Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: pre-Sterek, can be read as gen
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Jeff Davis et al. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: spoilers for s3
Summary: Stiles has been dreaming about the nemeton, but he's not sure this time is all in his head.
Author's Notes: This is not part of the Sacrifice Arc, the next part of that is in the works. This is a standalone flash fic for this week's drabble cascade, word of the week being worship. Thanks for reading and thanks to Soph for sorting out my spelling and grammar.
Word Count: 554
My Fanfic Listings (LJ) | My Fanfic Listings (DreamW) | My Fic on AO3
Stiles hadn't felt right since climbing out of that bath on the night of the eclipse. It had been nearly two months and he was pretty sure it was getting worse. When he had started dreaming about the nemeton he had wanted to tell Scott, but something held him back.
Now here he was again, standing right in front of it. The moon was full and he could feel the power of the sacred place pulsing under his bare feet. That dark place around his heart seemed to pulse in time and he felt himself swaying back and forth as if it was the beat of a drum.
The thing was, he wasn't sure this was a dream. Usually he was standing in the centre of the stump and the world around the nemeton kind of swirled, but tonight he was standing in front of it. He looked down and his feet appeared cut up and bruised, as if he'd walked a long way without shoes. He didn't know what had happened, but this time it felt real.
It was cold and there was a biting wind whipping round the clearing. He was only wearing thin cotton pyjama pants and a t-shirt and they were nothing against the elements. Maybe that was what had woken him up, at least partially, but his mind was still foggy. Almost without him realising it he started moving again, climbing up onto the stump.
Now he could feel it even more sharply. The darkness was building. He could hear voices in the drum beat.
"Worship us," they called, "give us form. Worship us."
Stiles could feel the power they were offering, but he could also see the trap. They wanted him as a conduit, as a way through and it would make him powerful, but it would also destroy all that he was. They tempted him with ways to make sure his friends were always safe, protection for his dad, all his fears made real and then wiped away. It was so hard to resist. He could not move as they called to him and filled his mind.
"No," he screamed and then there were arms round him, dragging him off the stump.
"I've got you, you're safe."
The darkness receded and he felt warmth spreading through him, taking its place.
"Derek?" he asked, looking up, feeling fuzzy and confused.
"Yes," was the ever eloquent reply.
"What..?" was about the best he could manage.
"Someone was trying to leech power using you as a pathway," Derek told him. "Deaton should have been keeping a better eye on you."
"Your spark is showing."
"Where have you been?"
"Are you staying?"
Then, feeling strangely secure in Derek's arms, he passed out.
He woke up in his own bed to the sound of a voice.
"He will be fine," that was Deaton, "but he must start to learn to control the power he possesses. He hides it far too well, I had no idea how powerful he has become."
He opened his eyes just a little, saw both Derek and Scott standing in his room with Deaton and his dad and decided he was safe and far too tired to figure it all out right then. Choice made, he closed his eyes again and drifted back to sleep.
This entry was originally posted at http://beren-writes.dreamwidth.org/259778.html.