Chapter 3: In the Deep Dark Woods (Where Monsters Play Pretend.)

Summary:

Because a monster is a monster, whether or not you love it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Stiles - Stiles shouldn't be out here. At least not alone. The last time he was in the preserve, well, he wasn't exactly - or... well, he was himself, he just wasn't himself, and also he got kidnapped by a tree.

Which. Not very fun, he doesn't reccomend that.

Still. Stiles shouldn't be out here. But out here he is, all the same, because...

Well. That part involves the little box he'd been saddled with.

"Hi." Stiles said, to the tree roots, keeping a safe distance away from them in the cramped root cellar. "Again."

Hello, dear Sacrifice, it replied. I see you've brought our little Fox-Fly back to us.

Stiles gulped. "In a sense." He said.

They want you to kill them, the Nemeton 'said', and Stiles could detect a warning in the tone used. They want an heir.

"Noshiko didn't explain what that meant," Stiles said, cautiously. "Just that it worked differently to a kitsune having a kid. Or a doppleganger for a kid. She said that - that He was - or, or is my... 'Mirror.'"

The Poisoner is correct, the tree confirmed. It is different, yet the same. Power transferral... that is the most important part.

"I don't want it." Stiles said, forcefully. "I never wanted any of this! I said no, alright, over a year ago when I could have had power because I never wanted this, not even a little."

Little Spark, the Twice Lived Wolf was right. You lie to yourself. You want power, you like control. And that's why you refused - because you were scared. That's why your nature has hidden itself for so long - becaue you were scared. Little Spark, your soul tires of hiding. I tire of you hiding.

You cant stop being what you are, Sacrifice. You are a Spark in soul, a Shell in body, and a Void in power. That is simple, and that is all.

Stiles glared at the roots.

Kill it. The Nemeton said, forcefully. Kill it, and be done with it. They want an Heir - let them have one. Or don't. Once it's dead, that part is up to you.

"I don't know how," Stiles said.

Yes. You do.

"I - I can't do that," Stiles said. "I just - fucking God, I refuse, okay?"

I amplified your abilites for a reason little Spark. Our link is still there - I am inside your head. And I will be. Forever.

The lid flew off the box, thrown by some unseen force.

Kill it. The Nemeton murmur-yelled, in Stiles' head, in his ears. Take everything. Take it's pain, take it all, then take the rest, too.

Break it's mind. You are a Spark, young Sacrifice.

Burn it from the inside.

Stiles sucked in a shuddering breath. The weight of the Nemeton's power, in this place, on this convergence of Ley Lines, stuck in his head because he died to save his father -

(In the end, you can only withstand so much pressure.)

Stiles closed his eyes.

(If the Nogitsune had had to touch to feed, it wouldn't have done some of they ploys it had. Like the Strife in the loft, for example - he hadn't touched Stiles' Dad or Argent, and they were the ones feeling the emotions he needed at that moment. Sure, he'd gathered everyone for protection - but he didn't need it, really. The oni had proved to be no match for him before.

In the end, he'd fed on the ambient mood. He'd fed on individual moods - individual emotions, emotions other than pain - without coming into contact with those that were feeling them once.)

(So, in theory. Stiles can do that too.)

The nogitsune was easy to pick out, since there were only three beings here - Stiles himself, who didn't really count, the tree, which also didn't really count, and the Nogitsune in question.

The pain was loudest. Stiles focused on it, felt for it mentally, focused hard enogh and visualised grasping onto it tightly enough that he felt it, felt the transfer, felt the energy energy healing healing food of it, felt the sheer releif and, for once, for the first time, with memories of thsi creature hurting his friends and killing people with Stiles' own two hands, Stiles pulled harder.

The pain flowed freely, over a thousand years worth of it but most of that recent, within the last fifty years, within the last few months. It petered out though, because people didn't have an endless supply of pain, that just wasn't possible, and as much as the Nogitsune had it it had fed on most of it out of sheer necessity when he'd started starving during those fifty years - but he ran out, evnetually, he did as any creature would, but Stiles wasn't done - he couldn't be, because the nogitsune, now pain-free, could get up again and fly away and hurt more people and Stiles couldn't - he couldn't have that not even a little bit so he followed that threat, that pain, found emotions it linked with that and found pleasure and found anger and found everything, one link to the next and drained it all and kept draning it, kept taking it until there was nothing left and Stiles could see, plainly, under all the emotional noise now that it was gone, the core of the creature - it's self, and the sheer size of that, due to just how old the nogitsune was, and he delved, followed mental pathways and found Mirror, Purpose, Nature, he found everything that made the nogitsune what it was then took it apart, analysed it then tossed it aside when he'd figured out what he wanted to figure out becaue he needed to know he just did, and it didn't matter what happened to it because he didn't care, it had done awful things and Stiles couldn't care less about Him -

And then. There was a final thread. It snapped, easily, under the pressure of Their weight - Stiles hated it and the Nemeton was disgusted by the parisite and with it's hooks in Stiles, in the nogitsune, it added that little bit of extra pressure that Stiles needed -

The last thread snapped. The nogitsune was -

Gone. Stiles blinked down at the empty box. The light coming through the opening to the cellar had changed, qutie drastically. For how long Stiles had been here, he didn't know. Whatever it was he'd done, because the memories were murky, for now - though he knew, with sheer certainty, that they'd clear and come back to him as time passed - he wasn't sure, but the Nemeton seemed - pleased.

Here, Spark, it said, and somethingheavy pressed down in Stiles' head. It is time to choose.

Stiles, already dazed, found it easy to slip into unconsciousness - even with, or especially because of - the crushing pressure in his head.

Mandy heard footsteps, and then a crash.

"You're home," He said, numbly. Mandy rolled her eyes and turned down the volume on the TV - American Horror Story was... alright, she supposed. She'd stick with it.

"Plainly," Mandy said, turning her head and leaning on the armrest. She looked up at her father, who cowered.

"I thought -"

"You're an idiot," Mandy interrupted. "Shut the fuck up and sit down."

The man moved immediately to follow her order, and sat precariously on the edge of the armchair.

"Relax," Mandy rolled her eyes, and he did - reluctant, but his shoulders dropped and he leaned back in the chair regardless. The glass of water he'd been holding and the plate of food lay forgotton on the floor - he can clean it up later. Right now, Mandy has some choice words for her father.

"I'm home," Mandy said. "You'll be safe again. But there is just one thing..."

The man, still under orders to relax, couldn't tense up - not physically, not mentally. He was afraid, though, and Mandy could see that.

"You went to see mom while I was in Eichen House." Mandy said, calmly. She stopped leaning on the armrest of the couch and leaned forward, rested her arms on her knees and looked straight at her father. "Don't lie to me, by the way. I mean, you can't, but I'd prefer if you willingly told me the truth."

"I did." Her father wasn't looking at her.

"Look at me." Mandy snapped, and his head jerked to the right, fast and against his will. Magic was useful, even if it was a bit annoying that she had to be careful not to break the man's neck.

Mandy leaned forward. "You realise she has a new life now, right? A new life, a new job, a new partner, a new kid. She left this life behind years ago. Hasn't touched druidic magic since she asked you to go with her and you didn't. It was your choice to stay, Dad. Don't burden the woman with your presence. She doesn't want you there."

"We're friends." Her father said, sharply. "Just because we had a divorce-"

Mandy stood, abrupt, and a vase shattered. "You didn't have a divorce." She said, cooly. "Mom abandoned us. Abandoned you. Left you... with me."

"Sweetheart," Her father said, placating. He couldn't stand. "Your mother couldn't stand the politics of our families - being a druid was just too much, in the end, but that doesn't mean she abandoned us, she just-"

"Shut up." Mandy said. He complied.

"She left you with me," Mandy said. "Tell me. How many times have I nearly killed you?"

"Nineteen."

"That you can remember." Mandy said, cooly.

"... That I can remember."

"Mom never gave a shit about you." Mandy said. "She was the smart one. You're just a fucking idiot that can't even use magic anymore. You're pathetic."

Silence. Silence. Silence.

"Get out!" Mandy yelled at him - threw her hand out and the front door blasted open, breaking the locks.

Her father took a breath - shaky, weak. He stood, and he left - mechanical, forced.

"Stay in a hotel." Mandy ordered. "I'll call you when you can come back."

Mandy waited until she heard the car leave the drive, until she couldn't sense her father any more - and then, after a beat, threw her amrs out as she yelled, her head snapping back and her eyes bleeding pure white - and smashed every valuable decoration in the house.

He finally stopped moving when he was situated in a hotel, sat on the bed in the shitty room.

Darren sighed, and rubbed at his face, as he waited for the fuzziness to pass. He'd hoped - but no. She hadn't gone to Eichen house... Darren couldn't exactly remember why his daughter had gone there, but...

It didn't matter. Darren carefully laid back on the bed, wincing as he rubbed his neck. His daughter could be a bit - violent, but... she cared.

Mandy would have killed him by now if she didn't. Darren isn't delusional, he'd be dead in a ditch if she didn't care at least a little.

Morrigan. The Raven. Trickster spirit.

Whatever Changeling had replaced his darling Mandy at birth - that... girl, that girl is still the one he raised. The one he grew to love as his own daughter. It's not the Changeling's fault, it's nature, nor it's purpose, nor that it was placed with them, in the stead of their daughter.

But he misses her. Misses that little baby girl, with the big eyes and the bells of laughter. He can remember those early days more clearly than most things - definitely more than anything before her birth. And anything during the years just before and after Angela left.

Angela.

Darren closed his eyes. But he couldn't sleep yet. The man sighed, and stood, then stretched. Age had set in on him earlier than it should, and it showed in the stiffness of his joints, the grey of his hair. Still, the druid needed to protect this place; he wasn't about to sleep somewhere where he could get attacked at any notice.

Darren shook his head, as if to clear the last dregs of fuzziness, and set about casting protections.

Notes:

Hi wtf it's been five hundred years but here's another chapter