x x
The early morning bled through the bulletproof windows of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station holding cells, its atmosphere still dismal.
Chris Argent and Derek Hale, currently P.O.W.s of a supernatural war, sat back in their respective cells, a metal barrier between them.
Although Derek had been allotted the time to be with Elora in the hospital given the circumstances by Sheriff's leniency, he was promptly returned when she was discharged.
"Still nothing?" Christ sat with a slight hunch, head turned to his side as he waited for a response. "Derek?"
"Hold on," he said, eyes closed in concentration.
The world buzzed around him as he focused his hearing, aiming for any rogue voices he could pick up.
"Hey, where's the sheriff?"
"Stilinski's out for the day."
"So the Katashi murder is now a federal investigation. Everything we've got on him is going to be placed in lock up."
"You were right," Derek finally said as he opened his eyes. "Any other details?"
"Just about putting Katashi's things in a federal lock up and something about Stilinski being out for the day." Derek only paused for a moment, staring at the floor. "You know, if all of this is true, people are dead because of Stiles."
Argent lightly turned his head. "But is it really Stiles? Remember, we've had this problem before."
"But we got lucky with Jackson and Allison," Derek countered.
The two silenced as a deputy passed, eyes flickering around as they waited for the air to clear.
"What happens when you don't get so lucky?" questioned Derek, elbows balanced on his knees.
"I guess it depends on how much or how little of Stiles is left." Argent absently drummed his fingers on his thighs. "You ever heard of the berserkers?"
"Germanic warriors," said Derek. "They wore the skins of bears to channel their ferocity."
"They didn't just wear them. They became them." Chris' eyes travelled forward, snapshots of memories greeting him. "You know, a couple years ago, a family came to us for help with their son. This group of teenagers, they were doing all sorts of rituals with animal skins. Somehow they tapped into it. But with berserkers, the human side doesn't last long. They're not tempered by the moon."
"He killed people?"
"He tore them apart," replied Argent. "Eventually, I had to tell the family that their son was gone. It took three of us to take him down. Almost every bullet we had. And when it was over, I felt no remorse. None. I knew that kid was long gone."
"Would you feel any remorse putting Stiles down?" Derek asked, barely able to say the words.
"Stiles? Yes. But not a nogitsune."
And when could you decipher if they were one in the same?
x x
"I want to go back to the topic of guilt today," Morrell said as she crossed her legs, balancing a binder on her lap, sitting in a circle of patients in Eichen's lobby. "It might surprise you to hear me say that guilt is a good thing. It's a rather mature emotion."
Elora sat among the residents of Eichen, able to see Malia's continued glares in Stiles' direction.
Marin had noticed it, too. "Malia, you said something about guilt the other day. You said it came with a visceral reaction."
"I said it made me feel sick to my stomach," Malia corrected mildly.
Oliver coughed in the background, situated on Stiles' left.
"Guilt often becomes physical," Morrell continued. "You feel it in your gut. It's not just psychological."
El's phone began to vibrate on her lap just as Stiles' attention pulled over his shoulder, eyes lost in imagery no one but him could see.
The witch quietly excused herself, squeezing Stiles' shoulder as she passed to pull him from Yakunan creeping into the back of his head.
"How does guilt make you feel, Stiles?" Marin questioned, allowing El's exit to be a smooth as possible.
Elora ran a hand through softly curled hair as her heels clicked on the linoleum, headed for her office.
"It's a nice place you've got."
The words came before El turned into her office, but she heard them all the same.
"You don't quite have the qualifications, though, Ellybear."
"And I don't think you have the credentials to be in here," countered Elora as she reached the open doorway she'd left shut. "Bribe Brunski?"
Dean held a grin, sitting in the chair Stiles had taken up fifteen minutes before. "Something like that."
"Where's Mom?" she asked, closing her office door before joining her father in the patient chairs.
"She's with your brother and Camden," Dean replied, ankles crossed absently as he studied his daughter. "They're going to try to get a read on him while he's asleep."
El nodded lightly, "And Stiles?"
"I'm here to check on him," he said. "See what I can gauge while the nogitsune is sedated."
"Yakunan."
"Pardon?"
"Yakunan." She cleared her throat, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. "His name is Yakunan. The nogistune."
"Elly...don't act as if you know this thing-"
"I've known him longer than I knew Peyton," El immediately fired back.
Dean sighed, running a hand along his jaw. "I also came to talk to you about...him."
"Oh, come on, Dad," she said with angered encouragement. "Don't tell me you forgot his name, too."
"I never forgot him," Dean snapped. "I think about Peyton every day. Every single day. What it would be like with him here today. How Charlie would be different. How we would've been a family - a whole one. Not forgetting Peyton was your mother and mine's punishment, Elora. We had to deal with that loss. With those consequences for taking the memory of him. To see your shining face and know that we took a massive part of your world and that you had no idea. You lost a brother, but we lost a son."
"Why couldn't you have left the memory?" El asked, almost pleadingly. "We could've healed over time, together. This just feels like an open wound that'll never close."
"You were so young-"
"We weren't normal kids," she defended.
"Trust me, Elly," said Dean. "I just need you to trust me. Your mom and I do everything to keep you and Charlie alive. Nothing we do for you has malicious intent."
El closed her eyes, unable to pool her thoughts together in the right way.
"I know it's a lot, El. There's so much to it, but we didn't take Peyton's memory to hurt you." Dean reached out, taking one of Elora's when she offered it. He squeezed warmly, kissing her hand. "Family is for life, remember. It's us against the world and although we didn't anticipate the memory of your brother being revived, we'll work through it together, and we'll do it as a family."
Elora let go of a deep breath, softly nodding. "Okay, Dad."
"Good," Dean said. "Now, let's get Stiles, yeah?"
"I'll go pull him from group." El stood, absently rubbing her neck as she left her office.
"And what do we call those who don't experience emotion?" Morrell's voice leaked in as Elora gained on the day room, steadily growing stronger.
"A sociopath."
Elora cleared her throat after Stiles' roommate Oliver spoke, standing just outside the group. "Marin, could I borrow Stiles?"
"Of course," Marin replied, motioning a hand to release the stressed teen.
Stiles nearly jumped at the offer, quickly getting out of his chair and following El back toward the offices.
"Are you still seeing him?" El quietly asked, the pair walking in sync.
"Big time."
El's brows furrowed when Stiles turned his head, red veins slinking up from the collar of his shirt. "What - what is that?"
"What's what?" questioned Stiles, bleary eyes going to El as they stopped just shy of her office.
"Come here," said El, pulling him toward a corner. "I'm gonna lift up the back of your shirt, okay?"
Although, concerned, Stiles agreed, turning around.
El pulled up a corner of his navy tshirt, asking him to hold it up.
Red and purple spiderwebbed on the plane of his right shoulder, tracing up toward his neck.
"It's a Leichtenberg figure," El said. "They usually occur on lightening strike victims."
"I wasn't struck by lightening, El." Stiles dropped his shirt, turning back around.
"Exactly. That's why it's significant." El paused. "Significant and remarkably strange for someone shot up with wolf lichen."
"By significant and strange do you mean hopeful and optimistic?"
"If the marks are there, absolutely." The witch absently put her hands on her hips, sighing. "But when the marks fade, Yakunan will get his grip of you back. You're lucky he's only lurking in the distance right now."
"His grip on us, El," Stiles softly said.
El nodded lightly, "But this is about you okay? And one thing you don't need to do is sleep. You're vulnerable when you're asleep."
One of Stiles' brows arched, "So all I have to do is stay awake?"
"For now," she agreed. "If my dad, or Scott and everyone else haven't figured out something by the time those marks are gone..."
"Or what, El?" Stiles asked, able to see her hesitation.
"Or...someone will stop you. Likely Argent or Morrell first."
A door squealed open, Dean popping his head around the corner. "You guys planning on staying out here and talking about spooky shit all day?"
El lightly sighed, "Stiles, this is my dad, Dean. Dad, this is Stiles Stilinski."
Stiles shook the extended hand, transitioning back into El's office. "Nice to meet you."
"As you, Stiles," said Dean, offering for the teen to sit in the chair he'd originally been in. "I met your father a few years back when my son burnt down part of the high school."
Stiles hesitated, eyes squinting for a moment. "That was Charlie?" He looked to Elora, "Why didn't you tell me that?"
El only gave a light shrug, arms folded over her chest as she leaned against the inside of her office door.
"At the moment, Charlie's not important." Dean angled his chair toward Stiles before taking a seat. "But you, Stiles, are. You're housing a thousand year old volatile creature that wants nothing but chaos."
"And strife," said Stiles, absently tapping his slipper on the ground. "He sure loves that."
"They all do," replied Dean mildly. "How much do you know about yours? El's told me you've been locked in your head before so I can only assume the two of you have spoken. Does he have a voice and a face or just a voice?"
"Both," Stiles answered. "His voice is...rough. It's low and, intimidating. It's the kind of voice that makes the hair on your neck stand up." He slowed a little, recalling every moment spent with Yakunan. "He's covered in bandages, and has silver, pointed teeth. His eyes are covered, too. And he wears an old bomber jacket that's from World War 2 or something-"
Dean's expression shifted, "Wait, what did you just say? You've seen his full body?"
Stiles' brows furrowed, "Yeah, always."
Dean looked to his daughter, his face unreadable. "What did you do?"
"What?" El immediately asked, entirely surprised. "What do you mean?"
Dean stood, pointing down to Stiles. "He shouldn't be able to see anything beyond a mask like face. That doesn't just happen, not even in Japan."
Elora scrounged for words, confused beyond belief. "I - I don't know...I don't understand-"
"Clearly," he snapped. "If he can see a full body formation, it means that it's consuming more than one person. Given that you know its name and actually seem empathetic, I'll take a wild guess that it's you."
Elora had never once heard her father speak so aggressively - not even to Deucalion. But here he was, practically yelling at her.
"I don't -"El put a hand to her forehead, flustered. "I don't understand what you're saying."
"It means that the nogitsune is fueling off both of you. Able to manipulate you both at will. Think the power of two nearly unstoppable spirits crammed into one." Dean had begun pacing, criss crossing the office.
"So, what do we do about it?" asked Stiles.
Dean let go of a pained laugh, "Nothing. There's absolutely nothing you can do about it, because if one of you dies, you both die."