What Would You Do Without Me? // Teen Wolf

Nemeton, Home of the Stilinskis

After dropping Scott off at home, Stiles spent a few hours just driving around in the jeep and thinking - he found that having to focus on being safe while driving helped to condense and focus his thoughts and so all his best and most logical thinking was done in the driver's seat (and in the shower, but that wasn't usually logical thinking, more emotional).

Being a spark meant that Stiles would likely take on the role of emissary for the pack because being emissary for the McCall pack was just not something that Deaton had signed up for, he'd wanted to leave behind his life as a druid and just focus on his human, real world career. Whether that was something Stiles wanted didn't really factor into the equation - it was simple fact - once Stiles was in control and as well-read as he could manage, he would take over the role of emissary from Deaton so that the older man could retire, leaving Stiles to do the things Scott never could (not too unusual, but certainly higher pressure when the job has a name). Stiles cared about the pack more than he cared to admit, at least out loud, so taking on a formal role of care was something he was less against than he would've been just a few years prior - still stressful though.

While he was doing university work, Stiles was going to have to balance magic lessons and learning of pack culture amongst the packs of born wolves across the country, that was necessary if he was to become the emissary. He'd never been so glad that he'd decided to stay home instead of accepting Agent McCall's offer for the FBI programme, that would've added a whole other layer of stress to everything he needed to do. At least when he was at home in Beacon Hills he had less to hide. When it came to picking his major, Stiles had barely known where to start because he still didn't know what it was he wanted to do. Part of him wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and become a cop but at the same time he'd seen what that job had done to his own dad and wondered whether it was worth it. He'd had a long talk with his dad about college once he'd decided that law enforcement might not be for him and they'd decided he should just pick something that he was passionate about, that was the best way for him to get through it. So, he chose to major in sociology and minor in folklore because he just couldn't resist.

Lydia and Stiles had spent an afternoon considering what he could pursue after college. They'd floated around a few ideas, his major could lead just about anywhere he wanted, and they kept coming back to his want to protect and provide. With policing kept out of the conversation deliberately, they'd ping ponged between a few other career choices but ultimately the conversation had been fruitless. He tried not to worry about it, he knew that it'd come to him eventually and in the worst case scenario he could always try Beacon Hills High.

He parked up on the edge of the preserve and rolled down the front windows. The air in the preserve was cooler as usual and less polluted, so when Stiles took a deep breath it was like the air itself was cleansing his mind. Druids worked for balance, often working alongside nature to do so and Stiles figured that he would take a similar route. He knew it would be different because Deaton had told him so already, but the preserve would become his second home soon enough. He briefly wondered whether it was disrespectful to ask about fixing up the Hale house, not for himself but generally. The Hale family had stood for something before the fire, they'd made Beacon Hills what it was and Stiles had known the moment he'd become aware of the wider supernatural world that losing that family power had changed Beacon Hills. Then, there was the issue of the Nemeton.

The Nemeton had been activated when they'd been working to beat the Nogitsune and since then had caused nothing but trouble. Though, when his spark had been awoken, Stiles' feelings about the tree had changed dramatically over night for a reason it took Deaton to identify - the Nemeton was the hub of all magic in Beacon Hills and likely all of California if not farther and Stiles himself was housing a spark of pure magic. The Nemeton was tied to Stiles and he to it in ways that it was unlikely any of them would ever come to understand and it first came in the need to protect the tree, even if it was just from teenage slander. Sometimes when he came to the preserve, Stiles was half way through the woods before he realised he was looking for the Nemeton's clearing, it didn't always let him in but on the occasions that it did, he savoured the way it made him feel.

He climbed out of the jeep and slammed the door closed - it had been giving him difficulties recently - then he locked it before setting off along one of the trails again. It had been years since the night Stiles and Scott had driven out looking for a body and since then he'd learnt most of the frequent trails and even a few of the lesser ones. The one he took to the Nemeton was barely a trail at all, but he knew the route on instinct, as much as he knew the sight of the back of his hands. Sometimes he wandered to the Nemeton even in his dreams, it was rare that anything happened when he found himself at the huge stump in his sleep but he made it his business to visit it in person the day after whenever he did. It was those days he usually found it. He'd not told Deaton about the dreams but he did spend upwards of half an hour staring at the ceiling, considering what the Druid may say if he did tell him. Eventually, Stiles had come to the conclusion that the dreams were the tree's way of requesting his presence, how it chose to communicate - and who was Stiles to ignore it?

Today appeared to be a Nemeton day because one moment Stiles was tripping over a tree root and the next he was just a few paces from the large stump. The tree's magic baffled him and understanding it was high on the list of his priorities for his studies. Whenever he arrived in the clearing, Stiles took a deep breath. The air in the Nemeton clearing was different to the rest of the preserve, it was rich with energy. He spent what could have been a minute or ten letting himself breathe in the crackling, crispy air, letting it centre him. Perhaps he did his best thinking right here.

Once he felt present enough to be in the clearing, Stiles took his first step toward the tree. With just the stump left behind, Stiles could only imagine how the tree must have looked before it was cut down, how incredible it must have been. With that thought in his mind, he felt compelled to touch what remained of it, and so he simply did. Hesitant, Stiles reached out and gently rested his open palm on the top of the stump, considering all its many rings. A tree's age could be figured out by counting the rings it had, each ring representing one year of its life. In the clearing, his senses were more fine tuned, like there was something extra guiding him and so when he felt the bone deep need to lay down on the tree stump he did exactly that.

Truly, he hadn't meant to fall asleep. It was just.. the Nemeton was more comfortable than he'd expected and the clearing felt so safe, and he hadn't exactly been sleeping all that well.

He opened his eyes in his dream as if he was blinking into awareness, that was how all his Nemeton related dreams began. With just some effort, Stiles rose from a familiar spot in the preserve and set about following the invisible string tugging him toward the tree. When he reached it this time, something was different. Instead of finding the stump of the tree, there was a figure. He couldn't speak, so he reached out blindly and his hand passed directly through it. That was unusual, nothing like that had happened before. When he made to walk away from the clearing, the way he usually abandoned Nemeton dreams, he simply re-entered from the other side of the clearing. This time, he could see the face of the figure.
"Erica?" He asked, tilting his head as if it would give him a new angle, already having forgotten his previous inability to speak.
"Well hey Batman. What brings you out here?" She asked in return, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary here.
"This is a Nemeton dream. Why is Erica here?" Stiles mumbled mostly to himself - people getting offended in his dreams didn't impact real life so he didn't care that he was ignoring this phantom friend.

"You are quick in your thinking, Spark." Erica spoke again, though this time her voice was distinctly different.
"You are the Nemeton, aren't you?" He asked then, approaching quickly to study the image before him, Erica speaking to him with a voice that didn't belong to her.
"I have no physical form that permits me to communicate, but I can take the form of those you know." The tree explained, Not-Erica's hand reached out and cupped his cheek and the familiarity of the hand touching him stopped Stiles from backing away.
"Why have you never done it before?"
"I couldn't, you were too far. My magic is not what it was, but when you are with me in my home I can do almost anything you need from me." Not-Erica explained, regarding Stiles with a familiarity the real werewolf never had, as if this being knew him since long before even Stiles knew himself.
"So when I sleep in the clearing, you can reach me." Stiles concluded, unsure whether he needed to voice his thinking or if the tree understood without the words.
"You remind me so much of Claudia." The voice whispered, Not-Erica's face smiling at him as if she was tearing up, though her eyes weren't even glossy. Could trees even cry? When the Nemeton's words finally set in, Stiles woke.

The Nemeton knew his mother.