Gaia's servant (trad)

by Leopardize

Maybe invoking Gaia wasn't his smartest or safest idea, but at least Stiles could finally see a chance to beat Deucalion. Only, since nothing ever goes as planned, he soon finds himself trapped by forces greater than himself and, forced to deal with them, Stiles will discover the world in a new light.

10. VII - THE ETERNAL

VII : THE ETERNAL

He rested his pen against the dashboard, sighing slightly as his hands waved in front of his face, trying to get rid of the unpleasant tingling sensation. Three sheets lined up on the passenger seat. Three sheets blackened with ink. Three sheets that were soon folded and stored in the glove compartment. After that, his hands came to wrap around his steering wheel and his forehead momentarily crashed against it. I just need a minute, he thought, taking a long breath. Just a minute.

But his heart raced and panic flooded through his entire being. His fingers clenched against their supports, his muscles froze, his breath caught. No. No, no, no. Stiles, buddy, this is really not the time for a damn panic attack, he screamed internally. But what was the point of fighting his own body? He had never had any control over it, over his panic attacks, over his anxieties. Why start now, eh? Dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes, and for a moment, he thought his life would end. After all this, after all his efforts, after all he had gone through to get to this very day, this very hour, this very moment. Lord that Life can sometimes be a big jerk, he told himself rolling his eyes. To die not struck down by a murderous bloodthirsty monster, but by a vulgar panic attack.

It was definitely much less classy.

"I don't think I'm wrong in saying that you're the biggest drama-queen of this century, Mieczyslaw," whispered a small voice in his ear, like a teasing breath. "Do me a favor and take a breath now. You're not going to die on my watch in a panic attack."

He rolled his eyes. Show some sympathy for the deceased, he addressed mentally to Eurydice, since he sincerely doubted that he would be able to get out a single syllable, given that the oxygen had still not decided to fill his lungs. There was a short moment of silence, interspersed only with his pathetic attempts of breaths, before a hand made of leaves and branch came to rest on his neck. The touch was strangely warm, far from being prickly or disturbing as he had let himself imagine. It was warm and reassuring, it was full of life.

"It's gonna be okay," she finally said, gently squeezing the back of his neck. "It's gonna be okay, Child. So breathe. I won't let you down."

"I... I know," he managed to stammer.

"It's okay," she repeated, tightening her grip on his skin, "It's okay".

He could have told her that he doubted it very sincerely. He would have wanted to say to her that the things would not end well, that he was afraid, that everything. But Eurydice already knew all that. Wasn't she constantly present in his head, after all? In a burst of motivation, he finally allowed himself to let go of the steering wheel of his car, open the door and get out of the vehicle. His legs were still shaking a little, his head was spinning slightly, but he was breathing. He was breathing and still alive. A common panic attack couldn't possibly get him killed, could it? Not until he kicked Deucalion's hairy ass. As if to echo his thoughts, a cool yet warm wind rose, caressed his face, ruffled his hair and sang. Not a song made of voices, nothing like a human choir. It was whistling and rustling. The heart of the forest sang to him in a single voice. It was support and warmth and go and fight and we are here.

And that was all he needed to be energized again. The fatigue that had built up over the last few weeks magically vanished, and so he could breathe fully once more.

"It's gonna be okay," he said, noticing the worried look on his dryad friend's face. "Everything will be fine."

And he meant it. He believed his own words, even though in the end, nothing went exactly as planned.

---

As he noticed the large chain that had been passed through the wide handles of the two large entrance doors of the old Beacon Hills Bank, Stiles foolishly thought to himself that, while all his magical preparation had not been in vain, the material preparation had been totally screwed up.

"Oh, it's perfect! That's all I needed," he grunted, pulling a little on the old rusty chain. "To go through the whole Gandalf-like training, only to end up not being able to enter the wolf's den, because I forgot the damn jimmy bar. This is a huge joke and the universe is laughing at me."

To his left, Eurydice hid her wide smile behind her leafy hand. She could not retain her giggle tho and it is without any regret that the teenager stared at her angrily.

"I hope you enjoy yourself", he mumbled as he kicked in the reinforced door. The pain which echoed in its toes made him curse.

"It's pretty entertaining, yes," replied the dryad, laughing even more.

"I can't believe I didn't think to bring tools. It's basic when you're about to break into a building, for God's sake!"

What was he supposed to do now, huh? Knock nicely and wait for Deucalion and his band of freaks to come and open the door? Then what? They would have tea and tell stories by the campfire? Then they would enjoy grilled meat tasting Erica and Boyd? With an angry gesture, he ran his fingers over the back of his head, rubbing his skull in a brisk motion.

Think, Stilinski. Figure out how to open the damn door. You're a smart guy, right?

"I think I can safely say I've never met anyone so smart and stupid at the same time."

He swivelled towards the spirit of nature, his nostrils flaring with anger.

"Not a word", he scolded with mood, but far from formalizing it, the dryad shrugged.

"Haven't you spent the last few weeks training your powers, young Bearer?"

"You were there, weren't you? You saw it! What does that have to do with our current situation, anyway? Because if you're expecting me to open the door to an Allohomora, you're going to have to wait a while longer, because I've never been to Hogwarts!"

Without a word, she crossed her arms over her flowery chest, a mocking pout on her lips. The silence stretched and Eurydice did not cease staring at him in silence. And the more it went, the more the high-school student began to doubt, before finally giving in with a: "Are you kidding? " incredulous.

"Idiot," she said.

"You are not helping" he replied, pivoting again towards the door. "But like, seriously? I can... I mean, you know?"

Because, hey! Who hadn't dreamed of being a full-fledged wizard, waving his wand and going to a magical school, right? Except for the part where a crazy maniac had made an attempt on his and his parents' lives, little buddy Potter had had the good life, right? To Stiles, it felt like a dream come true.

"This is absolutely amazing," he marvelled, momentarily forgetting the reason for coming to this particular place. "You're in for a treat my dear, Stiles Potter is in the house!"

And on these words, he closed his eyes and projected his hands towards the copper-colored chains before bellowing an "Allohomora!" at full lungs (but not too much anyway since the goal of all this show was to surprise the Big Bad Wolf).

The wind rose and... Eurydice began to make strange little noises behind his back. When he realized that nothing had happened, the young man turned around and stared at her for a long time, confusion showing on his face. At this moment only, he noticed the swollen cheeks of the spirit of the nature. That and her shifty gaze. Then as suddenly as that, she opened her mouth and burst out laughing.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, she bent forward, breathless as she laughed. After a minute or two spent to choke of laughter, the son of the Sheriff finally understood that she was making fun of his head and the jaw missed to fall of it.

"Oh, that's very mature," he hissed perfectly offended, "What are you, eight?"

She tried well to express herself only, hardly had she opened her mouth that her laughter was heard, echoing softly between her and the human. If with that, Deucalion did not already feel my presence..., he thought distractedly.

"You really thought that... hahaHahHAAha, this is too good!"

"I can't believe you dared to do that. That's pretty low, Eurydice."

"You should have seen your face, Child. Hilarious!"

"Glad to be a constant source of entertainment for your pretty eyes," he grumbled, crossing his arms against his chest.

"You have no idea how much. By my Mother, I haven't laughed this hard in millennia."

So here they were. With a girl as old as the world splitting a gob at Stiles' expense and the latter unable to open a damn door behind which were the two people he was supposed to save, not to mention the one he had every interest in eradicating from the surface of the earth.

"I hate you," he said casually to the creature who still hadn't calmed down.

"Of course," she retorted with a smirk, finally deigning to stop laughing at him. Let's get down to business, shall we?"
He rolled his eyes because seriously, this chick had a tendency to drive him nuts, sometimes.

"What do we do? The door is blocked and, the chain may be rusty, but I don't have any lupine super-strength to simply break it in half."

"No super-strength, either," said Eurydice with amusement, "but you're not far off carrying Gaia's magic."

"I thought we just established that this kind of magic doesn't work."

"Do you really think that a stupid incantation taken from an equally stupid book would have worked?"

Stiles opened his mouth, about to defend the boy wizard with glasses, but then simply gave up. It was not the time for debate and they had already wasted far too much time.

"So magic..."

"It's more complicated than that, Child. But yes. Gaia's magic can do many things. Not just grow plants."

"Oh. But, wait, why are you only telling me this now?"

"Teaching you everything I know about this world would have taken several lifetimes. You didn't and still don't have that kind of time on your hands."

"So what, it's more than Earth?"

"It's more than anything you can imagine, Stiles. It's Life, it's Matter, it's the Elements, it's Energy, it's Everything, it's One, it's Nothing."

"I... Woah. Okay. Let's admit it. "

A smile came to life on his friend's lips. It was full of pride and sweetness. Looking away, he returned his attention to their famous problem, A.K.A the damn chain.

"So, I might have been able to unlock it?"

"No need to unlock anything, dear. I'll go with you on this one, because time is running out and because you deserve all the help in the world."

"Oh," he whispered, not knowing what to say to that.

"Put your hands on one of the chains."

And the boy did so, curious and impatient. His fingers brushed the damaged surface of the chain, and the next moment Eurydice placed her hands over his. Trying not to think about the body pressed against his back, Stiles focused on the copper clasp and as their hands began to glow faintly, he had little more opportunity than that to worry that Eurydice might catch his trouble. The more the glow of their hands was visible, the more heat was released from them. Under his fingers, the metal took a bright red tint and became burning without hurting him. And, incredulous, he watched it melt and flow at his feet like molten lava.

" Holy shit, " he said while moving back hastily, missing to tip the dryad in his back.

"Calm down, you're safe."

"I-you... We just melted this-this..."

"Yes."

"It was hot and it looked like..."

"Fire."

"Yeah. I. Woah."

"It's not just Earth, see?"

"Yeah," he muttered as he stared at the remnants of the tether amassed on the ground.

"Let's go."

He shook his head still a little in shock and definitely feeling silly for not having thought of it sooner. The Earth Goddess wasn't just Earth. She was Everything. Everything on it. From the air that living beings breathed, to the water they drank It was... incredible, right. Ignoring the feeling of disappointment that was beginning to creep up on him at the thought that he was hardly going to be able to learn more about this famous magic, he pulled the door towards him and entered the building, Eurydice on his heels.

The building lived up to what it looked like at first glance: cold, abandoned, creepy. Stiles was pretty sure that if it weren't for the confirmed presence of Deucalion, Boyd and Erica, he would never have dared to put even a toe in the place. And yet, he was far from being a coward. Well, let's just say that his curiosity knew how to lessen his fears. Hence his proposal to dig up corpses that hadn't asked anyone for anything, for example. Yet, here, it was different. There was something in the air that made his hair stand up against his neck. It was morbid and suffocating, and with a little concentration, Stiles knew he would learn things he really didn't want to learn. Like how many people had died down here since the Alpha pack moved in. How many had been tortured, how many had begged. The ivy climbing the stone would have told him whether he wanted to or not, so he decided to close his mind, to keep his thoughts to himself - at least for now. He did not wish to be disturbed, not for the time being anyway. He needed, after all, to concentrate on his task. He would have plenty of time to mourn the dead when his mission was accomplished.

"You think too much," the Dryad's voice whispered in his ear.

Stiles had to take on him not to stupidly startle. His heart on the other hand, did not make itself deprive to chain the disordered beatings.

" Damn it, could you not do that?"

"Do what?"

"I don't know, pop up behind my back to whisper things in my ear for example," the almost-magician did, hissing through his teeth.

He wanted to remain discreet in some way. Which was complicated, since he was sure that any wolf stuck in the area must have heard the untimely boom-boom-boom of his death howling palpitation.
"You're way too nervous."

"And you're not nervous enough, but do you hear me complaining about it?"

"Stiles," said Eurydice in an imploring tone.

The teenager turned around. On his face, in his eyes, the terror was encrusted. The dryad pushed a moan of pure lament.

"Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that it has been a pleasure to share my knowledge with you."

"No."

"No...?"

"We're not doing this. I refuse to let us start dwelling on goodbyes and that's even if my chances of survival are slim, you hear me?"

"Stiles."

"I refuse."

"Stiles. It's gonna be okay, all right?"

"I know. I know, but I need you to believe it too, okay? Alone I could not Eurydice. Alone I'm not capable of anything."

God knows it was tearing his mouth off to admit it, but such was the real truth: he was and always would be only the human of the pack, no matter how redundant it all was.

"Oh," said the Dryad. "How wrong it is, Child. I am sorry to see that you still think that about yourself after all you have been through. After that ritual you conducted on your own without knowing for sure that our Mother would listen to you, without knowing for sure that she would not punish you for your audacity. After that brother you left behind, after that father for whom you sacrificed yourself without regret, after that wolf-man to whom you knocked down. I thought we were past that stage of self-pity. You're still a Protector until you're not. And beyond that, Stiles Stilinski, you may be just a man, but sometimes that's not what defines a person. It's what lies in your heart that makes you strong. It's the feelings that drive you. I only gave you the tools, you worked on the rest of yourself. So don't ever say again that alone you are not capable of anything. Otherwise, my words could have been vulgar instructions written on a manual, which would have brought you exactly where you are today.

"Because it's about my destiny?"

"This destiny crap is complete bullshit," she scoffed moodily. "With or without me, with or without Gaia, your path would have been the same because you refuse to live in a world where your loved ones aren't safe. It's as simple as that."

"Oh," he said.

"Sometimes the answers we seek lie right before our eyes, Child."

Stiles shook his head. Eurydice was right. Even after all this, he was still doubting himself. He didn't really understand why. No doubt he was afraid, no doubt he was seeking the approval of a being who was not human as he had sought it from the pack members without really getting it. The human being was a strange thing, he thought.

"For what it's worth," he finally confessed. "You're better than a textbook and I'm glad you were chosen to teach me all this - or however you got into it."

The dryad laughed silently.

"Stay alive and I promise to tell you how I got hold of a very interesting little guy."

"Is it that bad?" he grinned, unable to keep the mischief out of his brown orbs.

"You have no idea."

There was a moment of silence during which the two beings looked at each other in their eyes (more for Stiles than Eurydice, for the fact that her eyes were not borrowed of any touch of white whatever it is) before one ends up simply looking away.

"Okay," the boy said. "I think I'm ready. For real this time."

"Sure? No more anxiety attacks, no more last-minute terror?"

His elbow went into the creature's ribs made of branches and leaves.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to hear about this one, right?"

"I'll do my best to remind you until the last second. That famous day when, some poor boy had a moment of weakness right before he made the greatest jump into the void ever recorded. I wonder how people could find that normal! It's so undignified to be weak!"

"Stop messing around."

Eurydice gave him her fiercest smile.

"Ready?"

"Ready," confirmed Stiles, his lips rolled up over his teeth.

They moved, their hearts light, peaceful.

When Deucalion finally appeared, Stiles thought that things were definitely not going to go as he had planned. But was it surprising after all? He still wondered why the question kept coming up. It had been predictable. Things never went his way, never followed the predefined line of this story he had written and imagined, this story he had played out in his head every night before he went to sleep, like some twisted fantasy.

"That was quite a comedy you gave us there," said the Alpha of the Alpha. "It almost brings tears to my eyes."

And, honestly? Stiles could only stare at him, speechless. The man stood straight and proud, his hands resting quietly on the pommel of his blind man's cane. A toothy grin played on his lips and at his side, like good animals on a leash, his pack. The aspiring Protector felt like an ant facing a horde of bears - or whatever they were called. He made a mental note to do his research on the name if he ever made it out alive, only he had just seen his chances drastically drop.

"So this is how a rabbit feels about a fox? Cool," he breathed to no one in particular. "Cool, cool, cool."

He couldn't believe (and it was frankly getting to be a lot, even for him) that Deucalion was there, waiting for him like one waits for a friend after work to go out for a drink. He had hoped to have for him, the effect of surprise. It was not the case.

"Please, don't look so surprised young man. I can feel it rippling against your skin. What exactly did you expect? That you would come in with a bang and put us out of our misery and then go home just as quietly?"

That's exactly what he expected, but now his pride was choking him too much to admit it. He straightened his head and denied as best he could, as the almost experienced liar that he was.

"Of Course I knew you'd be here."

"Really?" laughed the Alpha of the Alpha.

And Stiles could only wince because, yes. Werewolves were fucking walking lie detectors, and as much as he'd spent his life slamming his best bullshit under his old man's nose about going out at night: nobody had ever been fooled.

"Something like that, let's say."

And that was already a little closer to the truth. Stiles made a mental note to never hope for anything in his life again, because usually, as soon as he pretended to say "please" to his lucky star, it would literally send him to hell.

"I know why you're here. I also know what vows you've taken, and I'll only warn you once: the forces you're playing with are beyond your control. If you decide now, I can still let you go home. But know that if you are determined to go on your little mission no matter what, I will make sure your death is as slow and painful as possible."

And really? Damn them all to hell, the teenager thought.

"How original. Do you really think I'm stupid? Like I haven't been brainwashed by Hollywood my whole life, guys. No shit. The 'go home and no harm will come to you' thing doesn't fly anymore. And if people are still falling for it at their old age, well, frankly? It's sad for them and maybe they should start taking notes when they stop at a program where the big bad guy starts to monologue about life and death and why he's bad and how life would be better if we just let him be bad. And you know what? Fuck you, you don't even deserve to be a bad guy, quite frankly I'm wasting my time with you. So..."

"What...?"

"...here's what we're going to do. You're going to kindly surrender, swear an oath to the Great Lady up there to become good, well-behaved wolves and never kill another human being again because honestly? Are you fucking animals or are you humans? I honestly wonder sometimes and..."

"What the fuck-"

"... on second thought, I don't even want to know. Promise and I'll be the one to let you live."

And, wow, thought the boy. I didn't shake for a second, even though I just threatened a pack of Alphas. Stiles buddy, you're getting better.

A growl echoed his thoughts and he liquefied it almost immediately. He could tell by the expression on the wolves' faces that he had just pissed them off, and not just a little.

"How dare you, you miserable...," began the woman in the group whose name Stiles could not remember.

"You piece of shit, I'm going to rip your guts out with my teeth, we'll see if you'll still talk like that!"

And, this, really? It was a change from the threats that had come from near and far down his throat. He gave Ennis an eight for his originality before mentally scolding himself: he was cheerfully losing it.

"Well, well," Deucalion temporized. "I believe our young guest here has made his choice. So be it. So you have a death wish?"

"Uh, honestly? No. I'd rather have my friends returned to me and everyone go on their way without more deaths."

"I understand the approach."

"Really?"

"Of course you do. What do you take me for?"

"I don't know, some kind of guy who kills for the sake of killing? Have you ever thought of consulting?"

Deucalion let out an amused laugh as his hand, the right one, moved to stop one of the twins from, presumably, jumping at his throat to do him in. Stiles was almost lost in all this mess. He was trying to get a handle on the Alpha's personality. He couldn't. He was dancing on two threads, one light and serene, the other tense and angry. It made the teenager want to scream in frustration.

"I think you'll agree that it's hard to explain to a psychiatrist that part of the world we hide so ardently."

"Huh? Go to psychology school, become a shrink and offer sessions to wolves in need? I don't know, just a thought, I say. As far as hiding your existence from the world, let me have some doubts about that, okay? You're leaving behind a pile of dead bodies that's getting hard to explain. Even wild animals don't attack that many people over a ten year period. So honestly, your pseudo discretion you can stick it where I think."

"Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. I'm really trying, but you're starting to test my patience," Deucalion growled.

There was no longer any underlying false sympathy. The tone was irritated beyond belief. Sharp.

"And what exactly are you trying to do? I think we've thrown out all the arguments we have, right? You want to keep on playing mad dog, I'm tired of having to attend the funerals of people I grew up with. There's really no alternative. If you won't bend to my will, then so be it."

He wasn't really surprised to hear the Alpha's laughter echoing loudly through the abandoned building.

"Enough!" the werewolf shouted. "You trespass on my territory and you think you can dictate to me and my people what to do? Who exactly do you think you are, you who have nothing to envy the worms that crawl on the ground?!"

He didn't answer. After all, Stiles didn't trust himself enough not to throw out a line from a DC series - or something that reeks of class. Sometimes he knew how to keep a straight face, even when it was dangerously itchy. Fists clenched along his body, the teenager offered a prayer for no one in particular. He had tried. He swore to God, he had tried to reason with the wolves. Only, these ones had fallen too far into... into savagery to even consider coming back from it.

"You have nothing more to say? No more clever retorts?" the Alpha asked.

A smile played on his lips. It was not pleasant to see. Eurydice, hidden in the shadows of the building, pulled on the thread that connected her to the human's thoughts.

Stiles, she breathed. Stiles.

The boy frowned. He asked what, and what was it? But the dryad didn't even have time to retort when four new people burst into the bank lobby.

There was a woman who was being dragged with a chain that the human guessed was silver, because the one who depended on it was moaning painfully.

And there was a broad-shouldered man whose skin looked as dark as a moonless night, kneeling on the ground and looking up at him in surprise.

Stiles gasped.

"No!" he shouted. "Let them go!"

He saw the hope that had animated for a moment, Boyd's dark irises, die like a fire ravaged by the waters. It hurt, there, somewhere between his ribs and his lungs. He was not the face one wished to see appear in the last moments. Not because he wasn't a good friend. But because he was only human against a pack of wolves and Boyd knew. He knew they would all die together because there was no law on earth that would allow a human to outwit a creature like that.

"You have been so rude, Stiles Stilinski. You have no regard for your own safety. Maybe you're crazy. Maybe you're just another one of those martyrs."

The man paused. Behind him, the other twin dragged Erica (because it had to be her) by her made-up silver leash to the Alpha. The latter let his fingers wander over her face, which he raised towards the light. There were old and new bruises, badly healed wounds and probably a host of other infections that Stiles didn't know if the wolf genes would be able to heal.

"I wonder," the blind man resumed, "if that applies to those cubs you seem to care so much about. It is for them, after all, that you stand here today, with your wishful thinking and your ideas of grandeur.

"Let them go."

"I don't think so."

Erica screamed as the man's nails dug into her cheeks. Blood rushed out and Stiles felt like he was going to vomit the meager contents of his stomach onto the floor.

"Stop it," he tried to warn him - or begged: he wasn't really sure of anything anymore. "Stop it while you still can."

"Or else what? You'll unleash the magic that runs through your veins?"

Stiles gasped again.

"I told you. You're not the first wretch to wish upon the stars whatever they are. So. Who answered you? Good old Artemis? Hunting is her thing after all."

How can he know so much? asked Stiles to Eurydice.

In his mind, he felt her panic.

He shouldn't, he-

Stiles didn't understand. He didn't understand what Deucalion was talking about, didn't understand the sudden panic of the dryad sharing his thoughts.

Around him, he had the sensation that the air suddenly became heavier. He found it harder to breathe, harder to think. The daylight was soon eclipsed by a large shadow.

Hecate, breathed the creature of branches and leaves made, inside his head. He has Hecate's blessing!

Are you kidding me?

This was all getting to be too much for his poor mind. First Gaia, then magic, then wildlife, then the dryad, then came the mention of Daedalus and his fucking labyrinth and now Deucalion was talking to him about Artemis while Eurydice was blowing him some bullshit about yet another goddess?

He was on the verge of giving up, resigning and leaving people to their fate.

When were you going to tell me that gods are not bullshit?

Said the Child who prayed to Gaia?!

No one ever told me I had to deal with the Greek pantheon for God's sake!

You should never have come so close.

"I think the little boy is peeing himself," the sharp-clawed woman's voice echoed. "I can smell his terror from here. He stinks!"

"Shut up bad dog," Stiles retorted moodily.

He narrowly avoided the woman who threw herself at him, even faster than the wolves he had been used to dealing with. His Adam's apple yo-yoed in his throat as he swallowed loudly.

"I'm going to get you, believe me!"

"Calm down my dear, this is a meal that we will have to consume with the utmost care. After all, someone here is also lying under the protection of the gods."

Okay, what's the deal with Hecate?

She embodies death in its darkest form.

Nothing new in my life, I'd say.

Stiles. She's deadly on moonless nights.

The full moon is tonight, I don't understand. Everything should be fine, right?

But without even hearing the Dryad, he knew that no, nothing would ever be okay.

Oh, Stiles. We didn't plan that-

That what?

That an eclipse would fall on this very day.

Let me guess. New moons are bad, eclipses are worse?

So much, much worse than anything you could have imagined.

Stiles felt himself dying inside. He had the magic and the wolves had their claws and fangs plus the apparent support of a mortal goddess. At this rate, he really couldn't think of anything worse that could happen.

Of course, the moment he formulated that thought, the worst happened. Both Boyd and Erica convulsed on the ground, and Stiles involuntarily took a step back, fear and worry once again mingling in his face.

"What's going on? What did you do to them?!"

"You see, Stiles. I'm going to tell you an interesting fact about werewolves. When they mutate, they let the animal part of their soul out. The wolf takes over completely for a night or two, and in exchange, agrees to be small the rest of the time. However, when the deal is broken between man and beast, the beast turns against its body envelope."

"I don't understand," the teenager drawled, distress palpable in the sound of his voice.

"Think of it as a plant. When you don't water your plant, it doesn't grow, does it? It eventually dies if you leave it for too long, thirsty."

Stiles nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting naturally to George the ficus, to Leia, Anakin and Obi-wan, to the orchids and cacti that waited at home for his return.

"Werewolves are the same way. If you leave them out too long, then they go crazy, wild, even."

"It doesn't make sense. It can't happen to them," he said with a touch of ferocity. "They spent the last full moon running with their pack."

Deucalion burst out laughing.

"As I told you, you're not the only one with a little bonus. You see, the one who bends to my every wish (Stiles felt Eurydice bristle furiously in his head) has the power... let's just say, to play with the star that rules over us all. After all, she is one of those phrases, isn't she. She is the aftermath. It wasn't very difficult to make these two parody wolves believe that months had passed since their arrival."

"No," said Stiles, who couldn't believe his ears. "No one can have that kind of power."

"Really? You seem to know that such a thing is not possible. So, are you going to tell me who is blessing you? Who let you believe that you could stand against a goddess?"

He wanted to spill the beans. He wanted to tell her that Gaia was the one who had given him a chance, but his tongue was suddenly heavy in his mouth.

Don't say a word, begged Eurydice. You can still win. Hecate is powerful, but Gaia is literally the origin of the world. Without her, nothing would be. But to do so, you must keep your oath. Remember this. No one can know.

But Derek-

That's different.

How is it different?!

I'll explain it to you someday. We're running out of time and-

"If you won't tell me, then I'll come and get the answer myself."

Stiles didn't saw him move, but when he could lay eyes on the blind man's figure again, it was to see him and his hand deep in Boyd's side. He didn't remember screaming, but the sudden sore throat spoke for him.

"Come on, come on. He won't die from such a small wound. Are you willing to tell me who serves you?"

"I have submitted no one to my service!" Retorted the teenager vehemently.

How could he? The gods were gods. No one could force them to do things they didn't want to do themselves.

"Don't lie to me! What god did you imprison in your soul! Tell me!"

He moved his hand into the entrails of his comrade and the latter screamed at the top of his throat. His fangs appeared, tinged with blood, and soon he began to spit a lumpy, carmine mixture right out of his clothes.

"I swear on everything I have, that I have never forced any deity to bend to my wishes!"

This seemed to calm the man - for the moment at least. He pulled his clawed hand out from inside Boyd, pivoting enough to shoot his milky white gaze at the human. On his face, Stiles was able to note a deep reflection. His eyebrows were furrowed and his features drawn, as if he had been asked a particularly difficult math problem.

"Your heartbeat tells me you are not lying to me. Yet it is my magic that is on your skin. So tell me? What are you? A wizard? A mage? A druid? I was able to sense one when I first came to town. But this is not the same. Druids are still human, after all. You, I doubt it."

The high school student squinted.

"No," Stiles shook his head from side to side. "I'm not any of those things. Just... I'm just Stiles, okay?"

He thought about Deaton - because only he could take on the role of Druid without anyone knowing about it even though his own theory had gone straight to the mages. What did surprise him, however, were the words of the werewolf. How could he doubt facing a human? His thoughts travelled in the direction of Eurydice who, surprisingly, was silent on the subject.

We'll talk about it again, he promised sternly before returning his attention to Deucalion, ignoring the growing nervousness of the tree-woman still hidden in a corner, out of sight. Stiles would be surprised later that no one seemed to sense her. For now, he had other things to worry about.

"Just Stiles," Deucalion repeated simply. "I know it's not, and yet, strangely, you seem to believe the lies you tell me. Curious. Curious because then it would mean that you don't actually know anything about the power that flows through your veins. Any self-respecting man would have extracted secret after secret from the deity he had chained, but not you. How curious," he said again, lost in thought.

Stiles did nothing to make himself noticed. He remained silent and tiny in his spot, listening with a distracted ear to the monologue of the blind man who had started to walk up and down the hall in the bank. His gaze wandered, lingering on his two friends still lying on the floor. Boyd was breathing heavily, but that meant he was still alive, so the high schooler let himself breathe again. Erica was still enduring the torture of the silver chains on her side as one of the twins looked on uncertainly. Stiles wondered if it was possible that one of them was less... evil twin than the other. In case of an escape, who would be likely to help him carry the wounded? When the blonde looked up at him with teary eyes, he gave her a discreet smile that he wanted to encourage. Big tears ran down her cheeks and Stiles winced. Well, apparently he wasn't good at cheering people up. Unless it was because she was struggling with the effects of the eclipse? He noted this in the back of his mind before veering back to the pack leader. He was now muttering in a low voice. And while Stiles' hearing had improved in four weeks, it still wasn't enough for him to understand what the other was saying.

"...Unless..."

The wolf's voice, high and clear, startled him. He noted out of the corner of his eye that he wasn't the only one, and couldn't help but curl his lips into something mocking as he met the eyes of the other werewolves. Ennis growled, Kali - he remembered now! - crunched her claws on the marbled floor. She was still in a crouch since she had landed after trying to rip his throat out - or something like that. So she looked like a particularly large cat about to chase its best mouse. Stiles shivered in spite of himself.

"Unless he's telling me the truth," Deucalion resumed.

And really? That was kind of what he'd been maintaining since the beginning of this conversation. The teenager rolled his eyes without interrupting the man. Who knows if disturbing a mental patient had the same effect as waking up a sleepwalker in the middle of a crisis. It wasn't something Stiles Stilinski wanted to find out.

"...But that would be impossible. No one has ever... those who have tried it have not survived... No one. How could he..? If I couldn't..."

Yeah, the teenager thought. He's definitely lost his mind. I propose that we get our two prisoners and that we get out of here, he mentally threw to the attention of Eurydice.

Stiles, she said and, the boy tightened at once.

There was something in the tone of his voice which told him that he was not going to like what she was about to say to him.

Stiles listen to me. Deucalion is not totally stupid. He will understand.

Understand what?

Remember when I told you about those men who broke their promises?

The ones made to the Gods? The same kind I made?

Yes. It's something unthinkable. That's why the Gods stopped answering prayers.

I thought so, what does that have to do with anything? Do you think that Deucalion broke the one he made to Hecate?

I think he's done worse than that. I think he has her somewhere. I think he invoked her knowing that no deity would ever grant her a wish. I think he did what was necessary to trap her.

Something clicked in the hyperactive man's mind that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He frowned, still following the Alpha's progress with his eyes, though he kept part of his thoughts directed to his silent conversation with the dryad.

What do you mean? Isn't she supposed to be an all powerful goddess, death and all?

Even gods have their weaknesses, Stiles. If Deucalion did manage to make her his servant then...

Then what?

Then... that's not good at all.

Could you please elaborate for once in your life?

Stiles, she breathed. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. Here she comes.

What?

A wind of rage rose up. Stiles felt it before he saw it. He felt as if his insides were freezing to the spot. A biting, polar cold that made him feel like Harry Potter when he found himself facing a horde of dementor. A lump formed in his throat and he felt like vomiting, screaming and crying at the same time.

"What are you?!" finally shouted Deucalion as he leapt in front of him.

The fluid movement was so difficult to discern that Stiles still found a way to be surprised. Still, he knew how surprising these critters were. He swore inwardly for his lack of attention - a bit of a life story, by the way.

Tall, broad shouldered, Stiles at the man's side looked exactly like the kid he was. Cheeky, dangerously close to cracking.

"Tell me! Tell me how you got the gods' blessing!" the werewolf growled.

His face was so close to the teenager's that the latter could smell the breath coming from it. It was not a pleasant experience.

"I only asked nicely!" yelled the overwrought human in turn. "You should try it sometime, rather than taking what is not yours to take!"

His answer didn't seem to fit as he was pinned against a particularly hard wall.

"You're lying! No one has received a favor since the Old Days, do you hear me? No one! Then what did you do?! I want to know!"

And, what? thought the high schooler, bewildered.

What kind of crap is this? You said it was something usual.

Yes. Men are used to invoking gods and goddesses here and there. I never said that they necessarily grant the wishes of the summoners. In general, they just punish the curious. So many broken promises leave their mark. The gods eventually stopped answering calls. Sometimes they pick up the phone, if you'll pardon the expression, just to keep the myth alive, to let people know they're still there, to keep the word out.

It doesn't make sense. I was answered. I was blessed.

Yes, she said simply.

And that's it?

Stiles, she said, but the teenager cut her off.

No. That's enough. I think I deserve some truth, don't you?

Only radio silence answered him. The boy clenched his fists along his body. He barely managed to notice the appearance of a dark-haired woman behind the wolf pack. Yet it wasn't as if he had been able to miss the fact that a deathly cold still reigned in the room. He let out a shuddering breath as the figure tried to stand up. Only, the chains that imprisoned it on all sides made it groan as well.

That became a little redundant, he thought by making the parallel with Erica. He was divided between a desire to make fun of the lack of innovation on the part of the pack and the incredulity to note that they had been able to trap a fucking goddess, forgive his language, with fucking chains. Distractedly, he looked out a window, wondering if he would have time to jump out and put an end to his mental suffering right now.

Drama Queen, a voice whispered in his ear.

Stiles blew her off. Anger rose to a crescendo.

"This is bullshit," he finally blurted out in spite of himself. " What kind of world is this, for God's sake? Where do you think you are? Do you really think this is worth it? All this for what? The power? You're already the most threatening thing that rules this fucking world!"

Deucalion growled at him.

"You couldn't possibly understand. You were never hunted simply for being born differently."

"Perhaps," he breathed. "But you're doing to others exactly what you've endured. You're no better than the hunters or those guys who think they're superior just because everything is served to them on a silver platter."

"Nice try, but reverse psychology doesn't work on me, kid."

Stiles pushed him away with all his might. He was surprised that the wolf almost fell backwards and, oddly enough, he watched his hands for what seemed like the longest minute of his life. Farther on, the wolves whose existence he had almost forgotten roared in concert.

And on these words, the man rushed, claws out. Understanding that the time for discussion was now over, the boy used his legs to avoid the first blow of the claws which would otherwise have ripped him open from top to bottom. If Deucalion was surprised by the dodge, he showed nothing. His face mutated and soon, the man found himself metamorphosed. Half wolf, half man. His features were as horrible as Scott's when he almost killed him on a full moon night. It was a sight he could have done without, he thought absently.

Slowly but surely, the eclipse covered the interior of the bank with a dark veil. Stiles squinted at first, trying to get used to the lack of light, but in vain. He knew he was at a disadvantage where the werewolves could see like daylight. Without knowing exactly how or why, a word came to mind. He raised one of his hands to his forehead, skinning his thumb against the cracked marble behind him to draw blood. He wrote five letters on his skin, using his own vital fluid as ink.

It read órasi, written in Greek letters. Vision, in his own language.

He felt as if his eyeballs had been forced into a pair of thick contact lenses. He fluttered his eyelashes several times and frowned when he noticed, not without surprise, that he could now see as if in broad daylight. He did not need to go to parasitize the thoughts of the dryad to know that she had just come to him to help. That did not erase the lies and he surprised himself to be always also upset against her, but he did not have exactly the leisure to let himself linger on that subject for the moment. He refocused on Deucalion who was pivoting towards him again, as if nothing had happened. Stiles understood that his little magic trick must have lasted only a poor second. He dodged the next blow with a grace he did not know he had. Its gestures, its members, its whole being had always been only awkwardness on awkwardness. That he could move in such a fluid way, it was... surprising. This journey never ended, he said to himself while moving back again. He made a gesture of the hand, concentrating his will on this point, under the feet of the werewolf. A root emerged from between the cracked marble and wrapped itself around Deucalion's ankles, and he grumbled as he nearly fell to the frozen ground.

"Enough," he said. "I'm tired of playing."

"Here at last is something we can agree on. It doesn't matter in the end that you were chosen by the gods, whoever they are. They are not what they used to be. They are weak and it doesn't matter if they look at you from wherever they are, with Hecate by my side, nothing can stop me."

Stiles couldn't help but brag slightly.

"Problems with balance buddy?" he asked in a sing-song voice.

"I'll kill you with my own hands!"

Stiles was willing to take his word for it.

This isn't really the time to play, kid.

You're not really in a position to say anything, and I remind you that you and I are going to have quite a discussion after this.

Please don't play with him. Those who were overconfident all failed - oh how strong their will was.

That brought him back to earth. Eurydice was right. Stiles had seen enough movies to know that if he started playing with Deucalion, it would all backfire. He regained his seriousness as much as possible. It wasn't enough.

If he saw the pack leader's crude attack coming, he didn't pay attention to the free-moving twin who appeared at his back like a shadow. He felt an arm wrap around his throat and panic flooded in almost immediately.

"No more fooling around, eh," the other teenager whispered against his cheek.

Stiles could only emit a vague gurgle. He was not able to avoid the next blow of the Alpha and this time, he felt it coming. The pain burst upon his face like a blooming flower. He felt his own blood dripping against his skin, blurring his vision on the right side. Everything was burning and painful. He screamed as Deucalion took his chin between his fingers, pressing them against the wounds he had just made with his sharp claws.

"It doesn't matter that you had help from the forest beings," he said. "I will devour your heart and your power will be mine."

Stiles spat a mixture of spit, bile and blood in the wolf's face. He didn't appreciate the manoeuvrer at all and his fist flew against his stomach, much too close to his ribs, which he felt crack under the force of the blow. He suffocated for a moment, as much because Ethan - unless it was Aiden - was still holding him by the neck in a locked arm lock, as because blood was filling his oesophagus.

Stiles, the dryad whispered in her head.

Dark dots danced before his eyes now and he was having trouble putting two thoughts together. He wondered how he had thought he could stop the activities of this pack by himself. Now that he saw that all it had taken for them to overpower him was two wolves, he couldn't help but feel angry with himself. This is what I get for showing off, he thought piteously.

Then what, you give up? sounded once more the voice of Eurydice. She was furious.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

Of course not.

He wouldn't give up. He had no choice after all.

"I'm almost disappointed," Deucalion finally said. "Such a big mouth for such small..."

He didn't see the root coming and it pierced him on both sides of the shoulder. His pack howled in concern behind his back - unless it was a wolf's own anger, Stiles didn't know and didn't care, to be honest. That was enough for him to break free of the twin's grip, too stunned as he was to hold him back.

He watched as Deucalion tried to evade the natural magic that pinned him to the ground while he now migrated to the other two wolves held captive. Kali and Ennis didn't miss his movements and soon they threw themselves at the teenager. He dodged the woman's vicious blow only to be sent sprawling further by the mountain of muscle that was Ennis. He rolled and rolled and let out a painful groan as his arm snapped as well, hitting an iron bar. He thought of his physics classes, of the speed and force that had formed this strange equation, by his own weight yet feather, that had done everything else. When he got up, it was not without difficulty. He had to quickly dodge other blows that began to rain down on him.

Farther, he saw Ethan calling his twin always near Erica, to the help: more he got rid of the roots which, as endowed with an own will, pushed back as soon as they saw themselves being cut and/or torn off, more those seemed to multiply. In all this mess, he heard Deucalion uttering an umpteenth string of threats against him and was satisfied with it as a small victory. He laughed much less when Hecate, whom he had totally forgotten, started to howl. His hands, like those of the wolves, went to their ears to try to muffle the sound. It was similar to the cry of a Banshee, noted the student, but with a je-ne-sais-quoi of more morbid. The goddess must have been in immense pain, he thought, to contort herself like that.

That's because Deucalion is pumping out his own vitality.

How surprising, the boy thought in response.

Nevertheless, the dryad looked even more concerned, there as the observer she was. Stiles knew she was in no position to intervene. Not directly at least, he thought to himself as he noticed that the bank looked more... leafy than it had been when he arrived. He could see branches, roots, bits of nature here and there. He silently thanked his friend. Calling nature to him from the depths of the earth was exhausting. When it was necessary to cross marble, reinforced concrete and all the rest, that became slightly more complicated. So, Eurydice had just provided him with the raw material to work with. It took a weight off his shoulders.

Nature always finds its way, she sang.

He wanted to believe her, but he didn't really have the opportunity to dwell on it. Hecate was now standing high above the ground, in an arched position, her arms spread out on either side of her body. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, as well as her wide open eyes seemed to stare at an invisible point above their heads. For a moment, it seemed that time stood still. Then the goddess moved. It was just a movement, a simple arching motion that seemed to wake up all the wolves in the room. Erica and Boyd were suddenly on their feet, bent low to the ground in the most animal-like postures possible. The teenager, like her companion, seemed to be in no pain from her wounds or from the chain around her neck. When they opened their mouths, it was to howl in unison a death song.

Stiles understood that the situation had just become much more complicated for him, when, in the same movement, the werewolves, driven mad by the illusion of missed full moons, rushed in his direction, all fangs and claws drawn.

Good, he says to himself. I am in so much trouble.

He was already barely able to cope with Kali and Ennis, if his two friends were to be added to the bill, he would not be able to last long.

At least, he thought once again, Deucalion, Chip and Dale are busy with the roots.

With a glance, however, he noted that there was almost nothing left of them. Somehow - surely using the magic provided by Hecate - they had managed to get rid of most of it.

Stiles was running out of time. He knew it. Soon it would be seven against one (and a half). He would be no match for them.

His theory was confirmed as he began to wear himself out dodging blow after blow. Kali was aiming at his legs and when he jumped to escape the hands full of claws, it was to beware of Ennis and an enraged Boyd who were both trying to tackle him to the ground with dives worthy of an American soccer player. And when he finally managed to keep himself out of reach, it was to receive a mad Erica on his back, her arms firmly anchored around his neck.

"Shit," he hissed, dodging a fang with a jerk of his chin. "Erica, it's me, Stiles! You've got to get a grip on yourself okay. Aggressive may be sexy," he couldn't help but mock, "but I still like it better when you're being snippy!"

"You're wasting your time," Ennis sneered. "They're just wild animals now."

"We still haven't asked you," retorted the boy humorously. "Come on Catwoman, you have to find a way out. Anything as long as it gets you out of your madness."

For a moment he thought he had reached him, but in vain. The sudden calm that he perceived in his back was only a feint so that agile fingers could slip under his clothes and dig into his hips with their claws.

With a strength still unsuspected, Stiles managed to catch him by the rags being used to him clothing to send it to fly away. She hit Boyd head-on and his eyes seemed to light up for a moment. As if his instincts were screaming at him to protect her, rather than attack an apparent non-threat.

"Boyd, man. You can't lose it like that, okay? You're too good at it. It's not you, all that violence no matter how much you want to put on airs. I know that the pack is more important to you now than anything else. You're not alone anymore, it's over, but for that you have to help me big boy."

"You talk too much!"

Kali hooked his legs and Stiles fell heavily on his buttocks. He winced in his movement, his arm and his ribs bringing back to him the memory of their painful experience. If he had any doubt about the fractures that would mar his skeleton, it was over. His arm hanging limply in a strange angle that almost made him vomit once again.

"Fight all you want, Stiles Stilinski," came Deucalion's voice. "You won't win. The dice have already been rolled."

It was something Stiles refused to believe, even when cornered. Seven wolves stood before him and the boy was running out of ways to deal with them. They were much stronger than they had ever been before, boosted by Hecate's magic. If only he could sever the connection between the goddess and the Alpha, he thought. But he couldn't bring himself to hurt the already suffering deity.

Oh Stiles, the dryad whispered in his ear.

The boy rolled his eyes.

Yeah, yeah, I know. My sacrificial bullshit.

As far as he knew, Hecate was as much a victim as Erica and Boyd. He refused to use his magic against her, not for fear of retribution, but because she had been forced into this, and that, more than anything else, left a taste of ashes in his mouth.

It seems that one arrives to short of choice, he addressed mentally for, really nobody in particular.

"Are you giving up?"

"Even if I did - and I don't, you'd kill me anyway."

"It would have been in a nice, quick way," Deucalion quipped. "You've proven surprisingly resilient, for vermin."

" Sure..."

"Give yourself up, boy. You've lost. You have lost. Your magic, however curious, is not infinite. You will soon draw on your life force and then you will die in any case."

"Yes well, these things happen," the high schooler replied absently.

"You still find ways to make fun of things. Well, let's get it over with."

Stiles took a step back. Without meaning to, Deucalion had just given him an idea. If all the roots, trees and leaves in the world couldn't lock them up in a strong enough prison, he would find something else. Hadn't Eurydice said, before he entered the bank, that there was more to magic than he wanted to see? That it wasn't just about trees and flowers and fairies playing tricks on him? Stiles ignored the dryad's lament, ignored Deucalion, still lost in one of his endless monologues.

Eyes lowered on his hands, he scanned the path of blackish veins that had begun to appear on his skin. The alpha had said over and over again that in his veins flowed magic. Now was the time to test if the theory was as true as he imagined. Still sprawled on the ground, he picked up a shard of glass that must have come from one of the broken windows. It was dirty and muddy, and he would probably end up dead from a similar infection. That was the least of his worries. Against the back of his hand, he slid the improvised blade. The already present wound was widened. Further on, he heard Kali's mocking remark about the death he was obviously trying to give himself and how he didn't even know how to do it.

The blood drips from the wound, red. Dropping his ridiculous weapon, he slid his fingers against the wound and pulled on that dark piece he could see under the haemoglobin. Pain erupted again, adding to the already long list of parts of his body that made him hiss with pain. He comforted himself with the idea that his action had not been in vain. Whatever the black thing was that had been running through his skin like a giant railroad track over the last few weeks, he was able to get his hands on it.

He pulled. He pulled like a rope and the thing followed suit, going in and out and out of the back of his hand like a ball of yarn out of Mary Poppins' magic purse. He didn't need to know what to do with the strange material. He played with his fingers against them, passing the dark threads between them. To the outside eye, he could have been mistaken for one of those famous patients straight out of Eichen House who had been asked to unravel the famous puzzle that was the String Game. The observers, without moving an inch, were still scrutinizing the boy's movements. Somehow, the rendering was mesmerizing enough that no one thought to stop him in his tracks.

You can't, the dryad tried to stop him, but Stiles didn't listen, too focused on the pattern he was trying to produce. He did not know how, but images appeared in his head, showing him the way to go. He knew that Eurydice, for once, was not in the blow. He managed to catch snatches of her confusion.

When he stopped moving, everyone was able to see the beginning of a figure he had just made by interweaving lines. He did not stop there.

"Un, deux, trois," he sang softly, "Je m'en vais au bois"

There was a dull crack. The wolves jumped, Alphas and Betas alike. Stiles moved a wire, flicking it from one finger to the other in a smooth motion.

"Quatre, cinq, six," he continued without regard to his surroundings, "trouvons les abysses."

Another dark thread was transferred from one line to another. The ground shook and the building, in a very poor state, seemed to collapse on itself.

"Sept, huit, neuf," he said again, "dans l'antre du veuf."

The earth suddenly rose up. High, strong walls emerged from the ground. Soon the werewolves were surrounded on all sides. Some reacted with a delay, but all rushed forward, even Deucalion who, though he could not see the spectacle before him, could still feel the magic chirping around him. He followed the rest of his pack as they tried to escape the earth and wood prison. The only one left on the ground was a Boyd holding an unconscious Erica close to him. Stiles must have gone a bit overboard in throwing her away. No one was able to stand up to this new force. As soon as one reached the top of a wall, it grew and grew and soon there was no way out. The walls hit the ceiling of the bank, which, despite the years, seemed to hold. On the floor, the twins tried to break through with their fists. They only managed to scrape themselves to the point of blood. Blood that the earth was quick to drink as if it were a vintage. When Kali and Ennis tried in their turn to force the wall, this one rebelled by inflicting them burning: the ground had gorged itself with silver particles. Silence reigned again when they stopped shouting at each other. Now they were listening to the teenager's voice, which was getting weaker and weaker.

"Dix, onze, douze," he breathed, "s'abreuve la terre jalouse."

The roots sprang up from all sides. Like particularly resistant leeches, they plunged into the flesh of the half-man, half-beast creatures. Many screamed. A mixture of terror, pain, rage. Stiles still did not care. He was far too busy thinking about how the words would come out of his mouth. Some were blown out of his mouth, some were not. He knew exactly what was happening. He knew that even Boyd and Erica were victims of the spell he had cast even though he had wanted to avoid it.

You can't do anything for them, stop right there before you can't turn back, the dryad implored.

But this was Stiles Stilinski. He always managed to do exactly the opposite of what was expected of him, so he moved an umpteenth thread, ignoring the pain that pierced his heart like a bramble sword. He felt his nose drip blood, his ears follow the same path. He flinched as his eyes began to burn, as he began to spit out something that was neither saliva nor bile. It tasted like iron.

No one, no one has ever dared.., a voice in his ear that wasn't his friend's growled.

With irony, Stiles thought that life was made of firsts.

When he opened his mouth again, it was to continue the French rhyme that his mother had taught him and that he had so much talked to his parents about when he was a child. A nursery rhyme that he had rearranged to his sauce for needs, he said to himself with humor, scenaristic.

"Un, deux, trois," he resumed softly, "revenant sur ses pas."

The woven figure stirred between the boy's fingers as he moved a line that shouldn't have been moved. Stiles knew that, but he didn't think twice about it. He could easily visualize the couple of friends in their earthen and silver prison. They had been tortured by Alpha's pack, he couldn't afford to leave them in this trap he had just created from scratch.

"Quatre, cinq, six," he quipped, "contre un sacrifice."

Stiles!

The boy ignored her. The earth shook and soon he was able to see the two figures of his friends. They were as covered in blood as he was, breathing heavily, but he knew they would live. He could feel it.

When he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were black with blood. He wasn't really surprised. It was with these veins, this stuff, that he had extracted from his body, that he was playing. He let out a shaky breath. He was no longer able to feel the tips of his fingers, which he knew were frozen. His body was cooling down at a rapid rate, and he still had so much to do.

Stop right there, I beg you! You're killing yourself!

Of course not, remember? You still have a lot to tell me. I'm not going to die now.

But he felt as if his body was already getting ready to take a break, preferably away from himself. He became agitated. He had to finish his puzzle. He still had two verses left to make things right. His gaze returned to the werewolves of Team Beacon Hills, then to the goddess hunched somewhere above his head, her mouth still frozen in a silent scream.

You can't do anything for her, Eurydice hissed as another voice whispered in his ear what an arrogant human he was, so arrogant. Do you think you can save everyone?

Watch me try.

He mixed two lines. The figure a hole in the tree was becoming more and more discernible although he had once again arranged it to his liking. There were not four loops but five. It might seem silly at first, that magic could filter through such a silly game. But not to him. He wasn't a believer, never had been, but divination had always attracted him. It was one of those mystical, magical things that had made many a man dream. Today, he was forcing destiny, that famous bullshit that no one wanted to believe in, by using this art that had once been used to announce births. Add to this the tree he had woven with his hands and soon the bank would see the birth of the largest specimen ever seen. And all this, fed by the blood of powerful creatures. It was all set up like clockwork. He just had to make sure Boyd and Erica got through it despite being pumped by the roots. And Hecate. He wasn't about to leave the poor goddess to her fate. If given the chance, he would even make sure that she would not remember the torture and humiliation she had endured.

When he resumed the rhyme, it was with a voice almost extinguished.

"Sept, huit, neuf," he assured, "les voilà comme neufs !"

He smiled to himself by noting that for this one, he had not needed to dig too much the head. A glance in the direction of those who had returned on their steps, finished to confirm to him that the magic always made effect. It was a powerful torrent he could feel, rippling under his skin like a raging sea. But all was well. He was in control. Boyd and Erica would be fine. Their injuries were no more. The two stared at each other now, not sure if they had fallen into a dream or if they had definitely abused a magic cigarette.

When their attention turned to the human of the group, their eyes widened. He watched from the corner of his eye as the teenager held his friend by the waist while she tried to run towards him. He saw her lips move, but no sound reached him.

When his hands moved, three wires followed.

"À douze par neuf et trois,," winced the little wannabe mage, "une chance on lui octroie."

Stiles thought about how in another life he would have made a poor poet. Words mattered, but fortunately, his intentions mattered more. He didn't know how he did his count, but when Hecate fell like a rag doll to the ground, he was there to catch her. Finally, he acted rather as a shock absorbing cushion considering that carried away by the weight of the woman, he collapsed against the frozen marble. The temperature rose almost as soon as whatever he had held him bound to the Alpha was broken. His chest heaved and from between his blue lips she let out a breath of life.

Relief washed over Stiles like a great wave. For a moment he thought he was going to cry, because there was a lump in his throat that kept getting bigger and bigger. Erica was at his side before he could realize what he had just done. Her lips were still moving, but, probably still too stunned by the events, Stiles did not understand a word of it.

"I'm fine," he promised her. "I'll be fine now. Everything will be fine."

Because that was how things were supposed to end, right? Erica and Boyd were safe. Deucalion no longer had the benefit of Hecate's protective magic. Hecate seemed to be in a deep sleep. All was well that ended well.

Not really, no, echoed a voice inside his head.

Stiles felt an icy chill run down his spine.

That was a good move for a human. I have to admit, I'm rather admiring.

I don't get it. I played by your rules, the boy replied quietly.

Did you?

Really! Deucalion is not dead. He is part of a whole. His consciousness may be gone, but he and his pack live on through this tree and he is alive and well.

Gaia had forbidden him to take any life. Stiles had kept his end of the bargain. It had never been made clear that the man in question should still be in full possession of his means. He was breathing, his heart was still beating, but it would no longer be beating for the werewolf as an individual, but as one, for something even greater.

If everything had gone according to your plan, then yes, the mother goddess agreed.

Stiles frowned.

What do you mean?

Haven't you forgotten something, clever boy that you are?

He shook his head. The fatigue wasn't helping. He couldn't concentrate on a single thought. His skull was being overwhelmed by this continuous flow of information that he didn't really know how to control. In frustration, he almost started to scream.

Wanting to save everyone is all well and good. I'm grateful for Hecate. I really am. But one day you'll learn that you can't save everyone without losing out.

And there, right there, he saw the scene replayed inside his head. He saw himself moving the last thread between his fingers, getting up at a speed that should not have been possible, reaching out to catch Hecate. And honestly? Stiles struggled to find the mistake he had made. He replayed the movie over and over again, but the detail escaped him. Then he looked down at his hands and saw it. His mistake, the one that would cost him much more than he had expected.

Under normal circumstances, his parody of spell launched, Stiles should have taken the time to undo one by one the threads of his fingers. He had known how to tangle them so naturally, he would have known how to untangle them. Only, in his haste, the threads had snapped. When he had stretched out his hands in the hope of cushioning the goddess' fall, in the hope that her wounds would be healed, he had torn the precious thread to which he had bound the five lives. He felt his insides being torn apart in horror. The lump in his throat seemed to grow and he gasped in shock.

No, he breathed as silently as ever. I would never...

I'm sorry, Gaia said and Stiles knew she meant it.

He couldn't see her, but he could feel the weight of her gaze on his shoulders. She really was, because all along she'd been trying to screw him over, and without questioning who he was, he'd saved the very gods and goddesses who'd caused so much suffering.

Deucalion is dead, Gaia said sternly.

It could have been anyone, Stiles couldn't help but think. Any one of the five Alphas could have died from a simple wire that failed to hold. It was the most dangerous of the five who died. Despite the horror of the situation, Stiles saw this as an unexpected opportunity.

No life should have been taken. That was the deal we made, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.

The teenager felt the caress of the wind against his skin. He knew that Eurydice was still with him, that she supported him through this crisis. She was not the only one. Suddenly, the bank, which now looked like a forest, was invaded by elemental spirits, fairies and all kinds of creatures. When the wind picked up, it was with a silent scream, it was filled with pain and desolation. Stiles realized that the forest was sympathizing with his pain.

"Stiles," Boyd said in that low, soft tone that seemed to follow him wherever he went. "Stiles. You must come back to us. I don't know how you managed to save us, but thank you. Thank you a hundred times over."

"What's going on?" said Erica. "Why isn't he waking up? Stiles," she called. "Stiles! You said you'd be my batman, you can't die right after saving our lives. It doesn't work like that!"

Stiles wanted to start laughing. He wasn't sleeping at all! Only, when he tried to move, he realized that he couldn't. His eyelids were closed. His eyelids were closed, but his soul could still see everything around him.

What the hell is this? he heard himself think. Am I dead?

He wanted to be surprised, but really, he wasn't. His body must have failed him. His body must have failed him along the way after being lacerated on all sides. The number of bones he had broken along the way was greater than he had imagined and the gallons of blood loss spoke for themselves. His body was a wreck and nothing could save it, not even the magic he had used on Boyd, Erica and Hecate to save them. It had been more than he had been allowed to use, it had been at the cost of sacrifices he didn't even know existed.

Then what ?, he asked no one in particular. I become a wandering soul and make my best cameo in horror movies?

Someone sighed in his ear.

Even at death's door, you're beyond repair.

Stiles gave the dryad a sad smile.

One makes with what one has, he answered her in a tone without laughing.

Eurydice raised the eyes to the sky. After a time, she opened again her mouth.

I am sorry, she said. I would have liked to teach you a little more than how to grow plants. You didn't really get much out of it.

Come on, it was pretty cool. I just turned an abandoned bank into an enchanted forest straight out of an animated movie. Who exactly can?

Only an amused huff answered him. Sitting on the ground, he was surprised when the dryad came to embrace him. While returning the embrace to her, he addressed sincere thanks to her in the hollow of what must be his ear - he was not really sure of the way his body really worked all of plant made, after all.

Later, he looked down at his body.

Hecate had been delicately pushed back on the side and only the movement of her chest let see that she was alive. Her body, in a bad state, rested between the arms of an inconsolable Erica. The words that she pronounced were now like a buzzing in his ears. He wondered if they would ever stop whistling unpleasantly. Having tinnitus until the end of time was average, even for a dead person, he thought with a touch of humor that he found dark, even for him.

His fingers flew in the direction of the dirty and tangled hair of the blonde. For one second, she stopped spreading her sorrow to raise the nose as would have made a wolf to the barks. Stiles straightened up on his ghostly feet, tilted his chest so he could place a kiss on her forehead.

Don't pity the dead. Pity the living and those who have not had the opportunity to meet my wonderful person.

The young woman gasped and burst into tears again. Stiles was convinced that the message had somehow gotten through because even Boyd shook his head as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world.

"Even in death he still finds a way to quote Dumbledore, what a bastard he is!" snorted the teenager. "You hear that Stilinski? You're a bastard and you need to wake up so I can kick your ass!"

The scene faded before the human's eyes. He didn't know how, but he understood that several days must have passed. The bodies had disappeared, including that of Hecate. Eurydice let him know that she had been transported elsewhere without dwelling more than necessary on the subject.

She needs rest, she had said with a worried fold where her eyebrows should have been. She has lived very badly these years at Deucalion's side. She refuses to talk to anyone. Anyway, it's complicated.

Stiles had simply nodded. He had lived for a short time with the threat of the Alpha hanging over his head, but it had been enough to fuel absolutely every night with terrifying nightmares. He couldn't imagine ten, fifteen or even twenty years spent with this evil being.

She still wants to thank you, the dryad had added. One day, she will certainly tell you in person. In the meantime..

She had been shrugging her shoulders before lowering her eyes towards a small corner of verdure, beyond the tree that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the ruined building. Stiles was not mistaken when he said that the place looked like an animated movie. There was definitely a mystical and magical aura, but it was no longer unhealthy. There was something about it that gave the place a soothing quality. A slope higher than the others made him raise his eyebrows. Not very high, but long and wide enough to cover a.

Did you build me a grave?

Kind of.

My father will turn the place upside down to get my body, you know that?

Let him try. The place has been officially registered with the Committee on Sacred Sites Erected in Honor of Heroes.

And Stiles says what and are you fucking with me?

This was followed by a debate on how exactly the afterlife worked and Eurydice was content to roll her eyes, a mania taken from the human who was no longer really one.

It's not weird at all, Stiles said to her, when one day he saw the most recognizable figure of his father. He was kneeling in front of the hillside, which had been topped with a beautifully decorated stone. Candles had been lit and placed on top, along with stuffed animals and other things that Stiles didn't understand but was too polite to admit to himself.

Human voices no longer reached his ears. They had become a slightly unpleasant buzzing sound in the back of his head. He still managed to communicate with Eurydice via his train of thought, but as for the rest, he had become like a vault that refused to let the slightest noise pass. Looking back, he realized that his sudden deafness had been a small sacrifice to pay in exchange for Erica and Boyd's lives.

If I had to do it again, he told Eurydice, I would do it again. Maybe not the part where I screw up, Gods be damned, that's really fucked up - and yeah, you can thunder all you want up there, he'd addressed the Heavens, because, seriously? His life was sometimes shitty. But what's hearing compared to everything else, right?

Later, he would learn that Hecate had worked in his favor. He would learn that the reason her tribute was not so heavy was because she had quarreled with the Fates, because she had threatened them.

Stiles had been pleasantly surprised and a little frightened too.

Seriously, Eurydice had laughed. Your hearing against two lives? In what world do you live to believe that this can weight in a single scale?

Stiles had not responded. He had sent a silent prayer to the attention of the goddess who must be somewhere on the other side of the world, licking her wounds. His life in death was stranger than it had been before he passed away. It was something he couldn't get used to.

What is he saying? He asked Eurydice.

She had been hanging around him constantly since then. She claimed it was because she wanted to make sure he didn't have any regrets. The dead couldn't live with regrets after all. It was dangerous, for the living as well as for them. Stiles pretended to believe her.

He's crying, the dryad replied softly.

I can see that, thank you.

He apologizes. He apologizes to you for not seeing that something was wrong. He says that Scott came to him a few days ago to tell him the news. He says he can't believe it, that he knows, that he feels that you are alive somewhere in the world.

Oh, said the boy. And he felt like he was four, maybe five years old again, to miss so much of the most important man in his life.

He says you're a fool, that you should never have gone into this thing alone. That you should have come to him. Didn't you trust him? He promises that he would have done his best to believe his stories of magic and werewolves because you are his son and he would have done anything to protect you.

Stiles soon found himself kneeling in front of his father with little regard for his own grave that he was trampling.

"You had my full trust," he said more fiercely than he had shown in his fight with Deucalion. "You have and will always have my full trust dad, I beg you. Do not think that all this is your fault. I beg you. It's not, it was me. It was me all along!"

"I'm so sorry son," the man cried. "I have so much anger inside me. I think I'm just as mad at you as I am at Scott. I think I blame myself more than anything else. I don't think I'm going to be able to get back up after a blow like that, son. You gotta come back to me, you hear? You got to come back to me."

Neither one nor the other was able to hear the words that were exchanged. Eurydice, though acting as an interpreter for Stiles, was no longer allowed to intervene in the human world. Stiles cried when she refused to take her words to an inconsolable Noah Stilinski. He insulted her, threatened her, promised to unleash hell on earth.

At the end of the day, it was against her shoulder that he let out all the tears he had been holding back for the past few weeks.

One evening, six, maybe seven weeks later, he was surprised to run into Derek Hale at his grave.

There had been an impressive parade of people. Well, people who knew about wolves and magic. Melissa McCall had cried for many hours at the side of her son, whom he had watched lose weight over the weeks. Eventually, his father had become angry at the teenager's decline and Scott had finally come around. He would tell him about his days when he stopped by. Sometimes for several hours a day, sometimes for a few minutes. Sometimes he just leaned against the magic tree in thoughtful silence. Allison Argent had come to apologize to him. For not noticing that she had come between him and Scott, for not trying to help him in his crazy quest. Sometimes, she and Scott stopped, hands in hands, to discuss with a ghost unable to hear them, unable to speak to them. Lydia came too. She told him how she could not erase from her memory the death she had seen in her dream. How she had woken up with a jolt, how she had called Scott and the rest of the pack. How they had come running to find her lifeless body in the arms of an Erica who couldn't seem to stop sobbing.

"I think you got Boyd to cry," she told him as Eurydice took over the message via the wire that connected their thoughts. "I don't know whether to be impressed or really glad to see that he's not just a thug underneath his thuggish exterior."

Stiles had rolled her eyes before retorting to the dryad that it was all fluff because this guy was a sweet as can be for a little bit if you let her express himself.

"I got your letter. Well, the letter you wrote to Scott that went around the group, anyway. I still don't know if I'm upset that I didn't get my own goodbye letter or if I'm relieved. But that's probably my bitchy side talking. You were a good guy Stiles Stilinski, weird, but good. I'll never forget what you did for me. I don't know if you and I would have worked out. Maybe in an alternate universe you're still alive and we're in love. Or maybe you're getting off on Scott for all I know. Your relationship is weird, well was. One thing is for sure, I don't even know if I can claim the title of friend today. It's a little late for regrets anyway."

Stiles had sworn, after that, that he had never had any dishonourable thoughts about his almost brother. Eurydice had howled with laughter for many, many minutes after that. That is, until Isaac Lahey and his puppy dog face appeared.

Eurydice had transcribed the boy's excuses. He wasn't crying, but his face was pale and he looked thin too. It had made Stiles want to kick his ass.

"I regret" so much, the wolf had moaned. "If you only knew how much I regret. I think if I hadn't opened my mouth that night, you wouldn't have felt compelled to go save Boyd and Erica. I feel so responsible. I think you're wrong, Stilinski. Some people are destined to be perfect copies of their parents. What I did... What I did is unforgivable."

I'm so going to kick his ass, Stiles had said to himself as he blasted him with his brown orbs.

The wind had started to blow a little harder and Isaac had emitted a noise of throat between shock and terror.

Stop it, Eurydice had launched. You are scaring him.

I hope well! This guy has not understood anything! He is far from being like his father. He is just a terrified kid. It pisses me off that he can't see that.

What do you know about it after all? Did you know him that well?

No, but I've always had a nose for people. Besides, if he was really bad, Hale would never have bitten him.

I thought this guy was a jerk too.

King of the jerks, but aside from his pro-violence, threatening tendencies and ... yeah, sighed Stiles. I see where you're going with this. Trust me. Isaac is a good guy. I know he is.

If you say so.

Isaac had not returned, but from what he learned from those who passed by to tell him the latest gossip, his condition had improved slightly. That's something, thought the human who wasn't really a human anymore, while dwelling on his memories. All that to remember the presence of the not really pack leader - it was a point he hadn't understood in all this mess.

And so, Derek Hale was there, which was not the case with his favorite dryad. She had slipped away for a so-called job she hadn't even bothered to explain to him.

You are a dryad, he had pointed out to her. I can't imagine you as a waitress at Starbucks.

She had mowed down his legs with a magic root. He'd put her on hold after that. For at least three minutes.

Are you cheating on me with another savior of the magical world? I thought I was the chosen one?

You really are the strangest human I've ever come across, she'd said.

Strange how? Strange nice, or strange not nice?

Strange with a few spaces left.

Oh. Thanks, I guess?

It wasn't a compliment.

Stiles had given her a charming smile and she had left, swearing at her superiors and the fact that they always gave her the crazies on duty. Later, he had promised himself to tell her about the adventures of the wizard with glasses because he felt that it was a knowledge that she had to have for the sake of her magical world.

All this to say that without her, he was in trouble. He may have started to "learn" to read lips, but Stiles had realized that it was a rather inexact science when he had mistakenly tried to translate Scott's "I had dinner with your dad the other night," into "I put my dick in your dad in the dark."

It spoke for itself.

Yet when Derek Hale's mouth twitched at his grave, Stiles had no trouble translating the I told you so he didn't hear.

Oh, fuck you, Derek Hale, he said.

He had the impression that the wolf had heard him when he tilted his head in the direction he was standing and their eyes met. He figured he must have imagined it because after that, Derek turned and walked away.

When he showed up again, it was to repeat those exact same words to him.

I told you so.

Soon Stiles didn't have to concentrate on the movement of his lips to understand the meaning.

Give it a rest, man ! said a frazzled Stiles one day.

The next day, the Alpha just stood silently in front of his grave. It was unbelievably strange, but Derek had always been a bit of a weirdo, so Stiles let it go. It wasn't like he could kick him out of there. As long as he didn't raise his paw against his pretty tombstone, he'd told himself, that was good enough. He had chuckled at his own joke for a long time before realizing that he was the only one laughing.

Derek couldn't hear him.

Eurydice seemed constantly busy.

He couldn't catch the sound of his own voice.

Stiles began to feel lonely.

He was like a lost soul, destined to haunt a ruined bank that looked like an enchanted forest. Sometimes the kids from town would come and take their best photographs in front of the magic tree, oblivious to the fact that there was a corpse in there rotting and, by extension, feeding the vegetation in the area.

His father continued to visit. Eventually, he let word get out that he'd been in a car accident on his way to visit relatives in the next state.

"It's not like I can explain to these people that the sheriff's son died proudly fighting a monster that only exists in fairy tales, right?"

These were the times when Noah Stilinski couldn't be anything but angry. If only the world had known.

"The whole world should know. Know what they risk when night falls and the moon rounds in the sky."

Stiles had half understood, his eyes lowered to his twitching lips. He had wanted to scream, but no words had passed his lips because deep down, he too wondered how things would have turned out if people had known about this part of the world that was made up of nothing but real myths.

"I understand," Chris Argent had said, emerging from the shadows. "The problem is that people react poorly when they feel cornered, even more so when they are scared. If tomorrow the secret is lifted, then these beings who sometimes never hurt a fly, will be hunted down, militarized, pinned down in research centers. From Scott to Lydia to that kid Mrs. McCall keeps at home. Isaac, I believe?"

"That's not fair. It's not fair to Stiles. For my boy who had nothing to do with these stories and yet died from them."

"Stiles knew what he was doing. He did it knowingly. He did it to protect those kids he cared about, did it to protect you. If this gets out, then everything he's done has been for nothing."

"It's not fair," cried the Sheriff. "It's not fair."

It wasn't, no. But sometimes it was better than nothing at all. When his father left the bank/forest/graveyard, Christopher Argent faced him. His face lost the seriousness he always carried with him. He looked old, older than he really must have been.

"I'm sorry," he said.

And that was all. There was no great outpouring. No tears. Chris Argent had already lost too much, given too much. At one point, Stiles lost count of the people who came to apologize to him. It wasn't out of spite. He was dead, so what did he care if people were sorry?

Eurydice watched him with her big, dark, sad eyes.

Eventually, he chased her away. Eventually, time passed, people stopped stopping by his grave to talk about the good old days. They had other things to worry about, other threats to stop. Deucalion was just another villain.

Get out of here! Get out of here, Hale! Don't you have bigger fish to fry? Don't you have anything better to do than stand in front of a kid's grave?

But Derek Hale remained silent and his wolf only made plaintive sounds that never reached his ears. He continued to show up like a flower when no one else did. Noah Stilinski spent the weekends when his workload would ease. Excuses bloomed in numbers at the tip of his lips.

"She needs my help, I hope you can forgive me. I probably won't be able to come all week. I need to find her a home. A good home."

"You remain in the least of my thoughts, Stiles. But out there, those young people... Those kids who have nothing left. I wish I could help them."

Before he could realize it, Stiles was a bitter, angry mass. Loneliness had taken its toll on his optimism and he was soon one of those vindictive ghosts they put in horror movies.

"So this is Gaia's punishment?!" he shouted one day to a very specific person. He did not hear his voice echoing to the heavens and beyond. He had not heard anything for a long time. "One life against another wasn't enough, was it? It's fucked up. Really fucked up."

Because he always had the impression of being alive. Except that he wasn't sleeping, eating, or suffering from any of the physical ailments of being alive. He was just... alone. Alone and angry. He walked his forest, which he knew inside out, every day, every week, every month, every fucking year. He was sure he had lost his sanity between the butt rock and the shrub beyond the water hole.

You're becoming aware of the importance of a life, then? the familiar voice of Gaia spoke into his head.

I'm realizing that you're all a bunch of assholes, mostly.

The superior deity didn't even bother to point out the insult. Men were insulting when they lost their temper. It was something she was willing to forgive, because one day he had decided to put his life on the line to save the life of a "kid" she cared about, despite the constant quarrels in her strange family.

I want to end it Gaïa, he said finally.

You give up after three poor years? That's sad.

What is sad is to have confined me here, alone, with me and my thoughts for only company.

You are the only one responsible for the punishment that has been inflicted on you.

Maybe, he says. Maybe I should never have tried to save anyone.

Is that regret?

Stiles sighed.

No. No, I don't think I'll ever regret saving people who will eventually forget my name anyway.

That sounds like regret to me.

It's not. I am.. It's anger. I'm angry.

Because they've forgotten about you? Because they're moving on with their lives?

The teenager looked down.

Because I can't do it. It hurts. I'm here, still here. The days are the same, but they are changing. It was fun at first. It's not anymore. Sometimes you have to stop, right?

Sometimes, she says simply.

So?

So what?

Will you stop torturing me?

Is that what you want?

Yes. No, I don't know. I just want it to stop.

And what would you sacrifice in exchange for eternal rest?

Stiles laughed. It wasn't funny, though. It went on for many minutes. The Mother of All Things did not bat an eye, not even for a moment.

You have a problem with this sacrifice stuff, don't you? Childhood trauma, perhaps?

The goddess didn't raise an eyebrow, but her gaze became more severe. Stiles rolled her eyes.

What do you want that you don't already have? You've got my life and a little bit of everything in your hands, right?

Your servitude.

I beg your pardon?

I want you to promise me your eternal servitude.

My eternal servitude. That's... a lot. It sounds like "you're not going to find it, this eternal rest".

A smile appeared on Gaia's face.

It's all or nothing. I promise to erase all the pain you feel, in exchange.

No kidding ? Just that? What do you even know about pain?

I know it eats you up. I know it's pushing you towards a cliff. A precipice. It's like old music, like a song you keep hearing despite your deafness...

Stiles shivered.

.. It's a humming in the back of your head that keeps pushing you forward. And soon, she said, soon you will succumb. You will succumb enough to ravage everything in your path. It won't be pretty.

Because you see the future.

Because you're just one man among many and eventually they all turn to the easy way out. And you will realize one day, that it is easier to hurt, than to love.

The teenager (but was he still a teenager?) decided not to stop at the two-bit psychology of a girl who must have had her fill of disappointment in men to see the world in such a sad light. He nearly dismissed her. Then he remembered that he had not had the leisure to converse with anyone for months and that at the point where he was, she could take his legs and his arms if it could please her, as long as she took him out of his hell.

All right, he finally said.

The lips of the woman curved upwards. Her smile rose to her eyes and for a moment, Stiles swore he saw something calculating in her strange gaze. He thought he must be dreaming. Gaia had done him a dirty trick, but hadn't she also tried to reduce his pain? Wasn't she doing it again by offering him this deal?

Really? she asked falsely.

The boy rolled his eyes before holding out a hand in front of him.

Yes. Come on, where do I sign?

The woman's hand flew out to meet him without stopping at the outstretched handshake. He felt her cold fingers first against his neck, then in his hair. When the shock passed, it was to realize that the goddess had just pressed her lips against his. He gasped against her mouth, swore perhaps even a little. It didn't last, but he felt as if his very soul was sucked out during the exchange.

Is this how you gods seal all your deals?

Most of them, she replied with a hint of malice.

Stiles shook his head.

You fuckers.

Come now, those are not words to use in the presence of a goddess, Servant.

A chill ran down his spine. Stiles rubbed his arms nervously.

So inappropriate, he whispered to no one in particular. All of you.

Are you done complaining?

Yeah, yeah, he grumbled.

Then he paused, glanced around, eyebrows furrowed as they were.

Um, remind me again what we're doing here?

Gaia chuckled. It was a strange sound, the boy decided. Strange and unpleasant, in a way.

I had come to pay my respects, so to speak.

To whom could a goddess, the Mother of All Things, pay her respects?

To a kid who, once upon a time, was fun to mess with.

Oh, he said. Not at all suspicious.

Gaia was even more amused.

I have a feeling that you and I are going to have a lot of fun.

If you say so. Can we get something to eat before we go? Or are we already going? Wait... Where did I come from?

Come on, I have a lot to teach you, she said simply.

That seemed to be enough.

Without further questioning, the boy followed the woman and the two of them headed for what had been, years before, the main entrance to the old Beacon's Hills Bank. They left the place without looking back. Then after that, they left the city in the same way.

Eventually, a man who was really only half so, woke up with a jolt in the night. His body moist with sweat, he put a hand against his aching temples. He wasn't sure why he had woken up like that. Maybe it was a nightmare. He had always had nightmares since he was a child. However, he had the feeling that it was not quite that, the real reason, even though he could not explain it exactly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard his wolf whimpering piteously. It seemed to him that he was crying for the loss of his other half. It was strange, he thought. There was no such thing.

---

The french song can be translate by :

One, two, three, I'm off to the woods,

Four, five, six, let's find the abyss,

Seven eight nine, in the den of the widower,

Ten, eleven, twelve, the jealous earth drinks,

One two three, returning on his steps,

Four, five, six, for a sacrifice,

Seven, eight, nine, here they are like new!

Ten, eleven, twelve, (or To twelve by three and nine) a chance is given

I couldn't find nice rhymes as English is not my native language so I left the rhyme in French!

I hope you enjoyed this end of the first part of the story. Leave me a comment if you can, I'm interested in what you have to say!