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The nogitsune rouses Stiles at the sound of Scott’s yell.
Stiles blinks as the harsh blue glare of the MRI room swims back into focus. This is where It has been keeping him for almost three days now, locked in some kind of projection, locked in his own head. When he can, when he’s awake, Stiles has tried to fight it and take back control. But It is strong, and It has been winning.
Now Stiles, leaning against the scanner, somehow sees two different scenes at once – the hospital room and the fight outside, what It sees – and he chokes at the sight of the katana.
Then Stiles screams.
A surge of violent pleasure pulses through Stiles’ body and the room. The nogitsune is having the time of its life as It helps Kira drag Scott into the clinic. Now, Stiles can feel his wet hair and clothes, and the drastic difference in temperature inside the dry clinic. It could have kept him subtly awake like It has before, but now It’s letting – no, making – him feel everything. Stiles’ stomach lurches and churns, and he grips the stretcher’s handrails for support.
He flinches when It grasps Kira’s wrist, perceives the pop as her wrist bends then gives, and hears the sickening thud when her head hits the table.
“No!” Stiles gasps into the empty room, as It turns Its attention to Scott. His protest becomes an urgent chant, more fevered with each “No!” until he’s shouting the word.
It can hear him and does not care. All Stiles can do is watch as the nogitsune skitters his fingers over the katana’s handle. Instantly he senses every bump and ridge, then the solid heft as It takes the blade in hand, turning what Scott and Stiles have done countless times into an abomination.
“’S Okay?” It asks.
“It’s not—” Stiles has never asked in that voice. “—it’s not me, Scott!” he yells in a futile attempt.
“Please – don’t – stop!”
Scott’s trembling with a fear and pain that Stiles has never seen before. He slumps against the scanner, finally crumples to the floor into a pile of sweat, snot, tears. Stiles desperately covers his own eyes when It hisses, “It’s okay,” finally pushes the blade in and twists.
Scott’s unearthly scream pierces Stiles’ ears. He tries to block out the noise, but he can’t escape the sensation of tearing tendon and ripping flesh, the give of muscle and slick of blood. It’s as if the blade is slicing through Stiles as well, and time seems to slow as old memories surge through his consciousness – memories of them.
“You hurt?”
When Stiles was seven and met his new neighbor Scott McCall, all cautious smiles and a mop of dark hair, and after Stiles let him check out his video games they played for hours, ‘til dark, and were inseparable after that.
“No. Look at me.”
When Stiles was nine and his mom died, and when Scott hadn’t seen him for days he showed up at the doorstep, climbed the steps to Stiles’ room, sat with him on the bed in silence and let Stiles cry.
“You should’ve done your reading, Scott.”
When they were thirteen and it was two a.m. and they were high off a combination of energy drinks and too much pizza and joking about jerking off until Stiles got hard, then jokes quickly became reality, and they promised they wouldn’t do it again until it happened the next night, and the next.
“See, nogitsune feeds on chaos. Strife. Pain.”
When they tried out for lacrosse freshman year, and they both made the team, and they couldn’t believe it, and that night was the first time Stiles took Scott’s cock into his mouth.
“This morning you took it from Isaac—”
When Stiles watched Scott turn for the first time, and it was horrifying and exhilarating and unbelievable, but Stiles knew Scott could handle it, because Scott could handle anything, and dammit it’s kind of cool that his best friend’s a werewolf.
“—then you took it from Coach—”
When Scott and Allison started getting serious, really serious, and Stiles pretended it didn’t bother him, told himself that it’d be okay, somehow.
“—and then from the dying deputy.”
When Scott and Allison broke up, and Scott was crushed but Stiles was there for him, and they picked up where they left off and Stiles knew it had never really gone away, and he knew they were meant for each other, always have been and always will be.
“All that pain. You took it all.”
When he and Lydia and Allison found Scott in the empty parking lot drenched in gasoline, torch burning so brightly it hurt Stiles’ eyes, and it was the worst sight Stiles had seen until tonight, so Stiles stepped into the pool with him, because if Scott went Stiles had to go with him, but he wasn’t going to let it actually happen, not now, not ever.
“Now give it to me.”
When just a few days ago he and Scott were standing in the MRI room before the test, before the demon took control, when Stiles had never held someone so hard and so tight and so close, and it was the most public they had ever been, and he didn’t care that his dad or Scott’s mom were watching because he loved Scott, and he knew Scott loved him, and what if this was the last time they got to do this, or anything?
Outside Scott rattles out a loud, stuttered gasp as a rush of raw power flows into Stiles’ body. The nogitsune swells with joy and triumph until the MRI room begins to shudder and shake. Stiles scrambles to his feet, wiping his stinging eyes clean. He yells Scott’s name and pounds on the walls and the table and the two-way mirror to no avail.
But now It’s stronger than Stiles ever thought possible.
“Ahh, you really have to learn, Scott.” It leans Its face close to Scott, like It’s about to give him the kiss of death. “You really have to learn not to trust a fox. ‘Cause they’re tricksters.”
Stiles - exhausted, hurting, drained – leans with both hands on the stretcher. It’s the only thing holding him up now. Breathing in rasping gasps, Stiles hopes that maybe some part of him can break through. “We’re gonna fight this thing, buddy. We’re gonna beat it.”
His knees buckle and he falls to the tile floor once more.
Outside, the nogitsune continues. “They’ll fool you. They’ll fool everyone,” It sneers.
“Not everyone,” comes Deaton’s voice suddenly.
Stiles, lying on the cold tile, jolts as It writhes in thrashing pain inside Its body. This time the room quakes with such force that Stiles fears the ground will burst open with volcanic violence. His vision starts to go blurry, both outside and in here, and the last thing Stiles sees before everything turns black is Scott’s stunned expression.
“We’re gonna beat it, Scott,” he repeats into the darkness.
He could hardly hear himself, and then Stiles sleeps.