Truth
truth.
013.
All in all, Stiles was having a rough week. If he were given the choice, he would rather take a week of AP exams than deal with all the shit he's dealt with this week. At least then he would actually have just one thing to focus his attention on because now, his mind was running rampant.
One of the things was why the hell am I locked in this damn room?
Truth be told, it wasn't a bad room. Stiles guessed it was some guest bedroom (Only God knows how many of those probably occupy this building) due to the gigantic, expensive looking bed and the dresser and desk occupying two sections of one of the walls. Not to mention the large tv stand that held the biggest flat screen television that he had ever seen, along with various other gaming and media systems. The funny thing was that the room was much bigger than the living room in his house back in Beacon Hills.
It was wild.
And he probably would've enjoyed it more if it wasn't for the circumstances leading him to have occupied the room.
After Stiles had been notified of the body (that definitely was not his), Tony had been summoned back to the conference room. Honestly, he wasn't even all that surprised when he was practically shoved into the room, with Tony shutting the door after strict instructions to his A.I to "not let Stiles leave the room and not allow any non-Avenger approved officials in," and Stiles was left alone with no new clothes and no food.
It was truly disheartening, but at least he wasn't locked in a hospital room or the damn interrogation room.
He rubbed his arms, once again trying to rid himself of the cold, trying to focus his mind on the most important manner at hand; the body. There was no way Stiles faked his own death because even if he could, there was no way he would even want to. Sure, he ran away with the intention of never seeing his family or his friends ever again, but he just thought they'd assume he was dead, but he would never have wanted them to ever find a body. That just seemed unnecessarily cruel, and he knew that when people were missing for an extended period of time, they were declared dead even with the absence of proof, but for some cases that took years, however, Stiles also knew that with evidence at hand (Eichen House), there was enough to tell them he made not have made it.
But a body?
That only meant one thing; it was the Nogitsune's doing, which also meant that he was still after Stiles.
Shit, Stiles' anxiety just fucking grew ten times the size it usually was.
What was really bugging him though, was why didn't the Nogistune just...consume him already? It wasn't like it wasn't obvious that Stiles was vulnerable right now (fucking HYDRA) so why wasn't Void? He feared that there was another move coming and that he was just a sitting duck.
Stiles was conflicted.
He was really at a crossroads, torn between spilling his secrets and continuing to be his stubborn, shitty self- though, of course, even if he went with the first option, he would continue to be his stubborn, shitty self but like, just in a different way.
It was just, he was so, so tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Any way that he could be tired, he was.
He flopped back against the cozy blankets adorning the bed, his hands coming up to massage his temple. He was so frustrated, and his mind was so muddled- both from exhaustion and the "severe" concussion. Either way, it had him utterly frustrated.
Stiles was used to just being able to figure things out. Sure, sometimes it took a little longer than others. Figuring things out was his forte, things pieced themselves together in his mind, the same way one would fit puzzle pieces together. But it was like the all the pieces of this puzzle weren't meant to fit together, instead, they were meant to be apart of a different, bigger picture.
"Fuck." He groaned, drawing out the vowel.
"Is there a problem, Mister Stilinski?"
He gasped loudly as he jumped, his hands flying off of his face. "What the hell?" He yelled up at the ceiling.
"My apologies. I am J.A.R.V.I.S, Mr. Stark's Arti-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know who you are," Stiles rolled his eyes, waving his hands, "But, like, why are you talking to me?"
"Mr. Stark has requested for me to watch over you."
Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, a huff of annoyance leaving his mouth as he fell back against the bed again. "Of course he did." He mumbled, rolling his eyes. "No damn privacy in this hell hole."
His ankle throbbed badly and he had the beginnings of a brutal headache, and part of him wanted to just close his eyes and block out the world. But with sleep came nightmares, and he wasn't really feeling up for that at the moment (or ever but that wasn't very relevant right now)
And oh God, he could literally smell himself at the moment, that's how badly he needed a shower. He assumed that his little dip in the icy pond of horror only escalated his must but it's not like that made anything better.
Finally Stiles pulled himself up, looking around the room before his eyes landed on the door that most certainly was not the exit. Muttering in hope underneath his breath that the door led to what he though it did, he walked and turned the knob, grinning in delight when he found it to lead to a (large) bathroom. He could have cried, that was how happy he was.
Stiles crossed the bathroom, momentarily ignoring his awe of how fancy and large the bathroom was, instead opting to turn the handles of the very fancy shower.
Only to find that it did not work.
"What the fuck?" He mumbled. "What kind of expensive shit like this doesn't work?" He spoke aloud, knowing that he was talking to no one.
Or at least he thought he was talking to no one.
"I regret to inform you that Mr Stark has given me strict instructions to not allow you to shower. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you."
Stiles gaped in a true novel fashion with wide eyes and a dropped jaw for several seconds, before an indignant noise left his mouth. "Okay one, are there cameras in the bathrooms? Because that's probably illegal and an invasion of privacy! Which is a constitutional right, which means I can sue! I mean, I probably won't, given the circumstances, but I could! And two, how the hell is he going to deny me the right to bathe? Isn't that unconstitutional as well? Because it should be! I know you don't have the sense of smell or whatever but I'm pretty ripe, dude! He better have a good reason or I swear to God I will-" He cut himself off, knowing full well that he was rambling, a side effect of his frustration and anxiety. Stiles huffed, running a hand through his greasy hair, walking out of the bathroom and looking up at the ceiling, awaiting the A.I's response.
"No, there are not cameras installed into the restrooms, however, I was able to hear you and sense your distress from the installations in the loft." J.A.R.V.I.S spoke smoothly, and for a computer, he sounded amused. "I also would like to inform you that Mr Stark requested for me to not allow you to shower due to his worries over your arc reactor. He believes that continued exposure to water will damage it and end up furthering your injuries."
Once again, Stiles rolled his eyes. The arc reactor was fine, and it wasn't causing the pain in his chest. That was the hypothermia. Duh. Big differences between the two.
He let out a deep sigh, ducking into the bathroom once again and closing the door behind him. Hesitantly, he grabbed the bottom of his soft, too-thin hospital shirt and pulled it up along his torso, revealing his chest. He wasn't gonna lie, it did look pretty bad, but he assumed at first that it was the helicopter crash that caused all the bruising along his skin, but upon further examination, it seemed to be extending from where the reactor was slotted into his chest.
He stared for a while, at least four to five minutes, before he realized that he honestly had no real recollection of how he was able to assemble the arc reactor, especially with the materials he had on hand in the basement of Eichen House. He could sort of recall the hazy beginnings of the idea to build it, but he couldn't seem to remember how exactly he had done it.
It really shouldn't have been possible.
Stiles was bleeding out, mostly on the verge of death, and there wasn't exactly the suitable materials to forge a fully functioning arc reactor. And certainly he shouldn't have been able to insert it into his chest on his own, so just what the fuck had happened?
He dropped his shirt, bringing his hand up to his forehead, using his thumb and his index finger to rub his temples, trying to formulate a possible theory.
After minutes of intense, silent thinking, Stiles suddenly stood up straighter, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by an exotic, but completely plausible idea.
The Nogitsune.
It was entirely possible for the demon spirit to have somehow influenced him or something, especially considering that when Stiles was legitimately possessed, he was able to build a bomb, despite having no prior knowledge how to make one.
But why?
If the Nogitsune wanted him, he was vulnerable enough then for him to have been possessed once more, so why did the Nogitsune help him?
In a weird way, that was scarier to think about than actually being possessed because it was so completely out of character.
Stiles sighed, looking back into the mirror only to jump in terror when the reflection staring back at him wasn't his own, but the mummified demon in a bomber jacket.
His eyes went wide though he practically slapped his hands against his face, trying to block out the world. After a few seconds, he dropped his hands, hoping that his reflection would be back to normal, but it was to no avail, because the Nogitsune was still in the mirror, staring back at him.
His mouth quivered, too consumed with shock to articulate an actual thought or something to say. His hands were opening and closing into fists at his sides, a sign of his anxiousness, and his heart was beating a mile a minute.
"Stilessss." The Nogitsune hissed, drawing out the final letter of his name.
He didn't respond, breathing hard.
"You think you're safe?" His gravelly, hoarse voice almost sounded amused. "I'm everywhere and no where. Even the Mighty Avengers can't protect you."
Stiles shook his head, "I'm not s-scared of you."
"Of course you're not," The demon laughed, making Stiles flinch. "You're scared of what I can be. Of what we can be, Stiles." Though the Nogitsune was in the mirror, he seemed to get closer to Stiles. "We can push the world to its knees, Stiles. We are one." He grinned, spiked teeth on display.
"And this time, we'll get everyone out of the way. We'll finish what we started Stiles." He sneered before he began cackling, his bandaged hands undoing the bandages covering his face.
Stiles' eyes widened even more, knowing what was coming and he was suddenly able to move again. He let out a shout of panic, whipping around and practically falling into the door as he twisted the knob, following to the ground outside the bathroom. Instead of acknowledging the pain that swirled through his body at the movement, Stiles, hopped up on frightened adrenaline, stood up and slammed the door shut.
He stood there, breathing heavily against the door. He had one hand clamped against the fabric of his shirt, over his heart, feeling the constant thump of his panicked heartbeat.
To him, the worst thing about that whole encounter was that he wasn't entirely sure if it actually happened or not.
"Is there something wrong, Mister Stilinski? My sensors are detecting an rapid heartbeat and the increase of your breathing."
Stiles ignored the A.I, trying to figure himself out.
"I'm afraid that if you fail to respond, I will be inclined to contact Mr Stark."
His head snapped up at that and he was quick to deny. "No, no, I'm great. Fantastic actually, just peachy." He gave an over-exaggerated thumbs up at the ceiling before he drooped, running his hands through his greasy hair once more and making his way to the bed.
But he didn't sit, he stood there for a second, staring at the pillows decorating the upper side of the bed, taking in deep breaths, trying to calm his thudding heart. What if it wasn't real? What if he was full-on losing his mind?
Or maybe he was so damn exhausted that he was hallucinating, his mind so numb with the overwhelming feeling of being tired that it was bringing his nightmares into the real world.
...Just like after the Nemeton.
Despite his common sense urging him to not, Stiles let himself flop face first onto the bed, ignoring the stinging on his face as he buried his head into the pillows. Fortunately, he was smart enough to not undo his stitches, instead taking great care in how he pressed his face into the cozy pillows.
He could hear J.A.R.V.I.S speaking to him from above but he just ignored it, instead he focused on not freaking out. He's had enough panic attacks since he's been awake to last him for a while, the last thing he needed was to freak out over something he wasn't even sure actually happened.
He was fully aware that he was playing the role of an angst-ridden, grumpy teenager but he figured that he was entitled. Plus, the couch was ridiculously comfy and he found himself relaxing against it.
However, he was only physically relaxed. Stiles' mind was still working on overdrive to figure out what the hell was going on with him. There were only two real theories on what just happened- Stiles was for real losing his mind or this was all apart of the Nogitsune's plan and he was unknowingly going along with it.
And maybe there was a third option, and it tied back to how going into Purgatory messed him up. There was a door left open in his mind and he supposedly closed it, but what if he didn't? What if that's how the Nogitsune got the drop on him? What if he only temporarily got back to normal when they saved Malia, and then things just got worse?
Stiles sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to bid the thoughts away. He just wanted to be at peace for once since Scott got bitten. Being stuck alone was messing with his head and he briefly wondered if this was Tony's plan or something; have him stuck in this room with nothing but his thoughts and, lack for better word, his stench.
It was diabolical.
But for some reason, Stiles couldn't seem to think that Tony would actually do it. He had seemed so genuine when he claimed that he believed that Stiles wasn't a criminal, and he couldn't find himself to think he was lying. That this was all just a ruse to crack him.
No, Stiles wasn't a werewolf. He couldn't hear heartbeats and he couldn't hear if it skipped a beat or not. But he was good at reading people- or at least he considered himself to be good at it- and Tony's words seemed authentic enough.
However, he was not able to dwell on the matter anymore when he heard the door to the bedroom swing open. His conscience told him that he should look up and investigate, but he didn't have the energy. Between the exhaustion fueled by the fear of nightmares and the fact that has not eaten the the right amount of food to sustain his seventeen year old self, he was pretty low on non-adrenaline charged fuel.
A hand landed on his, though it was quickly removed, causing Stiles to look. "Holy shit, no offense kid, but your hair feels disgusting."
Stiles rolled his eyes, looking up at Tony, "Well considering that I tried to take a shower- which was apart of our deal, in case you didn't remember-" And may or may not be an empty promise on Stiles' side. "Only to find that it doesn't work. So yeah, my hair is greasy. I also don't appreciate the fact that your A.I is spying on me."
Tony raised his eyebrows, "Of course J.A.R.V.I.S is spying on you, that's why I'm here. He told me that you were freaking out."
"What?" His voice was nonchalant but in truth, he was annoyed. Sure, maybe he was freaking out at first but he could his own. "The only thing I have to freak out about is that we made a deal and you're not holding up your end of the bargain." He sat up, crossing his arms.
"I'm sure J informed you as to why I restricted your access." Tony copied his movements, crossing his own arms, taking a moment to first gesture to Stiles' chest.
"Hate to break it to you dude, but one measly shower isn't going to kill me. My chest doesn't even hurt."
Tony gave him a look that told him he didn't believe a word Stiles was saying. "Look, I'm gonna be real with you. I saw the medical reports after your little escapade in the lake and I had a nice talk with the doctors after they mentioned the reactor when you got cleared. However you managed to make that arc reactor when you were half dead- which I would like to know how you managed to get your hands on palladium and electromagnets in a basement, it's poisoning your blood and the rust could potentially be infecting your blood as well but-"
"Hold on, how do you know I made this in a basement?"
"I told you, I watched what happen at Eichen House, but the footage cut out after...after the reason why you needed the arc reactor happened. I need to know how you made it so I can figure out how to fix or whether or not you need a new one."
Stiles stared at him for a moment before he finally spoke, "I already told you, I don't- I can't remember, okay?"
"I thought you were lying when you told me that earlier." Tony stated.
"Really? You already know I built, why would I lie about not remembering how?"
"We're not even going to go there," Tony rubbed his temples, reminding himself not to argue with a child. "Okay, well, if you really don't remember than I really don't have a choice other than offering you a new one."
"Excuse me? A new what?"
"Come on, I thought you were supposed to be smart. Look, I interrupted a meeting- which was spent trying to convince the others that you're not some criminal mastermind- so I could come down here, so use your head." The billionaire states. "I'm talking about replacing your reactor with one that won't kill you."
"It was rhetorical." Stiles defended. "The real question is why would I agree with that?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
"How do I know you won't use this as leverage?"
"We already made a deal, didn't we?"
He gave him look of disbelief, "And I've already established that you're not holding up your end." He deadpanned.
"Geez kid, by allowing me to replace your reactor, I'd be holding up my end." Tony said, though his tone implied the lack of the "duh" at the end of his statement.
Stiles faltered, tapping his fingers along the mattress. "I..." He trailed off, his chest seizing with anxiety. "Look, I get your point, but I don't know if I can do that..." He stated, letting out a puff of air.
"I get that, I really do, but the other option is that you might die."
"Die." His eyes flickered past Tony's shoulder, trying to swallow the gasp of surprise that was threatening to leave his mouth.
There, standing behind Tony Stark, was the Nogitsune.
Or at least, it was the Nogitsune, but not in the 1940s bomber jacket and the gauze covered skin. It was an exact clone of Stiles, except this one was much paler and his eyes were sunken into his skull. He looked like a corpse.
Void Stiles terrified him more than the Nogitsune's true form did. He needed to get out of there.
"Fine." He said, though his voice was shaky, against his will. "I'll do it, whatever, let's just go."
Despite the odd look Tony gave him, the engineer led him out of the room, right past the Void Stiles, which was only seen by the real Stiles. But as much as Stiles pretended he saw nothing, he would most likely never get Void Stiles' laugh out of his head. Especially when he could still hear it clear as day even after they got into the elevator.