Son Of A Lost Country

Part I: Roots

"Don't you want to be alive before you die?"
-Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

"I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions."
-Augusten Purroughs, Magical Thinking: True Stories

"One of the deep secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others."
-Lewis Carrol

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Life was still pretty confusing, all things considered.

Not that Stiles had expected anything different. After finding out that he was a spark - someone with the ability to create sparks - and realizing that there was more to his past than he had previously been aware of, it was really no surprise that he now had more questions than ever.

Deaton hadn't been all that helpful with answering them, as was expected. It was still a disappointment. The vet had only been able to give him a bunch of old scripts that merely contained theories about his kind.

All he gathered from them, though, was the fact that he was still considered human and also apparently very rare. So rare even that his existence had been only a myth until now.

If only he still had the book to give him answers!

Sometimes, Stiles missed it as if it had been a person. He knew it was ridiculous. He had done the right thing by giving it up, because if he hadn't, the cult would have been able to take his power away from him. All just because he had written his full name in it. And because it had contained two powerful sparks; his own and his mother's.

But, as his past had revealed to him, his mother's powers hadn't been her own anymore. Someone had stolen it from her, had managed to loosen her grip on her power so they could grasp it for themselves.

It was one of the many dangers that came with being a spark.

The possibility to lose control, to become a puppet for someone else.

A possibility that had nearly come true for Stiles - that had been his mother's fate - and so he was still afraid of it.

For the first time in his life, Stiles was grateful for the number of complicated names he had been blessed with. He knew now that they weren't a curse, they were a precaution.

The man who had robbed his mom of her power and had tried to do the same to him might still be out there and he had one of Stiles' names. That was a frightening prospect that Stiles tried not to dwell on at the moment. If he were to talk about it, his dad would just go on a hunt for the man; even if he believed the enemy dead, he probably would dig up his body just to ease Stiles' worries. Stiles knew his dad would go to great lengths just to make sure Stiles was safe, not caring that he'd probably endanger himself and his career in the process.

And so he kept his fear to himself.

There were plenty of other things to worry about, anyway.

Like his inability to keep the sparks in control.

Since he had unlocked his full potential, it was a constant battle for control for him. One time, he just sneezed and a bunch of sparks emitted from him and flew around wildly, doing whatever the hell they wanted to.

It had taken him three hours to retrieve every single one of them, involving various ridiculous attempts at persuasion, him hobbling around with the splint on his leg to catch them and the pack laughing so much, they were rolling around on the floor.

Again, Deaton wasn't of much help.

He just advised Stiles to take up meditation and heighten his awareness of the sparks. Concentration exercises couldn't hurt, either, considering his ADHD.

A cheap guidebook to success could have given him similar advice, really.

So, Stiles had been forced to participate in Malia's training, since they basically had the same problem. The only difference was that she turned furry and he emitted sparks like a sparkler on a birthday cake when losing control.

Only, Malia was already various classes better than him and nearly at the stage where she was considered ready for society.

He on the other hand just about managed to retrieve the sparks a bit faster everytime he lost control of them. Not really all that great of an achievement in comparison.

To his defense, he was handicapped by the splint and his still healing broken leg. He had finally gotten rid of the crutches but he still moved around like a pirate with a wooden leg.

Not that Derek showed him any leniency because of his injury. If anything, he was even harsher because of it since it would make it harder for Stiles to get away should he find himself in a dangerous situation.

The alpha was as merciless as ever.

The only consolation was that he wasn't forced to participate in the physical part of the training. Well, he had to do his stretches and all the other exercises his doctors had recommended in order to speed up his recovery. It was also supposed to prepare him for physical therapy which he would need to undergo once the splint was off. He didn't mind that so much, though. All that mattered was that he was spared from the more strenuous activities; so no suicide runs for him for the time being.

The most annoying thing about the injury, though, had to be that everybody used it as an excuse for their overprotective behavior. His dad used it when Stiles complained about the fact that the man wanted daily updates on how he was feeling. Derek used it when he helped Stiles climb the stairs or with whatever else he was about to do that even might constitute as physically challenging for the time being.

It wouldn't be so bad if his dad and the pack wouldn't be in cahoots with each other about the whole thing. Ever since his dad had found out about werewolves and had made sure that they wouldn't harm him or any other innocent person, he and Peter had come to the agreement that Stiles should spend the nights his dad was out on patrol at the Hales, just for the remaining time of his restricted mobility.

Which basically meant that Stiles couldn't be left alone without a babysitter. At least, that was how the teenager himself viewed the situation.

Apparently, his say in the matter was completely void since he couldn't be trusted with his own safety. Whenever he wanted to contradict that statement, someone usually brought up the incident that had put him in that predicament in the first place and sufficiently managed to shut him up.

"Focus, Stiles."

Stiles suppressed a groan of annoyance at the command. How could he be blamed for getting sidetracked? Sitting on the porch doing nothing was boring!

"I'm bored."

"You're lazy, that's what you are," Malia chimed in from somewhere to his right. She was supposed to do her daily circuit training, but he guessed that she was just as eager to finish it as he was to keep concentrating.

"Nope, pretty sure I meant bored. Because this is boring. Mindnumbingly boring. Tedious. Dull. Dreary. Bland. Tiresome. It's a snoozefest. It's-"

"We get the gist of it," Derek interrupted, glaring at him.

Right in front of Stiles was the task he was supposed to be concentrating on. The sparks were forming a tower as stable as one built of cards which was why it was wobbling slightly. He was supposed to keep it standing by keeping in control of every single spark. Should he lose his focus and one spark escaped, the whole tower would collapse.

Stiles couldn't really see the point of that exercise, though.

"Is this supposed to make me a secret weapon if a game tournament breaks out and I'm the final contestant for a game of Jenga? Does this mean you would vote me in your team, just because of this? Clever plan, sourwolf. We could totally win that. Are you planning a board game party that I don't know about yet?" Stiles said, his gaze on the tower, trying to free one spark without causing the whole thing to collapse.

He was so focused on that one spark, though, that all the others took the opportunity for a rebellion and just fled the structure of the tower. They all burst forward in one big swoop, nearly knocking him backward.

In an effort to regain his balance, Stiles flailed wildly, accidently slapping the alpha in the face in the process.

"Sorry?" Stiles grimaced, following the movements of the sparks out of the corner of his eye. They were making their way towards the small wooden table on the porch, lifting it in the air effortlessly.

"Put that down, guys," he commanded, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. He lifted his hand and slowly let it sink again.

To his surprise, the sparks followed the gesture and put the table down just as softly as his hand had motioned them to. They coordinated perfectly with his movements.

Derek was also watching the spectacle with slight admiration in his gaze. Maybe a more hands-on approach was the solution here. After all, Stiles had never been one for keeping still for a certain period of time.

"See! It worked!" the teenager cried out in victory,

Before he was able to stop himself, he pumped his fist in the air. Still under his command, the sparks followed the movement, causing the table to get thrown in the air again. In reaction to that, Stiles quickly retrieved his hand, staring wide-eyed at the table that now was about to crash into him.

The impact never happened. An arm quickly wrapped around his waist and pulled him back and out of the way. The table crashed instead into the wooden railing of the porch, broke through it and toppled into the grass.

All that had happened so quickly that Stiles was a little dizzy, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He couldn't believe that he had been the one who had destroyed a table and a part of a wooden railing without even touching any of them.

"Are you alright?" Derek asked, already turning him around by his shoulders to examine him. But not even a splinter of wood had managed to scratch him. The alpha's reaction time was on point.

Stiles couldn't look away from the damage he had caused. He hadn't even meant to destroy something but still. That he was able to do that was a shocking discovery. Until now he had never used the sparks for destruction, hadn't even known they had the ability to lift things.

"Stiles," Derek said. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly in concern.

"I'm fine," Stiles answered, though he wasn't exactly sure if that statement was true. He felt a little hollow. Maybe that didn't exactly constitute as 'fine'.

"Malia?" Derek called out, sounding calm. She was supposed to be somewhere in the vicinity of where the table had fallen into the grass. He probably wanted to make sure that she hadn't gotten harmed either. The thought that he might have injured the girl made Stiles sick to his stomach.

The tapping of paws on the ground alerted them to her arrival. She stood in front of the steps in her coyote form, her head cocked questioningly to the side with her tongue hanging out as she panted. She must have been running around. Next to her appeared her playmate that was probably the reason why she was so out of breath. Burly - the sly fox - looked damn proud of himself.

They both appeared to be completely unscathed, except for the dirt in their fur coat.

Stiles felt the relief wash over him like a giant wave. His legs nearly gave out under the force of it but the alpha's grip on him kept him steady. For that reason, Stiles kept his complaints about Derek's overprotectiveness to himself for once.

Feeling the slight tremors that were coursing through the teen's body, Derek eased him down onto the wooden bench.

"I thought I told you to finish your circuit training, Malia. As far as I can remember the routine, there isn't an exercise in it that would demand that you change into your full-shift."

Derek didn't even need to look at her to convey his discontent. It reached her either way and so she still lowered her head in a silent apology.

The power of an alpha, Stiles guessed. Derek had learned so much from Laura and even Lea over the last few weeks that he was now truly deserving of the respect the title demanded.

Derek sighed, not able to stay mad at her."Get your clothes and go inside. It's time for a break," he announced then. The were-coyote obeyed immediately. She was probably glad that he didn't want a repeat of the exercises she had failed to complete.

Now that his playmate was gone, Burly focused his attention on Stiles, jumping onto his lap. Out of habit, Stiles' fingers started to card through his fur, trying to untangle the knots in it and free it from clumps of dirt and mud. The repetitive and familiar motion was soothing to him.

"Sorry about the railing," the teenager said after a bout of silence.

"Scott's going to repair it," Derek stated. He was sure that the beta would do it. Scott would have no choice in the matter since Derek would just confront him about him eating his secret stash of animal crackers. It could only be him. Derek had hidden them very well and Scott had the finest nose out of all his betas. Not to mention that the boy practically reeked of guilt every time his eyes met Derek's.

Curious about the confidence with which Derek had conveyed that statement, Stiles looked up and cocked his eyebrows. Scott wasn't one to rebel against a request like that one but Stiles doubted whether Scott was the right person for the job.

Boyd would probably be the better choice. That guy could most likely build a rocking chair from scratch without instructions.

"Training's over for the day," Derek told him. "Next time, we focus on this new ability of yours."

Stiles almost barked out a cynical laugh at that. New ability? He didn't even know what his old abilities were supposed to be. Everything was new to him. He was basically flying blind here.

And last time he had just experimented with his powers, it had nearly cost them all their lives.

"You know, concentrating would be easier after a good night's rest."

"Oh really. Thanks for the advice, I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Stiles grumbled back, slightly annoyed at the reprimanding tone the alpha had used. He was not a child. He knew that.

"Could have fooled me." Derek threw Stiles a water bottle even though he didn't really need it. He wasn't the one who had to undergo circuit training put together by the alpha himself.

He didn't manage to catch it which wasn't all that surprising. Derek really should've known better and the look on Stiles' face told him so as well.

Just as the teen was about to bend over to get it, the sparks returned. Without any prompting from him, they picked up the water bottle together and kept it floating right in front of his face. It was easy to reach out and simply take it. And they let him.

"How did you do that?" Derek asked, sitting down next to him.

Stiles looked thoughtfully at the bottle in his hands. "I have no idea." Burly had jumped off his lap and was making high-pitched howls of happiness as he chased the sparks around. "I could swear that they have a mind of their own sometimes."

The spark is a part of you, my dear.

He could still see his mother's words so clearly in his mind, almost as if they had engraved themselves there.

Feed your spark.

You might have already realized that the spark possesses power .... It can only be as powerful as you willed it to be ... It all depends on inner strength ...

But the line that kept him awake most nights was a simple one.

Be careful.

It was the last message he had received from his mom before he had been forced to destroy the book. For a while, he had wondered what had happened to the spark in the book - the one that had belonged to his mother once. It had tried to fulfill the task it had been created for even though it had been controlled by someone else. Maybe whoever had stolen her power hadn't been able to override the will with which his mother had brought it to life.

He didn't know if the spark was still around, alive to this day because it hadn't fulfilled its purpose completely.

He liked that thought but couldn't really hold on to it. There were too many doubts about that theory.

Suddenly aware of how thirsty he was, he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a few gulps of water. It was then that he realized that the bottle had already been opened and had only half its content left in it. Someone had already drunk the other half.

Not that he minded. He doubted anyone on Hale ground was trying to poison him.

"Even after having seen them floating around countless times already, I still get amazed every time. I don't think I could ever really get used to them," Derek said suddenly, ripping Stiles out of his thoughts.

The alpha was sitting with his hands on his knees, leaning slightly forward as he was keenly watching the sparks. His eyes were filled with wonder, marking his words as true.

"Well, knowing so little about them and what they could do, I guess it's only logical that they continue to be a surprise."

Just like that, the open expression on Derek's face became clouded with disgruntlement. He obviously had expected Stiles to be serious for once.

"That's not what I mean," he grumbled, now too self-conscious to openly show his amazement.

"Don't mind me. I'm just bitter over knowing basically nothing about what I am. I didn't mean to drag you down to my level. The two of us together in the pit of despair would mean that all the happiness had gotten sucked out of this world which is not something I'd like to be responsible for."

A dry smile had spread itself across the werewolf's face. "You know, even people without your abilities struggle with the problem of barely knowing anything about themselves. You're nothing special. Though you're still a bit young to have an existential crisis."

"You're one to talk!" Stiles huffed in indignation. "I bet you had your first existential crisis before you were even able to walk! You were probably spouting things like 'Why are people so worried about their past and their future when all they really have is the present?' and 'Why should I choose the road less traveled by when I don't even know where I'm headed?'."

He almost got shoved off the bench for his efforts to mimic the alpha's voice. Maybe Derek didn't like the whiny intonation he had added for authenticity.

He tried to retaliate by shoving back, but Derek didn't budge. He could have just as easily tried to shove a wall. Though, the alpha did move then, even if it wasn't because of him.

Derek stood up from the bench, causing Stiles to nearly topple to the side since he hadn't realized how much he had been leaning on him.

That subconscious action could be blamed on Stiles' other problem. It wasn't exactly one he worried about, per se, but it still was bothersome.

The problem was Derek and their new, weird dynamic.

Ever since the night Stiles had nearly died, they had become closer. Derek's behavior toward him had changed. He was less distant, less guarded around him now. They were actually talking to each other now, the topic of their conversation having nothing to do with pack business even.

That was definitely a new development.

But maybe that was expected to happen after what they had been through together. Reliving memories together was perhaps bound to forge some kind of connection between them.

Sometimes it felt like the red string was still tying them together, even if they couldn't see it.

In addition to that, Derek was probably the only one who really understood what Stiles was going through at the moment and that was not just because he had been confronted with the darker parts of Stiles' past. If there was someone who knew how it felt to be overwhelmed by suddenly acquired new powers without getting any instructions for them, it was definitely Derek. He had probably felt a lot like Stiles did now when he had become alpha.

In all honesty, Stiles really liked this new development.

He liked this softer side of the otherwise stoic and grumpy alpha, liked that he was the one who got to see it. He liked that he was the one who was apparently deserving the honor of being trusted by someone who handled trust like it was the most valuable thing they had to give.

The real problem lay in reminding himself that even though they might be closer now, they still weren't a couple and he had to respect Derek's wish for a no-strings-attached arrangement just as much as he had to adhere to his own wish for a committed relationship.

Stiles really couldn't see himself just fooling around with someone he cared about and Derek probably had his reasons too for preferring something casual. No matter for whom, they both shouldn't have to compromise their wishes since that would just end in resentment for the other party.

So they were at an impasse.

Not that they had actually talked about it but Stiles just assumed that it was an unspoken agreement between the two of them. It was the only logical conclusion, considering that neither of them was willing to drop their expectations of a relationship. They hadn't even kissed since that time in the office, so there really was no doubt in Stiles' mind. Right now, they both wanted different things. Maybe that would change in the future, maybe it wouldn't.

The point was that Stiles had decided that although the idea of them as a romantic couple was still very much something he desired, he'd rather be by Derek's side as a friend than force him or himself to an agreement that was the exact opposite of what they truly wanted.

Honestly, Stiles was rather proud of himself for how mature he handled the situation.

Well, at least, for how he handled it theoretically.

Because actually going through with that resolution was a lot harder than he had imagined.

"It's getting late. Think you can retrieve them now?" Derek asked.

"Huh?"

That earned him a raised brow and a gaze that was both skeptical and amused. "The sparks, Stiles. They're all here right now and I'd rather not chase them through the woods all night. So?"

Stiles took in a breath and then closed his eyes to envision his flame. Like always, it was a restless source of energy, always in motion, always dancing around in wild movements. It was hard to keep it in control. Sometimes, he was afraid of getting burned.

But that evening, the flame seemed to be in an agreeable mood and let itself be contained by Stiles' will rather easily. He extended his senses, reaching for the sparks so he could give them the silent command to return.

It was like a yearning that he had to express, the need to feel completed once again.

He had to feel what he was missing, picture the exact place where the sparks truly belonged.

If he had to describe it, it was probably like having to be aware of every single hair on your body so that you could notice if one of them was missing and detect where it may be. Once it was found, you had to imagine it back into place, like that would actually bring it back.

It was a nearly impossible task.

But he was getting better at it the more time he spent with the sparks, the more he learned about them and the better he got to know them.

When every single spark had returned to him, it felt like all the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

He opened his eyes and found Derek looking at him.

"10 minutes. That's a new record," he remarked, sounding pleased. Stiles smiled in response.

The alpha then held his hand out to him in an offer to help him get up. He took it.

And maybe the touch lasted entirely too long to be strictly platonic.

Yep, definitely a problem, Stiles thought as he was all too aware of Derek's hand on his back as they went inside.

***

His life at school offered no real escape from the madness his life had become. It was just a different kind of madness that he was exposed to in the great halls of the prestigious school that was St. Joanna's Academy for Music and Art.

"I can't believe they were throwing eggs at you!" Cora snarled viciously. She closed the door to the classroom where they were currently taking refuge forcefully behind them.

Lindsay was standing in front of the mirror wall - they must be in one of the ballet rooms - and inspected mournfully the damage to her clothes and her hair.

"I can't believe they were throwing eggs at us," she corrected Cora. "Even if they intended to hit only Stiles, we were victims by proximity. Look at me! This is a nightmare!"

Cora sent her a glare.

"I'm not a vain person," Lindsay defended herself instantly. "I'm really not! And I didn't mean that I regret being friends with Stiles - Stiles, you know that I'd choose you a million times over, right? - But this - this," she gestured to the egg yolk sticking to her shoulder, "is an attack on my dignity! I'm not vain, I'm proud! There's a difference."

"Don't be a drama queen," Cora said, rolling her eyes. "Stiles took the brunt of the attack. And he's the one on their hit list. And why? All because of the damn new rule that forbids having anything sweet or unhealthy on school grounds! It's ridiculous!"

"Well, I also suspect that Vincent is really pissed that I chose Stiles instead of him. He hates losing. He has the most influence in this school so he's probably behind this," Lindsay said.

"I've always hated that prick," Cora growled darkly. "You know, if he wants war then he can have it! Hell if I just take that treatment! I won't stand for -"

She interrupted herself as she noticed that Stiles hadn't said a single word since they had entered the ballet room. He was just staring at the mirror, his eyes widened. There was a look of deep concentration with a hint of disbelief on his face.

"Stiles?" Cora tapped him on the shoulder, causing the boy to jump in surprise. "What's the matter?"

Stiles shook his head quickly to free himself from the thoughts that had distracted him from the present. He turned his back to the mirror brusquely and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Nothing. I think I have egg yolk in my eyes or something," he explained.

Cora didn't look completely convinced but she let it go for now.

They tried to get the worst off of their clothes so they could head for their next class.

Before they left, though, Stiles paused to take a look at himself in the mirror once more.

This time, his reflection was no longer blurry and the pale scars on his palm were their usual silver color instead of black.

He must have imagined it.