Hello my lovelies! I'm so glad you're all invested in this story – particularly since I think that it sorta spiraled into a mess of angst.

I do have a plan, however! Don't worry – everything is going to plan.

Also, I don't think I've ever said this, but it should be stated: I'm sorry for all the grammatical errors through it. I don't have a beta. I don't even really read it over once I'm done writing. I sorta just bust out a chapter and post it (horrible practice – I know), but this way it gets me out of my head and second-guessing myself. Good writing practice times, right…?

Chapter 12

Ripples in the Water

"Stiles? Would you like to add anything to this discussion?"

Stiles doesn't even look up. He's afraid that if he does, his anger will best him once more and he'll end up back in isolation.

The problem is, he knows what to say to make all the pain stop. He knows what Frank and Pat want. What they want is for him to finally admit that all his troubles – all his anguish – started when the supernatural entered his life. That he would help them. Help them help others that were like him – even before what he is now. So those who are contemplating their lives and struggling to even process their lives, can have the choices that he didn't.

There are several reasons why he keeps his mouth shut. Some obvious, some… horrifying.

Point blank: he doesn't want to be beaten. It sucks. Still under the 'Nogitsune possession' on the grand scheme of things, but still something he wants to avoid. Also, he doesn't agree. And his past actions has shown that when he lies, bad things happen.

But secretly, in a way that makes him truly hate himself, there's another reason:

He could lose himself so easily.

Because, the fact of the matter is, the supernatural isthe reason his life went to Hell. Sometimes he lies awake and wonders what his life would be like if it never entered his life. Even if Scott wasn't bitten, he's certain they still would've been dragged into the conflict. But if the supernatural didn't exist and there wasn't even an option for any of this to take place, his life would be inarguably easier. Less pain. Sure, disease would've taken his mother, but he wouldn't have taken Allison. He wouldn't have been possessed. He wouldn't have been kidnapped, beaten, and tormented more times than he could care to admit.

He doesn't say anything because he's afraid that he'll lose sight of himself and give in.

"Stiles?" Frank Lamont prompts again when Stiles doesn't say anything for a while. "I asked you a question." There's an edge to his voice. A warning. Stiles knows this warning. He's heard it in the past when he's about to have something happen to him that he wished wouldn't, so the hairs on Stiles' neck stand on edge.

Stiles lifts his head and makes eye contact with the man, trying to remain as fierce and unyielding as possible. "I have nothing to add." He states calmly.

"Again? I find that hard to believe." Frank states, not taking his eyes from Stiles.

Everyone in the group shuffles nervously. This conversation has happened before.

It didn't end well.

"Stiles, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you get in the middle of a hunter/werewolf dispute due to the supernatural presence in your town?"

"Yes, but—"

"And weren't you kidnapped by one of the hunters?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And before that, the Alpha of the territory who threatened to turn you?"

"Well—"

"And didn't all the lies cause your father's termination at his job?"

"He got that back—"

"And then there's the whole Nogitsune fiasco."

"Stop."

"There are a lot of people who would be alive if you simply didn't allow the supernatural to be a force in your life anymore."

"Stop."

"What were their names again? They both started with As, right? Ally A? Adrian?"

"I said STOP!" Stiles shouts, leaping up from his chair so quickly, it topples over, the clattering echoing in the room.

He's breathing heavily. Maybe he was holding his breath the entire time, but he wasn't aware. He's not sure of anything at this point. He was sitting, but now he's standing. He was calm, but now he's not. He was a normal – albeit strange – functioning teenager, and now he's barely holding himself together.

What happened?

Frank stares at him for a moment. He cocks his head to the side, surveying Stiles with a slight smirk. Stiles feels a chill run down his spine as he's being surveyed, wringing his hands as he calms himself enough to grab his chair and return to a seated position. He waits.

Frank clears his throat. Then once more. He lifts himself out of his seat, putting his hands behind his back and then starts pacing behind all the teenagers around him. Stiles stiffens every time he passes behind him. But he always keeps walking.

"Stiles, I get where you're coming from." He starts, his voice quiet, making him strain for each word. "I understand you have been manipulated to be sympathetic to the supernatural. You surrounded yourself with them and you feel a kinship. But I need you to understand this. Now listen to me, boy, and listen to me good."

"Allison is dead." He states and Stiles' eyes widen. "She is DEAD!" He shouts and suddenly he's right behind him, his bellow ringing in his ears. "And let me make something clear here. If it wasn't for you – and if it wasn't for the supernatural – she wouldn't be dead. She would be alive. And that is on you.

ON. YOU."

Frank motions to some people in the corner with a flick of his fingers and a couple of large men appear behind Stiles and grab his shoulders. "There's a storm tonight, Stiles. I heard it's gonna get pretty cold. I think a night outside will maybe sober you up to the reality of the situation?"

Stiles doesn't have it in him to fight or struggle as he's lifted from his seat.

"Listen, I like you, kid. And I hope you realize that you, whether you like it or not, have a path. And if you're not careful, you're going to be forced down it. And there's really nothing you can do about it. We have a plan for you, Stiles. The only difference is? More people will die."

XXX

Scott knows that it isn't the case, but he thinks that time freezes. The moment that Allison steps out from where he distinctly told her to stay put, time stops. The only thing grounding him to reality is the gentle dripping coming from behind him. He tries not to focus on what the dripping is.

He wonders how everything got so out of control. How one moment, his biggest problem was making the first string in lacrosse and maybe getting Allison to go out with him, and then the next his best friend is strapped to the table, bleeding out, while the love of his life returns from the dead and takes his life force? Or whatever it is, really. But the point is still clear. How did they get here?

"Allison, it's wonderful to see you again," Kate purrs, taking a step closer to her.

Allison tilts her head back and retreats, her eyes fierce and focus. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same."

Kate clicks her tongue. "You hurt me, dear niece."

"You are killing one of my best friends."

Kate lifts her eyebrows. "Really?" She glances back at Stiles, who's whimpering is softening and growing further apart. It still gnaws the back of Scott's subconscious. Even with all the chaos and everything that's happening, it's still there. Cutting through him. "Stilinski? I never realized you two were that close."

She shrugs, as if all of this is inconsequential to her. And if Scott thinks about it long enough, it probably is.

The Sheriff uses this opportunity of distraction to shuffle over to his son, his gun still drawn in his right hand, but he reaches out. Setting the gun down at Stiles' shoulder, the Sheriff grabs both of his son's forearms, pressing down firmly. Kate eyes him, tilting her head like she's considering doing something about that action, causing Scott to leap to his feet.

He can feel his body slowly healing itself, the skin knitting back together and the bones snapping back into place. He lowers himself in a defensive position between the Lamonts, Kate, and Stiles, a quiet growl emanating in the back of his throat. The Sheriff seems to take this declaration for his safety, because he leaps onto the table and kneels, grabbing both of Stiles' forearms and squeezing firmly.

"No," Scott can hear the Sheriff say as he bends over his dying son. "You do not have my permission to die. We had a deal, Stiles. Don't you remember? We had a deal. And you don't get to break that deal and die. This is unacceptable, Stiles. This is unacceptable."

Scott pretends he doesn't hear the catch in his voice. The fear.

Because if the Sheriff is afraid, they really all should be.

The werewolves, now no longer under attack, bring themselves to standing positions and make their way toward Scott. Once they are all around the table, Kate laughs. "Oh, keep your fur on, McCall. I have no intention of massacring your pathetic, prepubescent pack. Once I get what I came for, you all can return to your pathetically mundane lives. This is about so much more than a few measly werewolves."

"Then what is it about?" Allison asks, her voice unwavering.

"What it's always been about, dear niece." Kate says with a smirk. "Power. And after everything falls into place, I'll have everything I need. You see," she approaches the table where Stiles' lies, his breath catching and his skin drifting into a shallow pallor and his eyes glassy. "This really has nothing to do with possessions or anything like that. Do you actually know what's happening right now? Because if this was any other person, you wouldn't be standing there."

Scott can't help but frown at that. "What does that even mean?"

Kate grins. "I'm glad you asked, Scott. Because possession or not, it would have to be Stiles strapped to that table. Why?" Her eyes flicker mischievously. "I believe Deaton called it a Spark."

Ice fills Scott's veins. "What?" he whispers, but he knows that Kate can hear it.

"It isn't his sacrifice and blood that's bringing Allison back, it's his sacrifice and Spark that's making it possible. And his sacrifice is beyond of his life. It's the Spark. And that Spark is filtering into a new host." Kate states, brandishing a finger over in Allison's direction. "Resurrection and a Spark? What a beautiful combination of power that would be." Kate flicks her fingers and the claws emerge, her eyes flashing a vibrant green. "They say that when you take a life, you take parts of them. Sure, I could've taken Stiles' and maybe been improved a bit. But why take a Spark when I can take more?"

Kate whips her hair and flashes a smile at Scott. "This is why you are going to fail in this world, McCall. This isn't about doing what's 'right' or making sure people live. It's about self-preservation. Because in this world, there isn't a right or wrong. There are people who play the game. So there isn't 'right' or 'wrong,' there's 'winners' and 'losers.' And the way you're choosing to play? You're going to lose really quick."

Scott blinks, the smell of blood almost overpowering. Stiles has a very specific scent. He smells like freshly cut grass with a hint of lavender and honey. He never told his best friend that because he knew he'd get a rant about how annoyed his scent is so feminine. That it isn't even a musk. But a faint, yet beautiful smell.

But the smell of his blood? It curdles his stomach.

Because, while his scent comes from the blood running through his veins, as soon as it's out in the open, oxygenated and swirling around where people are breathing, it rots. The grass wilts and the lavender shrinks. The honey molds and everything is terrible. It smells like corpses with lavender sprayed over their bodies. It smells like a cemetery.

His eyes are watering.

"Come on, kid," Scott can hear the Sheriff whispering behind him. It's non-stop, the pleading. It's like Kate isn't even there and there aren't people there with guns. It's as though the two Stilinskis are the only two people in the loft. "You need to stop this. Please, stop this. You can't leave me alone here. You can't. We had a deal."

The tension is rising and there's bile filling in Scott's throat. Because he doesn't know what to do. He simply… doesn't know.

His pack look at him – like he should have the answers or have a magical way to get them out of this situation – but to put simply: he doesn't. He's seventeen. He's supposed to be thinking about college and what he wants to do with his life. He's supposed to be obsessing about the new girl at the school and doing late-night video game sessions with Stiles. He's supposed to exasperate his mom with his pranks, not with his life-threatening situations.

But, the decision is ripped from him.

BOOM.

A shot rings out in the loft, echoing throughout the room. Everyone dives to the ground. Scott peaks over his arms, panicking as he looks at everyone. His eyes catch everyone's gaze – from his pack to the Sheriff, who planted himself over his son with fervor. Then… Scott's breath hitches.

With a trembling lip, he moves his gaze to the corner of the room to where Allison stood, his eyes watering.

But she's there.

She looks freaked out, but she's there, in one piece.

"W-What?"

Kate's breath hitches as the strangled proclamation comes out, her clawed hands trembling as they find their way to her stomach.

Blood seeps in the fabric of her shirt as her fumbling claws paw at the gaping hole in her abdomen. She collapses to her knees, the blood trickling down her legs and splashing onto the floor. Black blood appears at the corners of her mouth as she gasps out a breath, her chest shuddering with every breath. "Y-You son of a-a—"

"A what, Kate?" Frank Lamont steps forward, a shotgun in hand. "Are you sure you want that to be your last breath? Because if my calculations are correct, with this potency of Wolfsbane, you only have a few more minutes before it finds its way to your heart. Because, unlike you in your hunter glory days, we have access to Wolfsbane that removes any possibility of recovery."

He saunters over to Kate's writhing body, black blood seeping out of her ears and nose. With a swift move, he kicks her until she rolls on her back, screaming an agonizing wail that causes Scott to flinch.

Regardless, it's horrible.

With a swift movement, Frank stomps on the wound, grinding the heel of his boot over her abdomen as she cries out. "You forgot one important detail, Kate." Frank seethes, his voice dropping to a terrifying decibel. "You chose us for our lack of tolerance for the supernatural, especially since your own family clearly softened. And you were right.

"We have NO tolerance for the supernatural, previous hunter or not."

With a few more shudders, Kate grows still. Her heart grows silent.

One less life on this planet in only a few minutes.

With a smirk, Frank looks up from his handiwork, nudging Kate's lifeless body to the side. Holstering his weapon, he sighs. "I always told you, Stiles, that we had a plan for you. Too bad you forced my hand to set it in motion my way. I did warn you, didn't I, kid?" He claps his hands together.

"Who's next?"

A/N: Yup! Kate's NOT the Big Bad in this story… *muffled maniacal laughter*

I know it's a bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want to delve into the next scene immediately, but I know a bunch of people wanted an update ASAP. Hopefully this'll tide you over before the next one!

If you have a moment, please leave a note! You'll get all the cyber-hugs.