Chess Moves

Allison dumped the duffel bag onto the table, the contents spilling out like an armory for a medieval cosplay convention.

"This is everything non-lethal I could find..."

Argent didn't even blink. "Take all of it."

I glanced at the blades, batons, and—was that a bolas?—and swallowed hard. It wasn't the weapons that scared me. It was the fact that they thought we needed them. That meant we were already in deep.

Sheriff Stilinsk asked what I'd been wondering myself: "What's the plan here?"

Argent's voice was steady. "Our best shot right now is for Derek to try to pick up Stiles' scent at Eichen House, especially if he went through something stressful there."

I didn't have to guess if he had. The mere thought of Stiles trapped in that place made my stomach twist. I hadn't been able to sleep the last two nights without seeing flashes of it. Of him, not Stiles, but the thing inside him.

Sheriff Stilinski frowned. "Should all four of us be going to the same place?"

"Where else has Stiles been showing up?" Allison asked.

"School... the hospital..." I said, ticking them off like a list we'd already failed.

Derek stepped forward. "Okay, hold on. We did this already. He disappeared, we started looking for him... then walked right into a trap at the hospital."

Argent nodded slowly. "He's getting us to repeat the same moves."

A chill ran through me.

He's playing with us. Like pieces on a board.

"So, what do we do?" Allison asked, frustrated. "Wait for him to come to us?"

"We can't," Derek said. "Not if the Oni find him when the sun goes down."

Sheriff Stilinski folded his arms. "Scott's working on that right now with Kira."

"That's the problem," Argent said grimly. "We're all trying to outfox the Fox."

There was a beat of silence. And then the Sheriff, his voice rougher now. "Listen... I'll understand if anyone wants to back out."

Derek snorted. "I won't be the first Wolf to run from a Fox."

Argent looked down at the sword slung over his back. "Apparently, I'm carrying a lightsaber..."

I couldn't sit still anymore. I grabbed my jacket. "Alli, you, your dad, and Derek hit Eichen House. Sheriff, it's you and me at the hospital."

They all looked at me. My voice was too firm. Too sharp. I didn't care. "We all meet in the school."

Sheriff nodded. "You sure you're up for this?"

No. Not even a little.

"Yeah," I lied. "I need to be doing something."

-----☾-----

It started normal. Or as normal as breaking into a hospital gets.

The halls were quiet. Too quiet. Sheriff Stilinski walked beside me, flashlight cutting a path through the dark like a blade. I tried not to look at the closed doors. I tried not to imagine him behind one.

Stiles. Or the thing wearing his skin.

I was halfway down the corridor when it happened.

The air changed, static putting my hair on edge. My breath caught.

I blinked, and the hospital was gone.

The floor beneath me was white marble. Glossy. Cold. I was standing in the center of a massive room with no walls, just space, and at my feet, a chessboard the size of a football field.

And he was there.

Stiles.

His back to me. Black hoodie, hands clasped behind him like a general surveying a battlefield.

Cassandra.

His voice echoed. Not from his mouth, from everywhere.

Do you know what piece you are yet?

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

He turned around, and his eyes were full of shadows.

You're not the Queen. You're not the Rook. You're not even the Pawn.

He stepped closer.

You're the Timer.

Tick.

Tock.

"Cassie!" The world snapped. I gasped, blinking hard as I collapsed to my knees on the hospital floor.

"Cassie!" Sheriff Stilinski's voice was laced with panic now. He dropped beside me, his flashlight rolling off somewhere.

"I, I saw him," I whispered, hands clutching the fabric over my heart. "I saw him. He was standing on a chessboard. I, I couldn't move. He was talking to me, not just in my head. I think he was really there."

He put a firm hand on my back and gently guided me into a nearby chair.

"You're okay. You're here. He's not. It's just us."

I tried to breathe. "I think I'm losing my mind..." The Sheriff crouched in front of me, face kind and calm but lined with worry.

"You're not losing your mind, Cassie. You're just carrying too much."

I blinked, and the tears spilled. "I just want him back..."

"I know, sweetheart." He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "And he's lucky to have someone who cares like that."

I nodded, lip trembling. "I'm scared I won't recognize him when we do find him."

Sheriff Stilinski held my gaze. "You will. Because he'll recognize you first."

He stood and offered his hand. "Come on. Let's keep moving." He paused, his phone buzzing.

"What's that?"

"Someone's breaking into my house..." I raised a brow. "After Stiles started sleepwalking, I had some safety precautions put in-- motion sensors, cameras..."

"Is that his room?" I asked softly. He nodded. I swallowed down the lingering anxiety. "I'll text everyone else."

-----☾-----

The sticky notes covered the chess pieces.

"What is all this? What are these sticky notes for?" Argent asked, arms crossed like he already expected the worst.

Sheriff Stilinski stepped closer. "This is what Stiles used to try and explain to me about... all of you."

I swallowed hard. My eyes were drawn to one in particular—the one with my name. There it was, scrawled in his handwriting. Slanted and familiar.

God, I missed him.

"Maybe it's a message," I said quietly, stepping forward. "From Stiles. The real Stiles."

Derek stood stiffly in front of the board. "Do you think there's any reason my name's on the king?"

"Well, you're heavily guarded..." Sheriff Stilinski said. "Though, I guess the alarming detail is that you're one move from being in checkmate."

"It's not a message from Stiles," Argent said. "It's a threat from the Nogitsune."

"He's at the loft," Allison said. "That's what he's trying to tell us. And he wants us to come there."

I felt a twist in my gut. The loft. That was where it would happen. Whatever it was.

"This couldn't sound any more like a trap," Derek muttered.

"I don't think it is..." Sheriff Stilinski said.

Argent raised an eyebrow. "I think your opinion might be slightly biased, Sheriff."

"Hear me out! What we're dealing with here is basically someone who lacks motive. No rhyme or reason, right?"

"Meaning what?" Argent asked.

"Our enemy's not a killer. It's a trickster. The killing is just a by-product."

"If you're trying to say it won't kill us," Derek said, "I'm not feeling too confident about that."

Sheriff Stilinski's voice dropped, more certain. "It won't. It wants irony. It wants to play a trick—it wants a joke. All we need to do is come up with a new punchline."

Argent looked toward the window. "The sun is setting, Sheriff... What do you have in mind?"

I didn't say a word. I just locked eyes with the Sheriff and nodded, jaw clenched.

-----☾-----

The moment we stepped in, I felt him.

Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I carried the weight of him with me wherever I went now.

Stiles stood there, perfectly calm, perfectly still, as the Sheriff stepped forward.

"You want to handcuff me?" he asked with that awful, mocking smile.

"If my son is still here," the Sheriff said slowly, "if there's a part of him standing here in front of me, then he'll put these on willingly and come with me. Because he knows I'm here to protect him. From himself and from others."

Nothing happened. Stiles just smiled. The sheriff froze, "...You're not my son."

My heart cracked a little more. I didn't know how many pieces were left.

Suddenly, Argent raised his gun.

"Argent, listen to me! Don't do this!" the Sheriff shouted.

"Why not? I've done it before. Werewolves, Berserkers... I can easily add a Nogitsune to the list."

"You're not going to shoot my son!"

"You said it yourself, Sheriff. That's not your son."

The room lit up with panic, voices overlapping.

"Put it down! Put it down!"

"Dad, he's going to shoot me. He's going to kill me, Dad." I flinched. It was his voice. It sounded like Stiles. But it wasn't.

"Don't listen!"

"Put the gun down, now!"

"Pull the trigger! Come on!"

"Shoot me!"

The chaos built and built until I finally cracked, my voice echoing. "Stop! Stop it! This is what he wants! This is exactly what he wants!"

Everything froze.

Then Stiles tilted his head and smirked.

"Not exactly... I was kind of hoping Scott would be here. But I'm glad you all have your guns out..." His eyes flicked to each of us. "Because you aren't here to kill me—you're here to protect me."

And then he looked at me.

He was talking to me now. Alone.

"Funny thing, Cassie. They all think you're the only one still holding on to him."

"What if I told you he likes it in here?"

I blinked.

"What if I told you he lets me speak through him, because part of him agrees with me?"

"Shut up," I whispered.

No one noticed. They were too busy preparing for a fight.

"You think you're special. His tether. His anchor."

"You're just the weakest piece. The one that breaks first."

My hands were shaking.

A crash, a roar, and then everything exploded into motion. A blur of movement. Oni smoke. Screams. Lights shattering.

I dropped to the floor, heart pounding, gasping for breath. I couldn't tell if I was going to cry or scream.

And then—silence.

He was gone.

-----☾-----

The smoke hadn't even settled when I ran.

I don't think anyone noticed, everyone was shouting, checking each other, calling out names, counting heads. It was chaos, and I slipped through it like I wasn't even there.

Just like him.

I didn't stop to think. Didn't wait for someone to ask if I was okay.

I couldn't. Because the answer was no. It had been no for days.

My legs carried me down the loft stairs and into the cold night air. I didn't stop until the street was empty, until my lungs burned and my head spun.

And then I broke.

I dropped to the ground beside a rusted dumpster in the alley behind the building. Curled in on myself, arms wrapped around my knees like I could hold the pieces in. My breath came in gasps, too loud in the quiet, too shaky to calm.

Everything hit me at once.

His voice.

That smirk.

The way he looked at me like he knew me better than I knew myself.

Like he was me.

"Stop," I whispered. "Stop talking. Stop talking. You're not real. You're not real."

But I still heard him.

"Poor little Cassie. Always pretending to be the strong one."

"You think running makes you invisible?"

"It just makes you easy to catch."

I slapped my hands over my ears and pressed hard until it hurt, until my skull throbbed. I wanted it to stop. Just for one minute. Just one breath of silence.

But the silence was worse.

Because then there was room for the memories.

Stiles laughing. The real Stiles. His dorky grin. His rambling voice. His hand in mine that night in the Jeep when everything felt like it might just be okay.

I clawed at my skin, nails ripping my flesh as if I could pull the pain out of me.

It didn't help.

-☆-

I didn't realize she was gone right away.

Too much shouting. Too many people moving around. Guns still drawn. Argent pacing. Allison trying to calm him down. The Sheriff looking like he'd aged ten years in two minutes.

Everyone was focused on what just happened.

I scanned the loft again.

No voice, no sarcastic comment, no eye-roll. Just the absence of her.

And her scent. Blood. Salt. Fear.

My chest went cold.

I didn't say anything to the others. Didn't draw attention to it.

She wouldn't want that.

But I moved fast. Down the stairs. Out the door.

Following the trail.

I found her in the alley. On her knees. Bent over like she was trying to press herself into the concrete.

And she was crying.

No. Not crying, sobbing. Sound ripping from her throat like it was being torn out.

Then I saw her hands.

Scraped. Bleeding. Tearing at her own skin like she was trying to rip something out.

And it scared me.

Because this was Cassie. Cassie who didn't cry when she scraped her knee as a kid. Who the first time I saw her cry was when she lost her parents. And even then, it wasn't like this.

This was broken, raw. She sobbed like she had nothing left in her.

She cried like she was ready to surrender.

I stopped a few feet behind her. Carefully.

"Go away," she whispered, voice raw.

She didn't even look.

I didn't leave.

"I didn't tell anyone," I said. "I figured you didn't want them to see."

She made a sound, sharp and wet, something between a laugh and a sob.

"I didn't want anyone to see."

I didn't move.

"I've seen breakdowns," I said. "I've had them."

She shook her head. "Not like this."

"I once shifted during a panic attack and shattered every window in the loft."

That got her to look up. Her eyes were glassy. Her face was flushed. Her hands - God, her hands.

"You're lying," she said.

"No. I'm not."

I crouched down across from her. She looked like she was barely holding herself together. "I'm not even a werewolf," she whispered. "I'm just... broken."

"No, you're not. You're cracked. There's a difference."

That didn't make her feel better. But she didn't flinch when I reached out and gently caught her wrist. Her arm trembled. The skin was raw where her nails had dug in, blood on my own hand. I wanted to take her pain, but nothing was happening.

I was calm on the outside.

On the inside?

Terrified. I've watched people fall apart before. Watched it turn them into things they couldn't come back from. I've been one of them. But this girl in front of me, I was scared there was no saving her.

"I can't do this," she whispered. "He's still in there and I can't tell where he ends and where the Nogitsune begins."

"You don't have to," I said. "You just have to keep showing up."

Her voice cracked. "What if I lose him anyway?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?" She looked up at me. Her blue eyes were dull, glassy. I couldn't even find a glimpse of the bright-eyed girl who was like my sister.

I wanted to tell her I didn't. That I was just as scared. That I'd seen what the darkness can do and I was terrified it had gone too far this time.

But I couldn't say that. She didn't need honesty right now.

She needed hope.

So I looked her in the eyes and said what I needed to believe too.

"Because Stiles may be a lot of things—loud, chaotic, irritating—but he's never left someone behind. Especially not you"

The tears came again. Softer now. Exhausted.

I stayed.

-----☾-----

The first thing I felt was the ache in my ribs.

The second was the sound.

Muffled voices, footsteps thudding beneath me, something heavy being dragged. My eyes opened slowly to the familiar ceiling of the McCall office. I was on the pullout, curled in a blanket I didn't remember pulling over myself.

It smelled like Melissa's lavender detergent and old couch cushions. Safe.

I pushed myself up slowly. My arms screamed in protest, scraped and stiff from the alley. My skin stung where I'd clawed it raw.

But I didn't care about any of that, not when I heard his voice downstairs.

Void Stiles.

And Scott.

I was moving before I thought about it, slipping quietly to the edge of the stairs and lowering myself one step at a time. No one looked up.

"The couch, put him on the couch."

Scott's voice was tight. He sounded like he hadn't slept.

"Guys, this is crazy. He needs to be in the hospital!" Melissa's voice. Sharp with worry.

"Mom, remember what happened last time he went to the hospital?"

I turned the corner, finally able to see them.

Stiles, no, the thing in Stiles, was slumped on the couch, body limp. Everyone was gathered around him like he was a bomb they didn't know how to defuse.

"It doesn't look like he's bleeding..." Deaton said, kneeling beside him. "I think he might even be healing."

Aiden frowned. "You mean, healing like we heal?"

"That's good, right?" Scott asked.

Deaton stood slowly. "For him, yes. Us? I'm not so sure."

"Well, if we're not going to kill him, why aren't we at least tying him down with really big chains?"

"I might have something more effective..."

And then it happened. Void Stiles surged upright, lunging for Aiden.

"Get him off me! Get him off me!" Aiden shouted.

Deaton sunk the needle into his neck again. The venom must've hit fast, because Void Stiles dropped again, muscles locking.

His head turned just slightly toward me on the landing. Eyes glazed but aware. A slow, razor-edged smile curling on his lips.

I froze.

"Cassie," he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "I missed you." My blood ran cold.

He turned to Aiden, voice louder now. "Kanima venom... Nice touch." The sinister smirk made my stomach twist as he locked eyes with the twin. Aiden stumbled, grabbing his chest like he was in pain.

"You know how they say that twins get a feeling when the other one's in pain?" Void Stiles said. "You didn't lose that power too, did you?"

"Ethan's at the school," he added with a grin.

Scott barely waited. "Go!" Aiden bolted out the door.

"Oh, I hope he gets there in time. I like the twins, short tempers, homicidal compulsions... They're a lot more fun than you bakemono, trying to save the world every day."

"Doc," Melissa said, "you brought something to paralyze his body. You got anything for his mouth?"

Deaton held up duct tape.

I stood near the wall, arms crossed over myself, trying not to look directly at him.

I could still hear his voice. The private one. The one he used for me.

"You're all out of moves, Cassie."

"He's not coming back. You know that, don't you?"

Deaton was speaking again.

"If we don't figure out something soon, we're going to need to find a better place to keep him. I think we're grossly underestimating the danger here. He might be paralyzed, but it still feels like he's got us right in the palm of his hand."

He did.

We all knew it.

"But the scroll said to 'change his body...'" Scott said, pacing now.

"That's if I translated it correctly. We're looking for a cure in something that might actually be nothing more than a proverb or a metaphor."

"And what if he doesn't want it?" Scott asked. "He never asked to be a werewolf."

Lydia stepped forward. "What if it saves his life?"

Scott ran a hand through his hair. "What if it kills him? I've never done this before. I mean, what if I bite him and accidentally hit an artery or something?"

Deaton's voice was clipped. "The venom is not going to last long. Something needs to be done sooner than later."

"I can try calling Derek again?" I offered, but something in me knew he was dealing with this own things. I felt a wave of shame, remembering how he found me in the alleyway.

Lydia's voice was soft, tired. "Maybe we should call someone else..."

The room went still. Scott nodded, and she stepped out.

-----☾-----

"He doesn't look like he would survive a slap across the face, much less the bite of a Werewolf."

Peter.

Of course.

"You don't think it would work?" Scott asked.

Peter's smile was unreadable. "This is more a war of the mind than the body. There are better methods to winning this battle."

Deaton crossed his arms. "What kind of methods?"

"We're going to get into his head."

My breath caught. Going into Stiles' head seemed like a bad plan. Hell, I wouldn't want anyone in my head given the state I was in.

"So, do we have a plan?" Scott asked.

"Scott is going to try and dig through pale and sickly Evil-Stiles' mind to unearth pale and sickly Real-Stiles... Then, guide him back from the depths of his own subconscious. But he's not going to do it alone."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

Peter's gaze flicked to me. Right to me. "Somebody needs to go in with you."

Every head turned. The concern on Scott's face was genuine. "You don't have to do this." He said, walking towards me, sheiling me from the eyes of the rest of the room.

I laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Of course I do Scotty."

He paused, as if trying to find the reason I shouldn't. I had about 12 of the tip of my tongue, but gave him a small smile instead.

"It's Stiles. If anyone knows how his crazy mind works, it's me."

-----☾-----

The world shimmered like it had been painted wrong, walls half-formed, corners that didn't line up, colors that flickered between shadow and memory. Eichen House twisted into something more grotesque, stripped of reason. Everything echoed. Distant screams. Footsteps that didn't belong to us.

Scott lay in the bed beside me, breathing heavy, panicking against the restraints.

"Do you actually need me to remind you that you're a werewolf?" I snapped, panic biting through my voice.

He glanced down, arms wrapped in thick restraints, wrists chained to a rusted bed bolted to the floor.

"We're in Stiles' head-"

I cut him off. "And you're a supernatural creature with supernatural strength! Break free!"

He exhaled sharply and pulled, snapping the chains with a grunt and sending pieces of rusted metal scattering across the tile. He ripped mine too and helped me to my feet.

He turned to me, eyes glowing faintly red. "What now?"

I blinked. The wall behind him shifted. It looked like it was breathing.

I shrugged. "I don't know. This is my first time in someone else's head. Maybe try the door?"

He gave me the smallest smirk. "Stay behind me."

He started forward into the dark. I hesitated.

The tiles under my feet trembled.

"Scott?" I called. "Scott!"

The world split like glass, and suddenly I was falling.

I stood slowly, legs trembling, and looked around.

Stiles' room.

But wrong.

The light was yellowed, flickering like a dying bulb. The posters on the wall were smeared at the edges, the words slurred like they'd been dragged through water. The window was bricked over. No way out.

And in the center of the room, the chessboard sat perfectly intact.

Every piece knocked down except one.

The Timer.

I didn't want to touch it. But my feet moved on their own. I reached out and let my fingers skim the edge of the board.

"You always make things worse."

I froze.

The voice came from behind me.

My voice.

"You talk big. You act brave. But the truth is, you're terrified."

I turned.

And saw her.

Me.

But not just some nightmare doppelgänger, not the me I had faced before with glowing eyes and a sharp smile, edges wispy like smoke. She looked real. Tangible. Same jacket. Same hair. Same scars on her arms. But where my face was drawn and hollow, hers was calm. Empty.

She looked at me with a tilt of the head and something like pity.

"Get out of my head," I whispered.

"This isn't your head," she said. "It's his. But you've made it all about you, haven't you?"

I backed away. She followed.

"You want to save him, Cassie. That's noble. Sweet, even. But deep down, you're not here because of him."

"Shut up."

"You're here because you're afraid. Afraid that if he doesn't come back, you won't know who you are without him."

"Shut. Up."

"You're afraid you're not enough. That no matter how hard you fight, no matter how loud you scream, he won't hear you. Because maybe, just maybe... he doesn't want to."

That hit harder than anything else. I stumbled back, my breath punching out of me.

She was in front of me now.

"You've always been second place. Smart, sure but not smart like Lydia. Tough, sometimes, but not like Allison. But never the chosen one. Never the hero. Not like Scott. Not good and kind, not like Stiles."

"You're just the girl who loved him too much and got left behind."

"I'm not."

"Aren't you?"

Her hands were suddenly on my arms, her nails digging into the raw places I'd torn open earlier.

I screamed and shoved her back, but she didn't fall. She never broke. Just tilted her head, still watching me.

"You're breaking, Cassie. And when you do... you're going to take him down with you. Just like you broke when your parents died and you dragged down Blaise. You almost ruined him."

I could barely breathe. Tears stung my eyes, hot and heavy.

I was so tired. Of running. Of fighting. Of hurting.

I stood straighter.

"My pain doesn't make me weak," I said, my voice shaking. "It makes me dangerous." She arched a brow. "I'm not giving up on him."

"Even if he already gave up on you?"

"Especially then."

I lunged.

This time when I hit her, she cracked.

We crashed into the chessboard. Pieces scattered across the floor. Suddenly I was gasping, knees on the floor, the other me gone, dissolved into smoke.

The room was silent again.

I stood, shaking, bleeding, exhausted.

"Concentrate!" Peter's voice cut through like a blade.

And I remembered why I was here.

The white room unfolded around me like someone had peeled back the nightmare.

Sterile, empty.

Stiles was there, far away, sitting on the Nemeton with the Nogistune.

So was Scott, standing beside me.

"Stiles!" I shouted. I tried to run towards him, but no matter how far I went, he never got any closer. "Stiles, over here!" My voice cracked. "It's me- it's Cassie. You have to come back!"

He turned.

Blank eyes. Pale face. But something twitched. A flicker.

"Stiles is part of your pack..." I said. Looking at Scott, the pieces starting falling into place.

Scott looked over at me, breath ragged. "What? What do you mean?"

"He's human... but he's still part of the pack, right?"

Scott's eyes widened. "Yeah. Yeah, of course!"

"So how do wolves signal their location to the rest of the pack?"

A beat.

Then Scott straightened.

He looked at Stiles, his best friend, and I saw the faintest smile on his lips as he tilted his head back.

"They howl."

The white room shook.

Stiles turned, looking at us. He smiled, turned back to the nogitsune, and flipped the board.

-----☾☼-----

Scott hovered over Stiles' body, every muscle taut, claws still half-drawn. His eyes never left the still shape on the couch. Cassie stood, moving beside him.

"Did it work?" he asked, voice cracking.

No response.

He stepped closer, desperate. "Did it work???"

Cassie moved up behind him, heart in her throat, her whisper dry as dust. "What happened?"

She took another step. "Why didn't it work?"

Peter folded his arms with maddening calm. "Because it's not science, Cassandra. It's supernatural."

He barely got the words out before Stiles shot up from the couch like a spring uncoiled, eyes wide with panic.

He clawed at the duct tape on his mouth, choking, gasping like he was suffocating. His movements were erratic, frantic.

Everyone froze.

He clawed the bandages from his mouth, almost like he was vomiting it back up. And it was him, gasping on the floor, staring at the gauze.

Stiles. Pale, panicked. Real.

Scott's heart stopped.

But then something moved beneath the strips of gauze.

Like smoke it shifted into the form, crawling from the bandages.

The Nogitsune.

"No—no, no, no!" Scott shouted, surging forward.

Scott and Peter tacked the body into the couch, pulling the wrapping from the face. They all stared.

Stiles. The actual real one.

Barely breathing, blinking against the light. Eyes haunted.

Deaton leaned over, fingers on his pulse point. "It's him," he said.

Scott's chest heaved. He turned, looking to where the other stiles had been. Nothing.

"Cass..." he whispered. "Where's Cass?"

No answer.

His heart stopped.

He turned, scanned the room, every corner.

"Cassie!"

Nothing.

"CASSIE!" he bellowed.

Peter's voice was quiet, bitter. "She's gone."

The words dropped like stones.

Scott looked down at Stiles. Alive. Awake. Here. And he was thankful for that.

But Cassie wasn't.

The Nogitsune still had her and they'd walked right into its final move.