"You've got a Nogitsune on your hands."

"A No-gi-what-now?" Stiles asked, frowning at the phone lying on the center of the coffee table.

The pack was grouped tightly around him; Lydia pressed close to his side on the couch with Peter behind them, leaning forward and braced against the back of the cushions. Isaac was on the floor to his left flanked by the twins, Scott and Allison clutched hands in one of the large arm chairs that they had dragged in close, mirrored almost exactly by Boyd and Erica in the other, and Derek hovered somewhere off to his right, just behind his line of vision. None of them had said much when he'd come in, only flared their nostrils and scented the air, glanced between him and Peter with looks of surprise, confusion, and quite possibly a little jealousy. Scott had growled under his breath but Peter had flatly ignored him, strutting through the house smugly as though he were wearing Stiles' scent like a badge of honor, and it had him chuckling darkly to himself.

His mirth abruptly left him when Jackson and Phee came through the front door, the Irishman freezing in place when he caught sight of him, his eyes flaring bright gold as he bared his teeth. Stiles raised an eyebrow challengingly, took a step in his direction, but a low, threatening growl rumbled up out of Pheelan's huge chest and he circled round the room carefully, sticking tight to the wall until he stood on the opposite side of the room. That was where he had stayed too, leaning back with arms and ankles crossed, glaring at him from as far away as possible, joined by Jackson who at least had the decency to look disinterested in the way that Peter smelled.

"She means a Kitsune," Derek corrected and Stiles froze, while both Jackson and Pheelan's heads snapped up at his interruption. "A fox spirit, from Japan."

A full minute's deadly silence followed and Stiles felt his blood run cold, until Shawna finally broke the awful quiet from the other end of the line.

"Stiles. Who's your friend?"

Shit.

She was using that tone.

The one and only time Stiles had elicited that tone from her, he'd woken up to…

Well.

Let's just say Shawna was a fan of Marlon Brando.

Shit had gone Godfather real quick.

"Umm…" he hedged, "If I tell you, is he gonna find a horse's head in his bed?"

"Would you rather wake up with one in your bed Stiles?" Shawna asked with the utmost politeness.

Stiles swallowed hard as a shiver ran down his spine, and all around him the pack flinched away, looks of horror on their faces, though he could feel something a little bit like respect and appreciation coming from Peter and Lydia.

"I see," Shawna said quietly when he didn't respond, and oh crap, there it was again. "Mr. O'Rourke, Mr. Whittemore? Anything to add?"

"It was Derek Hale," both wolves chorused in unison, earning glares from everyone but Peter, who just laughed.

"Ah. Well, Alpha Hale," Shawna said sweetly, and Stiles wondered if maybe that tone wasn't even worse than the one that had preceded it, "Had I meant a Kitsune, I would have said a Kitsune. Try not to interrupt."

And that would be his only warning.

"Right," Stiles said, clearing his throat and turning around from where he'd glanced back just in time to see Derek go just a little bit pale. "So what's the difference?"

"In its simplest form, for those slow students in the room…"

Stiles smirked sharply at that, listening to the sounds of paper being shuffled on the other end of the line.

"In its simplest form, Kitsune good, Nogitsune bad."

"Of course," Stiles growled, scrubbing his hands over his face. "So definitely a Nogitsune then."

"From what you've told me, yes," Shawna answered. "I think it's safe to say that you're dealing with the latter. A Nogitsune is essentially a dark Kitsune, a form of void."

Behind him, Stiles felt Peter go still, and across from him so did Pheelan. Clearly the wolves knew more than he did, more than the rest of the young pack - either that or their instincts were more honed, more alert to the danger suggested by the name.

"It can take on different forms," Shawna continued, "A fox, a shadow… even a human. And Stiles…"

Around him the pack twitched, the concern and gentle wariness in Shawna's tone such a change from the earlier cold threat that they didn't need to know her as well as Stiles did to know that something serious was about to be said.

Unfortunately for them, Shawna switched quickly and smoothly into Polish, a language she knew that only Stiles would be able to understand.

"Stiles you told me that you died once."

Stiles swallowed as his heart leapt into his throat.

"Yeah, once. Killed myself, me and two friends. A sacrifice to the…"

"The Nemeton."

And yeah. There was that word, that name, god damned tree out in the middle of nowhere that only wanted blood and chaos and that sounded exactly the same in Polish as it did in English.

Noise burst out around him as the name set the pack to snarling, even Allison and Lydia adding to the cacophony. Snarling, feeling something pulse hot and cold beneath his skin, Stiles snatched the phone from the table and turned the speaker off, bringing it to his ear as he shoved his way out of the knot of pack and pushed his way into a small bathroom, slamming the door shut before he could be followed and leaning back against it hard.

"Sweetie are you all right?"

"Just," he gasped, still in Polish as he fought hard to swallow down the raging thunder of his heartbeat, the fear and the flashback-feel of ice water pouring into his lungs. "Just give me a second."

"Whatever you need Stiles," Shawna murmured quietly, and that wasn't helping, the sweetness and the calm, because that didn't mean anything good either. It was at times like these when Stiles got a weird, grandmotherly feel from Shawna, and he preferred to think of her as a young, fit, blonde goddess ready to kick asses and take names than an older, maternal figure who could only gather him in close in an effort to protect him.

"Just…" he almost whimpered, suddenly sure of what she was about to say. "Just tell me."

"I told you once," she said slowly, "That I'd heard that name before. Nemeton."

"I remember."

"Her name was Noshiko Yukimura. She's a Kitsune."

"Right, ok. Kitsune, not Nogitsune."

"Correct. But in 1943, in the middel of a World War II concentration camp, Ms. Yukimura summoned a Nogitsune."

"Wait, what?!" Stiles yelped, and snarls sounded outside the door as it lurched beneath him at the sounds of his distress. "She summoned one of those things?!"

"Stiles, please."

"Right, shit, sorry, sorry," he panted, shoving his hair back from his forehead. "Ok, keep going."

"It's not my place to tell you why she did it," Shawna continued, "But she had her reasons, all right? The important thing for you to know is that she killed it. Destroyed it."

"Then why are you telling me this at all?"

"Because even in death, in its dormant form, the Nogitsune still exists. Noshiko captured this, its dormant form. She buried it."

"Let me guess," Stiles sighed, "She buried it in Beacon Hills."

"Beneath the Nemeton."

The world froze as Shawna's words sunk in. The Nemeton, fuck, it all came back to that god damned Nemeton. It was that tree that had changed everything, that called shit to his sleepy little town, that turned the darkness into something to be feared. It was the Nemeton that had had its roots in Peter's madness, Lydia's turning, the Darach's power and even his own…

His desperate gasp of breath seemed to tell Shawna that he'd figured it out, that she could now only confirm the horror that was slowly filling up his chest and drowning him.

"You sacrificed yourself."

"Yes."

"And the Druid warned you about the door."

"Yes."

"Stiles, when you and your friends died…"

His body going cold and still, Stiles raised his head to stare into the mirror across from him, his reflection staring back with black eyes.

"We let it out."

XXX

It took another half-hour for Stiles to emerge from the bathroom.

Once he'd gotten over the horror, the guilt of the realization that his, Scott's, and Allison's sacrifice had released the Nogitsune from its prison, there were far more important things to be discussed.

What could the Nogitsune do? What did it want? How could they find the thing?

And most importantly to his mind, how did they kill it?

Unfortunately for him though, once again, this wasn't Shawna's area of expertise, and she had always been reticent to give any information whose accuracy she wasn't entirely confidant in. Consequently there was only so much advice that she was willing to give him though she did her best, divulging everything she knew for certain. More importantly than that, she promised to find Noshiko Yukimura, who would certainly be of significant help, and get the two in touch at the very least, sending her in his direction if at all possible.

In the meantime there was very little that they could do but be on the watch for anything unusual, anyone they didn't recognize sneaking around. That and of course keeping careful track of the fox that had been haunting Stiles' dreams, and quite possibly slinking around out in the preserve. So all in all, par for the course in Beacon Hills - they didn't know nearly enough about what they were going after, and for now all they could really do was wait. Shawna recommended that Stiles refrain from any offensive attacks in a scolding tone that warned of reprimand if he didn't follow that particular advice and then quickly moved on, unloading a myriad of information on Stiles' ears about the upcoming wedding he'd agreed to work for her, only two weeks away.

He appreciated that, the normalcy of it, even if he was reluctant to actually attend and officiate the thing. It was a ply for more than just his services - the two packs involved would be vying for his attention and his loyalty, and that wasn't something he was looking forward to, but doing a favor for Shawna, being given the information in that brusque, business-like tone she'd cultivated so beautifully in her free time, was right in a way that being unemployed in Beacon Hills was not. So Stiles was careful to reassure her, noted the time, place, and contact info in his phone before planting a loud, smacking kiss against the speaker and letting her go.

Opening the door, Stiles wasn't the least surprised to find that the pack was waiting for him, all of them ranged about the living room and looking as casual as they possibly could, which wasn't much. But the energy had gone completely out of him, and he hardly had the spark in him to deal with Derek Hale.

"Let's go home," he muttered in Irish, knuckling at his eyes, and Pheelan and Jackson both nodded, stepping across arms and legs in the direction of the door.

"Woah, wait, where are you going?" Scott demanded with a yelp, jumping to his feet.

"Home," Stiles said flatly, unable to find the heat to be irritated with the other boy.

"What about the Nemeton?" Derek asked flatly, and Stiles raised an eyebrow in his direction, noting the look that Peter and Lydia shared behind him.

"What about it?" he asked.

"Don't bullshit me Stiles," Derek snarled, and yup, there was the anger.

Hadn't gone far had it?

"We all heard you," he continued, and around him the pack shifted anxiously, as though in agreement but unwilling to provoke the Touchstone. "You can't keep this from me!"

"I don't owe you a god damned thing," Stiles snarled under his breath, and then Derek was snarling back and his eyes were red and he was stomping forward, locking a tight grip around Stiles' forearm and dragging him across the room, snarling his betas back as he thrust Stiles through a doorway and slammed it closed behind them, turning the lock with a reverberating chink.

"What the hell is your problem!" Stiles shouted, and the way the base of his voice echoed back at him told him that the room was sound-proofed. Good, because he was ready to let go with both barrels.

"You jackass son of a bitch," he growled, stepping up into Derek's space and shoving him hard, sending him backwards into the door with a jarring thud. "You still solving your problems by throwing people around? Well come on then. Throw a punch Sourwolf, I'd love a freaking reason to throw one back."

"Stiles…"

"No, you shut the hell up!" he commanded. "Are you kidding me? You want something from me again so now all of a sudden you're willing to have me around?"

"Stiles, I…"

"Well fuck you Derek! I'm not the little bitch I used to be, I'm not rolling over for your or anyone…"

"Stiles, I'm sorry!"

And hell if that didn't bring him up short.

"Wh…" he mumbled, stuck in place as his brain went completely on the fritz.

"I'm sorry," Derek repeated, and the light inside of Stiles was screaming the sincerity of the statement. "I never should have sent you home that night and I never meant for you to… for you to leave."

"What are you doing?" Stiles warbled, the panic in his fingertips preventing him from being embarssed when his voice cracked.

"I just…"

Sighing hard, Derek scrubbed a hand through his hair and moved over to the bench set into a large window, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I was… scared, and confused, and I didn't know what was happening. What you were doing to us. To me."

Raising his head, the clear grey-green of his eyes settled something low in Stiles belly, had him sinking down to his knees and wrapping his arms around his ribs. A bit of calm came over him, flushing out the fear if not the confusion or discomfort. Something told him that he'd been waiting for this, that there was no way things could have kept going the way they had been without breaking, even if his more logical brain told him that for the last five years he'd never once imagined that he would get an apology out of Derek Hale, who he was almost sure had never uttered one in his life.

"I didn't know," Derek said again, twisting his hands together between his knees. "It's... not a good excuse, I know that. And I never thought… never thought you meant to…"

Stiles swallowed, clenched his fists so that his nails bit into his arms. This was the part he didn't want to think about, the part that he knew to be true and had always whispered around in the back of his mind, that validated, at least in part, the young Alpha's actions. The part that took a chunk of the blame away from him, not all of it of course, but enough to make Stiles shift uncomfortably, to take away just a little bit of the fairness of the grudge he held.

"I was just trying to protect them."

"Fine," a low, gravelly voice said, and he realized with some surprise that it was his own. "I get that. You should've fucking told me."

Catching the Alpha's flinch from the corner of his eye, Stiles shoved roughly to his feet, just a little of the old, familiar anger simmering in his blood.

"Jesus Derek, you think I knew any more than you did?" he asked loudly, throwing up and arm and beginning to pace. "You think I wasn't just as freaked as you? I didn't even realize I was doing it, didn't even know it was happening, and you took away the only thing I had!"

"I know that," the chastised wolf said quietly, unable to meet Stiles' gaze when he whipped around to stare at him.

"Do you?" he hissed, and then something dark and cold leapt up inside his chest, forcing out the words he promised himself a long time ago that he would never speak. "You know exactly what it's like to lose everyone Derek, your home, your place in the world, everyone you care about. Your whole damn family! You did that to me!"

For a moment a horrified silence fell and then Stiles was sinking back to his knees once more, bile rising in his throat.

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his hands to his face. "I didn't mean that."

Across from him, Derek didn't move, silent, caved in on himself, and Stiles felt like a knife had been driven into his chest. He knew that Derek had only been protecting his pack when he'd sent Stiles packing, that he couldn't bear the thought of losing everyone again. More than that, he knew how much the man blamed himself for what had happened to his own family, the guilt that he would probably always carry with him.

And he'd just reinforced that.

The viciousness he'd just spit out was on par with the dark manipulation that Kate Argent had used in the first place, and in that moment he'd never hated himself more.

"Derek," he said, quietly but firmly, and when the werewolf still didn't lift his head Stiles crawled forward, laying one hand flat against the front of Derek's shoulder, the trembling in his body hard and shaking beneath his palm. "Derek look at me."

Raising his head, the werewolf still averted his eyes, his mouth a thin, flat line.

Sighing, Stiles took the man's hand and lifted it, pressing it to his own chest over his heart and after only a second's hesitation, thrust his light out toward the other man. He might still be pissed, may not have yet forgiven, but this was shit far darker than what had happened in the past, and it was his fault.

"Listen to me," he said firmly, tightening his grip on Derek's shoulder. "I'm not lying. You can hear it right? Feel it?"

Swallowing hard, the werewolf nodded, barely, but it was there.

"I didn't mean that," Stiles said, and he didn't have to block his heartbeat for it to stay smooth and steady with the truth. "I did not mean that. What happened to your pack was not your fault. And what happened with me…"

Stiles paused, and that pause finally forced Derek to raise his head, fear of what was about to be said shining out of his eyes.

"Well that was your fault," Stiles admitted. "But it was everybody else's too. Mine, and Scotts, and all the rest of them. You should have told me. Talked to me. We… Christ, we could've figured it out."

Letting go of the wolf at last, he sat back on his heels and stared at the man, no longer sure about anything.

"I'm sorry I said that," he murmured. "I didn't mean to, and I don't believe it. I know you were just… trying to protect them. And hell, you didn't exactly have any more help than we did."

Looking up sternly at the werewolf in front of him, who appeared slightly calmer than before, Stiles pointed a finger sharply.

"This doesn't mean I'm not still pissed at you," he stated harshly, and Derek shook a little bit with a hysterical sort of laugh.

"That's ok," he replied haltingly. "You were right when you said you don't owe me anything.

"Damn right I was."

"I just… I need to know what I'm up against here."

"Fine," Stiles said climbing to his feet, brushing sweaty palms against the thighs of his jeans. "But asking nicely is going to get you a lot farther than the demand-and-drag routine."

Watching silently as Derek nodded and crossed to the door, he made a waiting gesture as he moved to unlock the door.

"We're not friends Derek," he warned quietly, and the werewolf paused.

"But we're not enemies," he said, hesitant yet not quite a question.

"No," Stiles frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I guess not."