So sticking an unscheduled natural disaster I have next to no practical experience with into a story is a really bad idea it turns out. Or at the very least, it results in more research than I'd planned on doing for this chapter. Aaanyway, here it is in all it's glory. As usual thanks for the support on the last chapter!

Chapter 20

Sheriff Stilinski was almost at the bottom of the stairs when he heard Stiles cry out in pain. He didn't pause, just turned around and took the steps two at a time as he dashed back up the staircase.

"Stiles?" he called, his heart constricting with worry. The image of his son's pale, unmoving form surrounded by white hospital sheets and I.V. drips was too fresh in his mind.

Stiles was still in the t-shirt and boxers he'd slept in, curled up on the floor as he clutched his head in obvious pain. The sheriff's breath caught for a moment. Then he nearly lost his balance as the house began to shake violently, just managing to catch himself on the doorframe to avoid falling. Stiles' bedside lamp slid off the table with a crash and rolled under the bed.

"Shit," he said under his breath as he managed to get his feet under him enough to cross the distance to Stiles. The sheriff fell to his knees in a graceless tumble, half-covering his son as he grabbed his shoulder and gently shook it. "Stiles? Stiles, come on, can you hear me?"

He felt Stiles freeze underneath him. Then his grip on his head eased. "Dad?" Stiles asked, sounding slightly dazed. "Wh-what's going on?"

"Earthquake, come on, we've gotta get outside."

Stiles blinked and then his dresser tumbled over and crashed to ground, making them both jump. Suddenly, Stiles' eyes widened and he pressed his palm to the floor as though suddenly realizing the ground was moving. "Holy crap!" he exclaimed.

Helping each other stand, the sheriff and Stiles made their way out of the room and down the hall. Both winced as downstairs several somethings crashed to the ground and shattered. They clutched the railings on the stairs, Stiles nearly loosing his footing once, but managing to wrap his arms around the railing just in time to avoid sliding down.

Finally, they made it to the front door and got out. All around the neighbourhood people stood in the middle of the street, looking anxious as they helplessly watched their homes rattle and shake like childrens' toys. The sheriff took a deep breath and then looked down at Stiles, who was looking more like himself though a bit bewildered. He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"It'll be alright, kiddo," he said with a smile.

Stiles looked up at him and responded with a shaky smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah."

They both looked up at the sound of hysterical screaming from up the road. The Walker family and their three small children were all outside staring at their home. He couldn't see their faces, but that hardly mattered as, with a deafening crash, the entire front of their house collapsed. Across the street, a series of tiles slid off the roof of a cream-coloured house, shattering the windshield of the car in the driveway.

He hadn't really been aware of how much noise had been surrounding them until it all went suddenly still. The sheriff stood frozen for a few moments, waiting for it to come back, to start again. When a minute passed and nothing had happened, he looked back down at Stiles, who looked like he was on the verge of shock. He pulled him into a hug and the contact seemed to wake Stiles out of his daze enough to hug him back.

Something strange had happened up there in Stiles bedroom and the sheriff wished that for once he could forget his responsibilities and just wrap his son in a blanket, hand him a mug of hot chocolate and look at him pointedly until he spilled all the details. Unfortunately, he was the sheriff and there were several people he hadn't see out on the street.

"Stiles, you stay here," he said as he sighed and disentangled himself from the embrace. "I'm going to go check on Mrs. Finnley. I don't see her and I'm pretty sure she's on maternity leave now and her husband usually leaves for work at seven."

Stiles took a deep breath and looked around. "Yeah, okay. Uh, want me to go check on the Trembleys? They're not out either and Mr. Trembley shakes enough when the ground isn't moving."

"Sure, sounds good."

Having something else to concentrate on seemed to be the key as colour he hadn't even noticed had been missing, returned to Stiles' face. The sheriff ran a hand through his hair before hurrying off. It was going to be a long day.

There was obviously no school that day – and wouldn't be until the building was checked for structural damages beyond the large, visible crack on the front stairs. In fact, other than emergency services, the entire city was shut down along with power, cable and phone networks. Parts of the city had had to have their water cut off. Which meant Stiles had to check on his friends the old fashion way.

Parking in front of Lydia's house, he first checked his cellphone in case it happened to have gotten a signal in the past fifteen minutes. It hadn't, so he slipped it back into his jacket pocket and hurried up to the front door. Her neighbourhood looked to be in relatively good shape (that he could see), although the house diagonally across the street from hers was definitely going to need to have the roof re-shingled and he'd driven by a detached garage that was more detached than it was meant to be. Just like everywhere else in the city, there seemed to be a stunned quiet about the area, like the city and its citizens were lingering in a collective shock. There were certainly more people gathering out on the streets than on a typical Monday afternoon. Some were busy cleaning up the damage in their yards: overturned planters, shifted walkway tiles and fallen shingles or branches.

Some of the less fortunate ones were being herded into school gyms and recreational centres.

Lydia's mom opened the door and blinked at Stiles in surprise. "Oh, I thought you'd be Aiden," she said.

Stiles blinked. "You mean he's not here?" Stiles frowned, wondering if he needed to worry about the twins – he was inclined not to, except that Scott had sort of accepted them into his pack so he probably should... He shook his head. "Uh, sorry, Mrs. Martin. Is Lydia in?"

"Yes she is, although-"

"Mom, is that Stiles?" he heard Lydia call from inside.

Mrs. Martin's eyes flashed in annoyance. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you Stiles?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm Stiles Stilinski."

"Stilinski? Oh, the sheriff's son." She looked him up and down speculatively before taking a step backwards. "Yes, it's Stiles!" she called to Lydia.

Stiles heard footsteps hurrying down the stairs and then Lydia came into view. She looked perfect, not a hair out of place, but there was something wild in her eyes when she caught sight of him.

"Uh, hey Lydia, I was just-"

"Mom, we'll be in my room," Lydia announced as she breezed into the front hall and grabbed Stiles by the hand. He didn't bother to do anything but blink and follow her in stunned silence. She closed the door to her room with a controlled thud. Then she went and perched herself on the bed.

Stiles looked around uncertainly for a moment before grabbing the desk chair and sitting down carefully. "Er, so how are you doing?" he asked.

Lydia shrugged. "I'm alright. We had stuff fall of shelves and my mom is currently mourning her favourite crystal vase, but overall nothing major. Are you checking up on everyone?"

"Uh, yeah. Scott and Isaac are helping out at the hospital so I promised Scott I'd go around and make sure everyone's doing okay."

"And?" Lydia asked after a moment when he didn't elaborate.

"Oh uh, well the McCall house is fine. Apparently Isaac had Scott's entire box of Spiderman comics fall on top of his head, but he's a werewolf so that was a problem for all of maybe five seconds. Danny's good too. Allison and her dad are coming to stay with me and dad for a few days, 'cause their apartment building's doing a neat impression of the Tower of Pisa. Aaand that's as far as I've gotten."

Lydia nodded absently. "Good. I'm glad everyone's okay." She paused and pursed her lips. "Do you know how bad it is?"

"Sure. The environment guys started showing up about two hours after the quake. Dad gave me the low-down when I brought him lunch. Apparently they're counting it at 6.2 on the Richter scale and are pretty much having kittens over it, 'cause Beacon Hills was the epicentre."

Lydia frowned. "But Beacon Hills isn't on a fault line."

"Hence the kittens."

"Hmm." She paused, looking uncertain for a moment. "Stiles, did you... feel anything just before it happened?"

Stiles' breath caught in his throat. He'd been trying so hard not think about it. "Yeah," he eventually answered in a quiet voice. He swallowed. "Just before the quake I heard... something. It was like screaming and drumming together and for a moment it was really, really loud and I couldn't hear anything else. Dad said he heard me cry out and found me on the floor holding my head like I was in pain. I-I barely remember that part." He took a deep breath. "It was like one minute all I could hear was this deafening noise and the next minute my dad's shaking me and then something's crashing to the ground and suddenly I realized everything else was shaking too."

Lydia nodded. "I screamed," she said.

Stiles winced. "Well, that sort of figures. According to the environment guys we've been fairly lucky, but there's still been about 32 deaths so far."

Lydia was silent for a several moments. "You think I was predicting the deaths?"

Stiles shrugged. "Unless you think someone else died violently just before the earthquake hit. Which could mean that maybe there was some crazy demon worshipper preforming a human sacrifice to make the earthquake happen or something."

"Stiles."

"What? I'm just saying, with our luck and everything."

Lydia rolled her eyes, but didn't actually deny the possibility. "Have you heard from Ethan or Aiden?" she asked instead.

"Uh, no. I mean, they're werewolves, so they're probably fine..."

"I'll go with you to check."

"...but I'm sure I could stop by their place and make sure. And while I'm doing the rounds I might as well look in on Derek and make sure he's not stuck beneath a beam or something. Dad also mentioned something about digging out the barbeque for tomorrow seeing as how the power might not be back up for a while. You, uh, could probably invite your mom if you want."

Lydia blinked at him. "Would that be okay with the pack?"

Stiles shrugged. "It's not like they can't keep the conversation non-werewolf-centric."

"I'll ask her."

Derek stood in front of his family home, staring at it in disbelief. Or rather, he was staring at the pile of rubble that had once been his family home.

What little the fire had left behind after it'd roared through and gutted his home, the earthquake had shaken apart and reduced to nothing but charred, broken remains. If before it had been a corpse, now it was a pile of bones. The last remanent of the Hale legacy, obliterated. Derek wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to scream and rage or break down and sob. He might've been shaking. In fact, he probably was.

It wasn't like he'd been planning to live here; he'd only come back to Beacon Hills to sell the property, after all. The house had stood dead and desolate for years, falling slowly apart with every season, every windstorm. This just meant it had happened faster...

It ocurred to Derek that he'd sort of assumed whoever purchased the land would rebuild the house. There were, of course, a hundred reasons as to why someone would want the Hale property and most of them didn't involve living on it themselves, let alone raising their family on it.

How many Hale children had run through that house? How memories were now laying within that tumbled heap, encased in a tomb of half-burned, half-rotted wood.

Among the broken wooden beams and wall plaster, Derek spied a corner of white. It was covered in dirt and dust, but still managed to somehow reflect just enough sunlight to be noticeable amongst the debris. It was the kitchen stove. The same stove Derek's mother used to bake her famous chocolate chip walnut cookies and the same stove his grandmother used to swear was the only one that baked her apple tart to the right crispness (the one she'd never noticed had been replaced when Derek was ten). And just like that, he realized he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Derek threw his head back and howled his anguish into the wind.

When he looked back to what remained for the house, it was unchanged, but whatever spell had fallen over the place seemed to have been broken by the howl, the tension relaxed. Derek managed to figure out how to get his legs to work; they were shaky, but still managed to carry him to the rubble. He carefully touched a splintered section of wood he recognized as having been part of the front porch.

Derek sighed, looking over the rest of it. Sentimentality aside, this was going to be a lot of work to clean up. To think, just three days ago he and Adrian had started working on rails for the front steps. He ran a hand through his hair. He wished he knew when the universe was going to stop dumping on him. It was like he was cursed-

Derek froze mid-thought. Beacon Hills had been cursed a long time ago and last time it had been his family who stopped it. His eyes widened as he looked at the demolished house. Was this... revenge?

Something ocurred to him and before he'd give his thoughts the time to properly form, he'd already transformed and was racing through the forest, urgency and an instinct he couldn't quite explain spurring him on. Half-way to his goal he became vaguely aware of a second presence joining him. He scented the air: Peter. He wondered if his uncle had seen the house yet, but to ask he would've had to slow down.

He saw it from a distance, but didn't want to truly believe his eyes until he finally came to a standstill five feet away from the familiar sight of the Nemeton. It was just like he'd remembered it from his childhood: standing high above the other trees, its thick branches rustling in the wind.

Hadn't Scott and the others said it'd been a tree stump?

"Well, someone's certainly gone out of their way to impress," said Peter as he came to stand next to him. As smooth as his uncle's voice was, it didn't quite manage to hide the worry.

"Guess we can rule out 'natural causes' for the earthquake this morning," Derek commented.

Peter snorted. "Well, yes, when a town that isn't on a fault line suddenly becomes the epicentre of a 6.2 magnitude earthquake then generally it can be assumed that it's either magic or the work of an evil genuis. Of course, 'genuis' in that case would be a rather dubious title if he'd somehow managed to come to the conclusion that Beacon Hills was the perfect place to hatch his evil plan. Unless said evil plan had something to do with trees."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, Peter?"

"You say that as though all of Beacon Hills didn't hear you howl just now. What was that about anyway?"

"You haven't seen the house yet?"

"The house?" Peter's eyes narrowed. "You mean the family house?"

"Well, what's left of it. It's... a lot less than before."

Peter's eyes widened, pain and horror warring for a moment within their depths. Thn he turned abruptly and ran back the way they'd come. Derek watched the place where the forest had swallowed him for a moment and then sighed. After one, last glance at the expansive Nemeton, Derek took off after his uncle.

Stiles was exhausted. And starting to run low on gas.

The quake had left Aiden and Ethan's basement apartment with a rather impressive floor-to-ceiling crack in their living room and several shattered windows. The twins, being them, had been planning on shrugging and making do. Lydia had taken one look at the apartment and had decided she was having none of that. Stiles had them all to Lydia's house to get settled.

Derek had, meanwhile, silently showed up at the hospital and started helping. Stiles had seen him when he'd brought food to Scott, Scott's mom and Isaac. No one cared where Peter. Derek didn't seemed concerned about this, which meant he either knew, or else also didn't care.

Then Stiles made the mistake of taking some coffee down to his dad, who was coordinating with the rescue crews that had finally arrived from Sacramento. He'd immediately gotten drafted into menial grunt-work and spent the rest of the afternoon/evening running around delivering messages, coffee and food, manning phones, carrying supplies, and, on a few occasions, corralling stray pets.

His dad had finally sent him home at around nine and it had been his honest intention to grab something for dinner and collapse into bed. Until he'd suddenly realized there was someone he'd forgotten: Merlin.

It wasn't that he thought Merlin and Mr. Harris wouldn't be okay – more like they'd laugh at him for thinking that either of them could be hurt by something as mundane as an earthquake. Well, Mr. Harris would laugh at him. Merlin would probably just look stoically amused. It was more that as soon as he'd thought of Merlin, he'd realize the sorcerer could probably confirm what they all thought: that the earthquake was caused by the curse. It was the only thing that made sense and Stiles was convinced that what he'd heard this morning was the Hills singing.

But now that he'd thought of it, he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd seen Merlin and found out the truth. Or as close to the truth as Merlin could give him. Would give him – he had a suspicion that Merlin didn't always tell the whole truth. He just hid it better than Deaton, who seemed to string them along for kicks.

Stiles yawned widely, almost regretting driving out to visit Merlin. Getting some rest before tackling more clean-up efforts tomorrow was probably more important right now. Except that it would make this trip a ridiculous waste of gas. Also, making the three-point turn it would take to go back required more effort than going straight on. Except for that trek through the woods afterwards. In the dark. Yup, Stiles would be the first to agree that this was a spectacularly bad idea. He was reasonably certain he had a flashlight at least.

Stiles yawned again, blinking his eyes rapidly and then opening them as wide as he could. His dad would kill him if he fell asleep at the wheel and ended up in a ditch. So he gripped the wheel tighter and tried to concentrate on the path ahead. And woah... he knew it was night, but when did it get so dark?!

Stiles looked up at the sky. The dark clouds that had suddenly congregated above Beacon Hills looked suitably ominous and uninviting: Hollywood's finest couldn't have done better. Because a storm was exactly what they needed right now. A cold breeze blew in through the open windows and Stiles shivered only partially from the chill.

He pressed down on the gas and clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. He managed to suppress the next yawn. Outside, it became even darker.

Stiles blinked and then there was suddenly a figure standing in the middle of the road. He hit the breaks with a startled cry. Breaks screeched and tires squealed against the asphalt as he swerved to the side. He got one, frightened look at dark, steady eyes and some sort of fur-lined hat before the jeep drove off the road and down into the shallow ditch.

For several moments, Stiles just sat there, his hands still gripping the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead, his breaths quick and jerky. His racing heart catapulted him towards the other end of exhausted, where he felt so wide awake there was practically electricity sizzling around him. He turned to look out the back window. And there was no one there. Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head before opening them again. Nope, still nothing.

Was he seriously so tired he was hallucinating?

Stiles got out of the jeep to get a better look around. There was no evidence that anyone had ever stood in the middle of the road. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe heading home was the smarter thing to do after all.

He took one step towards the car and froze as the ground beneath him began to shake. "Shit," he said under his breath. They'd mentioned aftershocks. The earth rumbled louder, but beneath that rumbling, Stiles suddenly heard something else.

It too got louder and louder, until all Stiles could hear was the heavy beat of a drum and, underlying that, a steady screeching cacophony of sound that might've been voices or a flock of high-pitched crows or possibly even a pack of dying dogs. He screamed and, somewhere outside the noise, he heard a crash.

And around his heart, the Darkness pulsed and wavered, echoing the rumbling outside him and squeezing its way slowly into his soul.

When the ground stopped shaking and the noise inside his head went silent, Stiles finally managed to take a deep breath and open his eyes. And realized he was laying on the ground. With a groan, he slowly stood on shaky legs, wincing as his knee twitched – there was a dirty patch on his jeans, which meant he'd probably fallen on it – and looked around.

The sky was even darker now, the clouds having crept closer and covered even the brightest star. The wind had picked up, waving tree branches around like rags and twirling leaves around like confetti. The world... looked different. No, Stiles realized, it felt different. He couldn't quite pin-point why (and possibly it was the exhaustion talking, although he didn't feel tired at the moment), but everything around him felt almost dream-like. As though he were watching and feeling it through a pane of glass or plastic wrap.

And there was a tree laying across the front of his jeep. Crap.