Ah, man. You guys are wonderful. But I feel just the tiniest bit bad because by the end of this you may well wish they had just killed Scott last chapter. You've been warned. On another note, keep up the amazing reviews, because... *drum roll*... once I finish publishing this (and there's still plenty of chapters to go, remember) I'm going to be publishing a new story. It's called 'fugue' and is an angsty Stydia post-S3 fic based on a prompt from the lovely LoginOrSignUp. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and I think you guys might like it. I mean, as much as anyone can like my stories, given how dark and depressing they are. Anyway. Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review.
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Then.
The strange this is, as soon as Stiles – the real Stiles – is granted control over his body again, he feels like he's losing his mind. Maybe that's the way this works – there always has to be a balance, so he can have his mind or his body but not both. Then again, there are times when he feels like the nogitsune has taken control of both. He's not sure how long he's been trapped up there this time, but it feels like a long time. Every second feels like a long time when you're trapped inside your own head and forced to watch as an evil fox spirit flits all over town creating chaos.
"You're going to love this," the nogitsune says from somewhere deep in Stiles' mind. Deep, but not hidden, and ready to take control at the slightest hint that Stiles is going to go against him.
Stiles knows better than that, of course. There's no fighting the nogitsune, and even with Scott leading the pack, there might be no defeating it as well. This thing is strong, cunning, ruthless – all the things Stiles isn't, all the things he would never want to be. He's at the school now, leaning against a tree on the far side of the parking lot, watching, waiting.
"What exactly am I waiting for?" he asks – not out loud, because the nogitsune, as always, knows his every thought, sometimes before he's even thought them himself.
"You'll see." The nogitsune gives him a nudge, prompting him forward, and Stiles follows. He's about to ask where he's meant to be going when he sees the only thing he could have possibly come back for – Lydia.
She's walking around to the gym, along with Carl, a guy in their year. Stiles feels a pang of jealousy, but that's quickly overtaken by worry. The nogitsune wouldn't have let him come just to see Lydia make out with some guy; the demon wouldn't have let him take control to watch anything less than a disaster. Stiles grits his teeth, finds a relatively hidden spot, and watches.
Lydia and Carl have a quiet conversation, and she looks increasingly uneasy. Everything in Stiles' body is screaming at him to go to her, to interrupt and chase Carl off and take Lydia in his arms. But there are so many reasons that would never work, and not all of them are to do with the nogitsune. There's something lingering in the back of Stiles' mind, not the nogitsune but something else. It's a faint buzzing, like fluorescent lights – like the lights in the mind-room he's kept in when he's not given free rein like this. A reminder that even though he's in control, this body isn't his anymore. His mind probably isn't either.
He's beginning to understand how Lydia feels. No wonder she's so highly strung, when she's always hearing whispers and screams and other things she can't block out. He glances down and realizes he's fidgeting more than usual, his hands twisting over and over until he's actually worried one of his bones will snap. He pauses for a second, then lets the anxiety take over and keeps fiddling. It's not like he'd feel it anyway.
A noise from up ahead makes him look up sharply, and when he sees what's happening he starts to call out. Then his mouth clamps shut and he knows he wasn't the one who did it – the nogitsune didn't want him making his presence known. Making an effort to be still, Stiles takes control back and keeps watching. Carl is holding Lydia against the wall, and a rush of anger fills Stiles, magnified because he knows he's helpless. The nogitsune didn't bring him here to help; it brought him here to observe.
It brought him here so that he would know exactly what he'd done.
Before Stiles can quite make sense of it, Carl is on the ground and Lydia is on top of him. He looks terrified, but her face is curiously neutral, even a little bit cold. Stiles wonders if she knows what she's doing, or if the nogitsune's magic has taken over her completely. Silently, Stiles watches as Lydia pulls a knife from out of Carl's boot – he recalls that the other boy had been suspended for something similar once – and, with only the minutest hesitation, stabs him with it.
This time Stiles' cry is involuntary, and too quick for the nogitsune to muffle it. Stiles feels something inside him snap and then he's back in that room with the concrete walls and metal floors. He watches as the nogitsune steers his body away from the school, before anyone can catch him. When they're a safe distance away the nogitsune comes to a stop, finding a secluded park and leaning back on the bench. Then he joins Stiles in the mind-room.
"Well," the nogitsune says, "wasn't that fun?"
Stiles is still shaking, still fiddling, still trying to come to terms with the whirlwind of chaos and pain that's become his life. Lydia killed someone. Lydia killed someone. Even though he knows that he's done far worse when controlled by the nogitsune, the thought still makes him balk. Lydia had always been on the fringes of the supernatural, almost brushing up against it, but she had stayed out of it for as long as the others could keep her away. But then she became a banshee, and she played her part, albeit unwillingly – finding the bodies, warning of impending deaths. But she's still meant to be outside that, away from the battlefield. She's meant to be finding the dead bodies, not causing them.
"I'm really looking forward to this," the nogitsune goes on casually. "I'm glad you suggested that we get her involved."
Stiles slumps to the ground, refusing to look at the demon. "This isn't what I meant."
"No?" The nogitsune feigns curiosity. "What did you mean then? Did you expect me to let her be on her merry little way while you and I paint the town red? You know it doesn't work like that, Stiles. She's either with us or against us, and this way… she gets to live."
"Stop." Stiles' eyes dart up to the demon's face and then away again. He clenches his fist to stop it from shaking. "Stop talking about us. There is no us. I'm not like you, and if I had the choice I would never help you. There's only you, and you're not going to win."
"Are you really so sure about that?" The nogitsune raises his eyebrows, and then shakes his head sadly. "You didn't really… Oh. Oh, dear."
He breaks off, and Stiles can feel it slipping inside his mind, browsing through his thoughts, selecting the very ones he'd been so desperate to hide.
"You thought you could save him," the nogitsune says pityingly. "You thought you could make a deal with me to protect Lydia, and then you'd still have time to warn Scott."
Stiles grits his teeth. It was a stupid plan, but he hadn't known what else to do. Lydia was the most vulnerable pack member, both because she doesn't have any special skills or training and because of how Stiles feels about her. The nogitsune had known from the start that the way to silence Stiles, to force him to give up completely, had been to threaten Lydia. But he had hoped, foolishly, that he would be able to warn Scott in time for him to rally the pack and defeat the nogitsune.
So much for that idea. Stiles wraps his arms around his knees, breathes deeply, and tries to remind himself that all isn't lost. Scott's still out there, Lydia's still alive, and the rest of the pack is surely still looking for him. That means there's hope – a chance, however slim, that they might find him.
"They're not going to find you," the nogitsune warns. "I won't let them. You know that, don't you?"
Stiles does know, but he won't let himself believe it. If he does, hope will be gone, and that will be the end of it. Hope can keep him alive indefinitely, even though every day that goes without rescue makes him feel a little more dead. As long as the pack is out there, then there's hope, and that has to be enough. He doesn't look at or respond to the nogitsune.
"That Lydia," the nogitsune goes on, causing Stiles to stiffen, "she's really something, isn't she? The way she just plunged that knife into him. He never saw it coming. She'll be doing a lot more of that in time."
This time Stiles does look at him. "What do you mean?" He tries to sound threatening but his voice is more of a whimper, and he hates himself for it.
"I mean," the nogitsune says with exaggerated slowness, "that this was only the beginning. It won't take long for her to come over to our side. Fully, unreservedly. She'll be mine, Stiles – entirely."
Stiles isn't aware of standing up until he's in front of the nogitsune, his hands reaching for the monster's face. Rage courses through his veins, tinged with a desperate desire to save his friends. He won't be the reason for their fall, won't be responsible for their undoing. He's going to fight to the end.
But the nogitsune just laughs, and suddenly – without having actually moved – Stiles finds himself on the ground again, in that same corner. Walls on either side, the demon in front. Fluorescent lights tingling overhead. Hope leaching away.
"Isn't this what you wanted, Stiles?" the nogitsune asks. "You begged me to keep her safe. Don't hurt her. Please don't touch her. I kept my word, didn't I? She's not hurt. In fact, she almost seemed to enjoy that, didn't she?"
"No," Stiles grits out. Infected or not, she's still Lydia, and she would never want to hurt anyone. He feels sick at the thought that he was indirectly responsible for infecting her, for causing her to kill someone.
"She's safe, like I promised," the nogitsune says. "And you let me take control, like you promised. So what's the problem?"
"The problem," Stiles says, each word falling from his tongue like acid, "is that you're running around Beacon Hills infecting people and killing people and doing god knows what else."
The nogitsune smiles, a slow, cold smile. "And why is that a problem?"
Stiles shakes his head and turns away, deciding it's easier not to try to explain morality to a century-old Japanese trickster spirit.
"You'll come around," the nogitsune says, "and so will she. And isn't it better for her to be on our side, safe, than allying herself with a pack of – what is the pack made of, anyway? Call me old-fashioned, but I'd always assumed that werewolf packs were supposed to have actual werewolves in them, rather than hunters, banshees, humans…"
He trails off, accompanying the last word with a pointed look at Stiles, who shrinks back under his gaze. Their pack is definitely unorthodox, but that's what makes it theirs. And he may be human, but he knows he's just as much a part of the pack as the werewolves are – which is he why also knows that they won't stop looking until they find him. He just can't shake the feeling that if they keep looking, what they find is going to get them killed. Or rather, what finds them.
"Oh well," the nogitsune says with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter what they are. What matters is what we're going to do to them, once we get Lydia on our side."
Stiles knows better than to ask, but somehow he can't stop himself. His voice shakes, but the words come out clear. "What are you going to do to them?"
The nogitsune inclines his head toward him, like he's pleased that he'd asked. Then he fixes his gaze on the far wall – on something outside the far wall, something Stiles can't see – and says, in a voice that chills Stiles to the core, "We're going to kill them, Stiles. We're going to kill all of them."
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Let me know your thoughts in the reviews, and I'll see you all next time!