Chapter 4
Stiles
The dinner was a quiet one, Peter holding my hand under the table. It’s been six years since the dreadful intervention. Not all of those years were completely sober. After the intervention I tried to go cold turkey, relapse after relapse happened.
A trembling train-wreck, too many years on the drink. I didn’t want to give up my crutch. The one thing kept my sanity intact, not going completely bonkers; or so I thought.
Sneaking-behind Peter’s back, the lie I tell myself it's just one more sip. One chilly night sobbing into the bottle, Peter catches me. “Stiles, stop this. You were dry for a month or I thought so. Are relationships can’t take this any longer, I can’t take it any longer. Sneaking behind my back.”
Crying into his shoulder, Peter is sitting on the wall.
“It’s the anniversary of Allison's death, couldn't take it any longer. I have been sober for a week. I hate this. Alcohol soothes me. Well, only for a second then the cycle repeats itself. I love you. Can’t lose you.”
Peter kisses my forehead and wraps his arms around me. “Rehab is an option. Your next breath test will show alcohol in your system. You know Henry wants the best for you. You're like a son to him. Him giving you the Sheriff position was generous of him. Only if you stay sober.”
Henry was too generous in giving me this position. I don’t deserve it. I was drinking on the job. The Sheriff's position has less stress, staying in one location. A location I helped create. The people who help me. The Director isn’t taking any chances, blood testing and breath testing me regularly. I’m hurting the people who love me. Maybe they shouldn't love me. They only get hurt.
Rehab ended up being the solution; three-month programme, detox, therapy, regular telephone calls to Peter. It was strenuous, draining, and isolating. Getting out to great fanfare. The residents knew my challenges and accepted me.
Staying off the bottle isn’t easy. Especially the included roller coaster called my life. Fell off the wagon three more times. Getting back on, telling Peter is always hard and with Peter’s added theatrics.
For the last three years, I have been sober. Mila is back in mine and Peter’s life. Hunters assassinated a woman with an arrow straight to the heart, her three-year-old witnessing it. Peter got there too late to save the mother, rescued the little boy, and brought him home. Both have been glued to Samuel's side ever since. Having no other family, he is now our little cub. Another reason to stay an ex-alcoholic, not an alcoholic. Not to follow my father's steps, abusive alcoholic Sheriff.
I spend life chasing a hyper werewolf toddler. Serving as a Sheriff in a hectic superpowered town with a seelie realm next door.
A blanket lay on the grass, strawberries and cream in the picnic baskets. The moon is shining from above. The stars twinkled. Firework glistening, colours blasting together. A bang goes off, I turn my head back to my handsome boyfriend. Peter is on one knee, a small velvet black box in his hand. The box lid opened, and a ring glistened within. The ruby stone matching my red riding hood mantra.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” The ring slides on my finger, fitting perfectly.
The Hales all around the table. Stiles doesn’t feel left out; he is one of them now. Little Samuel in his highchair. The room is silent apart from Samuel toddler talk banging a plastic folk, the day unmarked, intervention day. They do not mention it. Peter throws hints here and there. The embarrassment after all these years hasn’t died down.
Beep. To get out of the awkwardness, I look down at my phone. One message. Why would Scott text me after what he did to me? Tricking me to Deatons, attempting to exorcist my spark. In Scott's opinion, to stop my corruption, the murderer within me. And stollen my dad from me, Scott can have him.
‘Stiles, you need to come home. Someone massacred your mom’s grave, corpse to ash. Don’t worry, I scared away the Loki guy who did it. Come home now. Don’t worry, I’m comforting your dad. From Scott is you didn’t know’
What the hell is going on? Is this a trick? It has to be right.
Peter rips the phone out of my hand and reads the message. Hugs me tight. “Don’t worry, we will find out if it’s true.”
After Cora calls Henry, it turns out the message is true. The trickster god disturbed my mother's grave. For reasons unknown.
A pull I haven't felt in a long time is pulling with an invisible bond to the Nemeton. The Nemeton is in danger. Like gravity calling good and bad forces to her. Looks like I’m heading home.
Seating on the brick wall I haven’t sat on in a few years. Bottle in hand. Going to the place that has brought so much pain in my life. It also brought me Peter and the Hales.
“Stiles don’t do it,” said Derek.
Looking down straight at the Jack Daniels in my hand. My old friend. “I-I don’t k-know what to do,” I sob.
The never ending pain, it goes on holiday but it always returns.
Derek takes the bottle out of my hand without asking permission. Pouring the liquid on the ground. The poor weeds. What a waste.
“Stiles, we are here for you. I’m here for you.”
Derek hugs me, shielding me from the world. He’s told me in the past I’m his little brother. This Derek is nothing like the Derek in Beacon Hills.
They are heading to Beacon Hills.
The Nemeton is exactly the same for a stump that’s expected. Rigid stump swells, showing its chop down age. The howling winds, rustling, flowing leaves jostling in the air.
Tracing my fingertips on the rings, against the rough oak, the beacon has brought bad karma in my life. The beacon was again dragging all walks of life to Beacon Hill. Good life forces to help her. The bad tagged along getting the wrong message. She is dying. Chopped down and poisoned. The years haven’t been good for her; this once elegant beauty. The bad moral of the supernatural would want to get their greasy hands on the tree of life. Norse mythology mentions this tree. The great power it holds.
At the moment she is sending out a pulse. To their location. To land, ocean and above planet.
Peter and the Director have got to greet the Avengers, apparently they are in town. Took most of the team. Derek is scouting the area around the Nemeton.
Crouching on the ground, plans swirling in my head. To grow this beauty how it once was. To stop the location echoing.
Sticks snapping, turning my head, Scott. It had to be him. He’s grown out of the kicked puppy dog look. Stubble on his chin and a scowl on his lips, his clothes copying Derek’s early twenty’s fashion, including a black leather jacket. The bad boy looks odd on Scott. Derek mastered that to a T.
Standing up, I wish Peter was here.
“Why are you here?” Scott demanded.
“You texted, here I am.”
Scott steps closer, eyes glowing red. “You're meant to be at your mother’s grave. Not here.”
So Scott wants me to cry a river, Michael Buble style. Come on Derek, where are you?
“Well, I’m not. The Nemeton is dying. Beacon Hill is going to be overcrowded soon.”
Claws shooting out Scott’s fingertip, face features morphing into part werewolf. “Is that a threat? You're the one corrupting Nemeton. The Nemeton is in my territory. Your Haven is mine. You were in my pack.”
Scott stepped closer, fury written on his face. The gap between them is minstrel.
“Don’t you dare take my achievement away from me? You didn’t build Haven brick by brick, I did. What have you done these last few years, your superpower is spreading hate!”
Scott arms tackle me to the ground, pinning my arm to the tree stump. The world pins around me, head throbbing. Razor sharp crawl dangling an inch from my beating bloody heart.
Swoosh. A gush of air whirlwinds Scott off his feet, his own mini storm. Racking him into a tree. Collapsing to the forest floor, thump.
Unfamiliar hands touch my chest, helping me to stand. Supporting my unsteady sea legs. This headache is worse than a hangover.
The green suited man, long glossy locks. Ocean blue eyes, the eye’s I haven’t seen since mom died.
“Your Stiles, ain't you?”
“Who's asking? But you're Loki. The green gave you away. What are you doing here in Beacon Hill? Was it Nemeton?”
Taking my eyes off the man who destroyed New York. Back to analysing the destructive Nemeton.
“I’m here for you, actually. Got here just on time to save my grandson.”
Grandson. He can’t be talking about me. Is he?
The Nemeton zaps my fingers. My consciousness twisting into a tiny test tube, tighter fit than the subway, the destination unknown.
“Hello Mieczyslaw.”
A dark shadowy figure contrasting against the white cube room. The swirly black liquid shadows cloaking the figure underneath.
What am I meant to say to this unseen person? Creature. Ancient one.
“It has been a decade waiting for you. You are not ready, there's no more time left to waste.”
Images. Voice. Food. My consciousness. Flashes. Visions.
“This is the past, present and future. The present dictates the outcome. A peaceful future or a bleak one.”
Dark creatures talking to Scott, making a deal, a treaty. Their species is on his side, to tell the public the truth. Behind Scott's back, they were laughing at the naïve fool. Once the public knows the truth. Take the Nemeton for themselves. When the world becomes complacent. Be the dictators of the new world. Scott is the first to be executed.
Visions blurring together, doubling up, colour mixing, creating drugged up effect. Bumping to one vision to the next and repeating, overloaded with information. The visions aren’t even in chronicle order.
I’m wearing the same clothes, so is Scott, this vision is today. The creatures are impatient. Hearing the Nemeton calling out to the world and not them. Crawling from the earth's crust, their home up heaving the earth to Beacon Hill, attacking anything in sight.
The oxygen packed atmosphere. The spider-like creatures eat anything in sight. Munching on human intestine, neighbourhood cat, park bench. Their stringy legs sewing webs, humans caged inside a snack for later.
Sitting high and mighty on his golden, glinting throne, resembling an enormous blueberry. Nemeton backlash ripples the earth and above. Sensing a mighty power on earth, he wants to harvest it. Space metal whales swimming in space.
This day is the new big bang, a new era is here, or the apocalypse has begun. The Avengers join the fight. Captain America's shield. Gold and red armour water coloured together. Redhead. A Hulk. A bow; Alison would have loved seeing that man in action.
The world once again spinning. I’m going to be sick. Concentrating on Peter's silky hands on my face, my body shaking out of control. Not the nogitsune. It can’t be. It’s just the shakes.
“Stiles darling,” said Peter.
Loki is still by my side. Slowly sitting up with the help of Peter, leaning against him.
“A-a-atta-tack- ha-pp-ending to-day,” I said, stringing my sentences together.
“What,” said Tony.
Ironman, Captain America, Black Widow, a nerd's wet dream. My fanboy days are jumping for joy.
The combat unit of Section 7 surrounds the forest. I’m the star of the show, trembling, wanting to be sucked into a black hole. The embarrassment is not dying down.
“The Nemeton is attracting everyone. A guy called Thanos is coming to town. These black goo spiders that live after the earth crust want to dictator us. You can thank Scott for that.”
Scott stumbles off the ground. “They want to help, not hurt. You're lying like always. They just want to live amongst us.”
Getting off the ground with Peter's help. “The Nemeton gave me visions. The past, present and multiple futures. Thanos is above our heads. The weird ink spiders, moments from eating us. In my vision Scott you were the first executed. Go ahead be friends with them, it's your choice Scott. Your death. Now, all the magic powered individuals in Haven can create a shield around earth. An earth bubble. They won’t need to be involved in the fighting. All the Havens in different countries can help it should be enough juice. Everyone else fight the spiders.”
The Director nods at the commands. I know he doesn't take offence at me taking over. Starts the phone calls. Normally I’m in charge of Haven and Henry is head of Section 7.
Captain America walks nearer to me. “What will you be doing, agent?”
One breath in. One breath out. “Helping the Nemeton. The witches won’t be able to support the force field for long. Combine magic takes a junk load of energy. The spider wants the tree of life. I’m going to grow the tree to its former glory so she can protect herself.“
There is no time to debate or object. The first enormous black ink goo dripping spider. The trees whistling, trigs snapping. Flip-flop snapping eight legs. Eight legs, multiplied; an army of spiders on steroids.
Peter’s muscles tense up. In a fighting stance position. Kisses me on the cheek. “Stay safe Stiles. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Time to save the planet.
Peter, Derek and Cora, my family, face bones change; sideburns grow, claws sharpen, muscles intensify, eyes glow in the darkness, intensifying their facial features.
“My brother is dating a werewolf.”
Steve racks Tony in the arm. “Is that all your worries right now? This is not the time or place.”
Ignoring the lovers' squabble, concentrating on the present danger.
“Stiles is my brother. I have a right to worry. He is engaged in a myth, a dangerous one.”
Turning my attention to the brother I never knew I had. What the hell. When I was fifteen dad was beyond drunk; a bottle hurtled towards, ducking, glass smashed on the wall inches from my head, glass shards scattered on the floor. “Why do I have to be stuck with you? Raising you. You're not even mine.”
They did not mention the conversation again. I classed it under alcohol influence, a glimmer of doubts remained; werewolves became the priority.
I have a biological brother. Tony Stark, tech billionaire, former weapon producer and his side job Ironman.
Chewing over fragment thoughts won’t help save the planet.
Slicing open my hand with a knife, blood gushes out. Scott’s eye bulged out, not blurting out Stile corrupt shit.
“I just saved you. Why are you slicing your hand open? Humans are fragile.” said Loki.
Circling the Nemeton trailing ruby red blood. A bloody circle surrounding the Nemeton.
“A blood sacrifice. The Nemeton was poisoned by foul deeds. Innocent blood spilled on her, forcing her to do wicked deeds, housing a demon. Freely given blood regenerate her growth.”
Magic firing, pixies zipping around the hulk, who is knocking down trees in his wake. Ironman blasting white energy. Peter rips spider legs to shreds, claws deep in goo. Captain America slums his shield down on a spider's now chopped off head. Derek transforms into a wolf tackling chewing spider bones. Scott is useless as ever, repeating ‘we had a deal.’ toddle tantrum, like that will solve our problems.
The earth shield sewing together, like a finished quilt. The finishing touches stitching together. Thanos will be moments away.
The battle at full throttle, everyone exhausted, no end in sight.
Believe. Believe. I can grow a tree. A magic tree. Grow. Unsteady on my feet. Bloody circles soaking into the earth, the stump nutrients. Soon I won’t be able to give anymore blood.
No fatal injury yet. ‘Yet’ could change any second to a ‘death count’. If the stump doesn't grow into a fully fledged tree, no stopping the overflowing bloodbath.
Trembling blood loss affecting my concentration. The world pinning around me; the ground is more tilted than I remember, that could be the double vision fault. Loki catches me, stabilizing my uncoordinated limbs.
Without asking permission, Loki slices his own palm, copies my movements. Their blood flows together, soaking into the ground.
Inch by inch the oak grows, not faster enough. A dog whine echoes, Derek in wolf-form, a gash in his fury gut. Blood streaming out.
The dome around the earth forms. Snow dome effect, without added glitter. The plastic night sky, moon and the stars cartoony.