xxxiv. MISSING IN ACTION
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When Ella Foster finally got home that night, a number of significant events occurred.
First, and foremost, while Kira, Scott, and Foster were racing to get to Derek's loft where their friends had tracked Stiles down to; their friends were being used as pawns to protect the Nogitsune from the Oni, only for him to go missing along with the four.
This had her mind racing in all sorts of macabre endings that she would never be able to forget in her years of life. For all she knew, Stiles could be dead right now. Or maybe he was creating something worse. Either way, each and every one of them were at a blank as to right now.
After their long, they had decided to all go home and get some sleep before going into a heavy search the next day. Foster wasn't going to lie, she was in a dire need of sleep. With the nightmares making her sleep sufferable and lacking, spending her days out and about in search of a way to exorcise the Nogitsune out of Stiles was draining her.
She jammed the keys into the apartment door, unlocking it before entering with a solemn sigh.
The blonde was beyond tired, and all she wanted was to pass out there and then. She tossed the keys onto the island in the kitchen, trudging toward the couch and falling against it on her flat back. A large breath of relief was exhaled, Foster's eyes fluttering shut for a mere moment as she thought back to everything that happened.
Her breaths were slow and short, in and out; calming her down. Just for a minute, she tried to forget about Stiles and the Nogitsune, she tried to forget about everything for just a few moments. A few minutes of bliss, a few minutes where everything in her world where was nonexistent.
A pure moment where for once, it almost appeared that Beacon Hills wasn't a town filled with nothing but anguish and strife; chaos and grief.
In her moment of bliss, that was when the second alarming event occurred.
The sound of someone stirring caused Foster's blue eyes to snap right back open, brows furrowed together in confusion. She propped herself up onto her elbows, glancing toward the clock in the kitchen to see that it was seven.
Her father wasn't supposed to get home from work until nine.
He even reminded her of that this morning, picking up a later shift at the office. Which was why she felt panic course through her veins in fear. Watch it be her luck that the Nogitsune decided to show up at the Foster residence for the hell of it.
With fear creeping up her spine, Foster crept off of her couch as silently as possible. In her mind, she knew that if she was going to die, she was going to go down swinging. Which was why she slowly backed into her kitchen, her hand curling around to closest thing she could grab.
Glancing toward the metal object, she released a hiss of annoyance.
Christ, she was going to go down fighting with a kitchen knife. Because that was totally a lethal, or even potentially injuring, weapon.
She heard footsteps pad down the hallway, her jaw falling slack and shoulders rigid as she awaited the figure to appear. Of course, when a tall, familiar, lanky figure stepped out into the light, the kitchen knife fell to the ground with a clatter as a bright, beaming smile took hold of Foster's face.
A grin that wide had never been seen on someone's face, at least, Isaac Lahey had never seen someone smile that bright. In his direction, no less.
Before the formerly injured werewolf could react, Foster was sprinting through the living room before barreling into his arms. Isaac released an oof sound as the wind practically knocked out of him at the force the girl sent his way. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, not even bothering to reach up his tall figure.
In all honesty, Isaac Lahey truly was the height of a small skyscraper.
Soon, long arms were snaking around her, pulling the blonde girl into his chest, resting his chin on top of her head. She beamed at this, unable to make her smile fade away.
Various questions raced through her mind in that moment. Such as how was he here? How did he trigger his healing process? She was scared he was never going to wake up considering it took him so long to start healing in the first place. Just because he was a werewolf didn't mean he was invincible.
Without letting him go, Foster demanded, "How are you here? I thought you were supposed to be in the hospital!"
"I got better," Isaac spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Foster pulled back slightly to look him up and down, their arms still loosely wrapped around one another. Her eyes raked across his skin which was once charred and black, now the same, and usual pale color.
She raised a brow, deadpanning, "I can see that. But how? Last time I checked, you were still in really bad shape, Isaac."
Isaac shrugged, explaining, "I guess I just needed to trigger the healing process."
"Yeah, well, it looks like you did," Foster pointed out, holding her hand out and gesturing to his now able bodied being. He chuckled, Foster slowly pulling herself out of his grasp and entering the kitchen, hopping up onto the island and allowing her feet to dangle from where she sat. "Do you want something to eat? I mean, it's only seven. I can call for take out, get something here before Dad does."
Isaac paced across the room nervously, an odd expression on his face. He seemed almost twitchy, like something was eating at him and he didn't know how to react to it. He held his fist in front of his mouth, releasing a frustrated sight as he approached her.
"About that," he began, his voice soft and almost tedious, "there's something I need to tell you before he gets here."
Foster chuckled, growing slightly confused. Her brows were furrowed together as she eyed her nervous friend, wondering if he was okay. What was going on with him?
"We have a good hour or so," she pointed out, shooting him a comforting smile. He nodded, his blue eyes wide and the boy shaking his head back and forth as he continued to pace across the room. Finally, she hopped down and allowing booth feet to land flat on the floor beneath her. "Isaac," she spoke up, the werewolf still pacing nervously.
She sighed, taking a quick step in front of him. Her hands gripped his forearms, finally getting him to stop in his stride. Her eyes studied him, taking in his distraught expression. His eyebrows were knit, nose scrunched together. His lips were slightly parted, and in that moment, Isaac Lahey had never looked more vulnerable.
"Isaa - " she began to breathe out in concern, instantly cut off.
It was unexpected to her, her entire body going stiff as Isaac leaned down and toward her, his lips pressing themselves against hers to cut her off. They brushed against Foster's slowly and carefully, Isaac's breath hitching in the back of his throat when he didn't feel them move along with his.
His lips were soft against hers, almost like he was treating her as though she were a porcelain doll. That she would shatter if he was too rough. Although, in all honesty, it was him who was afraid of getting broken in that moment.
An action that took a mere two seconds felt like a lifetime for the both of them.
Isaac, who was lost in the fact that he was kissing his crush for over a year; and Foster in a panic, having her best friend kissing her while she had a boyfriend.
Which was why the moment his lips touched hers, her grip on his forearms tightened as she pushed him away, twisting her neck so that her lips were no longer connected with his.
She didn't know why tears began to well in her eyes, pressing against them and burning. Maybe it was everything catching up from her this week, or maybe this was the final straw for her. The final event to make her sanity completely unravel once and for all.
Her sanity slipping away all due to Isaac Lahey's lips.
Isaac stumbled as she moved him away, his lips still parted and eyes wide. Almost like he couldn't believe what he'd just done either. Foster ripped her hands away from him, no longer touching him at all.
The hell of her hand wiped at her eyes violently and sloppily as she tried to prevent herself from crying as best as she could. She didn't know how to react to this, or even begin to fathom why Isaac even did it.
They weren't best friends, she had never once insinuated that she liked him in a way more than that. He was practically her brother at this point, why would he kiss her?
She backed away, her entire body trembling as she fought back the sobs clawing to escape. Her throat felt like it was being ripped apart violently as she fought them, trying to swallow them back down. She wanted to cry so badly that her gut burned with the desire to do so.
How could he do this to her? With everything going on, how could he?
"Wh - why did you - why did you do that?" Foster sputtered, his voice cracked as she tried to speak.
Isaac's face broke at this, at her reaction. He ran a hand through his curled, blonde hair, unable to believe what he just did. Why did he even think this was a remotely good idea? He should have known better. It wasn't like Foster was going to kiss him back, like she was going to call up Scott and break up with him on the spot. She was't going to confess her secret, undying love she had for him.
He was nothing but a just a friend in her eyes, and that crushed him.
"I - I - I - " Isaac stammered, unable to put together a coherent sentence.
Foster was quick to cut off Isaac, continuing on as she tried to process what just happened, "Why did you do that? Isaac, why? You know I'm dating Scott, and either way, you have Allison! I saw you two at Derek's, you two seemed pretty - "
"But she's not you!" Isaac practically cried as he took a step toward her, his eyes widening at what he just said.
Foster's head whipped in his direction, her eyes growing wide as well. Did he just say what she thinks he did? The moment the mere four worded sentence processed in her mind, her jaw dropped slightly as she slowly began to shake her head.
No. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.
"No," she breathed out, this time her tears finally breaking free and slowly dribbling down her cheeks, wetting them. "No, no, no - "
"Foster," he spoke, his voice cracking, her name practically a plea in his mouth. He shut his eyelids tightly, taking a deep breath before finally daring to look at her. "I'm in love with you."
Her eyes widened, his words feeling like a sucker punch in her gut. He was in love with her? This was worse than her initial thought. She thought that he just had a crush on her, something simple. Something that just came out of living together for so long, but love? It was too much for her to even process in such a short amount of time.
She gaped at him, barely managing to croak out, "Ho - how long?"
"How l - "
"Yes, Isaac," she cut him off, her words harsher than she intended them. She didn't know why, but she needed to know. She needed to know how long she had been stringing him around without knowing. If she didn't find out now, it would continue to nag in the back of her mind forever. "How long have you - have you been in love with me?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair furiously. "I don't know!" he cried, this time his voice rising. "I can't pick an exact moment where I knew I loved you! What do you want me to say? That I've been in love with you since sophomore year? That I'm in love with you because you're the first person to ever see me as more than just another one of Derek's betas? That you're the first person who saw me as more than the helpless boy who got abused by his dad? That I've been in love with you ever since I realized that you were the first person to actually give a shit about me after so long of feeling like I had no one? I love you, Foster. I have ever since you kissed me at the rave."
She was stunned to silence, unable to bring herself to utter a word. What was she supposed to say? She couldn't lie and tell him she loved him.
And for some reason, she felt anger begin to bubble throughout her because of his words. She was angry. No, she wasn't angry, she was furious. Livid, even.
Her nails began to dig into her palm as her hands curled into fists, her teeth gritted together. "How dare you?" she demanded, taking a daunting step forward. "How dare you! With everything that's happening, everything with Stiles and my mom and just everything! Who do you think you are saying this? How could you do this? How cou - could you?"
It was then she realized why she was so angry. She was angry because Isaac Lahey was now something that could have been. That if he told her how he felt back in sophomore year, who knew how things would be for them right now. Who knows where their relationship would be? Would her love for him be simply platonic, or would it have been more?
Isaac had become something that would forever nag at the back of her mind for as long as she lived. She would never know how they would have turned out if he told her back then.
"I - " Isaac began to sputter, unable to figure out the right words to say. "I don't - I don't know why I did that. Foster - "
It was too late for him to finish because she was already grabbing hold of her car keys and storming out of the apartment. She didn't want to cut him off, but she could no longer hold back her tears.
The moment she exited the door, the tears fell freely, pouring down her face faster than the waterfall at Niagara Falls.
By doing so, she was leaving behind the boy that could have been.
And that was the reason why Ella Foster showed up on Lydia Martin's doorstep in tears that night.
✢ ✢ ✢
The next day, Foster found herself leaving Lydia's house rather early in the morning. She felt bad, forcing Lydia to let her stay the night. Not that Lydia had a problem with it, but a sobbing girl on her doorstep kind of left Lydia with no room to say no.
Either way, Lydia had leant out an old crew neck and a pair of sweatpants that she rarely wore to Foster, that currently being one Foster was decked out in. Foster, in all honesty, was shocked that Lydia even had something in her closet that wasn't designer or name brand.
Besides, Lydia was planning on going out with Aiden so Foster wasn't going to stand in the way of that.
And it was a good thing that she didn't.
While driving throughout out Beacon Hills, unable to get her desired destination, Lydia had ended up pulling into an abandoned parking lot to find Stiles' bloodied and unconscious body lying the center of it.
Which was why Foster was now currently back in the McCall household along with Lydia, Scott, Deaton, Aiden, and Melissa, watching as Scott and Aiden carried Stiles' limp and still body over toward the couch.
"The couch," Scott barely panted out, his eyes wide and breaths choppy. "Put him on the couch."
It was clear to see that Scott was on the verge of panicking. When Lydia and Aiden had found Stiles, they found him unconscious with long, bloodied gash across his torso. Foster stood next to Melissa, silent as this all occurred.
Foster's mind was racing with all of the possibilities as to how Stiles got in this state. Did the Oni do this to him? Hell, she had yet to know what happened when Stiles disappeared from Derek's loft with the Oni.
This entire situation was driving her absolutely crazy at this point. She felt like they were still missing so many important pieces and clues to the puzzle, with no help from Noshiko.
There had to be another way to save Stiles without chaining him, without turning him into a werewolf.
"Guys, this is crazy," Melissa stammered, looking down toward the boy who was practically her second son. She watched him grow up, always at Scott's side. It pained her to see him like this. "He needs to be at the hospital."
Foster glanced toward Melissa, lips parted as she tried to think of something to say. The only problem with that idea was that last time they were at the hospital with Stiles, multiple people died. Foster wasn't in the mood whatsoever to relive that experience.
Scott casted a look back towards his mom, breathing out, "Mom, you remember what happened last time he went to the hospital?"
As he spoke, Foster continued to watch as Deaton grabbed the separate halves of Stiles' shirt where it was torn, peeling it from the hot, sticky blood coating his abdominal region. The bleeding, though, was no longer coming out. Whatever had when he first received the wound was the only thing left from the slice.
Confused, Foster questioned, "Why doesn't it look like he's bleeding?"
As much as she didn't want Stiles to be bleeding and in pain, she also knew that he was human. He wasn't like Aiden and Scott who could heal ten times faster; he wasn't like her who could heal in a second.
Keeping his eyes glued to Stiles' wound, Deaton opted, "I think he might even be healing."
Foster's brows furrowed together, Aiden glancing down toward her. The duo shared a look, both of them trying to decipher whether this was a good or a bad thing. They didn't want Stiles to be hurt, but right now, Stiles isn't Stiles. Meaning that this could either be good, or very bad for them in the long run.
Finally breaking her gaze, Aiden looked back toward Stiles. "You mean healing like we heal?"
"That's good, right?" Scott inquired, the five practically hovering over Deaton's shoulder to get a glimpse at Stiles' bloodied gash. It had have come from a blade, Foster knew. She just wondered if it were the Oni who did it, or something else.
"For him, yes," Deaton assured, backing away slightly. "Us?" He looked back toward them all, a slight shake to his head. "I'm not so sure."
It was the type of statement that Foster wasn't so sure she find comfort or distress in. Maybe a little of both? Either way, she knew that it could always end up being detrimental to them if the Nogitsune is back to full health by the time it wakes up. But maybe while he was down, the rest of them could have more time to try and figure out how to save Stiles altogether.
The problem was that they had no idea when he would awake, and when he did, what would he do? Would he want to sit down and have a chat or tea and biscuits? Probably not since murdering everyone in sight is more his speed.
Seeming to be thinking the same thing as her, Aiden demanded, "Well, if we aren't going to kill him, why aren't we tying him down with really big chains?"
"I might have something more effective," Deaton began, pulling out a smaller, travel size brief case of sorts. Undoing the buckle of it, he pulled out a small vile containing a familiar liquid that Foster was all too familiar with.
Kanima venom, of course.
Deaton looked between the two werewolves, both of them nodding in agreement before coming up to Stiles' side. They each grabbed a part of his face, holding his jaw down so that Deaton could pour the venom into his system. That way he'd be paralyzed, unable to harm anyone let alone move his pinkie toe.
He began to allow it to enter Stiles' mouth, Foster's eyes widening and jumping back slightly when she watched his eyes snap open. Immediately, his expression held malice, the venom not quite in his system yet.
Stiles grabbed hold of Aiden's wrist, his hand shooting up and wrapping itself around Aiden's neck. His grip tightened around Aiden's airways, even Aiden, a former alpha, unable to break the grip of a Nogitsune.
"Get him off me," Aiden managed grit out, struggling to get air into his lungs.
Stiles was laughing manically at this point, his lips twitching into a smirk, a cunning grin as he continued to do this. Scott rushed toward Aiden's side, his hands wrapped around Stiles' arm as he pried the possessed boy off of the werewolf.
Finally, the Nogitsune's hands began to tremble, his hold breaking and Aiden pushing himself backwards, free of his hold. Scott backed away, his arm held out in front of Foster slightly. After what just happened between Aiden and Stiles, he was refusing to take any chances at this point.
He grunted, the venom beginning to course through his veins and make his limbs feel like bricks. They were unable to be moved, frozen to stillness. He sank back into the couch, his eyes flickering up toward Deaton.
"Kanima venom," he grunted out, his hand still raised but shaking feverishly. "Nice touch."
Immediately, Aiden's claws were slicing through the air, his eyes blazing a stale blue as his fangs protruded. Foster's head snapped in his direction, knowing that that she shouldn't be shocked by this, but she was. It was Stiles, here. Aiden knew that the boy meant more to all of them than he could even imagine.
He paused in his stride the moment Stiles opened his mouth.
"You know, they say that twins get a feeling when the other one's in pain," he began in a taunting manner, a snide expression plastered upon his face. The corners of his lips were fighting the urge to grin, all of them knowing that he knew something the rest of them didn't. Yet. "You didn't lose that talent too, did you?" They were left in silence. "Oh, I hope not. You're gonna need it."
Knowing that Stiles must have been referring to something - more than likely deadly - Aiden looked in Scott's direction, looking for guidance. They remained silent, all of them awaiting the answer that Stiles seemed willing to give. Almost like this was a game and they had to figure out the next step before someone else would die.
"Okay, I'll give a little hint," Stiles resigned, knowing that they wouldn't figure it out just from what he said prior. The trickster had to give them a little more to go off of. "Ethan's at the school."
Before Aiden could say or do anything, Scott was already assuring, "Go."
Trying to keep from lashing out, Aiden merely allowed his jaw to fall slack before storming toward the doorway of the McCall residence. This, of course, leaving the rest of them to simply stare at the boy they no longer knew in front of them, his head lolling back as he watched Aiden slip through the door.
His maniacal, malicious laughter echoing throughout the entire household.
"Oh, I hope he gets there in time," Stiles spoke, feigning worry. "I like the twins. Short tempers, homicidal compulsions; they're a lot more fun than you bakemono trying to save the world every day."
Before he could say anything else, Melissa voiced, "Doc, you brought something to paralyze his body - you got anything for his mouth?"
Without wavering, Deaton confirmed, "I believe so."
Upon those words, the sound of duct tape being torn off the roll was heard, a long strand in Deaton's hold. The Nogitsune smirked slightly, amused at this. But as Deaton finally placed the tape across his lips, making it so that he would be unable to speak, he began to scream at them.
The words were muffled, Foster grimacing at the sound. She couldn't stand seeing Stiles like this. She knew it wasn't him, but having the illusion that it was made her feel nauseous. Scott seemed to be in the same mindset as herself, unable to even glance at him thought the corner of his eye.
It pained both of them to see their friend in this state.
He then began to laugh, Deaton staring straight at him. The Nogitsune didn't faze the veterinarian in the slightest, thankfully. The rest of them, though, were currently taking an emotional toll from this.
Which was why Lydia, Scott, and Foster were ushered into the kitchen, away from their friend. They wouldn't be able to think clearly with him in eyesight or earshot, knowing that their friend was trapped in a shell of his former self.
While Deaton helped the teenagers devise a plan in order to save Stiles which didn't include turning him into a werewolf, Melissa stayed out there and tended to his wound. She bandaged it up, treating to it clinically and unemotionally.
Entering the kitchen, Scott demanded, "How much longer do you think we have?"
Foster was wondering the same exact thing, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the venom wore out. And considering that he was healing like a werewolf would from a cut, their time may be dwindling down even faster.
Deaton shrugged. "I wish I knew, but if we don't figure out something soon, then we're going to need to figure out a better place to keep him. I think we are grossly underestimating the danger here. He might be paralyzed, but. . . it still feels like he's got us right in the palm of his hand."
That was the entire truth that had Foster on edge. How, when paralyzed, did the Nogitsune seem to have a plan ready at hand. Like he knew something they all didn't, or was prepared to carry it out the moment he was free from the paralysis.
"The scroll said to change the body," Lydia spoke up, going back to the only plan that they have.
Deaton shook his head. "That's if I translated it correctly. We're looking for a cure in something that might be nothing but a proverb or a metaphor."
"But what if it works?" Foster questioned, looking at the best case scenario that came with the words written upon the scroll.
Scott casted a look toward her, countering, "What if he doesn't want it? He never asked to be a werewolf."
"I don't think he asked to be possessed either," Foster shot back, her tone icier than she intended. Scott immediately was taken aback by her words, Foster releasing a sigh. Everything, the emotional toll, was finally catching up to her and now she was lashing out at the person she needed most. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, managing to get out, "It's just - Scott, do you think he'd rather be a werewolf and have his body back, or be trapped in his own mind like he is now."
From across the table, Deaton pointed out the even worse case scenario. "What if it kills him?"
Foster had to bite back her remark that was along the lines of how the Nogitsune would continue killing dozens of people if they didn't do something now. She just wanted Stiles to be okay, but it felt like the only option that had could be catastrophic.
With a pained expression, unsure of what to do either, Scott stressed, "I've never done this before."
His eyes were wide, and in that moment, Scott even looked vulnerable. He was on the verge of losing his best friend, and the only way Scott could save him could end up killing him in the end. Scott wouldn't be able to handle the guilt if it's his bite that ended up killing Stiles.
Scott's brown eyes locked on Foster, soft and vulnerable as he spoke. "What if I bite him and I hit an artery or something?"
Foster's lips were parted, Scott awaiting her words, but she didn't even know what to say. He nodded softy toward her, urging her to speak. He needed her to assure him that if this was going to happen, that he could do it. She was the one person he truly needed on his side.
"That venom isn't going to last much longer," Deaton cut in, their heads snapping in his direction. "Something needs to be done sooner than later."
"I'm gonna try calling Derek again," Scott breathed out, grabbing his phone and preparing to scroll to his contact.
Nervously, Lydia finally offered, "Maybe we should try calling someone else."
For a split second, both Scott and Foster shot Lydia looks of pure confusion. She shot them a knowing look, pursing her lips; their faces paling instantly.
Foster shook her head, countering, "No."
Lydia raised a brow, shooting Foster a look that read 'he may be the only one who can help us.' This would be because he managed to bite Scott and successfully turn him into a werewolf, but Foster was not having it with Peter at this point.
The creep broke into her house at the end of her sophomore year, making comments about how her skin was nice. Not to mention, he was referring to the boy she met in Morrell's office who touched her face, and then proceeded to torment her while she tried to stitch Scott up back during the cross country trip.
No.
She was not at all okay with Peter. Not in the slightest. She'd rather drive herself and Ellen off a cliff than be in the same building as Peter Hale.
Of course, Foster didn't win out.
Which was why the devil himself was currently entering the McCall residence. This lead to the four heading back out into the living room, watching as Peter strolled behind the couch Stiles was seated on. The former alpha eyed the paralyzed boy in front of him, Foster averting her gaze from Peter's at all costs.
"He doesn't look like he'd survive a slap across the face much less the bite of a werewolf," Peter mused, rounding the couch and facing Stiles. He crouched down in front of Stiles, locking eyes with the Nogitsune.
"You don't think it would work?" Scott concluded, Foster's heart sinking.
That was their only salvation, the only possible way they knew how to save Stiles, and now it's being said it might not even work.
"This is more a war of the mind than the body," Peter explained, Stiles looking completely unamused by Peter's words. Almost like he didn't care at all, and that's what worried Foster the most about this entire thing. "There's better methods for winning this battle."
Deaton stepped forward, both him and Scott on either side of Peter. As much as Foster wanted to grab Scott's hand and yank him away from the sociopath, she kept herself firmly placed in between Lydia and Melissa. She didn't want to be any closer to him than she had to be.
"And that is?" Deaton inquired, untrusting of the man beside them. Then again, none of them truly trusted Peter at all.
He was quick to flick his wrist out, claws emerging from the tips of his fingers, just in front of Stiles' face. Stiles raised a brow, completely unfazed by Peter's actions.
"We're going to get into his head."
✢ ✢ ✢
After explaining his plan, which involved Foster and Scott going into Stiles' mind, the former alpha had tugged Lydia off to speak. Foster, at first, was unsure of why she the one going into Stiles' mind, but Scott reminded her about what Stiles had said back at the clinic. How Foster had been somehow taking all the pain that Stiles had been feeling. Absorbing it into her system, and apparently along with her mother's.
Foster watched as Peter and Lydia became engrossed in conversation, Foster confused as to what they were talking about. Either way, Foster's hand encircled around Scott's wrist, tugging him into the kitchen where the two could be alone.
"Scott, I don't trust him," Foster immediately spoke in a hushed tone, shaking her head toward him. Scott's gaze was locked on her, Foster feeling a pit in her stomach. She had to tell him, he needed to know about what happened between her and Peter last year. She could only keep it to herself for so long. "At all."
Scott's face softened, able to tell that Foster was undeniably nervous about what was bound to happen today. He just wasn't aware of everything that happened, and why Foster was this paranoid about Peter.
"I don't trust him either," Scott voiced, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. "But I think he's the only one with answers on how to save Stiles. This might be the only way - "
"Scott," she began, her voice cracking, becoming strained. "There's something I haven't told you yet, and it had to do with Peter. I know I shouldn't have waited this long, but I didn't know how to bring it up."
"Foster," he began slowly, his voice soft, "you can tell me anything. You know that."
She nodded. "I do, but, Scott, Peter's sick. In the head, he's insane, okay? He broke into my apartment at the end of sophomore year. He's continued to torment me time after time in my head and I don't know how. I don't trust him at all, and after this, I don't want to see him ever again, okay? I don't care what it's for, the next time he sees me, it'll be over my dead body."
Before Scott could say anything else although his expression pretty much covered it, Deaton's voice sounded.
"Scott, Foster, we need you," he informed, Foster shooting Scott one last fleeting glance.
Pain was prominent of his face, and disbelief. It was like he couldn't believe he had gone this long without realizing something was wrong. How he didn't notice that every time Foster was anywhere near Peter, she was completely on edge.
He remembered very faintly of their time where she stitched him up and how she seemed to be fighting with thin air, how every time Peter was near her she looked like she was about to have a panic attack.
She quickly turned away, making her way toward the living room, unable to meet Scott's eyes. She couldn't bear to look at the expression on his face, it pained her to do so.
Before she could enter, though, Scott's fingers were reaching hers and lacing together, squeezing tightly before following her along into the room.
Hand in hand, Scott and Foster made their way in front of Stiles, looking toward Peter for instruction.
"Do you even have a plan?" Foster deadpanned, raising a brow at Peter.
"Scott, is going to try and dig through pale and sickly evil Stiles' mind to reveal pale and sickly real Stiles and guide him back from the depths of his own subconscious," Peter explained, a scowl on Foster's face. He was taking this entire situation lightly, almost like it was all one big joke to him. "But he's not going in alone."
His eyes glanced over toward Foster, a knowing, twisted grin curling onto the edge's of his lips. Taking notice of it all now, Scott noticed that Peter always seemed to be looking at Foster with that expression. The fact that he didn't notice it sooner made him sick to his stomach. His grip on her hand tightened, Foster keeping her face hard as her jaw fell slack.
Soon enough, though, Foster was being ushered to the seat on the couch beside Stiles; Scott going behind them.
His claws were out, Peter guiding his hand so that his claws rested on Stiles' neck.
"What do we do if we find him?" Scott inquired, unsure of how this is all supposed to work.
"You're going to have to guide him out somehow," Peter explained, Foster rolling her eyes.
"You're the one with the plan," she pointed out. "Do you even have any idea on how to carry it out?"
She heard his sigh, coming up to her side.
"You're going to try to give him control over his mind," he explained, Foster feeling the tips of Scott's claws reach her neck.
She stiffened slightly, but wasn't scared. She trusted Scott with all of her heart, with everything in her.
"Could you elaborate on the somehow?" Lydia demanded from her spot by Melissa, knowing that it was three of her best friends who were about to go into Stiles' mind. "It's not feeling very specific right now."
Peter shrugged. "Improvise."
He backed away, Scott finally voicing, "What if this is just another trick?"
"When are you people going to start trusting me?" Peter demanded, Foster raising a brow and glancing at him through the corner of her eyes.
"He meant from the Nogitsune, you idiot," she hissed, growing completely annoyed with Peter at this point.
Before anyone could say anything else, Deaton spoke up, "Scott, we're running out of time."
He nodded, Foster feeling him stiffen up slightly from behind her. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes flashing crimson as he prepared to pull himself and Foster into the subconscious of Stiles' mind.
Finally, she felt Scott's claws dig into her skin, a slight prick.
But that paled in comparison to the feeling of her entire world caving in around her.
✢ ✢ ✢
AUTHOR'S NOTE: please don't hate me please don't hate me please don't hate me. i know about the isaac thing before, but i s2g this isn't going to be some crazy ass love triangle. fahey is still gonna end up being bropt af, you've just got to trust me, okay??
also, yet another disclaimer; i am not responsible for any pain felt in the next chapters as well. because it only gets worse from here, whoops.