the vanishing of Stiles Stilinski

the awakening

The clinic's waiting room was filled with a heavy, suffocating silence as the pack gathered around, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The minutes ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours as they waited for any news from Deaton. Derek's life hung in the balance, but another shadow loomed over them—Stiles. The boy who had been their friend, their brother, had been missing for six long years, and now he had returned in a way none of them could have ever imagined.

Scott sat on the edge of a worn-out chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor. He could still smell the faint scent of blood and wolfsbane on his hands, the memory of Derek's lifeless body in his arms replaying in his mind. But it wasn't just Derek that weighed on him—it was the absence of Stiles, the questions that had haunted him for years, and now the fear of what his best friend had become.

Lydia was pacing back and forth, her heels clicking softly against the tile floor. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with worry, but there was an undercurrent of something else—guilt. She had always believed that if anyone could find Stiles, it would be her. But six years had passed, and all her efforts had led to nothing.

"Six years," Lydia finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, tinged with regret. "It's been six years since he disappeared. How did it all go so wrong?"

Scott lifted his head, meeting her gaze. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I've replayed that night a thousand times in my head. We were supposed to be celebrating our graduation, moving on with our lives. But then he was just... gone."

Liam sat next to Scott, his fists clenched in his lap. "We searched everywhere," he said, his voice hard with frustration. "Every inch of Beacon Hills, every place he could've gone. But it was like he just vanished."

Malia's eyes were glazed with unshed tears as she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "We never gave up, though," she said, her voice rough. "Even when everyone else did, we kept looking. But it wasn't enough."

Isaac, who had returned to Beacon Hills after hearing about Derek, looked at each of them with a mix of sorrow and determination. "Stiles was the glue that held us together," he said quietly. "He was the one who always had a plan, who always found a way to save us. And we couldn't save him."

Kira, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you think he's been alone this whole time? That maybe... something happened to him, something that made him change?"

Peter, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his tone dark and calculating. "We don't know what's happened to him. But one thing is clear—whoever Stiles is now, he's not the same person we knew. That kind of hatred doesn't come from nowhere."

Scott felt a sharp pain in his chest at Peter's words. He knew they were true, but it was hard to accept. The Stiles he remembered was quick-witted, fiercely loyal, and had a heart bigger than anyone he knew. He was the one who always believed in the good in people, who saw the world in shades of gray instead of black and white. The idea that Stiles could harbor such hatred, such a desire to rid the world of people like them, was unimaginable.

"Maybe... maybe something or someone got to him," Scott suggested, his voice wavering. "We've seen it before—people being controlled, manipulated. What if that's what happened to Stiles? What if he's being used?"

Lydia stopped pacing and turned to face Scott, her expression softening. "We have to believe that, Scott. We have to believe that somewhere inside, the real Stiles is still there."

Malia nodded, wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "He's strong. If anyone can fight whatever this is, it's him."

"But six years is a long time," Liam said quietly, his voice laced with doubt. "What if he's too far gone? What if we're too late?"