#memory magic

It had been a long week during which Stiles had turned eighteen and celebrated with the pack. He didn’t feel eighteen. He felt much older. 

During a pack meeting on a Friday afternoon after a long week, Stiles’s head felt heavy, and his thoughts grew fuzzy. He wasn’t tired per say, at least he didn’t think he was tired. He wasn’t sleepy. That was for sure, but it was a sort of bone deep exhaustion. 

The best way to describe it was that he was tired of being older. Stiles had never gotten the childhood he deserved and sometimes he wished he could go back and just be a kid. Sometimes he wished he could just let go and be little again. 

As the meeting wore on and finally ended with pizza and a movie Stiles blinked in confusion. “Could I maybe have mac n cheese?” 

The pack looks at him weirdly. 

“Oh um, please?” 

Nobody moved except Peter, who sat next to him. Stiles curled himself into a small ball and tucked himself against Peter’s side, his head tucked under Peter's chin.

Surprisingly Isaac spoke up first. “Sure! Is it okay if it’s Kraft or did you want some homemade mac n cheese?” 

Stiles smiled shyly. “Homemade, please?” 

Isaac grinned and nodded, heading to the kitchen. “I taught myself how to make a white cheese sauce. I think you’ll love it.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Scott called the pizza place to order pizza for everyone. He included a small Hawaiian pizza as Stiles’s usual. Stiles frowned slightly because Scott was wrong. Stiles didn’t like Hawaiian pizza anymore and he hadn’t since junior high. Still, he didn’t say anything, since Izzy was making him mac n cheese. He licked his lips and with a happy sigh melted against Peter more.

“Stiles?” 

Stiles looked over at Erica. “Catwoman!” He giggled and Erica smiled at him awkwardly. 

“What movie did you wanna watch? It’s your turn.” 

Stiles’s eyes widened and he beamed. “Can we watch ‘Punzel please?” 

The atmosphere was tense as the pack members exchanged looks. No one understood what was going on. Stiles didn’t understand what was wrong or why they were making faces. They said it was his turn. Did they not like ‘Punzel?

When Peter’s fingers started carding through his hair, Stiles decided not to worry about anything else. He nuzzled against Peter who smiled softly at him, continuing to run his fingers through Stiles’s hair. Stiles liked that a lot and his head felt even more fuzzy in the best way. He had never felt that safe and protected. 

Derek had been watching from his place in the recliner when it finally clicked for him. He realized what was happening. He knew that almost everyone would not understand, and he felt a fierce protectiveness swelling inside him. The scents around the alpha were not pleasant at all. 

While Stiles was smelling content and happy, the rest of the pack, excluding Peter, Isaac and himself, smelled like annoyance, confusion, anger–Scott–and frustration. Not to mention how uncomfortable they looked, and Derek was waiting for the inevitable moment when one of them would say something negative. He was sure it wouldn’t be long. Most of the time, he loved his pack and as alpha, it was his job to look out for all of them, but that didn’t mean he always  liked his pack.

He made eye contact with Peter before speaking. “Stiles?”

Amber eyes looked over at the alpha, his eyelids at half mast. “I is Miscuff,” he said softly, pushing his head into Peter’s fingers for more.

Derek smiled. “Okay, Mischief. What do you think about us going up to the entertainment room and having a puppy pile?” 

Stiles tilted his head as he looked at Derek and scrunched up his nose adorably. “Hm,” he hummed, narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “Who would come?” 

Derek leaned forward more in the chair, keeping his attention on his beta. “Who do you want to come cuddle with you?” 

The fox didn’t even hesitate to give his answer. “Pe’er Wo’f, Der-Bear an’ Izzy p’ease?” 

Isaac grinned from where he stood in the kitchen, making the mac n cheese. 

Derek nodded at Stiles. “Perfect. Thank you for telling me.” 

Peter whispered so only Stiles could hear. “Good boy, sweetheart. So good for telling us.” 

Stiles beamed at the praise. “Weally?” 

Peter nodded and guided Stiles upstairs, holding his hand the entire way up.

The alpha checked on Isaac before looking at the pack who were all shifting uneasily. “I know you all have questions, but you are not to ask them. This is a sensitive situation and—” 

Scott rolled his eyes. “He’s pulled this shit before. He just wants attention! It’s best to ignore it but noooooo you just had to give in.” 

“What the hell Scott?!” the alpha snapped, his eyebrows drawing together to match his frown. “What the hell is your problem?”

Scott growled, his eyes flashing yellow as he faced the alpha. “He has pulled that baby shit since his mom got sick. It’s just a cry for attention. Just you wait. He’ll milk it and then you will all look like fools. I’ll take great pleasure in saying I told you so.” 

Isaac gripped the wooden spoon he had been using to stir the sauce so tight his knuckles were white, and the wood groaned with his strength. “You’re an asshole, Scott.”

The beta smirked at the curly haired boy. “And you’re a schmuck.” He turned his attention to the rest of the pack. “Come on guys. Let’s blow this shitty pack night. We’ll go to Theo’s and party.” 

Everyone dispersed gladly and eagerly until it was just Isaac, Derek, Peter and Stiles remaining.

As the loft door rolled shut, Stiles peeked through the metal bars, tears falling. Scotty sounded so angry and annoyed, but Stiles didn’t understand why. He sniffled, drawing Derek’s attention. 

“Oh, baby.”

Stiles curled into a ball. “I sorry, Bear. I sowwy.” The words were much softer and more childlike. Derek exchanged a look with his uncle at the realization that the fox was starting to regress further. 

The alpha hurried up the stairs towards Stiles and scooped him up. “Don’t be sorry, baby. It’s okay. Don’t listen to their mean words. You just relax, okay?” 

Now nearly boneless in the alpha’s arms, Stiles nodded, hiccupping a sob and laid his head on Derek’s shoulder. 

In the back of his head, he idly felt his spark working to protect him. He decided not to worry or be big anymore. His spark and his alpha would keep him safe. The fox spark let Derek carry him into the playroom and chittered happily when they got settled, the amber eyed boy still in the alpha’s lap.

Isaac and Peter soon joined, the former bringing a bowl of his homemade mac n cheese. They all got settled, Isaac to Stiles’s right and Peter to his left. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Stiles’s spark took the memories from the members of the pack who were not in the house. 

“Here you go, Mischief,” Isaac said, handing the bowl to the fox.

Stiles beamed and leaned forward to kiss the boy’s cheek. “T’ank you Izzy!”

The beta blushed lightly, and scent marked the fox before settling again. “You’re welcome, kit.”

With a happy wiggle and content sigh, the fox started eating his Mac n cheese. “Izzy good!” He giggled when Isaac wiped his face with a napkin and kissed his temple. 

“Good. If you ever want more, you just let me know. Not all the time but sometimes, okay?” 

Stiles nodded and twisted to kiss Derek’s cheek with a smile. “Wuv you, Alfa.”

Before Derek could figure out a response, the fox crawled into Isaac’s lap as Peter pulled up Disney+ and selected Tangled. 

The three wolves curled around the spark and watched the movie, exchanging smiles when Stiles drifted off. The house was sealed with protective wards, and they all settled into their puppy pile, the wolves shivering as a wave of magic washed over them. It was familiar and soothing, as it was Stiles’s magic, which they knew would never harm them.

Peter stared down at the fox spark, as his fingers carded through chocolate locks, his nurturer side coming out full force. It reminded him of a happier time before the fire when he was the beloved uncle looking after all of the pack’s pups. When blue eyes met the deep green eyes of his nephew, he could feel the alpha’s pride and nostalgia, leading him to believe the man was remembering a happier time as well.

Derek began to relax and relished in the opportunity to protect and care for someone. Stiles trusted him as his alpha and as his friend. It was an honor and Derek would do everything in his power not to break that trust. 

Isaac cuddled the Little Stiles, feeling fiercely loyal and protective. He had a pretty good idea why Stiles went into a little headspace, and he had a feeling it would be a recurring thing. If Isaac had anything to say about it, Stiles would be getting all the mac n cheese his little fox heart could want. He scent marked the fox and buried his nose in the pale throat of the sleeping spark.

✨🦊🤍🦊✨

The next morning, Stiles was slow to wake as he nuzzled into Peter’s embrace with a soft hum. He was curled up between Isaac and Peter with the alpha curled around Isaac. Derek had a hand on Stiles’s arm, the wolves all needing to have contact with him in some way. The contentment radiating through their bonds was like a giant hug of warmth, love, safety, pack and family. Stiles felt so safe but the fuzziness was leaving his head and he began to grow more alert. The scent of embarrassment and confusion flooded the room, the wolves whining at the scent. 

Peter and Isaac sat up quickly and Derek pulled Stiles into his lap before the boy could spiral further.

“Shh. Breathe, Stiles. You’re okay.”

“I-I–” he croaked, his amber eyes flooding with tears.

Isaac whimpered and curled protectively around the fox’s back. “You’re okay, Stiles,” he whispered. 

The amber eyed boy slowly lost a little tension, his eyes finding Peter. He reached for him and flushed when the wolf gave him a soft smile. Derek let the fox be transferred to Peter’s lap, the alpha and Isaac forming a protective cocoon around the spark.

After a moment or two, Derek spoke again. “I know you’re confused, and we’ll explain but please remember you are safe. You are safe and so so so loved. Okay?” 

Stiles relaxed and nodded, knowing Derek was sincere and there was no lie in the alpha’s words. 

Peter smiled, echoing the sentiment. “So very safe and loved, Sweetheart.” 

Isaac grinned when Stiles looked at him next. “So very loved, Kit.” 

With that, the remaining tension and anxiety fled the spark’s body. He nodded and yawned, his eyes drooping slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I-I think I understand what happened. Maybe anyway, but at the same time it would help to know what happened from your guy’s perspective.” 

The wolves agreed and took turns explaining what had happened the night before. Peter had been the first to sense something, but Isaac was the one who put it together first. Then Peter figured it out and lastly Derek. 

Peter wanted to ask about Scott’s bullshit behavior, but knew it wasn’t the time to do so. Sooner rather than later they would have to address it, but not yet. 

Each of the three wolves understood because of their own experiences, different though they may be, they were similar. None of them needed to be little but they didn’t judge Stiles for needing it. 

They spent the morning working together to come up with a plan.

“So, I can come here and be little?” Stiles asked, biting his lip.

All three wolves smiled and nodded in confirmation. 

Derek hesitated but then spoke firmly. “If you’d like, you can have a room and maybe stay here?”

Amber eyes widened, but a soft hopeful smile formed on his face at the offer. “Yeah?”

“Of course, Stiles. You’re pack,” the alpha replied with conviction.

Isaac’s phone buzzed and when he checked it, he had to hold back a snarl.

[Scott] Hey man! Gaming day. You down?

“How can he just act like nothing happened?” the beta snapped.

Stiles’s scent thickened with guilt and then he shrugged, a smug scent infiltrating the guilt. “They don’t remember last night.”

The three wolves blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?” the alpha asked.

“My spark showed me when I was sleeping. It made them forget so that I would be safe.”

It was a relief to the alpha and the betas, knowing this part of Stiles would stay between them and they would be able to keep him safe when he was in that mindset. 

The rest of the day was spent lounging around the pack house. Isaac demanded cuddles with the fox after telling Scott no thanks to a gaming day. Stiles wasn’t complaining. He loved cuddling with Izzy. The way he felt protected and safe, made his head grow fuzzy again. This time he let it take over as easy as breathing.

That night, they had another puppy pile, this time watching Fox and the Hound. Stiles curled up in the center of the pile, surrounded by his wolves. The fuzziness in his head was heavy like a weighted blanket and he slipped into sleep knowing he was safe, loved and protected. 

None of the wolves expected to wake up in the morning with Stiles gone. Then again, he wasn’t really gone per say, just smaller. A lot smaller.

Amber eyes, much too big for the small face peered up at them from his place under the blanket in which he was now swimming in.

Peter was the one to move the blanket aside and the three wolves gasped in shock and awe. 

“Wat wong, Pe’er wolv?” the fox asked.

A small pressure on their minds startled the wolves as the magic hummed softly. Stiles had been so strong for so long and this was the goddess Selene’s gift to the young fox spark. When he wished, she would aid him in becoming a child again, so long as he became his present age when necessary. She also entrusted his wellbeing to the alpha, and the two betas. 

The knowledge that the shift was a blessing from Selene made Peter smile as he scooped up the fox spark, who was now four, both physically and mentally. “Nothing is wrong, dear heart. Nothing at all.”

The horses are tired. It's been a long march with more left to go, and though the war is ever pressing, no one is eager to rush into another battle. A few hours of rest will do everyone good.

Link halts his men at the edge of a creek and quietly passes on what orders he has before heading off to wander on his own. The Captain follows the stream till it reaches a bend and a wide empty field. He looks out across the water and takes in the sounds of the place that is as of yet untouched by the war.

Someone laughs and Link looks around.

Blonde hair catches the light of the sun, and the Captain smiles at the sight of the boy playing in the grass. He remembers those days — catching crickets and helping feed the pigs, when his greatest worry was if the dressmaker in the next town would take him as an apprentice.

Link's smile freezes as the thought slips away, gone so fast he can't remember why he thought something was wrong.

The boy looks up, and the Captain can see the blue eyes and wide smile of the indistinct face. The boy dusts off his hands and jogs to the house that is a little further afield. Link follows behind, closing the simple wooden gate before the youngest pig can escape again. He pushes open the front door and sneezes from the dust. The air inside is stale, and the filthy windows choke the light from outside to a dim glow.

It's familiar and warm, and when the blonde boy snags a chunk of hot vegetable out of the pot over the fire, it feels like home. There is a woman at the small central table slicing bread, her brown hair tied up with a scrap of fabric and her blue eyes shine with mirth as the boy frantically tries to cool his mouth. She wipes her hands on a towel tucked into her belt and runs her fingers through the boy's hair. When she talks her words are unintelligible and incredibly warm, and Link's heart beats to a feeling of home, home, home.

The boy nods eagerly and shoots up the narrow set of stairs to the second floor, nearly plowing into a man on his way down. Link shakes his head. Nothing could make him move like the promise of his mother's stew and fresh bread. Again, the thought slips away before it can be examined, and the Captain reaches a hand to his face to wonder why he is smiling.

He climbs the stairs when the man has passed, skipping over the creaky steps with silent feet. Link meets the boy as the child is stepping out of a side room, hands damp from a quick wash. The Captain steps aside and follows the blonde into a small bedroom. Link lingers in the door, watching the child stuff a handful of things into a wooden trunk before flopping face down on the bed. Midday light streams through a broken window, and the boy reaches under his pillow and pulls out a blue rag doll rabbit. He grins at the toy and rolls onto his back, holding the stuffed animal above him.

There is a shout from below and the boy sits up, shouting back his response. He jumps off the bed and carefully places the rabbit down, its floppy head resting on the pillow. The blonde boy spins on his heel and out through the door, and when he hits Link's chest, the vision fades.

The smell of stale air slams into the Captain and the simple wooden chest has collapsed in on itself. Only Link's bootprints in the dust offer evidence to the path Link followed through the house. The feeling of nostalgia remains, and looking around the abandoned room the Captain wonders what it could be for. He shakes himself and turns to leave, but something catches his attention.

Wood creaks under his feet as the Captain approaches the bed. His fingers stir up plumes of dust when they drag across the moth-eaten bedding and close around the toy, the rich blue cloth untouched by the age that clings to everything else in the house. He runs a finger over the crude pink nose and the imperfect seams, hand sewn with dedication that far outweighs the inexperience of the maker. He wants to bring it up to his face, lift one of the floppy ears and whisper his secrets like a child to a trusted friend.

Instead, Link takes a shuddering breath and wills himself not to drown in the melancholy-warm peace that has made its home behind his ribs. He backs out of the room, retracing his footsteps with unplaceable reverence; Past the washroom and it's cracked clay bowl, down the dust quiet stairs, away from familiar ghosts and impossible memories he doesn't recall until the sun touches his face again.

Once the horses are rested, the troops move on. Link spares a moment to look over the empty field by the bend in the creek when they pass, and he does not understand his expectation to see something more or the homesickness that grows with each step.

"What do you have there?" Impa asks, matching his stride.

Link looks down, confused at the toy in his hands. He doesn't know why he responds how he does, only that it feels true.