A Confluence of Stiles - fic
May. 15th, 2023 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deird1I'm feeling weirdly ficcy lately…
Title: A Confluence of Stiles
Rating: G
Word Count: 1282
Summary: Stiles is stuck somewhere, all by himself. Luckily, there are plenty of Stileses to help.
A Confluence of Stiles
“Wait, what’s going—” Stiles began, but no-one was listening.
Grungy Stiles was arguing with Business Suit Stiles, Strung Out Stiles was muttering loudly to himself while examining the curved stone walls, and Goth Stiles was clearly about to attack several of the other Stileses with a freaking sword.
Stiles looked around for something heavy to grab, and there was a massive book right there, so he grabbed it and thumped it hard on the table. Then he yelled, “Hey!”
The other Stileses stopped.
“Thank you.” He put the book down, and said, “Clearly there is some alternate reality crap going on, so how about we start by getting a few basic points figured out?”
A few nods, and no real objection, so he continued. “I’m going to ask questions, and you’re all going to answer – and then you” – he chucked a marker at Purple Hair Stiles – “are going to write them all down on the whiteboard.”
“Wait,” objected Business Suit Stiles, “why are you automatically the one in charge?”
“Because I’m the one who yelled ‘hey’ in a very loud voice,” Stiles pointed out.
The Stileses nodded, conceding. “Fair enough.”
Stiles rubbed his eyes for a second, thinking. Then he said, “Let’s start with the basics. Okay everyone: where are you from?”
Purple Hair Stiles tallied it up. There were five from Beacon Hills, two from Beacon Heights, six from Beacon Plains, and one from Beacon Lakes. So far so good.
“Who is your best friend?” Nine votes for Scott, three votes for Jackson, one for Isaac, and one for Danny.
“Who is a werewolf?” Still majority Scott, although there was one vote for Lydia, three votes for Coach Finstock, and one of the Stileses wolfed out and said “Wait, you guys are just humans?”. Also, in Beacon Lakes Scott was apparently a merman.
“Have any of your friends died?” Thousand-mile Stare Stiles looked bleak and said “all of them”, but everyone else’s votes were divided between Alison, Derek, and Scott.
“What were you doing right before you got here?”
“A ritual,” volunteered Grungy Stiles.
“Yeah,” agreed another. “There was this ritual—”
“—in the cave—” said three Stileses.
“—with the wine and the coins—” said five Stileses.
“—and the Latin,” they all finished, in unison.
They sat down, heavily. “Shit,” they said, “that must be it.”
Then they each looked up, had a sudden flash of possibly-brilliant-possibly-dumbass ideas, and started talking over the top of everyone. Immediate chaos ensued.
Stiles caught himself mid-sentence, stood on his chair, and yelled another very loud “HEY!”
Immediate silence. He raised an eyebrow at Business Suit Stiles, and said “See? I’m naturally good at ‘hey’s.”
“Also” – he picked up a conch shell – “I’ve read Lord of the Flies, and this was actually a decent idea. If you’re holding it, it’s your turn.” He chucked the conch shell to Goth Stiles, who looked startled, but caught it.
“If it’s because of the spell, we should write down everything we remember about it – try to get a full picture of what happened,” said Goth Stiles. “But… more importantly, where did you get a conch shell?”
Stiles was suddenly dumbstruck. Because he hadn’t thought, just reached out and grabbed it. And for that matter, why was there a whiteboard here?
“I dunno…” he said, slowly. “I just…”
Business Suit Stiles took the conch shell. “What if this place allows us to wish for things we want?”
“Hmm. Good idea.”
They all stood quietly for a few seconds – Stiles wishing hard for a phone, and the other Stileses presumably wishing for other things – but nothing materialised, until eventually Goth Stiles stole back the conch shell and pointed out, “How about we get back to discussing the ritual? Maybe that’ll make it clear what’s going on.”
Soon the whiteboard was full of everything they could remember about the ritual – which, unfortunately, was missing a few points.
In summary: Deaton (or Lydia, or Alison) had provided the ritual out of an old book (or in some cases off the internet), because they needed to find the hideout used by the clan of wendigos (or oni, or ghouls, or kappa) that had been harassing the town. It involved lighting candles, pouring out wine, putting coins in a fire, and saying a whole thing in Latin.
They managed to reconstruct the Latin as best as they could, from memory:
“Fructose et auri must mean the wine and the coins,” Werewolf Stiles observed.
“And all these bits here…” Purple Hair Stiles looked thoughtful. “Look – plentitude… abundance… repeating… maybe this is why there are so many of us here.”
Business Suit Stiles, meanwhile, was looking at Grungy Stiles, who was eating a 3 Musketeers bar. “Where did you get that candy bar?”
“Huh?” Grungy Stiles looked at him blankly and said, “I just wanted chocolate. The room gives us weird stuff – we’ve established this.”
“Dude, I’ve been wanting chocolate for the last fifteen minutes,” pointed out Business Suit Stiles. “Why did you get it, but not me?”
“I dunno,” Grungy Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I always have chocolate on me. Why not?”
Stiles frowned. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes, it matters. Why else would—” Business Suit Stiles grabbed the candy bar. “He’s got a candy bar because he assumed he’d have a candy bar. And he’s got a sword because he usually has one to grab – right?” Goth Stiles nodded his agreement. “And you, presumably, grabbed this shell because you’re…” – he waved his hand expressively at Stiles, and concluded “…kind of insane.”
“And the whiteboard?”
Business Suit Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Dude, we’re Stiles Stilinski. Have you met us?”
It was a good point.
“Okay,” Stiles said. “But how does that help us?”
Business Suit Stiles looked at him and said, “That kinda depends on what each of us expects to have available.”
It took some experimenting. Three of the Stileses had camping gear, five of them had snacks, Goth Stiles had any weapon they suggested, Purple Hair Stiles had an extensive collection of “weird magic shit” (as he called it) in the form of amulets, talismans, and enchanted jewellery, and Business Suit Stiles had a Kindle with a set of ancient texts on it.
“Why didn’t you mention these earlier?” asked Goth Stiles. “They should be pretty helpful, right?”
“Sure, maybe,” Business Suit Stiles shrugged. “But mostly it’s about different monsters and werewolf lore.”
“Any texts on magic?”
“A couple. But they won’t do us much good: I can’t read ancient Etruscan, and I’m guessing you can’t, either.”
A moment of defeated silence – and then Thousand-mile Stare Stiles raised his hand. “I can read it.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“I work alone. I have to know everything I need to.”
It took a while – and a couple of translation misfires – but eventually Thousand-mile Stare Stiles said that he could probably get them home, if he had a Token of Darkfire and a ceremonial silver dagger. And, with Purple Hair Stiles’s necklace (“it even looks like evil fire magic, see?”) and Goth Stiles’s silver dagger (“I always keep a couple of these down my left boot”), they were all set for a quick spell reversal.
As they sat down, cross-legged, in a rough circle, Stiles looked around the group, and smiled. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think we’re pretty great at teamwork.” And they all grinned and agreed, as Thousand-mile Stare Stiles began the spell.
Title: A Confluence of Stiles
Rating: G
Word Count: 1282
Summary: Stiles is stuck somewhere, all by himself. Luckily, there are plenty of Stileses to help.
A Confluence of Stiles
“Wait, what’s going—” Stiles began, but no-one was listening.
Grungy Stiles was arguing with Business Suit Stiles, Strung Out Stiles was muttering loudly to himself while examining the curved stone walls, and Goth Stiles was clearly about to attack several of the other Stileses with a freaking sword.
Stiles looked around for something heavy to grab, and there was a massive book right there, so he grabbed it and thumped it hard on the table. Then he yelled, “Hey!”
The other Stileses stopped.
“Thank you.” He put the book down, and said, “Clearly there is some alternate reality crap going on, so how about we start by getting a few basic points figured out?”
A few nods, and no real objection, so he continued. “I’m going to ask questions, and you’re all going to answer – and then you” – he chucked a marker at Purple Hair Stiles – “are going to write them all down on the whiteboard.”
“Wait,” objected Business Suit Stiles, “why are you automatically the one in charge?”
“Because I’m the one who yelled ‘hey’ in a very loud voice,” Stiles pointed out.
The Stileses nodded, conceding. “Fair enough.”
Stiles rubbed his eyes for a second, thinking. Then he said, “Let’s start with the basics. Okay everyone: where are you from?”
Purple Hair Stiles tallied it up. There were five from Beacon Hills, two from Beacon Heights, six from Beacon Plains, and one from Beacon Lakes. So far so good.
“Who is your best friend?” Nine votes for Scott, three votes for Jackson, one for Isaac, and one for Danny.
“Who is a werewolf?” Still majority Scott, although there was one vote for Lydia, three votes for Coach Finstock, and one of the Stileses wolfed out and said “Wait, you guys are just humans?”. Also, in Beacon Lakes Scott was apparently a merman.
“Have any of your friends died?” Thousand-mile Stare Stiles looked bleak and said “all of them”, but everyone else’s votes were divided between Alison, Derek, and Scott.
“What were you doing right before you got here?”
“A ritual,” volunteered Grungy Stiles.
“Yeah,” agreed another. “There was this ritual—”
“—in the cave—” said three Stileses.
“—with the wine and the coins—” said five Stileses.
“—and the Latin,” they all finished, in unison.
They sat down, heavily. “Shit,” they said, “that must be it.”
Then they each looked up, had a sudden flash of possibly-brilliant-possibly-dumbass ideas, and started talking over the top of everyone. Immediate chaos ensued.
Stiles caught himself mid-sentence, stood on his chair, and yelled another very loud “HEY!”
Immediate silence. He raised an eyebrow at Business Suit Stiles, and said “See? I’m naturally good at ‘hey’s.”
“Also” – he picked up a conch shell – “I’ve read Lord of the Flies, and this was actually a decent idea. If you’re holding it, it’s your turn.” He chucked the conch shell to Goth Stiles, who looked startled, but caught it.
“If it’s because of the spell, we should write down everything we remember about it – try to get a full picture of what happened,” said Goth Stiles. “But… more importantly, where did you get a conch shell?”
Stiles was suddenly dumbstruck. Because he hadn’t thought, just reached out and grabbed it. And for that matter, why was there a whiteboard here?
“I dunno…” he said, slowly. “I just…”
Business Suit Stiles took the conch shell. “What if this place allows us to wish for things we want?”
“Hmm. Good idea.”
They all stood quietly for a few seconds – Stiles wishing hard for a phone, and the other Stileses presumably wishing for other things – but nothing materialised, until eventually Goth Stiles stole back the conch shell and pointed out, “How about we get back to discussing the ritual? Maybe that’ll make it clear what’s going on.”
Soon the whiteboard was full of everything they could remember about the ritual – which, unfortunately, was missing a few points.
In summary: Deaton (or Lydia, or Alison) had provided the ritual out of an old book (or in some cases off the internet), because they needed to find the hideout used by the clan of wendigos (or oni, or ghouls, or kappa) that had been harassing the town. It involved lighting candles, pouring out wine, putting coins in a fire, and saying a whole thing in Latin.
They managed to reconstruct the Latin as best as they could, from memory:
o hanc oblivion fructose et auri sumo
dar noblis quad pettiness [something about clouds] pursuers
adiuvum nos vidi per interior oculus
ad plentitude sum
et interium axles
fac axilis nostrus abundant
ut quad [someone missing] repetatus
“Fructose et auri must mean the wine and the coins,” Werewolf Stiles observed.
“And all these bits here…” Purple Hair Stiles looked thoughtful. “Look – plentitude… abundance… repeating… maybe this is why there are so many of us here.”
Business Suit Stiles, meanwhile, was looking at Grungy Stiles, who was eating a 3 Musketeers bar. “Where did you get that candy bar?”
“Huh?” Grungy Stiles looked at him blankly and said, “I just wanted chocolate. The room gives us weird stuff – we’ve established this.”
“Dude, I’ve been wanting chocolate for the last fifteen minutes,” pointed out Business Suit Stiles. “Why did you get it, but not me?”
“I dunno,” Grungy Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I always have chocolate on me. Why not?”
Stiles frowned. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes, it matters. Why else would—” Business Suit Stiles grabbed the candy bar. “He’s got a candy bar because he assumed he’d have a candy bar. And he’s got a sword because he usually has one to grab – right?” Goth Stiles nodded his agreement. “And you, presumably, grabbed this shell because you’re…” – he waved his hand expressively at Stiles, and concluded “…kind of insane.”
“And the whiteboard?”
Business Suit Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Dude, we’re Stiles Stilinski. Have you met us?”
It was a good point.
“Okay,” Stiles said. “But how does that help us?”
Business Suit Stiles looked at him and said, “That kinda depends on what each of us expects to have available.”
It took some experimenting. Three of the Stileses had camping gear, five of them had snacks, Goth Stiles had any weapon they suggested, Purple Hair Stiles had an extensive collection of “weird magic shit” (as he called it) in the form of amulets, talismans, and enchanted jewellery, and Business Suit Stiles had a Kindle with a set of ancient texts on it.
“Why didn’t you mention these earlier?” asked Goth Stiles. “They should be pretty helpful, right?”
“Sure, maybe,” Business Suit Stiles shrugged. “But mostly it’s about different monsters and werewolf lore.”
“Any texts on magic?”
“A couple. But they won’t do us much good: I can’t read ancient Etruscan, and I’m guessing you can’t, either.”
A moment of defeated silence – and then Thousand-mile Stare Stiles raised his hand. “I can read it.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“I work alone. I have to know everything I need to.”
It took a while – and a couple of translation misfires – but eventually Thousand-mile Stare Stiles said that he could probably get them home, if he had a Token of Darkfire and a ceremonial silver dagger. And, with Purple Hair Stiles’s necklace (“it even looks like evil fire magic, see?”) and Goth Stiles’s silver dagger (“I always keep a couple of these down my left boot”), they were all set for a quick spell reversal.
As they sat down, cross-legged, in a rough circle, Stiles looked around the group, and smiled. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think we’re pretty great at teamwork.” And they all grinned and agreed, as Thousand-mile Stare Stiles began the spell.
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Date: 2023-05-17 01:40 am (UTC)