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It was Friday night, the start of the weekend, five days since the incident, and Stiles still hadn’t slept. He was running on fumes, on caffeine and energy drinks that could only help for so long. He knew that avoiding sleep wasn’t sustainable. He knew he had to face it eventually, and at the rate things were going, it would happen sooner rather than later. If he kept pushing himself, it would be out of his control, and Stiles didn’t want that to happen. He had to control the situation, and that meant he had to welcome sleep willingly, a terrifying concept but one he couldn’t avoid.
Thankfully, Stiles had a foolproof plan.
After a late dinner, the sheriff left for his night shift, and Stiles watched his father leave through the blinds in the living room. As soon as the car disappeared from view, he moved into action. Firstly, he went around the house, locking every door and window as a precaution. It was less to protect himself and more to ensure the safety of anyone who might come by. The window shades were pulled on every window, and Stiles even went so far as to connect the mountain ash he had lined the house with shortly after the Kanima incident. The black dust fell through his fingers with a quiet ‘shh,’ and Stiles held his breath as he completed the circuit, imagining the forcefield it would make around his house. He exhaled shakily when it was done, always a bit breathless after working with the ash.
A water bottle was procured from the kitchen, and Stiles moved to his room, surveying it for a moment before setting the bottle on his desk. He moved to the bed, reaching under it and dragging a storage box out from underneath. Metal gleamed when he popped the lid off, and Stiles hesitated for a moment before reaching in and grabbing the heavy chains. He pulled them out and looked at his desk with a critical eye before painstakingly wrapping the chains around the heavy wooden furniture. He checked to ensure they were tightly fastened and sure not to slip and reached into the box again, producing a set of sturdy manacles. After Scott had broken the handcuffs that night, Stiles had prepared for the future. Of course, he never wanted to have to chain Scott up again. It was merely a precaution and one he hadn’t foreseen as a tool he’d use on himself. Funny how that worked out.
The manacles were carefully threaded through the chain and set on the floor. Stiles’ gaze lingered on them for a while, rubbing his thumb over the teeth of the small key that unlocked them, pressing the sharp mountains into his skin. At length, he set the key down next to them and pulled himself away. His sleeping bag and pillow found their way to the floor next to the desk, and Stiles huffed a breath of mild amusement to himself as he set the water bottle down next to them. If he ignored the chains, it would almost be like he and Scott were camping inside the way they did as kids. Not that Scott was going to be joining him. His best friend knew nothing about this, and that’s how Stiles wanted it, at least for the time being. Scott wouldn’t understand the situation. He had complete faith in the Yukimura’s and would likely assume Stiles was just being paranoid. He'd protest Stiles putting the chains on, thinking that he was enough to keep Stiles safe from his nightmares. But in truth, it was more than probable that Scott would be the one who needed the protection the chains provided. Scott wouldn’t be helpful in this situation, and Stiles knew that. He was alone, and it was fine. He had it under control.
With his plan nearly ready, Stiles headed to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. He stared listlessly at the floor while he brushed his teeth, eyes catching on a fragment of glass from the broken mirror. It sat in the corner, silently mocking him from the spot his father must’ve missed when the sheriff cleaned up Stiles’ mess. He left without picking it up, feet carrying him down the hall and into not his room but the glorified closet that had once been his mother’s sewing room. He walked in, ignoring the memories of his mother as he grabbed the huge, square mirror tucked away in the corner of the room. The mirror was soon propped up against Stiles’ bed, across from his sleeping bag, and Stiles stared down at the reflection of his feet for a moment before glancing towards the window nearest his bed. He grabbed the tilt rod, twisting it until the blinds separated just enough to let a little light in once he flipped the switch.
A yawn overtook him as he stepped away from the window, and he took his time getting dressed, letting himself feel the onset of exhaustion in a way he hadn’t let himself dwell on in several days. The sleepless nights had taken a toll on him. He could feel it in the way his muscles ached, how his very bones felt weary and discouraged as they held him up. His eyes felt bloodshot hot, and one of his eyes had developed a subtle twitch sometime during the last forty-eight hours. His hands shook in a mixture of tiredness and anxiety, and his head felt too heavy to keep upright. All this to say that Stiles needed sleep desperately, and he was finally ready to surrender to that need.
He surveyed the room one more time before flipping the switch. Light leaked through the slitted blinds, pale and weak from the streetlamps outside. Stiles’s heart sped up as he shuffled to his sleeping bag through the dark. He slipped his legs into the bedroll and found the key on the floor, heart racing as he held the tiny bit of metal in his hand. It would work. His plan was foolproof.
With a short cry of determination, Stiles threw the key away from him, watching as it hit the wall beneath the window and fell into the dark below it. Immediately, he wanted to go after it, heart pounding in his ears as he held himself back. He was going to sleep. He was going to confront the thing inside him on his own terms, and the chains were necessary to ensure he couldn’t hurt himself. Or anyone else.
The metal was cold as it closed around his wrists, and Stiles’ breath hitched as panic-fueled adrenaline flooded through him. Suddenly, he felt like he was back in Eichen House’s basement, trapped and hurt and terrified as the Nogitsune paced around in the dark. He wasn’t back there, though. He was home, in his room, and the chains on his wrists would keep him safe. He wasn’t trapped; he was protected in this way. He just had to ignore the panic, breathe through it, and calm himself down. Slowly, while taking practiced breaths, Stiles slid further into the sleeping bag, laying his head down on his pillow as he closed his eyes. He could do this. It was going to be fine. He was in control.
Following that train of thought, Stiles turned his head, staring at himself in the mirror for the first time since the incident. His reflection stared back, a perfect imitation with no indication that it wasn’t him. Its hand moved when his did, and in the minimal lighting, he could see its mouth moved along with his. “This time, we’ll do this my way. I’m the one in control, not you.” He waited a moment for a response, and when none came, he looked away and closed his eyes. With a slow breath, Stiles let the exhaustion take over and tumbled headlong into slumber.
Tethered by the Shadows
“Stiles.” A voice called to him. “Stiles, I know you can hear me. Wake up and face me.”
Stiles’ eyes snapped open as he woke with a jolt, arms flailing through an aborted movement as the chains limited his mobility.
“There he is. The man with a plan.” The voice mocked, and when Stiles looked over, his reflection stared back at him. The moon had come out, and its light streamed through the blinds, its pale blue shine casting a ladder of shadows onto the floor between them. It was brighter than the streetlamps, and as Stiles’ eyes adjusted, he could make out his rogue reflection in whole. “Didn’t think this through very well, did you, Stiles? After all, who’s going to unlock you come morning?”
The shadow was staring down at him, sitting up with its hands listlessly laid in its lap while Stiles was still lying on his back. Looking up at it, Stiles couldn’t help but feel small under the thing’s gaze in the mirror. He scrambled to sit up, ignoring the look of amusement on the shadow’s face. “I don’t care.” He spat. “I’ll tell the others, and we’ll find some way to get rid of you. For good this time.”
A hum answered him, and the shadow reached up to itch its nose in an oddly normal gesture that made Stiles feel off-kilter. The reflection glanced at its fingers and made a flicking motion like he was brushing away dead skin from his fingers. “I don’t think you will.” It said, dark gaze finding Stiles once more. “I think you’re too scared to tell them about me.”
“I’m not afraid.” Stiles retorted, clenching his hands into fists as he glared at the mirror.
“It does you no service to lie to me, Stiles.” The thing answered with a smirk. “You’re terrified of what they may do to you. They may have to kill you for real, isn’t that right? Or worse? Perhaps they’ll put you back in Eichen for good this time.” It suggested, and Stiles couldn’t hide his flinch at the idea. A wicked smile gleamed in the mirror, and the shadow leaned forward as far as the manacles on his wrists would let him. “You think you’re crazy, don’t you, Stiles?”
Stiles found himself leaning away from the reflection, pressing his shoulder into the desk behind him. His heart raced as he stared into those manic eyes, but he didn’t deny it. The shadow wasn’t just in the mirror but in his head, and Stiles’ lies wouldn’t fool either of them.
The shadow tutted, leaning back and looking down at their - its wrists. “I suppose they’ll believe it too when they see you like this, hm?” The questioning hum sent chills down Stiles’ spine.
“They won’t. They’ll believe me when I tell them about you.” Stiles said, his throat feeling too dry. He reached for the water bottle beside him, willing his heart to stop beating so fast as he took a drink. He was in control. The shadow couldn’t do anything like this. He set the water bottle back down and lifted his head to meet the reflection’s eyes. “I’ve trapped you. You can’t do anything while I’m tied up like this. You have no control.”
“Don’t I?” The shadow asked, and a spark of mischief in its eyes had Stiles’ heart rate ratcheting back up. Its head tilted toward the window, and Stiles’ head whipped to the right when he heard the soft sound of something dragging across the carpet.
Panic wrapped its hand around Stiles’ throat, and his eyes widened as he watched the key slide into the first stripe of light on the floor. Speechless, he watched as the blind’s shadow bent and enveloped the key, pushing it forward, each strip of darkness following suit as the key was slowly nudged across the room.
“You forget I’m much more than a mere reflection, Stiles.” The Nogitsune said with a grin as the reflection grabbed the key once it got close enough.
“No. No, stop!” Stiles finally managed to find his voice, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. His chest heaved with panic as his facade of control crumbled around him. The key was inserted into the manacles, and Stiles screamed in time with their click before everything went dark.
When Stiles woke in the morning, he was tucked into his bed, and the only evidence of the night before was the chafing around his wrists.