her breathing is gently as she collapses on the bed next to Stiles. "Stiles?" she asks, "What… what happened?" she looks around, at her old room, her dead mother, "Am I dreaming?" She looks confused, but everything seems to be coming back to her. "I'm dead…" she whispers, "Aren't I?"

Stiles nods.

"Are you real?" she asks, "Or did you…" her hands go to her mouth. Stiles can see why Scott fell in love with her, she's so compassionate as she asks, "But that means… oh my god… you...Did the nogitsune kill you too?" she reaches out one arm, clutching at his jacket.

"What? No!" Stiles corrects her assumption, "No, no we… we trapped it. Scott bit it. It was awesome. It was terrifying. I might have fainted. This…" he looks around, "We just ran our course I guess."

"We..?" Allison asks, "Are the others…?" She looks around, "Are they alive?"

"No," Stiles says, bluntly, "I think Derek and Malia got away, but the rest of us…" he trails off.

Allison crosses her legs, shoulders slumping, "I always figured we'd end up together eventually…" she's chewing on his lip, "Where are they then? Aren't they here? Or did they not want to…" she looks up, and reaches out one hand, "You look young," she says.

"Hey!" Stiles protests, "I'm the same age as you."

"But that means…"

"It's been six months," Stiles tells her, "Sorry we didn't last much longer."

"Then where are they?" Allison asks quietly, voice hurt, "Don't they want to see me…"

"God, no," Stiles reaches out, his hand closing about her wrist, "No, of course they would want to see you. I mean, unless they were like you and trapped in memories, but that's not the case. You see this," Stiles gestures around, Allison's wrist still in his grasp, "This is heaven." He swallows, "This is where all the human souls go to rest."

She gets it straight away, "They're not human," she tugs her wrist out of his hand and stands, staring at the far wall and then spins around, "They're not human… so they don't go here… so where…?" she pauses, looking at Stiles, "That's why you're here," she realises, "That's why you're here." a grin is fighting its way onto her face, "We're going to find them, aren't we?"

Stiles grins back, and slides to the end of the bed, standing and meeting Allison's gaze. "Yes." he says, "We're going to find our pack."

Stiles feels it choking in his throat, tears or a primal scream of rage he doesn’t know.

He phones Derek.

“Scott?” Derek sounds half asleep, “What is it?”

“Sorry, this is Stiles. Scott is currently planning murder with Kira and I’m going to join them in a minute. I’m warning you to get out of town. Take Malia and go. Find Cora and stay out.”

He can practically hear Derek frowning at him, “What? Stiles - why? What’s going on?”

“Lydia and Isaac are…” he chokes, “Something got them,” he says, “And it’s after us. Our pack. So get out. Go. Now, before it get you too.”

“What do you mean, they’re gone?” Derek demands, “Are they missing?”

Stiles chokes, and his cheeks are wet. Why are his cheeks wet?

He’s crying, he realises, choking and sobbing and Derek is shouting into the phone, “They’re dead,” he chokes out, “They’re… they’re dead.” He sucks in a breath, but there is no air in his lungs. His head spins, “God, they’re dead…” he whispers.

The world is closing in on him too quickly. He’s having a panic attack, he realises belatedly. His hand drops to his side limply.

“Stiles! Stiles, stay on the line. Stiles, breathe. Stiles!”

His vision clouds black, and he thinks if only Lydia were here to snap him out of this one.

But Lydia is dead, and Stiles gasps for breath and sinks down, earth under his hands wet with that morning’s rain and his eyes flutter closed.

They’re all going to die, he thinks, and some part of him thinks this was a long time coming.

"I haven't seen my mom." Allison says, as they wander through Allison's heaven. Ash had said he'd leave the door open for them, but they have yet to find it. "I guess this is why."

"Your dad is in France," Stiles tells her, "He's fine."

Allison nods, shaky, but looking relieved to hear that. She glances to a memory version of her dad, before turning her back on him, "I'm glad he's still down there, fighting the good fight."

Stiles scoffs, "And here I thought you were retired. Lies! All lies." He's been filling her in as they move along, finding doorway after doorway, much like how Stiles got out of his own heaven. "You don't have to come you know," he blurts out, because he has to say it, "You could stay here. I don't… Ash says he doesn't think he'll be able to get us back."

Allison stops, "So that means… your parents… my dad…?"

Stiles nods, shakily. He's not much better than her, nervously tapping his fingers in a drum beat on his leg. "We'll never see them again," he shrugs, "We can get there but we can't get back."

Her laugh is bitter, and sad, "So I have to choose - between some fake, vapid dream and my friends?"

Stiles shrugs.

"You've already chosen, haven't you?" she examines his face, "But… your mom is here, isn't she? Have you… I mean--"

"No," he shakes his head, "She… this is all a dream to everyone. Even you. I just… I have a history with dreams. I could tell it wasn't real. I knew there was something wrong. I… saw the thread so to speak." Now she is looking at him with sympathy and pity. He hates that. "I have to find them. And it's going to be dangerous… I mean… not all monsters are as polite as Scott," he offers her a weak half grin. "But I have to find them. I have to." his voice breaks slightly.

He can't explain it to her. But she knows. She understands, and that's enough. He doesn't need to tell her how they're ScottandStiles, StilesandScott, they've been inseparable since they met in the sand box aged four and Stiles proceeded to ruin Scott's magnificent lump of a sandcastle.

There was no way Stiles was going to let death tear them apart.

Her grin is bright and he forgot how much he missed her, "Are you kidding? I'm dying for some action!" she holds up her crossbow that she's picked up from the memory they are currently in, her dad and her making arrow heads in the garage. "And I can look after myself."

Stiles laughs and she takes advantage of the memory they are in to grab her ring daggers and shove a knife at Stiles. "So this place… this… monster heaven - you make it sound pretty bad. What do they call it, anyway?"

He laughs, grinning at her enthusiasm. She knows what she's getting herself into, but she's going with it all the same. So he tells her. "They call it Purgatory."

“Stiles? Stiles?” Scott shakes him awake, and he flinches back from the proximity of his friend. “Are you okay?”

Stiles chokes, and there are tears still drying on his face, “Are you?” he retorts.

Scott looks determinedly away from him. “Come on,” he offers out a hand, “We’re going to Deaton’s.”

He takes the offered hand, stumbling to his feet. Kira watches from a distance, and she looks shell shocked. “What…” Stiles blinks, “Derek?” he asks.

“Already at Deaton’s.” Scott says, “Let’s go.” He spins around, and turns towards the jeep where it is parked on the side of the road.

“Do you want me to drive?” Kira asks. Stiles shakes his head, holding the door open so she can clamber into the back.

Scott claims shotgun, the door slamming closed louder than it should. It feels wrong, leaving their friends like they are, but whatever is going on it happening meticulously. It’s a grand plan that crept up on them in the wake of their Allison’s death, and they’re woefully unprepared.

Stiles sticks his keys in the engine and turns the car on.

It splutters and there is a horrible, terrible cranking noise as something grates together. He frowns, turning the key again. There is no roar as the engine starts, just the sound of something straining and jolting.

And in the air is the sharp scent of gasoline.

He’s pawing at the door before it even hits him fully. “Get out,” he chokes.

“What?” Scott looks up, frowning, “Stiles, what…”

“Get out!” he half shouts, “Scott, Kira, get out…” his fingers find the handle and it opens and he half falls out.

He hits the tarmac hard, hands grazing as he shoves himself up and away. He sees Scott fall out, dragging Kira and the kitsune barely lands, stumbling down when the engine stops rattling.

Stiles freezes, wondering if he made a mistake, and that’s when the world around him explodes and he spins, throwing himself out of the road as his jeep explodes in a cloud of flames.

It used to be Eden. But then it went monstrous.

That's what Ash tells them, after he's scrawled symbols on a door and pushes it open. At once all the air rushes past them, as if trying to escape.

"Thanks," Stiles waves at him, "Enjoy heaven."

The guy just stares at him as if he were mad. Which, Stiles supposes, he is. Both he and Allison have picked up various weapons on their wander back through Argent Heaven, all of which Allison can use with varying degree of skill, and only some of which Stiles can use.

For a moment Stiles considers staying. His mom is around here, somewhere. His dad will arrive one day, maybe spot the flaw and find Claudia, but when they look for him he'll be gone. He's leaving them. Allison has the same look on her face, but her knuckles are white, hands clenched into fists.

He's choosing his friends. He's choosing his pack.

She nods at him, brown eyes determined.

He and Allison walk through that door.

It opens out like it did before, bright light and the dizzying sense of falling before everything snaps into focus. Next to him Allison stumbles, looking around.

It's a forest: one massive forest. The light is some sort of perpetual dusk, dim and Stiles has to squint to see through the multitude of shadows that litter the ground everywhere. It's miserable, quiet and there is not even the hint of a breeze in the air.

Everything is so still. He is reminded of the world between worlds, of the forest with the pools where you could just fall asleep and lose everything.

But there is something different about this forest: something dark. Some sharp edge just out of sight, and instead of sinking into slumber, he wants to run and hide. He wants to curl up somewhere safe, wants to leave.

It feels wrong. Allison shivers next to him, and he knows she feels it to.

"What now?" she asks.

Stiles doesn't know. He's playing this by ear, "We walk," he suggests, "Pick a direction and keep going."

"Have you noticed," Allison follows his suggestion, pacing slowly forwards and he falls into step behind her, "That our bodies don't work the same way here? I haven't felt hungry once in heaven. Or thirsty. Or even tired really."

"Well, we're sort of dead," Stiles jokes, tripping over a tree root and flailing a little bit. "I guess we're just frozen in this state. I mean… it's not as if we're aging either."

The world around them has frozen and Stiles and Allison have frozen with it. They wander through the forest, the air still and silent.

"Do you reckon we can die?" Allison asks, "Or will we just keep going?"

"Do we even bleed?" Stiles asks.

"Do you want to find out?"

"Not particularly, no."

"I'd like to see you bleed." The new voice makes them spin around. There is a guy standing on a slight rise, staring down at them with hunger in his eyes. He tilts his head, considering them, "It's been so long since I've tasted human blood," he sneers, starting forwards, mouth open. Stiles chokes as he sees the set of teeth descending over the human canines and molars. It's like shark teeth, sharp and jutted as the guy's wide open mouth curls in a smirk, hungrily, staring at Stiles.

"Derek owes me so much money," Stiles says, stupidly, "He said vampires weren't real."

The guy lunges and Allison and Stiles split, throwing themselves out of the way. Stiles curses his luck when the guy spins towards him and lunges, catching one flailing arm and tackling Stiles down.

Stiles chokes as teeth sink into his shoulder, just above his collar bone and he scrambles at the guy, shoving and trying to push him off. "Allison!" he cries, and then falls into curses and swears.

The guy's throat gulps hungrily and Stiles feels sick. The vampire is drinking his blood.

He's drinking Stiles' blood.

It turns out they can still bleed.

There is a whistling noise as something hurtles through the air and the guy's gulping throat is torn wide open as something lodges into it. He falls back, blood spaying everywhere as Stiles kicks him away. The guy's throat has been pierced by an arrow. Allison stands to one side, crossbow extended. She drops it, wide eyed, "Stiles!"

She leaps towards him, and he presses one hand to his shoulder, "Well I guess we do bleed," he says stupidly, feeling lightheaded. "Maybe we can die?" he offers.

"Don't you dare!" Allison hisses.

"Get him…" Stiles coughs and Allison tears off his jacket and hoodie, and then tears the latter up and begins to bandage the wound with it, "Get Dracula off of me."

Allison startles, realising the vampire is still writhing on the ground nearby, half lying on Stiles' legs. She shoves it off and she and Stiles scramble upright.

"What do we do with him… it…?" Allison asks.

Stiles feels sick. "It was going to kill me. Kill us. Drink us dry."

She meets his gaze steadily. "Do you think he's going to be the first?"

Stiles sighs, and shrugging his jacket back on over Allison's makeshift bandage grabs for the weapons they hadn't really thought they'd need until now. He unsheathes the machete, weighing its balance, and if he holds it just right it reminds him of his baseball bat.

"It's not going to be the last," he reasons.

He's right.

That's not the first monster that attacks.

But it's the only one they were unprepared for.

The woods are on fire.

The tarmac is hot under him, as he forces himself up. His ears are ringing, and he can barely hear anything except the sound of his pounding heartbeat thudding in his chest. The world spins and he steps away from the road, towards the forest.

He’s going the wrong way, he thinks belatedly. He turns around, barely noticing the burned out shell of his jeep. It’s still burning, and it’s so goddamn hot. His face feels seared, and he limps to the side. He knows he’s shouting, because he can taste the smoke and feel his lungs strain as he yells out for Scott and Kira. But he can’t hear a sound.

He spins around disorientated and heads back for the forest, still shouting. He can’t see Scott or Kira anywhere, so he shouts out again.

His shoulder jars against a tree and he grabs onto it, bark grating at his skin as he struggles to stay standing. The pain shoots through, and that’s when the sound snaps into focus, the distance roar of his burning car, the crackle of leaves and twigs under foot and his own voice screaming out.

“Stiles!” he hears them then, and stumbles towards the direction it is coming from. He sees Scott with a sense of relief. Kira is leaning on his shoulder, limping along. “Stiles!” she exclaims, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s dizzy, world spinning and he feels like he’s about to faint. He grabs onto a tree and uses it for support as he stares at the soot stained form of his friends, “We’ve gotta’… oh god…” he wants to break down, but now is not the time. “We’ve got to get out here.”

“Really, Stiles?” Peter Hale’s smug voice makes him freeze, turning slowly. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.”

In hindsight they're lucky their first monster wasn't a wendigo or something. It's not the first vampire they come across, in their journey across Purgatory.

Their second monster is a ghoul. Allison puts a ring dagger through its back and hand. Stiles takes its head with his blade. Their third monster is another vampire. This one tries sneaking up on them, but they hear it well before it can. Allison (more on luck that actually instinct) puts an arrow through its throat. It freezes the jaw of teeth in its path and she then slits its throat.

"Dude," Stiles clicks his tongue at the dead body, "That was rude."

In this forest, primal instinct is what most of the monsters have resorted to.

It's all they have left.

Allison and Stiles realise very quickly that they are nothing more than prey, in the eyes are the citizens of Purgatory.

So they make it their aim to be prey that fight back.

Days pass.

It's hard to tell, because the light never changes, and they never sleep. It could have been years, or seconds, or even just an hour. They keep moving, and every monster that crosses their path, bloodlust across their eyes, dies.

Stiles is sick the first time he beheaded one of them. And the second time. Allison cries when they have to snap a rabid omega werewolf's neck. Yellow eyes scream innocence but snapping jaws and spittle flying everywhere leaves them no choice.

At first they're clumsy. Allison has bruises up one side from where she was thrown into a tree by a vampire. Stiles bleeds from a cut to his forehead from where a rougarou with a machete hit out at him. Allison is cut down her side from a black goo monster with sharp teeth that decided to take a bite out of her. Stiles' shoulder is dislocated from a wrestling match with a Djinn.

"Do you think they die? Again?" Allison asks. For the most part, they begin to move together with a companionable sort of silence, since conversations usually ends up philosophical.

Like now for instance. "Where would they go?" Stiles shrugs, "Maybe they end up back where they started, and hopefully a long way from here."

"What about us?" she asks, "Would we die?"

"Maybe we'd end up back in Heaven. Maybe we wouldn't end up anywhere at all. Which is worse, do you think? Vanishing entirely or ending up right back where you started?"

Somewhere between there and here Allison slips back into being the dangerous huntress she was after her mother's death. They have yet to find her mother. Or anyone they actually know.

And Stiles picks it up as he goes along. Between them they have a crossbow, five knives and a recurve bow. Allison keeps the bow for the most part, along with her pair of ring daggers. Stiles carries the longer knife, the machete that reminds him of his bat, but can cause so much more damage. He has the other two knives in his belt. The crossbow is slung over his shoulder.

He lost his hoodie a while back. They tore it up for bandages. Allison lost her hair tie as well, which she finds more annoying than anything else, her hair constantly falling in her face. The pair of them are almost constantly caked in blood and gore. Their wounds all heal eventually, and they never tire. They have no scars, beyond the claw marks that ring Stiles’ neck like a collar.

They keep moving. Keep breathing.

Sometimes though they just have to stop and curl up together, and to remind each other why they keep going.

Stiles has never loved Allison with the same, soul-wrenching love that Scott had. Nor does he have that companionship that blossomed with Isaac. Instead there is thrill and adrenalin that sinks under the skin, the bloody taste of battle.

He turns his back for one second and something knocks him down. He stumbles, spitting dirt and he hears a wet squelching noise. He looks up, and for a moment he thinks he's dreaming when he sees his own eyes stare back at him, grin twisted. He thinks it’s the nogitsune back again, but there is something lacking about the sadistic nature to its grin - Stiles just knows this isn’t the void.

It’s something else.

The thing kicks him in the stomach and he goes down, winded, hearing his own voice call out to Allison.

It's like some sort of doppelganger. Mimicking him, stealing his place.

He had turned his back for one second…

He shoves himself upright and towards where Allison and his double stands, grinning with Stiles' face and saying something. Stiles is about to shout out, to call, to tell her it's a trap, it's not him, when Allison surges forwards and stands right in front of the guy. She strokes his face and Stiles freezes, words caught in his throat.

Then she steps back, knife sliding out and eyes watching dispassionately as the body of the shapeshifter falls down. It makes him feel slightly sick, but there is giddy relief as she looks up to see him. He wipes at the bloody wound on his head, stepping towards her. She moves around the shape on the ground, the monster’s skin and face peeling off in bloody chunks.

"I knew it wasn't you," she marvels, "I just knew…"

Stiles grabs onto her, a warm body, soft brown eyes desperate as she searches his face. "I'm sorry," he's babbling, "It crept up on me, I'm so, so sorry…"

"Don't," she protests, "I knew, It couldn't be…" her hands are grabbing his face, checking it's him, mopping at the blood, and suddenly they're kissing, tongues and teeth bumping together. It's anything but romantic, it is emotion and adrenalin and some deep set knowledge that allows them to understand each other just from their movement and expressions.

His hands are at her hips, moving down her body and she pulls him closer, hungrily.

There is a noise and they both stop simultaneously to look around, hands going to their weapons. Stiles scans the trees and finds nothing. His gaze meets with Allison and she grins back, because they've become so in tune over the last days, weeks, months. They step apart and keep walking, more words passing between them unsaid than they ever need to say out loud.

"It's called hyper vigilance," Stiles tells her later, "Thinking the whole world is out to get you."

"It kind of is," she replies.

They don't sleep. They have no need to, but they still find a cave to curl up, pressing together with hungry mouths and tongues and so close together they can no longer tell where one of them begins and the other ends.

Her skin is warm and her eyes sleepy, half-lidded under him as she surges back against him with just as much as he gives. Stiles thinks there should be some rule against screwing a girl that two of his friends have already fallen in love with, and he definitely shouldn’t be letting her in like this when he still has Malia and Lydia somewhere out there.

But her touch is electric and they both crave the companionship, pulling them closer, reminding themselves how to breath together, how to live.

"Did you die a virgin?" Allison asks, sometime between here and there, a teasing smile on her lips.

Stiles laughs, "No, no, I was kind of dating Malia when I died."

Allison's expression is priceless, "I guess that's why her dad wasn't too happy," she laughs into his neck, and he strokes a hand through her hair. Her smile freezes, strained. "Do you think Erica and Boyd are here?" she asks weakly.

"Somewhere," Stiles hums, "And Kali and Ennis and Aiden… the Hales… it's a big forest."

"It goes on forever," she shifts backwards and around until she's lying with her back to his chest. "Have you ever wondered…" she hums, "What happens if we don't find them?"

Stiles presses his face to the back of her neck. She's so warm, and she flinches at his cold breath. They're not alive, but they're more alive, but they're more alive than anything else in this place. It's a different kind of life, and one most of the twisted souls here longed for with their very breath. "This place can't go on forever. And in case you hadn't noticed, Katniss, we're kind of making a name for ourselves."

She rolls over so she can look sideways at him, "What's that, Peeta?"

"They say," one finger tap-tap taps a pattern on her arm, "They say that there are hunters loose in Purgatory. And that they're looking for their pack. A boy and a girl. With knives and arrows. And that they’ll go to the end of the forest right to the River Lethe if that is what it takes to find them."

"That sounds like some sort of story," she grins.

He matches her smile, "I guess it kind of is."

“You.”

“Me.” Peter’s grin is wolfish. Scott’s nostrils flare in shock and horror as the blue-eyed werewolf steps towards them. “Come on, is it really that much of surprise?” he spreads out his arms, almost innocently.

Stiles can feel the breath leave him, “You killed Isaac.” He whispers, “Then you went after Lydia…”

“Yes,” Peter grins, “Little Red was all alone and there’s no hunter around now to protect her from the Big Bag Wolf.”

Anger bubbles in his veins, “Why?” Stiles chokes out, “Why?”

“Why do I do anything?” Peter tilts his head to one side, “For my own gain…” if he was going to say more, it’s unclear because Scott drops Kira to lunge at Peter with a snarl. Stiles shoves himself off his own support to grab the kitsune before she can fall.

“Are you okay?” he asks, trying to stand upright, balancing both their weight, “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I don’t…” she shakes her head, “I don’t know… but my side… I think I’m bleeding…” she sounds lost and terrified, and Stiles thinks regretfully that they’ve dragged another person into their messes.

The snarls of Scott and Peter echo in his ears as he attempts to move, “What do we do?” he asks, not realising he’s said it out loud until Kira sobs.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, “I don’t… Stiles… I don’t know…”

Stiles looks towards Scott, red eyes against blue eyes, and makes a decision. He’ll regret it forever, he knows, but it’s the only decision he knows how to make. “Come on, can you walk?”

“Yeah…” Kira says weakly, “But Scott… can’t we do something?”

“No.” Stiles whispers, “No… Peter… he’s insane. He’s a psychopath, and he’s going to kill all of us. Scott has to end this…” And what can Stiles do? He can’t scream; he has no claws, no arrows. He doesn’t even have his bat. Kira has no sword, no electricity; they’re caught out unawares, likely just as Peter had planned.

And Peter is just one wolf, and there are three of them, but Kira is injured, and Stiles is seconds from collapsing himself.

He’s deceiving himself if he thought they ever had a chance.

If there's one thing that can be said about Purgatory, is that their knowledge about monsters has increased dramatically.

They also learn how to kill each and every one.

The black goo monsters turn out to be called Leviathans. That one they only learn when one pins Allison to a tree. Her recurve bow lying discarded where she had dropped it, out of arrows for the third time that day. She still holds the crossbow, but the monster has that hand pinned uselessly to one side. She struggles, to no avail.

The mouth opens and with a snap the head jerks back, suddenly nothing more than a pair of jaws. Stiles sees her pinned, shouts out, and kicks aside the monster he's dealing with, but he's not going to get there in time.

A shape blurs into sight and suddenly the monster in front of Allison is headless, and she can move, shoving it aside and Stiles staggers up, wide eyed and unsure if he should threaten or thank the woman who stands in front of them. There is a sound from behind him and the monster he had knocked down snarls. The sound is cut off with a choke as something slices across its neck.

Allison is down from the tree and back to back with Stiles in an instant. The position is familiar, reliable, and Stiles gazes warily at the pair of women who stare up at them.

Every monster they have met has been under a bloodlust.

That is the day they learn that it doesn't apply to all of them.

"Well?!" Stiles shouts, "What are you waiting for?" he's expecting the werewolf to lunge, but she just steps backwards, shaking her head. The vampire that saved Allison actually chuckles slightly.

"We're not going to hurt you," she tells them, "We weren't monsters when we were alive and just because we're in monster heaven doesn't make us monsters now."

Allison points her crossbow at the werewolf's throat. The woman looks undeterred "You wouldn't be the first to attempt to kill me.” The werewolf says, “We just end up back where we started, a few months, a year later. It's not like time really matters here."

Allison hesitantly lowers it, "You're the first monsters who haven't tried to eat us," she admits, and Stiles feels her relax at his back.

"We won't be the last." the vampire moves towards the werewolf companion.

The vampire is called Lenore. The werewolf with ice blue eyes is called Madison.

The pair sniff at them warily. "You're human," the vampire states, "But you're dead. Not like the other."

"The other?" Stiles asks, looking away from the werewolf to where the vampire stands behind him.

"There's another human in here. Everyone talks about it. He's still alive."

"Winchester." Madison ignores them, stepping around daintily and perching on a broken tree trunk. Stiles and Allison finally lower their weapons and step away from the Leviathan corpses. "Winchester is running around with his pet angel. They say there is a way out. For humans." she stares at the pair of them.

Allison shrugs, "So? We're dead. And honestly, heaven, hell, purgatory… we'd have ended up somewhere, why not here. Our friends are here."

"You're those humans." Lenore stares at them, circling around and Stiles begins pacing, matching her every step, "The humans looking for their friends."

"Do you know where they are?" Stiles asks, "A kitsune, a banshee and two werewolves."

Madison laughs, "This forest is full of werewolves, kitsune and banshees. How are we meant to know which are your friends and which aren't?"

Allison crouches, picking up her recurve bow and examining it. She's out of arrows, and Stiles begins retrieving the ones they can find. Half of them are sharp sticks they've whittled down, just as deadly as the metal carbon fibre ones they brought with them. "Scott McCall," she lists out, "Isaac Lahey. Lydia Martin. Kira Yukimura. Spread the word that we're looking for them, would you? Rumours spread fast here."

"Yeah, well," The vampire pauses behind the werewolf, "We've nothing better to do than fight and gossip."

Madison stares at them curiously, "Do we get a name? I mean… we've heard about the two hunters, looking for werewolves, tearing their way through the forest… but we don't actually know who you are."

Stiles hesitates, and meets Allison's gaze. The name 'Argent' carries too much meaning to half the monsters who ended up on the wrong side of the family's code over the years, and though he wants nothing more than to give his own name, there are monsters out there that will recognise that as well. "We're their pack," he declares, because that's why they're here, isn't it? To find their pack.

They don't really have anything else besides that.

"Their family," Allison adds, "Pass it on that we're coming." she straightens from a crouch, "And that anything that gets in our way dies."

It's as good as a threat as any, and the pair leave it at that. The werewolf and vampire look apprehensive but Stiles and Allison are already turning their backs, picking their way through the forest.

"How many…" Stiles begins, "How many monsters in here do you think we know?"

"How many…" Allison answers his question with another, "How many do you think were killed by my family? Fu… how many do you think are my family, suicides after the bite?" Her voice chokes ever so slightly, because her mom is here somewhere in this deep, vast woods.

"Thank god Gerard isn't here." Stiles replies.

"Neither is Peter," she tells him darkly. "This is all Peter's fault, after all."

"Technically it's my fault Scott got bitten."

"But Peter was the one who bit him."

"But I was the reason he was in the woods in the first place."

"You were only there because your dad was there. And your dad was only there because of the body, and the body was because Peter killed his niece."

Stiles' lips quirk, "I'm not going to argue against that." Because quite frankly blaming it all on Peter sounds pretty good right now.

Stiles wonders if they should come up with names for themselves. He likes the simplicity of the rumours though, the mystery about them. They're two hunters, and though Stiles never thought he'd be a hunter in his life, the endless days of running, fighting and non-stop action have honed his skills. He's never going to have the finesse of Allison, nor the brute strength of the wolves, but he's quick and deft, like a fox, he thinks, slightly bitterly, as they continue searching.

It could have been weeks. It could have been month. It could have been years.

"Surely we should have found them by now," Allison dares to breath to him at some point, curled up against his chest. A stream trickles by nearby, and though they aren't thirsty, they drink, and wash away the blood and dirt and grit of Purgatory from their bodies.

He lets his head rest in her hair, "It's a big forest." he says, "And we've got plenty of time."

"I'm glad you're here," she mumbles into him.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

She hits him in the arm, "I'm not," she glares at him. "Just thinking about being in that fake dream world…" she shudders, "This… this is real. It's violent and gory, but it's real, and it's wonderful."

She presses her lips to his, and Stiles wonders how everything twists around in this place. For the first time he pulls back with a frown, "What about Scott?"

"What about him?" Allison asks, "I haven't seen him in…" she stops, searching for a time phrase to sum up the endless seconds.

"Isaac?" Stiles asks tentatively, "He will eat me, he already hates my guts, just as much as I hate that stupid scarf of his."

"We're dead, Stiles." the huntress reminds him, "You can't die again. And besides." she runs her hands through his hair, "You're here. He's not." she drags him forwards for another kiss, then breaks it with a slight frown, "We're here," she repeats, "You and me and god, Stiles, I don't think I can breathe anymore without you here. I want to find Scott just as much as you, but I want you. Scott's gone. Isaac's gone. Lydia's gone. Malia's gone. It's just us."

"We'll find them," Stiles presses his lips back against hers, "We will."

It's a promise, a hope, that neither of them even dare to consider failing. It's the reason they're here, and there is no way back for them now.

They heard about Winchester first from Madison and Lenore. Then they hear it again from the next blood sucking incubus they run into as it cranes its arms out towards Stiles moments before Allison guts it.

When they run into the trio themselves they're not expecting it. They're making their way north and Allison spots a rougarou running through the forest, obviously out of its mind with instinct. She draws an arrow and fires it towards the monster, before it can get anywhere near them.

It falls, arrow through its throat and seconds later its head comes tumbling off as a blade slices through it.

Stiles and Allison freeze, standing on a slight hillside they're in clear sight as the man looks towards them. He doesn't snarl, and his eyes remain normal.

Stiles drops down off the slope first, and Allison trails after him.

"Hey," he calls out, because the man doesn't look like a monster, and they've both gotten good at identifying monsters over the past months.

"Hey yourself, kid," the man's voice is deep, gruff and rough with misuse. Stiles doubts his is much better. "What are you anyway? Werewolf? Kitsune?"

Stiles snorts, "Oh my god I was possessed one time by a psychotic fox and they never let it go, do they?" he directs towards Allison.

"They're human," another voice has them whirling around to the right as two more men approach through the trees. Allison drops her bow in favour of her knives and Stiles takes a measured step to the side. "Relaaaax," the new arrival drawls, a strong accent, "We're not going to hurt you…"

"They're human?" the first man gestures to them with a makeshift weapon, "But why are they here then?"

Stiles examines the three of them. The first man would probably be handsome if not for the blood covering him. He's wearing a leather jacket, which is ruined, but probably provides good protection from claws and fangs. Of the two new arrivals one is wearing a hat, and has a thick beard and rounded face. The other looks thin, also with a thick beard and is wearing what looks like white hospital clothes under a grimy overcoat.

Stiles runs one hand over his chin, thinking that at least being stuck how he was when he died means he isn't growing a beard. "Yeah, we're human," he directs towards the hat guy, "What are you?"

"Dean's a human, I'm an angel and Benny's a vampire." over coat guy points to the first guy, and then to hat guy.

Stiles nods slowly, "Okaaay," he drawls, "Allison, grab your arrow and let's go."

She stares at the three of them, before sheathing her knives and moving towards the corpse.

"Nice shooting," Dean says, sounding impressed. She hums, but doesn't look at him. "Okay, seriously, what are you? Werewolves? Nice vampires…?"

"They're human," the 'angel' says. "Albeit a bit dead, but human none the less."

"But…" Dean frowns at them and Stiles shifts uneasily, "Human souls go to heaven."

"Well duh," Stiles blurts out, sick of them talking about his as if he isn't there, "But did you honestly think we wanted to stay in the ‘best times of Stiles' life’? It… it wasn't real. So a guy called Ash helped us escape."

"Ash?" Dean frowns, "Wait… escape? Why the hell would anybody want to escape to Purgatory?"

Allison straightens, "To find our pack," she shrugs, "Since someone decided that kitsune, banshees and werewolves don't end up in heaven, it means we have to look for them here…" she cleans a spot of blood of her arrow, "It's a bit dirtier than we're used to but, hey," she shrugs, "I'm sure Lydia can live with it."

"Your pack?" Dean asks, "What the hell?"

"Actually," Stiles snarks, "The expression here is 'what the purgatory?'"

Dean pauses for a moment, "Listen, kid, Stiles - is it? There's a portal for humans to get out of… we can take you there…"

"This isn't a taxi service!" Benny - the vampire with a cool hate - protests.

"Do you charge them?" Stiles asks.

"I… what? Yeah… they're getting me out of here…"

"Then it's a taxi service," Stiles shrugs, "And we don't want to get out of here. We're kind of dead anyway. A sociopathic werewolf ripped my throat out."

"A… what?" Dean frowns, then shakes his head, "Come with us," he emphasises, "We have a route out."

"We can't." Allison shakes her head, "We've got to find our pack."

"Plus, we're pretty sure we're dead," Stiles laughs, "We'd just be ghosts there. Or we'd wake up six feet underground." He has a sudden panicky image of attempting to dig his way out of the ground. He has no idea how much time has passed, and he could just as easily wake up in a morgue drawer. He imagines the panic when one of the dead bodies wakes, and then insists on running to the graveyard because if nothing else Allison most definitely is buried six feet underground.

"He's right," the unnamed 'angel' says, "If their bodies are dead, they will be little more than ghosts. If their bodies are habitable, or healed, then they might survive, but they'd probably die again due to suffocation assuming they're buried…"

Stiles winces at that thought.

Stiles has spent so long in this half-light forest that even he can see what is different about these three.

Well, maybe not the vampire, but the one guy glows, and the other man has a pulse that in comparison to Stiles and Allison, it's a loud drum beat. He's alive, in a way they aren't.

"Thanks for the offer," Allison smiles, "But we're happy here," she steps backwards until she stands beside Stiles. "We hope you get out, or whatever you're trying to do…"

"So we hope not to see you around, Winchester." Stiles says as he backs away, Allison next to him.

Stiles throws the name out on an assumption, and to see the guy startle and mutter 'how the hell do two random human teenagers know my name?' is totally worth it.

Out of all the monsters they come across: leviathan, djinn, shapeshifters, sirens, vampires, coatls… they've never had to face a wendigo.

Maybe because they aren't many to start with or maybe just because cannibalism is the last resort a man would go to, beyond the last resort. It takes certain madness, certain desperation to take that first bite of human flesh, and unless you're Hannibal Lecter or one of his unknowing dinner guests, few take that step.

It's like a whirlwind that Allison catches sight of through the trees. She stops, and Stiles stops instinctively, tuned to her every movement.

"Did you see that?" Allison turns around.

"No…" Stiles says, and then spins around, "Yes." he says, "But it's fast…" he spins around again, the sight of something flickering through the trees gone before he turns to look, “Know anything that moves that fast?"

They both do, but neither of them dare say it as they glance at each other.

"Can they climb?" Stiles asks.

"I don't know… I think so…" Allison pulls up her bow, arrow drawn and waits, sighting into the trees.

"Now," Stiles spots the blur again as it circles them, and by the time Allison's heard and released the arrow the creature has completed the half circle to in front of her.

It skids to a half as the arrow buries into its shoulder. Her expression drops and she stumbles back, staring at the grey skinned, humanoid figure, black teeth and long, curving claws. It snarls, stepping towards them.

Stiles grabs Allison, stumbling back and loads up the crossbow. He shoots, and the creature is so pissed off at the first arrow it doesn't even attempt to dodge. It just lets the shaft sink into its pale sickly skin.

Allison's shots have more accuracy - eyes, throat, but Stiles still hits the chest. It's a change from the first few months when his shots were more useful at encouraging monsters to dodge, wild shots firing everywhere.

"Can we outrun it?" Allison asks, her voice already telling Stiles that they can't.

He's about to tell her to just go for it, when there is another blur from the trees and a snarling fur ball throws itself out of the woods towards the monster.

It bundles into the wendigo's side, bowling it over and then when the monster's down, claws swiping, it goes for the throat.

With her teeth.

It's a wolf: four legs, and strong jaws.

And fuck - Stiles recognises her just from that. The dark coat, the eyes he has only ever seen as clouded, blood mattered and very, very dead. He chokes, and finds himself moving forwards, tossing the crossbow aside to draw his machete, and stabbing the wendigo through the chest even as the wolf rips apart the head.

"We've no fire," Allison appears besides him, "Fire usually kills them…" she stares at the wolf, the werewolf, as the beautiful dark furred creature looks up, jaws bloody.

The last time Stiles had seen the wolf was when she had been buried, half a body with a wolfsbane spiral.

She doesn't stay a wolf for long, and Stiles winces as her bones crack. The sound of the bones shifting and grinding makes his skin prickle. He's experienced so much gore lately that there is blood somewhere on his skin or clothes whether he likes it or not. He's desensitised by now, but needles and bones grinding still make him light-headed.

She shifts back to a human with a shake of her coat, eyes flashing red as she straightens. "It won't recover easily from that," she tells them with a half-snarl to her words. "We'll be fine."

"Laura." Stiles blurts out, and her eyes blaze red defensively at that, "Laura Hale." Allison gasps as he says it. "We know your brother."

The red dies from her eyes as she examines them, "You're the two humans everyone keeps talking about. The ones looking for your pack." she pauses, "Is my brother in your pack?"

"Uh, no…" Stiles swallows, "Well… he sort of is, but he's not dead. We hope. I mean… I phoned him and told him to get away… uh… he's probably hiding out in South America with Cora and Malia… yeah, Cora's alive… and Malia is kind of… your cousin? Peter had a kid… and yeah, that was awkward, because nobody, including Peter, knows quite how that happened."

"He killed me," Laura says stiffly, and boy, Stiles can really see the family resemblance. He tries not to actually examine her features, considering that she doesn't have any clothes on after her wolf-y shift, so he just stares at the thick eyebrows and set expression that looks like Derek Hale.

"I forgot about that," Stiles rubs the back of his head. "But, yeah, tell me about it." He rubs at the scars over his throat, the only wound that doesn’t heal. They shouldn't really be there at all, they were the only thing wrong with his otherwise perfect heaven, but then again Stiles was never quite as human again after he got vomited into existence. "He killed me too.” He tells her, “And most of my pack."

"Except me," Allison says cheerily, "Stiles' evil twin killed me." It should feel like a kick in the gut, but considering the circumstances the misplaced humour is appreciated.

"But you're human," Laura says, not understanding, "Why are you here… humans… even pack members… they go to heaven."

"We escaped heaven," Stiles tells her, "To find our pack. Our friends."

"You really think you're going to find them?" Laura scoffs, "I've been here far longer than you have, and I've never found my family."

"Maybe… maybe they move on," Stiles shrugs, "I mean… most monsters here are all rabid. Maybe the sane ones, the more humane ones… maybe they move on to a different place…" he swallows, because if that's true, then maybe they've already lost Scott. Maybe they're chasing someone who is long gone.

"We'll search this forest from one end to the other before we give up," Allison says threateningly. "It can't hide two werewolves, a banshee and a kitsune from us forever."

Laura pauses, glancing curiously at them, "A banshee and kitsune?" she asks, humming, "Running with wolves?"

"What of it?" Stiles shrugs, "It can't be that unusual, surely."

"Alone, no," Laura shrugs, "But together…" she stares at them a moment more, "Derek is still alive?" she asks.

"Yeah… "Allison frowns.

Laura nods decisively, "Then I'll wait for him. But for you… your friends… I might know where they are. There's a pack with a kitsune and banshee in it just north of the lake. Follow the stream."

Stiles' head snaps up, mouth open in a 'what?' but Laura has already spun away, shifting back into a wolf and bounding off through the trees.

"Was that…?" Allison whispers, hardly daring to breathe.

Stiles sucks in air in a rasping breath, "Well she's definitely a Hale," he whispers, "And… I think we've got a direction."

Stiles feels so, so guilty, stumbling away from his best friend. "Call my dad." he tells Kira, pulling out his phone, "Call someone… anyone…" He's lying to himself if he thinks he can walk away and live with himself.

Kira sinks back against a tree, unable to support her own weight. Stiles stumbles forwards, observing the werewolves swiping at each other with claws. With a snarl Scott lunges, throwing himself on Peter and the pair go down. Stiles forces himself to move away and turn his back.

The jeep is only a few metres away, through thick trees. It's still burning, and Stiles presses his sleeve to his mouth as he forces the door open with his elbow.

The blade he keeps in the pocket of his jeep is there. It's burning hot to the touch and he almost drops it as he throws himself away from the heat of the burning jeep. The tarmac is still smoking, and pieces of shrapnel from what remains of the hood are scattered everywhere. For a moment he wonders what it will be like for his father to find his jeep like this, and then to follow the trail he's leaving of crushed twigs and leaves to his own dead body.

He's not going to die, he promises himself, appearing back in the clearing, knife in hand.

"He's coming," Kira shoves herself up, obviously healing now.

"Can you use this?" Stiles tosses the knife at her, because he knows he's just going to be a liability.

She examines the short blade, "I think so--" she chokes, and the blade drops from her fingers.

It's when Stiles realises the wolves are silent. He'd assumed the fight had moved into the forest, but now he listens there isn't even a snarl.

Kira chokes, blood on her lips as she looks down to the blossoming red on her chest. From the shadows behind her Peter steps forwards, claws through her back, breaking ribs and tearing through organs.

"No," Stiles whispers, just as Peter yanks his hand back and Kira drops like a stone.

Peter grins at him, eyes flaring electric blue. Stiles is relieved at the fact that they're not yet red. It means Scott is still alive.

There is still hope.

"Going to kill me now?" Stiles challenges, eyeing up the knife on the ground. Peter kicks it away as he steps forwards, hands bloody. Stiles swallows nervously.

The wolf's grin is condensing, "Did you think I'd leave you alive so you could kill me again later?" he laughs, slightly, "Oh Stiles, I thought you were cleverer than that."

Stiles backs up a step, for every movement Peter takes forwards he takes one back. Then there is a blur through the trees as Scott appears, bloody and desperate. "Run!" he shouts, "Stiles, RUN!"

He runs. He'd be stupid not to, but something crashes into him. He lashes out; catching Peter in the jaw, but it hardly fazes the wolf. Scott grapples him away and Peter shoves him to one side.

Scott can't get up again, weak and shaky on his legs, bloody dripping from various cuts that don’t seem to be healing. "I want you to see," Peter snarls at him, "I want you to know what it feels like to lose your whole pack." His gaze turns to Stiles, "You should have accepted that offer," and Stiles knows which one he's talking about.

He tries to scramble away, but stills when the claws sink into his chest. His breath hitches. "It's nothing personal," Peter shrugs carelessly, one clawed hand tracing Stiles' jaw. "But then again, considering you threw a Molotov cocktail at me - I guess it kind of is." his claws curl, and his arm slashes across Stiles' vision, and it's like red pokers through his throat.

Stiles chokes, feeling the air whistling uselessly in his throat. The weight lifts off him as Peter turns to where Scott is sprawled, bleeding out.

"Stiles--" his voice is broken, it's one of the last things Stiles remembers.

That and Peter purring as he kicks Scott onto the ground, standing above him, "Oh, Scott. You and your pack… never stood a chance."

That’s when Stiles' vision starts blacking out, and he sucks in one last gasp that never reaches his lungs. He feels dirt beneath his fingers, and the Nemeton is so, so close, he can feel it, but he's losing quicker than he's winning.

He slips away.

They follow the stream that has been besides them for days up north. At least they think it is north, but they're chasing the source of the water. The bubbling brook is a reassuring but odd sound in the otherwise silent forest.

The lake is huge, spread out with a soft beach at the top end. The stream doesn't continue beyond it, but Stiles and Allison put the lake to their back and keep moving.

There are less monsters here, and Stiles wonders if that means anything.

"Remember those vampires that had territory to the east?" Allison asks him; "Maybe… maybe this is their territory?" her voice is hopeful.

Stiles hopes too, and they keep walking.

With the stream no longer besides them all noise travels easily. The first thing they hear beyond their own heartbeats and footsteps is a loud roar.

A roar of an alpha.

They break into a jog, and that's when they hear the cry of pain and shriek of some other monster. "Do you think…?" Stiles bites his lip to stop the hope, because it's only going to be worse when it's destroyed.

That's when the scream pierces through the air and Allison and Stiles break into a full out run, tearing through the trees with energy they haven't had in weeks.

They burst out in a clearing, a fight going on. Stiles' spirits soar when he spots Scott, and then sees Kira and Isaac right behind him.

Then he's moving, because the pack is actually attempting to ward off several ghouls who are snarling at them with blood stained mouths. It's nothing new to Stiles and Allison. Scott and Isaac seems to have two apiece trying to rip their heads off, and Kira has a blade she's using to hold her own. Lydia has some sort of small knife and has her own opponent, and much like Stiles she seems to have learnt various skills in her time here.

An arrow from Allison takes out one of the ghouls through the throat. She reaches it, drawing a ring dagger and sliding it into the monster’s chest, digging it in.

Scott is trying to wrestle one off him, and Stiles takes that one with a clean machete blow, beheading it. He doesn't wait to see Scott's reaction, instead kicking the body aside and launching himself at another of the monsters. He stabs this one, twisting the blade and making the ghoul cry out and fall to the ground. He tugs out the machete with a wet slurp and swipes the blade across its neck, cutting the throat.

The blood goes everywhere. Of course. It's messy, but Stiles moves backwards, away from the worst of the spray.

The fresh blood distracts the other ghouls. Lydia pushes one off her, an arrow in its head from where Allison is shooting, bow in her hand. Kira is currently dancing around another one, and Stiles thinks 'screw it' and throws his machete at it.

It spins through the air like a knife, cleaving itself into the back of the monster's head. Stiles grabs the crossbow, loading a bolt and shooting two quick arrows at the ghoul battling Isaac. It distract the monster enough for Isaac to swipe open it's chest with his claws and toss it aside, and Stiles lowers the crossbow, grinning triumphantly.

The monsters are gone suddenly, and Allison spins her ring daggers and steps towards Stiles, after all this time still moving so they are back to back in the face of new enemies.

Except these aren't enemies. The four faces are staring at them with varying degrees of shock. Stiles feels himself trembling, lowing his arms and letting the crossbow drop. He wants to blurt something out, but he's spent so long communicating with only Allison through glances and gestures that for the first time, he thinks he's speechless.

"Stiles?" Scott breathes, breaking the spell and Stiles finds himself laughing. "Allison?"

"Long time no see," he grins when he finds his voice, and then he's surging forwards to wrap himself around his friend. Scott laughs into the hug, and Stiles presses his face into his best friend's shoulder to stop the tears flowing. "Scott," he chokes out, "We were beginning to think… we thought we'd never…" he steps back, hands on Scott's shoulders as his friend, his brother grins at him.

"We thought you were in heaven," Scott whispers, "We thought you'd be safe there… what… what are you…?"

There is a whoop from Isaac as he and Stiles momentarily put their rivalry aside as the beta throws himself at Stiles.

"That was epic," Kira gapes at him, "Like… so epic… how did you learn to do that?"

Allison and Lydia are sobbing together, and they finally break apart just for Allison to throw herself at Isaac.

"We kind of had to fight our way here," Stiles grabs Kira and spins her around, "Like, quite literally…"

Scott makes a strangled sort of whimper, and that's when Allison finally breaks free of Isaac to stand in front of him, "You didn't do that well at surviving without me," she says, trying for some sense of normality.

It falls apart though when Scott turns his brown eyes to look at her, and she breaks into a grin and throws herself at him. She kisses him once, shortly on the lips and remains hanging around his neck.

"What are you doing here?" Lydia crashes into Stiles, ungainly and out of character, but grinning wildly.

"We busted out of heaven," Allison answers, "It was awesome. Not heaven, that was pallid, dull and unimaginative. Busting out though… and then we were here, and we looked for you."

"Why did you leave?" Isaac frowns, "Isn't it meant to be… well… heaven?"

Stiles snorts, pushing his face against Lydia's neck, sniffing her. She shoves him away, but they're both grinning wildly, both missing each other so much, a tether pulled taunt for so many months now secure and strong, "It's all the best moments of your life, re-experienced. And sure, it's kind of nice, but compared to this?" he gestures around him, "Living, breathing, being with you guys again…"

"No contest," Allison whispers into Scott's neck. She meets Stiles gaze, both of them brimming with happiness, and she lets go of Scott to cross the gap between them, grasping Stiles hand and turning so that he's wrapped around her. He lets her, looking up at Isaac, Kira, Lydia and Scott. "We were beginning to think we wouldn't find you." she admits. "We've been here months."

"We ran into Laura Hale," Stiles tells Scott, "Can you believe that?"

They stumble away from the clearing and the dead bodies, and collapse when the ground begins to slope downwards and gain sharp, jutted rocks. Allison stays curled up next to Stiles.

"We made it," Allison whispers in Stiles' ears. "We made it."

Stiles studies her face for a moment before kissing her. He doesn't look to see what the other's reactions are, "Of course we did." he says, "I said so, didn't I?"

And maybe they can do anything, if they believe hard enough. Maybe if they stick together, pick a direction and stick to it, maybe they can find their way out of the forest, maybe they can find their own ending. Maybe later they can find that human portal, maybe later they can escape, maybe later they could do anything they wanted to do…

Scott grins, Kira laughs next to him, and Lydia pulls leaves out of Isaac's hair with a pout.

Maybe 'later' could wait for another time, Stiles reckoned. Maybe, later could wait forever.