The Serpent 🐍 S. Stilinski

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Grief.

Loss.

Two words that come hand in hand because no matter how significant or how belittle, you will always grief over something you lose.

It's a natural feeling that everyone will experience more than once in their lifetime.

It's a never ending cycle, like climbing a spiral staircase. In your mind you may feel like your going in a never-ending circle but in reality your making progress.

•••

Two weeks had past since the big fight the Alpha Pack and Jennifer.

Two weeks since the three guardians were saved from death.

Two weeks since Scott McCall became the True Alpha.

Two weeks since Allison, Scott and Stiles put powers back into the Nemeton making it a beacon once again.

It was also two weeks since the Scooby Gang witnessed the death of Sweet Pea.

Each and every one coped differently once everything sunk in. It was a lot to take in for the young teens but they were no longer kids.

They were not children.

Just like kids in the hunger games, they were brought into a world as kids but the war of the supernatural made them soldiers.

They knew since Peter Hale bit Scott their world's will never be the same. They won't be able to have a normal school year again.

Those few, those lucky few were chosen to defend Beacon Hills. They were no longer children, they were warriors ready to fight the darkness that comes slithering into Beacon Hills.

But what comes with great responsibility also comes with great sacrifice. But this, wasn't just a random innocent person they knew but personally. No they lost friends this war.

Boyd, someone who was by himself finally found somewhere he thought he belonged. But he didn't live long enough to know that he wasn't alone.

Erica, someone who was completely overlooked and when she finally got the spotlight, she was pulled from it permanently.

Sweet Pea, someone who always looked out for himself and when he finally started looking out for the Scooby Gang he was killed.

•••

I think many of us, maybe the entire town, had been hoping against hope that somehow Sweet Pea hadn't drowned weeks ago, that we'd come to school Monday morning and there Sweet Pea would be, or that we'd see him drinking beer and playing pool at the local bar.

But that was before the undeniable, irrevocable fact of his body, a corpse with a mark carved in its forehead and terrible secrets that would never be revealed or explained by the cold, steel blade of a coroner's autopsy scalpel or the telltale beating of a guilty heart.

No one would ever know how Sweet Pea, after many close calls, would die from something so mundane as drowning.

No one would ever know the mark carved into his head was a purpose of using his energy for power.