HOLSTERED WEAPONS

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Taking a trip to Eichen House was sentencing the teenage boy to his own personal experience in hell. The fact that William Barrow had been locked up in the place hadn't bothered him that much, it was more so the entire institution itself. It was a place that the downright insane were sent to, locked in each cell were people who were expressing the destruction that was normally suppressed in most people. It was a place that could bring out the worst qualities in a person, giving any visitors a full display of what their future looked like. And it was now a place that Stiles feared more than anything because he knew that if they couldn't get rid of the Nogitsune in time, he would be left with a situation where his insanity provided him with a mentally unstable head.
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Stiles paused for a few moments, tightly clasping his hand around the strap of his bag. His looming eyes never once diverted from the haunting structure as he and his father stepped out of the car and approached the metal gates. A chilling wind picked up, causing an unsettling feeling churn through his stomach as he continued to set his eyes upon the building; he barely felt his father's presence beside him, too mentally discombobulated to fully understand the justification behind his own request to be placed in such a facility. Stiles slowly shook his head, pushing away any thoughts that resembled discomfort towards his choice, knowing that he needed to be locked up tight and unable to harm any of his friends.
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The sound of an engine rumbling had brought Stiles out of his thoughts, him and his father slowly turning around to face Scott McCall as he quickly dismounted his bike before approaching them. His face twisted in discomfort, his mind instantly recalling to the previous night and how he brutally tortured the True Alpha by mercilessly twisting the sword that was impaled in his abdomen ; remembering how he almost killed Carter. A gut wrenching surge of guilt coursed through his chest, images of her writhing on the floor in pain as she experienced wave after wave of torment - suffering caused by his actions. He hastily tried to blink away the images, but to no avail, they had already become imprinted to the forefront of his brain, being a constant reminder of the agony he had brought upon the girl he cared about the most.
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"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott inquired, feeling offended that his best friend hadn't told him that he was going to be checking in to Eichen House.
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"Because we wanted to avoid something like this," Stilinski replied immediately, like he had the entirety of the possible situation planned out in his head and how he and his son were going to swiftly avoid contact with anyone other than each other.
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"It's only seventy-two hours," Stiles explained, knowing that Scott would need a little reassurance.
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"This is the same place where Barrow came from," Scott explained, the seriousness in his tone was something that surprised the pale boy enough to have him looking up with furrowed eyebrows. "The guy who had a tumor inside of him filled with flies." He then moved his attention to his best friend's father, certain hardness in his voice as he spoke: "You don't know everything yet."
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"I know enough," Stilinski retorted with an edge to his voice. "Nogitsunes, Kitsunes, Pheanixs, Oni, or whatever they're called."
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Stiles' eyebrows shot upward, "Wow, that was actually all surprisingly correct."
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"Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's and it terrifies me. I'm headed down to L.A. tomorrow to talk to a specialist."
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Scott was starting to panic and rightfully so. He had no idea what was going to happen to Stiles while being hospitalized in Eichen House. But one thing he did know, was that he wouldn't be able to assist in anything that Stiles went through. "Then why are you putting him in here?"
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"He's not," Scott's attention instantly moved toward his best friend. "It was my decision."
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"Stiles, I can't help you if you're in here."

"And I can't hurt you," Stiles whispered, his voice cracking on end as he practically begged the werewolf to understand the justifications of his decision. "Or Carter."
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"Deaton's got some ideas, Argent's calling people," Scott listed off, becoming desperate as he tried to convince the boy that checking into Eichen House wasn't the best decision. "We're gonna find something. And if we can't-"
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Stiles cut him off: "If you can't - if you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay? Make sure I never get out." He squeezed Scott's shoulder, giving him a fleeting glance before following his father through the metal gates.
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Stiles' body visibly trembled, walking further into the building toward the registration office. He could still visualize the details of the night before as if it were a film he had seen the previous evening in a movie theater. His mind clawed through the dim and grubby recollections for some kind of revelation; some sense that would explain exactly why he had been chosen to be possessed by the Nogitsune.
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Several figures had been loitering around the foyer, barely being able to be seen as their dark silhouettes hid them in the inky shadows of the building where the light failed to reach. That was how his night began. Old faces with dirty teeth were telling him to come forth. Had told him that someone was waiting. Don't keep him waiting, they had said.
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And forward he had gone. Along the grimy wooden floors. He desperately didn't want to move toward them, but the will of his body would permit no turning around or going home. He tried to stop his movements, but remembered going numb and suddenly not being able to breathe. So forward he went. There were no windows in the building, just faint yellow lights coming from random light fixtures. As they approached the reception desk he opened his mouth to tell his father that he changed his mind. But no sound had come out of his mouth. There was no air inside him, like he was winded.
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Inside Eichen House he'd kept his head down and his eyes fixed on the dirty floors. Dirty and wet. Wet from the weeping souls that had trickled out of each patients' body as they became permanently trapped in that God forsaken place. He tried not to look up, because something was in there with him - invisible to the naked eye but its snorts of excitement echoing around him because it could smell his fear.
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In his head, the knocking began when the snorts of laughter sounded. Near him. Sounded like wood banging against wood. In front of him. And he could not prevent a peek at what made the hollow knocking noise -
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"Mister Stilinski?"
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Stiles all but jumped out of his skin as the sudden sound of a woman's voice. He rose back to his full height, not even realizing that he had begun to slouch over. He saw the unwelcomingly sick smile on the woman's face - he imagined the despair he would feel in the comfortless air, in the desolate age of the place if he were to continue forward.
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Her smile tightened, "This way please."
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He moved ahead, more quickly than he had the entire journey through the place. He was treading on difficult grounds, but he knew that he would rather be suffering inside some insane asylum than hurting his friends and terrorizing the town of Beacon Hills. His father still hadn't said much. He was either mute from the pain in his chest, or so dead on his feet he couldn't think straight enough to form a sentence. Or he was still in shock that his son was actually being possessed by a crazed fox. Perhaps it was all three.
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"First seventy-two hours there's no phone calls, no e-mails, no visitors. We will be taking you from here to a brief physical. In the morning you'll be assessed by a staff psychologist, speak to a social worker and attend group therapy." The nurse explained, handing Sheriff Stilinski the proper paperwork as the three of them got settled within the confines of her office.
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Stilinski dropped the pen onto the desk, purposely forgetting to sign the provided for his signature. He folded his hands as he leaned back in the chair, "I feel like we're forgetting something."
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The nurse ignored the panicked father, setting a pair of brown slippers on the edge of her desk. "You will be wearing these, Stiles. No laces allowed. You don't have a belt, do you?" Stiles shook his head numbly. "And please empty your pockets in here," she slid a small white plastic bin across the desk.
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With trembling fingers, Stiles began to fumble with the laces on his sneakers. Through his discomforts, he did as he was instructed; placing the laces in the bin before beginning to empty the contents of his pockets as well. The loose change and set of keys jingled loudly as they landed in the plastic container, next was his phone - which he had been a little hesitant on coughing up.
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"Your pillow," Stilinski suddenly called out, Stiles looked up. "Your pillow - we forgot your pillow."
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"Dad, it's okay."
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"No, no, you're never going to be able to fall asleep. We - We got to go back."
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"It's fine, Dad," Stiles cut his father off with a sigh. "I don't need it."
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Stilinski shook his head in disbelief, "I can't believe I forgot it. I mean, every time that we've ever stayed in a hotel, the first thing you pack is your pillow."
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"You can bring it tomorrow," Stiles mumbled, seeing right through his father; he knew that his dad was only trying to push away the inevitable. "It's all right."
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Sheriff Stilinski was breathless, sighing and put his hands on the wooden arms of the chair. That had been when the banging sounded; echoing around him, metal clanging against metal as workers slammed the barred gates shut. He was spinning around in his seat and before he knew it, he was standing up. "Okay, you know what? Stop. Stop. Enough. Stiles, get your stuff. I'm not checking you in here if you're not going to get one good night's sleep."
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"Dad," Stiles sighed, standing up beside him. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks." He slowly wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze before Stilinski repeated his son's actions. "I'm going to be okay," he assured, patting Stilinski's bicep before following the nurse out of the office.
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Stiles was dizzy and cold. He would be forced to stay there for three nights because of his inability to fight off the Nogitsune. With each bang of patients' fists on the shuddering walls, Stiles had winced. The idea of following the nurse up the stairs made him nervous. Reluctance to ascend the stairs was worsened by his sulking after the farewell with his father, which now made him feel saddened, again. But he was also now ashamed by his choices.

He just wanted it all to end - the torturous mind games, the dark unpleasant thoughts - but he really shouldn't have reduced to this: willingly putting himself into an insane asylum. A place that just wasn't right. And had he really thought it through? That was a place where people check in and they don't check out. Something that he could make no sense of, but should get as far away from as possible before it was too late.
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Stiles' judgment was impaired. Nothing said or done now could be trusted. But somehow it wouldn't be forgotten or forgiven.
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Slowly, he ascended upward toward his dreaded destination. To the sound of haunting voices. There were others around him now, all whispering at the same time. But someone was laughing. A thick and hearty laugh infiltrated his mind on his ascent.
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A voice suddenly erupted from above him.
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"I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky."
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He lifted his eyes in confusion, seeing a male patient tying the end of his bed sheet to the stairs railing. Stiles didn't have to be mentally stable to know what was going to happen next - and he started to quicken his pace. "Hey, do you see that?"
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"Stiles, wait for me!" The nurse shouted in a panicked tone.
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"I can swim in the ocean, yet still remain dry." The man chanted rhythmically, expertly tying the makeshift noose around his neck. Stiles' heart was pounding violently against his ribcage as he stumbled up the stairs. He couldn't kill himself - Stiles wouldn't let that happen.
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"Hey! Hey, stop him!" Stiles hollered, watching as the man began to climb on top of the wooden railing. "Stop! Somebody stop him!"
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But it was too late. The man's neck snapped as the Earth's gravity brought his body downward, the noose yanking his neck into an awkward angle. Swallowing and suddenly feeling weaker and more insignificant than he could ever remember, Stiles couldn't move. Pulse up between his ears, he stood still, disoriented with fear, like he was waiting for something to happen. He briefly imagined a terrific rage and strength, a terrible intent, within the walls of Eichen House. Imagined it until he almost accepted it.
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Maybe he had made the wrong choice after all.

→ 
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Stiles Stilinski had been everything that anyone on the outside looking in would presume. Single and living like a student; a boy with no clear goals or purpose as they all perceived him; a dreamer; a loser. Everything any adult despised. Everyone had always made a point of making him feel small when intellectuality was involved. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did he wasn't too bothered. But it stung him; knowing that everyone around him thought that he was just a dumb teenager.
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But he found shelter and equality within his small group of friends; instead of belittling others, they made them feel welcome - like they had a purpose in life. And despite looking like normal teens, no one knew just how hard their lives were, constantly fighting for survival on their journey through the rollercoaster realm of the supernatural. Some of them even fighting their own personal battles; like Carter Hale. A girl filled with so much self-hatred and fear, being brought down by the fact that her abilities were of those beyond her control. One little slip up and she would be sent into a rapid downward spiral into insanity.
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They didn't deserve to live a life they did not choose; the free will that was presented to them at birth being immediately snatched out of their hands when a vengeful Alpha rolled into town.

Stiles didn't really have time to process what had just occurred. He was actually trying to convince the nurse to allow him a secret phone call before their seventy-two hour protocol had expired. "Okay, I know there's the whole seventy-two hour thing but I really need to use the phone."
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"The accident that occurred is being taken care of," the nurse assured, sliding the key into the lock on Stiles assigned door.
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Stiles' eyes widened, "You're seriously referring to that as an accident?"
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"Incident," she clarified.
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"Slightly better - still need to use the phone," Stiles announced, slowly entering the unmarked room before turning back to face the nurse. "I - just five minutes. Three minutes, please. A three minute call. I really need to call someone."
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"Would you like to go to sleep, Stiles, or would you like to be introduced to our five-point restraint system?" she asked with a quirked brow and narrowed eyes.
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"I would go with sleep," an unfamiliar voice called out from behind Stiles. He flinched dramatically at the sudden presence of another patient, spinning around to see a teenage boy around his age lying upon a bed with his wrist and ankles restrained another binding agent traveling across his chest.
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The nurse swiftly closed the door as Stiles was distracted by his roommate, locking them in as he sprung forward, pounding his fist on the wood. "Hey, wait, wait, wait!"
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"I'm Oliver," The boy introduced, watching as Stiles jiggled the door handle violently.
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"Stiles."
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Oliver nodded, "There was a suicide, huh? That's what you and the nurse were talking about?"
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"Yeah," Stiles responded numbly.
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I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky. I can swim in the ocean, yet still remain dry.

It just didn't make any sense. Stiles had a feeling that the man's suicide wasn't just a regular world hating suicide. A pinching sensation flared up at the back of his brain; the practical side of his mind screaming at him that the incident had something to do with the Nogitsune.
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"Is it Monday? There's a much higher rate of suicide on Mondays."
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"Okay, then," Stiles breathed out, becoming even more confused like a hoard of spiders had just filled his brain with cobwebs as he continued to regret his decision more and more the longer he was there. "Um, hey, can someone - someone just please let me out of here. Someone. Anyone!" His pleas for help went unanswered, the only response he got in return was the sound of his own voice as it echoed off the walls.
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"I heard it by the way. It happened in the stairwell, right?" Oliver asked, his eyes following Stiles as he moved away from the door and toward the bed pushed up against the opposite wall from his.
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Stiles swallowed nervously, "Yeah, how'd you know that?"
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"I heard the echo."
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"What do you mean?" Stiles questioned quietly, suddenly becoming extremely intrigued in the concept of talking about the strange history of the building he was presently residing in.
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"It's this place," Oliver began, round eyes circling around the room before setting them back upon Stiles. "Something about the way that it was built. Everything echoes - eventually. That's why they call it Echo House."

→ 
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Stiles hadn't slept a wink that night, opted to stay docile in a sitting position; it wasn't that he didn't want to sleep, because he desperately wanted to shut his eyes a wish himself away from that place - he just couldn't, not without his pillow, his father had been right.
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After the doors had been unlocked, and Oliver was unrestrained, Stiles had to change into the appropriate clothing for the usual Eichen House patient. When the two boys stepped outside, he noticed that there were a few patients crowding along a brick wall that had been created for support. Instantly, there was a crawling sliver of remorse slithering through his veins. Some of them deserved to be locked up in that place forever, like William Barrow, but some of them were just simply deemed unsuitable for life.

"Most of the people here are okay," Oliver explained, fumbling with his fingers as he led himself and Stiles through the common area. "The violent ones are in the Closed Unit. That's Hillary, she had OCD. That's Gary; he thinks he's Jesus Christ. Dan; also Jesus. That's Mary-"
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"Mary Magdalene?" Stiles offered, looking down at the dark skinned girl that was sitting on a bench with her elbows propped up on her knees and her hands folded.
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"No, she also thinks she's Jesus," Oliver corrected, guiding Stiles to one of the pay phones in the common area, seeing a girl already occupying the phone. "You'd be surprised by how many Jesuses we get."
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"Not really."
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Oliver tilted his head at the boy, "Hey, how come you want to use the phone already?"
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"Because after one night, I've changed my mind about this place being safe for me," Stiles admitted, his caramel eyes scanning over the entire vicinity around him. "Or anyone - ever."
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"No - no, I think you're wrong," the unnamed woman on the phone whispered harshly. Stiles immediately looked over, his curiosity to know what she was talking about getting the best of him. "I really think I should tell them. They're going to want to know the story. The whole story. I really think they should know. Yes, I do. One of them is standing right behind me."
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That struck a chord with Stiles, something that nearly had him running away with too many reasons as to why the words falling from the woman's mouth didn't sound pleasant. However, he didn't. He could only watch as the strange woman placed the phone back on the hook before slowly walking passed him with her eyes glued to the floor.
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"Who was that?"
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Oliver's lips pulled into a tight line, moving alongside Stiles as he gravitated toward the payphone. "That's Meredith - she's a little weird."
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"You're a little weird. She's a lot weird." Stiles didn't elaborate on what he meant, instead he propped the phone between his ear and shoulder, beginning to type numbers but his hands stilled when all he heard was silence. "It's dead."
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"Yeah," Oliver quipped, stating it so simply like it had been the most obvious thing in the world. "They turn off all the phones for twenty-four hours after a suicide."
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Stiles kept his eyes on Meredith, becoming even more confused as he began to wonder who she was talking to if the phones were dead. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"
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"Why didn't you ask?" Stiles shook his head in disbelief, angrily slamming the phone back into its original position before walking back out into the common area. "What are you going to do now?"
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"I'm getting out of this nuthouse."
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"That's not really the appropriate way to describe a facility like this."
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Stiles' mandate to find a way out of Eichen House had been sidetracked to the bottom of his list of necessary needs when he saw a familiar curly haired brunette standing with a guarded posture, unaware that he was coming up from behind her with absolute confusion washing over his features. The teenage boy made solid, slow steps until he was standing right behind the person, reaching out to grab a hold of their shoulder.
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"Carter?"