Son Of A Lost Country

He tried not to let it bother him as he sat at the piano, doing a warm-up routine. He tried to focus on the matter at hand which was fervently discussed amongst the members of the pack.

Erica who had the best penmanship was taking notes, striking them out again if they turned out to be a repetition of what they had already established as facts. She had a very interesting system of organising her thoughts. Ideas were marked with a little sun, while the opinions of various people were stars. Keywords were underlined with a yellow marker.

"There were two main instigators of the accident. The first is old O'Neil, a woman who's lived alone since the death of her husband. She is not actually that old but dresses as if she was on the threshold of the home for the elderly. It appears that she changed lanes voluntarily, but apparently lost control of the vehicle and came off the road. She died on impact with a tree. There were no signs that she tried to brake. Her neighbours claim that those actions are completely uncharacteristic of her as she was normally a very careful and rule-abiding driver."

Lydia showed them all a picture of Mrs O'Neil and Stiles forced himself not to look away too fast. She looked so different on the picture. For one, she was smiling, laugh-lines crinkling around her eyes and her mouth. She seemed so normal it was almost impossible to think of her capable of an act so cruel and manic.

Stiles looked over at Derek who listened to something Lea was murmuring softly, something that was only meant for his ears. They looked so good together. Two strong leaders with similar stories, a similar temper, similar expectations of the world. He quickly looked away again.

"The second instigator was Charles Humphrey. Curiously, he only acted after Mrs O'Neil's car landed in the ditch. It is unclear if they had conspired together to make the accident happen, but given the circumstances, it seems plausible. Mrs O'Neil's car was supposed to hit the cars on the other lane at the time they were all in the middle of the intersection, creating a blockage that would have undoubtedly caused more fatal a wreckage. Once, Mrs O'Neil's car failed, Charles Humphrey crossed the intersection despite the red light. The fact that he had stopped before puzzled the investigators. It is not normal behaviour. And it wasn't."

"They were influenced by something," Lea concluded to which Lydia nodded.

"Yes. We figured that it might be the same cause that has afflicted Allison but we had to be sure. Mrs McCall helped us a great deal in uncovering whether the two perpetrators bore the same marks. Here are the photos."

She held up a picture that showed a bruise so dark it was almost black on Mrs O'Neil's back. Not only was it untypically dark it also seemed to have spread out like veins across her whole back. Like darkness was pumped through her, poisoning her from the inside. The next picture showed that something similar had happened to Charles Humphrey, only his mark was at his thigh.

"They were stung by the same demon!" Scott looked triumphant. "Maybe with more samples it's easier for Deaton to find what sort of demon it must be."

Jackson shook his head slightly. "Allison's trigger is a very specific emotion. According to what we know about the old woman and that Humphrey guy, the trigger doesn't seem likely. Neither ever exhibited jealousy or envy."

Allison's face turned sour as she avoided looking at anyone in particular.

"Finding Mrs O'Neil's trigger was easy," Lydia continued after sparing a sympathetic glance to her friend. "She was one of the donors for the intersection and rumour has it that she wanted it named after herself. The town council decided against it. That's a motive. Revenge. But revenge is not an emotion. So it might have been anger. Humphrey was partly easy too. It took very little digging to find out that he was the one who oversaw the project of the intersection. I guess they were triggered by the emotions the intersection evoked in them. In Mrs O'Neil's case anger, in Humphrey's probably pride or regret, depending on whether he saw the project as a success or a failure."

Erica looked up from her notes, took a text marker and marked all the triggers in a neon blue. Her eyebrows shot up as she read them again.

"So, Allison's is envy, then there is anger and now we might have pride. Do you see where that goes? That sounds familiar."

Boyd leaned over her to take a look at her notes. "Envy, wrath and pride are three of the seven deadly sins."

"Oh." Erica looked up from her notes and smiled brightly at Boyd. "You're right. Oh, you're so smart, boo." She patted his cheek lovingly. "So, what is left? I think I remember something about hoeing."

Boyd looked a little pained at her wording but nodded. "Yes, lust. There's also greed, gluttony and sloth."

Lea shared a meaningful look with Derek. "What about the other incidents? Like the suicide or the homicide." Lea's hand rested on Derek's shoulder so that they seemed like the perfect unity. The perfect alpha team. Stiles tried not to linger on the sight of her slim tan hand.

"Stacy Miller," Lydia said. "Everyone knew that she shoplifted. She even stole from classmates which is why she was never invited to parties. She loved material things. Her trigger could have been greed."

"And the man who killed his wife was Hill. Apparently, he was caught in the act with his much much younger secretary. That should cover lust," Peter chimed in, always on the top of his game when it came to the town gossip.

"So what's missing now?" Scott looked expectedly at Erica who had kept track.

"Gluttony and sloth," she said. Then her brows furrowed. "Does that mean there's gonna be at least two more attacks?"

"But we're on the right track already, and now that we know, we might be able to prevent them. We just have to find people who fit the traits," said Lydia.

As they were busy compiling a list with possible suspects, Stiles had to clamp his mouth shut so as not to spew some of his pessimistic views. If he told them that it was not as easy to stop the possessed as they assumed, they would surely ask questions. He couldn't explain to them how he knew. So he just observed.

He watched as Erica tried in vain to involve Isaac who in turn just ignored her. It was clear that she had never meant to hurt him but what was done was done. They couldn't go back. Neither could Stiles.

When he briefly looked up from his sheet music, he unintendedly met Derek's gaze. The alpha didn't even look sheepish at being caught staring. His brows were slightly furrowed and there his mouth was a hard line, indicating that he was mulling over something. But it was those grey eyes that gave Stiles pause. They were softened by the expression of sympathy but also clear in a way that spoke of resolve.

Lea's hand was still resting on his shoulder as she leaned even closer and whispered something in the alpha's ear. Derek's reaction was to snort softly, almost in amusement.

Yes, they made a perfect picture. So Stiles turned away.

***

Scott was tossing and turning like his bed was made of hot coals. The mattress creaked and groaned in protest as he wrestled himself down repeatedly. He was the hammer and the bed his poor unsuspecting nail.

The sleeping arrangements were there so that Stiles would sleep better, Derek had said. Oh, the irony! Stiles had to scoff. Maybe Derek hadn't accounted for all the teenage drama that would keep him awake instead. And it wasn't even his own drama at that! Not that he didn't have something to keep him awake as well.

"Oh for the love of God, Scott, lie still! Or go work out that excess energy in the gym! Or better yet, go and make up with Isaac. I have other things on my mind than playing therapist to all of you!"

At once, Scott kept still. Stiles almost feared he had been too harsh when suddenly he found himself with 160 pounds of werewolf on his mattress on the floor. Burly had woken from the sudden intrusion of their sleeping space but quickly settled again next to Stiles' head to continue his sleep.

"How would I go about doing that?" Scott grimaced. "I don't wanna hurt his feelings but I also don't wanna lead him on. This is a dilemma, dude! And I had no idea the whole time!"

Stiles almost rolled his eyes. Leave it to Scott to be clueless about his own cluelessness.

"Well, talking to him might help. Internalizing everything seems to not have worked out well so far," Stiles said, the sarcasm rolling easy off his tongue. He wanted to be more gentle, but apparently, he was just not the type to coddle those who choose to act idiotically.

"What would I even say?"

"How about 'I'm sorry'?"

Scott nodded and made a face as if he was taking notes in his head. "Okay, what then?"

"Then you turn around and never speak to each other ever again," Stiles suggested in a deadpan voice but had to sigh at Scott's genuine look of offence. "There's no script for this, Scotty. You just have to be honest with him and tell him how you feel. It might hurt him at first but it will be better for both of you in the longterm. There's no point in denying the truth as painful as it might be."

The look of uncertainty that spread over Scott's face was something so universally felt by all of them at this time that Stiles immediately reached for his shoulder. Scott clapped his hand over his own, grateful for the wordless reassurance.

"I missed our talks. Hey, Stiles?"

"Yes?"

"I'll also always listen. You're not a therapist. This is a two-way street, okay? We hold each other up."

***

They were in the cabin again. It was neither night nor day, the sun was entirely missing from the sky. All he could see were dark clouds and a sea of trees caging them in.

The floor under his bare feet creaked and the windows rattled with the wind.

"I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

Stiles touched the bare walls. They were mere skeletons now. The flesh had been stripped away, the heart ripped out. But the skeleton remained to hold the facade up.

"This place must be important to you. But it has changed," Stiles realized. "It's so empty now. What happened?"

The faceless man waved his hand in dismissal. "Not important right now. You sought me out."

He wasn't a chesspiece this time. They were not playing a game, partly because there was no furniture in this room.

Stiles let his hand trail along the empty walls as if he could feel what was missing. Like the wall would show scars for the belonging that had been ripped away like dead skin. Picked up and discarded.

"Do you know what my name meant to her? Who I share it with?" He hadn't meant to ask but he might as well. There were so many holes in his history that so few people could explain.

The faceless man huffed out a wistful sigh as if he had expected that question. Stiles could practically see his features soften with the knowledge that he could predict the situation even without really seeing his face.

"Iowereth Kenan was his name. A brave man. He helped your mother hide for a while. Shortly after she left Poland. She probably named you after him because for her the name meant safety and protection."

"Was she hiding from you?"

That earned him a snort. "Hiding from me? Lis had far greater enemies than me at the time." The man puffed out a breathless laugh. It was rusty and almost toneless. "Nie, she wasn't hiding from me personally. Only from what I had become."

Stiles turned away from the wall and walked closer to the man. "Who? Who else posed a threat?"

The man looked away and clucked his teeth. "I should warn you that further inquiries will awaken old ghosts I'd rather keep buried. You are deep enough already. Don't let her drag you down even further."

Stiles shook his head, his teeth bared in frustration. His every hair felt like it was standing on end. "Stop talking in riddles. Just give me answers already."

The man also shook his head but slower than Stiles. He was not under electricity like Stiles. His emotions were as steady as the tide. "You're still looking for people to blame which I understand. People are fallible, the natural conclusion is to blame them for calamities. We're responsible for our own misery and all that." The man held out a hand and almost made a movement as if to point at himself before he stopped himself and folded his hands in his lap. "Finding the human who made the mistake won't help you in this case. It was one moment of succumbing to temptation, one moment of weakness. If you look for someone who had a moment like that, you're looking at one such person right now." Stiles thought he could see a rueful smile gracing the man's lips. "You have to look beyond that. Look for the root of the problem. I can't say more."

Stiles looked at the man and noticed his haggard appearance for the first time. Maybe it was hard to detect because the man held himself like he was the king of this realm. His back was straight and his head held high, but his hands were shaking, his skin was grey and he wore loneliness like other people sunscreen.

"Who doesn't want me to see your face?"

"Ah," the man intoned. "You don't think I'm hiding my identity from you on purpose?"

"You obviously have ties to my family. If there was a chance that I could recognize you, if there was some familiarity, it would only work in your favour. It doesn't make sense not to use every advantage you have at this point."

"Mh." It sounded like the man was smiling. "You seem to think of yourself as easily swayable. Have you recognized your own weakness? To crave for a connection." Stiles made to interrupt him but the man dismissed him with a wave of his hand before he could even say a word. "You have observed what you can and drawn the right conclusions but you haven't connected the dots yet. You have everything you need to figure it out. Don't rely on me for answers. You don't trust me, remember?"

Stiles wanted more answers but before he could demand them, the house was slowly disappearing. Like ammonia solution was poured over a painting the world around them was dissolving.

"It's too late. She found you."

The man sounded remorseful but his voice was far away. It was an echo of the man that once sat in front of Stiles. Now he was alone.

He blinked once and found that he was in a familiar bathroom. He was back.

Stiles rubbed his eyes and tried to understand how he could have left the other realm without noticing. It felt like someone had exchanged the stage set and decor, leaving him in the real world.

The tinkle of running water echoed in the empty and otherwise completely quiet bathroom.

Slowly, Stiles turned towards the bathtub and realized with a start that the tap was on, had been so for a while since the tub was almost filled to the brim. He reached out a hand to turn it off but noticed then that the water was swirling in a circle as if it was already sucked out. Still, he could clearly see the pluck. Once he had turned the tab off, he reached into the water to pull the pluck.

It wouldn't budge.

The swirling got stronger, he felt the suction on his hand, drawing him to the bottom of the tub. He marvelled at the strength.

With his other hand, he grabbed the edge of the tub, trying to stop himself from falling in. A firm grip on his hand made it impossible to get it out of the water. He leaned against the tub with all his weight, hoping that gravity would do its part.

The grip was stronger. It pulled his whole body into the tub and he sank like a stone, despite the shallow water. He was pushed under. His head went under the surface and everything blurred.

He thrashed and kicked but the current seemed stronger, keeping him under. He opened his eyes and saw the blurry image of a woman leaning over him. Her long dark hair was hanging over her face but the dark eyes were peaking through.

He opened his mouth and screamed, inhaling the water.

***

Derek opened his eyes, thrown out of the dream he had been in. There had been a barrier he had not been able to cross. His last attempt at crossing had dispelled him from the dream altogether.

His heartbeat was racing and he knew that there had to have been a reason for his sudden and almost violent ejection from the dream. He shot out of bed and raced downstairs.

Without knowing what his reasoning was, just following his instinct, he found himself running until he was standing in front of the door of one of the bathrooms on the second floor. He tried the door handle but nothing happened.

Locked.

He heard the soft swish of running water and felt his heartbeat accelerate. Without a second thought, he slammed his shoulder into the door. And again. Again. Until the door finally broke.

***

When Stiles opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the tub. The weight of a boulder was resting on his chest and he couldn't breathe. He opened his mouth and tried to inhale.

Then, he rolled to the side and expelled the fluid in his lungs.

Once his hearing was back, he heard the shrill tones of someone crying. More than one person was screaming in agitation but he couldn't make out any words yet. That might have been due to the hysteria in the screamers' voices or the water in his ears.

"Damn, Stiles."

Arms lifted him up into a seating position and then he was immediately pressed against someone's firm chest in a bone-crushing hug.

"You weren't breathing. Do you understand? You weren't breathing."

Other people soon joined Derek and Stiles on the bathroom floor, hugging whatever part of Stiles they could still grasp despite him being already engulfed by most of a six feet alpha werewolf.

Stiles' breathing was hacked and burned in his lungs, his vision a little blurry from the shortness of breath. That was probably why he thought he could make out the silhouette of a woman in the mirror.