Fic: Stay a While
Author: tryslora
Title: Stay a While
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Jackson (other background pairings)
Character/s: Stiles, Jackson, Lydia, OCs, Danny, McCall/Hale pack
Summary: It’s time to put the Nemeton’s beacon to rest again, and perhaps resolve the questions remaining within Stiles’s relationship with his ex-husband as well.
Warnings: mention of suicide/death (does not happen)
Content Notes: magical Stiles, banshees, magic in general, lightning, danger, past divorce, past major character death (Lydia)
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 4,013 words
Prompt: #168 - Baggage
Author's Notes: When I saw the prompt, I knew there was only one story I wanted to tell. This is the end of the plot portion of the series All Our Yesterdays, which is all about the baggage of a past relationship and moving forward. This story could be read independently, but would make more sense after reading the rest of the series. For those curious, there will be an epilogue eventually after this, but mostly, this is the finale of the series.
Nikki sits on the edge of the kitchen table, her feet swinging back and forth. Caleb stands next to her, one hand on her hip, the other pressed against the table, as if by holding it down, he can somehow hold her in place as well. They look older, Stiles realizes. They are still teenagers-sixteen and seventeen-but they seem so much older than when they went out that night before the car accident.
Fingers brush against his then pull away as the front door opens. Stiles doesn’t turn to look at Jackson, but he’s aware of him standing nearby, of the heat of his body almost too close to Stiles.
“Isaac is all set with the children.” Derek glances around the kitchen, frowning slightly. “Why don’t we move to your living room? Where’s Scott?”
Stiles sees the red on the skin of Nikki’s wrist as her fingers tighten on the edge of the table. “I’m not moving,” she says. Stiles doesn’t think there’s a reason for the kitchen table specifically, but he’s not going to ask about that. He’s not going to argue if she needs to cling to something, or someplace, familiar.
“Do you need to scream?” Because of course Jackson manages to ask the question that Stiles doesn’t really want an answer to. When Nikki shakes her head quickly, Stiles knows he should be able to relax, but he can’t.
“Fine.” Derek glances over his shoulder, motions to whoever is behind him. “We’ll all crowd in the kitchen.”
The kitchen wasn’t made to hold this many people. Jackson ends up pressed against Stiles’s back, and Stiles knows he shouldn’t like it, but it feels good when Jackson’s hand lands on his hip, anchoring him in place. Nikki and Caleb remain in the center, her feet kicking like a metronome, and Danny stands nearby, watching them carefully. Derek and Athene find a space to one side, while Lance pulls up a chair and drops into it, Cora perched on his lap. Scott and Allison arrive last, and Scott goes directly to Caleb’s side, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his son’s head, while apparently inhaling some scent; Stiles has no idea what.
“So,” Stiles says, and they all look at him. He hears the slight hitch in Nikki’s breath, sees the way Caleb’s hand slides over hip to soothe her. He smiles slightly. “Lydia wishes she were here, but I didn’t feel like attempting to do this in two minutes in a cemetery. So it’s just us.”
They’ve all been briefed on the basics. He knows they’ve seen the careful list that he, Nikki, Jackson, and Danny put together with the salient facts, like Nikki’s gathering of energy and Lydia anchoring the Nemeton in the ether.
Nikki’s foot speeds up, vibrating the table. Even Stiles can hear the rush of her breath, knows that she might be on the edge of a panic attack, or at least very ramped up. “So,” she says, and she glances at Stiles, flashing him a smile. “I guess. There’s the Nemeton. And it’s awake. And it used to be anchored in Dad and Scott and Allison. But now… now it’s got a child of its own with Caleb, and then there’s me. And I’m… I’m linked to it. And it’s growing again. Inside of me.”
She presses her hands to her abdomen, makes a face. “I always figured that if I had to be a statistic, I’d be like a typical teenager and be auditioning to get onto Teen Mom or something, but no, I’m a virgin growing a virtual tree of life and death inside of me. And as long as it’s in there, all the weird shit is going to keep coming to Beacon Hills.” She chews on her lip, and it reminds Stiles so much of himself to see it. “I’ve heard the stories and yes, I know that’s a bad thing. I don’t want anyone else to die.” Her voice goes low. “Even me.”
A soft growl from Derek, his eyes flashing blue as Athene touches his arm.
“The problem is, there’s nothing for us to fight.” Jackson’s voice is even, almost flat. “We can’t chop the Nemeton down again-it’s already gone, and we know that was a mistake in the first place. We’re not going to kill the one that’s growing inside of Nikki, because that could kill her, too.”
“Even though the Nemeton is probably just trying to use her to weasel its way back into existence,” Stiles adds, and he feels the way Jackson squeezes his fingers in response.
“What if we let it?” Caleb asks. There’s a soft hiss from Allison, and Jackson stops Stiles from taking a step toward him, angry on behalf of his daughter. Caleb stands his ground, never losing touch with Nikki, her foot still swinging like a frantic metronome. “What if the way to fix this is to let the Nemeton come back?”
“Why?” Stiles is about to say something, but Jackson gets there first with his question and a hand clapped over Stiles’s mouth. Stiles makes a noise, and Jackson just holds on tighter.
Caleb glances at Danny. “We stayed up talking. After you two talked to Lydia. And there’s this whole thing where the Nemeton used to be a balance thing, and like the tree of life, but something turned it into a beacon. So Danny’s grandmother chopped it down, and that didn’t work to really kill it. So now it’s all about death and sacrifice. And there’ve been a lot of people who died there, right? Or died because of it. We know that’s not the answer. Death isn’t going to help us, and I’m worried that it might kill Nikki, or keep here where her mom is or something.”
“Congratulations, Stiles,” Cora says dryly. “When Nikki gives birth, you can be grandpa to a tree.”
Stiles manages to push Jackson’s hand away from his mouth. “Not funny.”
She grins. “Oh, it’s a little bit funny.”
“Not the point.” Nikki’s voice is sharp. “I’ve been-I’ve been trying to find the right equation,” she says, glancing at Danny. “I’ve got the right one for the tree, I can see that now that I know all the variables. But there’s also one for all of us. For Beacon Hills. There’s one that accounts for me and my mother and Danny and everything that went into how we got here. There’s one that has all the deaths and the sacrifices. But I’m still missing pieces.”
“You think you’re going to math your way out of this?” Cora snorts, goes silent as Nikki pins her with a look that is so like Lydia it’s scary.
“Yes,” Nikki says softly. “I know I’m going to.”
“Then we need all the records, and all the personal stories.” Scott uses his alpha voice, and Derek nods immediately. “Any stories we know about the Nemeton, we get it written down. Nikki gets everything she needs so she can work with Danny to sort this out. I’ll talk to my mom for hospital records. We can get Danny access to the county records for cases. And no one-I mean no one-goes off on their own about this. Right?” His gaze skates across Nikki and Caleb, then falls on Jackson and Stiles in the end. “We’re doing this together, because we need to end it this time. For good.”
There’s nothing Stiles can do but nod.
He overhears the way Jackson puts his trust in Danny’s hands-tells him to make sure Nikki doesn’t slip away with some idea of taking things into her own hands. Stiles isn’t sure if he completely trusts Danny right now, but he understands that it wasn’t Danny’s secret to tell. He kept his promise to Lydia even after she was in the grave, and Stiles knows that was the right thing to do.
Even if he doesn’t like it.
#
Figuring out the equations is not a quick procedure.
Stiles’s house becomes the primary base of operations, with three laptops open and going at all times in the living room, sometimes as many as five all networked and working on the same files. Nikki has to be reminded to sleep, and Stiles can’t argue when it’s Caleb who can get her to step away and rest for a while. He knows they’re spending time in the same bed, but he also doubts they’re doing anything he doesn’t want to know about.
Danny crashes on the couch, sleeping in two hour shifts. Haley and Stephen come home, because Stiles wants them to have consistency in their young lives. When they receive a call from the alpha of their previous pack, Stiles can’t even find the energy to celebrate that these young ones are going to be his.
His and Jackson’s.
Oh holy crap, he’s doing this all over again.
He sets the phone down, the line still open, and gets up and walks out the back door. He’s sitting in a camp chair, staring up at the clear night sky, when he hears the back door open and close, catches the scent of Jackson’s cologne. He closes his eyes, inhales as Jackson’s fingers skim across his cheek.
“You okay?”
“Not really,” Stiles says. “Everything’s so different from where it was.”
Jackson sinks down to the ground next to him, sits cross-legged, his hand finding Stiles’s knee. “We’re still carrying the same baggage,” he says dryly. “We’ve just unpacked a little of it, and picked up some new pieces along the way.”
“How are we starting a family again together? We’re not… we’re not even married.” Stiles watches as Jackson threads their fingers together, squeezes carefully.
“We could be,” Jackson says slowly. “Eventually. When we’re not running headlong into a supernatural threat. When we’ve had time to come to terms with this, when we can step back and see if we forgive each other.”
“I forgive you.” The words come out on the edge of a laugh, dark and low, and Stiles shakes his head. “I… I’m angry at you. We lost ten years, Jackson.”
“You were an idiot,” Jackson tells him.
“That too.” Stiles can admit that now. They were both so young, and sometimes being with Jackson sends him right back to that time, to those teenage years. “And so were you. But I forgive you. And I want you in my life. You, and Nik, and Haley, and Stephen. I want us to adopt them officially when the papers come through, so they can be little Stilinski-Whittemore kids, too. And if you want to get married again, I’m in.” He cranes his head, turns his hand in Jackson’s so he can squeeze his fingers in return. “So if you’re asking a question, the answer is yes.”
“I forgive you, too.” Jackson surges up to his knees, clasps Stiles’s head as he tugs him down and kisses him slowly. It’s easy and quiet and restrained, and Stiles whines softly because there is a part of him that wants to give in and take more, but it’s not the time.
“Dad! Papa!” The back door slams and there’s a thump as Nikki leaps off the stairs and onto the ground. She pulls up short, barks a delighted laugh. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt this. It looks like it’s just getting good.”
Stiles glances at Jackson. “Just for that, I think we should leave her in the dark.”
“Did you want something?” Jackson smirks and Stiles grins at that look, boyish and impish and hiding secrets from their daughter. “You sounded like you were looking for us for a reason.”
The smile falls away from Nikki’s lips. “We found an answer. We’re pretty sure nothing’s going to explode.”
“You realize that’s exactly what Lydia and I thought the night we shut down the Nemeton 16 years ago, right?” Stiles says, and Nikki nods somberly.
“Exactly. That’s why I’m worried.”
#
The math is beyond Stiles’s comprehension.
As soon as he walks in the house, he hears the muttered whispers of a ghostly presence, and he knows that Lydia is pushing her energy to the point where Stiles can hear her. He points to one spot on the board, says whatever Lydia is saying, and Nikki goes to fix it in a rush.
The problem is, Stiles still doesn’t know what it means.
“Over the years, there have been a total of thirty-five deaths spilled at the Nemeton’s roots,” Danny says. “That includes Lydia, as well as the sacrifice you three made back in high school. We may be off by a few. There’s evidence to say that others died there-blood in the rings of the stump-but we can’t identify them. So we’re estimating. We also don’t know if Nikki being bound to the stump counts as a sacrifice or not.”
“I think it does,” Nikki says firmly. “And so does Caleb.”
I agree, Lydia whispers in Stiles’s ear, so he speaks it for her.
“Thirty-six,” Danny says, and Nikki changes something else on the board.
“So what does it mean?” Stiles says, trying to get past the sprawl of numbers into something concrete that he can understand. “How do we get through this and make sure we’re all safe? I’ve got babies to raise and a teenager to get safely off to college.”
Nikki’s gaze drops, and when Stiles tries to look at Caleb and Danny, neither of them will meet his eyes.
“Nikki,” Jackson says, voice low and dangerous.
“It’ll be okay, Papa,” she says softly.
“That’s not an answer, Nicolette Stilinski-Whittemore.” Stiles draws out the full name, sees the faint flinch in response. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“There’s lightning involved.” The words come out in a rush of a whisper, barely audible to the point where Stiles thinks he’s imagined them. But he feels the way Jackson goes stiff and knows he heard right.
“No.” Stiles cuts a hand through the air. “Definitely not.” Lydia is suspiciously silent on this point, and he wishes she would weigh in, wishes he could summon her right here to talk some sense into her daughter. “We’ve talked about what happened last time. Sixteen years ago you almost died because of unexpected lightning.”
“But that’s the whole point. It’s the part of the equation that makes it word, Dad,” she protests. “There’s all this energy inside of me. All this… this… this life. I have the Nemeton right here,” she gestures from her head to her toe. “And I need to put it into the stump. We need to give it the life to balance the death. And we need a catalyst. Lightning is the catalyst.”
“So you’re talking about standing on a stump in the middle of the forest, calling down lightning to strike you,” Stiles says slowly. “You’re talking about committing suicide, Nik.”
Her chin tilts up, her arms cross. “I will survive. There is no possible outcome in which I die.”
“How do you know?” Jackson asks before Stiles can manage to get the words out. Stiles lets himself sink back against Jackson’s chest, takes comfort in the arm that wraps around his waist.
Nikki smiles slightly. “I know because my mom told me. And I know because Danny’s going to be there. That’s the part you were missing before. You had two banshees and no damper. The equation didn’t account for all the variables. But I have everything listed. So it’s going to be okay.”
It’s not a good solution. Stiles can’t say whether it’s there right one or the wrong one, but he knows in his heart that it’s dangerous as fuck and he’s not sure he can sit there and watch it happen.
On the other hand, if his baby girl is going to put herself in danger, he won’t let her go alone.
Nikki walks up to him, carefully wedges herself between Jackson and Stiles and wraps her arms around both of them, her head tucked against Stiles’s chest. “You did stupid things when you were my age and you survived,” she says, words muffled.
He strokes her hair, remembers holding Lydia through traumatic times. “Most of us did. Not everyone,” he says softly. “But we’ll make sure you get through this. I’m not letting you go.”
Stiles is standing on the brink of having the perfect life again. He’s not going to lose it now.
#
They need a clear night. Any risk of lightning could hasten the event, or upset the timing. Nikki wants to be absolutely positive that everything is under her complete control.
They discuss it several times over the next week, and Danny puts together packets of information at Nikki’s behest, detailing each pack member’s role. There are pictures, diagrams, graphs, and of course, equations upon equations. Stiles can’t fault her preparation, even if he still doesn’t like the plan.
Isaac is the only member of the pack not at the Nemeton, but he’s not far away, close enough that he could run to it if need be. He has the children safe by the cars, a minivan set up as a small playground on wheels so that the girls can play while the infants snooze.
Nikki arranges everyone meticulously in a circle around the stump. She has specific spaces marked on the ground, chalk equations everywhere, drawn on wood, dirt, and nearby trees. She mutters to herself as she continues to work on the equations, kneeling on the stump, writing across it. When she pauses, there’s a flush to her cheeks, and Jackson squeezes Stiles’s hand, leans in to whisper, “I can smell the energy in the air.”
From the lifted noses, the flared nostrils, Stiles sees the other wolves sensing it as well. There’s a low yip from Caleb, then a soft howl that slowly grows until Scott leads them with a deep-throated sound in a pack howl. The sound fades, and Nikki blinks into the darkness. “It’s time.”
Stiles walks up to the pile of mistletoe twigs that lie on the stump. Caleb sits down, cross-legged and facing the pile, while Nikki stands on the stump, carefully straddling him. Caleb has her hands on her thighs, steadying her, and Nikki watches as Stiles lights the twigs, setting them to a thick smudge of smoke.
There’s a soft murmur as Lydia appears, facing her daughter, hands out and up so they can press palm to palm, mirror images in life and death.
Stiles has heard magic before. He’s heard chants, watched somatic ceremonies. He’s never heard anything like this, the steady rumble of information rolling over them. Equations aren’t meant to be spoken, but Lydia and Nikki are sharing the words, describing the formations of math while tracing pathways with their hands. And Stiles can see it growing around them, can see the way the energy merges into the space between them, like a sapling growing out of the center of the Nemeton. Caleb’s back is perfectly straight, as if he echoes that growth, his breath shuddering with every word they speak.
Fingers touch Stiles, and he tangles his hand on one side with Jackson, on the other with Allison. He grips tightly, tries to remember to breathe through every second because this can’t possibly take long.
They only have Lydia for two minutes, after all.
Even though he knows it’s coming, the crack is a surprise, the force of it throwing him backwards in a crackle of bright light. He’s blinding, blinking into the darkness with spots dancing before his eyes, his body aching from hitting the ground. There are soft groans, whines, and a sensation of energy dissipating. Disappearing.
“Nikki.” He crawls forward, makes it to the stump as his vision clears. She kneels there, palms pressed flat into dark spots in the stump, Caleb still somehow behind her.
Nikki’s hair floats, as if electricity lifts it, and when she lifts her head, her eyes burn bright white for a moment. Then she sits back, falls into Caleb’s grasp as they slide off the stump, rolling to a thumping stop a few feet away from it.
There are three fresh sprigs on the stump, growing from the blackened place where the fire burned, and where Nikki’s hands lay.
“Did it work?” Scott asks, and Stiles has to shake his head.
“I have no idea,” he admits. “I don’t feel-”
“I feel different.” Caleb manages to get to his feet, pulls Nikki with him. “I feel like… like something is gone. Like I had this pull, and it’s not there. Nik?”
She smiles widely. “I don’t want to scream,” she says. “Which is good, at least for now.”
“It worked.”
Stiles turns at the clipped words, because it’s impossible that he’s hearing them so clearly, impossible that everyone else is hearing them as well. “Lydia?”
“Oh honestly, do you think I’ve figured out how to manifest? Give it time, Stiles. You know this is a process.” A long sigh. “But yes, I’m still here. I haven’t crossed over. In fact, I believe I’m going to be here for a very long time. The Nemeton needed help understanding death, and I will remain here as its guardian. Now that it has what it needed, it will no longer try to bring in supernatural creatures.” He can almost hear the way her eyebrow rises; he knows her that well. “Beacon Hills still has a surfeit of magic imbued in the land. People will be attracted to the telluric currents. People will come. But it will be under pack control, and no longer a risk to the life of those who live here.”
“So, it’s over,” Scott says.
“It’s over,” Lydia confirms. “Now go. Take your pack members, take your families and your children, and go home. I’ll be here when you want to talk to me.”
Stiles grips Jackson’s hand tightly, a silent request. They make sure that Caleb is steady on his feet to get Nikki home safely, and ask Derek to make sure that Isaac brings Haley and Stephen home as well. They wait while Nikki erases the remains of the chalk, and Jackson chats with Danny briefly.
By the time everyone else has gone, Stiles has been staring at the three twigs for several minutes, and he swears they’re bigger than they were before. “How fast is the tree going to grow?” he asks.
“That was a very large infusion of positive energy, enough to balance the negative energy that’s been gathering in the roots,” Lydia says slowly. “So the answer is: very, very quickly. Within the year it should be at full growth again.”
Stiles glances at Jackson, shrugs on shoulder as he looks at the stump, and Jackson smirks slightly.
“What?” Lydia asks. “You might not be able to see me, but I am absolutely able to see that you two idiots have something to say.”
“We’re going to get married again,” Jackson says.
“Here,” Stiles adds.
“Where else would you do it?” There’s a flicker of movement, and for a brief moment, Stiles swears he sees her sitting on the stump, knees pulled up and chin perched on her hands as she watches them. “Have you worked through all your issues then?”
Stiles snorts as Jackson replies, “I think we’ll be working through issues for a long time, Lydia, but we’ve worked through enough.” When Stiles reaches for him, Jackson pulls him in close, and Stiles leans in to kiss him slowly.
“I’m okay with working through our issues for the rest of our life,” Stiles murmurs. “As long as we do it together.”
“That means listening,” Jackson says softly, and Stiles kisses the words away, because he knows Jackson’s right. It’s not perfect, but at least they are on the path to trying.
“Idiots,” Lydia says fondly, and Stiles thinks that’s okay. It’s not that yesterday doesn’t matter anymore. Every piece of yesterday is important; the hard is trying to face tomorrow together. And Stiles thinks they can do that now.
Title: Stay a While
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Jackson (other background pairings)
Character/s: Stiles, Jackson, Lydia, OCs, Danny, McCall/Hale pack
Summary: It’s time to put the Nemeton’s beacon to rest again, and perhaps resolve the questions remaining within Stiles’s relationship with his ex-husband as well.
Warnings: mention of suicide/death (does not happen)
Content Notes: magical Stiles, banshees, magic in general, lightning, danger, past divorce, past major character death (Lydia)
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 4,013 words
Prompt: #168 - Baggage
Author's Notes: When I saw the prompt, I knew there was only one story I wanted to tell. This is the end of the plot portion of the series All Our Yesterdays, which is all about the baggage of a past relationship and moving forward. This story could be read independently, but would make more sense after reading the rest of the series. For those curious, there will be an epilogue eventually after this, but mostly, this is the finale of the series.
Nikki sits on the edge of the kitchen table, her feet swinging back and forth. Caleb stands next to her, one hand on her hip, the other pressed against the table, as if by holding it down, he can somehow hold her in place as well. They look older, Stiles realizes. They are still teenagers-sixteen and seventeen-but they seem so much older than when they went out that night before the car accident.
Fingers brush against his then pull away as the front door opens. Stiles doesn’t turn to look at Jackson, but he’s aware of him standing nearby, of the heat of his body almost too close to Stiles.
“Isaac is all set with the children.” Derek glances around the kitchen, frowning slightly. “Why don’t we move to your living room? Where’s Scott?”
Stiles sees the red on the skin of Nikki’s wrist as her fingers tighten on the edge of the table. “I’m not moving,” she says. Stiles doesn’t think there’s a reason for the kitchen table specifically, but he’s not going to ask about that. He’s not going to argue if she needs to cling to something, or someplace, familiar.
“Do you need to scream?” Because of course Jackson manages to ask the question that Stiles doesn’t really want an answer to. When Nikki shakes her head quickly, Stiles knows he should be able to relax, but he can’t.
“Fine.” Derek glances over his shoulder, motions to whoever is behind him. “We’ll all crowd in the kitchen.”
The kitchen wasn’t made to hold this many people. Jackson ends up pressed against Stiles’s back, and Stiles knows he shouldn’t like it, but it feels good when Jackson’s hand lands on his hip, anchoring him in place. Nikki and Caleb remain in the center, her feet kicking like a metronome, and Danny stands nearby, watching them carefully. Derek and Athene find a space to one side, while Lance pulls up a chair and drops into it, Cora perched on his lap. Scott and Allison arrive last, and Scott goes directly to Caleb’s side, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his son’s head, while apparently inhaling some scent; Stiles has no idea what.
“So,” Stiles says, and they all look at him. He hears the slight hitch in Nikki’s breath, sees the way Caleb’s hand slides over hip to soothe her. He smiles slightly. “Lydia wishes she were here, but I didn’t feel like attempting to do this in two minutes in a cemetery. So it’s just us.”
They’ve all been briefed on the basics. He knows they’ve seen the careful list that he, Nikki, Jackson, and Danny put together with the salient facts, like Nikki’s gathering of energy and Lydia anchoring the Nemeton in the ether.
Nikki’s foot speeds up, vibrating the table. Even Stiles can hear the rush of her breath, knows that she might be on the edge of a panic attack, or at least very ramped up. “So,” she says, and she glances at Stiles, flashing him a smile. “I guess. There’s the Nemeton. And it’s awake. And it used to be anchored in Dad and Scott and Allison. But now… now it’s got a child of its own with Caleb, and then there’s me. And I’m… I’m linked to it. And it’s growing again. Inside of me.”
She presses her hands to her abdomen, makes a face. “I always figured that if I had to be a statistic, I’d be like a typical teenager and be auditioning to get onto Teen Mom or something, but no, I’m a virgin growing a virtual tree of life and death inside of me. And as long as it’s in there, all the weird shit is going to keep coming to Beacon Hills.” She chews on her lip, and it reminds Stiles so much of himself to see it. “I’ve heard the stories and yes, I know that’s a bad thing. I don’t want anyone else to die.” Her voice goes low. “Even me.”
A soft growl from Derek, his eyes flashing blue as Athene touches his arm.
“The problem is, there’s nothing for us to fight.” Jackson’s voice is even, almost flat. “We can’t chop the Nemeton down again-it’s already gone, and we know that was a mistake in the first place. We’re not going to kill the one that’s growing inside of Nikki, because that could kill her, too.”
“Even though the Nemeton is probably just trying to use her to weasel its way back into existence,” Stiles adds, and he feels the way Jackson squeezes his fingers in response.
“What if we let it?” Caleb asks. There’s a soft hiss from Allison, and Jackson stops Stiles from taking a step toward him, angry on behalf of his daughter. Caleb stands his ground, never losing touch with Nikki, her foot still swinging like a frantic metronome. “What if the way to fix this is to let the Nemeton come back?”
“Why?” Stiles is about to say something, but Jackson gets there first with his question and a hand clapped over Stiles’s mouth. Stiles makes a noise, and Jackson just holds on tighter.
Caleb glances at Danny. “We stayed up talking. After you two talked to Lydia. And there’s this whole thing where the Nemeton used to be a balance thing, and like the tree of life, but something turned it into a beacon. So Danny’s grandmother chopped it down, and that didn’t work to really kill it. So now it’s all about death and sacrifice. And there’ve been a lot of people who died there, right? Or died because of it. We know that’s not the answer. Death isn’t going to help us, and I’m worried that it might kill Nikki, or keep here where her mom is or something.”
“Congratulations, Stiles,” Cora says dryly. “When Nikki gives birth, you can be grandpa to a tree.”
Stiles manages to push Jackson’s hand away from his mouth. “Not funny.”
She grins. “Oh, it’s a little bit funny.”
“Not the point.” Nikki’s voice is sharp. “I’ve been-I’ve been trying to find the right equation,” she says, glancing at Danny. “I’ve got the right one for the tree, I can see that now that I know all the variables. But there’s also one for all of us. For Beacon Hills. There’s one that accounts for me and my mother and Danny and everything that went into how we got here. There’s one that has all the deaths and the sacrifices. But I’m still missing pieces.”
“You think you’re going to math your way out of this?” Cora snorts, goes silent as Nikki pins her with a look that is so like Lydia it’s scary.
“Yes,” Nikki says softly. “I know I’m going to.”
“Then we need all the records, and all the personal stories.” Scott uses his alpha voice, and Derek nods immediately. “Any stories we know about the Nemeton, we get it written down. Nikki gets everything she needs so she can work with Danny to sort this out. I’ll talk to my mom for hospital records. We can get Danny access to the county records for cases. And no one-I mean no one-goes off on their own about this. Right?” His gaze skates across Nikki and Caleb, then falls on Jackson and Stiles in the end. “We’re doing this together, because we need to end it this time. For good.”
There’s nothing Stiles can do but nod.
He overhears the way Jackson puts his trust in Danny’s hands-tells him to make sure Nikki doesn’t slip away with some idea of taking things into her own hands. Stiles isn’t sure if he completely trusts Danny right now, but he understands that it wasn’t Danny’s secret to tell. He kept his promise to Lydia even after she was in the grave, and Stiles knows that was the right thing to do.
Even if he doesn’t like it.
#
Figuring out the equations is not a quick procedure.
Stiles’s house becomes the primary base of operations, with three laptops open and going at all times in the living room, sometimes as many as five all networked and working on the same files. Nikki has to be reminded to sleep, and Stiles can’t argue when it’s Caleb who can get her to step away and rest for a while. He knows they’re spending time in the same bed, but he also doubts they’re doing anything he doesn’t want to know about.
Danny crashes on the couch, sleeping in two hour shifts. Haley and Stephen come home, because Stiles wants them to have consistency in their young lives. When they receive a call from the alpha of their previous pack, Stiles can’t even find the energy to celebrate that these young ones are going to be his.
His and Jackson’s.
Oh holy crap, he’s doing this all over again.
He sets the phone down, the line still open, and gets up and walks out the back door. He’s sitting in a camp chair, staring up at the clear night sky, when he hears the back door open and close, catches the scent of Jackson’s cologne. He closes his eyes, inhales as Jackson’s fingers skim across his cheek.
“You okay?”
“Not really,” Stiles says. “Everything’s so different from where it was.”
Jackson sinks down to the ground next to him, sits cross-legged, his hand finding Stiles’s knee. “We’re still carrying the same baggage,” he says dryly. “We’ve just unpacked a little of it, and picked up some new pieces along the way.”
“How are we starting a family again together? We’re not… we’re not even married.” Stiles watches as Jackson threads their fingers together, squeezes carefully.
“We could be,” Jackson says slowly. “Eventually. When we’re not running headlong into a supernatural threat. When we’ve had time to come to terms with this, when we can step back and see if we forgive each other.”
“I forgive you.” The words come out on the edge of a laugh, dark and low, and Stiles shakes his head. “I… I’m angry at you. We lost ten years, Jackson.”
“You were an idiot,” Jackson tells him.
“That too.” Stiles can admit that now. They were both so young, and sometimes being with Jackson sends him right back to that time, to those teenage years. “And so were you. But I forgive you. And I want you in my life. You, and Nik, and Haley, and Stephen. I want us to adopt them officially when the papers come through, so they can be little Stilinski-Whittemore kids, too. And if you want to get married again, I’m in.” He cranes his head, turns his hand in Jackson’s so he can squeeze his fingers in return. “So if you’re asking a question, the answer is yes.”
“I forgive you, too.” Jackson surges up to his knees, clasps Stiles’s head as he tugs him down and kisses him slowly. It’s easy and quiet and restrained, and Stiles whines softly because there is a part of him that wants to give in and take more, but it’s not the time.
“Dad! Papa!” The back door slams and there’s a thump as Nikki leaps off the stairs and onto the ground. She pulls up short, barks a delighted laugh. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt this. It looks like it’s just getting good.”
Stiles glances at Jackson. “Just for that, I think we should leave her in the dark.”
“Did you want something?” Jackson smirks and Stiles grins at that look, boyish and impish and hiding secrets from their daughter. “You sounded like you were looking for us for a reason.”
The smile falls away from Nikki’s lips. “We found an answer. We’re pretty sure nothing’s going to explode.”
“You realize that’s exactly what Lydia and I thought the night we shut down the Nemeton 16 years ago, right?” Stiles says, and Nikki nods somberly.
“Exactly. That’s why I’m worried.”
#
The math is beyond Stiles’s comprehension.
As soon as he walks in the house, he hears the muttered whispers of a ghostly presence, and he knows that Lydia is pushing her energy to the point where Stiles can hear her. He points to one spot on the board, says whatever Lydia is saying, and Nikki goes to fix it in a rush.
The problem is, Stiles still doesn’t know what it means.
“Over the years, there have been a total of thirty-five deaths spilled at the Nemeton’s roots,” Danny says. “That includes Lydia, as well as the sacrifice you three made back in high school. We may be off by a few. There’s evidence to say that others died there-blood in the rings of the stump-but we can’t identify them. So we’re estimating. We also don’t know if Nikki being bound to the stump counts as a sacrifice or not.”
“I think it does,” Nikki says firmly. “And so does Caleb.”
I agree, Lydia whispers in Stiles’s ear, so he speaks it for her.
“Thirty-six,” Danny says, and Nikki changes something else on the board.
“So what does it mean?” Stiles says, trying to get past the sprawl of numbers into something concrete that he can understand. “How do we get through this and make sure we’re all safe? I’ve got babies to raise and a teenager to get safely off to college.”
Nikki’s gaze drops, and when Stiles tries to look at Caleb and Danny, neither of them will meet his eyes.
“Nikki,” Jackson says, voice low and dangerous.
“It’ll be okay, Papa,” she says softly.
“That’s not an answer, Nicolette Stilinski-Whittemore.” Stiles draws out the full name, sees the faint flinch in response. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“There’s lightning involved.” The words come out in a rush of a whisper, barely audible to the point where Stiles thinks he’s imagined them. But he feels the way Jackson goes stiff and knows he heard right.
“No.” Stiles cuts a hand through the air. “Definitely not.” Lydia is suspiciously silent on this point, and he wishes she would weigh in, wishes he could summon her right here to talk some sense into her daughter. “We’ve talked about what happened last time. Sixteen years ago you almost died because of unexpected lightning.”
“But that’s the whole point. It’s the part of the equation that makes it word, Dad,” she protests. “There’s all this energy inside of me. All this… this… this life. I have the Nemeton right here,” she gestures from her head to her toe. “And I need to put it into the stump. We need to give it the life to balance the death. And we need a catalyst. Lightning is the catalyst.”
“So you’re talking about standing on a stump in the middle of the forest, calling down lightning to strike you,” Stiles says slowly. “You’re talking about committing suicide, Nik.”
Her chin tilts up, her arms cross. “I will survive. There is no possible outcome in which I die.”
“How do you know?” Jackson asks before Stiles can manage to get the words out. Stiles lets himself sink back against Jackson’s chest, takes comfort in the arm that wraps around his waist.
Nikki smiles slightly. “I know because my mom told me. And I know because Danny’s going to be there. That’s the part you were missing before. You had two banshees and no damper. The equation didn’t account for all the variables. But I have everything listed. So it’s going to be okay.”
It’s not a good solution. Stiles can’t say whether it’s there right one or the wrong one, but he knows in his heart that it’s dangerous as fuck and he’s not sure he can sit there and watch it happen.
On the other hand, if his baby girl is going to put herself in danger, he won’t let her go alone.
Nikki walks up to him, carefully wedges herself between Jackson and Stiles and wraps her arms around both of them, her head tucked against Stiles’s chest. “You did stupid things when you were my age and you survived,” she says, words muffled.
He strokes her hair, remembers holding Lydia through traumatic times. “Most of us did. Not everyone,” he says softly. “But we’ll make sure you get through this. I’m not letting you go.”
Stiles is standing on the brink of having the perfect life again. He’s not going to lose it now.
#
They need a clear night. Any risk of lightning could hasten the event, or upset the timing. Nikki wants to be absolutely positive that everything is under her complete control.
They discuss it several times over the next week, and Danny puts together packets of information at Nikki’s behest, detailing each pack member’s role. There are pictures, diagrams, graphs, and of course, equations upon equations. Stiles can’t fault her preparation, even if he still doesn’t like the plan.
Isaac is the only member of the pack not at the Nemeton, but he’s not far away, close enough that he could run to it if need be. He has the children safe by the cars, a minivan set up as a small playground on wheels so that the girls can play while the infants snooze.
Nikki arranges everyone meticulously in a circle around the stump. She has specific spaces marked on the ground, chalk equations everywhere, drawn on wood, dirt, and nearby trees. She mutters to herself as she continues to work on the equations, kneeling on the stump, writing across it. When she pauses, there’s a flush to her cheeks, and Jackson squeezes Stiles’s hand, leans in to whisper, “I can smell the energy in the air.”
From the lifted noses, the flared nostrils, Stiles sees the other wolves sensing it as well. There’s a low yip from Caleb, then a soft howl that slowly grows until Scott leads them with a deep-throated sound in a pack howl. The sound fades, and Nikki blinks into the darkness. “It’s time.”
Stiles walks up to the pile of mistletoe twigs that lie on the stump. Caleb sits down, cross-legged and facing the pile, while Nikki stands on the stump, carefully straddling him. Caleb has her hands on her thighs, steadying her, and Nikki watches as Stiles lights the twigs, setting them to a thick smudge of smoke.
There’s a soft murmur as Lydia appears, facing her daughter, hands out and up so they can press palm to palm, mirror images in life and death.
Stiles has heard magic before. He’s heard chants, watched somatic ceremonies. He’s never heard anything like this, the steady rumble of information rolling over them. Equations aren’t meant to be spoken, but Lydia and Nikki are sharing the words, describing the formations of math while tracing pathways with their hands. And Stiles can see it growing around them, can see the way the energy merges into the space between them, like a sapling growing out of the center of the Nemeton. Caleb’s back is perfectly straight, as if he echoes that growth, his breath shuddering with every word they speak.
Fingers touch Stiles, and he tangles his hand on one side with Jackson, on the other with Allison. He grips tightly, tries to remember to breathe through every second because this can’t possibly take long.
They only have Lydia for two minutes, after all.
Even though he knows it’s coming, the crack is a surprise, the force of it throwing him backwards in a crackle of bright light. He’s blinding, blinking into the darkness with spots dancing before his eyes, his body aching from hitting the ground. There are soft groans, whines, and a sensation of energy dissipating. Disappearing.
“Nikki.” He crawls forward, makes it to the stump as his vision clears. She kneels there, palms pressed flat into dark spots in the stump, Caleb still somehow behind her.
Nikki’s hair floats, as if electricity lifts it, and when she lifts her head, her eyes burn bright white for a moment. Then she sits back, falls into Caleb’s grasp as they slide off the stump, rolling to a thumping stop a few feet away from it.
There are three fresh sprigs on the stump, growing from the blackened place where the fire burned, and where Nikki’s hands lay.
“Did it work?” Scott asks, and Stiles has to shake his head.
“I have no idea,” he admits. “I don’t feel-”
“I feel different.” Caleb manages to get to his feet, pulls Nikki with him. “I feel like… like something is gone. Like I had this pull, and it’s not there. Nik?”
She smiles widely. “I don’t want to scream,” she says. “Which is good, at least for now.”
“It worked.”
Stiles turns at the clipped words, because it’s impossible that he’s hearing them so clearly, impossible that everyone else is hearing them as well. “Lydia?”
“Oh honestly, do you think I’ve figured out how to manifest? Give it time, Stiles. You know this is a process.” A long sigh. “But yes, I’m still here. I haven’t crossed over. In fact, I believe I’m going to be here for a very long time. The Nemeton needed help understanding death, and I will remain here as its guardian. Now that it has what it needed, it will no longer try to bring in supernatural creatures.” He can almost hear the way her eyebrow rises; he knows her that well. “Beacon Hills still has a surfeit of magic imbued in the land. People will be attracted to the telluric currents. People will come. But it will be under pack control, and no longer a risk to the life of those who live here.”
“So, it’s over,” Scott says.
“It’s over,” Lydia confirms. “Now go. Take your pack members, take your families and your children, and go home. I’ll be here when you want to talk to me.”
Stiles grips Jackson’s hand tightly, a silent request. They make sure that Caleb is steady on his feet to get Nikki home safely, and ask Derek to make sure that Isaac brings Haley and Stephen home as well. They wait while Nikki erases the remains of the chalk, and Jackson chats with Danny briefly.
By the time everyone else has gone, Stiles has been staring at the three twigs for several minutes, and he swears they’re bigger than they were before. “How fast is the tree going to grow?” he asks.
“That was a very large infusion of positive energy, enough to balance the negative energy that’s been gathering in the roots,” Lydia says slowly. “So the answer is: very, very quickly. Within the year it should be at full growth again.”
Stiles glances at Jackson, shrugs on shoulder as he looks at the stump, and Jackson smirks slightly.
“What?” Lydia asks. “You might not be able to see me, but I am absolutely able to see that you two idiots have something to say.”
“We’re going to get married again,” Jackson says.
“Here,” Stiles adds.
“Where else would you do it?” There’s a flicker of movement, and for a brief moment, Stiles swears he sees her sitting on the stump, knees pulled up and chin perched on her hands as she watches them. “Have you worked through all your issues then?”
Stiles snorts as Jackson replies, “I think we’ll be working through issues for a long time, Lydia, but we’ve worked through enough.” When Stiles reaches for him, Jackson pulls him in close, and Stiles leans in to kiss him slowly.
“I’m okay with working through our issues for the rest of our life,” Stiles murmurs. “As long as we do it together.”
“That means listening,” Jackson says softly, and Stiles kisses the words away, because he knows Jackson’s right. It’s not perfect, but at least they are on the path to trying.
“Idiots,” Lydia says fondly, and Stiles thinks that’s okay. It’s not that yesterday doesn’t matter anymore. Every piece of yesterday is important; the hard is trying to face tomorrow together. And Stiles thinks they can do that now.