Reading Time: 81 Minutes

Title: A Terrible War
Series: What We Gain
Series Order: 8
Author: enigmaticblue
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Relationship(s): GEN
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: *No Mandatory Warnings Apply
Word Count: 85,187
Summary: The hunters finally make their play. Noah has to gather his allies. Derek has to hold on. Stiles—Stiles has to survive.
Artist: ringspells

 

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Chapter 3

Derek hears Lydia’s car pull up in front of the house, and Stiles goes out the back with a distracted wave.

“Is that something we should be worried about?” Parrish asks.

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. Stiles generally has good instincts, and he’s been known to pull a rabbit out of his hat before.”

Parrish frowns. “But?”

“But I don’t know,” Derek admits. “I’m with Stiles, though. I do think the house makes a really tempting target.”

“We can stay up and keep an eye out,” Parrish offers. “At least until Moira and the Sheriff get home.”

He and Parrish repair to the den and put a football game on the TV. Scott comes upstairs from the basement and looks around. “I thought Stiles was going to join us.”

“He’s out doing some sort of magic with Lydia,” Derek replies.

Scott frowns, but eventually seems to let it go. “Should someone go out to watch his back?”

Derek cocks his head and listens. “I hear both of them. Their heartbeats are steady, and I can’t hear anyone other than them.”

“Okay,” Scott says slowly, heading for the freezer to pull out the container of cookies Moira tends to keep stashed. “Let us know if you need help or anything.”

Derek has every intention of staying awake until Moira and Noah return, but ever since getting poisoned, Derek doesn’t have the same stamina he had before. He can get through the day just fine, but when it comes to the end of the day, he’s weary and ready for sleep.

He’s not sure when he drops off, but sometime between the second and third quarter.

Derek wakes when Parrish shakes him urgently. “Derek, Derek, wake up! Wake up, man!”

He struggles to open his eyes, and realizes that he’s also struggling to draw in a breath. Derek feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest, and when he tries to say as much, he can’t get the words out.

“Shit,” Parrish mutters. “Fuck!”

Parrish hauls Derek to his feet and heads for the back door. Derek feels as though he hits a wall when Parrish tries to drag him outside.

Derek shakes his head, feeling more and more desperate for air, black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Parrish curses again, and he lets go of Derek, who falls to his hands and knees. He can feel the heat flow off Parrish as he bursts into flame. From his position, Derek can see the thin line of mountain ash just in front of the door.

Parrish kneels and puts his hand out. The flames intensify, and the mountain ash goes up in smoke. The fire goes out, leaving Parrish naked from the waist up, and he pushes Derek out the door into fresh air. His breathing doesn’t get easier right away, but does improve bit by bit.

Parrish goes back into the house, and then Derek sees Lydia running towards him. Her mascara has run, as though she’s been crying. She runs past Derek into the house, and Derek can understand why a few seconds later, when she helps Cora outside while Parrish half-carries Scott, who’s having the same trouble breathing that Derek is.

Parrish and Lydia keep running in and out, bringing out the other pack members one by one as those they’ve rescued struggle to breathe.

By the time Parrish and Lydia manage to drag Boyd out between the two of them, Derek’s lungs still feel tight, but he’s no longer suffocating.

“Lydia, where’s Stiles?” Derek gasps out.

Lydia shakes her head. “We were attacked. I don’t know how they managed to approach us without Stiles or me knowing, but Theo Raeken blew some kind of powder into his face. I screamed, but it was too late.”

Derek looks around, seeing that Scott is in a bad way, still struggling to draw in a full breath. Everyone else seems to be slowly recovering.

“But where is he?” Derek presses.

“I left him at the ritual space to get help,” Lydia replies, wiping at wet cheeks with the heel of her hand. “But when I got here, I saw Parrish burning the mountain ash, and I knew it had to be a coordinated attack.”

Parrish is on fire again, his eyes glowing orange, clearly standing guard over everyone who’s still trying to recover.

Lydia straightens and pulls out her cell phone. “I’m calling the Sheriff. And Mrs. McCall.”

“Why does my chest hurt so bad?” Cora whines. As the next one out of the house after Derek, she seems to be recovering the quickest.

“Aerosolized wolfsbane,” Parrish—or Cerberus—says shortly. “If I hadn’t been here, the outcome would have been quite different.”

Derek fights his way to his feet and starts to stagger towards the ritual space and Stiles.

“Stay put!” Parrish snarls, and his voice has the resonance it does when Cerberus is at the forefront. “We don’t know who else is out there.”

Lydia is talking to someone that Derek assumes is the dispatcher, because she says, “Yes, please tell the Sheriff that there’s been an attack at his house. We have multiple people who have been incapacitated, including Stiles.” She pauses. “Yes, I’m going to call Mrs. McCall next.”

When she hangs up, Parrish asks, “How many were there?”

Lydia shakes her head. “At least one besides Theo, but they might still be in the Preserve.”

Cerberus nods. “I’m not leaving to check until there are others here to keep watch.”

Derek’s breathing is getting easier, but he really wants to know how they managed to introduce it into the house. “I need to check on Stiles.”

Parrish shakes his head. “Not until someone is here.”

Cora is on her feet now, and she says, “I’ll go with him.”

Malia and Isaac are also getting to their feet. “We’re okay,” Malia insists, her voice hoarse. “We’ll help keep watch.”

“I’ll go, too,” Lydia says. She’s left a message on Mrs. McCall’s cell phone. “If you properly direct the scream, you can incapacitate someone, and I could use the practice.”

Derek stumbles towards the ritual space and sees Stiles’ crumpled form in the center of the circle. The waxing moon is bright overhead, not that he needs much light to see by.

Stiles is still—more still than Derek can remember seeing him. He kneels next to him, pressing his fingers first against the pulse point in his wrist, then his neck. His pulse is slow—too slow—but still strong.

“Lydia?” Derek asks, not even sure how to formulate the question.

“He’s still there,” Lydia says. “Just beyond my reach, and I’m not sure what Theo did to cause it.”

“Moira will know,” Cora says confidently. “She knows almost everything.”

Lydia frowns. “Where is Moira?”

“She was meeting a client in San Francisco,” Derek replies. “Noah said she probably wouldn’t be back until after midnight.”

“It’s eleven now,” Lydia says, sounding worried. “Let’s hope she gets back sooner than expected.”

Derek hears the sound of sirens, and he lets out a sigh of relief, feeling his Alpha approaching. He stays where he is, waiting for Noah to come to him.

Noah comes around the side of the house at a run, dropping to his knees next to Stiles. “What happened?”

“Stiles was trying to make it so that anyone approaching the house would get stuck,” Lydia says. “I was helping him. I think it was working, but then two people came out of the Preserve. One was definitely Theo Raeken, and he blew some kind of powder into Stiles’ face. The other one ran off when I screamed, but I didn’t recognize her.”

Dave and Paul are on the scene, along with Cindy. “You said Stiles was trying to make it so people got caught if they approached,” Dave says. “Do you think they’re still out there?”

Lydia shakes her head helplessly. “I don’t know. I can’t—I can’t tell.”

Noah is patting Stiles’ cheek. “Hey, Stiles, Stiles. I need you to wake up, okay? I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Noah isn’t going to be of much help right now, and Dave looks at Lydia. “Why didn’t Stiles bring Batman out here with him?”

Lydia bites her lip. “He did. Batman went tearing off after Theo when he ran away.”

“So, where are the dogs?” Dave asks tersely.

Paul puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles sharply. All three dogs come loping out of the Preserve, and Derek’s sharp eyes see blood on Batman’s muzzle.

“Batman bit someone,” Derek says, feeling a little numb.

“Good boy,” Dave says fiercely. He takes off his gun belt and moves to the full shift with ease. He gives a deep, sharp bark, and the other dogs converge on him.

Paul draws his weapon, and Cindy does the same. Noah is still kneeling next to Stiles, trying to wake him but having no luck.

“Let’s go,” Paul says. “If there’s anyone out there, we’ll arrest them and figure out the charges later.”

Derek wants to go after them, but Parrish kneels next to him and puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You almost died, bud,” Parrish says softly. “Let the people who weren’t injured go.”

Derek sits down on the concrete pad, his thoughts still muddled.

Distantly, he can hear Lydia making some additional calls, and Derek stares at Stiles and Noah, wondering how everything had gone so wrong when they should have been safe.

The wards were supposed to make them safe.

Derek doesn’t know how long he sits there, watching as Noah tries to bring Stiles around. Parrish keeps a grounding hand on Derek’s shoulder the entire time.

Eventually, though, Noelani, Alana, and Danny arrive, coming around the side of the house. Derek doesn’t think much time has passed, but it feels as though he’s been sitting there for hours.

Alana kneels next to Stiles, gently peeling back his eyelids. “He’s deep inside himself. Has anyone called Melissa McCall?”

“I did,” Lydia replies. “I had to leave a message.”

Alana nods. “Call her back and tell her that we might need to make Stiles comfortable for a long period of time.”

“What are you talking about?” Noah asks hoarsely.

Noelani rests a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions without getting Moira’s opinion, but I don’t know that the solution is going to be quick or easy. We may need to plan for the long haul.”

Noah rubs his eyes wearily. “Okay, what do we do?”

“We need to make sure the wolfsbane has been cleared out of the house,” Derek says. “That’s why we all had to evacuate.”

“This was an attack on the pack,” Noelani says grimly. “It’s possible they knew Moira wouldn’t be here.”

Alana climbs to her feet. “I’ll sweep the house out. We can move Stiles after I’ve made sure it’s safe.”

“Why Alana?” Derek asks as she heads for the house.

Noelani smiles. “One of her affinities is air. She’ll make sure it’s safe for the werewolves to enter.”

Derek feels like his head is spinning, like he can’t quite catch his breath, but it has nothing to do with the wolfsbane and everything to do with how much has happened in a short span of time.

Danny kneels next to Stiles, resting a hand on his chest. “I can feel him fighting it.”

“Fighting what?” Noah demands.

“Whatever magic they hit him with,” Danny replies.

Dave comes loping out of the woods in his full shift, transforming mid-stride. “Sheriff, whatever Stiles was trying to do worked. I think you’d better come see this for yourself.”

Noah sends an anguished look at Stiles, but he gets to his feet. “Derek, stay with Stiles, please. Parrish, stay with them.”

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says readily.

Derek isn’t sure if Noah thinks he’s still impaired from the wolfsbane poisoning, or if he’s asking Derek to stay as the right hand. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because Derek isn’t sure he could run right now.

“I will,” Derek promises, watching as Noah heads into the Preserve with Dave leading the way.

Lydia sits down next to Stiles as her phone rings, and he immediately answers it. “Hello?” She pauses. “Yes, that’s correct. Noelani and Alana aren’t sure how long it’s going to last, and they thought we should be prepared.” Another pause. “I think he’s fine, but closer to the house. I’ll find him. He probably doesn’t have his phone. We had to get everyone out quickly.”

Derek assumes that Lydia is taking the phone to Scott so that Mel can check on him. He scoots closer to Stiles and glances at Danny. “Can you sense anything else?”

Danny shakes his head. “No, just that he’s still in there.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” Derek mutters.

Alana comes out of the house and says, “The house is clear, and I found the device they must have used. It was in a canister in one of the air ducts, and it looks like it was on a timer.”

She has the device in her hands, and Derek doesn’t know what to do with that either. “Let me see that,” Parrish says. “We can take it to the station to be processed as evidence.”

Derek feels a welling despair. “What good is that going to do?”

“Humans can be poisoned with wolfsbane, too, Derek,” Parrish replies patiently. “Maybe it was a weird choice, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone used poison to try and murder everyone in the Sheriff’s house tonight.”

Derek knows he’s right, and he also knows that he’s really not thinking straight right now, or he’d have figured that out himself.

“Come on,” Danny says gently. “I think we can get Stiles inside between the two of us.”

Derek has enough strength for that at least, and he and Danny get Stiles up between the two of them and haul him into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom.

He really isn’t sure what to do next, but Danny shoos him out of the room. “I got this.”

Scott is hovering in the hallway, and Derek asks, “Did you talk to your mom?”

Scott nods. “Yeah, she’s on her way, and she’s bringing Dr. Ellie. What the hell happened, Derek?”

Derek takes a deep breath, still feeling as though there’s a tight band around his chest. Instead of answering Scott’s question—because he doesn’t have an answer—he asks, “How’s your breathing?”

Scott grimaces. “I didn’t miss having asthma, that’s for sure. It was like the worst asthma attack ever, but doubled.” He looks over Derek’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admits. “I think Stiles went to try to make sure that anyone approaching the house got caught by the Nemeton somehow. After that, though…”

Danny comes out of Stiles’ room and says, “I’ve made him as comfortable as I could. Let’s hope this doesn’t go on for long.”

Scott grimaces. “He’s unconscious?”

Danny nods. “But he doesn’t appear to be injured. Hopefully, Moira will have more answers when she arrives.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Derek says. “Maybe Noah has found something.”

But Derek has to wonder if they’ve finally run up against something that Stiles can’t do anything about.

~~~~~

When Noah hears the evening dispatcher—it’s Pete Sumner tonight—say, “Come again? Did you say Stiles was attacked?”

He’s been feeling unsettled for the last thirty minutes, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on why. Now, he can.

Noah grabs his gun belt and leaves his office. “Pete?”

Sumner holds up a hand. “Yeah, okay, got it. The Sheriff is on his way.” He turns to Noah. “There’s been an attack at your house, sir. Stiles is down, some kind of assault by Theo Raeken apparently.”

“Who called it in?” Noah asks, expecting Sumner to say that it was Derek or even Parrish.

“Lydia Martin,” Sumner replies. “She said she was with Stiles when it occurred. She also said that someone released some kind of gas inside the house, but everyone has been evacuated and seems fine.”

“Stiles’ status?” Noah asks, forcing himself to ask the pertinent question, rather than asking Sumner why the hell Lydia had been at his house. Sumner wouldn’t know the answer anyway.

“Unconscious and unresponsive,” Sumner says. “That’s all she could tell me.”

“Get on the horn and send Dave and Paul that way,” Noah replies. “We might need the extra manpower.”

Sumner nods. “Yes, sir.”

Noah gets in his vehicle and puts the lights and sirens on. He wants to pour on the gas, but he is very aware that whoever attacked the house could easily be lying in wait for him.

He can see when Dave and Paul join him, their lights bright red and blue in his rearview window. Noah pulls to a stop in front of the house and turns the siren off, but he leaves the lights on as he runs around the side of the house.

If Stiles had been outside to work his magic, he’d be in the ritual space.

He’s lying in the center of the circle, pale and still, and Noah goes to him immediately. He starts tapping Stiles’ cheek, begging him to wake up, to show any sign of life.

Noah distantly recognizes when the other members of the coven arrive, although they don’t really snap into focus until Noelani puts a hand on his shoulder and warns him that the resolution for Stiles’ condition might not be fast or easy.

He’s glad Dave and Paul are on the scene, because they’re experienced deputies, and they know what needs to happen without Noah saying anything. He’s less pleased when Dave emerges from the Preserve on a run and asks for him.

Noah doesn’t want to leave Stiles, but he doesn’t feel as though he has a choice. He leaves Derek with his son and follows Dave into the Preserve. He remembers what Stiles had done to hold the Dread Doctors in place, so Noah isn’t too surprised when they come across a dark-haired woman being held in place by tree roots and limbs.

“Get me out of this!” she snarls.

Cocoa and Nibs are apparently standing guard, because Cocoa bares her teeth and growls.

“I thought your dogs liked everybody,” Noah comments.

“Yeah, that’s a new one for me, too, but the dogs have apparently decided that they hate anybody who attacks Stiles,” Dave says.

“Let me go!” she shrieks.

Noah gives her a mild look. “I think we’re going to need an axe for that, so you can just sit tight.”

“Good job, guys,” Dave says. “Stay and keep watch.”

Nibs whuffs.

“The real prize is a little farther,” Dave says, leading the way through the trees.

Dave isn’t wrong. The trees have managed to trap Theo in their branches, and they haven’t been gentle about restraining him. There’s a thick branch around his neck, pulling him against the trunk of a tree, and roots are pinning his ankles. His hands have been left free, and he’s clawing at the branch around his throat.

Paul is standing guard with Batman, who has his teeth bared, a low growl emanating from his chest.

Batman spots Noah and gives one, short bark.

“Yeah, I’ve got it from here,” Noah says. “You can go sit with Stiles.”

Batman directs one last snarl at Theo, then races back towards the house. Nibs looks at Dave and gives a questioning whine.

“Go on,” Dave says. “We’ve got it from here.”

Nibs trots off at that, and Paul asks, “Who’s watching the other one?”

“Cocoa,” Dave replies. “She’s being very fierce, and I didn’t feel like raining on her parade.”

Paul laughs at that. “What are we doing to do with him, sir?”

“Well, I’d like to know what he did to my son,” Noah says mildly.

“Fuck you,” Theo snarls. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Noah flashes claws, fangs, and red eyes, and he lets out a roar.

Theo might not be a “real” werewolf, but he still has some of those instincts, and he moves his head to bare his neck as best as he can in his position.

“What did you hit him with?” Noah demands.

“I don’t know,” Theo says sullenly. “Becky’s boss contacted a magic user, and then gave it to us. The instructions were to blow the powder into Stiles’ face.”

“Search him,” Noah says. “See if you can find the container. Moira might be able to use it.”

Paul starts searching, tossing a wallet to Dave and eventually coming up with a plastic bag with some powdery residue. “Other than that, he’s clean, sir.”

Noah takes a deep breath, and he’s not sure what the next step should be. What he wants to do is to use his claws to slash Theo’s throat and end his life. He doesn’t think a prison is going to hold him, and they don’t have a way to dampen his abilities.

At the same time, Noah doesn’t want to act out of revenge.

“Dave, what do you think?” Noah asks.

Dave blows out a breath. “I don’t know, sir. Prison isn’t going to hold him.”

“Did you kill the people posing as your parents?” Noah asks.

Theo tilts his chin up. “I didn’t have any more use for them.”

“Do you mind standing guard for a little while?” Noah asks Dave and Paul. “I’d like to wait to see what Moira has to say, see if she knows a way to hold him. If she doesn’t, we’ll talk about options.”

“Just kill me,” Theo says. “It’s not like I have anything to live for.”

Privately, Noah agrees. He wouldn’t want to face a life behind bars, and that’s what Theo is looking at with the deaths of at least two people.

“I’m not in the habit of acting as judge, jury, and executioner,” Noah replies. “But that option is not completely off the table.” He looks at Paul. “Let’s go search the woman, and I’ll let you look after her until we can locate something that will hack her free.”

Paul snorts. “Or we could let the trees take her. That seems like a viable option for both of them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Noah replies.

He and Paul return to where the woman is trapped, and Paul searches her, but he comes up empty. “No identification.”

“Fun fact, but all healthcare professionals in California have to provide fingerprints for a background check,” Noah says cheerfully. “I’m guessing we’ll get a confirmed ID when we take her prints. Keep an eye on her until Moira can get here?”

Paul nods. “You got it, sir.”

“Come on, Cocoa,” Noah says. “I think the boys could use your fierce moral support.”

Cocoa barks twice, then growls low and loud at the woman for emphasis.

“Or we could just let Cocoa eat her,” Paul suggests. “I think she’s a little jealous that Batman got a bite out of Theo.”

“He can’t have tasted good, sweetie,” Noah tells her.

Cocoa shakes herself all over, but she trots next to Noah as he heads back to the house.

When he enters the back door, Parrish and Danny are sitting at the dining room table poking at some sort of device. Parrish is still shirtless and slightly sooty. “What’s that?” Noah asks as Cocoa runs upstairs, presumably to join Batman and Nibs.

“That’s the device they used to fumigate the house with wolfsbane,” Parrish says grimly.

It’s not as though Noah hadn’t heard that the house had been attacked, but his focus had been on Stiles once he saw that everyone else was ambulatory and not in obvious distress. But in that moment, it hits him that the house had been attacked. He might have lost half his pack.

He might have lost most of his heart.

“What happened?” Noah asks, lowering himself into a chair before his knees give out.

“Remote controlled device that released aerosolized wolfsbane,” Parrish replies. “Danny and I were just taking a look.”

“Jordan, how close was it?” he asks.

Parrish looks up, and his eyes glow orange for a moment, although he doesn’t manifest flames. “Too close. If I hadn’t been able to burn the mountain ash…” He trails off. “Stiles would have been able to get people out, and Lydia could have scuffed the line, but I think they waited until he was outside to spring the trap.”

Noah can’t quite see the shape of the conspiracy. Had they known Moira was out of town? She often saw clients on Mondays, so it wouldn’t be a difficult guess. Had they been watching the house, hoping that Stiles would go outside? If so, why hadn’t the wards warned Stiles?

The only thing Noah can say for certain is that Theo had targeted Stiles with something he couldn’t easily defend against. And they’d targeted the pack house and all of the werewolves inside at the exact same time.

“What can you tell from the device?” Noah asks, focusing on concrete facts.

Parrish shakes his head. “It looks like it might have been on a timer. I don’t see a way for it to be triggered by a cell phone.”

Noelani and Alana enter through the back door, and both of them wear grim expressions. “We checked the wards,” Noelani says. “Someone created a hole in the boundary.”

Noah frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It means that someone was able to create a gap by creating null stones of their own, breaking the line,” Noelani says. “Moira typically checks the boundary once a week, but always on a different day.”

“They’ve been watching us.” Noah feels the truth deep in his bones. “Closely.”

Alana nods. “I believe so. I haven’t been able to find much on Tamora Monroe, but I’ll keep at it.”

“Where are the other kids?” Noah asks. He probably should have asked earlier, but he assumes they’re safe, or someone would have said something.

Parrish glances up. “I sent them downstairs with Derek. Everyone was wiped out, and I checked the window and made sure it would open if we were attacked again.”

Noah hopes they aren’t attacked again, not tonight.

Lydia comes up from the basement, and she says, “Moira just texted and said she’s nearly here.”

Noah stands. “I’m going to go check on the others, and then I’ll be up. If Moira arrives, please let her know where I am.”

Noah heads down to the basement, and he’s not surprised to see everyone in a puppy pile in the center of the room with Derek at the center. Everyone is already asleep or nearly so, and Noah stands there for a long moment, taking it all in. He knows how lucky they had been, but at the same time, Noah feels as though their luck is running out.

Scott stirs and lifts his head, sending Noah a questioning look. He’s at the edge of the pile, nearest the stairs.

Noah just shakes his head, and Scott nods, settling back down.

There’s nothing Scott can do right now, and sleep is likely the best thing possible for their recovery.

Assured that his younger pack members are safe, Noah heads back upstairs, emerging just as Moira rushes in the front door.

Moira takes her peacoat off and drops it on the floor. “Where is Stiles?” she asks.

“Upstairs in his bedroom,” Noah replies.

Moira pauses briefly to greet Noelani with a kiss. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not certain about Stiles, but someone created a hole in your ward boundary,” Noelani says.

Moira closes her eyes, and a flash of fierce anger crosses her face. “We’ll have to wait until the morning to address that,” she says. “It would be best to set a watch tonight.”

“Dave and Paul are in the Preserve,” Noah says. “Stiles managed to capture two people with the same trick he used on the Dread Doctors.”

“Good,” Moira says fiercely. “I’ll go see Stiles now.”

Noah trails her upstairs with Noelani and Alana in tow. Danny and Parrish remain at the dining room table, still looking at the device.

Someone—Noah assumes either Danny or Derek—had stripped Stiles out of his shoes and jeans, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxers, tucked under the covers. Batman is stretched out on Stiles’ left side, his muzzle resting on his chest. Stiles also has a large dog bed in his room, and Cocoa and Nibs are sitting on that, alert and standing guard.

Moira sits on the edge of Stiles’ bed, taking his hand in hers, using her free hand to do the same thing Alana had done, peeling back his eyelids. Then she rests her hand on Stiles’ chest and closes her eyes, taking a deep, audible breath.

“Whoever did this knows Stiles is a spark,” she finally says. “Lydia, you said Theo blew some sort of powder into Stiles’ face?”

Lydia nods. “Stiles didn’t seem to sense him coming.”

Moira grimaces. “So, they knew Stiles was a spark and they knew how to disrupt our wards. This was very well thought out.”

“Do you know what they did to him?” Noah asks.

“Not exactly,” Moira replies. “But they were able to turn Stiles’ magic against him. Whatever spell or concoction they used, it’s using his magic to fuel it.”

Noah would be the first to admit he doesn’t understand magic very well, but he understands that Stiles’ gift is prodigious. “Can you break him out of it?”

Moira looks up at him. “In short, no, I don’t think so. There are a few things we can try, but it’s probable that the only person who can free Stiles is himself.”

“What can we do?” Noah asks.

“For right now, the only thing we can do is make him comfortable,” Moira admits.

Noah can feel her worry like a living thing, the same as his own. “Mel is coming over with Dr. Wagner,” he says.

“We asked her to plan for the long haul,” Noelani adds.

Moira nods. “Good. You said that Stiles was able to capture two people?”

Noah inclines his head. “Someone we assume is a hunter and Theo.”

She stands. “I’d like to see them.”

“We left them in place for that reason,” Noah replies. “I’ll need to get an axe to free the hunter, but I don’t think a regular prison will hold Theo.”

Moira hums. “Noelani, dear? What do you think?”

“I’ll stay here and wait for Mel,” Noelani replies. “But I think we can probably get some information out of Theo, even if he doesn’t want to give it.”

Moira smiles, although the expression doesn’t hold much real humor. “Needs must when the devil drives, as they say. Alana?”

“Get me an identity on the woman,” Alana replies. “She may give us what we need in order to find Tamora Monroe.”

“Let’s go see those Stiles captured,” Moira says. “And then we’ll probably need to get some sleep, because I can’t imagine that tomorrow will be any easier.”

There’s part of Noah that doesn’t want to leave his son’s side, but being able to do something, however fruitless, seems like a better option than just sitting.

Noah stops by the garden shed on the way into the Preserve to get a small hand-axe. He and Moira walk side by side in silence until Noah finally says, “Please level with me.”

“We’ll know more once we get answers out of Theo,” Moira replies grimly. “But Noah, where there’s life, there’s hope.”

Noah appreciates that reassurance. “How are you going to get that information out of Theo?”

Moira’s expression is grim. “Do you remember how we handled Jackson Whittemore?”

“How could I forget?” Noah responds.

“You’d be surprised what people repress,” Moira replies. “But I can use that, even on a werewolf, or whatever Theo is.”

Noah knows just what a big deal that is. “That’s a last resort.”

“It is,” Moira confirms. “But if he won’t give us the information of his own free will, I’ll take it from him.” She pauses. “There is another option. You could stick your claws in the back of his neck and take his memories.”

“I have no idea how to do that,” Noah replies.

“And I only know the theory,” Moira admits. “Which is why I’m willing to drug him. If he’s open to suggestion, he’ll tell us what he knows. He’ll also tell us what his crimes are.”

“Ah.” Noah pauses. “Then you already know the outcome.”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Moira replies. “But I think you know what needs to be done.”

They happen upon Paul and the woman first, and Paul looks relieved to see Moira. “Hey, Moira.”

“Has she given you her identity yet?” Moira asks.

Paul shakes his head. “No. She finally stopped yelling at me to let her go about five minutes ago.”

“You can’t hold me,” the woman snarls, right on cue.

Noah smiles thinly. “Sure, I can. My son is unconscious, and I found an explosive device in my air ducts. You were trespassing. Let’s see, I think that means I can charge you with multiple counts of attempted murder and trespassing.”

“Good luck proving that,” the woman snaps. “It was wolfsbane.”

“Aconite is poisonous to humans,” Moira says sweetly. “While an unusual choice, it is still a deadly one. And who can say why a poisoner selects the poison they do?”

Noah hands the axe to Paul. “Get her free and book her on every charge you can think of. Have Cindy run her prints as soon as possible, and let’s compare them to the database for healthcare professionals. Oh, and if Mel or Ellie are here when you bring her back to the house, have them see if they can identify her.”

“I should have known they were filthy werewolf lovers,” the woman snarls.

“Kid gloves,” Noah adds. “I don’t want anything to prevent us from prosecuting her.”

“You got it,” Paul says. “Am I waiting for Dave?”

Noah shakes his head. “No, it’s probably going to take a little more effort to get Theo loose.”

“I’ll tell them you’re using magic!” the woman threatens.

Noah snorts. “Yeah, good luck telling people that trees captured you.”

He leads Moira deeper into the Preserve until they reach the place where Theo and Dave are.

“Hey, Moira,” Dave says, with the same look of relief that Paul had. “Good to see you. How’s Stiles?”

“He’ll be fine,” Moira says stoutly. “We’ll make sure of it. But right now, I think we need to focus on Theo, and what he can tell us.”

Theo sneers at her. “Fuck off, you old bitch.”

Moira smiles. “Well, you’re right that I am old, and I can certainly be a bitch, but I will not fuck off, not before I get the answers I want. Who provided you with the spell you used on Stiles?”

“I don’t know,” Theo says sullenly.

Moira hums. “You know, you’re acting as though you have a choice, or that we’re willing to take our time to get those answers. You don’t have a choice, and we don’t have all day. Or all night, as it were.”

Theo’s expression starts to show fear. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Moira counters.

“Do you want us to get him loose?” Dave asks.

Moira shakes her head. “It won’t be necessary. I don’t need to put him in a circle for this, and it might be best if he can’t move.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Theo asks, his voice going high and thin with fear.

Well, feigned fear, anyway. Noah can’t smell even a touch of the acrid scent he’s come to associate with that emotion.

Moira gives him a hard look. “Nothing that you haven’t been willing to do to others, I’ll bet.”

She rummages in her ever-present bag as Theo starts to struggle again, shouting, “Let me go! You can’t do this to me!”

Noah doesn’t respond, and neither does Dave. Noah doesn’t love what they’re about to do, but he doesn’t disagree with Moira’s earlier assessment.

They’d let Theo go the last time he attacked Stiles, in the hope that he would correct himself, free of the influence of the Dread Doctors. Since that hasn’t happened, they don’t have a lot of options.

Moira pulls a small pouch out of her bottomless bag and shakes a handful of powder into her hand.

Now, Noah can smell Theo’s fear, probably because he’d attacked Stiles in much the same way, and he knows what could happen.

“No!” Theo shouts.

Moira doesn’t reply, just blows the powder into Theo’s face. She murmurs a few words Noah can’t make out, and Theo’s eyelids droop, the tension going out of his frame.

“What did you use against Stiles?” she asks, after giving the powder a few seconds to take effect.

“I don’t know,” Theo replies slowly. “Tamora has a magic user she got it from. She said to dose Stiles with it, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about him when we attacked the rest of the pack.”

“Have you seen this magic user?” Moira asks.

Theo shakes his head. “No, I haven’t been invited to the big gatherings.”

“What did the hunters promise you?” Noah asks when Moira glances at him.

“Money,” Theo says. “A chance to start over.”

“Did you kill the couple pretending to be your parents?” Noah presses.

Theo keeps his mouth shut for several seconds, struggling against the effects of the scopolamine. Finally, he says, “Yes.”

“Why?” Noah asks, already knowing the answer based on his earlier response.

“They were supposed to keep the authorities off my back,” Theo says slowly. “But it didn’t matter anymore, not with the Dread Doctors gone.”

“Were they the first people you killed?” Noah asks, acting on a hunch.

Theo is clearly struggling against the compulsion to answer, but he finally says, “I watched my sister drown. The Dread Doctors told me that I needed her heart.”

Noah doesn’t necessarily believe that people are born evil, but he doesn’t not believe it either. Theo’s callousness towards his sister at the tender age of eight suggests a troubling lack of empathy. Killing two people at the age of sixteen just underscores that.

“What do you know about the hunters’ plans?” Moira asks.

Theo struggles not to answer the question again, but finally says, “She said she’d attack when the pack is at its weakest, and that multiple deaths would cause confusion.”

Noah can’t disagree with that take, and while that doesn’t give them a definitive time frame, it suggests she’ll continue watching. There’s no good way to prevent the hunters from finding out Stiles has been rendered comatose—if that’s the right term—but they won’t have the benefit of the confusion they would have had if the wolfsbane had done the trick.

Moira looks at Noah. “Did you have anything else you wanted to ask?”

Noah shakes his head. “No. I think we’ve gotten everything we can. Dave?”

“How are we going to do this?” Dave asks.

“The Nemeton will help,” Moira says simply. “I might not have the relationship with it that Stiles does, but the way it’s holding Theo suggests that it’s willing.”

Before Noah can ask what she means, the limb around Theo’s throat tightens, cutting off anything else he might say, as well as his air.

“A little bit faster, if you please,” Moira says. “We have no desire to torture him.”

Theo’s face turns purple, his eyes roll back, and then he goes limp.

There’s a long moment of silence, and Dave says, “Not that I’m objecting to the overall outcome, but uh, should we be asking a magic tree to kill people?”

Moira shakes her head. “The Nemeton is capable of acting as an arbiter of justice where Stiles is concerned. It wouldn’t have objected to us freeing him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Noah shakes his head. “Plus, he’s wanted for two murders. A kid willing to murder two people posing as his parents could decide to take his own life if he thought we were closing in on him.”

“It keeps our hands clean,” Moira agrees.

“I guess that’s true,” Dave says dubiously. “What are we going to do with the body?”

Moira says. “Could you withdraw, please?”

The branches and roots pull back, and Theo’s body tumbles to the ground. “We’re going to call it in,” Noah says. “The official story is that he attacked Stiles, and then committed suicide when we were searching for him in the Preserve.”

Dave nods. “Well, the mark around his throat looks like a ligature, so that’s not going to be a hard sell.”

Noah isn’t sure how he feels about the whole thing, but he’s certain that a prison wouldn’t hold Theo, and that he was certainly on the path to become a serial killer, if he wasn’t there already.

That said, Theo is a teenager. He’s a kid who’s never going to learn to do better.

But he’s not all that different in type from Matt Daehler.

“It was a foregone conclusion, Noah,” Moira says quietly, echoing his own thoughts. “And not because he harmed Stiles. It’s because he’s going to continue being a danger to others who get in his way, and he has the strength and speed of a werewolf.” She adds, “It’s not unlike Matt Daehler.”

Noah nods. “That’s what I was thinking as well.”

“Isn’t that the kid who went missing after being tied to all those deaths?” Dave asks.

“Eh, not missing,” Noah says, glancing at Moira.

“He called on a demon to kill his enemies, and the demon turned on him,” Moira adds.

Dave blinks. “Well, that’s not something you hear every day.”

Noah feels the weight of the day’s events, and he says, “Can you call it in, Dave? I want to check on Stiles.”

“Yeah, of course, sir,” Dave says immediately. “Stiles is going to be okay. That kid is a miracle worker.”

“From your lips to god’s ears,” Noah says fervently, but he’s afraid that the miracles might have run out.

~~~~~

The first sign of trouble is a little shriek from Lydia. Stiles is deep in communion with the Nemeton, coaxing it to hold anyone crossing their ward boundary who might be a threat. Stiles figures they can always hold and ask questions later.

He gets a general consent from the Nemeton, along with a wordless question that he can’t quite parse.

Stiles sends a query in response, but that’s when Lydia screams.

Stiles opens his eyes and sees Theo approaching at a run, Becky behind him at the edge of the trees with a gun trained on them. He stands and holds out a hand, ready to go on attack, but Theo throws something directly at Stiles’ face.

He’s so startled, he can’t deflect it in time. He has time to see some kind of white dust, which Stiles breathes in before he can stop himself.

Then, darkness overtakes his vision, and it’s like he’s falling for a very long time. Stiles can’t see or feel or hear anything, and his magic seems to be out of his reach.

It’s just dark, with the complete absence of light, which Stiles knows isn’t exactly normal. He might have thought he’d gone blind, but that wouldn’t explain the sensation of falling.

The sensation finally stops, after what seems like an eternity, but that doesn’t mean Stiles knows where he is, or what happened. Obviously, Theo had done something to him, but Stiles has no idea what.

All he knows is he can’t really sense anything, and he can’t feel his magic for the first time since he started learning how to use it.

Stiles has no idea how long that goes on. He tries to move around, to feel the outlines of this prison, but there’s just—nothing.

He can feel the panic clawing at the edges of his mind, but it’s like he doesn’t even have a body to have the panic attack he feels coming.

Which is another reason to panic, and Stiles’ thoughts keep chasing themselves around his head—panic at the darkness, panic that he can’t feel his magic, panic that he can’t even feel the fucking panic attack.

Slowly, very slowly, the panic subsides into numbness, where he can’t even feel the anxiety anymore. It’s not about the breathing techniques he’s learned—because it doesn’t feel like he has a body that’s still breathing—it’s just exhaustion.

But when the exhaustion kicks in, Stiles’ mind settles. And when his mind settles, the darkness starts to lighten.

Stiles imagines himself sitting cross legged, and an image tugs at his mind. He focuses, and finds himself sitting on the trunk of the Nemeton, the new Nemeton standing strong and straight in front of him.

As he watches, a woman steps out of the young tree. She’s about his age, or at least she seems to be, and she sits down in front of him, mirroring his posture.

“This is weird,” she complains. “I’m sitting on my dead mother.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Stiles offers. “I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

The Nemeton makes a face. She has dark eyes and long, dark hair, and Stiles thinks she looks a bit like Malia, maybe a bit like Cora. “In a word, druids.”

Stiles grimaces. “Don’t tell me that fucker Deaton is helping the hunters.”

The Nemeton smiles. “This is why you’re my favorite, Stiles. You’re always quick on the uptake.”

“Did he help Kate Argent?” Stiles asks.

The Nemeton shrugs gracefully. “I can’t look into the past, and it’s not something I asked my mother before she faded. Sorry, that’s probably a bit weird.”

Stiles returns the shrug. “It is what it is.”

“In any case, yes, he thinks that sparks are a threat to his precious balance,” the Nemeton says. “And he found a spell that would use your own magic to trap you.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “That’s why I can’t feel my magic.”

The Nemeton nods. “That’s why, and no one will be able to penetrate the spell. If you hadn’t poured so much of your magic into me…”

The Nemeton trails off, and Stiles understands she’s unwilling to continue, to tell him that he would have been trapped forever if he hadn’t put his magic into something outside of himself.

“Is there a way for me to get out?” Stiles asks.

The Nemeton hesitates. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Stiles replies. “I’m not expecting to like it, but I can’t leave my dad, and I can’t leave the pack if I have any other choice.”

“There is a choice,” the Nemeton agrees. “You can pour your magic into me. It could power a sanctuary spell eventually. And if your magic is outside of you, then it can’t be used to keep you trapped.”

Stiles thinks that over, and he immediately sees the problem with that. “Would I get it back?”

“I don’t know,” the Nemeton replies. “You would have access to your magic while in my territory, but I can’t make any guarantees that you would continue to have access outside it.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “How big is your territory?”

The Nemeton shrugs. “I can’t really put it in human terms.”

Stiles pulls his knees up to his chest. “So, I wouldn’t have full access to my magic unless I was in this territory.”

The Nemeton shrugs. “I can’t say for certain. I’m still very new.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, me too. Do I have time to think about it?”

“I think you have some time,” the Nemeton replies. “But I don’t know for certain. Again—”

“You’re very new,” Stiles says. “Yeah. Give me a little time to think.”

The choice probably should be easier, but Stiles feels as though his magic is inherent to who he is as a person. Who is he if he loses it? He knows that he’ll settle in Beacon Hills eventually, but Moira has talked about Stiles traveling, meeting other magic users, forging connections there.

If he doesn’t have magic, is that even a possibility?

But Stiles doesn’t want to leave his pack. He doesn’t want to leave his dad.

“Can Moira get me out of this?” Stiles finally asks.

The Nemeton hesitates. “I don’t think so, but you could perhaps wait some little time to see.”

Stiles sighs deeply. “How long has it been?”

The Nemeton shrugs. “Time moves differently for me than it does for humans.”

“Right,” Stiles says. There’s a long silence, and Stiles looks around the clearing. “Are you doing this?”

“It’s where our magic has mingled,” the Nemeton replies. “It seemed the easiest are to recreate, and you were distressed.”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, you could say that. This isn’t your way of keeping me close to home, is it?”

The Nemeton laughs. “No, Stiles. I am not responsible for the druid targeting you.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I know that. He’s taken a lot from you, huh?”

“He’s a real asshole,” the Nemeton agrees. “Do me a favor and kill him if you get the chance.”

Stiles already knows what choice he’s going to make. He’d been honest with her; he can’t leave his dad or his pack, not if there’s any other option. He remembers what the rune stones had told him, how to counter the hunters’ threat: will, generosity, sanctuary, and sacrifice.

He already had the answer; he’s just not ready to make the leap yet.

“We can stay here as long as you need,” the Nemeton says.

“Yeah,” Stiles replies. “I just need a minute.”

He might need a little more than a minute, but it’s peaceful here. He can take some time to make peace with his decision.

~~~~~

Mel and Ellie arrived while Derek was sleeping with the younger pack members in the basement. When he wakes up early the following morning and disentangles himself, he heads upstairs to check on Stiles.

Mel is sitting on the side of Stiles’ bed, running her hand through his hair.

“Hey,” Derek says.

She turns to look at him, offering a sad smile. “How are you, Derek?”

“I’m up and around,” Derek replies, looking at Stiles. “What about him?”

Mel shakes her head. “There’s nothing obviously wrong with him, you know. We might have to manage this at the hospital eventually, but I’ve told Noah that we can keep him at home for now.”

“What happens if he doesn’t wake up?” Derek asks, giving voice to his fears for the first time.

Mel just shakes her head. “He’s basically in a coma.”

Like Peter, Derek thinks but doesn’t say out loud.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more answers,” Mel says. “Is Scott awake?”

Derek vaguely remembers her coming down to the basement to check on everyone in the middle of the night. “I was the first one up,” Derek offers. “So, no, not yet. I can start making breakfast once I get cleaned up.”

Mel stands and pulls him into a hug. “Don’t worry about that. Ellie has a bagel hook up, and she’ll be back shortly with food.”

“Thank you,” Derek says.

She pats him on the back. “I’ll do whatever I can, Derek. We all will.”

Derek sighs. “I know that.”

“Get cleaned up,” Mel says. “And if anyone needs a doctor’s note, I’m sure we can make that happen.”

Derek had invested in a tankless water heater when he built the house, knowing that if the place is full, it would be worth its weight in gold. It means he can stand under the hot water as long as he wants, even though he usually tries to keep his showers short to conserve water.

He leans against the tile and lets the hot water sluice over him, and he wants to rage and murder multiple people, even though he has no target.

Eventually, Derek has to turn off the water and face the world, and he pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, leaving his feet bare. When he enters the kitchen, he sees Moira sitting at the island, a cup of coffee cradled between her hands. She has dark circles under her eyes, a product of her sleepless night.

“Hey,” Derek says.

“There’s more coffee in the pot,” Moira replies wearily.

Her energy is definitely lower than Derek ever remembers seeing it, and he pours a cup and sits next to her. “Are you okay?”

“Theo has been taken care of, and the woman is in custody,” Moira says flatly.

Derek takes a deep breath. “Theo?”

“Watched his sister drown when they were both children, and he killed two people,” Moira says. “It was a mercy killing in many ways. Even if there was a prison that could hold him, weres don’t do well in captivity.”

Derek can’t argue with that. “Yeah. The woman?”

Noah comes into the kitchen, wearing his uniform. Based on the wrinkles, it’s the same one he’d been wearing the night before. “The woman has been identified as Becky Robinson. You might remember her as the woman who bumped into you at the deli, and has been trying to get close to Stiles at judo. Alana is digging into her background right now.”

“Do you need me at the station today?” Derek asks.

Noah shakes his head. “No, and I’m not going in either.”

Derek isn’t surprised by that, and he’s relieved that he can stay close to the house. “Mel said they’d give doctor’s notes to anyone who needs them.

Noah sighs. “Yeah, well, that reminds me that I need to contact the school for Stiles. I have no idea what to tell them.”

“Mono,” Moira says briefly. “It’s highly contagious, and it typically takes at least a couple of weeks to recover. For that matter, you could probably quarantine the entire pack on that basis.”

Noah just shakes his head. “Why? They attacked us here, where we thought we’d be safe.” He looks stricken a second later. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“We should have been safe here,” Moira says. “And I thought we would be, but wards can be defeated. I should go check to see what’s going on and why.”

“I’ll go with you,” Derek offers. He doesn’t want to leave her undefended, not when the hunters found a way to take Stiles out.

Moira pulls a face, but when Noah says, “I’d feel better about it,” she doesn’t argue.

“All right, let’s go look at the boundary,” Moira says.

Derek quickly puts on socks and shoes and grabs a jacket. Moira seems dejected as they walk out the backdoor and towards where Derek knows she and Stiles had placed the ward stones. He has no idea how to ask the question, but he finally says, “Can you save him?”

Moira is quiet for a long moment. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Noah: I don’t think so. There are a few people I’ve reached out to, who might know how to disrupt this kind of spell. Maybe once we know who did it, I can find some way to disrupt Stiles’ magic enough to break him out of it.”

“But you don’t think there is,” Derek comments.

Moira sighs. “Not without killing him, no. If it came to that, well. There are ways to cause death and bring a person back, but it’s early days for such drastic measures.”

Derek grimaces. “There would be no guarantee.”

“No, there wouldn’t be,” Moira says. “Which is why it’s a last resort, and not something I’ll be recommending until we have need.”

Derek is—not comforted by that, but at least Moira has a “break glass in case of emergency” plan. It might not be a great plan, and hopefully it’s one they never use, but it’s there just in case.

“I think that makes me feel a little better,” Derek admits.

Moira snorts. “It doesn’t me. Stiles should have at least had some warning that Theo was here. The fact that he didn’t…” She trails off. “It doesn’t make me feel great, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek offers.

Moira shakes her head. “It’s not your fault.”

“I think it’s just something people say when shitty things happen, because what else is there?” Derek says. “I know Noah is struggling, but everyone is going to understand that. Stiles might as well be your kid, though, and maybe not everyone will get that, but I do.”

Moira stops and closes her eyes. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Everyone knows it’s true,” Derek replies. “I know you care about everyone in the pack, but this is Stiles.”

“This is Stiles,” Moira agrees. “It’s not that I don’t think we can save him, Derek. There are extraordinary measures we can use if it becomes necessary.”

“But?” Derek prompts.

“But I don’t know what effect it will have on Stiles or his magic,” Moira admits. “And I’m worried about that.”

Dry leaves rustle under their feet as they move through the Preserve, and Moira stops. “This is where they corrupted the boundary.”

She kneels down and rummages around in her bag for a garden trowel, then begins to dig.

Derek stays on his feet, wanting to watch her back.

“That motherfucker,” Moira swears. “I know who fucking did this, and I’m going to fucking end him.”

Derek knows that Moira swears, but he’s never heard her language be quite so blue. “Who?”

“Alan fucking Deaton,” Moira says. “He finally got his fucking runes right.”

Derek blinks. “I thought you were going to know where he was for the rest of his life?”

“I do know where he is,” Moira replies with pardonable heat. “But he didn’t need to be here to do this. He just needed to provide the materials and instructions. That motherfucker.”

Derek knows that she’s venting her spleen, because she’s upset about Stiles and doesn’t have a clear target for her anger, but he’s honestly a little scared. Her anger feels like a living thing, and if she could kill someone with her mind from hundreds of miles away, Deaton would be dead.

Super dead. Very dead. He’s pretty she only wishes he’s dead.

“What do we do?” Derek asks,

“No idea,” Moira says. “He’s in Chicago, but it’s not as though we can leave right now, so he’ll have to wait. I can put a curse on him, though.”

“Isn’t that something you discouraged Stiles from doing?” Derek asks.

Moira snorts. “My karma can handle it. Stiles is young. You don’t want to get into the habit of cursing people when you’re a kid. It’s a hard one to break.”

Derek barks a laugh. “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.”

“Oh, maybe a little,” Moira admits, sitting back on her heels.

“What else do we need to do?” Derek asks.

“They put in two ward stones to disrupt the boundary,” Moira replies. “We’ll find the other one, and then that the boundary will be back, and I’ll figure out what they did and how to prevent it from ever happening again.”

“Let me know what I can do,” Derek says.

“I will,” Moira replies. She follows the ward boundary to the next inserted ward stone and digs that up. “This has druid cooties all over it.”

Derek laughs. “Stiles has been a terrible influence on you.”

“I knew about cooties long before I met Stiles,” Moira replies. “And I can feel the druidic residue.”

“And that has cooties,” Derek says.

Moira wrinkles her nose. “Yes, it does. Druids fucking suck, and I’ve been trying to be reasonable and balanced about this, but I’m over that now. I hate all druids, and I think they all suck. If I meet a reasonable one in the future, I’ll revise my opinion then.”

Derek thinks about that for a moment. “That’s fair.”

Moira sits down and studies the two ward stones she collected. “He may have been a little cleverer than I thought. Or maybe he just studied his rune work. These created a hole that wouldn’t be obvious unless we walked the ward boundary, which I did a few days ago.”

“We’re pretty sure they’ve been watching us closely,” Derek replies. “They could have placed them right after you checked the last time.”

Moira nods. “They must have been. I would have noticed it otherwise. I try to walk the boundary every few days.”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek offers.

Moira blows out a breath. “I’m not taking on any blame for this, Derek. I’ve been around a long time, and the only people to blame for this are the people behind the attack. We can do our best to protect ourselves, but sometimes their luck is better than ours.”

Derek appreciates that point of view, as someone who has tried very hard to get out of his own cesspool of guilt. Working with Jack, he’s been able to let some of that go, but not all of it. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel completely free.

“That’s good,” Derek manages to say.

Moira tucks the two stones into a bag, then tucks the smaller bag into the one on her shoulder. “I’ll take a closer look at these up at the house. With them removed, the ward boundary should work as expected.”

“What are you going to do about Deaton?” Derek asks as they start walking back to the house.

“If it’s truly him, he can’t be allowed to continue,” Moira says grimly. “But karma is a bitch, and I think he’s going to find that out shortly.”

When they return, the kids are all in the kitchen, eating bagels with a variety of toppings and spreads. The energy is definitely subdued, even unhappy, and Derek frowns. In the presence of others who had their pack bonds created by Stiles, Derek can feel there’s been a change.

Derek doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary alarm, so he eats his own breakfast and waits until everyone is done eating to pull Scott aside.

“Have you noticed anything?” he asks in a low voice. “With the pack bond?”

Scott nods tightly. “It’s not as strong. Have you asked Moira about it?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, not yet. She wanted to investigate the ward stones, and see if she could figure out who created them.”

He doesn’t want to let on to their suspicions, not without more proof, and knowing how Scott felt about Deaton at one point.

Scott snorts. “You already know who did it.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“You already know, but you don’t want to say, which means I know them,” Scott replies wearily. “And I only know one other person who can do magic. If it was just some random person the hunters got, you’d tell me that.”

That frank assessment from Scott surprises Derek. “Huh.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Scott says. “Moira thinks it was Deaton.”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah, she does, but there’s not really any proof other than what she calls his druid cooties.”

Scott snorts in laughter. “I would trust Moira’s instincts when it comes to magic.” He gives Derek a look and puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “We’re going to get Stiles back, and then we can go kick some ass.”

There have been times when Derek has found Scott’s sunny optimism incredibly grating; this isn’t one of them.

“Thanks,” Derek replies. It’s the only thing he knows to say.

~~~~~

Noah has never felt the pack bonds in the same way as Stiles, at least that’s what he assumes. It’s hard to know how Stiles feels them, versus how the other pack members do, since it’s almost impossible to put into words.

But 24 hours after Stiles was attacked, Noah can feel the bonds he created fraying, and while the ones Noah created through the bite haven’t been affected yet, he suspects it’s only a matter of time.

Theo’s death has been handled quietly and professionally. After Dave called it in, the medical examiner came out and removed his body.

“Anything I should know about this one?” Kelly asks Noah.

Noah shakes his head. “He might be some kind of supernatural creature, but we’re not exactly sure what. We’ve been looking for him in connection with those two murders.”

Kelly shakes his head. “Wouldn’t be the first time a kid did something he regretted and decided not to face the consequences.”

He leaves it at that, and Noah spends the rest of the night awake and close to Stiles’ side. Mel and Ellie had been able to identify the woman as the occupational therapist from the hospital, and she’s been booked on suspicion of attempted murder.

Ellie and Mel get Stiles situated, and Noah figures he’s probably going to need to know the details, to know how to care for him, should things stretch on for too long.

“We might be able to get him to eat,” Ellie tells him. “It’s hard to know, and with magic…” She trails off. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Who has?” Noah asks. “But I understand.”

“If we can’t get him to eat, we’ll have to set up a feeding tube,” Ellie adds. “But we can do IV fluids and nutrition for a little while anyway.”

“I appreciate your help,” Noah says. “As always.”

She pats him on the shoulder. “We’ll get Stiles through this.”

Noah appreciates her faith, and the faith of the rest of the pack, but their faith is apparently no substitute for Stiles’ magic.

Noah spends the day close to home, and he can feel everyone’s uneasiness. He’s not sure if that’s attributable to the removal of Stiles’ magic, or the knowledge that the pack house isn’t as safe as they assumed.

Lydia and Kira both show up after school, and Kira tucks in close to Scott, while Lydia goes upstairs to sit with Stiles. After dinner, he gathers everyone in the den and says, “We need to talk about how we’re going to protect ourselves, because I don’t want to keep anyone out of school after today.”

Kira is cuddled with Scott, practically on his lap, and she says, “Lydia and I can keep bringing homework.”

Noah glances at Lydia. “And I would appreciate it if you continue to do that for Stiles.”

Lydia nods, appearing troubled. “Of course. How—how long do you think this will last?”

Noah looks at Moira, who’s standing at a bit of a remove near the windows, staring outside, her hands clasped behind her back. The silence prompts her to turn, and she says, “I don’t know, but—I don’t think very long.”

Noah feels a frisson of renewed fear at the finality in her voice. “Anything you’d care to share?”

“I’m sure you can feel the change in the pack bonds,” Moira comments. “And the longer Stiles remains cut off from his magic, the more difficult it will be to get him back.”

“What does that mean?” Scott demands, and Noah can see his arms tightening around Kira.

Moira shakes her head, her expression remote. “It’s something we have to consider. We have a few days, though.”

Noah wants to ask whether they truly do, because the strain on the pack bonds might force their hands.

“We’ll stick to pairs,” Erica says. “Or more. We’ll make sure we’re in public areas with plenty of witnesses, and no one goes off on their own.”

Boyd and Isaac both nod. “What Erica said,” Boyd states. “We’ll look after each other.”

“Stiles would want that,” Malia says. “When he wakes up, he needs to know the pack is here.”

The others echo the sentiment, and Noah couldn’t be prouder of these kids if he tried. They’ve had to deal with a lot, and they’ve been the epitome of grace under fire.

“Thank you,” Noah says. “I’m proud of all of you.”

Isaac flushes a dull red, his pale skin hiding nothing. The others also look pleased. “We’ll do whatever we can to help Stiles,” Isaac says. “Anything.”

“I’ll let you all know,” Noah promises. “Where is everyone staying tonight?”

“Mom already said it would be fine if I stayed here,” Scott says.

Kira nods. “I got permission from my parents to stay, too.”

Boyd glances at Isaac, and Isaac says, “We’ll stay. Dave and Paul asked us to keep the dogs here, and if they try to attack us again, they’ll get the whole pack.”

“They won’t be able to use the same tactics,” Moira says. “Someone has been here all day, and I’ve repaired the ward boundary. We’ll be safe enough tonight.”

Erica shrugs. “It’s not like my parents even pretend to give a shit anymore, so I’ll stay.”

Boyd reaches over and takes her hand, and she gives him a brief smile.

“You know there’s room for you here,” Noah says. “And there always will be.”

Erica manages a wider smile. “I know that.”

“All right, I can’t pretend that it’s not going to make me feel better to have you all here tonight,” Noah says. “So, thank you for that.”

“We figured it might be better for you if we were here,” Scott admits. “We talked about it, and we’ll stay close as much as we can while Stiles is—indisposed.”

Noah smiles. “I appreciate that, Scott.”

“If you don’t mind, we’ll go sit with him for a bit,” Scott says.

Noah nods. “No, of course not.”

Scott, Kira, and Lydia head up the stairs, and Erica pops to her feet. “Who wants popcorn?” she asks. “Because I think popcorn and a movie is just what the doctor ordered. And if anyone wants confirmation, I can text Dr. Ellie.”

There are laughs all around, and Noah appreciates Erica’s ability to break the tension.

Noah probably should mention homework, but it’s been a rough couple of days, so he’s not going to push it.

“Noah, a word,” Moira says.

Noah follows her outside, onto the back deck, and he realizes that he hasn’t checked on the dogs. “I should let Batman outside.”

“Derek did that already,” Moira assures him. “We need to talk about options.”

Noah has been expecting this conversation. “I know.”

Moira sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for anything the hunters have done or will do,” Noah replies. “We knew they’d come at us, and now they have. People who want to do crime will usually figure out a way to get it done.”

“I realize that, but I feel as though I failed him,” Moira admits. “I didn’t want to wallow in front of the children—and I include Derek in that—but I needed to say that.”

Noah just shakes his head. “We all thought we’d be safe here, and we shouldn’t have become complacent. Corrine found us here, and she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I think we’ve all seen what the hunters are capable of at this point.”

“True,” Moira says. “There are consequences to all of our choices, as you well know. I would like to say that if I had known something like this could happen, I would have discouraged Stiles from creating the bonds that he did, or strengthening the ones you created.”

“But you didn’t know,” Noah says.

“No, and no one could have,” Moira replies. “And even with hindsight, I’m not sure I would have. The benefits likely outweigh the costs, until something like this happens.”

Noah sighs. “The pack bonds are fraying.”

Moira nods. “And it will get worse. It might end up destabilizing the entire pack.”

Noah closes his eyes. “What can we do?”

“I think we can give it another day or two,” Moira says, “but if Stiles can’t manage to work his way out of the spell, then we may have to take more drastic action.”

She’s already told him that one way to end the spell would be to cause Stiles to die—at least briefly. Noah hates that idea, but he also knows that his very active son would hate to be trapped inside his own body for any length of time.

“I know,” Noah says. “If it comes to that, I’ll trust you to do the right thing.”

Moira sighs. “I’m still hoping Stiles will figure this out, but that might be too much to expect.”

“Stiles is magic,” Noah says. “And he hasn’t disappointed us yet.”

“He is magic,” Moira says with a rueful smile. “I know we have a lot going on, Noah, but I think you should read the personal essay Stiles sent you. Before he wakes up.”

Noah blinks. “I completely forgot.”

“We have a lot going on,” Moira counters. “Go read Stiles’ essay, and then tell him what you think.”

“Can he hear me?” Noah asks.

Moira shrugs. “I have no idea, but it certainly can’t hurt. If he doesn’t, you’ll just have to repeat yourself.”

Noah chuckles ruefully. “Yeah, I’m going to take your advice.”

He heads inside and goes to his room, grabbing his laptop and opening Stiles’ email. It feels as though Stiles had sent it years ago, and not just the other day, so much has happened.

Noah opens the document and reads the opening lines:

Two years ago, everything I thought I knew about my future got derailed, the essay begins. Through it all, though, I’ve watched my dad, the sheriff of our county, stay dedicated to justice for everyone. No matter where my life takes me, I want to dedicate myself to seeking justice.

Noah doesn’t even know he’s crying until his tears start dripping onto his keyboard. He doesn’t stop even when he reaches the end.

~~~~~

Stiles has no idea how long he’s been waiting with the Nemeton in the clearing—inside his head, or in the outside world. The Nemeton has been very patient with him, but she is a tree, so maybe that makes sense.

Eventually, though, the Nemeton says, “I don’t want to rush you, but the longer you’re here, the more the pack bonds will fray without access to your magic.”

Stiles frowns. “Can’t they access it through you?”

The Nemeton shakes her head. “Not as I am now. Perhaps if you pour your magic into me?”

Stiles takes a deep breath, realizing that the time for debate is over. “Right. I guess it’s time to shit or get off the pot, huh?”

The Nemeton raises her dark eyebrows. “An interesting expression.”

Stiles shrugs. “I could say fish or cut bait if you’d prefer.”

The Nemeton returns his shrug. “It’s not really about what I would prefer. What would you like to do, Stiles?”

“I don’t love the idea of not having my magic when I’m outside the territory,” Stiles admits. “But I hate the idea of being trapped even more.”

“You would still have your magic, Stiles,” the Nemeton says. “It’s not a total loss.”

“No, I know that,” Stiles says. “But only while I’m here, right?”

The Nemeton shrugs again. “I don’t know. As I explained.”

Stiles takes another deep breath, and pushes away the uncertainty. He can stay here and hope for rescue, knowing that it’s his magic trapping him, and that no one has his magical strength. Or he can take a risk and pour his power into the Nemeton, and maybe find a way to fuel the sanctuary spell—which he has no real idea how to perform.

But he had no idea how to create the pack bonds before he did, so Stiles can wing it.

“Right, so how do I do this?” Stiles asks.

“It’s just like what you’ve been doing for me,” the Nemeton says.

Not for the first time, Stiles does wonder if this is some kind of trick to get his magic, or to keep him in Beacon Hills, but his instincts are telling him that she’s been honest. Or as honest as a magical tree can be.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Do what I do every Sunday, but times a hundred, like what Moira told me definitely not to do.”

The Nemeton closes her eyes and laughs a bit. “I think Moira might forgive you if you get yourself out of this trouble.”

“Right,” Stiles says. “I hope you’re right.”

He focuses on his magic, on the connection to the Nemeton, which he’s felt growing over the last year or so. Now, Stiles pours his magic into that connection, the power flowing out of him. He can see the Nemeton start to glow beta gold, even as he feels his own power diminish.

But then he feels the power flowing back into him, like a two-way circuit, and Stiles can feel the darkness that had been holding his magic back disintegrating in the light.

The clearing gets lighter and lighter, and Stiles can start to feel the pack bonds hum again with renewed magic.

And then Stiles feels the bonds that had been holding him shatter, and he takes a great gasping breath, opening his eyes and sitting straight up in bed.

His dad is saying, “I can’t believe you made me cry, kiddo, but—” He stops and says, “Stiles?” with incredulous joy.

“Dad,” Stiles says, and he feels his dad’s arms come around him, squeezing so tightly that Stiles isn’t sure he can breathe, although he doesn’t protest.

“I was so scared,” his dad says.

“Yeah, it was a little scary for me, too,” Stiles admits. He pauses. “Dad, not that the hug isn’t great, but why does it feel like I’m wearing a diaper?”

His dad gives a watery laugh. “I’m sorry for that, son, but it’s been a few days. Mel assured me it was necessary.”

“Oh, my god,” Stiles mutters, feeling mortified. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch just for that, I swear.”

His dad releases him, which is apparently Batman’s cue to hop on the bed and plant his front paws on Stiles’ chest, licking a stripe up Sitles’ face.

“I’m going to assume you’re being hyperbolic about committing murder,” his dad says dryly. “And aren’t threatening someone in front of the sheriff of this county.”

Stiles see-saws his hand back and forth. “I think I’m allowed an emotional response.”

“You are,” Noah says. “I need to let Moira know you’re back. Do you want to get cleaned up?”

“So much,” Stiles replies fervently. He feels gross, and not just because of the diaper—which is just ick. Batman is pressing his nose to the side of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles keeps his arms around his dog, sensing Batman’s relief after being so distressed.

He frowns then. “Wait. What were you saying when I woke up?”

His dad chuckles. “I was telling you that I read your personal essay, and you made me cry.”

“Sorry?” Stiles offers.

Noah just shakes his head. “It was a damn good essay. I’m going to let everyone know you’re awake, and then you can tell us what you had to do in order to get out of that spell.”

Stiles grimaces at that. “Yeah, I really only want to go over that once. Just—were the pack bonds fraying, Dad?”

His dad nods. “They were. We were considering some pretty drastic actions if things didn’t improve.” He gets to his feet. “We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”

Noah closes the door behind him as he leaves, and Stiles holds his dog and breathes, carefully taking stock. His magic doesn’t feel any different, but maybe it won’t with him still being in Beacon Hills. They’ll probably have to do some experiments to find out what it all means, and what he can access when he’s not.

Aside from some muscle stiffness, which is understandable if he’s been in bed several days, Stiles isn’t experiencing any after effects.

At least, he doesn’t think so. Who the hell knows? Stiles is sharing his magic with a fucking tree.

Stiles dials back the incipient dread. He really wants to get cleaned up and he can’t do that if he’s having a massive panic attack.

“Do you want to come with me into the bathroom?” Stiles asks.

Batman pulls back and hops to the floor, giving Stiles an impatient look. “Yeah, I’m moving,” Stiles says.

He grabs his things, and is glad that his dad has either cleared the hallway or kept people from coming upstairs. Stiles doesn’t want anyone to see him until he’s taken a shower.

Batman lays across the doorway as Stiles strips out of his clothing and buries the adult diaper deep in the trash with a shudder of distaste.

He really wants to know where Theo Raeken is, and whether he’s been caught. He wants to know whether the hunters had made another move.

Stiles turns the water as hot as he can handle and washes his hair twice, then scrubs every inch of skin.

Once he’s dressed, Stiles peers at his reflection in the mirror, looking for any changes, but he looks just the same. He feels just the same.

He thinks he does, anyway.

Maybe he only wants to feel the same.

Stiles steps out of the bathroom to find Lydia waiting for him. “Your dad said you needed a little time. Did I give you enough?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Stiles replies, returning Lydia’s hug as best as he can with his arms full. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

Lydia shakes her head. “I’m fine. Theo never touched me. They were definitely aiming for you.”

“Well, mission only partially accomplished thankfully,” Stiles replies. “Let me put this stuff away, and then I’ll head downstairs.”

“Your dad is calling for pizza,” Lydia says. “If you’re hungry.”

Stiles’ stomach growls at that moment, and he says, “I could definitely eat.”

Lydia laughs and watches as Stiles puts his things away, and Stiles puts an arm around her shoulders as they walk down the stairs. Batman leads the way, although he sends frequent looks behind him as though to make sure Stiles is still there.

“What’s the story?” Stiles asks, knowing that they’d need to provide one.

“Mono,” Lydia says briefly. “It should cover you if there’s a reason you can’t or shouldn’t go back right away.”

Stiles nods approvingly. “Highly contagious with a long recovery time. That makes sense.”

His dad is sitting at the kitchen island with a beer in hand, Moira next to him. She gets to her feet as soon as Stiles enters, and Stiles folds her into a hug.

He can feel her tremble, and Stiles holds on tightly.

Eventually, Moira pulls back and puts her hands on either side of Stiles’ face. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I feel the same,” Stiles admits. “But I don’t know if I am the same, or I just want to be.”

Moira gives him a searching look, and says, “Well, we’ll figure it out.”

“Where is everyone else?” Stiles asks.

“I asked them to go about their regular lives,” his dad admits. “So, work, practice, the usual. They’re abiding by the buddy rule, and I’ve texted the group to let them know you’re up and awake.”

Stiles nods. “Do you think the hunters know what Theo did worked, at least in the short term?”

“Let’s sit,” Moira replies. “We’ll talk while we wait for the food to arrive.”

They sit in the den, Lydia curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, clearly unwilling to get too far away. Batman hops up and puts his head in Stiles’ lap.

His dad sits in his regular recliner, and Moira curls up on the other end of the couch, looking wearier than Stiles can remember her being.

“To answer your question, we don’t know,” his dad says, also sounding weary. “Theo is dead. The autopsy determined it was suicide.”

Stiles blinks. “He killed himself?”

His dad just raises his eyebrows and repeats, “The autopsy determined it was suicide.”

The light dawns, and Stiles figures that he’ll get the nitty gritty details out of Moira later—and then he gets a flash of memory that’s not his own. “The Nemeton.”

Moira is giving him a sharp look. “What makes you say that?”

Stiles hesitates. “Because I remember it.”

Moira blows out a harsh breath. “Stiles, we really need to know how you broke free from that spell. We’ll answer all of your questions once you tell us that.”

Stiles figures that’s fair. They have competing stories, and Stiles is the one who’s been unconscious for the last several days. Of course, they’d want to know how he managed to get out of it.

“The Nemeton was there,” Stiles says. “She seems to be both sentient and sapient, by the way. I don’t know if that’s normal for a node like that, or if that’s more Beacon Hills weirdness.”

Moira shakes her head. “To be honest, I don’t know. We don’t have enough information to say for sure.”

“Uncharted waters, right,” Stiles mutters. “She told me that they found a way to use my own magic to trap me, and as long as I still had my magic, no one would be able to break me out.”

Moira lets out a long sigh. “Oh, Stiles.”

“She said I’d still have access to my magic as long as I was on her territory, but she didn’t know otherwise,” Stiles adds. “So far, that seems to be the case.”

“Wait, I need you to spell this out for me,” his dad says.

“Do you remember that I told Stiles he needed to limit how much magic he put into the Nemeton?” Moira asks.

HIs dad nods, looking a little bewildered.

“Some of my magic was already in the Nemeton,” Stiles says, struggling to explain what had seemed so clear when he’d been face-to-face with the entity that is the Nemeton. “That’s what she used to reach me. That’s why there was even a chance.”

“And you poured everything you had into the Nemeton in order to break the spell,” Moira finishes.

Stiles shrugs. “She said the pack bonds were fraying, and you probably wouldn’t be able to get me out of it.”

“I had an idea, although it’s not one that anyone was excited about,” Moira replies.

Stiles gives her a look. “Let me guess. You were going to find a way to temporarily kill me.”

Some humor enters Moira’s eyes. “You would have been only mostly dead.”

Stiles barks a laugh at that, feeling the tension break. “So, yeah, I poured my magic into the Nemeton, and I think she poured it back into me. Like I said, I feel the same as I did, but she wasn’t sure what the long-term effects would be.”

“We’ll have to do some testing,” Moira says. “It wouldn’t do to get caught without your magic outside the territory, if that’s going to be a restriction, at least not knowing what will happen.”

Stiles nods. “I have some colleges to visit, so I guess that would be one way to do it without letting on to what happened.”

His dad looks at him. “We need to talk about how we want to handle this, and whether we want it known that you’re back on your feet.”

Stiles immediately understands what his dad is saying. “You mean, the hunters might attack if they think I’m still down for the count.”

His dad nods. “They might. Theo’s dead, but Becky is in custody. She could have passed word along, and it’s clear from their plan that they thought you were a threat.”

Stils shrugs. “If I need to keep pretending to be unconscious, I can do that.”

“It was a two-pronged attack, Stiles,” Moira adds. “They were able to get through the wards and put a device in the HVAC system with aerosolized wolfsbane.”

Stiles already knows that the rest of the pack is fine, because he can feel it through the pack bonds. “How bad?”

“We were lucky Parrish was here,” his dad says gravely. “He was able to get everyone out of the house—him and Lydia.”

Stiles sends Lydia a grateful look, then turns to Moira. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Moira admits. “The fact is that they were able to get past the wards without alarming either of us.”

“Was it Deaton?” Stiles asks.

Moira nods. “We think so. I have Alana looking into that. As far as we know, he hasn’t approached Beacon Hills since we ran him off.”

“But he might have been happy to give them a hand without getting anywhere close,” Stiles points out.

“Or that,” Moira admits. “Either way, if it is him, his rune work has improved.”

Lydia shifts at that. “If I could get close to him, I could tell you for sure whether he made the stones or not. He might have purchased them from someone else.”

Moira frowns. “Let me give it some thought. If there is more than one magic user working with the hunters, we’ll need to know.”

“In any case, we have a few days at least to make a decision,” his dad says. “I told the school you had mono, and they’re not going to let you back without a doctor’s note. I’m sure Ellie would be happy to write one, but we have some time.”

“Or you could let everyone think I’m still in a coma to see if that draws out the hunters,” Stiles mutters.

“The hunters know they used magic against you,” Moira says. “That wouldn’t be something we’d take to a hospital. I think keeping you out of school for a few more days might be the temptation they need without making a big production of it.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Stiles says. “I guess I’ll stick close to home.”

“We’ll need to be careful,” his dad says. “They’re probably watching the house.”

“I’ll stay inside the house,” Stiles amends. “Fun times for me. I hate these fucking assholes.”

His dad doesn’t even try to reprove him for his language. “We’re going to get them, Stiles, one way or another. Unfortunately, the only person we could maybe put some pressure on is Becky, and she’s requested a lawyer.”

“That just proves she has some sense,” Stiles replies. “But I’m pretty sure she saw me collapse, so it’s not like she wouldn’t know that it worked, at least temporarily.”

“I’ll bring you all your homework,” Lydia says. “I have your assignments from the last couple of days.”

“I guess that gives me that much more time to perfect my personal essay and finish my college applications,” Stiles jokes. “At least the coma didn’t last long.”

His dad just sighs heavily, and Moira gives him a reproving look. “Too soon?” Stiles asks.

“Definitely too soon,” Lydia insists, although she squeezes his arm.

The front door opens, and Derek comes into the den, staring at Stiles for a very long time.

“I’m walking around and everything, dude,” Stiles says, getting to his feet just to disrupt the staring. “Come on, bring it in. I’m going to be fine. I’m even more connected to the Nemeton now, but it’s going to be fine.”

Stiles figures that if he keeps telling himself and everyone else that, they’ll all come to believe it eventually.

Derek doesn’t hesitate at that point, pulling Stiles into a rib-cracking hug. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I will be,” he says into Derek’s ear. “I knew I had to come back for my dad and the pack.”

Derek takes a deep breath and pulls back. “Sorry if I made things weird.”

Stiles shrugs. “We’re way past weirdness, Der.”

Derek laughs at that. “I’m glad you’re back. I was a very poor substitute for you according to Batman.”

Stiles gives Batman a look. “Come on, bud. I’m sure Derek did his best.”

Batman whines in response.

“He was a very good boy,” Derek is quick to add. “I’m just not you.”

“No one is,” Stiles jokes.

The doorbell rings, and his dad says, “I’ve got it. We ordered pizza, Derek, if you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten much today,” Derek admits. “But let me run upstairs and change real quick. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else starts showing up as their regular schedules allow.”

“I’m sure,” Noah replies with a smile. “They’re all going to want to see Stiles up and around.”

Stiles is actually grateful that there had just been a small crowd when he first woke up, because after Derek arrives, the others come in ones and twos. Scott is the next to show up with Kira in tow, and he gloms on to Stiles like the big puppy he is.

“You’re not allowed to do that again,” Scott says.

“I knew you guys would hold down the fort, but I had to figure out a way to come back,” Stiles replies.

He’s not mad when Kira also hugs him and says, “Things are way better with you around, Stiles.”

“Back at you,” Stiles says.

Then it’s Malia, Cora, Erica and Boyd, Isaac, and even Parrish. All of them give him a hug, even Parrish, and all of them have a few words to say, even if it’s just Boyd saying, “Glad you’re back.”

Tara even comes by after her evening run, and Dave and Paul swing by, although they’re technically on patrol. It’s brief, but Dave hugs the stuffing out of him and says, “Let me know if I need to pull my sniper rifle out again.”

“Best left hand ever,” Stiles declares.

“I was born for this,” Dave counters.

The evening turns into a little bit of a party, one they keep inside because it’s turned cold, and they don’t want the hunters to get a glimpse of anything celebratory.

His dad calls them to order when they’re all ranged around the den. “Okay, same story as we were giving before. Stiles has mono and is going to be staying home until the doctor clears him. Buddy rule applies, and if you can stay in groups, that would be even better. We’re hoping the hunters make a move thinking Stiles is down for the count.”

Erica clears her throat. “Sure thing, Sheriff, but I have to ask how you got out of it, Stiles? Moira indicated that it might be really hard.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and feels Batman press up against him on one side, Lydia on the other. “There was a complication,” he says slowly. “But we aren’t really sure how it’s going to affect me. I had to share my magic with the Nemeton in a way that might end up having unforeseen consequences, or it might be like nothing happened at all.”

Scott frowns. “Wait, what does that mean?”

Stiles knows that he owes the pack his honesty. “It might mean that I don’t have full access to my magic unless I’m here, in Beacon Hills, or at least in a territory the Nemeton touches. The Nemeton didn’t know, and we don’t either, so we’ll have to play it by ear.”

He belatedly realizes that he hasn’t told anyone about the Nemeton mentioning that his magic could fuel the sanctuary spell, but he also knows that’s probably a conversation to have with Moira alone.

Maybe he’ll seek his dad’s advice at some point, especially if it looks like there might be any danger to him or others, but he also knows his dad won’t really understand. Moira will, though.

She knows what it is to undertake a great work like that.

After that, the party breaks apart, with most leaving in pretty much the same groupings they arrived in. Erica has arranged to stay the night with Kira, Lydia eventually leaves with Parrish, Boyd and Isaac leave together, and Scott is staying in the guest room, where he’s apparently been the last several nights, if he wasn’t sleeping with the rest of the pack in the basement.

Stiles has absolutely no desire to go back to bed, when he’d just woken up. Granted, a coma probably doesn’t count as restful sleep, but Stiles is going to use that as an excuse to avoid his bed.

He’s in the den, having just said goodnight to Moira. She promises that they can do some tests on his magic the next day, but she needs sleep. As far as he knows, his dad is the only one who is still awake.

His dad sits down in the den with him and says, “I did want to finish our conversation from earlier.”

Stiles frowns. “Which conversation would that be?”

“The one where I tell you that your personal essay made me cry,” Noah replies. “I’m sorry it took me so long to read it.”

“It wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things,” Stiles replies. “And we had a lot going on.”

“Still, I should have read it immediately,” his dad says. “I’m sorry. I got a little caught up at the station.”

Stiles shrugs. “I knew what was going on, and I’m not upset, Dad. I promise.”

“Thank you for your understanding,” his dad says. “I guess the next question is where you’re going to apply, and whether this new wrinkle means you’re not going to apply somewhere you’d like to go.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I was already planning to stay in California, so it doesn’t make a huge difference to my plans.”

“But you said something about not being able to use your magic while you were outside the Nemeton’s territory,” Noah points out.

Stiles nods. “Yeah, but she couldn’t say how big her territory is, whether it would last forever, or even just a little while. I can’t make plans based on what might happen, Dad. That would be like making plans thinking of what I might be able to do if I don’t have a service dog anymore. Until I know what the reality is, that’s nothing to base a decision on.”

Noah looks down at the floor. “I suppose you’re right. I’m not upset by your pragmatism, but I wish I could tell you to go for your dreams.”

“My dream is to have a pack that’s safe and protected,” Stiles says. “I’ll settle for that, and with my magic as a foundation, we might be able to do the sanctuary spell. That’s my dream, Dad.”

Noah smiles, the expression holding a tinge of sadness. “That still doesn’t answer my question of where you want to go to college.”

Stiles rubs his hands on the legs of his jeans. “I’ll apply to UC-Davis, of course, and most of the other state schools that have decent pre-law and psychology programs. I didn’t really let myself think of anything beyond that until Lydia asked me what my dream school was the other night.”

“What was the answer?” his dad presses.

Stiles takes another breath. “Stanford. Danny’s applying, and he’ll almost certainly get accepted. If they offer me a good enough financial aid package…” He trails off, then adds, “The pre-law and psychology programs are both excellent, and I could stay there for my doctorate or law degree, depending on what I decide to do next.”

“You’ve thought this out,” his dad comments.

“I don’t know what the end of the road will be for me, Pops,” Stiles says. “I don’t know if law enforcement is the right path. I just know I want to make sure that justice is done, whatever that means. I’ve realized that justice can take many forms.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” his dad says. “I know the decision you made may have lasting consequences. You could have said no.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Dad, no. I couldn’t leave you or the pack. I was always going to do what I needed to do to come back to you.”

“I appreciate that,” his dad replies. He stands. “I need to get to bed. I have to be at the station tomorrow.”

“I’m going to be hiding out at home,” Stiles says. “Probably catching up on homework and filling out those college applications. But—you really liked the essay?”

“Moira did, too,” Noah says. “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

“The world is full of stupid people, just look at the hunters,” Stiles counters. “Maybe I should put that in my personal essay.”

Noah barks a laugh and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Stiles says.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“We’ll see,” Stiles deflects. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready to go back to bed.”

Stiles knows that he isn’t, and that he wants to wash his sheets before he does.

“Fair enough,” his dad says.

Stiles turns on the TV, turning the volume low and the subtitles on in deference to the werewolves who are trying to sleep. He lands on a CSI marathon on one of the cable channels. Stiles has seen most of the episodes, so it’s not like he needs to pay much attention.

Batman stretches out between Stiles’ legs and the back of the couch, resting his muzzle on Stiles’ abdomen. Stiles absently pets his soft ears, and between one breath and another, he’s back in the clearing.

“I really hope I’m not back in a coma,” Stiles comments.

“You aren’t. But I enjoyed speaking with you, Stiles.”

Stiles turns to see the now-familiar form of the Nemeton, or the form she’s adopted. “You know humans need sleep, right?”

The Nemeton shrugs. “This is no more than a dream, and time here passes in a blink of an eye.”

“Which is why a few days passed while I was making my decision,” Stiles says.

“You also fell for a really long time,” she offers.

Stiles sighs. “Right. So, am I going to dream of you every night? Lydia might get jealous.”

“Maybe not every night,” the Nemeton hedges.

Stiles realizes, now more than ever, that he’s dealing with a fucking tree. Her motivations are not human motivations, and Stiles doesn’t have a lot of pull here.

If the Nemeton wants a bedtime story every night, Stiles is probably going to have to give her a bedtime story.

“I don’t mean to be a burden on you,” she says. “You are, in many ways, my parent, Stiles.”

Stiles is now really regretting calling her his tree baby, since it seems like that’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

At the same time, Stiles recognizes that he has a tremendous responsibility here, and so he says, “It’s not a burden, although if it becomes one, we might have to talk about boundaries.”

“Of course,” she says quickly. “I just wanted to assure myself that you were well.”

Stiles can’t really fault her for that. “Thanks, but I’m good, being back with my pack. Thanks for how you handled Theo, by the way. I got a flash of that, and it made things easier.”

“The abomination had blood on his hands,” the Nemeton says. “Magic called for justice.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “And if I call for justice?”

“It would depend on what the earth calls for, and what magic calls for,” she admits. “So, I don’t know.”

“The sanctuary spell?” Stiles asks.

“Talk to your teacher about it tomorrow,” the Nemeton says. “I believe the coven could undertake that spell now, without outside help.”

Stiles nods, and when he opens his eyes next, the gray light of dawn is filtering through the windows in the den.

“You know, I really didn’t need my life to get any more interesting,” Stiles mutters, looking up at the ceiling.

Batman whines next to him, and Stiles says, “Yeah, bud. Let’s go outside.”

It’s early, really early, but Stiles isn’t tired in the least. He stands by the window just inside the house as Batman does his business in the yard, feeling a presence approaching from behind. Stiles knows that it’s Scott from the pack bond, and Scott knows better than to approach silently.

“How are you feeling?” Scott asks.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits. “Kind of stupid for trying to catch people attacking the house when they were probably waiting for the opportunity to attack me.”

Scott puts an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, but if you hadn’t, they wouldn’t have caught Theo or Becky, right? And your dad said Theo confessed to killing the people pretending to be his parents, and stood by and watched his sister drown. He wasn’t a good guy, and he probably would have kept killing people. And Becky’s in jail.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles admits. “And that does make it a little better. What are you doing up?”

“I just woke up,” Scott replies. “I wanted to check on you, and you weren’t in bed.”

“I spent a little too much time in that bed recently,” Stiles says. “Plus, I need to wash the sheets.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, I get that. Do you need any help?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Stiles replies, recognizing the offer for what it is.

Scott couldn’t do anything to help Stiles while he was unconscious, but he can help Stiles throw a load of laundry in the wash now.

“Great,” Scott says. “And since we’re up this early, maybe we can make breakfast?”

Stiles grins. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

So, he and Scott strip both his bed and the one in the guest room, since Stiles doesn’t know when the sheets had been washed last. After that, Scott volunteers to be sous chef while Stiles figures out what to make.

Stiles finds a loaf of French bread in the freezer, half a carton of eggs in the fridge, and a package of bacon. With that, Stiles is off to the races. “How do you feel about baked French toast?”

“I feel pretty good about it,” Scott admits. “What do you want me to do?”

“Beat the eggs?” Stiles prompts.

“No problem,” Scott says cheerfully.

Stiles starts to slice up the bread, and once Scott has the eggs beaten, Stiles doctors the mixture with cinnamon and a little nutmeg. Then, they start dipping the slices and putting them in the baking pan.

As they’re working, Stiles says, “Okay, get me caught up on everything I missed while I was dead to the world.”

“I don’t think you were quite dead to the world,” Scott jokes. “I mean, weren’t you talking to the magic tree the whole time?”

“Most of the time,” Stiles admits. “So? What about you?”

Scott shrugs. “Not much happened, other than being really worried about you.”

“I know the pack bonds were fraying,” Stiles objects.

Scott sighs. “Yeah, we could all feel that. It’s why Moira told your dad that she might have to take drastic action.”

“She assures me that I’d have only been mostly dead,” Stiles jokes.

“I feel like even mostly dead would be pretty fucking awful,” Scott mutters.

Stiles shrugs. “Well, we can all be grateful that the Nemeton was holding some of my magic, because we would be in a very different world right now otherwise.”

“Is it going to have a bad effect on you?” Scott asks, sounding concerned for him.

“Jury’s still out on that,” Stiles admits. “But I would have given up my magic entirely to be here for the pack and not leave my dad.”

“I get it,” Scott says. “I’d do a lot to make sure I came home to my mom, too.”

Stiles sits at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, and Scott has a Coke. “Still thinking UC-Davis?”

“I don’t know if I’ll get in,” Scott says.

“Focus on your decision to make a change and really buckle down in your personal essay,” Stiles advises. “And feel free to throw your ex-girlfriend under the bus. I feel like your best friend getting kidnapped should be good for something.”

Scott laughs a little at that. “I’m pretty sure that would not fit the message of taking personal responsibility that I’m going for.”

“If you message it right, it will work,” Stiles argues. “You can say you figured out how to focus.”

Scott shrugs. “Maybe. My supervisor at the shelter already wrote me a letter, and Mrs. Finch has written a recommendation. She said she really admired my work ethic.”

“You have a great work ethic,” Stiles insists. “You just get distracted sometimes, which I can understand. What about Kira?”

“She still hasn’t made up her mind,” Scott says. “Other than wanting to stay here. But she did talk me into applying a few other places, just in case.”

“I think that’s smart,” Stiles admits.

“What about you?” Scott asks.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “A few places, but—also Stanford.”

“You’ll get in,” Scott says with confidence.

Stiles frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure, I do,” Scott says. “If that’s where you want to go, you’ll get in.”

“I’ll have to do some college visits,” Stiles says. “And if it turns out that I can’t live without my magic, and I can’t access it at the school that accepts me… I don’t know.”

“It’ll work out,” Scott insists. “Everything is going to be good. You know how I know that?”

Stiles laughs. “No. How do you know that?”

“Because we’re a pack,” Scott says. “And the sum is greater than its parts. Always has been, always will be.”

His dad comes into the kitchen, and he’s clearly smelling both the bacon and the French toast that’s in the oven. “What are the two of you doing?”

“We were up early, so we started some laundry, and we have breakfast in the oven,” Scott says.

His dad wraps an arm around Scott’s shoulders. “Thank you.” Then he kisses the top of Stiles’ head. “I’m so happy to have you back, kiddo.”

“Good to be back,” Stiles says.

Derek, Cora, and Malia turn up shortly thereafter, right about the time that things are coming out of the oven, and soon, everyone has a full plate and is digging in.

And then Moira comes into the kitchen, and she smiles, “Well, look at you boys. You’re both going to make excellent partners someday.”

Stiles likes how she puts that, because he figures that being a good pack member isn’t all that different from being a good partner. It means taking care of each other, and doing what you can to support them, in whatever way you can, and whatever way they need.

Even if it’s just making food or putting some laundry in the wash.

She hugs both Scott and Stiles, and then makes a plate for herself. Derek offers the girls a ride to school, and Scott also has to leave if he doesn’t want to be late.

His dad says, “I’ll take care of the cleanup, kiddo. I know Moira is anxious to run some tests.”

“I am,” Moira says, almost apologetically. “But we’ll stay inside.”

Stiles shrugs. “The only other things I’ve got on my mind are homework and laundry.”

“All right, let’s see what we can find out, young spark,” Moira says.

The basement isn’t their preferred work area, but it has the benefit of being away from prying eyes. Much as she’d done the first time they met, Moira lays a cloth on the floor, then sets a candle in the center of the cloth. Batman lies down nearby, muzzle on his paws, watching the proceedings with a quizzical expression.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Moira.”

“Humor me,” she counters. “There’s a method to my madness.”

Stiles acquiesces, lighting the candle with a thought, and then picking it up and rotating it in the air while still lit.

“Does it feel the same as it did before?” Moira asks.

Stiles thinks about that question. “The same as the first time I did it, or before the magical coma?”

“Either or both,” Moira replies.

“Different from the first time, because I actually know what I’m doing—to a certain extent,” Stiles replies. “Not really any different from before the coma, though.”

“Okay, let’s try something else,” Moira says. “I want to see if your affinity has changed.”

Stiles frowns. “You think it might have?”

“You shared your magic with a tree,” Moira replies, her tone very dry. “Magic is a part of every element. You might be able to access more of them now.”

“Or fewer, because I’m sharing magic with a tree?” Stiles asks. “Trees seems pretty earthy to me.”

Moira shrugs. “We’re in uncharted territory, so who knows?”

“What’s first?” Stiles asks.

“You’re going to do a true seeing,” Moira replies.

Stiles blinks. “Okay, and I’m not arguing, but isn’t that kind of two elements in one?”

Moira nods. “There’s an element of spirit involved, yes, but it’s mostly water, and there aren’t many rituals that only involve a single element.”

“What about the crystal test?” Stiles asks.

Moira raises her eyebrows. “What’s worrying you about doing a true seeing?”

Stiles hadn’t even realized that he was worried, but Moira has called it. “I didn’t know I was.”

“Do you know why?” she asks. “Is it instinct, or something else?”

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

“Are you going to blow up the bowl or the house?” Moira asks archly.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, that much I can promise.”

“Okay, then, we’ll try it,” Moira replies. “Because I think we need to know.”

Stiles has already said he’d go along with her tests, so he shrugs, unable to come up with a concrete reason to decline.

Moira sets up the scrying bowl on the cloth, and Batman whines. She glances over at him. “Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

Batman just whines again in response, and Stiles says, “Maybe he’s just responding to my discomfort?”

“I’m sure that’s part of it, but he’s very sensitive to you,” Moira says. “If something doesn’t feel right, we’ll stop immediately.”

Stiles nods. “Right, well, it would just be my luck that my magic would be uncontrolled because I shared it with a fucking tree.”

Moira nudges the bowl towards him. “Go on then.”

“What am I looking for?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t know,” she shoots back. “What are you most scared to find?”

“Tamora Monroe,” Stiles says without even thinking about it.

“Then you know the subject of your true seeing,” Moira replies.

Stiles takes a deep breath. He tries to dial into his discomfort, and think watery thoughts.

But then Stiles thinks that water isn’t quite right.

He grasps the sides of the bowl and closes his eyes, then says, “Show me the mastermind.”

Stiles has no problem projecting the picture, and it shows a young Black woman walking down a darkened street. One of the streetlights is out, and another one seems to be on the fritz, blinking on and off. She has a purse on one shoulder, and she’s clutching the strap for dear life, clearly nervous.

There’s a snarl and the sound of running footsteps, and the woman begins to run as well, sending a panicked look over her shoulder.

The glowing eyes of some sort of were-creature flare blue behind her, and Stiles knows that it’s not an alpha werewolf, but a creature that has ended a life.

It springs at her, sending her sprawling on the sidewalk, her purse’s contents spilling out. The creature claws at her clothing, leaving the bottom of her shirt in tatters.

“What do you want?” the woman demands on a cry.

“I want what I can take,” the man snarls.

There’s the sound of a gunshot, and the man collapses on top of her with a grunt.

Gerard Argent comes strolling out of the darkness with a smoking gun. Stiles can’t tell when this is, but he would guess maybe a decade prior.

“Did it break the skin?” Gerard asks as he helps her get free of the dead body.

“A few scratches,” she manages to gasp out. “What was that?”

“An animal,” Gerard replies. “It’s dead now. You’re lucky it wasn’t an alpha.” He offers her a hand up, and she accepts it. Stiles can see blood on her abdomen, but it’s just little spots.

To Stiles, at least, it’s clear that the were-jaguar—because that’s what it was—wasn’t primarily interested in hurting her, but rather in taking something else.

“No, what is it?” Tamora demands. “You can’t just—I want to know what it was, and what it wanted from me!”

Gerard gives her a long look. “You might not like what you find in the darkness.”

Tamora’s chin tilts up pugnaciously. “No, I need to know.”

“All right,” Gerard replies. “It seems like maybe you do.”

The scene fades, and Stiles says, “Show me the magician.”

Now, he sees Deaton sitting in a small office across from Tamora Monroe, saying, “I couldn’t possibly know what you’re talking about.”

“Couldn’t you?” she asks. “You were in Beacon Hills. You know the pack there.”

A moue of distaste. “I still care deeply for Scott McCall, and I want to see him reach his potential.”

“And his best friend being a spark and the son of the Alpha?” she asks. “Wouldn’t that prevent it?”

“Sparks have too much power altogether,” Deaton says, the expression of disgust more pronounced. “They don’t deserve it.”

“So, help me find a way to shut him down,” Tamora says coaxingly. “Not to kill him, just to disable him, render his magic inert. Wouldn’t that be what’s best for Scott?”

Deaton’s expression suggests he knows she’s manipulating him, and yet he’s willing to go along with it. “If the Alpha were out of the way, Scott would become the true Alpha he’s meant to be.”

Stiles really doesn’t know if Deaton believes that, or if he’s just telling himself a convenient lie, but either way, Deaton eventually says, “Return in four days, and I’ll have what you need.”

“That motherfucker,” Stiles says.

“Druids are slippery motherfuckers sometimes,” Moira says, speaking for the first time since Stiles started using the scrying bowl. “What else do you want to see?”

Stiles shakes his head, releasing the bowl. “I think that’s it, really.”

“You weren’t using water as your element to fuel that,” Moira points out. “Nor have you used the scrying bowl with that kind of finesse before.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I realized that water wasn’t going to serve me.”

“You used spirit instead, with a touch of air,” Moira replies. “You’ve never shown an affinity for air before.”

Stiles shrugs. “I can’t explain it. It just seemed like the thing to do, and I wanted to be able to hear what people were saying. I thought the elements of spirit and air would work better.”

“Water isn’t a great conductor of sound,” Moira admits. “But you haven’t been able to access spirit before.”

“It was easy,” Stiles says slowly. “My magic flowed just as easily as it always has. I couldn’t tell a difference, and I didn’t feel like there were any barriers.”

“We don’t have a good way of getting out of town to see if the distance changes things right now,” Moira admits. “We’ll have to wait to see if the hunters actually attack.”

Stiles nods. “I get it. At least we know that I can use my magic like usual here. It might even be easier for me.”

“There is that,” Moira agrees. “How are you feeling about the rest of it?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I feel the same. Maybe I shouldn’t, but—even before the coma, magic felt easier, and I felt like I could do more with fewer costs, you know?”

Moira sighs. “The Nemeton was already connected to you in a deeper way than we realized. I suppose that’s a good thing, considering it’s one of the reasons you managed to free yourself.”

“What are we going to do about Deaton?” Stiles asks.

Moira’s expression is grim. “He was given an opportunity to correct himself, and he’s chosen not to do so. Furthermore, an attack on a spark is an attack against magic. When this is over, there’s a ritual we can do to call on magic’s judgment.”

Stiles blinks. “You mean, we ask magic to visit his own actions on him threefold.”

“That is what we’ll do,” Moira replies. “It has the benefit of us not taking any actions that could fold back on us.”

“Fair,” Stiles says. “I’ll look forward to that, I guess.”

He accepts that he’ll have to be satisfied with that for now.

 

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