Chapter Text
It was a cold night when Stiles woke up with the feeling of something going horribly wrong.
The first clue was the full moon shining in the sky because, having lived with werewolves for half of his life, he knew there were still a few weeks before that happened. The second was the cold, given how things were in the world and the absurd amount of wards and protections he put in place to deal with his totally realistic paranoia, feeling cold wasn’t really possible. The wards would smother the cold away like blankets pilled over the room.
The room was also wrong, too messy, too big. Living for years with Derek and strange magical ingredients lying around had taught him to be tidy. Living after Derek had taught him to be hidden and to choose the smallest more run down motels in the road where nobody looks. He definitely didn’t remember having anything as nice as that table or that computer.
Not since…
“Oh shit,” he said inspecting rapidly his surroundings.
He did recognize the place. It was his room, the one in beacon hills with the stupid posters he took away when he was twelve. The room where he hid Derek from his dad, and discovered werewolves, magic, and a world so full of supernatural things some days it still felt like a dream.
Stiles got up from the bed with a jump landing in his too small legs and his too short body. It hit Stiles all at once, his memories crashing down into the present.
The nemeton, the ritual.
The problem was, of course, that Stiles had an idea.
It was a great idea if Stiles had anything to say, but it was fundamentally a Stiles idea. If Derek, Scott or his dad had been there they would have told him not to do it. They would have told him that it wasn’t worth it, carefully distracted him with something shiny and hoped his brain latched into something else before everything went to hell.
Unfortunately, there was nobody to tell him that anymore and Stiles didn’t care. They were dead and it didn’t matter what they would have thought about it. They weren’t the ones who had to live after seeing everyone die from the monsters that plagued the night, or the hunters after they decided to destroy everything that was different. After Derek—
Everyone else was dead, or they would have been soon enough in any case, and the possibility was so tempting that Stiles had to try it even if it killed him. And so, twelve ancient effigies later and the most insane and complex ritual that had ever been devised, he was back in time to change everything for the better.
Or so he hopped.
Now he just needed to know what the exact date was and start planning.
He searched for the calendar announcing it was January of 2005, and then he looked at the full moon still proudly glowing in the sky.
He did it again.
“Oh shit,” he repeated.
He jumped through the window forgetting he was still in his pajamas and pushed forward into the forest hoping he still had some time. It didn’t matter to him how cold he was or how slow he was moving he just kept moving in the dark through trees and roots.
By the time the heavy smell of smoke reached him Stiles was already running.
The Hale House stood in the middle of the forest like a monument to nature. It was a true mansion with vines and flowers growing all over the white walls and around the grounds. The fire was already burning from the left side of the building starting right where the chimney stood. The image he saw was so different from the broken husk that stood in his time that Stiles almost fell to the ground.
It was easy to forget the fire was supposed to look like an accident and nothing more. To the inhabitants of Beacon Hills, this fire was nothing more than a fleeting tragedy, a piece of gossip that lasted a few days. It seemed ridiculous that just a few days were all that was needed to forget that eleven people burned alive that night.
Or as it was, this night. The fire had barely started, and there was still time.
There was a group of cars parked along the tree line that separated the house from the forest. The cars obscured his view, but the pull of his spark showed him the burned lines of mountain ash that barred the house. Someone, probably Kate, had put a lot of power and hope in making sure nobody could escape.
He was about to move forward, to break the barrier when he saw three figures watching the fire from behind the tree line. Three figures watching just there, waiting, whispering, and completely unaware of his presence.
Stiles had less than a moment to recognize a blonde head peering over the cars before the rage took control. His thoughts went to the images of burned bodies the police took, wolves and humans alike, children and adults. His hands pointed at them on instinct without plan or reason but to make them hurt.
His spark sang, and he ordered, demanded they be gone.
And the forest lit up with the sound of a thousand trees waking up. The air shuddered. The birds flew in panic. For a second, Stiles could feel the movement of every animal in the forest hiding or run away before the heartbeat of the nemeton drowned everything else. A nemeton with more magic that it should hold, magic that came with him, that he had used to come back and was about to make everything explode.
He had no time to think or panic. With a thought, he threw the energy at them, at those tree poor pitiful humans that never knew what a bad idea it was to fight him, and in the time it took Stiles' heart to beat once a hundred roots grew and tore them apart.
Kate Argent died alone in the dark to quickly to be able to yell in pain, her head bent around looking at the stars. The other two bodies looked more like cocoons of some unusually big insect completely encased between the roots.
“Shit,” he said with panting breaths. “Shit.”
Stiles could feel the power recede, but it still was at the corner of his eyes. The power was pushing into the nemeton like a sea trying to fill inside a bucket. The nemeton was simply too small to keep it all inside, and for the first time, Stiles thought that maybe the whole thing wasn’t such a good idea.
Magic of the caliber he had to use to come back rarely was a good idea. It was unpredictable and the end result was rarely anything better than whatever you were trying to change, but… It was his last choice and it wasn’t like he had anything else to lose.
“Okay, okay,” he said to himself. “First things first. Save the Hales.”
The mansion was dark except for the still young fire. Stiles considered the possibilities quickly. They were werewolves but it was possible nobody had noticed yet, that everyone was still sleeping. Following survival instincts that only people that had spent half a life running for their lives developed, Stiles took a rock and broke the closest car window filling the night with noise. He yelped when a shard of glass made a shallow cut on his hand.
It did not take long.
“TALIA!” yelled immediately a voice from inside.
Dozens of voices cried for help followed by a quick and deep howl. Stiles smiled knowingly. That was definitely a good way of waking everyone up, and one Derek had used constantly to wake the pack when there was still one.
He was reaching for the entrance when the door swung open and four small children walked out of it in fear only to be stopped by the barrier still in place.
“Get out!” yelled a woman’s voice still inside helping more people exit the building.
“I can’t mom!” cried one of the children hitting the barrier. “I can’t move!”
A shadow launched itself against the barrier making it shudder and light up in blue.
“There is mountain ash!” growled the man.
“Hunters?” asked a woman.
“No, Santa Claus,” continued the man. “Of course it’s the hunters!”
Stiles stopped cold, the voice was somewhat different but he definitely recognized the sarcasm.
“Peter?” asked Stiles.
The man, Peter, looked at him. His eyes were glowing blue and he was younger than he ever remembered him but it was definitely him. Young but still fit and powerful as only a cheating werewolf could be.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
Stiles began to laugh moving closer to the barrier. “Peter! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am so happy to see you!”
Stiles held his hand against the barrier which began glowing a menacing blue. He closed his eyes trying to separate the overwhelming power still around from that of the barrier. It was too powerful, mountain ash barriers rarely stopped humans and this was somehow different. It would have been easier had Stiles not used so much power to finish Kate. Power took its toll and now he had to be smart, not powerful.
It was, unfortunately, a puzzle that he did not have too much time to solve.
“Hey, honey.” said a woman’s voice.
When he opened his eyes again there was a woman hovering at the other side of the barrier looking grim but decisive. Stiles had only seen her in a picture once, one of the few things Derek still conserved from his family.
“Are you a friend of my son?” asked Talia Hale boring her eyes at him.
“Huh… Yes? And you are Talia?” he asked. “And how do you…?”
“I can smell it in your blood honey. Where you the one who woke us up?” she asked still with that slow tone of voice. Stiles nodded looking at his bleeding hand and she smiled fiercely. “Thank you, but now you have to go okay? I know you want to help, but this place is dangerous—”
Stiles stopped listening to her voice and looked at her instead. He looked at all of them holding each other. They were going to die, they knew that, and Talia was more worried about him. Beacon Hills had lost something precious when they died.
“You know? Derek does the same thing. He gets all protective: ‘No Stiles, you can’t go investigate the weird kanima attacks’ or ‘No Stiles you can’t go kill the necromancer all alone’” he said trying badly to imitate Derek’s voice. “But then he just— Wait. You smell Derek in my blood?” he asked incredulously.
Talia seemed to be completely dumbfounded by his tirade but she slowly nodded. Stiles groaned loudly.
“Like in soul mates fairy tale kind of thing?” he asked.
“I don’t think those things exist but… yes?” said Talia nodding and she looked around herself to check that yes this was happening.
Stiles groaned. “No! Scott is never going to let me live that down! I’m going to be more clichéd than he and Allison. How can my blood smell like—?”
Something clicked inside Stiles and he looked down at his barely bleeding hand. A half-remembered passage in a magic book flashed through his mind.
“Shit, fuck, shit,” he said and then seeing the expression of Talia. “She used blood to give focus to the mountain ash.”
He dropped down on the ground, put his injured hand at the border of the barrier and let a drop of blood fall. His spark lit up in recognition to the power and he pulled with all his strength. There was a bright glow, a sound like a tensed cord being cut, and suddenly the barrier dropped with enough force to push the ashes and Stiles backward.
Someone growled. Stiles lost his vision for a moment only to open his eyes back to the face of Peter.
The Hale pack was outside and seemingly intact. Talia, other five adults, and four small kids were breathing together in a strange group hug while Talia kissed them and broke down in whispers and tears.
Eleven people with Peter, he counted. He had saved them all.
“Kid!” said Peter. “Are you okay?”
“I remember that being easier!” said Stiles breathing loudly. “Is everyone okay?”
And suddenly he was flying, held in the arms of Talia who started dancing with him in circles.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she repeated in a whisper.
More people joined her in an attempt to smother him making Stiles head spin. The strength of Talia was brutal in his bones. Luckily Stiles had experience with touchy alphas that enjoyed pushing him into walls and was an expert in the ways to stop them.
“Squishy human, can’t breathe!” he yelled.
“Talia!” said someone else.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said dropping him on the ground. “Thank you.”
Tears were streaming down her face and the rest of the pack joined her in another hug. Peter didn’t, staring at him with suspicion before deciding his attention was more suited to other things.
Stiles tried to recognize any of them. After the fire both Laura and Derek had been hiding, scared that the hunters would go for them next, and they had no time to save many pictures or mementos. As a consequence, Stiles only knew the Hales by the few stories Derek had told of them, and he never talked much about them.
Even so, he was sure that the tall man that held Talia the hardest and looked like an exact copy of Derek was probably Sean, Derek’s father. The remaining Hales kids included were more difficult to guess.
“And the hunters?” asked Peter breaking the moment. “I can’t smell them but they did this.”
The pack froze, even the kids too small to completely understand what was happening did. Some of the adults growled suddenly. Talia changed. Her eyes glowed red with determination and barely controlled fury. Her voice went cold and low, barely a whisper.
“Find them,” she ordered. “Find whoever thought trying to hurt my family was a good idea, Peter. Find whoever had the gall to try this, and when you do it bring them to me.”
“Guys…?” said Stiles.
“Sean, Mark and your wife get the kids to a safe place,” she continued glancing at a man.
“Uhm…” tried Stiles holding his hand in the air.
“You two will come with me, my children are still out there and if those monsters are hunting tonight…”
“Hey!” yelled Stiles waving his hand.
Talia in kind gave him the most impressive Alpha stare ever. It was surely in the top ten of Alpha stares he had gotten over the years and Stiles was suddenly very aware this woman who was crying less than two minutes ago was actually the most terrifying Alpha he had met. It was kind of impressive considering he met Deucalion.
“What,” she asked.
“Oh, well,” he said pausing for a moment to appreciate Derek’s mom. “I just thought that before you went all Texas chainsaw massacre with claws and teeth and growls you would like to know the hunters are dead over there.”
You could hear a pin drop. Peter was doing a weird thing with his face that could be almost considered a short-circuit. Talia and everyone else was once again frozen. Stiles tried very hard not to laugh while filling Peter’s face for future blackmail. An awkward silence ensued.
“Okay, I know what are thinking and yes,” nodded Stiles. “This is kind how all my first impressions usually go. It’s normal. Try to take a minute to breathe all in.”
Fortunately, the moment didn’t last. A car stopped short of the trees with a bang followed by a deep howl. From the trees came three people running. Derek, Cora, and what had to be Laura at the front ran into the clearing claws blazing just too see their entire family safe and their house burning. They stood there looking at each other.
Stiles' eyes went immediately to Derek. It was a younger Derek who had not lived through all the shit they passed. A Derek who hadn’t lost everything, and that, if he had anything to say never would.
A Derek who unfortunately for Stiles wasn’t his and probably never would.
“Stiles?” asked Derek.
Stiles froze. It wasn’t possible. He looked harder at Derek considering the facts. He shouldn’t be here, he knew that intellectually. In his time Derek and Laura only got to the house after everyone was dead. He knew it wasn’t possible. He wanted to believe.
Stiles shot forwards and jumped on Derek throwing him to the ground. A part of his mind was running, desperately hoping he was not wrong.
There was one easy way to check.
“Show me your eyes!” he yelled.
“What?” asked Derek.
“Your eyes! Show me the color of your eyes!” he demanded.
Derek’s eyes grew in recognition and his eyes changed to a golden glow. Gold like they shouldn’t be at this moment in time. Gold like his Derek. Stiles was barely hearing the voices of the Hale pack grow bigger behind him but he couldn’t care.
It was him.
“You are here,” he whispered while Derek hugged him. “You are really here. You are with me.”
“I’m here Stiles,” he said with awe in his voice. “I’m here.”
“I never thought it could work,” whispered Stiles tears falling freely from his eyes. “I never thought… And you are here. It worked.”
“Yes, it worked,” whispered Derek shifting in position, considering “What did work, Stiles?”
Stiles stiffened and let Derek go. He should have seen an interrogation coming sooner or later. He was just banking on the later. Or never if possible. Time travel was complicated enough without trying to explain it.
“Nothing?” he said smiling awkwardly.
“What did you do?” asked Derek in a flat tone.
Stiles looked up. “Wow, the moon is very bright tonight. Do you see that Derek?”
“Stiles,” growled Derek.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said getting up from him.
Derek growled again making him squirm.
“Just a little bit of time travel, okay? It’s not the weirdest thing we’ve done, right?” he asked trying to sound confident and failing. “What is the worst that can happen?”
And just as he was saying that he felt it again. The power that brought him to the past crashing down against the nemeton. Stiles fell on the ground doubling with pain. He could feel Derek beside him, panicking, holding him and speaking words he did not understand. The nemeton was tearing itself apart from the outburst and there was little Stiles could do but alleviate the pressure. With his eyes closed, he yelled and stamped his hand against the grass rerouting the power like an open dam directly into the forest.
This time there were no roots or dead people, just hundreds of flowers growing in a heartbeat all around them.
“Stiles stay with me!” yelled Derek.
Stiles panted and the cold air of the forest filled him with the smell of the land.
“Okay, that was the worst that could happen,” he said pained with the taste of metal in his mouth.
“What was that?” asked Derek. His face an inch from Stiles.
“We have a small little problem. The nemeton is going to explode,” said Stiles.
“What?” yelled Peter from behind and Stiles ignored him.
“You have a gift to understate things, Stiles,” sighed Derek pinching over his nose.
“It’s not that bad. We will probably survive at least,” said Stiles fidgeting and looking at the forest. “The forest not so much, but— the problem is the nogitsune is still down there, and will probably survive the explosion. If it does and with so much magic around… I… don’t quite want to see what would happen.”
Derek straightened, his eyes flashed in concern. He had that expression that Stiles had missed for so long. The one that knows what is at stake and will still follow him to the end of the world. Stiles closed his eyes breathing hard trying to push his memories of the nogitsune back.
“What can we do?” asked Derek.
“I don’t know Derek! I didn’t have a plan for every impossible thing that may happen!” yelled Stiles breathing harder.
“Stiles focus!” growled Derek. He held Stiles in place and breathed with him holding one of his hands over his heart. “Listen to me. You always have a plan. They are usually weird and end up having completely unexpected consequences but they work. Impossible things are Tuesdays for us, and I need you to remember that because right now you are the only one who can do something about this.”
Stiles snorted but his words worked to calm him down. He looked at Derek whose eyes held so much faith.
“Thanks for that,” he whispered. “But there is nothing I can do unless you have some enormous magical sinkhole lying around you have never told—“
He cut himself thinking, considering. It was a terrible idea. Symmetric but terrible. Kind of like all of his ideas. It would have to work. He looked at Derek and saw his eyes grow big.
“What do you need?” asked Derek smiling.
“I need you to bring me a body, and a sword,” said Stiles dropping all cheerfulness.
Derek stared at the unspoken words. It was not a story any of them wanted to remember but one they will always do. He remembered the nogitsune and he knew what Stiles was talking about. If he had any doubt about the whys he didn’t show it.
Derek nodded. “Okay,”
“Good, go quickly. We have no time,” said Stiles turning around breathing deeply. He stood straighter and looked at the remaining Hales. “I don’t have much time to explain so we are going to make this quick. Listen to me if you don’t want to die. Peter! I need you to drive me to the nemeton with the bodies back there. I’m also going to need some things from Deaton so we need to stop there too and…”
Stiles continued giving orders to the speechless werewolves and smiled. It was not a pretty smile but one which promised the beginnings of some mad plan.
***
Convincing the Hales and Peter to follow his second stupid plan of the day was surprisingly easy. Derek growled and showed his golden eyes and that was it. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was tiredness, the almost dying, the three bodies covered in roots, or Derek what made the best argument. For some reason, his change of eye color seemed to be the most strange and scary thing all the werewolves had experience that night. Stiles knew his change of heart as it were was important for werewolves, but he was starting to think he never truly understood how big of a deal it was.
A few minutes later Stiles, Peter, and Deaton, who couldn’t stop looking at him every few minutes, drove back into the forest while Stiles revised the supplies he had stolen from the veterinary. Deaton had joined them after Stiles had to dump the excess magic once again into his clinic and broke every barrier inside of it.
As an only explanation, Stiles had smiled like a lunatic and told him to follow them while branches started to grow from the doors. Deaton, unable to pass on an opportunity to be mysterious and strange had followed in silence. It was just lucky the veterinary had everything Stiles was going to need.
The nemeton stood in silence when they reached it. There were no signs of the great power trying to fill it, just the stump of what was once the oldest tree in the land.
“And now what?” asked Peter leaving the heavy bag in the ground. “Do you need to dance naked in the rain?”
“What? No!” said Stiles and then added with a sly smile. “There is no rain.”
Stiles took the heavy jar of mountain ash and filled his hand with a healthy amount of it. There was more than one trick to use mountain ash, in this case, he started to draw slowly on top of the stump.
“Every little piece of magic leaves always something behind, every mountain ash barrier, every potion, or ward leaves waste,” he started to explain while working. “The nemeton is basically a magical recycling station. It takes that waste purifies it and slowly infuses it back together into the land.”
He stopped to take a little more of ash before going back to his drawing.
“That makes the land healthier, luckier. Plants grow healthier, people are happier. Good things happen all around where there is a healthy nemeton, but when the nemeton is cut well…” he trailed off. “Bad things happen.”
Deaton watched the proceedings with interest not saying anything, but as the drawing of a triskelion started to take shape he looked at Stiles.
“Is that the ritual of reclamation?” he asked suddenly interested.
“Yep,” said Stiles without stopping.
Deaton stared. “Are you aware it needs a full circle of druids to complete and several dozens human sacrifices?”
“Yep,” repeated Stiles.
“Not mentioning that we are not even close to Samhain,” he continued.
Stiles finished drawing the Triskelion and inspected the drawing carefully.
“I’m making a few adjustments on the fly. Don’t worry,” said Stiles nodding at his work. “Normally you would be right, but with the power of a decade of multiple human sacrifices, supernatural creatures sacrifices, chimeras, the wild hunt, ten or so ancient artifacts burnt to ash, and all that magic filling it up... I’m feeling lucky.”
Stiles looked at the sky while behind him both Druid and werewolf tried to make sense of what he just said.
“Plus, the bodies should count as sacrifices and the nemeton will eat them whole. Which means with any luck they won’t be coming back from the dead continuously. Where is the east?” he asked and before any of them could answer he continued. “Oh right!”
Stiles stood close to the stump looking at the east and then walked outwards counting three steps.
“Peter! Can you put the bodies here?” he asked smiling at the dumbfounded Peter. “Tonight if possible.”
Peter grunted but started to put the bodies in a pile as requested. “Am I your servant now?”
“I just saved your life,” said Stiles nodding.
“You are going to keep using that excuse for the rest of your life, right?”
“Or for the rest of yours, whoever kicks it first,” said Stiles nodding again.
Peter rolled his eyes and smiled moving the bodies into position. Stiles rolled his eyes knowing the usual antics of Peter and went back to work.
The ritual wasn’t as easy as he was making it seem. He had thought about doing something like this once when the nemeton kept bringing murder monsters to Beacon Hills, but it was dangerous in a last ditch effort kind of way. If it failed it would be bad, but probably not as bad as the nemeton exploding or empowering the nogitsune. Either way meant it was the best time to try.
Stiles picked half a dozen flowers from inside the bag and tied them together in a small bundle. It was not a pretty job but fortunately, it did not have to be. When he finished he took the bundles and threw them at the north and south of the nemeton. In very little time the whole place was littered with flowers scattered at random.
“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” asked Peter seeing the mess he was making.
“The flowers represent life and growth,” he explained while dropping them. “They are not all that special and it doesn’t need to be perfect, just be there as a symbol.”
When Stiles finished with the flowers he took mistletoe branches from the bag. The branches were burnt and blackened like a stick of charcoal. Unlike with the flowers Stiles took his time to arrange the differences pieces in calculated positions around the stump itself. He counted his steps and dropped them in precise places until the branches looked like the marks in a watch pointing at the nemeton.
It did not take long while he worked for a few cars to stop in the forest bringing Talia and Sean. They took the scene in silence joining Deaton at the sidelines.
Stiles took the rest of the herbs dropping them at careful intervals on the grass and whispering words under his breath until finally, another car stopped. Derek and Laura entered the clear with a bandaged body in their arms. The body looked fresh despite the fact he knew it had been there for decades. The katana was still lodged inside the body. Talia took a breath in surprise and recognition.
“I didn’t want to take the katana out just in case but half of it was already broken,” said Derek bringing the end of the sword to the front of his hands. He stopped then to stare at Kate’s body.
Stiles smiled and made grabby hands. “That way is perfect Derek, put the body here.”
He walked three steps in the opposite direction of the other bodies. Together they put the finishing touches on the ritual. The end piece of the katana was still ludicrously sharp and Stiles held it in his hand with careful movements.
“Sacrifices to the west, and to the east. The flowers for life, the burnt mistletoe for rebirth. Uh. I think that is everything,” said Stiles looking one last time over everything. “Now take off your clothes.”
“What?” asked Derek going absolutely straight.
“I need you in wolfy form,” said Stiles bringing his hands down to his pants trying to take them down.
“Stiles!” growled Derek separating from him. “I can’t get naked myself.”
Stiles huffed. “It’s not like I haven’t seen everything. Or like you care about being naked.”
“Derek!” yelled Talia walking towards them.
Derek was startled for a moment looking at his mother with the most difficult expression he could make. Something within embarrassment and a rictus, Stiles wasn’t sure. Still, they didn’t have too much time. Stiles threw mountain ash into the air willing his spark to drop a barrier around them and the entire ritual area.
“Okay, now it’s finished,” said Stiles moving to the trunk and leaving his shirt in the ground.
His attention went back to the nemeton and the growing magic still trying to fill it. The magic wasn’t slowing down but instead was widening the nemeton with every passing. The widening only made it hold more energy and at the end would make it explore with more strength but for now, it was more controllable.
It was perfect for what Stiles was planning to do.
“What do I have to do, Stiles?” asked Derek behind him.
“Do you trust me?” he asked looking at him.
Derek straightened and looked serious. “Always.”
Stiles smiled and looked at the forest and his parents at the edge of the barrier. Despite the fact all this was pretty much his fault Derek always trusted him. He only hoped it would work.
“Whatever I tell you to do, don’t doubt. I’ll be okay. I promise, but don’t doubt,” he said slowly turning the katana in his hand. “And if I lose consciousness take us out of here as soon as it starts.”
“How will I know when it starts?” asked Derek.
“Oh, you’ll know,” said Stiles.
Stiles walked on top of the nemeton, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his spark and the magic trying to fill the nemeton. He pulled on the magic and made a thin cut on the palm of his hand with the broken sword. Linking the magic and his blood he let a trickle of it drop on the middle of the triskelion beginning the ritual.
And then there was light.
Somebody yelled as even the people without a trained sense of magic could suddenly feel the buildup like a tide drowning everything in the forest. Stiles couldn’t listen to them, couldn’t focus on anything but the job. This part was going to be dangerous even focused.
Stiles went down with his senses, joining the nemeton with his spark, his life, and soul. He followed the roots of the tree until he felt the touch of a jar sealed in the ground. An old jar filled with the darkness Stiles was so intimately aware. Stiles breathed deeply and with all the strength the magic lent him, shattered it.
“Transform now!” ordered Stiles.
Stiles didn’t stop to look if Derek complied. He threw himself back pressed against the nemeton as a fly appeared from below the ground. The fly gave a few lazy passes around the nemeton before flying to Stiles' face and slowly entered his mouth.
There was a moment when Stiles felt the evil asshole that tried to kill his friends once crash against his mind. His defenses held strongly this time but they would not do so for long. He was not strong enough to keep the monster at bay for more than a few moments, nobody truly was, but a few moments were all that he needed.
“Now bite me!” he yelled.
Derek although shaken knew there was little time to protest and jumped on top of him biting his arm. Stiles yelped in pain but held most of it. For the first time in an eternity the nogitsune felt fear and pressed harder against his mind, but it was pointless. The bite of a werewolf, especially an evolved werewolf had the power that could trap the monster inside his body.
“I love you. I’ll be okay,” he said smiling at him. “Trust me.”
Stiles' eyes turned completely black and the smile sharpened. Derek tightened his hold praying he knew what he was doing.
And with his other arm, Stiles thrust the broken katana into his heart. Then there was a fire in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel or think. His eyes turned black as one of the oldest monsters in the land tried to take control of his body for the last time and he could feel the fear, and rage, and burn. And the nogitsune died his powers draining from inside Stiles and flowing into the nemeton. Stiles yelled and with all his remaining strength pulled at the magic inside the ritual.
The roots of the tree grew larger and thicker around the dead bodies until they were strong enough to pull them underground and eat them. That was the last key to the ritual. Stiles guided every tiny piece of magic into place by sheer force of will casting his spark into the nemeton. The earth shuddered, night suddenly became the day and went back to darkness again as if the sun had been scared. He could feel the pressure growing quickly at his back and knew it had worked but couldn’t breathe nor tell Derek to move.
Derek, as usual, didn’t need words to know what he wanted and he was dragging him out of the place. The barrier had fallen with the magical onslaught and they simply passed just in time to see the tree starting to grow first slowly and then quicker. It looked like some ridiculous bad CGI, almost unbelievable, but it was happening right there under their eyes.
Step by step the nemeton regrew back, first slowly like a sapling impaling the stump and then faster and faster melding together with the stump like if the tree had never been cut in the first place.
A healthy nemeton was also an enormous magical sinkhole that could hold the power that was still pouring. It would also have the advantage of not leaking and attracting every supernatural creature on earth to it.
Stiles smiled and felt as the connection with the nemeton started to fill him healing his wounds in a moment. He looked at Derek whose face was for once filled with awe and smiled harder. It had been years since he had felt like smiling.
Years since he had felt happy. Years since he had not spent every waking moment looking behind his back for a shadow or a threat. It had been years since he had felt hope, but right now Stiles was sure that no matter what happened in the future everything would go better.
“STILES!”
The last thing Stiles saw before passing out was his dad running into the clearing, and he snorted. Apparently, the universe couldn’t give him a moment of rest.