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dylinski · 4 years

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Doppelganger Series

(moodboard made by @fan-child ♡ ♡)

Spitting Image (Part Five)

Warnings: Language, mild violence, graphic depictions of death (not a main character), the sheriff has a mental breakdown, stiles has a minor panic attack, LOTS OF ANGST, but also some funny shit, inappropriate use of “doppelganger sandwich” (don’t judge me)

Relationships: some Lytch (Mitch/Lydia)

Word Count: 10.2K (#sorry not sorry - don’t expect them to get any shorter)

Author: @dylinski

A/N: here’s the next part. took me a while and i kept changing things and adding things and removing things so apologies. theres just so much going on and so much i want to say. this chapter explains a lot more about the druid and who he is, although i may leave you with new questions lol. im trying to throw some romance in for you guys, but its just not really fitting in so i’ll keep trying. who do you want to see together?? not to sound like a comment whore, but feedback is tremendously appreciated since i’ve almost abandoned this story numerous times. heh. ALSO, big thanks to @sterekficrecs for proofing this chaotic mess for me. ♡ ♡ ♡

Lydia ran over to Scott who was holding Stiles’ limp body as Mitch followed close behind. She fell to her knees and grabbed his arms while examining him. Mitch looked over to Thomas who was standing stiffly, hugging himself, and shot a hard look before he heard Scott shouting his name.

“Mitch! Stiles’ dad is coming with the cops. You need to take Lydia and Thomas and get out of here. NOW!” Scott’s voice was strained and panicked. Mitch just gave him a curt nod of understanding and reached down to tentatively touch Lydia’s shoulder.

They were all panicking, honestly, after what they just saw. Stiles, weak, skinny and defenseless Stiles, just lit up like a Christmas tree and took out a swarm of armed guards and a whole building, but there was so much happening that none of them had the time to process it correctly. Lydia was whimpering next to Stiles, clinging to him and begging him to wake up. Mitch went in to grab her, but she pulled away not wanting to leave his side. Scott and Mitch exchanged looks when the alpha decided to speak up.

“Lydia, he’s okay. I can hear his heart beating. He’s breathing. Ambulances are going to be here any second and I’ll make sure that he gets to one, but you need to go with Mitch and Thomas. We can’t have two doppelgangers running around Beacon Hills alone.” Mitch pursed his lips at the boy and rolled his eyes, but Lydia nodded and stood up. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked at Mitch with anguish. Mitch would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous, but he also understood. They were close and everything pointed to Stiles being hopelessly in love with the girl.

Lydia walked over to the third doppelganger who was lost in his own mind. “Thomas?” He jumped at her light touch on his arms that were cradling his chest. “We should go. You can come with us.” Still not entirely sure what was happening, or if any of it was even real, Thomas nodded and followed them to Lydia’s car.

“Isaac,” Scott called out, “I’m going to stay here with Stiles. Go find Allison, I’ll call you if we need anything.” Isaac took the orders from his alpha and nodded as he turned on his foot and ran towards the building to find his girlfriend.

One minute later, sirens were blaring and the first cop cars pulled into the large backlot with their flashing lights veiling everything in reds and blues. Stiles was still unconscious, laying in Scott's arms. Scott waved to the vehicles, signaling them to his position as the Sherrif’s SUV stopped. Stiles' dad jumped out before the thing had even fully stopped, door wide open and the engine still running.

“Stiles! Stiles!” He ran to his son and leaned down, pulling him from Scott’s arms. “What happened to my son!?” The sheriff’s words came through gritted teeth that were laced with fear and anger.

Before Scott could answer, Stiles was swept up into his father's arms and being carried away towards an ambulance that had just parked. A paramedic climbed out of the back and met them halfway. They laid Stiles on a gurney and were running tests and making sure he wasn’t injured or bleeding. Scott cautiously lingered nearby to make sure his friend was, in fact, okay. The medic was asking the sheriff some questions about Stiles’ medical history when the boy groaned. Everyone stopped and jolted their attention to him. The medic was throwing questions at him, “Stiles? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?” He shined a light into his eyes and Stiles raised his hand to block it out.

“What?” He sat up on his elbows and everything started to come back. “Yeah. Yeah, I know where I am.” He groaned again as he moved, his whole body aching like he just ran a ten-mile marathon. The paramedic checked out Stiles some more before he was satisfied with the boy’s state, then he headed towards the group of other boys being guided out through the gaping hole in the building.

“Stiles…” Noah spoke softly to his son.

Stiles adjusted himself again, wincing subtly while sitting up, “I’m okay dad really--”

The soft look of fear on his father's face turned to rage when he was content with his safety and he cut off his son. “What were you thinking!?” Stiles halted and his eyes grew wide as he stared at his father. “If you think I don’t know it was you who left the ‘anonymous’ tip, you’d be sorely mistaken. What were you even doing here, Stiles?” His father finally took a breath and the young boy pouted his lips with raised eyebrows, waiting to make sure it was safe for him to speak.

“We were…” Stiles looked over to Scott as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to soothe out a kink. Scott just gave him a face that read, ‘don’t look at me’. Stiles rolled his eyes and looked back to his father who was still fuming. He opened his mouth to speak when deputy Parrish ran up.

“Sheriff, we found forty-nine boys in the sublevel basement…” Parrish tore his eyes from Noah and looked to Stiles for a short second, “...just like the anonymous tip said.” Awesome, Jordan knew it was Stiles who called too.

The sheriff scrunched up his features, similar to the way Stiles does so often and turned back to his son. With a pointed finger, he spoke harshly, “I’m not finished with you,” then he followed Parrish to the building.

Scott walked over to his friend and started to chuckle. “Shut up, man,” Stiles whined as he reached out with yearning fingers for his friend to help him off the gurney. He hopped down and wobbled a bit before he found his balance. They started to walk to the jeep when Stiles looked over to the missing wall of the building, stopping in his tracks. He turned to Scott with a questioning brow and eyes full of confusion.

Scott looked just as baffled, “What?”

“The wall! What happened to it?” Stiles gestured towards the hole demandingly.

“You don’t remember?” Stiles shook his head, thinking he would never forget something like that. They both started for the baby blue vehicle again when Scott asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Stiles stilled abruptly and tipped his head in thought, “We were running from the guards with Thomas and— Wait, how did we get out?” Scott looked at the ground and scuffed his shoe against the pavement thinking he really didn’t want to poke that bear right now, especially since he didn’t fully understand what had happened himself. Stiles picked up on it and shrugged his shoulders as they took the few steps left to the jeep and got in, headed for his house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lydia used her key that Stiles gave her forever ago to unlock the door to the Stilinski home and they went up into Stiles’ room. Mitch guided Thomas by his bicep up the stairs and gruffly pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed as Lydia paced back and forth. Mitch walked over and blocked her path as he grabbed her shoulders and held her at a distance. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and picking at her cuticles apprehensively.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Lydia was avoiding his gaze, but Mitch touched a light finger to her chin, lifting her head up to meet his eyes half-heartedly. “It's going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.” She gave him a soft smile just as Thomas cleared his throat and stood up.

“Is anybody going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Thomas was beyond confused and frustrated. It was like being thrust into the maze all over again with no memory, but this time his only memories were that of the world he had left behind, a vague fog veiling them like a distant dream.

Lydia walked over to him and took a deep breath, composing herself. “We need to wait for Stiles, he’ll explain everything when he gets here.” “Who? Crazy glow stick boy!?” Mitch snorted at the statement and Lydia shot him a hard look before she turned back to Thomas and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Yes. He knows what happened to you, but we don’t, so we’re going to just have to wait.” Lydia offered assurance.

Thomas let out a long huff and frustration filled him to the brim. “Why won’t anyone tell me anything!? This is bullshit! You guys know something! Why did Stiles call that kid with the red eyes a werewolf? Why did he have red eyes? How did he have claws? What happened to Stiles? Why did he light up? What the hell is he? Why do I look like him? Why do I look like you? What the hell is a doppelganger and why did the glowy eye kid call me one? Why was I in that place? Why can’t I remember anything other than the maze? What were they doing to me?”

Thomas was shouting his spew of questions and stepped too close into Lydia’s personal space. Before he could spit out any more queries Mitch was at him in less than a second. He pushed the smaller boy back onto the bed hard, stepping between him and Lydia. He let out a small growl at the kid’s face immediately melted into compliance.

Lydia groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead. She glowered at Mitch and he rolled his eyes, then turned to the other boy to make a threatening glare and stepped away. Thomas responded with a mocking face and crossed his arms.

“Thomas, we’re going to answer all your questions, okay?” Lydia’s voice was soft now and she gave him an easy smile. “We just need—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. We just need to wait for Stiles.” Thomas rolled his eyes and was done talking to both of them.

There were a couple of minutes filled with silence before they heard the front door open then two sets of hard footsteps trailing towards the bedroom. The door swung open and Stiles halted in its frame, giving Lydia a look of confusion. “Whaaaat are you guys doing here?”

Lydia flared her nostrils and looked to Scott who just shrugged. When no one said anything, she threw her arms up and finally answered. “Well, I’m not taking them to my house. Where else am I supposed to take a bunch of doppelgangers?”

Stiles nodded in annoyed agreement as Thomas stood up in frustration. “There’s that word again! What the hell is a doppelganger!?” Mitch started towards the boy, but Lydia held her arm out to stop him. He relaxed at her touch, but only slightly. Stiles was about to answer Thomas when the front door opened again and everyone froze.

“STILES. GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.” It was his dad.

Everyone stood in motionless silence as eyes traded skittish glances between the five of them. When no one moved to come up with a solution, Stiles rolled his eyes and groaned. “You three stay here and be quiet.”

Lydia shot him a look and whisper-shouted, “Well, obviously.” Stiles made a mocking smile and walked off, then Scott closed the bedroom door with his lips in a thin line and followed him downstairs.

Stiles rushed down the steps and saw his father standing in the living room with his fingers holding the bridge of his nose. He looked up to see the two boys as he pulled in his lips and shook his head. He waggled his finger at them, “You two…” Stiles held up his hands in surrender as his father pointed to the couch and ordered them to sit down. His dad followed and sat in the armchair diagonally from them.

They all sat in silence for a time while Stiles’ father collected his thoughts, making no attempt to mask his fury. Eventually, his father found enough strength to speak calmly, but his voice was still jagged and laced with ire. “What were you two doing there?”

Stiles and Scott looked perplexed as they exchanged glances. “Would you believe we were in the neighborhood?” Stiles shrugged with an optimistic grimace. A throaty grumble sounded from his father.

Obviously, Noah wasn’t going to get a straight answer, so he moved on to the next question. “How did you know about the kids?”

Stiles winced, “Lucky guess?” His father lost the little composure he had left and shot a look that could kill at his son.

“Would either of you like to explain to me the missing wall!?”

Stiles raised his hands and smirked, “Uh, that one I actually have no idea.” The sheriff looked to Scott who was scared shitless. Again, not poking that bear yet. Stiles just rolled his eyes at his friend, not understanding why he won’t tell anyone what happened.

Noah huffed and was growing more irritated by the second with the lack of cooperation. “Well, what am I supposed to do with you two? Huh?” Stiles shrugged again and seemed unphased by his father. Listing each item off with his fingers, Noah spoke, “We have breaking and entering, theft, destruction of property, assault, kidnapping…” Stiles jerked his head at ‘kidnapping’ and donned confusion. “Yeah, kidnapping Stiles. There were fifty beds in that basement and we only found forty-nine boys.”

Stiles looked at Scott and gulped visibly. If his dad wasn’t sure if they knew anything before, he was positive they did now. Stiles turned to his dad, his voice uneasy, “We have no idea—”

“Stiles!” His father cut him off and held up his hand. “I’m done playing these games. You need to tell me what the hell is going on right now before I lock you up myself. Is that what it’s going to take to keep you out of trouble? Because I’m getting tired of this, son.”

Stiles looked at his feet and picked at his fingers as the guilt hit him hard. He never means to cause his father this much stress and frustration, it just kind of comes along with the package of having Stiles as a son. He looked up at Scott who shrugged a shoulder and gave a sympathetic smile. Stiles knew Scott thought it was a good idea to tell his dad, he had told him that when it all started, but it wasn’t his place to.

Stiles looked to his father, took in an agonizing breath and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. How do you tell someone this? How do you even start? ‘Hey Dad, I’m one of three doppelgangers, that we know of, of an evil druid who’s thousands of years old. Oh yeah, he’s immortal too!’ This isn’t something you can just say to your father. How is he supposed to tell him that his eyes, his mother’s eyes, aren’t actually his?

His dad used to drink after she passed and when he was drunk one night he mentioned how he looked just like his mother. Her eyes, lips, nose, and especially her smile. How does he tell him those aren’t even his? Is there a good way to tell someone that their son isn't their son because he’s not even sure if he’s a real person himself, but just some copy of the original?

Tears started to well in Stiles’ eyes and his voice croaked when he spoke. “Dad…” The word sounded foreign in his tongue like it didn’t belong to him. Was he technically still his son? His father reoriented in his seat, his posture changing from offensive to concerned. “You have to promise you won’t freak out, okay?” Stiles peered at his father from behind his clasped hands, filled with trepidation.

His father leaned forward onto his knees, more disquieted than angry now. “Son, it’s okay. You can tell me.” He saw the fear in his child's eyes and wanted nothing more than to snatch it away. He wanted to take it all, all the pain and hurt Stiles had ever felt and will feel. That’s his son and he has a primal need to protect him, but he felt like he’d utterly failed in that department. He keeps trying, but he can’t protect his son if he doesn’t know what the threat is.

Stiles continued to struggle with his words and Scott noticed. He nudged Stiles’ knee with his own and gave him a soft smile of reassurance. “It’s your dad, Stiles. He’ll love you no matter what.” As if his best friend could read his mind, that was exactly what he needed to hear.

Stiles cleared his throat and sat up straight, “Dad, I’m a doppelganger.” His father's face turned to confusion and Stiles realized his dad had no clue what he was talking about. “A doppelganger is like...a copy of someone else.” His father’s face was even more distraught. Okay, that explanation didn’t help. Stiles sighed and looked to Scott for help, but was offered none. “A doppelganger is like having a twin, dad, but the two people aren’t related. They’re exactly the same; their face, voice, everything.”

Noah held his chin as he processed the information provided to him. He let his hand fall as he opened his mouth, but only silence escaped. He adjusted himself in his seat and Stiles started to bounce his leg with nervousness. “So...you’re a....dobble wanker?”

Stiles sat up straight with wide eyes and waved his hands outwards, “Oh God, dad, no. That’s— No just— That’s not it at all.” His father made an unamused face at him. “Doppelganger. It’s doppelganger. Please never say that again.”

His father groaned and wrapped his fingers around his brow in frustration, “Stiles, I think I would know if my son was…” He was struggling with the word again so he motioned vaguely, “...one of those things.”

“Well dad, you would think that, but I had no idea myself until about a week ago.” His father shot him a glance and Stiles immediately cringed, realizing his mistake.

“A WEEK!? THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR A WEEK?! Oh, it all makes sense now. The staying out late, not answering my calls or texts, answering my questions with more questions or changing the subject. The half-truths and talking in circles. But I still don’t believe you’re a...whatever you call it.”

Stiles’ head fell into his hands as he realized his father wasn’t going to believe him without any evidence. While his father was well aware of the supernatural world and the creatures that lived in it, he was a man of facts and logic. The type of person who needed to see in order to believe. He groaned because the last thing he wanted to do was bring Thomas or Mitch downstairs. He was convinced his father would have a heart attack if he saw one of them, but alas, what other choice did he have at this point? “I can show you. There are...three of us that we know of if you’re not including the original.”

“Three!? What do you mean there are three of you? Original? Stiles, for the last time, you are not a dingle wacker.” Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, not even bothering to correct his father this time.

“Give me a sec.” Stiles pushed off the couch with haste and lost his balance for a short second, forgetting how weak he really felt after passing out earlier. Scott grabbed is hip to help balance him, but Stiles brushed him off and mouthed ‘I’m fine.’ His father was shouting his name as he made his way up the steps, protesting him leaving. He got to his room and opened the door to see Mitch and Lydia arguing in hushed tones in the corner while Thomas was still sitting on the bed like a child who just had his toy taken away. “Mitch.” The older man looked up with question and Stiles just jerked his head towards the hallway. All of them knew what Stiles was asking so Lydia looked to her friend with uncertainty, but he gave her a forced smile.

Stiles turned and winced as it took all his energy to dredge himself back downstairs. The last thing he needed was everyone worried about his physical state in the middle of this chaotic muddle. Mitch followed him to the top of the staircase until Stiles stopped and held out a hand. “You look like shit.”

Stiles sighed and looked at his reflection in Mitch’s eyes. They were like dark brown oceans that could swallow you whole. “I’m okay.” Mitch huffed and crossed his arms, not believing him.

Stiles turned and descended down the steps to prepare his father.

“Okay, I know you don’t believe me, because honestly, I wouldn’t have believed it myself, so I’m going to show you.” Stiles paused and took a deep and reassuring breath. “Dad, you have to not freak out because the last thing I need is you going into cardiac arrest.”

“Stiles, I am not going to have a heart attack. What are you talking about?” The sheriff had his arms crossed over his chest and rolled his eyes familiarly.

His son waved up to the top of the steps and a body slowly came down. When his face came into view, Stiles swore everyone in the room could hear the sound of his heart beating outside of his chest. The room was so silent that is was deafening, and everyone was too scared to break it. Mitch stood next to Stiles with a bored face as he crossed his arms and looked to the old man sitting in the chair. Stiles looked between Mitch and his father, but there was nothing. It was like they had frozen in place and he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. He looked to Scott who was just as terrified as he was.

His father finally stood up and walked over to the identical boys. He stood in front of the older of the two and looked him over, invading his space. He was taller than his son, but not by much. His hair was longer too, and the presence of a beard and mustache where Stiles still couldn’t manage one. There was a permanent line on his brow, something that was etched into his skin from the constant furrow of his forehead.

Noah crossed his arms and squinted like he was trying to read one of those posters with the letters when you go to the eye doctor. He started to make noises of curiosity here and there, lightening the tone of the group. He was analyzing Mitch like someone would a sculpture in an art museum.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he slowly made his way to Scott, his father not even noticing. He whispered from the corner of his mouth, refusing to break his lock on his father and Mitch, “Scott, what’s happening? Why isn’t he saying anything?” His friend shook his head, just as perplexed as him.

His father finally broke the silence and everyone looked to him. “Alright. Okay.” He started to walk towards the chair. “This is okay.”

“Uhm, yup. I broke him. He’s broken. My father has officially lost his marbles.” Scott just quietly chuckled at Stiles’ discomfort and despair.

“We’re all okay.” Noah sat down in the chair and let out a long sigh and the room fell quiet again, but only for a moment. His father let out a loud and unending scream that drew shock from the whole house.

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! This is worse! This is much much worse! Scott, make it stop! How do I make it stop!?” Stiles was frantically babbling and beginning to have a minor panic attack, his breaths becoming uneven and short. Scott just tried to comfort him.

Mitch looked to Stiles and then his screaming father and rolled his eyes as he spoke, “Great, it’s genetic.”

Lydia sauntered down the steps and tried to speak over the shouting and panic, “What is going on?” Both of the Stilinski’s were too self-involved at the moment to even notice her presence.

Mitch sighed and pointed to Stiles, “Well that one is having a panic attack,” He pointed to the older man, “and that one is having a mental breakdown.”

Lydia sighed and turned as she heard Thomas hopping down the steps two at a time behind her and Mitch. “I told you to stay upstairs.”

Just as Thomas went to speak, Noah turned and saw the third doppelganger. His shouts had died down, but they picked up again and were now laced with profanities. He was babbling nonsense and holding his head for fear it would roll off his shoulders. Thomas was starting to panic and become defensive. Everything in his body made his legs twitch and beg him to run, just run as far away from all of them and this ridiculousness as you could and not look back.

Lydia had enough of all of them, so she used her banshee voice, a demanding and humbling tone. “ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP.”

As if it had flipped a switch, everyone shut their mouths and it was silent again. They all looked to her submissively and in awe. “Now, are you all a bunch of children? Because that is exactly how you’re acting. Stop throwing your tantrums and use your words.” She turned to the sheriff, “Yes, Stiles is a doppelganger. This is Mitch and the other one is Thomas.” She turned over to Stiles, “Pull it together. You’re not helping your father, he needs you right now.” Then she turned to Mitch who was laughing under his breath. “And you, this is not funny. Just because you have this whole I don’t care thing going on doesn’t mean that everyone else doesn’t.” His ever so slight smile disappeared as he took offense to her words. “Since everyone has been put in their place,” she grabbed her coat off the chair at the kitchen table, “I am going home because I am way too tired and unprepared to deal with all of this.” With that, she walked out of the door and left the men to fend for themselves in stunned silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison opened her eyes and saw nothing but black. She was lying on the cold rigid floor with her hands bound behind her back. She couldn’t help but run her tongue across the cloth that was between her teeth to muffle any noise she would attempt to make. She managed to sit herself up and started to wiggle her shoulders in an effort to shake the ropes loose. She went to pull a small knife from her arm when a chilling and familiar voice broke through the darkness.

“If you’re looking for the blade in your sleeve, don’t bother.”

Allison froze and searched the void for the person who spoke, but she couldn’t see more than three inches in front of her face. She had other weapons hidden on her person, but it was safe to assume that the man found them all. She continued to blink, trying to differentiate the darkness from movement, and could have sworn she saw something red pass quickly.

Her body stiffened when she felt a contrasting warmth to the air of the room, becoming aware that the man was now close to her. He must have been squatting behind her because he was whispering into her ear now. “If you’re still wondering what my name is, I have two. My given name…” he sounded disgusted by the thought, “...and my chosen name.” He was much more satisfied with the idea of the chosen name. He circled around in front of her and loosened the fabric in her mouth, letting it fall around her neck as she wet her dry lips. He squatted back down so they were now face to face with only a small distance between them.

Her eyes, now adjusting to the obfuscation of the room they were in, she could just make out her captor’s face. “I’m assuming you want me to ask you what they are?” Allison’s throat was sore and cracked when she spoke, the dry air not a friend to her parched mouth.

The man chuckled and stood to tower over her. “You can call me Morfran.”

Allison pulled in her brows. “You chose that?”

“Why are you so surprised?” He was genuinely curious as to what her thoughts were.

“Morfran was the name of a soldier to King Arthur in Welsh mythology. His skin was charcoal black and so hideous that no one would strike him in battle for fear he was a demon.”

“I’m impressed. You know your welsh mythology. You forget what the meaning of the name is though. Morfran, great crow, bringer of death.”

Allison shuddered at the idea. “So is that what you’re going to do? Kill me?” She held back her fear, but it was still evident in her voice.

“Maybe.” Morfran seemed indifferent on the matter like he hadn’t entirely made his mind up yet.

“Then what are you going to do with me?”

Morfran was squatting next to her again, close enough to feel his hot breath against her cheek. “You’re going to tell me about your friends.” Allison opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get out any words she felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck and a silent scream escaped her lips. Her eyes rolled back into her head and everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Lydia left, Mitch and Thomas went back to Stiles’ room while he continued to explain everything that had happened during the last few days to his dad. When his father's head was thoroughly spinning, he tried to absorb what he could before he left to finish his shift and the mountain of paperwork his son had just caused him. Stiles was drained and tired on top of still being in pain, everywhere. He was going to kick the boys out of his room so he could sleep. When he got up from the couch with Scott, Isaac flew through the door and looked like he was about to break down into tears.

Scott ran over to him and grabbed his shoulders. Isaac was trying to speak but his breaths were shallow and deep like he had been running for hours. “Isaac, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He looked at Scott with weary eyes and a forehead full of lines. “She’s gone. I can’t find her.”

“What? What are you talking about? Who’s gone?” Scott was trying to calm the beta down while pressing for answers.

Just as Isaac was about to speak, Stiles cut him off, “Allison.”

They got Isaac to the couch and he explained to the two other boys what had happened. “After you told me to get Allison, I went up to the roof, but she wasn’t there. Her bow and knife were on the ground, but that’s all I could find of her. Not even a scent. I thought I could smell another wolf, but I assumed it was just me since I’m still not very good with tracking and scenting. I just don’t get why I couldn’t catch hers. I went to her house to see if she was there, but it was empty. I got one of her shirts and followed the smell to the edge of town, but then it just disappeared. When I lost it, I came right here.”

He looked between Stiles and Scott who were standing in front of him, waiting frantically for a response. They were both fixated on the floor while deep in thought. Isaac was growing impatient, so he shot up from the couch and raised his voice. “Well!? We have to find her!”

“Woah, Isaac. It’s okay.” Scott reached out to comfort his beta, and it seemed to help. Isaac relaxed a bit and slumped back down into the cushions.

Stiles looked up while rubbing his chin and gave Scott a worrying face. He darted his eyes towards Isaac and then back, implying he didn’t want to say what he was thinking. He jerked his head towards the kitchen and Scott lead them in that direction. Stiles spoke in a hushed tone, “What if…” He took a staggering breath and knew he would immediately regret it after he said it, but continued, “What if it’s the druid?”

Scott’s eyes grew and he was shocked, the possibility never occurred to him. Stiles side-eyed Isaac on the couch, picking at the end of the armrest perpetually. “Scott, we need to go look for her. We can't leave her out there with him. We know nothing about him. He could be capable of anything and from what Deaton told us, or lack thereof, he doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

Stiles went to grab his coat he had tossed onto the kitchen counter when Scott took his arm. “No, you can’t.” Stiles shot Scott a baffled glance and Scott shook his head. “You’re in no condition, and Isaac and I would have better luck anyways. You need to stay here and rest, talk to Thomas. I can hear his heart all the way down here. He reeks of anxiety and stress.”

Stiles let out a small sigh, thankful for the suggestion, but he still felt the guilt in the pit of his stomach. He should be out there, she’s his friend too. Scott was right though, what could he do but slow the wolves down? He nodded and watched as Scott called out to Isaac. His friend gave him a reassuring smile before the two of them left.

Stiles sat down in the kitchen at the counter and closed his eyes, allowing himself to finally breathe. A flash of white invaded the darkness of his lids and he jumped up, his whole body rigid and tense. “What the hell..?” He looked down and examined the tops and bottoms of his hands, then shook his head like it was all just a dream.

His attention was grabbed by the sounds of arguing upstairs and he slouched, rolling his eyes and letting his head fall back. “Seriously?“ The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was his two twins. Twins? Triplets? Or just doppelgangers? Honestly, Stiles wasn’t sure what to call them but all he could focus on was his bed and how ardently it called to him. He dragged himself to his room sluggishly and opened the door to shouting.

“What is wrong with you? Did someone shit in your shoe or something?” Thomas was standing chest to chest with Mitch, both of them fuming and locked in their gaze. Despite the obvious four inches Mitch had on the boy, he didn’t seem to be intimidated.

Mitch pulled his lips into a thin line and his eyes widened like he was preparing to headbutt the sucker, just as Stiles ran over. He pushed his way between the two of them and shouted, “Hey, hey, hey! Now, let's not all overreact.” The other two were still staring at each other and Stiles was now stuck between them like a doppelganger sandwich, instantly regretting the impulse to put himself in this position.

Through gritted teeth, Mitch refused to give any headway, “I’m not the one overreacting.” He pressed in further, pushing Stiles tighter between the two of them.

“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered under his breath. Despite all the fighting Stiles had learned to do over the years, it wasn’t natural to him. He was a lover if he really thought about it, but these two, they were undoubtedly born and bread fighters. All Stiles could think about was how he was going to be some sort of causality of war. He managed, somehow, to wiggle his way free and was now standing lateral to the others, forming a triangle.

“Guys, guys. Just take it easy, okay?” They both turned to glare at his unwelcome antics and Stiles took an unknowing step back. Come on, he just wanted to sleep. He was so exhausted, still not entirely sure why, not to mention his body in a constant state of aching.

“This kid won’t stop asking questions!” Mitch seemed less assertive than five seconds ago, but that wasn’t saying much.

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest defensively and spouted out yet another question. “Why are you acting like such a dickhead?” He turned to Stiles, “Sergeant asshole and the redhead kept saying I had to wait for you to explain everything. No one will tell me shit!”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak and raised his hand while the other rested on his hip, but he stilled. Glancing over at Mitch, he closed his mouth and pursed his lips not entirely sure where to start.

A look of annoyance was growing on Thomas’ face and Stiles knew he had to answer his questions. He sighed and got light-headed, both boys leaning in to catch him as he started to keel over.

~~~~~~~~~

“What the hell!?” Stiles sat up, putting all his weight onto his right hand while rubbing above his left eye with the other. He heard a groan to his left and saw Thomas pulling himself up from the floor to lean against the end of his bed. He looked over to Mitch and saw that there was no movement. He crawled over to him and looked him over with alarm. “Mitch! Mitch! Dude, wake up!” He wasn’t stirring so he grabbed his shoulders and gave him a timid shake. “Hey, man, you gotta open your eyes, okay?” He leaned down and turned his ear to his nose and mouth and could hear his small, steady breaths. Stiles fell back onto his butt and hands and sighed in relief.

“What was that?” Stiles turned to Thomas who had managed to sit on the bed. He decided he was too drained and whatever the hell had kicked his ass to the ground didn’t help, so he laid down on the floor next to Mitch. He let his right hand slap onto his stomach and he twiddled the ends of his hair with the other which was raised over his head.

“Honestly, I don’t know dude.” Stiles found solace in starting up at the ceiling and, for the first time, Thomas was quiet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison gasped for breath and sat up abruptly in the middle of a green pasture. She looked around, her long hair dancing around her face like a frame. Standing up, she tried to place her surroundings but found them unrecognizable. She could hear people in the distance, so she started in the direction of the voices.

She found herself in a village filled with wooden homes and tents, animals and many laughing children. The women wore long cloth dresses, simple pieces that were sewn together. The men were wearing large shirts and pants that tucked tight around their waists. Everything was primitive compared to the world she knew—simple lives.

None of the villagers seemed to notice her as she made her way through the small grouping and she found a hut tucked away at the edge of the development. Something from inside it pulled at her, so she went to it sluggishly, passing through its entrance.

Inside the structure, a man and women traded hushed whispers. Allison couldn’t quite make out their words. Something about wrong and mistake. They were both undoubtedly frightened as the man tried to comfort the woman.

Allison was completely still, but the world around her began to blur until it moved. She was in the woods, watching four young boys from a distance. Three of the bigger ones looked to be bullying the smaller fourth one. Anger evident on the little ones face, his fists closed and jaw clenched. The others were throwing slurs at him, saying he was puny and weak, and he wouldn’t survive the winter.

The world shifted again, the little boy now standing in front of the same woman she saw before, but older. She was yelling at him to control it. No one could know what he was, what he hid inside of himself. If anyone found out, they would kill him out of fear.

As if she were the boy herself, she felt a hot fury in her stomach. That’s what the boy wanted, to be feared. His mother seemed to change in stature and become more loving, telling him how she feared for him and didn’t know what she would do if she lost him. The boy relaxed as well and they embraced one another.

Everything swirled and Allison was in the woods again but enveloped in darkness, the only source of light beaming from the full moon above her. She heard a reverberating howl from an unknown place and spun her head out of instinct, her hair flowing with the movement. She precipitously felt under threat and discovered her feet moving without thought. She was running through the trees, panting with each step that connected with the ground. Realizing there was no immediate danger, she stopped and looked around. She took in her surroundings in an attempt to figure out where she was.

Movement some feet away caught her attention and she snapped her head in that direction. She heard growling and it was soon met with a figure revealing from the brush. A white wolf, with cutting ruby iris’.

A voice shouted from the distance, “Maccon!” The wolf tore his gaze from Allison and looked to its location. He glanced back at the girl with intrigue and then dashed towards the person who had called for him.

The world around Allison went black and she felt cold, a pain radiating at the base of her skull. Something tore from her neck and she fell over on the ground that was stealing warmth from her body. She was back from whatever journey she had taken.

Keeping her eyes open was a struggle, the room she was in spinning in a dizzying trance. Morfran walked into her vision and leaned forward over her, a devious smile on his lips.

“Maccon,” Allison whispered so quietly it couldn’t have been heard by human ears. Morfran’s cheeky grin melted away and turned down, his nose twitching with anger. Then her eyes closed and there was nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t realized it, but Stiles started to drift off. Somewhere in the midst of the haze between consciousness and sleep, Thomas broke the easy silence. “Is Sergeant asshole okay? Shouldn’t he be awake by now?” Stiles shifted his head to get a good look at Mitch whose chest was rising and falling with ease.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. He’s tough as nails.” He could hear Thomas humming in response and let his eyes close again. “He doesn't hate you, you know? He's just...guarded. Doesn’t trust easily. Hell, I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t entirely trust me. Just give him some time.” Thomas thrummed acknowledgment.

“What are we?” Thomas sounded like a small child, but Stiles had no energy left to offer any sort of comfort. He just answered his questions as well as he could while fighting his fatigue.

“Uh, we’re doppelgangers. Like...copies, I guess.”

“Copies?”

“Yeah. We look the same and sound the same, but we’re not related. Clones if you really think about it. Supernatural clones.”

“If we’re clones, who’s the original?”

“We don’t know much about him, but he’s a druid, someone who practices magic. Supposedly he’s some super evil dude who wanted to be super powerful and fucked with some shit he shouldn’t have. That’s how we were made, I guess.”

“Oh.” Thomas seemed unsure of the answers, trying to process it all but everything was so uncertain to him. He had just been ripped from a world he thought was his own only to discover it wasn’t even real. It felt like it was, so how was he supposed to tell if this was real or not either. “How did you find me?”

“A dream, oddly enough. It was like I was you, and I was running in this stone maze. There was this kid running with me--”

“Minho,” Thomas spoke softly when his name passed his lips, almost like he was afraid someone would hear it.

“Yeah, I guess. But we were running and there was this ugly ass monster thing straight out of a sci-fi movie, but I, erm, I mean you killed it. Did that really happen?”

“Yeah.”

“Badass,” Stiles spoke with a smile growing on his face as he heard a breathy laugh from Thomas.

“Why was I there? What was Wicked doing to me?”

“From what I could tell, they were experimenting on you, but I don’t know why. Everything that happened to you wasn’t real. It was an artificial reality, so kind of all in your head.”

“Do I have a family?” This question startled Stiles. He opened his eyes and sat up on his elbows to look at the other boy. He was still sitting in the same spot he had last seen him, looking down at Stiles.

“Yeah, I’m sure you have a family.” Stiles smiled sympathetically and Thomas tried to return it, but it was too sad to pass. Stiles hadn’t thought about that. They had probably been missing him and looking for him. He made it his mission to find his parents in that moment. Once they figured all this shit out, he’d get Thomas home.

Thomas looked towards the window, “Then why didn’t they come for me?” Stiles tried to answer but didn’t have one this time. He just looked the boy over, who couldn’t be more than sixteen. His hair was a little shorter than Stiles’ and his bangs fell down onto his face. He was surprisingly skinnier than Stiles too, but also less lanky. His features were softer than the other two boys like he’d been through a lot but refused to give up hope. Stiles laughed internally, he could use some more of that, always the pessimist.

“What the fuck?” Stiles was shaken from his trance and turned his head to look at Mitch who was grabbing at his head.

“Hey! Welcome back to the land of the living.” He offered a half-genuine, half-mocking smile.

“God, why are you on the floor? Why am I on the floor?”

“Dunno. We all just kinda passed out or something. It was when--” Stiles shook his head and sat all the way up, pulling his legs into a criss-cross. “Dudes, it was when you both touched me at the same time! We were all touching. It must have done something!”

“Great,” Mitch groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and sat in Stiles’ computer chair. “We’ll add it to the list of crazy shit doppelgangers can do.”

“Yeah! Wait, what?” Stiles turned back to face Mitch again.

“The wall?” Stiles stared blankly, blinking his eyes in response. “You know? The big gaping hole in the side of the building?” He shrugged his shoulders, still not understanding what Mitch was getting at.

“You turned into a freaking glowstick!” Thomas grew impatient so he tore the band-aid clean off.

Stiles jumped up from the floor, “I did what!?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” Mitch was still rubbing the back of his head on the spot that collided with the floor.

“Mitch, I think I’d remember turning into a damn firefly.”

Thomas stood up next to Stiles, “Well, you did. You were so bright no one could look at you. It was like this white light and it looked like lightning was shooting out of you. Oh! And you’re eyes were gold.” Stiles was exasperated and his hands flew in all directions around his head as he twisted his features, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Don’t forget the wall,” Mitch added.

Thomas nodded at him, “Yeah, and you blew the wall off the side of the building with your mind.”

“MY MIND?!” The vein in Stiles’ neck was prominent and Mitch kind of thought he might have an aneurysm.

Mitch leaned forward in the chair and licked his lips, “Stiles, do you remember the book we found in that vet’s office?”

Stiles turned abruptly from Thomas to face Mitch, “Deaton? Yeah. Why?”

“Didn’t it say something about…” Mitch looked up to Stiles like he was failing at finding the right word, “...powers?”

Stiles contemplated and it hit him like a train. “Elements! The three druid elements!”

“The what?” Thomas scratched his head and Stiles turned back and forth between the two of them.

Making a thinking face and an odd noise, Stiles held his hands out in front of him. He turned to Thomas and started to explain using his limbs as emphasizers. “Okay. So, a couple of days ago, before we knew about you, we found this book—“

“Illegally.” Stiles let his hands drop to his sides and emitted a sigh as he turned to Mitch, giving him the stink eye.

Turning back to Thomas, “Whatever. We found a book that said the druid, who mentioned earlier, decided some thousand years ago, or whatever, to get all grabby hands with power and made himself immortal. He used the three druid elements. Calas, things that are physical and how it’s all connected. Earth, land, the body, matter. Gwyar, the ebb and flow of life and instability of it all. Water, the sea, energy, the source of life itself. And Nwyfre, what makes up everything. That bit of us that could be called our soul or spirit. Sky, heavens, mind, and spark.”

“Spark,” Thomas questioned.

“Yeah?” Stiles wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed by the look of deep thought on the younger boy’s face.

“That’s...what you looked like. A spark.”

Stiles’ mouth parted and he pushed out a small gasp, mouthing the word ‘what’. Like two cogs in a machine clicking into place, it all connected and started to work in tandem. He briefly had the thought before and was on the right track. This wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. He closed his lips and gulped, the muscles in his neck moving with the action. “I have a terrible idea.”

Mitch sat back in the chair and rolled his eyes, “Do you have any that aren’t?”

Stiles held up a finger, “First, rude. Second, I think we should all touch again. I know we got knocked on our asses before but that’s ‘cause we didn’t know what we were doing.”

“And we do now?” Mitch raised his arms behind his head, leaning back. Stiles closed his eyes and huffed.

Thomas winced and scrunched up his nose at the idea. Mitch curled in his lips and shook his head, trying to figure out how he was caught up in all of this.

“Guys, come on. Just trust me, I think this is going to work. The book said that the three elements had to come together as one. What if we’re like Voltron or the power rangers?”

Mitch pressed his palm to his face and let his fingers slide down, a groan at his lips. “Whatever. I call black ranger.” He pushed himself up from his spot and walked towards his counterpart.

Stiles perked up and was slightly dazed by Mitch’s sudden acquiescence along with the pop culture reference. He’d been pretty sure this guy was raised in a lab, but apparently that had been Thomas. “Ahh! That’s the spirit.” He waved over to Thomas to join them. The youngest of the three rolled his eyes and started towards them.

They were all standing in a triangle again, facing each other. Stiles held his arms out tentatively and spoke softly, “Alright. Mitch. Thomas.” He nodded at the space between them and Mitch groaned. He wasn’t one for physical contact. Thomas rolled his eyes and grabbed the older man’s hand. Mitch let out a soft grunt in protest but didn’t fight it. Hovering his hands over the other boy’s, Stiles let out a breath. “Okay, I hope this works.”

“Wait! I thought you sai—” Before Thomas could finish, Stiles completed the circle and time stopped. They were all pulled into a blackness of nothing and everything.

Stiles blinked and found himself floating alone in the emptiness, but he felt a buzzing of electricity on his skin, in the air around him, and inside his chest. He ran a hand over the other and a spark ignited. “Oh my god! Cool, bro.” He looked his hands over and a white electricity danced over them. Following the current rolling up his arm and onto his chest, he took a step back. He almost tripped and suddenly the space he was in was now white. He heard someone shouting his name and looked up in response, seeking out the voice.

Realizing where he was, Stiles snapped back into the moment at the Wicked facility. He felt a hot light burning into his very being like he was exploding from the inside out. It had nowhere to go but outward, forcing the energy from his body like a beacon. It shot forward and knocked the men over in front of him, flinging them like rag dolls into the walls. Did he really do that? He turned and faced Scott and Thomas, looking past them to the barrier they faced. He pulled his arms back like he was preparing to throw a punch and pushed his hands forward, emanating a force that drained him dry. He watched as the wall all but vanished, being torn from its place and crumbling to the ground.

Stiles felt like all that power he felt was gone, leaving him hollow and wanting for more. He felt dizzy and couldn’t hold himself up, then blackness.

Thomas let out a breath that echoed into the abyss he was standing in. Despite being unable to see its beginning or end, if there was one, he knew he was in the center of it. He looked up and saw it littered with silver twinkling lights. He saw one in motion and followed it, realizing all the illuminations were connected. He looked down and found brown earth beneath his feet. Roots were lain around him, weaving in and out of the ground and he followed them to a tree. It towered in front of him standing tall and wide, an immovable force of nature.

The young boy stepped forward, raising a hand out cautiously. He touched the bark and his head flew back, shooting his mind up the extent of the tree for what felt like miles until he reached the stars. He felt a fire in his stomach, burning and raging to escape.

Thomas pulled back and for the first time in his life, wasn’t scared. He felt strong and solid like he was the tree itself. He clenched his fists at sides and felt something shoot up his arms. He looked over and saw an emerald flame enveloping his limbs. Holding his hands in front of him, he examined them closely. “Holy shit,” he laughed and noticed the fire wasn’t hot, but deadly nonetheless.

There was pressure around his ankle and he looked down to see the roots of the tree wrapping around his leg. With a yelp, he was jerked down into the earth.

Mitch was shrouded in a never-ending whiteness, almost blinding. Despite being fully clothed, he had never felt more vulnerable and naked than this moment. He wrapped his arms around his belly and tried to hold back the tears that pushed through his ducts. A cold rush filled him to the brim, a raging sea inside of him that pushed at his boundaries, pressing to seep from his pores.

He let out a sad laugh, recognizing that in spite of his controlled and calculated exterior he was a chaotic current and mess of emotions and impulses. It didn’t scare or frighten him, it empowered him. He’d always held back buried everything he ever felt down and hid it away from the world, protecting it. Like an epiphany, he found the power in his emotions and their fierceness. He opened himself up to the idea, allowing himself to feel and found that he was drowning in an open ocean with no land in sight.

Sinking down into the blue water he choked and clawed at his throat, desperate for a source of oxygen. He stopped, concluding that there was no point but found he didn’t need the air. In his stillness, he found a calm he had long searched for, a stark contrast to everything he was feeling only seconds ago. Blinking, he saw a face in the water, reaching out to him. Unknowingly, he returned the action but found they were just out of his reach.

The image came into focus and it was Katrina, like an apparition with the tendrils of light dancing over her form. He wasn’t sad or angry, just was and she smiled at him. He tried to smile back but felt arms wrapping around him from behind. He looked to his chest, that instinct of fear rising in him and was rapidly pulled back, his arms and legs dragging in front of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morfran stood over Allison’s limp body, fighting back his instinct to snarl when a surge of energy coursed through him and his eyes flashed vermillion. His nose twitched at the smell of copper in the air from where he cut into the girl’s neck. There was a tingling sensation over his flesh and he instantly knew what was happening. He was swallowed by the floor beneath him and dropped into a forest doused in tangerine flames.

Knowing it wasn’t real, he flicked his fingers to bring himself back to his body, but something countered it and he landed in a field of violet lilies. He let out a hideous roar and emitted a shadow over the beautiful pasture. He hated the flower. A sliver of light broke through and a breathtaking blonde woman with hazel eyes set a path for him. Her gown flowed in the breeze and Morfran faltered. He reached out to meet her fingertips and she was ripped from him and spun into the forest again, nothing but ash now.

He fell to his hands and knees, covered in soot. He was a small boy again, crying and screaming at the moon. The image of his mother, his anchor, burning and tied to a stake in the center of the village. The screams and shouts of the villagers saying she was a witch and cursed them all. His tiny eyes filled with tears as he watched her, whispering his name, “Maccon,” as the flames lapped at her feet. She wore a smile through it all until the flames took her and enveloped her kaleidoscope eyes and ate away at her golden locks. He slammed his eyes shut and heard the resignation sound of gut-wrenching screams.

That night something in him broke, no one would ever say his name again. It belonged to his mother and no one else. He had no room left for anything but hate for the people who took his mother from him. Druids were known and typically respected, but they used her as a scapegoat for their misfortune. That was his trigger, her death that revealed he too was capable of her abilities. When the fiery power kicked in him, his wolf howled and smiled. The magic gave it strength and the wolf fed the magic. A cycle of unending energy.

The boy, no older than fifteen, screamed and a ring of fire irradiated from him, engulfing the village and the people who resided in it. They would burn with his mother. His soul hung in the balance, teetering between the choice of light or dark. Every druid faced this when they came into their powers. The possibility to be the sun or the void.

With the taste of the newfound strength on his lips Morfran hungered for more, his wolf's belly rumbling and aching for the rush that came with it. The thought of being feared rather than the one who was frightened. He was tired of being nothing, he yearned to be more; more everything. His heart chose the darkness and went down the path of those who came before him known as darach. They meddled in magic that upset the balance of the world, going against their own nature.

Morfran let out a growl laced with a scream and awoke on the floor, leaning back on his hands. He was back with his body, his mind no longer wandering the supernatural realm. There was only one reason this happened to him and it was that the bond was forged between the other three he saw earlier that night. After sifting through Allison’s mind, he knew their names as well.

He looked to the girl across from him and decided to let her live, for what it’s worth, not that she would have much of a life. He stood up and walked over to her, whispering in her ear, “Cadal, nighean òg.”

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A/N: The last sentence Morfran says is “Sleep, young girl” in Scottish Gaelic. again, please let me know what you thought, theories, things you’d like to see, etc. thank you for reading. it means the world to me. ♡ ♡ ♡

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