Chapter Text
When his alarm went off at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning, the sound that escaped him could not be classified as human. He didn’t know what historians would classify the sound as, but if they heard it, they would never assume it came out of a human’s mouth.
He could feel wetness on his face from where he’d drooled into his pillow while he slept, and reached out blindly with one hand to slap at his night stand, trying to locate the source of the noise so he could shut it off. The aggressive nature of his smacking had him, not only hurt his hand, but somehow catapult his phone off the small table into the depths of his room.
Or like, right beside the night stand, since it was plugged in and thus couldn’t go far.
Peeling open his eyes, he let the sound that had previously escaped him start up again, the low groan of dismay filling the empty room as his eyes slowly focussed on the chair across from the bed. It was covered in clothes, since he was using it as a makeshift wardrobe, only because he was lazy and when he finished doing laundry, he just threw everything onto his chair. He always did homework in the library anyway, wasn’t like he needed his desk, really.
His alarm continued to blare as he stared at the chair, as if doing so for long enough would magically have time reverse so he could get a few extra hours of sleep, but alas, no dice. He had class at eight, and if he didn’t want to be late, he had to get his lazy ass up right now.
But he was so comfy. It was so freaking comfy. The bed may not have been the softest he’d ever slept in, but compared to the mattress he’d had last year, this was a definite upgrade. University beds were not designed to be comfortable, but he’d lucked out this year, and by God, he was going to appreciate it.
No roommate, reasonably comfy mattress, and a dorm room in the dorm closest to the common’s block where the cafeteria and student-run convenience store were. Really, he was living the dream.
Aside from the whole alarm blaring thing. His neighbour would start banging on the wall soon if he didn’t shut it off, the guy was a cranky prick. He hoped he ran out of toilet paper the next time he took a shit.
Was he petty? Absolutely. The pettiest of them all.
He was still lying there contemplating his pettiness when, as predicted, banging sounded on the wall and he buried his face in his drool-stained pillow to let out an aggravated sound.
“I’m up,” he called, pulling his face free and forcing himself to roll over, throwing both feet over the side of the bed and snatching up his phone. “I’m up,” he said again, more loudly, when the banging continued.
Turing the alarm off, his neighbour let out two more angry bangs before going silent. He made a face at the wall and flipped him the bird with both hands more emphatically than was strictly necessary given no one could see him.
Tossing his phone back onto his night stand, Stiles Stilinski rubbed at his face with both hands, inhaling deeply and holding it, wondering if he could make himself pass out. It wasn’t skipping class if he passed out, right?
The only reason he managed to force himself to drop his hands and grab his toiletries was because his dad was paying to get him a good education, and he was not letting that man down. The guy was probably going into more debt than he could afford, even with the scholarship Stiles had managed to snag for the place, and by God he was going to get his education!
Regardless of what the Supernatural community decided for him.
Walking into the communal bathroom, he grunted a good morning to one of his dormmates, who looked just as tired as he did. Stiles couldn’t fathom why, wasn’t like this guy had stayed up all night researching Bunyip. What was a Bunyip? Who knew other than Stiles! Since he’d spent most of the night looking into them.
But did the dude beside him looking half-asleep know what a Bunyip was? No. He probably didn’t. Because he didn’t live Stiles’ life. His stupid, stupid life.
Finishing up before the other dude, who looked like he’d fallen asleep while brushing his teeth, Stiles headed back for his room to get some real clothes on. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but his second class today was one of his criminology courses and they had FBI agents coming in to talk to the class as a whole. Apparently the professor and the new head of one of the divisions were friends or something and he’d managed to convince them to come in and talk to the students.
Stiles found that to be pretty cool, and he wouldn’t have skipped that class for anything—except something life or death, but seriously, for once, things that wanted to kill people could wait for fifty minutes.
His first class was English composition, which was a complete waste of time, but mandatory for graduation. He’d already procrastinated taking it for two years, so he really had to get a move on.
Once he was dressed and as presentable as he could get, he threw his messenger bag strap over one shoulder and headed out, being sure his door was locked despite knowing the thing auto-locked. Satisfied, he turned to push through the door leading to the back stairwell, going down two flights of stairs, and exited the dorm. He realized once outside that he should’ve gone out the front door, since it was closer to the common’s block, but he still had time. Besides, walking around the building would wake him up.
He would’ve preferred a full breakfast, but he’d dragged his feet too much this morning and would be late if he sat down to eat, so he just grabbed a muffin, some yogurt, and a huge coffee before heading out to his first class.
English composition was literally the stupidest thing in the world, in his opinion. Depending on the job, why did anyone need to know this shit? Stiles wasn’t planning on becoming a teacher, or a writer, or any other profession that required a proficiency in writing, so why was English composition a mandatory course anyway?
He was going to solve crime and kick butt. Or something. He hadn’t decided yet, he just knew he wanted to be in a similar field as his dad. Maybe he’d join the FBI, if he could get in. Actually, maybe he could chat with one of the FBI agents who’d be coming by in his next class.
As tired as he was from the research, he was actually pretty stoked for his criminology course. It was interesting on a good day, but with the FBI around? It was probably going to be an absolute banger of a lesson.
Now he was getting excited, and he spent more time watching the clock on his phone than he did paying attention to what was being said. When he was finally dismissed from the class, he hoisted his strap over one shoulder and booked it. He had ten minutes to make it halfway across campus, and he wanted to get a good seat. He usually always did, since he loved this class, but today it was especially important and he had a feeling a few of the girls would try and snag the front row in hopes of being closer to who they were guessing would be a hot FBI agent.
Stiles also figured most of the class who usually bailed might actually show up for this one, and he didn’t want to get stuck at the back when he was usually at the front. The professor knew his name was Stiles, and everything!
He managed to make it to the large hall in record time, which was exciting for him because he snagged his usual seat in time to see a group of people he didn’t recognize walk in. He’d been right in his assumptions that the skippers would show up, so he was glad he’d hurried to class.
Putting his bag on the seat beside his to save the spot, Stiles pulled his notebook out and opened it to the next page so he could write the date in the top corner. He was trying to keep his notes organized for once, and since his laptop was on its last leg, he didn’t have the luxury of bringing it to class and being all over the place. Copy/paste did not work with a notebook.
The noise behind him was getting louder as more people filed in, and Stiles looked up in time to see Heather walking towards him. Pulling his bag off the seat, he nodded hello to her as she sat down, Stiles putting his bag on the floor by his feet. They weren’t exactly friends, but they’d been in three of the same courses in their first year, and had started chatting. Since then, they’d had an additional five courses together due to being in the same major, and it was nice having someone to bum notes off of if one of them missed class, for whatever reason.
He felt like he could’ve had more of a friendship with her if he wasn’t so fucking busy trying to protect people from home, but this was his life now. He’d survive.
Mostly. Lack of sleep might kill him, but whatever.
“Good morning,” Heather said with a smile, taking her Macbook out of her bag and setting it on the small excuse of a desk the auditorium used.
“Morning,” Stiles replied. “How was your night?”
“Good.” She turned to smile at him. “Went out for pizza with my roommate, and then we watched some horror movies. What about you?”
“I had pizza for dinner too,” he admitted, not mentioning it was a hot pocket he hadn’t even had time to heat up. He’d been too busy to go to the cafeteria and it was closed by the time he’d remembered food was a requirement and not optional. “Then I spent the rest of the night reading.”
“You do love reading,” she said with a light nudge.
Stiles laughed at that, because oh, if only she knew. What he wouldn’t give to watch some horror movies instead of living in one.
They continued to chat amiably for a few minutes while the class filled up. The professor walked in a minute or so before it started, raising one hand in greeting to Stiles, Heather, and the other three regulars who sat in the front row. Heather waved back, but Stiles just nodded a greeting to him.
It didn’t take long for the class to quiet down when the professor clapped his hands together loudly and began to speak. Stiles noticed there wasn’t anyone at the front of the room with him, and wondered if the agents cancelled. That would be kind of a bummer, but he was sure they were busy. If it came down to hanging out in a classroom with the future of the country, or going out to find some sadistic serial killer, Stiles was pretty sure he knew which one he’d rather the FBI be doing.
The professor was still in the process of explaining their upcoming assignment, which he’d discussed at length in previous classes but was obviously recapping for the people who’d been skipping, when the door at the front opened again and he cut off mid-sentence, turning to it.
“Ah, excellent.” He clapped his hands together once. “Welcome, welcome! Come on in.”
A man walked into the room first, heading straight for the professor and speaking to him in low tones. Another man and a woman followed him in, the latter texting on her phone while scowling. Stiles arched an eyebrow, unsure of what was going on, but the three of them looked tense.
“Something’s up,” he said aloud, Heather humming her agreement beside him.
“Yeah, the agent talking to the professor looks kind of... worried? Or nervous?”
Stiles’ eyes shifted to see what she meant, and the second his eyes landed on the agent speaking to the professor, he felt his entire body sag with disappointment.
Seriously? Of all the fucking people that could’ve shown up, it had to be him?
“Sir,” the woman suddenly said, the agent speaking to the professor turning to her quickly, but the woman just put her phone to her ear while hurrying towards the door. “Hale, where the hell are you? We’ve been trying to reach you for two hours.” She exited the room before Stiles heard any more, and he glanced at Heather.
She just shrugged in response, which was probably the best possible reaction to what the hell was going on right now.
“Sorry about that, folks.” Stiles turned back to the front when the agent speaking to his professor clapped his hands once to get their attention. “Just a little bit of a scheduling conflict with one of my agents, but time is of the essence, so let’s crack on.” He glanced at the door when the woman came back into the room, nodding to him. He nodded back, then turned to look at the professor, motioning for him to go ahead.
The professor took a few steps forward once more, so he was a bit closer to the class than the agents were, and Stiles saw the woman whispering something to the man in charge, the two of them looking confused.
Well, mostly confused. Mr. Important also seemed a little pissed off.
“Some unexpected excitement this morning, it seems,” the professor said, forcing Stiles’ attention back to him. “But let’s go ahead and start. I’d like for you to meet Supervisory Special Agent McCall.” He motioned the agent he’d been speaking to, and Stiles tried to slouch slightly in his seat, hoping to go unnoticed.
No dice, because SSA McCall’s gaze locked onto him the second he moved. Figured.
“This is Special Agent Kincaid, and Dr. Romero. It seems we’ve lost one of their team members, though hopefully not to anything nefarious.” The professor turned to wink at SSA McCall.
The man laughed, patting the professor’s shoulder. “Not to worry, Garrett, Agent Hale just seems to have gotten a little lost on his way here. He should be by shortly, though I can’t promise it’ll be before class ends. But never mind that.” He clapped again, Stiles resisting the urge to groan.
God, the guy was on such a fucking power trip right now. Calling the missing guy his agent, saying he was lost, acting like the professor was just another hopeful student looking to learn more about the FBI. He was such a dick.
Stiles hated him.
“Good morning,” he said pleasantly to the class, the smile on his face so fake that Stiles felt he should be tried and charged for it. “Glad you could all make it here today. We don’t usually make a habit of coming to impart our wisdom on young minds, but your professor and I go way back, and I thought it might be nice to give everyone here some idea of what might be in your future.”
And again with the condescension. Stiles should’ve skipped this class. Hell, he would have if he’d known what was waiting for him.
That was when SSA McCall turned to stare right at him, the next words out of his mouth intended just for him. “Not all of your futures, mind you. Some of you might not hack it in this field. Remember, we are not our parents.”
“Thank God for that,” Stiles muttered, slouching even further in his seat and pulling his notebook closer so he could doodle in it. He was not going to learn anything in today’s class, and he could already tell half the people who were there were starting to mentally check out. No one wanted to listen to a boring old man talk down on them, least of all Stiles.
He let the agent’s words go in one ear and out the other, not really listening to anything he said, since Stiles knew it all already. His dad was twice the man SSA McCall was, so hearing him talk about how their job tied into criminology, and explain what he and his team did on a daily basis was insulting. He was pretty sure he didn’t speak quite as softly to himself when the agent reminded everyone that being responsible in a job like this was important, because Heather glanced over at him.
“Says the drunk who beat on his wife,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “Did you say something?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles said, and he noticed SSA McCall’s eyes on him. It was impossible he’d heard him, but even if he had, whatever. Not like it wasn’t true.
Stiles continued to doodle in his notebook, kind of annoyed at this whole waste of a class, considering he could’ve been looking into Bunyips right now. Between listening to this pompous, alpha male bullshit and looking into a monster trying to eat his friend, he felt like his time would’ve been better spent doing the latter.
The only reason he didn’t get up and walk out of the classroom right then and there was because he respected the professor too much. He actually liked this class, and really, it wasn’t anyone’s fault that this had happened. Not like the professor had actively sought out SSA Rafael McCall to make Stiles’ life miserable.
Much as Stiles pretended he was the main character in life, he knew perfectly well that he wasn’t. He didn’t have main character energy, despite the universe trying to tell him otherwise with all the shit it threw his way.
After what felt like a mind-numbingly long time of listening to SSA McCall talk, he finally passed things over to the woman who was with him, and she went about explaining her area of expertise and what she did on the team. The last guy was a bit dry, but at least he sounded interesting and not full of himself. He had to explain more than he seemed ready to discuss, but Stiles kind of picked up that he was also covering the portion that belonged to the agent who’d bailed.
Stiles couldn’t blame the guy, if he was an agent, he’d bail on this too. Who would rather come to something like this instead of out in the world chasing criminals?
Sadly, when the agent was done speaking, SSA McCall took it upon himself to start up again. It took a conscious effort for Stiles not to bang his head repeatedly against any available hard surface and finally, mercifully, the class was over. Their professor clapped when everything was said and done, and half the class followed suit to be polite. Stiles didn’t have that kind of respect for the asshole in charge of this team, so he didn’t bother.
Standing quickly, Stiles started to pack away his things, the agents filing out the door and evidently off to save the world, or whatever.
Or in SSA McCall’s case, put another poor, unsuspecting class to sleep. Stiles felt bad for the people who’d shown up just for this mess. At least that Dr. Romero had been interesting, and the other agent—Kincaid, Stiles thought his name was—had a cool skill, even if he was a bit dry.
Finished with his things, Stiles threw the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and turned to Heather. She was carefully putting her laptop back into her bag.
“You sticking around campus today, or you heading out?”
“I have work today, so I’m bailing early. Should be around tomorrow though,” she said, continuing to pack away her things and glancing up at him. “Lunch?”
“Sounds good. See you then.” He raised one hand in farewell while heading for the door.
“Bye Stiles.”
Exiting the classroom, Stiles hadn’t even managed to make it two steps when he came face to face with SSA McCall.
Man of the hour himself.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“Well, it is a university campus, and this is a university course, so it makes more sense for me to be here than you.” Stiles offered him the same brand of fake smile the agent had pulled on them in the class and started past him, but the older man blocked his path.
“How’s Scott?”
“You have his number, ask him yourself. Oh, wait.” Stiles snapped his fingers, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “He blocked you. Totally slipped my mind.”
He found satisfaction in the way the older man’s face darkened at those words. Given his best friend was not technologically savvy, he was perfectly aware of the fact that Stiles was the one who’d helped him block the guy’s number.
“I’m his father.”
“Well, like you said yourself, thankfully we are not our parents so Scott’s got a chance in life.”
Stiles started moving past him once again, and Rafael McCall’s hand hit him hard in the chest, pushing him back until he was against the wall right beside the classroom door, pinning him there. It hadn’t been an overly violent action, but it had been rough enough for it to hurt. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to have a nice bruise on his sternum in a few hours.
With them so close together, Stiles could smell the alcohol on his breath, and wished he could be surprised. Didn’t stop him from being disgusted someone who was a Supervisory Special Agent, in charge of other people, was drinking on the job though.
“One day,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble you can’t get yourself out of. Tell my son I’d like a word. He knows my number.”
“Did it occur to you he doesn’t want a word?” Stiles asked, ignoring the hand pressing him hard into the wall. “I thought he made that pretty clear when he returned the financial support for university that you sent him. You want to be a good dad? Maybe use those so-called skills of yours and recognize you’re the problem and he wants you to leave him alone.”
Even though he knew it was coming, it still surprised Stiles when he felt pain splash across his face, Rafe’s hand still on his chest the only thing that kept him standing after the hard blow. He’d barely turned his face back to the agent’s when there was a hand in his hair, wrenching his head back painfully.
“Don’t test my patience, Stiles. One word from me, and Garrett will drop you from his class in a heartbeat.”
“You might want to put that ego away before it takes over the whole building.”
Stiles was pretty sure another hit was coming, but then the classroom door opened and the professor started at seeing them right beside the door. Rafe let him go so fast Stiles wondered if he wasn’t a Supernatural being with superspeed or something.
“Oh. Rafe. I thought you’d left already.”
“Just speaking to my son’s best friend here.” Stiles tensed when Rafe wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side, using that same fake, condescending smile as earlier.
“You and Stiles know each other?” The professor perked up, and Stiles smirked internally when the guy started gushing about how wonderful he was.
It looked like Rafe was struggling to keep his smile on his face, and Stiles so badly wished he had some insight into the dude’s thoughts right then. They were probably hilarious.
Ducking out from under the agent’s arm after another minute, he excused himself by saying he had another class—which he didn’t for another two hours—and bid his professor goodbye.
He didn’t say a word to Rafe and just turned his back on the guy, heading down the corridor. The halls and stairwell were empty by now, since the next hour of classes had started, and he hurried down the last flight of stairs, jumping the final two steps and almost colliding with a woman who’d just entered the building.
He only just managed to avoid her, years of lacrosse allowing him to pivot around her at the last second and slam into the other exit door.
“Sorry!” he called back to her, letting the door shut behind himself and pulling his strap higher onto his shoulder.
He tongued at the corner of his mouth, feeling split skin there, and reached up to touch his cheek lightly. It hadn’t been a bad hit, all things considered, but Stiles was also used to getting hit by things with super-strength so he may have just gotten used to being injured all the time.
Still, he wished the corridor had cameras. He’d have loved to send that clip to SSA McCall’s boss.
Bad enough the guy drank on the job, he probably put away innocent civilians by beating confessions out of them where they’d tell him anything he wanted just to get him to stop.
Stiles’ hand curled into a fist, and he’d just turned to head towards—he didn’t know, the library maybe?—when someone called his name.
“Stiles! Stiles!”
Turning to find who was calling after him, he arched an eyebrow at the guy running full speed towards him. Normally, it’d be kind of funny, because he was wearing a navy suit with an equally boring blue tie, but was running like he was trying to win a marathon.
The only reason it wasn’t funny was because... he was barrelling right at him. And Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he would stop.
Jerking back a few steps, and positive it wouldn’t save him, he jerked slightly when the guy did stop, right in front of him, hands on his shoulders and green eyes wide and horrified. He was inspecting every inch of Stiles’ torso, hands leaving his shoulders to run along his chest, confusion on his face.
“Whoa, hey, hey!” Stiles slapped the guy’s hands away, moving back a few steps and raising his fists. He recognized it was a stupid thing to do, but it was an automatic reaction. “Okay, enough of that. You always randomly assault people in public?”
“Stiles, your chest...”
“Yes, my chest,” Stiles agreed when the guy trailed off, still looking at his chest. It made Stiles want to cross his arms over it, but he kept his fists raised instead, like it would do anything. Whatever, it made him feel better. “Mine. No touchy.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
“You tell me!” Stiles insisted. “You’re the one groping me in public!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Join the club!” Stiles took another step back when the guy took a step forward. “Hey now, let’s uh, respect boundaries here. Let’s keep a respectable distance for the foreseeable future.”
“Stiles, what happened?!” the guy demanded, taking another step forward. Stiles just took another step back. “How are you here? Where’s your injury? What the hell is going on?”
“Mm hm, mm hm,” Stiles said easily in response, nodding his head but keeping his fists raised. “Right, okay, all very good questions. Happy to help you uh, figure this all out, but how about we start with one of mine, because it’s probably the most important one.” He finally lowered his fists, but only so he could press his hands together, as if in prayer, and pointed them at the crazy dude in front of him. “Who are you?”
The look that crossed the other man’s face was indecipherable. It was like ten different emotions crossed his features all in one fell swoop, each one coming and going too fast for Stiles to catch.
“I’m Derek,” he finally said, somewhat slowly, as if he was wondering if Stiles was playing a prank on him. “We met yesterday.”
“Pretty sure we did not meet yesterday.”
“Pretty sure we did,” this Derek guy said, sounding frustrated now. “We had a conversation in your criminology class? You bought me coffee? I helped you with your Bunyip problem?”
Stiles’ heart did something weird in his chest at that and he looked around urgently, making sure no one was within earshot, then moved a bit closer to the suited dude. Probably a bad idea, since he was liable to get kidnapped and thrown into the back of a van, but they were in public!
He didn’t need Hunters materializing out of the shadows to throw them both in Supernatural jail!
“You know what a Bunyip is?”
Derek was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and frustration. “Yes, Stiles! I know what a Bunyip is! I helped you with what book to look at so you could help your friend!”
Stiles put his hands together again, then pressed them against his lips, inspecting the very confused, but so incredibly sexy man who was staring at him, lost and desperate.
“Okay, I have no idea what’s going on, but I’ve got a few hours to kill so let’s pretend you’re not trying to kidnap me and go get some coffee so we can talk about this.”
When he started to turn away, Derek grabbed his arm and tugged. It wasn’t a hard tug, more a request for him to wait, and Stiles turned back to him.
Probably a mistake, because the other man’s free hand reached up, fingers ghosting lightly along Stiles’ injured cheek. Shit, was it starting to bruise or something?
“What happened to your face?”
“I tried to stop a fist with it.”
At these words, Derek’s entire face shuttered, but his eyes widened ever so slightly as he stared at Stiles’ cheek for a few seconds longer before locking eyes with him.
“Rafe hit you.”
Stiles’ head snapped back. “How did—?”
“Rafe hit you. I wasn’t there, I didn’t...” He looked like he stopped breathing. “What day is it?” Derek demanded.
“What?”
“The day! What day is today?!” Derek let Stiles go, but only so he could reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He tapped at the home screen, and then went so perfectly still that Stiles was pretty sure this guy wasn’t human. No human could stand that still.
When it was clear Derek wasn’t going to move again without some prompting, Stiles said, “It’s Wednesday.”
“That’s impossible,” Derek whispered.
“Not really, it comes around every seven days.”
“This is impossible,” Derek said again, looking around himself, as if he was searching for something. “It can’t be Wednesday, that was yesterday.”
“Pretty sure you need to learn the days of the week, my guy, because yesterday was Tues—” Stiles cut himself off with a startled shout when Derek grabbed at his shoulders again, squeezing tightly enough to hurt.
When he looked into the other man’s face, his stomach dropped when he saw a hint of red around his irises, and figured out exactly why this guy could stand so perfectly still.
“Werewolf,” he breathed, the word so quiet the wind might’ve whisked it away before anyone else heard.
But Derek heard, because he was a Werewolf, and they had exceptional hearing.
“Yes. I’m a Werewolf. And I told you that yesterday.” His face crumpled then, confusion and fear and desperation before he continued. “Only yesterday wasn’t yesterday, it was today. It was today. Because this day has happened before. And that’s how I know that in less than twelve hours, you are going to be dead.”
Stiles so should’ve stayed in bed this morning.
“So let me get this straight,” Stiles insisted, rubbing at his face with both hands, and wishing he’d thought to grab himself a coffee before bringing the weird, time-travelling Werewolf back to his dorm room. He was much too tired for this kind of sci-fi conversation. “You’re telling me that you’ve lived through this day before, but that you woke up this morning and the day started over?”
“Yes,” Derek insisted, pacing grooves into Stiles’ carpet. He hoped the university didn’t notice, he kind of needed that deposit back.
“Okay,” Stiles said, because what else could he say? “Why?”
“I don’t know,” the Werewolf insisted, voice more a growl than anything as he rounded on Stiles. “I have no idea why this happened! I just woke up, panicked about what the fuck happened last night and how I magically ended up in my hotel room, spent much too long trying to figure out your full name, went to every hospital within a ten mile radius, and then finally answered my team when they asked where I was because I was meant to be part of a presentation for your criminology class. But I already did that! Yesterday!”
“You mean the previous version of today,” Stiles supplied helpfully.
Derek glowered at him, and Stiles raised both hands in surrender. Jeez, the guy was touchy.
“Okay, but are you sure though? Because, you’ve gotta admit, this is all sounding a little far-fetched. Time travel isn’t real.”
“Neither were Werewolves when you were a kid,” Derek shot back.
Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, and pointed a finger at his surly companion. “Touche.”
“I just don’t get it,” he insisted, continuing to pace back and forth, back and forth. He was making Stiles feel dizzy, for some reason. “How could this even have happened? Time doesn’t just reverse itself on a whim, so how did the day reset? What caused this?”
Stiles said nothing as Derek continued to mutter to himself, clearly trying to piece together a puzzle in his brain and speaking out loud just to get his thoughts organized.
He said nothing, but looked down at his hands. Stiles had magic, he knew this about himself. He’d never been able to control it, but what if...
It usually manifested when someone around him was going to die. Why wouldn’t it trigger when he himself was about to kick the bucket? Had he done this somehow?
But if so, then why couldn’t he remember anything? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for him, the guy who’d been murdered, to remember the events from the previous loop of this day? How was he supposed to keep himself safe from whoever was after him if he didn’t remember who that was?
Stiles jumped when his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket and he pulled it out, finding a text from Liam.
Right. Bunyip.
“Hey, you said you told me how to get rid of a Bunyip yesterday,” Stiles paused. “Or earlier. Whatever. You said you told me how to do that. How?”
“I don’t know off the top of my head, I just know where the information can be found.” Derek was running one hand across his face, over and over again, like he was rubbing at his own stubble in thought.
“Okay,” Stiles said, stretching out the word. “And that is... where?”
“Library. Stacks. Satomi Ito.”
“Great.” Stiles got to his feet. “How about I solve the problem on Liam’s side first before we try and figure this out? I can just pop over to the library, then—”
“No!”
Stiles jumped when Derek whipped around, face inches from his and one finger poking hard into his chest.
“You died in the library, Stiles. You are staying right here, where nothing and no one can touch you until tomorrow comes, or we figure out what’s going on.”
“How do you even know it’s related to me?” Stiles demanded, half-flailing. Never mind he was pretty sure this was about him, he wasn’t about to tell Derek that. He didn’t know the guy from Adam. “It could’ve been anyone!”
“Stiles my alarm went off less than a nanosecond after you died.”
“Coincidence!” He flailed some more. “Come on, you’re telling me that it’s impossible for me to die at the same time someone else forced you to repeat the day?”
“Do you realize how unlikely that is?” Derek asked dryly.
“But not impossible,” Stiles countered, pointing a finger at him. “Maybe this was just sheer dumb luck that I managed to get a do-over.”
Derek looked extremely sceptical, but he seemed too tired and confused to keep arguing. Stiles considered it a win. Even annoying someone into submission was a win!
“So... what now?” Stiles asked.
“Now,” Derek said, moving to look through the peephole in Stiles’ door when someone walked by. “We wait until midnight to make sure you get there.”
“What about food?”
“I’m sure you have something to eat here.”
Okay, he had him there. Stiles had many snacks around the room, some that were even open. Probably not the best idea while living in a dorm room, but ziploc was expensive and he was poor. His textbooks cost more than his dad’s monthly mortgage payments.
“What about the Bunyip?!” he demanded, throwing his hands in the air.
He wasn’t about to let Liam die to save his own skin, especially since this guy could be completely off his rocker. Really, Stiles felt like he was just entertaining him because he hadn’t really known how else to react.
But it wasn’t like the guy had proved anything. It was easy to say he was a time traveller, but aside from knowing his name, Derek had nothing on him. Maybe he was like, a crazy stalker pretending to be an FBI agent who was going to rape and kill Stiles!
Well, probably not. For one thing, Derek’s concern felt real. For another, he was way out of his league. And for yet another, Stiles was pretty sure if Derek wanted to get into his pants, he wouldn’t find much resistence.
It just seemed so illogical! And kind of unfair, if he was being honest. After all, Bill Murray had learned a ton of new skills repeating the same day over and over again. How was it fair Stiles’ day had repeated and Derek was the one benefiting? Especially if it stemmed from his magic. What the actual hell, how rude!
Stiles jerked away when Derek moved towards him. The Werewolf looked a little offended at the violent reaction, but in Stiles’ defence, he was apparently dying at some point today, and he’d rather it not be by accident. Who knew! If he was slated to die, like some Final Destination bullshit, then he was going out no matter what!
He turned when Derek brought his computer out of sleep mode, the Werewolf giving him a clear, “Get on with it,” look at the password prompt.
Stiles turned in his chair and obediently typed in his password. Derek snatched the laptop back instantly, Stiles giving him an offended look of his own. Before he could decide what words to waste on him though, Derek turned the screen back towards him.
“There. Bunyip.”
It took Stiles all of two seconds to stare incredulously at Derek, then at the website open on his laptop screen.
“You’re kidding, right? That’s like, the fakest site I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, she does that on purpose.”
Stiles frowned. “Who does?”
“Marin Morrell. She’s Emissary to a huge pack in Nebraska that seems to get into a lot of trouble. She started digitizing their books when a dragon took out half their—”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles interrupted, holding one hand up in a ‘stop’ motion, “did you just say dragon?”
“Yes, pay attention,” Derek snapped.
Wow, the guy was Cranky, with a capital C.
To be fair, Stiles would be pretty cranky too if he had to relive the same day over a second time. Did that mean he got hit by Rafe yesterday too? Well, at least he didn’t remember it. He supposed that was one advantage of not remembering all this happening.
“Marin started digitizing things when the fire took out half their library, and she eventually just put it online. Figured it’d help other Supernaturals who were being targeted.”
“So this site is legit,” Stiles said, pulling the laptop closer. “And she makes it look like this to, what, make people think it’s not real?”
“Worked on you, didn’t it?”
Stiles had to concede that, because it was true. This didn’t at all look like a site he’d ever have trusted. Hell, he might’ve even clicked on it once or twice in the past, but probably wrote it off as nonsense and moved along.
He knew some sites disguised themselves as game sites, but most of the legitimate ones still looked a bit more professional. This one was all garish colours and horrendous image quality. Hiding in plain sight, he supposed.
He was scrolling through all the creatures available for lookup—holy shit, there were a ton—when Derek’s phone rang. Stiles heard him more than saw him pull it from his pocket and he let out a quiet curse.
Moving to the other side of the room, he answered the call quietly, Stiles only hearing him say the word, “Hale.”
He didn’t listen in, because he had more important things to worry about. Like stopping Liam from having his insides eaten, or whatever.
Bookmarking the page, Stiles started scrolling through everything present about Bunyips, pulling his phone out so he could text parts of it to Liam whenever something useful came up. He kept getting whines and wails back, Liam not wanting to have to deal with this on his own, but it wasn’t like Stiles could jump on a plane across the country!
Besides, he was pretty sure Derek would spontaneously combust if Stiles even went to the bathroom, with the way he was acting.
Honestly, Stiles had to wonder if it would be this easy. Just keep him trapped in his room all night, and nothing would happen to him. But if this was some Final Destination bullshit, Stiles was pretty toast. Death always found a way, after all.
But what if it’s not, a quiet voice said at the back of his mind, his eyes going unfocussed as he stared at the screen, mind racing.
What if Derek was telling the truth? What then? If it was about Stiles, would the loop stop if he made it to tomorrow? Or would it restart again on a new day if Stiles were to die once more? And who was out to murder him anyway? It couldn’t be Derek, because for one thing, he’d have done it already, and for another, it wouldn’t explain why he was in the loop.
Stiles was positive this had to do with his weird brand of magic, but why was Derek involved? What had happened for the spell he’d unknowingly cast to latch onto Derek? He didn’t even know the guy!
Well, literally today, since he’d met him not even an hour ago. But even so, if this was a repeat of the day for Derek, it meant they’d only just met that day. So why the hell would his magic choose Derek for the loop? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to choose Scott, or Lydia?
Hell, the most sense would’ve been for it to be Stiles himself. Wasn’t that how it worked in the movies? Groundhog Day, Palm Springs, 12:01, Happy Death Day...
The last movie gave him pause, and Stiles had a brief stab of fear at the thought that... maybe his resets were limited? The other three movies didn’t involve the protagonist dying, but Happy Death Day revolved around a girl being killed over and over again and having to solve her own murder. But every time she died, she got weaker and weaker.
What if that happened to Stiles?
Or worse, what if it happened to Derek?
What if the loop kept resetting, and every reset, Derek got weaker and weaker until eventually he just... died? Then what? Would the same day loop for all eternity, Stiles constantly being killed over and over again, without knowing it was happening on repeat? And what about Derek himself? If he died in the loop, whether from too many resets or not, how did that impact him? Stiles didn’t want to be the cause of someone else’s death, he had enough death on his conscience from all the Supernatural things that had attacked his pack over the years.
“What’s wrong?”
Stiles leapt a mile high at the hand that lightly touched his shoulder and whipped around. Derek looked crossed between confused and concerned.
It was kind of a good look on him.
“Didn’t realize your call ended. Everything okay?”
“It’s fine, they’re dealing with our case.”
“Uh, shouldn’t you be helping them?”
“If I do that, who’ll watch you?” Derek asked dryly.
Stiles made a big show of looking around his room, then gave Derek a pointed look. That just earned him a scowl and Derek crossing his arms over his chest.
The guy had to be hot. He’d been wearing a suit jacket since he’d met up with Stiles and followed him back to the dorm. Sure, his room wasn’t sweltering hot or anything, but it wasn’t like it was exactly cool.
And on top of that, Derek was a Werewolf. Stiles knew they always ran hot.
Probably why he also looked hot. Because damn, he would be lying if he didn’t admit he kept getting distracted by how hot Derek was. The guy was like a walking model.
To be fair, most models walked, he didn’t know why that was an expression. Like, wasn’t walking basically what models did? Catwalks and all? Why was that an expression? Who’d thought of that expression?
Had he made up that expression? Wait, now he didn’t know, was it an expression?
Stiles turned back to his computer to Google it, Derek having returned to his pacing. Stiles didn’t know what he was hoping to achieve right now with all the pacing, or sticking around in the room with him, but he was going to get cranky if he didn’t get food eventually.
But, as Derek had already said, Stiles had food, it just wasn’t the food he wanted.
Maybe he could con Derek into ordering pizza. Then again, he’d had pizza last night. Well, a hot pocket, but it still technically counted.
And Derek had more money than him, presumably. He had a job. Stiles was a university student who was barely managing to make it to class on time every day because things were constantly trying to kill his friends.
Also him, apparently. If Derek was to be believed.
Which—Stiles still wasn’t sure he did believe. What possible reason could anyone have to want to kill him? He was literally boring!
Like, okay yes, he had the whole magic thing, but people didn’t know that! He didn’t tell people about it! And it didn’t even work half the time! Or most of the time! Or at all! Literally, it never worked when he wanted it to.
Unless it had, but again, no proof. No baseline, either. He had zero idea what was going on.
When Google failed to answer his question, he gave up on it and went back to the website Derek had pulled up so he could finish reading up on what he needed to share with Liam. While the answers weren’t what Liam wanted to hear, at least he had some information on what next steps to take.
Liam texted back numerous times asking questions Stiles had already answered so he eventually just sent the link along—people could do their own research once in a while!—and then texted Scott. He lived close enough he could make it to Liam relatively easily by car, and he was sure Liam would appreciate the backup.
Once he was done, he tossed his phone down on his desk and slouched in his chair. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Derek was still pacing, hand rubbing at his stubbled face and eyebrows down in a frown. He looked worried. Stiles didn’t know why, they didn’t know each other. Why did Derek even care?
Then again, maybe he just didn’t want to re-live the day over and over again. Maybe his day started horribly, like—he didn’t even know, Derek woke up to someone dumping a bucket of ice water on his head. Wasn’t there an episode of Stargate with a time loop where the loop started for someone by them getting hit in the face with a door?
Stiles turned back to his computer to look it up, just because he was curious whether or not he was right. Turned out he was, and now he wondered if Derek’s day started off with someone hitting him in the face with a door.
Though he’d said that his alarm had gone off right after Stiles had died, so it was unlikely.
Since the Bunyip problem was mostly covered, Derek was terrible company given the general silence, and Stiles was bored, he figured he’d keep watching the video he’d pulled up. He’d only been intending to check the one scene to see if he was right, but it was a twenty minute video of all the laugh-worthy moments in Stargate so he figured, why not?
Reaching blindly towards his dresser on the left, his hand closed around a bag of something or another and he pulled it over, eyes still on his screen while he dug a hand into what he’d grabbed. It wasn’t until he’d shoved a handful into his mouth that he realized it was popcorn.
Stale popcorn. Well, at least it was cheddar flavoured, so he had that going for him.
After losing much too many braincells on YouTube, going down a random rabbit hole that had started at Stargate and somehow ended on a commentary channel talking about the economic crisis in Malaysia, he finally managed to rein in his ADHD and turned fully to face Derek, the guy still pacing. Man, he must be trying to reach some kind of step quota for the day.
“So are we gonna like, look into anything at all, or just... wait it out?”
“Wait it out,” Derek said, turning his back on Stiles to continue walking.
Seriously, he had to have a quota.
“Okay,” Stiles said, stretching the word out and twisting the chair he was sitting in from side to side. He watched Derek do another full back and forth while shoving more popcorn into his mouth before speaking. “And what happens if I don’t make it to midnight?”
“Why wouldn’t you make it to midnight?” Derek demanded, rounding on him.
Oh good, the pacing had stopped.
“I don’t know, what if I like, choke on popcorn or something?”
Derek was in front of him so fast, Stiles blinked and the guy had practically teleported. He slapped the bag out of his hand so violently it actually hurt, and popcorn littered the ground beside his bed, some of it landing on his actual bed.
Stiles gave him a look, hands still out like he was holding the bag in them.
“What the fuck, dude?” Stiles demanded. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“So you don’t choke and die.”
“What, you don’t know the Heimlich?!” Stiles threw his hands in the air, but Derek was unrepentant and, surprise, went back to his pacing.
At least he didn’t step on any of the popcorn.
Grumbling to himself, despite knowing Derek could hear him, he got up from his chair and began picking up all the popcorn, grabbing the mostly empty bag to put the littered pieces back into it. It didn’t take him long, but he hoped he hadn’t missed any. Waking up with popcorn in his ass crack would suck.
He contemplated throwing the bag out now that he’d cleaned up, but paused for a long moment while staring at it, then shrugged and closed it up before tossing it back onto his dresser.
His floor was clean. Mostly. It wasn’t a big deal.
“You are a very grouchy old man.”
“I’m not old,” Derek said, sounding annoyed.
“Noticed you didn’t correct me on the grouchy part.”
That earned him a look and Stiles beamed at him. Derek rolled his eyes, turning his back on Stiles as he continued to pace. Stiles just watched him, mostly admiring the way his pants made his ass look really nice. He probably shouldn’t be objectifying someone he’d just met who was apparently trying to save his life, but it was hard being a good person sometimes.
“Did you really look for me this morning?”
“What?” Derek asked, confused.
“You said you’d scoured hospitals within a ten mile radius this morning. Did you actually do that?”
Derek seemed confused about why he was asking. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
Stiles shrugged. “We’d just met. I guess I figured you wouldn’t have cared enough.”
“Why wouldn’t I have cared?” Derek stopped his pacing, facing Stiles now. “Stiles, I was holding your dying body in my arms. I wasn’t going to just shrug and go about my day when I woke up from what I thought was me passing out on you.”
“You didn’t think to call morgues?”
“I was going to eventually, but I was hoping you’d be okay first. I didn’t get around to the morgues.” He went back to pacing. “It took me a long time with the hospitals, too. Your name is kind of hard to pronounce, I just ended up asking for an M. Stilinski.”
“I’m named after my grandfather. He was Polish.”
Derek just grunted, turning at the door to walk back across the room. “How do you pronounce it?”
Stiles arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“Your name,” Derek said, giving him another look. Jesus, he was cranky. “How do you pronounce it?”
“Why does that matter?” That felt kind of personal to Stiles. He didn’t really give out his real name to people, and Derek only knew it because he’d obviously snooped. Sure the professors had it because he was enrolled under his legal name, but none of them called him that.
He always told them the first day to call him Stiles, and he wrote ‘Stiles’ in brackets on every single exam paper he was given, especially when they were essays, just so the professors would know it was him. He was sure some of them would’ve figured it out on their own, given Stilinski, but he didn’t want to risk it.
Professors absolutely had favourites, and seeing as Stiles was known by most of them as Stiles, he wanted that extra boost to his grade.
“It might come in handy,” Derek said easily in response to his question. “My mother says that names hold power, so maybe having that might be helpful in the future.”
Stiles had never heard of names holding power, but he didn’t comment on that. He wasn’t really comfortable talking to Derek about his name considering the circumstances, but before he could really make up his mind, or even have Derek start pushing, the agent’s phone rang.
“Hale,” he said. Stiles assumed it was his last name, he felt like he’d heard it a few times today.
Derek Hale.
It was a good name. Had a nice ring to it. Better than Stiles’ name, but well, at least he was keeping some part of his mother alive.
He also found it somewhat funny he and Derek were just talking about his name when Stiles figured out what Derek’s was.
“What?!”
Stiles turned back to Derek, and saw a mix of anger and concern on his face. The guy was really good with emoting for someone who looked so stoic most of the time.
“Shit. Thanks Isaac.”
Derek hung up and turned to Stiles. He pointing his finger at him with the same hand that was clenched around his phone. “You stay here. Right here. Do not leave this room. Don’t go to the bathroom, don’t run out for a bite, don’t go visit a neighbour. Stay. Here. I’ll be right back.”
Stiles offered him a salute before Derek turned his back on him and opened his dorm room door. He heard him muttering about invasion of privacy as he stepped out and shut the door behind him.
It sounded like someone—probably Rafe—had tracked Derek’s location. Maybe the guy who’d called was giving him a heads up. That was nice. Stiles could only assume everyone hated Rafe, which made sense, because the guy absolutely sucked.
Turning back to his computer, Stiles had lost track of what the video he’d been watching was about, but he stuck it out anyway. He’d only made it another eight minutes before there was an insistent knock at the door.
“Coming,” he called, getting to his feet.
The knocking got more urgent.
“Christ, I am coming! Dude, I’m right fucking here,” he insisted as he pulled the door open. “What did you th—”
The words stuck in his throat when he felt pressure in his stomach and looked down.
So that right there was a knife. And not even like, a steak knife, an honest to God blade out of some Assassin’s Creed kind of game. Intricate, ornate, almost decorative in nature, except not decorative, because clearly it was sharp enough to cut through layers of skin and muscle and wow, that was so much blood, was that normal? Probably, Stiles hadn’t ever been stabbed before, and considering the knife had been pulled out, that made sense.
Scott’s mother, and Stiles’ own father, had always told him if something entered his body in a way it was not supposed to, it should not be pulled out. That would make it worse. And they were right, because there’d been blood before, but now there was more blood since the knife had slid back out of his abdomen.
He was too busy staring down at the stain on his shirt to notice more than the shadow of a person leaving, the door to the stairwell opening, and then closing very slowly.
Stiles needed to do something. What that was, he had no clue, but something. Should he call for help? No, he probably wouldn’t manage it. Could he move?
Maybe he should try and stop the bloodflow. That was an idea.
The second he moved his arms to reach up towards his middle, he lost his balance and stumbled sideways into the doorframe, slowly sliding down it to the floor, both hands clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach.
Oh man, that was a lot of blood. The knife must’ve gone somewhere really bad for it to be bleeding this much. Stiles knew that there were parts of the torso where someone could be stabbed and there would be literally no damage.
Well, no, obviously there’d be damage, but like, only to the skin and muscle. Nothing would hit the organs, which was usually the bad place to get hit.
But also this felt like more blood than was normal. Had there been something on the blade maybe? Some kind of... he had no idea, his brain wasn’t working properly. But maybe a chemical? Like, would coating a blade in blood thinners and then stabbing someone make them bleed out faster? He should Google that later.
“Are you fucking incapable of listening to the simplest of orders?!” Derek’s voice demanded angrily from down the corridor. “What part of stay in your room was uncl—”
Oh good, he’d noticed Stiles wasn’t just chilling on the floor for fun.
Pounding footsteps raced down the corridor so fast, Stiles was positive Derek had partially wolfed out. And he was right, because when the agent bent down in front of him, his eyes were red and Stiles could see fangs beginning to drop.
“Stiles! Shit!”
Oh God, that hurt. Yeah, he didn’t like that. He’d have slapped Derek’s hands away from his injury if he wasn’t crushing Stiles’ own hands against it, clearly attempting to add more pressure.
“Hey!” Derek shouted, turning his head slightly so his voice carried. “Hey! FBI! Get out here now!”
Stiles didn’t know why Derek thought that was actually going to work in a university dorm, but apparently at least one person was scared enough to open their door, because Stiles saw Derek’s head whip in the opposite direction a half second later.
“Call an ambulance!”
“Wha—”
“Call an ambulance now!”
Okay, Derek needed to tone down the Werewolf side of himself because he was being pretty obvious right now and the last thing they wanted was Hunters on top of everything else.
Stiles felt lighter. Was that normal? That probably wasn’t normal. Did dying make people feel lighter? That seemed like a weird side-effect. He felt like he was about to just... float away. Maybe that was his soul leaving his body or something.
“Stiles. Stiles, look at me. Look at me!”
Stiles’ gaze shifted to Derek’s face. His vision was super blurry, and the edges were going all dark. He was definitely losing too much blood way too quickly for this to be normal.
“Stiles, I’m gonna figure this out,” Derek said urgently, looking half-panicked. “I’m gonna—I will figure it out! I promise! I promise! You’re gonna be okay! You’re not gonna die, I won’t let it happen again, I promise!”
Oh. He was scared.
Derek wasn’t sure the day would repeat. That made sense, they didn’t know how it had happened the first time, so it made sense he’d be afraid of this being the end for Stiles this time.
Imagine a loop of just one day? How lame. Would make for a boring movie.
“Stiles, I promise I’m gonna figure this out!”
“Ambulance is on the way,” a voice Stiles didn’t recognize said. “Oh my—is that blood?!”
“Stiles! I’ve got you. I’ve got you! I won’t let this happen again, I’ll be back, and I’ll stop it. I’ll stop it!”
Stiles could see Derek’s lips moving, could see the panic on his face, but his vision was dimming further and he was pretty sure sound had gotten sucked out of the room because Derek’s voice was getting fainter and fainter.
He was so tired. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
Stiles let his head slowly lower, and his hands loosen, and stared unseeingly down at his bloodied shirt as he floated away.
TBC...