Good day, readers, this is your fanfiction author speaking and let me welcome you to the 13th chapter of the Teen Wolf fanfiction, "Succumb". We are currently cruising over not-so troubled rising plot at the plot-speed of shit-hitting-the-fan really fast like Mach 2. Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my twisted imagination, I ask that you please direct your attention to detail because I introduce to you our main villain.

Also, in the likely event that I'd cite an earlier TW fanfiction I've made, please re-visit or re-read "Powerless" to further understand this chapter. Also, do note that the italicized paragraphs enclosed inside linebreaks are flashbacks.

Enjoy.

SUCCUMB

CHAPTER XIII - SCOTT

Scott prepped Max, a wounded Golden Retriever, on the metal examination table, smiling at the golden ball of fur that looked up at him in this adorable way using these puppy-dog eyes. "And how is the patient doing?" his boss, Dr. Deaton asked, putting on some gloves and arranging the few equipment they had on the crash cart near the examination table, probably adding some antiseptic to the gauze for Max's wound.

Scott looked into Max's eyes, listening close to the puppy's heartbeat and smiling when all that was wrong was the dog's a bit nervous. "Kind of scared, maybe nervous." Scott slowly took one of Max's paw and squeezed it gently, causing the veins on his arm to darken as he felt a light sting of pain coursing through his body but seeing the Golden Retriever bounce up in joy compensated for the discomfort he felt. "But Max's a strong boy, isn't he? Yes, he is!" Scott asked with a silly voice that he only used around kids and dogs. Scott smiled when Max licked the back of his hand affectionately.

Deaton chuckled, turning around finally with the medical tape and the gauze that smelled of antiseptic. His boss shook his head and headed over to the examination table, turning on some light before having Max lay on his stomach. "I was talking about you, Scott." He paused for a moment, not getting what his boss meant. "I was wondering why, after having avoided me for so long by skipping work and not attending your therapy sessions with the others, you're suddenly early for all of your shifts and you've been making up for all those lost time for therapy."

Scott smiled silly and patted Max's head, ruffling the puppy's golden fur. "Well, maybe I just need a break, wait for things to go balance out." Scott gave his boss a knowing look.

Deaton nodded at him before pointing at one of the drawers to fetch some clippers. "Equilibrium to the mean." Scott heard his boss even though there was this loud ringing in his ear after Max yelped out in pain a few seconds ago. "Is this your way of telling me that things have been going your way?" Scott shrugged, smiling widely at his boss to convey his answer before grabbing the roll of medical tape. "And your sudden change in mood and the spike in your energy is a result of your recent reconciliation with Ms. Argent?"

Scott's eyes widened, wondering how his boss knew about how he had gotten back together with Allison. Looking away and avoiding his boss' stares, drowning out the background noise, he found that Max had been watching him the whole time. A smile appeared on his lips as he watched the golden puppy. "What are you looking at?" Scott whispered to Max mock-chiding the puppy who then tilted his head to a side. Scott chuckled, his smile reaching his eyes.

"Scott?" Deaton called for his name again, getting his attention, and jarred him back to reality.

Looking up to his boss, Scott took the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide Deaton had been pointing at. "Huh, yeah?" he was a little distracted, trying to patch up Max when Deaton gave him another pointed look. "What? What is it?" Scott expected to see his boss rolling his eyes or at least chuckle in amusement but all that greeted him was a frown and a skeptical look.

Scott frowned, feeling confused, not entirely sure what was happening.

Deaton went back to disinfecting the wound. "Nothing in particular, Scott." His boss answered him as they finished patching Max up. Despite seeing the little Golden Retriever wag his tail in joy, how Max basically jumped into his arms, Scott had this sinking feeling in his stomach that told him something was wrong and Deaton was hiding it from him but there was nothing Scott could use to prove his hunches—no uneven heartbeats, no hitch in his breathing, no sudden change in his demeanor, no change in his chemo-signal.

There was absolutely nothing for Scott to connect the dots with.

Scott watched his boss carefully, discreetly watching his boss' every movement, sniffing out an irregularity on his scent or chemo-signals, hearing his heartbeat when, suddenly, the sound of latex gloves were being peeled off. Scott's eyes darted forward and saw Deaton carrying Max in his arms, the puppy's leash and collar already inside the palm of his boss' hand. Leaning against the somewhat sturdy examination table, Scott waved goodbye at Max but couldn't help but think about Deaton and what he had said.

Or the lack thereof, his mind supplied almost snappily as Scott watched his boss disappear through the walls that divided the examination room and the lobby.

There wasn't anything Scott could pin down, there was really nothing he could use to prove how he felt but something had changed. The way his boss slowed down a bit after looking at him, how Deaton went back to disinfecting Max's wound wasn't out of the ordinary but there was something there. It was like Deaton was being extremely guarded—but then again, Scott thought to himself, when is Deaton not guarded?—and it was like his every move was being watched. Like his boss had become. . .vigilant of his every action, all of a sudden.

Shaking his head, Scott pushed himself away from the examination table and cleaned the metal table, trying to get the thought of his boss being elusive all of a sudden out of his mind when the person plaguing his thoughts appeared again, this time without Max or any furry companion. Scott raised his brow, remembered that the lobby had at least three more pet owners. Calming his hands, Scott walked towards his boss. "Should I go get Mrs. Diggle's dog?" Scott asked, his feet itching to escape the heavy tension when Deaton shook his head.

Holding out his hand, Deaton then pointed at the corner of the room. Following the direction of the hand, Scott spotted the familiar grey backpack. It was his bag. "I'm afraid I have some engagements for the evening, Scott, and I can't accommodate Mrs. Diggle and the rest of the pet owners." Scott's brows furrowed in confusion. It was unlike his boss to do something like this, something so spontaneous.

"You mean I have the rest of the day off?" Scott's voice was unsure, his fingers balled into a fist because he's trying to fight the urge to ask questions on what his boss is hiding when he isn't sure is Deaton's actually keeping something from him.

"Enjoy your evening, Scott," Deaton nodded and turned his attention back at the counters, arranging all of the tools and equipment they had used on Max earlier. Scott surged forwards to help, maybe try for another time to get something from his boss when he was stopped. "That won't be necessary, Scott, you can take your leave." Deaton gave him a kind smile before hiding all placing all the syringes back into the cabinet and though a part of Scott wanted to stay and find out what exactly was wrong, he didn't want to come off suspicious.

In fact, Scott knew, despite the reassuring smile on his boss' face, he knew that Deaton's already doubting him. Scott doesn't have a doubt in his mind that Deaton knows, that his boss knows about his suspicion.

"Yeah, I guess I should get going." Scott lied quickly, controlling his heart beat even though he knew that Deaton wouldn't be able to hear the irregular beating, but it felt like his boss knew, like by some magic enchantment or a spell or something. Scott wasn't sure how or why or when, but Deaton knows and the smile on the man's face unnerved him, made him feel uneasy.

Deaton nodded. "It appears you should, Scott." His boss' tone had lowered as the vet opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass medicine bottle. Scott tried to sniff it out, tried to find out what it was but the bottle wasn't opened yet. He couldn't make out what the caramel colored liquid was. "Scott? Aren't you meeting Allison?" Scott's head quickly turned towards the direction of the voice, his subconscious telling him off for spacing out, making him look even more suspicious.

Scott grabbed his backpack and picked up his bike's keys, tucking them carefully into his pocket, making sure to be quiet as he smuggled his motorcycle seeing as he's still banned from using it. "Uh, yeah, yeah. I'll get going now, Dr. Deaton. I'll see you on Monday, then. Goodbye." Scott immediately left, walking out using the back door where he hid his motorcycle behind a bunch of container boxes stacked near the building.

Hopping unto his bike, Scott locked his eyes on the building beside him and his heart hammered inside his chest—there was something wrong, and while he didn't know what the problem was exactly, Scott had a feeling that he needed to set up a meeting with Noshiko, Ken, and Kira because he had a pretty solid idea that whatever it was his boss was hiding from him, whatever gave him this ticking feeling inside while watching Deaton, he's sure that it's related to the nogitsune problem.

Scott didn't know what it was that ticked him off, giving him the idea that Deaton knows about the nogitsune, but it's like there's this gut feeling churning inside his stomach. It's been yelling at him, his every fiber of existence, telling him to be cautious around his boss.

Scott normally wouldn't feel that way around Deaton because his boss had practically raised him ever since his father took off. There was no doubt of Scott's loyalty and he's forever in debt to his boss but, there was something in the way Deaton looked around him, the way he smelled, the way his aura radiated. It was different, Scott didn't know why exactly, but the way it felt like—the way his boss was hiding something from him—made Deaton feel like an enemy.

Scott knew better. He does. In the end, he knows the veterinarian like the back of his hand, and that Dr. Deaton has done nothing but to help him cope with being a werewolf or helping his pack by serving as his druid. Scott knows it in his heart that there's no way his boss would, overnight, become his enemy.

Scott snapped out of his daze and wore his helmet, his heart still pounding and his mind a wreck after thinking of what's really happening. He just shook his head and dismissed the thought. Joe West never betrayed Barry Allen, Scott thought to himself when he started his bike's engine, the way it purred through the lot failed to take the things off his mind but he couldn't help but think that while Joe West never betrayed or abandoned or turned his back on his adoptive son, Barry Allen, there was someone else who pretended to be the Scarlet Speedster's friend only to betray him in the end.

But Eobard Thawne did.

Scott's mind was bombarded with images of the Flash being betrayed by a man who stood as his idol and mentor, the image of being a small pawn in someone's plan. Scott couldn't get the image of Deaton going dark and evil, of going through so much just to ruin him, of having a convoluted plan that'll eventually end in his demise.

Scott tried to get it out but the scenario kept playing itself over and over again in his mind, giving him the painful image of his friends dying, of his failure—

Then everything went black.

Everything was pitch black. Hot, searing pain shot throughout his body, the sound of his motorcycle's front wheel still spinning while the smell of burning rubber wafted through the woods as he struggled to get the helmet off of his head, which he eventually did achieve after a few moments of groaning in pain and wincing.

Trying to lift himself off the ground, Scott hissed at the pain he felt pool at his hand. Checking to see if there was a bruise, Scott instead found an openly bleeding wound, his blood long turned black, some pieces of leaves, twigs, and patches of dirt sticking to his bloodied arm.

At first, Scott was blinded by the orange and setting sun, making him realize that he was supposed to meet Allison and that she was probably getting worried about him, so he mustered up all his strength to fish out his phone—which its screen protector had earned a pretty big crack—and checked to see if Allison had tried to reach him.

After typing in his pass code, he got through the lock screen, not surprised to see a few texts and a missed call from his girlfriend, the earlier message he's received from his Mom telling him that she'd be working a late shift tonight, and a vague-looking picture sent to him from Stiles.

Sitting up despite the pain that shot through his spine, like an arrow had been shot right through him, Scott pressed his back against the gentle slope of the hill he fell from, a small growl of pain escaping his lips when he shifted to zoom in a little closer on the phone, looking closely at the image sent to him. "Call me dude. asap" said the message, finally noticing a large amount of number of missed calls he's received from his best friend.

Tapping on the picture, Scott squinted at the photo, struggling to reach the helmet he tossed away earlier, only to figure out that there was a white folder in the picture with red and bold print. Scott couldn't determine the font but he could remember the days he would sneak into his father's office, humming the James Bond theme as if what he was doing was some sort of a secret mission to save the world, and see similar folders.

Then, Scott's smarts caught up to him and he made the connection. Those were FBI files—his father's files—and while Scott had no idea how his best friend truly got his hands on the folder with the Sheriff's name, a gut feeling told him that it wasn't good especially after seeing the text message that followed the picture Stiles sent him. "Fuck it. if ur not going to help me then i'll take things into my own hands" studying the photo with the folder, Scott pressed on his log and checked a miss call from Stiles.

"Scott." The message started out with his best friend's voice, sounding rough like Stiles hadn't slept in days. It was so dry to his ears that the thought of his best friend going on a water strike came into mind immediately. "I need you to call me back right now." Listening close to the voice message, Scott could tell that Stiles was angry, furious even. Just from how his best friend's voice shook, Scott knew that Stiles was writhing and shaking from anger. "Listen, dude, I found out about what my Dad's been hiding from me and I need your help right now. I'm so confused. I need to know if you knew about this. Just call me back!"

The voice message ended with a beep at the end. Scott's brows had furrowed together in confusion as he stood up despite his knees almost buckling in pain. His legs protested but he still walked towards his bike as he tapped on another voice message, this one from Allison.

"Scott, you're late. Isaac's been worried and I've had to stop him from calling Derek to come track you down." Allison's familiar voice rang and Scott felt himself slightly feel better. He didn't know why or how, but hearing his girlfriend's voice gave him strength and it comforted him, knowing that she was okay, that she was there. "Anyways, besides being absolutely worried, Isaac's pretty angry that you took the bike out." There was a sigh from the other side, and Scott felt bad that he lied about taking the Toyota. "Just call me, or Isaac. We. . .I just want to know if you're okay. I promise I won't be angry. Call me soon. Bye."

Scott then saw another missed call from Stiles, this voice message lasting a lot longer than the first one. Scott's insides churned in a horrible way, a way that made him feel sick enough to puke it all out, but despite his reservations and the bad feeling that hung around him as he tried to get his bike to stand, noting the somewhat broken but not irreparable wheel, Scott started to push his motorcycle up the slope, taking a minute to process everything that had happened to him.

Grabbing his phone and lifting it up again once he reached the road where he once was before his mind decided to take a detour in the woods for an uncomfortable nap, Scott noticed the time. He'd been gone for more than 5 hours and he noticed the time he received the message from Stiles.

3:21 AM.

It was 3:21 in the morning, which was weird enough because in his call log, Allison's missed phone call was registered first. Allison had called him first and yet the time his phone registered Stiles' voicemail was around 3 in the morning? Scott stared ahead at the road as a knot began to tie itself in his stomach, making for this uncomfortable feeling that made his heart pound like crazy against his chest, a feeling that left him gasping for air after getting his head hit by a speeding bus.

It was like the biggest migraine and Scott gulped, swallowed his own saliva despite tasting the blood. He walks it off and paced through the road nervously, worry written into his face, wanting to go instead to Allison or to Deaton to get himself patched up first but he shook his head. I'll heal fast, he thought to himself before putting his helmet on, a spot behind his neck feeling incredibly sore after falling down the slope where he found himself earlier.

Scott then turned the key to ignition, and soon, the sound of his engine was heard throughout the road seeing as it sputtered and almost failed to start. "Come on," Scott muttered to himself before he got the bike running, his lips splitting into a smile as he did a small victory fist-pump through the air, though he immediately regret that decision, seeing that his shoulder started throbbing like crazy. Looking down at the slope, Scott had to remember that he's a werewolf to remind himself why he's still alive.

But you shouldn't be alive, Scott, a voice rang in his head, and it was a familiar sound. So familiar that it sent chills throughout his body. The image of Deaton tossing some dried herbs and black powder into a tub of water was ingrained into his mind as Scott couldn't help but think of his accident being too timely, about just how he's about to tell everyone that something's wrong with Stiles or that Deaton's hiding something.

Scott took his eyes off the road for a second, checking to see his palm if it was still bleeding. Removing his hand from handle, Scott wasn't surprised to see that he was still bleeding, that his hand was still covered in black blood considering that his head pounded like a bus ran through him with this gigantic migraine of his and that his body was still sore all over after having fallen through a few feet, bumping into the occasional rocks and pebbles to give him a concussion.

Taking a sharp turn, merely a block away from his best friend's house, Scott caught something shine and glimmer in the corner of his eyes but it was too late to stop his bike from running through the tripwire. Scott was flung some meters from his bike, making it the second time he crashed away from his motorcycle and if he wasn't that too concerned about the problem that someone had a tripwire in front of Stiles' house, then he would really consider trading his motorcycle with something that has four wheels.

"So, you've decided to show up, wolfling." Scott looked up, the streetlamps flickering on and off as he drifted in and out of consciousness but as much as Scott wanted to close his burning eyes and rest his bones, his skin was covered with goosebumps because the voice was scarily familiar. It was the same voice from earlier, when he wondered how in the world he actually survived crashing through a slope.

Scott understands that he's a werewolf, that he heals fast. But looking at the extent of his injuries, the rate they're healing at—he'd be fooling no one if he said that he's healing just fine—because he could still feel this painful sting, this sharp sensation digging into the back of his neck.

Scott understands that he's hell of a lucky man, surviving the things he's been through, but some thing don't just add up. Scott half-imagine Deaton looming over him with a wolfsbane-infused silver stake, poised to strike as the sharp, metal tip began to draw blood from the spot on his chest right above his heart.

But Scott realized that the trap was set in front of Stiles' house, the text his best friend telling him to come urgently. Scott realized that the creepy voice he once heard in purgatory wasn't Deaton's or some other ghosts or some damn spirit trying to take over his body. No, Scott thought to himself as he forced his eyes open, squinting in the bright light as the figure's face finally had more feature to it. Too young, he thought to himself as he tried to raise his hand, to try and reason with his best friend, with Stiles.

But it was too late.

Like in his nightmares where the bandaged man would tear through his chest with very sharp nails or claws—Scott never really paid much attention in the night terror where he would end up dying and-or killing his best friend and end up liking it—Stiles tore through him the silver stake. Scott's first and initial response was to scream out in pain, to call for some help but it was in vain because Stiles' other hand managed to weasel its way to his throat, blocking out the air from his wind pipe.

"Stiles. . .wait, you don't want to do this!" Scott breathed out in the chance he got when his best friend's grip loosened for a bit. He breathed in deep, coughing and wheezing like a man who tried breathing for the very first time in his life. "Please, buddy, I know you. You're not a killer." Stiles never said a word, but his face said quite enough because instead of a look of realization, he saw a look of sick amusement from a sadist or something.

"I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that I can decide for myself on the question what I really want." Stiles twisted the silver stake, the pain slowly increasingly becoming more painful. "Besides, you're my best friend in the whole world, Scotty, why can't you tell what I really want, huh?" Stiles kicked him in the stomach.

"Stiles," Scott groaned in pain, curling up to one side as his chest vibrated with pain when he coughed up blood. "What is this about?" Stiles sneered at him.

"Your father is getting mine fired, what do you think this is all about?" there was another kick, one that sent him coughing up more blood as he felt like puking all of his insides. "But, other than that," Scott tried to crawl away from Stiles, managing to get a few metees in between them when, under a different lamp post, Scott finally saw his best friend in full detail.

"What did you do to my Dad?" Stiles was, for a lack of a better term, covered head to toe in blood. Anger fueled and boiled in him. "Fuck, Stiles!" yelling gave his chest another resounding type of pain that stung in a painful way. "What the fuck did you do to my Dad?" still looking at Stiles, Scott saw the whiskey-eyes turned into pitch black, his anger finally giving him the strength to tap into his wolf vision—it wasn't Stiles, it was the nogitsune.

Smiling coyly, Stiles had this wicked grin that played on his lips. "Well, I had to feed on anger and confusion as I made your parents argue, Scott." Suddenly, he couldn't breathe because Stiles—nogitsune, Scott told himself that despite the familiar face, his best friend wasn't out to kill him—pressed his foot against his neck.

Scott struggled to breathe. His mind was flooded with memories of Victoria Argent trying to poison him with wolfsbane when the weight was lifted off his chest. Instead, a piece of cold steel was pressed against his temple. Blinking as black dots danced around his vision, Stiles leaned in to whisper something in his ear. "You should have seen your father bleed, Scott." Stiles—nogitsune—laughed, smiling maniacally at him. "You should have seen his eyes as his brows furrowed in confusion, of why his godson fired at least three rounds, square in the chest." Scott struggled against the cold pistol.

Shuddering, Scott shot his best friend a look and looked him in the eye. "Stiles, I know you're in there. You've let the darkness in but this isn't you." Struggling to escape the psychotic glare he was given, Scott grittes through his teeth his last sentence despite the pain. "Stiles, you're stronger than this. You don't want to do this!"

But the nogitsune just gave him a cold stare.

"Wolfling, you should know that there's always been darkness inside your little Spark." Pressing the mouth of the gun harder against his head, Scott saw the evilness in those black, demonic eyes. "I was never the cause. Only the push your spastic friend needed." The sickly pale skin then seemed to light up with fox fire, a dark and ominous aura. "Want to know a secret, Scott? This murderous nature your best friend has? It's all his doing! And blowing your brains out?"

The nogitsune seemed to have grown claws before slamming them into his heart, a satisfied and sadistic look rested on Stiles's face.

"It's only a part of my game."

Scott wanted to tell him off, that he'd never win, but he felt blood pool agaonst him in the concrete road.

Whispering sadistically, the nogitsune breathed heavily. "And I'll never lose. You'll never win against. I always win, Scott, one way or another."

And then, heard around the neighborhood, was this loud shot coming from a smoking barrel of a gun.

Nogitsune!Stiles is back, finally. The wait is over.