where it's time to move on, where stiles learn more about magic, where this whole situation will give him matter to talk with a shrink in few years cause there's * trauma * involved

V - WORK IN PROGRESS

"Um, no way," Stiles said as he started poking through the egg's transparency with a fork.

He had started making breakfast by seven.

With absolute none surprise, he heard a voice answer to him with quite a funny tone.

But why ? she asked quietly, and the Sheriff's son could perfectly imagine her purring like a cat.

He frowned slightly when he put the pepper in the cupboard above his head after seasoning breakfast.

"Because I'm not going to take a flowerpot to school, just for your pleasure," he simply replied.

He rested his weapon of mass destruction a.k.a. the flat thing that could flip steaks and went to get two slices of bacon from his refrigerator that he proceed to toss next to his barely cooked egg. Behind him, the said flowerpot seemed to be outraged by such an appellation.

Pathetic Protector, he sulked and Stiles rolled his eyes. His attention was diverted from the gas stove for a moment. He leaned towards the orchid on the kitchen window sill.

"You're acting like a child," he said softly, a bit amused.

The flower slightly unfurled its petals, waving as if a breeze had come to seep between its leaves.

And you're not being fair, was the annoyed answer the flower gave him.

Stiles sneered, thinking that since his ritual; twelve days earlier, his life had become quite strange.

After the ficus - George - of the economy room, then the whole forest, it was the potted plants that had begun to awaken at his touch. Initially intimidated on both sides, Stiles had quickly discovered that "those beasts" were all that was "fun" or "interesting". Life at the Stilinski's home had become... much noisier than ever without the teenager's father even realizing it. At least, he had attributed Stiles' quirks to his habitual temperament. Talking to himself, laughing, choking in the middle of a meal as if someone had thrown something inappropriate. Stiles had always been a strange boy for as long as he could remember. The only thing that seemed more than odd lately was his sudden passion for flowers. An umpteenth of his suspicious whims would soon pass, Noah Stilinski thought to himself as he stared at the white petalled plant resting on his kitchen window. That and these cactuses that had appeared out of nowhere in the living room, not to mention the other plants with unpronounceable names that Stiles seemed to find every day. The Sheriff had no idea how his boy had gotten his hands on them, since he had assured him that he hadn't spent a dollar. Stiles, on the other hand, seemed very eager to take care of his purchases. Enthusiastic, sometimes doubtful or apprehensive. He had once seen him widening his eyes at a cactus, asking him if he was sure he didn't want to be watered. But of course, that was nothing compared to his last requests, was it not?

Honestly, Stiles couldn't understand why his father had been so sceptical. He once again abandoned Leia the orchid in favor of his kitchen after he had carefully watered it. It wasn't as if he had asked for a new car or a new expensive phone, as all sixteen-year-olds tend to do. No. He just gave his best puppy look and asked for a rabbit. His father's face had been priceless, of course, but the kid, since he had taken a nap with a lovable ball of white fur, hadn't had anything else on his mind. With a skillful wrist movement, Stiles quickly flipped the bacon back into his frying pan, which had turned slightly brown due to its tendency to disconnect from reality.

You know...,sighed Leila behind him. I'm a very pretty flower. You should be proud to be able to stand beside me.

"Of course," smiled Stiles who gave her a look of amusement, "but men rarely tend to walk around with flowers, let alone in high school."

Stupid Man, she mumbled as the boy started to laugh out loud. At that moment, the Sheriff appeared in the kitchen, his face marked by curiosity as he adjusted his work belt around her waist.

"What's going on?" he asked. "What's the good mood for ?"

Quickly, his eyes searched the room, convinced that he would discover a secret girlfriend stashed somewhere. He had, of course, heard Stiles answer to someone, hadn't he? His son just shrugged his shoulders, still smirking.

"A personal reflection on flowers and men," he said as he turned off the gas.

"Is that so ?"

"And also the fact that this is your last murder meal."

The Sheriff's eyebrows were raised quickly as the teenager began to laugh quietly. Then he started making himself a sandwich of hummus and cucumbers. The adult winced, taking the plate Stiles was giving him. Eggs and bacon. His favourites.

"Murder meal?" he ends up asking out of curiosity.

He had a rough idea of what Stiles meant by that, but as the saying goes, hope is what keeps you alive, isn't it?

"The greasy stuff you swallow morning, noon and night. Your cholesterol will thank me in ten years, believe me. That is, if it's not too late."

He paused, frowning.

"What I mean is, you can live without meat, fat, all that. And eat healthy. Vegetables to start with and fruits and then..."

"Wait a minute..." mumbled the adult a little as he sat down on one of the stools on the center island. "What's the connection between meat and fat? Not all meat is bad. None really is. Just the way it is cooked."

"Really?" innocently asked the boy.

Noah knew at about this time that he wasn't really going to like what was coming next.

"Yes", the patriarch insisted.

Stiles didn't seem to mind at all.

"However, I sincerely think we should both start a vegetarian diet. You know what? I'll even call Melissa and the four of us, with Scott I mean, start this anti-meat program. I mean, hey, seriously? Eating animals, dad? It's not nice, really. They're there, cute, adorable, just wanting to live their quiet little lives, breed, eat grass or God knows what, really. And we're there and we're slaughtering them to put them on our plates."

Stiles took a long breath, no ever out of it. Monologuing was his thing after all. And yes, the thought, since Eurydice, since Gaia, even since that damn rabbit, his point of view on many things had changed. It was no longer just the trees, the flowers, the bugs that populated the world. It was Life, Consciousness, Everything. And the teenager was painfully aware of that, every day a little more. Having his mind linked to that of nature made him much too sensitive to this kind of thing. And a sensitive Stiles, was a Stiles that attracted attention. Noah had put down his cutlery and was now staring at his son as if he had never seen him before. Yes, Stiles had never been a tough guy. He was hiding behind his sarcastic remarks and irony, yes. But never again. Seeing him strongly protesting the treatment of animals was... new.

"Is everything all right?" his dad asked softly as he joined his hand in front of him.

It was typical of the nice cop's posture and seeing that made the son pout.

"Sure, Dad," he said, and Noah asked again:

"School?"

"Same old."

"Really?"

"Really," insisted Stiles.

He stuffed his lunch into his school bag, grabbed an apple and bite into it vividly, defying his father with a look, to continue his investigation. The Sheriff must not have understood the message, as he continued:

"It's been a while since I've seen Scott hanging around here."

It was said in a perfectly nonchalant tone. Alas, the budding young Protector knew his father all too well. He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that's what happens when people start dating," he mumbled with a hint of bitterness. "They become strange and swear by the love-of-their-lives. Believe me, you really don't want to be the third wheel."

"But everything is going well between you, right?"

No, he wanted to answer. No, because my best friend thinks I'm crazy, that I'm growing out of control. Because two members of the pack have been kidnapped by a demon werewolf and a third one only sees me as liability. No, because I have to lie to him about the skills I was recently given. Didn't I tell you, Dad? The Gods exist and I made a deal with Gaia. Yes, the very Creator of the universe, apparently. I made a deal with her that I became the Protector of Nature with all the caps. I can grow plants with just my mental strength, and you know what? They talk to me too. Flowers, plants, Nature itself. They talk to me and are almost as talkative as I am. Nymphs exist too, Dad. They exist and apparently, the fairies, the dryads and everything you could think about too. That's real. Monsters, everything. And I'm here trying to save people who can't stand me or who think I'm crazy. By the way, the cactus by the TV is called Anakin, and the one on the coffee table is called Obi-wan. Even if they are not convinced of the usefulness of the thing. But they haven't seen Star Wars, so I understand in a way. They don't have the reference. Who could blame them? They're just plants, for God's sake. And did I mention this rabbit, dad? That animal who thinks I'm his Mother-but-not quite? The wildlife that thinks I'm warmth-home-cocon-summer? How am I even supposed to look at a steak after that? After hearing their voices in my head? After feeling the trust placed in me, without them even taking the time to get to know me? I'm not 'okay' dad. I think I'm panicking, I think I did something wrong and I can't tell anyone about it, because I'm supposed to be this said-Protector, you know? I'm terrified. Deucalion terrifies me dad, so much so that I don't sleep at night. But more than that, I'm afraid of discovering your body one fine morning, gutted or God knows what else. I'm afraid of finding out that Scott died from the clutches of that sick man, afraid of remaining the human of the useless pack whose only goal is to be saved forever.

Oh, Stiles, sighed a voice in his head. And, without even knowing how he managed to do this, his face was a smiling pile of marble when he answered, with disconcerting naturalness:

"Of course! Have you ever seen Bonnie & Clyde separated? Tom & Jerry? Batman & Robin?"

"Tom tries to kill Jerry every few episodes, or at least eat him," remarked his dad, eyebrows raised despite his frank, amused smile.

"Oh well, you know, with those beasts, you're never safe from a bite," replied malicious Stiles...

Then he seemed to hit the meaning of his words, opened his mouth and closed it, before opening it again.

"Not that we're the type to bite each other, I mean. At least not me. And not that Scott can bite me either! And by me, I also mean Allison! Or anyone else! I mean. Hey, it's Scotty, he doesn't bite. Nobody bites anybody... Damn, that sounded so much less weird and dirty in my head."

His father let out a mocking laugh.

"That's only because you just made it sound weird and dirty, Stiles," he said as his son rolled his eyes.

Quickly, the Sheriff put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, put his hand against the back of his son's neck and gently squeezed it, before running down the hallway to the entrance, quickly putting on his shoes.

"Don't wait for me for dinner, with these new bodies found, I still have a lot of paperwork to fill out."

"It's ain't an excuse to go full pizza dad, this is a warning i'm giving you." said Stiles as goodbye. But then, he came again: "You know what? I'll bring you something, just to make sure."

"You really don't have to St..."

"I insist. Cholesterol and all of it."

"Cholesterol and animals," Mr. Stiliniski wisely repeated, and the teenager nodded, beaming.

When he closed the door behind him, it was over his son's mumbling about propaganda T-shirts and something called PETA¹. God, he loved his kid with all his heart, but sometimes Stiles was just... light years away from him.

When it was time for Stiles to get to class, the boy managed to surprise himself by warning Leïa, Anakin and Obi-wan of his absence, while he grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter.

"I'll be back after noon" he said in a slightly quiet tone, the pulp of his fingers gently touching the leaves of the orchid.

He didn't even need to concentrate anymore to feel life going by. It was as if an astral projection of himself was rushing to touch the spirit of every living being. He felt it in his head, in his body, everywhere. For a moment he wondered if this was how an Alpha felt the bonds of his pack. A constant presence at the edge of his mind. Whispers, songs, warmth. All is well. All is well that soothed Stiles without his even realizing it.

Letting out some last words such as "be good and nice," he got out of this house. He tossed his bag on the passenger's side, sat behind the wheel and managed to get the car ready to go after only two tries.

Reality hit him hard too much too soon. In fact, he noticed it as soon as he parked his jeep in the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School, (or BHHS for short.) Scott was there, of course, along with Allison who was standing next to him because of the biting cold of March. With Roscoe's keys still in the palm of his hand, Stiles twirled them around his index finger, in a nervous gesture, before putting them back in his pocket. He didn't even have to look up to guess Isaac in the distance. He had felt it, without even being able to explain it. It was a combination of animosity, hatred and total desolation. It was like being split in two, and the young Protector had quickly realized in the last few weeks that normal humans don't have this strange cut, separation, barrier. They were simple, but also very difficult to feel, because man had a more elaborate consciousness. With werewolves, he had observed, it was like facing two very different people. One was complicated, human. The other, simple, bestial. Their animal parts were what Stiles could feel best. Because they were nature in its primal state, not under evolved, it was just.. different. He couldn't yet feel the wolf in himself, but more... the aura that surrounded him. The emotions. And if Isaac Lahey's human hatred was totally directed at him, all he focused on was the "sorry, sorry, sorry!" that seemed to echo in his mind.

Why? he wondered, staring at the young man. Nor was he surprised to hear Eurydice's voice dawn in his mind.

She said:

Because he recognizes you as a Protector.

And :

The wolves know to whom to turn.

And also :

You are home, comfort, summer, cotton. You are pack, protection, nature. The wolf knows.

And he doesn't know if he should be relieved or horrified by it. He didn't know how to handle this new information, so he threw it somewhere deep in his mind, secretly hoping to forget it. He didn't like the idea of being important to half a person. It was like forcing Isaac to like it, in the end, wasn't it?

No, Eurydice blew into his head. The boy is stupid and sad. He doesn't know. He doesn't listen.

His heart tightened as he thought of the reason for Isaac's obvious sadness. Boyd and Erica, missing for twelve days now and still no way to locate them. No one had seen them, felt them, nothing. They were as if they had vanished, so much so that one could almost believe that they had never existed. Almost. Only all of them - the wolves at least - knew that Deucalion was behind it. And every day that went by was one less chance for Team Free Will³ to find them.

"Stiles?" called Scott, realizing that his best friend had once again lost himself in his own head. The human (or at least what was left of him), raised his eyes to the Mexican, frowning slightly.

"Yeah?" he says distractedly, still lost in this story of wolf-emotion-Deucalion.

There was a moment of hesitation in young McCall. Even though he had spent a lot more time with Allison, or even Derek and Isaac to find the two missing wolves, he still noticed the change in the Stilinski. More dissipated than ever. He bit his tongue lightly as he wondered if he should ask the question, knowing that it would surely annoy the hyperactive one.

His mouth finally opened, but there was not even time to say anything, since the Protector had already cut it off.

"I'm fine," he cut a little more coldly than he wanted.

"Are you sure that..."

"Yes, I'm sure. Scott, damn it. Stop it. This is getting ridiculous!" the teenager got angry.

Scott raised his hands to let him know that he was giving up and immediately a heavy silence extended until the bell marking the beginning of the class was heard. Without a word or a glance back, Stiles sped off to his first class of the day, with a heavy heart.

Two weeks, he thought like a mantra. Two weeks and it will all be over.

Stiles didn't know how right he was.

Who also said fifteen days (seventeen in fact) remaining, necessarily said confrontation. And who said confrontation, said power. And at the moment, Stiles was not even a tenth sure how to master the powers he had received, or even what they were or what they consisted of. Of course, this fact had amused the Dryad, who since then seemed to taunt him with her simple mutinous smiles.

"If you really want to do it, you will," she said quietly, before adding in a much too joyful tone: "Or you will die trying. "

Needless to say, once again, that this had reassured the young aspiring Protector only very moderately (not at all, in fact). Even though he spent all his free time working on the subject, he still couldn't manage to do anything useful. Finally, unless one could consider that growing a daisy in the palm of his hand would help him kick Deucalion's hairy butt once and for all. If it didn't, well, Stiles was willing to bet that he would soon be joining his mother six feet underground. Growling loudly, he threw a raging kick at a rock, almost broke his toe, and immediately began cursing, hopping around a little stupidly, moaning against himself and his stupidity, when the ringing of his phone echoed through the small woods behind the school.

"The Spices Girls, Mieczysław, really?" Eurydice giggled behind his back.

The teenager rolled his eyes, barely holding back from addressing his middle finger. It was downright mean, especially in front of a much older, powerful and ... what? Legendary? He pinched the bridge of his nose as he picked it up, mumbling a wave:

"Yep?" his ask as soon as the phone reached his ears.

"Stiles, where are you?" Scott's voice immediately followed.

Of course, the human thought tiredly, count on Scott to arrive at just the right time.

"Somewhere between the library and none-of-your-business Scotty."

Was it wrong to enjoy the stunned silence of the guy he was supposed to think of as his brother? His best friend? His person? A small voice in the back of his head sneered and he dropped his concerns about his mental health, he counted to ten, until young McCall recovered from the gentle spade.

"Stiles... You can talk to me, you know? If there's anything bothering you. Whether it's about the wolves or you or..."

"Or the fact that you think I'm crazy?" he retorted camly.

Stiles waited for the pain to bloom in his cheat. He waited for the characteristic, bitterness, grief, anger. Nothing came except for a distant amusement. Oh well, had he ever gotten over that? Not Scott apparently. Stiles could perfectly hear the Mexican's voice breaking at the other end of the line.

"Oh, Stiles...," he said. "You're not crazy, damn it. You're not, okay ? It's just, uh... I get it, you know? That you're lost with everything that's going on. I understand that you need to dive in a little bit and I understand that you don't necessarily want to talk about it..."

"Scott, it's not..."

"Just let me finish! Damn it Stiles. You're my brother, man. And it's my job to keep your head above water. I don't know what's happening to you right now, but this isn't you. Lying, running away. That's not the Stiles Stilinski I know. You think I don't notice? Your mood swings, your irritability, the way you get lost in your head - and we both know what a mess this place is, Stiles. The thing is, you used to tell me everything. When things weren't going well, when the world was getting blurry or loud around you. What happened that made you run off like that? So that you'd end up lying to me? And don't you dare give me an excuse, Stiles. I know when I'm being lied to, remember?"

"Scott, um..."

"Come on, man. Give me something. Work with me on that. I don't get it. I don't understand why it has come to this point, having to blow off steam over the phone because it's getting too hard to get a hold of you. Are you avoiding me or something?"

"Scott...," tried Stiles again as he was torn between irritation and an amount of love.
Funny mix, he thought unnecessarily and also visibly unable to fully concentrate on his BFF's monologue.

"Is it because of Allison? Because if it is, I'd try harder, Stiles. And you know it, I mean. Shit, I love her. I do, all right? I love her. But you and me, shit. It's more, man. So if it's because of her..."

"Scott, for the love of God, will you shut up for 30 seconds so I can get a word in?"

How the hell Scott could be so right and yet so completely off the mark was a total mystery to the Protector. The realization that he had totally abandoned him for Allison felt good and bad at the same time. Because it made things even more real. Where everything had always been Scott&Stiles for most of his life, things had since evolved. Since that famous trip to the woods in Beacon Hills, since Laura Hale, since Derek and his psycho uncle, since the beast bite that turned out to be a werewolf, since Scott's first full moon. They had found allies, friends, enemies, guys who wanted to kill them, guys who turned into murderous lizards, more werewolves... Their duo had become a pack, a pack in which he had never really belonged, because of his human status. Scott and him, he realized, did not exist any more, since many months.

It's time, said a small voice in his dead. Stiles knew. He knew it was something he should have done twelve days ago. A lump filled his throat as he breathed in as if to build up his courage.

"Stiles, are you still there buddy?" asked the young wolf in a shy tone.

And boy, the Protector knew that his face must be an exact reflection of his own. Pain, the eternal incomprehension, hesitation. He probably even had that hangdog look on his crooked face.

"Yeah," he said unnecessarily.

Scott knew that, after all. Didn't he have super hearing? He doubted for a moment that he could manage it. Keep him away for his safety, for his life, for everything. He was a damn werewolf, wasn't he? He would hear the pain in her voice, the lie.

"No", Eurydice said and her hands were soon all over her young student's face. "No", she repeated again, "because you will not lie. You can't be there with them anymore. Not if you want to save them. Heroes are always lonely, child. "

And Stiles wanted to deny it. He wanted to name Batman and Robin, Arrow and Spartan, Clark and Lois, hell, anyone, as long as he could keep his Bro with him. He knew he was a weathervane, of course. One minute he was pretending to be crazy to get him away from him, the next he was ready to beg him not to worry, to just come by his house after school so he could kick his ass on Mortal Kombat over pizza and freshly bought sodas.

Do it, the Dryad repeated. For him, for them, for you. It's like an old band-aid being ripped off. It will sting and hurt at first, but it will get better afterwards, she promised.

The human really wanted to believe her. He wanted to with all his heart, because at that moment, he hated himself from the bottom of his being.

"Scott," he said after long minutes that felt like hours.

He heard the teenager almost squeal behind the line and a pained smile painted his pale lips.

"I can't do this anymore."

One. Two. Three. Four. Five, he began to count stupidly: a habit. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

"... What?"

Then he threw everything he had, like an uppercut, like a tornado, like a hurricane. He said:

"I can't do this anymore.. The werewolves, the supernatural, the dead. I can't do it anymore, Scott. Not a day goes by that I don't see all those dead people when I close my eyes, not a day goes by that I don't think some guy with fangs and claws is going to come along and rip my heart out, or my father's. My dad, Scott. I can't do that, not to him. I'm all he's got left, damn it. My mom's dead, Scott, and I'm all he's got, and this unsolved murder thing is really screwing him up."

"Stiles..."

"I'm not done. Damn it, Scotty. He's been drinking again, okay? His bosses are all over him, the FBI is considering opening an investigation, they're gonna fire his ass. That can't happen. I can't let that happen. He's my father and I'm all he has left and we're human. You don't miraculously heal after a broken bone or a gunshot, whether it's from a gun or an arrow. Fucking arrows, Scott! There are guys out there with guns, silver bullets and fucking crossbows! How many times are we going to have to walk by death, only to have it take us away? How many times are we going to have to get our asses kicked so that we realize we're not enough? How do you deal with that, huh?"

"Together, Stiles. We face it together, please don't do this..."

"Do what, Scott? Put my dad's life before mine? Before yours? Get us to safety before those damn shifters eat us alive?"

"Don't leave me, Stiles. I can't do this without you. Shit. You're the one who saves my ass every time. Every damn time, Stiles!"

Shit, Stiles thought as he closed his eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Then I guess you're going to have to learn to save your own ass, Scott. Because this is over."

"Stiles..."

"No, Scott. It's over. You and those freaks, I don't want to hear any more about it," he told him.

It was cold and hateful, mean and vicious. The human knew exactly where to strike to hurt. Because that was what it was like when you knew someone so well that you couldn't get past their fears. He breathed in, one more time. One more. He mastered the tremor in his voice, in his hands, in everything.

"I'm not going to wait for my best friend to kill me, to see that this is all fucked-up."

"I would never..."

"You already have, Scott, that's my point. You tried to kill me, more than once. Because you can't control the monster inside you. And that monster will one day come out and kill everyone you care about."

"That is not..."

"True? We both know it is. How long before it's someone close to you? Your mother? Allison?"

"I would never..."

"Hurt them. Yeah, I know, Scotty. I've heard that somewhere before."

"Stiles...," begged the boy and he must not have been alone, because Stiles could hear like an echo, whispering voices, including one: What an asshole! coming most probably from an angry Isaac. He smiled slightly. They would make it without him, they had no choice. Scott wasn't as stupid as he wanted to make out, Isaac wasn't so tough and Derek wasn't so... Derek. Between the three of them, they would last seventeen lousy days, right?

Afterwards, he thought, afterwards he would go crawling if he had to, to regain the graces of his best friend. In the meantime. He exchanged a look with Eurydice whose lips soon moved silently, her voice echoing in his head:

Like an old bandage.

He simply nodded.

"Don't try to contact me again, either by message or anything else," he said while a squeaky-sounding voice echoed in his ear. "Bye McCall."

You had to, the pretty Dryad said later as she tightened her ivy fingers against her young apprentice's shoulder.

She didn't raise her voice per se, understanding the young man's need for silence. She must have expected him to start crying too. Or at least that he would shout, hit something, someone. She had expected all possible reactions, except this one. Stiles had calmly slipped his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He was silent and tough and with surprise, Eurydice noticed that his aura had changed. Colder, tougher, again. More calm. It was pain and bitterness but also obstinacy and strength. Anger.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked shortly afterwards, as he straightened his head to look at the creature with his chocolate eyes.

And she saw it. The kid's resolutions. She saw it as if it had magically regained its strength. As if cutting the ties had been the only thing to do to allow him to evolve. To give him access to Gaia's magic. There were no more shadows, no more noise, no more interference between him and the other side of the world. It was like removing the plug from the bathtub. With her head slightly tilted to the side, Eurydice offered a slight smile to the human.

"Oh well, nothing more I guess," she said quietly.

The next moment, Stiles saw a thick and thorny liana coming out of the ground itself and melting towards him. He didn't think twice about it when he put a knee to the ground. Nor did he think twice when he put his palm to the wet grass, or even when he suddenly raised it to the sky, as if he had just pulled up a weed or... a wall of earth was erected between him and the probably deadly vine... invoking a protective barrier from the ground. It was not high, nor even very solid, since it did not take long for it to collapse under Eurydice's assault, but it was already much more than anything he had managed to do until now. Still better than a poor flower growing in the palm of his hand.

The liana attacked the last pieces of this wall built in a hurry.

"I think you're pretty hard on those poor flowers, kid," she said as the vine nearly punctured the young Protector's arm.

Stiles grunted a little, for the sake of argument, and leapt back to avoid a rain of thorns.

"It's not like I can kick Deucalion's ass with a damn daisy," he said bitterly.

Only the laugh of the woman-made-of-flowers-and-leaves, answered him. And, without knowing why, the young man knew he should have kept his mouth shut. There, right in front of him, Eurydice stretched her palm towards the sky. Hypnotized, he saw a little something swarming, moving, wriggling. He saw this thing stretching towards the sky, brown and thin, while its creator put his knees on the ground. She spread her hands, depositing the growing twig in the grass, and immediately what Stiles guessed to be roots sank deep into the ground. What happened next left him speechless. He saw the twig grow, grow, grow. He saw the trunk forming, the leaves turning green, life taking over everything. It was like watching a documentary on the growth of a tree in accelerated version. Forty seconds and he had a tree at hip height right in front of him. One minute and thirty-three seconds and, well, that tree was his height. He took a step back, counted two minutes and ten seconds and had to look up to see the top of that tree. Three minutes and it already looked so tall that Stiles knew a fall from the first branch would have snapped his neck. Five and this oak seemed to be the master of this forest because it was so big and fat and magnificent and royal and whatever the fuck you want. A little more and the trunk seemed to unfold on itself, like a swing that had been twisted on itself before letting it turn and turn and turn to untangle its strings. There was now a hollow within it, a hollow lined with moss and leaves and flowers. Like a nest. Like a house. It was comfortable and warm and summery and cocoon-like, and Stiles had a sudden, stupid, irrational urge to cry.

Fuck, he realized slowly. I can give the fucking life.

And Eurydice burst out laughing.

"If you only knew!" She mocked.

However the teenager did not have even time to ask the least question. In the distance, a bell rang and his eyes suddenly widened.

"Shit", he said again.

This was getting to be a recurring thing, really.

"I have to..".

".. go. I know you do. Go, Child. But don't forget to come back to me."

The human chuckled softly.

"Forget, huh? I might have a hard time after this."