Nature and Nurture: Finding the Perfect Blend

Chapter 13: The Catalyst

It was morning, the sun just beginning to warm the ground around the Nemeton when Scott stepped into the grove's clearing.

Stiles supposed it looked strange to Scott, seeing him lying on top of a magical tree stump, in the middle of a forest, wearing clothes better suited for warmer weather, with no shoes. But he didn't really care about the strangeness of it. During the past few nights up in his tree, Stiles had discovered something. He'd done some experimenting and part of his fae magic was the ability to regulate how his body reacted to temperature changes. It was instinctual, like the sun and the earth energizing him. It meant his night in the preserve had been pretty comfortable in just t-shirt and pants. There'd been no discomfort from over-exposure, though the weather was still cold enough to warrant it.

There was something else Stiles had found out about his magic. He'd been listening to the trees tell him of Scott's progress through the preserve.

Scott had taken his bike as far as he could, and Stiles had tracked him by using the trees' awareness of vibration in the ground and the sensation of roots he bumped over. When he got off his bike and walked, Stiles picked up footsteps, the earth moving with the press of feet. It was a disjointed sensation and he kept getting sidetracked by animals, but he'd done alright until Scott had gotten close enough Stiles had to decide if he wanted to be found.

Part of the information dump he'd been given by the Tree was the knowledge of how to keep people out of the Nemeton's presence. The Tree was good at it itself, but a little bit of help now and then was needed. Some people were tricky and would need an even trickier person to dissuade them. Now Stiles wasn't pretending to be human anymore, he could admit to himself just how important his role of protector would be.

He continued to recline on the stump as Scott walked up to him, then cracked open an eye. Scott was staring at him with a carefully composed blank expression. Stiles sighed internally and sat up. This should be interesting.

"You always going to be a dick to Deaton?" Scott asked.

"Good morning to you, too," Stiles greeted him.

Scott pulled a hand through his hair. "Yeah, hi. So, are you?"

Stiles paused before answering. He hadn't given any thought to how Scott would react to him not liking his mentor and boss. That it was weighing on him hadn't occurred to Stiles at all. He crossed his legs, and invited Scott to sit on the stump with him. A sign of utmost trust.

"Yes. I will," he answered.

"But why? He's only ever helped us! Helped you!"

"It's not about what he's done for the pack." Stiles ignored the comment about Deaton helping him specifically. "It's because of what he did here."

"Stiles, you're just being a jerk."

"No, I'm not. There are reasons."

"Then what are they?"

"Do you see how smooth the cut is?" Stiles ran his hand along the Nemeton in a caress. "How would that be possible do you think?"

Scott frowned down at the stump. "How's that important?"

"You asked. I'm telling you. You're getting an education here, dude. Not one that many people get. So suck it up. Do you see it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"How would it have happened? You'd need a pretty big chainsaw. Don't see a timber cutting machine getting their way through into here, do you?"

"No. There'd have to be a cleared road."

Now Scott was thinking. Stiles wanted to pat him on the head.

"Yeah. And this is a magical area, too. A ritual place. Lots of energy. Lots of power would be needed to even get close if you were coming here with intent to chop down a centuries old magical being."