A/N

Hey guys, thanks so much for reading, and for the fantastic reviews! So, I have decided that this story is going to be 30 chapters long. Which means this is third-to-last chapter. They're mostly coda after this, so this is it, the last action-y chapter (although 30 has a major bombshell, be sure to stick around for that.) Once again, I am writing a sequel, which will be released either on the heels of this one, or once 5b ends. (SPN people, are you liking the second half of 11? I am!) This chapter does get kind of heavy, and I apologize for that. Some of you will definitely hate me for making you hate other people, and I apologize. The last two chapters should be up soon, and in this one, the alternating POVs should be a little clearer than the last couple. I suggest re-reading chapter 5, it's where the chess theme comes from. The last two chapters will be less heavy than this one, hopefully, and like I said, should be up soon. In the meantime, review, check out my other stories, and as always, enjoy!

WARNING: If you are sensitive to triggers, this chapter does have some graphic descriptions of violence and pain, so tread lightly.

Ch. 28

Checkmate

Scott and Stiles spilled out of Deaton's clinic to an unlikely scene. It was Sam and Parrish, on the lawn by the line of trees leading into the forest, and Sam, at least a good 5 inches taller than Parrish, had the other in a headlock. It looked anything but friendly. Parrish was practically foaming at the mouth, his eyes glowing orange, and Sam was struggling to keep him contained, the stricken expression on his face suggesting he was fighting for his life. Parrish was snapping his jaws and clawing at Sam's arms and moving as much as possible while restrained, causing Sam to stumble back and forth, sometimes into the backs of trees.

"What the-" Stiles started to say, but he was cut off by the sudden arrival of a small black car, it's bluish headlights blinding Stiles and illuminating Scott's red eyes, before the lights were turned off in a hurry, and Kira exited the car, followed by Brett.

"How-" Stiles started again, but the words died in his throat as Kira and Brett hastily opened one of the car's side doors and dragged out, with much difficulty, a body covered in oozing black blood.

"Is that Jackson?" Scott asked disbelievingly, and Stiles could only nod dumbly. He was silent for one, two, three seconds, his jaw clicking, and then he sprung into action.

"Ok, Scott," Stiles said, patting Scott on the chest to grab his attention. "Help out Brett and Kira. Put Jackson near Mason, keep all of them away from Theo, and see what you can do to fix Jackson. You're a vet, I believe in you. I'm going to go try to break up that." He gestured over to Sam, who still had Parrish in a headlock and was shouting and trying to reason with the man. .

"I'll come and help once Jackson's stabilized. I'll send Kira once he's lying down." Scott replied, and then they separated. Stiles ran like hell towards his death-defying brother, and Scott raced towards Kira and Brett, not a moment too soon. Brett, who was carrying Jackson's legs while walking backwards, stumbled, and Scott was there to catch him.

"Let's get him inside!" Scott told the pair, and, as quickly as possible while carrying a 200-pound body, the three hurried to Deaton's clinic. Scott held the door open for Kira and Brett, but before they could enter, he stopped them. "Listen, there's something you need to know." Scott said urgently, "but everything's fine and we have it under control-"

"-Aw, Scott, did you bring in some more friends?" Theo taunted from somewhere inside the building, and Kira and Brett froze upon hearing his voice, faces ashen.

"He's trapped." Scott said firmly, desperate to move past their concern. "Crowley drew some kind of magic trap, he's stuck, he can't get out. He can't hurt either of you, or Jackson."

"Well then what happened to him?" Brett challenged, nodding at Mason's unconscious body, just visible from the door.

"Uh..." Scott's mouth fell open and no words tumbled out. He looked well and truly stuck. But Kira, well understanding of the urgency of the situation moved past this.

"We need to save Jackson's life." she told Brett with a steely glare. "We can worry about Theo later." Considering she was talking about the person responsible for manipulating her against her own friends and a hair away from murder, this was rather brave.

Brett sighed, but relented, and together, he and Kira carried Jackson over to where Mason lay, not in Deaton's operating room but on one of two tables in the waiting room, Mason lying on the other.

"How the hell did Mason get like this, anyway?" Brett asked angrily as he shifted Jackson so his head wouldn't be lolling off of the table.

"Theo threw a jar at his head." Scott muttered, and Kira winced sympathetically. Scott shook his own head and looked down at Jackson, wincing as he took in the black oozing from the twenty purple claw marks "Who did this to him?"

"Guess." Kira mumbled glumly, her eyes flicking down the hall to where Theo's voice had come from. "Brett said it happened at the nemeton. After you took off with Stiles."

"Um... about that." Scott began, as he rummaged about to find some towels. "Look, Kira, I don't know where to begin to apologize-"

"Stop." Kira said, holding up her hand to emphasise the point. "That doesn't matter. None of us were in our right heads. We can talk about it later."

"Okay." Scott said, breathing out a sigh of relief. He studied Jackson's body, his brows furrowing more and more as he took in the terrible state of his former bully. Then, "I don't suppose you'd mind helping Stiles with Parrish, then?"

Stiles ran like hell towards his death-defying brother and thought about how he had absolutely no freaking clue what he would do once he got there. The trees were getting closer and closer, the grass was as solid as pavement under his swiftly moving feet, and he had absolutely no idea what the hell he would do once he got there.

Sam saw him once he was about eighty feet away. "Stiles!" he cried, strain dragging his voice down, "Help me!"

Parrish snarled inhumanly, Stiles picked up the pace, and he had no idea what he was going to do once he got there. Eighty feet turned into sixty, sixty into thirty, twenty, ten. Stiles' mind went blank from speed and fear, the only thing making sense to him were Parrish's orange eyes. He had to save Sam. So he did the first thing he could think of, (mistake, always a mistake.) While Sam's eyes blew to the size of balloons, Stiles punched him in the jaw. Sam exclaimed in surprise and stumbled back, releasing Parrish from his headlock, and before either could react, Stiles leapt between them and threw his arms out in warning.

Stiles looked back and forth quickly between Parrish's rabid, orange eyes, and Sam's hopelessly confused ones. "Does someone want to explain to me what the hell is going on?" he asked threateningly.

Sam, breathing heavily, responded. "I- I was looking for you. Melissa said you'd be here. I was about to open the door to the clinic when Parrish attacked me- Stiles, something's wrong with him."

"Wow, really, never would have noticed." Stiles said scathingly. "What was the message?" he added sharply.

"The sheriff is dying." Sam said solemnly. "He took a turn for the worse, the doctors can't explain it. Melissa agrees that something weird is going on with him."

A brief flash of pain crossed Stiles' face before it was erased by impassiveness.

"You were at the hospital." Stiles said. "Did you see Isaac, Lydia, or Liam?"

"No-" Sam began, even more confused, but he was cut off by Parrish.

"Lydia?" he asked tensely, almost like a bark. "Where is Lydia?"

Stiles turned his head and saw that Parrish was glaring not at Sam, but at him.

Stiles shook his head. "How the hell should I know?"

Lydia Martin really detested her current situation. Allison had told her, once, before her untimely death, of the time Ethan and Aiden had locked her and Isaac in a supply closet, and Isaac had nearly killed her. Well, here was Lydia, locked in a very dark closet, and oh look, there was Isaac, right next to Liam. She really hoped he'd gotten a handle on his claustrophobia.

Unlikely.

Isaac and Liam were still passed out, ugly gashes gracing their otherwise peaceful faces, and Lydia winced as she shifted from ankle to ankle, pain shooting up her left leg whenever she did so.

"Isaac!" Lydia hissed. "Liam!" She didn't want to wake them. Both of them would probably panic, leaving her at the mercy of furious claws and yellow eyes, but the door to the dark, albeit spacious supply closet was not only locked, there was a heavy object placed in front of it. Lydia had tried picking the lock with her hairpin, throwing her shoulder into the door, and screaming for help, all to no avail. Of course, it was 3 a.m. The hospital would be ghostly empty and Melissa would not know to look for them.

They were definitely still in the hospital. The sharp tang of antiseptic permeated the very air, even this far away from the source. Even in a remote supply closet. That smell would follow Lydia for the rest of her life, along with the stenches of blood and fire. She needed to get out, they needed to get out... there was a pit at the bottom of her stomach and a hum in her very bones that sung death, death, death... Something bad was going to happen. She needed to see it.

Lydia tried to remember how she had ended up in the supply closet, but her memories were more than a little fuzzy, artificially so. She was hurt, Liam and Isaac had fought something, that much was sure. But what? Lydia's last clear memory was seeing Sam enter the hospital, the man who somehow defied her death prediction. Sam...

... who was now watching Parrish with cautious eyes, one of his hands nursing his bruised jaw.

"Parrish?" Stiles asked to the person opposite Sam. "Wanna give your side of the story? No one's seen you since the nemeton. Where've you been? You haven't just been wandering around the woods have you?" Stiles chuckled a little at the thought, but the chuckle died when Parrish, with a terrifyingly blank expression, nodded slowly.

"No, that's what I've been doing."

"You're serious." Stiles said with a fallen face, his hands still raised between the hellhound and the hunter, as if that would be enough to keep them separated. "Well why the hell come out now? And what have you got against Sam, anyhow?" Stiles was racking his brains as he asked this, wondering if it had anything to do with Sam nearly closing the gates of Hell. It was the only thing that made sense...

"I need to see Scott." Parrish stated robotically, and for the briefest moment, his eyes flicked over to the clinic Scott was inside of, before returning to Sam to glare.

"Why?" Stiles challenged. "Is it a hellhound thing?"

Sam flinched in alarm, but Stiles didn't notice this. All of his energy was focused on Parrish.

"I need to see Scott." Parrish said.

"And then what?" Stiles challenged. "Kill him? Kill Sam? Kill me? You're being controlled, Parrish, either by the nemeton or something- someone- else. You're not acting like yourself."

"Ironic that you preach about control." Parrish replied, and the words, along with the monotone, were not his. They were clunky coming out of his mouth, and Stiles struggled to place them with the appropriate speaker.

"Stiles," Sam asked, sounding almost afraid, "Maybe we should let him see Scott. He might calm down."

"Scott will come out when Jackson is stabilized." A voice said from behind them, and Stiles turned to see Kira, her sword pointed at Parrish.

"Then we'll wait." Stiles said, with a greeting nod towards Kira, which she returned. "We'll wait for Scott. In the meantime..." he looked at his ridiculous defensive stance, Kira's raised sword and cross expression, Sam's half-heartedly formed fists and Parrish's blank yet rabid presence. "Nobody move."

"Isaac..." Lydia began cautiously, "Do. Not. Move. An. Inch."

Liam had woken after Lydia, and now the two were watching Isaac with bated breath. Isaac, who wasn't looking at either of them but at the dark tiled ground, his shoulders rising and falling methodically as he harshly controlled his breathing.

"That's a nice thought, Lydia." Isaac said with a strained voice. "But someone's going to have to get us out of here, and it isn't going to be you. Besides," he raised his head, and his eyes glowed yellow. "Claustrophobia becomes a lot easier to handle after being trapped inside your own head for three months." With a yell, Isaac raised his fist, and punched the door, reducing it to splinters with a powerfulthwack!Then he kept going, punching through the door, into the metal of the vending machine blocking the door, into the glass covering the machine, until the closet was nothing more than a hole in the wall attached to a sea of shattered metal and wood.

Lydia stared down at the wreckage in awe. Carefully, she took a step into the hallway, glass crinkling and crunching under her feet. She looked down and up the hallway, her hair rustling silently with the movement. "Clear."

"Let's get out of here before someone notices this mess." Liam said, patting Isaac on the shoulder thankfully, his eyes still the size of saucers.

"You got him?" Scott asked Brett, back in the clinic, as the two stared down at Jackson's body, which was no longer bleeding black, but shining with white bandage tape that glowed under the flourescent lights.

"I got him." Brett affirmed, next to a small machine Scott had found in some wayward closet that was monitoring Jackson's vitals. "Go help Stiles."

Scott nodded and made to leave, but right before he exited, he paused. "Don't listen to a damn thing he says." he warned, pointing down the hall towards Theo's makeshift prison. Then he ran out the door, into the dark morning, and saw the strange scene of Stiles, Sam, Kira, and Parrish in some kind of stalemate.

"Scott." Stiles commented once his presence was noticed. "Glad you can join us. Parrish was looking for you, though it sounds more like he was sent towards you."

"That so?" Scott mused, watching Parrish's orange eyes, and the anger in them. His chest was heaving up and down from exertion, like all of his strength was being used not to hurl himself at Sam, who was standing defensively. The tension between the two was magnetic.

"Who sent him?" Scott asked Stiles, eyeing Parrish warily, noting Kira's raised sword. "Something feels off with him, wrong."

"My money's on Crowley." Stiles seethed. "King of Hell, hound of hell, it makes sense, right? Crowley programmed our poor deputy, and now he's a ticking time bomb. He wants to talk to you, though."

"As if Crowley doesn't meddle enough." Sam murmured.

Stiles craned his neck to give Sam an exasperated look, his arms still outstretched. "Well, you should know-" he began, but Scott cut him off.

"What do you want, Parrish?" Scott called, and Parrish's head whipped around quickly to look at Scott.

"I need to find you." Parrish said coldly. "You can find Theo Raeken. Theo Raeken needs to die."

"Well tough!" Stiles said, and yeah, it was all starting to make sense. Poor Parrish, a pawn like everyone else. "Crowley wants that bastard dead, he can come kill him himself. As it happens, we need Theo alive, and he's sealed off by Japanese warding magic! I'm the only one who can break the spell so you'll just have to-"

Stiles' words cut off just as his world did. The next thing he knew, grass was tickling the side of his cheek, and Parrish was punching him in the jaw. Repeatedly.

"Hey! Get off of him!" Sam yelled, and he and Kira surged forward and grabbed Parrish's shoulders, but just as quickly retracted their burned hands. Parrish's skin was crawling molten lava, and, uninterrupted, he continued to pummel Stiles' jaw.

"Scott!" Stiles had enough sense to yell. He wasn't really hurting, it had been far too long of a day for the pain to start now, but all the blows to his head were making him lose focus. Stiles heard a roar, and then he saw a flash of red eyes, (or was it blue, he couldn't tell) and then the pressure was lifted.

"What happened?" Lydia demanded from the backseat of Isaac's car, as he and Liam sat up front. "The last thing I remember is Sam walking through the door."

Liam frowned. "That's more than me."

Isaac winced. "Pain. Lot's of it. I tried to recall, but I got pushed back. Something messed with our memories."

Lydia eyed the scorch marks on Liam's back that the werewolf in question seemed oblivious to. "Maybe that's for the best."

"What do you think could have done that?" Isaac asked angrily. "Witch? Demon?"

Lydia looked nervously at the clock on the dashboard. "Drive faster."

"Here."

Stiles blinked at the plaid-clad hand extended his was before taking it gingerly, and before he knew it he was on his feet, with Sam steadying him. Stiles looked around. He, Sam, Kira and Scott were currently surrounding a wounded Parrish, who was writhing on the ground in pain, with four deep, bleeding gashes on each shoulder.

"We should help him." Stiles said, after moving his jaw around to ensure it still worked. So far, no knocked out teeth. Awesome.

"There's no need." Kira said in awe, pointing to the claw marks, which were glowing like the embers of a campfire, a stark contrast to the ash-gray skin. "They're already healing."

"You alright, Stiles?" Sam asked softly, resting a hand on Stiles' shoulder reassuringly. Coincidentally, his hand was right over the wound from Donovan.

"Yeah." Stiles said, panting a little, gazing down at Parrish in amazement. "Yeah, I'm good."

That would be the last time in a very long while that Stiles would say those words. The next time would be months, days, maybe a few hours later, but it would certainly feel like years. What happened next transpired over a time frame of 5 minutes and 52 seconds. 5 minutes and 52 seconds, that's it, that's all it took, for everything to unravel. You see, Stiles had a web of delicate, carefully crafted lies and truths that spun around the failing Beacon Hills and was possibly the only thing holding the town together. Mind you, this was the boy who existed as a hunter in a town of werewolves. He was the broker of peace, he was the last sane Winchester, he was a lot of things but he certainly wasn't perfect. 'The Master of Fate', Scott called him once, but he wasn't, not really. There was no way Stiles could have known that something was bound to get tangled in that web of his. Maybe some little snare that got overlooked, until it turned into a snarling mess. Or maybe someone deliberately grabbed a strand and started pulling, unravelling the web until it was a meaningless pile of silk. But either way would lead to the same result: Stiles, vulnerable and alone. There was just no way he could have known.

There was no way he could have known that the person consoling him was not actually his brother.

"Sam?" Lydia asked tentatively, while Liam and Isaac watched warily.

Sam's eyes flashed blue. "Not quite." he said with a vindictive frown. Then he attacked.

Kira and Scott knelt down to talk to Parrish, but Stiles remained standing, with Sam's hand still on his shoulder.

"Is this where Donovan bit you?" Sam asked, referring to his hand, and Stiles nodded. His head felt so heavy, his muscles screamed in exhaustion. Sam's awkward comforting was an anchor among the sea of uncertainty. Theo was trapped, exactly like he was two days ago, the Doctors were tucked away. Stiles almost dared to say that it looked like everything was finally ending.

Which is why the banshee took that moment to pull into the parking lot.

"Stiles!" Lydia cried, but she was so far away, across the entire length of the building, that Stiles had to strain to hear her. "Stiles, that isn't him! That isn't Sa-"

"Hey!" A much deeper voice shouted, and Stiles turned, in amazement, to see Dean at the edge of the forest, Cas in tow, just as far away as Lydia.

Dean, however, had started running.

"Hey, you son of a bitch, we had a deal-"

Stiles, Scott, and Kira looked back and forth with confusion between Dean and Cas; and Lydia, Liam, and Isaac, all of whom were now running towards them.

Stiles looked up at Sam. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam frowned vindictively. "Is this the wound? Is this where Donovan bit you?" he asked almost nervously.

"Yeah-" Stiles began, confused. "But it's healed, it started closing over after- AAAHHH!"

Sam's hand glowed gold with menacing power as he burned into Stiles' shoulder, his eyes reflecting bright blue in the sudden light. Stiles sank to his knees, howling, and Dean ran faster, murder in his eyes.

"EZEKIEL!" Dean bellowed. "STOP IT!"

"DEAN!" Cas called in alarm as they both ran towards the other angel, "Be careful!"

Dean, of course, ignored this. He, like everyone else, made a beeline for Stiles, who was still screaming, Sam- 'Ezekiel'- towering over him menacingly.

"Where is the prophet?" Ezekiel demanded, and at the same time, he flung his wrist, sending the panicked pair of Scott and Kira backwards into trees.

Stiles couldn't hear Ezekiel's demands. He couldn't hear anything. His mind was blank with fiery pain and his eyes could only see cruel white light. The rabbid state of Parrish earlier was nothing compared to Stiles now. He was lying on his side in the grass, twitching, his eyes seeing nothing and his lips babbling nonsense.

Dean got there first. He tried to pull Ezekiel's hand off of Stiles' shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. Ezekiel, however, instead of flinging Dean into the trees like he had to Scott and Kira, released Stiles. The white-gold light died, and everyone stopped squinting in time to see Stiles collapse into the grass in an exhausted heap. Ezekiel then stood to his full height and glared down at Dean.

Dean glared right back. "We had a deal." he repeated threateningly.

Ezekiel's face was stone. "Our deal was that I heal Sam and we fix the fall together." he said. "With the prophet."

Stiles sputtered into the grass, groaning and panting, while Dean simmered at Ezekiel with all his fury.

"Kevin wanted to stay here!" Dean snapped, while the pack looked on in awe and anger. "I can't control what he does! Look, we're down a man but we'll figure it out, that doesn't mean you go hurt my little brother!"

"Which brother?" Ezekiel asked with a smirk that looked so wrong on Sam's face. "The last thing Sam remembers is entering a hospital on the other side of town. That could easily be altered. How do you think he'll like knowing that he tortured his own brother?"

Dean's face turned to gray, gray ash, and he was stunned. Stiles meanwhile, was still motionless, moaning in pain. Everyone wanted to help him, but no one wanted to upset the oh-so-delicate balance between chaos and diplomacy.

There was some part of Scott's mind, that wasn't freaking out about Stiles, that is, that wondered which was worse. The wrath of an angel, or a Winchester.

It was Cas' turn to speak. "You will come with us." he said sternly to Ezekiel. His eyes held betrayal but he squandered it for Dean's sake. "Regardless of the prophet's choices. We are your only hope of surviving the fall. Or, at the very least, surviving that hellhound." Cas cast his gaze to Parrish, who lay parallel to Stiles, barely conscious. He didn't look very threatening without his glowing orange eyes and rabid face, but Cas and Ezekiel knew the truth. Hellhounds, Parrish's kind of hellhounds, could kill angels. Have killed angels.

Ezekiel knew he was beat. His expression soured, to which Dean rolled his eyes, and then his own flashed a chilling cold blue. Sam stumbled, once twice, as he shook his head, gained his bearings, and looked at Dean with confusion.

"What... how..." Sam asked breathlessly.

"C'mon, Sam." Dean said sternly, with one concerned glance towards Stiles. "I'll explain in the car. We're leaving."

"D-don't-"

Stiles had drawn his elbows into his chest, and was resting his head on his clasped hands, breathing heavily. At his single, broken word, everyone stopped, even Dean.

"D-don't-"

Cas, Dean, and Sam were at his side in an instant, crouching down so they could hear him. "What was that, Stiles?" Dean asked hopefully, reaching for Stiles' oddly unsinged shoulder.

"Don't come back."

The words were soft spoken, with no more authority than a child's voice. But they were clear, they were precise, they rang with the sound of a slashing knife, and they cut, into Dean's outstretched arm, into Cas' concerned eyes, into Sam's worried heart. The words were laden with pain, so much pain, but also a demonstration of how much more pain their owner was willing to take. The words were decisive, and they were final. Dean withdrew his outstretched arm in a snap, Cas' eyes clouded over in resigned understanding, and Sam, at a total loss, could only follow in their lead. Like zombies, Sam, Dean, and Cas stood in unison and trudged one foot in front of the other, slowly, into the silent wake of the forest. No one moved until only their tan and green backs could be seen.

And then they were gone.

And then Scott was at Stiles' left side, and Lydia on his right, grabbing his arms and lifting him to his feet as the familiar sound of an engine turning over wafted through the trees.

Stiles, once standing, rolled his shoulder, wincing as a residual burn spiked his nerves. He breathed in deeply, once, and exhaled, once. And he almost missed it.

It was a small dark shape, dancing around the shadows as it zipped lighting fast through the grass, heading for the trees.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted, and Isaac and Liam jumped in alarm, but followed where he was pointing and took off.

"What on earth?" Scott muttered, still clutching Stiles' arm, but he was answered by the double doors to Deaton's bursting open, and three more dark shapes flitted from the entrance, moving lightly, and very, very fast.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted again, his voice so hoarse, but the pack sprung into action anyway. Kira picked a figure and charged, Lydia hot on her heels, and Liam and Isaac's twin snarls could be heard near the treeline.

"There's one left." Stiles said to Scott, nodding towards a rather tall shadow. "Go. I'll be fine." Scott frowned disbelievingly, but Stiles pushed him and he reluctantly took off. The fourth shadow seemed to stumble upon seeing Scott running towards it, and Stiles smirked in satisfaction. The action made him sway on his feet a little, but it was worth it.

Then the fifth figure emerged.

The fifth figure needed no shadow. Nor did he need to run. No, he waltzed out of Deaton's clinic like he fucking owned the place, his hands bloody, his smile hellish. His eyes glowed yellow in delight as he moved leisurely, a brisk walking pace at best, past the four flurries of shadows fighting supernaturals, eyes scanning the scene calculatively.

Theo moved slowly, taking his time, and Stiles watched with wrecked, beady eyes. And then Theo walked Right. Up. To. Him.

"I must say." Theo said appreciatively, looking up and down at Stiles' disarray. Stiles wanted to move but he feared he would topple over. His knees shook and his shoulder was absent of any feeling. "You sure have a set of pipes, Stiles. I heard you scream all the way from my little cage."

Ok, you know what? Screw injury.

Stiles let out an angry yell and raised his fist, but before he could swing, an ashen hand closed around it. Stiles let out an entirely different yell as he was yanked backwards, hard, and landed on his back in the grass with an oomph! His shoulder didn't even hurt on the impact. He was too surprised to see Parrish, awake and angry, on top of him, his pale hands wrapped around Stiles' throat.

In his peripheral vision, Stiles saw Theo chuckle and begin to walk off. But his peripheral vision was starting to fade as Parrish started to squeeze.

Stiles gasped, choked, struggled, but really it was no use. The pressure on his throat was too much to throw off, his limbs were thrashing but they had no goal. His hands were blindly trying to pry off the others but to no avail.

"Crowley-" Stiles managed to wheeze. "Crowley wants T-Theo dead."

Parrish gave no sign of affirmation or denial, his face stone cold, but his orange eyes seemed to burn a little brighter the more air Stiles lost.

"Hey!" Scott shouted from a dark tunnel far away.

No, Scott, the chimera will escape.

"But he didn't send you to kill him." Stiles choked out. "He sent you to kill me."

"STILES!" Scott shouted in alarm.

Theo walked leisurely into the woods, and Scott raced right past him but paid him no heed. One by one, Stiles' pack abandoned their adversaries and followed their alpha back to Stiles. Stiles, who though the dark morning was starting to look like a dark nothing.

The chimeras melted into the forest, and Stiles watched them sadly go. He thought he saw one of them stop, turn to look back, but he must have been mistaken. With the tightening hands around his neck, it was easy to mistake things.

"STILES!" Came the voice again, much clearer, and it was so loud that it banged unpleasantly around Stiles' head. "GET OFF OF HIM!" There was a slamming noise, also unpleasant, several grunts, a snarl, the sound of tearing flesh, and suddenly, the hands Stiles was so desperately trying to pry off were gone.

Stiles breathed, once, twice, and his vision returned to him with the sight of two warm, red eyes.

"Scott-" Stiles said hoarsely, then breathed deeply, once, twice. "Ch-che- check-"

"Check?" Scott asked urgently, once again crouching to Stiles' side his hands hovering over Stiles' neck of their own accord. "Check what? Stiles, you're hurt, if you're not careful, you'll pass out!"

Stiles breathed in again, a rattling breath that shook his bones. Suddenly, the morning was too bright, the air was too clean, and Scott was way too close. Stiles hit his leg. "Move."

Scott scooched backwards with awed worry, and extended his hand. Stiles took it, and he was slowly raised to his feet.

Stiles bent over, massaging his throat, gulping down air until his head was clear. Then he straightened up and looked around fiercely, at Scott, Liam, Isaac, Lydia, Kira, and even Parrish, lying dazedly on the ground. Stiles opened his mouth, determined, and his pack waited for his words.

But a few seconds later, Stiles closed his mouth. There really were no words.

Stiles got his pack back, but he lost his brothers, his plan, his enemy, his chance at fixing Beacon Hills for good. His carefully crafted control, gone.

There really were no words for that.

Forty-eight hours earlier, Theo was tied up in Stiles' safe house, and it looked like Stiles had won.

How foolish of him to think that.

Stiles lost.

In five minutes and fifty-two seconds, the world lurched on it's axis and the tables turned with it. Stiles lost.

Five minutes and fifty-two seconds. That's it. That's how long it took for the web to unravel, for Stiles to end up in checkmate.