bring the spring

chapter one

He sits on his knees in the shallow snow. The cold burns through his jeans, the snow melting and turning them damp. He bows his head, his eyes not finding the strength to continue reading the words on the headstone.

The headstone itself is new. Too new. It's white stone reflected the winter sunlight brilliantly, the words, carved in silver, were impossible to miss.

He feels like he could still see the words when he closes his eyes.

They told him not to come. They told him it wouldn't do him any good. He missed the funeral, but he wouldn't miss this. He couldn't miss this, not when Scott flinched every time Stiles brushed up against him, when Lydia's eyes were redder than her hair, when Isaac stared at him as he walked through the hallways of the school, his eyes accusing . Not when her father, all alone, was packing her stuff into boxes and booking flights out of the country. He did not know where he was going to go, but since when did anyone? All that mattered was that he get away, get away from the city who stole his father and his sister and his wife and his daughter.

Stiles had spent so long being someone else, being taken over by something else, he did not...he no longer knew who he was. He used to love the doughnuts from that store with no sign just up the road, but now he looks at it and can't remember what was so good about it. He can't remember why his favourite shirt is his favourite, why he insisted on colour-coding his underwear according to days, why he styled his hair in this way. He looked in the mirror and saw the Nogitsune, he looked at his friends and didn't see Allison. He looked at the Graveyard and saw everyone under the ground because of the actions the pack had taken. Because of awaking the Nemeton. Because he dragged Scott out that one night. Because there was a body in the woods. Because there was a fire in a house. Because there was a boy who loved. Because there was a woman born without a heart.

His tears freeze to his face.

He stands and drags his feet away from the silver light of Allison, bright in death as in life. He doesn't say he's sorry. It's not going to help, she's dead, and it's never going to make up for it. "See you soon," he says instead. He turns to leave. "I'm sorry,' he caves as he steps over the gate, and the wind whips his apology up into the air and lets it dissipate into the sky. He wants to pretend she heard it.

There is a Camaro out in front of his house. Snow has dotted its sleek blackness. Stiles brushes them off with hand and smears them onto the hood instead. He turns to look into the house. He walks past it. His nose goes cold. His fingers go numb. He's at the edge of the woods now; the barren trees coerce and beckon him into their gloomy darkness.

He accepts.

The snow gets thicker and thicker the deeper he forges into his home. Soon, it's up to his thighs and he can't quite walk like this, but the second he turns around there is a wide tree stump humming in front of him. He whirls back, and somehow it's still in front of him. Stiles was a fool to think he could ever escape the Nemeton. This...thing, this elusive, supernatural thing, would haunt and curse him forever.

He sits on the stump. He's tired, he's so tired, of running. The tree glows a warm golden, lighting up the darkness with its fire.

The blame is not on you, my spark , the Nemeton says.

It was your fault , Stiles tells it without moving his mouth.

The Nemeton hums in reply. Maybe. You are too bright. All bright things love darkness. All darkness hates bright things. One exists because of the other, one exists in its absence. Such is the way.

Stiles stands from the stump. He smooths his fingers over the worn edges, tracing the rings around and around with his fingers. It starts off in a dazed haze, but then becomes all consuming. Suddenly, he has to follow every ring, round and round until he reaches the centre.