Chapter Text
Stiles had been told that Derek had fixed his Jeep the night he was found in the coyote den. It was a small fact that Stiles found supremely interesting, to say the least. The young man's eyebrows were pressed together in concentration as he left the high school. His head was lowered, eyes trailing the ground as he strode down the steps and off towards his Jeep.
"Stiles!"
The voice seemed like the crack of a whip through his mind, his head shooting up and brows following suit. Scott's face was almost pleasantly neutral as he approached but Stiles could see the concern in his gaze. If he wasn't mistaken there had been an underlying look of wariness.
"I've been calling your name didn't you hear me?" Scott asked calmly.
Stiles' fingers unfurled from where they had been wrapped around his backpack straps for a brief moment before returning where they had been.
"Sorry, I didn't hear you," was all he said in response, eyes dancing away from his best friend's eyes and back again.
He watched Scott's eyebrow twitch and his lips pull down in the slightest of frowns. "Are you okay man?"
Stiles felt like his nod was too soon, too rehearsed. He's heard the question so many times since that night at the hospital. The night he hardly remembers and honestly doesn't ever want to, according to the bits and pieces he had been told of.
"Yeah, yeah. Just a little distracted is all. Kind of a lot of things going on at the moment, what with the shrinking brain and crazy shadow ninjas trying to kill everyone still," Stiles rambled, hoping it sounded more lighthearted than it felt coming out of his mouth. His hand rose and he let it fall on Scott's shoulder as he attempted a smile, not noticing the way his friend winced at the mention of his condition. "I'll talk to you later."
Scott nodded his head but said nothing, touching Stiles' hand where it still rested on his shoulder. Stiles turned, climbing into the Jeep and almost immediately felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was something familiar and comforting, despite the things that have happened in and around it. Perhaps that is what gives it its charm. Stiles' long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel for a moment as he took a deep, shaky breath.
After a couple minutes he started up the Jeep, glancing out the window to see Scott by his bike, looking over at him. The same mixture of concern and suspicion filled his features, only to be guarded away as he pulled his helmet on. Stiles knew that Scott knew he had been lying; he was a werewolf and could hear his heartbeat.
Nothing had been okay since the day he, Scott, and Allison had chosen to be surrogate sacrifices. In truth, the tests that had been run on him only proved what Stiles had been suspecting the whole time the symptoms kept showing. If anything, it had just put a voice to everyone's thoughts and made things worse.
The trees that passed and the road before him blurred together into one dull movement as he headed home. He noticed the absence of his father's car in the driveway when he pulled in. With a sigh he got out of the Jeep, struggling with his backpack and keys when he reached the front door.
For some reason there was a tremble in his hand as he picked through the keys to find the one he needed. The house was dimly lit when he got inside, barely any light pouring in from the curtained windows. There were a couple night lights plugged in around the doors that would turn off when the rooms got bright enough, each one giving off a faint, soft blue glow.
Stiles remembered with a small smile the reason they had gotten night lights. His dad had come home late and didn't want to turn on a bunch of lights and wake Stiles up from where he had fallen asleep on the couch, books strewn everywhere and loose papers sprawled out. His dad couldn't see very well and banged his knee on the corner of one of the chairs and with a loud curse woke Stiles up regardless.
Seeing as how his dad wasn't home yet he didn't have the same struggle, flipping on lights as he went on his way to his room. His hand lingered on his doorknob, hovering as he remembered what his room probably looked like still. He hadn't been done investigating everything and trying to piece it all togethe, not by a long shot. Hell, he still wasn't finished with it. He knew, given the time, he would go back to his walls covered in pictures and newspaper clippings and red string.
The darkness - no, the sickness - inside of him would see to that.
Taking another deep breath he twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Stiles felt more aware now than he did before, consciously able to ser the robotic, obsessive behavior when regarding the cases. He wasn't sure if that was worse or not, knowing or not knowing.
As Stiles stepped into his room, however, he looked to the walls and found them empty. The only things that truly remained were pictures and posters that already were on them. Everything else was gone. There was a twinge in his gut then at the realization, hands pushing through his unkempt hair before ruffling it in slight frustration. He fought the impulse to call his dad and demand to know where all of his work was taken, hand dropping to touch his phone through his jeans.
"I took it all down."
The voice cut through his thoughts almost painfully. Stiles jerked around, bag falling to the floor as his shoulders tensed and his eyes widened, looking for the source of the voice that still hadn't registered as being familiar. Derek stood by his desk, absentmindedly prodding at the mess of papers surrounding his computer. Stiles could feel his heart racing but when it sunk in who it was he visibly began to relax.
"Oh, Derek it's you," he heard himself say. "Wait, what are you even doing here? Did you forget I have a front door?" Stiles' voice was defensive as he felt exhaustion creeping even closer.
Derek's mouth twitched and it was hard to tell if it was from amusement ir a tick of irritation. His hazel eyes rose to meet Stiles' and he took a few small steps closer. His leather jacket squeaked faintly when he flexed his arms and Stiles was reminded of the first time Derek had been in his room. His silence was uncomfortable and Stiles found himself swallowing as the seconds ticked by.
"Your father didn't want to touch it but I thought it would be for the best if that cluster of insanity was taken apart," the werewolf said finally, eyes unblinking as they threatened to burn a hole through Stiles.
He winced at the word, knuckles rapping lightly on the wall he stood beside as he struggled with where to have his restless arms, feeling vulnerable and naked all of a sudden.
"Since when do you care about my wellbeing?" Stiles inquired softly, his gaze falling steadily back on Derek.
He knew the words were probably unfair, considering all they had been through together. Yet Stiles didn't care; he felt utterly defeated. Something flickered across the werewolf's face, though Stiles couldn't place it. Within a matter of seconds Derek surged forward, palm slapping to Stiles' chest and with an effortless shove he sent the boy flying against the wall.
Stiles gasped, nearly breathless as the air escaped his lungs and his head knocked harshly into the wall. Derek was incredibly close in his space, fingers splayed over his chest and nostrils flaring. Stiles choked, sucking in a breath. He only managed to raise one arm with the little warning he had, hand pressing into Derek's belly. The other rose to push against his shoulder, their bodies nearly touching.
"What the hell man?" Stiles protested breathlessly, face contorted in confusion and now blatant fear.
He was breathing hard, wondering if Derek had truly lost it and now was going to rip his throat out as he had promised so many times before.
"I won't let you take him," was all Derek said by way of a reply, his eyes narrowed and digging deep into Stiles'.
The fear was completely consumed by confusion now. "Derek, what--" Stiles began before he abruptly stopped.
It was as if someone had hit a switch and Derek knew what was happening.
Derek watched as his face fell slack and the humanity drained from his honey-brown eyes. Something dark and eerie fluttered in those big eyes as they returned Derek's piercing glare.
Stiles' hand slid up until his long fingers curled almost painfully on his shoulder. The other hand bunched in his shirt, pinky resting on Derek's now slightly exposed skin. The contact was electrifying, for how little it was.
Derek's eyebrows pressed together when Stiles pushed faintly back against him. His body strained against the hand still on his chest, neck extending forward until their faces were only mere inches apart. Stiles tilted his head, only Derek knew it wasn't really Stiles. The movement was slight, but it sent a chill down the werewolf's spine.
"You speak as if you truly have any power over us," Stiles spoke deeply, his voice hollow and languid.
Derek felt a pang in his chest; the void speaking with Stiles' mouth and moving his body was nothing short of horrifying.
"We admire your confidence, but it is useless," the nogitsune said, a twisted smile twitching its way across Stiles' wide mouth.
It didn't last long before his face fell again. The hand against Derek's stomach opened, releasing the fabric of his dark blue shirt. Slowly his fingers unfurled from the werewolf's shoulder, one by one. It was only a matter of seconds, Derek wondering what could be done.
He felt helpless, knowing if they really wanted the nogitsune gone killing its host would be the best and most reliable option. Derek couldn't fathom doing such a thing. The chain reaction it would cause would be catastrophic, especially if Beacon Hills lost a protector because Scott was crushed with grief. Perhaps that seemed dramatic but it was true. Derek knew it. So did the nogitsune.
Lost in his thoughts Derek didn't notice his grip slacked on Stiles. Stiles' face twisted into something of a snarl before a blinding white light erupted between them. Like thunder the electricity Snapple through the room, forcing itself from Stiles' palm and straight into Derek, the lights in the entire house humming and flickering.
With a grunt his body flew across the room, smashing into the wall in the corner. The plaster cracked as he fell to the floor with a gasp of pain. He was twisting to push himself up when he saw Stiles slowly making his way towards him. Faint sparks of white danced around his fingers before fading away, leaving long shadows over the younger man's features.
Derek shivered, body convulsing and muscles aching as they tensed tightly. His body refused him and he collapsed again, claws and fangs aching to come out but unable to. There was a cold, calculated air in the way Stiles moved towards him to kneel and grip his chin. Derek tried to pull away but his body felt weak, the grip like a vice.
He was forced to look in those two empty voids as they bore into him.
"You should leave us. There is nothing here for you, and next time we won't be so generous," the nogitsune warned, the corner of Stiles' mouth flicking upward.
He released his hold on Derek's face abruptly and rose to his feet, turning away. Derek struggled to get to his feet again, hand bracing the broken wall. He finally got to a kneeling position, body still trembling and aching.
"You should hear the way he pleads," the thing murmured so softly Derek almost didn't catch it. His head snapped up, staring at Stiles' back.
"Feel the way he struggles," it continued, head down as it inspected its host's hands as they began to shake gently.
Stiles turned his head, looking at Derek over his shoulder. "We are strong, yet not strong enough. But we will be," the dark spirit promised, the words lingering on Derek as he pushed himself to his full height. The room swam and Derek clenched his hands, nails digging crescents in his palm.
"You can try, but we will destroy you," Derek promised in return, voice acidic as it came from around his clenched teeth.
Stiles turned to face him then, each movement calm and smooth, nothing like Stiles' usually jerky and hyperactive ones.
"Who? His friends and family? There will be no one for him. We're going to destroy all of them. Anyone who ever meant something to him will perish," the spirit hissed, eyes flashing with irritation.
Derek's jaw flexed, and as much as he wanted to rip the human's throat out he knew he wouldn't.
"Stop saying 'we' like you and Stiles are one in the same. You're not, and you will be purged from his body... even if it kills him," Derek retorted sharply, voice faltering only slightly. The nogitsune smirked, moving closer once more and studying his face.
"He cares for you, you know. It's just too bad he will never admit it. Nor will he be able to. He is mine now and we are one. We will grow stronger, and the next time we meet it will be so we can break your bones and cut out your heart."
Derek felt the stab like he was meant to, struggling to keep his face blank and his claws to himself. That was when Stiles' body pitched forward and his eyes rolled.
Derek rushed to catch him, stumbling slightly when he caught his dead weight. His head lolled to the side, mouth open and face blank. If Derek couldn't hear his heartbeat he would have thought him dead. He shifted his weight, scooping Stiles up to place him gently on the bed. His even breathing and regular heartbeat suggested he had fallen asleep and wasn't completely out of it and unconscious.
Derek stood by his bed, wondering what the hell to do now. He wasn't sure why he came here to begin with. He gained nothing, except learning the nogitsune was planning to try and get stronger. The information was useless if they had no idea how to get the damned thing out of Stiles or at the very least stop it.
Stiles' eyelids fluttered, face twitching and fingers flexing against his bed. Derek sat on the bed as the younger man rolled his he's to the other side, hands clutching at the sheets and brows drawing together. He was struggling already with what was going on in his mind. Derek pried at his clenched fingers until he was able to slip his hand into the open space. He wasn't sure what else to do, and he released a breath he didn't realize he was holding when Stiles began to relax.
They needed to act fast; it was only a matter of time until things escalated. Stiles is a serious threat to everyone in Beacon Hills and now he was something to hunt and destroy to some. There was something hugely wrong with protecting the very thing you're supposed to destroy.
Derek took a deep, slow breath, watching Stiles shift his weight and roll over, shirt twisting around his torso, riding up his hip slightly and exposing a portion of pale skin that definitely caught Derek's attention. The silence was heavy around them, despite the slight noises of Stiles' gentle breathing and a clock ticking away somewhere in the house. Cars passed by every now and again, the people around them oblivious to everything that had transpired.
Stiles' hand fell away from Derek's when he moved. His body was exposed, laying over his blankets and still fully clothed. Derek started to shrug off his jacket, wincing when his body protested the movement. He would heal, but he doubted if it would be anytime soon.
Derek draped the leather jacket over Stiles' body, eyes flicking away to the obvious damage in the wall. He took a small breath, gaze falling back down to Stiles. Derek noticed the white plaster residue on his jacket where the back and shoulders were, and with a light hand he brushed it off. He froze when Stiles turned completely on his side, curling in on himself slightly beneath the leather.
When it seemed that the younger man would sleep well enough Derek rose to his feet slowly, trying not to jostle the bed in the process. He didn't know what to do about the dent in the wall, a couple areas of it having broken into holes. He figured Stiles would be smart enough to figure something out.
Derek stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, listening to Stiles' heartbeat. He didn't want to leave, to be honest. Yet at the same time he knew if he stayed Stiles would wake up angry. Of course he would remember Derek having been here. Then again, he was having issues distinguishing dreams from reality...
He decided not to risk it, turning to leave the room. He turned off the light, going around the corner to the steps and down through the house. It was twilight outside when Derek finally left, nostrils flaring and lungs taking in the air as a caressing breeze swept over him, trailing airy fingers through his hair and across his exposed skin. His muscles still ached and for a brief moment he wondered if the feeling would ever go away.
Derek let his mind wander, still trying to truly process everything that had just happened and grasp the gravity of the situation as he made his way down his street to whet he had parked. He didn't know what to do, none of them did, and they were running out of time.