Chapter Text
Stiles has had enough. Scott completely ignores every word out of his (or any other experienced adult's) mouth. Deaton is the only one he will listen to which has almost gotten their splintered pack killed so many times. The Hales won't even come back into the country (Stiles can feel the fledgling mate bonds pull at his very soul) and there's nothing stopping another hunter clan from just rolling into town. Then there's the text from his father that changes everything.
*SON I LOVE YOU. THE CALVERAS JUST CAME IN AND SHOT PARRISH POINT BLANK AND IM PROBABLY NEXT. IF YOU GO BACK MAKE SURE TO TELL ME RIGHT AWAY*
Stiles ran to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. With shaking hands he gathered his keys and a silver anthame. He drove to the Preserve and collapsed sobbing at the foot of the Nemeton. When dusk began to fall he kneeled at the foot of the stump with the knife in his hand. "Nemeton," he began. "I'm going to make you a deal. I will be sacrificing myself to you. In return please send my consciousness back in time to when I can do the most good. When I get back I will do the ninefold ritual and connect myself to you and this land as Hale emissary." He felt a stirring in the roots underneath him and he knew his sacrifice would be acceptable. Before he could lose his nerve he ran his knife over his wrists and his throat. As the world faded to black he could feel his Spark draining into the tree, sending his consciousness spinning back to where he could send time on the right course again.