Hey my dear lovelies! You are simply the lights of my life. I'm glad you are all invested in the story! Things always have to get worse before they can get better, right?

Chapter 11

Once the Dripping Stops

It's a weird time to contemplate your life.

But if you can't do it when you're strapped to a table, your blood dripping down your arms into plastic gutters while you slowly die, when can you?

Stiles knows that Kate is somewhere around him, only by the sound of her high-pitched glee, but his eye sight's going a little blurry. He watches the blood seep from his arms, trailing down his skin in a design that would be beautiful if it weren't so morbid.

He thinks of his dad.

It's odd – after everything; werewolves, kanimas, Alpha packs, nogitsunes, and werejaguars – he can't help but think of his dad and his dad only.

It was the first Christmas after his mom died. His father wasn't doing so well. He'd just spent a few weeks living at the McCalls (which Stiles later found out was court-ordered due to his increasing drinking problem. It was either stay with Melissa or go with Social Services), and Stiles wanted to try and make Christmas dinner for his dad when he got off work.

The problem is, watching his mother do it and actually doing it were two entirely different things. By the time the Sheriff got home, it was a miracle he hadn't burned the kitchen down. All of the food was burnt, undercooked, or spoiled in some fashion or another. Stiles barricaded himself in the kitchen, pressing a few chairs up against the door so that the Sheriff couldn't get in. Of course, Stiles locked in the kitchen by himself while crying hysterically doesn't inspire a lot of confidence on the Sheriff's end of things, so he spent the first half hour returning home from work on Christmas by pounding on the door, bellowing for Stiles to let him in.

After a long time of coaxing, Stiles hesitantly opened the door for his father, revealing a mess in the kitchen. Pots and pans were everywhere and there was smoke swirling dangerously by the alarm, as if it was just teasing for the alarm to be engaged. The Sheriff took one look at his son and the flour coating his face and the floor, the tears rolling down his cheeks, and froze.

Stiles remembers he thought he would be in so much trouble, he'd be sent back to the McCalls. Not that he didn't love that family with every core of his being, he just missed his family. His own family. He missed his dad. But then his father swooped him up in one of the tightest hugs Stiles ever experienced and everything fit. It was like the world stopped tilting ever so slightly.

Sure, it still hurt, but at least they were together once more. They had each other in that moment and it made everything seem a little less horrible.

So Stiles thinks about his dad. He was so resolved to die for such a long time, he didn't know that he's feel this way. That he'd feel like he was doing the wrong thing. He turns his head to watch his blood dripping off the table. This is how it was supposed to be, right? This is how he could make things right when he wasn't even sure what was right anymore?

"Didn't I tell you he would be perfect?"

Stiles hears a distant voice, but it's deeper. It's not Kate's. Frowning, he tilts his head, but just that motion makes the world swirl before his eyes and he has to shut them.

"Perfect." Another person responds. It's female, but it doesn't sound like Kate. It's too high-pitched. Maybe he was losing his mind or maybe this was an actual side-effect of dying – not knowing what the hell was going on – but he thought they sounded slightly familiar. He tries to recall where he's heard the voices, but he can't place them. "It was easy pressing all the right buttons. He probably even still believes that he escaped on his own accord.

Laughter follows that statement.

"We'd like our payment."

There's a low growl and Stiles knows that's Kate. "You'll have what's yours, don't worry. But I don't do anything until I receive my end of the deal."

"We got you the boy! The perfect specimen for you. If you can't finish the rest, that's your own damn fault. We set him up for the perfect sacrifice. We demand to be paid!"

Stiles frowns, the voices clearer. He has heard them before. He's certain of it.

"Not until I see Allison. Once Allison is here, then you'll get your reward."

There's a huff. "Maybe we should've just killed him when we had him."

Stiles eyes widen, the darkness coming closer, but he's afraid now. Oh, is he afraid. Because he knows exactly where he's heard that voice before.

"We're gonna break you, kid."

XXX

"Can you not?"

Allison maneuvers around the group of them, her motions slow and sluggard, like she's just woken up. She's clearly trying to get them to focus on the severity of the situation, but no one's moving. To be honest, Scott isn't sure if he's awake or not. Because Allison always is in his dreams, just not quite like this. Her face is beautiful – just as it always – but her eyes are empty. They aren't afire like he's used to and she looks, well, dead.

Scott isn't sure what to do about that.

She notices him staring and sighs. "Don't, Scott."

Scott blinks, barely able to register that Allison just acknowledged him. "W-What?"

"Don't start looking at me. Don't start thinking things that you shouldn't be thinking about."

Scott isn't really sure how to respond to that. Because how does one respond to the return of what could only be regards as his first and most dynamic love? He looks at her, his eyes falling to the blood trickling down her waist as if the injury was just given.

"What am I supposed to do?"

He asks because sometimes honesty really is the best way to go.

Her hard edges soften for a brief moment and he genuinely feels like Allison is back with them, but her empty eyes still haunt him. "Go on like I'm not here."

"But you are."

Allison laughs haughtily. "But I'm not supposed to be," she says quietly. Scott looks over at the one other person this must be killing – Lydia – and sees tears streaming down her face. He moves closer to her and grabs her hand, squeezing slightly as she turns away from her former best friend. "Listen, it was my time."

"But you only got seventeen years!" Lydia cried out before she could stop herself. "That's not enough time!"

Allison reaches out to touch Lydia, but she hesitates before she can ever do so. "I suppose, but I died fiercely." She says with a sort of finality that not even Scott can argue against. "I was a warrior. I died protecting the people I care about most in this world. And yes, it was too soon. God, it was too soon." Allison whispers wistfully, as if the words are physically hurting her. "But I died the way every Warrior wishes to die. Fighting."

"Then why are you even here?" Malia snaps, shrugging her shoulders. "If dying is such a joyous occasion to you?"

Scott growls, his eyes glowing a fierce red. "Malia. Human. Manners."

Malia blinks. "I don't understand what was wrong with that question."

Allison blinks. "Who even are you?"

Kira, who's been in the corner of the room, pipes up after a moment. "You'll have to forgive her. She's still trying to get used to the whole 'not in the animal kingdom' thing."

Malia merely rolls her eyes, but draws silent.

After frowning at the minor distraction, Allison returns her attention to Scott. "If we don't do anything soon, I'm not going to be the only one in your pack to die at seventeen."

That seemed to be the magic words to get the Sheriff involved. "What is it? What is happening to my son?"

"I don't know the actual plan that's set in motion, I just know what's happening to two of us." Allison says, walking through the McCall house easily. "All I know is that Stiles is, in the easiest way of explaining it, 'trading himself' for me. But, I have a feeling there's more involved. And the more real I become," Allison raises her arm to the light and Scott can see it. He can see the rays go through her and the dust settle through her skin. "The closer he is to taking my place."

"But what is this supposed to be accomplishing?" Malia blurts out again and everyone sighs. "I don't get the whole trading lives thing. Why is one person dead less bad than another person dead?"

Allison gives Malia a sort of half-smile – in an accepting way that only Allison could and that is so dearly missed – and says solemnly, "Because I know that they have no intention of keeping me alive."

XXX

Kate stills. A grin stretches across her lips as she puts a hand up to the arguing people before her and she calls out, "I know you're here, little wolves. Come out, come out wherever you are!" She cries in a sing-song voice that grates against Scott's ears.

Scott throws everyone a look that plainly states that they are to stay behind him, and he walks into the open room.

When he does so, everything stops. He sees the figure strapped to the table in the center of the room, blood draining from his forearms and Scott genuinely forgets everything. He forgets that he's the Alpha, he forgets that his dead ex-girlfriend is standing next to him, he forgets that Kate Argent is grinning like a maniac next to the table. All he can see is Stiles strapped to the table, his head lolled to one side, his arms designed in a color he never wished to see.

"Welcome, my dear True Alpha!" Kate grins, gesturing them to come deeper into the room like she's putting on a show. Perhaps she is, but it's definitely not one that Scott wants to see. "We're just about to get started!"

"Let him go!" Scott shouts before he can stop himself, because it's not like Kate Argent is just going to start listening to him after all this time. "Just…" Even Scott isn't sure what to say at this point. "Please."

The last word doesn't come out very Alpha-like. It's broken and quiet. The plea of a seventeen-year-old boy afraid of losing his brother. Not an alpha in charge of a pack.

Scott turns to his left, honestly surprised that the Sheriff hadn't rushed past him. Except when he looks behind him, he wished he hadn't. The man's face is drained of blood, tears already rolling down his cheeks. His body is tense, like he's prepared to fight, but unsure of what. He glances over at Scott and Scott has to look away. It's simply too painful. He knows he should give the man encouragement, but he simply doesn't know how to do so.

Kate claps her hands together. "Well, this is a party, isn't it?" She peeks around, her brows furrowing. "There seems to be an absence of one of you."

That's when Scott's stomach plummets. A part of him didn't want to believe Kate wanted to use Allison for her personal gain. That it was a plot of revenge and nothing else. But as her eyes dart around the room, growing more concerned at the absence, Scott's blood boils. "You're not getting Allison."

Kate's lips curl into an even broader smile. It's terrifying. "So it is working – good for you." She nods at a few figures at her right.

Two people grunt, clearly unamused. Kate sees the confusion in Scott's face and chuckles. "Oh, right! You all haven't been properly introduced. Children – and random adult – I'd like you to meet Frank and Pat Lamont. They've been responsible for Stiles' well-being for the past five months."

Scott's eyes widen when the people give them half-hearted waves. They looked so casual, so nonchalant at the destruction of the teen next to them. Lydia squeaks behind him. "F-Five months?" Scott repeats. "No, Stiles said that he got out. That he was on his own."

The woman steps over to Stiles, running her fingers through his hair. Scott clenches his fists, willing himself not to let his claws come out, but he feels the pricks of them in his palm. Stiles stirs slightly at the touch, causing Scott's heaviness in his chest to lessen slightly. "Do you really think that anything that he's done was outside our realm of control?" She asks, her voice sticky sweet. "Every single action in Mr. Stilinski's life has been planned by us. Even his 'escape' from The Haven."

Derek's growl reverberates in the room at the name of the place, Kate chuckling at his reaction. "Lovely to see you here as well, dear. It's been far too long."

Derek doesn't respond, but his eyes flash blue.

"Now, if Allison doesn't come out to play too," Kate calls out, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. "Then we can all just wait for Stilinski to die. And then I can hunt her down myself."

That was it.

The snap.

Everything was just too much. There was too much death. Too much bullshit. Too many villains and not enough heroes. Just… too.

Scott lunges at Kate, his fangs bared and claws set. If his attack startled him, she doesn't show it because she moves out of the way easily enough. Recoiling to his feet, Scott turns to sprint again.

Except this time, one of the Lamont's step in. Frank grabs his wrist while he's leaping toward them, swing it behind his back. Scott hears the snapping before he feels it, letting out a cry as his arm shatters.

Surprisingly, and unsurprisingly at the same time, Malia is the first into action. Her eyes shine a bright blue and she sprints toward Kate, tackling her to the ground. Derek takes Scott's lack of protest – his arm hurt pretty damn bad, so there's really not a lot of protesting happening regardless – as a sign that he could enter too, and soon Derek's thrown himself against the female.

Except the Lamonts are unlike anything Scott's seen – even including the Argents at their most vicious. They don't hesitate, they don't flinch, and they certainly don't cower from using deadly weapons.

Scott finds himself on his back, a few bullets embedded in his chest, blood seeping through his shirt as his body tries to knit itself back together. Then it hits him.

He's seen these people before.

The day Stiles first returned.

They were the hunters fighting alongside Kate.

Everything makes sense, everything hits Scott like a ton of bricks and he chokes, making a strangled cry when Pat slices into his side with a dagger that must be laced with wolfsbane, bringing him to his knees. This has all been set up to this exact moment.

They didn't get away from Kate that day because they beat her. They got away because Stiles came. And that was the point all along. Kate didn't ever kill Stiles because that wasn't the plan. The plan was to drain him and force him to be a sacrifice. And she knew. She knew exactly what to say to him, what to do to him to make him snap. Because she had the Lamonts. And the Lamonts had Stiles.

Everything had been set up. And all they'd done was play their roles.

Everything had led up to this moment, this exact point in time where his pack is bleeding out and dying, just like his brother strapped to the table before him. Scott manages to get to his feet just in time to see Kate swipe across Isaac's chest so he crumples to the ground. "Stop!" Scott cries out. At this point, he's not above begging. If it means his pack gets to survive, he would beg all night. "Stop!"

Surprisingly, Kate does.

But she keeps her claws poised at Kira's throat, who's whimpering on the ground. "Come on!" Kate screams, her words echoing in the room. "Allison, I know you're there! Has the afterlife finally hardened you? Either you come out or I will murder them. One. By. One."

Stiles makes a pained noise from the table and Scott can see tears streaming down his face. "Hang on, Stiles!" Scott yelps out, unsure of what hope he could give him when everyone was dying. "Please, just hang on! We got you, we're here!"

"It's time for you to make a choice, Scott!" Kate snaps. "Brother or lover? Which will it be?"

Before Scott can answer, before he can even fathom the unfathomable, a figure steps into the room, her gait strong for someone who's been buried. Allison tilts her head up, her expression stony.

Kate smiles. "Well, well. Look what just got interesting."

A/N: Yes! The whole prologue fight hada point! Hopefully this tied up a few loose ends that seemed like they didn't have a point – but they did.

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