[ 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 nowâfear 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 â 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 wonât provide him with the catharsis that he needs. The anxiety of being vulnerable with Itachi, though⌠]
Iâd prefer not to talk about it at the store. I donât 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? Iâll 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 prophecyâthat, 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, itâs 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 â pressing a brief kiss to the familiar line of Itachiâs mouth. Something settles in him as their lips meet, reminding him of all the obstacles theyâve faced to come this far. He can do this. Itâll 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 easyâhis 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 wouldnât have come naturally to Itachi â 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, itâs fine. They donât 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. ]
Theyâre called the Ghost Riders, [ he explains eventually, voice hushed. ] Theyâre these undead supernatural creatures. Pretty much invincible. And invisible. Did I mention that? [ A short, humorless laugh. ] If you see them, youâre 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' worldâan 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?
[ âNothing is invincible,â claims Itachi, unknowingly echoing the very sentiment that his younger brother once expressed in Aefenglom. âEverything can die, Stiles, even creatures like this. In time... I'll show you.â In the present, a bitter smile twists his mouth â 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 doesnât miss the opportunity to disagree. ] And how can you say something like that? People in my world donât have the same kind of abilities that you guys do. [ With every word, he grows more heated. Itachiâs comment has grazed a nerve. ] We couldnât even kill the goddamn Nogitsune after what it did to me. Itâs sealed away in a jar somewhere, hopefully where no one can release it ever again. The point is â the rules arenât the same for our worlds, okay? Theyâre different.
[ Weâre 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 â 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 memoriesâand the trials he's enduredâbut 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 â threatening to spill out from his mouth in a deluge of old hurts. But thereâs 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 doesnât 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 doesnât spare a thought for the elements, however; heâs mulling over how to provide all the limited information he has on the Ghost Riders. ]
Iâll 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 âthemâ take him. He canât remember anything and his parents are nowhere to be found. Scott, the werewolf alpha of my pack, uses his powers to watch the kidâs memories. Scott says he sees a guy on a horse with a gun. Sounds like more of my dadâs wheelhouse â yâknow, a regular, non-supernatural crime that the police should handle. But I had a feeling. See, I timed Scott while he was in Alexâs head. Four minutes passed. Four minutes, and all he sees is a guy on a horse? No way. Something doesnât add up.
We check out the car. Lydia â sheâs a banshee, so she can sense the dead â says the parents didnât die. She would know. Our resident werecoyote, Malia, canât scent the parents at all. They chalk it up to a coincidence, claim Iâm just looking to make a normal case supernatural when itâs not. [ Thereâs 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 thatâve been shot atâŚthe 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. Itâs coated in a blue powder.
Next day. My dadâs people searched the car; didnât 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 oneâs taking me or the case seriously.
[He doesn't protect himself, or prepare, against the rising collision of those emotionsâhe 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 thereâa 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 doesnât comment on it, but â once their fingers are intertwined â squeezes Itachiâs 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 didnât help that, when compared against Aefenglom friends like Jonas and Sasuke, Scott just didnât 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 heâs 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. ] âHeâs right at least twice a day.â Any other time? Iâm just an unreliable spaz to them.
[ The self-depreciating line of thinking doesnât help him. Forcing himself to move beyond the tangent, he continues with the story. ]
I guessâŚitâs 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 Iâve 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 wasnât like the rest. Alexâs 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 didnât 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 wouldnât you know, thereâs a guy who fits Scottâs 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 Alexâs memory made the kidâs parents disappear. We open the bedroom to Alexâs bedroom â and all his stuff is gone. The room is as empty and abandoned as the rest of the house now.
Finally everyoneâs taking it seriously. We start researching mass disappearances. Eventually, Lydia realizes what the Ghost Riders are â theyâre 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 Alexâs parents. And we knew Alex would be next, because heâd seen the Ghost Rider. We headed for the Sheriffâs Station. Except Alex was already gone. [ Stiles stops walking, all the nervous energy in his body now channeled instead through the hand in Itachiâs. ] The police had no idea who Alex was. No records of him. No memories. We couldnât save him.
[It isn't the time or place to criticize those people in Stiles' life back home, although the desire nags at him, distaste for the treatment the boy faces by those he would call his companions. As always, Synchrony paints a truer color of feeling. Though he may have the urge for correctionâStiles is not as they may see himâit won't be heard well now. So he waits, and continues to listen.
The souls of the dead hunt the living. It's clear to him that Stiles was targeted, but the method does not appear to be immediate. If these supernatural creatures are so powerful, why do they bide their time in selecting a victim and snatching them up? Either time is what they require to be successful... or, perhaps more sinister, they enjoy the hunt. Itachi has met men of such an inclination; he would not put it beyond the whim of these Ghost Riders, although he knows too little yet to make the assumption.
Part of this is to walk Stiles through the trauma of what had occurred to him, another is to give Itachi as many pieces of the mystery as possible. He could have taken these memories straight from the boy's head, but that would not have offered the same relief of speaking the words aloud. Being heard as he was not heard so many weeks ago. Outside the issue that they can be sent home at all, bereft of the memory of these dimensions, is the problem that Stiles now faces: he does not have a home to return to. Like Itachi, he is facing the fate of a dead end. One much less deserved than his own.
Their walk slows, then stops, leading Itachi to step around in front of him. His free hand finds its place on Stiles' shoulder.]
[ The story is coming to a close. They both know how it ends. Lost in thought now, Stiles remains eerily silent as he replays those final moments in his head. But then a body moves to stand in front of him, interrupting the view of a seemingly unending path that tunnels his glassy vision to nowhere. Shaken free from the rabbit hole that he was unconsciously tumbling down, he starts in muted surprise. The sight of Itachi, solid and real and present, quells the spark of wild fear trying to ignite in his breast. But still the seeds of grief linger, exacerbated by the unearthed memories heâs tried so hard not to dwell on since returning to Noctium. ]
Me and ScottâŚwe went back to the school, to warn everyone about the Ghost Riders. We split up to cover more ground. [ A pause. Brown eyes begin to shine behind a wall of unshed tears. ] Thatâs the last time â
[ He reaches up, scrubbing at his face with a trembling hand. ]
No one recognized me. Not Lydiaâs mom. Not Liam, Hayden, or Mason. And thenâŚ
[ Looking away from Itachi, he gazes at some point in the distance while trying to dam the flood of anguish welling up in his heart. The tears spill down his cheeks, only to be angrily wiped at seconds later. ]
My dad, [ Stiles croaks miserably, voice breaking. ] He was there. He hadâŚno idea who I was. I was a complete stranger to him. My own dad. It was like something out of my worst nightmare. I called Scott, but when Scott picked up, he didnât know me anymore either. So, I knew then. It was obvious. The Ghost Riders were coming for me.
[ A shiver born from deep within his soul crawls upwards out of him. Stiles glances back at Itachi, the line of his mouth wobbling. ]
Lydia was the only one who still remembered. We ran, but the Ghost Riders were surrounding us. She couldnât see them. I was afraid that, if we kept trying to escape, they might let her see them. That she might be next. I told her she was going to forget who I was, but that she had to try and remember me. I t-told herâŚI told her to remember that I love her. And then they took me. There was a flash of lightning, this weird feeling in my gut, and thenâŚnothing.
[ He searches Itachi desperately for some kind of reassurance â reassurance that heâs not even emotionally equipped to tolerate, so ironclad is his belief that heâs doomed. ]
I woke up in the Burnished Crater. After I got back to Sumarlok, IâŚwent to see you.
[The grief is an ocean bleeding through that empathetic tether, crashing over rocks, tunneling along the well-worn grooves of their familiar connection. He can feel the pain in Stiles' confessionâthose final moments of unrecognition from his fatherâas though that pain is his own. The sensitivity he has to Stiles' emotions is no new experience. Over time it has heightened, his detachment eroded by the Bond and even further by Synchrony, binding him closely to every hitch and hiccup in Stiles' emotional world. Every hurt, hurts one another. Every pleasure is compounded. Perhaps it is some masochistic thing, to be this attached to another person that he might move entire worlds in the effort to ease some of the suffering he feels in Stiles now. That he had ever considered they could live apart. That he would go to the ends of his ability to fix this problem, and that he despises himself with restored vitriol for what he did when Stiles came to see him.
That he would unleash himself upon these supernatural creatures, the Ghost Riders, at any cost, if only he could.
Itachi extracts his hand upon the story's conclusion, but only to lift both arms and enfold the boy in an embrace. One not unlike what he had offered after his transformation in the mountains. In the shade they stand together, a little off from the path, and he doesn't move, grasp strong enough that Stiles will have to fight him if he wishes it to loosen. A warm cheek presses in against the side of the boy's head.]
I am sorry. [His voice is quiet, low, nearly lost.] You came for comfort and I was cruel. I suppose, often, it is easier for me to be that way. I was wrong. It is not the first time.
[How Stiles has managed to fish him out of his own head and anchor him into the world... he doesn't know, but he expects there are too many others who would be more worth that brilliant, tenacious devotion. Not a man like him, who cannot seem to interact with reality in a way that is not painfully debilitatingâevery sharp, jagged edge of his psyche is designed like a weapon to turn against an opponent. Of course Stiles would suffer from it.]
You deserve someone better, but I fear that I wouldn't allow it now, even if you never forgive me. [Even if Lydia, who the Stiles of another world loves, tried to take him back.] When I believed you were gone... It was difficult. I was not prepared for that feeling, and it ultimately affected my judgment.
[A sick, dark plunge off a cliff, too similar to his initial glimpses of his family's curse in childhood.]
Stiles, you are the only good part of any life I have ever had, before or after. I understand you're afraid. It's all right. [He keeps his voice even, slow and deliberate, picking words with precision.] You are here, and so am I. Will you bear with that for now?
[ Warm, capable arms cradle him â inviting Stiles to weather the storm of his raw emotions, to be weak in the shelter of Itachiâs steady strength. He quits trying to compartmentalize his overwhelming grief; breath hitching, the teenager begins to quietly weep against a shoulder, tears soon drenching the fabric of the shirt that Itachi wears. He thinks of the father he may never see again, a bloody hole in the shape of Noah Stilinski scarring his heart. Nothing has been crueler than this terrible fate. But somehow even worse yet is the ever-looming possibility of losing Itachi, whether to disease or the mercurial whims of these dimensions. It seems inevitable, as if Stiles is doomed to watch all his loved ones pass beyond his reach again and again.
He can still count on one hand the number of times that his boyfriend has embraced him like this. The rarity of the gesture wrings him inside out. When the shinobi speaks, the tender words murmured against his ear become the lifeline to which he painstakingly tethers himself. Were it only possible, he would bind their souls together in a union more complete and intimate than matrimony. He cannot imagine a future without Itachi anymore. He has no desire to. This unhealthy codependency upon each other has reached culmination.
And so, Stiles recognizes the true meaning lurking beneath the surface of Itachiâs speech now. Itâs as fulfilling as an explicit confession â Itachi is in love with him. ]
St-stay with me, [ he begs hoarsely, clinging for his lifeâs worth to the slender, lean body thatâs more weapon than man. ] I donât care about an-anyone âbetter.â I just need you. Nothing else matters.
[ Trembling, Stiles slips his arms around Itachiâs neck. ]
C-canâŚcan we go home?
[ Home. Not in Beacon Hills, but a quiet suburban neighborhood in the Emerald District â where Sophia patiently waits and the old t-shirt of Itachiâs lies buried within his pillowcase. ]
[He can feel the warm tears begin to saturate his shirt, hiccups devolving into sobs that shake the boy's frame in the aftermath of hurtâhe doesn't move until those grief-stricken tremors become littler shivers, and Stiles begins to ease, at least partially, into his hold. The arms are loose around his throat; he enjoys the simple warmth of their shared embrace in a way he has not experienced since early childhood, when exchanges of affection were still permitted between himself and Sasuke. It doesn't feel unnatural. He wonders why he'd ever begun to avoid this.
Well... he knows.
Yet it's the easiest decision in the world, answering that question. It shouldn't be, because the gravity of the word home cannot be understated, and he has never thought of this world as that. Aefenglom was not home. Hell was not home. To him, home existed in a place he would never reachâin a corner of the village hidden in the leaves, haunted by ghosts.
But now, it makes perfect sense for him to consider Stiles' request as an exception. An addendum. This world isn't home, either, but the boy in his arms is the closest he may ever get to it again, and wherever he is, Itachi will go. So he turns, gently beginning to steer them in the direction of that house.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. ]
đ¤
I'm listening. Tell me what happened.
If you'd prefer to do it in person, I can come to you.
no subject
Iâd prefer not to talk about it at the store. I donât 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? Iâll 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 â pressing a brief kiss to the familiar line of Itachiâs mouth. Something settles in him as their lips meet, reminding him of all the obstacles theyâve faced to come this far. He can do this. Itâll 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 easyâhis 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, itâs fine. They donât 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. ]
Theyâre called the Ghost Riders, [ he explains eventually, voice hushed. ] Theyâre these undead supernatural creatures. Pretty much invincible. And invisible. Did I mention that? [ A short, humorless laugh. ] If you see them, youâre 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' worldâan 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 doesnât miss the opportunity to disagree. ] And how can you say something like that? People in my world donât have the same kind of abilities that you guys do. [ With every word, he grows more heated. Itachiâs comment has grazed a nerve. ] We couldnât even kill the goddamn Nogitsune after what it did to me. Itâs sealed away in a jar somewhere, hopefully where no one can release it ever again. The point is â the rules arenât the same for our worlds, okay? Theyâre different.
[ Weâre 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 â 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 memoriesâand the trials he's enduredâbut 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 doesnât spare a thought for the elements, however; heâs mulling over how to provide all the limited information he has on the Ghost Riders. ]
Iâll 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 âthemâ take him. He canât remember anything and his parents are nowhere to be found. Scott, the werewolf alpha of my pack, uses his powers to watch the kidâs memories. Scott says he sees a guy on a horse with a gun. Sounds like more of my dadâs wheelhouse â yâknow, a regular, non-supernatural crime that the police should handle. But I had a feeling. See, I timed Scott while he was in Alexâs head. Four minutes passed. Four minutes, and all he sees is a guy on a horse? No way. Something doesnât add up.
We check out the car. Lydia â sheâs a banshee, so she can sense the dead â says the parents didnât die. She would know. Our resident werecoyote, Malia, canât scent the parents at all. They chalk it up to a coincidence, claim Iâm just looking to make a normal case supernatural when itâs not. [ Thereâs 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 thatâve been shot atâŚthe 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. Itâs coated in a blue powder.
Next day. My dadâs people searched the car; didnât 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 oneâs taking me or the case seriously.
You still following?
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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 thereâa 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.
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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. ] âHeâs right at least twice a day.â Any other time? Iâm just an unreliable spaz to them.
[ The self-depreciating line of thinking doesnât help him. Forcing himself to move beyond the tangent, he continues with the story. ]
I guessâŚitâs 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 Iâve 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 wasnât like the rest. Alexâs 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 didnât 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 wouldnât you know, thereâs a guy who fits Scottâs 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 Alexâs memory made the kidâs parents disappear. We open the bedroom to Alexâs bedroom â and all his stuff is gone. The room is as empty and abandoned as the rest of the house now.
Finally everyoneâs taking it seriously. We start researching mass disappearances. Eventually, Lydia realizes what the Ghost Riders are â theyâre 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 Alexâs parents. And we knew Alex would be next, because heâd seen the Ghost Rider. We headed for the Sheriffâs Station. Except Alex was already gone. [ Stiles stops walking, all the nervous energy in his body now channeled instead through the hand in Itachiâs. ] The police had no idea who Alex was. No records of him. No memories. We couldnât save him.
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The souls of the dead hunt the living. It's clear to him that Stiles was targeted, but the method does not appear to be immediate. If these supernatural creatures are so powerful, why do they bide their time in selecting a victim and snatching them up? Either time is what they require to be successful... or, perhaps more sinister, they enjoy the hunt. Itachi has met men of such an inclination; he would not put it beyond the whim of these Ghost Riders, although he knows too little yet to make the assumption.
Part of this is to walk Stiles through the trauma of what had occurred to him, another is to give Itachi as many pieces of the mystery as possible. He could have taken these memories straight from the boy's head, but that would not have offered the same relief of speaking the words aloud. Being heard as he was not heard so many weeks ago. Outside the issue that they can be sent home at all, bereft of the memory of these dimensions, is the problem that Stiles now faces: he does not have a home to return to. Like Itachi, he is facing the fate of a dead end. One much less deserved than his own.
Their walk slows, then stops, leading Itachi to step around in front of him. His free hand finds its place on Stiles' shoulder.]
What happened after that?
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Me and ScottâŚwe went back to the school, to warn everyone about the Ghost Riders. We split up to cover more ground. [ A pause. Brown eyes begin to shine behind a wall of unshed tears. ] Thatâs the last time â
[ He reaches up, scrubbing at his face with a trembling hand. ]
No one recognized me. Not Lydiaâs mom. Not Liam, Hayden, or Mason. And thenâŚ
[ Looking away from Itachi, he gazes at some point in the distance while trying to dam the flood of anguish welling up in his heart. The tears spill down his cheeks, only to be angrily wiped at seconds later. ]
My dad, [ Stiles croaks miserably, voice breaking. ] He was there. He hadâŚno idea who I was. I was a complete stranger to him. My own dad. It was like something out of my worst nightmare. I called Scott, but when Scott picked up, he didnât know me anymore either. So, I knew then. It was obvious. The Ghost Riders were coming for me.
[ A shiver born from deep within his soul crawls upwards out of him. Stiles glances back at Itachi, the line of his mouth wobbling. ]
Lydia was the only one who still remembered. We ran, but the Ghost Riders were surrounding us. She couldnât see them. I was afraid that, if we kept trying to escape, they might let her see them. That she might be next. I told her she was going to forget who I was, but that she had to try and remember me. I t-told herâŚI told her to remember that I love her. And then they took me. There was a flash of lightning, this weird feeling in my gut, and thenâŚnothing.
[ He searches Itachi desperately for some kind of reassurance â reassurance that heâs not even emotionally equipped to tolerate, so ironclad is his belief that heâs doomed. ]
I woke up in the Burnished Crater. After I got back to Sumarlok, IâŚwent to see you.
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That he would unleash himself upon these supernatural creatures, the Ghost Riders, at any cost, if only he could.
Itachi extracts his hand upon the story's conclusion, but only to lift both arms and enfold the boy in an embrace. One not unlike what he had offered after his transformation in the mountains. In the shade they stand together, a little off from the path, and he doesn't move, grasp strong enough that Stiles will have to fight him if he wishes it to loosen. A warm cheek presses in against the side of the boy's head.]
I am sorry. [His voice is quiet, low, nearly lost.] You came for comfort and I was cruel. I suppose, often, it is easier for me to be that way. I was wrong. It is not the first time.
[How Stiles has managed to fish him out of his own head and anchor him into the world... he doesn't know, but he expects there are too many others who would be more worth that brilliant, tenacious devotion. Not a man like him, who cannot seem to interact with reality in a way that is not painfully debilitatingâevery sharp, jagged edge of his psyche is designed like a weapon to turn against an opponent. Of course Stiles would suffer from it.]
You deserve someone better, but I fear that I wouldn't allow it now, even if you never forgive me. [Even if Lydia, who the Stiles of another world loves, tried to take him back.] When I believed you were gone... It was difficult. I was not prepared for that feeling, and it ultimately affected my judgment.
[A sick, dark plunge off a cliff, too similar to his initial glimpses of his family's curse in childhood.]
Stiles, you are the only good part of any life I have ever had, before or after. I understand you're afraid. It's all right. [He keeps his voice even, slow and deliberate, picking words with precision.] You are here, and so am I. Will you bear with that for now?
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He can still count on one hand the number of times that his boyfriend has embraced him like this. The rarity of the gesture wrings him inside out. When the shinobi speaks, the tender words murmured against his ear become the lifeline to which he painstakingly tethers himself. Were it only possible, he would bind their souls together in a union more complete and intimate than matrimony. He cannot imagine a future without Itachi anymore. He has no desire to. This unhealthy codependency upon each other has reached culmination.
And so, Stiles recognizes the true meaning lurking beneath the surface of Itachiâs speech now. Itâs as fulfilling as an explicit confession â Itachi is in love with him. ]
St-stay with me, [ he begs hoarsely, clinging for his lifeâs worth to the slender, lean body thatâs more weapon than man. ] I donât care about an-anyone âbetter.â I just need you. Nothing else matters.
[ Trembling, Stiles slips his arms around Itachiâs neck. ]
C-canâŚcan we go home?
[ Home. Not in Beacon Hills, but a quiet suburban neighborhood in the Emerald District â where Sophia patiently waits and the old t-shirt of Itachiâs lies buried within his pillowcase. ]
/fin
Well... he knows.
Yet it's the easiest decision in the world, answering that question. It shouldn't be, because the gravity of the word home cannot be understated, and he has never thought of this world as that. Aefenglom was not home. Hell was not home. To him, home existed in a place he would never reachâin a corner of the village hidden in the leaves, haunted by ghosts.
But now, it makes perfect sense for him to consider Stiles' request as an exception. An addendum. This world isn't home, either, but the boy in his arms is the closest he may ever get to it again, and wherever he is, Itachi will go. So he turns, gently beginning to steer them in the direction of that house.]
Of course.