Nature and Nurture: Finding the Perfect Blend

Chapter 7: The History

If this was something that was going to happen on a regular basis, it was going to suck big time. How much iron was in the world anyway?

"Fuck!" Stiles hit the keyboard and his computer turned off. When he tried to get it to turn on again, there was a smell coming from it that did not bode well. Burnt electronics. His computer had fried its brain. "Well screw you, too!"

He went into the kitchen, made himself a fruit smoothie and looked out the window. He was trying to do the right thing by his dad and not astral project without someone with him, but if iron was going to be a problem he needed to find out sooner rather than later. Mind made up, conscious relatively clear, Stiles put his smoothie down and grabbed his cane. He walked out the back door.

Stiles stepped down off the porch and tipped his face up to the sun, enjoying the feeling of the light touching his skin. He walked over to the sycamore and lay down underneath it.

The tree's branches were long and spread over a wide area. Stiles' mom had told him it was a magic tree, that all trees were full of magic. Now he was aware that magic was real, and he was part of nature himself, becoming more wild every day, Stiles believed her. Had she known about the supernatural or had she just been more in touch with what was out there than the average person? He wished, not for the first time, that she was around so he could ask her all the questions he had. She would have sat with him and answered them all day.

Stiles smiled up at the tree. He could imagine his mom being a part of it, part of the wind through its branches, part of the earth beneath where he lay. If so, she was still supporting him, still propping him up, pushing him forward, helping him be.

The sun managed to warm him enough that Stiles started to nod off. It pulled at him, wrapped around him, flowed into him. There was nothing but a certain kind of relief in letting go.

***

Stiles was at the Nemeton again.

There were clouds covering most of the sky. A wind was blowing through his clothes and the sepia-toned atmosphere of his first visit had changed to a muddled gray. The air wasn't as vibrant as it had been before, with no electric flashes on his skin.

The entire area had a lonely feel today, but Stiles found he liked the brush of the wind on his skin. It was energetic and lively. He pushed his hair back, only for it to do as it wanted as the wind pulled and teased it into wilder than normal snarls.

He called out, "You here?"

The air condensed in front of him so quickly and so closely, he yelped and stepped back. The legs on the Fae were more solid this time and there was almost a face, too. A flash of nose and a pointy chin.

The Fae floated forward so they were next to each other. "Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. We were worried." Its words were in Stiles' ear, a whisper of mist that flickered over his cheek.

"Worried? Oh! No, I'm okay. I was hurt." Stiles put a hand on his chest where the mark from the iron rod was. "But I'm okay now."

"What transpired?" There was a fleeting touch to his chest.

"Someone put an iron rod on me."

The Fae hissed in fury and its mists grew darker in shade. "Who dared?!"

"It was a druid." Stiles didn't want to name him.

"Druid!" The Fae sounded like it spat the word out. "They are nothing but trouble and pain! Stay away from them!"

"I am. I despise him." Stiles hadn't told anyone else just how much he loathed Deaton. "I'm not even sure exactly why. I mean, he burnt me, so yeah, hating because of that, but I know it was there right from the minute I started becoming Fae."