The Demon Wolf and the Nogitsune

PenPatronus

Chapter 2 of 2

Trickster

The Nogitsune was on the prowl. It smelled Stiles' soul. So close, so close.

Stiles' soul was the last petal to pluck, the last leash to cut, the last tether to sever. If the demon found it, it was all over. Stiles would cease to exist. He wouldn't even be a sense of déjà vu in the Nogitsune's memory. At Echo House Stiles let the demon in and now, the demon intended to shut him out.

"Drive faster!" Lydia snapped at Allison. "Would you hurry up?"

Allison was still trying to shake the sleep off of her body. "You're no fun like this," she muttered without taking her eyes off of the road.

"I'm sorry." Lydia's words were more sarcasm than not. "The next time I have a vision of our friends dying I'll try to be calmer."

Allison flew through a stop sign and turned down the road that led to the preserve. "Explain to me again what you saw?"

Lydia rubbed her temples. "I saw Scott in Derek's old house. Derek and Stiles were lying face down on a table and Scott had his fingers in their necks. And then it was like – it was like someone stabbed Scott. Someone behind him. Blood started coming out of Stiles' ears and he screamed and…" Lydia brushed her left cheek and then her right. Tears trickled off the ends of her perfectly manicured nails. "Oh God, Allison, I felt Stiles die. More than that I felt…"

Allison waited patiently for as long as she could. "What? Lydia, what did you feel?"

The banshee's voice shrunk. "I felt that demon pull him down to Hell. Stiles was… damned."

Allison drove faster.

Stiles Stilinski's mind was a dark, foggy forest. A month ago it looked like his high school. A week ago it looked like the basement of Echo House and an examination room in the hospital. But now, now the Nogitsune was about to finish swallowing Stiles' soul whole. Now all that was left of Stiles looked like the Beacon Hills preserve. A circle of fog slowly moved towards the center of the imagined forest, towards the wide tree stump at the very heart of Stiles. And there the boy lied spread-eagled on his back. His left hand hung limp over the side of the stump. His eyes were open but unfocused. A thin trail of blood leaked from one ear to be soaked up by the Nemeton's porous wood. Stiles felt the fog coming. Soon it would envelop him, suffocate him, drown him. The Nogitsune was about to finish him off and, although he hated himself for wishing it, Stiles wanted it over. At least he'd see his mother. At least his last act was saving Malia's life.

A tendril of white fog licked his bare feet. Stiles shut his eyes and waited for a bandaged hand to hold him down and an iron mouth to pierce him. That crunch-crackle of approaching footsteps got louder. The demon was so close that Stiles felt its breath on his cheek.

Suddenly, lightning lit the forest. Two more flashes followed. Stiles heard voices shout his name, felt hands on his body. Hands of warm, human skin. Not rough, humid bandages. Thinking it had to be his mother's spirit come to comfort him in his final moments, Stiles opened his eyes.

Scott's hands grasping his shoulder and patting the ribs guarding his heart. One of Derek's behind his neck, the other on his cheek. They both shouted at him – something about getting up. Stiles decided that this was the Nogitsune's final torture. They weren't real. They were just hallucinations to give him one last second of hope. Scott and Derek weren't in his mind. They couldn't be.

Stiles blinked. His nose started to bleed and his fingers were numb. His eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Stiles? Stiles – dammit – Stiles!" His best friend's face briefly disappeared from Scott's vision when tears clouded his eyes.

Derek stood, stepped off the Nemeton, and combed his hair with all ten fingers. "Did we just lose him?" he whispered. "Did we just find him and lose him in five seconds?"

Scott gripped Stiles' shoulders and shook him. "His heartbeat's slowing down. God, Stiles, come on – come on!"

Derek rubbed his palms down his face. He didn't realize there were tears on his cheeks until he tasted salt on his lips. "We're too late, Scott. We're too— Scott!"

Deucalion came out of nowhere. He landed on his boots just behind Scott and in a whirlwind of gnashing teeth and swiping claws managed to inflict so much pain on Scott and Derek that they both collapsed beside Stiles. Scott rolled to his side, his arms wrapped around a particularly deep gash in his stomach, and flashed his red eyes at the other alpha. "What – what are you doing?" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Deucalion cocked his head to the side, resembling a curious puppy more than the monstrous Demon Wolf. "What?" he said with faux sincerity. "I'm here to do what you're here to do: kill a demon."

The Nogitsune emerged from the fog. Deucalion sniffed the air and turned to face it. "Speak of the devil," he said with a pixyish wink at Derek and Scott. "Sit tight, boys. I'll be back in a minute."

Derek pushed himself up onto his elbows. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Deucalion ignored him. He approached the blind, bandaged demon and stood with his arms crossed, feet shoulder-length apart. The Nogitsune's breathing was heavy, strained. Derek and Scott waited for it to attack Deucalion, to attack the parasite inside the host it possessed.

The demon didn't attack. It didn't speak or run.

It bowed.

The Nogitsune got down on one knee and then the other. Slowly it lowered its head until its forehead almost touched the dark grass. "You've done well," Deucalion said to it.

"Thank you, master," the demon whispered. "I'm nearly finished. The boy will cease to breathe soon."

"Excellent." Deucalion started to loop around the demon, walking slowly, effortlessly silent. Like Stiles' mind was his territory. His eyes bore down on Derek and Scott. "If it makes you boys feel better, Deucalion doesn't want me to do this."

Scott and Derek exchanged shocked looks. There were a thousand questions in their expressions.

"He really was a 'man of vision' when he knew your mother, Derek. But that was before I possessed him."

Derek fought his way up to his knees. "You're a Nogitsune?"

Scott crawled closer to Stiles. His friend's skin was tinted blue. Scott listened to his lungs.

The demon in Deucalion smirked. "It's true that defeating a demon makes a werewolf stronger. It's also true that possessing a werewolf makes a demon stronger. My goal has always been power. Power by possessing an Alpha werewolf, power by creating an Alpha pack, power by using a fellow Nogitsune to drain the life out of an innocent human to lure two more werewolves into my trap."

Scott heard a ragged exhale from Stiles' lips. No inhale followed it. "Derek," Scott hiccupped, his throat nearly closed, "Derek, he's not breathing!"

The Nogitsune bowing on the ground lifted its face and looked up at Deucalion. "You said the werewolves would be mine," it hissed. "You said you'd bring them here for me to drain."

"Derek!" Scott's voice was little more than a squeak.

"Did I?" Deucalion said to the Nogitsune. "You shouldn't be surprised by this, not really." Deucalion's claws extended and he slowly wrapped his hands around the Nogitsune's bandaged neck. "After all, I am a demon."

A single mighty snap of the Nogitsune's neck and the demon collapsed to the ground leaving its head in Deucalion's grip. Right then – right when the Nogitsune died – Stiles' body convulsed. He started to breathe, then cough. His eyes opened and focused and red colored his face. Half a minute later and he was sitting up on the Nemeton and looking back and forth between Derek, Deucalion, Scott and the dead demon in the grass. Deucalion made a face at the severed head, then tossed it aside.

"Derek, Scott, what—" Stiles wheezed. Brown eyes squinted at Deucalion and his face went white again.

"Thank you for your help, Stiles." Deucalion flexed his arms and breathed the other Nogitsune's force, magic and power into himself. "Now, if you could just stay asleep for another thirty seconds while I ingest Scott and Derek here, I'll be happy to let you go free and healthy when this is all over."

Scott and Derek doubled over in pain again. Juggling confusion and desperation, Stiles touched both of their shoulders and demanded to know what was going on.

"Stiles, you have to wake up," Scott said.

There it was. Full circle. It all came back to Stiles struggling to wake himself up from a nightmare. But this nightmare was real.

"Wake up, Stiles," Stiles whispered to himself.

Derek passed out. Scott hung on a moment longer and then he was gone, too. Again Stiles was alone and helpless with a demon.

"Wake up!" he ordered himself. He stood and inhaled air and pulled his eyes as wide as possible. "Come on, Stiles, wake up!"

"Nice try, kid," the demon that was Deucalion sneered. "But nothing can save your friends, now."

A new sound. The wind, at first, they thought. Then a whistle. A whistle into a shrill into a shriek so loud that their eardrums all popped and their brains swelled. So loud that Stiles screamed.

So loud that it woke Stiles up.

Allison cowered in the corner of the Hale's dining room with her hands cupped over her ears. Lydia's banshee shriek shook the walls. Warm blood leaked down Allison's fingers.

The girls arrived in the Hale house like a grenade: Allison with her bow up and armed, Lydia bursting with supernatural screams. Instinct pulled the banshee to the table where Scott lay slumped on his side with his fingertips stuck in Derek and Stiles' necks. And Deucalion – smiling in his half-sleep – all ten claws in Scott's neck. Lydia gave into the instinct to scream with no clue how it would help. She just let it loose for as long as she had breath. The sound was unreal. Beyond unreal. The walls weren't just shaking, they were crumbling. And then, a minute later when every sound and breath was gone from her body, Lydia lost her voice and collapsed, dizzy, to her knees.

Dust rained down from the ceiling. Splinters of wood followed, two-by-fours followed that.

Movement out of the corner of Allison's eyes. She stood and swung her bow, connecting the thick of it to Deucalion's nose. The Demon Wolf staggered back. Blindly he swung his claws at the young Argent but she ducked.

Someone grabbed Lydia by the elbow and yanked her to her feet. She shuddered, terrified, but it was a familiar voice that said, "Lydia, help me!"

Stiles.

Stiles.

Alive and well and on his feet and moving, Stiles Stilinski yanked Scott off of the table onto the floor. He took Lydia's hand and wrapped it around Scott's. "Drag him out of here!" Stiles shouted. "This place is falling apart!"

It took most of Lydia's strength but she slowly pulled Scott towards the door.

Deucalion made a break for the door but Allison shot an arrow into the back of his leg. He grunted, pivoted and sprinted towards her like a stampeding bull. Stiles pulled her out of the way and he barreled into the staircase.

The staircase collapsed.

The entire house was falling down.

"Get out!" Stiles told Allison. He shoved her towards the door. "Hurry!"

Allison obeyed. She jogged through the front door, barely avoiding an I-beam twice her size. A leap off the porch, a roll across dry grass and rocky ground and she caught up with Lydia. Together then pulled Scott to the tree line. He groaned, then. Eyes fluttering, fingers flexing. Allison and Lydia returned their attention to the house. It was folding in on itself.

"Stiles!" Lydia squeaked.

Allison took a step closer. She tossed her weapons aside yanked on her hair. "Come on," she said. "Stiles, get out of there. Come on, come on!"

A crunch. An explosion of iron nails. Dust billowed out of the windows and doors in a cloud so big that it blocked their view of the house. Behind the girls Scott sat up, rubbing his eyes and breathing heavily. One glance at the scene told him what was happening and his heart nearly leapt out his throat.

"Stiles!" Lydia kept screaming. "Stiles! Stiles!"

A minute passed. The dust began to settle.

And then a figure emerged. A shadow at first, barely recognizable, barely humanoid. When the dust cleared there was Stiles with Derek in a fireman's carry, stumbling away from the rubble, limping more than not. Ten feet from the tree line he collapsed to his knees, barely managing to keep Derek from slamming into the ground. A rush of wind, a blur of motion that was Scott sprinted between Allison and Lydia and dove at Stiles. The girls followed and all three of them helped Stiles lower Derek gently to the dirt. Dust in his throat woke Derek up as he started to cough. Another minute and Derek was sitting. For a brief moment Stiles, Scott and Derek stared at Lydia and Allison, who stared back at them with tears carving paths through the dirt on their cheeks. And then as one they wrapped their arms around Stiles, around each other, and had a trembling, relieved five minute long group hug. Behind them the rising sun burst through the remains of the Hale house. So warm on their cheeks. So comforting.

Finally, Derek stood and approached what was left of his burned and buried home. The others stayed silent, waiting for him to confirm what they all hoped. "No heartbeat," Derek said. He turned back to his friends with a relieved smile and shrugged. "Buried. He's dead."

It was over.

Two Days Later

The McCall pack sat in a semi-circle of old couches the werewolves carried into Derek's loft. Kira, Chris Argent, Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski joined them for dinner. And then, to everyone's surprise, Melissa showed up not only with pizza but with a fully-healed Isaac. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged and while they ate they all shared their stories.

"We had no clue," Ethan said. He looked at his twin brother for confirmation. "The Deucalion we knew was probably already possessed when we met him."

"Kali? Ennis?" Scott said. "They didn't know, either?" The twins shook their heads.

"Trickster," Stiles said. "Tricky, tricky trickster." He stuffed half a slice of pepperoni in his mouth and chewed loudly. Stiles was still bruised from Deucalion's beating. The bones in his left leg were cracked but hadn't broken. Derek and Scott got slashed when the house collapsed but the girls escaped unscathed.

The door to Derek's loft slid open, then. A thin face framed by blonde-brown hair peeked in. "You're alive!" Malia said when she saw Stiles. She grinned but then her smile faded, hesitating.

Stiles gulped his food down. He rolled off the couch and half jogged, half limped across the room. He looked up at Malia from three steps down below the door. "Are you all right?" he asked her. "Everything that happened – I'm so sorry—"

Malia just shook her head. She walked down the stairs, leaning her face over Stiles' as she went so that when she landed on the floor their mouths connected. Isaac and Aiden whistled cat calls that made Stiles blush, and Allison and Scott clapped. When they parted, Malia chuckled and leaned her forehead against his chest. "Stiles, what happened between us…in that basement…"

He went from a rosy blush to a warm red. "I, um, I know we were both in a weird place – no pun, ha. I'll understand if you feel weird about—"

Malia used the tip of her finger to shut him up. "I was just going to suggest," she whispered, "that the next time we do that we should go somewhere more romantic than a mental hospital."

The goofy grin on Stiles' face wiped away the red. "Deal," he whispered, and gently kissed her again. "Come on. Meet my friends. Want some pizza?"

The End