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The setting sun pierced the symbol clawed into the distillery wall. Dark-eyed, pale-skinned Derek Hale stood in the center of the spiral-shaped shadow on the floor. "Answer my questions," he growled at the man kneeling in front of him. "Help me, or I'll kill you."
The bottle in Deucalion's right hand was to blame for his bloodshot eyes. He took a swig from it and asked through a slur, "Why are you suddenly so curious about demons?"
Derek's Adam's apple bobbed. "Because there's one, here, in Beacon Hills."
Deucalion's eyes narrowed. "Do you know what type of spirit?"
"A Nogitsune." Derek watched Deucalion's face closely, his hearing fixed on the other werewolf's heartbeats. "Have you ever met one?"
Deucalion's skin turned three shades whiter. He folded his ankles under his thighs and he staggered up to his feet. For a moment his jaw hung open, and it looked like he was about to speak. But then the bottle of liquor slid out of his hands and he made a break for the door.
Derek's arm slashed down with the force of a guillotine. "Let me pass," Deucalion growled at him. "If there's a Nogitsune in this town then I'm taking the first flight to Australia."
Derek unsheathed his claws and bared his fangs. "What do you know? How do we kill this thing?"
"Kill it?" Deucalion's laugh resembled a panting dog. "You can exorcise it, maybe. But I don't know how. And you can't exorcise it until the host is dead."
Derek's arm fell back to his side. Deucalion was so surprised by the sudden slump in Derek's shoulders that he forgot about trying to escape. "Oh," he breathed, exhaling the stench of alcohol into Derek's nose. "You know the host. Is it your sister?"
Derek's jaw resembled stone. He listened for any lies revealed by Deucalion's chest. He found none, and sighed.
Deucalion's head cocked to the side. "That beta you sired? What's his name…? Isaac? Or is it Scott? Whoever it is, Derek, you have to kill him."
"It's Stiles."
"Stiles…? Scott's little sidekick?" Deucalion snorted and rolled his eyes. "Who gives a damn about—"
Derek's hand suddenly gripped Deucalion's throat. "He's my friend. He's in my pack and I won't let him die," Derek barked. "Stiles saved Cora's life. I owe him." He dragged Deucalion out the door to his car. "Deaton has an idea. And you're going to help us."
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Once Ethan and Aiden got Isaac situated in Derek's bed, Melissa and Deaton got to work redressing his wounds. "Much better," the veterinarian said when he examined the werewolf's arm. "You're healing nicely now."
"I'm just thrilled to be healing at all," Isaac said. "I can't believe Allison would—"
"It wasn't her," Melissa reminded him. She cocked her head at two figures in the center of the loft. "And that's not Stiles. It's not their fault."
Jared meant it when he said that "they" handed him that wrapped present on the bus. It wasn't just Stiles, but Allison, too. Loyal, concerned Allison who'd stayed at the hospital for two days waiting to see Isaac. Allison who, as the security tapes later revealed, had been sneaking into Isaac's room and putting mistletoe in his IV drips. Allison was also possessed by a Japanese fox spirit. Not a tricky but ultimately moral Kitsune. Not a dramatic, chaotic Nogitsune. A devious, murderous spirit, yes, but a quiet one. One that was biding its time and doing its damage under the radar. One willing to be the Nogitsune's sidekick when called upon, but who was not willing to be in the line of fire for it.
"We'll deal with Allison after we help Stiles," Deaton said. "Mr. Argent and the Sheriff have her locked up for now."
Melissa, who'd been unpacking more medical supplies, looked up with surprise. "He – he won't be here? But, Stiles—"
"I'd rather keep his father in the dark about this for now." Deaton braided his fingers together in his lap and sighed. "I'm not sure if this will work and…"
Isaac finished his thought. "You don't want him to watch his son die."
Deaton nodded. Melissa's lower lip quivered. She returned to her work to hide the tears peeking from her eyes.
On the other side of the loft, Lydia, Aiden, Kira and Ethan sat at a dirty plastic picnic table just inside the door. The two werewolves both had mouths full of pizza and Coke, but Lydia and Kira had barely touched their supper. Peter sat in a plastic chair behind them, scowling and looking bored. When Derek entered the room with Deucalion, Peter jumped to his feet.
Derek shoved Deucalion at his uncle. "Watch him," he ordered. Without so much as a glance at the others, Derek passed them towards the center of the room. He hesitated, briefly, then put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "How is he?"
The Nogitsune answered before Scott could. "He's dying," the demon spat with Stiles' mouth. "You poison me, you poison him."
Stiles lay on his back on a mattress barely three inches thick and no wider than his shoulders. He was sweating and shivering. His wrists were cuffed at his side and chained to the floor, as were his ankles. He wore the same clothes that had been soaked through by the rain the night before. Clothes that were stained with Scott's blood. His breaths were shallow and his lips were white. A bruise on his neck indicated where Deaton had injected the letharia vulpina poison. An injection that he had repeated six times in twenty-four hours. The poison kept the Nogitsune paralyzed but in agony. Stiles was in unbearable pain and his fever hovered dangerously close to deadly.
"When I get my strength back," the Nogitsune whispered, "I will feast on your pain, Hale."
Scott ignored the demon. "My mom's going to set up an IV drip," he told Derek. "I can't get him to eat. I doubt he's put any food or water into Stiles' body for days."
"Maybe you should do what Stiles' mom did when he was a kid and act like the spoon is an airplane." The cackle that erupted from the demon's throat was so un-Stiles that it made both Derek and Scott shiver. "Open up for the airplane, sweetie," he said in a mockery of Claudia's long lost voice.
Derek walked around to the other side of Stiles' body and sat down, Indian-style. "How are you feeling?"
Scott absently rubbed his chest where the Oni's sword skewered him. "Good. Well… better. All this is just…" Scott gestured at Isaac and Stiles and then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his fingers. His chin vibrated.
"Too much. Yeah, I know," Derek said softly. He plucked up a washcloth that Scott had left on Stiles' chest and used it to wipe the sweat off of the teen's forehead, cheeks, and neck.
"I keep thinking about how we never watched Star Wars together." Scott pinched the corner of Stiles' sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. "I promised him we would but we just never got around to it. It's stupid but… I just keep thinking about how I broke a promise to him."
"You ruined his life," the Nogitsune hissed at Scott. "Right now I hear him cursing you. He wishes he'd never met you."
Scott's nostrils flared. It took a lot of his strength to avoid the demon's eyes, and that effort was wearing him out.
Stiles' face rotated to look at Derek. "And you. It's your fault that the Alpha Pack came here, your fault that the Darach targeted Stiles' dad. If Stiles never had to die to find the Nemeton, the door wouldn't have opened in his mind and none of this would have happened." The Nogitsune's head cocked slightly to the side as if curious. "I should get you a thank you gift, Derek," he whispered. "Maybe a nice fruit basket."
"Shut up," Derek snapped at him.
Grinning, the demon returned his attention to Scott. "No matter what happens, you're going to lose him."
Scott looked into the beast wearing his best friend's face. His eyes were mesmerizing.
"Even if, by some unthinkable miracle, you manage to exorcise me, Stiles' brain is disintegrating. Why do you think that, out of everybody in this town, I chose to possess him, huh? Because he's already frail. He’s broken. He’s dying!"
Scott's hands shook. He made no move to still them.
"By this time next week he'll be brain dead. And when he's completely dead," the Nogitsune's face contorted with pleasure, "I won't just be possessing this body. It will be mine."
"Shut up!" Derek repeated.
The Nogitsune lifted his head off of the mattress as far as he could. His eyes were wide, fierce, blazing. "And I know what you're thinking, Scott. You're thinking the bite will save him. You'll turn him into a werewolf and everything will be cured, right?"
"I'm not an idiot. I know it's not foolproof," Scott whispered. He leaned in until his face was only six inches from the demon's. "Erica still had a seizure after she turned. Isaac and I have had panic attacks. Gerard still has traces of cancer. But it will work on Stiles – I'll make sure of it."
The demon laughed so loud that it drew everyone's attention. Melissa and Deaton emerged from the bed cubbyhole and Lydia tiptoed over to stand behind Scott. "You can be sure of this, Scott: Stiles' body isn't compatible with the bite. I'm in it. I can tell. If you bite him he'll die. He'll die screaming—" he twisted to look Derek in the eye— "screaming like Paige!"
Derek's eyes glowed blue. He reared back to punch the demon in the face and only stopped when he remembered his friend was in there. A deep grunt, pursed lips, and Derek got up and marched a few yards away. The Nogitsune relaxed back against the mattress. His smile was what Stiles would wear if he was getting a back rub.
Scott put his face in his hands. He stayed like that until the Nogitsune whispered, "Would you like to say goodbye?"
Fingers spread, Scott peeked out. "What?"
"I want to consume your pain, Scott. The more you have, the stronger I'll be. And I'm betting that speaking to the real Stiles now – right now, when you're about to attempt some crazy Druid ritual that will get him killed – that would cause you the most pain of all." Scott's expression was pure confliction. Nothing entertained the Nogitsune more. "I'll give you sixty seconds with him," he said.
"Wait—" Scott croaked. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He at least wanted a moment to compose himself, to wipe the tears off of his cheek. If this truly was going to be the last time he talked to Stiles, he wanted to make the most of it.
The Nogitsune winked and then went limp, like he'd fallen asleep.
Stiles licked his lips. Lashes fluttered. Brown eyes blinked, then focused. Water slid from the corner of Stiles' eye to his earlobe. "Scott?"
Scott's hands went to Stiles – one palm cushioning the back of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. "Stiles? Is that you?" For a moment, Scott thought that Stiles was starting to have a seizure. Then he realized that it was just his own hands shaking so hard that they shook Stiles.
Stiles pressed his cheek hard against Scott's palm. Chained down, it was the only way he could hug. He started to speak, then shook his head and swallowed the moisture in his throat. "Derek," he said, just loud enough for werewolf hearing, "Derek?"
Lightning-fast, hummingbird-fast, cheetah-fast. That's how fast Derek ran to Stiles' side. He knelt beside the teen and wrapped both of his large, calloused hands around his cold one. "I'm here," he said, breathless.
Stiles stared at his friends, memorizing their faces. "I'm sorry," he hiccupped. "I'm so sorry. Tell my dad I'm sorry and I love him and…" Stiles winced. "T-Tell him it was quick and I didn't feel any pain, all right? Promise me."
Scott tried to speak but only a wet sob came out. Stiles looked at Derek for confirmation. The werewolf could only nod. A faraway look evened out Stiles' features. He squinted, confused. Stiles' hand in Derek's went limp. The full weight of his head relaxed under Scott's hands. "Stiles," Scott finally gasped, "I love you, man. So much."
"Scott, come find me," Stiles whispered. His eyes rolled back into his skull. "Come find me." He passed out with Scott's cheek against his heart.
They circled around Stiles at Midnight. Even Isaac, who shouldn't have been out of bed, let alone participating. Even Kira, who wasn't sure if foxes could do what werewolves could. The humans lined up between Stiles and the loft window. Deaton stood with his arms crossed between Melissa and Lydia, and started to give instructions. "I don't know if anyone has ever attempted this," he began. "I don't know if it will work and I don't know if it will permanently harm you."
Peter started to step away from Stiles' body. Derek grabbed him by the collar and put him back.
"We don't know much about the Nogitsune," Deaton continued. "But we do know what its diet is: chaos, strife, and pain. The theory is that to defeat the spirit we have to starve it. You're all going to draw the pain out of Stiles. The pain he took from Scott, the pain in Stiles, all of it."
Ethan and Aiden exchanged looks. Deucalion, who stood at Stiles' feet, spoke up. "You lot know that it's possible to go too far with that, don't you? Scott and I could lose our Alpha abilities. The betas and omegas could, well, die."
"We know," said Derek.
Everyone looked at Scott, who stared at the ground for a minute before speaking. "I'm not asking anyone to die," he said. "Just, please… Do what you can."
Kira cleared her throat and spoke up for the first time. "Isn't it, um, just physical pain that shape shifters can help with? Won't the Nogitsune still be able to feed on, I don't know… emotional pain? Mental chaos? Spiritual strife?"
Eyes shifted again – this time to Deaton. "Maybe," he said quietly. "Probably. But this is the only plan we have. Unless anybody else has a better idea?"
"Do you hear anything, Lydia?" Aiden asked.
Lydia shifted her weight beside Deaton. She bit down on her plump red lip and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said to Scott. "Sometimes I think I hear Stiles' voice but it's – it's like it's disguised as wind or something."
"Just keep listening to it," Deaton encouraged her. "Let us know right away if you sense anything."
Lydia nodded.
Deaton clapped his hands together. "All right. Let's try this. Everyone ready?"
Eight heads shook "no" but they all knelt in a tight circle around Stiles anyway. Scott placed his fingers on Stiles' right cheek. Derek did the same on Stiles' left. Kira and Peter each took an arm, Isaac and Ethan a few square inches of stomach and Aiden and Deucalion both grasped Stiles' knees. "Thank you," Scott suddenly said, his voice heavy with emotion. "All of you, thank you."
Tenderly, Scott stroked Stiles' cheek with his thumb. And then he took a deep breath and led the way. Inky black tendrils of pain marched out of Stiles' veins and up Scott's arm.
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Stiles went from using his real eyes to look at Scott and Derek, to the dreamscape version of the loft, using his dream eyes to look down at his own body. He gasped. He stumbled backwards. His right hand covered his mouth. "How the hell am I alive?" he whispered.
Stiles' body was corpse-thin, his skin corpse-toned. His clothes were as soaked with sweat as they'd been with rain. Whether it was because of the frontotemporal dementia, the demon, Deaton's poison or the starvation, Stiles didn't know. And it didn't matter.
Everything that was him was dying.
"Watch this," a voice hissed behind him. "Watch your friends die trying to save you."
Stiles spun around and saw the Nogitsune creeping towards him. He groaned, and the demon repeated the sound in a mocking voice. Stiles turned back to his body and saw everyone else in the room as well. Kira and the werewolves knelt around him and Scott began to draw Stiles' pain into himself. "That's my pack," Stiles whispered. He'd never considered using that word when referring to himself but as he said it, it felt right. "That's my pack and they're…" He smirked at the Nogitsune. "They're going to kick your ass!"
The Nogitsune began a chuckle that quickly morphed into a cackle. Stiles' stomach dropped to his heels. "Do you know why demons need human hosts, Stiles?"
Deadpan, numb, Stiles whispered, "No." He thought about it for another second and then guessed: "Because you're spirits. You have no physical form. We're just… we're just vehicles for you. Just arms and legs."
The cackle merged with a snort through the Nogitsune's invisible nose. "Clever thing you are. But why, Stiles, do you think we choose humans? Humans, not animals or monsters. Not any other living thing in this world?" Stiles shook his head. He was fed up with riddles. The Nogitsune slithered over to Lydia and trailed his bandaged forefinger down her arm. She shivered and flapped her hand like she was swatting a fly. "Human souls are limitless, Stiles. A never-ending, bottomless well. You're capable of infinite love, infinite hate, and infinite—"
"Pain." Stiles dragged all ten fingers through his hair. He thought of how much he loved his dad – how he couldn't imagine ever being able to love him enough. He thought about how much he missed his mother – the sharp pain he felt in his chest every time he remembered her – how the pain's sharpness had slowly dulled through the years but would never, ever go away… "Scott could take out as much as he can stand but it will never be enough."
"We demons are made of pain, and also fueled by it." The demon walked around the werewolves but none of them seemed to sense him like Lydia did. "When we don't have a body to infest we're forced to feed on ourselves and eventually we die. But you, Stiles, you're a buffet. 'All you can eat.' I could drink everyone in this room until they die and still live off your soul forever. I'd be disappointed with only your flavor of pain to consume but, still, immortal." The Nogitsune had snuck up on Stiles and now he whispered in his ear. "Scott is going to give up his Alpha powers for you, Stiles. He might even give up his life. And it won't make any difference."
"Stop," Stiles said to the shadow that was Scott. He tried to touch him but his hands passed through Scott's body like he was a ghost. "Scott, Derek, stop! You have to stop!" He yelled.
The Nogitsune retreated back into the shadowy corners, his laugh victorious.
Stiles turned in a circle, desperate for some miracle to come along and save his friends. Tear drops flooded his view of the room. "I don't know what to do," he said aloud, his voice shaking and then breaking. "How do I—" His gaze fell on Lydia. He said her name, then walked right up to her face and repeated it. For a full minute – maybe longer – Stiles begged Lydia to hear him. "Listen to me, Lydia, tell them to stop!" he screamed. "They'll die! That's enough, that's enough, don't let them die! Lydia!"
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Isaac let go first. It was too much – the electrical burns combined with Stiles' pain. He hung on for almost a full minute before Deaton and Melissa picked him up and led him back to Derek's bed. Isaac was unconscious before he even touched the sheets.
It looked like hundreds of skinny black snakes were crawling over Stiles' skin. They skittered up six hands but the seventh, Kira's, couldn't absorb the pain. She'd never tried before. It was a long shot but she still felt like she'd failed Scott. Frustrated, she let go of Stiles' arm and retreated back to the picnic table. Peter and Deucalion joined her a minute later. Neither of them were willing to suffer more than a dull ache for Stiles, no matter how much Derek threatened them.
Ethan and Aiden had their own agenda. Saving Scott's best friend would surely convince the Alpha to let them into his pack. They made it a competition – the Twin who took out the most pain was the winner. They didn't let go even when they started to sweat and shake. Groans came next, followed by shouts of agony. And then, almost at the same time, Ethan and Aiden passed out from the pain, smacking the backs of their heads into the cement when they fell.
That left Derek and Scott. They'd both had enough practice with pain to be able to stay silent around it. Around the ten-minute mark, Derek collapsed forward. His cheek landed on Stiles' chest. That heartbeat was the last thing Derek heard before he passed out. His last thought was the hope that it wouldn't take twenty hours to recover this time like it did with Cora. Deaton and Melissa had just finished dragging the Twins off to the sidelines. They moved Derek as well, leaving him on his back beneath the iron spiral staircase.
Scott's eyes radiated red. The slithering snakes slowed down but didn't stop. Exhausted, Scott lay on his side, parallel with Stiles, and just barely kept three fingers on his friend's skin. His determined look scrunched up with pain and he could no longer hold back a wolf roar of agony. It felt like the time Derek held a blow torch against his skin to reveal his tattoo.
It felt like a thousand blowtorches right at his heart.
Suddenly, Lydia squeaked and sprinted over to him. "Scott, stop." She knelt between Scott and Stiles' heads and shouted, "That's enough, Scott. That's enough! You're killing yourself!"
Scott didn't care. He couldn't. He drew the pain out faster, his resolve firm. All that mattered was saving Stiles.
He probably would've died not a minute later if his mother hadn't grabbed his wrist and yanked him away from Stiles. Scott wanted to curse at her. He tried to crawl back to his best friend but he couldn't move. "I'm sorry, baby," Melissa whispered to him, her hands cradling his cheeks. "I'm sorry but I won't watch you kill yourself, even for Stiles."
Scott passed out with his best friend's name on his lips. The black shade to Stiles' veins disappeared and everyone went silent.
A long time passed before Deaton turned to Kira. "Ready?"
Kira reached into her purse and took out a fox tail she'd lifted from her mother. "I think so," she said with a tremor in her voice. She took a deep breath, and snapped the tail in half. The Oni appeared instantly. At Kira's instruction it grasped the side of Stiles' head, its firefly-eyes glowing. When the examination was complete it disappeared in a puff of black smoke. Deaton, Lydia, Melissa, Kira and Deucalion gathered around. Even Peter was curious enough to join them. Deaton gently folded Stiles' left ear and examined the skin behind it, looking for the Oni's mark, the backwards "5" that meant there was only one "self" in Stiles.
It wasn't there.
Stiles was still possessed.
"Dammit," Deaton whispered. He looked at Melissa and Lydia with wet eyes.
"It didn't work. I'm sorry."
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Scott woke up with a migraine that threatened to knock him out again. He moaned, rotated his shoulders, and cleared his throat. A blink or two later he realized that he was lying on the floor with his head cushioned by Kira's lap. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were swollen. "Did it work?" Scott asked.
"T-There's good news," Kira stuttered. "Y-You're still an Alpha. Deaton thinks that True Alphas can't give their powers away since they didn't take them in the first place."
Scott switched to begging. "Tell me Stiles is ok!"
"Scott," Kira hiccupped, "he's…" She shook her head back and forth. "I'm so sorry."
Scott fought through his dizziness and sat up. Light poured through the tall loft windows – it was noon, if not midafternoon. All of the other werewolves, including Isaac, were awake and on their feet. Derek was helping Scott's mom change an IV bag connected to Stiles' arm. Stiles hadn't moved an inch since Scott last saw him. Alive, still, but barely. "No," Scott tried to say but couldn't because his throat was so constricted. Constricted for a second, and then wide open the next when Scott banged his fists so hard into Derek's floor that he cracked it, and let out a howl so loud and high-pitched that the Twins had to cover their ears.
He didn't save Stiles. He couldn't save Allison. His two best friends – his brother and the first woman he loved – they were gone.
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Dreamscape-Stiles ached to touch the grieving Scott. He just wanted to touch his shoulder and thank him for trying. All of them. Lydia and Kira, too. Stiles wasn't sure if Lydia actually heard him or if she just saw for herself that Scott was in trouble. Either way, he wanted to say goodbye to her, too. More than that Stiles wanted to make a joke to break the tension. Maybe order Scott to show Star Wars at his memorial service. They could have a big junk food feast. Tables full of taffy and chocolate ice cream, Gobstoppers and angel food cake, fried Twinkies and candy bars as big as a man's arm. They could eat and drink until they puked, until their stomachs exploded, until they burst. He'd make Derek read a sappy poem or sing a song about—
Stiles froze. He sat, frozen, for so long beside Scott that, if his friends could actually see him, they would've called an ambulance. And then Stiles lifted his face and looked around the room. He saw Deucalion and Peter eating the leftover pizza from the night before. He saw Deaton urging Isaac to drink more water. And he saw Derek's lonely little mini-fridge purring against the wall.
"Pain fuels you," Stiles whispered out loud. "Our fuel is food. Water, sunlight, food. We starve without it but – but it's possible to have too much, too." Stiles got to his feet and started pacing in a circle around Derek, Melissa, and his prone body on the floor. "Sunlight gives us vitamins but it can also burn. You need to drink water everyday but if you drink too much in too short of time you can drown yourself. And – and it's rare but you can literally eat so much that your stomach ruptures…"
Suddenly the Nogitsune emerged from behind Scott. Although the bandages covered its face, Stiles could tell that it looked panicked.
"They can't starve you," Stiles whispered. "But they can overfeed you!"
As though it were a planned race and somebody had just fired the starting pistol, both Stiles and the Nogitsune sprinted towards Lydia.
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No one was paying attention to Lydia. No eyes were on her and the room was deadly quiet. So to say that her sudden yelp startled them is an understatement. She covered her ears and cried out, "Stiles – Stiles, stop, you're hurting me!" Water burst from her eyes and fell on Derek's shirt.
Just like that, it was over. Just like that the yelling in her head vanished as suddenly as it came. Lydia found herself kneeling on the floor with the others standing around her, dumbfounded. "I heard him," Lydia sobbed. "I heard Stiles – I'm sure, this time!'
Scott grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. "What did he say?"
"I just heard two words," she squeaked. "He screamed them at me but they don't make sense – they don't make sense!"
"Just tell us!"
Lydia took a deep breath to calm herself down and then she said, incredulously, "He said 'feed me.'"
Scott's grip on her elbows loosened. "What?"
Melissa spoke up first. "You mean… feed him food? But he's unconscious, Lydia."
"I don't – that's just what he said. I don't know what it means I just heard it!" Lydia wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. Aiden came up behind her and pulled her face against his chest.
Derek stepped away from the group and returned to Stiles' side. Since he'd woken up, and only when the others weren't looking, he kept tugging more pain out of Stiles. He just couldn't give up, couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be something more that he could do for his friend.
Not friend. Pack-mate. Derek wasn't sure when it happened, when he transitioned from finding Stiles' personality irritating to endearing. At some point he'd started caring for Stiles as much as he cared for his family. And not just because he'd helped Derek. Not just because he'd saved Cora's life, covered for Derek numerous times and basically became not just Scott's but the pack's conscience. Stiles was his brother, so Derek took his hand and took more and more pain from him. Maybe just one more minute would starve the demon for good.
"Starve it," Derek first thought and then whispered out loud. That was how Deaton described the plan to them. Had Stiles heard it? Had he watched Derek and the others try it? "I'm starving," Derek realized. No pizza for him. No food had touched his lips in 24 hours. He needed to eat if he was going to keep working on Stiles' pain. He needed to feed.
"Feed!" Derek shouted. He leapt to his feet and returned to the group. "We were starving the demon of pain, but Stiles wants us to feed him pain!"
Six voices asked, "What?"
"That's what he meant. I'm sure of it!" Derek looked to Scott for support. "What have we got to lose at this point? Nothing else has worked, are we just going to let him die?"
That last phrase woke Scott up. Determination / resolve / obsession / replaced his hopelessness / helplessness / despair. He shouldered his way past Ethan and Aiden and joined Derek at Stiles' side. "We push our pain into him instead of pulling his out?" he clarified.
"Find any physical pain in your body and focus on it. When that's gone, find some memories that are painful and push them." Derek looked over his shoulder at Kira. "Have that Oni on standby to check him."
Kira nodded. The werewolves returned to their spots and touched Stiles once more. "Do you really think this will work?" Scott whispered to Derek.
Derek shook his head helplessly. "Only one way to find out, Scott. You know that. On three?" Derek looked at the others. They nodded. "Ok. One, two, three—!"
The pain was the same color leaving their bodies as it was going in. Not a trickle but a downpour of pain. So much that Stiles' veins couldn't hold it. The blackness spread to his bones, his muscles, the rest of his skin cells until every inch of Stiles' body was inky black. The convulsions started, then. Stiles rubbed his wrists and ankles raw against the cuffs and chains. "Keep going!" Derek ordered the group. "Don't stop!"
It was torture. Ultimate torture. Stiles would be screaming if he was awake. They only hoped that the Nogitsune was.
And then, like one of Argent's grenades, black smoke burst from Stiles' mouth. The blackness in his body climbed up his bones until it reached his throat. Ten seconds was all it took for the darkness to drain. With a final exhale, Stiles' lips went from black to pink and all of the smoke left him to hover above. It was so dark that it blocked the sunlight from the window, the display on Deucalion's watch, the blinking red lights of Derek's alarm system.
It was instinct – pure instinct that pulled Kira towards Stiles and the cloud. Electricity from the power station, electricity from the live wire at the hospital and her own internal fox fire erupted from her fingers. Golden eyes fixed on dark demon. Kira looked like some ancient goddess of lightning as she shot bolt after bolt at the Nogitsune and wave after wave of rolling fire over Stiles. Heat, brief shocks, directionless wind forced everyone else against the loft walls. Scott and Derek stared, open mouthed at the scene, their eyes darting from Stiles' body to Kira to the demon they'd exorcised. Slowly, sunlight began to replace darkness. The smoke seemed to evaporate, each molecule folding in on itself until nothing remained but the demon's scream that all of them could hear. The fire pierced Stiles but left no burn, no mark, not even a scent of singed hair. A final flash of lightning from Kira. Mini thunderclaps echoed off the walls.
The shadow disappeared.
Eyes still glowing, Kira snapped her fingers and summoned the Oni. The creature cocked its head to the side as it examined Stiles. The others got to their feet and slowly tiptoed back towards the center of the room – all eyes on the firefly spirit. When it disappeared it was Kira who got down on her knees to inspect Stiles' skin. The golden color in her eyes faded, but silver tears appeared.
"The demon's gone. He's no longer possessed," she said. Her voice shaking and her hands too, Kira then said, "But he's not breathing."
Scott moaned. His eyes rolled in his head and he slumped against what he thought was the wall but turned out to be Derek. The scene in front of him unfolded like a movie he was watching from a distance. Voices shouted, figures moved. They seemed to move in slow motion, his mother pumping Stiles' chest, Lydia breathing into his lungs, Deaton and Isaac retrieving medical supplies from the bed, Peter calling an ambulance…
Scott and Derek leaned against each other, both listening for a heartbeat.
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If you walked by the MRI rooms in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital two days later, this is what you would see:
The exorcised and unharmed, but thoroughly exhausted Allison Argent sitting on a bench between Isaac and her father. She's holding Isaac's hand and leaning her cheek on her dad’s shoulder. Lydia's sitting at her friend's feet repainting her nails for the fourteenth time while Allison plays with her hair. Alan Deaton is sitting on the bench across from them. There's a medical journal in his hands and he's looking at it, but not actually reading. Scott is on his left and Derek is on his right. The beta has been trying to sleep. Even though his eyes are closed, everyone can tell by his breathing that he's awake. Scott and Kira are holding hands. She and Scott's mom chat quietly about pets and favorite bands and the bad haircuts Scott got when he was a child.
The door opened. Everyone stood up. Sheriff Stilinski walked out of the examination room. He tried to put his trembling hands in his front pockets but couldn't seem to aim them. "They did the scan twice. He's…" The Sheriff tripped over his own tongue. His bloodshot, watery eyes searched the crowd for Kira's. "I don't know how you did it," he whispered to her, "and I couldn't care less. It's gone. All signs of atrophy in his brain, all symptoms of dementia. Stiles is completely 100% cured."
Lydia burst into tears and threw her arms around Allison. Isaac looked at the ceiling like he was thanking it and Deaton collapsed back into his chair, relieved. "Can we see him?" Scott asked.
Stilinski held up his hands in a hold-on-a-minute gesture. "One or two of you at a time. Keep in mind that he's worn out and—"
Stilinski didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Derek and Scott sprinted by him so fast that the breeze nearly blew him over.
Stiles Stilinski sat on the edge of the MRI machine wearing hospital scrubs pants and a red Beacon Hills lacrosse t-shirt. He was barefoot, and pale, and too skinny, but he was Stiles, he was himself and he was healthy and he was grinning so wide it looked like the corners of his lips might tear. At the sight of his friends he jumped off the machine and spread his arms. It was a "hug me" gesture but even more so, a "we did it!"
The water in Scott's eyes threw off his depth perception so bad that he almost slapped Stiles in the face when he hugged him. Derek's weight nearly knocked Scott and Stiles to the ground but the beta was so strong, and his arms so long that he lifted the pair of them off their feet for a moment as he squeezed. All three of them cried: Derek mutely, Stiles sniffling and Scott outright sobbing. And then they looked at each other and some sort of combination of love and hysteria filled them at the same time and they burst into joyful laughter. There would be time later – years, hopefully – to say everything they were thinking: thank you, I missed you, I love you… But for now they just held onto each other and thanked every star in the sky that Stiles was all right.
The End