SUCCUMB

CHAPTER XVII - STILES

"So, doc, what's the prognosis?"

Stiles felt an incredibly heavy weight hang over his chest. It had only been a few minutes since he was given the cure against power, soul-and-body possessing, no good nogitsunes. It was, decidedly, a source of great relief when Dr. Deaton beamed at him with a nice goblet of clear liquid, a sign of the nogitsune no longer possessing his body. "You're going to be fine, Stiles."

Beside him, his father groaned in relief and continued to thank the veterinarian as he studied his wrists, a tingling reminder that while something was finally right, there was still something wrong and that was when he realized that nothing was ever that simple. Not with them, not ever with them.

"Uh, Doc?" he squeaked, letting his finger pads linger just behind his ear. "How powerful is a nogitsune, exactly?" he wondered aloud and his father frowned.

"What are you getting on, Stiles?"

He turned from the examiner's chair, his brows furrowed together in a knot. "It's never that easy." He muttered under his breath. "With Gerard and the Kanima incident, it was never straightforward. It's never just point at the one suspicious-looking dude and boom!" he waved his hands around, his voice now somber. "There's your victim. It's never like that."

It was Deaton's turn to frown. "It was, actually peculiar. I've never seen a nogitsune who decided to burrow itself so weakly into its host." Stiles grabbed his phone and dialed his girlfriend's number. There was no answer whatsoever, just a dead line. "It's usually much more destructive." The implication was clear—nogitsune usually equals death.

His father, however, shook his head. "Why don't we count our blessings and take this win?" he offered, clearly uncomfortable, but his eyes darted quickly between the both of them. Doubt was already planted and fear already showed in his eyes. His father wasn't unlike him, the restlessness in his hands was a tell far too obvious, even he could tell that something was wrong.

"I can't contact Lydia." He declared, his stomach churning painfully with a knowledge that wouldn't sit right with him. "I need to call her."

Stiles stood up abruptly but he felt a wave of dizziness that overcame him, like he was being robbed of his strength. "Careful," Doc warned. "It's normal for you to feel weak for a few more weeks."

His dad turned towards the druid. "Why? Is there anything we could do to help him recover faster?"

But Deaton shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. His life essence was being drained as we speak. A nogitsune is a dark spirit feeding off light and soul," Deaton trailed off, a thoughtful look on his face. "Sparks aren't light creatures."

This got his attention. "What do you mean by 'Sparks aren't light creatures'? I'm light!" he protested indignantly but earned an impatient hush from his father. "I'm confused, like really confused here."

Deaton shot him an apologetic look. "Can someone call the Argents?" he asked aloud before facing one of the many metal shelves of the room and pulled out a dated leather tome and flipped the book open, yellowed pages skimming through his fingers. "I think something's wrong." Deaton muttered eerily as he searched the book.

Stiles' stomach sank even deeper when he tried to call Lydia but nothing happened—his phone began to hang, just as he missed the contacts and his thumb grazed against the files, the screen glitching and nothing happening. "Oh, come on!" he groaned in frustration just as Deaton stopped flipping through the book.

"I've found it." His father's phone, now placed on speaker mode, featured Chris Argent. "A nogitsune feeds on mythical and supernatural beings with a light soul. And it's usually a shapeshifter, because a human would lack the power to host the spirit and the host would die before realization is achieved. A druid or a spark is far too uncontrollable. . ."

Argent spoke up. "Unless, it was a transition."

Deaton's face darkened and he swallowed deep. "Who would it go to? A human wouldn't be the ideal choice, strife and chaos isn't—God!" Deaton slammed the book together and rushed to his cabinet, grabbing a handful of tranquilizers. "Strife and chaos within a shapeshifter would block the chi."

Argent audibly groaned in realization as well, a shocked and horrified shudder that even Stiles could hear from the static-y speaker mode. "For a werewolf?"

"Enough to block the wolf inside, but not enough to dampen its light, its soul." Deaton walked towards the switches and killed the light. Everything was pitch black for a moment until he heard a whoosh sound. Then, when the lights turned back on, there was a shadow warrior in front of him.

"What the hell is that?!" his father yelled, his hand reaching for a sidearm.

"It means you no harm, Sheriff. It's here to test a theory." Deaton said in a somewhat calm and collected voice. "Mr. Argent, I would suggest you go find Scott now." Stiles' head whipped towards the table where the phone rested. His face now evident of the worry that flashed across his mind.

"What's happening? What's happening with Scott?" he didn't get to ask more because the oni stepped forward and placed an ice-cold hand on his neck, a sheer force creeping through his skin and all he could remember, other than the fact that his head hurt like it was splitting into two separate parts, was that Scott was in danger.

His father hovered above him, gently shaking him awake with soft nudges, lulling him back to consciousness. "Son, are you awake?" Deaton appeared in his vision and quickly checked the back of his ear. It was, admittedly, the first time he ever heard the doctor curse so explicitly.

"He's safe. He's transition host. Find Scott."

Whatever confusion his father had earlier was now wiped away, a gun locked and loaded in his hands and ready to spring out of the door. "I'll send a cruiser for you here." His father said swiftly, a sense of urgency underlining his voice. "I have to go now, Stiles."

Stiles got to his feet. "Wait. What's happening?"

It was only then when both his father and Deaton turned to him, a grave expression nursed on both of their faces as the atmosphere grew heavier and darker. "It was a distraction, a play for time—" Stiles' head twitched painfully.

Time?

"—you're a transition host, Stiles, you didn't hold the nogitsune in its full power, Scott is."

Stiles did a double take. "What?" he asked, breathlessly, not fully understanding the words that he so clearly heard.

"Scott is the nogitsune."

It's been so long since I updated this fanfiction. Rest assured, I will finish this. Enjoy this short chapter before things get really messy.