Stiles had made exactly two stops before using what little money he had to check into the Super 8 that morning. He'd stopped at the library and checked out every single book they had on Japanese mythology and on human possession. It had nearly broken his back to carry the sacks of books out of the library and down the street to the coffee stand, where he'd ordered the largest cup of coffee they sold. Then he'd taken a cab to the outer limits of the city.
As much as he hated putting any distance between himself and the others, it had felt like the best thing he could do for them at the time. He was possessed. Who knew what the Nogitsune had already done that he wasn't aware about? Had he already been the cause of someone's death here? He didn't know because he hadn't been reading the local paper, hadn't been paying attention to that.
He'd holed up in the room, which frankly was worse than the room at the Glen Capris had been. That thought had brought back a slew of gut-wrenching memories of rushing around trying to save Boyd, and Ethan and Isaac and finally, Scott. It was one of the worst nights in Stiles' life. One he still had nightmares about on a regular basis. He'd spent the day pouring over books and his laptop, cross referencing and making notes. He'd tacked up pictures and note cards all over the walls, like his walls at home, only bigger. He didn't have string yet, but he'd fully planned to make a trip to the store and buy some for that purpose.
And then he'd gotten the message from Scott. He'd been pacing the floor since he'd admitted to his best friend where he was, and he was already regretting his decision because he was also terrified he was going to hurt Scott. The one person other than his dad who'd always been there when he'd needed him. The one person he'd always been able to count on. It was stupid and he hated himself for the moment of weakness. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been able to say no to his best friend, his brother, in their entire lives.
And maybe it was the lack of sleep and the massive anxiety and the astounding amount of fear that was plaguing him that had broken him down to the point that he'd given in and written Scott's safety off as less important than his own weakness. He heard the knock on the door and shut his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly.
This, as plans went, was a terrible, terrible idea. But he moved forward toward the door, hesitating a moment longer before opening it, his heart beating too fast from the extra Adderall and the caffeine he'd been consuming.