Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/713548.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Allison_Argent/Kate_Argent
  Character:
      Allison_Argent, Kate_Argent
  Additional Tags:
      Fairy_Tales, Resurrection, Angst, Dark, Dysfunctional_Family, Spanking,
      Power_Play, Future_Fic, dubcon
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-09 Words: 2828
****** and when the angels come ******
by clavicular
Summary
     The story goes that they come back different. On the better days,
     Allison can convince herself that it’s true.
Notes
     Written for a prompt by vociferocity (Kate/Allison, spanking). Thanks
     go to vociferocity and lastwingedthing for the support and
     lastwingedthing for the beta.
     Title from 'When Water Comes to Life' by Cloud Cult.
The story goes that they come back different: stranger, darker, more dangerous.
Age-old fairy tales tell of sharper teeth, gleaming eyes and a taste for blood
in the air. It’s not the mindless brutality of shape-shifters, but something
more twisted. They come back calculating and clever, with vengeance in their
hearts and skin that’s cold to touch. So the story goes.
 On the better days, Allison can convince herself that it’s true.
 
*
 
The barrel of a gun presses into Allison’s spine and she freezes, grip
tightening on her crossbow. Her pulse races but it’s not too late, she thinks.
She might still get the upper hand if she’s quick. If she’s careful. Moonlight
filters in through the windows of the abandoned house and she shifts in place,
floorboards creaking beneath her feet. Behind her, someone laughs, familiar in
a way that makes Allison ache.
“You don’t think I’ll shoot?” Kate asks, voice teasing. “If you trust me that
much, I have to wonder why we’re still on opposite sides.”
She reaches forward and wraps her hand around Allison’s crossbow, arm brushing
against Allison’s shoulder. Allison shivers.
“I don’t know what you’ll do,” Allison says. “And I don’t trust you.”
She thrusts her elbow back into Kate’s ribs and spins around. Both weapons go
flying, but neither of them waste precious seconds scrambling for them. Kate
makes an effort to immobilise her, but Allison is faster. Her fist collides
with Kate’s face, sending Kate reeling. It lets Allison get a hand around her
neck. Allison’s put guys twice her size on the ground this way, but fighting
someone who knows what they’re doing is a little different – Kate catches her
wrist and twists it sharply, and Allison releases her with a cry. At the same
time, Kate catches Allison in the stomach with her knee. Allison nearly doubles
over, but the pain is dull compared to the need to strike back.
It’s a bit like wrestling the way they used to when Allison was younger – games
she now recognises for the lessons they were. But Allison doesn’t want to think
about it like that. She doesn’t want to think of Kate as the person who bought
her first compound bow and taught her to shoot or the person she would cry down
the phone to when she was lonely and moving for the third time in a year.
Allison wants this to be fast and ruthless enough that she can forget about
that. She hits out with everything she can. She wants to hurt Kate and she
doesn’t care how much she gets hurt in return.
And suddenly she’s got Kate bent over the arm of a deteriorating couch, a hand
on the back of Kate’s neck pushing her face into the cushions. Kate struggles
half-heartedly and makes a muffled sound that might almost be a laugh. One of
Kate’s arms is behind her back, trapped between them. Her other arm is free
though, and Kate is the stronger of them. She could push Allison off, if she
wanted to. Allison hates that she doesn’t.
Kate makes another sound, this time more annoyed, and Allison loosens her grip
enough for her to turn her head to breathe properly. She’s half hoping the
concession will encourage Kate to fight back, but it doesn’t. The only
resistance she puts up is an attempt to shake off the hair falling over her
face. She looks almost vulnerable like this – almost human. Allison brushes the
hair aside. It’s soft under her fingers, and Kate’s cheek is warm.
“That was fun,” Kate says.
She’s wearing that grin that never really seems to leave her. Allison’s
learning to believe it promises death and destruction, and not love like she
used to think. Her lip is split, Allison notices. It must be hurting her. She
looks at her own grazed knuckles, at the hand still holding Kate down.   
“I was right about you,” Kate says, with blood on her smile. “Natural talent.” 
 
*
 
The story goes that they come back different. It’s a warning, a ghost story,
something to scare children. The people who tell it don’t understand, though.
They can’t imagine something more frightening than coming back changed.
 
*
 
“So what now?” Kate asks. “You’re obviously not going to kill me.”
She catches Allison’s eye, and she’s still wearing that awful, familiar grin.
“Unless your compassion only extends to bloodthirsty monsters.”
Allison tenses and her nails dig into Kate’s skin. She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t have to.
“Oh sweetie, I’m not a monster,” Kate says. “I’m just less shy than most about
putting them down.”
Allison feels the shoulder of her trapped arm working, like she’s trying to
free it. Allison makes no move to stop her. Kate narrows her eyes and it’s not
exactly anger, but Allison’s not sure what it is.
“Oh, but that’s right. You’re not too shy yourself, I hear. Maybe you think
you’re not like that, that you hate the things I’ve done. But I’m not the only
one who knows what it’s like to pull the trigger.” She smirks. “Feels good,
doesn’t it?”
Allison’s not fully aware of deciding to move. All she knows is her fingers are
sliding up Kate’s neck, tangling in her hair, digging into her scalp. Kate
hisses as Allison seizes her by the hair but she hasn’t stopped smirking,
hasn’t looked away, and Allison suddenly feels like she couldn’t possibly take
this too far.
I never killed anyone,she wants to say, but she can’t get it out. She knows
what Kate will say. It’s exactly what she’s trying to forget. Sure, but you
wanted to.
Sure, but you tried.
Kate watches her like she knows everything that’s going through Allison’s mind,
like she knows all of Allison’s fears and weaknesses. The look on her face is
as intimate as a knife through the ribcage.
“Don’t you just hate family?” Kate murmurs.
Allison slaps her. She gets her right across the face, glancing off her cheeks,
and the sound echoes in her ears. Her hand comes away stinging. She waits for a
surge of vicious satisfaction, but all she’s left with is a sick feeling in the
pit of her stomach. Kate actually looks shocked for a moment though. Anything
is worth that. 
It’s just a moment, of course.
“Kinky,” Kate laughs, arching an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to prove a point,
maybe you should kiss me next.”
“Shut up,” Allison yells.
Kate snorts and shifts again; this time, with intent. Her ass rubs up and down
Allison’s thighs.
“Make me,” she says, breathy and low. Her lips part invitingly, and Allison
realises just how many places their bodies are pressed together.
Horrified, she shoves at Kate and lets her go, stumbling backwards. Her skin
feels like it’s burning everywhere they’d touched.
She expects Kate to lunge for her gun but Kate just lies there. She even leaves
her arm folded up behind her back. Allison hesitates.
“You’re the one trying to convince yourself we’re not family, that there’s
nothing left between us,” Kate says. There’s a mocking edge to her voice.
Allison’s heard it before, but she never thought it would be directed at her.
Not like this.
“Maybe I just can’t bear to touch you,” she says. She means it to be cold but
she’s too furious, too hurt, and her voice breaks on the last word. There’s a
beat of silence.
“Piece of advice, sweetie? You go around saying things like that, people might
start thinking you care.”
And Allison forgets – forgets that she shouldn’t do this, that she doesn’t want
to touch Kate, that she’ll only be proving Kate right. She steps forward, grabs
the wrist that’s still behind Kate’s back to brace herself, and slaps Kate
again. This time on her ass.
The blow is muted by Kate’s jeans. That’s so infuriating Allison doesn’t even
think about it, she just reaches for the fly.  Kate lifts her hips up to give
Allison better access, and folds both arms under her head. Allison hates that
Kate’s helping her and she hatesthat she’s so casual about it, so she digs her
fingernails in as she pulls the jeans over Kate’s hips. That doesn’t even get a
reaction but when Allison runs her hand back up Kate’s leg she can feel welts.
She hits Kate again and there’sthat vicious satisfaction she was looking for,
the rush of power that’s almost like what she really needs.  Kate lets out a
gasp that’s genuinely surprised, and god, Allison wants to hear that noise
again and again. Her next strike is even harder, pain flaring in her palm and
leaving Kate’s skin flushed. Kate’s ready for it, though.
“Allison,” she moans, and rocks back into the touch.
It’s so deliberate. Allison can read the calculations in her tiny gasps and the
way she trembles, and that hurts more than Allison can admit. She wants to make
Kate lose that control, can’t think past the desire to take her apart. She hits
her three times in quick succession, trying to break through the restraint in
Kate’s voice, and when that doesn’t work she shoves at her and steps back
again. Kate jerks at the sudden loss, but it’s not wholly involuntary - not if
the way she draws out that groan of protest is anything to go by.
Allison circles the couch, eyes fixed on Kate. Her legs feel a bit like they
might give out under her but Kate’s watching with a hand propping up her chin
and there’s no way Allison isn’t seeing this through.
“Get up,” she says.
Kate doesn’t move. Kate doesn’t move and Allison is losing patience. She drags
Kate off the couch by the collar of her shirt, watching impassively as she hits
the ground. Kate lands on all fours, jeans sliding down her thighs, and when
she looks up at Allison there’s real and naked anger there. Allison doesn’t
have to fake her answering smirk. She turns slowly and sinks down onto the
couch.
“Get. Up.”
She cups Kate’s chin in her hand. Kate looks like she wants to wrench out of
Allison’s grasp, but she grits her teeth and leans into it instead. She looks
up at Allison through her lashes and smiles. It’s the kind of smile she must
have worked to perfect, pretty and obedient and totally insincere. Allison digs
her nails into Kate’s cheek.
“I’ve already repeated myself once,” she says.
Kate holds Allison’s gaze. She moves unhurriedly with a knowing smile twisting
her lips, and Allison catches her wrist as she straightens up.
“No,” she says.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s aware of what she’s doing. She’s
thinking about it. This is not a frantic, necessary fight for survival; it’s
not instinct and adrenaline. She’s going to have to live with herself and
whatever she does here, and she’s going to have to do it knowing she could have
stopped.
But Kate is in front of her, impossibly real, and her eyes are wide with mock
concern. She looks at Allison like there’s a once-innocent question hovering on
the edge of her lips: What is it, sweetie? What do youwant? 
And Allison throws up the walls she’s learned to build so carefully and smiles
at Kate with barbed wire in her eyes. She can taste blood in the air.
“Across my lap.”
Kate raises her eyebrows, but she understands. She doesn’t hesitate.
“It’s like you’ve given this some thought,” she says, hips rubbing against
Allison’s legs as she gets comfortable.
“Did I say you could talk?” Allison snaps. There’s no way that’s not
intentional.
Kate laughs.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to stop.” She twists around
to look at Allison, and Allison sees the echo of her earlier words in it, “make
me”, somewhere between an invitation and a challenge. Allison knows what Kate
wants, what she’s asking for, and it turns her stomach. It’s almost enough to
shake her out of the space where she can do this, and maybe Kate sees that
because the smile disappears from her face. 
“This goes exactly as far as you want it to, Allison,” she says softly.
Allison flinches. She doesn’t want to hear that. She can’t stand that Kate is
making her hear that. She claps her hand over Kate’s mouth and hopes the grip
is tight enough to hurt. Kate accepts it though; Allison feels her jaw go
slack, lips parting just a little.
Allison brings her hand down on Kate’s ass. The thrill that sends through her
is exactly why she needs this, and why it repulses her. It’s violent, but it’s
a precise violence, the sort that you have to really mean. Allison hits her
again, and god, she means it. She wants to make Kate hurt in every way she can,
and she wants to cut the ties between them, wholly and utterly, until she can
finally look at Kate and feel nothing. She brings her hand down again and
again.
Kate lets her – no, more than that. She whimpers and moans and tosses her hair,
makes a show of it, ruts against Allison’s leg like she can’t get enough. She’s
forcing Allison to face what she’s doing. It’s a challenge, it’s all a
challenge, and Allison hates it and she can’t stop. Her hand slips away from
Kate’s mouth and she rests it across Kate’s shoulders, holding on like it will
steady her. As if anything at all could steady her. Kate just uses that too:
with her mouth free she can gasp out pleas and lewd comments every time
Allison’s hand connects.
The story goes that they come back different.
Allison remembers the first time Kate lied to her. She was ten years old and
sitting on the end of her bed, trying not to cry after a fight with her best
friend. And it can’t be right that this was the first time, by ten years old
there must have been hundreds of lies before it, but this is the one Allison
remembers. It was the sort of lie adults always tell children. Kate had found
her there, hugging her knees and staring determinedly at the floor, blinking
back tears. She’d sat down beside her, put an arm around her shoulder and asked
what was wrong. Allison doesn’t remember what she said, has no idea what the
fight was even about any more, but Kate had listened to her talk, offered
sympathy and advice and promised everything would be okay. After Allison had
talked herself out and was left looking miserably at her feet, Kate squeezed
her shoulder.
“You’ll get through it, kiddo. You’re tougher than this. Maybe it doesn’t feel
like it right now, but you are. And hey - I’ll always be here. Promise.”
Then she’d kissed Allison’s temple. Allison knew it was a lie even then,
because it was one her parents told. She’d let herself believe it anyway,
though - the sentiment, if not the reality.
 She keeps hitting Kate. The sound of skin on skin drowns out the buzzing in
her ears.
Kate is still making obscene noises.
“Stop it,” Allison says. She can’t think like this, and she can’t stop,and she
feels so out of control.
Kate rocks back into her hand again. She moans as it connects.
“Stop it.”
Allison’s crying. She doesn’t remember starting to cry, but it feels like she
might have been doing it for a while. She hits Kate again, as hard as she can,
putting all of her anger and betrayal and loss into it. Then she brings both
hands to her face and sobs.
Kate slides off her lap. Allison’s only distantly aware of her now, though.
Maybe she’s pulling up her jeans; Allison’s not sure. She should pull herself
together and get up, she knows. This isn’t safe. She should reach for a weapon.
“Hey,” Kate says, voice gentle.
Allison feels the cushions sinking beside her, and then Kate’s thigh is warm
against her own.
“Hey,” she repeats. “It’s okay.”
She wraps her arms around Allison, pulling her against her chest. Allison
tenses and then gives up. She buries her face in her aunt’s shoulder. Kate
strokes her hair and lets her cry.
“Get away from me,” Allison sobs.
Kate lets go of her, but Allison clings to her shirt, refusing to pull back.
After a moment, Kate puts her arms around her again. She presses a kiss to
Allison’s temple.
“It’s not,” Allison starts, but she can’t get the words out. She clenches her
eyes shut and takes a deep breath, forcing herself to stop crying.
“It’s not okay,” she says. 
Kate is silent for a long minute.
“No,” she agrees. “I guess it isn’t.”
But she doesn’t let go.
 
*
 
The story goes that they come back different, but the truth is simpler, and far
more painful.
 They come back exactly as they were.
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