The War Inside
Chapter 1a
"Infestation"
"I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you.
But with the beast inside,
There's nowhere we can hide."
Imagine Dragons Demons
There was something different about him. Maybe it was his hands. The way they coiled around the edge of the metal lab table, gripping until his knuckles grew white. His finger nails gnawed and raw. Maybe it was his chest. The way it rose and fell more so in trembles, his body seeming to rattle like the end of a snakes tail. Maybe it was his eyes, the way they flickered open, glazed over and empty, as though he was hidden inside himself. Or maybe it was his lack of identity, when he finally shot up, a deafening scream escaping from his mouth, and the veins in his neck growing more visible the longer he held it. It was undeniable. There was some thing different about Stiles Stilinski. Something terribly wrong that none of his friends and family could quite come to terms with. Something that he himself had yet to even understand.
Stiles Stilinski, was possessed.
It had taken awhile for his friends to figure out. He was Stiles after all. Dorky, hyperactive, sarcastic, lanky—saw his only form of a weapon in a wooden baseball bat—Stiles. He had been the last person anyone would have guessed to be chosen as host to a dark kitsune spirit. Therefore he had been over looked. So much so, that everyone had failed to realize that he was the only one unmarked. The only one who had been most affected from being resurrected. The only one who had failed to close the door in his mind. The only one left with enough vulnerability for a dark spirit to creep into his mind, and slowly take over. They had missed all signs, and now it was seeming to be a bit too close to too late.
"Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski pushed himself quickly off of the counter he leaned against, making his way towards his screaming son. Deaton's hand pressed against his chest, stopping him in his path. "He needs me. I need to let him know he's awake."
Deaton gave a silent shake of the head before speaking. "I'm afraid this is not a night terror Sheriff. He is only reacting to the sudden rush of pain from the poison i've injected in his neck."
"Pain? What pain? You said he would be okay!" Sheriff Stilinski roughly pushed Deaton's hand off of his chest, shoving a shaking finger in his emotionless face.
Scott took a step forward, placing a damp hand on the Sheriff's shoulder, droplets of water falling from his hair. Sheriff Stilinski whipped around. His sudden anger melted away as he stared at the 3 teens in front of him. Scott, Kira, and Lydia. Scott looked like an injured puppy. His hair sticking to the water on his forehead, hands trembling on the wound in the center of his abdomen that was slowly healing, his face pleading for Sheriff Stilinski to calm down. Kira stood, eyes wide as she held an ice pack to her head, where a bruise was forming. And Lydia, the banshee, had her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes boring into Sheriff Stilinski. She was trying to stay calm, but he could see her body shake as she took in a breath of anticipation, her throat muscles tightening as she swallowed down her nerves. He had scared them, which only scared himself. They didn't deserve any more stress that night. Especially not from him. Not when his son was the reason for all of their pain and struggle that night.
"Sorry," he sighed. "But that's what you said." he turned back to face Deaton. He could hear a quiet release of breath behind him as the teens calmed.
"No, I said he would not feel much pain while being injected, I never said anything about after. I poisoned the spirit, not Stiles. At the time of injection your son was not in control of his body, something else had taken his place. Therefore it was not possible for him to feel the pain of the chemicals i've placed in his bloodstream. Now that the spirit is poisoned, Stiles has regained control. He is feeling everything the poison entails, but it will only last for a few more seconds." Deaton assured, turning away from Mr. Stilinski to watch as the young boy's screams began to grow quiet. "You see? He just had to wait it out."
Sheriff Stilinski's shoulders relaxed as he released a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding and relief washed over him. "He's okay?"
"For now" Deaton gave a short nod, glancing back at Sheriff Stilinski.
Stiles, now in a sitting position, stared at the walls before him. Chapped lips agape, as silence escaped him. His eyes brimmed with the tears created from the pain he'd only minutes ago felt all over. He wasn't sure of where he was. He didn't know how or when he'd ended up on the cool metal lab table. All he knew was that, a moment ago, his skin had felt as though it had been lit on fire. He was almost sure he'd been burned from the back of his neck to just below his left shoulder blade. Everything ached. His throat was sore and dry from all the screaming he'd just done, and he had never felt as weak as he currently did.
He had no clue of the events that had occurred over his lost time. It was as if he'd been in a coma, completely oblivious to the world outside of his own head. Nonetheless he knew something was wrong. For days now, he'd been trapped inside his own body. Lost in the darkness of his own mind. It had felt as though somebody was wearing him as a costume. His skin no longer his own. His thoughts, no longer private. One body, shared.
The thought sent a shiver through his spine, and his neck twitched just as his thoughts were interrupted by a hand clasping his own. He flinched at the contact, the glaze over his eyes dissipating as he snapped back into reality. Blinking twice, he lifted his eyes to the person in front of him.
"Dad?" His voice came out no more than a struggled rasp. His voice, weak from nearly tearing a vocal chord with his pain inflicted screams.
His dad said nothing. He only pulled Stiles into a tight hug, slapping his hand around his sons shoulders and instantly causing Stiles to grunt out in pain. Sheriff Stilinski lifted his hands out of instinct, pulling out of the hug with his hands up. "What? What is it? What hurts?" His voice filled with concern as he examined his sons pained expression. His friends tensed as the sight.
"My neck.." His hand rose from off of the metal table, fingers feeling stiff from how hard he's been holding on. "It feels like I've been burnt." He barely placed his fingers on his neck before hissing in pain. "Ah, yeah. There's something wrong."
"Deaton?" Scott's voice rang throughout the room, looking to his boss for an answer.
Stiles froze in his position, hand on his neck and eyes hesitantly lifting from the ground to Scott, as he realized there were other people in the room.
Scott, feeling eyes on him, flicked his own over to Stiles. His eyebrows lifted slightly, not prepared for this moment. The last time Stiles had been awake, he'd almost killed him. He may have been his best friend, his brother, but it was hard for him not to feel different towards him. Hesitant, even. He'd been fooled once by the trickster spirit that inhabited his best friends body. He wanted to be sure that this time, that wouldn't be the case. Still, he cleared his throat, hearing Stiles' heart rate begin to pick up speed, and gave him a closed lipped smile. It was weak, but apparently enough to push back down Stiles' growing anxiety.
Scott could hear Stiles' heart rate begin to slow back to normal pace, and with that he broke their gaze, bringing his attention back towards Deaton. Stiles however, looked back at the ground. Scott had given him a smile, assuring him that every thing would be fine, even though Stiles knew it wouldn't be. Although he appreciated his friend's attempt to keep him calm, he still felt a sickening feeling as though something terrible had happened between the two. A feeling that if they didn't figure out a plan, terrible things would continue to happen. Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts down and looked back up, craning his neck to listen to what Deaton had to say.
"Lift your shirt for me please," Deaton walked towards Stiles, pulling gloves on.
Stiles frowned, letting his hand drop back down. "What? Here?" He glanced around the room, specifically at Lydia. His disorientation not strong enough to make him forget the fact that he was being asked to get partially naked in front of the girl he'd been in love with since the third grade.
Deaton followed Stiles' gaze. When seeing the young boys focus was on Lydia, he stepped in front of his view, arms crossed. "It will only be for a moment. I just need to see some thing."
Stiles was forced to face Deaton's demanding face, sucking in a sharp breath as nerves washed over him. "Yeah, Uh, okay." He nodded, swallowing.
It wasn't as though he'd never taken his shirt off in front of half the people in the room. Aside from Kira, he was pretty sure everyone in the room had practically seen him naked before. Scott and he had known each other since the bathtub ages, His dad was his dad, and Deaton and Lydia had seen him changing that night of the ritual when he'd ripped off his soaked shirt to replace it with a dry t-shirt and flannel. So, it should not have made him as sick to his stomach with nerves as it was, but somehow he still found his hands shaking as he reached for the collar of his shirt. He let the darkness engulf him, taking longer than usual to pull the shirt over his head, feeling safe hidden behind the fabric. However, he knew he couldn't hide forever, and so after a few unnecessary extra minutes he took to get it over his head, he pulled the shirt completely off, crumpling it into a ball to give his hands something to do.
He shivered slightly as the coolness of the air in the room bit at his skin, and he made sure to keep his eyes locked on his hands. "So," he began, chewing the inside of his cheek. "What is it?"
He felt Deaton's fingers brush against the skin on his neck, and he bit back the urge to jerk away in pain. He was doing pretty well. That was, until Deaton's fingers pressed against his left shoulder blade and the pain became too unbearable.
"WHA—Okay!" He yelped, sliding quickly off the lab table. He stumbled, the use of his legs almost feeling foreign, before steadying himself. "That's enough pain for Stiles. Yup." He breathed.
"That's quite alright, I was finished." Deaton informed pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash can.
Everyone watched him carefully, awaiting to be informed on what exactly was wrong with Stiles.
"It's called a Lichtenberg figure," Deaton stated. "They usually appear when—" He was interrupted.
"—one is stuck by lightening." Lydia completed, speaking up for the first time since she'd arrived. Even now, when she spoke, it was more so as though she was thinking aloud, rather than addressing the room of people. When silence greeted her comment, she blinked, breaking from the trance she had been in. "Sorry, I just," her eyes landed on Stiles for a brief moment, and then she bit her lip and looked away. "I knew what they were." It was like watching a deer in headlights.
"No, don't apologize, you're correct." Deaton gave her a nod of recognition. Lydia returned the gesture with a weak smile, but it didn't take long for her to separate herself from the rest of the group, returning to the trance she'd been in.
Stiles, once more reminded of her appearance, struggled to pull his shirt back on. It took him a little longer than usual, but he finally got it back over himself, and he let out an irritated huff as it fell over his abdomen. He caught Lydia's gaze on him from his peripheral vision, but chose to try and ignore it, and focus on the conversation.
"Well, what does that mean? Cause last time I checked, I haven't been struck by lightening." Stiles pointed to himself.
"I'm not sure. The fact that they're appearing on you after a shot of wolf-lichen is both significant and strange." Deaton squinted his eyes in thought.
"A shot of," Stiles paused, frowning. "A shot of what? Wolf-lichen? Why would you give me a shot of wolf-lichen? I'm not even a wolf."
Everyone in the room shared silent looks, and it didn't take long for Stiles to catch on. "Guys!?"
Scott was the first one to speak. "Stiles," he tried and then shook his head, realizing he didn't even know how to explain it. How do you tell your best friend that they're possessed? That for the past few days their body was taken over by a dark spirit? And that in the midst of said possession, he nearly killed Coach, The entire police department, Kira, and Scott himself. how? Answer: he couldn't.
Deaton gave Scott as much time to speak as available, before deciding he would have to be the bearer of bad news. Placing a hand on Scott's shoulder, he looked towards a very lost Stiles.
Stiles could sense it. Something was wrong with him. He knew he was right. He knew that they were about to tell him something terrible. Some thing that would change everything. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. "What?"
"Stiles, The night you, Allison, and Scott sacrificed yourselves to save your parents, I warned you that their would be a darkness around your heart." Deaton reminded. "That, in a sense your mind should be treated as an open door, very vulnerable to the evils that exist on the other side." Stiles could feel his breaths become short. "I believe, that somehow, whilst your mind was ajar, a dark spirit has managed to infest your mind."
Stiles parted his lips to say something, but nothing came out. For a moment, he stood frozen. His eyes darting back and forth as he tried to let what Deaton had just said sink in. "Are you meaning to tell me," Stiles' voice cracked. "That I've been possessed by a dark spirit?" Stiles wasn't stupid. He knew that was exactly what Deaton had said. He understood completely that he was just informed that he was in fact possessed. And even though it brought sense to everything that had been going on-the blackouts, nightmares, sleep walking, panic attacks-he still found it hard to swallow. Him? Possessed? You'd have to be a pretty stupid demon to want to possess the only human with no supernatural qualities as a host.
"It's called a dark kitsune," Now it was Kira's turn to speak. "An evil fox spirit." She lowered the ice pack from her head, revealing the bruise. "Japanese legend call it Void or more commonly, a Nogitsune. They draw power from pain and tragedy, strife and chaos." Her hands moved as her speech flowed, almost elegant. "I read that dark kitsune's usually have no moral sense of good or evil, so if a Nogitsune is offended, it will react badly." she nodded towards Stiles. "I'm assuming the Nogitsune that's possessed you, is highly offended." she twisted her lips.
"Yes, exactly. Thank you, Kira." Deaton eyed her, surprised at the amount of information she had brought to the table. She'd done half the job.
Stiles' world grew blurry, his chest tightening. This was all too much. Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was the normal one. Or at least normal in terms of the chessboard. He had thought the door in his mind had been closed. He had finally been able to read again, and he was actually sleeping a bit better. Well, not really. But he'd managed to get at least an hour last time he'd slept, which was an improvement in his eyes.
"Wait, how are we so sure it's me?" He attempted to offer another option, "I was just at the hospital the other day. I got an MRI. They were looking for frontotemporal dementia. I have all the symptoms that would explain everything. I mean, that's got to count for something, right? What if I'm not possessed just sick?" That was a pretty good argument if he'd said so himself. However, judging by the looks he'd received, he knew he was wrong.
"I would say that's a very valid point Stiles," Deaton ran a hand over his bald head. "Though I'm afraid we are no longer assuming you are possessed. We now know, you are."
Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, but as he watched Deaton subtly cock his head in the direction of his friends, it all clicked into place.
Scott's hesitance towards him when they'd first made eye contact. The wound in his abdomen, framed by the large hole in his shirt, as if someone had stabbed him. Kira's bruise, and the way she'd tried to keep slightly behind Scott when she had addressed Stiles. As if she wanted to keep a barrier between her and Stiles. Like a fence that was meant to separate a baby lamb from a lion. It didn't take Stiles long after Deaton's hint, for him to realize in horror what he'd meant when he'd said they knew he was possessed. They knew because he was the one who had done this to his friends. His hands were those that had created the bloody wounds and forming bruises on both Scott and Kira. The thought of it was enough to make him feel sick. His expression transitioned from one of confusion, to guilt and shock.
"Oh my god, what have I done?" He whispered. Just like that, the bridge of his nose began to burn as his felt the tears traveling through his face up to his eyes. "I almost killed you, didn't I?" He clasped a hand over his mouth. When Scott didn't answer right away, Stiles' hand dropped. "Oh my god!" He shouted, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent over, placing his hands on his knees.
"Stiles," Scott took a step towards his friend. "It's okay, it wasn't you." He ducked his head in attempt to see Stiles' face. "And, look, I'm already healing." Scott lifted his shirt ever so slightly, to reveal the wound which was closing up. "See?"
Stiles stood up straight, his eyes watery. "Scott, I almost killed you." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Alright? That's far from okay. Nothing is okay."
"We're going to fix this. I told you I would." Scott tried to calm him, but Stiles was way past the point of being calmed. No amount of counting fingers or kissing Lydia would stop the attack he knew was coming. Contrast to popular belief, he was not strong. At least not strong enough to handle the fact that he'd almost killed his best friend.
Stiles shook his head, stepping backwards. "Wait a minute, wait a minute!" He blinked wildly. His palms were growing clammy and he could feel his throat beginning to close up. A panic attack was rising, and it was taking everything in him not to let it out. "You said you shot me with wolf-lichen, I mean what, is that like, some sort of.. Japanese form of an exorcism?" He spoke quickly, running his fingers through his hair. "What's going to happen now? What.." he trailed off on his words.
"Stiles, you'll be fine. At least if we have anything to do about it, which we do." Deaton bowed his head. "I shot you with wolf-lichen to poison the Nogitsune. It is not an exorcism but, it has given you back control of your body for the time being."
"For the time being? So, what? You're saying this thing is still inside of me?" Stiles asked in disbelief.
"Technically yes, but it has no idea of how to take back control. It's back to stage 1 of possession. Infestation." Deaton walked over to one of the cabinets above the sink, pulling out multiple pill bottles. "This is the stage where the spirit will try to make itself known to you. Usually this is done through unexplained moved objects, tapping on the walls, etc." Deaton placed all the pills on the table. "With you, this stage of Infestation will be different. Seeing as the spirit is no longer outside of you trying to possess. It's already found it's way in. With the poison, it's only lost in the depths of your mind. So it will make itself known through giving you hallucinations, making you hear voices, that sort of thing." He eyed the lettering that lined the pill bottles, examining them.
"So what, we just wait it out until it gets strong enough again to possess me, and then we're right back to me attempting to kill people?" Stiles ran a hand over his face, his skin calloused and rough. His panic attack was sitting in the pit of his stomach just waiting to be freed at any moment.
"No. We find a way to remove the dark spirit before that happens." Deaton placed some of the bottles back in the cabinet, 3 remained.
"And how do you propose we do that?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, squeezing the brim of his nose. He looked tired. The stress and confusion of the events that were occurring, wearing down on him.
"For starters, we have to make sure Stiles stays awake, he's much more vulnerable when he sleeps. This is how the spirit sped the possession process up before. Through his dreams." Deaton addressed Sheriff, handing him the pill bottles.
"That shouldn't be a problem. I haven't slept in weeks." Stiles sighed.
"Yes, well, just in case, these should do the trick." Deaton motioned to the pill bottles in Sheriff's hands. Sheriff Stilinski read each label carefully.
"I've never heard of these." Sheriff Stilinski lowered one eyebrow whilst lifting the other.
"That's because they're not legal." Deaton pointed out.
"You're giving my son illicit drugs?" The sheriff tilted his head, wiggling the bottle.
"They're only meant to keep him awake for abnormal periods of time. One pill should keep him up for about 2 days straight. When he gets tired, he takes another. And so forth." Deaton pressed his hands onto the lab table. "It will only be for a few days while we figure out a plan to remove the dark spirit. We only have a limited amount of time before the spirit reaches it's full strength again. So we can't take any chances for the time we have."
"Limited? How long are you talking here?" Stiles felt a lump form in his throat.
"It's hard to predict really. It all depends on your Lichtenberg figure. When it starts to fade the spirit will return." Deaton nodded.
"And what happens if it does?" Stiles questioned, his curiosity still in him.
Deaton paused, not saying anything as he took a moment to look back at Sheriff Stilinski and his friends. He then put on a smile. "We won't need to worry about that. It won't happen."
Stiles slit his eyes at Deaton. He was keeping something from them. He'd been hesitant when answering that question. It gave Stiles an uneasy feeling. Something told him that if the spirit returned there would be no "fixing" it that time around. Only "eliminating the problem".
Despite his thoughts, he played along, pursing his lips and asking no further questions.
"Okay, I think that's all I can do for you right now. If we want to find a way to remove the spirit, I've got to get to work. I will notify you all if I come across anything important." Deaton shoved his hands in his pant pockets.
Everyone stood for a moment, unsure of when to move, or what to say in closing. Sheriff Stilinski was still re-reading the bottles. Scott, as always took the initiative, grabbing his leather jacket from off the counter and sliding it on, wincing slightly.
"Thank you Deaton." He spoke quietly, as if only Deaton was meant to hear it. The way Scott had said those words, told Stiles it wasn't just a thank you for the information, but for something more than that. Something that had must of occurred when Stiles had not been in control of his body.
He watched as Scott made his way towards him and Stiles almost flinched, too ashamed to look at his friend. He couldn't look down though, for his eyes would only land on the red blood where Scott's wound had once been. He had no choice but to face him. He wished he could have still been oblivious. Still protected by the veil of unknown.
"Hey," Scott placed his hand on the side of Stiles' face. "Listen, don't.. don't worry about," he glanced down at the place his wound once was. "this." he looked back up. "Honestly. I know it wasn't you. You had no control over it."
"Yeah? What about her?" Stiles looked towards Kira, who was waiting by the door, jacket thrown over her arm and helmet in her hand. She was prodding at her bruise lightly with her fingers.
"Same thing goes. Besides, she wasn't too surprised. She didn't think you liked her to begin with." Scott tried to lighten the mood, but Stiles only continued to stare at him with tear filled eyes.
Scott's face fell. "We'll get though this, Stiles. We're brothers, remember?"
Stiles tightened his jaw then to fight the tears from falling. "Yeah," he wiped under his nose with the back of his hand swiftly. "Brothers."
Scott smiled then, wrapping his arms around Stiles and then pulling back. "I'll see you tomorrow. Mom said I could take off school to be with you while we figure all this stuff out."
Stiles gave a half-hearted thumbs up, watching as Scott disappeared with Kira. He sighed, his head dropping. He heard his dad begin to ask Deaton a few more quick questions about the pills, and he rolled his eyes, prepared to stop him when a pair of champagne colored heels came into his view.
Lydia. He thought she'd been the first one out.
He lifted his head to look at her, eyes filled with wonder. With everything that had been going on, he hadn't gotten a chance to really look at her. In fact he pretty much avoided making uncomfortable eye contact with her the entire time. But now that he saw her, he couldn't look away. The panic itching under his skin, fading. She looked as though she'd been crying, her eyes red. The charcoal makeup smeared a bit beneath her lower lid. Her hair was up in a bun, a braid holding it together. It looked a bit messy, as though she'd forgotten it was in a bun and had tried to run her fingers through it. She hadn't slept. He knew that much. Possibly missed a meal or two as well. To be frank, she looked like absolute shit. Yet, he still found the beauty in her fragile state. She looked at him with her bright hazel eyes, as if she wanted to say something, but she couldn't get it out.
"Lydia?" The moment he said her name it was as if he'd surprised her. She jumped backwards, and his arms instinctively reached forward, steadying her. "Whoa.." he mumbled. "You okay?"
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, her hands resting on his forearms as he helped her to stand straight. "Yeah, fine." she whispered, and then her eyes fluttered open, staring up at him. "My ears have just been... sensitive, lately." her speech slowed as their eyes locked and she found her mouth closing. Stiles searched her eyes, confused. She looked as though she was just realizing he was in front of her. She suddenly removed her hands from his forearm, wrapping them around herself. "Um," she tucked her lips in. "Sorry."
Stiles clicked his tongue, knocking his right fist gently against his left palm. "No, don't worry about it." He breathed in deeply. "Just glad you're fine." He gave her a look to notify her that he had called her bluff. As usual. For as long as they'd become friends, Stiles was always the one that could tell when Lydia was hiding something. Lydia looked away sheepishly, and for a moment Stiles could see a flicker of pain flash across her face, before she cleared her throat, looking back to him. When she realized he was studying her she tilted her chin up.
"I," she rubbed her hand up and down her arm. "I just wanted to tell you that,... I'm here, if you need me." she finally said. She looked uncomfortable saying those words. Lydia was never one to show emotion towards anyone. She was very keen on keeping her walls up, ever since Jackson. Stiles couldn't hide his shock. He saw how panicked she looked after the words left her mouth, her eyes looking anywhere but him. Like she was afraid he was going to laugh at her for being so sincere. He settled, his eyes tracing her face.
"...Thanks, Lydia." He said softly. She stopped looking around, as brown met hazel once again. After a few moments of comfortable silence between the two, Lydia finally gave him a weak smile, nodding.
"Of course," she began to fumble with the locket around her neck. The two stared at each other, a comfortable silence surrounding them. "Well, I should probably get going. Don't want my mom to worry..." She turned towards the door.
"Right, yeah." Stiles called after her. He knew that there was stuff left unsaid, but he figured it could wait. They had bigger issues at hand than the unspoken emotions between the them.
She stopped in her tracks, turning on her heel to face him. "Stiles,—" she stopped as she remembered that Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski were still in the room. She had now gained their attention as well as Stiles', who was already meeting her from across the room.
"Yeah?" He asked expectantly.
Lydia's eyes were focused behind him, and he knew she was worried about his dad and Deaton hearing whatever she was about to say all by seeing the look on her face. When she finally did focus back on him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, balancing herself as she stood on her toes. Stiles stopped breathing, when he felt her breath on his ear. "Stay Awake." was all she said, and then she was already back at the door. The time of her being that close to him seeming much longer than it had been.
Stiles looked after her, watching as she glanced back at him for a final time before exiting the room completely.
His dad was behind him then, tucking the pills in his coat pocket. "Alright, we should head out. Get you home..."
Stiles nodded absentmindedly, his mind still thinking about what Lydia said. His dad led the way out, and he followed suit, his head hung low. He felt like a monster. Scared of his own shadow. He was the real life story of Jekyll&Hyde, and he never thought in a million years that he would be the one people would have to look after. He was the person who always figured things out. The one who always had a plan B prepared for even the worst times. But as he sat in the passenger seat of his dads car, watching the world whizz by, he realized that he could have never prepared enough for this. The day that his friends looked at him as though he might lunge at them at any given moment, the day his dad could barely look at him without seeming like he was about to cry, the day he saw his reflection, and felt as though a complete stranger was staring back at him. Somewhere along the way, Stiles had lost himself. And now that he was supposedly possessed, he wasn't sure he was ever going to find himself again.
As they arrived in the driveway of his house, he placed his hands over his father's as his dad moved his hand to put it in park. "Dad," he hadn't even known he was going to speak until the words left his mouth. His father stopped, keeping his foot on the brake and not parking the car yet. Stiles' lip trembled almost unnoticeably, "...I can't go in there." He admitted, not daring to look at his father's face.
Fact was, he didn't feel that place was home anymore. Home was where one felt safe, and in that moment, he didn't feel anywhere was safe. Not for himself, but for his friends, his family. He didn't know what he was capable of. Hell, he hadn't even known he was a hazard until tonight when he'd woken up expecting to be in a hospital bed, and ended up screaming on a lab table. Now that he knew what was wrong with him, there was no going back. He couldn't take what he knew out of his head. Especially now that it was all he could think about. What he did, who he'd hurt. He was sure there had to be others he'd caused trauma to aside from Scott and Kira. The others most likely hadn't told him to save him the guilt. But it wouldn't have changed anything. He already felt guilty, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Even if Scott did have the power to heal. Even if Kira smiled at Stiles when she'd left Deaton's office. He still felt guilty. He still felt like at any moment, he could lash out and harm someone else. And with the thought of possibly hurting Scott again, or even worse—his dad—and idea came into his head that he couldn't ignore.
"I think I should be put in a psychiatric hospital," Stiles could see his father beginning to protest, and he cut him off before he could. "Just for the weekend! ...Until Deaton finds something, I need to be sure that i'm not going to hurt anyone else." The words flew out of his mouth, desperation dripping from his voice.
"Stiles..." His dad closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"Dad, I almost killed Scott. Okay? Scott. My best friend, who I grew up with. Who I consider my brother. Who you consider your second son. I almost killed him. Ended his life. If Deaton hadn't of shown up, he would have been dead. His mother would have been planning a funeral, and you would have had to put handcuffs around my wrists, and put me in a cop car. That's if I wasn't killed by werewolves first." He turned in his seat to face his dad, clicking off his seat belt. "I would never in a million years, think of hurting Scott. So the fact that in that moment, no matter how much I care about him, I couldn't control the fact that my hands were the ones stabbing a sword through his stomach..." Stiles couldn't even finish his sentence at the thought of it. "Dad.. next it could be you. It could be Lydia. or Allison. Whether you choose to admit it or not, until Deaton finds some way to get this dark spirit out of me, I am a danger to everyone I've ever cared about. I can't take the chance of what I did to Scott and Kira happening again. I can't."
Silence filled the car, the only sound was the humming of the engine and the beeping of the car signaling that the passenger seat belt was off. His dad had yet to look at him and Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He knew the idea was crazy. That, if the dark spirit were to come out again before the weekend was over, a psychiatric hospital probably wouldn't be able to confine him. But it was the only thing he could think of that seemed logical. So there he was, awaiting his dads answer while he chewed on whatever was left of his thumb nail. A habit he'd picked up a long time ago when he got nervous or anxious.
When his dad finally turned to him, eyes sad as he contemplated what he son had offered, Stiles' heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
"This is really what you want?" His dad seemed to be fighting an inner battle with himself, his hands gripping the wheel.
Stiles hadn't expected that question, but he recovered quickly, nodding. "Yes." It wasn't really what he wanted. Could anyone really want to be put into a place filled with schizophrenics and nurses who shot you with multiple drugs if you so much as talked back to them? Of course not. But he felt he had no other choice. He had to do this. He had to protect his friends and family from himself.
His dad snapped the gear into park, resting his head against the steering wheel and breathing heavily. Stiles knew this had to of been hard for him. The last time they'd been to a psychiatric hospital, they'd dropped off his mother. She had never come back out of that place. At least not alive. Her situation was obviously different, but it still brought the same amount of pain to his father's heart. Stiles twisted his lips, feeling terrible for putting his father through this again. He didn't deserve it. He'd worked so hard to try and raise Stiles all by himself. Never expecting to land in the situation they faced today. Stiles had failed him, not the other way around. And he felt horrible.
"I'm gonna be okay." Stiles forced out. Trying to convince his father, even though he could barely convince himself.
His dad's body shook with each breath he took, and when he sat up again, staring out the windshield, Stiles could see the tear stains glimmering slightly on his cheeks. Stiles' shoulders sank and he slouched back in his seat, his head resting against the window.
"...Okay." His dad finally agreed. His voice was watery, but he tried to cover it up by clearing his throat.
Stiles' eyebrows rose at this. "Okay?"
"Yeah.." His dad wiped his mouth. "I'll take you." The worry lines creased in his forehead. "Do you want me to call Scott?"
"No," Stiles scratched the side of his face. "I don't want any of the others to know, they'll just try and stop me."
"I should be trying to stop you." His dad said numbly.
"No you should be respecting my wishes, which you are. You're doing the right thing dad." Stiles did his best to ease the self doubt he could sense growing inside of his father.
His dad looked at him, and soon after he turned back, his hand hovering over the gear shift, prepared to put the car in reverse. "Just for the weekend."
"72 hours.. tops." Stiles confirmed, tapping his fingers against his knee.
With that confirmation, his dad pulled out of their driveway. Stiles leaned his head back against the seat, squeezing his eyes shut and making sure to control his breathing. Truth was, he was already beginning to regret his decision. Fear rising inside of him. But he refused to let his father see that. He had to stick through this. It was the only way to assure everyone's safety. He knew where his father was taking him. It was the only psychiatric hospital left in Beacon Hills after the one his mother had been in was demolished. It was the same hospital that his dad had been at earlier that month to get information on Barrow, who had been a past patient. It was almost strange how well his father knew how to get there. And with each road sign they passed, Stiles grew more unsure of his decision. Fighting the urge to ask his father to turn around and go back to their house. He knew his father wouldn't hesitate to, but he couldn't turn back now.
The car ride was silent and after about half an hour, he finally caught sight of the silhouette of the hospital up ahead. He placed his arms on the dash, resting his chin on top of them. The hospital was practically in the middle of nowhere, hidden from the rest of society. It gave off an ominous feeling, and once the car had slowed to a stop in front of the gates, Stiles almost felt like a kid about to enter a haunted house. His dad put the car in park, ripping his keys out of the ignition. Stiles took this as his cue to get out of the car. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the scratchy feeling he had in his throat, and pushed open the door, stepping out and looking up at the building.
The dim street lamp over head cast a glow over him, and he caught sight of his shadow on the pavement in front of him. It reminded him of why he was there. His dad walked up behind him, and he slowly looked back at him, checking to make sure he was okay. His father gave him a look of approval, which looked forced but nonetheless helpful. Stiles nodded back to him, sighing, and then he took a step forward, prepared to walk through the front gate. Roaring of a motorcycle sounded behind him, stopping him in his tracks. He and his father peered behind them, lifting their hands to block the blinding lights from the bike. The engine shut off, and Stiles cursed to himself at the sight of Scott getting off of his bike.
Scott ran over to them, out of breath and helmet in hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we wanted to avoid something like this." Sheriff Stilinski informed.
"It's only 72 hours." Stiles added on, seeing Scott's confused expression. "How did you even know about this anyways, I thought you went home?"
"After I dropped Kira off I wanted to make sure you both got home okay, when I saw you weren't there, I tracked your scent." Scott eyed the building behind them. "It led me here."
"Well, that makes sense." Stiles thought aloud.
"This is the same place Barrow came from,—the guy who had tumor inside him filled with flies." Scott felt the need to remind them. "You don't know everything yet." He looked towards Stiles' dad.
"I know enough. Nogitsunes, kitsunes, onis—or whatever they're called," Sheriff Stilinski ran through the list of creatures he'd recently been informed about.
Stiles tilted his head in thought. "Nah, that's actually all surprisingly correct." He looked to his dad, impressed that he'd remembered without the help of the chessboard.
His father didn't hesitate to continue. "Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's...and that terrifies me." Scott's face relaxed at this, and Stiles looked down, the mention of his mom sending a painful rush through his chest. "And now today I find out that not only is my son possibly suffering from the same disease that killed her, but also that he's being possessed by some dark spirit?" he waved his hand exasperated. "...It wouldn't be too much, to be safe."
Scott understood where Stiles' dad was coming from. With everything his best friend and his dad had been through, it only made sense that all of this would be finally wearing down on them. But he still didn't understand how putting Stiles in a psychiatric hospital was going to help their situation. If anything, it might make matters worse, more difficult. "Why are you putting him in here?" Scott asked.
"He's not," Stiles corrected, causing Scott to whip his head in his direction. "It was my decision."
Scott jerked his head back, clearly not understanding why Stiles would have chosen this. "Stiles, I can't help you if you're in here."
Stiles raised his shoulders, Scott needed to understand that he wasn't thinking of himself. "And I can't hurt you."
Scott looked taken aback at his words, and Stiles watched as his best friend's eyes lowered as he went into thought. "..Look, you heard Deaton, he's getting to work on some ideas, I called Allison, her dads calling people—We're going to find something." He was speaking so quickly, Stiles could hear the silent pleading for him to change his mind in Scott's voice. "And if we can't..—" Scott tried to think of another option, another reason for Stiles to feel secure in going back home, regardless if they had a plan B or not. But Stiles was already cutting him off, not allowing another word to escape Scott's lips.
"—If you can't..." Stiles began, forcing Scott to look up at him. Stiles glanced at his dad, before walking close to Scott, and placing his mouth near his ear so he could whisper. "If you can't then I need you to do something for me, okay?" He watched as Scott didn't respond right away. "Make sure I never get out."
Scott opened his mouth to argue, shaking his head. However, once Stiles looked in his eyes, begging him not to say another word, he stopped. Stiles backed away from him, standing next to his father again. Scott stood there, wanting to say something, anything, but he realized that Stiles was not changing his mind. At least not now. Stiles could see the defeat in Scott's eyes and all he wanted was for everything to just be a dream. He didn't want to be possessed. He didn't want to be standing there prepared to leave all he knew behind for a few nights in a crazy hospital. He didn't want to see the scared faces of his best friend and father. All this pain, all this anger, all this stress, was because of him. The longer he thought about it, the more content he grew with his decision. It would be hard to sit and be forced to do nothing but wait for some news to come on a plan, but he would have to endure it. It was better than sitting at home, staring at the clock and waiting for some vengeful Japanese dark spirit to take control over him again.
Once Scott said nothing more, Stiles gave his dad a nudge, letting him know he was ready. His dad blinked, pursing his lips and then beginning to walk in the direction of the gate. Stiles waited back for a moment, watching as Scott's head fell. Stiles sighed, walking up to him and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Scott dropped his helmet, not thinking of the scratches created on the fiberglass as his arms looped around Stiles' back, returning the hug. The two held onto each other, not saying anything. This was their second hug since that day in the hospital, in which all their emotions, all their unspoken words, were said loud and clear without saying anything.
Scott tucked his head in Stiles shoulder, and Stiles closed his eyes, holding on for dear life. Neither of them knew this would be the last time they'd be together, before everything would change. "If you need anything," Scott mumbled. "Anything, just yell. I'll hear you." He lifted his face out of Stiles' shoulder, resting his chin atop it instead. Stiles breathed a small laugh at this, pulling out of the hug.
"Will do." Stiles agreed, fumbling with his collar. "I'll see you soon." Even as he spoke the words, he felt doubtful; and when Scott nodded in response, he could see that Scott felt the same. Neither of them were sure of what was to come after Stiles walked through those gates. It left endless possibilities, mostly negative, that they couldn't bare to think of. All they could do was wait.
Stiles walked backwards as far as he could, keeping his eyes locked on Scott, before he had no other choice but to turn around, and follow his dad through the gates, and up the front steps that led to the doors of the hospital. He took one final look back at his best friend, and then turned, disappearing behind the steel doors as security led them inside.
Little did Stiles know, that the moment he stepped foot in Eichen House: Psychiatric Hospital, it was the beginning of the end. The next time Stiles Stilinski would be seen walking through those doors, it would no longer be Stiles Stilinski. Only a dark spirit using his body as a puppet, to finish the revenge it had started. Chaos was coming, like a raging fire. And as Stiles and his father said their goodbyes, and the Echo house welcomed him—the first flame was lit. The infestation had begun, and it was only a matter of time, before the spirit took full control once again.
Disclaimer: I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders!
A/N: Hello everyone! So after watching episode 3x20 in Season 3b of "Teen Wolf", along with watching the final 4 episode trailer, I came up with a bunch of ideas and theories of what might happen in the remaining episodes of the season. With these ideas came this fan fiction! I have so much planned for this story, involving relationships, friendships, family dynamics, death, humor, and of course the CHAOS that comes with the Nogitsune story line. This is my first attempt at writing Teen Wolf fan fiction, and although I treat Teen Wolf as my practical second religion, nothing can ever stay 100% true to the show when it comes to fan fiction. So, I do ask that you bare with me in terms of my writing style towards it, along with my ships and ideas when reviewing. I understand everyone has their own opinions, and I'm open to them, but keep in mind we don't all share the same ideas/ships/theories, and that this is my version, so please respect that. That being said, please review! Although this is fan fiction, I am an aspiring writer. Therefore, your feedback is not only appreciated but very helpful to me! I'd love to hear what you guys think! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to bring the rest of this story to you. Thank you for reading, and I will see you all again soon!