Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a howling in the wind but it’s not his wolf. It’s not his pack. It might not even be coming outside of himself, but it pulls. Stiles' feet are bloody and raw from walking barefoot through the trees. Where have his shoes gone? 

The moon is new, the sky startlingly black and he can’t see a foot in front of him. 

He doesn’t need to see to go where he needs to be. The pull is enough, that call inside him, guiding each step. 

He moves in a trance, single mindedly determined to get where he needs to be. 

“Stiles!” Someone shouts as they grip his arm tight. Stiles didn’t know that there’s anyone else in the woods with him. 

Peter has him tightly by the arm, bare chested, eyes wild. He looks just like Stiles had left him in their bed in the pack house. 

Stiles comes back to himself all at once. The trance ends. 

“Peter?” Stiles asks, confused and groggy as if he’d just woken up. 

“Come here, what were you doing out here, you’re bleeding,” Peter worries, scooping Stiles up into his arms to carry him home. Stiles’ feet are a mess. Peter doesn’t know how he walked so far like that. 

“I don’t- I don’t know I think I was sleepwalking,” Stiles winces. His feet are throbbing. He’s been having strange dreams all week now, but this was new. 

“The pack is going crazy,” Peter tells him as they’re coming back up on the clearing they built the house. Stiles winces again. Peter must have woken the whole house when he woke up and Stiles wasn’t in bed. He feels guilty that Laura is awake and stressed. She’s heavily pregnant now, due any day and doesn’t need this. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“Something’s out there.” Stiles mumbles, recalling the strange pulling feeling. It’s not like the pull of pack, that he can feel when they’re at a distance, leading him back to them. It’s a call. Something calling for him, needing him. 

Peter’s face is a hard mask as he carries him up to the porch. Everyone is waiting for them in the living room when they walk in. Jordan behind Laura in the chair, rubbing her shoulders. Derek and Malia had been pacing and swarm them as soon as they’re through the door. 

“Get the first aid box,” Laura instructs. Derek changes course to go upstairs to get it. It’s purely for Stiles. Jordan is… something. No one knows not even himself but ever since his run in with Kate something in him was waking up. He didn’t get sick and healed nearly as fast as the wolves did. 

Sometimes Stiles envies them all. In the time that he’s known them he’s been injured countless times and sick twice. 

They coddle him on the couch, Peter wrapping him in a blanket, while Parrish fusses over his feet. 

“Why were you outside without shoes?” Malia asks pointedly, like she thinks it was a dumb choice. 

“I was sleeping,” Stiles says even though he’s not sure he was exactly. He certainly wasn’t in control of himself, but he couldn’t really say he was sleepwalking either. 

None of the cuts on his feet are that deep, but there’s a lot of them and he’s not going to like walking for a while, while they’re tender. 

“Was it the dream?” Laura asks from her seat in the recliner. The best chair in the living room honestly, one no one else has gotten a chance at because Laura has commandeered it. 

Stiles had told Peter first about the weird dreams and then Laura. 

It started the same every time. It’s night, a full moon bathing everything in its glow. Stiles is walking in what feels like a spiraling circle, the loop getting tighter and tighter until he’s standing in a clearing with a towering tree with sprawling limbs. It’s beautiful, magnificent, standing wider than Stiles had ever seen a tree. 

But something’s wrong with it, in the very center of it is a hollow hole, a seething dark mass. It’s sickly, and Stiles doesn’t want to touch it, but the tree is screaming for him. 

They’d all said that there wasn’t a tree that big out there though. 

Peter carries him upstairs after Jordan is done with his feet. The worry still has his shoulders tense and Stiles feels guilty about it. He’d woke the whole house, and put them all in a panic, especially Peter. 

After he’s bundled into bed, given some ibuprofen for the pain. It’s practically morning but it’s summer vacation, so he doesn’t have anywhere to be so he doesn’t mind going back to sleep for a few more hours. 

Stiles has a feeling that even though Peter’s getting into bed next to him, he’s not going to be sleeping. 

He feels guilty about that but he can’t really do anything to make it better. He can’t exactly promise to stay in bed. Peter wouldn’t stand for an apology anyways. 

Thankfully there isn’t another incident that night but everyone is still concerned. It’s in the way that they look at him over breakfast, and maybe touch him a bit too much, leaving their scent on him. Even Jordan does it even though he doesn’t have the exact same instincts as the others. Touching is an adopted behavior that even Stiles has picked up. 

He starts school on Monday and he’s not really looking forward to it. Everything about school seems so pedestrian after all that's happened. 

Even before everything he didn't know what he wanted to study or be, especially now. Stiles knows he's going to college… that's been the only conclusion. It’s just expected. 

"Going to the Bakery?" Peter asks when he walks down the stairs to the living room. He's gotten a haircut, and spends a good forty minutes every morning painstakingly shaving around his scars into what Stiles considers a ridiculous yet sexy goatee. 

He's also a total beefcake. Being awake and moving has really built the muscles. 

"You can say that you want to go to the bakery, Peter, " Stiles says fondly. Peter has a bit of a sweet tooth that he isn’t one to own up to. Though he never turns down a crisp apple fritter. 

“I want to go to the bakery,” he smiles, coming to settle on the couch beside Stiles. “Maybe I should go alone. You look so tired.” 

“Laura is here,” Stiles assures him. She’s heavily pregnant, could be due any day but she can keep him in the house if he goes wandering. A nap does sound good. 

“I’ll only be a little while,” Peter promises, pressing a kiss to his lips quickly before standing. 

“Will you get me one of those tarts?” Some chocolate and a nap will put him right in the mood to finish the English essay he was assigned over the summer with the reading he was supposed to do. Thankfully he’d already read The Great Gatsby so he wasn’t behind on that at least. 

“I will. Get some sleep,” Peter kisses him one more time before he goes. He’s reluctant, but he also knows Stiles won’t appreciate his hovering. 

Stiles tucks himself into their bed, and lays there. At first he’s too nervous to sleep, worried that he’ll wake up to Laura trying to stop him from walking out into the trees again. 

Instead he’s waking up to Laura gently shaking his shoulder, the other hand on her back to support the rather large belly as she bends over. 

“What? Is something wrong? Is it the babies?” Stiles asks as he rockets off the bed from his stomach. Laura catches him as he almost flails off the bed. 

“No, but Scott is here with Nurse McCall.” Oh. Right. Melissa had been coming around often since Laura was nearing the end of her pregnancy, just to check her and the babies out. OBGYN hadn’t been her specialty in a long time, but she remembered it all. She was even going to attend the birth. It was something the Emissary should have done but they didn’t have one presently. Deaton was in town, but no one had sought him out and he hadn’t come to make introductions either. 

Laura didn’t think he had anything to do with their family dying the way that they had but she also couldn’t trust him either. She felt he hadn’t done enough for the pack and Stiles isn’t sure what else he could have done to prevent what happened but he also doesn’t argue. Laura’s hormones are… interesting lately. 

“Okay. Okay good. I’ll be down soon.” Stiles says as he gets out of bed. He gets dressed, and runs a comb through his hair before coming down the stairs. 

Scott doesn’t really come here, and since Stiles practically lives here it means that their bro time has severely diminished even if they’re texting more than before. 

“Hey!” Scott says, he’s perched on the arm of a sofa. Laura and Melissa have gone off somewhere private to give her a check so it’s just them. Scott looks happy to see him, as bright a puppy as always even if he’s gotten a haircut that actually looks good on him. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asks. Scott had kept the secret but the wolves still made him nervous. Since the house had been built and Stiles had all but moved in officially, Scott had been there a handful of times. Mostly they hung out at Scott’s when Scott wasn’t with Allison. 

“Well. You know how I got that job at the vets?” Scott asks, and Stiles had absolutely forgotten when Scott had told him at the beginning of summer. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says instead. 

“Well. That’s Doc Deaton.” Oh. For some reason Stiles had never connected it when Scott had said he got a job at the vet clinic, and the fact that Alan Deaton was also the local vet. The only vet. 

“What does he want?” Stiles asks shortly. Whatever non opinion he had about Deaton was turning sour with this. Sending Scott to relay his messages instead of manning up and coming himself? It’s not a good look. 

“He heard about Laura’s pregnancy. He wants to offer his assistance. He says that he delivered all of Talia Hale’s kids.”

“That’s all?” Stiles frowns. 

“Well he said a lot of stuff but it was all weirdly formal and I don’t really remember it all. I know that he’d like a chance at least to talk to Laura. He looked sorry,” Scott defends. He sort of knows most of the story. Allison had told him as much as she knows and Stiles had told him a little here and there, but Scott doesn’t really seem like he’s very invested or interested in all the werewolf stuff. Every day that Stiles gets deeper in the further he and Scott seem to get. 

It doesn’t sting the way that he thought it would when they were ten and about to start middle school and Stiles thought Scott would find a bigger and better crowd. 

“I’ll talk to Laura about it, but I think she’s content with just your mom.” In fact, Stiles knows that she’ll reject the offer to have Deaton in the house when she gives birth, but she might at least meet with him. He lives and works in the town that they consider their territory. She’ll at least meet him to make sure he keeps his nose out of their business. 

“Okay so… School starts Monday. Allison, Lydia and some others are going to go to the lake this weekend. Do you want to come with us?” Stiles imagines that the ‘some others’ include Jackson who is currently ‘on’ again with Lydia and some of the others from the Lacrosse team. That’s a hard pass. 

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to go that far. Laura’s due any day now.” It’s an excuse and not at the same time but Scott lets it slide as easy as anything else. 

“That’s cool-” Scott starts to change the subject again, clearly struggling with what to say. Laura coming down the stairs with Melissa interrupts him. Stiles wonders where they’re going to be in a year, five years even. He doesn’t think they’re going to be close. Their lives are drifting in vastly different directions. 

“You can tell Deaton he’s not welcome at our home, or anywhere near my pups. If he wants to talk, I’ll find him in a few weeks. After my children are born.” Laura says decisively. Scott shuffles awkwardly before looking back to Stiles. 

“I um, I’m gonna go, I’m mom's ride,” Scott clarifies, though Stiles knows he just doesn’t want to stay. Considering it’s Melissa’s car he’s driving. 

Stiles claps him on the back and walks them out, chatting like old times until they get loaded up. Melissa promises to be back in a couple days unless there’s an emergency. She says it like she knows there will be and Stiles learns why when he comes inside. 

“Melissa says I’m dilating already. It’ll be any day now.” Laura tells him. Stiles sucks in a breath. 

He’s never actually seen childbirth, but the whole pack is expected to be there. Even the human members. He’s known it was coming but hearing that its really actually happening, already getting started is a bit startling. 

“Oh wow. Okay. Yeah. Everything’s ready.” Stiles assures himself more than Laura. She’s been planning everything with Jordan and Melissa. The house is stocked with baby things, and postpartum things. Something Melissa called ‘padcicles’ are just chilling in the fridge after she brought them over. Laura had thought it was such a nice gesture she hadn’t had the heart to tell her that she wasn’t going to need them or to throw them out. Recovery was going to be fast for Laura. By the time they got the placenta out, she was likely to already be halfway to healed. 

“Everything is ready,” Laura repeats. She’s not worried in the least. Wolves rarely ever had complications with labor. The only thing she really worried about was someone being turned the wrong way on the way out, or a cord being caught around someone's neck. 

But Melissa has assured her that both babies are already moving head down, as best she can tell from palpating her abdomen. The hearts are strong, and the last ultrasound they’d gotten from the portable Melissa had ‘borrowed’ from the hospital showed that the babies were measuring a little on the big side. 

Laura has every faith that things are going to go well. 

Stiles mostly has that same faith too, except for the fact that he’s a worrier. 

“It’s fine. We’re all fine. You. Me. Baby A and Baby B.” Laura smirks, which turns into a grin when Stiles squawks at her rhyme. And the fact that she wouldn’t tell him the names she and Jordan have picked out. They didn’t know the genders, didn’t want Melissa to tell them so they had a couple names picked out. She was prepared for boy/girl names that compliment each other, girl/girl and boy/boy. Stiles is still put out that she won’t share even one. Even Jordan won’t fold and Stiles could usually wheedle things out of him. 

“I guess we’re fine,” Stiles agrees with a queasy gut. The wolves had to attend the birth, because labor was a shared pain. The wolves gathered and took the pain from the mother to ease her. Stiles could do that, but he already promised to do everything that he could. If that was fetching this and that for Melissa or Laura to keep her happy that was what he was going to do and he really isn’t sure he’s ready for it. 

At least Laura is.

Chapter Text

The next two nights Stiles dreams are about the same tree but he doesn’t leave his bed. It’s both relieving and… not. There’s something out there. He knows it, and he knows that it’s calling for him. There’s a need in the dream, sickness and distress. They’re not coming from him but compelling him. With everything going on in the house he’s not sure how to talk about it, or how he wants to go walking out there while he’s awake and try and find it. 

Finding it seems like the only way to solve the dreams. Well finding it and somehow fixing whatever’s wrong. Stiles has no idea what he’s gonna do to fix it, but all he knows is that Peter’s barely sleeping, worrying that every time he’ll wake up Stiles will have wandered off again. 

Which is exactly what happens. 

When he wakes he doesn’t know where he is. The night is brighter, but he’s further than he’s been before and nowhere that he’s familiar with from the pack runs. He’s in a clearing, and in the middle is a stump. It’s big enough to lay across, and Stiles has a feeling that it’s the tree. Long dead, cut down, but it’s the tree.

There's a feeling in the air, a static on his neck. Stiles steps closer to the stump. Nothing feels alive here. Not the stump or the clearing around it, but it should. It's summer. The rest of the preserve is still green with the vegetation but not here and that only confirms more that this is the tree of his dreams.

"Why?" Stiles asks himself, asks the tree. It called him, didn't it? Dead as it looks, it called him. 

There's not an answer. Not that he really expects one. 

He closes the distance to the tree, and the fine hairs on his neck raise. This tree had been so magnificent, ancient, the rings tell a story of hundreds of seasons passing. 

They just don't tell him what he wants or why he's having the dreams. 

Stiles reaches for it, for the rough surface when a hand catches his. 

He screams, startled. He thought he was alone, in an empty clearing but someone is right beside him. 

Only when he looks, there's no one there, and the gnarled hand isn't wrapped around his wrist. 

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes, arm snatched back against his chest. This is too weird. Too weird for the middle of the night and he wants to go back to the house. Back to Peter and their bed. 

Something is still pulling him but he can't be here right now. Not alone. He turns and shouts for Peter, walking carefully back to the trees, mindful of his stinging feet. 

He calls for Peter, tugs his bond insistently so Peter will find him, and bring him home. 

Stiles can't walk far in the darkness the canopy creates. The further he gets from the tree but he doesn't need to. Peter tears through the woods in his wolf skin. He throws back his head and howls when he spots Stiles. The shift is graceful, fluid. One step he's the wolf, the next the man. Stiles is entranced with it every time he sees it. 

"I'm sorry-" They say in unison, cutting each other off. Peter sighs before wrapping himself around Stiles. His relief is palpable as Stiles' own. 

"Laura's water broke." Peter tells him. It's why he wasn't there in bed, why he was distracted enough to let Stiles slip from the house. They put extra into the construction of the house to dampen the sound and allow more privacy to the wolves in the comfort of their own rooms. No one wanted to over hear sex down the hall so clearly they might as well be in the same room. Peter had been in Laura's room while Derek went to get Melissa and Malia was with her father. He was the only one who could help Laura with changing the sheets, and easing her pain. The contractions had been far apart all day, but they were picking up quickly. 

"Let's go home," Stiles urges, letting Peter scoop him into his arms. 

They have to stop to close Jordan's cruiser door which is wide open in his hurry. And to let John in. 

"You look like hell kid." John says as he takes over the first aid duty so Peter can go up to help Laura. Derek isn't back with Melissa yet. 

"I was sleepwalking," Stiles hasn't told John about the dreams and the sleep walking yet. It wasn't that he was trying to keep his dad out of all this stuff… it's just that it's uncomfortably close to how it started with his mom. Even if Stiles isn't suffering from the onset of her disease, he hates the crinkle of his dad's brow when he remembers those years when she was sick. 

"Do you know what it is?" John asks as he disinfects the old and new cuts on Stiles feet. They were more protected this time from the bandages that were already there but bandages are a poor replacement for shoes. 

"There's a stump out there. In the woods. It's massive and old. I think… something about it just… it brought me there. When-"

"The Nemeton?" Derek asks as he hurries through to the living room. His eyes are a little wild and Stiles knows he's wandered onto another of Derek’s apparently long list of traumas. 

"Is that what the stump is? A Nemeton? Why didn't you mention it before?" 

"You were dreaming about a giant tree. I didn't think it would be that stump. That's… " Derek frowns before turning around and heading straight upstairs. 

"That doesn't sound good." John murmurs beside him. Stiles nods in agreement. No one had thought Stiles' dreams or sleepwalking were exactly good things but tonight was making it just a little more ominous. 

"The tree is the Nemeton?" Peter now has that same wide eyed look Derek had when he had come through the door.

"What's a Nemeton? You guys can't keep throwing out that word and expecting me to know what's up." 

“It’s an ancient tree that was used by Druids in their magic, in their rituals. That particular tree was cut down before I was born.” Peter says, coming to sit across from Stiles on the coffee table. 

“Then why did Derek look like that? Why do you, if it’s dead? Why am I dreaming about it, why is it pulling me out there, and well… something else was out there. Something bad.” Stiles remembers the hand that gripped him, stopping him from touching the stump. There’s a puzzle in front of him and he’s missing half the pieces. Stiles doesn’t like it. 

“I told you about Paige. What I did, and what Derek had to do… he had to do it there, at the tree. Under the tree more precisely. There’s a root cellar, and that’s where Derek took her when she was dying.” Oh. 

“But it’s dead,” Stiles repeats the part that makes the least amount of sense. 

“Or sleeping. I don’t know. A druid would know better.”

“Do you know any druids?” John asks, packing away the first aid box now that he’s done with it. 

“Unfortunately, yes. Alan Deaton,” Peter sighs. He also doesn’t trust the man, though he had never truly trusted him. He had been the Emissary for the pack but Peter had never felt that he had had the packs best interests at heart. He was very concerned with balance, and what he did for the pack Peter always felt he did for Talia alone and the rest of the Hale pack was incidental. Deaton’s cryptic nature also pisses Peter off to no end. 

Stiles sighs too, glancing towards the stairs. Laura won’t like that they actually need Deaton for something. They’ll have to talk to her about it once she and the babies are settled. 

“You don’t know any others?” Stiles asks. Peter once had an extensive network but a lot of it had fallen off while he was unconscious. Derek and Laura might know one that could help but they were likely back in New York. Deaton was local, and probably knew the tree. 

“I can try making some calls but a lot of the numbers I had for people are disconnected.” Peter has made great headway in a new network but it was a handful of numbers. Abysmal compared to what it had been. The best option they had right now was Alan Deaton. The fact that he asked for a meeting the same day Stiles walked in his sleep the first time towards the tree is suspicious. 

Laura’s moaning scream cuts through the living room and John gives Stiles' knee a squeeze. “Sounds like something to talk about later, right now I think you’re needed upstairs.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly, getting to his feet that are smarting. He’s sort of dreading going up there, knowing he’s going to be more intimately acquainted with Laura’s vagina than he ever wanted to be, but this is what she wanted. Her pack close, the wolves easing her pain, as she labored to bring the two newest members of the pack into the world. 

Intellectually Stiles knew that there was going to be blood, and gunk and fluids a plenty. Knowing it and then seeing it and seeing a baby head full of dark hair crowning? Much different things. He had been fairly proud of himself for how he was handling it. Stiles had stripped the bed and laid it out with the padded sheet Melissa brought with her to spare the mattress. 

Not that Laura was using it. She was on her knees, braced over the side of the bed, and wouldn’t be moved. Melissa said it was where she was comfortable, and that there wasn’t any problem with it. 

Stiles had thought he was being helpful and holding up well. 

But then the blood came, and then the head of the first baby. Suddenly he went from standing behind Laura holding out the towels for Melissa, and the next he’s face first in the rug, vision gray around the edges. 

“Stiles!” Peter exclaims, but there’s an edge of laughter to his concern and Laura is peeking over her shoulder to laugh wildly before she moans again with another contraction. He’s firmly out of Melissa’s concern, and Derek pointedly is not looking at all. 

“ ‘M fine,” He slurs into the rug, turning his face away from Laura’s business. That dizzy faint feeling isn’t passing and there’s an edge of nausea to it. The last thing he wants to do is vomit in Laura and Jordan’s bedroom. 

It’s Jordan who hauls him to his feet and walks him to the bench at the foot of their bed and lays him across it.

“Better you than me,” Jordan says to him as he makes his way back to Melissa’s side where he’s ready to help her catch the baby. He looks pale and Stiles thinks that he might have been on that floor with him if Jordan hadn’t been a little more determined to stay up right. 

In the next minute, Laura gives a guttural moan, and then there’s a piercing cry. 

“We’ve got a girl!” Jordan cheers, and when Stiles peeks, he sees a bloody gunky bundle in Jordan’s arms and closes his eyes immediately. 

“I told you, always the girls first,” Peter laughs. He and Derek are at either side of Laura, hand on her bare back to take her pain. 

“Shut up!” Laura bites out, hand fisted in the sheets. The babies have decided they want out and they want out fast apparently.

“Stiles, I need you to hold the baby,” Jordan calls to him. Stiles really doesn’t want to get up, but he does. He flops to the floor and crawls his way to Jordan. He doesn’t trust his legs to stand. Once he’s there besides Jordan, sitting cross legged against the wall the baby is placed into his arms. 

And just like that he doesn’t feel so dizzy. There’s a little life in his arms, looking up at him with murky unfocused eyes. A brand new little being who settles in his chest, a bond as much as anyone else in the pack. 

“Oh.” He breathes. She’s covered in gore and her face is all squished and wrinkled, one of her little ears folded over, but she’s beautiful. He’s barely aware that the other baby is born until they’re taking their first cry. 

“A boy!” Jordan smiles, wrapping up the baby like his twin. 

“Still a girl first,” Peter says smugly, only to be smacked by Laura who looks so relieved as she turns over to better see her children. 

“Give them to me,” she urges. Stiles lets Jordan take the little girl from him after settling their son on Laura’s chest. He might not feel like keeling over right now but he doesn’t trust that he can shuffle over to Laura himself. 

She smiles at her children, pressing kisses to their goopy hair. She doesn’t even seem to notice that her legs are shaking uncontrollably, or that Melissa is pressing on her abdomen hard enough to make Stiles cringe. 

“What are their names?” Stiles asks. He’s dying to know. 

Laura shares a look with Jordan and when he nods she tells them. 

“Maura and Morgan Parrish-Hale,” Laura smiles. She decided she liked her mothers little tradition of rhyming names. Maura and Laura. Jordan and Morgan. It’s a small way to honor her mother. Stiles beams at her because he’d known it was going to happen. 

Peter scoops him up once Laura doesn’t need the pain drain. Melissa is going to stay with Laura to let Jordan cut the cord once it stopped pulsing and to deliver a placenta or two. 

“We’ll give you privacy,” Peter says, as Derek stands to follow them. The pack had been there just like Laura wanted, but now it was time to give their little family a moment to themselves. 

“I can’t believe you fainted,” Derek finally says as they go back downstairs to give John the good news. Stiles flushes indignantly but he is leaning pretty heavily on Peter still. 

“Well at least I looked. You were staring holes into the mattress.” Stiles shoots back. Derek had done everything but look anywhere near Laura’s lower half. Which is fair, and it wasn’t like Stiles had meant to really look. He’d just been on towel duty and it’s hard not to look when it’s right there.

Their pack is two bigger and that’s all that matters. 

On an early Saturday morning in August, Maura and Morgan Parrish-Hale join the world.

Chapter Text

No one wants to tell Laura just yet that they need to meet with Alan Deaton and it’s not so urgent that they can’t wait a few days while Laura gets some time to adjust to being a new mother. 

For all their hurry to join the world they’re not very happy about it. Melissa says it’s just cluster feeding and a bit of colic. 

The twins are up all hours of the night but mostly quiet during the day. Stiles says it’s because they’re werewolves and those nocturnal genes are really kicking in. Laura glares about it but she doesn’t refute it. Two days later, she’s probably inclined to agree with how little sleep she’s been getting. 

Everyone tries to take the babies for her when they can, but Derek and Jordan both have work, Malia’s too often with her dad so that leaves Peter and Stiles. 

They’re capable and willing, but that means along with Laura they’re just as tired. 

The dreams haven’t stopped, but he’s been lucky not to sleepwalk yet. He doesn’t expect it nightly. Stiles can’t rightly say the triggers but so far he hasn’t left the bed. Though it might help that he’s been up with the babies as much as Laura. Peter, safely tucked up in his own bed, in his own house, sleeps like the dead. 

Or he’s pretending to be dead because those babies hit a frequency unlike anything Stiles has ever heard when they’re pissed and his little wolfy ears are suffering. 

Stiles’ ears are suffering. 

It’s only been three days. He spent the night before with Maura walking the halls because that’s the only way she’d stop screaming, and Laura was doing the same with Morgan, while feeding him. Then they’d switch because Maura would be hungry. Jordan switched with him at some point so Stiles got some sleep to be fresh for school. 

He was absolutely not fresh and slept through most of his classes. But it was the first day of school so it was a bunch of syllabus explanations. Nothing much to miss. 

The only class he doesn’t get to nap in is English. They’ve got a new teacher who for some reason thought moving to some small towns little highschool was the best move for what Stiles assumes is her first ever teaching job. 

Jennifer Blake is young, and looks like she just graduated from student teaching. She’s the talk of the school because of it. Every boy is enamored with her. Stiles doesn’t even notice. Mostly he’s just annoyed with the click of her heels and the smell of her perfume as she leans on his desk and asks him to pay attention. She also quizzes the hell out of him and if he did the summer reading. 

Stiles doesn’t like Jennifer Blake. He’s not even sure it’s just because she woke him up just when he was starting to have his first tree free dream in weeks. There’s something off about her when she looks at him. A sharpness in her smile that he doesn’t see when she talks to the girl next to him. 

Maybe she’s already decided she doesn’t like him. Most teachers here already don’t. He flits about topics, goes off topic in assignments, derails class discussions, and his past hijinx have been passed around so much he wouldn’t be surprised if Jennifer Blake has heard of them and decided he was a bad kid. 

He’s glad to leave her class, glad it’s the last one for the day and even more glad that Peter is leaning on his jeep waiting for him. He’s exhausted. 

“Long day?” Peter asks as he holds his hand out for the keys. Stiles passes them over easily and slides up for a kiss. 

“Longest. How’s things at home?” People look in their direction as they part. No one really knows what to do with Stiles' thirty something boyfriend. He’s about to turn nineteen though so the teachers don’t say anything. Though he’s already been told that come time for Prom he’s not to attend with Peter as a date. As if Stiles was ever going to attend prom in the first place. 

A lot and nothing at all has happened on his first day actually. 

“I think we’re turning a corner,” Peter says. The twins have now spent most of the day crying so he’s hopeful that tonight will be quiet and Stiles will stay tucked up in bed. Laura had nearly scared the life out of him when she’d come into his study to tell him that her milk had finally come in. 

“Amazing because I cannot be up walking the halls tonight.” Every year, the time to adjust to being back in school has gotten shorter. Freshman year they had pretty much a week of pure nothingness while figuring out how to be highschoolers. Sophomore they’d gotten half that, and half again for Junior year. He’s pretty sure tomorrow there’s going to be actual assignments. 

“I think Derek was going to do it anyway, it’s his day off tomorrow. He can miss some sleep.” Peter has been a little envious of their excuses. He likes children well enough, when they’re not his own, and a little more fun. When Laura came along he was only nine, and he had hated her guts. She screamed as much as Maura and Morgan. He’s older now, more mature. He doesn’t hate his grand niece and nephew for it, but he isn’t really enjoying it. 

Stiles would say that Peter could miss a little sleep, but he does enough of that worrying after Stiles. 

When they walk in, the house is quiet. Blessedly blessedly quiet. Derek is in the living room with the twins who are sleeping on his chest, and Laura curled up in the armchair next to them. 

It’s a pretty picture. Stiles makes sure to take one so that he can print it later and add it to the walls. The fire had left them with very few pictures, but Laura and Derek had gone through the ones they had and framed some and kept the rest in the photo album they had been in. It hadn’t been nearly enough to fill the walls and mantle. Stiles had been taking photos and filling them in. He even had a big box coming full with some things so he could try and stage some newborn photos. 

They said quiet hello’s to Derek and retreated upstairs so they didn’t wake the babies and by extension Laura. 

Peter has a wolfish grin when Stiles turns around and it’s not hard to figure out what he’s about. 

With everything they haven’t had much time for themselves and it doesn’t take more than a second for Stiles' own libido to get on board. 

He drags his plaid down his shoulder, smirking as it drops lower. It’s hardly a strip tease yet but Peter’s already hungry eyed. 

“Like what you see?” Stiles asks before letting it fall to the floor entirely. Peter seems content to let him try and seduce him. He leans against the wall in that stupid sexy predatory way. Stiles feels like he’s being swallowed up but it doesn’t make him nervous anymore, the heat and intensity. He’s hard in his jeans as he pulls his shirt over his head. Peter’s more fit, but he’s never made Stiles feel self conscious about being lean. Stiles can’t even rightly say he’s lean anymore with the way he runs around with them all, and the self defense he’s been taking. His broad shoulders are finally filling out with his limbs no longer gangly. 

“Shoes,” Peter reminds him quietly when Stiles tries to pull his jeans down first. Stiles laughs before toeing them off. It would be just like him to trip in his own strip tease because he forgot to take off his shoes before his jeans. 

Peter let him strip bare sliding onto the bed to 'pose'. It was a bit too ridiculous to be sexy, but the easy intimacy and openness was far more appealing to him. 

Peter was far quicker in stripping and joining Stiles in bed. The need was no less fierce than the first time, but the fire was banked with content that Peter relished in just as much. 

He didn't so much fear it but… wonder when he was younger if he simply didn't have it in him to be this kind of man in a relationship like this. His flings were always so passionate, a blazing thing that burned itself out. He got bored, he moved on. 

There's passion now, an appreciation for Stiles body, his appetite for sexual exploration. But there's quiet mornings where they lay in bed, mundane talks about groceries. Yet he's never bored, it never burns out. 

Peter's a lifetime from the man he was before the fire, and so different from the man he was when he first woke up, but he's happy. 

Stiles is different too. 

"I want you in me," Peter purrs as he crawls over the bed, prowling almost. His hands are electric on Stiles thighs as they slide up his body. When Peter noses at that sensitive joint where thigh meets hip just next to his hard cock, Stiles moans. 

This is rarer, but no less welcome. He arches into the first hot breath against his heated cock and nearly chokes when Peter swallows him down. 

"Peter," Stiles groans, gripping his hair. If Peter's plan is to get fucked he's absolutely going about it the wrong way. Not that Stiles couldn't get it up again, but they're a little pressed for time even with Derek on Baby Duty. Eventually there's bound to be an interruption. 

"Let me," Peter says. Stiles doesn't need much encouragement. 

…

The first thing Stiles is aware of is the weightless sensation of being carried. His head lolling, and firm arms gripping him under the knees, around the shoulders. 

Sleepy confusion keeps him docile, keeps the panic on the back burner. Even as he recognizes that he's outside and not the sofa where he'd passed out earlier in the night sandwiched between Peter and Malia where they had been watching a movie. 

It's not Peter carrying him he realizes in increments. The smells different, the feel of the chest he's pressed against. 

"Jordan?" Stiles croaks out, voice sleep broken. 

Jordan doesn't look at him. There's something strange about his eyes. They're unfocused, staring straight ahead and Stiles realizes they're not their usual green. They're glowing around the edges, a ring of molten gold. 

"Jordan… Jordan, wake up," Stiles snaps his fingers in front of Jordan's eyes. Nothing. He doesn't particularly want to be dumped onto the ground so he doesn't struggle.

He didn't know that sleep walking was particularly contagious… 

The woods at night have that endless liminal quality. He can't orient himself. But he knows. They're going to that stump. To the Nemeton. Whatever pulled Stiles was pulling Jordan now and bringing him along for the ride. 

The blessing comes in the fact that the others know where the damn stump is and they shouldn't be far behind. 

So Stiles lets it happen. What else is he supposed to do? Jordan is displaying strength just like a werewolf, and Stiles is human. He doesn't want to test strength like that when it's determined to bring him somewhere and all that conscious care to not hurt him is clearly not present. Stiles isn't risking a struggle.

Well that is until Jordan steps into the clearing and beelines straight for the stump. The intention is clear that he's about to stick Stiles on it. He remembers the had that grabbed him when he tried to touch it the last time and he doesn't want to find out what's gonna happen if Jordan tries to lay him across it. 

"Sorry man," Stiles mutters before he grabs Jordan fully by the nipple and twists as hard as he can. 

It had the effect he wants, even if it results in him being more flung than dropped to the hard ground. 

Jordan wakes with a yowling cry. 

"What the fuck?!" Jordan yelps, and then their current location gets his attention. What the fuck indeed. 

"You awake now?" Stiles asks as he rubs his aching side. He hadn't quite managed to catch himself on the way down. 

"Stiles? What-" 

"You were sleepwalking. You brought me here, and you tried to put me on the stump." Stiles fills him in. 

"You sleepwalk," Jordan says dumbly. The sleep hasn’t quite left him yet. 

"Congrats, you do too. Sorry about your nipple." 

"My… nipple?" Jordan doesn't even have any red flesh where Stiles had grabbed him and tried to rip the thing off. Supernatural healing and its perks. 

Jordan seems to shake the sleep off enough to help Stiles to his feet. He’s steady enough even though it aches, but not enough that he feels he’s broken anything. Even if Jordan had thrown him off rather harshly. Stiles isn’t blaming him though. He didn’t know what was going on and the purple nurple was as viscous as he could get it. 

Stiles opens his mouth but Jordan’s already whipping around and jogging to the tree line to meet Laura who comes crashing through. She’s followed by Malia. Before he can even ask where Peter is, the man himself is walking through, holding another man by the arm that Stiles vaguely knows as Alan Deaton. He’s only seen pictures of him and the occasional glimpses around town. 

Well. That certainly explains why it took them so long to catch up with Jordan's sedated pace. 

Contagious sleepwalking certainly is an added cause for concern and clearly enough for Laura not to argue when Peter drags Alan into view. 

“Well. This is highly irregular.” Deaton remarks, eyes glancing between them all and the stump. His eyes linger a little long on Stiles before he turns to Jordan with the same assessing gaze. He knows something or suspects but he’s not immediately saying it. 

“I’ve been having dreams about this tree, and I’ve been sleepwalking to it, like it’s calling me. Tonight it was his turn and he carried me here. He tried to put me on the tree, but the last time I touched it some freaky gnarled hand grabbed me but nothing was there. Fix it,” Stiles simplifies. All they need is information, answers, a solution and since Deaton is a Druid and this is a druid tree, Stiles expects him to have them. 

“I’m afraid that I can’t do that-” Deaton falls to the ground when Peter shoves him. He’s clearly not amused and not afraid to beat a solution out of the man. Stiles knows there’s hurt feelings between them. Or resentment and irritation on Peter’s part at least. 

“You misunderstand, if you would let me finish?” Deaton asks calmly. He doesn’t at all look like he’s been dragged out of bed by a pissed off werewolf, and brought out to the trees clearly in danger if he pisses said werewolf off too much. 

“The solution doesn’t lie on me. I didn’t have the dreams, the Nemeton didn’t call me for help. The tree and the force attempting to kill it and harness its power for itself have focused on you, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Then tell me how to fix it.” Stiles bites out. He doesn’t really have patience for this either. He wants it clean-cut and to the point. 

“A Nemeton is a powerful thing when worshiped, tended. In return it protects the land it holds. This tree has been long dead… no. Not dead. When it was cut down, it was weakened, dormant, but a blood sacrifice gave it a spark. It’s not fully awake, or even very powerful as it is but all it would take is a little more blood, a ritual and it would be as strong as it was. But doing it this way corrupts. It will be strong but the magic will be sick.”

“You’re very long winded.” Stiles snaps. Normally this would all be really fucking cool and he would love to hear it but right now they have a pressing issue that’s spread from him to Jordan. Their pack is bigger, growing stronger, but it’s still relatively new and there’s two babies at home. There’s no time for blood sacrifices and sick dark magic. 

“There’s a consciousness to a tree like this. It’s weak, sick, and it needs to be tended and it wants to be tended, to do its duty. Something is attacking it and it wants protection. It wants you,” Deaton finishes explaining. It’s barely visible on his face but he doesn’t seem to like being rushed. 

“What about me?” Jordan asks. It’s a really fair question. They don’t even know what Parrish is let alone why the tree would drag him into it. 

“When a Nemeton is active it acts like a beacon to the supernatural. When this town was new and the Nemeton was strong many supernaturals came. The Hales were first, they settled the town with humans and supernaturals alike, and with the power of the tree and those that tended it it became a sort of haven. But the good aren’t all that are drawn to the tree. The tree needs someone to tend it but it also needs someone to protect its keeper.”

“Why Jordan? Stiles is my mate,” and there’s something bitter in Peter’s voice when he says it. 

“He’s Cŵn Annwn, a Hellhound. They’re compelled to protect the supernatural. You’re his mate, you will protect him, and the Hales will protect the town but the Nemeton has always chosen a Cŵn Annwn for the duty.” 

“Why pick me? You’re here, a Druid, you know magic. I don’t.” Stiles knows that he has a spark in him. It makes him more sensitive to the bonds of the pack, to feel them in the way the wolves do but that’s all that he’s managed to do.  He’s young, untrained, he doesn’t know anything. 

Deaton is quiet for a moment, almost long enough to have Peter shove him again even though he’s only gotten to his knees. Perhaps anticipating another shove and not wanting to give himself too much of a fall. 

“I don’t know. Druids have worshiped at the roots of Nemeta for centuries, but Druids weren’t their founders or creators. They grow where Telluric currents are strong, they develop a consciousness in their own way, and the call to people to protect them as well as being a magnet for the supernatural. The Nemeton sees something in you. You can refuse but if you refuse it’s offer it will be unable to grow and thrive. If the tree thrives, the town thrives, and if it dies, truly dies… well it’s said that when a Nemeta is cut down death and destruction follow.”

“This one is already cut down,” Laura points out. 

“Death and destruction have followed. The Hale family who have been favored by the Nemeton since the town's founding were nearly entirely lost. Not even in recent years there have been cycling periods of deep destruction, mostly to the supernatural population since the tree was cut. Imagine if it had truly died…” Deaton seems to truly fear the possibility. 

“You said something is trying to kill it,” Peter reminds. Deaton glances at him, and at Laura. His gaze settles on the ground as he speaks. 

“A corrupt being, once a druid and now something entirely against nature. A Darach. I felt them when they entered the town but they are much stronger than I am. I haven’t been able to pin down their location. I feel it here, at the tree. There’s only one reason that a Darach might have come here. They will corrupt the tree and fully awaken it so that they can take the power of it for themselves. It will kill the tree in the process, and it will kill Beacon Hills. If not from the loss of the Tree then because of the thing inside of it.” 

“What’s in the tree?” Stiles asks, because apparently they have to ask stupid little questions when Deaton could just come out and say it all. 

“A thing of chaos. A demon that thrives on death and destruction. If the Darach gets what it wants there won’t be anything to hold the Nogitsune any longer. It will escape, and in the wake on the destruction of the Nemeton dying we don’t know how strong that it will be,” Deaton unexpectedly seemed to have a flair for the dramatics, which usually lent itself to mysterious ‘I know all’ speeches with riddles and ‘wisdom’ you’re supposed to guess the answers about as if he was some sage or something. Stiles sees why Deaton annoys Peter to no end. 

He also doesn’t think that he’s entirely blowing it out of proportion. 

“So you’re saying I don’t really have a choice. I have to accept the tree's offer and tend to it so it can grow and Jordan has to protect me.” Stiles knows a no-way-but-through situation when he sees it. They all do and none of them are happy about it.

“I’ll never go to college.” Stiles says. He can read between the lines here. He’ll be bound to the tree, and the tree is bound to the town. It doesn’t really seem like the kind of position that gives out vacations. Or whole months that he can be out of town. 

He hadn’t really known what he wanted to do or where he wanted to go. Stiles hadn’t really been all that invested in the deciding of it. Now it’s a non option and the loss of a choice stings. 

“We’re never going to be able to leave the town.” Stiles adds. 

“Until the tree calls to someone else, yes. You two will be bound to it. Ageless.” Stiles decides it's time to sit. Peter crosses to him, curling around him. Wolves are extraordinarily long lived if nothing decides to kill them. Stiles had been content that he would have a very long and happy life with Peter, but now he’ll live forever until the tree finds someone else to do his job? 

“The tree is kind. I’ve never seen a record of it keeping one pair longer than fifty or so years. Some are shorter than others. When they are no longer happy enough to serve, it searches for a new pair.” Deaton says as some measure of comfort. 

Stiles doesn’t know if it is. 

There’s nothing else to do though. Nothing else that Stiles can think of and the tree apparently thinks it’s urgent to bond now. The Darach is already in town, preparing to take the power for itself. They have zero leads, no clue where it is, and the destruction of the town and the Nogitsune or whatever being released aren’t really things Stiles wants to gamble on. 

Fifty years. Fifty ageless years. Nineteen forever. 

“Okay. So. How? What do I have to do?” Stiles asks finally. 

“What do we have to do?” Jordan says, arms around Laura who looks like she wants to protest but she knows that she can’t. 

“Mr. Stilinski will need to touch the tree and… speak with it. I don’t know the details. It’s not written about, but when you accept the bond, Officer Parrish will be bound to you. Perhaps not much different than he already is, considering your pack bonds.” 

“Stiles. You don’t have to do this. There haven't been any sacrifices yet, we could have time to find the Darach and kill it.” Peter is the only one to argue. He has a selfish streak, and an insecurity when it comes to Stiles. Suddenly Stiles is embroiled in something that he’s been told has nothing to do with him. He’s not barred from protecting Stiles but someone else is being given the duty. 

Stiles kisses him, firmly on the mouth. Nothings really changing, he tells himself. He’s Peter’s mate, Jordan is his pack and they’re going to protect their territory and their town. The restrictions of it… well he’s always known that he was going to be settled in Beacon Hills. He just hadn’t expected that it would be so soon and final.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. It will be. 

“You will have to kill the Darach regardless. She won’t stop just because you and Officer Parrish have bonded to the tree before she could corrupt it. She will try to take it from you.” Deaton warns. Peter just snarls and Laura and Malia answer it with ones of their own. She can try, the growls say. 

Peter helps him to his feet. 

Stiles takes a breath and turns to face the stump. He doesn’t know what exactly is going to happen but he’s felt the tree call him. It needs him, and Stiles doesn’t feel that it would hurt him. 

He steps forward. One step, another. He closes the distance and before anything can stop him he shoves his hands against the rough surface. For a split second he thinks that nothing is going to happen and then the world goes white.

Chapter Text

“You came,” a voice says both inside his head and out, neither male or female, young or old. It's a sound or a thought. Stiles can't say which. In pieces color fills the white void he was sucked into and the tree- as it had been before it was cut down- stands in front of him. 

"You made it hard not to," Stiles replies to the relief in its voice. 

"It's an emergency… I wouldn't be so forceful otherwise." Stiles supposes that's fair. He wouldn't politely ask for help if something was trying to kill him either. 

"I just have to ask… why me? I know that Jordan is a Hellhound or whatever but I don't know anything. I just learned about the supernatural not that long ago," Stiles asks. He's already going to say yes. It wouldn't hurt to at least have some answers. 

"The Druid lacks dedication. Loyalty. I was cut long before his arrival but he did not come to tend or worship at my roots. There are long empty stretches where I saw nothing, heard nothing but I knew some things in my sleep. 

"You are more powerful than he ever will be. You are untrained, the magic in you weak like an unused muscle but given time he would never match you and as my keeper you will be strong enough to face the Darach. You have shown loyalty and bravery to your pack and the Druid is unwanted there. His roots don't mingle with Laura Hale's. In this he is unsuitable for keeper."

It seemed as scathing a review as the Nemeton could give. 

"So what do I do?" Stiles says as he steps closer, toes almost touching the exposed roots. He talks to the trunk unsure where else to direct himself. He's certainly not about to put a crick in his neck to see the tree top. 

"Take these," The tree says. Two acorns drop from above at his feet. They're not exactly acorn. They're too gold, a little small, and they're warm in his hands. 

"Swallow one, and in the stump place the other." 

Mm. They're small enough that Stiles isn't afraid of choking but nerves have him thinking something unkind about nuts in his mouth. Before he can psych himself out of it he pops one in his mouth and swallows. There’s an earthy yet sweet taste to it. 

Then the warmth pools in his stomach, a mild heat that starts to burn. It scorches him, engulfs him inside and out. 

It's power, the power of the tree inside him, fanning his spark until it blazes with his power and that of the Nemeton twinning like roots around the core of him. 

Stiles thinks he screams. 

It hurts. There's a million thoughts, ideas, and knowledge flooding him. There's images, that hand that grabbed him, and the grotesque creature connected to it. 

The tree gives him not just power but knowledge. Equips him with as much as it can. As much as Stiles can physically handle. 

It happens in a split second but it feels like years. 

"Don't worry about the Nogitsune. As I grow it will smother out to dust." Stiles hears the tree say. 

As quickly as he entered he blinks right back to where he stood at the base of the stump. Peter is beside him and in his clenched fist is the other acorn.  

"What happened? You were just standing here, but you couldn't seem to hear or see me. " Peter worries over him. Stiles can't even begin to explain. His head is still spinning with everything the Nemeton has told him. 

"I talked to the Nemeton. They gave me this," he shows Peter the acorn in his hand. 

"What are you supposed to do with that?" 

Stiles just sighs and crawls onto the stump. In the center of the stump there's deep empty grooves. Stiles drops the acorn in and guided by thoughts formed by new knowledge he presses his hand over the groove until it glows. 

"Your eyes…" Peter breathes. Stiles eyes flare verdant green. He smells different, like magic and petrichor. Ozone and vegetation like a lush forest on a hot summer day.  

But to the relief of Peter he still smells like home and like pack. 

"I'm so tired Peter…" Stiles mumbles. He's physically and mentally drained. Tonight has been a long night. 

"Let me take you home, baby. " 

"All of us should go home," Laura says, eyeing Deaton pointedly. It's clear that he should go home too and any lingering wasn’t welcome. Not at the Nemeton and certainly not on their property. 

Stiles buries his face in Peter’s chest when the man picks him up. He’s tired down to his very bones and his mind is spinning with everything the Nemeton gave him. The magic he had always faintly felt before now felt like it's sparking at his very fingertips. As they walk he sees plants and new thoughts of their names and possible uses flicker past. It's like someone else thinks of them for him. All of it is going to take some getting used to. He doesn't even know how to explain it all to his dad. 

So Peter carries him to bed and curls around him without saying anything. Peter is as unsettled as him in his own way.  

In his chest settled as near as Peter’s bond Stiles feels the Nemeton out there. It's a warm pulse that's slow but steady with the promise of strength to come. 

"You should eat, " Peter says once the sun has fully crept into their bedroom.  

"How long do werewolves live?" Stiles finds himself asking. It's not like Peter is terribly older than him, but now Stiles is nineteen for possibly fifty years and when that's done he will finally be twenty. He knows in the same way he knows the uses for the lilies in the vase on their dresser, that the age won't hit him all at once. He will have a whole lifetime ahead of him and he doesn't know how to face it if Peter leaves him once his time starts again. 

"If nothing kills us? A wolf could live well over a hundred years. The healing has a way of slowing the aging process. I'll certainly be old-"

"I don't care about that, " Stiles snaps. He couldn't care less if Peter is old and not just older. All he cares about is that all the people he loves, that his mate won't die long before he ever would. Stiles already decided to spend his life with Peter, and he wants that still. 

Peter smiles at him in that tender way that always catches Stiles breath. 

"I'm not going anywhere, even when people start asking if you're my grandson, I'm not going anywhere." How could he ever leave? He's going to do his damnedest not to die too soon either. As much as Stiles doesn't want to be left behind, Peter doesn't want to leave him. To live an entire life without Stiles...the thought alone is unbearable. He didn't want to do that to Stiles. 

"So. Pancakes or French toast?" Peter asks. Stiles laughs at the shift in mood at just that one question.  

They have more pressing things to worry about than what might happen in about fifty years anyways, and right now French toast sounds really good.  

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to realize he’s in more trouble than he originally thought. He had felt the magic jumping at his fingertips as Peter carried him home, but it was harder to control than expected. From the knowledge that the Nemeton gave him he knew how to do it, but knowledge and practical experience were vastly different things. 

What had the Nemeton said? It’s like a muscle. He’s never used it before and now his magic is stronger than it ever would have been but his reflexes aren’t. 

The next afternoon when he finally wakes, feeling rested, if not a little fatigued, he throws his phone into the wall trying to answer it. It was completely an accident. The ringer was going off, he was tired, and startled awake. He only wanted to grab it quickly but his magic reacted with him and pulled the phone towards him from the bedside table, and right past him, into the wall. 

Peter finds him in bed, staring at the ruin of his phone on the floor.

He starts laughing.

“Do you know how many phones Derek went through when he hit puberty and the werewolf strength really started kicking in? You just have to practice your control. The more you use your magic and get used to the feel of it, the better you’ll be.” Peter assures him as he goes to get the broom for all the shattered pieces. 

Stiles knows he’s right, but he’s meant to be in school, and looking for the Darach that will want to kill him to get to the Nemeton. If he’s going to be accidentally blowing things away that’s really going to get in the way. 

"I can't go to school," that's a fact. He just can't. What is the point? High School was his means to college, and now he's spilling over with magic. It's just not safe. 

"Peter, you have to call my dad. He's got to withdraw me." There's no other choice. College is out of the question and he can get his GED  so he can get jobs around town. Or do college online. He just can't finish the year like this and he's not gonna repeat it and be "20" in senior year. He just won't. 

"Okay," Peter doesn't argue. He knows it's the best choice the same way that Stiles does. Explaining away werewolf strength is easier than levitating objects. 

When Stiles explodes the toothpaste tube while struggling to get the cap off and his clothes go flying everywhere looking for a pair of boxers in the basket Stiles knows he can't stay in the house. 

The others can handle him but Maura and Morgan? Stiles would die if he accidentally hurt them. 

They can go back to his dad's. John could stay out of the way given enough warning. 

Yeah. 

When Peter comes back he seems to already have  the same idea. He's holding two empty duffle bags. This is one of the reasons he loves Peter so much. He seems to know just what Stiles needs. Even sometimes before Stiles does himself. 

"I explained to them what's happening, that you just need some time to get it under control," Peter says as he already starts picking up Stiles' scattered clothes to put in a bag. He'd offer to help but he's pretty sure he'd just make the whole process twice as long. 

"Did you tell my dad we're going to come stay?" 

"No? I thought we would go someplace else, some place you wouldn't feel guilty about breaking." 

"Where's that?" Stiles asks, confused. There's not a single place that's coming to mind. 

"I had a cabin not so far from here, it's got well water and a generator. It's not palatial but it's where I would take the Beta's when things got a little too much. Quiet, out of the way, but still on the property." It was probably in a bit of disrepair which was why Peter hadn't mentioned it before but they're in a state of urgency and Peter's right. He would feel guilty if he broke his father's house trying to get himself under control. 

"Okay, but I need a map of the town and the preserve. I want to try some things to find the Darach." Deaton had mentioned scrying trying to find the Darach and he knew how to do that now. Even if he isn't sure it will bring the desired results he wants to try it. 

Her plan for sacrifices is ruined. Stiles has bonded with the tree and started its growth, the Darach couldn't use sacrifices to awaken it now. 

Still. She wasn't going to let this go. She wanted the power before that wouldn't change.

Stiles is the new target and before the Darach can make a move, Stiles wants ahead of her. There's too much at stake. 

"I'll find some. Just let me know what you need and I'll get it." Peter assures him. He feels a little badly about how much Peter has to take on but he's not dumb enough to think Peter minds in the least. The only thing that likely bothers him is that someone is targeting Stiles and he doesn't know how or whose throat to tear out. 

“A crystal pendulum,” Stiles calls after Peter as he leaves. 

The rest of the pack comes in occasionally. The door’s open, they have werewolf hearing, they know he’s going and that he’s dropped out of school. No one tries to talk him out of it though. 

“Thought you’d wanna say bye,” Laura says, stepping just into the room enough to let Derek by. They’re holding the twins, the squishy babies that Stiles absolutely loves even if they’re sometimes ear bleeding loud. 

It's a relief even if it hurts a little that Laura doesn’t come too close and Derek stays at her side. It's smart, it's what he wants but still. 

“You’ll send pictures every day right?” Stiles asks. He hopes that they won’t be out there long. There’s all these ideas he has about how to get it under control, Stiles just doesn’t know how long it will take. The goal in mind is no more than a week, but trying to find the Darach too… and babies change all the time. He doesn’t want to miss too much. 

“Every day, multiple times a day,” Laura promises. She turns Morgan around, so that Stiles can see that cute grumpy face with the wildly thick eyebrows and kicks his little leg like a wave. 

“Bye bye Uncle Stiles! See you soon!” She babbles, high and cute. Stiles laughs and turns to Derek who has in fact turned Maura around but he does not humor him with the same treatment. 

“I’ll bring groceries out to the cabin,” Derek does say, and Stiles thinks that’s just as good. 

Parrish is at work, but Malia is here and she comes in once Laura and Derek take the babies for their baths. 

“Why do you get to drop out of school?” Malia asks, petulant as an eight year old. They’ve made a lot of progress with her, and she’s worked hard on her own development, but in a lot of ways she’s still that little girl in the woods. School is hard, they don’t know where to put her, she can’t be homeschooled, so they stuck her with kids her own age for the social skills, and try and when she should have electives she’s in with counselors and tutors trying to get her caught up. 

It’s a lot, she thinks too much like a coyote so she doesn’t understand the kids around her, and they’re kids. They’re assholes, Stiles knows that as well as her, so they’ve got questions and more than half of them don’t know when not to ask. 

“Because Beacon Hills is it for me. There’s no out, I can’t even cross the town line. I can go further if I stay in the preserve since it extends so far, but I won’t be going to college. You could do so much more. Don’t you want to give yourself the chance?” She could have friends, go to college, find an interest outside of hunting and running. She could be anything if she gave it enough time. 

Maybe she wants to argue but maybe she also knows that it's a sore spot for Stiles right now, and doesn’t touch it. He knows that she likes science. She came in during the frog dissection module, and loved it. 

It’s a good start. It’s good potential. Stiles will have that again some day he knows but that’s a long time from now. 

“Help me with math later,” Malia says before flopping down on their bed. Stiles and Peter are her favorites. Henry tries, he really does but he’s got his own messes to sort out that he can’t be there for everything. She’s sought Peter and Stiles out like some sort of authority figures because Laura as much as she’s the Alpha is also a new mother. 

“Yeah, come out to the cabin, I’ll try not to set your homework on fire,” Stiles jokes, even if it’s actually a possibility. He ignores the fact that she seems particularly pleased by the prospect. 

It doesn’t take them long to get out of the house and out to the cabin. It’s a good distance away, a little worn down, one of the windows is cracked and the door is a bitch to open but the generator is in good shape and once they fill it up with gas it starts going. 

Stiles thinks that it might actually be a little nice, like a getaway, a sexcation almost, because as soon as Peter’s got sheets pulled on the mattress he’s dragging Stiles on top of it.

Lately with everything, it’s been hard to catch a moment alone, or for either of them to be up for much. 

For a few hours, Stiles can pretend that there’s going on. It’s just him and Peter in a cabin by themselves. They struggle into clothes when Derek comes around without warning with two bags full of groceries looking particularly disgusted by their scent. He’s polite enough not to mention it, but also doesn’t come inside. He shoves the bags into Peter’s arms while the man cackles. 

If he forgets the fact that he singed the sheets and broke a few lightbulbs while they were having sex, or about the Darach and being kind of immortal, it’s good. 

So for just a few hours he lets himself forget, he enjoys his mate's body while his mate enjoys him. He enjoys laughing and eating junk food instead of dinner while they’re still in bed. 

Of course because it’s Beacon Hills, that doesn’t last. 

He doesn’t even get the entire day. 

Peter’s phone rings, and it’s a miracle that he’s getting reception on it. Stiles dives for it, laughing as Peter snags him around the waist to try and stop him. 

It’s his dad. Stiles swats at Peter who nibbles at his shoulder. He’s still grinning as he answers. 

“Hey dad! What’s up?” Stiles laughs, swatting at Peter again when the man nuzzles too close to his armpit. Peter loves that spot but all it does is make Stiles tickle and feel like he forgot deodorant. 

“Stiles, there’s a teacher here looking for you.” John says. Peter perks up, and so does Stiles, sitting up more in bed. 

“Who?” Stiles doesn’t particularly know any teacher who would personally come check up on him after he didn’t show up for school, and withdrew. In fact, he’s pretty sure every single one of them would have written him off with joy. If there was anything that they needed to get, paperwork that needed to be signed, they’d email it or something.

“She said her name’s Jennifer Blake but I don’t recognize her, she says English?” John is talking quietly and Stiles can guess that his dad snuck off to make a call. 

Stiles’ gut turns cold. Jennifer Blake barely knows him, and never seemed to like him. It doesn’t make sense for her to be looking for him. Unless she’s not looking for him because of school. 

Unless she knows that Stiles bonded to the Nemeton, and ruined the Darach’s plan. Because she’s the Darach. 

“Dad…” Stiles starts, already climbing out of the bed and looking for his pants but his dad makes a surprised sound. 

“You know, Stiles isn’t here right now. So why don’t we finish this conversation later? We can make a meeting with the school counselors, and administration,” John says, distantly on the phone. Stiles grabs Peter, urging him out of the bed. 

They need to get dressed, they need to get to his dad, because this doesn’t feel right. He might be wrong about her being the Darach, but something tells him that he’s not. 

“Dad, it’s her, the Darach,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t think his dad can hear him. It doesn’t sound like he’s holding the phone to his ear anymore. 

There’s a shout, a crash. Stiles flinches and nearly drops Peter’s phone. 

“Dad! Dad, come on, answer me!” Stiles shouts.

Nothing. Silence. 

That annoying click of stilettos. 

There’s a rustle on the line. 

“Hello, Stiles,” comes that sickly sweet voice. He can hear that fake, too sharp smile. 

“Leave him alone. The tree’s not up for grabs anymore, Jennifer. Get out of my town before I kill you,” Stiles hisses. The lights that didn’t blow a bulb are flickering dangerously. Stiles knows his eyes have changed, and that his hairs are standing on end. 

Jennifer tuts into the phone like he’s a tantruming child. “Now, that’s not entirely true. You bonded with it, but it can still have it. Think of it as a trade. Your dad for that power.” Stiles wants to scream. He wants to howl, he wants to be a wolf and rend her with tooth and claw. 

He wants to turn her inside out, hold her beating heart in his hands and watch her beg for the chance to leave. 

Peter’s hand falls on his arm, and Stiles realizes his feet have left the ground. 

“You’re making a mistake,” Stiles whispers. It’s going to be the last mistake of her life. 

“I’ll text you the address, make sure you come alone. I wouldn’t want to hurt those dogs you love so much,” Jennifer laughs. The line goes dead.

Chapter Text

The whole kidnapping schtick is getting really old. Stiles' rage is palpable, sparks flicking off his skin. Peter takes the phone from him while they wait for the address so that Stiles doesn’t accidentally break it. 

“I’m going to kill her,” Stiles promises. 

“You can’t seriously be thinking about going. Stiles, this is a trap. I know it’s your father, but we’ll get him.” Peter tries to reason but Stiles is beyond reasoning now. The power of the tree fills him, and he knows that he can beat her. She can’t stop him or trap him. The power of the tree and the currents of its roots are his to travel. 

His to travel. 

Stiles is vibrating with pure energy, there’s a current right here and all he needs to do is step into it and it will carry him away exactly where he wants to go. The roots of the Nemeton sprawl this whole town, everywhere it touches is his, everywhere it touches he’s free to go and Jennifer is there somewhere with his father. 

“Stiles,” Peter is saying, trying to grab him, to hold him still because it looks like at any second he’s going to disappear. 

And then he does as Peter roars in panic. Stiles slips away like a mirage, and it’s only the feeling of their bond still solid in his chest that doesn’t send him into blind feral panic. 

The Nemeton fills him and it becomes him as Stiles soars through the current. The tree has been growing rapidly ever since he had stuck the acorn into the stump. Every bit of that power is his. Stiles is unrestrained, unrestricted, his will is all that matters. 

His feet touch solid ground and he walks from the current without a sound. Every one of his hairs is on end with the spark of it. 

He's at an abandoned building, one of the many in Beacon Hills. He's not sure what it used to be but it's out of the way from new construction. It's away from witnesses. 

Stiles is at the door in a blink and they're flying off, breaking from the old hinges in splinters. 

The lights that had long been disconnected from the power grid flicker as he moves through the halls. 

He can feel his father and the dark energy that is Jennifer Blake. He can feel every being, from the wolves across town, to the mice beneath the floors. All of them are wisps of light across the currents in his mind. 

Jennifer thinks she's powerful but she doesn't know power. She's insignificant compared to how fiercely his light shines. 

Power sparkes off him like a live wire. Glass shatters, the building rattles as he moves towards the center room. 

Jennifer's there, but she isn’t wearing that pretty face that he knows from school. The sweet English teacher has disappeared and in her place stands a mutilated creature. 

Holding a knife to his fathers throat. 

His hand rises. His Will is all that he needs. Roots spring up through the floors, splitting the concrete with ease to separate his father from Jennifer as more spear her, skewering her. 

It's easy. Easier than Jennifer expected clearly from the shock on her face. 

She hadn't thought that he would have so much power so soon. To her, a Darach, it was a long battle to steal and absorb the power of a Nemeton, but Stiles' power is freely given. 

She can't speak as the roots impaled her through the chest, thick roots that crush her heart and lungs. 

When he said he would kill her he meant it. 

Words fall from his lips like someone else speaks them. They're old words, an old spell in an old language. 

Jennifer is trying to scream, someone is shouting his name but Stiles is raw power. He's the Nemeton, and the threat must cease. 

"Stiles!" His father shouts again, horrified at the sight of his son like this. His eyes are luminescent green, almost a burning flame, and his feet are off the ground. Stiles looks like some avenging angel as sparks fly off him, and vines spring from his skin. 

His son is barely recognizable as he tears into the being that had been the English teacher at John's door. 

Stiles doesn't stop, even as the building starts to crumble around them. Every falling piece bounces off the air around himself and John. 

The spell is like fire that burns from the inside out. Fire can cleans and wipe clean a blight and that's all the Nemeton knows the Darach is. 

When it's done the Darach falls from the roots in ash. 

The building is still falling around them. Stiles drifts across the ruin of the floor and grabs John. He pulls him into the current, dragging him back to Peter. 

As much as Stiles is powerful like this, he's not ready. He doesn't think that he is ever going to be ready for this much power. He had taken so much of the Nemeton into himself, and now that he let go it hurt. 

John fell into the cabin uncontrolled and immediately turned to retch. 

Stiles fell through after, collapsing to the floor as the Nemeton leaves him. 

The vines that had spread, wither and fall from his skin. 

His vision spots black with pain. He used too much, took in too much too soon. 

"Stiles," Peter is urgent as he scoops him up from the floor, brushing the dying vines away. 

"What happened?" He asks, frantically looking between Stiles and John. The scent of magic is so sharp it burns, but it can't cover the acrid scent of pain. 

Stiles had only been gone minutes. 

"Too much," Stiles gasps, clutching at Peter's arms. He'd used up too much of his spark. 

"Take me to the tree," Stiles gasps. He needs to be close. He needs to rest. Using so much he knew could burn him out. If he was with the tree he could recover easier. 

Peter doesn't ask more questions. His mate is in so much pain, shaking in his arms and feverish. He lifts Stiles from the floor and tears from the cabin leaving John still trembling and disoriented on the floor. 

Jordan is at the tree when Peter steps into the clearing. His eyes are molten lava, as he takes Stiles from Peter's grasp. 

Peter doesn't want to let go but what else can he do? He doesn't know what to do and Stiles lost consciousness as he ran. 

Jordan and Stiles are connected to each other and the tree. Jordan would know how to fix his mate, loathed as Peter is to admit it.

The Nemeton is a sapling growing from the stump that once stood, but Jordan takes Stiles to the tangle of roots. 

As soon as Jordan lays him across them, they move. They wind and cover Stiles as if they're embracing him, cradling him to protect him. 

"What's happening?" Peter asks. Even though he knows Stiles isn't going to be hurt by the Nemeton, he can't stop the anxiety. 

"He has to sleep," Jordan says, backing away from the cocoon he's placed Stiles inside. He doesn't go far, just a few steps before he kneels and waits. 

He isn't going to leave until Stiles emerges. Jordan is a hound, guarding, protecting. 

Peter sits down beside him. He might not have been given some special duty from the tree but Stiles is his mate. He's not going anywhere until he's out of those roots.