Shadow

- We'd better do something about this,- Stiles breathed out, pacing his room nervously. - It's hard to say "I" again. It doesn't feel right. They'd only gotten home from school half an hour ago, which had been worth the effort. After the hospital visit, Stiles wanted nothing more than to go to bed, thus escaping the nasty itch in his head and the bittersweet heaviness of satiety, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself with a pass. They'd returned, missing only the two classes that Finstock was teaching, and he hadn't even noticed their absence. And it was at school, in an awkward and quickly ended conversation with Allison, that it became clear that Stiles had little control over his newfound changes. His eyes turned silver, winking playfully at him from any reflective surface; saliva pooled in his mouth when he passed a crying Mandy, with whom he had a shared history of sitting not far from Greenberg's sprained ankle; if he didn't focus on his speech specifically, it was "we" instead of the normal "I" that kept coming out. The latter came out instinctively and naturally, and Stiles didn't even realize he was talking about himself in the plural until Allison put a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature with a wry smile. - What are you doing? - Stiles wondered then. - Did you have an argument with someone? - Allison rolled her eyes at the incomprehensible look. - You know, the whole "we" thing. - What the thing - Stiles stopped talking, realizing what Allison was talking about. It was easy to dismiss it, and even easier to change the subject, and soon they were chatting about Serbian myths and goose flights. Allison was happy to write it off as a harmless argument, and Stiles didn't bother to reassure her. But it had been going on all day, and while Scott had been easy to deceive by lowering his head and hiding his eyes, along with the contorted expression on his face, Lydia hadn't been so easy to deceive. Stiles had avoided her, shied away from Scott looking betrayed afterward, kept all conversation to a minimum, and had gone home early, missing lacrosse practice. - It's fixable. - Nogitsune materialized in a chair standing by the desk. He leaned back casually, crossed his arms over his chest, and spread his legs wide. His black T-shirt was pulled up a little, exposing a strip of clean skin near the edge of his jeans. Stiles stared at it involuntarily, and when he was able to look away, he looked up at the ceiling. Was this even normal? He was getting aroused looking at his own body. - Focus on you, on us. Find what made you Stiles Stilinski and grab hold of what you find. Stiles nodded dejectedly and closed his eyes, trying to focus. He just needed to pore over all the information that had been dumped on him. Knowledge, abilities, feelings, memories, experiences... It was easy to get lost in it, which he did, metaphorically twirling his head around and gasping at the whipping sensations. - I don't want to... like this,- Stiles whispered quietly, stumbling into another bloody memory, full of the stench of rot, the glint of steel, and anguished screams. Some part of him reached for something like this, feeling the sweetness of pain on his tongue, but the more human side of him curved his lips in disgust. - There is no way that can separate us. - And in his words, "not even death could." - We will be together forever. I'll indulge you, Stiles. But sooner or later, you'll decide to give up... control. Stiles remained silent, knowing it could be true. He could have said that he was already much closer to the fox than he was to his friends, and he wouldn't have lied a word of it. He could have said that Nogitsune was dearer to him than his father, but the thought still filled him with animal, unbridled terror. He loved his father, so why did he suddenly think he loved Nogitsune, who had come into his life only a few months ago, more than his own parent? Because I've seen, Stiles thought. I've seen hundreds of years of loneliness and fire and death. I've seen thousands of humans, werewolves, kitsune, witches, and demons. Seen fear and pain, felt all-consuming hunger and pleasure. He felt the power of the nine tails and was rightfully proud of it. He felt a deafening anger at Inari for unfairly stripping them of their divinity just because they wanted to play. He knew Japanese, rolling over the unfamiliar sounds on his tongue with curiosity. He remembered that the first person he'd ever inhabited had been male and born in Burgundy. He knew what it was like to go through war, to kill and live through century after century, watching the changing scenery and actors in the faces of mortals. He'd seen empires built and crumbled, he'd tempted kings and emperors, he'd plotted and wreaked havoc. He caught the Inquisition and chortled as he watched human folly and women screaming in flames. He sailed from Virginia on the same ship as Equiano and fed on his pain, whispering ideas of rebellion in his ear, picking at the wound that came from human prejudice and injustice. He looked then at the pathetic slave possessing a spark of stubbornness and struggle and thought of how stupid humans are. That mortals do not notice the valuable and the great because of the color of their skin and body structure. He walked the streets of the Roman Empire in its heyday. He watched carefully as wide cone-shaped hats with peacock feathers were replaced by straw hats, and those by triangles that gave way to felt and cylinders. He followed the madmen and murderers, stood beside the maniacs and politicians committing genocide because of their selfish ambitions. He stood beside those who could dull his hunger, who could satiate it. He smirked as he followed the ruthless Temuchin; rolled his eyes as he watched Tepes' meals among his dying subjects on the stake; hummed as he walked on the truly bloody battlefield of Stalingrad; wrinkled his nose as he looked at the height of the Holodomor and understood humanity's all-consuming, deadly hunger. He saw, felt and remembered so much he could barely cope. He was Nogitsune. It was hard to think of the love buried behind millennia for his father, for Scott, for Lydia... Beautiful, divine Lydia. - One small effort, Stiles. Stiles nodded, trying to think of control, of strength, of sheer will and determination. He thought lazily about their newfound bond, searching for a change in himself and sinking deeper and deeper, diligently searching for something that would help them with their problem. And trying to dull the vast amount of information that had appeared in his head thanks to Nogitsune. Better to sort through everything he'd gotten, bit by bit. After half an hour of sitting motionless and silent, Stiles irritably splayed his hands and groaned sorrowfully. He didn't feel he had any more control than he had thirty minutes ago. - I can't do this! Nogitsune's laughter turned indignant. Stiles looked at him unhappily, furrowing his brow and absently admiring the throat line exposed in a fit of laughter. The fox raised his hands in a calming gesture and grinned broadly. - You got it right the first minute. Control is overrated, fox. You're good at keeping your essence in check on instincts alone. All you had to do was remember them. - The fox said it, looking at his face with amusement and smiling softly. - I didn't feel any change, - Stiles said thoughtfully, looking at his eyes in the mirror and not finding the silver glow. - Did I say you should feel something? - Nogitsune made his grin less wide, curving his lips gently. - You should be more careful. Nogitsune slid smoothly off the chair and was right next to him, unceremoniously wrapping his arms around his cheeks and pulling him closer for a dizzying kiss. Stiles sank into him, breathing heavily through his nose and enjoying the soft slip of his tongue, the firm lips and playful nibbles. Nogitsune pulled away, smiling softly at him, and Stiles suddenly thought that in hundreds of years of living, they had never smiled like that. The cruel bloodthirsty grin, the crooked sharp grin, the mocking sneer - it was all there. But not a soft, gentle and happy smile. Stiles, too, lifted the corners of his lips in a genuine smile and, grabbing the fox by the collar of his shirt, pulled him closer again. They pulled away from each other a few minutes later, breathing heavily and snuggling against each other. Stiles covered his eyes, enjoying the weight of the hands on his lower back and running his cheek along Nogitsune's cheek. - I wanted to ask... - Stiles waited until Nogitsune mumbled something in agreement before he continued uncertainly. - Your name... I've only seen the name Inari gave you. But what is your name now? Nogitsune doesn't flinch, doesn't look like it hurts him to think about it, and Stiles once again has to remind himself that the fox is hundreds of years old. He's learned to pretend, to hide his emotions. Or maybe he's just gotten used to being wild at Inari's behest. Stiles, despite gallons of information, is still inexperienced and young. Nogitsune's memories are as if from another life, dim and transparent. They fail to eclipse seventeen years of mortal existence, despite their gravity. - You are given, and people take advantage,- the spirit murmured, running the tip of its nose along Stiles's neck. - My name was lost. Stiles nodded, tracing circles on the fox's back and resting his head on its chest. It wasn't very comfortable to stand, but he didn't want to move at all. He knew now that a name for fox spirits was a great power. By taking away Nogitsune's name, Inari had robbed him of much of his ability, lowered him in the hierarchy, humiliated him. Many would have preferred this to death. However, Nogitsune deceived the goddess who betrayed him and stole his tails, regaining the power that was rightfully his. He had earned each of those tails through hard work and perseverance. She dared not take them away. Nogitsune is the only kitsune without a name and with tails. The only powerful fox beyond Inari's control. The most dangerous and uncontrollable. The freest and long lost faith in the light that the goddess had woven into her charges' thoughts since birth. Nogitsune had fallen into darkness, gained control of himself, become frighteningly strong, despite the eternal, unquenchable and overwhelming hunger Inari had given him in hopes of subduing him. Inari feared him. The Kitsune feared him. And no one had yet been able to stop him definitively. Stiles sighed contentedly, thinking about it. They deserved every drop of anger that Nogitsune had unleashed on them. They had betrayed him, kicked him out, humiliated him, weakened him. And they're still paying the price.

***

Noshiko was indeed unpleasant. Extremely. Stiles' first impression was correct, and it was confirmed with each new encounter. - Your apparent reluctance suggests you're involved. It had only been a week since the ritual had been performed and Stiles felt that everything was finally in order. Nogitsune was warding off loneliness and emptiness, despite being a kind of Void himself. Scott was getting into the role of Alpha, strengthening the pack's bonds and dealing with little problems like the pixies and the alcoholic leprechaun. With the help of the pack, of course. Nothing serious was going on, everything was peaceful and so good. But Noshiko decided she'd had enough of waiting. - You've tested me before. And last time it almost ended up killing me! - Stiles irritably shoved one of the Oni away from him, who surprisingly complied. - Go away. I don't want to risk my life again. - That... misunderstanding was a glitch that I fixed. You won't be in any danger this time. If you're really you, Stiles. Stiles smirked crookedly, seeing the irritation and weariness on her face. She deserved far more punishment than unsuccessfully searching for the man who had humiliated her decades ago. - So nice of you to bother, but I must decline. - He bowed his head in farewell and turned sharply on his heels, hurrying away from the hallway where Noshiko had caught him. He was at the hospital because of Malia, the coyote girl they'd recently found on a tip from her father. Scott, having turned her into a human, had taken the emotionless body to the hospital in the first place, not heeding the prudent advice that it was better to leave her somewhere in the undergrowth and call the police with an anonymous call. - I hope we never meet again! - Take your time, foxy. She won't do anything to you here. Not a good place for that kind of talk and threats. Stiles hummed in agreement at that and slowed his step. Noshiko was flustered and in a hurry when she spoke to him. Could something have happened that made her think that Stiles had let Nogitsune in after all? Or had something out of the ordinary happened that demanded her attention and she was in a hurry to get the hunt for a longtime enemy over with? - Either way, not my problem, - Stiles muttered to himself. - I know you've met him, Spark, - came a cold, confident voice, and Stiles stopped, not turning around but listening intently. - I see his traits in you. You're soaked in him. - Stiles could feel her fierce gaze at his back. He heard the rustle of a katana being put away in its scabbard, and he relaxed a little, realizing that no one was going to attack him here and now. - Your dislike of Oni, your smirk, even your posture... You picked the wrong side, Stiles. Stiles grinned, looking over his shoulder at the enraged vixen. The blinding aura of the celestial kitsune made him instinctively want to grin and growl. - Depends on what one considers the right side, Byakko. - Stiles curled his lips contemptuously as he uttered the last word. A pure white vixen, loyal to Inari to her last breath. A servant girl, the complete opposite of Nogitsune and pleasing Inari with her obedience and performance. No backsliding, no mischief, no self-will. Boredom. Stiles turned away, not waiting for a response from the realization-frozen Noshiko. Gotta stay alert. Noshiko, with her demons and unquenchable thirst for revenge, was still a threat. She was one of the few remaining first kitsune. She did not get to witness Nogitsune's downfall, she only replaced him afterward, young and enthusiastic, trying to close the void he left behind, like so many other kitsune seeking Inari's approval. Noshiko was old enough to have caught the days when Inari personally spoke to her charges. Nowadays, the goddess did not condescend to speak to her minions. She only occasionally gave instructions and glanced at them, frightening the inexperienced young kitsune with the weight of her gaze. She no longer looked at Nogitsune. She could not find him in the darkness into which she had pushed him and where he was lost forever. She tried, though - the spirit sensed it, but never followed through, vindictively avoiding any contact with her. - What's up, Scotty? - The teen approached his friend with a soft springy step, getting as quiet as possible. Scott rewarded his efforts with a startled flinch. Then he frowned when he saw his friend's cheerful grin. - Malia's fine. Stiles waved his hand, taking a sip of the coffee he'd excused himself for. - I wasn't talking about her. Who's going to interrogate us? I want to get out of this as soon as possible. - Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott's judgmental look and took another sip, defiantly not looking at the werewolf. Scott mumbled something unintelligible, still watching his friend intently. It seemed to him that something was different about Stiles, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. He was healthy, cheerful, and full of energy. He was fine. There was no need to disturb the peace that had been established. - Is there something on my face? - Stiles clapped the werewolf on the shoulder. Scott snapped out of his reverie and looked at Stiles questioningly. He stared back nonchalantly, not giving away his thoughts. Scott sighed heavily. - What? - You're looking at me the way you looked at that mushroom pizza you're allergic to," Stiles confided, and smirked at his friend's haggard laugh. - I just... Are you okay? - Scott said it quickly, lowered his head, but then hastily raised it and looked Stiles firmly in the eye, making it clear that the question was serious and should be answered accordingly. - Well, - Stiles shifted from foot to foot and scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair, - I got scratched by a branch in the woods, but mostly fine. Like a pickle, Scotty. Scott nodded, accepting that answer, and Stiles turned away, suppressing an annoyed grimace. He wanted to tell his friends everything, to share his fears and insecurities, to not hide his hands, the scratches on which were healing before his eyes. He wanted to say "we" freely, to tell Nogitsune's life stories, to introduce them to the fox, and to take up the katana, fighting the others as equals. Maybe someday it will happen. Someday... Stiles groaned uncontrollably as he saw Agent McCall heading their way. First Dad, who was in serious trouble at work, then Malia, who wasn't happy about her rescue. Then there's the unpleasant encounter with Noshiko, and now they're going to be interrogated by their loser-agent-asshole father. The day couldn't get any worse. - Scott, Stiles, - Agent McCall greeted them. Scott nodded, and Stiles lifted his chin in a disapproving manner, indicating that he wasn't going to say anything, - I think you can give the details to Deputy Parrish. I've got a little business to attend to. Stiles's head shot up, forgetting his promise to keep quiet. - What's happened that requires the assistance of an FBI agent? - He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. McCall Sr. looked at him with something that resembled pity or regret, but then he took on a nonchalant look when he caught the inquiring gaze. - Nothing serious - some kind of accident at the power substation. The sheriff's suspended, so I decided to fill in for him on this one. And anyway, it's none of your business. Stiles froze, clenching the fists that were beginning to shake with anger. He curled his lips, glaring at the man contemptuously and ignoring the last remark. - That's what deputies are for, Agent McCall. - Stiles was justifiably angry. The sheriff's suspension was due in large part to the actions of Scott's father. Who, because of his cowardice, couldn't even apologize to his own son. Pathetic. - Like I said, it's none of your business. But if you're so curious, Deputy Parrish was right to point out that you'd be more comfortable talking to him than to me. - He ostentatiously didn't look at the angry Stiles. The man gave them a brief nod and hurried away without waiting for a reply. Stiles clenched his teeth, trying to figure out how to get out of this without ruining his relationship with his father and keeping his job as sheriff. Dad couldn't lose his job. His demotion would hurt his pride, not to mention the budget and the guilt that plagued the sheriff because of the many unsolved cases that were impossible to solve because of the supernatural involvement. Stiles nodded at Scott's apologetic look, letting him know he wasn't mad at his friend. As if it was his fault his dad was an asshole. Parrish approached them after only a couple minutes, starting a conversation with Scott, occasionally asking Stiles to clarify this or that. Stiles mostly ignored it, unaccustomed to remaining silent and thinking hard about how to make things right. His fingers tapped on his thigh, a crease appeared on the bridge of his nose, and his head tilted to the side. The blank expression on his face and the almost motionless posture, except for his fingers tapping out a non-existent rhythm, was uncharacteristic of him even under great stress. This belonged to Nogitsune. In fact, when he was anxious and upset, Stiles had even more involuntary movements and energy than usual, which he released by pacing back and forth or waving his arms. It was unnatural for him to be frozen in thought. Parrish left after finishing his mini-interrogation, and they continued to stand in silence. - Dude, are you okay? - Scott realized uneasily that this was the second time he'd asked that in the last half hour. Stiles nodded, slowly shifting his gaze to his friend and examining him distantly. Scott shrugged, shaking off the nasty goosebumps that look caused. It was scanning, scary, somehow abnormal. Supernatural. Emptiness and certainty mingled in the tar-darkened iris. Scott realized with horror that it wasn't a trick of the light: Stiles's eyes had indeed gone from their usual dark chocolate amber to an impenetrable black, with occasional flashes of silver. The glints of silver were so imperceptible that if Scott hadn't been a werewolf and hadn't been paying attention on purpose, he wouldn't have seen them. It took his breath away. There really was something wrong with Stiles. It wasn't paranoia or coincidence or the effects of the darkness that had settled in their hearts after the drowning ritual. It was something existing, something that was in his friend. Scott suddenly remembered how depressed and sleep deprived Stiles had been for the last few months since Noshiko's arrival. He remembered the circles under his eyes, the bandages that wouldn't fade to hide the scars, and the constant odor of anxiety around Stiles. He remembered how, on one of those days, Stiles had walked into the study room with a cheerful grin and no more bandages or scars. How he'd said, without hesitation, "We're fine." How he went on the mend and smiled a lot more and laughed at the most unexpected moments, justifying himself with the excuse that he remembered a funny joke. How did he get back to normal in just one day? Why had that mysterious Spark that Stiles had spoken of healed his scars that very day and not sometime earlier? And why had Stiles started acting so strange? Scott could no longer tell when Stiles was lying. His heart was always beating, a little off rhythm, making beats out of sync or pounding quite frantically even though it was calm. The scent of his emotions mixed into an incomprehensible, rich cocktail that was impossible to make out. There were too many of them, and they were so strong. And now the color of his eyes... Scott tried his best to smile sincerely and pushed his friend in the shoulder. Stiles blinked, returning his eye color, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief. The werewolf himself hadn't noticed how frantically his heart began to pound. - I'm going to go home... Talk to Dad. - He swallowed, clearly feeling guilty and uncomfortable. That reassured Scott a little: whatever had happened to Stiles, he still loved his father. He was still himself. - Shall we cancel our video game night? - Okay. - Any other time Scott would have offered to go along with his friend as support, but an uncomfortable feeling of unease was eating away at him from the inside out. He needed to deal with what was going on, to understand and, if necessary, find ways to solve the problem. - I'll see you tomorrow? Stiles nodded. - I'll see you then. - He tapped Scott on the shoulder as a goodbye and slowly strode away from the hospital. Scott picked up his phone with a heavy heart and pressed Derek's contact. He was going to get the pack together.

***

- I wanted to talk to you about Stiles, - Scott got right to the point when everyone, except for the man responsible for their meeting, was seated comfortably. - Have you noticed anything strange about him? - Wise decision, McCall. I thought I was the only one who'd noticed something was going on with him. - Lydia gave him a patronizing look and Scott nodded, realizing she'd noticed it too. Isaac, who had sat down away from Derek and was trying not to look at him, looked up. - He called me something the other day... uh... I think something like "Makege". Or "Mackieg" And when I asked him what it meant, he said my hair was curly. I thought it was some word in another language and he just didn't realize he wasn't speaking English. It was like he was genuinely perplexed as to why I didn't understand him. - Isaac snorted at the skeptical looks. - You didn't specify what kind of weirdness. Stiles is one weird thing. Lydia pushed her hair back behind her back and put away the phone where she had been looking for something before. - It's Japanese. I don't know the language, but it sounded familiar. Stiles called you a curl, Leihi. Derek raised his eyebrows. - Since when did Stiles know Japanese? - Since he was possessed by Nogitsune, Aidan said suddenly. Everyone looked at him at once. Some surprised, some curious, some downright angry. - Don't talk nonsense. - Scott flashed his eyes, clenching his teeth and trying not to let his fangs out so as not to provoke a fight. - Noshiko checked on him. There was nothing wrong with him. - It was a long time ago. And she'd said this spirit might be interested in Stiles. Maybe that's what happened, - Aidan didn't back down, looking boldly at the reluctant Scott. - I knew I was seeing you for a reason, Aidan. - Lydia put her hand on his forearm and gave it a little squeeze for support. The twin threw her an amused glance and grinned. - What do you mean? - Allison rushed her silent friend. - It makes sense. Nogitsune is an evil Japanese spirit that possesses people. Stiles, according to Noshiko, could have attracted it with his Spark. Maybe he waited until we let our guard down and left Stiles alone, and then he went into action. - Noshiko said Nogitsune had to be willingly let in. Stiles wouldn't do that. - Scott tried to defend his friend, though he realized that Lydia's words made sense. - I'm not saying he did it voluntarily. - Lydia looked indignantly at the stoic Scott. - Nogitsune is a spirit of chaos. He could have tricked Stiles, lured him into a trap. He could have intimidated him, confused him. It could have been going on for weeks... - The prospect of it sent a chill through Lydia's insides. Stiles had been suffering for weeks and she hadn't even noticed. - We would have noticed if a spirit had been bothering him for weeks. - It was as if Ethan had read her mind. - After Noshiko's visit, I read a lot of material about Nogitsune. When he wants to gain a master, he appears in his victim's dreams, confuses thoughts, and causes hallucinations. It's more of a battle of wits. Stiles could fight Nogitsune in the math room during class and we wouldn't even see it. Scott slumped lost in a vacant chair and grabbed his hair. - Stiles was always counting his fingers. Said there were more than ten in a dream and that was how he determined if he was asleep or not. - That should have alerted Scott. Why was he so inconsiderate of his friend? - And the circles under his eyes. He hadn't been getting enough sleep lately. - Allison considered her hands, also feeling guilty. - And sometimes he couldn't read. Said the letters were coming off their seats and running across the page. - Lydia pressed her lips together and dropped Aidan's palm from her shoulder. - Why had he remained silent? Why didn't he ask for help? - Derek clenched his fists, hating himself for making yet another person he'd grown to care about suffer because of his carelessness and inattention. - Perhaps he couldn't. - Lydia shrugged. - Nogitsune was in his head. He has a way of playing with memories. Probably every time Stiles wanted to come up to one of us and tell us, he just forgot what he wanted to do. Or couldn't open his mouth. Or he didn't say what he was going to say. Or he'd have his memories erased every time. Nogitsune playing with his mind - it would be possible to arrange such a thing. - Was he sure he'd let him in? - Allison looked hopefully at Scott. He shook his head regretfully. - I saw his eyes. They were black. And he was looking at me like that... I wanted to fall through the floor. - But Nogitsune has silver eyes. According to the bestiary. - Lydia frowned, trying to make sense of the situation. - I saw the silver glare. But the iris was black, - Scott objected uncertainly. - He smells of many emotions at once. Like he's not alone. And his heart beats abnormally: the rhythm is too frequent and intermittent. His scars are gone, and he said it was his Spark that magicked him up. I believed him because I can't tell when he's lying anymore. - I saw him talking to himself a couple times. But I didn't pay attention because it's Stilinski. - Ethan looked at Scott and he nodded, understanding why it didn't seem strange. Stiles had always been weird in general, so it was hard to surprise them with anything. In fact, talking to himself was the norm for Stiles. - And don't tell me you hadn't noticed about a week ago that he was constantly saying "we" about himself. It was creepy as hell. - Aidan shrugged. - And it didn't alarm you right away? - Derek raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest. He hadn't seen Stiles in over a month, and he couldn't say he'd noticed anything about him that would indicate obsession. - In fact, that same day his scars had disappeared. And then... God, I was just glad he was calmer and more relaxed. He looked good. The fact that he said "we went textbook shopping," referring to himself alone, wasn't as significant as the fact that he started smiling again and telling me about the damn arrested squirrels. - Scott ran his hand over his face, feeling crushing guilt. Allison walked over to him and hugged him, trying to comfort him. Lydia crossed her legs and let out a long exhale, not allowing herself to show what she was feeling. - Instead of sitting around feeling sorry for what happened, let's look for a way out of this situation. Everywhere I've read about the Nogitsune, there's nothing about safely exorcising a spirit from its host. I'll look some more, but I need more professional literature. - He needs to be caught and locked up somewhere. He's probably hatching some kind of plan. There's a reason he's pretending to be Stiles. - Allison took one look at Scott, who started to protest. - It's necessary, sweetie. - We could call Noshiko, - Isaac suggested, not really interested in the conversation.       - No way. She'll kill him right away. The only one who shouldn't know about this is Noshiko. - Lydia threw such a fierce glare at Isaac that he involuntarily squirmed on the sofa he was sitting on and raised his hands in surrender. - We can't lock him up. It's Stiles! - Scott looked pleadingly at the pack, but everyone stubbornly averted their gaze, deeming it necessary. Even Lydia. - Oh shit. - This won't take long, Scott. - Lydia stroked the knuckles of her left hand with her right thumb. - 'I'll go to Deaton's with Allison later today. We'll look into the matter. And you bring him here tomorrow, just don't show him you know about Nogitsune. I think if he realizes you know, it won't be so easy to trap him. - Could the ash from the rowan tree hold him back? - Derek was already looking in the corner of the large room of his loft, as if trying to think of the best way to place Stiles there. - I don't know. But Deaton has canima poison. I think it would definitely work on him. - Lydia drummed her fingers on her knee. - We'll go over there and find out more, and you decide where we're going to lock Stiles up. Just please make it a place that's comfortable. I don't want Stiles thinking we hate him or panicking. And this is temporary. We'll let him go as soon as we find a way to get this crap out of him. - Okay. Derek, can we use your loft for that? - Derek nodded, and Scott continued. - Lydia and Aidan, you will go to Deaton's. First find out how you can weaken Nogitsune and let us know. Then start looking for a way to help us get him out of Stiles. Allison, you go with them. You'll help out when needed. Isaac, you're with me. We'll keep an eye on Stiles and bring him in tomorrow. I'm sure he'll believe me. - Scott grimaced, not believing what he was about to do to his friend. But it was for his own good. - Ethan... do something useful. I don't know, get some kanima poison in here and stuff. - We can do this. The main thing is not to arouse Nogitsune's suspicion or let Noshiko know that something is wrong with Stiles. - Lydia stood up, not wanting to waste a second. - We'll start now.

***

Stiles groaned, waking up and rubbing his face. The acrid and obviously harmful to the fox's essence dust from some plant was still on his cheeks and nose. Stiles held his breath, struggling to hold back a dry cough, and quickly wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. He couldn't take it anymore, and he coughed, hard and labored. His eyes blurred, and Stiles took off his shirt and wiped his face even more thoroughly, then tossed it away. Falling from his knees onto his stomach, Stiles ducked his face into the floor, feeling his nose drip. Wiping the liquid away with a finger, the teen saw something black and looking very unhealthy. Like Derek's blood after the aconite poisoning. - We're in danger, foxy. Be ready. Stiles sighed intermittently, rising to his knees again, resting his trembling hands on the floor. - N-Noshiko? Nogitsune didn't have time to answer. - No. Stiles raised his head in horror at hearing the voice. His best friend stood before him, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his gaze. - Scott? - he looked around disbelievingly, spotting Derek's silhouette in the shadows. His throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. - We're not going to hurt you. - Stiles didn't realize he'd burst out laughing hysterically at Scott's soothing words. - It'll be all right. - I'm here with you, ikigai. Stiles ducked his forehead into the floor. Brilliant.