AN: First off, thank you all for being so wonderful and kind. It does mean a lot to me. I am happy you're enjoying it, and that you aren't upset at how long it took me to get back to this one. Hopefully you enjoy this next part.

"She called me diabeł," Stiles said, frowning down at the pizza he still hadn't eaten. Stiles had been sat in the same place, with the same frown for roughly half an hour, and if Scott was being honest, he was worried.

Stiles had been quiet since he had come back from the meeting with the Emissary from out of town. As much as Scott wanted to ask questions, he restrained himself. However, not that Stiles had broached the topic specifically, although, he couldn't be talking about anything else, Scott was free to ask the questions that plagued him.

"What does that mean?" Scott said, understanding that Stiles knew more than he seemed to show. Beyond that confused fear was something deeper.

"Diabeł means demon," Stiles said. His eyes drew up to Scott's face just in time to catch the widening of his eyes and the uncertain look he received. "Mom told me stories about them, mainly two that I remember. Nija and Dziwozona," Stiles said, the Polish feeling rough in his mouth. It had been a long time since he had used it, and even then, the words had always been a little rough. Not unnatural but more difficult to form.

"I have no idea what that means," Scott admitted, much to Stiles' amusement.

"Of course you don't," he said, shaking his head. "Nija is the God of the underworld, I want to say there was a link to money, spells and water too, but I'm not too sure about that," Stiles admitted. His mother had mainly glossed over those facts, focusing more on the underworld part in the nightly stories.

"So like Zeus?" Scott asked, trying his best to hold onto the information.

"I think so," Stiles agreed. "I remember more of Dziwozona," he added. That story was one that his mother had spoken almost every night. The tale was in Stiles' mind word-for-word. Without prompting, he began to tell it. As Stiles told the story to Scott, he could hear his mom's voice say it to him as she had many years ago.

'There was a woman, she stayed away from the other people, never venturing further than the rivers. This lady was unique, her hair long and wet, her body cold to touch. People said she used her own body to wash her clothes on the rare occasion she wore them. So many people whispered tales about her, rumours that weren't true, ones that made her out to be this horrible, wicked monster. Even worse,' his mother would always say, her voice soft. She would pause for a second before continuing, 'people told even more lies about what she did. They said she would take children and replace them with changelings. Changelings that looked strange, their heads either too big or too small for their body and too many teeth much earlier than they should have them. Changelings were not real, but people blamed her for their children being different, sometimes she would take the children away if their parents were being too mean. She would protect them, that is all she ever wanted. Some people even thought you could make a woman like this, a Dziwozona. They were wrong, for nothing could create such a thing.

'This woman, she fought the lies and the tales about her, hiding away at the riverside. She hated what she was, why she was feared. One day, people saw another person at her river, a man. Whispers broke out, everyone wanted to know who had fallen into her trap, who she had bewitched, for she was not a fair maiden. Months the two met in secret, just missing the eyes of the villagers and managing to get away without being caught. One day, though, the woman couldn't hide. She was captured and the man came to her rescue. He begged for her to be let go, for she was with child. The villagers feared the worst, fearing she had stolen a child, caused another to lose their own. Unable to help her, the man watched in horror as the woman was taken away. Life continued, the man feeling lost for his love had disappeared, none of the villagers would offer him help, each still under the impression he was bewitched by her spell. It wasn't until a year later, a new mother found the man, passing her child on to him, whispering about how Dziwozona wanted it to be. Taking care, the man cradled the child, holding the young girl close as he planned his escape. He knew, just looking at the child, that she was his. Her mother may have been taken, but he wouldn't let her be captured as another Dziwonzona, thanking the young mother, he turned and never returned to the village. He lived by rivers, taking time to teach his daughter to swim and care for herself as her mother had taught him. Years later, he anxiously watched as she found her own man, afraid that the past would repeat itself, but it never did.'

"What was it?" Scott asked, leaning forward, almost too entranced in the story. Stiles knew that Scott was asking what a Dziwonzona was. It had been a long while before Stiles had asked his mother just what a Dziwonzona was, what the word meant to those villagers. Stiles could remember how his own mother had paused at the question, looking at him with such an intensity that he feared he had offended her.

"A swamp or water demon," Stiles said, the words heavy in his chest. He didn't mention how his mother had given him such a harsh look as she had answered, one that seemed to be filled with disbelief at what Stiles had asked. "She said it was a family tale, one that her mom had told her."

"That doesn't mean anything," Scott tried to reason.

"It doesn't exactly seem positive," Stiles pointed out. "Family tale," he repeated. "One her mom told her, and so on, passed on through the generations. That doesn't sound good. What –" Stiles cut himself off, almost not wanting to even speculate on what he was thinking, not out loud. He thought Scott would claim him crazy, even if it wasn't the craziest thing that Stiles had proposed to the other teen.

"You don't think –"

"I don't know ok," Stiles said, cutting off Scott's words, fearing what might be said. "I just don't know what to think," he shook his head.

"But what would that mean?" Scott asked, but his mind had already settled on the same word as Stiles. Diabeł.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"You wanted to talk?" Peter asked.

Scott had gone home, still unsure of what to think, and a little wary of leaving Stiles alone after what they were both thinking. Stiles had almost pushed the other out of the house, just making sure that Scott had actually left.

"Not talk," Stiles protested, "can – would you mind –?"

"You want me to change?" Peter asked, almost understanding exactly what Stiles needed without him even having to say the words. Hearing Peter's suggestion, Stiles' whole body sagged as he nodded. "You know I don't mind."

Stiles still looked away as Peter moved further into the room, having entered through the window again. As much as Stiles wanted to make a joke, to even ogle Peter as the man stripped, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted that hint of comfort, and Stiles knew that Wolf-Peter managed that without any need for talking. They could just stay in silence and it would be perfectly fine.

A whine broke Stiles out of his thoughts. With a sad smile, Stiles buried his hand into Peter's fur, wrapping his other arm around the wolf's neck and burying his face into the fur as well. It was a moment that made Stiles thankful that Peter was Peter and not a true animal, since no other animal would happily stay still as Stiles hung around their neck. He just needed to breathe, and Peter helped him do that without his mind getting too noisy for him.

"Thank you," Stiles said softly, the words muffled by the fur. "Can you stay like this? I just want to cuddle."

Peter huffed, a heavy breath forced out of his muzzle. Stiles grinned, knowing that it was as close to a verbal eye roll that Peter could do in this form.

Finally untangling himself, Stiles moved backwards, letting Peter have some air as he laid back on the bed. He patted the space next to him, expecting Peter to jump up and move closer, like he would normally, only to gasp for air as Peter's body landing on his. Stiles laughed, his eyes closing as he rewrapped his arms around Peter's hulking body. This had been what he wanted, even if he hadn't envisioned Peter being laid on top of him for it.