This is it. This is the scene I've pictured from around Chapter 4 and have been so excited to get to ever since. This is where I always wanted it to end up, with these event panning out the way they do. I really hope you enjoy.

I've always wanted closure in regards to certain knowledge of things Stiles has done for people in the past – you'll understand what I mean when I get to the part - and I thought they'd do that with the whole Nogitsune thing, but they didn't.

Chapter 17

The Beginning and the End

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every time the demon brings Stiles' hands together, Scott winces. He can feel the condescension in the vibrations of the clapping. "Very good, Scott!" Stiles says, his face twisting in a smile. He was just so thin, Scott wondered if he'd eaten anything at all since the possession. Probably not. "I'm so proud of you – you figured it out! Stiles would be proud, too, I think. If he, of course, wasn't currently drowning and dying a slow and agonizing death." The demon shrugs. "C'est la vie!"

"You're not getting to him." Scott declares. "You can't."

Stiles peers over his shoulder at the ring of mountain ash currently encircling the tub. "You mean this? This stupid… line? Do you really think I haven't already thought five moves ahead? Your lack of faith in my game play is astonishing, just like your lack of IQ. I thought you were supposed to be a 'True Alpha' and yet you can't apply common sense? Really pathetic. Obviously one of your precious humans are going to do it for me."

"Obviously?" Lydia cries. "The only obvious thing is that you could use a sandwich."

His eyes darken. "I don't know need frivolous things like sleep and food. Your confliction and grief is far satisfying enough for me."

Stiles waves his fingers and a scraping sounds from the other room. Scott can do nothing but watch in horror as Deaton – his eyes dead and far away - drags his mother through the doorway with a knife at her throat.

"Is it positively delicious, Scott?" Stiles cries, waving his hands in the air in a way that was so un-Stiles, it made Scott sick to his stomach. "Don't you see that I've won the game? Because now you have to choose!" Stiles' fingers twitch around like he's forgotten his Adderall and the grin on his face is too much. "Your best friend – or your mom!" Then he tilts his head back and gives a deranged laugh, his entire body shaking with the effort. "One lives, the other dies."

Stiles takes a violent step forward, a grin curving on his lips. "Will you be able to survive it, Scott? Knowing you've sentenced one of your family members to death?"

Scott glances over at his mom, who's struggling futilely against Deaton's grasp. He presses the knife closer to her neck – enough to draw a small amount of blood and make his mom squeal. "Stop!" Scott cries, tears in his eyes. "Stop, please!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Stiles says, putting up his finger. "You have to choose first. Otherwise, I'll choose for you."

Scott looks desperately around. He already knows his decision. It's obvious. But to answer the demon's question – no. No, he would not survive this. It's like he's sending two people to their grave.

"Allison," he rasps out, his hands shaking. "Go break the line."

"S-Scott—" Ms. McCall chokes, tears pricking her eyes. "Scott, n-no—"

He can't bare to look at her.

Allison gives Scott a long, horrible look as she steps away from the group of them. Because she knows. She knows this is one of those moments when all of their lives change forever.

Stiles smirks as Allison slowly makes her way toward him. "Because here's the rules of the game, Scott. I told you – I told you by the time you figured it out, you would've already lost. The rules of the game are you have no moves. You don't have anything. There's just me. And my victory."

Allison hesitates in front of the mountain ash. It's like everyone in the room has stopped breathing – like they believe that time stops, this moment won't happen – can't happen. But the fact is, it does. Allison stares at the mountain ash before her, her foot trembling.

"Just do it, Allison," The Nogitsune hisses, his eyes alive with the surrounding strife. "Sentence your friend to death. Poor, poor innocent Stiles. The boy who ran with wolves and fell under their claws."

"You're a monster." Allison manages out, but not without an apparent waver in her voice.

"No, sweetheart." He coos, peering over the tub with earnest. "Monsters can be vanquished. I am so much more than that. So much more."

Stiles is in the tub. He looks peaceful. His eyes are closed and his hands are folded across his chest. Still.

Calm. It's like he's already died.

Maybe he has. Scott tells himself this because he doesn't know what else to do. Because he knows once the line is broken, Stiles is gone. He's sentenced his best friend to death because he simply couldn't figure it out. Stiles was always there to figure it out, but now that he's gone? There's nothing he can do.

Finally, after what feels like forever and a mere second all in one, Allison toes the mountain ash and breaks the ring.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Because sometimes Scott forgets that Derek doesn't have a lot of subtly when it comes to planning. Sometimes it's terrible. And sometimes it's wonderful.

This is definitely one of the 'wonderful' instances.

There's a horrible cracking sound and Deaton crumples to the ground, leaving Ms. McCall gasping. Scott uses the momentary distraction to sprint next to Allison, grabbing her waist and pulling her behind him. "He is not yours to take!" Scott bellows and moves to shove the Nogitsune out of the way, his adrenaline coursing enough to cloud his judgment because as far as he's concerned, this isn't Stiles and he's having a difficult time compartmentalizing.

But then there's a switch.

Stiles' eyes widen and Scott instantly knows that this is his Stiles, it is his best friend. But not before he can stop his swing. All there is time for is a broken, "S-Scott, wait—"

Then he's thrown against the wall.

Scott freezes. Everything inside him turns to ice as he looks at the crumpled form of his best friend, his fingers running across the concrete of the clinic, desperately trying to hoist himself up. Scott moves frantically toward, "God, Stiles! I-I'm so sorry! Oh my God,"

"Stop!" Stiles exclaims, holding his hand out as they tried to move toward him. His head rolls back until it hits a wall, blood trickling down his temple. "P-Please, Scotty, no." His lower lip trembles. "I-I can't do it—"

His lips start to turn blue.

"Stiles!" Scott shouts.

Then his body stiffens. A horrid laughing begins, Stiles' chest jerking like he's sputtering his last bits of energy in the effort. "Scott, you just don't get it, do you?" The Nogitsune is back, bringing his hand to his temple, wiping some of the blood from his fingertips. He watches it roll down. "I can't believe you just did that to your best friend. I know for a fact that he sees you like a brother – I've seen inside his head. Is this how you treat family? Or do you simply not reciprocate the sentiment?"

"Stop it!" Scott shouts, the taunting ringing in his ears – to his very core.

The Nogitsune huffs a laugh. "Do you really think you can beat me, Scott? You think your little bandwagon of puppies and freaks are enough to defeat me? I am one thousand years old, you can't defeat me!" His voice cracks as he yells and he finishes his bellow with a grin. "Because Stiles is mine. And he's been mine for a while. So you can do whatever you want, you can try to throw me around, but just know I'll let you have your friend at the last second. Right when you're about to kill me. That way, his last memories will be of you destroying him.

"But that's nothing new, isn't it?" The Nogitsune grins. "You all have been destroying the boy for years and just haven't seen it."

Everyone stills. "W-What are you talking about?"

"That's the beauty of the Nogitsune, Scott," he says, pacing around in a frantic way that sort of reminds him of his best friend. "Is that we don't really need to go out of our way to create pain and chaos. Humans – well, I guess in your case, dogs – do it enough themselves. They create pain and chaos everywhere they go, just by being themselves. And you all have destroyed this person. Even if you hadn't realized. I don't even need to do anything. You're all here. The creators of this kid's torment."

"We're not the one possessing him," Lydia snaps, her voice wavering though. "We're not the one who made him think he lost his mind."

The Nogitsune smiles to himself. "That was fun, though, wasn't it? Real – not real. Real – not real! Oh, how I loved watching him try to figure it out. It was like the opening act to the real game! Just a wonderful show. But I didn't have to really do any work, you lovely people set the stage."

He nods at the Sheriff, who was over by Ms. McCall's side, clutching her tightly and staring at the shell of his son in abject horror. "The Sheriff. The man who's supposed to protect the entire town can't even protect his flesh and blood." The Nogitsune grins, a smirk spreading across his face. "The Protector. The Justice of the Town. The man who fell apart after the death of his wife, leaving his son to believe everything was all. His. Fault."

The Sheriff makes a noise that sounds something quite like a feral animal, his eyes wide and stricken.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe the amount of guilt this kid carries around. It's like having a live-in buffet. It's wonderful. How much he thinks that you see him as a hyperactive little bastard – but you know that already when he tried to shoot himself a while back, don't you? All I had to do was convince him it was true."

Ms. McCall puts a hand on the Sheriff's chest – for comfort or to restrain him from lunging at his own son, Scott's not sure. But he can see the hint of doubt in his eyes. The steady look of guilt as he peers at the whole scene and Scott knows he's pondering whether this is his own fault.

"For someone taking form of one of my closest friends, you're really quite the opposite of him." Lydia seethes. "And I think you should take the graceful option and just leave."

The Nogitsune tilts his head and looks at her. Scott wishes Lydia could just leave it alone, but of course she won't because she's Lydia and she has to be overprotective in her own way. But the way the Nogitsune is smiling at her, Scott knows that he has something.

Well, of course he has something. It's Lydia.

And it's Stiles.

"Lydia," the Nogitsune says calmly. "Do you happen to know how saved you from Derek's lovely uncle Peter?"

"No," Scott instantly says, throwing a pleading look at the Nogitsune. "H-He never wanted her to know. Please don't."

The Nogitsune ignores him. "Lydia?"

Lydia's looking around like someone might provide the answer for her. "Jackson," she states, but there's hesitation in her tone. "Jackson took me to the hospital."

The Nogitsune huffs. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius, Ms. Martin. It is true – love blinds us to all the worst traits. Would you be surprised to know that is was actually Stiles, the boy you so generously allowed to take you to the formal under your best friend's demands? The boy who begged for your life, went with a werewolf psychopath with the one stipulation that someone take you to the hospital. Sometimes I like to play that memory over and over in his mind – you bleeding out on the field as he begs and begs. Talk about low points, right?"

Lydia's voice is small. "You're lying."

"Am I lying? Scott?" The Nogitsune laughs. Scott doesn't say anything, but that really is an answer in itself. "But Lydia, I asked you – are you surprised? You're not, aren't you? You're startled, yes, but surprised? No! Of course not! Because it's Stiles and it sounds exactly like something he'd do. And it simply did not sound like Jackson, didn't it?"

Lydia's quiet. Scott knows when Lydia gets quiet, they're entirely fucked.

Scott can feel it. The tension building in the room. It's like strife was a fire and was burning them all alive. All the while his best friend is holding the match.

"Which brings us to our True Alpha and his star-crossed lover."

It's then when Scott realizes he still has his hand around Allison's waist.

"A secret that Allison's be holding on for quite some time now. And Stiles never shared because she asked him not to."

Allison stills at his side. Scott turns to look at her and her face is a ghastly pale. "What is he talking about, Allison?"

The Nogitsune smiles. "Yes, Allison. Tell him what I'm talking about. Tell him about the 'fight' after the lacrosse game."

Scott's eyes widen. "Allison?"

All that happens is the tears fall from her eyes.

"Tell him that you listened to his best friend get the shit kicked out of him by your crazy grandfather. How you saw Stiles get taken after Jackson impaled himself on the field and you did nothing."

"N-No," Scott states, taking a step away from Allison. "Stiles was beaten up by the other team. He was beaten up by—"

As the words come out of his mouth, he knows that they're wrong.

"Scott," Allison musters out, but it's broken and horrible. "I-I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" The Nogitsune says with glee. "For not doing anything as your family beat the crap out of your boyfriend's best friend or for making him promise not to ever say anything about it? Because I'd say both are pretty terrible."

Instinctually, Scott moves away from her.

He doesn't notice the Nogitsune's grin spread wider.

"Stop!" Derek shouts, with a very plain 'you guys got to be fucking kidding me' look. "Don't you see this is what he wants? The separation – the brokenness?"

"Like you're one to talk, Derek." The Nogitsune shrugs. "Don't even get me started on—"

That's when Derek snaps and charges at him. Scott knows what's coming before it happens. He doesn't even get a yell out in time before he sees his best friend's wide eyes appear back in his hollow body, just in time to see Derek Hale charge at him.

Stiles is thrown back, his back cracking against the tub to where he's been imprisoned for how long. Derek's eyes widen with what he's done and Scott can't help but feel for him. It seems innately wrong to cause any harm to the flail-y friend, no matter how obnoxious he is sometimes.

Everything's still.

Stiles lets out a squeak. Tears are swarming his eyes again and his lips are fading to the ghastly blue color once more. He tilts his head up toward the tub, a few tears falling. "I-I need you to know, h-he's wrong. Y-You have to know." He manages out, his voice in so much pain. He closes his eyes as if he's trying to tie himself here, to this moment, and failing.

"I love you guys."

With an exponential amount of force, Stiles brings himself to his feet and shoves himself against the tub, tipping the contents over.

Water rushes through the entire room, everyone yelping as it spills over their feet. Scott jumps back, herbs and other leaves washing over his feet. Everything is gone and wet and then he looks up—

Stiles is simply staring at the empty tub.

His watery grave that he lived in for so long. Listening to voices and solving riddles. Now empty.

Empty.

"Stiles?" The Sheriff tentatively asks when his son doesn't move for a few moments.

He doesn't move.

Then he does.

His body arcs in a way that is beautiful and scary at the same time, crashing onto the ground and making the water cascade around him. His head smacks against the floor and the water makes everything sound so much worse.

"Stiles!" Scott shouts, rushing to his best friend's side. He's soon followed by everyone else.

He's still, unlike the water around him.

His lips are turning a deeper blue, like the color Scott's seen on corpses at the hospital. His vibrant and lovely friend is not uncharacteristically still. And that's when he hears it.

Or doesn't, really.

Heartbeats are jackhammering around him, but there is one that is very absent. One that he'd grown accustomed to – it's comforting irregular and exciting beats.

Empty, like the tub.

"Stiles?" Scott cries, his words broken and ripped apart like pieces of his soul. He grips the front of his shirt, pulling him closer because he doesn't know what else to. "Stiles, come on, this isn't funny. Stiles, please."

Someone's crying and that pisses Scott off. Because it only makes sense to cry if he's dead. And he's not dead because he's Stiles and he's supposed to always be around.

"Shut up!" Scott bellows at whoever's making that awful sound. "Stiles, no! You aren't allowed to die. You aren't! You're being an asshole – wake up! Wake up Stiles!"

He doesn't.

"Scott," Ms. McCall says softly, gripping the Sheriff's arm, who's simply staring at the limp body of his son, but not really seeing it. "Scott, honey."

"No." Scott shouts, tears now filling his eyes to the point where he can't see. "No, h-he's not, he can't—" He can't bring himself to say it. "Stop being an asshole, Stiles and wake up."

Scott feels a stillness in his bones, like someone's cut off a piece of him. It rakes through his chest, cutting him in his core.

"Please don't go where I can't follow," Scott whispers, pulling his friend closer until his face is buried in his chest.

But his chest is so empty. There's not beating. There's no thud. Only a void.

Just a Stiles-shaped void.

He barely hears it, but Lydia screams.

A/N: … … …