The lights in Deaton's examination room are just a little too bright, but he doubts anyone really cares about his pounding headache right now. Or they'll just use it as an excuse to yell at him some more.

"Stiles? What the hell was that!?" And it looks like yelling was happening anyway.

"How the hells should I know?" You'd really think the people with sensitive-super-doggy hearing would be more considerate and keep their voices down when scolding the dude who saved their furry butts like he was a troublesome child. Which, ya know, rude. Honestly, would it hurt them to just say thanks every once in a while?

"Well you're the one who started going all 'We are Legion' and just- just Thanos snapped a fucking dragon out of existence?"

"Oh you don't know shit about Batman but you know Legion and Thanos ? What the fuck? You're a Marvel man. How did I not know this? Where did I fucking go wrong with you?"

"Stiles." He feels some of the pounding behind his eyes bleed away when a warm heavy hand lands on the nape of his neck and he feels the familiar woozy tingle of that blessed werewolf pain-drain. He takes a shuddery breath as his eyelids flutter closed and calloused fingers dig in just enough to ground him back in this moment. "Calm down."

"Yeah mm-ha." He sighs out and the hand gives one more light squeeze before pulling away. "Thanks, Sourwolf." His eyes blink open and if he was a little more awake he might have felt embarrassed at the looks the room at large was giving him. Then again, he might not have, he was too used to being the center of attention after facing the latest big-bad. Kind of came with being the squishy -often injured- human. "So, dragon is gone, the Stiles is hearing voices and it might be the dying Nemeton or just me going crazy. Thoughts?" Now Deaton was looking at him like a vexing sort of puzzle and Peter had that glint in his eye like he was plotting something that would tempt Stiles to let one of the puppies rip the creeperwolf's throat open again. "Seriously people, there was a whole Vulcan mind-meld with a dying sentient magical tree and now I have what seems to be the history of all of Beacon County rolling about in the back of my head. I've got a bit of a headache going here guys. Like- like seriously, I'm not the only one up in this noggin' at the moment and I don't really think I approve. No. No, I know I don't approve. So if we could change that? Like now ? That would be great , thanks."

Deaton sighs, "The Nemeton is not dying."

"Sleeping, whatever . My point is that-"

"And it's not sleeping either I'm afraid."

"Oh great, so now what? Am I one of the Borg now? In saving all these jerks' furry asses have I gone and joined the magic tree collective hive mind? Come on Doc, we talked about this cryptic shit."

"The Nemeton, which has been a vital part of this region since time immemorial and sits in the center of the preserve acting as Beacon Territory's proverbial heart , has died. And I am not entirely sure why it has decided to pass on now or what this means for Beacon Hills' future."

"So, what do we do now then, Deaton?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. McCall, I fear there is not much we can do but wait an-"

Peter looks only too happy to clear his throat and step fully into the loose circle that had formed about the table Stiles was settled on. "Oh I'm sure you and I can both agree that whatever you were about to tell our favourite clueless pup was total bullshit ."

"We can't be certain of any-"

"If what our dear Spark is saying is true, then not only did the Nemeton reach out to him, but it seems to have bestowed upon him not only a very valuable gift but a very heavy burden."

Stiles sighed, "Why am I getting 'With great power, comes great responsibility' vibes from Uncle Creeper?"

"Because I am afraid that Mr. Hale might actually be right. It would seem, Emissary Hale, that in its final moments the Nemeton decided to transfer all of its powers, memories and very ties to the land... to you."

He gives himself a good three seconds before taking a deep breath, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head fall into his hands with a heavy sigh before running them through his hair and gripping the back of his neck straightening back up slightly.

"So, as straightforward as I'm sure you think that statement is, I'm gonna need you to explain that one for me just real quick. Cause for a second there I thought you said that I am now basically the Nemeton . And I'm sure we can all agree that Nemeton-Stiles is a bit- just a bit much right? Like this shit only happens in comic books." He hears slight rustling of clothes meaning people are moving around, the wolves all probably cuddling up to each other like the co-dependent puppies they are. A warm arm wraps around his shoulders and Scott lays his cheek against the top of Stiles' head. "I'm the current Hale Pack Emissary, I can't be the fucking Nemeton. I just- I fucking can't man."

"I am afraid that is no longer an option, Emissary Hale. You accepted this when the Nemeton reached out to you, when it gave you the power to vanquish a nearly adult dragon out of existence. And as loathe as I am to admit that you were already a formidable practitioner before this happened, now I believe you would be classed as something more than your average Spark. The closest estimation I feel comfortable making would probably be-"

"Genius Locai," Peter is smirking at him but Stiles doesn't need to be a 'wolf to catch the edge of nervousness in his voice and in the tightness around his eyes. There's a sharp twisting in his gut. "The Chinese call it a Chenghuangshen or Tudishen. The Japanese would say Kami. Seonangshin, Landvættir, Kaitiaki, leshy, Kula-dèvatā, Lares, Anito... Simply put: the very spirit of a place given form, a tutelary deity, a patron god, if you will."

He can hear Scott's breath catching on his small gasp as he grips Stiles' shoulders almost too tight, Lydia and Allison whispering conspiratorially, Jackson choking out some protest of disbelief, Isaac is whimpering from where he's pressed between Erica and Boyd who are both worryingly silent. Deaton sighs again and he can feel Derek pressing close enough to his shoulder that they're nearly touching. He doesn't let himself lean back into the warmth and silently offered support.

"What do you- what do you mean a god?"

Peter sighs and that tension changes to something like bone-tired pity . "It means you are no longer our not-so-little-Spark. You've evolved into what is most easily explained as- as the humanoid manifestation of the very spirit of Beacon County. Think of it like the Force, but more centralized. Each territory has its own energy field that connects and unites all living things within its area of influence. It binds those who live within its influence to the land and to each other. The Alpha and Emissary are the two most sensitive to this force, usually acting as the center of it."

"But Beacon Hills is different."

"Yes," Deaton clears his throat and gives Peter a pointed look. The wolf shrugs his shoulders at the druid with a roll of his eyes and makes a show of stepping back close to the wall nearest the door, sweeping his arm out in a broad gesture to cede the floor.

"Yes, Beacon Hills is different from most territories with a strong and active Alpha/Emissary pair. Most territories held by a strong, established werewolf pack will have a passive field of protection, it won't keep anything from entering but it will let intruders know they are not welcome and the Alpha and Emissary would be able to sense that something had crossed the borders."

"But those are territories that don't have a Nemeton. Or a history of Sparks born within the pack borders. Let alone both of those together."

"Unfortunately, those factors do complicate matters. Many years ago, before the Hales were even the Hales, one of their ancestors bound themselves to the Nemeton that resides in the preserve. It wasn't a very strong binding at the time, but it gave their bloodline -and through them the whole pack- a very different type of claim to the land. If someone who was not born a Hale, or bitten by one, decided to take the territory for their own they would be rejected unless they won it from an Alpha of Hale blood. If the Hales abandoned the land the Nemeton would suffer."

Stiles sighed and rested his elbows on his knees again, letting his hands fall between his parted legs and the rest of his body fall forward, his shoulders curling up around his ears. "So, like how an Alpha draws their power from their pack, the Nemeton does the same sorta thing through its relationship with the Alpha and Emissary? And being a Spark born in its territory, I- what? Had a higher compatibility rate for the damn thing and Sourwolf here? Was the default Emissary for whatever Alpha made an official Claim to the Land after Talia? What the fuck Deaton?! Why didn't you tell me any of this before ?"

"I honestly did not believe it to be of any relevance."

"Cut with the bullshit."

"It is the truth, Emissary Hale. I honestly did not believe that following Miss Hale's death, Alpha Hale would be able to make a solid Claim to his family's land, let alone build enough of a pack to substantiate it."

It takes a moment before Scott's grip goes a little slack and Stiles has to bite the inside of his cheek and count to ten before he says anything. He reaches one hand back towards where Derek is still hovering and twists his fingers in the edge of his butter-soft Henley. "You expected Derek to fail." It isn't a question. "You expected him to fail so epically you didn't do a damn thing about Peter or the Argents or any of it? You wanted him to fail so badly you let innocent people die to prove you were right? That he couldn't do it? What the fuck Deaton?"

The druid's face doesn't give much away but Stiles can see that increasingly familiar banked fury and feels the tension in the air as the older man draws on the wards built into the very foundations of his clinic. "Why should a half-breed whelp -responsible for the death of his own family- stand equal to the memory of Talia Hale? I swore to protect the boy the same as any proper Hale and I made sure he and his sister made it safely out of Beacon Hills. That no one followed them. They were safe and gone." He scoffs with a sneer as he leans back against his desk, "Then Laura came back and got herself killed. She was killed because her only Beta refused to come back with her and take up his family's role as the defenders of this land. Because he was too much of a coward to face his own mistakes."

Stiles takes a deep breath in, holds it for a count of 7 then lets it out again. "That- that is not okay. I don't know what your beef with Talia Hale was that made you abandon your duty to her and her pack, her family. You were meant to protect them, they trusted you. Like we trusted you. I don't care what you think gives you the right to play fucking judge and jury here but it stops now." He brushes Scott off as gently as possible but doesn't let go of his hold on his Alpha's shirt as he scoots himself to the edge of the examination table with something like resolve and anger and adrenaline over a sigh of resignation coursing through him.

Scott makes a half-hearted attempt to grab at him again, "Stiles-"

Deaton stands tall and defiant and clenches his jaw even as the wolves in the room can smell the change in his resolve. "Be very careful Mr. Stilinski. Do not do anything you will regr-"

"Alan Deaton," Stiles' voice isn't any deeper than normal but there's a heaviness that makes a shiver run through everyone in the room. "Druid of Beacon Territory and former Emissary of the Hale Pack. You have been warned of the consequences of your failure to uphold your duty to Alpha Talia Hale, her pack, her family and all of Beacon County. You, your worth and your intentions have been weighed, have been measured and have been found severely wanting. Druid, how do you plead?"

"You foolish child! Do you understand what you are saying? I am not someone you wish as an enemy!"

Derek growls and Stiles simply cocks his head at the angered veterinarian. He stands from the table, still holding onto his Alpha. "Is that a threat, Druid Deaton?"

"Wh-what?"

"Do you dare to threaten Us, threaten that which is Ours, in Our territory? Think very hard before you answer."

"This was not supposed to happen. You were not supposed to have this power."

"And yet We do." Stiles takes a step closer to the druid. "We will only ask once more. What is your answer, druid?"

"You will regret this."

Stiles sighed, "Alan Deaton, listen and know;" The wolves watch as the veterinarian seems to shrink into himself. "I, Miecyslaw Casmir Stilinski, Spark of Beacon Territory and Emissary to the Hale Pack under Derek Hale, on behalf of my pack and my Alpha," The lights flicker then dim, casting Stiles and Derek into sharp shadows where they stand before Deaton. "-do declare you unwelcome in Our lands and no longer protected by the Hale Pack or their allies. You have dwa tygodnie to conduct your business and remove yourself from Our territory and if you exceed that time then your life and your magic are forfeit. So has it been spoken, so may the words be kin to the workings."

Deaton looks like he's about to argue but chokes on the words when Stiles lets go of Derek's shirt and steps into the seething druid's space. "If you are wise, Druid, you will run. You will stay far far away from Beacon Hills. You will stay out of the business of the Hales. You will whisper warnings of this Pack and their Spark to any and all who would find themselves foolish enough to challenge Us. And even to those who are wise enough not to. You will run and stay as far from the Living Nemeton your negligence helped create and the Alpha he has chosen as any mortal can. And then you will keep running. If you are wise, druid, you will choose Life. And you will ensure others who would repeat your mistake do as well."

The lights flicker back on and Deaton sneers with obvious false bravado, "You will regret this, boy."

"No Deaton," Stiles sighs, "I regret ever trusting you within ten-feet of my pack, let alone the same town."

The druid scoffs and storms from the examination room out to the front of the clinic.

Stiles slumps back against the metal table, one hand coming up to grab at Derek's shirt.

"Well then," Peter says with a clap of his hands and an almost manic grin on his face. "I don't know about you lot but I found that sufficiently terrifying."