Who. Kitty Norville and... that's not Stiles When. March 1 Where. The Station; Apt 411 Warnings. Violence, normal Nogitsune antics? Kidnapping.
They’d all been immediately trusting, and why shouldn’t they?
Shutting it behind him, the Nogitsune paused just inside the door, head canted slightly to the left as he listened. Yes, she was in the living area. Stiles’ roommate Kitty. They’d all been immediately trusting, and why shouldn’t they? It was no harder this time, and these people didn’t even know him as well. The alpha was around here somewhere, and he would love to draw some more of that pain from him again. But for now, this werewolf would do. She’d suggested cooking dinner, and there were any number of ways to make that work.
His footfalls were nearly silent as he moved down the hallway, the only sound the rustling of the bag he was carrying, some generic dinner foods in it. He could keep some commitments, after all. There was a general calm to him that Stiles never possessed, even if the Nogitsune had grown accustomed to mimicking some of the boy’s more obvious habits. The tapping and fidgeting. The need to fill every silence.
Stopping just short of the entrance to the open plan kitchen/living area he stopped, just watching the blonde where she sat on the couch, headphones on and focused on a laptop.
Even though her headphones were on, Kitty couldn't miss the sound of the door. She had paused for only a moment but there was a smell of wet and the door had definitely not been broken into by someone without a key. Stiles. So she turned her head just a little. "Hey," she called, though her attention was still on the screen, "I lost a whole section when Roey decided it was time for attention. I'll be another... thirty minutes I think?" She didn't even sound annoyed. A puppy was going to be a puppy, after all, and it wasn't Roey's fault that Kitty had missed the signs right up until the puppy had come up under her arm and landed on the keys of the laptop.
She turned back toward the laptop better. "You can wait for me or get started, sorry," Kitty said. And she meant it. She didn't want Stiles to think she was putting him to work.
Plastering what he thought was an appropriate smile on his face in response he moved into the kitchen area, setting the bag down on the counter. “It’s no problem. Do what you have to do.” He wasn’t in any sort of rush. He’d waited literally hundreds of years before, he had endless patience. It didn’t occur to him to change out of the wet clothes right away, not assuming that was something Stiles would do. Instead he went about putting an assortment of different vegetables and some kind of steak into the fridge.
"You're the best," Kitty chirped, grinning as she got back to work. She'd gotten good at the editing process which meant she was done in no time, though it still took a good twenty minutes or so. The blonde finally let out a sigh and closed the lid of the laptop, setting it on the coffee table in front of her to then give a stretch. "Alright," she said, slipping her headphones off and coiling them up just out of Roey's reach before getting to her feet.
Speaking of- Where was Roey? Void wasn't so much of a concern as a cat was going to cat and Kitty wasn't exactly the cat's favorite person in general. She was probably fine as the spare-human but... "Alright. What can I do?" she asked and turned toward the kitchen. Something felt off but the storm that had kicked up had already felt weird. It was easy to explain away.
He didn’t have big plans in the way of cooking a meal. It wasn’t something he needed to do. But the illusion was fun in its own way. It made the let down all that much better. Opening one drawer, and then another, he found a sharp knife, setting it down on a board with an onion. “You could chop this?” He offered in his best Stiles-like way. A crack of thunder chose that moment to interrupt the relative quiet, and he couldn’t help the slight smirk at the timing of it. He might have to pop back later on and pay Stiles a visit. He’d be full of fear right now.
Sensitive ears meant Kitty startled at the thunder and she paused with her hand just hovering over the knife. "Wow," Kitty murmured, "it's really coming down. I guess I didn't realize how bad it was." Standing closer to Stiles, she frowned and then looked up at him. The frown deepened. Her gaze dropped to take more of him in for a moment. "You didn't dry off? Why don't you get into warmer clothes and check on Roey? I can cut this," Kitty said, her tone giving away the wary feeling that was creeping up her spine. What was worse: she had the strongest urge to not make eye contact. Her brain scrambled for a reason why. They had worked their way back up to being able to make eye contact after the shifting debacle. Hadn't they? Was the problem the kitchen?’
“Oh.” He blinked, looking down at the still wet clothes, mulling over the answer. “I got distracted.” There was no ignoring the wary way she was responding to him, and he could only revel in the feeling of disquiet. As much as he didn’t want to step away from it, it would be strange not to. Leaving her to it, he went down the hall to Stiles’ bedroom, pausing in the open door at the sight of the dog curled up on the bed. When it sensed him it lifted its head, and they both watched each other just long enough for the dog to whimper and scurry off the mattress, running from the room and toward the kitchen.
That taken care of he went inside, looking through a few drawers until he’d found some dry sweats and a t-shirt. He remembered these clothes well. There was a towel for still wet hair in the bathroom and he used it enough to stop the drips, dropping it on the bed and heading back out again. “I don’t think Roey likes the storm,” he observed at another flash of lightning.
Kitty was still puzzling over what was getting her hackles up when Roey came running into the kitchen. "Sweetheart," she murmured and tucked the pup between her legs as she worked on cutting the onion. She hated cutting onions. With her nose being as sensitive as it was, they were awful. But it wasn't fair to ask to help and then decline what was offered up.
When Stiles came back out, she made a sympathetic face. "Was she hiding from it in your room?" Kitty asked. That made sense. She felt bad that she hadn't thought to keep the dog with her for the sense of security; Roey was pack and pack had to be protected. "Alright. Onion is... totally clogging up my nose here but it's done," Kitty added with a wry smile. Stiles smelled more like himself, too.
The onion was a nice touch, he hadn’t considered that. But he would take it. “I don’t think she likes it any more than I do,” he agreed. He actually loved the chaos of storms, it was Stiles who hated them. He stopped by the counter, considering the sad little pile of chopped onions. “Nice job.” Opening the fridge he got out the steaks, setting them down and then opening a cupboard to find a pan, and then another one. Well, that was awkward. “Did we move things?” He joked.
Kitty froze and her hand was back on the knife before she even realized it. Stiles had been the one to figure out where to put the pots and pans. Things made sense in a kitchen, easiest places to grab from while in the mode. Or so he'd explained. Kitty had been amused and hadn't protested in the least. As long as her mugs for coffee stayed put, she was happy. And anything Stiles did to the apartment was a quiet marking of territory and her wolf liked that. Pack. Home.
"There," she said and pointed her free hand toward the cabinet he'd been looking for. Kitty had been desperate to assign logic to the little things that were adding up in her brain; she should have been a reporter, really. Instead of the radio host. But Kitty tended to go after things with the same tenacity as a reporter after a scoop. "Want to watch some Cutthroat Kitchen when we're done in here?" she asked, mentally clawing at something familiar because her instincts had to be wrong. There was nothing wrong. There couldn't be.
“Thanks.” He opened the cupboard, picking a pan that could be used to cook steaks. He hadn’t missed her hand on the knife, and he could feel the tension. In fact he was thriving on it. He could have over-explained the cupboard thing, come up with some silly little lie, but it was really more fun this way, to leave her confused like that. Finding a peeler for some carrots was a bit less complicated, and he got that on the first try, only giving her a glance from the corner of his eye as he went back to nonchalant dinner preparation.
Kitty watched him and then shook her head to go to the sink and wash the knife. There was probably more cutting to do but she could at least wash off the steel. There was very little silver in the apartment, given her allergy, and stainless steel was safe. It was fine. She was imagining things and on edge for no reason. It was the storm, right? Roey pressed between her legs again and Kitty just let her press there. Stiles hadn't answered the question about Cutthroat Kitchen but it wasn't that important.
"What'd you get up to today while I was being a homebody after I eventually pulled myself out of bed?" she asked, trying to fill a silence she wasn't used to filling. Kitty could talk. And talk. But Stiles always seemed to do more of it.
“Hm? Oh, not much. Went for a walk. I’ve been spending too much time stuck inside lately.” He knew that much was true, because he’d read the network, and he knew Stiles. He might not have known where he put pans, but he knew how he responded to trauma. He’d lived that first hand. Every time he moved closer for whatever reason, whether to grab a spoon or wash his hands, the dog tried to move further away, pressing itself against Kitty’s legs even further. Eventually he grew bored of it and just looked down at it long enough for it to give a scared little bark and go scampering out of the room.
Roey being afraid of Stiles was the last piece to click into place. The puzzle she was so desperately trying to not complete. The knife was in the dish drainer and out of reach; she had no reason to go back there. So she darted for the knife block on the counter. Hey, she was more carnivore than omnivore. A knife block was an essential kitchen item. Kitty bared her teeth and lifted the utility knife. It was thinner and she'd known it would come out easier than the chef's knife at the angle with which she'd grabbed.
"Who are you?" Kitty demanded, holding her ground and trying to ignore the way the surge of adrenaline made her hand shake.
It was that little shake of her hand that did it. He laughed, that slight little smirk back on his face. “What are you talking about? I’m Stiles.” There was no attempt to actually convince her behind the words. He knew she knew. It was just funnier this way. The knife was a nice touch. He took a step towards her, this time holding up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “What are you going to do? Stab your friend?”
Her bravado would have been more believable if Kitty hadn't taken a step back to match his step forward. She wasn't going to stab her friend. But was this her friend? That was where she was questioning everything. If she had been protecting someone, Kitty might not have hesitated. The cutting board was in reach and Kitty moved. As a werewolf, she was stronger and faster than the average human but Kitty was not a fighter. She was more of a reactive scrapper. Kitty grabbed hold of the cutting board and flung it, frisbee style, at Stiles. There was weight behind the throw and a follow-through because Kitty used the momentum to turn herself and run. Phone? Laptop? Door. She could get out of the apartment and go anywhere else and get help.
The chopping board hit him in the shoulder and did have him stumbling back a single step, but then he was moving in an instant. He didn’t run, he didn’t really need to. He was on her as she was getting the door open, pushing it shut again with one hand, leaning up into her space. “Where are you going, Kitty? I thought we were having dinner.” His face was close to hers, and he breathed in deep, his expression unsettlingly not Stiles. “I can smell your fear.”
Kitty gasped when the door was shut and Stiles--no, not Stiles--leaned against it and into her space. He wasn't wrong. She could smell her fear. Past trauma was right there at the surface, old memories that she had worked hard to bury in order to function. She lifted the hand that still had the knife and she held the point of it to his throat in a warning.
"Back. Off." She was proud of herself for being able to growl two words and that they didn't sound as scared as she felt. She didn't want to hurt him. Kitty didn't want to hurt anyone. But she would if she had to. Her eyes hardened as she tried to shove courage forward and glare at him. Alphas didn't drop their gaze.
“Brave kitty,” he mocked, not following the demand. She wasn’t brave, she was terrified. His eyes moved over her face slowly, smirk still firmly in place. In a flash, the hand not on the door grabbed the one holding the knife, bending it back slowly to encourage her to let it go.
He was stronger than she expected and Kitty felt that sick feeling of terror knot in her stomach. It had been a while since she'd not been stronger than the person ready to hold her down. "Let me go," Kitty whispered, hating the way she sounded. She made a pained nose when her hand reached the threshold and her fingers opened unwillingly. The knife clattered at their feet and Kitty shoved off the door in a desperate attempt to knock him backward. Off his feet, just back, she would take anything she could get. The thought occurred to her that the apartments weren't as soundproofed as some people believed. She screamed a second later though Kitty wouldn't have been able to say if it was from anger or fear.
He was absolutely revelling in the fear and pain rolling off of her, and even when she dropped the knife he didn’t immediately release the tension he had on her wrist. When she shoved him though, he sensed the spike of adrenaline, and it was easy to see what was coming. Her scream was short lived, as he simply grabbed a handful of blonde hair in a rough grip, slamming her head back against solid wood. She crumpled to the floor, and he looked down at her dispassionately. Unconscious. Well, that was boring.
–
It was embarrassing how easily the Nogitsune got the jump on him. Or maybe not, when you considered how strong he was. And how absolutely terrified Stiles had been to see him. And he hadn’t questioned that it was him for even a second. He’d just frozen up completely.
And now he was here. Wherever here was. Stuck in a dark basement, head pounding and trying not to think about how similar this was to last time. Only, that had been a dream, right? And his leg wasn’t stuck in a bear trap this time. Silver linings. Isn’t that what he’d said to Alex the other day? Except now the Nogitsune was out there somewhere terrorising his friends a second time, and Stiles felt close enough to panic that he was having trouble taking a deep breath.
The sound of feet on the stairs pulled him out of his worried thoughts and he squinted up through blurry vision in the dark. It was the Nogitsune, but he had someone with him. Blonde hair. Oh god, that was - “Kitty.” He’d said her name without meaning to, looking up into his own smirking face as he - it - spoke, all but dropping her at his feet. “I brought you some company, Stiles. I just hated the thought of you being here all alone.”
Kitty hadn't even had the chance to fight back further. When she'd been knocked out, it had been a solid slam of her head against wood. As it was, she healed quickly but the brain was always a curious thing. Kitty was vaguely aware by the time she felt gravity take hold as she was dropped and God that hurt as she landed. She groaned and tried to push upward so she could maybe at least get on hands and knees and work her way higher. The room spun and she felt sick.
The scents, though. There was a memory she didn't want. Kitty forced her head up and her eyes were wide. No. She wasn't in a cell and definitely not in one lined in silver. Maybe she could survive this better than she had that cell.
He hadn’t dared move until the Nogitsune had left, going back up the stairs with a parting jibe that he had people to see. She was just starting to stir as he reached a tentative hand out, not sure if he should touch her. “Kitty?” He said her name again, this time as a question as he shifted a bit closer on the concrete floor.
She moved before her brain even caught up and it was nearly a full mirror of when she'd been cursed into the wolf form and then the wolf had come out as human. Kitty jerked backward without even consciously choosing to do so and regretted the movement. Her head was pounding and the room spun again. God, she wanted to vomit. Both hands came up to press the heels of her palms against her eyes. Dull the pain. Calm down. Breathe.
Above the scent of cement and dank, though? Stiles. Her hands lowered and she looked at him with a mix of wariness and optimism. "Stiles?" Kitty asked, slurring a little on the S sounds. She could be wrong. She could be very wrong. And it felt like there was a vice around her chest.
He flinched when she jerked back. That was a reaction he was all too familiar with, and told him enough about what the Nogitsune must have done. “Yeah, yes I…” He faltered over the words, knowing how fruitless they were as he said them. “It’s me.” He squinted into the gloomy darkness, trying to make out her features. It didn’t help that his own grasp on reality felt off kilter. For all he knew, none of this was real. “He’s gone.” For now, at least.
Kitty climbed unsteadily to her feet because she had to. "Okay. Cement floor. Stairs. Basement. We walk out," she said as though it were that simple. The blonde hesitated but took a step toward Stiles to make up for the distance she'd made between them. He could be lying. Kitty forced some steel into her spine and took another step closer.
"Can you stand?" Kitty asked. She wasn't sure she could haul him anywhere if he couldn't. Not yet. This might not be Stiles.
He frowned at the question, considering it. He’d tried, earlier. He remembered that much. But that hadn’t gone very well. Because the next thing he remembered was waking up again on the floor. But she was doing it, and he had to try. It would be back soon. Working his way unsteadily to hands and knees, he made first one, and then a second aborted attempt to get his feet under him, before slumping back into a seated position, defeated. “Dizzy,” he complained in a weak voice, tilting sideways where he sat, forehead breaking out in sweat at the minimal exertion.
Yeah. That sounded right. And Kitty breathed out. Stiles was pack and that meant she had to protect him while he was down. Kitty moved closer and dropped down in front of him. If her healing weren't accelerated, Kitty was fairly certain she wouldn't have been able to get vertical. "What can you tell me?" she asked. "I can carry you out. Not yet. Need to... need to wait." Her fingers curled against the cement and her breathing turned shallow again before she shook her head. It wasn't the time nor the place.
It was another question he didn’t have the right answer for and he shook his head, which didn’t help with the room spinning thing. Swallowing slowly, he tried to focus on her when she crouched in front of him. “He’s not me - but you know that. I don’t know why he brought you here unless. You knew it wasn’t me.” That would explain that move. Otherwise, there was little to explain his motives, besides winning the game. But he was guaranteed to do that because he would just change the rules.
Kitty sighed and the smallest, shortest laugh escaped her. It was a sound of tired disbelief. But she scooted so she could sit shoulder to shoulder with Stiles and give him something to lean against. "It took me too long to accept what I'd figured out," Kitty said softly, shaking her head. "I wanted to be wrong."
She hoped Void and Roey would be okay. There were always backup plans to the backup plans but would... he? Stay in the apartment or hole up elsewhere? It would be easy to change a base of operations, after all. Her phone hadn't been in her pocket when she'd made the run for the door and she hadn't been lucky enough to find a kind kidnapper who'd tucked it into her pocket in the meantime. Kitty shivered but it was more from the ebb and flow of adrenaline than the cold of the basement. Werewolves ran hot. "Should'a just stabbed him and took my chances," she muttered. "You would have forgiven me under the circumstances if it had been you. Right?"
Stiles didn’t have enough pride not to use her shoulder as something to lean on the second the option was there. “Hmm,” he made the wordless sound of agreement when she laughed. “He’s good at that. Fooled everyone for weeks last time. Even Scott.” Which - how had Kitty managed what Scott hadn’t? In a mind currently overrun by fear, that thought seemed particularly telling.
“Wouldn’t have done you any good. He already did that. Or, no. We did that. I mean I did. He did that when he was me. Stabbed us right in the stomach. I’ve got the scar to prove it.” He tipped his head far enough to try and focus on her again. “But I’d have forgiven you. What’s a little stabbing between friends?”
"Not everyone has my brain. Or my nose," Kitty pointed out. Her legs came up so she could hug her knees while Stiles spoke. It would be weird if she explained how her wolf viewed Stiles and how scent had been the first thing that had been off. It was masked first by the rain and the wet clothes. Then the damned onion. It hadn't been her Stiles. He hadn't been pack and safety. Maybe if whoever he was had been a we and had actually worn Stiles' body it would have been another story entirely.
Kitty watched him as he tipped his head and looked at her and her heart broke a little. Stiles had been through too much in too short a time and to varying degrees. Something was going to break. "Once the room stops spinning, I'll see about getting us out of here. Carry you if I have to." The bruising from where she'd made contact already looked days old but it wasn't like they had a lot of light to work with. Kitty's eyes were better in the dark than the average person but that still didn't mean enough. "Did he come back before he brought me here? Is there a pattern?"
“Scotty does his best.” And there was nothing but fondness behind the words, even in the acknowledgement that his best friend wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed. The werewolf smell thing didn’t weird him out anymore, though. He’d grown too used to all of them smelling his freaking emotions, let alone how dirty his clothes were. He very gingerly brought his hand up to the side of his head as she talked about getting them out of there, wincing once his fingers reached a certain point. He didn’t know what he’d hit him with, he couldn’t remember. But there was definitely blood matted in his hair. “He won’t have made it that easy,” he pointed out. “He never did.” And being able to walk out of here didn’t seem likely.
“Not before you. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. At least a day. Does that sound right? But I don’t know how long I was unconscious.” It could have been a lot longer. He instinctively leaned closer into her, his much colder body craving the warmth in the cool basement. “There’s no pattern with him. It’s all a game. One that only he can win.”
"Great," Kitty muttered. She couldn't quite bring herself to put an arm around Stiles but she pressed a little harder against him. She was there. "He walked in with groceries. We were going to have dinner. Cook. Shit, my show."
She frowned. It meant no one was going to have any idea she was gone until she didn't show up at all. And given the oddities that had happened off and on since she'd even started working at the radio station, they had mostly stopped asking questions. Someone might call her phone, wondering where she was. The only other people who saw her on a regular basis in the early hours were Stiles or Jason, depending on who was meeting her at the rail stop. Jason. God, was he in danger now as well? Just by association? What if he came looking for her and ran into... that? "How many people will he hurt? What's his game?" Kitty asked in a small voice. That was when her arm came around Stiles' shoulders. It was just as much for his comfort as it was hers.
“God, I’m sorry Kitty.” She shouldn’t have been caught up in this. Nevermind how he was even here. They’d stopped him, trapped him. But, Stiles reasoned, if people could get brought here from different times, so could he. But that still didn’t make him Kitty’s problem. Or anyone else’s. And Stiles knew he wouldn’t stop.
He gave an involuntary shudder just thinking about it, her question prompting a short, incredulous laugh. “Everyone? He doesn’t care.” He swallowed down the persistent feeling of nausea. “He feeds off it. Pain. Anger. Chaos. He doesn’t follow any rules. Last time - it became a bit like chess, but that’s only because he knows chess is my game. I don’t know if he’ll do that again.”
No amount of telling him to not be sorry, to not apologize for things that weren't his fault, was going to make him feel better and Kitty didn't have it in her for platitudes. It wasn't Stiles' fault and they needed to keep it together and figure a way out.
"Chess has rules," Kitty pointed out. "I don't know them. I know the horse-dude can do an L-shape and that the Queen is the most powerful piece on the board. I always thought that was kind of cool." She blew out a breath. "What we have going for us right now is that we're not alone and I don't think this place is lined in silver." Kitty wouldn't have said that out loud if she still thought Stiles wasn't himself. No good ever came from making your weaknesses public. "And if there's no silver, I might be able to strong-arm our way out. Or dig. My fingers will heal. No big deal. Already doing way better than the last cell I was in."
“The knight. And I said like chess.” He didn’t know why he was correcting her, on either point. It didn’t matter. Either way, they were screwed. “And I don’t have a steel jaw trap on my leg this time. Go team,” he mumbled sarcastically, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. He was too tired for this. “You can’t dig your way through concrete, Kitty.” Even if she did heal. “The door. We just have to figure out the door.” Or maybe there was another way out. He hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind to go looking, yet.
"I'm thinking of plans B through Z," Kitty sighed. "The door is Plan A." Like it was just that simple. All she needed was to get her strength back. Get her head to stop pounding. "When we get home, teach me to play chess anyway."
Kitty blew out another breath, trying to calm down. "How's your head?" she finally asked in a low voice. "I need to plan for under your own steam and not."
“You got it,” he agreed somewhat mindlessly, not all that focused on chess lessons right now. He looked up towards the top of the stairs they’d both been dragged down, considering the pretty imposing looking door. Was that thing metal? Typical. But like Kitty had said, at least it wasn’t silver. It was kind of funny, the werewolves being allergic to silver thing. Back home that would have been a joke. He snorted a laugh at the thought, then realized Kitty would have no idea what he was laughing at. Oh well.
“I’ll be fine,” he automatically assured at her question, bringing a hand back to the side of his head again. “Hard head.” And he could definitely almost look at her without it being all wobbly, now. Progress.
Her noise in reply was entirely noncommittal. Hard head, sure. Kitty looked at him and then back to the stairs at the door at the top. "Stay here a sec and I'll go check that out before I try to get you upright. One thing at a time." If she couldn't get it open, they needed to figure out that Plan B strategy.
Kitty eased away from Stiles and got to her feet. She was still unsteady but it was better. Talking had helped. Talking always seemed to help. It filled silence and reminded her that she was still human. Alive. Up the stairs she went, each step carefully taken like she was expecting him to suddenly be right there. "Well. Fuck." The door was a problem.