January 1 1995

When he wakes in the middle of Beacon Hills Preserve, Stiles isn't sure which surprises him more: the fact that he's in the preserve, or the fact that he woke up.

His hands fly to his chest, expecting to find a gaping bloody hole through and through - but there's nothing. Even his t-shirt is intact. He checks under it: there are scars, silver-white, marring his skin, but they're years old. Not seconds.

He's alive.

How?

He remembers being killed in graphically vivid detail. He shivers, trying to push the memories down, but they play like a movie in his head, over and over. Screams, and sobs, and the sickening squelching sound he heard right before everything went black, echo loudly in his ears. He shivers again, his whole body shaking with disgust and exhaustion.

The sky above him is bright and cloud-covered, and Stiles guesses it's around midday. It's cold, though - he has to pull his jacket closer around him for warmth, and his hands shake as he reaches for the rune stitched into the lining. The moment his fingers brush it it's as if he's right beside an open fire, and he can't help the shudder that runs through him, this time in relief.

It's too cold for August, Stiles thinks absently - then his mind latches onto the thought, and goes into a full-on panic. How long has he been out? His wounds look old, and the weather is all wrong. And why the hell is he in the preserve? The last he remembers he was bleeding out on the rooftop of the hospital.

He lurches up, spinning around the clearing he's in wildly, and-

He catches sight of the tree, and he knows with horrible certainty exactly what's going on. He doesn't know why that's the first thought that makes sense to him, but he knows it's true.

He walks up to the nemeton before him - the fully-grown, fully intact and totally unharmed nemeton - and places his hands gently on its trunk. Just the lightest touch feels like a lightning strike running through his body. He can hear it whispering to him, calling out to him in question - who are you? why do you smell of my magic? - and, tentatively, he answers it.

He's spoken to the nemeton more times than he can count, but this is drastically different. This is a nemeton at full power and unfamiliar with him. This is a nemeton he never sacrificed himself to, though he can feel it when the tree reignites the dead connection between them inside him. Fire runs in his veins, and he's pretty sure his hair is standing on end.

He breaks the connection with the tree suddenly when he hears a groan on the other side of the clearing. Careful not to make a sound, he creeps around, and promptly almost has a panic attack from the shock that floods through him.

Because there are three unconscious bodies on the other side of the nemeton. The first he recognises immediately as Lydia by her strawberry-blond hair, splayed out around her head like a halo. The second is Scott - he'd know him anywhere.

The last person on the ground is Allison Argent.

He can see, even from here, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. He walks closer, his legs just about ready to give way at a moment's notice. He can hear the beating of her heart as he kneels down beside her, see the flickering of eyes under her eyelids.

"Allison?" his voice cracks slightly as he speaks. All he can remember as he looks at her is the sword plunging into her stomach, the way she looked, pale and lifeless in Scott's lap, the grin that had spread over his face as he fed off the pain and anguish rolling off everyone else in waves-

No. Not his face. The nogitsune's. He wasn't even there, he reminds himself forcefully. He was dying in the tunnels beneath.

But he still has the memories.

Allison groans, shifting slightly as her eyes open. "Wha..?"

The moment their eyes connect, she's up- scrambling away from him, recoiling as if he's some terrifying monster to her. He supposes he is.

"It's me, Allison, I swear," he says, desperation and pain bleeding into his voice. "It's me. The nogitsune's gone. He's been gone for two years."

She stills, freezing so suddenly that for a moment he's afraid that she's about to keel over dead again. But she just stares right at him, unsure and terrified. Her arms are hugging her chest, feeling at where he guesses there is now a heeled stab wound. "What do you mean two years?"

"What do you remember?" Stiles eyes drift over to the others, who are on the verge of waking up. Allison eyes him warily, her gaze flickering between them and him as if she's evaluating the possibility that Stiles is the one who knocked them out.

"I remember...I remember the oni. I remember being stabbed." Her eyes widen in horror. "Oh my god. I'm dead, aren't I?"

"We're not dead," Stiles says slowly. "I mean, I thought I was dead, too. I kind of got clawed to death, y'know?" He lifts his top just enough for her to see the mess of scars on his torso and chest. "But I talked to the nemeton, and it-"

"You what?"

"I talked to the nemeton."

"You what?"

"I talked to the nemeton. Jeez, Allison, keep up."

"It's a tree, Stiles."

"I know it's a tree. But it's also the most powerful magic force in Beacon Hills, so of course it's also sentient."

Allison looks like she wants to argue, and Stiles wants to berate himself for being so callous. It's not as if Allison would know any of this. She's been dead for two years.

She's also shivering like she's been dunked in the arctic ocean, he realises. He pulls off his jacket, ignoring the biting cold that sinks into his bones immediately, and reaches out towards her.

She flinches for a moment, and Stiles tries to force down the wave of guilt and hurt that rushes through him. He did this to her.

After a moment Allison relaxes and allows him to come closer, allows him to put his jacket over her shoulders. They both ignore the tension running through her body as he nears her. She moans gratefully as she wraps the jacket around herself, pulling it close as if she might sink inside it.

"Why the hell is your jacket so warm?"

"Warming spell," he shrugs. She stares at him, probably trying to figure out if he's joking. He flashes her a grin.

"So what's your theory?" she asks as the two of them walk over to Lydia and Scott.

"Well, considering both of us are supposed to be dead? And that I think it's winter right now? And that we woke up next to the nemeton? I'm, like, ninety-eight percent sure that we've traveled in time."

Allison blanches, stumbling over her own feet. He reaches out to catch her just before she falls onto Lydia's prone form.

"Time travel?" she asks incredulously. "You think we time traveled?"

He shrugs again. "Less than half an hour ago it was 2013 and I was dying a slow and painful death over five miles away from here, and you don't look a day older than when you were stabbed to death by an oni. I'd say time travel is one of the less ludicrous theories."

She's silent at that. Instead of answering, both of them turn away to the others. Stiles finds himself shaking as he reaches out for his best friend. Scott doesn't look too different than when he last saw him - when Stiles was dying and Scott was roaring and everything hurt and- and Stiles can't help but wonder what happened after his death. If his theory is true, then how did Scott and Lydia die? Where is everyone else? Who's responsible for whatever the fuck is going on right now?

Scott jerks upright the moment Stiles lays a hand on him. He's all panic and red eyes and claws, and Stiles has to literally jump out of the way to avoid being slashed to ribbons.

"Scott!" he yells, and he hears the gasp behind him as his shout wakes Lydia, too. "Scott, calm the hell down."

"Stiles?" his best friend gasps. Before he can reply, there's a huge werewolf lunging at him, knocking him over and crushing his chest. "Stiles, you're alive!"

"Not for much longer," he wheezes, and Scott immediately lets go, pulling Stiles up with him.

"Sorry." Scott looks bashful, but at the same time seems to be considering jumping at Stiles again to check for sure that he's actually real.

"It's fine."

"What's going on? Where are we?"

Stiles glances over at Allison, who is holding a sobbing Lydia in her arms. "Do you want to tell him?"

Something tells Stiles they're in for a long ride.

This is going to be a long one, if you couldn't already tell. Considering my track record with updating it's probably an awful idea - but I like this idea a lot, and the chapters will be shorter than my usual ones.

If you find any mistakes please let me know. Also let me know what you think!

Come talk with/hang with/prompt me on my tumblr: edelwoodsouls, I'm always free to chat.