DANGEROUS LIAISONS ◦ STILINSKI [2]

twenty seven; holstered weapons

HOLSTERED WEAPONS

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Taking a trip to Eichen House was sentencing the teenage boy to his own personal experience in hell. The fact that William Barrow had been locked up in the place hadn't bothered him that much, it was more so the entire institution itself. It was a place that the downright insane were sent to, locked in each cell were people who were expressing the destruction that was normally suppressed in most people. It was a place that could bring out the worst qualities in a person, giving any visitors a full display of what their future looked like. And it was now a place that Stiles feared more than anything because he knew that if they couldn't get rid of the Nogitsune in time, he would be left with a situation where his insanity provided him with a mentally unstable head.
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Stiles paused for a few moments, tightly clasping his hand around the strap of his bag. His looming eyes never once diverted from the haunting structure as he and his father stepped out of the car and approached the metal gates. A chilling wind picked up, causing an unsettling feeling churn through his stomach as he continued to set his eyes upon the building; he barely felt his father's presence beside him, too mentally discombobulated to fully understand the justification behind his own request to be placed in such a facility. Stiles slowly shook his head, pushing away any thoughts that resembled discomfort towards his choice, knowing that he needed to be locked up tight and unable to harm any of his friends.
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The sound of an engine rumbling had brought Stiles out of his thoughts, him and his father slowly turning around to face Scott McCall as he quickly dismounted his bike before approaching them. His face twisted in discomfort, his mind instantly recalling to the previous night and how he brutally tortured the True Alpha by mercilessly twisting the sword that was impaled in his abdomen ; remembering how he almost killed Carter. A gut wrenching surge of guilt coursed through his chest, images of her writhing on the floor in pain as she experienced wave after wave of torment - suffering caused by his actions. He hastily tried to blink away the images, but to no avail, they had already become imprinted to the forefront of his brain, being a constant reminder of the agony he had brought upon the girl he cared about the most.
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"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott inquired, feeling offended that his best friend hadn't told him that he was going to be checking in to Eichen House.
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"Because we wanted to avoid something like this," Stilinski replied immediately, like he had the entirety of the possible situation planned out in his head and how he and his son were going to swiftly avoid contact with anyone other than each other.
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"It's only seventy-two hours," Stiles explained, knowing that Scott would need a little reassurance.
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"This is the same place where Barrow came from," Scott explained, the seriousness in his tone was something that surprised the pale boy enough to have him looking up with furrowed eyebrows. "The guy who had a tumor inside of him filled with flies." He then moved his attention to his best friend's father, certain hardness in his voice as he spoke: "You don't know everything yet."
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"I know enough," Stilinski retorted with an edge to his voice. "Nogitsunes, Kitsunes, Pheanixs, Oni, or whatever they're called."
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Stiles' eyebrows shot upward, "Wow, that was actually all surprisingly correct."
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"Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's and it terrifies me. I'm headed down to L.A. tomorrow to talk to a specialist."
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Scott was starting to panic and rightfully so. He had no idea what was going to happen to Stiles while being hospitalized in Eichen House. But one thing he did know, was that he wouldn't be able to assist in anything that Stiles went through. "Then why are you putting him in here?"
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"He's not," Scott's attention instantly moved toward his best friend. "It was my decision."
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"Stiles, I can't help you if you're in here."

"And I can't hurt you," Stiles whispered, his voice cracking on end as he practically begged the werewolf to understand the justifications of his decision. "Or Carter."
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"Deaton's got some ideas, Argent's calling people," Scott listed off, becoming desperate as he tried to convince the boy that checking into Eichen House wasn't the best decision. "We're gonna find something. And if we can't-"
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Stiles cut him off: "If you can't - if you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay? Make sure I never get out." He squeezed Scott's shoulder, giving him a fleeting glance before following his father through the metal gates.
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Stiles' body visibly trembled, walking further into the building toward the registration office. He could still visualize the details of the night before as if it were a film he had seen the previous evening in a movie theater. His mind clawed through the dim and grubby recollections for some kind of revelation; some sense that would explain exactly why he had been chosen to be possessed by the Nogitsune.
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Several figures had been loitering around the foyer, barely being able to be seen as their dark silhouettes hid them in the inky shadows of the building where the light failed to reach. That was how his night began. Old faces with dirty teeth were telling him to come forth. Had told him that someone was waiting. Don't keep him waiting, they had said.
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And forward he had gone. Along the grimy wooden floors. He desperately didn't want to move toward them, but the will of his body would permit no turning around or going home. He tried to stop his movements, but remembered going numb and suddenly not being able to breathe. So forward he went. There were no windows in the building, just faint yellow lights coming from random light fixtures. As they approached the reception desk he opened his mouth to tell his father that he changed his mind. But no sound had come out of his mouth. There was no air inside him, like he was winded.
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Inside Eichen House he'd kept his head down and his eyes fixed on the dirty floors. Dirty and wet. Wet from the weeping souls that had trickled out of each patients' body as they became permanently trapped in that God forsaken place. He tried not to look up, because something was in there with him - invisible to the naked eye but its snorts of excitement echoing around him because it could smell his fear.
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In his head, the knocking began when the snorts of laughter sounded. Near him. Sounded like wood banging against wood. In front of him. And he could not prevent a peek at what made the hollow knocking noise -
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"Mister Stilinski?"
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Stiles all but jumped out of his skin as the sudden sound of a woman's voice. He rose back to his full height, not even realizing that he had begun to slouch over. He saw the unwelcomingly sick smile on the woman's face - he imagined the despair he would feel in the comfortless air, in the desolate age of the place if he were to continue forward.
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Her smile tightened, "This way please."
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He moved ahead, more quickly than he had the entire journey through the place. He was treading on difficult grounds, but he knew that he would rather be suffering inside some insane asylum than hurting his friends and terrorizing the town of Beacon Hills. His father still hadn't said much. He was either mute from the pain in his chest, or so dead on his feet he couldn't think straight enough to form a sentence. Or he was still in shock that his son was actually being possessed by a crazed fox. Perhaps it was all three.
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"First seventy-two hours there's no phone calls, no e-mails, no visitors. We will be taking you from here to a brief physical. In the morning you'll be assessed by a staff psychologist, speak to a social worker and attend group therapy." The nurse explained, handing Sheriff Stilinski the proper paperwork as the three of them got settled within the confines of her office.
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Stilinski dropped the pen onto the desk, purposely forgetting to sign the provided for his signature. He folded his hands as he leaned back in the chair, "I feel like we're forgetting something."
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The nurse ignored the panicked father, setting a pair of brown slippers on the edge of her desk. "You will be wearing these, Stiles. No laces allowed. You don't have a belt, do you?" Stiles shook his head numbly. "And please empty your pockets in here," she slid a small white plastic bin across the desk.
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With trembling fingers, Stiles began to fumble with the laces on his sneakers. Through his discomforts, he did as he was instructed; placing the laces in the bin before beginning to empty the contents of his pockets as well. The loose change and set of keys jingled loudly as they landed in the plastic container, next was his phone - which he had been a little hesitant on coughing up.
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"Your pillow," Stilinski suddenly called out, Stiles looked up. "Your pillow - we forgot your pillow."
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"Dad, it's okay."
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"No, no, you're never going to be able to fall asleep. We - We got to go back."
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"It's fine, Dad," Stiles cut his father off with a sigh. "I don't need it."
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Stilinski shook his head in disbelief, "I can't believe I forgot it. I mean, every time that we've ever stayed in a hotel, the first thing you pack is your pillow."
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"You can bring it tomorrow," Stiles mumbled, seeing right through his father; he knew that his dad was only trying to push away the inevitable. "It's all right."
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Sheriff Stilinski was breathless, sighing and put his hands on the wooden arms of the chair. That had been when the banging sounded; echoing around him, metal clanging against metal as workers slammed the barred gates shut. He was spinning around in his seat and before he knew it, he was standing up. "Okay, you know what? Stop. Stop. Enough. Stiles, get your stuff. I'm not checking you in here if you're not going to get one good night's sleep."
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"Dad," Stiles sighed, standing up beside him. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks." He slowly wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze before Stilinski repeated his son's actions. "I'm going to be okay," he assured, patting Stilinski's bicep before following the nurse out of the office.
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Stiles was dizzy and cold. He would be forced to stay there for three nights because of his inability to fight off the Nogitsune. With each bang of patients' fists on the shuddering walls, Stiles had winced. The idea of following the nurse up the stairs made him nervous. Reluctance to ascend the stairs was worsened by his sulking after the farewell with his father, which now made him feel saddened, again. But he was also now ashamed by his choices.