Monsters | Stiles Stilinski

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕𝟖

WHEN I WAS NINE, I realised bad things happened to good people. It didn't matter what you did or who you were. It didn't matter what you believed in, what life you lived, what religion you followed. You could live your life by the rule book—do anything for anyone— it would never be enough to wash away the evil. You could never run from the bad omen, from the skeletal figure dressed in an abyss of dark robes carrying that scythe, waiting to take you.

Bad things happened to good people, but they never happened to bad people—not in my experience anyway.

I learned that lesson when I was nine—much too young to understand things of that nature but by how fast I'd been forced to grow up, I'd come to realise how true it was. I tried to not let it affect the way I went about my life, the way I thought, the way I did things, but in some aspects it ruled me. I could lie and say it didn't but what would be the point in doing that? It always lingered in the back of my mind, whispering ... It reminded me of it when I'd almost forgotten about it.

Ever since my father had sat down on my bed in the E.R—eyes glued to his shoes because he could not for the life of him meet my gaze—and told me that my mother had died in the fire and I asked him why her, life taught me one of it's cruel lessons.

It was humbling in the worst way. It was almost like a warning looming over your head, hanging on your shoulders and reminding you that you could be the best person in the world and something could still be around the corner, waiting for you.

I was a good person. I didn't have perfect grades at school. I might've rebelled a little but I had never committed a crime ... intentionally. I had never murdered someone or caused harm to them. I was a good person and I'd had my fair deal of shit dealt to me. It was unfair, if you asked me. I always said there was only so much a person could take, didn't matter what it was. I felt like I was reaching my breaking point. I couldn't speak for my friends.

This stuff with the Nogitsune wasn't happening to me, yes, but it was happening around me. It was happening to Stiles which really, felt like it was inadvertently happening to me, too. While the Nogitsune had possessed him, he was using Stiles' body to make my life hell. He did it on purpose so I would question every move he made, every word he spoke. It was a distraction, it always would be. Something to force me away from the bigger picture to observe every little detail of Stiles' mannerisms to decide whether it was him or not.

Some things the Nogitsune had managed to perfect down to a T but Stiles still had some tells. They were hidden things he did without even thinking, like when he was anxious or stressed he fidgeted but only in the most minute way. It wasn't obvious like some of his movements, when he was bored for example, he shifted in his seat so much it drove you to insanity and he bounced his leg up and down until the table shook and you were forced to place your hand on his leg to stop him. This was almost a hidden tell and it presented itself in the form of his finger tapping against the back of his hand in rapid succession. Every tap was in time, he never missed one or did it out of time with the rest. I would never be able to do it even if I tried my very hardest. It was how I knew this was Stiles because he was doing it without even thinking about it.

Though while this was Stiles right now, what was to say the Nogitsune wasn't still looming in the dark crevices of his head waiting for the time to pounce. How did we know that this was Stiles and only Stiles?

As night fell, he'd made a plan. It wasn't one I liked but it was necessary.

Melissa looked down at Stiles as he laid on Scott's bed stiffly. She'd been checking over him, looking at his pupils, counting his heartbeat and whatnot. She was hesitant around him, almost afraid, and both Stiles and I noticed it. We didn't say anything, we just let her do what she needed to do while sitting in silence and after some time she nodded to herself.