Stiles Stilinski’s room was covered in plants; Every shelf, table, and more than half the floor was covered in pots of all sizes filled with all manner of beautiful blooming things; Leaves shivered whenever the door opened or closed, soft whispers of photosynthetic souls.
Stiles’ desk was covered in plants, a number of old looking books and a laptop stood open, gathering dust. From the ceiling hung a few suspension baskets, filled with not only your average house plants, but also bunches of lavender, sage, parsley, catnip, and even a small rose.
His windows were almost always flung open, letting the sun and the soft winds in. Even in winter he left them open for part of the day, letting a thin layer of natural frost cover his perpetually damp floor.
Out of his dresser drawer not only socks, and crumpled t-shirts but also moss and a few crawling vines hung. They had taken over a full drawer, leaving it unable to close or open but instead creating a small garden bed from which fresh sprouts sprung.
If one were to open his closet door they would find not only neatly hung pants, and a few crumpled items of clothing on the floor, but also the flowers which thrived in darkness; Lichen hanging in clumps from a tarp hung from opposing walls.
This was an altar; This was a holy place, so laced with magic that it was nearly palpable in the air. One would walk in, and a gush of clean, forest like air would hit you in the face, laced with all the clean kitchen familiar scents of the herbs growing across the room.
Stiles’ mother had painted the room white, but the ceiling was dark blue, small yellow stars hand painted onto the ceiling. They were so precise they almost seemed to shine; though the painter had been dead for some years now, after losing a battle with brain cancer, the stars seemed to hold some of the twinkle of her eyes that the Stilinski household was so familiar with.
This was a green witch's altar; A wiccan safe haven that his mother had created for him when he was only 3. She had painted, put in relief, hung, planted, cared for, and taught him how to do the same to all the plants in the room. She taught him how to sit in the middle of his massive bed, eyes closed and candles lit, to ground himself and become one with all the nature flourishing around him. She had taught him the power of three, and the rede, she had been the one to hand bind a book for him to pour his soul into every time a new magick happened or a new spell was cast.
Now, at 17 years old, Stiles still lived in the increasingly crowded though no less beautiful and fresh room. He lived with only his father now, who didn’t understand like his mother had; He didn’t understand the teen’s pull to the supernatural or the greenery that his mother had been so fond of.
He was on the shorter side of average, his features somewhat delicate. Though he spent so much time in the sun, Stiles’ skin was like moonlight; His blue veins showing through at his forehead, wrists, and inner elbows. He had a shaved head, light brown fuzz covering it, and a long neck which gave him an oddly graceful appearance. He dressed like most other 17 year old boys, jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers. He did, however, wear two amulets around his neck; a triple moon for his Goddess (and now his mother also) and a pentacle with a small wire tree wrapped around it starting at the base points and ending at the top, small hand made leaves tinkering with the slightest movement.
Even before his best friend, Scott McCall, was turned into a lycanthropic wolf (as Stiles called it) or werewolf (as anyone else would call it) the full moons were a special time for the youngest Stilinski; Each one had a meaning, and each one had to be honoured. His mother had taught him that. His father didn’t understand; About the wolf-men that roamed the neighborhoods more or less unabated, or the ghosts, or anything of the sort. Honestly, he knew his father thought all his beliefs (and his mother’s) were crazy; He had blamed the brain tumour, and now he blamed her for Stiles.
Stiles could feel it though, magick was out there.
Stiles opened his window early on the first day of Summer Vacation. He didn’t have anything important to do that day, so he woke early. Maybe he’d create some spell bags to bless the Summer (something he had vowed to do that year as the previous Summers for years past had sucked. His mother had died in Summer).
He breathed in the fresh air; It still held the crispness of Spring, a damn breeze blowing through his bedroom. It rattled the leaves, the faint sound of bells ringing sounding soft in the room as the wind rustled the string of small silver bella he had hung across the ceiling. His phone buzzed, and he looked at the flashing screen.
From: Scotty Boy (the name had been a dubiously received nickname on Scott’s part; Stiles’ thought it was amusing)
Party 2nite. Bonfire. Ur buzz. Come.
Stiles smiled; Scott texted like an angry old lady (full stop. full stop, full stop). Stiles texted back, saying he’d be there and asking Scott if he wanted a ride. Scott couldn’t drive, and Stiles could. His dad had insisted he learnt, and learnt well. As the Sheriff he knew the importance of good driving, and that there was less of a likelihood of Stiles’ getting into trouble in a massive, off road car; Hence the jeep. Mr. Stilinski’s reasoning was that if he walked he could get run over, smaller cars were douchey and the bigger car often made it through a crash. Stiles hadn’t complained.
Scott, being the current resident Alpha in town, often knew of the best parties; Whether they were kids from school (where Scott (and anyone he associated with) was quite popular, or the more supernatural kind hosted by the other wolves in his pack, or the random witches and fae folk that seemed to be attracted to Beacon Hills. Stiles never quite understood how he got around so much.
Well, that settled what he would be doing that night. He never turned down an invite to a bonfire; They gave him a special feeling that he had been unable to replicate any other way. Something about the giant, leaping, and absolutely free flames made him feel empty, sad, and hopeful all at the same time. He felt like it was a spiritual experience, but it was also a good excuse to get a little shit faced with his friends.
Stiles was not opposed to getting a little fucked up; It always made him see things which were helpful for understanding himself, or just having a laugh later on. He was never failingly funny, sarcastic, and never hesitated to make a joke, even if he was at the butt of it. Parties always seemed to be the best place to get a little light hearted; To not think too much. He always thought too much.
Scott wasn’t very chatty as they drove towards the party that night; He was busy thinking about Allison Argent, most likely, Stiles figured. His best friend had been a little bit withdrawn lately, and it was always because of her. They had a complicated, somewhat secret relationship. Stiles would laugh at them, joking that at least he had a relationship to hide. Stiles liked to brag about being forever single.
“You know who’s gonna be there?” Stiles asked Scott, halfway to the out of town farm house that was apparently hosting the party. It was no one Stiles knew. he kept both eyes trained on the road, careful not to go down hard on potholes; He had never liked to be jostled.
“Yeah, It’s mostly supernatural folks,” Scott said, seemingly distracted. “A new Alpha’s in town, so all the wolfs are going wild,” Scott explained, “He’s a strong one...even I can feel his presence,” Scott mumbled, looking out the window distractedly.
“Oo, cat fight,” Stiles laughed, pulling into a very long driveway in front of a crumbling, yet elegant old farm house. He could see from the drive way that the ‘farm’ behind it was simply acres of tall grass, flowers, and various random garden beds. In the center was a huge fire pit, already filled with logs. His breath caught in his through, a strange feeling filling his chest…
“The alpha’s here,” Scott growled, his eyes flashing blue as he stepped out of the car. He looked like a razor back puppy, hair on end, yet absolutely innocent and confused. Stiles was barely listening; the house was magick...there was so much energy and the in air.
“Come on, moony,” Scott mumbled, grabbing Stiles by his elbow and pulling him to the house. Stiles felt the air buzzing around him; it was filled with some strange energy. He had never felt it before; It was the the plants in his room over holidays when they fell on the full moon and the crystals that he sometimes hung around the windows on bad nights. This was ten times more energy than any spell or mojo bag he’d ever felt before.
They let themselves into the house, loud dubstep music already coursing through the air. Slowly they made their way through a throng of people; Nearly all of whom Stiles could identify as some magical creature. The whole pack was there, along with the girl with the fox spirit, Allison (whose whole life was actually built around hunting magical creatures, but now she fought for them), Lydia (a banshee of sorts), and he could see shadow people and small fae floating through the rooms. As they moved towards the kitchen, he actually felt the strange energy growing instead of dissipating as he moved away from the garden.
Scott seemed to be growing more and more edgy as well, his eyes turning an icey blue.
“He’s here,” he growled again, and Stiles could see the wolf just under Scott’s skin. He wasn’t sure if they should leave, or if they should talk about it...go find the alpha and find out why they were in Beacon Hills. There was also the small fact that every part of Stiles being wanted to walk towards the kitchen...find out what was calling to him.
“Who’s house in this anyway?” he asked, looking at Scott carefully as they entered the kitchen with their beer (which was to be set on the counter...or wherever it seemed beer would go).
“It’s mine,” said a deep, growly voice behind Stiles. The voice sent shivers down Stiles spin, and turning around to see who had spoken he felt choked up as he saw the aura surrounding the man behind him; Green and silver...it was energy, really. It didn’t have a colour, but if it did...Stiles whole body filled with an impossibly strong energy, causing him to crumple to the floor in a cold faint.
When Stiles came to he was in the garden, lying on a futon bed that had been dragged about 15 feet away from where the bonfire was starting to burn. He wondered how long he had been out...it certainly seemed darker. Where was Scott? What had happened? His head was still buzzing, he felt like green and silver spots were tattooed on the backs of his eyelids.
“Hey,” Lydia said, sitting down beside Stiles’ legs on the futon. “You ok? Derek says you just keeled over...he looked kinda strange himself, actually,” she said, petting Stiles’ hair away from his eyes with one manicured hand, handling her beer with the other. She was one of Stiles’ best friends, but she was also a social butterfly with many, many best friends.
“Yeah, fine, I think...He’s the alpha, isn’t he?” Stiles tilted his head up, propping himself up on his elbows. Derek...that must be the alpha-He had to have been. Why would he affect Stiles like that though, and what was he doing in Beacon hills? How’d Lydia know him already?
“Yeah, he’s the new alpha in town,” Lydia laughed, her laugh like bells. It was one of the things Stiles liked best about her-Her laugh. “He and Scott are still talking...he carried you out here, you know. Kept giving you these strange looks,” she said, her brow furrowed before her face went smooth again, her eyes wandering towards the fire. “He and Scott...well, I wonder who’ll win.”
Stiles laughed a little himself, trying to shake the feeling of being watched. Scott could be awfully convincing...he wondered what two alphas fought about, anyway. He leaned against Lydia, pushing all those thoughts out of his head and trying to enjoy the forest all around him and the crackling fire. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something big had just shifted in his world…