CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EICHEN HOUSE
"Jessie's on her way," Scott spoke urgently to the spasming body of Georgie as Deaton set an unconscious Stiles on one the steel tables. Scott looked up helplessly at his boss, "Is there something you can do?"
"Set her on the other table—carefully," Deaton told him. "We should not take the sword out until Jessie comes to heal her with her blood."
"Does vampire blood affect witches like werewolves?" Scott asked worriedly.
"I'm hoping witches are close enough to humans so it will heal her only," Deaton answered truthfully.
"Scott," Georgie's voice grew weaker as he picked her up to place her on the steel table next to Stiles. "Tell him—tell Stiles... it's not his fault..."
"You can tell him yourself," Scott told her. "Just hang on, Jessie's on her way and she's gonna heal you. You're gonna be fine."
"You have to tell him," Georgie whined, tears bleeding out of her eyes and falling down the sides of her face. "You have to tell him—I still love him. Tell him. Please."
Scott gaped at her, feeling hopeless, "Okay, okay, I'll tell him."
"Scott!" Jessie's voice shouted through the vet's office as the bell above the front door rang.
"Jessie!" he yelled back to her. "We're back here, you have to hurry!"
Jessie appeared in the back room with Connor behind her. She hurriedly ripped the sword out of Georgie's body and bit into her own wrist, pinching Georgie's cheeks together – as the girl could barely keep her eyes open anymore – and tipped her chin back, letting drops of blood fall into her open mouth. "Drink it, Georgie. Drink."
They watched as Georgie's eyes stayed closed. Then her eyes shot open and she started gasping, rolling over to her side and spitting out leftover blood and spit onto the floor. Scott and Jessie sighed in relief.
Jessie had to go check on Derek since he and Chris were being framed for murder of Silver finger. She told Scott to get Georgie home and have her rest. She may have been physically healed, but she was far cry from emotionally stable after her possessed boyfriend nearly killed her.
"How long do I have to lay low?" Nuala snapped at her older sister. For days she'd been forced out of the field, watching her sister walk in and out of the house trying to figure out how to stop the Nogitsune running around town.
"Until you learn your lesson," Dechtire told her, staring over all the papers of notes she'd compiled.
Nuala sighed in frustration, "I get it!"
"No, you don't," Dechtire interrupted her. "You exposed yourself to the pack. Now, they won't trust us because you were reckless."
"Was I not supposed to fight the Oni, the threat? I thought that was our job!" Nuala pointed out.
"Right, but you acted too soon," she said. "What were you doing at a rave anyway? With weapons?"
"The pack was there, it was obvious they'd get attacked," Nuala told her. "And I was right. They did get attacked and I helped them. Maybe if you let me out, I can explain to them and gain their trust-"
"It's too late for that!"
"No, this is on you!" Nuala cut her off. "You haven't been doing shit. You've just been playing special agent and doing research in preparation for action you're never gonna take!"
Dechtire was quiet and Nuala was glad they were alone in the house. Ed had gone out to drink his sorrows away, typically missing his past partner in crime, Harry.
"I know losing Dean was hard on you," Nuala said softly. "But I am not gonna die on you like he did. I am smarter than that. You can't keep me holed up here anymore. I can't just walk away, you should know that."
She reached over and grabbed the car keys from the bowl on the counter and walked out the front door.
Scott hoped to God he wasn't too late, racing through the night on his motorcycle to the front grounds of Eichen House. He saw the Sheriff's cruiser parking in front of the crazy house, he and his son stepping out towards the entrance. He abandoned his bike and ripped off his helmet, rushing to them. "Why didn't you tell me?"
The Sheriff looked awkward, "Because we wanted to avoid something like this."
"It's only 72 hours," Stiles assured him.
"This is the same place where Barrow came from," Scott pointed out, gesturing to the looming building. "The guy who had a tumor inside him filled with flies. You don't know everything yet."
"I know enough," the Sheriff told him exasperated. "Nogitsunes, Kitsunes, Oni, or whatever they're called."
Stiles scratched his neck with a quirked lip, "Wow, that was actually all surprisingly correct."
"Scott, I saw a MRI that looked exactly like my wife's," The Sheriff spoke again. His tone was so defeated. "And it terrifies me. I'm headed down to L.A. tomorrow to talk to a specialist."
"Then why are you putting him in here?" Scott asked helplessly.
"He's not," Stiles spoke up. "It was my decision."
"Stiles, I can't help you if you're in here," Scott told his best friend.
"And I can't hurt you again," Stiles said, his voice becoming grave. "And I certainly can't hurt Georgie again—any more than I already have."
"Georgie doesn't blame you," Scott tried. "Even before Jessie healed her, she wanted me to tell you that she still loved you. You can't walk away from that. Deaton's got some ideas. And Argent's calling people. Jessie's looking into it too. We're gonna find something. And if we can't..." they didn't have a real back up plan.
"If you can't..." Stiles trailed off, "if you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay?" He stepped closer to Scott, so his dad wouldn't hear. "Make sure I never get out." He finally turned around to walk into the building, his father behind him, but he stopped short, turning back to face Scott, calling out, "Tell Georgie... tell her that he... it – whatever – lied about that night. It was me."
Scott watched after his best friend confused on what he meant, but he figured that Georgie would know.
The Sheriff walked his son in with his belongings, a nurse flagging them down, "Mr. Stilinski? This way please." She led them into an office of sorts and gestured to two chairs for them to sit in. "First 72 hours there's no phone calls, no e-mails, no visitors. We will be taking you from here to a brief physical. In the morning, you'll be assessed by a staff psychologist, speak to a social worker and attend group therapy."
"I feel like we're forgetting something," the Sheriff muttered.
"You will be wearing these, Stiles," the nurse handed the younger man some white velcro sneakers. "No laces allowed. You don't have a belt, do you?"
Stiles lazily shook his head, keeping quiet.
"And please empty your pockets into here," the nurse slammed a plastic bin on the desk, allowing Stiles to start pulling his phone and such out of his pockets and plopping them into the bin.
"Your pillow," the Sheriff murmured in realization to his on, "your pillow. We forgot your pillow."
"Dad, it's okay," Stiles tried to reassure him, in an unusually quiet tone.
"No, no," he waved his hands in frustration. "You're never going to be able to fall asleep. We... we got to go back."
"It's fine, dad," Stiles insisted. "I don't need it."
His father stammered, "I can't believe I forgot it. I mean, every time that we've ever stayed in a hotel, the first thing you pack is your pillow."
"You can bring it tomorrow," he tried. "It's all right."
"Okay, you know what?" the Sheriff snapped, standing up. "Stop. Stop. Enough. Stiles, get your stuff. I'm not checking you in here if you're not gonna get one good night's sleep."
"Dad, I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks," Stiles told him quietly. The disheartened father eventually left, eager to get to L.A. and get back as soon as he could. Stiles followed the nurse up some stairs, but slowed in his steps when he heard a voice up several levels muttering.
"I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky."
He looked up, seeing a boy around his age, standing up above him. "Hey, do you see that?" he tapped the nurse. He started walking up the stairs faster and faster towards the boy.
"Stiles, wait for me," she called up but he didn't listen.
"That guy up there," he pointed, not seeing her face when she finally did look.
"I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky." The boy wrapped something around his neck, Stiles couldn't see what it was for sure. "I can swim in the ocean, yet still remain dry. I can swim in the ocean, yet still remain dry." He stepped up on the railing of the stairs.
Stiles started running, but he was many levels too low. "Stop! Somebody stop him!"
"I can swim in the ocean, yet still remain dry..." the boy stepped off into the open hole of the winding stairs and fell, his neck snapping in the air as his body swung right in front of Stiles as the nurse caught up with him. He stared.
"Oh!" the nurse screamed. Stiles only stared at the swinging boy, wondering what place he was in, and if he was really safe here.
The next morning the vet's office had a gathering around the conference phone. "Did you have any trouble with Ikeda?" Deaton spoke into his phone at his desk, rather Jessie's old desk. Jessie stood against the wooden gate between him and the others. Allison and Scott leaned against the front rail on the customer side, Georgie sitting in the chairs behind them.
Chris' voice was heard over the speaker phone, "Only minor. The white wolf was exactly where you said it would be."
"But we have two problems now," Deaton said. "First, the lichen is not a cure. It'll wear off in a matter of days."
"But the Oni won't go after him now," Georgie asked, her only worry in the world being Stiles' well being. "While he's himself? Right?"
"I hope," Deaton told her diplomatically. "Eichen House has an unusual history. It might not be all that safe for the Oni there as well."
"What's the second problem?" Chris asked.
"I checked with your contacts in Japan," Deaton said into the phone, a little louder. "The Yakuza Boss you saw killed by the Oni never found the scroll."
"What scroll?" Scott asked.
"A Shugendo Scroll," Jessie answered for Deaton, speaking for the first time.
He nodded, "The Shugendo were the ascetic mystics of Japan. The scroll had information on how to exorcise a Nogitsune."
Georgie stood up eagerly at the hope that Stiles could be saved, "We need that scroll."
"Exactly," Deaton agreed. "And I did get a name of the man who last purchased it. Kincaid."
"He was with Katashi," Allison finally contributed. "He's the guy who met with us to buy the gun."
"Sounds like Katashi wanted the scroll for himself," Deaton mused.
"But Stilinski already told me nothing like it was found among his things," Chris told them, alluding to the murder he was briefly been accused of.
"And a paranoid Katashi would keep it close," Deaton guessed. "Probably on him at all times."
"What does a Shugendo Scroll look like?" Allison asked.
Deaton stood up, turning to some drawers by Jessie and pulled out a large scroll of not-quite-white paper round around a dark piece of wood. "Something like this."
Allison held the scroll in his hands, "Do these come in different sizes?"
"Any size," Deaton nodded.
"What are you thinking?" Jessie noticed Allison's realization on her face.
"I think I know where it might be," the girl answered. "Katashi had this... prosthetic. It's why they called him Silver Finger. He lost his pinky when he and my dad met and had a silver top put on it. It was always with him."
"Chances are if they haven't found it at the Sheriff's station, then it's stashed in that pinky," Jessie murmured.
"We need to make a plan then," Scott determined. He cast a look behind him, seeing Georgie's eyes to the ground. "Hey, you okay?"
Georgie's hand flashed up to her stomach, right where Void Stiles had ran her through with the sword. She nodded, albeit numbly, to Scott, "I think—I think so."
Scott looked at the others, all watching concerned, and then stepped closer to Georgie, speaking quieter this time, "Wanna step outside? Get some air?"
She didn't answer before he tugged on her elbow to lead her outside, making sure not to venture out too far. "What's up?"
"I just can't stand the thought of Stiles in that place," she whispered, her eyes still downcast. "Did you tell him what I said?"
Scott nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah. He only went in there to avoid hurting us, you know that, right? He won't let himself hurt you again. Or me again. He just wants to protect us, and this is how for him."
"He didn't even say goodbye," her voice cracked, and Scott could see a tear fall down the side of her face. He stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulder, tucking her head into his neck like an older brother.
"He loves you," he told her. "I can see it. He wouldn't have done all of this if he didn't." The alpha paused, remembering the last thing his friend told him. "He also gave me a message for you."
Georgie pulled her head away from him to look at his face, "What was it?"
"He said that when the Nogitsune spoke to you, it was lying," Scott told her carefully, not fully understanding what Stiles had been talking about earlier himself. "He said it was really him that night."
Georgie breathed out a huge gust of relief from her lungs, feeling like a wolf trap that had been clamped on her chest had finally released her. She knew there was a possibility that Stiles was lying for her benefit, but she didn't care. She would choose to believe him. And choose to believe that everything the Nogitsune said was a lie—all of it. After all, you can never trust a fox.
She knew what she had to do, loping away from Scott with determination.
Scott watched her going towards her car that she had driven there and called after her, "Where are you going?"
"To Stiles," she told him as she opened up her door.
"What?" Scott gaped at her, running after her and stopping her from getting in the car. "Are you crazy? He's in a mental institution, Georgie, for three days."
"I can't wait that long, this could be the last time he's him," Georgie insisted, seating herself and pulling on her door, but Scott wouldn't let her close it.
"We'll find a way to help him, I promise," Scott swore, holding her door open wide. "But we need you to help."
"I need to see him before the poison wears off, Scott," Georgie borderline begged. "Please. I need to tell him – I just need to see him while I know it's him, talk to him. I can get in the place, no problem. I've broken into the Sheriff's station, I can do this. And no one will know. Let me go."
Scott looked at her, seeing the sheer desperation and determination on her face. He knew if he got her to come back inside, she'd just slip away again the second his back was turned. He couldn't force her to stay. So he sighed and let go of the door, shutting it softly on her, "Okay. But be careful. And don't stay too long."
"Thank you," was all she said before she started her car and drove off.
Stiles followed his new roommate, Oliver, around for a semi-tour as the goofy guy pointed people out and told him how the place he'd locked himself up in worked. "Now. Most of the people here are okay. The violent ones are in the closed unit. That's Hilary," he pointed to a brunette sitting by the porch. "She has OCD. That's Gary. He think he's Jesus Christ. Dan—also Jesus." He gestured to a darker girl sitting on a bench in fetal position, "That's Mary..."
"Mary Magdalene?" Stiles guessed.
"No, she also think she's Jesus. You'd be surprised how many Jesuses we get."
"Not really," Stiles mused out loud.
"Hey, how come you want to use the phone already?" Oliver asked, referring to how Stiles had yelled about getting a phone call the night before after the suicide.
"'Cause after one night, I've changed my mind about this place being safe for me," Stiles answered. "Or anyone. Ever."
"No, no, I think you're wrong," a young woman leaned at the phone box in front of them, the black phone clutched in her hands. Stiles couldn't see her face, but she had short curly black hair, like an Afro, and dressed in gray sweats. She seemed worried and stressed, her shoulders hunched. "I really think I should tell them. They're going to want to know the story. The whole story. I really think they should know." She paused. "Yes, I do." She paused again, her voice a whisper, "One of them is standing right behind me." She straightened up, abruptly hanging up the phone and walking off in a flitter of movement.
"Who was that?" Stiles pointed out her back to Oliver.
"That's Meredith. She's a little weird."
Stiles gave him a look, "You're a little weird. She's a lot weird." He finally got to the phone and picked it up, but there was no sound, no dial tone. He pressed the hook a couple times, it moving loosely. "It's dead."
"Yeah," Oliver said like it was obvious. "They turn off all the phones for 24 hours after a suicide."
"Why didn't you tell me that before?"
The loco kid shrugged, "Why didn't you ask? What are you going to do now?"
"I'm getting out of the this nut house," Stiles started walking off the way they were, stopping in his tracks when he saw a very familiar girl. "Malia?"
She turned around to face him, her face blank.
Stiles tried to smile, but it came out awkwardly, "Hey. It's Stiles. Do you remember me?"
Still with the blank stare.
"I'm friends with Scott. Remember. We were the ones who helped you out with..."
Suddenly, she clocked him right in the face. He grunted, falling down as she lunged on top of him, slapping and punching at him. Whistles went off as some orderlies ran over, two of them pulling Malia off of Stiles. Another grabbed Stiles and pushed him flat on the ground, his face pressing into some sort of crate in the ground, "What? Hey, what the Hell? She hit me."
"A few more like this, Malia, and you're headed to the closed unit," one tough man in white said.
Stiles struggled under the grip he was in, "Okay, wait, wait, wait. Stop. I didn't do anything." He eyes fell to the opening in the crate under him, and he felt the commotion fade around him as tunnel vision propelled him into the ground bellow, seeing a large industrial basement. And icy grip wrapped around his chest and throat when he realized he recognized this basement. It was the exact basement he had thought he was in the night he slept walked into the woods in the middle of the night. The exact one, where he had faced off with the Nogitsune inside of him.
"Enough!" a voice broke through, Morrell showing up in the chaos, yelling at the orderlies. "Enough!"
Stiles was pulled back to reality as they let him go, seeing Morrell crouching in front of him with a concerned look. "Stiles. You saw something, didn't you?"
"That basement," he nodded. "I've been down there before."
This is kind of a filler chapter, honestly.
REVIEW!
RegalGirl94