O_O Y'all see that dark!Stiles business on the telly!? Holy. Crap. Again, my Stiles is dark, but I promise I'm going in a different direction. (Although, yesterday's episode was so emotionally disturbing that I seriously lost sleep over it and I haven't been able to go an hour without looking at dark!Stiles gifs on tumblr… nogitsune stiles is downright fuh-reaky… in a weirdly sexual way…)

OoooO

"Sorry, Dad… We really don't know much of anything, yet."

Stiles had run to the station to tell his father that he'd be out late – using Scott and everyone as a risky cover – only to find that his father had already developed some theories of his own on the newly discovered body. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his pale hair. "That's too bad… But you do have a name? Maagrim?"

"It's more like the species," Stiles mused, "but, still… Clyde refuses to tell us anything about them other than the fact that they're dangerous… Which, y'know… doesn't really come as a shocker these days."

His father sighed again. "And you're telling me," he said, spreading out crime scene photos on his table, "that he's the one who did this?"

Stiles glanced at the pictures for a fraction of a second before averting his gaze. "Just the little ones… the superficial bites. The big one on the victim's throat is what did her in. At least, according to Clyde."

"Should we bring him in?" the sheriff asked. Stiles' heart skipped a beat at the thought of his father being along with one of those monsters, even if it was a benevolent one.

"No," he responded quickly. "We don't know enough yet to determine whether or not he might, y'know… rip your head off or something." He father made a strange face. "Sorry… just… overactive imagination and all…"

"So, you're suggesting we wait until Deaton gives us more information," his father commented more than asked. "…alright. Just let me know as soon as you do, okay? Even if this Clyde kid is trying to protect everyone, he destroyed a crime scene and the body of a defenseless young woman. He's got a ways to go before I trust him."

Stiles smirked. "You and me both."

"Be careful," Sheriff Stilinski added.

Stiles repeated the phrase, adding 'love you' to the end before departing the station. His car had already cooled down in the night air, so he let it warm up before taking off on his long journey. He tried to utilize the time by making some semblance of a game plan; he knew that he'd have to have a fairly decent excuse to see his cousin so late at night. In fact, they might not let him in at all. However, he had to try.

Nodding to himself, he pulled away from the station and started the journey to Caldwell Sanitarium.

OoooO

"It's getting dark so quickly," Allison commented as she and Lydia stepped out of her car. Both Scott and Isaac pulled up beside them and dismounted their bikes. "It's kind of eerie."

"Yeah, I think they call it… 'winter'…" Lydia commented. Allison rolled her eyes.

"I mean… there's something else, y'know? Like something is in the air… making it heavy…" Lydia stopped and looked up to the sky. "Don't you feel it?"

"I know what you mean," Isaac said after a moment. "Like when it's too quiet or too noisy. Just…"

"Uncomfortable," Scott finished.

They were all silent as Lydia fixated her gaze upon the dark clouds overhead. Everything around them was cast in a steely blue-grey light that seemed to sap the warmth from their bones. Even the werewolves shivered, despite their heightened tolerance. Only Lydia remained calm, seemingly transfixed by something above them. After a moment, she looked away and was surprised to see everyone staring at her. "…what?"

"Did you see something?" Scott asked. Lydia, however, just rolled her eyes and strolled into the clinic. The others looked at one another before following suit.

Deaton was at the counter to greet them. "I had a feeling I'd be seeing you soon."

Isaac stepped forward. "Does that mean you know what's going on?" The vet just narrowed his eyes and looked at each of them separately, though not menacingly.

"Well… why don't you tell me what you know, first? So we can make sure we're on the same page here."

"That's the problem," Scott replied. "We don't know a damn thing! You know about the body, right?"

Deaton nodded. "I read about it in the paper this morning. 'Mysterious Animal Attack'… it's why I figured I'd be getting a visit from you lot… However, that's the extent of my knowledge. So, if you'd be so kind." He opened the gate and led the crew into his back room where such secret meetings usually took place. Meanwhile, Scott tried to enlighten the emissary as best he could. Lydia, Allison, and Isaac piped in wherever he missed a detail.

Once the recounting was done, Deaton was silent with his eyes to the floor and a serious expression on his face. Scott looked back to the others once more before addressing him. "…Deaton?"

"You're sure he said, 'maagrim'?" he asked, still keeping his gaze lowered.

"Does that mean something to you? Do you know what it is?" Isaac asked. Deaton pursed his lips as a frustrated look flickered across his face.

"If he really is maagrim… and so is the monster in the woods that killed that poor girl…" He looked up with a fierce gaze. "Then we're in some serious… serious trouble."

OoooO

Derek walked quietly through the darkening streets of Beacon Hills. Earlier, he felt a strange sensation fill his mind, as if something bad were about to happen, but it had already passed. However, not content to just let it slide, he took to patrolling the streets. It was a boring, tedious task of looking through alleys whilst avoiding suspicion, but someone had to do it. He walked past the veterinary clinic and noted the vehicles parked outside and lights on inside; obviously, whatever Deaton knew was enough to keep them there for more than a few minutes. He reminded himself to check with Scott as soon as it was over with.

Regardless of the desire to burst inside and immediately demand all the information the druid had, Derek continued on in an exemplary example of his newly-found patience. With Scott on the rise to alpha-dom, the Hale wolf was learning all about his new position as "no longer first in command". It was a humbling lesson, but he surprised himself with how well he was taking to it, which fueled his desire to become more involved in Scott's pack, to contribute, to be part of that family.

Perhaps that was why he was patrolling the streets at such a strange hour; he felt some strange desire to do something to protect them, even if it wasn't anything direct. Just walking around the streets made him feel better… and perhaps he actually would make a difference. Perhaps he could be a part of saving someone's life.

"Weighing thoughts?"

Derek came to a stop and sighed heavily through his nostrils as Peter emerged from the shadows. "Are you following me?"

"Oh, please," he uncle plead. "You really think I would waste my time following you during one of your… sulking walk-abouts?"

Derek leveled a flat gaze at the other.

"…okay, okay, so I'm following you. But it's for your own protection."

"My protection," Derek commented. "No offense, but I think I can handle an empty street by myself, thanks." He continued walking forward.

"You know what I mean, Derek," Peter growled, walking two paces behind him. Derek ignored him. "I know you sense it… the strange presence that's been… flying overhead."

At this, Derek stopped. "…Flying?"

"Yes, Derek, flying." Peter stopped at Derek's side. "There's something here… and it's been riding the winds and the clouds… it's slipped right under – or, better yet, over – our noses… And I don't know about you, but I'm not really cool with that."

Derek kept his gaze forward. "What do you want me to do about it? No one knows what it is… and even then, we've been told that it's dangerous… That we need to wait."

"Yeah, by one of the monsters themselves!" Peter growled. "Derek, this isn't the time to practice your humility… Since when did you take orders from foreigners who chewed on dead bodies? We need to sniff this creature out and crush it… before it has the opportunity to hunt one of us, next."

The brunette slowly turned to face his uncle. "…it scares you, doesn't it?" he asked. "Do you know something? Because if you do, then you best spit it out now before I cripple you and use you for bait."

Peter held back his anger. "Yes, it scares me…" he said tersely. "But only because we're waiting for it to attack… and because it's escaped detection thus far. And, no. I don't know anything more."

As per usual, Derek wasn't entirely convinced. There was something Peter knew, but he wasn't really sure what it was. However, he let it pass. There was still too much to be learned before he could properly ascertain how to deal with whatever was tormenting people – ripping their throats out and such. He resolved to corner Peter about it later.

"Just try to keep quiet," he growled, continuing on his little patrol. It wasn't long, however, before the bug had worked its way in his ear; to an extent, Peter was right. Here they were, a bunch of powerful, supernatural creatures… waiting on the word of what very well may be their enemy. Derek shoved his hands in his pockets and the thought darkened his mind.

Behind him, Peter grinned.

OoooO

"How serious?" Scott asked, though he had a feeling he already had an idea.

"Very." Deaton moved away from the table to the safety of his medicine cabinet. He just stood there, staring at the labels as he gathered his thoughts. The others waited patiently. He sighed. "It's been a long, long time since I heard mention of maagrim… and even then it was just folk tales and whispers. I did a little research of my own, but they are a rare species of supernatural."

"We couldn't find anything on them in the bestiary," Allison said quietly. Deaton shook his head.

"You won't find them in any bestiary because they are not beasts."

The room was silent for a time before Scott spoke up yet again. "What are they?"

At long last, the emissary turned to face the others with a heavy expression. "They were once considered angels of mercy."

Isaac lifted his hand slightly. "…angles," he repeated.

"Yes, of mercy."

"No offence, but there was nothing merciful about what either of those two did to that corpse," he retorted. Deaton looked at the ground with a sad expression.

"It's no easy explanation, but I can do my best to help you understand these things."

Scott nodded. "Anything. Please."

At this, the vet decided to take a seat on one of the metal stools before launching into his tale. "These… maagrim have been around for as long as time has recorded. I can't recall their origins, but it goes far, far back to somewhere in old Europe… There were only a few… No one knows if they were created or mutated, cursed or blessed, but they traveled the lands with only one purpose: to ease the pain of those who suffered."

"Woah, wait…" Isaac stated. "That… seems all kinds of backwards. This thing almost ripped a girl's head off."

"Not exactly what I would call 'easing one's pain'," Lydia added.

"That's just it," Deaton continued. "The reason they are a terrifying species… They weren't always a force to be reckoned with; before, they would wander the lands like silent specters, drawn to the scent of mortals' pain. With a kiss, they could ease the pain of anyone, absorbing it, and set about an ease to whatever soul they had encountered, you can see, then… why they were often called angels of mercy."

Scott crossed his arms. "But…?"

"But," Deaton breathed out, "not everyone can graciously accept such gifts, nor can they give them… As you know, human suffering is endless… The people of those times were terribly troubled… their pain nearly intoxicating to the maagrim… Few of the creatures were able to prevent themselves from falling prey to it. The more suffering they alleviated…"

"…the more they wanted," Allison finished. Deaton nodded.

"Slowly, but surely, the entire race was twisted by their thirst. Very few remained true to their original 'cause', if that's what you would call it… They mutated into… some sort of perverted, vampiric version of their former selves. Their heavenly kiss was replaced with a vicious bite; their calming nature was replaced with a potent poison; their benevolent disposition switched with that of a predator… the more they feed on the suffering of those around them, the stronger they grow."

"So what's a 'feeder', then?" Scott asked.

Surprised by his question, Deaton narrowed his eyes. "Who taught you about the feeders?"

"Clyde Duke," Scott replied. "He said that's the main power source of the maagrim… that if they have one, they'll be unstoppable."

Deaton lowered his perplexed expression. "…yes. He's right… For the original maagrim, there were sometimes people who would seek them out – 'saints of suffering', they called themselves. People who were so drowning in their pain that they willing offered everything about themselves to the maagrim in an effort to ease it. It was a delicate process to alleviate the pain of someone so willing to die… more often than not, they were able to do it successfully. However, should one of the twisted maagrim get their hands on these 'saints'…" Deaton shook his head. "They would draw out the individual's pain for as long as possible… feeding and feeding off of it."

"And these saints are… feeders?" Scott asked.

Deaton shrugged. "Yes and no. How many people do you know are out there hunting nearly extinct mythological creatures?"

The alpha looked at the ground. "Good point."

"Exactly. When the saints vanished, the maagrim resorted to fighting each other, eventually killing each other off. At that point, no one knew of then. No one sought them out. What few maagrim were left resorted to sniffing out the most potent replacements they could find. These people, not intentionally being part of their menu, are usually subdued with that nasty venom I mentioned earlier. It temporarily relieves the pain of the feeder, while supplying the maagrim with power."

"Like a drug addict," Scott offered.

"Exactly. Only this isn't any ordinary high. The come down in nearly violent fashion. After a time, these people are reduced to a shell of their former selves, nothing but mere feeders for the corrupt maagrim. The more the maagrim leeches from their feeder, the more miserable the feeder becomes. It's the perfect storm. And endlessly sustainable food supply."

There was silence following Deaton's final statement. The druid let his words sink in as everyone contemplated the task at hand. Potentially, there was a very powerful threat hiding somewhere in Beacon Hills.

"What about the girl?" Isaac asked. "The one they found in the woods."

Deaton crossed his arms. "Maagrim are not faithful to their feeders by any means. And, more often than not, their venom kills. Their much like a werewolf in that sense." He peered at Scott and the others. "Whoever she chooses as her feeder must first survive her venom. Only then can they become her food source."

"Great," Isaac replied.

"It is, actually," Deaton said, standing. "If she's still feeding off of random people that means she possibly hasn't found her feeder yet… and that she's still weaker than she normally would be."

"We can still find her… before she starts juicing up," Scott reasoned. Deaton placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Exactly," he replied.

"How long until she picks someone?" Allison asked.

Deaton sighed. "It's hard to say… My guess is that the reason she even came here was because she picked up on someone's pain… something strong enough to draw her here. I can't be sure, though."

"So… she's already picked someone?" Lydia asked. "Do you think that Clyde… that he picked me as well?" The others gave a worried glance, but Deaton offered her a condoling smile.

"No, because it is with the bite that the mutated maagrim draw you in… if he truly wanted your pain, he'd have already attacked you. Honestly? I think this Clyde Duke might be your best chance at defeating this thing."

"But he refuses to tell us anything," Isaac complained.

"It's true," Scott added. "That's the reason we came to you in the first place… Clyde doesn't trust us, so I don't really feel like trusting him, either."

"A wise decision," Deaton commented, "but, being a maagrim himself, he's the best chance you have of finding out where this monster is hiding and how to defeat her before she kills anyone else… You have all the information, you just need to put it all together, Scott."

The alpha was silent a moment. "So… she's already chosen her feeder…"

"Find her feeder," Lydia whispered, "and you'll find her."

"Do you think you can sense them?" Scott asked the strawberry blonde. "Clyde mentioned the scent of honey, but I haven't smelled anything like that yet."

Lydia stared at the ground with wide eyes. "I… I don't know… I don't even know how I could help."

"Maagrim are essentially undead," Deaton said. "Think of them as a… more celestial form of a vampire. As they drain their feeder, they grow stronger. However, their feeder becomes more and more ill… not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. With your connection to death, I imagine you might have a better chance of finding them than the wolves. That's most likely why this Clyde Duke character contacted you first and foremost."

"…great. I suppose that means we have to talk to him again," she mumbled.

"If… you would be so kind," Scott stated pointedly. Lydia stared at him.

"What!? All by myself!?" she squeaked out.

"Of course not!" the alpha replied. "But… we can't exactly be with you when you talk to him face to face… he doesn't trust us, but he trusts you… You're the best chance we have at getting him to talk."

"…great."

"I can be with you, if you like," Allison offered, but Lydia shook her head.

"No… Scott's right… If my best chance at getting him to help us is to talk to him alone, then I have to do it." She looked defiantly at the others. "I'm not afraid. I'm not weak. I'll do it." If Scott noticed her palpitating heart, he said nothing.

"Lydia will talk to Clyde," Scott stated. "Allison, have you thought about consulting your father? Or Gerard? As much as I hate to say it…"

Allison seemed visibly uncomfortable with the prospect of asking her grandfather for advice, but she said nothing of it. "I'll check with my dad and see what he has to say about it."

"Good. Isaac and I can work with Derek and Peter to try and track the maagrim and her potential feeder down."

"And what about Stiles?" Isaac asked.

Scott was silent a moment. As much as he hated to admit it, he had almost completely forgotten about his best friend. However, he knew that Stiles' brilliance and his father's detective skills were paramount to finding his monster. "I know that he and his father will be needing all of this information incase another body is found… Plus they make one hell of a detective force."

"Good," Deaton replied.

"Thank you for your help," Scott said as he turned to leave. "We'll let you know if we find anything."

"Wait!" Deaton said, gripping Scott's shoulder. When the alpha turned around he was met with yet another fierce expression. "I've only told you about their strengths… as for their weaknesses… they're unknown. You must be careful… Don't strike until you know their weaknesses."

Scott nodded. "I promise."

OoooO

It was close to nine o'clock by the time Stiles made it to the Sanitarium in Caldwell. The mental hospital was brightly lit and a large, intimidating fence surrounded its exterior. All in all, it was a tall grey monolith that rose high into the night sky… anything but warm and welcoming. He felt a pang in his heart as he parked his jeep and made his way towards the giant building. There was an intercom at the gate, so he pressed the speaker button in an attempt to summon an attendant.

"Caldwell Sanitarium, state the intent of your visit."

"Uh, yeah, hi… Um… I was hoping I wasn't too late to visit my cousin? Maggie Mardeux? M-my name is Stiles Stilinski. I forgot to call in adv-"

"One moment, please."

Stiles waited impatiently, his skin starting to itch and his senses hyper alert. He hoped it was more due to the long car ride and not… because of her…

"Come on in, Mr. Stilinski," the voice on the intercom stated, the tone suddenly much more friendly. He felt his muscles relax slightly after the gates swung inward and two orderlies ushered him inside.

The Sanitarium wasn't any more welcoming on the inside, but the staff seemed pleasant enough. He was lead to plump lady at the front desk. "Ah, yes… Stiles Stilinski, I heard you say? Your cousin speaks of you from time to time…"

"How is she?" he asked quietly. The lady maintained her even, but sweet expression, though he didn't miss the smallest twitch in the corner of her mouth.

"She… has rough days," she finally replied. "Even though it is far past visiting hours, having someone see her will be good. Especially since it's you."

"Has no one come to see her?" Stiles asked in disbelief. The secretary said nothing as she filled out a small bit of paperwork. Finally, she handed him a small name tag.

"The orderly over there? James? He'll take you to her room," she instructed. Stiles didn't bother lingering for an answer. The sooner he got to Maggie, the better. So he followed to orderly down several long and winding corridors, through a myriad of locked doors and separate anterooms. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, they arrived before a large door.

"She's most likely awake," the orderly stated, "but her responses might not make sense. We have to keep her sedated and… restrained. So she doesn't hurt herself."

"…restrained," he whispered as the orderly opened the door.

It was dark inside. What little light there was, streaming in from the hallway or the small window nine feet up, filtered in through the billowing dust motes to cast an eerie shadow on the figure at the center of the room. When his eyes finally adjusted, Stiles couldn't stop the solitary tear that rolled down his pale cheek. The dull ache that he barely noticed forming in his chest gave a painful throb.

It was Maggie.

Her dark hair was stringy and matted to her head. Sure enough, she was hunched over in a wheelchair, strapped in with leather bindings on her wrists and ankles. The skin around them was red and raw from obvious struggle. "Maggie," he whispered.

Suddenly, the girl's head jerked up and her wild eyes met Stiles' own. "Stuh… Stiles? Oh, my god, is that you?" she whispered hoarsely. Stiles forced a smile and walked in to take a seat on the bed beside her.

"Yeah… yeah, it's me," he replied. He nodded to the orderly, who exited and closed the door behind him. "Hey, Mags…" She just stared at him, completely in shock that he was there.

"I can't believe you're here… You're here!" she whispered excitedly. Her skin looked like it was pulled too tight over her skull and where there was once a person, only flesh and bone remained… like a skeleton covered in nylon.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to see you… I had no idea…"

"No!" she interrupted, still seemingly excited. "No, this is good… You're with me, not her…" She looked at Stiles with a conflicted expression, but quickly continued. "Sorry, sorry, so sorry… You have no clue what I'm talking about… Nobody believes me… but that's good… You're safe… As long as you're… safe… Stiles?"

As she had rambled on, Stiles found it harder and harder to look her in the eyes; he knew exactly what she was talking about. Unfortunately, he knew that he had to disappoint her… that he had to tell her that her burst of insanity was all his fault… all for naught… "I'm sorry," he whispered.

A moment of silence, then, "…no…"

Stile kept his gaze down. Instead of responding, he unconsciously brought up his hand to rub at the pain in his chest.

"…Stiles…"

No response, just an overwhelming guilt at all he had hidden from… from everyone.

"Stiles look at me," she said more strongly. Finally, Stiles looked up. Another sharp pain wrenched itself through his chest as he saw the devastated expression on her face, the tears in his cousin's eyes. "Stiles… it's okay," she replied. "It's not your fault… I should have warned you sooner…"

"It's not your fault," Stiles replied, his voice cracking. Maggie shook her head.

"No, it is… I didn't get to you soon enough… and now she has you, too…"

"But, I resisted her!" Stiles exclaimed. Maggie met his eyes again, but with an expression of renewed hope.

"You did?" she whispered. "Even… even after she bit you?"

"Yes… just like you," he explained. Maggie looked away. "Mags, I know that you were able to… and that Bastian wasn't… But I need to know how. Maggie, she's threatening to kill my father… I have to find a way to make her leave… Please, please show me how to do it. How to resist her," he plead. He even fell to his knees before her as he begged for advice.

"Stiles…" She shook her head. "I can't tell you that… you just have to resist on your own… You have to."

"But I can't!" he whispered through his teeth. Maggie looked at him in confusion.

"But… you said…"

"I know," Stiles said, leaning backwards against the bed. "She… came back later that night…" He ran a hand through his hair and pulled back his sleeve to expose the still-red bite mark in the crook of his arm. "This is what you were hiding before… at your house… wasn't it?"

He heard the grating sound of her gasp. "Oh… Stiles…" she whispered.

"Please," he whispered again, the pain in his chest growing. He clutched at the fabric, his hood falling back to reveal the still-fading bite mark on his neck. Maggie stared with large eyes and finally took in how haggard Stiles looked. Even as he had only sat with her a short while, his breathing became slightly more ragged, his movements more jerky… "I don't know why," he continued, "but it's like… a hot iron in being shoved through my chest from the inside out…"

"That's what she does," Maggie said flatly. He looked up to see the blank expression on her face. "She amplifies every pain you ever felt… and the only thing that makes it go away… is her… And, Stiles?" she said, turning to face him. "We have a lot of pain in our family."

"But… how do I stop her?"

Again, Maggie looked away from him. "No… I can't… I can't say."

"Why!?" Stiles exclaimed.

"Because!" his cousin retorted. "It killed my cousin and it almost killed me!"

They were both quiet for a moment after that. Stiles tried desperately to connect the dots, but the ache in his chest and ever-growing fogginess in his mind was making it more and more difficult. He just pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to focus his mind. Suddenly, something occurred to him. "…Maggie… why did you try to kill yourself?"

"…you know about that…" It was more a statement than a question.

"Why?" he asked again, irritation working its way to the forefront of his emotions. "You could resist her and, yet… you still tried to kill yourself… Why!? How did you refuse her bite!?"

"I FOUND A SUBSTITUE!"

Stiles stared at his cousin as she shook in her restraints. "A substitute…"

"Yes, alright!? Bastian and I knew we had to find some way to deny her… but her power over us was too strong… we had to find something else so that we didn't cave to her temptations… If you take away the power she has over you, you're useless to her… But, by then you are immune to the deadly effects of her venom. She either has to kill you or move on… And it's easier for her to run when she's weak… Refusing her weakens her… and that's what we tried to do."

Stiles looked at his shaking hands, not liking a single bit of what she was telling him. "…but?"

"But it didn't work… It worked for me, for a time, but Bastian… Bastian was so badly poisoned that he started both… And it killed him."

"It almost killed you, too," Stiles commented. Maggie just sighed.

"It was a better alternative than becoming her slave…" She sighed. "I just… couldn't take the pain anymore… and… my brother had just died…"

"…I'm sorry…"

"Stiles, forget about me," she growled. "You're the one that needs to stop her from controlling you… She's fixated on you now…"

Stiles crossed his arms over his knees, hugging them to his chest. "I don't… I don't know if I can…"

"You have to try, Stiles," she said as firmly as she could, obviously reaching the end of her limit for the day. However, she wasn't the only one. She glanced back at Stiles to see him rocking back and forth ever so slightly. His hands were shaking almost violently and his breathing shallow. "Stiles… stay with me…"

"I'm f-fine," he growled through his teeth. "I just… hurts… more than I thought."

There were softs steps outside of Maggie's room. After a moment, the door opened and the orderly from earlier stepped in with a small tray and a set of keys. "Good evening, Maggie… Time for your last meds for the day," he said pleasantly. Maggie looked back and forth between the orderly and her struggling cousin, thinking quickly. "By the way, I'll have to ask you to leave here soon, Mr. Stilinski… Visiting hours are long over with and-"

"Please!" she suddenly spoke, surprising both Stiles and the orderly. "Please… just a little while longer…"

The orderly smiled. "I think I can swing a few more minutes," he said, unbinding one of her straps, "if you promise to take your meds and go to sleep… with as relaxed as you're being tonight, I think we can take these both off." He undid her other strap. Maggie rubbed her wrists with a small grimace.

"Thanks," she said, grabbing the pill cup from him. She knocked back the small pills and took a swig from another small cup of water.

"Just a few more minutes," the orderly repeated. "I'll be waiting right outside."

Maggie waited quietly for him to leave… and flew out of her chair to Stiles' side. "Here," she said, grabbing his hand and shoving something into it. It took a moment for his vision to clear, but once it did, Stiles realized that Maggie had pressed two small pills into his hand.

"Wha-"

"Just take them, Stiles."

"No!" he growled, trying to give them back.

"Stiles!" Maggie snapped as her level of frantic matched Stiles'. "You're hurting… and if you don't do this, you'll end up running out of the room, screaming Daliah's name…. Take them, Stiles! They'll help, at least just to tide you over… Please… it's the least I could do…"

Stiles stared at the pills. "But…"

"Stiles, please!" she plead, her voice still at a harsh whisper. "Don't let her win."

At those words, he could no longer resist. Stiles let out a quick breath and then threw back the pills with a single dry swallow. "…this better work," he mumbled as he tried to still his shaking body. It wasn't much longer before he felt Maggie's slender arms wrapping around his shoulders. Obviously, whatever medications she had taken were already affecting her as a sudden, calm demeanor had taken over. She wasn't much warmer than he, but her touch seemed to help his tremors to subside.

"Shhh, just relax, Stiles," she cooed, stroking his hair. And, after a few moments, he did. Some sort warmth and numbness seeped into his mind and body. It wasn't on par with what Daliah could do, but it did calm him… and it significantly lessened the pain in his chest.

"…woah…"

"Just breathe," she whispered as she rocked him gently back and forth. Stiles' eyes fluttered shut as the waves of complacency and numbness rolled over him. He finally connected the dots.

"…your… your substitute…" he whispered.

"Stiles, you can't, okay?" Maggie whispered. She grabbed his lolling head in her hands and attempted to look in his eyes. "Focus… You can't do that, okay!?"

"Okay, okay," he mumbled, more in an effort to get her to stop talking than anything. He tried to stand, but to no avail. "I can't… drive like this…" he half whispered.

Maggie mentally kicked herself; she hadn't thought of that. "Yes you can, Stiles," she said forcefully. "Here, stand up…" She was far weaker than he, but after a moment they managed to stand. Stiles swayed slightly.

"Please," he said as he rubbed his eyes. "Just… give me a second…"

"The orderly will be back soon!" his cousin retorted. "Get your bearings, lie in your jeep if you have to, and then leave… please…"

Even through the haze of whatever he had taken, Stiles knew exactly what she was worried about; if he stayed, there was always that chance that Daliah would follow his scent there… and if he was incapacitated, then Maggie just very well may be on the menu. "I know…" he whispered, rubbing his eyes one more time. "I know…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be… I have answers, now," the teenage boy reasoned. He gave Maggie an awkward hug – perfect timing, as the orderly opened the door at that moment.

Stiles walked out without a second glance at his cousin. There was nothing left to do but try to make the long drive home… and somehow make a game plan from there. Already, walking around gave his head just the right amount of clarity he needed for the journey. And so, he climbed in his jeep and slowly drove away.

Once he combined whatever Scott and the others had learned with his own knowledge… then perhaps he would have the chance to destroy – or at least chase away – Daliah before she latched onto anyone else… It was a noble thought, but Stiles knew he would need the other's help to do it. Before he told them about his cousins and Daliah, though, he had to make sure that the monster had moved on completely. He didn't want any sort of connection with her…

…despite that, there was something deep, deep down that still wanted her bite.

OoooO

Holy 14 pages… Whoops. Guess I got a little carried away…