Chapter Text
Daniel Osbourne was spending more of his time in Tibet than in the States these days.
Finding the monastery had come shortly after the whole Veruca debacle. He had spent maybe a week wandering around California looking and listening out for anything that might help before he came across the rumours. Go to Tibet, he'd been told. There was a place there that would help him learn to control himself. Oz wanted to learn to control his wolf, but he figured that learning to control himself would be a good first step. So he went, and there was, and he did. In the process he learned that the only difference between his wolf and himself was the name, which kind of took care of the rest of the problem. Once he accepted that it was all him, riding out the full moon just meant keeping all the facets of his personality in balance. The magic, the curse amplifying his animalistic side and twisting it to evil was strong, but his will was stronger. Most of the time.
So he'd gone back to the States, realised how frail his control really was after meeting Tara and getting captured by the Initiative, and gone straight back to the monastery. He had spent months learning how to meditate properly, not just the close-your-eyes-and-om that he had mistaken for the real deal, and found that zen point of gaining control by giving up control. Which had kind of blown his mind, but that was the point really.
Going back to the States the second time had been both easier and harder; easier because his control was not an issue this time, and harder because he didn't feel like he fitted in any more. He had toured with the Dingoes and then gone back to Tibet. He had returned again whenever Devon called to tell him about another tour, but there hadn't been anything to hold him once the band stopped and every time after a week or two he had gone back to being the American monk with the strange hair.
Meditation, Oz had discovered, filled a hole in him that he had only vaguely been aware of before. When he did it right, meditation filled him with tranquility and an indescribable sense of connection. And somehow, when he did it right, anything became meditation. Sweeping leaves in the courtyard was meditation. Dying his hair was meditation. (The abbot grumbled, but Oz figured that if he really cared he'd say something outright.) Even watching TV was meditation, especially given how shallow most of it was.
Answering the gate bell was not meditation, but Oz happened to be the one in the courtyard so he was the one to open the gate. He was mildly surprised to find a boy there, a pre-teen by the looks of him, dressed in Western-style hot weather clothing that was in no way suitable for the Tibetan climate. He looked terrible, red-eyed and haggard, and he reeked of despair.
"Help," he whimpered. In English.
It took Oz a moment to switch languages; he'd been speaking Tibetan for so long he was thinking in it. "Of course," he managed after a moment. He squatted down to make himself look less threatening. While most people weren't even slightly intimidated by his skinny human form, he was still a good deal taller than the boy, and the kid didn't need any extra stress right now. "You want to come in and warm yourself up in the kitchen?" he suggested. There wasn't any point in asking about the boy's parents when he was in this condition.
Oddly, the boy shook his head. Then he seemed to reconsider. "Yes," he said quietly, "but... Can you stop me from being bad? Please?"
Ah. That would be the Abbot's decision, Oz thought to himself, and not something he could promise or refuse himself. "First things first," he said gently. "You have to take care of your body before you can take care of your mind."
The boy nodded reluctantly and took the hand that Oz held out to him. Oz rose and turned, and was startled to find the Abbot standing at his shoulder. It shouldn't have been a shock — many of the monks seemed to be stealthy enough to somehow fool his werewolf senses — but Oz had been so focused on the child that he had blocked out everything else.
The Abbot raised an eyebrow, and Oz bowed slightly, acknowledging his lapse. He consciously relaxed himself and let the rest of the world back in. He got the glimmer of a smile in response, a rarity in itself.
"Where are your parents, Jesse Turner?" the Abbot asked. Oz decided not to be surprised that the Abbot knew the boy's name. Something was clearly up. He would ask the Abbot later, but he suspected he wouldn't get a straight answer.
Jesse looked at the Abbot warily. "Nebraska," he said eventually.
It figured, Oz thought. He couldn't just have lost his parents down in the town, that wouldn't be nearly weird enough. After a moment's reflection, Oz raised an eyebrow questioningly. He at least wanted to know how a pre-teen had managed to get out of the US on his own.
Jesse fidgeted some more before he elaborated. "I made them forget me," he said. "They aren't my real parents anyway. It's safer for them this way."
"And where are your real parents?" the Abbot asked.
There was a long silence as Jesse seemed to shrink into himself. Oz had to consciously check the impulse to comfort the kid again. The Abbot obviously had some ulterior motive here. Acknowledging his parentage was probably important for Jesse in some way.
Eventually Jesse lifted his head and looked the Abbot in the eye. "Do you believe in demons?" he asked, almost defiantly.
The Abbot smiled. Oz found this slightly more alarming than a young boy openly asking about demons. The Abbot never smiled, not fully. This was a sign of the apocalypse.
Well, it wouldn't be Oz's first apocalypse.
"Demons come in many forms," the Abbot said kindly. "What form does yours take?"
"My father," Jesse said despondently. "At least that's what he said. She said?" He scrunched up his face in confusion. "He was possessing my mother when he was talking to me, I don't know whether he counts as a he or a she."
"How do you know he was possessing her?" Oz asked curiously.
"When I told him to go away, this black smoke came out of her and sort of disappeared. Sam said that's what happens when you exorcise demons."
Exorcism was not something Oz had any experience of. Then again, neither was possession. It sounded plausible enough, though. If it ever became important he could email Willow and ask.
"I don't really understand what they told me," Jesse continued, "but they said I was the Anti-Christ and it sounded really bad. I don't want to be bad."
"Then don't be bad," Oz said. He doubted it was as easy as that sounded, any more than 'Don't go wild' had been easy for him, but reassuring the kid on the most basic point seemed like a good idea.
Jesse looked anything but reassured. "But it just happens sometimes without me meaning to," he said. "Like, someone told me that if you made silly faces you might freeze that way, and I believed them and this guy's face really did freeze. And... and people died," he finished quietly.
Oz kept his face impassive. Jesse's wild mood made it hard to listen for lies, but Oz was fairly sure he was telling the truth as he saw it. "Did you know that would happen?" he asked.
"No!" Jesse moaned.
"Then you can't be blamed for it," Oz said logically.
"But I know now," Jesse said. "Please, you've got to stop me doing anything like that again."
"Control is something only you can achieve," the Abbot said gently. "Daniel will help you to learn it."
That, Oz thought, merited both eyebrows.
"Your self-control is formidable," the Abbot told him serenely. "You do not allow your demon to threaten others."
"You have a demon?" Jesse asked, understandably cautious.
"I'm a werewolf," Oz said calmly, careful not to spook the boy even more. "I used to have to lock myself in a cage every full moon, and friends were ready with tranquiliser darts in case I got out."
"But now you're better?" Jesse asked, eyes widening.
"Now I accept what I am," Oz said, "and it can't control me any more. Took a while," he added honestly.
"But you can teach me," Jesse practically begged.
Oz could have said no. He had no experience in teaching people anything, never mind something as individual as self-control, so arguably he should have said no. What he did have faith in was that the Abbot knew what he was doing. He wouldn't have put Oz in charge of someone who could apparently bend reality to his will if he didn't believe Oz was the right man for the job. Why he believed such a crazy thing was something Oz would have to meditate on.
"I'll teach you," he said, "if you want."
Jesse wanted, if the vigour with which he nodded was any indication.
"Great. First lesson: look after your body." Oz lifted his head and sniffed. "Smells like the bean stew is ready." Jesse grinned.
It was weeks later, when he and Jesse were meditating together with the other monks, that Oz finally noticed the great cosmic joke he was facilitating. The Anti-Christ was becoming a Buddhist.
That was going to ruffle some feathers.