Summary: Deucalion calls himself a Demon Wolf for a reason, and he's the only one who knows how to help Stiles with the Nogitsune. But can Scott and Derek trust him? Drama, friendship, hurt / comfort. Written after "Echo House" but before "The Fox and the Wolf."

The Nogitsune and the Demon Wolf

PenPatronus

Chapter 1 of 2

Deucalion's Demon

The silver moon was Derek's only company in the jail cell. Argent fell asleep around midnight, restless and dreaming. Derek heard him whisper Allison's name through the wall. Derek was too twitchy, too itchy to sleep. There were too many noises in the police station: ringing phones, humming computers, bustling papers, pacing feet, unfamiliar heartbeats. And every time he got close to dozing off he'd hear one of the officers use a key word that would shoot his body full of adrenaline. There were many key words. Not just "Hale" or "Argent." They spoke about the Japanese mafia, about McCall's case against Stilinski, about Deputy Parrish getting attacked. Derek especially perked up whenever anybody said "Stiles."

Putting the Stiles story together was like trying to complete a puzzle when the pieces were upside down. Derek overheard people talking about someplace called "Echo House." He heard veteran officers telling the rookies about Claudia Stilinski, about how the sheriff just found out that his son has the same disease. How Stiles had gone missing, but Derek couldn't figure out if they were talking about the last two times he'd disappeared, or if it had happened again. He considered just asking them. But how to word it? Excuse me but can you give me an update on my dying friend who's possessed by a demon? I'm just curious to know if he brutally massacred anyone. Yeah, right.

What would change if he knew exactly what was happening with Stiles, anyway? He'd worry more (if that was possible). There was nothing the officers could say that would unclench the fist of anxiety in Derek's stomach. So what if Stiles was missing again? Derek was stuck in jail. Although it drove him nuts to sit still, Chris' reminder that he couldn't help Stiles or anyone else if he was being hunted down by the FBI was what kept Derek sitting on his hands. Maybe Stiles was missing from this "Echo House" because Scott and the others cured him and they all went on a road trip. Maybe Stiles had just gotten lost in that place and they'd find him locked in a janitor's closet in the attic. Maybe Stiles was dead—

Derek shook his head, shook away the thought. But that thought led to another: was Isaac dead? He was out of the loop in jail. Derek hated being out of the loop. He ached to be in control. When he was an Alpha he wanted control because it came with power. Now he wanted control because it came with comfort. If he could just control his corner of the world, just have everyone he cared about in the same room, within arm's reach, safe and well and out of danger… Derek sighed. He leaned the back of his head against the cell bars and basked in the moonlight. Briefly he fantasized about kidnapping Stiles, Scott, Isaac, even Lydia and others and joining Cora in South America. Maybe if he just got away from Beacon Hills he'd be safe…

Something blocked the moon. With his eyes shut Derek couldn't see it, but he felt the light disappear. A silhouette stood, spread-legged, arms crossed and staring through the two panes of glass and one row of iron bars. A familiar silhouette.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Derek whispered. He knew that the newcomer could hear him easily enough.

"I'm doing you a favor," said Deucalion. The Alpha looked older. How had he aged twenty years in two months? He peered at Derek with an expressionless face. "Actually, I'm returning a favor."

"I don't need you to bust me out of here," said Derek. "I would've escaped already if I wanted to."

Deucalion crouched low onto his haunches. "You and Scott disappoint me sometimes, Derek. You're so… shortsighted. It still amazes me that you managed to beat both Jennifer and I."

"And how does insulting me repay me for sparing your life?"

"Do you know why I call myself a Demon Wolf, Derek? Do know what a Demon Wolf is?"

Demon. Another keyword. Derek's eyebrows slid towards his nose. He stood up.

"Not long after I became an Alpha, Derek, a rival pack summoned a demon to possess me. They planned for that demon to take control of me, slaughter my entire pack and, eventually, kill me."

The fist in Derek's stomach trembled. His bed sat at the foot of the window and he walked up to the edge of it.

"But I was stronger than they anticipated," Deucalion continued. "I fought that demon. I fought him in some netherworld version of my own soul. And when I defeated him I was infused with all of his powers. No longer possessed, and ten times as strong."

Derek's throat was so dry that he had to swallow three times. "What kind of a demon was it?" he croaked.

The corner of Deucalion's mouth twitched. "A Nogitsune."

Derek leapt onto the bed. He grabbed onto the iron bars and did a pull up until he was face-to-face with Deucalion. "You can save Stiles?"

"No." Deucalion snorted. "That would be impossible. But if you come with me right now, I can show you how to teach him to save himself."

Derek punched his fist through the glass window. With a roar he tore the iron bars off one by one. They clanged against the cement floor, against the cell bars, against each other in a high-pitched wail of wind chimes. Derek heard Chris shout his name, heard police officers running towards them. But by the time they got there Derek was through the window and following Deucalion to his car.

Scott McCall tiptoed into the hospital room. It was 3AM and his stomach was protesting. His body wanted him to eat and rest. His mind wanted to sleep. His soul ached for his best friend. "You never know how much someone means to you until you lose them, huh?" he said to the prone figure in the bed. "Sorry I haven't visited you but Stiles – Stiles is missing again. Malia Tate showed up at Deaton's this morning with a story about… Well, it doesn't matter. Stiles is missing and I've been searching for him for 18 hours and when I can't talk to him I talk to you but here you are…" Scott sighed and sat on the edge of the hospital bed. Without looking he found a cold hand and squeezed it. "We need you, Isaac. I need all the help I can get. I don't know what to do… God—" Scott rubbed his wet eyes. "God, I don't know what to do…"

Part of Scott expected Isaac to squeeze his hand back. He'd wake up, give Scott one of those crooked, half-amused smiles and tell him that everything was going to be ok. Why? Because it always was. Because Stiles didn't deserve what was happening to him. Because Scott took the moral high grounds. Because the rest of the pack would help him. Because it was only fair.

Isaac didn't move. Scott was alone.

"Scott."

Startled, Scott looked down at Isaac, then towards the door where the whisper actually came from. It was Derek.

"Come on," Derek urged. "We have a plan."

Scott didn't expect the "we" to include Deucalion. He kept one eye trained on the Demon Wolf at all times as the three of them drove through the preserve. Scott updated them on everything Malia told him about Echo House, and Deucalion told him about demon wolves. "Even if we could do this," Scott said, "nobody can find Stiles. We've looked everywhere."

"Oh, didn't I mention?" Deucalion almost looked sincere in the rearview mirror. "I caught him."

"What?" Derek and Scott gasped.

"He's contained at the Hale house. Where did you think we were driving?"

"How did you find him?" Scott asked. He was in the back of the SUV, and leaned forward, stretching the seatbelt around his waist, until he was almost cheek to cheek with Derek in the passenger seat.

Deucalion shrugged. "I sensed the demon. Evil spirits have a distinct smell."

"And he wasn't too strong for you?"

"Demon verses demon, Scott. And because I'm an Alpha I was stronger than him. Speaking of… I should probably mention the little hiccup in this plan."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Here it comes…"

"I was able to defeat the Nogitsune that possessed me because I was stronger than it. Unfortunately I was unable to identify the source of that strength. It might have been pure survival instinct, perhaps the strength of my intelligence. But, most likely it was the fact that I was a werewolf. Stiles, as you know, is not."

"Then I'll turn him," Scott said. "Before we do anything else I'll bite him."

"I wouldn't recommend that." Deucalion cleared his throat. "I'm not sure his body would survive the transformation at this point."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Derek demanded.

"You'll see."

Bile boiled in Scott's throat. "Did you just catch him or did you beat him up?"

Deucalion just sighed.

Scott smelled the blood before they reached the house. If he didn't need Deucalion to save Stiles' life he would've snapped his neck right then and there. He took off running before the car came to a complete stop. The front door was open. The symbol of the Alpha pack was visible where Scott scratched the paint off all those months ago. Derek caught up with him and they scattered, searching, as soon as they entered the house.

Scott was in the living room when he heard Derek shout his name. He sprinted across the hall to the dining room and saw Derek kneeling on the floor with his back to him. "Oh god, oh god," Derek muttered. The rusty scent of blood overpowered everything and Scott felt sick to his stomach even before he looked over Derek's shoulder.

Deucalion hadn't bothered to tie Stiles up or even handcuff him to the table. He didn't need to. Stiles lied on the floor on his back, deathly still. He was one big swollen bruise. Every visible inch of his skin that wasn't red with blood was some tone of purple or blue. Derek lifted him up as gently as he would an infant, and cradled the teen against his chest. Stiles' heartbeat was sluggish. His breaths were short. His left leg was definitely broken and one eye was swollen completely shut. Scott stumbled around them and took off his coat and shirt, leaving a gray tank beneath. He rolled the clothes into a pillow then stepped aside while Derek lifted Stiles up and set him gently on the table.

Derek heard Deucalion step up behind him. "You said that when you defeated the demon, you took all of his power. If Stiles defeats this one will the same thing happen to him? Will he be as strong as you?"

They heard the shrug in Deucalion's voice. "Perhaps."

"I hope so," Derek growled. "When he's better I'll let him have the privilege of beheading you." Derek removed his leather jacket and put it over Stiles' legs. He had an extra t-shirt under his long-sleeved shirt so he used both of them to cover Stiles' stomach and chest. Affectionately he stroked the side of his thumb across Stiles' forehead.

"It could've been worse, boys," said Deucalion. "I could've dismembered him."

Scott's eyes flashed red. He clamped his fingers down on the wooden table and took a slow, shaky breath. "Need to take a walk, Scott?" Deucalion asked. "Clear your head? Calm your mind?"

Scott's nostrils flared wide. "Let's just get this over with."

"Fair enough. Roll him onto his stomach."

"Why?"

"Because, Scott, you're going to stab your fingers into the back of his neck and I doubt you want to get to the back of his neck by going through the front of his throat."

"He's never done that before. He hasn't even watched another Alpha do it!" Derek said. "You know he could paralyze him – kill him!"

Deucalion leaned against the corner of the table and cocked his head to the side. "You better hope for your sake that he doesn't. He'll be stabbing you, too. At the same time."

"That's how we're going to talk to Stiles?" Scott scratched the back of his head and stared down at the floor before turning to Derek. "I thought that thing only let Alphas steal memories…?"

"No. There are lots of uses. It's how I spoke to my mother. I've never heard of doing it to two people at once, though." Derek rubbed the corner of Stiles' t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger.

"It will create a shared consciousness between all three of you," Deucalion explained. "Your minds will be one and the same. You'll just have to find Stiles in whatever landscape your collective minds conjure. Find him and tell him to fight the Nogitsune, not run from it."

Derek's lips pursed together so tightly that they turned white. "That's it? That's all we tell him? That's all we can do is encourage him to fight?"

Deucalion shrugged. He examined his fingernails, looking bored. "When I was possessed I hid from the demon. I hid in dark corners of my own mind. It was weeks before I realized that fighting the Nogitsune in my mind was no different than fighting him physically. It was my mind. I was in control. I imagined growing claws, finding weapons, wearing armor… And then I stopped hiding and started attacking. That's what freed me. That's what woke me up."

"So we give Stiles an imaginary baseball bat, sit back and hope he gets the courage to swing it?"

Deucalion's eyes drifted lazily between Derek and Scott. "That's all I have to tell you."

"Fine." Scott slid his palms under Stiles' back and slowly turned him over onto his stomach. Derek adjusted his face so that his nose pointed towards him. After adjusting the pillow and the covers, Derek and Scott exchanged determined looks and agreed about what they were going to do without saying a word. "Show me where to stab."

Deucalion knocked a knuckle against the table. "Hop up, Scott. Derek, you lie on your stomach like Stiles and Scott will sit in between you." A brief hesitation, and then Derek obeyed. Lying face down on the table made him feel vulnerable, exposed. The second Scott made the connection Deucalion could slash all of their throats. It was a lot of trust to give their enemy. Too much. Too much to risk for anyone else… Anyone except Stiles. Derek closed his eyes and ordered his muscles to relax. Whether they succeeded with the plan or not, at least it would all be over soon.

Scott sat on the table between his friends. "Here." Deucalion arranged Scott's claws against the backs of Derek and Stiles' necks. Scott let him guide his fingers but couldn't shake the image of a puppeteer pulling strings. Deucalion finished and took a step backwards. "I'll count to three, if it will help," he said. "On three, jam your claws one third of an inch down. At two-thirds you'll pierce their brain stems. At one inch you'll kill them."

Scott's fingers started to tremble. "How the hell do I measure one third of an inch?" he asked through closed, grating teeth.

Deucalion ignored him. "Let's do this before you chicken out, Scott. On three: one, two…"

Scott pictured a ruler in his mind's eye. At "three" he pushed down while imagining that measuring stick descending into water. When the stick reached 1/3 of an inch, Scott assumed that he did, too. For an infinitesimal amount of time he thought he'd failed. But then, he felt like there were claws in his own neck, and the room, the house, the whole world went black.

The Argent's apartment was eight miles away from the Hale house. Allison asked Lydia to spend the night. She didn't want to admit it but with her dad in jail, Isaac in the hospital, Stiles possessed and Scott out looking for him, Allison just didn't want to be alone. Not that she couldn't sleep. Not that she couldn't protect herself if something wanted to hurt her. She just didn't want to be alone.

So Allison slept soundly on her back on the right side of her queen-sized bed and Lydia lay curled up on the left. And at the exact moment when, eight miles away, Deucalion shoved his claws into Scott's neck after Scott impaled Derek and Stiles, a scream burst from Lydia's throat that was so loud and so high-pitched that every piece of glass in Allison's room shattered.

To Be Continued