Chapter Text
Scott lets out a tired exhale, rubbing at his bleary eyes with the backs of his knuckles.
After a long day of looking over college applications and figuring out the next steps of his life by keeping his eyes locked on a computer screen, his brain aches.
Dealing with were-coyote's and supernatural assassins should Not be easier than life planning.
He runs a hand through his short hair, slumping back into his chair before the ding of a notification from his phone catches his attention.
Scott struggles to get the phone out of his pocket for a moment, the slightly-cracked screen lighting up after he gets it out.
He's sure the message is from Stiles before he even gets the screen unlocked.
His next thought is covered in an endeared fondness.
'Who else would be texting me this late at night..'
The screen comes open, Scott's finger tapping on the messages icon.
Sure enough, it's from Stiles.
"dude I just saw two lizards having sex."
An amused huff leaves Scott's mouth, his thumb shifting over the screen as he replies.
"... okay. Huh.. I didn't know lizards did that."
"NEITHER DID I"
Scott chuckles softly, another message from Stiles popping up underneath his last.
"I always thought they were egg-layers. But I saw the lizard peen and everything just now, man."
The Typing symbol appears, disappears, and reappears over the next minute, and Scott imagines Stiles' thumbs bouncing around the screen, typing and deleting as he tries to get his fingers to keep up with what his brain wants to say.
"..... I wonder if Jackson ever had sex when he was a lizard??"
Scott laughs and cringes simultaneously, the phone vibrating as more messages from Stiles pour in.
"oh god no, why did I make us see that mental image"
"I'm so sorry"
"Bad brain"
"Bad stiles brain"
Scott is still laughing as he types out a reply.
"Just so you know, if you make me puke, I'm sending you a picture of the regurgitated Pop-Tarts I had for dinner."
"Oh wow, Pop-Tarts for dinner, you're taking up the college diet already, I see."
Scott snorts.
"You think Pop-Tarts for dinner is awesome and you know it."
Stiles' reply comes through almost instantaneously.
"... I cannot deny this fact."
Scott shakes his head with a grin as Stiles keeps typing.
"I'm gonna go hop in the shower and try to scrub away the image of Jackson's reptilian junk"
"I think I'm going to flop into bed and pass out. Good luck with the lizard genitals."
"I'll be scrubbing hard, trust me. Sleep good, buddy"
Scott fights back a yawn as he types out the last message.
"I will. Have sweet dreams, Stiles."
He waits a few seconds to see if Stiles responds, shutting the phone off and letting out another yawn after a moment.
Scott stands up out of the chair, keeping himself awake just long enough to go brush his teeth before he shuffles back to bed and collapses onto the mattress.
As he lays there with his head sinking into the pillow and his thoughts slowing, he gets the faint feeling that tomorrow is going to be a good day.
He has no idea just how mistaken that feeling is.
Scott knows something is wrong the moment he starts coming out of unconsciousness.
It feels like his morning grogginess has been amped up to eleven.
He clutches at his aching head, his mind struggling to cut through the fog and figure out what the hell is going on.
His eyes pry open, but his vision remains stubbornly blurry.
Scott drags himself out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom as his heartbeat speeds up worriedly.
He settles his forearms on the sink with a shaky exhale.
Even his limbs feel unresponsive and stiff.
He turns the faucet on with trembling fingers, cupping his hands under the stream and splashing the water over his face.
Scott douses a few more handfuls over his face before he shuts off the faucet.
'What is wrong with me..'
He stands there with his hands gripping the porcelain tightly, shaking his head to try and dislodge the feeling of cotton-candy cobwebs in his skull.
His vision has finally started to clear somewhat, but when his eyes pass over his reflection in the mirror, he can almost feel his heart skip a beat.
Softer cheeks, longer and messier hair adorning the top of his head.
A younger Scott McCall stares back at him in the mirror.
He can't stop the reflexive gasp of utter shock that slips out of his mouth.
Scott feels his heartbeat fly into panicked overdrive.
His first thought (after the obligatory "holy fucking shit") is the memory of a de-aged Derek staring at him with confused, innocent eyes.
'Is that what this is??'
His thought-process goes into a frenzy, supplying ideas as to who, or what, could have possibly done this to him.
'Fuck... Peter? No, no.. Gerard? maybe... Kate??'
He gives one more look to his baby-faced reflection and all semblance of structure to his thoughts disintegrates like ash.
Scott looks away from the mirror purposefully, fighting to calm his quickening breathing.
"Oh my god..."
He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales through his mouth to fend off the panic attack (the way Stiles taught him to)
After a minute, he finally feels like he's managed to inch away from a full-on breakdown.
'Okay, okay... I need help. I have to call someone.. have to call Deaton.'
He turns around and staggers back into the bedroom, frenzied thoughts bouncing around in his head as he looks over the room for his phone.
Scott notices the phone hooked up to a charger beside the bed, and he reaches for it on reflex.
He freezes still as soon as he picks it up.
'... this.. is my old phone.'
A nervous tremor shoots through his body, his thoughts going even further haywire as a second, worse explanation for his situation comes to mind.
Anxious dread forms a dark pit in his stomach, his thumb hovering hesitantly over the power button on the phone.
He thinks up a silent, desperate prayer and presses the button, his eyes locking onto the date displayed in the corner of the screen.
Nausea hits him in a wave as he sees "Jan. 4th, 2011" lit up in bright digital text.
Scott feels like his knees might give out at any moment, so he lets himself slump onto the bed as confusion and horror overwhelm him.
He finally begins to look around the bedroom properly, his eyes taking in the sights of old posters and furniture that shouldn't be there.
The dark-haired boy sits there with his heart thumping nervously in his chest, his mind feeling as though it's being pulled in twenty different directions as an avalanche of questions bombard his brain.
For the first time in a long time, he begins struggling to catch a breath.
Feeling his breathing become difficult ramps up his panic even further, which makes it even harder to breath.
He slides over to the desk by his bed quickly, yanking the drawer out and snatching up his inhaler.
Scott brings the inhaler to his lips and squeezes the button, taking in a deep and desperate breath.
After he gets his breathing under control, he stares at the inhaler in his hand with pained disbelief.
He tightens his free hand around the wooden headboard, but no matter how hard he grips at it, it doesn't leave the faintest dent in the wood.
All his attention then focuses on his hearing, but the only heartbeat he hears is the panicked rhythm of his own.
Yet another realisation leaves him thunderstruck.
'... I'm human again..'
He's not sure how many minutes pass as he sits there in stunned, horrified silence, but the morning sun begins to rise higher and brighter in the sky.
Scott jumps a little when he hears his mother's shout.
"Hey! You're gonna be late for school!"
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, focusing on keeping his voice steady as he calls back.
"I.. I'm feeling pretty sick! I think I should stay home today..."
After a few seconds, he can hear the sounds of his mother's footsteps getting louder.
She stops in his doorway and Scott tries to keep the panic off of his features.
From the way her eyebrows knit together worriedly after she looks at him, he's pretty sure he failed at that.
She walks into the room and puts a hand against his forehead.
"Feeling sick, huh? Hmm.. you sure you're okay to stay here by yourself?"
He's silent for a moment as he looks over his mother's face, three years of age vanishing off of her features overnight.
Scott finally manages to nod against her hand.
"Yeah. I'll.. I'll be alright."
She looks him over with a searching gaze, nodding back hesitantly.
"Okay. If you're sure.."
Melissa leans down and curls her arms around him in a hug.
It catches him off guard, but after a brief second, he wraps his arms around her tightly.
He feels the pervasive fear settling in his mind, and he wants to whisper against her shoulder.
'I'm scared, mom. I don't know what's happening'
But he stays silent, giving her a firm squeeze and pulling back from the embrace.
She gives him another concerned glance, brushing his hair away from his forehead.
"You sure you're feeling okay?"
He musters all the confidence he can into a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine, mom. Go ahead, I don't want you to be late for work 'cause of me."
She watches him closely for a few more seconds, but she gives a smile of her own and squeezes his shoulder.
"Okay okay, I'm going."
She waves as she walks back out into the hallway.
"Call me if you need anything!"
"I will, mom.."
The door slams as she leaves a few minutes later.
He opens the phone, going to Deaton's name in his contacts and dialing.
It goes straight to voicemail and he fights off the urge to sling the phone into the wall.
Scott tries to ignore the feelings of terror and loneliness, birds chirping away happily outside his window.
He ventures outside to look for any signs that something is amiss (aside from the obvious one, that's he's, y'know, somehow three years in the past)
Everything looks distressingly normal, and Scott contemplates walking to the animal clinic to see Deaton on his own.
As if on cue, his breath gets that thick feeling in his throat, and he takes a hit off of his inhaler.
He decides that the journey to the animal clinic on foot is a bad idea, and fear drives him to retreat back into the house.
His phone starts vibrating insistently with calls and texts from Stiles.
He almost answers out of reflex at first, but he stops himself.
It isn't His Stiles on the other end of the line. It's three years ago Stiles, the one that doesn't know anything about werewolves or Oni or Kitsune or.. time-travel.
If he tells him the truth ("Hey buddy, I woke up in the past, how's your day going?") Scott is pretty sure Stiles would drive him to Eichen House himself.
And Stiles, no matter which version of him, has always been way too damned perceptive to lie to with much success.
So Scott silences the ringtone and keeps trying Deaton's cell in between the ignored calls from his best friend.