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Description
Paying the Price
Chapter 9: Leap of Faith

The last time Derek remembered being carried in his father’s arms, he was just a few weeks into his eighth year of life.  He had been at the dining room table feverishly working on a drawing.  He could not remember what it had been.  Maybe it was of his cat, Tama.  He did remember how badly he wanted to finish it.  He had been so sleepy at the time that he could not keep his head up, scribbling with his orange colored pencil even with his cheek pressed against the tabletop.

The next thing he knew, he was drowsily blinking his eyes open.  He heard heavy footsteps thump against the carpeted stairs just below him.  Derek lifted his head slightly and his father looked down at him, smiling.  He returned the smile and closed his eyes as they reached the top of the stairs.  Alexander proceeded to his son’s room, gently lowering him into his bed.  Derek had nearly fallen back to sleep by then.  He could barely register being tucked in before his mother’s frantic screams woke him hours later.  He had gone to the top of the stairwell and looked down, seeing the very man that had carried him up them lying crumpled at the bottom.

After that, Alex was admitted to the hospital, never to come home again.  Derek was mortified by the death of his father.  He was still too young to understand why it had happened, why the doctors could not save him and that his dad was not coming back.  Derek would spend hours looking for his father, wanting to talk to him about what had happened at school.  Those times were the hardest for him, when he would suddenly remember that his searches were futile.  He no longer had a dad to talk to, play with, or help him with homework.  Yet, even as the agonizing grief washed over him, the process would repeat itself the next day and he would wander around the house, wondering why his father had not yet come home from work.  It took several months after Alexander’s death for it to finally sink in.

When it did, it was like reliving the day he watched his father’s coffin being lowered into the ground.  However, even as a dull pain followed him from that moment on well into adulthood, his wounds had begun to heal.  He had finally been ready to move on.

He would never have guessed that he would be carried by his father again.

Alexander was not smiling this time.  His glassy eyes were narrowed to slits as he carried his adult son towards the surgical ward.  Adam retained his divine aura as he moved slightly ahead of his lifeless minion.  His light footsteps masqueraded as a glide and his hair flowed slowly behind him, disturbed by an absent wind.  Alexander was not smiling, but Derek had been.  The tooth clenched grin was relentless.  His many desperate attempts to scrape it from his face were in vain.  Derek’s body occasionally twitched in breathless laughter while the tears traced down his face.  These were mere whispers of the whirlwind that raged inside of him.  His physical body was too worn to do it any justice.

Don’t just sit there!  Do something!  Move!  Fight back!  Do something!

The desperate pleas echoed in his mind, his physical form hearing only noise.  Screeches from his last shred of sanity pathetically scratched at the darkness.  The most they did was power the tears that streaked his face.  He struggled to close his wide, dilated eyes, but not as much as a brow quivered in his favor.  The same was true for his other limbs, which refused to acknowledge him.

Derek was not one to give up easily.  He tried to still his blood soaked fingers as they tensed and gripped onto the front of his uniform.  The crimson stain seeped his scrubs and warmly caressed his belly, fueling the resentful enjoyment of it.  Another manic wave of laughter escaped him.  His flesh rejected him and struck him down as the surgical ward doors creaked open.  As they swung in the wake of the entering trio, only his watering eyes dared to accept his feeble grasp.

-----

“This can’t be happening!”

Derek retreated to his mind, the unending darkness a much more welcoming sight than that of his own body betraying him.  He collapsed to his knees, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides.  “I can’t let this happen!  I won’t!” he strained.  He reached for an arm, a leg, a pinky, anything that would obey him.  Laughter ripped through him.  He felt, more than heard, his own voice scoff sadistically at his efforts.

“Why . . . can’t I move?”  A fresh gulp of tears spilled from his eyes, the salt giving him a distant sting.

The shadows groped at him, shuddering in tune with the laugh that shook his flesh and blood form.  He flinched away from where the unwelcome touch had struck out.  He shivered at the cold that radiated from his arm, letting out a surprised yell as his opposite shoulder received the same touch.

“Dammit!” he growled, gripping his head and withdrawing into himself.  He collapsed and fell to his side, resigning himself to a fetal position.  The shadows pawed at him relentlessly, but he squeezed those unsavory thoughts from his head.  All he could do was hold on and try to keep himself from fading from existence.  He had felt the tears run down his flesh cheeks.  He kept that water flowing, doing everything he could to keep his last connection with his physical form from being severed.

-----

Insane chortling swept the small prep room.  Derek clutched his stomach as his laughing fit strained his muscles, though this was put to a small pause as Alexander pushed him to his feet.  Weighed from the exhaustion and hysteria, his legs were unfit to support him.  Derek sunk slightly and let out a hiss as his father’s hand jerked his head back. “Clean him.” Adam commanded.  Alex gripped his arm and pushed him towards the sink.

The glasses were torn from Derek’s face and tossed onto the counter.  Another wince escaped him when Alex’s hand gripped his hair, tugging violently on his roots and cut temple, and his head was plunged into a brimming sink of water.  Cold fingers combed through his hair and roughly scrubbed the blood from his scalp.  Derek gave a feeble struggle during the impromptu bath, protesting only due to the lack of air.  The moment his head had been yanked back, the quick breath he gulped in was expelled by laughter.

His hair and face had been dried in the same manner.  A towel was savagely rubbed over him, picking up dots of red as it scraped against his cut.  Still, his chuckling continued, becoming slightly muffled when a surgical mask was placed on him.  “The second phase begins now.  With his mask, you are seen as the Healer.  Hide your thirst for blood behind it, and they will offer it to you.”

A fresh pair of gloves stretched over his hands. “Take these hands which yield your . . . Healing Touch . . . take them and give them their true meaning.”

His glasses were placed back on the bridge of his nose, cutting into the river of tears from his eyes.  The grin still radiated from behind his mask as he gave a jerky nod in obedience.  He entered the OR, his strength fueled by his blood lust.

-----

“I’m disappointed in you, Stiles.”

A tired groan poured from Derek in response to Hoffman's voice.  He slowly lifted his head.  The elder surgeon's form rippled in his watering eyes, but his disapproving glare retained its shape. “You’re just going to give up, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t give up.” Derek’s voice scratched heavily in his throat.

“You’re right.  You’re not giving up.”  Hoffman narrowed his eyes.  “You’re enduring.”

His glower stayed constant with the younger man's eyes.  Slowly, he began circling him, his gaze never straying.  Derek, on the other hand, turned his glance to the back of his hands and absently listened to the sharp footsteps.

“You’re trying to find a way to live with this, safe in the shadowed haven of your mind.  You’re going to stay here, eyes closed, trying to ignore what is happening as best you can.  You’re accepting, enduring, but . . .” He completed his circle, facing Derek once again.  He crouched before him and leaned in. “ . . that sounds like surrender to me.”

“What do you want from me!?”  Derek screamed.  “I tried!  I really did!  I fought as hard as I could!  I can’t even control my own body anymore!  The only thing I can physically do is cry!”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”  His voice scraped.  “So, that’s what you’re going to do?  Just lie here and cry?”

Derek let out an aggravated grunt.  “Don’t you get it!?  Don’t you see what’s happening to me!?”  A pained sob choked him.  “I feel, but I don’t feel.  I know I’m moving, but I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I  . . . can’t explain it.  I feel my wet hair, my gloves, my mask . . . but it’s as if I don’t exist anymore.  The only thing I feel, that I can really feel, is my tears.  I have to keep crying, because if I slip for a second, I may never be able to connect with my body again.  If that happens, then he’s won . . So I’m doing everything I can to keep that channel open.  It’s the only way I can beat him.  Does that sound like I’m giving up to you!?”

Hoffman stared at him silently.

-----

A timid creak of the OR doors became precursive to Derek's crazed murmurs.  His eyes flickered towards Victor's form, still held by his time distorting ability.  He joined his motionless colleague at the operating table.  A hint of excitement further jangled his twitching body.

“Death is like a mist.  It emits from the deceased, providing the earth with a breath of liberation.  Take in this mist.  Let it intoxicate your senses.”

The words of Adam’s command whispered in his mind.  Derek slowly reached for the scalpel with his trembling fingers.  The dying breaths of the patient weakly stroked his senses, the live blood running through his flesh filtering their true potency.  His tongue lapped up the scent as he lifted the scalpel.

-----

“You’re a fool, Stiles.”

Derek stiffened at the taunt and returned Hoffman's glare.  He remained looking unimpressed by the young man's perturbed expression.  “Haven’t you learned anything?”  Hoffman continued.  “You’re an unparalleled surgeon, you have lightning fast reflexes and tremendous spirit, but you’ve always been a bit shy on brains.”

“Hey!”

“This isn’t a problem you can just muscle your way out of.  Have you already forgotten?  These are your powers, Derek.  Not mine, not Adam’s . . . yours.”

Derek pushed out a breath of frustration, the tension that gripped his body loosening somewhat.  He closed his eyes, pushing his overflowing tears down his cheeks. “Yeah . . . but how can I do anything if I can’t move my body?”

“Who said you had to move your body in order to use your powers?”

He took in a tiny gasp, tensing slightly as his eyes opened.  Derek lifted his head, finding only the thick darkness.  He pushed himself up and looked back and forth.  "Dr. Hoffman?"  He received not as much as his own echo in response.  Hoffman was gone.  Pushing out a heavy sigh, Derek collapsed into a sprawl on his back.  “Use my powers to what?  Slowing down time won’t help me.”

He stared blankly into the constant overcast of black.  So what if he was ‘shy on brains’?  He was desperate, at the end of his rope, and the last thing he needed was a riddle.  If Adam's order was any indication, he was running out of time.  He could feel panic fester inside of him.  “No . . . I have to stay calm.  I have to-”

He blinked.

No, slowly down time would not help him, but maybe . . .

“I don’t know if this’ll work, but it’s the only thing I’ve got right now.”  Derek pushed himself up, thinking of the sea blue star he had conjured before.  Arching his body forward, he drew his legs crossed underneath him and rested his hands in his lap.  Derek slowly flexed the fingers of his upturned palms.  “I can do this.  I've done it before.”  He expelled a breath and closed his eyes.  “Relax . . . focus . . . concentrate.”

He pressed his lips together before letting out another breath, coaxing out the powers in his mind.

-----

“Stiles, why are you hesitating?  You have your orders.”

Derek’s labored gulps calmed slightly into deep, rhythmic breaths.  His hand contrasted his breathing as it continued to shake, still raising the scalpel slowly.  It hovered over the open chest cavity, brandishing the small knife but unable to descend it.  His grin twitched unseen behind his surgical mask.  Even as his facial expression remained death bound, his body was encased in a reluctant hold.

Stiff fingers clutched tightly to his shoulders as a cold breath whispered in his ear.

“Are you still attempting this pathetic struggle?  I should punish you for your insolence . . but . .”

Adam took a step away, running his fingers down Derek’s back.

“ . . .if defeat at your own hands is the only way you will learn, then so be it.  Of course, you will still be punished for this waste of time.  I will not tolerate your misbehavior.”

He withdrew himself to a corner of the room, watching the surgeon’s internal struggle.  The tension that held Derek’s psychotic form bled from him slightly as his laughter sputtered to tiny breaths.  Even so, his scalpel remained raised and his eyes were locked with the man’s heart.

-----

“Almost . . . don’t lose it . . . be calm . . .”

A small flutter of excitement at Adam’s words nearly broke his concentration.  It was working.  All he had to do was coax out the tranquil shape from before.  He could almost feel it.  The symbol traced in his mind with a speed that belied its silky caress.  Derek took in a shudder and forced himself to withdraw his grip.  His fingers collapsed to half curled palms and his head dipped further, nearly pressing his chin to his chest.  The shape traced over his brain again with a slightly more pressing stroke.

“There . . . I think I . .”

His breath was drawn short by his own gasp.

-----

Derek’s laughter reached an inhuman pitch as it blended with cries of pain.  His convulsing form backpedaled, slamming to the wall and wriggling against it.  Several minutes passed as he struggled in the pain, the end of it denoted by his top half pitching forward.  His arms dangled at his sides with the small of his back pressed to the wall.  His shoulders and breath moved in perfect unison.  Heavy and slow, they continued the easy motions, broken only as they succumb to quick and rapid jerks.

Gnarled tension returned to his body.  Derek’s mad laughter escalated as he pushed himself from the wall.  Adam silently watched him stiffly walk back to the table, his lips turned into a tiny smirk.

-----

A scream was torn from him.

Derek’s form churned violently as a red line slashed across his brain.  Crimson seeped from the cut and another carved into him.  This process repeated three times more, leaving him blinded by the pain.  He was all but clawing at his skull, attempting to get at the cuts, when the burning seeping back into the slashes.  The pain throbbed in its wake, poking and prodding his mind with each beat of his heart.

He slowly opened his eyes.  Vision swimming in agony, he groggily tried to focus on the blurry object before him.  A few blinks found his sight returned and a strained choke grabbed him.

The dark back drop before him was wounded.  Scarlet blossomed from the slits and cast his pale reflection at him.  He could see his crimson dyed eyes, large and salt stained, as well as his frame shaking horridly.  The familiar star shape stood jagged and bloody before him.

“Fuck . . .” he muttered, his teeth pinching his trembling lip.  His hands twitched in time with his erratic breathing.  A growl rolled from his throat, ending as his fists slammed into the cold floor.  “FUCK!”

His hands scraped against the floor as he drew his arms in.  Tears wet his hyperventilating breath as he bowed his head.  “What do I do now?”

“You give up.”

Derek's head shot up as the cold voice crashed into him.

No!  It can't be . . .

He pushed himself to his feet and whirled around.  The stare that shot out from the familiar, red tinted eyes stabbed him cold.  “You!  Y-you’re . . .you . .”

“Broken record again, Stiles.  You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

Didymus stumbled before him, his head hanging by his shattered neck.  Cartilage still punctured his skin and his ruptured jugular dangled from the gaping wound.  Despite this injury, Didymus’s spirit proved to be ever resilient.  His sadistic grin was plastered on his face, his eyes still holding their demonic glow.

“Do not interfere with the baptism.  You’ve yet to be fully cleansed.”

“And I intend to keep it that way!”  Derek yelled.

Didymus let out a low chuckle.  “It’s over, Stiles.  A small wisp of death is all you need to complete your transformation.  Surely you realize how close we are, how close you are, to killing that man.  His death, at our hands; it will be glorious.”

Derek swallowed hard and closed his mouth with a tight frown.  He turned his back to him and resumed his cross legged sit.  “I’m not listening to you.” he strained.  Squeezing his eyes shut, his placed his fingers to his temples.  “Focus . . . relax . . . concentrate. . .”

“You can’t block me out.” Didymus purred.

That did not keep Derek from trying, even as the scraping footsteps and dry voice cut right through him.  He almost succeeded as he hunched his form tightly.  Screaming his mantra in his head, the jagged sounds of Didymus’s approach had been muffled until a mere drop of blood on his neck broke through his shield, causing him to shudder.  The weight of Didymus’s head fell on his shoulder, pressing the sickening feel of his burst vein against Derek’s back.

“Your mentor is right, you know.  All you’re doing is enduring – surviving.  But, you don’t have to.  You can live.”

“Get off of me!”

Derek threw the dead weight from his back.  He turned, further punting the dark twin away with a kick to his chest.  “I am not going to let you tell me what to do with my life!”

Didymus’s body met the dark ground with a heavy thud.  His unsupported skull cracked, spattering a small spray of blood from the back of his head.  Still, he moved to pick himself up, unperturbed by the fracture.  “It’s my life too, Stiles.  We’ve already decided the path we’re going to walk, so let’s stop wasting our master’s time.”

Didymus clumsily rose to his feel and lifted an arm.  As his left arm and head hung limply, the fingers of his outstretched hand pointed at Derek, drawing a befuddled look from him.  That look slowly formed to surprise as a subtle glow outlined his hand, mimicking that of the glow in his eyes.  “What are you doing?!” Derek gasped.  A tiny scoff escaped the doppelganger as Derek felt the palms of his hands crawl.  He quickly brought them up, seeing a sheet of crimson cover his hands and his paled complexion reflected within them.  He growled, shooting his narrowed eyes at Didymus.

His mouth opened, quickly dropping from an angry snarl to a gape.  No sooner than he saw Didymus close his fist did he feel something squeeze around his wrist. “Gah!  What is this!?” A dark red tentacle was wrapped around his arm, its embrace crushing despite its soft texture.  Another shot out and gripped his other wrist.  Digging his feet into the ground, Derek fought against them both as they slowly reeled him in.  He looked over his shoulder, seeing the two shapeless arms reaching out from the bloody star he had created.  Another pair pushed through the shape’s hemorrhaging wounds and latched onto his ankles.

“No!” Derek struggled as he was flung back and slammed against the bleeding wall.  Didymus chuckled as he crept towards him.  “Deeereeeek.  Don’t struggled too much.  Remember what happens to school girls in Japanese cartoons.”  He let out a hearty laugh, extending two fingers from his balled fist and slowly tracing a blood smeared star in the air.  “This is your favorite shape, isn’t it?”

Derek cringed, feeling it stroke over the slashes in his mind.  “There . . . has to be a way out of this.”

He frantically searched his mind, trying to find anything to turn the tide.

I can't move my body . . . my powers have turned dark . . . I can't control them . . .

The narrowed grip on Derek’s eyes slowly released as they watched Didymus approach, hand extended and outlined with a soft red glow.  He stopped his struggles and allowed his head to drop, his eyes closing.

I can’t control them . . . but he . . .

Rapid breath escaped him, slow and quiet, but shaking his whole body.  It quickly rose in volume, casting the sound of pained laughter through the dark chamber.  The grin on Didymus’s face dipped slightly.  “Something funny, Stiles?”

“S-so . . . this is what it comes down too . . . isn’t it?”  The tears were propelled by his laughing fit, washing his face generously as he shook his head.  “Adam was right all along . . . I don’t have a choice but to accept what I have inside me.”

It was Didymus’s turn to frown.  He tilted his limp head the best he could as he observed the hysterical doctor.  “Ohhh, I see what you’re trying to do.  It’s not going to work, but if it’ll get you to stop squirming, then I’m all for it.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Derek hissed between clenched teeth.  “Let’s just . . . just get this over with!”

A grin slowly returned to Didymus’s face.  “With pleasure, Stiles.  I’m so glad you finally came around.”

Derek shut his eyes tightly, allowed his convulsing body to hang as limply as it would.  Even as his body was rocked by laughter, he had not thought it possible to be anymore terrified.  Please . . . God . . Asclepius . . . whatever or whoever is up there . . . please let this work.

“It woooon’t.” Didymus said, now standing before him.  “But don’t worry.  I know you’ll find Bliss to be everything our master promised.”

A shaking grunt escaped Derek as he pried his eyes open.  Slowly, Didymus raised his scarlet dyed fingers, drinking in the overflowing horror that poured from the doctor.

What if he's right?  What if this doesn't work?  What if it's a mistake?

Derek closed his eyes again, flinching as he felt Didymus close in.  No, he could not afford to doubt himself.  This was his only chance.   There was no backing out now.

“If this is a mistake . . .” A final chuckle shook his body as he felt the blood drenched fingers press to his forehead. “. . . it’ll be my last.”

Description
Paying the Price
Chapter 9: Leap of Faith

The last time Derek remembered being carried in his father’s arms, he was just a few weeks into his eighth year of life.  He had been at the dining room table feverishly working on a drawing.  He could not remember what it had been.  Maybe it was of his cat, Tama.  He did remember how badly he wanted to finish it.  He had been so sleepy at the time that he could not keep his head up, scribbling with his orange colored pencil even with his cheek pressed against the tabletop.

The next thing he knew, he was drowsily blinking his eyes open.  He heard heavy footsteps thump against the carpeted stairs just below him.  Derek lifted his head slightly and his father looked down at him, smiling.  He returned the smile and closed his eyes as they reached the top of the stairs.  Alexander proceeded to his son’s room, gently lowering him into his bed.  Derek had nearly fallen back to sleep by then.  He could barely register being tucked in before his mother’s frantic screams woke him hours later.  He had gone to the top of the stairwell and looked down, seeing the very man that had carried him up them lying crumpled at the bottom.

After that, Alex was admitted to the hospital, never to come home again.  Derek was mortified by the death of his father.  He was still too young to understand why it had happened, why the doctors could not save him and that his dad was not coming back.  Derek would spend hours looking for his father, wanting to talk to him about what had happened at school.  Those times were the hardest for him, when he would suddenly remember that his searches were futile.  He no longer had a dad to talk to, play with, or help him with homework.  Yet, even as the agonizing grief washed over him, the process would repeat itself the next day and he would wander around the house, wondering why his father had not yet come home from work.  It took several months after Alexander’s death for it to finally sink in.

When it did, it was like reliving the day he watched his father’s coffin being lowered into the ground.  However, even as a dull pain followed him from that moment on well into adulthood, his wounds had begun to heal.  He had finally been ready to move on.

He would never have guessed that he would be carried by his father again.

Alexander was not smiling this time.  His glassy eyes were narrowed to slits as he carried his adult son towards the surgical ward.  Adam retained his divine aura as he moved slightly ahead of his lifeless minion.  His light footsteps masqueraded as a glide and his hair flowed slowly behind him, disturbed by an absent wind.  Alexander was not smiling, but Derek had been.  The tooth clenched grin was relentless.  His many desperate attempts to scrape it from his face were in vain.  Derek’s body occasionally twitched in breathless laughter while the tears traced down his face.  These were mere whispers of the whirlwind that raged inside of him.  His physical body was too worn to do it any justice.

Don’t just sit there!  Do something!  Move!  Fight back!  Do something!

The desperate pleas echoed in his mind, his physical form hearing only noise.  Screeches from his last shred of sanity pathetically scratched at the darkness.  The most they did was power the tears that streaked his face.  He struggled to close his wide, dilated eyes, but not as much as a brow quivered in his favor.  The same was true for his other limbs, which refused to acknowledge him.

Derek was not one to give up easily.  He tried to still his blood soaked fingers as they tensed and gripped onto the front of his uniform.  The crimson stain seeped his scrubs and warmly caressed his belly, fueling the resentful enjoyment of it.  Another manic wave of laughter escaped him.  His flesh rejected him and struck him down as the surgical ward doors creaked open.  As they swung in the wake of the entering trio, only his watering eyes dared to accept his feeble grasp.

-----

“This can’t be happening!”

Derek retreated to his mind, the unending darkness a much more welcoming sight than that of his own body betraying him.  He collapsed to his knees, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides.  “I can’t let this happen!  I won’t!” he strained.  He reached for an arm, a leg, a pinky, anything that would obey him.  Laughter ripped through him.  He felt, more than heard, his own voice scoff sadistically at his efforts.

“Why . . . can’t I move?”  A fresh gulp of tears spilled from his eyes, the salt giving him a distant sting.

The shadows groped at him, shuddering in tune with the laugh that shook his flesh and blood form.  He flinched away from where the unwelcome touch had struck out.  He shivered at the cold that radiated from his arm, letting out a surprised yell as his opposite shoulder received the same touch.

“Dammit!” he growled, gripping his head and withdrawing into himself.  He collapsed and fell to his side, resigning himself to a fetal position.  The shadows pawed at him relentlessly, but he squeezed those unsavory thoughts from his head.  All he could do was hold on and try to keep himself from fading from existence.  He had felt the tears run down his flesh cheeks.  He kept that water flowing, doing everything he could to keep his last connection with his physical form from being severed.

-----

Insane chortling swept the small prep room.  Derek clutched his stomach as his laughing fit strained his muscles, though this was put to a small pause as Alexander pushed him to his feet.  Weighed from the exhaustion and hysteria, his legs were unfit to support him.  Derek sunk slightly and let out a hiss as his father’s hand jerked his head back. “Clean him.” Adam commanded.  Alex gripped his arm and pushed him towards the sink.

The glasses were torn from Derek’s face and tossed onto the counter.  Another wince escaped him when Alex’s hand gripped his hair, tugging violently on his roots and cut temple, and his head was plunged into a brimming sink of water.  Cold fingers combed through his hair and roughly scrubbed the blood from his scalp.  Derek gave a feeble struggle during the impromptu bath, protesting only due to the lack of air.  The moment his head had been yanked back, the quick breath he gulped in was expelled by laughter.

His hair and face had been dried in the same manner.  A towel was savagely rubbed over him, picking up dots of red as it scraped against his cut.  Still, his chuckling continued, becoming slightly muffled when a surgical mask was placed on him.  “The second phase begins now.  With his mask, you are seen as the Healer.  Hide your thirst for blood behind it, and they will offer it to you.”

A fresh pair of gloves stretched over his hands. “Take these hands which yield your . . . Healing Touch . . . take them and give them their true meaning.”

His glasses were placed back on the bridge of his nose, cutting into the river of tears from his eyes.  The grin still radiated from behind his mask as he gave a jerky nod in obedience.  He entered the OR, his strength fueled by his blood lust.

-----

“I’m disappointed in you, Stiles.”

A tired groan poured from Derek in response to Hoffman's voice.  He slowly lifted his head.  The elder surgeon's form rippled in his watering eyes, but his disapproving glare retained its shape. “You’re just going to give up, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t give up.” Derek’s voice scratched heavily in his throat.

“You’re right.  You’re not giving up.”  Hoffman narrowed his eyes.  “You’re enduring.”

His glower stayed constant with the younger man's eyes.  Slowly, he began circling him, his gaze never straying.  Derek, on the other hand, turned his glance to the back of his hands and absently listened to the sharp footsteps.

“You’re trying to find a way to live with this, safe in the shadowed haven of your mind.  You’re going to stay here, eyes closed, trying to ignore what is happening as best you can.  You’re accepting, enduring, but . . .” He completed his circle, facing Derek once again.  He crouched before him and leaned in. “ . . that sounds like surrender to me.”

“What do you want from me!?”  Derek screamed.  “I tried!  I really did!  I fought as hard as I could!  I can’t even control my own body anymore!  The only thing I can physically do is cry!”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”  His voice scraped.  “So, that’s what you’re going to do?  Just lie here and cry?”

Derek let out an aggravated grunt.  “Don’t you get it!?  Don’t you see what’s happening to me!?”  A pained sob choked him.  “I feel, but I don’t feel.  I know I’m moving, but I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I  . . . can’t explain it.  I feel my wet hair, my gloves, my mask . . . but it’s as if I don’t exist anymore.  The only thing I feel, that I can really feel, is my tears.  I have to keep crying, because if I slip for a second, I may never be able to connect with my body again.  If that happens, then he’s won . . So I’m doing everything I can to keep that channel open.  It’s the only way I can beat him.  Does that sound like I’m giving up to you!?”

Hoffman stared at him silently.

-----

A timid creak of the OR doors became precursive to Derek's crazed murmurs.  His eyes flickered towards Victor's form, still held by his time distorting ability.  He joined his motionless colleague at the operating table.  A hint of excitement further jangled his twitching body.

“Death is like a mist.  It emits from the deceased, providing the earth with a breath of liberation.  Take in this mist.  Let it intoxicate your senses.”

The words of Adam’s command whispered in his mind.  Derek slowly reached for the scalpel with his trembling fingers.  The dying breaths of the patient weakly stroked his senses, the live blood running through his flesh filtering their true potency.  His tongue lapped up the scent as he lifted the scalpel.

-----

“You’re a fool, Stiles.”

Derek stiffened at the taunt and returned Hoffman's glare.  He remained looking unimpressed by the young man's perturbed expression.  “Haven’t you learned anything?”  Hoffman continued.  “You’re an unparalleled surgeon, you have lightning fast reflexes and tremendous spirit, but you’ve always been a bit shy on brains.”

“Hey!”

“This isn’t a problem you can just muscle your way out of.  Have you already forgotten?  These are your powers, Derek.  Not mine, not Adam’s . . . yours.”

Derek pushed out a breath of frustration, the tension that gripped his body loosening somewhat.  He closed his eyes, pushing his overflowing tears down his cheeks. “Yeah . . . but how can I do anything if I can’t move my body?”

“Who said you had to move your body in order to use your powers?”

He took in a tiny gasp, tensing slightly as his eyes opened.  Derek lifted his head, finding only the thick darkness.  He pushed himself up and looked back and forth.  "Dr. Hoffman?"  He received not as much as his own echo in response.  Hoffman was gone.  Pushing out a heavy sigh, Derek collapsed into a sprawl on his back.  “Use my powers to what?  Slowing down time won’t help me.”

He stared blankly into the constant overcast of black.  So what if he was ‘shy on brains’?  He was desperate, at the end of his rope, and the last thing he needed was a riddle.  If Adam's order was any indication, he was running out of time.  He could feel panic fester inside of him.  “No . . . I have to stay calm.  I have to-”

He blinked.

No, slowly down time would not help him, but maybe . . .

“I don’t know if this’ll work, but it’s the only thing I’ve got right now.”  Derek pushed himself up, thinking of the sea blue star he had conjured before.  Arching his body forward, he drew his legs crossed underneath him and rested his hands in his lap.  Derek slowly flexed the fingers of his upturned palms.  “I can do this.  I've done it before.”  He expelled a breath and closed his eyes.  “Relax . . . focus . . . concentrate.”

He pressed his lips together before letting out another breath, coaxing out the powers in his mind.

-----

“Stiles, why are you hesitating?  You have your orders.”

Derek’s labored gulps calmed slightly into deep, rhythmic breaths.  His hand contrasted his breathing as it continued to shake, still raising the scalpel slowly.  It hovered over the open chest cavity, brandishing the small knife but unable to descend it.  His grin twitched unseen behind his surgical mask.  Even as his facial expression remained death bound, his body was encased in a reluctant hold.

Stiff fingers clutched tightly to his shoulders as a cold breath whispered in his ear.

“Are you still attempting this pathetic struggle?  I should punish you for your insolence . . but . .”

Adam took a step away, running his fingers down Derek’s back.

“ . . .if defeat at your own hands is the only way you will learn, then so be it.  Of course, you will still be punished for this waste of time.  I will not tolerate your misbehavior.”

He withdrew himself to a corner of the room, watching the surgeon’s internal struggle.  The tension that held Derek’s psychotic form bled from him slightly as his laughter sputtered to tiny breaths.  Even so, his scalpel remained raised and his eyes were locked with the man’s heart.

-----

“Almost . . . don’t lose it . . . be calm . . .”

A small flutter of excitement at Adam’s words nearly broke his concentration.  It was working.  All he had to do was coax out the tranquil shape from before.  He could almost feel it.  The symbol traced in his mind with a speed that belied its silky caress.  Derek took in a shudder and forced himself to withdraw his grip.  His fingers collapsed to half curled palms and his head dipped further, nearly pressing his chin to his chest.  The shape traced over his brain again with a slightly more pressing stroke.

“There . . . I think I . .”

His breath was drawn short by his own gasp.

-----

Derek’s laughter reached an inhuman pitch as it blended with cries of pain.  His convulsing form backpedaled, slamming to the wall and wriggling against it.  Several minutes passed as he struggled in the pain, the end of it denoted by his top half pitching forward.  His arms dangled at his sides with the small of his back pressed to the wall.  His shoulders and breath moved in perfect unison.  Heavy and slow, they continued the easy motions, broken only as they succumb to quick and rapid jerks.

Gnarled tension returned to his body.  Derek’s mad laughter escalated as he pushed himself from the wall.  Adam silently watched him stiffly walk back to the table, his lips turned into a tiny smirk.

-----

A scream was torn from him.

Derek’s form churned violently as a red line slashed across his brain.  Crimson seeped from the cut and another carved into him.  This process repeated three times more, leaving him blinded by the pain.  He was all but clawing at his skull, attempting to get at the cuts, when the burning seeping back into the slashes.  The pain throbbed in its wake, poking and prodding his mind with each beat of his heart.

He slowly opened his eyes.  Vision swimming in agony, he groggily tried to focus on the blurry object before him.  A few blinks found his sight returned and a strained choke grabbed him.

The dark back drop before him was wounded.  Scarlet blossomed from the slits and cast his pale reflection at him.  He could see his crimson dyed eyes, large and salt stained, as well as his frame shaking horridly.  The familiar star shape stood jagged and bloody before him.

“Fuck . . .” he muttered, his teeth pinching his trembling lip.  His hands twitched in time with his erratic breathing.  A growl rolled from his throat, ending as his fists slammed into the cold floor.  “FUCK!”

His hands scraped against the floor as he drew his arms in.  Tears wet his hyperventilating breath as he bowed his head.  “What do I do now?”

“You give up.”

Derek's head shot up as the cold voice crashed into him.

No!  It can't be . . .

He pushed himself to his feet and whirled around.  The stare that shot out from the familiar, red tinted eyes stabbed him cold.  “You!  Y-you’re . . .you . .”

“Broken record again, Stiles.  You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

Didymus stumbled before him, his head hanging by his shattered neck.  Cartilage still punctured his skin and his ruptured jugular dangled from the gaping wound.  Despite this injury, Didymus’s spirit proved to be ever resilient.  His sadistic grin was plastered on his face, his eyes still holding their demonic glow.

“Do not interfere with the baptism.  You’ve yet to be fully cleansed.”

“And I intend to keep it that way!”  Derek yelled.

Didymus let out a low chuckle.  “It’s over, Stiles.  A small wisp of death is all you need to complete your transformation.  Surely you realize how close we are, how close you are, to killing that man.  His death, at our hands; it will be glorious.”

Derek swallowed hard and closed his mouth with a tight frown.  He turned his back to him and resumed his cross legged sit.  “I’m not listening to you.” he strained.  Squeezing his eyes shut, his placed his fingers to his temples.  “Focus . . . relax . . . concentrate. . .”

“You can’t block me out.” Didymus purred.

That did not keep Derek from trying, even as the scraping footsteps and dry voice cut right through him.  He almost succeeded as he hunched his form tightly.  Screaming his mantra in his head, the jagged sounds of Didymus’s approach had been muffled until a mere drop of blood on his neck broke through his shield, causing him to shudder.  The weight of Didymus’s head fell on his shoulder, pressing the sickening feel of his burst vein against Derek’s back.

“Your mentor is right, you know.  All you’re doing is enduring – surviving.  But, you don’t have to.  You can live.”

“Get off of me!”

Derek threw the dead weight from his back.  He turned, further punting the dark twin away with a kick to his chest.  “I am not going to let you tell me what to do with my life!”

Didymus’s body met the dark ground with a heavy thud.  His unsupported skull cracked, spattering a small spray of blood from the back of his head.  Still, he moved to pick himself up, unperturbed by the fracture.  “It’s my life too, Stiles.  We’ve already decided the path we’re going to walk, so let’s stop wasting our master’s time.”

Didymus clumsily rose to his feel and lifted an arm.  As his left arm and head hung limply, the fingers of his outstretched hand pointed at Derek, drawing a befuddled look from him.  That look slowly formed to surprise as a subtle glow outlined his hand, mimicking that of the glow in his eyes.  “What are you doing?!” Derek gasped.  A tiny scoff escaped the doppelganger as Derek felt the palms of his hands crawl.  He quickly brought them up, seeing a sheet of crimson cover his hands and his paled complexion reflected within them.  He growled, shooting his narrowed eyes at Didymus.

His mouth opened, quickly dropping from an angry snarl to a gape.  No sooner than he saw Didymus close his fist did he feel something squeeze around his wrist. “Gah!  What is this!?” A dark red tentacle was wrapped around his arm, its embrace crushing despite its soft texture.  Another shot out and gripped his other wrist.  Digging his feet into the ground, Derek fought against them both as they slowly reeled him in.  He looked over his shoulder, seeing the two shapeless arms reaching out from the bloody star he had created.  Another pair pushed through the shape’s hemorrhaging wounds and latched onto his ankles.

“No!” Derek struggled as he was flung back and slammed against the bleeding wall.  Didymus chuckled as he crept towards him.  “Deeereeeek.  Don’t struggled too much.  Remember what happens to school girls in Japanese cartoons.”  He let out a hearty laugh, extending two fingers from his balled fist and slowly tracing a blood smeared star in the air.  “This is your favorite shape, isn’t it?”

Derek cringed, feeling it stroke over the slashes in his mind.  “There . . . has to be a way out of this.”

He frantically searched his mind, trying to find anything to turn the tide.

I can't move my body . . . my powers have turned dark . . . I can't control them . . .

The narrowed grip on Derek’s eyes slowly released as they watched Didymus approach, hand extended and outlined with a soft red glow.  He stopped his struggles and allowed his head to drop, his eyes closing.

I can’t control them . . . but he . . .

Rapid breath escaped him, slow and quiet, but shaking his whole body.  It quickly rose in volume, casting the sound of pained laughter through the dark chamber.  The grin on Didymus’s face dipped slightly.  “Something funny, Stiles?”

“S-so . . . this is what it comes down too . . . isn’t it?”  The tears were propelled by his laughing fit, washing his face generously as he shook his head.  “Adam was right all along . . . I don’t have a choice but to accept what I have inside me.”

It was Didymus’s turn to frown.  He tilted his limp head the best he could as he observed the hysterical doctor.  “Ohhh, I see what you’re trying to do.  It’s not going to work, but if it’ll get you to stop squirming, then I’m all for it.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Derek hissed between clenched teeth.  “Let’s just . . . just get this over with!”

A grin slowly returned to Didymus’s face.  “With pleasure, Stiles.  I’m so glad you finally came around.”

Derek shut his eyes tightly, allowed his convulsing body to hang as limply as it would.  Even as his body was rocked by laughter, he had not thought it possible to be anymore terrified.  Please . . . God . . Asclepius . . . whatever or whoever is up there . . . please let this work.

“It woooon’t.” Didymus said, now standing before him.  “But don’t worry.  I know you’ll find Bliss to be everything our master promised.”

A shaking grunt escaped Derek as he pried his eyes open.  Slowly, Didymus raised his scarlet dyed fingers, drinking in the overflowing horror that poured from the doctor.

What if he's right?  What if this doesn't work?  What if it's a mistake?

Derek closed his eyes again, flinching as he felt Didymus close in.  No, he could not afford to doubt himself.  This was his only chance.   There was no backing out now.

“If this is a mistake . . .” A final chuckle shook his body as he felt the blood drenched fingers press to his forehead. “. . . it’ll be my last.”