Beacon Hills CA,
The Preserve, 9:30pm
The Nemeton hummed loudly and shuddered, violent tremors spreading out from its ringed centre to the very edges of its gnarled and blackened roots.
Standing in the middle of the tree feet bare and dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow, Stiles shivered a little in the autumn chill, almost dropping the thick leatherbound book he balanced precariously in one hand whilst clutching a stick of white chalk in the other. The full moon hung brightly in the sky overhead, its thin silvery beams travelling down into the clearing and casting speckles of moonlight across the damp surface of the leaf-littered ground. Chewing the skin of his bottom lip the usually bright and enthusiastic teen mumbled frantically to himself, his sharp whiskey coloured eyes assessing the diagram scrawled across the book's thick yellowing pages with an intense concentration.
At first glance, the design on the page looked deceptively simple, consisting only of what seemed like a basic triquetra interlaced with a circle in the centre of the three leaf-shaped lobes. However, closer inspection would reveal that what originally appears as rough black lines of ink making up the sketch, is actually a series of intertwined futhark Celtic letters. A considerably difficult design to replicate using only moonlight for illumination, contrary to how easy the tv show Supernatural always made it look. But then again, Stiles mused sourly to himself, the Winchesters could use their flashlights and phones whereas he was stuck in the dark with his substandard human eyesight lest he risks being found by the remainders of his Pack.
"Motherfucking druids and their cryptic ass spells with over-complicated diagrams. Can't just be an easy shape like a triangle." Huffing to himself he crouched down, adding the final finishing symbols to the design with a confident flourish, and after casting one last scrutinising eye across the chalk etchings on the bark he nodded, happy that it matched.
Cracking his stiff neck Stiles began to stand back up, only managing to rise a few inches before the newly completed design exploded with a sudden and violent flash of white light. Falling backwards the teen yelped loudly in surprise, stars danced behind his eyelids, as the sheer brightness of the light succeeded in blinding him momentarily. Blinking the spots away dazedly Stiles grunted in pain as a sharp ache began to form from where his back made forceful contact with the solid wood. Cursing druids once again he climbed back to his feet, picking up the book which had gotten dropped during his unexpected trip onto his backside.
Brows furrowing slightly he flicked to the next page in the book just as an electrical buzzing began to crackle through the air, the fine hairs covering his arms and the nape of his neck standing up on end in response. Stubbornly ignoring the intense sensation of danger now crawling its way up his spine he read the rest of the ancient instructions, muttering under his breath "alrighty then, next step is the mixing of magical herbs and blood drawn from the Spar-"
"STILES!"
Well, fuck.
Neck snapping upwards Stiles scowled into the darkness, his hands clutching the book in an almost painfully tight grip as the familiar figures of Scott, Derek and Lydia crashed their way into the clearing, their gazes frantically taking in Stiles and his position casually standing on the active Nemeton. Absently Stiles noted that all three of them were still wearing their funeral outfits from earlier that day. Biting back the urge to laugh bitterly and hysterically at the unwanted reminder, Stiles gave the shocked trio a disarmingly bright smile and addressed them, his voice never wavering in its sickly false cheer "Hey Scotty, Derek, Lyds. What's up?".
An awkward beat of silence passed as Scott stared at him in an odd combination of devastation, disbelief and downright anger. And if Stiles was being brutally honest, and he was, it was pretty amusing to watch his friend flicker through so many emotions at one time before finally deciding to settle on his usual brand of righteous fury.
"What's up? What's up?! Is that seriously all you can say, Stiles? What the hell dude! First you pull a disappearing act after the funeral and nobody can get in touch with you or find you! And then Deaton rings to tell me you've broken into the Vet's and stolen one of his books?" his best friend yelled incredulously. Raising his brows and cocking his head a little Stiles gave the trio his best approximation of a 'fair enough' expression and let his friends continue their ranting, it was probably therapeutic for them or some shit.
"And now when we finally find you, hours later in the middle of the night, you're standing on the Nemeton and acting like everything is normal when it clearly isn't! There's something going on with you Stiles, and we're worried" Lydia chimed in, her eyes narrowing in that freakishly knowing way that used to make Stiles slightly afraid of her, used to being the operative words here. Nodding in a fair acknowledgement of her words Stiles flickered his eyes over to Derek who stood silently in the middle, his beta blue eyes flashing in the night underneath impossibly expressive brows. Holding back a sigh Stiles spoke up, already done with the conversation as a whole but still feeling generous enough to let the last member of the Pack have their say on his apparent mental instability. "You got something to say too Der-bear? I mean these two pretty much have it covered with the whole 'we think you've lost it' spiel but I thought I'd at least give you a chance".
And surprise! Surprise! Derek growled low in his throat in response to his sarcasm, his fists clenching tightly at his sides, no doubt in order to hide his emerging claws "get off the Nemeton, Stiles. Now!". At this point Stiles couldn't help but laugh out loud, his chest hurting with something visceral, grief maybe? Or perhaps exhaustion? Either way he laughed for the first time in weeks at his Sourwolf and the ache inside just deepened. "Always such a way with words Derek, but, as tempted as I am to listen to you, which is like 12%. I have important things to do. So...if you could all just go that would be great".
Deeming the conversation over with Stiles proceeded to focus back at the scrawled words in the spellbook, feigning indifference at the three pack members who lingered, gawking at him from the edges of his peripheral vision.
After a few silent moments passed movement flickered at the corner of his eye as Derek, Scott and Lydia huddled together communicating quietly between each other whilst sending conspiratorial glances his way. Rolling his eyes Stiles pressed his lips together to suppress a tiny smirk. Did they honestly think held even an iota of a chance at stopping him? Did they assume he wouldn't have a contingency plan in place if they turned up?
Naivety at its finest.
As if on queue Lydia started to speak up, drawing his attention towards her in an admirable attempt at distraction.
They forget he is was a trickster.
He knew all the chess moves.
"So what exactly is your grand plan then Stiles? Screw with the dark magic in the Nemeton and then what? Bring your dad back?".
Low blow.
Taking a deep breath to calm the sudden burst of anger he felt at her callous words, Stiles turned his attention briefly back to the Banshee who at least had some decency to look remorseful as he scowled. "Firstly, don't speak like you know what the hell I'm doing or feeling right now, both of your parents are alive so you have NO right to stand there and judge me. Second of all, You really think I'm that selfish Lyd's? That I would just bring him back when this town has lost so much? When so many others have died too?". Shaking his head Stiles leaned down once again, this time to place the book down and to drag a wooden offering bowl over to the centre of the Nemeton. The bowl, clearly hand carved with its bulky and rough appearance, had a light coloured surface which contrasted with the dark tone of the Celtic tree of life burned onto the inside of the bowl. Next, the Spark procured three glass vials of richly coloured herbs from the pockets of his dress slacks and poured the contents in one by one. Taking his pinkie finger Stiles carefully drew the Celtic symbol of life into the herbs creating a void in the mixture.
Suddenly, the area around the Nemeton flared up, a pulsing golden barrier flashing into existence like a spark of electricity before disappearing again and leaving a pitifully groaning Scott and Derek now roughly ten yards away, having been thrown back after attempting to charge at the Nemeton whilst Stiles was distracted. Raising a brow Stiles snorted at the sight of the two werewolves hissing in pain on the forest ground. "It's called a barrier Scott. No supernatural being can cross it without my permission" eyes sliding towards Lydia who had rushed to help them back to their feet he added with a cruel curl of his lip "including banshees".
All he earned in return were looks of deep hurt and confusion.
Sighing guiltily Stiles dropped his smirk in exchange for a softer look, gazing sadly at the trio as he pleaded desperately "look, I get it, okay. If it was any of you guys standing on this goddamn tree doing this then I'd be angry and hurt too. But this is my decision, I've put a lot of thought into it and I know I'm making the right choice, for everyone. So I just need you to trust me and leave, please".
Nobody spoke, and for a split second, the seventeen year old believed that maybe, just maybe his words had worked. Unfortunately, that belief disappeared when Derek started approaching the Nemeton again, face clouded with an emotion Stiles struggled to identify. "Stiles, I know it's hard, losing your dad on top of everything else Nogitsune did, I know you probably feel like it's all your fault but it isn't. Nobody blames you Stiles, nobody".
Shaking his head with a weak chuckle Stiles silently marvelled at the werewolf's bad timing, trust Derek to show his softer side just when he was about to die. It was a lot easier to be cold and indifferent towards a sour Sourwolf.
"No, but they should" with that said Stiles reached into his pocket, withdrawing an old Swiss army knife with a deep red handle. The surface was scratched with age, and a small etching of initials sat above a logo, J.S for Jaroslaw Stilinski, his great grandfather's name, a survivor of WWII.
A hero.
Maybe he could be a hero now too?
Face set in determination Stiles ignored the violent and desperate yells coming from each member of the Pack as he flipped open the tool's main spearheaded blade. Tears burning like lava at the corner of his eyes, he brought the blade swiftly across the soft pale flesh of his forearm, making sure to angle the limb so it hovered over the offering bowl. Red rapidly bubbled to the surface of the cut like an angry river, shining beads of ruby spilling over the surface of his tilted arm before dropping steadily into the bowl.
After a few seconds, the gaps drawn into the herbs was filled with his blood and Stiles quickly withdrew his injured arm, letting it hang uselessly at his side as he placed his other hand in the space above the bowl, fingers splayed. Meanwhile, the electricity in the air grew stronger, a heavy scent of ozone suffocating any other smells of the forest as sparks crackled audibly around the Nemeton.
"STOP!"
"STILES PLEASE!"
"STILES DON'T!"
Scott, Derek and Lydia shouted out one last time in almost perfect unison but the Spark just smiled once more before closing his eyes and uttering the words from the book.
"Fire, water, earth and air. Soul, body and mind. Take my sacrifice, hear my cry. Grant me my deepest desire".
All of a sudden a blinding flash of pure white light engulfed Stiles, and multiple cries of alarm rung out through the air before time just... froze. Everything went silent, the sound of his friends yells, the crackling of the energy in the air and the sounds of the forest around him all vanished. Blinking in slight confusion Stiles turned slowly on the spot, his eyes taking in the scene with slight awe. Above him was an owl, paused mid-flight on it's way across the clearing, wings spread outwards creating a silhouette of black against a silver moon.
It would make a pretty picture.
Distracted by this thought Stiles missed the gnarled hand that out and curled around his shoulder, sharp talon-like nails digging into chilled flesh. Swallowing back a yell the teen swivelled his body around to face the being touching him, his eyes landing on a small and decrepit looking woman with shrivelled ash-grey skin and sightless milky white eyes.
We have gazed upon your soul and deemed it worthy of sacrifice. What is it that you desire? a croaking whisper echoed in his mind and Stiles almost choked on the air struggling to make its way into his lungs. The book never mentioned a creepy-ass looking crone!
Man, fuck Druids.
Stomping down on the fear which spiked suddenly at the appearance of the clearly unearthly creature, Stiles took a deep breath and focussed once again on the task at hand, a task which was starting to feel a lot more like making a deal with the Devil.
"The past few weeks… I've thought a lot about where things went wrong in this town and the thing I always find myself coming back to is the Hale fire. That was the catalyst, the first domino that made the whole thing tumble down. And in an ideal world, I'd just make it so that never happened, but that's not how magic works right? Because magic is all about equal exchanges of energy, so what you take, you have to give back. And one sacrifice from a Spark isn't equal to stopping a fire which took over ten lives" Stiles spoke confidently, hands gesticulating wildly in his usual manner. The being never blinked, but Stiles swore he saw the faint beginnings of a smile twitching at their thin black lips as their voice echoed once more in his mind.
This is true.
Taking another deep breath Stiles bit his bottom lip before continuing, encouraged by the fact that the crone hadn't killed him yet. "But the thing is, magic is just a fancy contract right? And all contracts have loopholes. Well, it just so happens that I'm really, really good at finding loopholes. So even though I know asking outright for you to save the Hale family is out of the question, if I save someone, just one person, and then if it just so happens that in the act of saving that one person, the Hale fire never happens, then that's still an equal exchange". Pausing Stiles waited for a sign of confirmation from the creature, his heart thudding slightly in fear that he had somehow gotten it wrong, that all his work had gone to waste.
A few seconds of silence passed, and then a strange sound began to fill his head, almost like the laughter of a 1000 year old smoker, rough as sandpaper and broken glass but warmed with the hint of rare amusement. Eyebrows raising in shock Stiles watched as the being's unseeing eyes crinkled at the corners as sharp rotten yellow teeth flashed into sight between crookedly smiling lips.
We like you, young one. You have a fire inside.
Chest deflating in relief Stiles barely resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead, beads of sweat had begun to gather in earnest underneath his fringe as he waited for the ancient beings reaction to his 'cheat code'. Swallowing roughly Stiles gave a shaky smile not quite believing his luck "so you'll do it? My life in exchange for bringing one person back?".
Yes.
"Her name is Paige Krasikeva, she died after being bitten by an Alpha werewolf called Ennis, that's the life I'm trading for. No take backs" Stiles joked lightly, his eyes falling almost automatically on the still form of Derek Hale as his heart clenched painfully. The beta's beautiful hazel eyes were glowing an electric blue, his mouth frozen in a snarl as his body hung in the air, stretched out mid-lunge towards Stiles and the Nemeton.
The female will live.
Stiles closed his eyes immediately rejecting the overwhelming urge to punch the air in triumph, somehow he didn't think the creature would appreciate such a display.
You may say your goodbyes now, child.
Re-opening his eyes Stiles spared a soft but genuine "thanks" towards the being before stepping off the Nemeton and approaching Derek with a sad smile. Reaching upwards somewhat hesitantly, the teen trailed his fingertips gently down the side of Derek's chiselled jaw, skin tingling at the feeling of the man's stubble.
No time like right before you die to admit your feelings for someone right?
"I'm going to miss you Sourwolf, so much, and even though I know you probably won't remember me in this new timeline, I hope…" voice choking halfway out of his throat Stiles let out a rather pathetic sounding self-deprecating laugh. "I hope that there's at least a little part inside of you that's going to miss me too". With a gentle rub of his thumb across Derek's cheekbone Stiles stepped backwards, dragging his sleeve shirt under his nose as he rapidly blinked to get rid of the traitorous tears threatening to spill over his eyelids.
Lydia was next, her dark red painted lips wide open on the cusp of a deafening scream that will signal his death. Wiping away a tear dripping from the lower lashes of her left eye Stiles cleared his throat before speaking in his best approximation of a stern voice. "Miss Martin, I swear to god you better not go back to playing dumb again. Cause you're too good for that, too brilliant to waste away as some douchebags arm candy. You gotta go to MIT and be the first Beacon Hills resident to get a Field's medal for mathematics. So don't let me down, okay?".
Leaving a gentle kiss on the arch of the Banshee's cheek Stiles turned on his heel to face the last member of the now painfully tiny Pack, his best friend, Scott McCall. The alpha was positioned similarly to Derek, red eyes blazing through the darkness of the preserve and half shifted face stretched into a silent roar. Wrapping his arms around him as best as he could, Stiles squeezed his friend firmly before mumbling encouragingly into his ear "be a teenager buddy, fall in love, get drunk as shit and just ...have fun okay?". Pulling back Stiles gave Scott's shoulder squeeze "also, do me a favour and look after my dad will you? He's going to need someone to keep him in check, don't let him eat too much bacon and don't let him drink too much beer, it's bad for his arteries".
The time has come.
The being announced almost reluctantly, beckoning Stiles back to the centre of the Nemeton.
Letting out a shallow breath Stiles smiled shakily, hands reaching out and letting the creature wrap their deathly cold grip around them. Closing his eyes Stiles licked his lips, acceptance seeping into every pore, his heart stuttering in anticipation as he whispered confidently to himself.
"Okay Stiles, time to die"
~~~~~~~~##~~~##~~~~~~~~
A blast of pure light exploded throughout the woodland area, heat rippling through the thousands of acres of greenery like a wave, towering trees and plants shrivelling to dust in wake of atomic bomb levels of radiation. Large plumes of smoke billowed outwards, soaring up towards the sun sitting high in the midday sky as the surrounding air crackled with the low simmering of an electric charge, similar to the atmosphere after a harsh lightning storm. Small flames danced in the breeze. Flickering hues of orange and yellow licking greedily at the surrounding vegetation, trying desperately to cling to life.
Letting out a cough, Stiles choked on the thick fumes which surrounded him like a smog, his body shaking uncontrollably as he knelt on the rough surface of the tree stump, fingers digging deeply into the warm, humming bark with each hacking shudder of his lungs, the sheer force causing his eyes to water.
Eventually, the smoke began to clear and Stiles began to feel his chest loosening with every breath of clean air until finally, his lungs stopped burning. Relaxing the teen dropped his sweat-slicked forehead to wood, shoulders slumping and curling inwards in exhaustion. After a few more moments filled only with the sound of his own breathing and the gentle crackling of the small fires, Stiles groaned loudly and collapsed onto his side, curling into a ball. Eyes staring out blankly at the surrounding chaos, he let out a small defeated laugh, his lungs still stinging from the smoke as he spoke softly to himself.
"Well, this doesn't look anything like heaven".