What We’re Made Of—Epic Friendship—Trope Bingo

Title: What We’re Made Of (The Prepared Mind #3)
Author: Claire Watson
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: A/U, Epic Friendship
Relationship(s): Stiles Stilinski & Cora Hale
Content Rating: PG13
Warnings: n/a
Author Notes: Trope Bingo #Epic Friendship.
Gina Torres cast as Besi Martínez
Agata Kulesza cast as Danuta Gajos
Beta: Grammarly!
Word Count: 6,211
Summary: Stiles agreed to live in Boston with his mother’s cousin and her wife for one year, planning to return to California for college. Discovering his magical potential changed that, leading him to study at the premier magical school in the world, Albion University.

---

In the wake of the attack on him by Gerard Argent, Stiles had bowed to his father’s desire to get him out of Beacon Hills for a while. They agreed that Stiles would stay with Danuta and Besi in Beacon Hill, Boston, for an entire school year, and in return, Noah would follow the diet plan Stiles had set for him.

Stiles knew that his father, the crafty bastard, hoped Stiles would wind up so immersed in his new situation that he wouldn’t bother coming back to Beacon Hills for his senior year. It was a good plan; it only required Stiles to make one friend that he would regret leaving behind for it to work.

Stiles had a different plan. Without Scott as both a distraction and a reason to hold himself back from advancing through the course material too fast, Stiles could easily test out of the Junior syllabus and start the coming year as a Senior.

Noah had signed papers giving temporary custody to Danuta, which meant that Stiles arrived in Boston with the whole summer to convince his aunt—technically his first cousin once removed, but Stiles called her aunt for its simplicity—that it was a good idea.

It didn’t take long for Stiles and Danuta to start talking very frankly about what had been going on in Beacon Hills. It didn’t even take a day.

Danuta, who was waiting to pick him up from the airport, took one look at him and groaned. “For fucks sake, Stiles, put up a shield! You’re radiating like a fucking power plant!”

Stiles blinked. “What?”

Danuta blinked back. “You don’t know?” She sighed. “What am I saying? Of course you don’t fucking know. Okay, don’t move, and don’t freak out.”

That was one of the stupidest sentences Stiles had ever heard. It was almost designed to make him freak out.

Danuta put a hand on his shoulder, frowned, and—

Stiles blinked. His head suddenly felt clear. It was as though a steady background noise had suddenly been muffled, like he’d spent so long inside a nightclub with a thumping bassline and a high-pitched techno track that he’d forgotten what it felt like not to have it overwhelming him. Except it was in his head, not his ears.

“That’ll do you for the trip home, at least,” said Danuta, dropping her hand from his shoulder. “Our wards can pick up the slack until you’ve worked out how to build shields. Come on. Let’s go find your luggage.”

Stiles trailed behind her, marvelling at his new ability to follow a thought to its conclusion without being pulled away by a random idea.

This was hella better than Adderall, which managed to dull the ‘noise’ but also muted everything else. Stiles couldn’t wait to learn how to do it himself.

v^v^v^v

On the drive to the house, Danuta revealed that she and her wife Besi were magic practitioners. Like, real ones. They lived in a house with magical wards, outside what looked like a tiny little park area, but was actually a magically folded space. Inside was a vast forest containing something called a nemeton, which his badass aunts were tasked with protecting.

As soon as Stiles realised that they knew more about the supernatural world than he did, he unloaded some of his worries. The bulk of them focused on the ongoing Argent presence in Beacon Hills, but he included his concerns that Scott’s chosen mentor, Deaton, wasn’t helping him.

Despite recent events, Stiles still cared for Scott. How could he not, with everything they’d gone through? He might not be able to stand looking at Scott’s stupid face right then, but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

Danuta derailed Stiles’ description of Scott’s fixation on Allison Argent, wanting to know further details of Stiles’ interactions with Deaton. Stiles shrugged and obliged her.

Back when Stiles had spilt his guts to his dad about everything that had happened in the wake of Scott’s lycanthropy, he’d been focused on Scott, Derek, and the Argents. Turning that focus to Deaton and then verbalising his thoughts was enlightening.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed when he got to the part where he, Scott, Deaton and Derek had gone to the school to use the public address system to attract the alpha. “I didn’t realise at the time, but he knew about werewolves all along. Why wasn’t he more help? If he knew about mountain ash, why did I have to chain Scott up and risk being eaten? His silence could have got me killed!”

“Please don’t think that this means that I want you dead, but I suspect that’s the least he has to answer for.” Daunta gripped the steering wheel tightly, expression grim. “There’s not much point in telling me more right now; you’ll just need to repeat yourself for Besi. How about I feed you and then let you get some sleep? I know it will still feel early to you, but your body clock needs to readjust. Tomorrow, you can tell us everything.”

“Since Scott was bitten, my sleep patterns have been all over the place,” Stiles admitted. “I probably won’t be able to sleep for hours yet.”

“I can help you with that tonight,” promised Danuta. She reached over and patted his arm. “I’m glad you came to stay with us, kochanie.”

“Me too,” replied Stiles. “I just hope that Dad holds up his end of the bargain.”

Danuta laughed, reminding Stiles so much of his mother that, for a moment, it was hard to breathe. He’d forgotten what his mom looked like when she laughed. How could he have forgotten?

Danuta shook her head, smiling. “Noah knows better than to break a promise to a Gajos.”

Besi took the next day off work, citing a family emergency, which gave Stiles a warm fuzzy feeling. Then Stiles unloaded everything.

Danuta and Besi listened sympathetically, interrupting only to ask for clarification or Stiles’ opinions on the motivations of various people. Under their skilled questioning, Stiles remembered things he didn’t even know he knew.

Several hours after he started, he was finally done.

Danuta hugged him hard. “Thank the high ones that you came to us. Hopefully, there’s still time to prevent an epic magical meltdown.”

That was when Stiles learned that Beacon Hills had its own nemeton. Not only that, but Stiles had magic too, who knew?

Deaton, apparently.

Danuta explained that Deaton’s cryptic comments about ‘being the spark’—which had annoyed Stiles immensely at the time—were proof that he knew enough about Stiles’ situation to provide guidance. Or, if he was unwilling or unable to teach, he could have pointed Stiles in the direction of someone who could and would.

“Leaving you without training was dangerous, kochanie,” said Danuta softly, ignoring Besi, who’d started cursing steadily under her breath in several languages Stiles didn’t recognise. “You could have hurt yourself; you could have hurt your friends. If you’d tried to do the wrong thing the wrong way, you could have wiped Beacon Hills off the map. Literally.”

Stiles felt faint. “But why wouldn’t he… What could he gain by not saying anything?”

“That’s a question I would very much like an answer to,” growled Besi. “What the hell is that bastard playing at? He’s either malicious or incompetent, and either way, he’s not someone who should have any access to significant power.” She got to her feet. “I’m calling Shadow Squad.”

Danuta frowned. “You want to send them into another jurisdiction without prior authorisation? What about the possible ramifications?”

“I don’t think we have much choice,” replied Besi, starting to pace in a circle. “The nemeton must have been significantly weakened to have allowed an attack like that on its Guardians.”

“We don’t know for sure that the Hales were the Guardians,” Danuta pointed out. “Claudia never confirmed it with them. She could have been wrong.”

Besi rolled her eyes. “Come on, ‘Nuta, you don’t think Claudia was wrong. Besides, Peter Hale’s resurrection almost confirms it. Talia, the alpha, was his sister, correct?” She raised her eyebrows at Stiles.

“As far as I know,” Stiles agreed. “I’m not sure where I know that from, but I’m pretty sure he is.”

Danuta pursed her lips. “You think he might have been the sacrifice?” She spoke directly to Besi, confusing the hell out of Stiles.

Besi nodded. “It makes sense. Both his unexpected survival and the resurrection thing.”

“Wait, what?” asked Stiles, alarmed.

Besi turned to him. “A werewolf pack doesn’t have the right kind of magic to connect to a nemeton properly. Packs get around this by allowing the nemeton to mark a child in each generation as theirs, usually as closely related to the alpha as possible. That child retains a connection to the nemeton their whole life. We call it a sacrifice; to all intents and purposes, the nemeton becomes the magical parent, leaving the child slightly on the outside of their pack.” She shrugged. “It’s unfortunate that the child in question doesn’t get a choice, although they gain other advantages.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “I can see Peter fitting that mould.” He frowned. “If it’s every generation, does that mean that Derek…?”

“If his sister was going to be the alpha, then it’s feasible that Derek was the sacrifice in his generation,” agreed Besi. “If it were any of the others, they probably would have survived the fire somehow, as Peter did.” Her earlier aggravation seemed to have settled. “If so, then Derek will have a difficult time coping with the alpha spark. I can’t recall ever hearing of a pack that allowed their alpha spark to fall to a child of a nemeton before; it will be interesting to see how it plays out.”

“Even if you’re right—which I’ll admit you probably are—are you sure you’re prepared for the can of worms you’ll be kicking open?” asked Danuta. “We have procedures and protocol for a reason, you know.”

“I know,” snapped Besi. “The problem with doing it all by the book is that we might accidentally warn that motherfucker, and he’ll go to ground. With the amount of access he’s had to what’s an essentially unguarded nemeton…” She shook her head. “He’d be able to hide well enough that we’d never be able to find him. Or he might start up again in another location. We can’t count on getting another convenient tip-off.”

“The rules are there for a reason,” insisted Danuta.

“I know.” Besi reached out and smoothed Danuta’s hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I’m a lawyer, remember? But there are times when the rules no longer apply, situations the people who set out the rules never considered when they were crafted. This is one of those occasions.”

Danuta sighed. “I know,” she agreed, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, all doubt had been wiped away. “Call for Shadow. I’ll back you up.”

Besi leaned in for a kiss. “You are spectacular, and I love you.” She strode out of the room, pulling her phone from her pocket.

Danuta watched her go, smiling fondly. “Besi always declares how much she loves me when she gets her way.” She turned back to Stiles and patted his hand gently. “We’ll get it sorted out. In the meantime, you’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of you, kochanie.”

v^v^v^v

Danuta had not overstated the case. Within a week, Stiles’ schedule was full to bursting. Either Danuta or Besi, or both, put the word out, and during that first week, nearly a dozen people stopped by the house, each offering to help train their nephew.

When Stiles was told he should pick his trainers from those who’d presented themselves, he first asked Danuta and Besi why strangers would be teaching him since he was sharing a house with two magic users.

Besi explained why that was a bad idea. “We’re too closely aligned to our nemeton. If either, or both, of us took an apprentice, they would also be Guardians. That would mean taking oaths that would tie them here. Firstly, I doubt the Beacon Hills’ nemeton would allow any such thing. You’ve already been marked as private property. Even if it did, it would mean spending the rest of your life in Boston. Is that really what you want?”

Stiles made a face. They already knew that he intended to go home. “Okay, I get the point. But how will I know who to pick? I’ve never met any of them before.”

Besi ran a hand over his hair. “Consider it the first part of your training. Only you can decide what you do with your gifts, how you want to use them. Choosing your teachers is part of that. Each practitioner focuses on different things, finds different ways to serve the greater whole. Look to those you feel will nurture or challenge you, and then choose as you wish.”

“I’m worried I’ll get it wrong,” admitted Stiles.

Besi smiled at him. “There are no wrong decisions here, only different paths to choose. ‘Nuta and I know all of these people well enough to assure you that you don’t need to be concerned with your safety, so go with your instincts. When it comes to your magic, you need to learn that it’s okay to rely less on this,” Besi touched warm fingers to his forehead, “and more on this.” She tapped the centre of his chest.

Stiles frowned. “This goes against my whole life’s ethos.”

Besi raised one eyebrow. “Does it? You haven’t found yourself trusting people you logically had no reason to trust? You haven’t had a bad feeling about someone, only to discover later that they meant you harm?”

Stiles sighed. “Fine, you win.” He picked at one of his fingernails. It had a rough edge and was annoying him. “How long will it take? As grateful as I am, and as much as I love being here with you both, I want to go home eventually.”

Besi pursed her lips. “It’s best to stay away from Beacon Hills for a while. I can’t prove it, since I only have mine and ‘Nuta’s experience here for comparison, but I feel that once you’re back in range of that nemeton, it will latch onto you. You grew up in its shade; its claim is written on your bones. My advice? Don’t go back until you’re ready to stay.”

The thought of not going home for years was unpalatable. It wasn’t just the thought of not seeing his dad—Noah was perfectly capable of travelling to see Stiles, and there was always facetime or skype—there was something in Stiles that rebelled against the whole idea.

On the other hand, Stiles had always wanted to travel. If going back to Beacon Hills too early meant that he would lose his chance to see Stonehenge, to travel the Nile and the Amazon, to explore Angkor Wat… Well, it wasn’t like Beacon Hills was going anywhere.

After some deliberation, Stiles chose four teachers: two men and two women. All four held their training sessions in the folded space of Louisburg Square, the small park-like area that secretly had a forest hiding inside.

Stiles tried to be sensible with his choices, looking at the people’s personalities and their stated specialities. He chose Frieda more for her air of calm friendliness than any interest in spiritual enlightenment. Tomas for his sense of humour over Stiles’ desire to learn magical gardening.

Delcie was calm too, but where Frieda seemed fun, Delcie came across as slow and tedious. Stiles still chose her, mainly because she was an acknowledged kickass warder. After hearing that Stiles had managed to manipulate mountain ash to create a barrier, she’d said he had what it took to excel in her area. Stiles liked the idea of making his family and friends safe and felt he could put aside his frustration with Delcie’s slow speech and mannerisms for that.

Stiles’ last tutor was Gilbert, and he was an arrogant asshole. So much so that he reminded Stiles of Jackson. He was a highly regarded curse master, skilled in both casting and breaking curses. The profession also included blessings, although Gilbert said there wasn’t much work available in that sphere.

Stiles was thrilled by the opportunity to learn how to curse people effectively. And bless them, but that was a lesser motivator. He was perfectly prepared to stroke his arrogant master’s ego if that was required. It wasn’t; Gilbert preferred to have a companionable snark-off rather than receive insincere flattery.

When school started in late August, Stiles grew even busier. None of his magical tutors thought that his plan to cram two years of high school into one should get in the way of his training and continued to work him hard. That might have been a problem if Danuta and Besi hadn’t arranged for him to attend a private school nearby.

When Stiles objected about the cost, Danuta told him not to travel so far up his own ass. “Besi and I are grown-ups; we can spend our money however we wish. Look on it as an advance on your inheritance.”

Stiles had already learned that it was impossible to sway his aunt when she’d made up her mind about something, so secretly resolved to pay her back when she wasn’t expecting it.

Private school in Boston was very different from public school in Beacon Hills. For one, academic excellence was more prized than sporting achievements in this school. Secondly, none of the teachers hated him and tried to make his life hell.

Thankfully, the shielding that Stiles had been taught increased his ability to concentrate, which meant his focus was higher than it had ever been before. Stiles breezed through his schoolwork, having discussed his scholastic intentions with the counsellor assigned as his mentor.

He found himself thinking about what might be going on back home, but he kept to his promise. He didn’t seek out any news or information from Beacon Hills, going so far as to refrain from installing social media apps on his new phone and deleting them from his laptop. This resolution was helped by how busy he was.

There was no time to form friendships; every minute of his day was accounted for in one way or another. Since Stiles would be living in a different world from his classmates, he didn’t attempt to get to know anyone. When required, he interacted with his peers but didn’t otherwise seek them out.

Two seniors tried to intimidate him, twin brothers called Jake and Mo, who were only attending a private school that catered to students with high grades because they were related to the school principal.

Stiles almost laughed in their faces. After a rogue alpha, a kanima, and Argents with guns, bows, knives, and torture basements, a couple of ordinary teenage boys weren’t the slightest bit threatening.

Having put the two musclebound jocks in their place, Stiles expected to be left to his own devices. He hadn’t anticipated that his confidence, intelligence, lack of fear towards Jake and Mo, and disinterest in playing the social games of one-upmanship that most of the other students invested themselves in would transform him in their eyes into something of a sought-after bad boy.

Stiles’ strange popularity only increased when one of his classmates, who was good enough with a computer he might have been able to give Danny a run for his money, managed to turn up the fact that Stiles had a restraining order put out against him.

Without trying, Stiles became the sort of popular that he’d always imagined Derek had probably been in school. It would have been hilarious if it weren’t so annoying.

As planned, Stiles completed his high school education by the end of the school year. His original plans to apply for Stanford had been put aside when he learned about Albion University, a school for supernaturals, or supernatural adjacent, located in a hidden area of Snowdonia National Park in Wales.

Albion offered many mundane courses of study available elsewhere, such as law, medicine, STEM fields, etc., and had partnership agreements with Oxford and Cambridge Universities to gather Albion graduates under their official umbrella. Albion also offered a rigorous, constantly evolving curriculum for magic users and supernatural beings to learn ways to use their gifts productively.

Entrance to Albion required sponsorship from a graduate. Three of Stiles tutors and both of his aunts qualified, only Gilbert—who had studied under several masters but never attended tertiary education—did not.

Stiles was spoilt for choice when choosing who would be his official sponsor. Eventually, he decided on Tomas, since the magic of plants had been the area of his tutelage where he’d most excelled. He’d cultivated immunities to plant-based toxins at a speed that had thrilled Tomas.

Not that he’d been slacking in the other areas. By the time he left Boston, Stiles was a proficient warder, capable of ensuring whatever house he lived in was safe enough that nothing and no one could sneak inside without alerting him.

He could harness the negative or positive energy of others to respectively curse or bless them while also learning methods to ensure people couldn’t curse him in return. He’d been given a thorough education on balancing curses with blessings to maintain a neutral aura. Too much of either attracted attention, and the last thing a curse master wanted was attention.

As well as all that, he’d achieved a level of self-enlightenment that Frieda deemed acceptable. She might have said competent, but for their disagreement over whether he should dispose of some faded, withered looking ties to his past. He’d been ruthless enough with other, more parasitic bonds, but these did nothing harmful, and Stiles feared the loss of something that he couldn’t name.

All four of his magical tutors agreed that Stiles was now grounded in his magic and capable of great success in whatever area of magical study he chose.

Stiles had a long discussion with Danuta and Besi, followed by an even longer one with his dad, then sent in his application.

He got confirmation of his acceptance within the month. A week before term started, he boarded a direct flight from Logan to Heathrow.

v^v^v^v

Stiles loved Albion University. He loved the castle where he studied psychology and the intricacies of various supernatural communities; he loved the forest, where he expanded his magical knowledge and learned more about how the magical ecosystem held together. He especially loved honing his natural talent at organic growth, boosting the University’s greenhouse production by nearly two hundred per cent in his second term alone.

That first year flew by. Stiles was as busy as he’d been back in Boston, only with a wider variety of subjects to focus on. His ability to hyper-focus for short periods came into its own, and he soaked up knowledge like a sponge.

He considered going back to Boston over the summer break; he missed his dad, and Danuta and Besi, like crazy, Facetime and Skype weren’t the same. But the school was only completely closed for two weeks, and the opportunity to explore Europe was too good to pass up.

On his first foray as a tourist, Stiles remained in the UK. On the advice of his teachers, he avoided Cardiff—they told him there was a reason the TV show Torchwood had been based there, and it wasn’t because of access to the production companies—and went straight for the motherlode, Wiltshire.

Stonehenge was probably the most famous magical ritual site in the world. It wasn’t the most powerful or the most frequently used, not these days, anyway. It had been built on ley line nodes that had shifted in the thousands of years it had been standing, and the history of its use permeated the stones. The bluestones, in particular, sang loudly enough that anyone with any magical sensitivity could hear them.

Stiles visited like an ordinary tourist. The stones held a weighty presence that was almost a physical thing. For the first time in a long time, Stiles was silent in the face of it. Hearing some of the other tourists complaining that they expected something more impressive made him want to ask them how they managed to put their shoes on in the morning.

The place was so captivating that Stiles spent his entire summer break there, just drinking in the magic. Even so, it didn’t feel long enough. When he left, it was with plans to go back.

Two weeks into his second year at Albion, Stiles met Cora Hale. They were taking the same Introduction to Developmental Psychology class. There was something familiar about her from the moment he first saw her, although he couldn’t make the connection.

When she sat down next to him, he figured that she must just have a better memory for faces than he did. Albion tried to create a learning environment that worked for as many species as possible, and no one had to sit next to someone else if they didn’t want to. If she sat next to him, it was on purpose.

“You smell like home,” she said, staring at him intensely, eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

Stiles blinked. “Uh…is that good or bad?” He took another look at her expressive eyebrows. He could only think of one other person with eyebrow game that good. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to the Hales, would you? Derek and Peter?”

Her frown deepened. “I’m Cora Hale. Derek’s my brother.”

“Right. Dad told me you’d turned up.” Stiles grinned at her, delighted. “I’m Stiles! God, I can’t believe it! Why didn’t Dad tell me you were going here? You know my dad, right? Sheriff Stilinski?”

Cora relaxed. “You’re Stiles?” She looked him up and down. “Huh. You’re scrawnier than I expected you to be.”

“Excuse you, I’m a lean, mean, fighting machine,” Stiles replied. “Although Jackson once called me a weak, meek, super-geek, so I’ll take your surprise as a compliment.”

Cora snorted. “Jackson only bothers with creative insults when he feels threatened.” She settled back in her chair. “As for the sheriff…I didn’t exactly consult him before accepting a place here. Derek knows that I’m in the UK, but not where.” She frowned. “Peter knows, but I imagine he thought it would be amusing to see how long it took for us to meet.”

Stiles shook his head. “Yeah, I can see that.” He relaxed back into his seat, comfortable in a way he hadn’t been since he’d left home. “Why doesn’t Derek know where you are?” At Cora’s glare, he backpedalled slightly. “Right, right, none of my business.” He mimed zipping his mouth closed. “On a lighter note, what are you studying?”

That was the start of Stiles’ and Cora’s Epic Friendship of Awesomeness.

For the next three years, Cora and Stiles were joined at the hip, exploring the world together in a way that Stiles had once thought he’d experience with Scott.

When they shared classes, which wasn’t often, they sat together. When Stiles ventured deep into Snowdonia National Park, looking for rare plants to gather and practice his magic on, Cora came with him. When Cora wanted to hike up mountains to take stunning photographs of fantastic scenery, Stiles went with her.

When Stiles wanted someone strong to test his magical restraints, Cora volunteered. When Cora wanted to hone her ability to sniff out obscure magical traces, Stiles gathered a group of his classmates and had fun doing weird and wonderful things and then trying to hide them from detection.

Their project caught the attention of some of the professors, and before Stiles knew it, he and Cora were leading a student-run class on tracking and evasion that looked set to become an annual thing.

After that initial meeting, they didn’t talk about Beacon Hills. By unspoken agreement, they talked about everything else. Despite Cora having inherited the same stunning good looks ran in the Hale family, their friendship was never anything other than platonic. On both sides.

Stiles got a front-row seat to the ups and downs of Cora’s love life, while Cora was the one Stiles complained to about his spectacular lack of relationship success with other supernaturals.

It was supremely annoying.

‘Normals,’ as those who fell in the bracket of ‘not supernaturally aware’ were called, were all over him. When Stiles and Cora went clubbing in London, Stiles was hit on all the time. Supernaturals, however, seemed determined to either have a one-night stand or friend-zone him. At first, he thought he was just having a run of bad luck. After two years of the same behaviour patterns repeating, he wised up.

“It’s like flashbacks to high school,” Stiles complained to Cora one morning, once he’d proved that the pattern was more than his imagination. He’d made a detailed spreadsheet covering his interactions since arriving in Wales, all pretty with colour coded graphs and everything. “I thought college was supposed to be different, the place where all the freaks found their freak friends and finally felt accepted.” He flopped down onto the bed next to her, elbowing her to make room for him.

“You’re not a freak,” said Cora, shifting over but not bothering to look up from her phone. “You know perfectly well that you’re attractive. The problem isn’t what you look like; it’s what you smell like.”

“I smell?” Stiles frowned at her. He didn’t smell bad, did he? Trying not to look too obvious about it, he sniffed to check.

Cora rolled her eyes. “Not that kind of smell. You smell…claimed. By something powerful.”

Stiles stared at her. “Are you coming the raw prawn? Someone claimed me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cora finally glanced up. “Someone or something.” She considered that for a moment before letting her gaze drop back to her phone. “Given that you’re unaware of it, most likely something. Most beings who place direct claims are so obvious about it that even you couldn’t have missed it.”

“The disrespect! I’ll have you know that one of my professors called me a magical miracle the other day. And Frieda told me I was acceptably self-aware.”

“Lots of brilliant people are socially obtuse,” Cora pointed out. “If you want anything deeper than a casual fling, you’ll have to find someone you like who’s happy to follow you home. The problem with finding someone like that here, is that we’re all reaching for more for ourselves.” She patted his arm. “You’ll have better luck out in the world.”

Ugh.” Stiles let his head fall back against his pillow. Sometimes he felt like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle. If he could only find all the pieces, he’d finally figure out all the stuff that seemed apparent to everyone else. “How can this be a thing? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They probably thought you knew,” replied Cora. She looked at her phone again, frowning. “Huh. I don’t know if Tess is playing hard to get so that she won’t seem overeager, or if she doesn’t want to tell me outright that she’s not interested.”

Stiles sighed. “This sounds a lot like what you went through with Jen. Look at it this way, even if Tess is interested, do you really want to invest emotional energy into someone who plays those kinds of games?”

Cora pursed her lips. “She’s got a great rack, and she’s strong enough to bench-press a family of elephants. Do you know how hard it is to find someone in my age group who’s not only gorgeous but physically stronger than me?”

“So, not for her amazing personality then.”

“For her amazing personalities, Stiles, keep up.” Cora waggled her eyebrows at him.

Stiles groaned. “I must have been a puppy murderer in a past life. A serial puppy murderer. Why am I being forced to deal with this kind of crap?”

“Don’t front; you love it,” replied Cora, unmoved. She dropped her phone on the bedside table. “You’re probably right, though. Dating Jen was too much like hard work; I don’t want to go there again.”

“You’re totally going to bang her, though,” said Stiles, familiar with Cora’s methods by now.

Cora smirked. “No point in wasting the time I’ve already expended.”

Stiles shook his head, deciding to change the subject. “Are you done flaunting your love life in my face? Does that mean that we have time for pancakes before our hike? Marty told me that Gustav was back at work yesterday.”

Cora leapt from the bed and dashed over to her closet. “We could have been scoffing Gustav’s pancakes, and you let me lie about in bed? What kind of friend are you?”

v^v^v^v

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long time to connect the claim that Cora talked about to the nemeton claim Besi had told him about. In his defence, the conversation with Besi had happened years ago. He said as much when Besi reminded him of it on their next Facetime conversation.

Besi just laughed at him.

“It’s not fair,” Stiles grumbled. “It’s like I’ve got all the disadvantages of being married without any of the advantages. Also, I would like to point out that I never agreed to this.”

Besi rolled her eyes. “Firstly, don’t try to tell me you don’t get exactly as much tail as you want. Secondly, feel free to make your objections known to the Beacon Hills nemeton. Let me know how that works out for you.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” accused Stiles. “See if I send you any of my newly-grown Singing Nettles.” He knew he shouldn’t tell her about this, but it was so difficult to keep something this big and exciting to himself.

Besi’s eyes widened. “You found a living specimen of Singing Nettles? I thought they were extinct. As far as I knew, we had nothing but some rare, precious, powdered samples.”

Stiles coughed. “I might have learned how to grow viable plants from powdered remains. Please don’t spread it about; I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“You can’t ask me to keep this a secret from ‘Nuta, Stiles. You know I can’t do that.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine, you can tell her. But no one else! My professors are working on a way to keep my identity a secret, at least until the upheaval to the distribution network is over.”

“If you can restore Singing Nettles, then what else will you be able to bring back?” Besi wondered. “Have you tried with other plants? How much of the material do you need for it to work?”

“These are all things that will be answered in my thesis,” replied Stiles, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut.

Besi sighed. “I almost wish you hadn’t said anything. Keeping a lid on this is going to be hard.”

Stiles winced. “Do you want to make a vow? If you and Danuta make it together, using the Boston nemeton as the focal point …”

“Then we won’t be able to spill the beans accidentally,” finished Besi. “Hmm. I don’t like making vows, but to protect you… Let me talk it over with ‘Nuta; then I’ll get back to you.”

“If you agree to take a vow, I can probably get you added to my research team,” offered Stiles.

Besi’s eyes brightened. “I’ll talk to Danuta when she gets up.”

That just left Stiles with the fun job of explaining to his professor that he’d let the cat out of the bag.

Fun.

v^v^v^v

Almost five years after setting foot in Albion University, Stiles was officially ready to take all his learning out into the world and become a contributing member of society. Well, more than he already was. As the person solely responsible for bringing several extinct magical plants back to life, he’d already contributed quite a lot to the magical ecosystem, even if not many people knew the role he played.

Even without that added to his reputation, Stiles was one of the most sought-after graduates in his year. He’d been offered placements all over the world, from short-term contracts to lifetime commitments that were comparable to what Danuta and Besi had in Boston.

He declined them all. For Stiles, it seemed all roads eventually led back to Beacon Hills. He was ready to go back.

When he mentioned this to Cora, she said, “Maybe so. That doesn’t mean we have to make it easy. Hugo Pereira has invited us to stay with his family in Évora next month. We can fly from Lisbon to Lima and then visit Machu Picchu. Then Mari and I can go see her family, and you can fly direct to Sacramento.”

Hugo was a classmate they both got on well with, and Kamaria had been Cora’s girlfriend for nearly six months now. Stiles was starting to think it was serious.

It didn’t take much convincing. Cora knew he’d wanted to see both places, and he loved travelling with her. He knew she was a little nervous about meeting Kamaria’s family, who lived somewhere in Peru.

“One more trip then,” Stiles agreed.

Then home.