Summary: "What did we say about foxes? We're tricksters. We tricked all of you."
Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Wolf. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: I'm just fascinated by the whole Stiles/Nogitsune dynamic. Can you tell? Also, I'd meant to have this done by the time 5B premiered but life got in the way.
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The One You Feed
By: Lady Azura
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He feels numb as he watches the doctors wheel his dad into the emergency room.
Time passes slowly. There's an old TV mounted on the wall and he tries to immerse himself in The Young and the Restless but the reception sucks and the screen keeps getting static-y and he quickly zones out. Instead he stares down at his hands, examining his bruised knuckles and the blood caked under his fingernails, remembering how it got there. He clenches his jaw as Theo's smug face flashes in his mind, wishing he had done more.
That he could've done more.
But what could scrawny, sarcastic Stiles do other than swing a baseball bat around and hope it did some damage? Amidst a plethora of supernatural creatures, he was just… Stiles. Delicate, human Stiles with no claws or fangs or guns to fight with – nothing but his wits, and a mouth that often got him into more trouble than out.
Except… not always.
Once, he'd been strong.
He'd been powerful.
He'd been dangerous.
Once.
He doesn't remember nodding off but when he opens his eyes, he finds himself standing outside the animal clinic. He's not sure how he got there or why he's even there in the first place, but he ignores the "CLOSED" sign, making quick work of the lock and bypassing the ring of Mountain Ash that's been laid out.
His body seems to be on autopilot as he rifles through Deaton's office – opening drawers and cabinets, sifting through important-looking books and documents, all in search for... something. He's still not sure what but there's something there, something he needs. It's calling to him.
Stiles…
He lifts his gaze and then he spots it, sitting on a shelf behind the desk – a familiar container with a familiar Triskele engraved in it.
Deaton should learn not to leave important artifacts out in the open, he muses. He feels a small jolt of electricity shoot up his arm as soon as his fingers touch the wood and licks his lips in anticipation. His pulse begins to race but when he twists the lid off to peer inside, there's nothing. It's empty, with no sign of the fly that Isaac had captured all those months ago. It's a decoy, he realizes quickly, because of course Deaton wouldn't be dumb enough to hide something so dangerous in plain sight.
It dawns on him that he should feel relieved, but he doesn't.
Instead he just feels… disappointed.
Stiles…
A raspy voice draws his attention to the door.
Setting the container aside, he cautiously makes his way over. The air grows thicker as he draws closer, but when the knob starts to turn, he stops short. A sense of dread coils around him, paralyzing him with fear, and all he can do is watch as the door slowly creaks open and –
"STILES!"
He jolts awake with a gasp, consciousness slamming into him like a freight train. It takes him a moment to realize he's back at the hospital, in the waiting room, his body aching from the uncomfortable position he somehow managed to fall asleep in.
Scott's kneeling in front of him, his hands on his shoulders, concern etched across his face. He looks worse for wear but otherwise alive, but the relief that briefly washes over him is quickly replaced by anger when he remembers where they are and whose life is still on the line. He shoves Scott away roughly, catching the Alpha off guard, and Stiles seizes the opportunity to pounce. Slamming Scott into the adjacent wall, he grabs him by the front of his shirt before throwing him to the floor. He's on him in an instant, a flurry of fists and unstoppable rage coursing through his veins like never before. Above them, the florescent lights start to flicker.
It was all Scott's fault.
If he had just believed him about Theo from the get go, none of this would have happened.
"Stiles, stop!"
He's pried off by several nurses and doctors, still thrashing violently.
"Stiles – Stiles, relax!" Melissa's voice sounds nearby. "I know you're upset right now, but you need to calm down."
He shakes his head in disbelief, eyes trained on the werewolf struggling to his feet. Already, any blows he managed to land on Scott are beginning to heal but everyone is too focused on restraining him to notice.
"What did I say, Scott? I told you Theo was bad news. I told you." His eyes sting but he blinks away the tears threatening to fall, unsure if they're from anger or sadness or a mix of both. He stops squirming, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "But you didn't believe me."
"I know." Scott concedes quietly. "I'm sorry. I should've listened to you."
"You're sorry." Stiles echoes dully. "Well, that's really nice Scott, but 'sorry' isn't going save my dad, is it?"
Melissa steps between them before her son can reply. She looks frazzled but has somehow managed to maintain her composure. How, he doesn't know, but he envies her all the same.
"You two have been through a lot tonight. The last thing you need is to be at each other's throats. You're a Pack." She reminds him, and Stiles is too tired to inform her that no, he isn't, because Scott kicked him out for killing Donovan. "Stiles, I think you should go home and get some rest. I'll call you the second he wakes up. I promise."
She sounds so sure, like she just knows he's going to pull through. He wants to argue but he's far too exhausted – mentally, physically, emotionally – and so he just nods numbly, shrugging off the remaining nurses and turning on his heel. He hears Scott try to follow but Melissa stops him, probably thinking it best that they take the night to cool down separately. One of his dad's deputies waits for him outside. The ride back to his house is a quiet one.
The first thing Stiles does when he steps inside, once the deputy checks to make sure that everything is safe, is raid the liquor cabinet. He's completely alone, his dad's life is hanging in the balance, and thanks to Theo, his best friend thinks he's a monster, so now seems like a good enough time as any to throw a pity party for himself.
He knocks back shot after shot of Whiskey, savouring the burn that travels down his throat and the numbness that follows. When he's good and drunk enough, he stumbles up the stairs and into bed, passing out as soon as his body hits the mattress.
He isn't sure what wakes him but when he opens his eyes, he's greeted by a splitting headache so bad that for the first couple of seconds, he's sure he's having a brain aneurysm. His room is dark, save for the sliver of moonlight streaming in through the crack in his curtains. He groans and sits up groggily, rubbing his eyes to ease the throbbing and regretting his earlier decision to drink himself into a stupor.
A shuffling noise, like feet dragging across the floor, snaps him out of his reverie, followed by a raspy intake of breath.
"Everyone has it but no one can lose it. What am I?"
Terror seizes him in a vice grip as he becomes acutely aware of a second presence in the room, one that's both familiar and terrifying. His eyes dart around anxiously, zeroing in on the darkest corner where he can't make anything out, but he can feel someone staring back at him. He keeps his gaze trained on the black mass and tenses when, out of his peripheral, the shadows around him begin to shift. They flicker and dance, expanding and stretching in ways they shouldn't be able to, slithering across the floor and walls to join with the one he's looking at.
His body stays rooted as he watches the mass contract, morphing into something less abstract, more human, but not. Never human.
"You saw me where I never was and where I could not be. And yet within that very place, my face you do often see. What am I?"
Nine dark tendrils – no, Stiles realizes. Tails – sway behind the humanoid silhouette as it finally emerges from its hiding spot and steps into the moonlight.
"A reflection." Stiles breaths, when he sees his own face staring back at him.
He glances down at his hands, now shaking, and counts his fingers to make sure he isn't dreaming.
… eight… nine… ten…
His blood runs cold.
He lifts his head, his mouth suddenly dry. The Nogitsune tilts its head to the side, regarding him with cool indifference.
"This isn't possible… you can't be here… we beat you…" He whispers.
"Did you?" The Nogitsune challenges. "Think hard."
And then he remembers the dream he had earlier, of finding the empty container in Deaton's office, and his heart stills.
"How?" Is all he can bring himself to ask, his mind reeling.
The fox spirit hums, like it's not sure if it wants to dignify him with an answer or not. Its fingers flutter along the bedspread as it glides closer, mouth twisting upward into a mockery of a grin. Dark eyes glint mischievously as they lock on his. "Because I never left."
Stiles freezes, his jaw going slack and his eyes widening.
The Nogitsune's sadistic smile grows, baring its teeth. "I'm a thousand years old. Did you and your pack really think you could pull one over me? No. I've been here all along, Stiles. Waiting. Biding my time. Getting stronger…"
It's too much to take in. He's going to be sick.
"… but you already knew that, didn't you? You sensed it when you killed that Chimera."
The memory of that night, of Donovan's impaled body and lifeless eyes, comes back to him.
His head snaps up.
"You… that was…"
"We." The Nogitsune corrects. "I may have coaxed some of it out but I can't take all the credit. There was darkness in you long before I got here."
A wave of nausea washes over Stiles and he covers his mouth, swallowing back bile.
"What do you want?" He asks weakly, once he finds his voice.
"I want what I've always wanted." The Nogitsune looms closer, causing Stiles to instinctively lean away in an attempt to put as much distance between them as possible. This only serves to amuse the trickster spirit. "Chaos, strife, pain… same as you." When he opens his mouth to deny it, he's cut off. "Don't lie to me. I know you, Stiles. I know everything. I know every thought, every secret, every primal urge you've ever had. Deep down, you lust for blood. You hunger for revenge. You want that abomination dead." Its mouth curls. "Remember how good it felt to kill that other Chimera? Imagine how exhilarating it will feel to get rid of this one – to make him suffer for everything he's done."
Shadowy tendrils begin to creep up the edge of his bed. Stiles tries to scoot away but his back collides with the headboard behind him. He watches apprehensively, so focused on making sure they don't invade his personal bubble any more than they already have that he doesn't even notice the bed dip until the Nogitsune is practically hovering over him, trapping him.
"Why fight? We're not so different, you and I." It croons. Behind the fox, nine smoky tails continue to sway. "What better way to avenge the Sheriff? What do you have to lose?"
Everything.
"Scott –" He starts, out of pure habit, because Scott is and always has been the moral compass in his life, even now.
Dark eyes flash dangerously, and the Nogitsune's upper lip curls in disgust. "Cast you aside. Let that abomination into the pack and poison it from the inside out. He abandoned you, Stiles, because he can't accept who you really are. I won't do that. I'll always be here." Its expression softens, just a little but enough for Stiles to sense the shift in demeanor. It looks at him with a disturbing kind of fondness that makes his skin crawl. The demon wearing his face catches his gaze and holds it. "Give into that pain, that anger, that resentment. Give into me, Stiles, and I'll do the rest."
Around them, the shadows grow, threatening to consume them entirely.
oOo
A satisfying snap echoes throughout the forest when they finally remove Theo's head from his shoulders. As his body crumples to the ground, still twitching, they toss the head carelessly, not caring where it lands, and turn to observe the carnage. Corpses litter their surroundings, the stench of death so thick they can taste it. No doubt it will draw the attention of every supernatural creature in the county area, but that's to be expected. So they sit, and they wait, and they bask in the afterglow of pure, unadulterated chaos.
That's how Scott finds them, sitting cross-legged amidst bodies, drenched in blood that isn't theirs.
"Stiles?" His voice wavers.
They peer up and grin.
"Oh, hey Scotty." They greet casually.
"What did you do?" The Alpha asks, barely above a whisper.
They simply gesture to the carnage and watch the array of emotion, mostly despair, flicker across Scott's face.
"Oh, don't be like that. I just did what you couldn't. Theo was a threat to the pack and so I eliminated him."
"And them?" Scott nods toward the other Chimeras.
"Casualties." They reply with a shrug.
"Why?" His voice cracks. "This isn't… this isn't how it's done… you can't…"
They sigh, brushing their knees as they stand up and make their way over. Scott must sense something off then, because his eyes suddenly blaze Alpha red, narrowing suspiciously before widening in disbelief. He steps back, going pale, and they know it's because he sees it now, the dark aura that surrounds them.
"No… that's impossible… we sealed you away!"
"You caught a fly. One of hundreds." They tell him, dropping the façade. Their eyes gleam. "What did we say about foxes? We're tricksters. We tricked all of you. We bid our time and when you least expected it, when you were at your weakest point, we struck."
"Let him go!" Scott snarls.
"He was a very willing vessel this time. All too eager to step back and let me take the reigns. We should thank you. You were the straw that broke the camel's back – made me strong enough again." Taking a step toward the other teen, they cup his face, smearing his cheeks with blood, and claim his lips. It isn't a romantic kiss but it does what it's meant to do, leaving the teen too stunned for words when they pull back. "As a show of gratitude, we won't kill you. Goodbye, Scott McCall."
With lightening speed, they knock the Alpha unconscious, knowing it will be a while before he wakes up. They'll be long gone by then.
As they walk away, a familiar voice echoes in the back of their mind.
What now?
They smile.
Now we paint the world red.
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FIN
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Not a particularly happy ending but I was in a dark mood. Also, apologies if the tenses got confusing – it was intentional. I didn't just suddenly forget how to do it properly.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.
Please REVIEW and let me know what you think.