It was October before they arrived back in Beacon Hills. By then the strange weather pattern had become impossible to ignore. It still hadn’t rained, and the air wasn’t moving much either.
It was hard to tell if the trees and vegetation were dying because winter was about to set in, or because of whatever else was going on. Regardless, Stiles didn’t look on it as a positive sign.
It was so weird driving around the town he’d grown up in when it was deserted. Stiles wondered if the zombie apocalypse would have seemed more real if he’d been here when it started, if the zombies he’d had to kill had worn faces he’d recognised. It certainly seemed more real now.
As it was, even most of the decomposing bodies were either dried up husks or skeletal remains. The first time Stiles accidentally drove over one he had to stop and get his breathing under control, but after a while even that lost its horror.
“Where shall we head first?” Stiles asked as they made their slow way along the main street. “We should probably set up base somewhere before we go searching through the town.”
“Head out to the Preserve,” Derek said, looking out the passenger side window with a frown. “Most of the caches are stashed in that general area, and there’s something…”
“I know, right?” Stiles said with a sigh. “It just feels eerie. And unsafe.”
Derek nodded, scanning the area with a watchful gaze.
As they approached the rebuilt Hale House, Stiles was surprised to see three buildings where previously there had been only one.
“Did you know about this?” he asked Derek, although he could make a guess based on the threat level of the eyebrows.
“No,” was the only response Derek gave.
“How did they manage to get builders to build without the proper permits?” Stiles wondered aloud as they pulled up in the centre of the triangle that the three buildings made.
Derek was looking at some symbols embedded in the stonework in front of the larger of the new buildings, his expression growing even darker. “They got Hunters to put this up.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles yelled, smacking his hands against the steering wheel. “If I find out that Scott was responsible for this atrocity I will kill him myself! Who even does something this disgusting! Look at these buildings, Derek! Look at the ground around them. These must have gone up the minute I went off to Uni! I was out here the weekend before I went away, and they weren’t here then. Fucking hell, I should have come out here last Christmas.”
“This isn’t your fault, Stiles,” Derek said, getting out of the jeep.
“It fucking well feels like it is,” Stiles said angrily as he turned off the engine and got out too. “In some ways I’ve been as guilty as Scott of trampling over your feelings, but this is… aarrrgghhh!” He kicked the nearest tire, probably a bit harder than he needed to. The pain in his toes was steadying though.
“There is no way that any of this went up without Scott’s knowledge,” Stiles said when he had calmed down a little bit. “Quite frankly, I don’t care if he was manoeuvred into it by Chris or Gerard or Deaton or anyone. This is rank, Derek, really rank.”
“But it may turn to our advantage,” Derek said, his stoic shell firmly pulled around him. “If these are Hunter buildings, they might have useful information and weapons stored here.”
“Look, if I want to be mightily pissed off at people stepping all over your rights and your feelings and generally behaving like sub-human assholes, I will, okay?” Stiles said, but even as he said it his mind latched onto what Derek had said and started turning it over.
“I don’t know if I like that look on your face,” Derek said, and at least he was trying, Stiles had to give him that. “Just, let’s empty them out before we blow the place sky-high, okay?”
“I wasn’t going to blow them up!” Stiles objected. Well, not until he’d scoured them clean of anything useful anyway, and then checked and re-checked for hidden rooms and whatnot. But after that, what would be the harm in a few pretty explosions? “I was thinking that running those tests might be easier than I had expected.”
Derek’s face closed down even more.
“Not in their nazi-style torture cells, jeeze,” Stiles said, coming to stand beside Derek and bump shoulders with him. “But I want to see if you still react to wolfsbane and mountain ash, and they probably have some in there.”
“Do what you want,” Derek said before striding off towards the building they both recognised.
Stiles watched him go, wondering how he could have handled that better. He turned and frowned at the new buildings. One definitely looked like some kind of dwelling, and the other was long and narrowish and actually made Stiles think of Viking style longhouses. Hunters really were pretentious dickwads.
Mentally planning the best way to explode them – so he had done quite a bit of research on how to safely explode buildings that time he caught glandular fever, what of it? – Stiles grabbed his weapons, checked his firearm to make sure it was loaded, and followed Derek.
v^v^v^v
It was in the main part of the house that they found Scott. Or what was left of Scott, anyway.
The body was smack dab in the centre of the dining room table, of all things.
He’d obviously been dead for some time, and if it wasn’t for the watch he was wearing Stiles might never have been sure it was him. But Scott loved that watch, and if a dead body was wearing it then Scott was also dead, whether he was the body in front of them or not. Since the body was also wearing Scott-style clothing, Stiles felt pretty confident in claiming that this was indeed Scott.
He stood there looking at the remains that had once been his best friend, and wondered why he didn’t feel anything.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said awkwardly.
“I’m not,” Stiles said, still looking at the body. Someone had straightened it up and placed the hands like it was being prepared for burial.
“Stiles,” Derek said with a sigh. “He was your best friend for most of your life. It’s normal for you to be upset, regardless of what happened more recently.”
“No, I’m just really not.” Stiles said, looking Derek straight in the eye. “I just… really can’t bring myself to care. I mean, I don’t feel happy that he’s dead, but I’m not particularly broken up about it either. Is that weird? It’s totally weird, right? I’m probably headed for a breakdown or something.”
“You’re doing okay,” Derek said softly. “Well you’re doing better than me, but that’s not saying much.”
“That’s a matter of perspective,” Stiles said. He examined the body with a slightly more critical eye. “Hang on, did he die of a bullet wound? He’s was a werewolf.”
“Wolfsbane poisoning,” Derek confirmed. “I can smell it all over him, despite the effort to clean him up that someone has gone to.”
“Someone?” Stiles asked, looking around for signs of recent habitation. There was none, only a film of dust over everything. Their foot prints looked really out of place.
“The smell of wolfsbane is overpowering any traces of whatever scent would be left,” Derek said, heading for the kitchen. “Come on, this house was connected to a bore, hopefully that means that the water here won’t have that taint to it.”
Stiles made a face as he followed after Derek. Something was tainting the water, and even his non-werewolf-enhanced taste buds could pick up the foul taste. It must be hell on Derek’s sensitive palette.
Unfortunately the water here was no better. Still, living bodies needed water to function so they didn’t have much choice. Although Stiles fully intended to ransack every store in Beacon Hills that might possibly sell bottled water when he had the chance.
Since Stiles didn’t feel like living with the corpse of Scott in the same house, they decided to move him to the other house.
They dumped him on a couch, and then exchanged dining room tables. Even a Hunter’s table was better than one a dead body had been lying on for who knows how long.
The next day, after eating from some of the tins that were still in the pantry, Stiles and Derek braved the longhouse.
As with everywhere else they had been, there was no-one alive. They wandered through the ground floor looking at things, with Stiles making mental notes to come back and force open some of the locked areas before taking the not very well hidden entrance that Derek found that led to the basement.
Which, as expected was rather horrific. It wasn’t covered in gore or anything as obvious as that, but Stiles remembered well his treatment at Gerard’s hands, and compared to this place the old Argent cellar had been pretty makeshift.
Stiles felt himself walking as close to Derek as possible, and didn’t know if the fact that Derek allowed it was for his benefit or if Derek was deriving comfort as well.
A hallway at one end led to what was clearly a prison area, with what were probably supposed to be cells, but looked more like cages, lining each side. Stiles felt sick when he realised that not all of them were empty, at least three holding the decaying remains of someone or something. In the one at the end, the body was small, either a very small adult or more likely a child.
Stiles threw up.
Stiles had always been slightly sociopathic in his ability – or lack of – to feel empathy for others. For those that he loved, for his family or chosen loved ones, he would do anything, suffer anything. Everyone else was pretty much on their own.
But… perhaps it was biological? Something ingrained to ensure the perpetuation of the species? Whatever it was, Stiles was significantly more affected by this one small corpse than he had been by finding Scott dead.
“These were all zombies, once,” Derek said into the silence, his eyes locked on that same small figure that had affected Stiles so much.
“Yeah, but were they zombies before or after they were put into cages?” Stiles said bitterly, heading back down the hallway purposefully. “I’m not going to leave these poor dudes here any longer than I have to. If I can’t find a key or some other way to get these cages open, I’ll bring down a hacksaw.”
The screeching of metal from behind him made him turn and look back.
Derek’s muscles were straining, and he was grimacing with effort, but the metal was giving way. Stiles watched wide-eyed while Derek slowly yanked the door out of the cage he was standing in front of.
“Or, you could just hulk out and rip the doors off the hinges.” Stiles amended, walking back to where Derek was carefully picking up the small body.
They buried it outside under a tree that still had most of its leaves. Stiles didn’t try to do anything as cheesy as hold a ceremony, but he did spend a few moments while resting from shovelling wondering about the afterlife, if there was one, and hoping that whoever this probably-a-child was that there was something better after. Or if not, that there was peace in the darkness.
“I picked up traces of someone alive,” Derek said the next morning. “I think it might be Isaac.”
Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Think? Can’t you tell by the smell?”
“Okay, it is Isaac,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. “But there’s something off about the scent. I want to track him, find out what the story is. You should stay here.”
“Hell no,” Stiles said emphatically. “We’re a team, buddy. But, if you like I’ll cover myself with mountain ash before we go.”
“That won’t stop you being hurt if he throws a tree at you,” Derek said, sounding long-suffering. “It might stop me from rendering first aid though.”
“Nah,” Stiles said offhandedly, carefully hiding his smile. “Remember those cages that you ripped the doors off of? I found the building plans, and those were some A-grade latest model werewolf proof Hunter cages. If you were still affected by mountain ash you wouldn’t have been able to touch them.”
Derek’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, thank you for eventually sharing that with me, Stiles.”
“Hey,” Stiles replied, “you’ve always made it pretty clear that I was the only one interested in whatever was going on with you, dude. Don’t get huffy with me just because you made it clear you didn’t want to know and I respected your wishes.”
“You only respect people’s wishes if it doesn’t inconvenience you, Stiles,” Derek said. “Protesting has never helped me before.”
“Then why do you still do it?”
“Habit, I suppose. Now are you coming with me or not?”
v^v^v^v
Isaac was nowhere to be found that day, or the day after.
“He must know we’re here,” Derek growled frustratedly. “His scent trail has crossed over top of ours several times now.”
“Maybe he’s feeling shy?” Stiles said flippantly. “Look, he clearly doesn’t want us to find him. Maybe if I was as strong and fast as you, and had a nose as sensitive we could coral him. But since you’re stuck holding back it’s easy for him to evade you. So why don’t you come out alone tomorrow? See if that helps.”
“That’s what I suggested in the first place!”
“Did you? I don’t remember,” Stiles gave a cocky smile as he lied through his teeth.
Derek looked very unimpressed. “I want you to stay in the house, and I want you to be armed at all times.”
“Yes, mother,” Stiles said indulgently.
“I mean it,” Derek said his voice heavy with intensity. “You’re all I have, Stiles. I need you to be careful.”
“Hey, hey,” Stiles said, coming closer and grabbing hold of Derek’s face so he could look him in the eyes. “I get it, okay? I’ll be careful, and I expect you to be careful as well. Okay?”
Derek nodded, and Stiles released him.
“Now come on, I’m getting hungry. If you don’t find him tomorrow we’ll have to take a break anyway and head into town to do some shopping.”
“Yes, mother,” Derek replied.
“Although, can it really be called shopping if I have no intention of paying?” Stiles asked as they started walking back to the house. “Gathering? As a gathering skill it’s certainly a bit easier than what my ancestors had to do to fill their bellies.”
The next day Derek went out alone, and Stiles sat himself down with some of the texts they had found in the longhouse. Researching was a lot harder without the internet available, and having to write his notes out longhand was a bit of a drag too. His handwriting was terrible. And slow, so slow.
After an hour or so of laborious reading – the Hunters texts were so hideously biased and erroneous it would have been laughable if it wasn’t so scary – Stiles got up to get himself something to eat.
He almost left his gun and machete in the lounge, but Derek’s voice in his head objected so strongly that he picked them up and took them into the kitchen with him with a beleaguered sigh.
Which turned out to be a good thing.
Something hairy with glowing golden eyes smashed through the back door and leapt at him claws extended. Reflexes honed by months of zombie killing took over.
Only moments later Stiles was looking at Isaac’s body which was lying on the kitchen floor, quite separate from his head which had come to a stop by the kitchen door.
Which promptly flew open again, sending the decapitated head flying across the kitchen to smack into the opposite wall.
Gross.
“Stiles!” Derek said, sounding more terror stricken than Stiles had ever heard him.
Stiles was briefly concerned that Derek was going to accidentally stab himself on the razor-sharp machete that he was still holding, but it turned out that Derek was at least aware enough to take both gun and knife from him, placing them on the bench before sweeping Stiles into his arms like some Regency heroine.
Well, to be fair Stiles was feeling a little disconcerted. This was the first time he’d killed someone he’d known. And how nuts must he be that his mind went to ‘first time’ when it appeared there was no-one else around to kill?
Except Derek, and that was never going to happen.
“He must have spent most of the night laying a trail all around Beacon Hills,” Derek said from where he had buried his face in Stiles’ neck. “The moment I realised what he was up to I ran here as fast as I could. It wasn’t fast enough, sorry, I’m so sorry-”
“Hey!” Stiles said, blinking a bit as all his synapses seemed to connect again. “I did what you said and carried my weapons, and I was fine. Mind you, his attack lacked any kind of finesse. If he’d tried only a little bit of stealth he’d probably have succeeded.”
“He was feral,” Derek’s muffled voice explained. “Smart enough to evade what he perceived as the greater threat, but not aware enough to consider that a human might be dangerous to him. It would be like hunting a rabbit and finding out too late that it’s the Rabbit of Caerbannog.”
“Well, if he had any memory of me at all then that would only have reinforced his impression of my helplessness,” Stiles said sardonically. “As far as Isaac was aware, my only true weapons were my mouth and my brain. Or should that be the other way around? Anyway, I’m sorry I had to kill him. You were probably hoping to get some part of your pack back.”
“He’s better dead,” Derek said, taking a deep breath and releasing Stiles. “Once a were goes fully feral, there’s no hope left. He would always have been a danger to you, always.”
“That’s why you didn’t cut Peter loose, isn’t it?” Stiles said, understanding dawning on him. “As much of a loose cannon as he was, at least there was always hope he could settle in properly, heal. But if you’d rejected him he would have gone feral, and then you would have had to kill him. Again.”
“Yeah,” Derek said uncomfortably. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “That was my worry for Scott as well. He was already an Omega, and Omegas are only two steps away from feral at the best of times. He didn’t deserve that kind of death, not when it was Peter’s fault that he was a werewolf in the first place.”
“Let’s place blame where it truly lies, shall we?” Stiles said, pulling Derek with him so they could both curl up on the couch. For some reason Stiles was no longer hungry. “Peter was driven nuts. Whatever he became as a result of the fire, however in control he may have seemed, he was bug-fucking nuts. Psychopathic Hunters were the ones who made him into that. The responsibility is theirs.”
Derek was silent, but it didn’t feel like the silence of disagreement, so Stiles left it at that.
“I caught another scent while I was out,” Derek said about half an hour later, when Stiles was on the verge of sleep.
“Oh yeah?” Stiles said, and then yawned as he struggled back to awareness.
“Deaton has been up by the Nemeton.”
That shocked Stiles awake good and proper. He sat up and twisted to look Derek full in the face. Derek was frowning slightly, and his eyes were troubled when he looked back at Stiles.
“My vote is still the same,” Stiles said seriously. “I don’t know all the details, but I do know he was partly responsible for this. And have you noticed that his allies tend to end up dead while he continues on all la-di-dah? Highly suspicious, dude, highly suspicious. The fact that he’s been hanging around the Nemeton just makes me more sure.”
Derek still looked conflicted, and Stiles could understand why. This might be their last chance at company other than their own for the rest of their lives. But Stiles felt it deep in his gut, Deaton was bad news
“Look at it like this,” Stiles said, sitting back a bit. “Knowing what we know, suspecting what we suspect, would you be comfortable leaving me alone with him for longish stretches of time? Do you think I would be safe?”
Derek’s frown deepened, but his eyes cleared and he nodded at Stiles. “You’re right. I don’t trust, him, can’t trust him.”
“So we kill him.”
“Okay. We’ll kill him.”
“You have to be sure about this, Derek. We can’t un-kill him if you change your mind.”
“What if we gave him one chance?” Derek suggested. “You do what you do best and try to annoy him into spilling something, anything. The moment he either threatens you or indicates that he did any of this on purpose, I’ll kill him.”
“Decapitate him,” Stiles said firmly. “It’s the only thing that we know for sure kills almost everything. Then we burn him and salt his ashes, just in case Supernatural had it right.”
“Right.”
v^v^v^v
“I wondered when you would come and find me,” Deaton said when Stiles let himself into what had once been the vet clinic.
He must have been expecting them, he’d arranged one corner of the waiting room into a laboratory of sorts, with rune carved branches of mountain ash interlocking to create a boundary separating the area from the rest of the room.
There was a piece that didn’t look locked into place, and Stiles supposed that would probably be the door, or gate, or whatever you wanted to call it. Egress.
“I see you’ve barricaded yourself in there nicely,” Stiles said, continuing to eye up the fortifications. Was that silver dribbled all over the floor? What was Deaton expecting to turn up?
Deaton sniffed dismissively. “You might as well tell your puppy to come in,” he said, pulling several magical ingredients out from behind the counter and setting them out carefully. “I know he’s lurking out there.”
“You’re kinda looking a bit hemmed in there,” Stiles said as Derek came in, being careful to stay away from both the silver and the mountain ash. Even though neither of those things could hurt him. Oh, clever boy. He was going to get rewarded when they got back home.
“Yes well, a mage of my calibre doesn’t get caught out very often,” Deaton said as he began to mix three of his items together. “I have no intention of letting either of you kill me, and I knew it was only a matter of time once you found Scott.”
“What does Scott have to do with anything?” Stiles asked, poking at the mountain ash runes with a finger. Nothing happened, and he looked up in time to see Deaton’s surprise before it was masked.
“Don’t play games with me, Stiles,” Deaton said patronizingly. “Or should I say Gmiaz? Names have power you know, and it wasn’t too hard to get a copy of your birth certificate once you moved out of town. I have set multiple spells, all tied to your name. If I die, they go off and you die too.”
“You got my name off my birth certificate, and used it in these spells to get power over me?” Stiles said, holding Derek back even as he went to move. “That doesn’t take Derek into account. If I die, he could just wait you out.”
“That pathetic excuse for a werewolf won’t dream of harming me if it might mean your death,” Deaton said contemptuously. “You are the only one I need to be wary of.”
“So, by the looks of things you’ve had this set up for some time,” Stiles said. “It looks like you’re the only one around, why the paranoia?”
“There was no guarantee others wouldn’t come here,” Deaton said. “I’m prepared for all eventualities.”
“So you did it on purpose then?” Stiles asked cocking his head to one side. At his side he could feel Derek winding up, his muscles readying themselves. “Banished the Furies.”
“Of course!” Deaton scoffed. “It was brilliant. I knew Gerard would suggest it, for self-preservation if nothing else. He would have been the first on the chopping blo-”
His head rolled on the floor.
“That was a bit anti-climactic. I thought it would be harder.” Derek said. He’d leaped the bench in one graceful movement, a move the corrupt vet clearly didn’t expect.
“Someone never read up on how to be an Evil Overlord,” Stiles said as Derek broke through the mountain ash barricade so that Stiles could enter the lab area. “Either that or he arrogantly decided to ignore it.”
“Well, that huge arrogance is one way to tell who the evil villains are,” Derek said, wiping his claws on the body. “That and the monologue and the evil voice. I wasn’t going to wait for him to start smoking with an evil cigarette holder, or get sexier.”
“Do you know, you have just become even more desirable in my eyes?” Stiles said. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
“Dad was a fan of Brit comedy,” Derek said, dragging the corpse outside into the parking lot and emptying its pockets while Stiles found a supply of methoxyethane – what on earth was a vet doing with that? – in the dispensary cabinet. “I used to watch them with him, and I’ve been trying to keep myself up to date.”
Burning the body didn’t take all that long really, and once what remained had been thoroughly salted, Derek offered to dump half in the nearest river and spread the rest around the Preserve.
So he did that while Stiles carried his weapons with him and went to raid Deaton’s supplies. He was surprised at how little food the old schemer had stashed away, and was just pondering where else food could be kept when Derek arrived back.
“That was quick,” Stiles remarked, taking an appreciative second look at Derek’s chest as it heaved with his efforts to recover his breath.
“Ran,” Derek explained unnecessarily. “I didn’t like leaving you here by yourself when we haven’t made absolutely sure it’s deserted.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I may not be a super strong, super fast werewolf with a super sniffer, but I’m not helpless you know.”
“I know,” Derek said, moving to a metal shelf on one wall and dragging it to the side, revealing a door. “If I didn’t agree with you, I’d never have left you alone.”
“Right,” Stiles said, mollified. After all, it wasn’t Derek’s fault he had abandonment issues and a fear of everyone around him dying. Given his past, that was inevitable. “Hang on, how long has that door been there?”
“I’ve known it was here for ages,” Derek said, trying the keys he’d got from Deaton one by one. “I’ve never had the opportunity to look back here though.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Stairs led down, and there was a light switch on the wall. Stiles flicked it automatically – the habits of a lifetime – and was surprised when a light came on.
“What new devilry is this?” Derek asked, eyebrows up near his hairline.
“That’s three blowjobs I owe you,” Stiles said as they made their careful way down the stairs to the door below. There was a slight smell of ozone about, and Stiles hoped they weren’t setting off any spells. “Unless there really is a Balrog of Morgoth down there, in which case we’re both fried.”
There was no Balrog waiting for them. All around there was that ozone smell, and a feeling of released energy. There were also cages, the set up reminiscent of the Hunters’ longhouse. Instead of humans, or human-adjacent supernatural creatures, these cages held… was that a pixie? Whatever it was, it was dead.
All of the creatures in the cages were dead, all but the last one. The last one held a creature that was about two feet high and looked like a cross between a tree and a squirrel. Everything inside Stiles cried out at the thought of caging such a being. He heard Derek suck in a shocked breath, but only had eyes for the wizened creature.
Derek made no move to stop him as Stiles took the keys from him and opened the cage, releasing the trirrel.
The trirrel looked at them both for a long moment, before moving slowly to the door of the cage. Stiles was shocked when it spoke, its voice a rasp but clearly speaking English.
“So, this is not to be the place of this one’s ending after all.”
“You have been done a great wrong,” Derek said, sounding oddly formal. “While we are in no way responsible for your imprisonment, I ask if there is anything we can do for your comfort.”
“Hmmm. Manners and courtesy, from one such as yourself? Interesting indeed. This one accepts your claim that you were not involved, but it is not your place to make claims on behalf of others, especially for one such as this other.” A small wizened face turned in Stiles’ direction. “What of you? You were not part of this, child of the earth? You did not betray your mother so grievously?”
“No, no I swear I had no idea,” Stiles said, not understanding most of that but knowing without knowing how he knew that this was important. “I left the area because I was being kept out of things, and choices were being made that I didn’t agree with. And I’ve never really trusted Deaton. But if I’d had any inkling that this was down here, I would have freed you all before leaving, I swear.”
“You would have tried to free us all,” the trirrel corrected. “Unless you made sure to kill the mage first, you would have ended up trapped as well.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Stiles asked, only moments before realising that it wasn’t all that tactful to start interrogating someone who had only just been set free. Someone either very important, very powerful, or both, given the way Derek was acting.
“Yes,” was the only answer the trirrel gave. It stood in the doorway of the cage, and Stiles realised suddenly that what with the height of the cage off the floor, the trirrel might find it difficult to get down.
“Can I assist you out in any way?” Derek said, pre-empting Stiles’ offer.
“You may,” the creature said regally. “This one will allow you to take it in your hands on this occasion only.”
Derek made his hands into a sort of platform, and then gently brought the trirrel up to lean against his chest. It put out small paw like hands and clutched at Derek’s shirt while he carefully moved back up the stairs and made his way outside.
Stiles followed after, still wondering what on earth the little thing was.
Derek carefully lowered it to the ground, and the trirrel immediately moved slowly over to the grassy area under a tree.
It had no sooner laid all foot or hand like appendages on the ground, than began to make a loud and terribly inhuman sound, and started swaying from side to side.
“Death,” it moaned. “There is only death. All is dying. Oh, Mother, sisters, brothers. All is lost, all will fail.”
Stiles wasn’t sure they should be watching what looked like a breakdown, but Derek appeared to have no intention of moving yet, so he waited too. And if he pushed himself up against Derek, hoping to find some comfort from the creature’s grief-stricken wails, then that was his business.
Eventually the creature stopped swaying, and sort of collapsed onto the grass.
“Is there anything we can do for your comfort?” Derek repeated the offer he had made earlier.
“No, oh Lord Of All That Walks,” the small being said sadly. “There is not. There is no comfort left in the world for this one, or indeed for any creature belonging to the earth. The world is dying, damaged beyond its ability to heal itself, or be healed. All that has been will come to nothing, and all that should have been will never be.”
Right. The lack of weather, the dying vegetation. Stiles had suspected, but hearing it was still a blow.
“There is nothing to be done?” he asked hopelessly.
“Nothing can undo what has been done,” the creature said with some finality. It perked up again, turning towards them. “Nothing can undo what has been done, but there is a way to make it so that what happened never happened. Never will happen.”
“Time travel?” Stiles said immediately, his mind working furiously as he examined and discarded any number of theories. “Real time travel, rather than dimension hopping?”
“You are knowledgeable, child of the earth,” the trirrel said approvingly. “Yes, time travel. The Mother’s last hope, and this one can only surmise that your presence here together is at The Mother’s design. For only two beings as separate and the same as you both have even a hope of attempting it.”
“Attempting? So, it might not work?” Stiles asked, sinking to sit cross legged in front of the creature, pulling Derek down to sit beside him.
“Of course not! You must petition, and you will be judged! If your need is great, your motive good, your souls clean of evil, if all of these are true and you both have the price and are willing to pay it, then there is a chance.”
“I’ve never heard of such a spell,” Stiles said wonderingly.
“Of course not, foolish child! Do you think that the knowledge of such things is left lying around for all and sundry to attempt?”
“Fair enough,” Stiles nodded. “What is this price you spoke of?”
“This one does not know. This one only knows that the payment for such a thing will be high. As it must be.”
“How far back are we talking here?” Stiles asked thoughtfully. “’Cause the problems that made all of this happen go back further than the actual zombie apocalypse.”
“The lore is that five cycles can be rewound, if the petition succeeds,” the trirrel said. “Will that be long enough?”
“That would get us back to when Laura was still alive and Peter was still in hospital,” Stiles said to Derek. “Before Scott was bitten. If we took Deaton out of the picture, then that would solve a lot of problems.”
“You think you can handle being fifteen again?” Derek asked, brows drawn together in consideration.
“The world is dying,” Stiles replied, with a nod towards the watching trirrel. “The world, Derek, not just our civilisation. If I can help make this not have happened, I will. Even if I- hang on. Mr Trirrel, whatever your name is or whoever you are, we will have our memories intact, right?”
“This one is the guardian spirit of this land,” the trirrel said with some dignity. “This one’s name would be unpronounceable by those who speak with teeth and tongue. If you wish you may continue to address it as Mr Trirrel. And to answer your question, as this one understands it the petitioners’ souls are flung back through time. All that you are now, you will be back then. Only younger.”
“May we talk it over between ourselves before making our choice?” Stiles asked, already knowing what his vote would be.
“Of course,” Mr Trirrel said. “It should not be done until the child of the earth has reached twenty one cycles and come into his inheritance. You have much time to make your choice.”
“What is this inheritance that you speak of?” Stiles asked, curious since by process of elimination he’d figured that he was this ‘child of earth’.
“Did your mother not speak of this?” Mr Trirrel sounded shocked. “Surely she would not leave so important a task undone?”
“My mother died before I turned eight,” Stiles said stiffly. “One day she seemed fine, the next she was disoriented and unable to think correctly. Not long after that she was unable to communicate with us, and then she died.”
“Then the failure belongs to this one,” Mr Trirrel sagged. “This one was reckless, and was captured. It was this one’s duty to ensure the protection of the essence while it was vulnerable. This all begins to become clear.”
“Just how long were you imprisoned for?” Derek asked, sounding as horrified as Stiles felt.
“This one does not know,” Mr Trirrel said, as it began to move towards the Preserve, slowly picking up speed. “With no way to measure the passing of the cycles, it could be any length of time. But it seemed an eternity, kept away as it was from that which nourishes it. And when this one made a foolishly unplanned rescue attempt, you, child of earth, were not long born.”
So, twenty years or thereabout. An age indeed. Stiles got up, and he and Derek followed after the small being.
They were led to the Nemeton, and to where the huge tree had once stood, the site of the Darach’s attempt for power.
Mr Trirrel made an anguished sound, and laid its paws on the bark. “Such a horror this one has never before witnessed,” it said after a few minutes communing with the stump. “There is no more need to wonder now, how your mother met her end. Some great evil found her unguarded after her worthless protector had been trapped, and severed the connection to the earth that sustained her. Death would indeed have been quick. If she held on at all, it was only her connection to you, a child of both worlds, that made it possible.”
“Wait,” Stiles was sure he must be putting the pieces of this puzzle together wrong. “Are you saying that my mother was tied to the earth through a tree? This tree? And that when it was cut down she died?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Mr Trirrel said and sat against the stump. Its bark-like skin made a small scraping noise as it leaned back. “Your mother was the living essence, the channel of power of this land for many days journey all around. Her roots went deep, and she was strength and beauty and power and love.”
Stiles wasn’t sure about roots, but strength and beauty and power and love sure sounded like how he remembered his mother.
“For eons she stood thus, sheltering all around. However, not very long ago she fell in love with a mortal man, as her kind are sometimes wont to do. So she fashioned a human style body for herself and met him as an equal. He fell in love with her, and they joined, and had a child.”
“Me,” Stiles murmured. “A child of earth.”
“Yes,” Mr Trirrel said. “But an essence away from her anchor is vulnerable, which was why this one was asked to stand guardian until such a time as she returned. The human life-span is never much beyond a hundred cycles, and it was a small enough favour for this one to grant a being who had given so much for so long. It is not an unheard of thing, after all, even if it is uncommon.”
“She fell in love and made herself a body to be with him, even knowing that he would die and that she would continue?” Stiles said, grateful for Derek’s warmth at his side. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch what was left of the once mighty tree, but a bigger part was scared, and feeling like that small child again, sitting beside his mother’s body after the life had left it.
“She loved him regardless,” Mr Trirrel said. “Better for her to enjoy it while it lasted, creating memories to savour until the end of the world than ignore or run away from it, and then to have that regret follow her forever.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said softly. “He never got over her, you know. I wanted him to move on, to try and be happy with someone else. Not because I didn’t love and miss her, I just wanted him to not be so sad all the time.”
“That is not to be wondered at,” Mr Trirrel said sharply. “She was unique even among her own kind.”
“She was amazing,” Stiles said with a shrug. “But every kid thinks their mother is amazing, don’t they?”
“This one was ignominiously trapped,” Mr Trirrel said. “Which is when some dastard found her unprotected anchor and murdered her. In the entirety of her existence she had only ever been truly vulnerable for less than ten cycles. If you had already come into your inheritance when it happened, then you would have been able to act as her anchor, allowing her to use her power to regenerate the damage.”
“I could have saved her?” Stiles asked, his stomach tying itself in knots. He’d always known somehow that he should have been able to save her. Everyone had told him he was being ridiculous, that there was nothing he could have done, but this being, this Mr Trirrel was telling him that he had been right. “There was something I could have done, it was my fault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mr Trirrel snapped. “Does one blame a seedling for its inability to bear fruit just because one is hungry? No! The seedling cannot be expected to bear fruit until it has matured, and such is the case with you, child of earth. As it was, you were likely able to give her a great deal of comfort before the end.”
Stiles sagged back into Derek’s embrace. He couldn’t remember when Derek had wrapped his arms around him, but he was grateful anyway.
“Is anyone interested in betting against me if I want to put money on Deaton being the one that murdered my mother?” Stiles said, wiggling around until he could bury his face in Derek’s neck. “We’ve gone way past coincidence and we’re well into enemy action now.”
“No bet,” Derek said softly.
“Derek, my mother was a tree,” Stiles said into Derek’s neck. Could he be blamed for feeling slightly hysterical? “Deaton pretended to be a druid, but instead was a tree-murderer. And you and me are going to have to go back in time and kill the bastard all over again, and then my dad will think I’m a murderer and have to lock me up. And my mother was a tree.”
“Hey, hey,” Derek said soothingly. “It’s been a big day, there’s been a lot to take in. Why don’t we go home and eat the last of the tinned spaghetti, and just-” He shrugged, “I don’t know, read or something. Tomorrow we can go and raid one of the family stashes, and once we’re stocked up again we can sit down and think about all this.”
“Yes,” Stiles agreed, still hiding from the world. There were worse places to hide, Derek’s neck smelled nice, and Derek was so very strong that it was easy to let him take over for a while.
“Will you join us back at the house?” Derek asked politely, and Stiles realised he was talking to Mr Trirrel.
“This one thanks you, but no. It will stay here, or somewhere near, until the time to petition is closer. This one would also speak further to the child of earth, when he is feeling more balanced. It was not well done of this one to spring so much information on one so young without warning. This one recognises the debt owed for freedom, Lord Of All That Walks, child of earth. It will do all possible to help.”
When Stiles lifted his head to respond, Mr Trirrel had disappeared.
“I have had enough of this shit for one day,” Stiles said wearily. “Come on, let’s head home.”
v^v^v^v
By the time they were headed out to one of the Hale Family Stashes the next morning, Stiles was feeling significantly better about things. Sure, it turned out that Deaton had been the big bad all along, Stiles’ mother had been a tree, and he and Derek would have to go back in time, but on the other hand, if he had to go back in time with someone Derek was a good choice.
Stiles very much intended to find out from Mr Trirrel what Lord Of All That Walks meant. Cause when he had asked Derek, he had no idea. He also needed to find out what would be involved in this ‘inheritance’ that was due to arrive, or happen, or whatever, in about six months.
Stiles was still considering whether or not that meant he would get some nifty new powers when Derek stopped suddenly, and pushed on the rock face in front of them.
Stiles might have said something sarcastic about nearly bumping into Derek’s back, but then the rock moved. Behind it was a narrow entrance way, curving around behind more rock and out of sight.
“What the fuck?” Stiles said, more to himself that to Derek. “I thought we’d be digging up crates or something.”
“At one point there were forty two of us living in Beacon Hills,” Derek said quietly. “Our stores needed to reflect that.”
By now they had turned the corner. There was door right there, and Derek led them through. Another door, some steps, another door, this one some kind of metal. More steps (much longer this time, going down) and another metal door.
On the other side of that door was some sort of living area. Derek headed straight for a room off to the left, leading Stiles through two other rooms before entering a huge area that was filled floor to ceiling with tinned foods. There were also some plastic barrels with labels on them, the only two that Stiles could read from where he was standing said ‘Rice’ and ‘Corn’.
Stiles turned to look at Derek who was sizing up the shelves even as he removed two folded canvas shopping bags from somewhere inside his jacket. His werewolf lover was environmentally conscious. Oh, how much fun he could have had with this if he’d known when he was sixteen.
“Was someone in your family a wee bit concerned about the likelihood of nuclear war?” Stiles asked, thinking about how deep underground they must be. “This isn’t a food stash, Derek. This is a full on fallout shelter. And it’s a fucking impressive one too, not that I’m an expert or anything.”
“My mother’s grandfather built these,” Derek said, glancing around as if seeing it for the first time. “Each one was supplied well enough to feed the entire family for six months. The idea was that we would split into small family units and take one each. With rationing and some other measures the entire forty two members of the pack could have stayed underground for up to ten years.”
“This is…” Stiles felt uncharacteristically lost for words as he looked around at the bounty sitting waiting. “This is incredible, Derek.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek’s whole body relax. Had Derek been waiting for Stiles to make fun of his family, to deride them for being prepared for anything? Hell no, Stiles fucking admired that sort of shit.
“You know,” Stiles said conversationally, taking one of the canvas bags from Derek and beginning to peruse the shelves like he might at a supermarket. “Dad and I spent three months in the mountains to avoid the zombies, and most of that time we were inside with barricaded doors and windows. I would have given my right nut for something this defensible. This is awesome. How many of these did you say were scattered around Beacon Hills?”
“Five in total,” Derek said with a half smile. “Come on, let’s get some of this back to the house.”
As they trekked back through the woods, Stiles spent some time rhapsodising about what he considered to be the best find of them all. “Water, dude! Water without that icky foulness that’s everywhere else. So much water!”
“Don’t call me dude.”
Stiles had to laugh. “Do you know, I was worried in case your stashes weren’t big enough?” he said. “And I was expecting to get very sick of eating the same stuff again and again. Your family rocked dude. Rocked hard.”
“Yeah,” Derek said, that small smile still visible.
After eating they lay down on one of the upstairs beds and stared at the ceiling while they discussed what they had learned yesterday.
It didn’t take long for Stiles to realise that they were both on the same page.
“It’s not even about the people,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles’ hand apologetically. “I mean, partly it is, I know how glad you will be to have your dad back. It’s more…”
“That the earth is dying?” Stiles suggested when it looked like Derek had run out of words. “That’s what really worries me. I mean, we know that many civilisations have risen only to fall, dinosaurs covered the land and were wiped out, ice ages and what not. Humans etcetera were only ever going to be temporary custodians. But the idea that we killed the planet? That in a fairly short amount of time, it could turn into a barren rock that’s no more inviting than Mars?”
“Yes,” Derek said gratefully, latching on to what Stiles had said. “I feel that we have to do whatever we can. It might not be our fault as individuals, but as a people-”
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “I’ve always felt that time-travel – and I mean true time-travel, which alters the lives of everyone everywhere – is morally untenable. Even if my life turned to crap, that’s no reason to play ducks and drakes with everyone else’s life. I mean, how pissed off would I be if someone did that to me? No one has that right. But this is different.”
Derek sighed. “The only thing that concerns me is the price,” he said hesitantly. “And if fiction turns out to be correct, the whole petition is going to be an all or nothing event in any case.”
“All in?” Stiles said. “Cards on the table, everything to play for, everything to lose?”
“Makes sense,” Derek said heavily. “And if we fail…”
“Then we’re both dead,” Stiles replied bluntly. “But to be perfectly honest Derek, at this point I wouldn’t want to keep living if you were dead anyway. I mean, what would be the point? The rest of my life alone?”
The grip on Stiles’ hand got tighter. “Yeah,” Derek said quietly.
“So, we’re agreed that we’re going to do this?” Stiles asked.
“Yeah,” Derek repeated, a little louder this time.
“Then I guess it’s time to go find Mr Trirrel. Which okay, what exactly is Mr Trirrel by the way? You seemed to have an idea even back in Deaton’s dungeon.”
“It’s…” Derek shifted restlessly on the bed as he searched for the right words. “I suppose you could call it the spirit of the forest? Except that description sounds very limiting compared to the reality. The fact that it’s so small and reduced is a reflection of what is happening in its domain.”
“Hang on, I thought my mother was the guardian?” Stiles objected. “Why would there need to be two guardians?”
“Maybe she was, and it was just temping while she was on holiday? So to speak?” Derek suggested. “It did say that it was doing her a favour.”
“More questions,” Stiles grumbled. “God, I miss the internet. Well, how about we head back and tell Mr Trirrel that we’re agreed that trying to go back in time is the best option, and try and set up some kind of teaching thing. And I want to know what this Lord business is about as well.”
“Okay,” Derek agreed.
“And then after that we can go on a search for Peter’s computer files,” Stiles went on. “I want to know if he knew anything at all about any of this, and anyway, even with him being nuttier than squirrel shit, his files are likely to be much better researched than that garbage that we lifted from the Hunters.”
“I want to do a more thorough search of those buildings too,” Derek added.
“Right,” Stiles agreed. “No need to hurry, we’ve got six months to achieve everything we want to achieve. I fully intend to go back in time armed with as much information as I can fit in my skull. Which- hey, I wonder if the Hunters had any sort of membership files or lists or whatever? Something else to keep an eye out for.”
v^v^v^v
“So, about this Lord Of All That Walks business,” Stiles said, once they’d broken the news that they were definitely going to do their best to go back in time.
The little tree-squirrel hadn’t looked the slightest bit surprised, which was a bit annoying.
“What do you wish to know?” Mr Trirrel replied.
“Well, what does it mean?” Stiles asked. “I mean, I see Derek and sometimes I go ‘Oh lordy, that is the finest piece of ass to walk’ but that doesn’t mean that I feel inclined to call him ‘My Lord’ or anything. Unless we’re roleplaying, that is.”
“Stiles!” hissed Derek, ears pink.
“Of course not,” Mr Trirrel replied, ignoring him. “You are a child of earth.”
“Yeah, but I definitely walk.” Stiles said. “Can you see how it might get a little bit confusing?”
“When he was birthed, The Lord Of All That Walks was merely a Wolf-Walker,” Mr Trirrel said in the slow tones of teachers everywhere who are annoyed at having to explain things to particularly dense students. “He has undergone transformation, walked all paths of the wolf. As a leader, he sacrificed everything that made him a leader for the good of a pack member. Throughout this journey he continued to try and do his best for all those around him, even to giving up avenging himself on those who had wronged him.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said impatiently. “We know that part.”
“He was tested many times,” Mr Trirrel continued, ignoring Stiles. “These tests he passed, and so The Mother bestowed her blessing, and he became The Lord Of All That Walks.”
“Yes, but what does that mean?” Stiles said again.
“It means that your mate holds dominion over all of the Mother’s creatures who walk the earth.” Mr Trirrel said, somehow sounding affronted.
“So, he’s like my boss?” Stiles said, exchanging a glance with Derek. Yeah, no, that didn’t seem right at all.
“No, no, of course not!” Mr Trirrel chittered for a moment, before speaking again. “You are a child of earth, not one who walks upon it!”
“You see these legs?” Stiles said, pointing at his lanky limbs. “I use them to walk upon the earth. You can see where the confusion might come in.”
“I think I get it,” Derek said, looking rather uncomfortable. “You’re saying that I’m now kind of the rank above Alpha, but that my… ‘lordship’, for want of a better term, only extends over those like me. Or like I was.”
“Far above. All Walkers bow to their Lord,” Mr Trirrel said. “It matters not if they walk as a wolf, or as a fox, or bear, or crow. All will submit.”
“Um,” Stiles said hesitantly. “Not long ago we ran into an old friend of ours, a werewolf called Isaac. He’d gone feral, and hid from Derek, and then when I was alone he tried to kill me. Not a lot of submission going on there.”
“But he did not attack his Lord directly,” Mr Trirrel countered. “And he had received no direct order that you were not to be attacked or killed, correct?”
“Correct,” agreed Stiles with a sigh. “Okay, I get it. Wait, will Derek still be this Lord if we succeed in going back in time?”
“Yes,” Mr Trirrel said, slow and precise as if it was speaking to an idiot. “All that you are now, you will be back then. Only younger. It is one reason why you must wait for your inheritance, child of earth.”
“I have a name, you know,” Stiles said. “Several names even. Why do you never use them?”
“You have yet to receive your true-name,” Mr Trirrel said. “It will be chosen when your nature is decided. Until then, child of earth is accurate and true without binding you in any way.”
“Yeah okay, fine,” Stiles said. “So, I think we’re done for the moment, but is it okay if we come back once a week with questions or whatever?”
“Yes,” Mr Trirrel agreed, beginning to fade. “This one will await your return to this place, child of earth, Lord Of All That Walks.”
“That is-” Stiles shook his head. “Did he really do a cheesy fade out?”
“It,” Derek corrected. “It has no gender, and has repeatedly referred to itself as ‘it’.”
“Good point,” Stiles said as they made their way back home. “You might need to remind me again.”
v^v^v^v
After that, time seemed to march relatively quickly. There was a lot to be done, because Stiles hadn’t been joking when he said he wanted to cram his head full of as much useful knowledge as possible.
To that end, he and Derek had systematically gone through the three houses on Hale property, Deaton’s home as well as the old Vet clinic, the old Argent house in town, and anywhere else they thought they might find useful information.
According to several journals that they’d found of Deaton’s, he’d been after what a lot of mad villains were after, immortality. He had planned everything so that the majority of humanity would be wiped out, giving him almost unfettered access to the power stored deep in the earth.
The unexpected tainting had derailed some of his plans, and he’d been in the middle of trying to adapt his previous strategy to take the new situation into account when Derek and Stiles had rolled back into town.
It was while going through some papers that Deaton was keeping at his home that they came across a letter from Scott in an envelope addressed to Isaac.
“Do you want to read it?” Derek asked, holding the paper as if it was a live wolfsbane grenade.
“Read it out loud,” Stiles directed, getting up from the floor to sit himself on the couch in Deaton’s living room.
Derek sighed, but sat next to him and unfolded the single sheet that was inside the envelope
“Dear Isaac,” Derek read haltingly, as he slowly deciphered Scott’s bad handwriting
“By the time you find this, I will be dead. Please believe that this is not something I want to have to do, but I have realised that I have to.
“I have discovered that it was Gerard who created the infection that caused the zombie apocalypse. I don’t know how he got around Chris Argent’s control over him, and Deaton won’t confirm it, but I’m sure that it was definitely him.
“I have to stop the zombies and Gerard, Isaac, I have to do what is right. Unfortunately Gerard is too well protected by his zombies for me to get close enough to kill him.
“But there is another way. Remember when Lydia and Peter died? If I die, then Gerard will die, and then the spell he is using on the zombies won’t have an anchor, and there will be no more zombies. So I’ve got one of Chris Argent’s old wolfsbane bullets, and I’m going to do what is right.
“I’m sorry that means you will be alone, Isaac, but Deaton is still around and you won’t have to worry about the zombies any more.
“Goodbye, Isaac. Thank you for sticking by me when everyone else abandoned me.
“All the best
“Alpha Scott McCall”
Stiles let out a sigh, and covered his eyes with his hand. “Tell me you didn’t just read that,” Stiles said, wondering how Scott’s idiocy could still surprise him. “Tell me he did not do what you just said that he did.”
“It fits,” Derek said with a shrug.
“Is it dated?” Stiles asked, wondering if his speculation would have confirmation.
There was a rustle of paper. “No,” Derek said. “No date.”
“Do you remember when the zombies stopped?” Stiles asked, still hiding behind his hand. “That gust of foul air that seemed to contaminate everything around? I’m pretty sure I know what that was. That was what happened when a spell that caused decay and zombie-ism in living things was unceremoniously cut off from its target, and then left adrift to latch onto the biggest and best living thing around to sustain it.”
“The planet,” Derek said with a groan. “Fucking Scott!”
“You want to know the best part?” Stiles said mirthlessly. “Zombies made from humans have a limited shelf-life. The infection is spread through the soft tissue, and they can only be animated while a certain percentage of the soft tissue remains. Exposed to water and air, a zombie can only last for six months before they become mostly skeleton.”
“Which means…”
“Which means that if he’d waited only a little while longer, Gerard would have lost the use of his undead army and Scott could have killed him then. As it was, the humans had already been wiped out, that horse had already bolted.”
“Would going up to Gerard and killing him have not had the same result?” Derek asked, after a few moments silence.
“No,” Stiles explained uncovering his eyes and sitting up straighter. “Death is a natural part of life, and meeting your death at someone’s blade or fist or claws or whatever, is actually a natural way to die. Whether we’re predator or prey, death by violence is always a possibility. Even poison, or combat magic. They are things that kill, therefore it is natural that they should kill us.”
“Okay,” Derek said.
“But what Scott did, what he was aiming to do, was not to kill, but to rescind permission to live.”
“What’s the difference?” Derek asked, sounding confused.
“It’s hard to explain,” Stiles said. “Can you just trust me that it is? Different, I mean? If Scott had killed Gerard with his claws, the zombie spell would have collapsed, much the same way as Deaton’s spells collapsed with his death. But instead the spell – by now probably very strong given the number of zombies that were feeding it – was left untethered, and it latched onto the best source of sustenance around.”
“So you’re saying that Scott tried to fix something that was about to resolve itself without his help, and instead of achieving anything of worth, he doomed the entire world because he acted without knowing what the hell he was doing?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said miserably. “Story of the last four years.”
“Not your fault, Stiles.”
“Wasn’t it?’ Stiles asked. “You know there’s no such thing as a True Alpha, right?”
“What do you mean?” Derek’s eyebrows went right up.
“Every wolf has the potential to be an Alpha. All they need is enough power looking to them to lead. You get a Beta wolf who can convince five or more other Beta’s or Omega’s to follow him or her, and he or she will eventually gain Alpha status, and start building power.”
“So Scott-”
“I’m a child of earth,” Stiles said watching Derek’s face. “I hold a great deal of power, even if most of it is unavailable until I turn twenty one. Mr Trirrel says that even if I had accepted the bite, nothing would have happened. Scott thought he was some prophesied messiah because my power boosted his power so much that became an Alpha.”
“Scott thought he was a prophesied messiah because he was an idiot who had Deaton feeding him misinformation,” Derek corrected. “Misinformation that he didn’t bother researching or fact checking. Face it, Stiles, exactly how much about the supernatural world did you take on faith just because ‘someone’ told you?”
“Yeah, but I’m paranoid,” Stiles replied.
“You’re alive,” Derek said flatly.
“And so are you,” Stiles returned. “No thanks to Evil Super-villain Veterinarian. No, I’m sorry. That still sounds stupid.”
“I wonder why Deaton didn’t stop Scott from doing what he did,” Derek mused thoughtfully. “He must have known that it would wreck his plans.”
“Who knows,” Stiles replied. “Quite frankly, I’m much happier for him to be dead than I would be if he was still around to answer our questions. Not that he was ever in the habit of answering questions anyway. That’s probably one of the things that originally set me against him, if I’m going to be honest.”
“Have you managed to get Mr Trirrel to tell you how it was captured yet?” Derek asked as they went back to sorting through the papers.
Stiles snorted. “It was a simple reflection/siphon spell,” he said shaking his head. “They’re easy enough to avoid once you know what they look like, but Mr Trirrel wasn’t expecting it. A lot of the power that Deaton had been using since then was probably stolen from Mr Trirrel, and the feel of it would have felt natural enough to most supernaturals that they wouldn’t question his claims of Druidism.”
“A bit embarrassing then?” Derek asked with a small grin.
“A bit,” Stiles agreed. “But really, I think that two decades of imprisonment and having its power stolen is plenty punishment. Not to mention what it’s going through now.”
“Is there something wrong?” Derek said with some concern.
“I’m pretty sure it’s only hanging on to existence out of sheer stubborn spite,” Stiles said sadly. “It’s determined to help us, and that’s what keeps it going. Have you noticed it’s getting smaller?”
“I wondered if I was imagining that.”
“No, as I understand things Mr Trirrel is holding tight to its power. But as it uses what it does have, it will dwindle. Until finally it’s nothing.”
“Come on,” Derek said abruptly. “These things won’t sort themselves.”
v^v^v^v
One day each week Stiles spent with the small guardian, learning about his heritage. There was a lot that couldn’t be taught until he’d come into his inheritance, but since after that he’d hopefully be sent hurtling through time back to when he had just turned sixteen again, he needed to learn as much as possible now.
“But Derek and I are going to kill Deaton, and then we can free you,” Stiles said when Mr Trirrel had told him that he was to learn as much as possible right now. “You can teach me then.”
“Foolish child! There is no guarantee that this one will be in any fit state, or even alive!” Mr Trirrel said angrily. “From the moment you awaken in the past, there are no sureties! The evil one might become uneasy at something and decide that it is better that this one is no longer alive! So you learn now.”
“Okay, I get it, I get it,” Stiles said, lifting his hands in the ‘I surrender’ pose. “No need to have a cow, dude. I’ll learn!”
“What is a cow-dude?” Mr Trirrel asked suspiciously. “No! This one will not be distracted! Now we will discuss the safest ways to tap into the ley-lines. Pay attention, child of earth, this may one day mean the difference between success and failure.”
So Stiles learned.
He also used the generator to access the various computers he’d collected from Hunters and evil vets and a laptop that he was pretty sure had belonged to Peter.
It turned out that Peter was the only one who was keeping a lot of juicy stuff on computer, which kinda made sense. Hunters were more interested in killing things than keeping detailed, meticulous notes on everything, and Deaton was sixty, and old school, and was much more comfortable with pen and paper as his stack of personal journals proved.
But Peter’s laptop was a little treasure trove, and while he was bug fucking nuts, he’d also anticipated his own death and left his information safely behind several puzzles that appeared to be designed specifically for Stiles. One of the questions was simply ‘Where did I offer to bite you?’ which ended up with Stiles relating the whole thing to Derek, making his eyes light up in anger.
So one day a week and for an hour each night, Derek and Stiles pored over the files that Peter had left. Some of the stuff Peter had managed to find made Stiles wish that he was able to take a flash drive or something back with him.
Meanwhile, Stiles and Derek made plans and contingency plans, and then contingency plans for their contingency plans, and Stiles was pretty sure that between them they’d thought of almost everything that could be expected to happen.
Of course, neither of them were stupid enough to believe that only things that they expected would crop up, but Stiles was of the mind that they could only do as much as they could. If the universe wanted more from them, then they would need a bit more help.
One of the issues they had discussed was Laura, who would still be alive and who would have been Derek’s Alpha for five years or so. They had also discussed whether or not it would be a good idea to turn Boyd, Erica, and Isaac into werewolves again.
In the end, they decided to tell Laura everything and leave the option to bite the others up to her. She would probably need to bite someone, or they could send for Cora, or hopefully try to de-crazy Peter, or all of the above.
There were a lot of ‘ors’ and ‘ifs’ in their planning.
They talked about what to do about the Hunters, and Stiles was adamant that his dad be brought into things right from the start.
“But I thought you wanted to keep him safe?” Derek said with some confusion.
“Yeah well, I’ve grown up a bit,” Stiles said. “It’s not actually up to me, he can make his own choices. In the end, keeping him in the dark only left him in more danger, and it strained our relationship almost to breaking point. I am not going through that again.”
“It’s up to you,” Derek said. “I trust the Sheriff, you know that.”
“Good.” Stiles said. “So you’ll tell him about what Kate did? Cause you know that I looked at the file from the fire, and there was plenty of circumstantial evidence, enough to bring her in, but since there was no motive she was disregarded.”
“There was?” Derek asked, his mulish expression changing to one of startlement.
“Yes,” Stiles confirmed. “So. You pin a motive on her? Get Dad to talk to all the people that Peter murdered so that they can testify? That will send a message to the Hunters. Cause I am not putting up with their bullshit ‘we do what we want and you can’t stop us’ in my town again. Chris and Victoria can just take Allison and fuck off back to France. Or wherever, I don’t actually care so long as it’s far away.”
“I thought you liked Allison?” Derek said neutrally.
“I didn’t want to make waves with Scott,” Stiles corrected. “She’s as fucking psycho as the majority of the rest of her family, and no way did I want to be in her cross-hairs.”
“Yeah, not pleasant,” Derek said with a frown.
“So, we tell my dad,” Stiles said, bringing the conversation back to where it had begun.
Winter was no problem because there was no winter. The days got shorter, and the temperature was slightly colder, but there was none of the usual weather indications of a change of seasons. It was eerie and uncomfortable, and Stiles constantly felt that he was out of place. Mr Trirrel finally deemed Stiles’ knowledge sufficient, and taught him the Ritual of Petition.
It was actually quite simple, providing the petitioner got the rune sets inscribed correctly. Stiles spent days laboriously carving the runes onto rocks and stones until his small teacher was satisfied.
Before too long, Stiles’ birthday was approaching. He’d been coached by Mr Trirrel as much as the exhausted being could manage, but there were a lot of unusual variables in Stiles’ coming of age. The sickness of the planet might mean that nothing would happen at all.
Stiles was pretty sure that something would happen. There was a sense of anticipation all around that just kept growing.
Finally, the day arrived.
In the dark before dawn, Stiles went down to the Nemeton and sat cross legged on the stump of his mother’s tree, waiting. At first he’d felt a bit strange around it, but Mr Trirrel had cured him of that pretty smartly.
As the first rays of sunlight hit him, he could feel the power start to flow. There was a brief moment where Stiles allowed himself to imagine what might have happened if he’d turned twenty one with no knowledge of his heritage, and then even that thought was consumed.
When it was over, there was no way that he could really describe what had happened to him.
What he did know was that he had chosen the path of his life, or it had been chosen for him based upon his life so far. He finally got why Mr Trirrel had refused to use a name for him. A being of Mr Trirrel’s power – even if most of it was now spent – naming him before his maturity might have affected him adversely.
“What are you, child of earth?” Mr Trirrel said solemnly. “Who are you?”
“This one is Justice for All,” Stiles said, answering without thinking. “Sprawiedliwość na wszystkie.”
Mr Trirrel began making the sound that Stiles had come to interpret as laughter. “Oh child. A true Justice has not been seen in many, many, cycles. This one wishes it could watch what that one does. That one will be most amusing!”
The little creature laughed for a while before it sobered. “But the child has chosen a path full of conflict. It is fitting that his mate should be the only Lord to Walk in as many cycles. Come, child of Justice. There is more learning before the petition can be made. There must be control! Why bother to save the Mother if you will just blow her apart again?”
For the next week Stiles put all of his energy into learning the control that Mr Trirrel demanded of him. As he learned, as the week went on, Mr Trirrel continued to grow smaller, until he could have fit on the palm of Stiles’ hand.
“That will be sufficient,” Mr Trirrel said finally. “There is so much more that this one should teach you, but its time is running out. Listen well, child of Justice. On the day when the earth is closest to the sun, you must make your petition.”
Stiles nodded.
“This one has little left to offer,” the tiny creature said. “But what there is shall be used to best effect. Lean down, child of Justice, that this one may touch you.”
“You never did tell me what your name was,” Stiles said, his heart in his throat. He knew what this was, he had suspected for months that Mr Trirrel would not last until they were ready, that he and Derek would be left alone again.
“In your tongue, this one is Finder, Seeker, Hidden Teacher,” Mr Trirrel said, raising his hand-like paws to Stiles’ forehead. “And this one gifts the child of Justice with Final Blessing, of its own free will. Go, child of Justice. Save our Mother, and all debts are repaid.”
Stiles knew that this time, when Mr Trirrel faded out, it wouldn’t be coming back again.
He sat back against the stump of the tree that had been his mother and sighed. There was just over a month before the solstice. He and Derek needed to be ready.
v^v^v^v
In the end, they performed the sacrifice at the Nemeton. Since he’d come into his inheritance Stiles could feel the power still imbued in the ancient wood that had once embraced and sheltered his mother, and he understood how staying near it had lengthened the time Mr Trirrel had been able to spend teaching him.
Thankfully there was no bloodshed required. If Stiles was not what he was, if Derek had not evolved, then their heart’s blood would have been needed, but as it was Stiles was able to offer their lifes’ essences without such a messy beginning.
The whole experience was weird. He and Derek ended up standing in a white mist, stark naked. There were voices all around, some arguing, some laughing, but none speaking in any language that Stiles knew.
WHY DO YOU COME BEFORE US?
It wasn’t words so much as a knowing that someone was asking them something. Luckily Mr Trirrel had given Stiles some pointers.
“We have come in petition,” he said aloud for Derek’s benefit. “To make it so that what did happen never will happen. To remove the architect of the destruction of our planet.”
AND ONCE THAT IS DONE?
“We know there is a price,” Stiles replied. “If we can pay it, we will. After that, we have no further plans other than to stay true to our natures.”
JUSTICE FOR ALL?
“Yes,” Stiles shrugged. “I’m not a god or anything, I know I can’t fix everything. But I will continue to do what I can, where I can, to ensure that all receive justice.”
AND YOU, LORD OF ALL THAT WALKS?
“I go with him,” Derek said, much to Stiles surprise. “I have never felt more at peace than I have with him. Where he leads, I will follow.”
YOU FIND HIM WORTHY OF SUCH TRUST?
Derek nodded. “He is the best leader I have ever known. He cares for his people, he listens to them. He is willing to sacrifice for them. He’s smart and loyal and beautiful inside and out. I have never trusted anyone more.”
DOES THE CHILD OF JUSTICE ACCEPT THE SERVICE OF THE LORD OF ALL THAT WALKS?
“I accept him as a partner, an equal,” Stiles said firmly. “I trust him absolutely. There is no one I would rather have by my side.”
VERY WELL. YOUR PETITION HAS BEEN HEARD.
Stiles and Derek exchanged glances. The voices around them rose and fell with fevered urgency.
THE RE-ORDERING OF TIME IS OF BENEFIT TO YOUR PLANET. WHAT OF THE UNIVERSE AS A WHOLE? WHAT HAVE YOU TO OFFER?
“Only ourselves,” Stiles replied, wondering if this was going to be where it all fell apart.
More discussion that Stiles couldn’t understand.
OUR JUDGEMENT IS THIS. WE WILL RE-ORDER TIME SO THAT YOU MAY ACHIEVE YOUR PRIMARY GOAL. THIS WILL REQUIRE THAT YOU BOTH BE REMOVED FROM THE TIME STREAM, TO AVOID A PARADOX.
THE PRICE FOR OUR INTERVENTION IS ETERNAL SERVITUDE. YOU WILL BE BOUND TO OUR SERVICE, WHICH WILL FORMALLY BEGIN NO LATER THAN THE NATURAL DEATH OF YOUR PLANET. YOU MAY TAKE UP YOUR SERVICE EARLIER IF YOU BOTH WISH.
BY STATING YOUR ALLIEGENCES SO CLEARLY BEFORE US, YOU ARE NOW CONSIDERED ETERNALLY BOUND. CONGRATULATIONS.
THE RE-ORDERING OF TIME WILL NOW COMMENCE.
Stiles reached for Derek’s hand grasping it just before he was hit with a whirlwind of power that drove into the very centre of his being.
Even as he felt ripped apart at the atomic level, he could feel the ghost of Derek’s hand clutching his.
Stiles woke up.
Back to All In