FicWad

Summary: "Can you hear them? They're calling. They're in the signal, they're in my head." Stiles, already suffering from ADHD, has recently become aware of the four-beat drums inside his head. And there's a fob watch, one he hasn't noticed before —yet it always seems to be there. . . . [AU - Fusion]

Notes: Title and summary quote comes from the Chameleon Circuit song "The Sound of Drums." Just a Doctor Who/Teen Wolf fusion, because I have no control over the plot bunnies or my life anymore. This is actually inspired by a story over on the Archive of Our Own: "All Alone in Space and Time" by deerie. I think you can guess the rest from there. Besides, there are so many fics where Stiles is the Doctor, so why not have a fic with Stiles as another renegade Time Lord? And this is a one-shot, which means there WILL NOT be any more chapters. (Well, maybe one more.) Not too sure about the ending, but hey, really cool mental image, no?


Dum-dum-dumdum. Dum-dum-dum-dum.

Stiles Stilinski groaned and leaned forward on his desk, rubbing his temples and forehead. The headaches, or drumbeats, or whatever they were, had started up only a few days ago. At first they'd been quiet, faint, but now they were starting to grow louder.

"Stiles?" Scott McCall whispered from his seat behind him. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"No you're not. It's only slightly obvious."

Stupid wolf powers, said a voice in Stiles's head that most definitely did not sound like him. Then again, if I could harness that, control the pack . . . He frowned. Where had that come from?

"Stilinksi! McCall!" Both boys jumped at the sound of Mr. Harris's voice. "Do you two want to get a room, or do you have something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

Stiles sensed Scott stiffen. The werewolf said quickly, "No, sir."

"Good. Then can we carry on with the lesson? We can? Then let's get on with it."

Mr. Harris continued his lecture, but all Stiles could hear was the sound of drums. He wondered briefly how long it would take for him to be driven insane.

Oh, don't worry, said the strange-yet-oh-so-familiar voice in his head. You already are.

That made him feel so much better.

-oOo-

"What was all that about, Stiles?" Scott asked when the bell rang and they were in the hall between classes.

"I don't know, Scott, but for the past few days, they've been there in my head. Couldn't you hear it?"

Scott frowned. "Hear what?"

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. "You're telling me that even with your super keen werewolf hearing, you can't hear the drums?"

His best friend was looking worried now. "Stiles, I don't hear any drums."

"But they're there! They're in the signal, they're in my head. The ever-present drumming." Stiles began tapping out a four-beat rhythm on his jean-clad thigh. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. "Can you hear them now, Scott?"

The Beta's expression was now that of concern. "We should take you to see Derek," he said. "Maybe he'll know what's going on with you."

"What, ditch school?"

Scott nodded.

"Okay. Let's do it." Stiles flashed Scott an excited—albeit maniacal—smile and started walking toward the doors. Something bounced along in his pocket, something that felt round and metal and definitely not his phone, but he didn't think much of it. Since Scott had mentioned Derek and the image of the Alpha was in his head, Stiles was too busy trying to figure out why the older werewolf reminded him of someone else with close-cropped black hair, blue eyes, and a leather jacket. Then the figure morphed into a tall skinny bloke with brown hair, eyes, a suit and trenchcoat, and red converse sneakers. Something about the two men seemed so familiar yet Stiles knew they weren't him. He'd met this man before, though, he was certain of that—and he was so alone . . .

-oOo-

He was walking with Scott into Derek Hale's new hangout before he knew it. Stiles frowned. He never lost track of time. That just didn't happen. Okay, maybe a little once he was on Adderall to help with his ADHD—but the medicine dulled his mind and senses. It was boring. If this was how normal humans' minds worked, he wondered how they had made the technological advancements that they had.

Stupid apes, said the voice in his head.

Then he noticed Peter Hale lurking in the shadows and "Oh, it's you" slipped out before he could stop himself.

"It looks like someone's glad to see me," Peter retorted with his usual dry sarcastic humor.

"You wish."

"What are you doing here?" Derek cut in before his uncle could say anything else. "Shouldn't the two of you be in school?"

School. Stiles's mind flashed to a field of red grass, silver trees, and twin suns in an orange sky. Then he snapped out of it to hear Scott say, "He keeps saying he's hearing drums, but when I listen, I can't hear them."

Derek cocked his head, looking skeptical. "Drums."

"Yes, drums!" Stiles burst out. "Some days are better than others—they're quieter—but they're always there." His hand slipped into his right pocket, curled around the object there. The three werewolves followed the movement with narrowed eyes.

"Stiles," Scott said slowly, "what's in your pocket?"

"Don't know." He pulled his hand out of his pocket only to find he was holding what looked like a watch.

"What is that?" Scott asked.

"It's a fob watch," Peter answered. The former Alpha seemed almost spooked now and wouldn't meet Stiles's eyes. As much as this confused the teenager, he felt a thrill of dark satisfaction. They should be scared of him—he'd seen more, done more than they could ever imagine. He'd looked into the Untempered Schism—Time itself. He was their Master.

"What are those markings?" Derek asked, his blue eyes flashing red. "I've never seen them before."

Stiles ran his thumb over the watch's cool silver surface, studying the circular symbols etched into the metal. It seemed to be whispering to him, urging him to open it. "It's Gallifreyan," he said, raising his head to meet the stares of all three werewolves. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but it felt right.

"Gallifreyan?" Scott asked, puzzled.

"It's a language, my language." Stiles frowned. "How did I know that? How could I have known that?" He shook his head, trying to clear it—but the drums were still there, growing louder. The fob watch fell from his hands as he gripped the sides of his head.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" There was genuine concern in Derek's voice. At least the Alpha had some concern for his well-being even though they were at each other's throats most of the time.

"The drums. They're getting louder. Can't you hear them?"

All three wolves shook their heads.

"No! Listen!" In desperation, Stiles grabbed Scott, pressed his forehead to his best friend's. The Beta pulled back after a few seconds, confused. "Stiles, was that supposed to do something?"

"Yes!"

Open the watch, urged the voice in his head. Release me!

"What was that supposed to do?" Derek asked, his eyes back to their normal color.

"You're going to think I'm mad," Stiles said.

Peter scoffed. "Who says we don't already?"

He fell silent at Derek and Scott's low growls.

"Do you mind?" Stiles made no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. "Look, how do you think I figured out all these recent murders weren't Boyd and Cora, how Matt was the Kanima's master, how all your victims"—this was directed at Peter—"were connected to the Hale fire? It's because I'm clever, very clever. Those drugs the doctors make me take? I've stopped. It dulls my mind, my sense, and if this is how humans normally think—it's boring." He noticed that the three wolves had stepped back away from him; he didn't care. "And lately I've been having dreams. Fields of red grass, twin suns, seeing the universe, Daleks, Autons, the Year That Never Was, and faces. So many different faces, and it's like they're a part of me. Sometimes I even dream I have two hearts. And there's another man—the Doctor—and he's like me. The last of our kind." A harsh inhuman laugh escaped him.

"You're crazy," Peter said faintly—and coming from a sociopathic werewolf, that was saying a lot.

Stiles smirked and bent down to retrieve the fob watch. "Let's see just how crazy I am, shall we?"

And he opened the watch.

Golden light burst from it, surrounded him, and Stiles welcomed it, relished it. He finally felt complete.

The light faded as he absorbed it, and he did a quick internal check. Both hearts working? Yes. Respiratory bypass? Check. Drums? Check—and oh, how he'd missed them when he'd died (he'd had a backup plan, of course).

"Stiles?" The hesitant voice belonged to Scott, who was slowly shifting back to human shape.

He smirked. "My name's not Stiles."

Yellow eyes blinked. "What?"

"I'm the Master."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"What?"

"That's the Doctor's line, Scotty. Don't wear it out."

"Just when I'd thought I'd seen everything," Derek muttered.

"Oh, not everything."

"Who are you?" Peter asked.

"I already told you. I'm the Master." He frowned. "Well, this is definitely the youngest regeneration I've had so far. Anybody have a mirror?"

Derek bared his fangs, eyes flashing Alpha-red. "Let's rephrase that: What are you?"

"I'm a Time Lord; you three are werewolves. Huh. I've never met wolves who can shift at will before. Oh, and there's an Alpha pack on the loose. Fun. Let's go find them, yeah?"

"What's a Time Lord?" Scott asked.

The Master rolled his eyes. "By Gallifrey, you're dense. What made you pick him?" he demanded of Peter.

The former Alpha eyed him steadily. "It could just as easily been you that night in the woods. You were just human then, after all."

"No it—" He stopped, shrugged. "Fair point. And, really, Scott, you should have guessed by now. Two hearts. Time Lord. I'm an alien."

"And the drums?" Peter asked.

"Oh, they're still here. Listen." The Master rested both hands on the older Hale's temples, pressed their foreheads together. Seconds later Peter jerked back, eyes wide. "I heard it. What's in there? What's in your head?"

"So it's not just me! They're real! And they're calling to me, calling me to rule the world."

"That's a scary thought," Derek commented. "A teenager in charge of the world."

The Master's head snapped in the Alpha's direction, eyes blazing. "I am not a teenager," he hissed. "I'm over nine hundred years old. Watch your step, wolf."

Derek shifted into full werewolf form and snarled, baring his fangs. The Master eyes him with somewhat of a bored expression. "Is that all you've got? Please. Still, you could do worse, I suppose. Now." He clapped his hands together, rubbed them briskly. "Have you seen my laser screwdriver anywhere? No? Ah well, I can always make a new one." The Time Lord suddenly stopped talking and tilted his head to the side in a curious manner. "Wow, I've certainly got a gob on this body. I'm starting to sound like the Doctor—and don't even get me started on that goody two-shoes. Then again, he did destroy our planet and our people. He must have felt like God, having all that power." His voice had turned raspy, almost sensual—and he just noticed that the three wolves had been quiet and staring at him for some time now. "What?"

"Do you have any idea how wrong that tone of voice sounds coming from my best friend's mouth?" Scott said. "Not to mention the look on your face. It's disturbing."

"For once, I agree with Scott," said Derek.

"And I'm with both of them," Peter agreed, looking as though admitting that might cause him to be physically ill.

"Ah. Anyway, Alpha pack. Find. Let's go." The Master headed for the door without bothering to see if the wolves were following him.

Derek, Scott, and Peter exchanged looks, shrugged, and followed the Time Lord. One thing was for sure: In Beacon Hills, California, there was never a dull day. They'd dealt with werewolves, Kanima, and insane hunters, but aliens? This was new.

-oOo-

"So, who's this Doctor you keep mentioning?" Scott asked Stiles—no, he was the Master; he had to remember that.

"He's a Time Lord, like me .Usually he spends his time travelling around the universe in his TARDIS, saving civilizations, committing genocide a few times, picks up human pets as his companions. Who need humans? I prefer werewolves, they're much better."

"Um, thanks?"

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. And speaking of TARDISes, where is mine?"

"TARDIS?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, Time and Relative Dimension in Space. At least her chameleon circuit is in full working order, unlike the Doctor's. His is stuck as a police box from the 1950s, can you believe that?" The Master had said all of this without breaking stride, something Scott found amazing. Then again, Stiles had done that all the time, so maybe part of his friend was still inside the Time Lord. They were the same person after all, right?

"No, we're not," the Master said, spooking the Beta wolf. "Stiles Stilinski is a person I made up when I had to use the Chameleon Arch to become human and hide from the Family of Blood—or what's left of them, anyway. The Doctor chose very good punishments for them, if I do say so myself. Yes, I suppose some parts of him are in me, just like parts of myself were in Stiles. It's complicated."

"Could you change back?" Scott asked, already knowing the answer.

"I could, but it's extremely painful."

"Would you?"

"No."

That hurt, maybe more than it should have. Then . . . "Hang on. How did you know what I was thinking?"

"Time Lords are mildly telepathic." The Master stopped, stared into Scott's eyes. Instantly the Beta felt like he should do anything this alien ordered, that he was his Master and therefore should be obeyed . . .

"Stop it," Derek growled at the Time Lord, eyes glowing scarlet. "What are you doing to him?!"

Stiles/the Master took his eyes off Scott's, who blinked. It felt as if he was coming out of a dream. "Do I really have to mention that I specialize in hypnosis? Now, do you want to find and kill the Alpha pack or not? I don't do favors like this all the time, you know."

"Yeah, I sort of figured that out," Peter muttered.

"Anyway! TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS . . ." The Master closed his eyes, went through his memories—including those from when he was Stiles Stilinski. Ah, yes. Where else could it be? He broke into a run, thankful that he seemed to still have the super-speed from his last regeneration's resurrection. The wolves weren't far behind, yet another reason he preferred them over the Doctor's human pets.

The four of them skidded to a halt in Stiles's backyard in front of a wooden shed, one that didn't look big enough to hold all four of them. That didn't stop the Master; he walked right in after pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door.

"Hello," he greeted his TARDIS. The room hummed and lights flickered. "Yes, it's nice to see you, too."

He crossed over to the console, where a new laser screwdriver was sticking up ready for him. The Master grabbed it, twirled it around a few times before slipping it in his pocket. Then he walked out and faced the werewolves.

"Okay, who wants to go kill some Alphas?"