A/N: Welcome back, friends! Another week, another chapter! Here's the third chapter of "Disturbing the Void" aka DTV. Here's what you can look forward to in this chapter; a group session, a slightly risque shower scene (slightly), lots of Miles (Mercy and Stiles) interaction which is always good for the soul, and the devastation that is Stiles becoming Void. So, basically, good times ahead! Again, we have a slight recap for you because a lot happens in a week and we understand. Thanks for sticking with us and enjoy "One Is Bound To Get Out"! If you have any questions, comments, let us know! We love those!

Disclaimer: We still do not own Teen Wolf or its characters. Mostly, because Jeff is a bully and he won't consider it (yet).

Warning(s): Possible trigger(s): Slight emotional distress, stressful situation(s), lots of fluff

Chapter 3: One Is Bound To Get Out

"That basement. I've been there before," he said, voice laced with an eerie sense of recognition that wasn't present before. His hazel eyes shifted and locked onto Mercy's clear, blue ones. She felt a strange sensation coming from him, not quite anxiety, but something deeper. Ms. Morrell helped him off the ground and turned away. One could tell she was deep in thought by the way her eyebrows crept towards each other.

"I'll see you both in group therapy," she said over her shoulder, as she briskly walked towards her office. Stiles and Mercy only stood there, minds preoccupied with Stiles' comment.


"I want to go back to the topic of guilt today. It might surprise you to hear me say that guilt is a good thing. It's a rather mature emotion. Malia, you said something about guilt the other day. You said it came with a visceral reaction," Ms. Morrell commented towards the circle of patients. Not long after Stiles' and Malia's little skirmish, the group therapy began with all four of them, Stiles, Malia, Oliver, and Mercy, present.

Malia looked around uncomfortably before responding, "I said it made me feel sick to my stomach."

"Guilt often becomes physical. You feel it in your gut. It's not just psychological. How does guilt make you feel, Stiles?" Ms. Morrell responded, stimulating more conversation and input from the patients.

"I'm sorry, what?" Stiles had zoned out. Mercy tore her gaze away from her hands, where she was twiddling her thumbs, bored out of her mind, to glance at him sitting to her left.

"Guilt. What does it make you feel?"

"Nervous," he replied.

"Like a sense of urgency? You feel an urgent need to make up for something you've done. To apologize. These are healthy responses. What about you, Mercy? How would you describe guilt?"

"Umm," Mercy scratched the back of her hand, suddenly nervous. "Guilt. Well, guilt, the emotion, is roughly defined as feeling bad about something you did. It's related to what's right and wrong, moral and immoral," she paused, debating whether or not she should continue. "It's also related to shame, but it's not the same thing. One feels shame when they have recognized their own failure to meet their own behavioral standard, but guilt is when one doesn't meet the behavioral standards of someone else. Simply put, guilt reflects the human doing and shame reflects the human being," Mercy ranted. Guilt was one emotion she was well acquainted with. Whether it was her own guilt or someone else's, she has felt it various times. Mercy had been in a constant state of guilt and shame when Angela still controlled her actions. Making people cry, and feel such pain was something she could never forgive herself for.

"Extremely well said, Mercy. It's true, shame and guilt are two closely related emotions. However, not everyone feels them. Does anyone know what we call someone who doesn't experience guilt?" Ms. Morrell continued, one eye trained on Stiles.

"Sociopath," Oliver chipped in.

"That's right, Oliver," Ms. Morrell nodded, yet she still kept her eyes trained on Stiles. Mercy noticed how he fidgeted in his seat, his face growing paler with each second, eyes searching for something no one else could see. Right when Mercy was about to lean over and quietly ask him if he was okay, Ms. Morrell interrupted.

"I'm sorry, everyone, but we need to take a break. Come with me, Stiles. I'd like to talk with you for a minute." Both therapist and patient stood, walking towards Ms. Morrell's office. Oliver, Malia, and Mercy were left staring at their retreating figures, confusion etched across their faces.

"What could she possibly want with him?" Malia voiced the question running through all their minds.

"Well, did you see how strange he was acting? He just couldn't sit still," Mercy remarked, still sitting in her chair.

"Probably because he was sitting next to you," Ollie muttered under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just… Well, he stared at you for a good ten minutes is all I'm saying. Dude probably likes you."

"Shut up, Ollie. You don't know what you're saying. We literally just met this morning. If anything, he's creeped out by all the actual loonies here," Mercy said glancing at the woman to her right who was eating her hair. The woman didn't even hear Mercy's comment and moved on to biting her nails.

"Either way, Ms. Morrell noticed," Ollie stated.

"Yeah, well that's none of my business. I'm gonna go take a shower," Mercy stood and left the room. Talking about such strong emotions left her feeling dirty, and a nice hot shower seemed like the best place to clear her thoughts. She leisurely walked to her dorm room, she had all day to waste. One of the only perks of being stuck in Eichen House was that Mercy was no longer obligated to do schoolwork. She still read constantly, to keep her mind off the powerful emotions that surrounded her 24/7, but until the Jacobs shipped her more books to read, Mercy was left to twiddle her thumbs.

Once Mercy reached her dorm she stuffed clean clothes and her freshly washed towel into her tote bag and walked towards the boys' shower room. Once again, it was empty since most of the men had already showered, or at least the ones that were sane enough to even bother to do so. Mercy hung her tote bag on the hook just outside the shower she had used the night before, turned it on, and stripped naked. She tossed her dirty clothes into the bag, after taking out the body wash, not really giving her actions it much attention. She stepped under the hot spray, adjusting the temperature of the water so it wouldn't scald her sensitive skin.

Mercy knew she was taking a risk by showering in the boys' facility during daylight hours, but she thought she'd manage to finish before anyone would catch her. Naturally, she was wrong. Story of her life. The door opens and she hears someone muttering to himself, feeling a sudden burst of anxiety that didn't belong to her.

"Okay, you just gotta stay awake, Stiles, you just gotta…"

Looking behind her, she noticed Stiles had just realized that he wasn't the only one in the room. He seemed confused to see her there and she couldn't really blame him. She grabbed her towel, wrapping it around around her body to shield herself, simultaneously turning off the water in the shower, thankful that she had almost finished her routine when Stiles had shown up, so she didn't have suds in her hair. Bless him, he had already turned his head when he had noticed she was indecent.

"Uh… Sorry, I, uh, I thought this was…" he gestured wildly and vaguely to himself. A smirk made its way onto the girl's mouth as she tried not to laugh at the awkwardness permeating the air. "Imma just go, so…"

"You're not in the girls' room, Stiles," Mercy called, as he went to grab the door handle.

"Oh, that's good…Wait, what?" he asked with bewilderment. Mercy did laugh this time, which made the boy look at her, seeming to forget why he had stopped in the first place, then realizing why, when he saw the towel that covered her body.

"Oh God, sorry," he mumbled looking away, again, and if his eyes had lingered a bit longer than they probably should have, well, neither of them were going to acknowledge that.

"It's alright. I mean, I am in the boys' room, technically. At least, you're not one of the actual crazies. Or worse, Brunski…" she commented, with a shudder.

"Why are you in the boys' room, exactly?" Stiles questioned, eyes now trained on the ceiling. "Well, there's this thing that's commonly accepted by society. It's insisted that hygiene is of utmost importance, so you know, I'm being hygienic," Mercy almost laughed when Stiles, again, forgot her state of undress to give her a look of squinty-eyed annoyance. "It's called showering, Stiles. I figured that was pretty obvious," Mercy deadpans, with a gesture at her wardrobe. Or lack thereof, as the case may be.

"I can see that. I mean, I saw that. Not that I saw much of anything. That's not to say there was nothing to see, but there was too much steam. Uh, I'm not saying there should have been less steam…" Stiles rambled on, watching as the girl crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow, amusement playing at her lips. "You don't do this too often, do you?"

"Uh, walk in on people while they're showering? Or talk to beautiful girls while they're mostly naked?" Stiles questioned.

"Well, when you put it that way… Both?" Mercy chose not to melt at the adjective Stiles used to describe her. Not visibly, at least.

"I mean, I try not to make a habit of the first one. The second hasn't really presented itself to me that often, either, so..." Stiles shrugged. Both of them knew they should be far more uncomfortable considering the situation, but after the initial shock, a sense of calm had settled over the room, much like the steam from Mercy's interrupted shower. Mercy had never felt so settled around another person as she did with the boy with molten eyes, which was odd, considering his constant anxiety. It was even more odd because, for once, she wasn't manipulating the serenity, subconsciously or otherwise. Usually, Mercy would question how much unintentional control she had over emotional situations, but this time, she knew the calm was genuine. "So, you generally make it a habit to shower in the boys' room, or...?"

"Eh, it's a new thing. A little birdy told me the water was hotter in here. For once, seems she was right," Mercy gave a shrug.

"You don't seem like you belong here," Stiles stated, giving her another searching look.

"Uh, yeah, I think we already established that. I'm telling you, the water is freezing in the girls' showers…"

"That's not what I meant," Stiles interrupted, a slight smile gracing his lips. "I meant, you don't seem like you belong in Eichen. You, uh, seem…" he was searching for words, hands turning, mindlessly agitating the steam still swirling in the hot shower room, almost as though he was scared that his first impression of her was wrong.

"Sane?" Mercy smiled when he nodded. She gave him a small tilt of the head, almost as if she were testing him. "You don't seem particularly crazy yourself, but here we both are, so..." she shrugs. "You know, crazy people don't know they're crazy, right?"

"I've heard that, yes. Crazy people usually don't acknowledge that statement, so I think you're good," Stiles smirked.

"Well, for what it's worth, you don't seem entirely insane, either," Mercy replies. "Maybe just a little tired."

Mercy watched as his face dropped. She was curious as to why, but didn't want to push. She didn't think she said anything particularly upsetting, but she felt his anxiety kick up a notch.

"Uh, yeah, I haven't been sleeping well," he said, a little nervously. Stiles started to rub the back of his neck, no longer sharing eye contact. Mercy never thought she'd miss his stare so much. She moved forward until there was only a few inches between them. Unsure as to why she was acting so boldly, Mercy grabbed his wrist to get him to stop the nervous action. Stiles let her and looked up to notice how little space was left between them. He could see the individual water droplets dripping from her wet curls, they were so close. His eyes couldn't help, but follow one that raced down the graceful slope of her neck. It was a bit mesmerizing.

Mercy felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room as she watched his eyes pave a trail, starting at her neck and ending at her collarbone. When he looked up, again, she felt intoxicated. There was so much emotion swirling around her, it was overwhelming. Stiles was an absolute stranger and, yet their heady connection was undeniable. Mercy couldn't breathe and she wasn't sure if she was willing to take a step back in order to do so. She did look away, however, remembering that she still had a grip on his wrist. Letting go, she took a step backwards.

"Uh, sorry… I, I, uh…" Mercy stammered, whilst Stiles chuckled. Oh, how the tables had turned with Mercy becoming the awkward one. "Sorry, I just don't… It makes me nervous when I notice others' nervous ticks, I guess?"

Stiles blushed, slightly. Still, he gave her another grin.

"I'm going to drive you nuts, then. I have a lot of nervous ticks."

"Well, I guess we met in the right place, huh?" Mercy winked.

"I'm sure there are far better places we could have met, Mercy," Stiles eyes took on a concerned look as they roamed her face. "Anywhere, but here, actually."

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Mercy asked. She knew he didn't deserve to be here. Empathic abilities or not, Mercy knew Stiles wasn't troubled enough to be here.

"I'm trying to keep my friends safe," he whispered, head bent so that he was looking at her through his incredibly long lashes.

"Safe from what?" Mercy asked, her eyes widening and searching his face as if he held the answers to the universe. She didn't realize how close they had inched towards each other, until the door to the communal bathroom banged into the wall, making them both jump. Mercy grasped at her towel, making sure it was snug around her frame. She had, honestly, forgotten how bare she was while she was alone with Stiles, in more ways than one. It didn't seem to matter, in the slightest. Now, however, she was extremely uncomfortable. Stiles stepped in front of Mercy to shield her almost bare body in an attempt for her to gain back some modicum of decency. The uninvited guest to the party was a tall guy with stringy hair stuck under a raggedy cap. He had this faraway look on his face that indicated he had no idea what he had walked in on or where he was. It was actually a common expression around Eichen, but this guy never snapped out of it.

"Um, hey, dude, we were just…" Stiles started to explain before he noticed the guy's blank expression. "What's with him?" he asked the girl behind him.

"That's Crazy Kevin. He has no idea we're here," Mercy told Stiles. She went to grab her tote bag off it's hook.

"Crazy Kevin, really? That seems kind of sardonic, doesn't it?" he asked her, as she grabbed his hand to pull him behind her.

"Nice word. I didn't come up with it. It's just what everyone calls him. Is your room nearby?" she asked, to which he nodded in confusion. "Cool. Hey, Kevin. See you, later, sweetie," Mercy released Stiles long enough to give the unseeing man a small wave and to pull the door open. She latched herself onto Stiles' wrist again when he didn't follow right away, dragging him with her. "Will you come on? I'm starting to feel a draft here."

Stiles stumbled behind her, nearly colliding with her back when she stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Lead the way… I need a room to change in without having to walk all the way to other side of this building," Mercy tilted her head to look at him. "I just realized I have no idea what your surname is and it's really beginning to throw me off."

"Stilinski," Stiles told her, as he started walking to the room that he and Oliver shared.

"Wait, you're trying to tell me your name is Stiles Stilinski? Seriously? That's like naming your kid John Johnson or Edward Edwards," Mercy commented as they made it to his room. She gestured for him to close the door, grateful that Ollie wasn't present.

"It's a nickname. My first name is beyond pronunciation for anyone, so I go by Stiles. What exactly are you doing?" he questioned.

"Skinning a bear," she blinks at him. "What does it look like, Stilinski?" she said, shifting to pull up her underwear, while still wearing her towel. "Could you, you know?"

"Huh?" he questioned, eyes traveling up her legs. She coughed and he noticed her finger making a twirl gesture, asking him to turn around. "Oh, uh, right! Sorry, sorry."

He turned to face the door, standing sentry, when a blush crept up his neck and Mercy knew she had never seen anything more adorable than a flustered Stiles Stilinski. She was pulled out of her thoughts when he asked her a question, still not looking, of course.

"What's your last name? Since you had to know mine, I mean."

"I'm done. You can turn around now. It's Jacobs, by the way."

Mercy had just finished hooking her bra, her bare back facing Stiles, when she heard the deep intake of breath, the wall she was facing being the only witness to her devilish smirk. She turned around with a raised eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips.

"I, uh, thought you said you were done?" Stiles spluttered. Mercy picked up her leggings to shimmy into.

"The important parts are covered," she shrugged. "Stiles, you still with me?" Mercy questioned, waving a hand in front of his face, his eyes were practically about to fall out of his head, yet they continued to roam over the exposed flesh all the same. His eyes raked over the front of her undies, the black batman logo visible. She watched his Adam's apple bob aggressively as he gulped.

"All I gotta say is, 'Holy heck, Batman,'" he muttered, eyes starting to make their way back to her face, his cheeks on fire. Her laugh rang in the small room.

"Cute, you noticed I'm wearing Batman underwear. You're hysterical. I knew you liked Batman. You got the Arkham joke," she said, sliding the dark leggings over her legs, head bent, hair covering her face like a wild and unruly curtain. Once done with that task, she grabbed her gray, oversized t-shirt to pull over her head, covering up the matching lingerie of Stiles' dreams. She noticed her companion's lips had jutted out in a semi-duck like expression, his eyebrows raised, eyes still wandering. It was rather comical to look at, if Mercy was being honest with herself.

Mercy collapsed onto the bed that was situated on her left, Stiles' eyes snapping back to her face. Mercy shifted from lying on the bed, to sitting up and crossing her legs in a meditational style in five seconds flat. She watched Stiles for a moment, unsure of what to say. On one hand, what Stiles had said about needing to keep his friends safe was stuck on an endless loop in her mind. On the other hand, she didn't want to bring up such a serious subject, again. If Mercy could have all the time in the world to sit here, without worrying about being caught, and just talk to Stiles, she probably would. Boredom didn't seem to strike nearly as often since he had arrived.

"What are you thinking?" Stiles asked, so quietly, she's almost sure she didn't hear him. Her crystalline eyes roamed his face, paying attention to the moles he had scattered across his face. Mercy just knew they'd form constellations if she got close enough. Making eye contact, again, she shook her head, opening her mouth to form words she didn't have yet. Once again, they were interrupted by the door opening. Stiles went to stand in front of Mercy, who stood up so fast, she nearly lost her balance. She grabbed onto the boy's forearm, to steady herself, causing his back to become flush with her chest.

"Oh, hey, buddy! I was wondering where you had… What do we have here?" Oliver asked, seeing his new roommate and his friend sharing the same space. His already large grin grew, if that was even possible. Mercy sighed and leaned forward to rest her head, which she had forgotten was still wet, between Stiles' shoulder blades. Her hold still on the brown-eyed boy, she felt him shiver from the water that was soaking through his t-shirt by way of her scalp.

"Oh, shit. Sorry," Mercy muttered, rubbing at the back of his shirt, which ended up turning into an unconscious stroking of his back. "Hey Ollie, how's it going?" she asked the newcomer, with a smile so filled with innocence, it was terrifying to Stiles. They hadn't been doing anything wrong, yet he still felt like they had been caught in the act. Mercy's rubbing his back, though as innocent as it was, was making it difficult for Stiles to function.

"Did I interrupt something?" Oliver asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. Mercy laughed at the other boy and Stiles really was beginning to question her sanity. She had just flipped the emotional script so fast. He could almost hear the Nogitsune inside him asking if she was playing Oliver or if she was playing him. The demon fox liked to play mind games with him by targeting Stiles' insecurities.

"Nah. Stiles was just letting me borrow your room to change. Couldn't be caught by Brunski after using the boys' showers again. Morrell might have given me a get-out- of-jail-free card, but I'm not going to push my luck, ya know?" Stiles watched as the other boy nodded, clearly not convinced. "Anyways, I'm out. See you later, boys," Mercy gave Stiles a final pat on the back, grabbed her tote and made a brisk exit.

"Uh, bye," Stiles said confused, with a small wave that was tinged with awkwardness.

"Bye!" Oliver called out before turning back to Stiles with a cheeky grin and wagging his eyebrows once more.

"Quit it, Oliver," Stiles said in a tone that indicated he was far from in the mood, for Oliver's questions. Stiles left the room, focused on finding a way to get to the basement. After reaching the bottom of the stairs and walking forward a few feet, he nearly ran into Malia. "Oh! Sorry, Malia. I didn't see you there," he apologized

"Yeah, I can tell, you nitwit. Now get out of my way," Malia's eyes glowed blue with anger.

"Hey! Hey, what are you doing? You can't shift here. You have to control it," Stiles clutched her arm dragging her into the janitor's closet to his right.

"I can't, Stiles! I spent practically my entire life as a coyote, controlling anything while being human isn't exactly my forte," she groaned.

"Focus! Focus," he gripped her arms tight, making her focus more on his rough hands than on her shift. Soon enough, Malia's eyes returned to their usual color and her breathing had settled down.

"I can help you. Find someone to help you control it, I mean. But I need your help first," he bargained. Malia stared at him, visibly debating whether to trust the boy that had ruined her life or not. She nodded slowly, hesitantly, reaching a conclusion. "Good. I need you to tell me who has the keys to the basement," Stiles asked.

"Brunski. He has keys to everything. I can swipe them for you. But, I swear on my life Stiles if you double-cross me, I will end you," she said, leaving the confines of the closet, body language hostile. Stiles nodded, and the plan was set.


Mercy had just finished with her dinner and was now lounging in the sitting room. She hadn't seen Stiles at dinner and it had been hours since she had last seen him, after she had left his room earlier that afternoon. She still kind of regretted leaving like she did, but as much as she liked Ollie, she really hadn't shared much with him as far as personal things went. Hell, so far Stiles was the only patient who knew her last name, unless they had overheard one of the attendings call her by it. She just wasn't a sharer of intimate details. That's why Morrell called her out for not speaking up in group. Mercy bit her lip, worried something had happened to him. She wasn't quite sure why she was so worried, she barely knew him, but Mercy did know that being around Stiles was unlike being with any other person she had ever met. She felt comfortable with him, safe, and at home. No matter how strange that seemed to Mercy, she knew it was true.

Just then, Oliver waltzed in, trailing behind Crazy Kevin, poking the poor guy, trying to get a reaction out of the stoic man.

"Ollie! Will you quit messing with him? One of these days you're gonna get into some serious trouble," she chastised him from across the room. Oliver immediately stopped what he was doing, thinking it was an orderly that had reprimanded him. When his eyes landed on Mercy, his shoulders slumped, annoyance clear on his face.

"I was having fun, Mercy!" he walked over and sat on the armchair beside her. She narrowed her eyes at him and sighed.

"Hey, have you seen Stiles lately? He disappeared this afternoon and I haven't heard from him since."

"No, I haven't seen him," Oliver answered dryly, staring at Mercy as if she had grown another limb. He tilted his head to the side like he was thinking really hard.

"What's up with you? You're acting stranger than usual," Mercy commented, one eyebrow quirked as she surveyed her friend.

"Nothing's wrong with me. Just seeing the world a little… differently now."

"Whatever, Ollie, if you wanna get high off your meds, that's on you," Mercy sensed that Oliver wasn't really himself. He seemed off, for lack of a better word. Well, more off than usual. Mercy's "spidey senses were tingling" and she could feel something was wrong with him. Something had changed, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Mercy suddenly felt uncomfortable being around Oliver. She needed to cut their conversation short and run far away, as fast as possible.

"I heard from Malia, not too long before dinner, that he was trying to open the basement door when Brunski caught him. She had left too fast for him to notice her, and she didn't look back. Brunski probably put him in a "chokehold" and after he was put to sleep, threw him in the "Quiet Room." Seems plausible to me," Oliver commented, still looking at Mercy with a strange expression.

"Alright. Thanks Oliver, I'll- I'll see you later," Mercy hastily stood from her seat on the couch and left the room. Mercy was sure that by "chokehold," Oliver meant Stiles had been tranquilized. She was all too well acquainted with that and the "Quiet Room." It was a padded cell not too far from the basement door. It was Brunski's favorite place to toss newbies their first month here. Mercy shuddered, knowing how scary it was to be tranquilized and to wake up inside that room. Mercy's mind started going a million miles a minute, debating and trying to come up with a plan to bust him out. She vaguely remembered Stiles muttering to himself while she was in the shower earlier, urging himself to stay awake. She wondered what was up with his obsession on staying up as long as possible, but she knew there must have been a good reason for it. She made up her mind and made her final decision. She was going to get him out of there, no matter what she had to do.

As Mercy was winding her way through the cold halls of Eichen House she passed by Malia who was sitting on the floor, staring at her nails.
"Hey, Malia. Can you help me with something?" Mercy asked timidly. Malia might have helped her the night before, but they were far from being on good terms.

"Why would I help you?"

"Well, a little birdy told me that you helped Stiles try to break in the basement, and now he's in the QR. Judging by how you're still out and about, I figured that Brunski doesn't know you're the one that helped him get the keys. I wonder… If I told him, would he toss you in solitary for a day, or a week?"

"You wouldn't dare," Malia growled, confirming Mercy's suspicion.

"Try me." A smirk founds its way to Mercy's lips because she knew she had her. Malia was at her, well, mercy. Malia scowled at the smug girl, but stood up from her seat on the floor.

"What do you want, Jacobs?" she sneered. Malia was one of the few people who knew her last name. Brunski was a fan of using surnames when it came to his victims.

"Help me break him out. Swipe Brunski's keys again, for me."

"Are you serious? I'm gonna get caught!"

"Figure it out. I'll be waiting in our room," Mercy walked away, confident that Malia would comply.

Fifteen minutes later, Malia walked in, a smug smile on her face. "You have ten minutes, tops. I made a few asshole loonies fight each other in the sitting room. Brunski's busy with them. He doesn't know I took his keys, but sooner or later, he's gonna go around looking for them. And I'm not getting sent to solitary for you, so go."

She tossed the large ring of keys in Mercy's lap before walking out again. Mercy nodded to herself, silently congratulating Malia on a job well done. She had a slight suspicion that Malia would've been caught in the act, but the girl had proved Mercy wrong. Mercy walked to the Quiet Room inconspicuously, keeping a leisurely pace. Soon enough she reached the door and checked if the coast was clear before trying to unlock it. The hall was empty, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. Careful not to jingle the keys too loudly, she tried each one successively. On the fourth try, the lock clicked and she turned the knob, quickly slipping inside, . Stiles was a heap on the floor, face scrunched up as if he were in pain. "He's probably having a nightmare. That explains why he wanted to stay awake earlier. Maybe he has severe night terrors…" Mercy knelt by his head and placed her hand over his mouth, to prevent him from crying out when he did wake up. She didn't want to startle him, but she wasn't trying to get caught, either. That wouldn't be good for either of them. With her other hand, she gently shook his shoulder.

"Stiles. Stiles, wake up. Hey, c'mon, Batman, get up," she whispered, shaking his shoulder with each word. He slowly stirred, hands clutching at the air. He mumbled, the noise muffled by Mercy's hand and she shook his shoulder harder, shushing quietly. His eyes flew open, breathing heavily, panic clear in the muffled cry that escaped his lips.

"Hey! Hey, Stiles. It's me, Mercy. It's me, calm down. Breathe, breathe deeply," she muttered, helping Stiles swallow his rising panic. She even focused some of her energy on him, manipulating his emotions slightly to ease his racing heart. Recognition sparked behind his eyes and he moved Mercy's hand from his mouth.

"Sorry, I… How long was I out?" Stiles asked, getting up from the floor. He extended his hand to Mercy, who was still kneeling. She took his hand and let him help her up.

"A few hours, tops. You missed dinner; when I saw you weren't there, I went looking," she admitted.

"You were worried about me?" His voice was deep and husky from just being woken from a sedated sleep. It made Mercy's stomach flip, but she kept her cool.

"Don't flatter yourself, Stilinski. I just wanted to make sure you got some more meat on those bones," she sassed, pulling her hand back from his grip.

"Nice to know you care so much," Stiles mumbled sarcastically. Mercy childishly responded with the sticking-her-tongue-out routine. Stiles would have laughed any other time, but he was too busy trying to shake off the last effects of the sedative Brunski had forced on him. Mercy took the hint that he wasn't in the mood and explained the next part of the plan.

"Listen, I know you want to get to the basement, but the basement door has been closed for years. No one ever goes down there. At least, not through that door," she winked mischievously. "There's another way, though, through the closed unit. That's where they keep the real psychos," Mercy slipped her hand into his, leading him out and through the halls of Eichen House. Once they reached the closed unit, she used Brunski's keys to slip inside and open the second door to their right. While Stiles walked in, she tossed Brunski's keys just outside the door to the closed unit, making it seem like he had just dropped them while making his rounds. She walked back to Stiles, both grinning like lunatics, surprised that the plan had actually worked.

The pair walked down the steep staircase using the faint light, shining down from the grates above, to show them the way. There were tools and large boilers down there, dusty from lack of cleaning. It had just occurred to Mercy that she had no idea why they were down here in the first place. She almost groaned at the lack of knowledge she had when it came to things that concerned Stiles. Ever since he arrived at Eichen, things had changed so much in such a short period of time, that she just managed to completely entangle herself with this boy that she hardly knew. The more logical part of her was really beginning to question her sanity.

"Uh, Stiles, why are we down here, exactly? I mean, what is it that you're looking for?" she asks him, noticing his gaze had travelled to a wall directly across from where he stood. There was symbol that resembled a backwards "5" scratched into the wall. She felt Stiles' recognition before he confirmed it.

"Something to do with that," his eyes never strayed from their target. Mercy let go of Stiles's hand to get a closer look. She ran her fingertips over the marking.

"What does it mean?" Mercy looked up to Stiles, waiting for an answer. The grooves in the wall almost looked as if they were made by some sort of claws. Mercy had no idea what could have done it.

"Self."

"Maybe you should be a little more vague, Stiles," she remarked sarcastically. He gave a nervous laugh. "How about you tell me more… Stiles?"

"You might not like me if you knew any more," Stiles told her sadly.

"I find that hard to believe. Besides, we've all done bad things. Why should you be any different?" Mercy stood up from where she had kneeled by the mark on the wall and grabbed his hand again. She made sure he saw the sincerity in her eyes.

"You won't get any judgment from me, Stiles."

Stiles averted his gaze from Mercy's unwavering stare and faced the mark on the wall again, he wouldn't look at her as he explained. It actually bothered Mercy quite a bit that he wouldn't look at her. "Come, sit on the couch with me," Mercy held Stiles' hand and lead him over to the rather tidy-looking, yet worn couch in the middle of the room. It must have been moved there recently, or else it would have been just as dusty as everything else in the basement.

"Well," he started explaining, as he sat down to Mercy's right. "I've been having these strange dreams for a while now. They vary, but they're vivid, and it's like... I get sleep paralysis when I'm in those dreams. I have to scream myself awake every night, so I've given up on sleeping," Stiles spoke with his hands and Mercy had to grab the one closest to her, he was waving them so violently. She could tell it helped calm him, like she was an anchor of sorts. He slowed down a bit, taking a deep breath before he continued and giving the girl next to him a look that expressed he was grateful to her. Mercy's thumb rubbed soothing circles against the back of his hand, letting a little reassurance and calm seep into him through their mental connection. "And what was worse was that sometimes, I had no clue when I was dreaming and when I was awake. It's actually made me have spells where I sleepwalk and… let's just say, I didn't do good things. I started to become a danger to others, Merc, mainly my friends."

Mercy listened with rapt attention as Stiles explained what he had been experiencing the past weeks; the fugue states, sleep paralysis, feeling of always being watched. Mercy thought it was sweet and brave of him to check himself into Eichen of his own volition to protect his friends. She could tell he really loved them, and he would do anything he could to protect them, and evidently, that included living in a crazy house for a few days. However, she felt he was leaving something huge out, but having only known him since that morning, she knew she couldn't push the issue, nor was she going to. This was enough for now. Mercy was really beginning to question her sanity when it came to this boy. She hadn't been sure if she was ever going to be able to trust anyone after the whole incident with Angela and her parents, but here she was, trusting Stiles to a fault. There was just something about him. There was something about him and her. The amount of sincerity in the room was making her near claustrophobic, so to ease her racing mind, she gave another look around the room.

Mercy noticed a drill next to a chair with leather straps attached to it. "Trepanation," Mercy said quietly.

"What?" Stiles' grip on Mercy's hand unwavering.

"Trepanation. It's when they drill a hole into your head. Oliver mentioned it, not too long ago. He was obsessed with it for a week. Asked every orderly about it until finally they just threw him into solitary for the day. It shut him up real quick," Mercy explained, looking up at Stiles. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the cold draft in the room, or the thought of having a hole drilled into your head to let "evil spirits" out, or whatever the excuse had been back in the day.

"Are you cold?" Stiles asked, eying her shivering frame.

"Just a little, but I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle," Mercy replied, amid her clattering teeth.

"Here, move over, I'll keep you warm," the boy shifted so that he was now laying on the couch, back pressed into the cushions, a small space next to him.

"Is this you making a move, Stilinski?" she smirked, making him go a little red in the face as he started to sit up. She placed a hand on his shoulder, stilling his movement. "I'm too cold to care, at the moment," Mercy eyed the boy, a slight blush starting to make its way up her own neck, despite the chill in the room, but she still moved to lay with him. Her head now rested on his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her upper back, hand resting on her forearm, the other draped across her waist. One of her hands was snuggled under her body comfortably warm, the other with her palm splayed across his chest, feeling his hard and steady heartbeat.

"Is this comfortable enough for you?"

"Yes, very," Mercy replied, keeping her answer curt, not trusting her voice to keep from shaking. Here she was, a girl who hadn't even had her first kiss, cuddling with the hottest, sweetest boy she had ever seen, in the basement of an insane asylum. She would have giggled at the preposterous thought, if Stiles' hadn't brought her out of her thoughts by softly running his fingertips up and down her forearm. The small movement lulled her into a drowsy state, one where she was at the cusp of sleep, yet far enough from tipping over the edge that she was still able to form coherent thoughts and sentences. "Is this how you win the hearts of all the girls you meet?" she whispered softly, not really wanting to interrupt the quiet that had settled over the two of them.

"Does that mean I'm winning your heart?" Stiles smirked, keeping his voice low. Mercy found it strangely attractive, but she couldn't let that comment slide by, so she curled the fist that lay on Stiles' chest into a fist and lightly punched him. He chuckled at her, impressed by the strength in her small hand. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

"Oh my God, shut up, Stiles. You're even more sarcastic than me and I didn't think that was even possible," she groaned, burrowing even more into his warmth as he gave her a cheeky grin that she pretended not to see.

"I promise you it's more than possible. It's a talent, a gift even," the boy said in a smug tone, but keeping his voice barely above a whisper. Mercy gave a small snort.

"That's questionable, sir," the girl said, making him smile. She was tired, he could tell, so he decided to continue stroking her back instead of verbally responding.

They both went a while without speaking, words unnecessary. Stiles was content in his movements, choosing to watch the girl he was lulling to sleep. Mercy felt his stare, despite her eyes being closed and her mind starting to drift, but she wasn't bothered by it. Oddly enough, his stare was like a blanket that she never wanted to be without again. Once again, though, she found herself questioning this whole instantaneous intimacy found with Stiles, this draw she felt to be near him. It was disconcerting.

All of a sudden, she felt him stop stroking her back and lift his hand. She wanted to open her eyes and figure out why the sudden change, but she didn't. Instead, she held her position with bated breath. Stiles' fingers then moved a tendril of hair out of her face, so softly it was no more than a whisper itself. He skimmed her jawline with the pads of his fingertips, with as little pressure as possible, stopping by her chin.

"I know you're awake, you know," Stiles whispered. Mercy gave a small sigh, whether at his movements or because she had been found out, Mercy, would never be sure. She opened her eyes to look at him.

"I was waiting to see what you'd do," she insisted, with a small shrug of the shoulders. Stiles gave a hum in response, placing another curl behind her ear. "This is weird, right?" Mercy asked him. Stiles stopped moving to look at her fully.

"You mean the fact that we are complete strangers, yet I feel like I've known you my entire life?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, that," Mercy's response was rather high-pitched for her. Stiles chose not to comment, trying to keep his voice from doing the same thing. They both took solace in the fact that the other was just as nervous. Mercy chose to sit up, then, but made sure not to put any distance between them. She wasn't pushing Stiles away, she just wanted to see his face better. There was also the whole light headed feeling due to their closeness, but Mercy chose to not acknowledge that part of it.

"Yeah, it's pretty weird, but I've seen weirder."

"Weirder than cuddling with a stranger in the basement of an insane asylum? What kind of life do you live, Stilinski?" Mercy tried to make a joke. She wasn't used to this. Stiles didn't laugh, but he gave a small smile in response.

"You'd be surprised, Jacobs. You'd be surprised."

"I believe you. You've seen things. I can tell," Stiles gave her a look that told her he was shocked. He quirked an eyebrow to which she just gave him a shrug in response. "Stiles may have seen weird things, but I'm sure he has never met someone with supernatural empathic abilities. There's no way to explain that one," Mercy thought. "But this… Does this make any sense to you?" she asked, gesturing between them.

"I'm as confused by this as you are. It would figure, though, right? I meet you here and I'm not even sure if I'm awake half the time, because you seem too perfect to be real and as things are going so far, this is a pretty good dream. Especially compared to the others…" Stiles was rambling and his mood was starting to spiral. Mercy could tell he was really questioning his reality to an extent. He wasn't kidding about those nightmares of his. He had placed his head in his hands, arms propped up by his knees, pulling a little at his hair. Mercy chose to move from her position and kneel in front of him, then. She gently removed his hands from their grip and moved her hands to his face.

"Look, Stiles. Will you look at me, please?" his golden eyes caught hers, unable to ignore the plea in her voice. "I have no idea what is going on between us and I'm not going to pretend that it makes sense, because it doesn't, alright? But I know this…. whatever it is, it's real. I'm real. You're not dreaming, okay? Not this time."

Stiles' eyes roamed her face, knowing that even on a good day, he couldn't have made her up. The Nogitsune in the back of his head was making him unsure of everything, but he was sure of this stranger. He was sure of Mercy Jacobs.

Mercy inched forward to press her lips to his, trying to prove her point, but before she made it that far, they were rudely interrupted by the sound of knocking. Well, it was more like scratching, like a dog at a door.

"Do you hear that?" Stiles asked. Mercy stood from where she had knelt on the floor, both of them momentarily forgetting about what they were about to do and remembering where they were. Mercy walked over to the backwards five etched onto the far wall, feeling the need to inspect it again.

"You know… It kind of seems like this was done by a set of claws," Mercy mumbled, loud enough for Stiles to hear, as she ran her fingers over the etching on the wall once more. A light bulb went off and she suddenly had an idea. Curling her hand into a loose fist, she knocked on the rough wall. The noise echoed slightly, indicating that there was some space behind the wall. "It's hollow," Mercy exclaimed, not really expecting this new discovery. Stiles looked around the room, an eerie excitement rolling off him like a heavy fog. He picked up a thick pipe, weighing it in his hand. Mercy stepped away, understanding what he was going to do. Stiles walked over to the wall, positioning himself so that he could hit the wall with the pipe, like it were a bat he held and this was the most important game of his baseball career. He swung hard, a crack forming on the wall, a few pieces of concrete now chipped away. He glanced at Mercy, as if he were asking her to verify what he had seen. She gave a small nod of her head and Stiles swung again, this time large chunks of thin concrete falling in to the small space behind the wall. He started pushing chunks out of the way, Mercy walking over to help, now excited to find out what was behind it. A rank smell wafted up her nose making her cringe. Dust billowed out as the last piece of concrete collapsed. They coughed and stepped back a few feet, waiting for the cloud of dust and pulverized concrete to settle. Once the view was clear, Mercy gasped in shock. "Is- is that a corpse?" she asked, scared to know the answer.

"No. It's the Nogitsune," Stiles clarified. He reached in and grasped a picture held in the "nogitsune's" hand, as well a katana scabbard stuck between the corpse' arm and torso. It was an old picture, and judging by the clothes worn and the lack of color in the picture, she figured it was around the time of World War II.

"What?" She looked at him, confusion written in capital letters across her face.

"Quick," Stiles walked up to her, eyes wild and afraid, raising his shirt over his head he tossed the scabbard on top of the couch and handed the old photograph to Mercy, who tucked it in her shirt's box pocket. Mercy gulped at the sight of his bare stomach, but kept her face blank. "Could you do me a favor and look at the lines on my back?" Mercy nodded, as Stiles turned his back to her. There were blue and black lines running up and down along his spine, resembling lightning. They were very faint, nearly gone, and rapidly receding. Transfixed, Mercy traced her fingers over Stiles' veins. He shuddered, and Mercy knew he was thoroughly enjoying the feeling, despite the circumstances, as she spotted goosebumps raise on his arms.

"They're almost gone. I can see them disappearing. Your back will be bare in like three minutes, maybe less," Mercy judged. She pulled Stiles' shirt over his back again and smoothed the fabric over his shoulders. She withered on the inside as she felt his broad shoulders tense with the news she had given him. "What are they? The lines, I mean. And a nogitsune? What the hell is that? You didn't tell me anything about a damn corpse in the wall, Stilinski," Mercy fought to keep her voice under control, but it betrayed her, each syllable increasing in pitch. She felt Stiles' arms wrap around her shoulders, in a comforting way. "I'm seriously beginning to question my sanity, here," Mercy mumbled, shaking her head.

"Shh, it's okay. I'll explain everything," Stiles said bringing his hands down to cup Mercy's cheeks, stilling her movements. She looked back into his hazel irises, holding her breath as she fought to keep her heart rate under control.

"Start talking, Stilinski," Mercy said, voice a little more level. He knew that she was being serious; Mercy was no longer in a jocular mood. She needed answers, and she needed them now. However, right as Stiles was opening his mouth, hopefully to explain their current situation, they were interrupted by slow clapping coming from the entrance to the basement they had used earlier.

"Well, well, well. What a show you've put on for us today," Oliver said sarcastically, slowly walking towards the pair still standing by the hole in the wall, with its questionable contents lying inside. Mercy raised her eyebrows in confusion. She had noticed both the twitch of Oliver's eye and his improper use of the word "us"; Oliver was alone, so who else could he be referring to?

"Ollie? How did you- Aggh!" Mercy started her question, but quicker than her eyes could register Oliver's movements, he had whipped a taser from his back pocket, and pressed the electric device right below her ribs. Her eyes grew wide, and she barely registered her body hitting the floor, twitching rapidly. Her ears were filling with a loud buzzing sound, mouth dry as the Sahara desert. The edges of her vision became hazy and unclear, the corners turning black. Her mind was blank, and only registered one thing; pain. White hot, blinding pain.

Stiles went to push Oliver down, a short, shocked, yell escaping his lips, but Oliver was ready for him. His arm shot out and grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck, applying a strong pressure, making Stiles tense and rigid. Oliver drove him to his knees and Stiles felt a sharp pain on his neck. His body convulsed on the floor, taser still held, crackling in Oliver's hand.

"You took Brunski's keys. I took his stun gun," Oliver explained, dragging Mercy's small frame towards the chair with the leather straps that she had mentioned earlier. "I also stole his Haldol," Oliver propped Mercy up on the seat, taking her shaking wrists and strapping them down to the arm rests. Her eyes were half lidded with exhaustion. He pressed a needle into her artery, letting two millimeters of Haldol course through her veins to knock her out. Her body stopped shaking, but Oliver had already finished with the leather straps. Stiles was panting now, trying to regain feeling in his body. He had stopped shaking for the most part, his fingers occasionally twitching. Oliver fiddled with an object around Mercy and the chair, smiling gleefully.

"As I was saying, Stiles, they used to do trepanation here," Oliver turned the drill in his hand, observing the sharp point. Mercy had yet to completely knock out, she was panting hard, heart pounding making the sedative flow through her bloodstream faster, but her fear was controlling her now.

"Oliver, what are you doing?" Stiles managed to ask, voice weak and trembling. He tried to push himself up off of the floor, but he fell back onto his elbows.

Oliver looked straight at Stiles and, suddenly, he knew. He just knew that the boy standing before him, drill in hand, wasn't wholly Oliver. He had been tampered with by the Nogitsune, and Stiles was certain that the demon still had a solid grasp on Oliver's strings. "I'm going to let the evil spirits out," Oliver confessed, face completely serious, maybe even with a hint of joy, but there was also a tinge of fear in his eyes. The drill whirred loudly in the room, as Stiles watched Mercy's head loll to the side, the girl having lost the fight against the Haldol.

Stiles tried his hardest to get up and move closer to the girl, but the taser had weakened his already sleep deprived body even further. The mere effort it took trying to move made him blackout from exhaustion. He must have actually passed out because the next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair across from the one that matched Mercy's, their knees just a foot apart.

"I borrowed a few pointers from the five point restraint," Oliver spoke up. Stiles, a bit disoriented due to his vision being blurred around the edges, was unsure of what the boy meant until he looked down and saw his wrists bound. He tried to pull against the constraints, but to no avail.

"Oliver, stop this," Stiles pleaded. Oliver began to cough violently, covering his mouth. When he pulled his hand away after the fit, his hand contained blood and a fly. Not thinking any more of it, Oliver simply wiped his mouth with the back of the opposite hand and began to move the drill closer to Stiles' temple.

"Oliver, listen to me. Stop! Oliver! Oliver! Stop!" he yelled, begging for his life as the power tool was mere inches away, despite Stiles uselessly trying to move as far out of it's reach as possible.

Suddenly, the whirring of the machine stopped, making Stiles open his eyes to see what had changed Oliver's mind. Oliver had changed directions and started to head towards Mercy's chair, almost as if he was told to start with the girl. Stiles looked into the corner and saw the Nogitsune himself. The creature moved his bandaged head to face the restrained boy's direction, acknowledging him with a nod of the head and a baring of teeth.

"You did this. You got into his head," Stiles accused the demon.

"Every Dracula needs a Renfield," the Nogitsune swiftly replies. Stiles turned his head in disgust to focus on Oliver again. The boy was beside Mercy's body, tightening her constraints, though there was no need for him to do so, as the girl was out cold.

"Just let her go," Stiles told his captor's master.

"Let me in," was the monster's reply. Stiles began to thrash violently against his confines, desperate to be free, so that he could help the still unconscious female. He couldn't let them hurt her. Oliver looked away from the very person he had deemed his friend not too long before, to notice Stiles' struggling. "Stiles," the Nogitsune coaxed. "Do you want her to leave here alive? Do you want us to leave? We can walk out of this place," he bargained, as crafty as the Devil himself.

"Just let her go," Stiles begged, voice cracking and tears in his eyes. "Please."

He watched Oliver, giving up on his constant tugging against his constraints, knowing it was hopeless. Stiles was going to have to watch Mercy be tortured, or worse yet, murdered, and there was no way for him to stop it. This girl, with the piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. This girl, who he had only known existed for such a short period of time, yet felt inextricably bound to. Stiles didn't know what it was about Mercy Jacobs that stirred something so deep within him, and now, he was never going to. He was going to lose her before he even had the chance to know her and that hurt Stiles on a level that he couldn't even fathom. Stiles was more lost now than he had ever been. Eyes moist, he turned his head to follow the demon's movements once more. He watched as the demon stood near the hole in the wall, looking in and observing its own corpse. Stiles began to struggle against his confines once more. He had to save her.

The Nogitsune moved closer to the floundering boy and suggested again for Stiles to let him in. He gnashed his black fangs, getting closer to the boy's face. Stiles screamed in his frustration.

"Let me in, Stiles! Let me in!" the demon insisted, patience leaving with every word. Never before had a human resisted his possession as this human had.

"Just let her go, please!" Stiles yelled, hearing the whirring of the drill once more. His heart was near to bursting from the fear for Mercy's life. Still the demon insisted that Stiles give him entrance, repeating the mantra. Tears trailing nonstop down his face, Stiles leaned back in the chair, trying to drown everything out. He just wouldn't listen. There was nothing he could do.

"Let me in, Stiles, and I'll let her live," the Nogitsune persuaded, ignoring the slight muttering from his "Renfield" about "helping his friend get rid of the spirits". Oliver was trying to justify his actions. Whilst the Nogitsune had control of Oliver, it was more of a strong persuasion. He just told his puppet what to do, but Oliver was losing conviction. Human bonds could be terribly annoying, but the demon fox knew it might just help him in the case of Stiles and the little empath. The demon could already tell Stiles was giving in to him. He could feel the walls being let down.

Stiles knew he had no choice. It was Mercy or himself. One more "Let me in," and Stiles dropped the barrier. His body relaxed and the Nogitsune gave one more wicked grin.

"Oliver," came a gruff voice, making Oliver release his hold on the drill's trigger and look up to see a newly released Stiles, rubbing his chafed wrists. Oliver's eyes widened, now a little more nervous. He watched warily as Stiles moved closer, giving him a nervous grin. The poor boy was looking for approval, but that approval never came. This new Stiles watched his puppet for a moment before snatching away the power tool and knocking Oliver upside the head with it. Stiles sighed at the crumpled up heap that was his minion, beginning to walk away with disinterest.

Mercy began to move then, waking from her induced slumber. She groggily watched as Stiles placed the drill on a nearby surface. "Stiles?" she questioned, confused as to what was happening. Stiles looked in her direction, giving this smirk that Mercy was sure would be ingrained into her memory for the rest of her life. She knew deep down that this was no longer the Stiles she knew. That Stiles was nowhere to be seen. This was something else entirely.

"Little empath," he said, smirking a little more at her gasp over his choice of words, facing her a little more head on. "Stiles" tilted his head to the side, surveying her with a stare so cold that Mercy was sure she would never feel warm again. "I keep my promises, but, just know, I have more in store for you. You'll be of use to me. We're going to have fun, I promise," he chuckled, before turning away once more and walking out.


Mercy didn't know how long she had been left in the musty basement of Eichen House. The girl was still hazy from her dose of Haldol, but that didn't mean she was unable to recall the parting message Stiles had left her with before abandoning her. Mercy was utterly dumbfounded. Not only had she woken up to a completely different Stiles than she had previously known, this new Stiles somehow knew that she was an Empath, and on top of that, he was out to get her. She didn't know what had occurred while she was unconscious, but she knew it was bad. Deep down she knew, the Stiles that left her tied to a chair, that particular Stiles wasn't the same amber-eyed individual she had found herself cuddling with earlier. Mercy felt it deep in her bones, empathic abilities aside. This new Stiles… he was just wrong.

Mercy remained dumbfounded as she remembered Oliver's actions. What had happened to him? What had happened to the sweet, yet strange boy that she had begun to consider a friend? That Oliver would never have done this to her. "But neither would Angela or your parents, right, Merc?" she berated herself. Now here she was, abandoned by a boy she had barely known and, somehow, that small betrayal was the most pain-inducing of all of them. Despite knowing on a deeper level that something seriously sinister had transpired during her brief "nap", it didn't make it sting any less. Mercy struggled and pulled at her restraints in vain, tears washing her cheeks in frustration. She was still sore and tired from where Oliver had taken the stun gun to her side earlier. "Oliver!" she thought. She looked around as best she could with her limited movement. Her blue eyes widened in momentary fear when she noticed he was still in the room with her, but that fear gave way to shock and confusion shortly thereafter when she took in his crumpled up heap of a position. "The hell…? Did Stiles knock him out?" she wondered. Mercy acknowledged that she had one of two options lying before her. She could either struggle aimlessly and call for help, which would likely go unnoticed considering her location. She may be in "Echo House", but who knew if that extended to the basement. Or there was the second option… Mercy could try to rouse her captor/betrayer in hopes that he wouldn't murder her and perhaps even gain some insight as to what she had missed. Neither seemed too appealing at the moment. "Brunski or Oliver? Never would I have thought the day would come that I would struggle with this decision. But… I have to find out what happened to Stiles, which pretty much means calling out for help isn't the ideal option here. Well, here goes nothing. Maybe he won't try to attack me this time…"

"Oliver!" Mercy tried to yell, but due to her nerves and the hoarseness in her throat caused by the night's events, she realized it was more of a strangled whisper than anything else. "Oliver!" she tried again, rattling her constraints for extra noise and effect, but she got nothing. Not even a twitch. "DAMN IT, OLIVER! WAKE UP, YOU BASTARD!" Mercy was incensed now, rage building up the longer she remained confined and thought about what had happened. Bucking against her bounds, rattling her chains, all of this described the ruckus Mercy was making, as she tried to get Oliver to awaken. At the rate she was going, someone was bound to hear her and she was beginning to question if the boy on the floor was even still breathing. A few more minutes passed before she heard a groan. "How did I get myself in this mess?" she couldn't help, but wonder. She questioned all of her life choices when Oliver started to stir from his place on the dusty concrete floor. Mercy struggled against her binds again, knowing it was useless. "Get up, Oliver! Christ!" Mercy ordered the boy. She heard him more than saw him rise slowly to a sitting position, clutching his head. There was a large welt forming on his right temple. When he looked at her, she watched as his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Mercy's entanglement. Mercy had a look of disgust that swiftly was replaced by the sickest of grins that she could manage, giving the Joker himself a run for his money. "Hiya, buddy. How's the head wound? Manage to attack anyone lately?" she questioned, trying to keep a cool demeanor, but her voice rose in pitch as she began to lose a grip on her forced calm. "Oh, right," she said, sharply, rage seeping out of her and becoming difficult to contain. She made sure to rattle her confines once more for emphasis. Mercy felt various waves of emotion taint her tongue. Fear, confusion, guilt… Oliver felt all of these so intensely, but Mercy knew she couldn't let that overwhelm her or stop her. She needed answers and he was the only one that could provide her with them, so no matter what she felt towards Oliver, those feelings could not become a hindrance to that.

"Wha- What are you talking about?" he responded. Mercy only continued to push and pull against the leather straps. "Mercy, I…" Oliver began. But to her Mercy, hearing his voice wobble was the equivalent of a dam bursting.

"THE FUCK, OLIVER?! WHY?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS?! I just… I don't understand… Why would you do this to me?" Mercy's voice began to break, tears flowing freely down her face again. She simply couldn't believe this was happening.

Oliver's eyes were also wet with unshed tears. He started to tremble and shake, crossing his arms to hug his middle and looking as though he was about three seconds away from adopting the fetal position.

"I didn't mean it… I didn't. I just wanted to release the evil spirits, honest. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Oliver was muttering, now rocking back and forth. His feelings were slamming into Mercy and it took everything she had to stay whole at this point. Mercy had to reassemble the broken boy long enough to get away from him or else she too was going to lose herself, much like he seemed to be doing. The onslaught of emotions made Mercy aware that Oliver was, indeed, very sorry and she, honestly, didn't want to recreate the scenarios that had happened with Angela's victims, the scenarios that she was scared she would grow accustomed to if she wasn't careful. It had broken parts of her that she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to fix. To prevent that from happening, though, Oliver was going to have to release her.

"Oliver!" Mercy semi-yells, trying to get his attention. Oliver was still muttering apologies and rocking. Mercy knew she wasn't going to get through to him while he was like this. There was only one thing to do. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, trying to push through the exhaustion and roar of emotions. She focused her energy on calming Oliver's mind. It was more difficult as she still had remnants of Haldol in her system, making the power harder to reach, but she felt the standard tingling she had come to associate with her ability surge, and she knew she had hold of it. Mercy was gradually getting stronger. Pushing outwards with it, she felt as Oliver steadily became calmer, saw as his movements slowed and heard his muttering begin to cease. When he was silent once more, Mercy tried again. "Hey, Ollie," she called, using her nickname for him because she knew it would earn a better response. The girl made sure to catch his gaze and send a miniscule smile his way, hoping it didn't come off as forced as it seemed to her. "How about you come release me, huh, buddy? Please? It's okay, everything is going to be okay now," she said in a slow and calm manner, being direct, yet kind. She spoke as if she were speaking to a small child or a wary animal, as Oliver was very much both of those right now. She nearly sighed out loud in her relief when she watched him nod in response, beginning to push himself up off of the floor. "That's it. You can do this, Ollie."

Oliver came to undo the restraints that he had placed her in to begin with. Mercy tried to keep the anger and residual fear at bay, but she couldn't forget the recent turn of events and it was too soon to even question if she ever would forget them. The boy's hands were shaking as he hastened to set her free, starting with her ankle straps. Once her legs were free, he moved to her wrists. Moving slowly so as to not startle Oliver, she stood up from the chair, moving as far away from it as possible, rubbing her chafed wrists. She eyed Oliver warily, noting his fidgety behavior. He looked like the same Oliver she had come to call a friend and she still couldn't understand what had happened.

"So, what exactly happened, Oliver?" Mercy questioned calmly, yet apprehensively.

"I… I, uh, was trying to free the "evil spirits"," Oliver stuttered out.

"NO!" Mercy shouted in her frustration, but when she saw Oliver shake his head and step back bumping into the chair that she had become fairly acquainted with, she decided to take a breath and go again. "No, I mean, what happened to you? What happened to Stiles? Why, Oliver?"

"Well, I, um…" Oliver said, scratching the side of his neck. "I swallowed a fly, so…"

Mercy interrupted the boy, hand held up preventing him from finishing his sentence. She was ready to throttle him.

"Yes, and we don't know why you swallowed the fly. Let me guess, you're going to swallow a spider to catch the fly, am I right?"

"I actually coughed the fly up already, Mercy!" Oliver insisted. Mercy ran a hand over her face in exasperation.

"Are you fucking serious, right now?"

When Oliver nodded vigorously, excited that she was finally understanding his pleas, Mercy moved closer to him stopping a mere few inches from the boy's face.

"Oliver, I'm not going to ask you, again, okay? So, tell me. What happened to Stiles?" she whispered, voice so deadly calm, it sent shivers down Oliver's spine.

"Uh, he was taken. He no longer belongs to himself. The fly told me to do those things, Mercy. I swear."

"Whoa. Rewind, kid. What do you mean "he no longer belongs to himself"? And a fly told you to do things? Oliver…" Mercy was about to pull her hair out by the roots at this point.

"I'm not kidding. The fly insisted this was the only way. The only way to free the…"

"Evil spirits. Right. I got that part," Oliver smiled at Mercy's acceptance and continued on with his spiel.

"So, when I was released, Stiles was taken. He no longer belongs to himself now," Oliver nodded. Mercy was reminded of 5 year olds who would tell you stories that they had come up with on the fly.

"So, Stiles swallowed a fly too?" Mercy knew her headache wasn't due to the Haldol by this point.

"No!" Oliver pouted, almost stamping a foot. "He opened the door. You're not listening to me, Mercy!"

"That's because I have no idea what you're talking about," Mercy said under her breath. She was about to question Oliver again when the inevitable happened. They were no longer alone.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little bit of fraternization between the sexes, huh? You two, you never struck me as the kinky kind," Brunski spoke up, stepping from the shadows. He had a sick smirk painted onto his lips and was rubbing his hands together, reminding Mercy of every cheesy movie villain in existence.

"Peachy keen. And fraternization? Really? That's a pretty big word you got there, Brunski," Mercy smarted off. In hindsight, probably not the smartest decision the girl had ever made, but she was beyond frustrated at this point and even with Oliver's ridiculous explanation, she had a sick feeling he was right about what had happened to Stiles. Brunski's smirk turned into a scowl of epic proportions.

"Looks like I have enough to throw you into solitary for two weeks, you little bitch. Want me to list them?" he sneered, as he invaded Mercy's personal space, grabbing her upper arm in a vice-like grip.

"OW! Pretty sure there is no need to hold on that tight," Mercy's response only made the brute of a man squeeze that much harder, enough to make Mercy's knees buckle. "Look, Brunski, you don't understand…" she said through gritted teeth.

"Pretty sure I don't care. Let's go, Jacobs."

"You should let go of her," Oliver spoke up, stopping Brunski in his tracks. Humoring the boy, the orderly turned around.

"And why is that, hmm?" Brunski asked with a raised brow. Mercy's fingers were grasping at the man's, trying to get him to loosen the grip even slightly, but to no avail. She had no idea what Oliver was going to come up with at this point. "Maybe he's trying to make up for earlier. Well, good luck with that one, pal."

"Because he's not going to like it," Oliver said, tone so calm, it was nearly sinister. The boy moved his hand from behind his back once more to reveal the dreaded taser. It crackled in his palm and Mercy flinched. Brunski didn't seem to be fazed, however. Without letting go of the girl, he moved his opposite arm and in an instant, Oliver crumpled once more. Mercy gasped. Her eyes hadn't even registered the attack until seeing Oliver on the floor.

"Looks like "he" isn't going to know any better is he?" Brunski had the nerve to laugh and Mercy had no idea how to take that in. She just stumbled as the man began to drag her out the door. Brunski only stopped long enough to bark at a lower orderly to go and retrieve Oliver and place him in solitary, once they were out of the basement.

As Mercy was being dragged rather harshly down the halls of Eichen House by an extra vicious Brunski, she did all she could to stop his advancements, and make him listen.

"Brunski, you have to listen to me! It's not Oliver's fault. It wasn't him that tied me to that chair, he was possessed by this… this thing. Please, just stop and listen to me! STOP!" Mercy tried her best to explain the situation she had been found in, voice shaky. Tears pricked behind her eyes, as Brunski held on to her upper arm with immense strength. The orderly was much stronger than Mercy had remembered however, and no matter how many times she dug her heels into the filthy, white tile floor of Eichen House halls, he only needed to shake his grip on her arm a little, to make Mercy stumble and, yet again, be under the complete control of the sadistic monster.

"Shut up, Jacobs! There's no such thing as 'possession'. You really have lost it now, haven't you?" he sneered, all the while still walking briskly towards the south wing, where the cells for solitary confinement were.

Mercy gave up trying to convince Brunski, knowing she wasn't helping her case. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the growing fear of being thrown in solitary consumed her. At this point, she just wanted to do everything in her power to prevent being thrown back in there. She knew that no amount of get-out-of-jail-free cards would save her hide this time. Those dirty used-to-be-white walls with its urine scented corners, left with only her thoughts to entertain her, was the last place she wanted to be right now.

"Please! Just let me go! I didn't do anything wrong. Don't take me back there!" Mercy pleaded, doing her best to keep up with Brunski's quick pace. She yanked her arm away from Brunski over and over again, until it felt like jelly, yet she still continued pulling, trying to wrench herself from his clutches. He only gripped harder, making the dark-haired girl cry out in pain. She was hyperventilating now, she dreaded solitary confinement more than anything else at this point. Brunski's strong grip was doing nothing to ease her nerves. As she stumbled, yet again, next to the diseased Head Orderly, she realized that she was passing next to the visitor's lounge, the place where she had first seen Stiles. It seemed like years ago, when she had spotted the then harmless boy accompanied by his father. As she looked through the glass again, not really searching for anything, or anyone, her eyes fell upon the same man that had brought Stiles in. Eyebrows furrowed, she wondered if she were seeing things. The pain from her shoulder jolted Mercy back from her thoughts, confirming that yes, she was seeing that same man, now in a sheriff's uniform, in the visitor's lounge.

"HEY! HEY! YOU! Sheriff! Stiles' dad! Your son is in danger! He's possessed! Please! Listen to me! He's in danger!" Mercy screamed at the top of her lungs, voice straining to get past the lump in the back of her throat. Her voice cracked several times, but she hoped and wished with every fiber of her being that the Sheriff had heard her. She half expected the thick bulletproof glass to muffle her pleas completely, but to her surprise the Sheriff shot her a glance. She must have really seemed like one of the demented patients that found themselves trapped in this hell, being dragged like a rag doll by a brawny orderly, screaming at the top of their lungs. Red welts had formed on her wrists where the leather straps had rubbed her skin raw, bruises from Brunski's rough treatment after the shower incident the night before still present. Mercy knew that if the roles had been reversed and she were on the other side of that glass, she wouldn't have given her a second glance. Thankfully, the Sheriff, apparently, had other thoughts. His eyes widened as he realized, what it was that Mercy was rambling on about. Mercy decided that it was now or never, and she kicked Brunski's leg as hard as she could. The man only stumbled a bit, facing the girl with a deep scowl forming on his less-than-perfect face, but never stopping his movements towards the south wing.

"Hey. You, nurse. I need to speak to that girl," Sheriff Stilinski said pointing at Mercy, eyebrows moving closer, knowing that the girls defiant act was not going to go unpunished.

"I'm sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. Come back tomorrow between 10 AM and 5 PM," the nurse responded in a bored tone. She didn't even glance up from her clipboard where she was scribbling down notes. Mercy kicked Brunski again, hoping to halt his movements towards the south wing. This time, the burly man stopped and turned towards the smaller adolescent.

"You'll pay for that, bitch," he spoke. He shoved Mercy, his hand on her throat, into wall opposite the visitor's lounge window, making Mercy's head snap back with his force. She was knew that when the back of her skull knocked against the plaster, there was sure to be a dent there.

"How about this? I am the Sheriff of this county, and unless I speak to that girl, and take her in for questioning, I will arrest you for obstruction of justice, and him for assaulting a minor," Sheriff Stilinski said pulling out his badge and flashing it in the nurse's face, not in the mood for any games. His gaze was trained on Brunski's back, his stare so strong, it was a surprise the immense orderly hadn't burst into flames. The nurse visibly blanched and stammered an affirmative response, quickly turning away to chase after Brunski and his victim.

"Brunski! Let her go, the Sheriff wants to take her in for questioning," the nurse called out, now on the inside of the heavy door separating Eichen House halls from the visitors' lounge. Brunski stiffened about to share a rather snarky response, but after seeing the Sheriff standing there, gun holster on his hip and badge clearly visible on his jacket, he faltered and let go of his death grip on Mercy. Mercy gasped, relieved at the loss of pressure from her upper arm and her throat, and raised her hands to the back of her head checking for any signs of blood. Thankfully, she was still in one piece. Then she gingerly touched her aching arm. "There will definitely be bruises there in the morning…"

Brunski shoved Mercy's shoulder, moving her towards the visitors' lounge. She stumbled forward, and cast a nasty look over her shoulder to the monstrous orderly. "Better watch it, Brunski. I might just snitch about your far from ideal behaviour as Head Orderly," Mercy said, the icy, bitter tone dripping from her words. He only snorted in response, now keeping a tight grip on her shoulder. She winced at the pain, but kept moving. Once on the other side of the heavy metal door, she stood face to face with Sheriff Stilinski.

"What's your name?" he asked the sickly-looking girl.

"Mercy Jacobs, sir," she answered, voice orotund, despite Brunski's ominous presence behind her. She blinked back the tears that had threatened to spill over just moments earlier.

"Well, Mercy, pack your things, I'm taking you in for questioning," Sheriff Stilinski said with confidence. His gaze wasn't directed at Mercy, however. He was staring Brunski in the face, almost as if he were challenging him to question his actions. Brunski only stared back, but he lowered his hands from Mercy's shoulder. The girl shot past him and ran faster than she had ever run before, making a beeline to her bedroom. Thankfully Malia wasn't there, so Mercy didn't have to explain what she was doing. Mercy haphazardly threw all of her things into her tote bag. Her clothes, towels, toiletries, anything of value. But she left her books there. No point in bringing them with her, she had already read them. She hesitated before picking up the now immensely heavy bag, ready to leave the godforsaken place behind her. Without really thinking much about it, Mercy picked up her notepad from next to her stack of books and speedily wrote a note, handwriting sloppy, yet legible.

Malia,

I'm leaving Eichen House. Something came up with Stiles, something bad. There was some weird monster thing in the basement. It possessed Oliver, and he almost killed Stiles and me. Then somehow it possessed Stiles. I'm still trying to figure it out. But I do know it wasn't entirely human. There was a corpse in the basement, or something kind of like a corpse I don't know. But, I need you to mail the sword thing to the Sheriff's Station, I have a feeling we're gonna need it. I think we're gonna need it a lot. Send it to a "Sheriff Stilinski." He'll know what to do with it. Oliver might know a little more about this, but he's probably in solitary right now. I know you don't like me, or trust me, and I don't exactly like you either, but I'm not crazy. You haveto believe me. Be careful.

Mercy

P.S. Feel free to keep the stuff I'm leaving behind.

Satisfied, Mercy dropped the note on Malia's pillow as she headed out of the room, for the last time. Mercy could barely contain her glee, as she sped through the winding hallways towards freedom. Nevermind the fact that she would be leaving here, most likely in the back of the Sheriff's squad car, at least she would be getting out. As she neared the visitors' lounge, she couldn't help, but feel slightly ecstatic, and skipped the last few steps though the metal doorway to the lounge. When she saw the Sheriff writing on a slip of paper, and Brunski arms crossed over his chest with an angry expression on his face, she knew something had happened. Probably getting some sort of ticket for misbehaviour. Or what ever the proper term was. Mercy didn't care, she was just glad that she could spend her final moments in Eichen watching Brunski get busted.

The sheriff turned to Mercy as he handed the paper to the annoyed orderly. "Are you ready to go, Mercy?" he asked, slipping the notepad into his back pocket.

"Yes. I just wanna get out of the Devil's vacation house. Let's go," she replied in a hurry to escape. She walked past him towards the front door. A wave of warm, humid air pushed her hair back as she opened the door. With a sigh of contentment, she walked briskly towards the front gates, the Sheriff following close behind. She heard him talking on the phone as they neared the police car, talking to some guy named "Scott." Mercy stopped at the car, waiting for him, as he hung up the phone.

"Sorry, had to make a call," he said. He neared the trunk of the car, and popped it open with his keys. "You can put your stuff here for now. We're going to the station," he said, not unkindly. Mercy grunted with the effort of lifting the bag, but managed to lightly toss it in without spilling the contents. Now, whether or not his trunk would be a mess by the time they got to the station, was another story. He closed the trunk and walked over to the driver's side door. "You don't mind sitting in the back do you? The front's a mess," he asked looking at Mercy over the car, opening the door.

"I don't mind, Sheriff. Just, get me as far away from this place as fast as you can," Mercy responded with a strained smile, then climbed in through the passenger side, and sat in the middle seat, so she could get a better view of Eichen House in the rearview mirror as they pulled away. She smiled glad to have finally escaped.

"So tell me, Mercy," the Sheriff started, as he pulled to a halt at their first red light. "What happened to my son?" the officer turned in the driver's seat, looking at Mercy through the metal grate.