That doesn't surprise me. I still remember the first memory of yours I saw.
[Playing detective while the rest of his friends looked on with doubt. Few others would have pursued his own history with the same sort of persistence.
Also, fair argument. But he won't relinquish his pride.]
If not for your... influence on me over time, I suspect I'd never have thought to use my abilities in those ways. So you are at least partly responsible. You did force that book on me in Aefenglom.
My INFLUENCE! As if I'm some corrupting force set on debauching you with my lustful energies. Maybe I was an incubus in a past life. Think I'd look hot with horns?
Also, I totally resent the idea I "forced" that book on you. It was capitalism at its finest. You paid for the book fair and square. And it was SO tame. I have books here in Worst Dragon that'd bleach your pubic hairs gray.
Listen, this is like the patented “Does this dress make me look fat?” question girls like to ask guys. Just tell me the horns would make me look good, okay? My self-esteem needs to hear it.
Ah ha, sweet on me even back then, huh? Helpless to my salesman charms. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone you had such a massive crush on me that you paid money to buy a book that I’d touched.
Seriously though, I wonder if things would have gone differently if you HADN’T bought the book.
It would be difficult to say. I had encounters with others in Aefenglom as well, so I suppose those experiences also played a part. However, I assumed your feelings were with Jonas and my brother for some time. It was not until Hell that I began to see you differently.
[ “I would enjoy you in any form.” It’s just as well they aren’t physically together at the moment; Stiles is so quietly pleased by this response that he thinks he would have dropped to his knees to blow Itachi right then and there, regardless of where they were. ]
Smooth. Really smooth. You’ve got game, Itachi.
[ Despite the teasing words, the thread of long-distance Synchrony will betray just how deeply gratified Stiles feels. ]
Yeah, that makes sense. Hell really set a lot of things in motion. Guess I’m grateful. As much as it sucked down there, I don’t regret any of it.
[He privately indulges in what is communicated back to him through Synchrony. If only they were together, so it could be stronger rather than these distant filaments of feeling. The longing is still new to him—may always be.]
[The next part is even harder. Itachi looks at those words for a short while, unsure how to respond—what the right way to respond even is when they still feel on tenuous ground at times.]
[ Stiles doesn't immediately respond. Given what happened last time, he's naturally hesitant to be vulnerable with Itachi on this topic again. But, after several minutes of silence, he finally opens up. ]
It'd be cool if you listened to what happened. I haven't really had a chance to talk to anyone about it.
[ He craves an outlet, a means to express the overwhelming current of emotions that drowns him whenever he thinks about his fate back home. ]
[It's as much, if not more, than what he owes Stiles given his treatment immediately upon his return. The scar of that interaction remains intensely raw, touched by fear forever prevalent now—fear of loss, of ruining this final life, of hurting Stiles irreparably.]
I'm listening. Tell me what happened.
If you'd prefer to do it in person, I can come to you.
[ The suggestion that they meet to discuss the topic in person drives a shard of jagged fear down his throat. Stiles is already typing a response, prepared to turn the idea down with an excuse – but he pauses, reconsidering. In truth, he really would prefer to do this face to face. Explaining what happened over text will be too detached; it won’t provide him with the catharsis that he needs. The anxiety of being vulnerable with Itachi, though… ]
I’d prefer not to talk about it at the store. I don’t want my employees to see me if I get emotional.
[ Exhaling, he compromises. Gathering at the house or the apartment will only heighten his stress, reminding him of the last time he tried to tell Itachi about the Ghost Riders. ]
Meet me by the main entrance to Emerald Park? I’ll leave work now.
[It's a compromise he understands. In his mind, all he sees is Stiles on that mountain cliff, a shadow of who he used to be, eroded to threads. His fault. Perhaps there is some part of the influence he has over others that is a self-fulfilling prophecy—that, or Danzou was right. Stiles doesn't deserve the bad luck of knowing him.
But he'd already tried to fix that once.]
All right.
[Itachi immediately redirects his own route toward Emerald Park, veering away from the apartment complexes nearby it. He will likely get there first, but this is fine; he has no issue standing in the cool shade of trees, lean and dark, waiting.]
[ By the time he reaches Emerald Park, a faint sheen of sweat has broken out along the surface of his skin, shiny and glistening. He jogged most of the trip from the Underground, energy fueled by the pent-up emotions burning bright and cold in his gut. And yet, despite his fear, it’s with a genuine smile of fond regard that he greets Itachi. ]
Hey. Sorry for making you wait.
[ Reaching out, he tugs the other man into him – pressing a brief kiss to the familiar line of Itachi’s mouth. Something settles in him as their lips meet, reminding him of all the obstacles they’ve faced to come this far. He can do this. It’ll be fine. ]
[The kiss is automatically accepted, easily returned, bowing in as soon as he interprets the movement to capture Stiles' mouth with his own. It's a simple gesture of affection; no one seeing it on the street would think past that, but it speaks volumes to someone who knows Itachi at all. Intimacy is not natural or easy—his behavior now is not done lightly. Around anyone else, he wouldn't likely be so capable of it.
So it goes further when a hand reaches out, fishing for Stiles' own, fingers grazing a warm inner wrist before searching for firmer hold. A gentle tug attempts to turn them toward the path that winds through Emerald Park.]
[ An iridescent glow lights up Synchrony, his pleased surprise tangible as Itachi takes the initiative to link their hands together. Stiles falls into step beside the shinobi, brown eyes soft with a look of hopeless affection. The gradual progress his boyfriend has made on this front has not gone unnoticed; he appreciates the gesture, which wouldn’t have come naturally to Itachi – never mind an Uchiha, based on what Stiles knows of the family. He wonders what Sasuke would think, to see his older brother like this now. ]
Yeah, it’s fine. They don’t even need me there. I just like to keep busy during the day, honestly.
[ The reasons for which are all the more obvious given his current situation. Falling silent to gather his thoughts, he follows the path on autopilot, intertwined fingers providing him the stability he needs to approach the subject. ]
They’re called the Ghost Riders, [ he explains eventually, voice hushed. ] They’re these undead supernatural creatures. Pretty much invincible. And invisible. Did I mention that? [ A short, humorless laugh. ] If you see them, you’re screwed.
[The soothing wash of that tether between them is warm, familiar, its presence providing him a valuable clear-headedness. He can feel the gem in the divot of collarbones light up in that pleasant and tingly ache; his hand, intertwined with Stiles', subtly tightens. Dark eyes remain fixed on the trees as the boy speaks.
Back then, when Stiles first attempted to discuss this topic with him, he hadn't focused so much on the problem of Stiles' world—an error on his part that he recognizes now. How can he ensure Stiles is returned to a safe place otherwise?]
Nothing is invincible. [Low, stated with the certainty of a man who has faced countless difficult opponents and impossible odds. But he doesn't mean to detract from Stiles' explanation. To someone else... of course, a creature like these Ghost Riders may as well feel invincible. On another level. As if in apology, his thumb skims the side of Stiles' warm hand where they're joined together.] ... Did you see them?
[ “Nothing is invincible,” claims Itachi, unknowingly echoing the very sentiment that his younger brother once expressed in Aefenglom. “Everything can die, Stiles, even creatures like this. In time... I'll show you.” In the present, a bitter smile twists his mouth – a severe, ugly shape that leeches the earlier warmth from his face until his eyes are dark with a cold cynicism. Because Sasuke, with the same cocksure confidence, had also promised to save Jonas. But Stiles knows now that the promise was inevitably broken; after returning home from Aefenglom, Sasuke would have had no memories of Jonas in the first place.
Maybe for the Uchiha siblings, beings such as the Nogitsune and Ghost Riders truly could be permanently destroyed. Stiles lives in a different kind of reality, however. There are no shinobi with physics-breaking, godlike powers to save him back in Beacon Hills. Only a motley pack of teenagers, none of whom even remember him. ]
I saw them, [ he confirms lowly, an edge creeping into his tone. Argumentative as he is, Stiles doesn’t miss the opportunity to disagree. ] And how can you say something like that? People in my world don’t have the same kind of abilities that you guys do. [ With every word, he grows more heated. Itachi’s comment has grazed a nerve. ] We couldn’t even kill the goddamn Nogitsune after what it did to me. It’s sealed away in a jar somewhere, hopefully where no one can release it ever again. The point is – the rules aren’t the same for our worlds, okay? They’re different.
[ We’re different, he thinks quietly, fingers loose in the hand hold. ]
[He weathers the sharp rush of that emotion, ribboning hot through Synchrony between them, disallowing Stiles' hold from becoming lax enough to slip free. His own hand is an anchor, and his own temperament is calm equilibrium.]
Not everything needs to be killed. I understand the rules of our dimensions are different, but you have proven my point already. The Nogitsune was a force unlike anything you have encountered before — and still you defeated it. It is more impressive to me that you did not kill it, as avoiding death is sometimes impossibly harder. [The words are measured, cool. He knows his own perspective is unusual; those of his world are obsessed with murder and the means to achieve it, but he has never felt the same.] Looking back, perhaps it's challenging to see it as a victory, or to see how it could have gone a different path. But even though the creatures of your world may be different than mine, and so are our abilities, you aren't defenseless, Stiles.
[They pass under the trees, shadow briefly relieving them from the hot angle of sun above. He falls quiet for a moment, contemplative. He has seen glimpses of the boy's memories—and the trials he's endured—but Itachi has long since moved past the idea that Stiles is a completely helpless, completely ordinary civilian. A noncombatant, yes, but not weak.]
Did you not tell me that your role in your group was investigative in nature? I need no proof of your intelligence; I've seen that firsthand. You have what many others in my own world lack. Not in strength, but in your mind. If you would like to have a more productive conversation in solving the problem, tell me everything you know about these Ghost Riders. You may not take the memory with you, but the exercise might help nonetheless. [Dark eyes slide over to Stiles, the gaze of them soft, quiet.] ... Or we can discuss what they did.
[ Resentment, acrid and poisonous, rises like his gorge – threatening to spill out from his mouth in a deluge of old hurts. But there’s a hand tethering him to the current moment, lifelines gently kissing his. This is not someone with whom he wants to fight. And so, exhaling heavily through the nose, Stiles relents. The hot surge of emotions boiling in his gut begins to simmer. He doesn’t acknowledge the point Itachi makes, nor the compliment to his intelligence. Instead, the teenager stares moodily ahead, set in opinion and unwilling to entertain counterarguments.
They remerge in the harsh sunlight, beyond the considerate coverage of leafy tree canopies. Late summer heat beats down on his body, ruthless. Stiles doesn’t spare a thought for the elements, however; he’s mulling over how to provide all the limited information he has on the Ghost Riders. ]
I’ll start from the beginning. [ Still tense, but lacking the dangerous edge from before. ] We were investigating a weird case. A car rolling down the road without anyone driving it, some kid named Alex in the backseat begging not to let “them” take him. He can’t remember anything and his parents are nowhere to be found. Scott, the werewolf alpha of my pack, uses his powers to watch the kid’s memories. Scott says he sees a guy on a horse with a gun. Sounds like more of my dad’s wheelhouse – y’know, a regular, non-supernatural crime that the police should handle. But I had a feeling. See, I timed Scott while he was in Alex’s head. Four minutes passed. Four minutes, and all he sees is a guy on a horse? No way. Something doesn’t add up.
We check out the car. Lydia – she’s a banshee, so she can sense the dead – says the parents didn’t die. She would know. Our resident werecoyote, Malia, can’t scent the parents at all. They chalk it up to a coincidence, claim I’m just looking to make a normal case supernatural when it’s not. [ There’s frustration evident in his body language even now; Stiles has had a lifetime of not being believed. ] Well, I notice something. The windshield. Other car windshields that’ve been shot at…the impact is like a ripple, right? The bullet hits, then creates spiderweb cracks through the glass. Not this car. The windshield is totally blown out. I start thinking that the suspect used a kind of magic bullet and grab a shard of the windshield. It’s coated in a blue powder.
Next day. My dad’s people searched the car; didn’t find any slugs from the bullet, or an exit hole in the windshield. And the home address that Alex, that kid, gave them? Leads to an abandoned house. Nothing makes sense. But no one’s taking me or the case seriously.
[He doesn't protect himself, or prepare, against the rising collision of those emotions—he is confident he can absorb every dark, spitting thought and feeling that might come out of Stiles with deliberate and understanding tenderness. There's no need for defensiveness. If it comes, he will be wide open to accept it. He has already decided to take everything the boy can possibly give him, the good and the bad, all that is in-between; he doesn't fear an argument. His hand stays soft in their grip, guiding them along the path, patient.
Stiles manages to rein himself back in, however, and the story starts.
The names are familiar. He knows Scott by now as someone that allowed Stiles to be beaten black and blue in a basement unrescued; he knows Lydia as the one Stiles has confessed to being in love with, back home. The flicker over Synchrony is subtle, subdued by his own quiet and resilient self-control in the moment, but still there—a burn of dislike that resembles annoyance. Gone in a blink, like the hot blue center of a flame. Itachi adjusts their hands, threading fingers where they were only cupping before, knuckle over knuckle, palms now in fuller contact.
And again, Stiles' stubborn pursuit of the truth, his cleverness in puzzling out a problem unparalleled to so many. His friends not believing him. This, Itachi has witnessed firsthand, in the memory of Stiles at the library. Stiles and Scott, by the vehicle in the woods. His mouth forms a grim line.]
I'm surprised, that after so long, they still don't trust your instinct. [A mild comment as dark eyes follow their path ahead. The shade returns, trees concealing them overhead.] ... Yes, I'm following.
[ Even distracted as he my be, Stiles notices the nearly imperceptible blip across Synchrony at the mention of his friends. Pinpointing small details like that has always been his specialty, after all. He doesn’t comment on it, but – once their fingers are intertwined – squeezes Itachi’s hand in acknowledgement. His feelings on the subject are complicated and confused. Originally, he had started to question his friendship with Scott back in Aefenglom, when his time point from home was directly after the supermoon. They were already on the rocks then, Stiles furious with the supposed alpha over the betrayal that nearly cost the Sheriff his life. But it didn’t help that, when compared against Aefenglom friends like Jonas and Sasuke, Scott just didn’t pass muster; he was too self-centered, too self-involved. The bitter truth? Scott McCall is a terrible best friend. Unfortunately, Stiles forgot this epiphany like everything else upon returning home to Beacon Hills. And so, he made up with Scott. Now that he’s in these dimensions again, his memories and personal growth restored, Stiles can only look back with regret.
Scott never even apologized to him.
Bastard. ]
They think of me like a broken clock, [ he remarks grimly, jerking one shoulder in the approximation of a dismissive shrug. Synchrony betrays the gesture; Stiles cares about the opinions of the pack more than he cares to admit. ] “He’s right at least twice a day.” Any other time? I’m just an unreliable spaz to them.
[ The self-depreciating line of thinking doesn’t help him. Forcing himself to move beyond the tangent, he continues with the story. ]
I guess…it’s important for me to mention that weird stuff started happening to me around that time. Like, a form that I distinctly remember filling out to have my yearbook photo taken was suddenly blank. Later, no one told me we had lacrosse practice and some other guy was wearing my jersey. The same jersey that I’ve worn every year since starting school. It was already happening, and we had no idea. [ He swallows, throat clicking audibly. ] I was being erased from existence.
I convinced Scott to come with me and check out the house. Just like the police said, the place was totally abandoned. It seemed like no one had lived there for years. Dust everywhere. But I found one room that wasn’t like the rest. Alex’s bedroom. It looked totally normal, as if the kid really did live there. Then I saw the photos. He was the only one in them, even when it didn’t make sense for him to be. Just for example, Alex had his arm up in the middle of the air, hanging onto nothing. People were missing from the photos.
I checked under the bed. When I did, I saw hooves across the room on the other side. But when I stood up, nothing was there. I got a nasty feeling. Ran out of the room and shut the door behind me. And wouldn’t you know, there’s a guy who fits Scott’s description at the other end of the hall. One of the Ghost Riders.
[ A clammy sweat breaks out along his skin. Stiles weathers a shudder. ]
The thing shot at me a few times, but missed. Scott hears the commotion and comes running upstairs. The Ghost Rider is gone. I tell Scott that I was attacked, that I think the guy from Alex’s memory made the kid’s parents disappear. We open the bedroom to Alex’s bedroom – and all his stuff is gone. The room is as empty and abandoned as the rest of the house now.
Finally everyone’s taking it seriously. We start researching mass disappearances. Eventually, Lydia realizes what the Ghost Riders are – they’re part of the Wild Hunt, a popular myth. In the myth, the souls of the dead hunt the living. It was said that seeing the Wild Hunt was a bad omen, usually leading to some catastrophe or death. As for the Wild Hunt itself, they abducted people to the underworld for all eternity, erasing them from existence. Which is exactly what happened to Alex’s parents. And we knew Alex would be next, because he’d seen the Ghost Rider. We headed for the Sheriff’s Station. Except Alex was already gone. [ Stiles stops walking, all the nervous energy in his body now channeled instead through the hand in Itachi’s. ] The police had no idea who Alex was. No records of him. No memories. We couldn’t save him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Playing detective while the rest of his friends looked on with doubt. Few others would have pursued his own history with the same sort of persistence.
Also, fair argument. But he won't relinquish his pride.]
If not for your... influence on me over time, I suspect I'd never have thought to use my abilities in those ways. So you are at least partly responsible. You did force that book on me in Aefenglom.
no subject
Also, I totally resent the idea I "forced" that book on you. It was capitalism at its finest. You paid for the book fair and square. And it was SO tame. I have books here in Worst Dragon that'd bleach your pubic hairs gray.
no subject
[what is capitalism]
Please refrain from using that phrase again.
I did not say it was explicit, but it was the first exposure I had to some of those concepts. I also would not have purchased it from anyone else.
no subject
Ah ha, sweet on me even back then, huh? Helpless to my salesman charms. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone you had such a massive crush on me that you paid money to buy a book that I’d touched.
Seriously though, I wonder if things would have gone differently if you HADN’T bought the book.
no subject
It would be difficult to say. I had encounters with others in Aefenglom as well, so I suppose those experiences also played a part. However, I assumed your feelings were with Jonas and my brother for some time. It was not until Hell that I began to see you differently.
no subject
Smooth. Really smooth. You’ve got game, Itachi.
[ Despite the teasing words, the thread of long-distance Synchrony will betray just how deeply gratified Stiles feels. ]
Yeah, that makes sense. Hell really set a lot of things in motion. Guess I’m grateful. As much as it sucked down there, I don’t regret any of it.
How’re you doing, by the way? Like, your health.
no subject
Do you mean today, or in general?
no subject
no subject
[Has he spoken yet with a doctor? No, but he did promise Stiles he would, and he hasn't forgotten this.]
How are you feeling? In general and today.
no subject
be careful with your limits
okay?
I'm fine. Some days I'm not. I guess that's normal though. For the most part, I try not to think about my world anymore. This is my life now.
1/2 i lied i’m not sleeping
no subject
Is there anything I can do?
SLEEP!!
It'd be cool if you listened to what happened. I haven't really had a chance to talk to anyone about it.
[ He craves an outlet, a means to express the overwhelming current of emotions that drowns him whenever he thinks about his fate back home. ]
😤
I'm listening. Tell me what happened.
If you'd prefer to do it in person, I can come to you.
no subject
I’d prefer not to talk about it at the store. I don’t want my employees to see me if I get emotional.
[ Exhaling, he compromises. Gathering at the house or the apartment will only heighten his stress, reminding him of the last time he tried to tell Itachi about the Ghost Riders. ]
Meet me by the main entrance to Emerald Park? I’ll leave work now.
no subject
But he'd already tried to fix that once.]
All right.
[Itachi immediately redirects his own route toward Emerald Park, veering away from the apartment complexes nearby it. He will likely get there first, but this is fine; he has no issue standing in the cool shade of trees, lean and dark, waiting.]
no subject
Hey. Sorry for making you wait.
[ Reaching out, he tugs the other man into him – pressing a brief kiss to the familiar line of Itachi’s mouth. Something settles in him as their lips meet, reminding him of all the obstacles they’ve faced to come this far. He can do this. It’ll be fine. ]
Walk with me?
no subject
[The kiss is automatically accepted, easily returned, bowing in as soon as he interprets the movement to capture Stiles' mouth with his own. It's a simple gesture of affection; no one seeing it on the street would think past that, but it speaks volumes to someone who knows Itachi at all. Intimacy is not natural or easy—his behavior now is not done lightly. Around anyone else, he wouldn't likely be so capable of it.
So it goes further when a hand reaches out, fishing for Stiles' own, fingers grazing a warm inner wrist before searching for firmer hold. A gentle tug attempts to turn them toward the path that winds through Emerald Park.]
Was it fine to leave your work so early?
no subject
Yeah, it’s fine. They don’t even need me there. I just like to keep busy during the day, honestly.
[ The reasons for which are all the more obvious given his current situation. Falling silent to gather his thoughts, he follows the path on autopilot, intertwined fingers providing him the stability he needs to approach the subject. ]
They’re called the Ghost Riders, [ he explains eventually, voice hushed. ] They’re these undead supernatural creatures. Pretty much invincible. And invisible. Did I mention that? [ A short, humorless laugh. ] If you see them, you’re screwed.
no subject
Back then, when Stiles first attempted to discuss this topic with him, he hadn't focused so much on the problem of Stiles' world—an error on his part that he recognizes now. How can he ensure Stiles is returned to a safe place otherwise?]
Nothing is invincible. [Low, stated with the certainty of a man who has faced countless difficult opponents and impossible odds. But he doesn't mean to detract from Stiles' explanation. To someone else... of course, a creature like these Ghost Riders may as well feel invincible. On another level. As if in apology, his thumb skims the side of Stiles' warm hand where they're joined together.] ... Did you see them?
[It feels pertinent to ask.]
no subject
Maybe for the Uchiha siblings, beings such as the Nogitsune and Ghost Riders truly could be permanently destroyed. Stiles lives in a different kind of reality, however. There are no shinobi with physics-breaking, godlike powers to save him back in Beacon Hills. Only a motley pack of teenagers, none of whom even remember him. ]
I saw them, [ he confirms lowly, an edge creeping into his tone. Argumentative as he is, Stiles doesn’t miss the opportunity to disagree. ] And how can you say something like that? People in my world don’t have the same kind of abilities that you guys do. [ With every word, he grows more heated. Itachi’s comment has grazed a nerve. ] We couldn’t even kill the goddamn Nogitsune after what it did to me. It’s sealed away in a jar somewhere, hopefully where no one can release it ever again. The point is – the rules aren’t the same for our worlds, okay? They’re different.
[ We’re different, he thinks quietly, fingers loose in the hand hold. ]
no subject
Not everything needs to be killed. I understand the rules of our dimensions are different, but you have proven my point already. The Nogitsune was a force unlike anything you have encountered before — and still you defeated it. It is more impressive to me that you did not kill it, as avoiding death is sometimes impossibly harder. [The words are measured, cool. He knows his own perspective is unusual; those of his world are obsessed with murder and the means to achieve it, but he has never felt the same.] Looking back, perhaps it's challenging to see it as a victory, or to see how it could have gone a different path. But even though the creatures of your world may be different than mine, and so are our abilities, you aren't defenseless, Stiles.
[They pass under the trees, shadow briefly relieving them from the hot angle of sun above. He falls quiet for a moment, contemplative. He has seen glimpses of the boy's memories—and the trials he's endured—but Itachi has long since moved past the idea that Stiles is a completely helpless, completely ordinary civilian. A noncombatant, yes, but not weak.]
Did you not tell me that your role in your group was investigative in nature? I need no proof of your intelligence; I've seen that firsthand. You have what many others in my own world lack. Not in strength, but in your mind. If you would like to have a more productive conversation in solving the problem, tell me everything you know about these Ghost Riders. You may not take the memory with you, but the exercise might help nonetheless. [Dark eyes slide over to Stiles, the gaze of them soft, quiet.] ... Or we can discuss what they did.
no subject
They remerge in the harsh sunlight, beyond the considerate coverage of leafy tree canopies. Late summer heat beats down on his body, ruthless. Stiles doesn’t spare a thought for the elements, however; he’s mulling over how to provide all the limited information he has on the Ghost Riders. ]
I’ll start from the beginning. [ Still tense, but lacking the dangerous edge from before. ] We were investigating a weird case. A car rolling down the road without anyone driving it, some kid named Alex in the backseat begging not to let “them” take him. He can’t remember anything and his parents are nowhere to be found. Scott, the werewolf alpha of my pack, uses his powers to watch the kid’s memories. Scott says he sees a guy on a horse with a gun. Sounds like more of my dad’s wheelhouse – y’know, a regular, non-supernatural crime that the police should handle. But I had a feeling. See, I timed Scott while he was in Alex’s head. Four minutes passed. Four minutes, and all he sees is a guy on a horse? No way. Something doesn’t add up.
We check out the car. Lydia – she’s a banshee, so she can sense the dead – says the parents didn’t die. She would know. Our resident werecoyote, Malia, can’t scent the parents at all. They chalk it up to a coincidence, claim I’m just looking to make a normal case supernatural when it’s not. [ There’s frustration evident in his body language even now; Stiles has had a lifetime of not being believed. ] Well, I notice something. The windshield. Other car windshields that’ve been shot at…the impact is like a ripple, right? The bullet hits, then creates spiderweb cracks through the glass. Not this car. The windshield is totally blown out. I start thinking that the suspect used a kind of magic bullet and grab a shard of the windshield. It’s coated in a blue powder.
Next day. My dad’s people searched the car; didn’t find any slugs from the bullet, or an exit hole in the windshield. And the home address that Alex, that kid, gave them? Leads to an abandoned house. Nothing makes sense. But no one’s taking me or the case seriously.
You still following?
no subject
Stiles manages to rein himself back in, however, and the story starts.
The names are familiar. He knows Scott by now as someone that allowed Stiles to be beaten black and blue in a basement unrescued; he knows Lydia as the one Stiles has confessed to being in love with, back home. The flicker over Synchrony is subtle, subdued by his own quiet and resilient self-control in the moment, but still there—a burn of dislike that resembles annoyance. Gone in a blink, like the hot blue center of a flame. Itachi adjusts their hands, threading fingers where they were only cupping before, knuckle over knuckle, palms now in fuller contact.
And again, Stiles' stubborn pursuit of the truth, his cleverness in puzzling out a problem unparalleled to so many. His friends not believing him. This, Itachi has witnessed firsthand, in the memory of Stiles at the library. Stiles and Scott, by the vehicle in the woods. His mouth forms a grim line.]
I'm surprised, that after so long, they still don't trust your instinct. [A mild comment as dark eyes follow their path ahead. The shade returns, trees concealing them overhead.] ... Yes, I'm following.
no subject
Scott never even apologized to him.
Bastard. ]
They think of me like a broken clock, [ he remarks grimly, jerking one shoulder in the approximation of a dismissive shrug. Synchrony betrays the gesture; Stiles cares about the opinions of the pack more than he cares to admit. ] “He’s right at least twice a day.” Any other time? I’m just an unreliable spaz to them.
[ The self-depreciating line of thinking doesn’t help him. Forcing himself to move beyond the tangent, he continues with the story. ]
I guess…it’s important for me to mention that weird stuff started happening to me around that time. Like, a form that I distinctly remember filling out to have my yearbook photo taken was suddenly blank. Later, no one told me we had lacrosse practice and some other guy was wearing my jersey. The same jersey that I’ve worn every year since starting school. It was already happening, and we had no idea. [ He swallows, throat clicking audibly. ] I was being erased from existence.
I convinced Scott to come with me and check out the house. Just like the police said, the place was totally abandoned. It seemed like no one had lived there for years. Dust everywhere. But I found one room that wasn’t like the rest. Alex’s bedroom. It looked totally normal, as if the kid really did live there. Then I saw the photos. He was the only one in them, even when it didn’t make sense for him to be. Just for example, Alex had his arm up in the middle of the air, hanging onto nothing. People were missing from the photos.
I checked under the bed. When I did, I saw hooves across the room on the other side. But when I stood up, nothing was there. I got a nasty feeling. Ran out of the room and shut the door behind me. And wouldn’t you know, there’s a guy who fits Scott’s description at the other end of the hall. One of the Ghost Riders.
[ A clammy sweat breaks out along his skin. Stiles weathers a shudder. ]
The thing shot at me a few times, but missed. Scott hears the commotion and comes running upstairs. The Ghost Rider is gone. I tell Scott that I was attacked, that I think the guy from Alex’s memory made the kid’s parents disappear. We open the bedroom to Alex’s bedroom – and all his stuff is gone. The room is as empty and abandoned as the rest of the house now.
Finally everyone’s taking it seriously. We start researching mass disappearances. Eventually, Lydia realizes what the Ghost Riders are – they’re part of the Wild Hunt, a popular myth. In the myth, the souls of the dead hunt the living. It was said that seeing the Wild Hunt was a bad omen, usually leading to some catastrophe or death. As for the Wild Hunt itself, they abducted people to the underworld for all eternity, erasing them from existence. Which is exactly what happened to Alex’s parents. And we knew Alex would be next, because he’d seen the Ghost Rider. We headed for the Sheriff’s Station. Except Alex was already gone. [ Stiles stops walking, all the nervous energy in his body now channeled instead through the hand in Itachi’s. ] The police had no idea who Alex was. No records of him. No memories. We couldn’t save him.
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/fin