Author's Note: So I don't know if you all noticed (probably not, there's only been two chapters before this), but I've been trying to dish out chapters a week apart, posted on Sunday. Unfortunately last week was the week before finals (finals start tomorrow, oh yipee) and I got stuck writing a Women In Literature paper and banging my head against the Rhetoric wall. But here we go, chapter three. Enjoy~

Disclaimer: Don't jack shit, not even the jacket I'm wearing right now (oops).

Twenty minutes down the straight corridor of brown brick and Stiles was ready to reconsider his Worst Day Ever award. It had gone to the day of his mother's death, tied with the day of her funeral for so long he couldn't even remember what it felt like to actually be this miserable. He had briefly considered it on the floor of the Sheriff's Department when the gunfire started, but at the time nothing could hold a candle to his mother's wobbling smile and the sight of her name carved into a headstone, flowers overflowing across the green grass. But his adrenaline was starting to wear off, which meant he was really beginning to feel Gerard's beating, plus his muscles ached from lacrosse, his head ached from hitting the basement floor, and he was starting to remember that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Also the eyestalks on the wall were starting to really freak him out.

"Stop looking at me," he said, swatting at a couple of outreaching stalks. He had thought they were some kind of weird weed at first, but then the first batch had blinked open their eyes at him. He still kind of considered them to be a weird weed, to be honest, but only because he had no idea what else they could be. Did they have thoughts? Did they have hidden mouths they used to breathe or was everything done like regular plants, through photosynthesis? How did they get water out here? He hadn't seen any since the fountain and even that water hadn't looked like it would be enough to keep all the eyestalks healthy. And what the hell was up with the glitter?

"No, seriously," Stiles said aloud, because he was 97% sure the Goblin King was watching him in some way and if he was going to wander his damn labyrinth he was going to do it his way, "what the absolute hell is up with all the glitter? I'm going to look like I was mugged by hookers when I get out of here. This cannot all be necessary."

There was glitter everywhere. It was on the walls, on the floor, on the fallen branches littered across his path and even on the sides of his socks. He'd touched the wall at first, but quickly made sure not to do that again, because his hand came away coated in glitter. It still clung under his nails and on the edge of his shorts, where he'd frantically tried to wipe it off. It was the kind of silvery light-catching kind of glitter that everyone imagined was in strip clubs and Las Vegas until they actually went to strip clubs and Las Vegas and realized how stupid that idea was. Or at least that's what Miss May, drag queen and knitter extraordinaire, had told him when he'd mentioned that he thought the Jungle would glimmer a little bit more.

Stiles was a little surprised that the Goblin King wasn't appearing out of thin air to defend his kingdom. He was pretty sure that in his mother's story the Goblin King had responded to that kind of taunt, but whatever. Stiles kept walking, keeping a good spacing from the walls at all times, and did his absolute best not the trip over the oddly placed rotting logs.

"There aren't even any trees around here," he grumbled, kicking one. The log seemed to retaliate by exploding apart at his kick, leaving a cloud of glitter behind for him to step right in when he jumped. "Oh come on," he complained. He wanted to say something about that being the most childish thing he'd ever seen, but he didn't want to spend the next four weeks finding glitter in his belly button. He continued on sullenly, casting a dark look at the sky above him.

Which reminded him; what the hell was up with the sky? He could have sworn it was blue when he got there.

Thirty minutes after the log and he still hadn't seen an opening further into the labyrinth. The corridor hadn't curved at all and there didn't seem to be an end to it. He didn't remember this part of his mother's story, mostly because it had been more than five years since he'd heard it. He wished he'd paid more attention to her endless tales. Had she climbed the wall? It looked doable, but he didn't think that was how she got into the labyrinth.

"Where's the freaking way into the rest of this stupid maze," he wondered aloud, just in case this was another of those question tricks. Nothing happened. He tried again, asking a little bit nicer this time. "Where's the opening into the rest of the labyrinth?"

Nothing happened. Stiles kicked the wall he was pretty sure should have the rest of the labyrinth behind it. Still nothing happened, except that his cleat was even more sparkly now. He growled at it a little bit, feeling stupid. Stiles considered flopping down to sit on the ground, but there was glitter there.

"'Allo," someone said.

Stiles looked up with a jerk, spinning to look left and right. No one was there; the walls stretched as far as he could see, the brick seeming to turn red the father away it got. He glanced up, but there wasn't anyone sitting on the top of the wall either. He checked again, but no one was around.

"What," Stiles said, feeling a little bit like he would be pulling his hair out if it wasn't buzzed down.

"Down 'ere," the person said helpfully. Stiles turned around toward the sound, eyes falling down toward the bottom of the wall. There was a little blue and red thing there, about four bricks up from the ground. Stiles crouched down to get a good look at it, sore sides and legs protesting the movement, and found a little blue and yellow worm sticking out of a hole in the side of the wall. It was wearing a red scarf wrapping around its neck and it had bright red eyes to match. A shiver went down Stiles spine at the sight.

"You're a worm," Stiles said. He should have expected this, because his mother's stories had always had talking animals, but it was a worm wearing a scarf. Some things needed to be stated aloud to be accepted, Stiles thought faintly. Like werewolves and dead mothers; some things just weren't believable until they were said aloud.

"No," the little worm said, quite primly. "I'm a Wyrm."

Stiles blinked. "That's what I said," he pointed out.

"No it weren't," the little creature said. It was kind of ridiculously cheerful and everything it said was kind of cheerful. It had an accent too; one Stiles had heard on BBC but couldn't place.

"I'm not arguing with a worm," Stiles said, more to himself than to the worm.

"Wyrm," the thing chirped. Stiles still couldn't hear a difference. He felt a little bit like Scott must whenever Harris talked about chemical properties. It had taken him three weeks to find a way to get Scott to understand what was going to be on that test. That was before werewolves and kanimas and crazy hunter ex-girlfriends started popping up in their lives.

"Dude," he told the worm, "I'm pretty sure that's what I'm saying. Worm. It's not hard."

"Wyrm," the thing chirped again.

"Worm," Stiles repeated.

"Wyrm."

"Worm."

"Wyrm."

"Argh," Stiles shouted, throwing his arms up. "Whatever, dude. Hi."

The damn worm beamed at him. "'Allo," it repeated. Definitely an English accent. "Would you like to come inside and meet the missus? We've got tea."

Stiles had been in the labyrinth for an hour or so. He didn't have time for tea with a hearing defective worm and his missus. "No thanks," Stiles said, as nicely as he could. He felt kind of like an asshole nonetheless, because the worm was really nice.

"S'alright," the worm said, shrugging. Stiles hadn't been sure before if worms could shrug, but apparently blue scarf-wearing ones could. "Suit yourself."

"Thanks," Stiles said absently. He stood up, feeling large and awkward as he looked down at the little creature. "Well, I should, uh. I gotta go."

The worm wriggled at him. Stiles took that as his version of a wave. "So long," the worm called up at him. Stiles nodded at him and turned to walk away. He got about five feet before it occurred to him that the worm could know a way into the labyrinth.

"Oh god, I'm turning into Scott," he moaned, knocking himself on the head. He spun around, spotted the little blue worm turning to curl back into his hole and hopped back over. "Hey, dude, wait a minute."

The worm curled back around to face him, beaming. "Changed your mind 'bout meetin' the missus?"

"Uh, no. Do you know a way into the rest of the labyrinth? Like an opening or something?"

"'Course I do," the worm said. "There's one right in behind you!"

Stiles turned around. There was nothing there but a wall, with three eyestalks staring at him to his left side. Everything was covered in glitter. It was exactly the way it had been three minutes ago when he first walked by.

"No there's not," Stiles said. He was starting to think there wasn't something seriously wrong with this worm. First a hearing defect and now the little thing was seeing things? "That's just a wall."

"It just looks like a regular ol' wall," the worm assured him. He turned back around to stare at the little thing. It looked up at him with its bright red eyes, the same red as his jersey and shorts, the same red as the Alpha's eyes had been in the dark. The same red, incidentally, that Derek now had. Stiles sighed a little bit. "Go on," the worm said, cheerful, just as he had said everything else. No one could be that cheerful all the time, Stiles thought distantly, not even a worm. He wondered if it was on drugs and that's why it was seeing and hearing things. "Give it a try!"

Stiles twisted around and looked at the wall. He tried to remember what his mother had said about this part of her journey. All he could remember was the sound of her voice and her hand combing through his hair. He closed his eyes and dug the heels of his hands into the sockets, feeling ridiculous.

"Might as well," he grumbled, standing up. He remembered suddenly the part in the first Harry Potter book, when Harry was standing on the train station floor, looking at the pillar that held the secret door into Station 9 and ¾. Take it at a run, he thought. Ms. Weasley had said it was less scary that way, hadn't she? His mom had read him those books when he was a kid. They hadn't finished the third one before she died. He'd never finished the third one, actually.

"Fuck," he breathed, just before he lunged forward toward the wall.

He hid the brick hard, turning his head at the last second so that he wouldn't break his nose. He fell back with a groan, dropping all the way to the ground on his back. Everything hurt twice as much as it had before, including his head. Especially his head, actually, god fucking dammit.

"Huh," the worm said, from somewhere above his head. "S'odd. There's always been an openin' there before."

"Stiles," Erica shouted, forgetting the glass wall for a moment. She hit it with both hands flat, palms pressing against the surface. In front of her she could see the rise and fall of Stiles' chest, the way there was glitter on the crusted blood of his split lower lip. It looked like he was barely inches in front of her, like she could touch him if it wasn't for the glass. She stayed pressed against the wall for a second before pain wracked her body, like a shock from the battery in Gerard's basement. She wrenched backward with a snarl, turning to face the throne and the king on it.

"Don't touch the glass," the Goblin King said. He could have been bored, but Erica had heard his heart pick up, just the faintest bit, when Stiles hit the wall. She hadn't seen an emotion from him that wasn't disinterest or annoyance yet, but heartbeats didn't lie. The Goblin King's eyes were also fixed on the glass viewing wall behind her, which was another tell. Something was bothering his royal dickishness and Erica wanted to know what it was.

"Why isn't there an opening there," Boyd asked. His hands were fisted against his thighs and he wasn't looking at the king. He was looking at Stiles, who had yet to get up. "The worm said there was supposed to be an opening there."

"Wyrm," the Goblin King said.

Erica could hear a lot of different things since she took the Bite, but she couldn't hear a single difference in the way the Goblin King said it from the way Boyd had. She bit her tongue on that problem, though, because it was a distraction if she had ever seen one.

"Why isn't there an opening there," she demanded, staring the king down. He didn't spare her a look, just lounged in his throne, but his eyes didn't stray from the glass.

"The Labyrinth changes constantly," the Goblin King said. His heartbeat was perfectly steady. He waved his hand at the window behind him and gave her a rolling eloquent shrug. "There can't always be an opening there."

The Goblin King's heart hitched the slightest bit. Derek had taught her that heartbeats changed when the person was lying. Erica wasn't sure that the Goblin King was a person, but ticks were ticks. Worry twisted her gut and she twisted back around to stare at Stiles through the glass, reaching for him in her mind through the pack space.

Stiles was focusing on breathing, because breathing was easy. In and out, in and out. There were three things on the planet that Stiles could consider himself an expert in; his father, Scott, and breathing. He'd spent so much time focusing on his breathing after his mother's death that it was his automatic fall back. He'd focused on his breathing when driving Peter away from the school and again in the car with Gerard's hunters. Occasionally he'd focused on other people's breathing, like in the pool with Derek, on the floor with Derek, or with Erica and Isaac at the rave. So he closed his eyes, ignored the fact that he was going to look like a two dollar whore, and just breathed.

For a second he could have sworn he'd felt someone next to him, the sound of their breath against his ear, but when he opened his eyes nothing was there. He sat up, ran his hands over his buzz cut, and stared at the wall in front of him. You can do this, something inside of him assured him. You can do this, I believe in you.

"I can do this," he repeated aloud. "There is an opening there."

"No s'not," the worm argued, politely confused. "S'always been, but now there's not."

Stiles hoisted himself to his feet, feeling his ribs protest. They were definitely bruised, possibly cracked. He'd never cracked a rib before, but it probably hurt more than this. One of the guys in lacrosse last year had cracked one of his ribs and cried like a wuss, so he was pretty sure he was good. Or maybe he was just getting better at dealing with pain. Somehow he hoped not.

"There's an opening there, I just have to believe there is," Stiles told the worm, looking the thing dead in the idea. Deaton had said there was a spark in him. He might have been lying, to trick Stiles into believing him, and all the magic had really been in the mountain ash, but fuck that. There was a spark in him and he was going to get through this stupid labyrinth, end of story.

The worm continued to look skeptical. "If ya' say so," he chirped. Stiles nodded at him, breaking eye contact to look at the wall. It looked just like it had before, but looks could be deceiving. Nothing is as it seems, Stiles thought.

"What the hell is he doing," Boyd said. Erica held her breath, because she was still reaching for Stiles in her head and she could feel something twinge down her spine. She reached out and grabbed Boyd's arm, pressing herself as close to the glass as she stared past Stiles at the wall. She felt like the pack space in her head was filled with Pop Rocks and soda, buzzing and fizzling at the edges.

Behind her the Goblin King made a noise and she could hear him shift in his seat. Even the goblins around the room quieted down. She could feel Boyd shift closer to her, pressing against her back as she leaned so close to the glass wall she could feel the itch of static on it. She believed Stiles could make the wall move with the same kind of desperate hope that she had felt well in her when Derek had said he could make the seizures stop. She pressed that belief through the window in her head, where the fizzing feeling was coming from.

"You can do it," she whispered, staring at the wall. "You can do it, Stiles, c'mon, you can do it."

Stiles breathed, closed his eyes, and concentrated like he had in front of the warehouse. He took one step and then another, focusing on the thought that there would be an opening there. He stepped forward and for a split second could feel the brick against the toe of his cleat, but then it disappeared and he stumbled forward, like he'd tripped down a low step, until he came up against another wall. He opened his eyes.

"Well blimey," the worm said. "There it is! I told ya' there was an opening right in front of ya'."

Stiles curled his hands into fists and whooped with joy. He hopped in the air in a circle, cheering at the sky. "Holy SHIT," he screamed. "I'm officially the coolest person I know. Scott and Derek can suck it!"

"What the hell," Boyd repeated. Erica remembered that he hadn't dealt with Stiles' mountain ash line, so he had no idea what Stiles could do. Hell, she wasn't sure Stile particularly knew what he could do either, but the wall had given way to him, so obviously he could do something.

They watched Stile jump around like a monkey for a minute, grinning like a dork. His lip was bleeding still and his cheering almost drowned out the sound of something making a small noise behind her. Erica tilted her head, pretending she was looking at Boyd, to peek at the Goblin King. He was stilling forward, one hand on the arm of his chair and the other curled under his chin. He was staring, face thoughtful, at the glass wall where Stiles was spinning in place, trying to decide which was to go.

"Hey, worm," Stiles called out. "Which was to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City?"

"Wyrm," the worm corrected. That thing was a little too cheerful for Erica's taste, it reminded her of Scott. She'd wanted to throttle him in middle school and that hadn't changed much since. She could see the Goblin King smirk with the corner of his mouth, the only part she could see around his hand.

"Dude, whatever, which way?"

"Well," the worm said, "left."

"Whoo baby," Stiles said. He took off toward the left and the view of the glass wall followed him, swinging around the corner like they were watching a movie. Stiles took a sharp right when he came to a turn, muttering thank god, turns and then darted down the straight away. She could feel his building exhaustion in her head, the ache in his ribs and the throbbing of her head as if it was a numb, asleep limb. He couldn't keep running like he was, but he was going to try, she knew that like she knew Boyd wasn't going to leave her.

"Interesting," the Goblin King whispered behind her, barely a breath. Even with her enhanced hearing she barely heard him say it. She wanted to ask what was so interesting, but even if he answered she probably wouldn't like it. As long as Stiles was okay she didn't care.