the aftermath with gaia, some derek being freaky as he always is and too much mention of people's scent, nothing out of normality in here

II - REALITY

"This Gaia," Deaton murmured with a hint of disbelief. "She played you, Stiles."

Stiles nodded, his face white sick pale, as he rolled on his side, out of breath. He had felt them, the bonds of the Earth, merge with his body. Damn it. Gaia - his hands, roots, or whatever you wanted - had come to wrap himself around his heart, tossing it around as one would turn over a piece of soil ready to be sown before planting its seeds. Gagging, Stiles felt no remorse as he threw up at Chris's feet, who just had the bad idea to step forward to see how the teenager was doing. Needless to say, he regretted his benevolent gesture, while serving the young man with a disgusted grimace.

"Charming Stilinski," he commented.

Stiles must have grunted a few unintelligible words that weren't really nice, since the hunter raised mocking eyebrows at him.

"How do you feel, Stiles?" Ask Alan.

He'd seen the boy get fucking stab by a magic plant, and then collapsed to the ground like a wax doll. Did he need to point out that all this had hardly been done without a myriad of screams? By this time, Deaton was certain that all the wolves in the county must have heard him and would soon be on their way with their fangs out. And all this for what?

Stiles collapsed when he tried to stand up - like dog poop in the sidewalk.

"Shit," he swore, flashing an angry look to his legs.

Deaton was immediately at his side, helping him to stand up and then, to stand without falling down, something for which Stiles was grateful. He had tasted enough dirt to last a lifetime.

"What happened? One minute I could hear Gaia's words, the next minute it was as if someone had pressed the mute button."

"Oh, that ," said Stiles, breathing heavily.

His gaze shifted slightly away as he replayed the scene, like a slow-motion movie. How could he explain to the man that Gaia hadn't just lent him her magic, that there was a price for any being making use of the divine powers of the Gods? The more he would use this gift, the more he would want to use it, like a strong drug, addiction would come. And just as with cocaine, or other drugs, the effects on his health would come gradually. In what form? Stiles had no idea. Gaia just shrugged her shoulders and said, "Who will live, will see." Except that Stiles wasn't sure he would survive it. Not to mention that if he were to snatch a life, his own would be doomed to eternal servitude to the Mother Goddess. That's just great , he thought.

"Stilinski, you're with us, mate ?"

The teenager jumped a little..

"Yeah... Huh. You didn't miss much. The usual super-narcissistic blah-blah of the Gods who love to freak out poor mortals."

"You sure? Taking us for a ride would be a very bad idea, as you can imagine."

Stiles shrugged.

Actually, the idea of taking a step out of line with Chris seemed to him less disturbing than disobeying Gaia. So he let out a big yawn to end the conversation. He didn't even need to pretend to be tired, to be honest, he didn't even know how he had managed to line up more than three words. All he dreamed of now was a hot shower and a good night's sleep - maybe even days, who knows?

"I'll walk you home in that case. I'm not sure it would be safe for you to drive."

Stiles hadn't even had time to protest, Deaton had - by some miracle - retrieved Roscoe's keys - a.k.a., Stilinski's beloved jeep - and soon waved to the boy to get into the passenger side, which he did not without reluctance.

"Treat her like you would your wife," he grumbled for any warning.

Deaton offered him a clever smile as he climbed on the driver's side and adjusted his position behind the wheel.

"I'm not married, Stiles," he answered, amused.

The jeep stalled badly and the teenager swore:

"Well, imagine it's the tiny-Deaton. You handle it smoothly and flexibly and..".

"Oh Lord , Stiles... !"

Roscoe started, under the relieved sigh of the veterinarian. How Scott had managed to put up with the hyperactive all these years were the only thoughts the man had when he took the trail out of the forest.

Chris Argent stayed behind and was careful to clean up the traces of the summoning ritual before leaving, thinking that he would have to keep a very close eye on the Sheriff's son. He was convinced that Stiles hadn't told them everything.

Stiles curled up in a ball under his comforter, burying his face in his pillow with obvious happiness. He was exhausted and that was still an euphemism. Yet, no matter how he turned and turned again under his sheets, he couldn't sleep. He had even tested his favorite position - on his side/belly, one arm under his pillow, the other wedged against him, his hand under his cheek and one of his legs, usually the left, since he was leaning on his right side, so curled up that he managed to touch his thigh with his elbow - a big mess among other things. But then again, his mind had decided that he could go fuck himself, too busy spinning his brains at full throttle.

He grunted, rolled onto his back, his arms spread out on either side of his body, he let himself think and stare at the ceiling, finally getting carried away by his thoughts. His thoughts that revolved again and again around one and only one person. Gaia. Apart from the pain he had felt, nothing seemed to have changed in him. He couldn't hear any better, had no great sense of smell, and no great sight. He felt normal if nothing else. Yet hadn't she told him that he would be the guardian of his magic? The time of the Moon, Stiles remembered. Talk about a hint. What was he supposed to do between now and then? Because it was clear that he would have to attack on the next full moon. That's a month, by the way. When Deucalion would be at the height of his strength. A shiver of terror made the teenager curl up on himself. He had no idea what the Magic of Gaia was all about. How was he supposed to use it? Should he just show up on the big day, praying that the deity would not laugh at him? Should he hold out his arms, snap his fingers, or utter a Harry Potter-style super-magic formula?

He didn't know a damn thing about it.

A knock against his window stopped him in his weird theories. With an exhausted grunt, he crawled out of bed - holding an expletive when his muscles pulled painfully - and walked to his window, which he opened in a mood. He was surprised to find Derek clutching the gutter as if his life depended on it. This house won't survive, he thought to himself with some annoyance.

"The doors, Hale, are not made for dogs."

The wolf growled for any answer, pushed Stiles away so he could slip into the teenager's room with ease.

"Please make yourself at home. Tea and cupcakes maybe?"

"Stilinski. Shut up".

" You shut up! Where do you think you are? You do you think you are ? Get outta here. Now is not the time to be a pain in my ass."

A large, warm hand slipped against his lips, preventing him from finishing his sentence. With his other hand, the werewolf motioned to him to shut it. The light in the hallway had just turned on and the heavy footsteps of Sheriff Stilinski walking up the stairs could be heard. Derek growled when he perceived the boy's attempt to signal his presence.

"Shut up, Stiles. It's important, we need to talk."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Come on , his face seemed to tell. How often do you break into people's houses when you want to talk to them? Don't you know how cell phones actually works? Stupid mutt. Derek thought that even quiet, Stiles was a goddamn chatterbox. How the hell could one face tell so much?

"Everything's okay, son?"

Derek moved slightly away from Stiles, glaring at him.

"Just fine, Dad.. I'm heading to bed, I'll see you in the morning"

There was a moment of hesitation, an exhausted sigh and Noah Stilinski nodded, wishing the boy a good night. Stiles turned his attention to Derek, eyebrows raised and arms folded against his chest.

"I'm waiting," he said as if it wasn't obvious enough.

The wolf growled, unsurprisingly, before slowly approaching. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes, usually green, now tugged at the red so slightly that Stiles could not be entirely sure. Suddenly, Derek Hale started sniffing him.

It was immediate, Stiles pushed him back into his stomach, although he doubted that he had actually hurt or even grazed Hale, and gave him his most exasperated look. The wolf retreated back, not without thundering his younger brother's gaze.

"What?" He grumbled with his deep tone.

Stiles shivered for no apparent reason.

"What? What?! He dared to ask. Are you kidding me ? People don't sniff each other, sourwolf. If you think I'm going to sniff your buttwhole, you're barking up the wrong tree."

That's why Derek limited contact with humans in general. They were idiots and incapable of understanding. Where the wolf used his sense of smell to find his way, the human neglected it. Men were stupid. So he decided to act as if the hyperactive had not just opened his big mouth once again. What he wanted to know was why and how Stiles's smell had changed. Not if he was going to sniff him out, what was that again? The buttwhole? He wasn't a fucking dog, for God's sake.

"You don't smell the same anymore," Hale mumbled without any delicacy. "Why don't you smell the same?"

And he started poking around in the teenager's room, frowning at the sight of a deodorant, which he thought camouflaged the smells in a very unnatural way, and an eau de cologne, the one he usually smelled over the natural smell of the boy's skin.

"Um.. Derek? Did you smoke something before you came? Cause you're freaking me out."

"What have you done, Stiles...," Derek replied with something like pain within his voice.

Stiles was surprised. At least as much as when the Wolf came closer, until their two torsos touched. Holy Mary Mother of God, this dude is hella crazy.

"The whole forest carries your scent, Stilinski. You carry the smell of the forest, of home . So I'll ask you once more, what the hell have you been doing?"

He could almost see wolf's fangs from where he was, feel the breath of the man on his nose, its wild scent - the smell of the earth after the rain and that something beastly. Stiles made a frightened throat sound. He's going to eat me, he thought. He's staring at me as if he's going to eat me. And probably rightly so. Hale's pupils were so dilated that they looked black. In his head, the Wolf cried out: home! home! home! And Derek had to refrain from placing the human against a wall to smear it with his own scent, the scent of his pack. Then the wolf growled, pushed the teenager away without consideration and as Stiles fell to the ground, the man ran away, without even waiting for the teen's answer. The very one who didn't seem to suffer in the least from his violent fall. Under his backside, a large carpet of foam had spread out, cushioning his fall. Lichen? Stiles stared at the greenery on the floor of his room, his mouth wide open.

Damn it. How was he going to explain this to his father?

When he woke up the next day - not exactly on time if you'd asked me - Stiles wondered if he hadn't dreamt the whole thing with Gaia. His muscles were no longer aching like hell, the lichen mat had disappeared from his room and he was feeling good. So putting his strange dream aside - he really had to stop watching shows so late - he shifted into fourth gear in the shower, quickly grabbed something to wear, quickly put on his red hoodie - his favorite by the way - and went through the kitchen to eat something solid before leaving the house, which he had to enter again when he realized that he had forgotten his school bag and car keys. Once inside the house, he allowed himself to breath for a long time. No matter how hard it rained, you'd never know why he was in such a damn good mood.

Wait until I tell you about my dream buddy, you won't believe this ! He thought with a certain amusement. He drove off and set off for his high school, singing the catchy tune by Chelsea Dagger , from the band The Frattelis . He probably looked like a crazy man with the windows all open and singing at the top of his lungs in his car, but Stiles being who he was, he didn't give a damn. He easily ignored the strange glances he received as he turned off his engine in the school parking lot. His school bag over his shoulder, he slammed the door, locked the car and walked quietly inside the building, indifferent to the rain. Nothing could have marred his good mood.

Nothing, except for Scott who arrived with a smile, which he lost for a curious pout.

"Hey Stiles, we weren't expecting you anymore," said the Mexican, squeezing his shoulder with one hand.

Further on, Isaac and his dog gang gave him strange, curious looks. Scott coughed, good simulator.

"Uh.. Dude. Did you roll around in the mud before you came?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows, looking like he was clearly asking if he wasn't kidding himself. The schoolboy looked a little embarrassed.

"You don't feel the same anymore. I mean. You smell like the woods and uh... like home ," he said like he was sharing a secret.

Stiles's frightened face made a voice burst out laughing in his head . Hilarious, it murmured. Humans are hilarious