Stiles' hands and arms were caked in wet vermilion, the blood already growing tacky and dark on his skin. He was standing stock still, his back facing Scott.
Scott was afraid to ask whose blood it was. He couldn't see any visible wounds on Stiles' body, which Scott was secretly relieved about.
"Stiles?" he asked anxiously. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Stiles, is that you?"
"Guess again." The Nogitsune slowly turned Stiles' body, its eyes wide with dark shadows underneath them.
Scott's breathed hitched in his throat. Stiles looked sleep-deprived; he was deathly pale and his limbs would've been shaking if the Nogitsune didn't cull them into submission.
"What will you do?" the Nogitsune asked softly.
"For what?" Scott asked through gritted teeth. "To save him?" The answer to that was easy: anything, everything.
The Nogitsune tsked at him, a wide smile taking over his face. It held none of Stiles' sarcastic warmth, and was instead cold and cruel. Scott noticed the glint of silver fangs jutting out of his mouth, all sharp and uneven. "No, it's far too late for that," it said. "He willingly gave control over to us. No, what we want to know is what you will do to say goodbye to him."
Scott felt his heart drop down into his stomach. His arms were frozen at his sides, immobile. "What?"
"Stiles is dying," the Nogitsune explained. "The atrophy in his brain is weakening him at a rapid pace. Our presence inside of him is the only thing keeping him alive."
"You're the one that's causing him to die in the first place!" Scott screamed. He wanted to give into his wolfish violence: he wanted to tear, rip, and maim the monster that possessed his friend. He was shocked by his savage bloodlust, and instantly felt guilty about it. He couldn't do anything about the Nogitsune, not while it was still inside of Stiles.
"Are we?" the Nogitsune said, tilting its head. "We accelerated it, perhaps, but the disease in his mind was here long before we took over. We can't warp genetics. You want someone to blame? Blame his dead mother for giving him this."
"Shut up," Scott said. He wanted to swipe at the tears burning at the corners of his eyes, but didn't dare give the Nogitsune the satisfaction.
"You know it's true and deep down Stiles knows it as well," said the creature coldly. "But all of that pain is what makes him the perfect host." The Nogitsune was now in Scott's face, glaring at him with those dead eyes as it tilted Stiles' head at a bizarre angle. It leaned in and Scott could feel its breath hitting his exposed neck. It was cold when it should've been hot, and it made Scott involuntarily shudder.
"So I'll ask you again, little wolf," crooned the Nogitsune. "What will you do to say goodbye?"
Scott averted his gaze; he didn't want to see the twisted smile on his brother's face. Moments later he was forced to when the Nogitsune gripped his chin painfully. "Tell us," it ordered.
It placed its free hand on Scott's shoulder and he flinched instinctively. It grinned, probably remembering the cause of the reaction.
"You're the Alpha," it said. "A true one; you're full of untapped potential. You're also the leader, right? The protector." The Nogitsune leaned in, pressing its fanged mouth against Scott's ear. "And what does every leader have?"
"Power?" Scott didn't understand what point it was trying to make, but it couldn't be an innocent one.
"That too," the Nogitsune agreed. "But I'm talking about something else, a trait that will make every leader fall in the end."
Scott swallowed. "Pride."
"Exactly," it replied, sounding almost fond. "Every leader has pride and you're no exception, Scott. It's instilled within you, even if you don't realize it most of the time. Show us," it said harshly and Scott held its hand shoving down on his shoulder. The strength behind it was powerful, brutal, inhuman. Scott grunted as he crumpled to his knees, the Nogitsune's borrowed hand holding him in place.
Scott felt the sticky, bloody fingerprints left behind on his face. "Show us," the Nogitsune repeated coldly.
"Show you what?"
The Nogitsune ran its tongue along its row of fangs as it stared at Scott. "Oh, it's a simple riddle, little wolf. Every leader has their pride, so how does one go around absolving it?"
Scott knew the answer, and he stilled under the Nogitsune's glare. It was the same answer that would allow him to see Stiles again.
Modesty. Humbleness. Selflessness.
The Nogitsune's fingers trailed away from Scott's shoulder as the Alpha bent forward of his volition. Scott pressed his forehead against the cold ground, his palms pressed down with near symmetry.
Every wolf-like instinct inside of him was screaming at him, urging him to take the upper hand, battle it out. The Alpha inside of him was horrified and disgusted at him for lowering his status in the wake of the fox. Scott carefully quieted down those voices, trying to reassure them that it was all for the best; it was for Stiles' sake.
"The great leader finally kneels before me." He couldn't see the Nogitsune's face, but he sounded impressed. Out of the corner of his eye Scott saw it squat down next to him, and Scott tried not to flinch when it placed a hand on his head.
"How hard was that for you to do, little wolf?" the Nogitsune asked. Scott tried to imagine that it was Stiles now running his fingers through his hair and not the thing inside of him. "How does it feel to be this powerless because of the face we wear?"
"Let me see him," Scott said. His heart was pounding.
The Nogitsune snorted. "You're humiliating yourself as an Alpha and he's your first concern? Well, that shouldn't surprise us. How well did that sword wound heal up?"
"Please." The tears were starting to well up again.
The Nogitsune sighed dramatically, and suddenly its hold in Scott's hair loosened. He felt an added weight fall onto his back and immediately realized that it was Stiles' body.
Scott twisted himself around so that he could cradle his brother's unconscious form. The dark circles were still surrounding his closed eyes and his breath were coming out in short, sporadic spurts. His exposed, blood-drenched arms were freezing cold. Scott strained his hearing; he could barely hear Stiles' heartbeat in the silence.
"Stiles," Scott said, his voice cracking. He gave Stiles a little shake. "Wake up, please."
Scott's hand wandered to Stiles' side, his thumb tracing his hipbone. Change his form and he'll be saved.
No, he couldn't; Scott didn't want to force anyone to be a werewolf against their will, especially Stiles. That wasn't right; he needed his consent first.
A nasty little voice inside his head reminded him of the last time he tried to wait it out and find an alternative. Remember how many people Jackson killed before he was finally stopped? Learn from your mistakes Scott; nip this problem in the bud before Stiles slaughters half the town.
Or you can just kill him right now. He can't hate you for turning him if he's dead.
The very suggestion of that idea terrified Scott. He just held onto Stiles even tighter, rocking him back and forth. "Wake up," he said. "Wake up, please."