Chapter Text
The Hale house, now fully rebuilt, stood as a surprising oasis of safety amidst the growing unease sweeping through Beacon Hills. Stiles and Derek had spent the afternoon digging through the peculiar reports and strange occurrences plaguing the town. Mysterious disappearances, strange attacks, and rumors of bizarre violence spread like wildfire, and yet, no one could explain the cause.
For hours, they had pored over evidence, trying to make sense of it, but the puzzle remained incomplete, more disturbing than enlightening. Each new report only seemed to add to the list of unexplainable things that had been escalating over the past few weeks.
Stiles fidgeted with the papers in front of him, trying to connect the dots. “It doesn’t add up, Derek,” he muttered aloud, frustrated. “I don’t even know what we’re looking for anymore. The timeline’s all over the place.”
Derek, seated across from him at the large kitchen table, glanced up with a quiet intensity, his brow furrowing as he looked over the mountain of research. “I know,” he said, but his voice was laced with something else, something Stiles couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Whatever’s going on... it’s only getting worse.”
Stiles let out a breath and slumped back in his chair, wiping his eyes tiredly. Maybe he wasn’t much of a researcher—his mind worked faster when he was putting pieces together in real time rather than sitting down with endless reports. His muscles ached, his stomach growled, but despite everything, he didn’t want to leave.
“You think this is really just a bad coincidence?” Stiles asked, looking across at Derek. “Or do you think something’s deliberately trying to mess everything up?”
Derek didn’t reply right away. He was still scanning the reports in front of him, his lips pressing into a thin line. A calmness he wore like a protective shield, but one that could easily crack with any new information. “I don’t know. But something’s happening... Something bigger than anything we’ve dealt with before.”
Stiles sat back and ran a hand through his hair. There was nothing in these reports that really told him what was coming, though he had the unnerving sense that something was. He shot a glance at Derek, who was still reading, keeping his thoughts tight-lipped.
Before he could say anything else, exhaustion swept over him, an inevitable consequence of staying up too late and focusing on pieces that weren’t fitting together. Stiles felt his eyes get heavier with every minute that passed, and before long, he was resting his head on the table, his eyelids drooping until he drifted off into sleep, surrounded by notes, maps, and unanswered questions.
His phone jolted him awake. A sudden buzzing that made Stiles jerk upright in a panic, eyes wide as the haze of sleep quickly wore off. Groggily, he reached for his phone, squinting at the screen until he saw the words 'Dad' flashing. The urgency was clear even from the first ring.
“Stiles?” John’s voice came through, strained but unmistakable with worry. “Where are you? Are you safe?”
Stiles, half-dazed, rubbed his eyes and leaned against the table. “Dad? I’m fine—everything’s good. I’m at Derek’s house.”
There was a pause on the other end, a deep breath from John. “Stay there, okay? Don’t leave. I’m on my way to you. Don’t go anywhere.”
Stiles’s chest tightened. “Dad, what’s happening? Is everything alright?”
But before he could get more information, there was a sharp click as John hung up without another word. Stiles stared at the phone, his pulse suddenly racing. Something wasn’t right. He looked at Derek, who had stopped reading the moment the call came through. Derek was watching him intently, his expression unreadable.
“That didn’t sound... good,” Stiles said quietly, setting the phone back down. His mind raced. What the hell was going on?
Derek rose from his seat and moved across the room in two strides. His gaze was sharp, but there was a faint hint of concern—something Stiles hadn’t often seen when Derek was processing trouble.
Before they could discuss what was going on or if it was really time to panic, Stiles heard the unmistakable rumble of John’s cruiser pulling up outside.
He moved toward the door, his pulse quickening, and glanced out the window. Sure enough, the cruiser was parked right in front. But there was something wrong in the way it was parked—fast, like his dad had thrown it into the gravel and stopped short.
Without wasting a second, Stiles bolted out the door, heart hammering in his chest. As he stepped out onto the porch, he saw his dad step out of the cruiser, looking frazzled and worn, with Jordan close behind. And—Peter.
“What happened?” Stiles blurted, rushing over to his dad.
John, now breathing hard but trying to keep his composure, glanced at him with tense eyes. “Everything went to hell.” His words were simple, but they made Stiles freeze. “The station... the hospital... they were overrun.” He looked to Peter, a silent exchange happening between them before John spoke again. “Peter saved us. We were damn lucky he was there”
Stiles felt the weight of his father’s words settle on him like a cold blanket, the fear in John’s eyes unmistakable. This was serious—too serious. And Stiles didn’t need more confirmation to know that the situation had spiraled out of control faster than anyone had realized.
Peter’s voice came next, low and blunt “It’s bad out there," he said, his voice sharper than usual. "We were lucky to get out of there in one piece.”
The tension in the air thickened. It wasn’t just about finding answers anymore.
Stiles’s breath came fast, panic creeping into his voice. "Dad, What’s going on out there?" His chest felt tight, the sense of something wrong settling deep in his stomach.
John stood still for a moment, his gaze distant as he struggled to put everything into words. “It’s Worse than anything we've ever seen. People... they’re dying, but not staying dead. The dead are coming back.”
Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? You mean... zombies?”
John’s face hardened. "Yeah. Zombies. At first, we thought it was a virus—flu-like symptoms, fevers, chills, just enough to make people feel miserable. No one thought anything of it. Then the worst part: they die, and they come back, but not as people. They're... something else. They're not alive, Stiles. They're dead, and once they’re up, they’re out for blood. Biting, tearing—killing."
Stiles’s breath caught in his throat. “How… how is that even possible?”
John shook his head. “I don’t know. No one does. We didn’t see it coming. It was sudden and all at once. It's spreading faster than we can keep up with.
Stiles stared at his dad, his mind reeling. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, all he could do was blink at him in confusion, trying to make sense of the words.
“Wait, wait, wait... you’re telling me—" Stiles swallowed hard, shaking his head in disbelief. “The dead? Like, actual dead people coming back? To kill people?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the panic that was starting to edge into his thoughts. "That's... that's insane."
He took a step back, looking around the Hale house like it might suddenly reveal some clue to make all of this make sense. "This... can't be happening. It’s like—it's like some kind of movie, right?" But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t a joke. His dad's face was grim, and the way his voice had cracked a little when he'd spoken sent a chill through Stiles's body. This was real.
Stiles ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the unsettling mix of dread and panic crawling up his spine. “Dad, this doesn’t make sense. I—I don’t—are we safe? How does... how do we survive this?” His throat closed up at the thought of facing something so monstrous.
For a second, Stiles just stood there, lost for words, the weight of his dad’s revelation sinking in.
As the room fell silent, Peter, who had been listening quietly, cleared his throat. His sharp eyes met Stiles's, then John’s.
“I was patrolling,” Peter began, his voice calm, almost too calm, for the situation. "I could smell it in the air—death, rot." He paused, the weight of his words hanging between them. “I was a few blocks out when I heard the commotion coming from the hospital. The noise... it didn’t sound like a riot. It sounded like...” He trailed off, like he wasn’t sure how to explain what he had heard. “I could hear the screaming..."
Stiles frowned, unease crawling across his skin. “screaming?” His voice was quiet, unable to fully comprehend what Peter was implying.
Peter nodded, his face tight. “Whatever this is, it’s not like anything we’ve faced before. I had just reached the hospital by the time I saw the chaos spilling out into the streets, and by then... people were already turning. They weren’t sick anymore. They were dead.” His eyes darkened. “And not the quiet, peaceful kind of dead."
Stiles felt a cold shiver work its way down his spine as he tried to process Peter's words. His mind kept returning to what his dad had said—the dead came back. It was almost impossible to wrap his head around, and yet everything in the room felt heavier with the weight of the truth.
He shook his head, feeling disoriented. “This... this doesn’t make sense,” Stiles muttered to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. "This isn't real... this isn't happening."
He didn’t even notice Derek speaking until the soft gravel of his voice cut through the silence. Derek's gaze fixed on Stiles, though the question wasn’t for him.
"What I don’t get," Derek said, his brows furrowing in his usual, controlled way, "is why Peter had to save you two. What was going on there?"
Stiles glanced quickly at Derek, then to his dad. It was clear now that Derek, who’d been quiet while Peter explained, was trying to connect the dots.
John’s jaw tightened as he thought back to the chaos at the hospital. He met Stiles’s eyes briefly before looking away. His voice was rough when he spoke.
“We were in the ER when it all started. We had reports of violent altercations, people fighting—didn’t seem that out of the ordinary. We assumed it was maybe drug-induced or some kind of mass hysteria. It was the kind of call you get sometimes, nothing that would prepare you for what was really happening.”
He paused, visibly working through the difficult memories.
“Then it escalated. People were getting injured, badly—attacks all over. It was confusion and panic. At first, we thought it was just some sick people, but the others weren’t just attacking like they were scared or panicked. It was different. They weren’t just hurt... they were—changed. They went down fighting, but they didn’t stay down.”
John stopped, his hand instinctively clenching as if reliving the moment.
"They kept moving. They were dead, Stiles. They died—people we thought we could save. But then they came back. And they weren’t themselves anymore. They were these... things, biting, clawing, tearing into anyone they could reach.”
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice.
“That's when I realized this wasn't just some medical situation, it was something... something else. We tried to keep people safe, but the doors were too barricaded. The hallways were filled with those things, tearing into anyone who came across their path.”
John looked between Derek and Stiles. “The chaos, it wasn’t just what was happening to people. The ER had been completely overwhelmed even before that—riots breaking out in the waiting areas, people from the streets spilling in, acting erratic. That’s when we realized, it wasn’t just people getting sick or fighting each other. It was more than that. It was something we couldn’t control. We weren’t prepared. The situation escalated so quickly. We tried to handle it, but there were too many of them.”
John cleared his throat before finishing the explanation. “Peter saved us. If it wasnt for him, Jordan and I wouldn't be standing here right now.”
Stiles sat quietly, his thoughts racing, trying to make sense of everything John just explained. The weight of his dad’s words sank in, the terrifying truth starting to solidify. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe.
“What now?” Stiles asked, his voice softer than he meant it to be, a mixture of fear and disbelief lacing his words. He wasn’t questioning what happened anymore—he was just trying to wrap his head around what came next. What were they supposed to do? How did you keep fighting something like this? How could anyone be prepared for something so unnatural, so… savage?
He turned slightly toward Derek, as if to ground himself in the familiar presence. “Is… is there any chance this gets better?” His voice broke slightly, though he tried to keep it steady. “Or… are we just… waiting for it to get worse?”
John exchanged a glance with Derek before answering. “We don’t know. None of us do. But we’ll figure it out. We’ll keep you safe.”
Stiles nodded, though it didn’t do much to ease the heavy weight of fear settling into his bones. He swallowed hard, not quite able to shake the sense of impending doom. His whole life had been shaken, the world he'd known no longer felt like it was even remotely real.
"We just have to stick together,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. It was the only thing that made any sense anymore, even if it didn’t feel like enough.