"The couch. Get him on the couch."
Stiles' body seemed to float through the McCall house, the unconscious teen carried between Aiden and Scott into the living room.
"Guys," Melissa warily said as Stiles was set on the sofa, "this is crazy. He needs to be in the hospital."
"Mom, remember what happened last time he went to the hospital?" Scott asked, turning back to his mother.
It was hard to forget.
Deaton, called to the McCall residence as Stiles was raced from the parking lot Lydia found him in, was crouched in front of Stiles. He lifted the slashed t-shirt, revealing a gory, yet dried gash along his abdomen. "It doesn't look like it's bleeding."
"Elora knew this happened," said Scott, watching over Deaton's shoulder. "He disembowled himself, then El snapped out of it. She said Yakunan was sleeping."
"Maybe Yakunan is sleeping, but he's still inside Stiles." Deaton's brows had drawn in, evaluating the gash. "Given that, I think he's healing."
"You mean healing like we heal?" asked Aiden, confused.
Scott drew in a slight breath. "That's good, right?"
"For him? Yes," the vet replied. "For us? I'm not so sure." He stood, looking around the room. "Have any of you heard from anyone? Elora texted me about taking care of Charlie, but what about the others? Derek, Isaac? The Argents?"
"It's pretty radio silent," Lydia told him.
"Stilinski's not answering either," Melissa said, dialing yet again as she lingered at the edge of the room.
"Is that a bad sign?"
"It's not a good sign," Deaton said. "But we've got Stiles to deal with."
"If we're not going to kill him, can we at least tie him down with really big chains?" Aiden asked.
Deaton brought out a leather satchel, beginning to undo the latches. "I might have something more effective." He held up a brown vial, motioning for Aiden and Scott to assist. "It may not help Elora, but it'll help us."
The wolves leaned in, opening Stiles' mouth as he remained unconscious.
Deaton raised the dropper, cautious as he deposited it into Stiles' open mouth.
But the moment the last drop hit Stiles' throat, Yakunan stirred.
Stiles caught Aiden by the neck, teeth gritting as he squeezed.
"Get him off me!" Aiden stressed, Stiles' laughter filling his ears.
Scott yanked Stiles' hand back, just in time for it to begin shaking.
Stiles' laughter ceased, looking to his hand as every muscle began to fail him. "Kanima venom," he said, falling back. "Nice touch."
Aiden roared in fury, stepping forward.
"You know how they say that twins get a feeling when the other one's in pain?" asked Stiles, catching Aiden off guard. "You didn't lose that talent, too, did you? Oh, I hope not. You're going to need it."
Aiden's heart began to race, exchanging a look with Scott.
"Okay," said Stiles. "I'll give a little hint. Ethan's at the school. Baby Lahey should be on his way as well."
"Go," Scott hastily told him when Aiden met his gaze again.
And as Aiden ran from the house, Stiles began to laugh again.
"Oh, I hope he gets there in time," Stiles said with a grin. "I like the twins." His head rolled from the door to Scott. "Short tempers. Homicidal compulsions. They're a lot more fun than you bakemono trying to save the world every day."
"Doc," Melissa began as she stepped up next to Lydia, "you brought something to paralyze his body. You got anything for his mouth?"
"Yes, I do," Deaton replied.
Stiles rolled his eyes as a piece of duct tape was torn just for him, grinning as the vet sealed it over his mouth.
A muffled scream came from behind the tape, falling into eerie laughter.
Everyone was in place.
As time passed slower than ever, a majority of the group gathered in the kitchen while leaving Melissa behind. Scott paced nervously, both Lydia and Deaton leaning on the dining table for absent support.
"How much longer do you think we have?" Scott asked, nerves through the roof.
Deaton shrugged genuinely. "I wish I knew. But if we don't figure out something soon, we're going to need a better place to keep him. I think we're 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."
The trio in the kitchen turned to the living room, Stiles staring blankly in their direction as Melissa cleaned his minimal wounds.
Did they know of the chaos unfolding across town?
All over town was more accurate.
As Melissa finished patching Stiles up and stretched a protective gauze across the gash in his stomach, she noticed the tears in Stiles' eyes.
"Stiles," Melissa knowingly said, a sad sniffle emitting from the boy.
He nodded, a tear falling down his cheek. He whimpered softly as Melissa peeled the duct tape from his mouth.
But the expression of anguish soon fell away.
"Really, Melissa?" Stiles asked daringly. "I shed one tear? That's all it takes? Come on. You can't crumble that easily. How are you going to hold up when Scott knows the truth?"
"What?"
"When he finds out why his dad really left?" Stiles taunted. "You know he overheard it, right?" His brows lifted, almost smiling. "You had no idea." He lived for the look on the nurse's face. "You called Stilinski right after it happened. You didn't tell Scott, but you told the Sheriff. Hmm. But Stiles heard it like he hears everything. But you want to know why he never told Scott? Because he knew that Scott would never forgive you. He knew how much he would hate you."
Melissa remained firm, jaw tight. "This isn't you, Stiles."
"It is now, " he countered with a grin.
The nurse ripped a new piece of tape, pressing it harshly over Stiles' mouth.
In the kitchen, minds were still running a mile a minute.
"The scroll said to change his body," Lydia said.
"That's if I translated it correctly," countered Deaton, turned away from the teens.
Lydia shook her head lightly. "Dean said the same thing. It has to be correct."
Deaton turned around. "We're looking for a cure in something that might actually be nothing more than a proverb or metaphor."
"And what if he doesn't want it?" asked Scott. "He never asked to be a werewolf."
"What if it saves his life?"
"What if it kills him?" question Scott immediately. "I've never done this before. I mean, what if I bite him and accidentally hit an artery or something?"
"The venom," Deaton interrupted, "is not going to last long. Something needs to be done sooner rather than later."
"I can try calling Derek again. One of you try Elora."
"The spell to free Charlie of his enchantment will take all day," Deaton told them. "The Danielsons will be occupied until the sun goes down unless something goes wrong."
"How about an uncle?"
Scott's eyes fell to Lydia. "Wait."
But within fifteen minutes, Peter Hale was on their doorstep.
"Where is he?"
Lydia nodded her chin toward the living room, guiding one of the least trusted members of the city to the nogitsune.
Peter remained quiet, taking in this version of Stiles. He walked around the back of the sofa, eyes not leaving the paralyzed boy. He rounded to his side, leaning forward to see his face. "He doesn't look like he would survive a slap across the face, much less the bite of a werewolf." Peter stood in front of Stiles, leaning in to study his face.
"You don't think it would work?" Scott asked.
"This is more a war of the mind than the body." Peter stood up straight after staring into Stiles' dead eyes. "There are better methods to winning this battle."
Deaton's brows furrowed. "What kind of methods?"
Peter grabbed Scott's hand, triggering a pressure point to reveal his claws. "We're going to get inside his head." He let go of Scott's hand. "But first," he pulled Lydia away from the group, cornering her in the hallway. "You said you would tell me."
"Peter-"
"You said-"
"I said I would do it," she snapped in a low voice. "But only if you help. And only if Scott doesn't know about it."
Peter paused, watching Lydia walked away before joining her in the living room.
"So, do we have a plan?" Deaton asked.
Peter found himself behind the sofa with a full audience of Lydia, Scott, Deaton and Melissa. "Scott is going to try and dig through pale and sickly Evil Stiles' mind to unearth the pale and sickly Real Stiles. Then guide him back from the depths of his own subconscious. But he's not going to do it alone."
Scott's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Somebody needs to go with you," Peter said, head turning to Lydia.
And with the mess of Chris being held hostage by Derek, the entire situation at the school and the Danielson house on full lockdown, Scott geared up to intrude not only Stiles' mind, but Lydia's.
Peter, guiding Scott around the back of the couch as Lydia hesitantly sat next to the shell of Stiles, lined up Scott's claws on Stiles' neck.
"So what do we do if we find him?" Scott asked, heart pounding.
"You're going to have to guide him out somehow." He crossed behind Scott, lining claws up along Lydia's neck. "Try to give him back control of his mind, his body."
"Could you elaborate on 'somehow'?" Lydia asked nervously. "It's not feeling very specific at the moment."
Peter looked to Scott, shrugging lightly. "Improvise."
Scott's deep breath hitched ever so slightly. "What if this is just another trick?"
"When are you people going to start trusting me?" Peter asked quite genuinely.
"I meant him," Scott said, glancing to Stiles.
"Oh."
"Scott," Deaton said, "we're running out of time."
Scott nodded softly, looking down to his hands as they remained poised on his friends' necks. His eyes grew to a steaming red, taking a deep breath. He focused in, forcing his claws in as he tapped into their headspace, falling into anything but reality.
x x x
Sheriff Stilinski, down a deputy and amazed at how his performance review hearing went, shut the door to his office with his least favorite FBI agent inside.
"You just saved my job."
"Probably," Raphael replied.
Stilinski took a step toward the agent, walking around him to sit on his desk. "Why?"
"Two reasons." He folded his arms absently. "One, I don't think Sherlock Holmes could figure out half the bizarre crap happening in this town. I mean, this place is literally the Bermuda Triangle of homicides, disappearances and strange occurrences."
Pinning a badge he was sure he was going to lose back to his shirt, Stilinski's brows lifted slightly. "I can't argue with that. What's number two?"
McCall sighed. "Kicking you out of a job is not why I came back here. It was an excuse to stay."
The gears in Stilinski's head turned. "You stalled the impeachment."
"That's right."
"Because you want to talk to Scott."
Raphael nodded lightly. "That's right."
Stilinski sighed, rising from his desk. "You did me a huge favor today. Let me do you a small one. Tell him. The next time you see him, just tell him everything."
Nodding with full knowledge that Stilinski was right, McCall agreed, heading for the door. Although his hand balanced on the door knob, he looked back to the Sheriff. "The other day, when I was bringing in Derek and Argent, before the bomb, they mentioned someone I hoped I'd never hear about again."
Stilinski's brows furrowed, watching McCall's demeanor change in his shoulders all the way down to shaking hands.
"When they said who I should call for them, they both asked for Elora. But then, albeit jokingly, they said Charlie. I know Elora's around, and I'm honestly glad she's here. She saved the station the other day, but, he's not here is he?"
"There's a lot going on in the city, Raphael, especially with my son," Noah told him. "But, there was a hefty family visitation for Elora when she was in the hospital."
"So Charlie's here?" asked McCall, nearly sweating. "He's in Beacon Hills?"
Stilinski nodded hesitantly. "I think so."
If only they knew Charlie wasn't the sibling to be worried about.