HE'S ALREADY BEEN HURT ENOUGH
STILES' JAW HUNG OPEN SLIGHTLY, his brain wracking the words he had just heard strung together by the man on the speaker. It didn't make sense, that had to be her motorcycle, right? She was here—he was sure of it.
"What?" was the only word he could utter, his voice in a shocked whisper.
"You heard the man," his nurse told him with a dull tone, "you must have the wrong girl, or the wrong place."
"No, I know she's here—" Stiles replied adamantly, but then the nurse placed a hand on his back and briefly pushed him into his room, shortly after—throwing him a pair of sweats and a navy blue tee, much like every other patient in here wore.
"Would you like to go to sleep, Stiles, or would you like to be introduced to our five-point restraint system?"
"I would go with sleep..." a third voice piped up from inside the room, and Stiles turned his head over his shoulder to find another boy, looking roughly a similar age to him.
The nurse then slowly shut the door on Stiles, but not before he could plead "Hey, wait! Wait! Wait!"
But it was no use, the nurse closed the door and made sure to lock it from the outside, leaving Stiles officially trapped in his cell-like room with a new roommate. He let out a defeated sigh and then slowly walked over to his own bed, sitting on the edge of it with his elbows resting on his knees.
"I'm Oliver," the other boy introduced himself with a friendly smile, one that Stiles couldn't bring himself to mirror.
"Stiles," he replied monotonously.
"There was a suicide, right?" Oliver struck up a conversation.
"Yeah..." Stiles replied, even though, surprisingly, the suicide he watched play out in front of him was not the main thing disturbing him—it was that he knew Aspen was in here, but wasn't registered officially—or at least, not under the name he knew of.
"Is it Monday?" Oliver asked ponderingly, then causally adding, "There's a much higher suicide rate on Mondays..."
"Okay then..." Stiles muttered under his breath, and then in another attempt to get out of his damn cell, walked back up to the door and yelled, "Ummm, hey! Can someone—someone please let me out of here? Someone? Anyone?"
And while he thought his screams went unheard... they didn't. Little did he know, the very girl he was worrying about, who was locked away in her room one floor above him, had shot up in her bed at the sound of his voice. Her heightened hearing having allowed her to hear it.
He's not supposed to be here, she said to herself.
Stiles let out another sigh of defeat and returned to his bed, where his very talkative roommate decided to continue their conversation.
"I heard it, by the way," Oliver told him, making Stiles furrow his brows, "It happened in the stairwell, right?"
"Yeah..." Stiles said, slightly creeped out, "how do you know that?"
"I heard the echo," Oliver shrugged casually.
"What do you mean?"
"It's this place," Oliver explained, "something about the way it was built... everything echoes, eventually. That's why they call it Echo House."
The conversation between the two boys fell to a stop as Oliver drifted off to sleep. Stiles attempted to do the same but failed in doing so. And there was another patient on the floor above him who was struggling to sleep also. Aspen laid wide awake on her uncomfortable mattress, not even bothering to get under the sheets.
She didn't know why on earth Stiles was here—but she had to convince him to leave. To leave her. If everything Katashi said to Allison, Isaac and Chris when he was explaining the nogitsunes was true, then as long as she put a fair amount of distance between her and Stiles—he should be safe.
After all, Void couldn't exist without Okami. Aspen may be doomed to a miserable fate of loneliness and misery, but that didn't mean Stiles had to be as well.
***
"Have you been awake all night?" Oliver asked with a cranky morning voice as he rubbed his eyes open—to find his roommate sat up straight on his bed, gazing out of the window, with bags of fatigueness under his eyes.
"Yeah..." Stiles replied, "I can't sleep without my pillow, so..."
Oliver then started coughing loudly, making quite a scene of it, to which Stiles asked, "You okay?"
"I swallowed a bug the other day," Oliver replied once he'd finished his coughing fit, "You ever do that? I keep coughing, like—like it's still in my throat..."
"That's disgusting, Oliver." Stiles murmured with narrowed eyes, unimpressed with his room-mate's hygiene. He then returned his gaze to the door, the locked door, and added, "You don't have any idea when they unlock the doors, do you?"
And then just as he uttered the words, he heard a clicking sound from right behind their steel door—and seconds later, it opened a smidge, giving Stiles a brief look of the corridor right outside.
"...Now."
***
"Okay, so, most people here are okay... the violent ones are in the closed unit." Oliver explained to his new companion, as he and Stiles walked outside through the patio, Oliver showing Stiles the ropes to how this place worked.
"Closed unit?" Stiles perked up with concern, "What's that?"
"It's the underground floor," Oliver explained, "You don't need to worry about it. You only get sent there if you're..."
"If you're... what, Oliver?" Stiles pressed for an answer, already growing concerned that this so called Closed Unit could be where Aspen was.
"Really, really violent." Oliver blurted, but Stiles could tell he was covering something up with that reason. "That's Hilary," Oliver diverted the conversation topic, pointing to a girl, "She had OCD."
"That's Gary," he continued, pointing to another male patient, "He thinks he's Jesus Chirst." He then pointed to yet another, "Dan, also Jesus."
Finally, pointing to one more patient, a long-haired girl, "That's Mary."
"Mary Magdalene?" Stiles mumbled sarcastically.
"No, she also thinks she's Jesus," Oliver replied casually, "You'd be surprised how many Jesuses we get..."
"Not really..." Stiles muttered under his breath.
Stiles caught a glimpse of the phones and quickly rushed over to them, Oliver following closely behind. He grabbed one off the wall and was about to punch in a number.
"How come you want to use the phone already?" Oliver asked curiously.
"Cause," Stiles sighed, "after one night, I've changed my mind about this place being safe for me... and someone else. Or anyone. Ever."
Just as Stiles was about to attempt to make a call, he got side tracked by overhearing a call from a girl on the phone next to him, she sounded distressed, and her voice was quiet and secretive.
"No, no..." she said into the phone, "I think you're wrong. I really think I should tell them. They're going to want to know the whole story—the whole story. I really think they should know... Yes, I do..."
Stiles furrowed his brows, wondering what the secretive conversation could be about, until he heard the final thing the girl had to say to whoever was on the other end of the phone.
"Because, two of them are right in here with me..." she whispered, "one of them... is standing right behind me..."
Stiles felt his heart stop for a second out of fear and intruige, then watched as the girl's eyes widened when she saw him looking right at her. She slammed the phone down and quickly walked away, leaving Stiles confused and scared.
"Who was that?" Stiles asked Oliver.
"That's Meredith," Oliver answered, "She's a little weird..."
"You're a little weird," Stiles scoffed, "She's a lot weird."
Stiles returned his focus to the phone and tried to type in the number he had on the top of his head, only to notice the phone was out of service.
"it's dead," he stated to Oliver like it was a question.
"Yeah, they turn off all the phones for twenty-four hours after a suicide." Oliver shrugged his shoulders casually, like it wasn't important information.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" Stiles narrowed his eyes at his room-mate.
"Why didn't you ask?"
Stiles slammed the phone back down and irritably walked out from behind Oliver and began to walk with purpose around the patio. He was wearing a face of determination mixed with anger and irritation.
"What are you going to do now?" Oliver asked, quickly following close behind the boy like a lost puppy.
"I'm getting my girl, and then I'm getting out of this nuthouse..."
"Thats not really an appropriate way to refer to a facility like this..."
Just as Stiles rounded a corner, his eyes set on a scene playing out right in the middle of the patio, one that made his steps come to an immediate halt as his eyes widened in horror.
In the middle of the ground, surrounded by many patients who were simply standing by watching, Aspen was being held down to the ground by another teenage girl, one with light brown hair, but Stiles couldn't make out the face.
But instead of being in distress, or fighting to break out of the strong hold, Aspen laid completely still with her eyes on the girl who had attacked her out of the blue. She could've easily fought back, Stiles thought, it's not like she didn't have the strength or the means to do so.
But instead, she stayed still, and didn't so much as flinch when the other girl brought back her arm and landed a punch straight to Aspen's jaw.
"Hey!" Stiles yelled, anger and protection instincts in his voice, "Let her go!"
The girl who had just landed a punch to the side of Aspen's face looked up at Stiles, the collar of Aspen's blue cotton shirt still fisted in her grip. And when Stiles saw the face of the culprit who'd just attacked the girl he loved, his brows furrowed with shock and confusion.
"Malia?"
Malia stared into Stiles' eyes for a brief second, before looking back down at the girl in his grip, and once again brought her hand back ready to land another punch, but this time—Stiles launched forward to stop her from laying another hand on Aspen with force.
"Hey!" Stiles yelled angrily, "What did she ever do to you?!"
Instead of answering his infuriated question, Malia simply launched another clenched fist into Stiles' jaw, making him lose his balance as he fell backwards. Aspen was no longer remained still on the ground like she was before when she was the one taking hits. This time, she quickly rushed to her feet and approached Malia with carefulness.
"Hey—Malia," she said to the girl she'd never even met until today, "You can hit me as much as you like, okay? Hell—I deserve it."
Stiles was now being held back by Eichen nurses forcefully, but he still snapped his head towards Aspen when he heard the words come out of her mouth. He felt his heart drop to his stomach as he narrowed his eyes.
So that's why she didn't fight back. She thought she deserved to be hit.
"But don't hurt him." Aspen finished, a pleading look in his eyes as she looked into Malia's. Aspen then broke her gaze with the were-coyote, turning over her shoulder to look into the hazel, honey-flecked eyes that were already locked on hers, and then she added in a soft whisper,
"He's already been hurt enough."
And while Aspen's soft whisper may have affected Stiles to a point where he could barely bring himself to move a muscle, his eyes softening with pain as his heart sunk even more—it appears they didn't have the same affect on Malia.
Because after a few seconds of hesitation, Malia snapped again and landed a final punch to Aspen's jaw, knocking the brunette backwards as she brought her hands up to cup the side of her face in reflex and pain.
"Enough!" Another orderly yelled, restraining the were-coyote's arms behind her back and pinning her down forcefully, "A few more like this, Malia, and you're headed to the closed unit."
Malia grunted angrily as she was forcefully ripped away from the scene, a couple orderly's needing the restrain her as they guided her back inside.
There was one orderly though, who wouldn't rip his eyes away from the brunette who was knocked to the ground with tears smearing her eyes. He knew her—everyone important in this facility here did.
After all, the name Aspen Bellator held it's weight around here.
"That goes for you too, Bellator." He spat with a smug smirk at the girl, who simply didn't reply as a single tear streamed down the side of her cheek defeatedly.
Although he was dumbfounded by the name the orderly had referred to her by, Stiles was more overcome with anger than he was confusion. He was already pinned down to the ground, restrained by some guards, but he still found it in himself to yell,
"She didn't even do anything!" he screamed with protectiveness, "Malia hit her!"
"Stiles," Aspen said in a weak voice, her glossy eyes landing on the Stilinski boy's, she forced a weak smile on the corner of her lips as she nodded her head defeatedly, "it's okay, you don't have to defend me. You shouldn't even be here..."
"And neither should you!" Stiles yelled back, but Aspen was already being taken away back inside by an orderly, as she didn't even look back at Stiles.
Stiles fought effortlessly under his restrictive hold, until the side of his face was pushed into the concrete floors, and he finally let out a sigh of defeat. And then, his eyes focussed on the ground in front of him—it was a vent. A vent filled with small circles, and he knew the second he saw it, he recognised it. It was all over his face.
"Enough!" another voice piped up, a familiar one to Stiles—a female one. It was Morell, the old guidance councillor, the old emissary to Deucalion's pack. She walked over to Stiles, her heels clinking on the slate patio, and then crouched down beside him with a concerned expression.
"Stiles..." she said carefully, "You saw something, didn't you?"
"That basement..." Stiles replied in a calmer tone, "I've been down there before..."
***
"Still nothing?" Argent asked Derek as the two of them were locked up in the holding cell, as Derek tried to pick his way out of the lock, "Derek?"
"Hold on..." Derek told him impatiently, and then his heightened hearing allowed him to listen in on a nearby conversation between two deuptys.
"Hey, where's the sheriff?"
"Stilinski's out for the day."
"So, the Katashi murder is now a federal investigation. Everything here that wasn't blown up needs to be placed in lock up."
"You were right," Derek murmured quietly to Chris, "They're moving all the evidence."
"Was there anything about the murder itself?" Chris replied, "Any other details?"
"Just about putting Katashi's things in a federal lockup, and something about Stilinski being out for the day," Derek replied. He then stared on a spot of the floor, his mind spinning as he let out a defeated sigh, and continued. "You know, if all of this is true... people are dead because of Aspen and Stiles."
Derek didn't really see it that way—he knew it wasn't them, and he didn't blame either of themselves for it. He knew Aspen was probably going to have enough self blame. It was just a thought he ended up phrasing wrong.
"But is it really them?" Chris asked from the other side of the cell bars, "Remember, we've had this problem before..."
"But we got lucky with Jackson." Derek replied, "What happens...when we don't get so lucky?"
"I guess..." Chris sighed, "it depends on how much of them are really left. Or more like—how much of Aspen is really left."
Derek didn't reply as his brows furrowed, even though Chris couldn't see his confusion. But the Argent man could still sense he needed further explanation.
"Okami controls Void," Chris explained, recalling everything Katashi explained to him about nogitsunes, "Which means, the demon inside of Stiles doesn't exist without the demon inside of Aspen. So when you think about it... all we really need to do is find a way to expel Okami from Aspen's body, and surely Stiles would follow suit, right?"
"You say it like expelling the world's most powerful demonic spirit from a teenage girl's body is easy..." Derek mumbled back.
Another brief pause washed over the two men as they silently pondered the shitty situation, before Allison's father spoke up again,
"You ever heard of the Beserkers?"
"Germanic warriors," Derek nodded, "They wore the skins of bears to channel their ferocity."
"They didn't just wear them," Chris said, "they became them... 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 Beserkers, the human side doesn't last long—they're not tampered by the moon."
"He killed people?" Derek guessed, referring to the teenage boy.
"He tore them apart," Chris answered defeatedly, "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..."
Derek sort of guessed where the Argent man was going with this speech, and he felt his heart painfully at the idea that Aspen and Stiles could be long gone as well. With another sigh, Derek asked,
"Would you feel any remorse... putting Stiles down?"
"Stiles? Yes." Chris answered immediately, then added, "But not a nogitsune..."
Chris had to know the next question was coming, even though Derek took a very long pause before he voiced it.
"What about Aspen?"
Chris closed his eyes as his head dipped down on his shoulders, trying to find a way to answer that question as simply as he did for the Stilinski boy. But it wasn't that simple—and he knew why. Because of his daughter.
"Aspen is like a sister to Allison," Chris spoke solemnly, "I remember her always going on about how much she wanted a sister... and then moving here, she finally got one. I guess, that's supposed to make Aspen like—like a second daughter to me..."
Derek sat silently as Chris answered the question, understanding what he was saying. Allison wasn't the only one who saw Aspen like a sister. Scott did too, and Derek. That girl was just the light that everyone needed in their lives. Only now, the light had dimmed.
"So," Chris sighed, "I'm not even sure... if I could do it. I don't think I'd be able to pull the trigger... even given the perfect situation."
"But as you said," Derek countered for argument's sake, "we take down one and we take down them both, right?"
Chris stared into space, thinking about his daughter. His daughter's relationship to the girl who was the host to Okami. He'd seen the way those two were, and even more so, how quickly it happened. Aspen and Allison weren't the only ones who saw how important they were to each other—everyone saw it. You'd have to be blind not to.
"There will be another way, Derek," Chris finally spoke, his voice just above he volume of a whisper,
"There has to be."