Chapter Text
He remembers the ceiling opening up above him. The ceiling opening to bright daylight breaching through cloth. Soft cotton bandages curling around his arms and his neck and his face as he pulled. Climbed. Used them as ropes and his own will power to pull himself up through the crack.
And the bandages wound around him so tightly, covered his eyes and his mouth. Made the daylight disappear altogether.
Stiles knew he hadn’t imagined them. Hadn’t dreamed up Scott and Lydia, no matter how many times he’d seen them in his mind. And of course he knew it was all in his head. Scott was the center of the pack. The sun and the moon and everything placed between them and Earth. He’d never have that title. Of leader. Best friend. Mentor. TAnd there wasn’t a universe he could imagine where he got the girl. Where Lydia fell for him instead of Aiden or Jackson, where she willingly held him at night instead of him being surrounded by cold air and empty sheets.
She’d been there. With Scott. In that great empty room with only the Nemeton and a game of Go! between them.
He’d recognized the room when he heard Scott’s roar. Looked up at them. And then at it. But somehow he’d never seen it before. The Nogitsune, standing in front of him with a voice that matched his own and baring pointed teeth. The game board. The Nemeton.
And now, as he pulls himself up, thanking whoever above that Lacrosse has built up his upper body strength enough, the bandages wrap.
The choke and squeeze tight and he’s having a hard time just breathing. He stands, wobbly on his feet, and then falls forward.
Two pairs of hands pull him into what feels like a chair, and what sound like familiar voices are muffled by the cloth. He pulls at it, unraveling and tearing, just trying to break through to fresh air. Another hand pulls down the last bit of cloth covering his nose, and then the rest away with his own and he gasps. Takes in eight rapid breaths as his vision fades back into focus.
Scott’s in front of him. Real and corporeal this time. Touching him with a hand on his face and fear in his eyes. Stiles wants to scream who did that to you? but he can’t. Can’t because he knows the answer is in the reflection of the mirror.
Peter is on his other side, still holding him down. He looks different. Older and… scared. There's anger etched into his features.
“Scott?” He whispers, voice hoarse as he reaches for Scott’s other hand to steady himself. Scott leans forward, grabs onto him like he’s going to drift away, squeezes his hand so hard Stiles feels the bone crack. “Sti? Is that you?”
And Stiles just stares at him. Unease on his tongue because how can he answer that? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he’s really him. Or if he’ll fade to ash when the Nogitsune dies. If he’ll reach out to hug his dad and only try to choke the life from him.
Doesn’t know if the fox will come back.
“Scott.” It’s Deaton. He and Melissa stand just past Scott. Deaton looks over his shoulder, the front door is wide open. Lydia’s gone.
Scott springs from Stiles' side, sprints towards the door. “Lydia? Lydia!” He shouts. They can hear him from across the lawn, and down the street. His voice fades, but the intent only grows. Desperate and scared. And Stiles can only watch as he tries to catch his breath.
He tries to stand, unsteady as he uses Peter’s shoulder as a crutch. Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t try to force him back down. Let's Stiles use him, almost in a trance. Before he can even take a step, pain rips through his abdomen, like a sword through the skin, and he doubles over.
Melissa and Deaton rush forward, no doubt on instinct. Melissa lowers him back down, presses the back of her hand to his forehead, no hesitation. “You’re burning up Stiles.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine. I need- I need to-“ Peter forces him down, a hand on his chest. “No. Sit down. We’re still not entirely sure if this is Stiles yet. We can’t let him go anywhere.”
And for the first time ever, Stiles can’t help but agree with him. “He’s right. I’m- I don’t feel right. I feel like myself but I don’t know if…“ his voice trails off with Scott’s yells.
Deaton stands, takes a step back. He digs through his bag, still splayed open on the end table. “Melissa, would you mind grabbing Stiles a glass of water? And a trash can?”
She nods and rises unsteadily, keeping her eye on him. He can’t blame her.
Deaton pulls a small rectangular vial from his leather bag. Inside of which is a small green plant. He pulls a few small leaves from its branch and crushes them in his palm, just as Melissa comes back in with the water. He takes it from her, sprinkles the now crushed leaves into the glass, and then gives it a small shake to stir it up. “What-what’s that? What’re you giving him?” Melissa asks, setting the small white trash can in front of Stiles.
“This is Lus-Na-Fala. It was traditionally used to treat fevers and liver disease. But it’s also used to purge toxins from the body.” He hands the water over, lifts the can off the floor and closer to Stiles.
Stiles, Peter, and Melissa stare at him.
“It’ll purge any of the leftover Lupin Vulpina from your system, and help with that nasty fever. It’ll also make you barf, hence the trash can.”
Stiles gulps down the water. He hasn’t had much of anything to eat or drink in days and his stomach and kidneys are wailing in discomfort. But Deaton is right, the moment the water, and the plant, hit his stomach, his throat is forcing it back up. Deaton holds the trash closer to him as he pukes, Melissa rubbing his back with a gentle hand.
It’s the hesitation coursing through her that makes Stiles feel so uneasy. He doesn’t need to be a werewolf to sense any of the nervousness coming off of them in waves. Filling the room like helium.
The front door closes as Scott finally comes back inside, sweating and only a little out of breath.
“She's gone. They’re gone.” Scott drops his hands to his sides, staring at Stiles. He must look like absolute shit if Scott’s looking at him like this. Stiles lets out a shaky exhale, grips the edge of the bucket with one hand, and the glass with the other. It’s over half gone, but none of it is in his stomach. “Whose they?”
Scott crouches down on the floor, looks Stiles in the eyes like he’s looking for something. He turns towards Deaton, before standing. “How do we know it’s him?” It’s not much of a whisper since Stiles can still hear it, but Deaton looks back down at him. “We don’t quite yet but… all signs point to Stiles being in control right now. And we don’t know for sure if the Nogitsune is still possessing him, but in order to figure that out, we need the Oni.”
And Stiles, at this point, is done with the relative mystery of the day. Really, he’d like to go home and take a long nap. Forget about whatever it is they’re hiding from him for a little bit. He musters up what little strength he has to stand, clutching his abdomen. Scott looks him up and down, tenses himself like he’s about to jump headfirst into a fight.
“Okay who the hell is they? And what do you mean if it's still possessing me? If it’s not in me then where the fuck did it go?” There's wetness blotching his shirt, he can feel it sticking to his skin.
“You didn’t see it…” Scott whispers, lips parted in question. “See what Scott?” It’s hushed, breathless as black spots fade into his vision. Melissa reaches for his hand, “Maybe you should sit Sti-” but he pulls it away. “I’m fine. What happened?” Scott looks at Deaton, but Peter clears his throat. Stiles jumps. He’d forgotten he was even here.
“The Nogitsune split you straight in half, Stiles. Right now, there is an identical copy of you running around Beacon Hills with Lydia in tow.” He takes a step back, “And it’s got more power than ever.”
Stiles lets himself fall back into the recliner.
“Stiles do you know what it could want?” Deaton finally asks, and the room is only getting hotter the longer the question goes unanswered.
Pain . Death and grief has already been brought to Beacon Hills. The traps in the woods. The bomb in the sheriffs office. The vet clinic. He’d watched himself set each one, helpless to fight back behind the soundproof glass walls the fox planted in his head. He remembered finding it funny, how willing Scott was to take pain. And how enjoyable it was to take all of it from Scott.
Strife . Listening to his father; to Allison's father; to Derek, argue. Pull weapons on each other in defense of him. To turn friends and allies into enemies. And Stiles had liked it. Liked watching relationships crumble over a fox and a hound; one ready to pounce on the hound, the other too scared to hurt the foxes host.
Stiles swallows the lead-heavy lump in his throat, pushing past it just to be able to breathe.
“Chaos. It wants chaos.”
He lays his head in his hands, feels wetness on his forehead. When he pulls his hands away, there's crimson smeared across the skin.
“Stiles you’re- you’re bleeding.” Scott says shakily, taking a step forward. Stiles takes a breath in, winces in pain as his abdomen rises.
“The cut. Oh my god, it must not have healed completely.” Melissa hurries, while Stiles looks around at the others. “Cut? What cut?”
She pulls up his shirt, soaked in dark red. A slash across his stomach is coated in blood. It suddenly hurts more now that he sees it. Deaton kneels at his side, medical kit in hands and Melissa digs in hers for a pair of gloves. “The Nogitsune. It stabbed itself with one of Noshiko’s Tails. The Nogitsune must've healed itself outwardly but-”
“But I didn’t. Is it gonna kill me?” Deaton shakes his head. “Look like you just ripped open the incision. Nothing too horrible. But it’ll hurt like hell for a little longer.”
Peter makes a noise in the back of his throat, one that means he’s about to say something incredibly off putting, “Well we don’t know for certain.” He extends his vowels like he’s trying to hide an accent, and Scott raises his brow, “What do you mean?”
“I mean… it split Stiles in half. Like an apple at the core. We don’t know what that did to him. Or it. It’s all relative.” Peter, for as assholish as he is, seems sincere for once.
“So I could be dying. Great.” Stiles leans his head back, lets Melissa bandage him as Deaton looks for something for the pain. “Hey Deaton? As much as I find your healer thing cooler, you wouldn’t happen to have like… ultra-strong Advil in that bag would you?” He shakes his head, and Stiles nods. Melissa grins, “I have some in the kitchen. Scott, will you grab it?”
It stays silent when Scott leaves the room, gentle but hesitating fingertips securing the bandage down. He’s still wearing the leather jacket he’d crawled out of the ground with, it's too big and the lining stitches scratch him, but it’s warm in an otherwise freezing house so he doesn’t really mind.
Scott returns, a normal glass of water and two tablets in his hands. He puts them in Stiles hands slowly, watching his movements with charged eyes.
“Where's uhm… where's Allison? And Kira?” He swallows them whole, gulping down the water he so desperately needs. “The school. The twins and Isaac started acting weird apparently. They’re trying to keep them contained over there.” Scott sighs, clenching his fists.
“Speaking of, I should get down there and help them out.” Deaton stands, clasping his bag, Scott looks towards him, “Are you sure?” “Scott, I’ve been dealing with angry werewolves longer than you’ve been alive. I know what I’m doing.” He pats his shoulder, and then exits through the front door.
“How long until night?” Stiles asks once Melissa has finally finished her bandaging. “Three hours. Why?”
“I’m- I haven’t exactly- you know all the basic human necessities? Sleep, eat, drink, piss? I haven’t done that at all in… three days? How long has it been?” Silence echoes along the floorboards as Scott adjusts his stance, “Stiles. It’s been a week.”
“Oh. Well. Then a week.” He looks down at the floor, black spots clouding his vision. Scott must recognize it, because his footsteps echo in Stiles ears as he draws closer, but Stiles can’t see him. “I think- I think I just need to- uhm…” The room spins, the others voices drowned out by the rushing in his head.
“I’m just really tired.” Is the last thing he gets out before the room around him closes into darkness.
+++++
“Why did you choose him? Out of all of us? He’s done nothing.” Scott’s voice rings out.
Stiles looks through the darkness, the tunnel vision swarming his eyesight as he tries to push past it.
He opens his eyes.
“Exactly. He’s done nothing. Your… friend. Your Stiles . He has… we’ll call it a power. A power that no one understands. Not even himself. But he’s not like you Scott.” Stiles' own voice startles him, catches himself off guard. His mouth moves unwillingly. His body is pulled along like a puppet on a string. Limbs controlled by another.
His mouth opens again, hangs mid-sentence, before it finally begins to move. “His power… is that he doesn’t have one. He has a brain. And a heart… but he’s not strong. Never will be strong enough to hold me. He’s nothing without you Scott. Weak. Dependent.” It whispers, Stiles can feel his eyes narrow.
“He’s easy to manipulate… easier to control. He’s like-” Stiles can’t help the laugh that escapes, “The perfect host. My willing accomplice.”
Stiles can finally see past the blur. Scott is on the floor at his feet, a gash across his cheek slowly starting to heal, but the blood doesn’t fade.
“I doubt he was willing. You took him.”
Oh.
He smiles. “He was more than willing to come with me. Only in exchange for that Coyote. Weird. He didn’t seem to feel that deeply about you .” It’s far from the truth, he wants to scream it. Tell Scott that the trickster is doing what it does best.
“That’s- it’s not true-” Scott stutters, but the Nogitsune clicks its tongue, “And… Scott… didn’t I say come alone ?”
“I did. I’m here. Alone. Like you wanted.”
The Nogitsune must hear something Stiles doesn’t. Tilts his head to listen. “Hello Allison. Don’t bother with the crossbow. I didn’t exactly know how to dismantle it so I just… took it apart. I’m sure you can fix it. By then I’ll be gone.” He turns his head towards the locker room. Allison emerges from the door, crossbow in one hand. It’s bent at an angle, like a gear or two is missing from it.
“Just-” Scott pushes himself to his feet, extends a hand across towards Stiles. “Please. Just let me talk to my friend. Just let me talk to Stiles.”
He thinks. The dim lights of the school makes the swell of the pounding in his head grow.
“No.”
Scott’s face falls.
“Don’t worry. I’ll return him to you eventually. Can’t promise it’s in one piece.”
And the Nogitsune laughs. Hollow and full of rage. Coursing through Stiles veins and echoes in his ears. It bounces around, hits every angle needed to cause him even more pain. He can feel the Nogitsune siphoning it off of him, the sharp sting rushing through his bones.
His eyes fly open and he sits up, breath unsteady as he gasps. He’s in the guest room, underneath the covers and no longer in a bloody t-shirt. Someone had to have changed it while he slept. He bets money on Scott, but Melissa isn’t entirely off the table. Peter probably left right after he’d fainted.
Melissa is at his side, her hand instinctively flies to grab his wrist as he flails. She pulls away when he does.
“You okay?” She doesn’t reach back out to touch, but her words are gentle. “What happened?” His on the other hand are rushed, stings like the aftermath of being slapped. The words slide heavy off the tip of his tongue.
“You passed out. Probably from not eating.” She reaches over to the night stand, grabs a small plate. A sandwich sits on it, plain turkey with mustard and mayo. The crusts are cut off. “Like you like it. Scott insisted I cut the crusts. Said you wouldn’t eat it if I didn’t.”
Stiles laughs, takes the sandwich with a nod and a thankful grin. “He’s right. Thank you.”
He isn’t entirely sure if it was Scott who told her, or if she remembered from when they were kids. No one’s made a sandwich for him in almost ten years. It settles in his stomach like it’s the last thing he’ll ever eat, and for once Stiles doesn’t want anything else. He is perfectly content with his turkey and his mayo and his mustard.
“What time is it?” He peers out the window, lets Melissa check his pupils and his heartrate, extends his arm for her when she hesitates to reach for his wrist to check his pulse. She’s still scared of him, deep down the fear is rooted in her bones. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever go away.
“Nearly six. The sun is almost down. Noshiko will be here soon.” She doesn’t look into his eyes, but offers him another glass of water. “Please tell me it’s not magic water. I don’t think I can do that again.”
She shakes her head. “It’s got Pedialyte in it.” Stiles sighs in relief, “Yes. Right. Cause I am a growing boy and not the festering host for a demonic fox.”
Melissa doesn’t find it as funny as Stiles does.
Noshiko and Kira wait downstairs with Scott, and all the older woman does is stare at him when Stiles finally descends the stairs. “You okay?” Scott asks, and Stiles nods. “Dizzy but… I’m fine. I just… really wanna get this over with. Don’t like not knowing if I’m me or not.”
The sun finally falls behind the tree line, beginning to blanket Beacon Hills in a shadow.
In a woosh of shadow and air, two Oni appear beside the Heaven Kitsune, clad in black and yellow and looking like the things that haunt Stiles’ dreams. One pulls its sword, and Stiles steps forward, trying to keep his gaze away from the blade.
“Sti. Just breathe. It’ll be okay.” Scott says from over his shoulder, and Stiles nods. It’ll be okay.
The other Oni raises its hand to his neck, its eyes glowing yellow as he lets it search for the fox. He thinks maybe this is what it feels like to have Scott dig through his memories. Invasive. Like his skin is crawling and stretching as the Oni searches every bit of him.
It tilts its head, and Stiles only feels unease grow in his gut. And then a burning pain behind his ear and he drops, shivering from a sudden, intense cold. Scott is at his side in moments, as Noshiko calls out “Check him!” The oni are gone by now, but the feeling like they’re under his skin still sustains.
“It’s there! It’s not in him anymore!” Scott laughs, pulling Stiles closer to him. “So I’m me. No more fox?” Without thinking, he wraps his arms around Scott, seeks the warmth of his best friend. Scott returns the embrace.
Kira’s hand lands on his shoulder, “No more fox.”
He doesn’t know if he believes her.
Deep down, the unsettling urge to run bubbles.
He thinks about something he’d heard his English teacher say in school. They’d been learning about fables and were discussing The Fox and The Crow. The fox outwits the unsuspecting crow and steals its breakfast with flattery.
He thinks about it’s moral. That the flatterer lives at the expense of those who listen to him. He shakes his head, though only slightly and he knows Kira can’t see past his shivering.
The fox always comes back to haunt you.
+++++
Even with the Nogitsune gone and his abdomen healing, with food in his stomach and the ability to sleep whenever he needs, the pain doesn’t stop. It sits in the back of his mind, not thought about but ever present, like his locker-combo or the smell of Lydia’s favorite perfume. It itches at his back with cut down fingernails, leaves pink scratch marks across the skin. Claws to get out.
His father hugs him, the hardest he ever has since his mothers funeral, and this time there is no urgency to it. They’re not trapped under the Nemeton, or checking him into Eichen House. They stand in his office for too long, arms slung around each other and whispering apologies and forgiveness.
Noah insists he go back to Scott’s house, sleep some more while he and his men try to locate Lydia, because of course he already knows and of course he’s got people working on it, even if they don’t know what they’re looking for themselves.
Stiles nearly crashes the moment they walk through the front door. Exhaustion weighing down on him after a restless night of searching for Lydia themselves. Any and all options have been a bust by the time they get there, nearly sunrise when he finally closes his eyes.
And then he’s back. Back in the white room. The Nemeton is no longer in the middle, but in its place, a dark wooden door. It stands alone, no wall to connect it to, and Stiles has the overwhelming urge to open it.
So he does.
He pushes it open, shuts it behind him, and then looks up at the room he’s just entered. It’s his bedroom. Or what he thinks is his bedroom. The bed is made. The crime board is empty, pushed off into the corner. His ball of red string is gone from the shelf, and in its place, a green one.
On the nightstand is a framed photo, sitting on top of a stack of textbooks that he’s never seen before.
And there's a note folded on the pillow.
He sits down on the bed and picks that up first.
Stiles,
Don’t forget to actually bring your textbooks today. We have a test!
Xoxo L
He looks over to the nightstand, the framed photo staring back at him. The frame is familiar, lighter oak, the one he’d kept one of Lydia’s drawings folded into. But in its place is a photo he doesn’t recognize, one he knows he’s never taken. Lydia stands in front of him, smiling and blush high on her cheeks. Stiles is leaned over her shoulder, leaving a deep kiss on her temple.
They look older. Happier. In love.
“It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream Stiles. Just gotta wake up.” He folds his hands over his head, presses down on his temple and rubs the skin in circles. “You’re just dreaming. Wake up Stiles. C’mon wake up. Wake up Stiles!”
He drops his head further, down in between his knees.
“Wake up!”
“Stiles wake up.” Scott’s hand is on his arm, as Stiles bolts up off of the couch, knocking him back. He jumps to his feet, chest heaving as he wraps his arms around himself. The room spins, and he clutches the mantle to balance himself.
“Stiles? What’s wrong? You okay?” Scott pushes himself off the floor, and Stiles reaches for the nearest coat, panic still forcing its way through his body. His heart beats so fast, he can feel his ribs shift with every badump.
He pulls the coat over, still feels the chill in his blood, and wraps an afghan around his shoulders. “I just… I can’t seem to get warm. It’s so cold in here. Can we turn the heat on?” He shivers, and Scott furrows his brow. “The heat is on. Stiles are you-” he reaches out for Stiles hand, and maybe it’s instinct, or Stiles body begging for someone to take it away, but black veins spring to Scott's skin as soon as he touches his hand. “You’re in pain.”
Scott takes him by the shoulders, directs him towards the couch, suctioning pain as he does. Stiles is helpless to stop him, feels the relief on his heavy bones.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t bad before but… everything hurts and it's so- god it’s so cold.” He hunches in on himself, further into the blanket. Scott keeps taking his pain, but it’s only replaced by more. Eventually, he has to pull away. Give his friend room to breathe. He knows Scott wouldn’t do it on his own.
“Are you okay? Did it help?” Scott shakes his own arm, rubs his shoulder and rolls his neck. “Yeah. It worked. I feel a lot better.” It’s a lie. Stiles can’t hide his heart rate the way a wolf can. Can’t hear it either, but he still knows Scott doesn’t believe him.
“Are you sure?”
Stiles sets his jaw, unwraps the blanket from his shoulders, forces the shiver that runs down his back away. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
+++++
“They say… coup de foudre.” Meredith stares into Stiles eyes, like she’s searching for something no longer present. His phone rests on her ear, shaking only slightly in her hand. Stiles and Isaac look at each other.
“Coup de- what? What is that? Spanish?” He looks at her, watches as she lowers the phone and her eyes glaze over.
“French. It’s French.” Scott’s voice comes from the doorway, the gears turning in his head almost visible behind his eyes. “When the hell did you learn French?” Stiles turns back, furrows his brow.
“I didn’t. But Noshiko did.”
Parrish stops by to collect Meredith soon enough, gives Stiles a weird look when he opens the door using the knob as a crutch, before parting with a “Your father says hi by the way.”
“Okay, why would the Nogitsune go back to Oak Creek? Wouldn’t it be kind of obvious?” Stiles asks in the car, once Scott has relayed the original story, albeit in a more condensed version. Isaac listens along in the back seat, more or less silent except for the occasional hum or question.
And Scott drives. Insists on it actually. Stiles tries not to let himself get mad over it, especially because deep down he’s grateful from the break.
He’s fucking tired.
Tired of pretending to be fine. He doesn’t know if he could even hold himself up long enough to drive out to Oak Creek.
“I guess it’s familiar. Where it died. It’s what any wolf would do.” Scott reasons, double checking in the mirrors that they’re not being followed before yanking the wheel over onto a beaten path that doesn’t entirely resemble a road. Stiles recognizes it as the one that backs up to Eichen House. His dad would find teenagers hanging out in the lot often, and the local grow used to be in a patch beyond the wrought iron gate. Before Noah had it torn out.
Stiles distinctly remembers getting locked in a bathroom stall with an overflowing toilet by Jackson Whittemore’s cronies when they found out about it.
Isaac leans forward in his seat, “Yeah but Scott… It's a fox. Not a wolf.”
Scott grips the wheel tighter. “Well then… let’s hope his instincts take him there.”
Kira and Allison meet them there. They share glances, hesitation clouds each one's gaze. Allison takes a step to the side, closer towards the gate, keeping her eye on their surroundings.
Stiles knows what that means. He isn’t quite sure what he— no, the fox —did to her. He knows she won’t say. He knows she’ll smile when he apologizes after this whole mess, tell him that she doesn’t blame him, and then he’ll grab hold of her hand and compliment her nails and they’ll be back to normal.
He isn’t so sure he’ll forgive himself though.
“Where’s your crossbow?” He asks instead, and she readjusts his arrow sling. “Broken.”
Stiles' heart stutters in his chest.
“Ok. We know what we’re doing. Why we’re here. We did this a few weeks ago for Malia. A complete stranger. But this is Lydia and-” Scott looks around at their small group, fear wavers on his face for a brief moment, but is soon replaced by determination.
Allison clears her throat. “I’m here to save my best friend.”
Scott smiles, looks at Stiles, “I’m here to save mine.”
Isaac looks between them all, “I just didn’t want to do homework.”
Stiles resists the urge to hit him, mostly because he’s not so sure he can lift his arms high enough to do it without showing Scott how really in pain he is.
Noshiko stands past the gate, followed by her Oni.
“Mom!” “Kira…” Stiles doesn’t bother listening in on their conversation, looks around the courtyard instead. It’s overgrown and dark, shadows stretch across abandoned alleys and vines reach out to strangle posts and support beams. “I don’t like this place.” Stiles chokes, eyes flickering to look at Scott, who nods in agreement.
“Now why wouldn’t you, Stiles? Hate me that much?” His own voice echoes back through the walls of the alleyways, shadows curling as harsh footsteps land quickly.
Allison raises her bow, and Kira her sword. The Oni stand stoic, their own samurai swords in hand and ready.
Stiles might agree that staring back at one’s own face would only be less terrifying if the other person was a twin, evil or otherwise. However he does not remember having a twin of any kind. But The Nogitsune smirks— that same half smirk that Stiles remembers doing a million times before —tilts its head to look at him. Its eyes are darker, shadowed over by nothing at all. When it opens its mouth, Stiles catches a glimpse of sharp teeth forming where molars had been. He runs his tongue over his own, only to find flat teeth.
Scott grabs hold of Stiles’ wrist, pulls him backwards towards a row of warehouses, “Stiles c’mon. We need to get Lydia!” They both turn, breaking into a sprint towards them.
Stiles hears Noshiko gasp behind them, and the metallic clang of swords being drawn.
He skids to a stop, turning back around just in time to see the Oni turn against their master. “What was that?” Kira asks, raising her katana higher, as Allison draws her bow. Isaac shifts, bares his teeth and claws and growls.
“There’s been a change in ownership.” The Nogitsune holds two halves of one of Noshiko’s tails in its hands, eyes darkening even more as it looks out over the teenagers. Its gaze rises to meet Stiles and for a moment he doesn’t see a monster.
“Stiles!” Scott shouts, and Allison yells “Go! We can handle it! Get Lydia!”
Stiles nods. Knows she can’t see it, but she knows nonetheless. He hesitates, thinks about saying “Be careful.” Something in his stomach stirs, greets him grossly. Not as an old friend. As an enemy that makes the hair on his neck stand on end.
So instead of saying anything, he turns and runs.
The tunnels underneath Oak Creek echo with their footsteps, hasty and splashing through the puddles that fill the long hallway.
“How do we know she’s down here?” Stiles asks as they run, and Scott sniffs the air. “Her scent. It’s…” he slows to a stop. Stiles follows quickly. “What- what is it? Scott?”
Up above, swords clang loudly and flash-bang arrows fire off.
“It’s her scent, it's all- muddled by the rain water. It’s everywhere. I can’t- Stiles I don’t know.” Scott spins in a circle. They’ve come to a four-way cross section, and he looks down every single one. “Lydia. Lydia!” Stiles yells, lets it bounce against the walls and carry down all four halls.
They stand in silence, listening for any kind of call from her.
Stiles hears a scream. Ear splitting if he was standing closer. He’d recognize it anywhere.
“Lydia.”
Stiles breaks into a sprint, takes a sharp right at the next cross-section. He follows the echo with Scott on his heels.
“Lydia? Lydia!” He yells again as he reaches the end, a room separated by bars up ahead.
When she appears in the doorway, it’s like he’s seeing her for the first time again. Except the exact opposite. The first time they’d met, Lydia was ten and Stiles was nine. Her hair was still bright red, and she wore a different colored bow for every day of the week. Stiles had braces and a collection of Pokemon cards that rivaled even the highest collectors.
Now her hair is dirty and dark and fear is framed behind her once bright eyes.
“Stiles? Scott?” Her hands wrap around the bars, Stiles reaches her first, stops just short of running face first into it. Scott comes up behind him, instinctively reaches for the lock keeping her in. “What’re you doing here? Didn’t you get my message?”
Scott snaps the lock with his bare hands.
“What message?” Stiles grips her shoulder. “In the car! Who came with you? Is Allison here?” She looks between them, reaching out to steady herself on both the wall and Stiles. Scott exhales, “Uhm. She’s up there. With Kira and Isaac.”
Something that feels like a knife hits his stomach, makes him nearly drop.
“She’s in danger.” Lydia whispers, lips pursing as she pants, and Stiles feels the knife in his side again. “Scott, go. Go now.” He says, backs himself against the wall. Lydia goes down with him, tries to hold him as he falls, and Scott runs. His footsteps fade down the hall, and Stiles gasps against the pain. Lydia’s hand grazes his collar, and she lifts it to cup his face. “Stiles? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Stiles feels the moment the Oni dies. Feels like his insides are exploding. Like a piece of him is dead. A lung collapsed. The walls of his heart stall, stuttering as it dies. Grief shadows him. But it’s not for the Oni. And not for Stiles.
Lydia inhales on a large breath, just as the pain overtakes him and his eyes grow heavy. Her eyes grow wide, and then they constrict so small Stiles can’t see her pupils at all.
“Allison!” She screams, holds the syllables as her words blow through the air. Her power manifests, rings out so powerfully that he loses consciousness altogether.
In those final moments, eyes bleary and leaning against the wet wall of the tunnel, he remembers. The fox always comes back.