Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Alright, so we’ll meet outside the house at three-thirty, okay?”

A chorus of “yes”, “yeah”, and “whatevers” sounded in the hallway and Scott smiled with a nod. “Okay, we’ll see each other then!” The group split and each member made their way to their afternoon class. Scott stared after them for a brief moment before picking up his bag and heading towards his own class in biology just around the corner. Stiles watched as they disappeared into classrooms and around the corner of the hallway, before he quickly shoved his books into his bag, slammed his locker shut, and raced after Scott.

“Hey now,” he said, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he came up beside him. “Don’t forget Stiles. I’m not gonna suffer biology with Mrs. MacMillon by myself.”

Scott grinned. “Wouldn’t wish that fate on anybody.”

“Darn right. Except maybe Peter.”

“Or Deucalion.”

“Or Theo.”

“Or Kate.”

“It would’ve been great to have seen Derek get yelled at by h –.” Stiles broke off as they walked into the classroom, both boys coming to a halt as their eyes fell on the back of a woman standing in front of the chalkboard.

A woman who was, most decidedly, not Mrs. MacMillon.

Both Stiles and Scott’s eyes widened as they watched the woman write her name on the board. The blonde hair that ran down her back was as worthy as any Farrah Fawcett, and her pencil skirt and buttoned-up blouse exuded an air of stark professionalism while flawlessly retaining its femininity. The woman – their teacher? – turned around to face the class. Her eyes briefly landed on theirs and she gave them a small smile. Unlike Mrs. MacMillon, who waved around her ruler like it was still legal to give students the strap, and always wore a permanent frown on her lips, this woman looked decidedly nervous and not a little bit apprehensive. The mental fortifications that Stiles had been building up in preparation for forty minutes with Mrs. MacMillon came crumbling down and his stunned face was replaced with a lopsided grin. He turned to Scott, who was continuing to stare at the new teacher in awe, and quickly smacked his shoulder.
“Hey, you have a girlfriend, remember?” he said as they made their way to their seats. “So go away!”

“You can’t go after her!” Scott retorted. “She’s your teacher! Plus, what about Malia?”

“What about Malia?” Stiles asked innocently, sliding into his seat.

“Aren’t you two, I don’t know, ‘going out’?”

“What is this?” Stiles asked, making quotation marks with his fingers, “what is this ‘going out’ that you speak of? I don’t know of any such thing that you speak. Malia and I are just friends. She’s a girl who’s been living as a coyote and now needs friends to get her back to being a normal girl again. And that is all.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come I saw you two kissing by your jeep yesterday?”

“I told you, she needs help learning to be human again. Kissing is merely a part of that learning process.”

Scott rolled his eyes and the two took out their books. Glancing around the room, Stiles could see that nearly every single student was staring at their teacher with wide eyes and growing smiles on their faces, as they realised that they weren’t going to be taught by Mrs. MacMillon.

“Good afternoon class,” the woman began as the last student entered the room and closed the door. Her voice was quiet and her fingers were clenched, betraying her nervousness. For the first time in his life, Stiles actually felt bad for a substitute teacher. “My name is Alicia Givens. I’m going to be your teacher for – um, well, that is… you all may be wondering where Mrs. MacMillon is, and I just wanted to let you know that she’s fine, she’s okay – but she had a family issue that she had to tend to, so for the next little while I will be teaching you biology. Does anyone have any questions?”

About eight students raised their hands, Stiles one of them. Scott immediately grabbed his arm and pulled it down, giving him a look. Stiles just grinned.

“Um, yes – what is your name?” Ms. Givens asked, pointing to one of the boys who sat in the middle row.

“Daniel Richards,” the boy replied.

“Yes, Daniel. What is your question?”

“How long will Mrs. MacMillon be gone for?”

“Oh, um – about, about three weeks, or so. Her family lives in Wisconsin so they’re a fair distance away from here.”
If it was possible, the class’s smiles grew wider at her answer, friends shooting each other grins of victory at the unexpectedly good – nay, joyous – news. Stiles couldn’t believe his luck; not only was he being released from the prison that was Mrs. MacMillon’s biology class for three whole weeks, but he was also getting – he wasn’t ashamed to admit – a very hot teacher in her place. For the first time in a while, life seemed to be giving him a gift rather than the curse that had been the past two and a half months. Or past three years, really.

Ever since Liam had been turned, Scott was spending nearly all of his free-time with the younger wolf, determined to teach him everything he knew. Stiles knew that Scott felt guilty for having turned Liam in the first place, for even though he’d said the bite was a gift, it could easily turn into a curse if you let it – either a curse for you or for someone else. Unlike Liam, Scott hadn’t had his alpha to teach him everything he needed to know about this new life, so Scott was doing everything he could to be everything for Liam that Peter hadn’t been for him.

Stiles admired that quality of Scott’s character along with everything that he was doing for Liam, really he did. But lately Scott had been spending all his time with him; and not only with him, but with the rest of the pack, too. Malia was finally grounded enough that Scott was able to help her with her own were-coyote abilities and was teaching her how to control her animal instincts; she had been officially adopted into the pack, despite her not being a wolf. Kira was of course with them most of the time as well, not just because she was Scott’s girlfriend, but because she was also a kitsune, one that was still learning to control her powers; and the only real place she could practice her powers was at the pack’s loft. Even Lydia tended to spend a lot of her free time with them; she was a banshee, after all.

It was fine that they all hung out. It was great, really. Stiles understood every single person’s reasons for being together and if he were in their shoes, he’d be making the same choices. He loved the pack. They were his friends – heck, they were almost like a pack to he himself; and what with there finally being a break between supernatural beings and deities that wanted to kill them, it was no wonder – in fact, it was absolutely necessary – that everyone learn how to fight and fight better; because Beacon Hills was nothing if not true to its name.

But still; no matter how much he rationalised, no matter how much he reasoned, Stiles couldn’t ever fully ignore the dull ache deep in his chest when he saw everyone together or leaving for the loft. If Stiles were really honest with himself, he’d acknowledge that, deep down, a part of him didn’t like seeing his best friend ditch him for everyone else; didn’t like that his best friend didn’t bother to ask him if he wanted to come with them; didn’t like that sometimes he even said that he shouldn’t come at all, especially if they were practicing with their animal instincts or something else dangerous that day. If he were honest with himself, he’d acknowledge that, maybe lately, he’d actually been feeling a bit lonely. Maybe even a little bit abandoned. And perhaps even unwanted.

But Stiles wasn’t that honest.

“Alright, if there are no more questions, then let’s turn to page 43 in your textbook. We’ll be looking at microbiology.”

Stiles walked behind Scott as they made their way out of the classroom and into the hallway; for Stiles his next period was free, but Scott had physics class on the other end of the school with Malia and Lydia. The two went to their lockers and Stiles waited as Scott switched out his books, shoving his own in his locker and slamming it shut.

“So any fun plans today?” Stiles asked as Scott closed his locker.

“Yeah, actually; we’re going down to the river behind the loft this afternoon. Malia doesn’t know how to swim – as a human, anyway – and there’s a few places around there that are good spots for training. I found it last week.”

Stiles tried to ignore the funny feeling in his stomach, pushing back the juvenile thought that wondered why he hadn’t been with Scott when he found this new place, opting instead for a wide, toothy smile. “Sounds great! Did you want to hitch a ride with me and the jeep, or –.”

“Actually Stiles, I was thinking it’d probably be best if… um, if you didn’t… didn’t come.” Scott bit his lip and looked up at Stiles apprehensively, looking slightly guilty.
Stiles blinked, his smile fading away. “Oh,” he said. Feeling that his tone hadn’t been light enough, he tried again. “Oh, yeah – sure. Sure, that’s fine.”

“I’m sorry Stiles, it’s just that, we’ll be doing a lot of fighting, and Liam is still so new at all this and Kira’s been trying some new stuff, and, well – I think it’d just be safer if you stayed at home. Is that… is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles replied, forcing a grin back on his face. “I completely understand. I can’t say I’m too fond of hurt Stiles, either, so it’s probably the smartest thing to do.”
Scott adjusted his bag on his shoulder, wrinkles of guilt still creased across his forehead. “Are you sure it’s okay? You have to understand, I just don’t want –.”

“Dude, stop,” Stiles intervened, holding up his hand. “I totally get it, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’ll come hang out with you guys some other time. One when everyone is less… wolfy. Or coyote-ish. Or kitsuney. So it’s all good. Kapeesh?”

The tension eased from Scott’s face and a tentative smile crossed his lips. “Okay. I have to get to class, so I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

Stiles nodded and pointed as Scott began making his way down the hall. “You betcha buddy; later. Later is when I will see you, and when you will see me – definitely then. Later.”

Scott rounded the corner and disappeared. Stiles’ arms fell to his side and his lower lip made its way between his teeth. He stared into the distance for a few moments, before taking a deep breath and turning arou –

SMACK.

A high-pitched squeak was heard and Stiles stumbled backwards as papers flew into the air, momentarily blinding his vision. When the papers fell he looked up to see a very startled… Ms. Givens?

Oh shit.

Stiles’ eyes grew as wide as saucers and he immediately began apologising, picking up the papers as fast as he could and trying not to bend them as he gathered them into a pile. “Oh geez, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t – I totally didn’t see you and –.”

“Oh, no, it’s alright, it’s quite alright – it was an accident.” Ms. Givens picked up a few papers that had fallen at her feet before taking the stack of sheets that Stiles handed to her. She gave a small, appreciative smile and Stiles swallowed, once again struck by just how pretty she was. Up close he could see that she was a bit older than he thought, a bit younger than Scott’s mom, perhaps in her late thirties; nonetheless though, she remained quite easy on the eyes. Stiles internally grinned – this was going to be a great three weeks.

“So, uh, you’re just filling in for Mrs. MacMillon?” Stiles asked. He honestly wasn’t trying to do anything; despite what he’d said to Scott, he would never go after a teacher, and he didn’t know anyone that ever actually would. Except for David Jenkins. But he’d rather not remember that unsavoury bit of drama from ninth grade, thank you very much.

“Yes,” Ms. Givens replied. “She unfortunately had a family emergency, so she –.”

“Had to go back to Wisconsin,” Stiles finished. “Yeah, you uh, you mentioned it in class.”

Ms. Given’s eyes widened in recognition, then quickly lowered in embarrassment. “Oh that’s right, you were in biology this last period. I’m so sorry I forgot; I’m terrible with faces. Hopefully I’ll remember your name better. It’s…?”

“Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles said quickly, holding out his hand. Ms. Givens smiled warmly and shook it. “Yeah, biology is the only class of Mrs. MacMillon’s that I’m in, unfortunately.”

“Oh, well, I’ll see you then, I suppose.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Givens smiled and walked away, disappearing into the throng of students. Stiles watched her for a brief second before he was suddenly pushed from behind, falling unceremoniously to the floor in a heap. He heard a few kids laugh as they walked by and looked up to see Jeremy Smith, a big, broad-shouldered kid from the same year as him, smirking as he continued walking down the hall. Stiles glared at him and quickly picked himself back up.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s all laugh at Stiles. Like that’s never happened before.” He straightened his shirt and sighed. After a moment the bell rang and the students scattered into their various rooms, doors slamming shut behind them until all was silent in the hall once more. A dark feeling washed over Stiles as he stood by his locker, and he wondered briefly whether or not he should just skip the rest of the day and go home. He thought about the hidden lake out in the woods not far from his house that he went to whenever he wanted to be alone, and how nice it would be to go and hang there for a while; nothing but him, the grass, the trees, the lake, and the warm open sky. He stared at the doorway that led out to the school’s front steps for a few minutes, fingers tapping silently against his legs, before finally turning around and heading towards the library.

The rest of the day dragged by at the speed of a snail and Stiles could barely wait for the final bell to ring, his leg shaking restlessly and fingers tapping against his notebook as he watched the second hand of the clock tick closer and closer to the top. When the shrill ring of the bell finally sounded he was out of his desk like a shot and quickly ran to his locker, stuffing his books into his bag and swinging it over his shoulder as he hastily fished his keys out of his pocket. Someone opened the locker beside him and Stiles looked up to see Scott. Stiles raised his hand in greeting. “Hey Scott,” he said. “Did you –.”

“Sorry man, I gotta go,” Scott interrupted, quickly pulling on his backpack. He gave Stiles an apologetic smile before running off towards the door. “See you tomorrow!”

Stiles blinked as Scott ran through the doors, his hand still raised in the empty air. “Yeah. See you… tomorrow.” Stiles fought to keep the frown off his face, repeating to himself that Scott was busy, that he’d been busy for a while now, and that his absence wasn’t unwarranted – he honestly did have somewhere he needed to be. A moment later Lydia and Malia walked by, Lydia already talking loudly on her phone. Stiles’ previous disappointment fell away and a smile spread across his face as he began walking beside them. “Hello ladies,” he said. “Are you doing anything before you meet Sco –.”

“Stacy, just hold on a sec.” Lydia put the phone to her shoulder, giving Stiles a very annoyed look. “Stiles, can’t you see I’m on the phone?” Stiles sighed as Lydia went back to her conversation. The trio went through the doors and began walking down the steps. When there was a lull in her conversation, Stiles tried again.

“Hey, uh, I was just wondering – were you guys planning on doing anything before you headed to the river with Scott? It’s just, there’s a freakin’ heat wave goin’ on and I thought maybe you guys would be up for some ice-cream or something? I’ll pa –.”

“Oh my goodness, for all that is holy – Stiles! Would you just shut up!? Seriously! I’m trying to talk to Stacy and you won’t stop interrupting! I haven’t talked to her in over three months since you-know-what happened, and this is the only time we get to talk and you’re ruining it!”

Guilt immediately washed over Stiles at Lydia’s rebuke; yes, he did know what had happened. Stacy’s father had been injured during a werewolf attack a month ago, and they’d been forced to move to New York, where the only surgeon lived who was able to heal him. The surgeries were ongoing and so as a result, Stacy wouldn’t be able to return to Beacon Hills for graduation. Stiles opened his mouth to apologise, but Lydia cut him off. “Don’t even try to apologise; I swear Stiles, you are the most inconsiderate person I know! Sometimes I wonder why I even hang out with you.” Without a second glance Lydia went back to her phone and walked down the steps, weaving and disappearing into the crowd of students. Stiles watched the back of her head and the angry sway of her hips as she left.

“Don’t worry about her.”

Stiles jumped, realising that Malia was still beside him. She was staring at him intently, as she stared at most things.

“Oh, uh, no – no, I’m not worried. I’ve experienced Lydia’s wrath probably more than anybody here, so… I’m well experienced.”

“Stacy was just her best friend, aside from Allison, that is,” Malia said. “She’s been really worried about her since her father got hurt. She was even going to fly to New York, but her mother wouldn’t let her. This is the first time they’ve gotten to actually talk to each other since it happened. Aside from texting.”

Guilt welled up inside Stiles once more and he immediately berated himself, wishing he hadn’t even bothered talking to them in the first place. He’d known that they were heading to the loft to meet with the pack, so why did he even –.

“What were you saying about ice-cream?”

Stiles blinked. “Sorry?”

“You said something about ice-cream, before Lydia yelled at you.”

“Oh, I was, uh – I was just wondering if you guys had free time before you met Scott, and if you wanted to get some ice-cream... with… me.”

“We can’t,” Malia stated matter-of-factly, her dark eyes and stoic expression never changing. “Lydia said we have to go to the mall before we meet the others. She said that, as the only woman of the group, it’s her duty to show me how to be a girl again. Whatever that means.”

“With Lydia, that means clothes. And makeup. And lots of it.”

“Ugh.” Malia rolled her eyes. “I swear, once Lydia has shown me all of this girly-nonsense, I’m going to make her learn how to roll in the mud and bathe in the river like a real female.”

Stiles couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips as the two made their way into the parking lot.

“MALIA!” Stiles and Malia looked up to see Lydia leaning out of her window, glaring at Malia and Stiles as though they had personally caused her entire social calendar to collapse in one fell swoop. Malia let out a sigh of annoyance.

“I swear, this girl seriously needs to learn how to chill, otherwise her bowels will get constipated.”

Stiles squinted and pressed his lips together. “I don’t – uh, wow. I really did not need to picture that.”

“Isn’t that normal for humans when they get stressed?” Malia asked innocently.

“Uh, well, I uh – I haven’t exactly done a lot of research on the subject, I mean, academically that is; I’ve had plenty of first-hand experience, with stress, that is – but I uh, I never –.”

“MALIA! GET OVER HERE OR SO HELP ME, I WILL –.”

“Calm down woman!” Malia shouted back. “I’ll be there in a second!” She turned back to Stiles. “See you tomorrow,” she said, and quickly walked over to Lydia’s car. She opened the door and slipped inside, barely closing it in time before the tires screeched against the pavement and the car backed out and sped onto the road.

Stiles stood alone in the parking-lot for a moment, before slowly making his way to his jeep. He opened the door and got inside; he sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to push away the dark feeling that had begun to creep into the back of his mind and trying to ignore the tightness that had begun to squeeze his chest. After a few minutes he took a deep breath and started the jeep, backing out of his parking spot and making his way to home.

When Stiles arrived at his house he was surprised to see his dad’s police car parked out front. He drew up beside it and put the jeep into park, turning the engine off. When he got inside he could hear his father moving around upstairs, his feet pounding on the floor accompanied by the sound of drawers opening and closing. A minute later he came stomping down the stairs, halting momentarily when he spotted Stiles.

“Stiles,” he said, smiling briefly before making his way to the living room table. He lifted the bag he’d been carrying on top of the table and began rummaging around inside it.

“Hey Dad,” Stiles said, dropping his backpack onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

“There’s an issue back at the station and they’re calling all hands on deck, so I’m just grabbing a few things in case I can’t get back here for a couple days.”

Stiles frowned. “What’s the problem? Does it have something to do with –.”

“No, no, I don’t think it has anything to do with that. In fact I’m confident. There’s just been some people that have caused problems across the state line and they’re pretty sure they’re going to be making their way through here, so for the next couple days we have to keep an eye out for them.”

“So you’re planning to stay at the station then?”

“Until we’re sure where those guys are, yes. So that obviously means I won’t be around much for the next few days. You think you’ll be okay here by yourself?” He looked up at Stiles, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Of course,” Stiles automatically responded. This wasn’t the first time his dad had been forced to spend a long time away from home because of work, and Stiles knew it wouldn’t be the last. He’d become a star at surviving home alone a long time ago.

“Good. Invite Scott over or something; watch a bunch of movies or play video games or whatever it is you guys like to do.” He paused, then looked up with a frown on his face.

“Wait, scratch that; do whatever it is that you guys like to do that’s legal. That means actively try and avoid any crime-scenes, please?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Come on Dad, it’s not like we actually go out looking for trouble.” His dad shot him a look as he zipped up his bag. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, so maybe sometimes we happen to wander onto crime-scenes more often than the average teenager, but believe me, we only ever have good intentions!”

“Right, and I like to go out for spas and manicures on my days off.” John shook his head as he walked towards the door. “Just… behave yourself, okay?” He gave Stiles a quick hug and a kiss against his temple. “There’s money on the kitchen table for food. Call me if you need anything.” Stiles nodded and John slipped past him and out the door, closing it behind him. Stiles stayed where he was, staring at the door until he heard the sound of his dad’s car start up and quickly fade away a few moments later. For the first time that day, Stiles was well and truly alone.

Stiles dropped his keys on the table and made his way up the stairs and into his bedroom, suddenly feeling more tired than he had in a long time. He fell onto his bed, curling into his blankets and sheets, wishing that he could forget the completely crappy day and crappy Scott and the crappy pack that decided they should go and do dangerous things which meant he couldn’t join them because he was just a weak little human who’d get hurt, and now his best-friend was spending all his time with all these people and leaving Stiles behind to –.

Stiles growled to himself and trampled his train of thought where it was, refusing to allow himself to feel anymore self-pity than he already had. He wasn’t a twelve-year-old kid anymore who needed his best-friend like he was his security blanket, and he definitely wasn’t going to be jealous of any other friends that came into Scott’s life, because that was just incredibly juvenile and immature and ridiculous, and Stiles refused to be any of those things. They’d come far too long a ways for that.

Of course, that meant he was left here, alone, with absolutely nothing to do. He didn’t even have any homework, which was slightly odd, but Stiles would never argue against that happenstance. With all of the “extracurricular activities” that he did, it was a wonder he ever got any homework done at all. Stiles turned onto his back, a wave of exhaustion falling over him and he closed his eyes. Maybe he’d get a nap in before supper; uninterrupted sleep and regular sleep-cycles had been very sketchy in the past few months, heck, the past few years really, and if the chance arose to get some extra sleep in, who was he to argue?

Stiles had slept until nearly seven, at which point he’d gotten up and made supper. The rest of the evening had passed uneventfully, and soon Stiles was making his way into bed for the rest of the night. The next day felt like a new dawn had risen; the dark cloud that had followed him around the day before had all but dissipated, and Stiles actually felt excited for school. Well, not excited, per say, but he wasn’t not happy about going. If Mrs. MacMillon’s departure was all that was needed to make school feel this way, Stiles would have made a plan to remove her a long time ago.

Stiles entered the school with a broad smile on his face, hoping to catch Scott before the two broke for first period class. He made his way to his locker, hoping to see Scott at his own beside it, but was disappointed to find it empty. His eyes scanned the hallway, roaming up and down the lockers until they landed on the back of a poofy brown head, which belonged to a boy in similar stature to himself. Stiles grinned and quickly made his way towards him. “Hey Scott, I –.”

“Oh my gosh, and did you see the way that Liam fell into the water? It was like, for a brief moment in time, he was actually flying.”

Laughter rang out in the group.

“Yeah, but the hilarious part was when Lydia was standing on the riverbank and the ground fell out beneath her and she fell in; seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. One minute she was there, and the next – BAM!” Laughter resounded throughout the group again amongst Lydia’s protestations of the event most assuredly not being funny, but no one paid attention. Stiles’ smile wavered for a moment, but he quickly put it back on once Scott looked up and saw him. Scott grinned and waved Stiles over.

“Hey man,” he said as Stiles joined the circle.

“Hey,” Stiles replied. It didn’t pass him by that the conversation died down as he settled beside Scott, but he purposely ignored it. “So what’d I miss yesterday?”

“Nothing much,” Scott said. “Just training with each other, sparring – that sort of thing.”

Stiles made a face. “Sparring?” he repeated. “Seriously? Like, in ninja movies?”

Scott chuckled. “Yeah, dude. Though it’s a bit more violent than ninjas, really.”

Lydia glanced at her watch, then raised her head. “Well I’m going to head to class; unlike you boys, I actually like to be on time to home-room. Come along, Malia.”
Malia groaned. “Not everyone wants to be as on-time as you, Lydia.”

Lydia didn’t even look behind her as she walked down the hallway, and simply motioned Malia to follow. Malia sighed and gave the guys a quick wave before heading after her. Both Kira and Liam said a quick goodbye to Scott and Stiles and headed towards their own classroom; Kira gave Scott a quick peck on the cheek before she left. Finally alone, Stiles quickly jumped on the opportunity to finally talk to his best friend.

“So my dad’s working nights at the station,” Stiles said, grabbing his books from his locker as Scott did the same.

“Yeah?” Scott said, a hint of worry in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Stiles said offhandedly. At the look Scott gave him, he rolled his eyes. “Seriously. He said it has something to do with some wanted criminals across the state who might be passing through. He specifically said that it has nothing to do with the supernatural.”

The creases that had formed in Scott’s face eased. “Oh, good. I mean, not good that there are criminals that might be here, but –.”

“Dude, easy. I know what you mean.” Stiles coughed. “Anyway, so I was thinking, since my dad won’t be around tonight, how would you like to come over and play some video games? I just got the new Mortal Combat extension pack that just came out; haven’t even played it yet! We could order pizza, crack open a couple cokes – just hang out for a while. What do you say?”

Scott paused only for a brief moment before grinning. “Yeah man, that sounds great.”

Stiles couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Really? Like, seriously? You don’t have any wolfy-things going on tonight that you need to attend to?”

“No man; we didn’t make any plans for today. Liam’s going out with his girl and Lydia says she needs to work on school stuff. Even Kira’s busy with her parents, so yeah – I’m totally free!”

Stiles felt as though his smile was going to break his face. “Awesome! Wanna just come over straight after school? I’m sure we could find some other stuff to do until supper.”

“For sure,” Scott replied. “It feels like it’s been a while since we got to just hang out.”

Oh, Stiles thought, so he’s noticed?

“Alright then, I’ll see you in biology!”

“Yeah,” Scott said, starting to leave, before suddenly stopping and turning back to Stiles. “Hey, don’t we have that new substitute?” he asked. “The, uh… the nice-looking one?”

“Kira ain’t here Scott. So yes, we have the hot substitute for biology today. It’s gonna be great!”
Scott grinned as he shook his head, then left down the hallway.

Stiles smiled as he walked to homeroom; at least today wouldn’t be as crappy as the day before.

Biology, like the day before, was better than Stiles could have hoped. The fact that Mrs. MacMillon wasn’t teaching had still not worn off on the students, and everyone entered the classroom with big smiles on their faces and in far-too good a mood for a sixth-period class. Ms. Givens was early to class – unlike Mrs. MacMillon, who was always late, and only came when the students started to get restless and subsequently blamed all their behaviour on Stiles, because let’s face it, she hated him – and everyone immediately took out their books and began paying attention. Stiles had never known his class cared about biology so much.

The class passed by with no incidents. Ms. Givens was still rather quiet as she taught, but that didn’t stop her at the end of class from telling them there would be a test at the end of the week. Some students groaned, but most didn’t even seem fazed – they would gladly take a million tests if someone other than Mrs. MacMillon was giving it.
Seriously – she was the worst teacher ever.

The end of the day flew by after that class, and Stiles soon found himself shoving his books in his bag and running to his jeep. Fifteen minutes later he was home and quickly setting up his PS3, excited to finally be doing something after school that wasn’t related to homework or the supernatural. Not that he’d really been doing much with the supernatural lately, but he was determined to not open that can of beans tonight. Stiles grabbed his phone and called the local pizza place, placing an order for a five-thirty delivery. As soon as he was finished he jumped on the couch, and promptly waited for Scott to arrive.

Twenty minutes passed and Stiles began tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. He reminded himself that Scott had probably stopped at home or had ended up talking to the others before coming over, so he simply had to be patient.

Forty minutes passed, and there was still no sight of Scott. Ten minutes later Stiles finally sent him a text, just asking him what his ETA was. For fifteen minutes there was no reply, until finally Stile’s phone buzzed with a text.

Sorry man – got held up with Liam and Lydia. Be there in a half hour, tops.

Stiles sighed in frustration and tossed his phone to the side, glancing at the clock. The pizza would be there in under an hour, so Scott would have enough time to make it before it came. He’d definitely have enough time.

A half-hour came and went, and Stiles was no longer able to stave off the annoyance that he was feeling at Scott’s lateness. Scott had been late to their game nights before, his lack of punctuality was really no surprise; but for some reason his absence was unusually hard to swallow, and Stiles tried to keep himself as calm as he could as he waited. The last thing he wanted was to be pissed at Scott the one night they were able to hang out together.

Fifteen minutes later Stiles texted Scott again; ten minutes after Scott finally replied, his text quick and short:

Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.

Stiles frowned, and quickly tapped back a reply.

Is it serious? Do you need help?

A moment, then, No, everything’s fine. Can’t text – talk to you tomorrow.

Stiles’ frown deepened and his fingers clenched his phone tightly. Scott said there was nothing wrong, but clearly something was going on if he was willing to bail on their game night. He wouldn’t cancel and not tell him if it wasn’t serious, right?

At that moment the doorbell rang, and Stiles opened it to see the pizza-man with a big smile on his face as he held out two medium-pizza’s towards Stiles. Stiles clenched his teeth and dug out his money, handing it over in exchange for the two pizza boxes. A moment later the man was gone, and Stiles was once again left alone.

“Well,” Stiles said to himself. “At least I’ll have food for the next four days.” It was little comfort in light of everything that was going on. Especially since he didn’t have a clue what any of that was.

Stiles grabbed a few pieces of pizza and popped in an old movie, sitting quietly down on the couch. His eyes watched the people absently on screen as he waited for the day to end.

He didn’t want to feel angry at Scott for bailing on him, but anger pulsed through his veins nonetheless. He knew it was petulant, that it was juvenile to feel as though Scott somehow owed him time together, that he owed him for having pushed him away and bailed on him so many times before now, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of resentment that stirred deep within his chest. The group’s laughter echoed through his mind from earlier that day and he was reminded once again just how separated he had become from them in the past couple months. He used to always be with them, laughing with them, balking at all the close-calls they’d faced when fighting all the different supernatural creatures that they had come across in the past three years; but for the past month and a half he’d started being pushed and sent away in the name of safety and practicality.

Stiles knew that they didn’t want him to be hurt, that their intentions were well-meant. He knew he was the only human in a group of supernatural teenagers, many of whom wouldn’t be teenagers for long, and that no matter how much he didn’t like it, no matter how much he hated it, the reality was that he was defenseless. He had nothing to give to the group to make it stronger; the only thing he could do was be an unnecessary distraction and potential hazard, a person who would never save, but always need saving. There were more than enough times when he had put Scott or one of the others in danger. Stiles hated those moments, and knew that Scott and the others hated those moments too. Derek had seen it, before he’d left. He’d seen the liability that Stiles was to everyone, the liability he was to the pack. Stiles had always wondered if the day would come when the pack would kick him out, when the situation became too dangerous to have a human around and he’d be forced to leave the group. He’d always wondered if and when it would come, how long this honeymoon phase of Scott’s induction into the life of the werewolf would last. He’d always wondered.
And now he knew.

Stiles dropped his biology textbook on his desk with a thud, sitting down with a sigh. He’d spent the past couple days throwing himself into study for this exam, choosing to put his anger and annoyance at life into school, doing anything he could to avoid thinking of everything that was going on in his life right now. No matter how much he had studied, however, Stiles still felt incredibly unprepared for this exam. He had no clue what Ms. Givens’ tests were like, or if he’d studied for the right things or not, and to be quite frank, he was still incredibly pissed at Scott for everything he had and hadn’t done. He’d tried to ask him the day after he’d bailed what had happened, but he’d been incredibly tight-lipped about it, probably because he didn’t want Stiles to know what had happened or to try and involve himself in anything that was still going on. After complaining about it the first few times Scott finally told him to drop it, because the incident was over and was, in the end, none of his business.

That remark was probably what had stung the most out of everything Scott had done and said in the past few months – that it was “none of his business”. Stiles had had an internal fight at that point, arguing with an invisible Scott and telling him exactly what he thought about the pack and the supernatural being “none of his business”. He’d been with Scott when this all began, heck, he was the one who got him into those woods that night, he was ultimately the one responsible for his being turned into a werewolf in the first place. They’d spent over how many years together as best friends – as brothers – fighting the unseen evil forces of the world and saving damsels in distress, and then fighting actual evil forces of the supernatural world, only for Scott to now kick him out because he’d deemed it too dangerous for a human; and besides, he had so many other friends now, friends who he could actually rely on in a fight and not have to worry about, so why would he want to keep Stiles around?

He heard someone slide into their desk beside him and Stiles looked up to see, speak of the devil – Scott. Scott was turned away from him at the moment though, talking to Michael Chevers on the other side of the room. Stiles watched him for a moment, biting the tip of his pencil as he appraised him, before turning back to his books and pretending to study.

“Hey Stiles,” came Scott’s voice a few minutes later. Stiles hummed in response, giving a small wave with his hand, never looking away from his book. “What’s up?”

“Sorry Scott; didn’t have much time to study last night so I gotta cram now.” He heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a loud moan.

“Oh no, that’s right – that test was today! Shoot, I didn’t study at all!”
Stiles shook his head, trying not to smile at such a typical Scott McCall response. If Stiles hadn’t forced Scott to study and reminded him of tests growing up, he’d probably still be in the first grade.

“Hey, what should I kno –.”

At that moment the bell rang and everyone quickly took their seats as Ms. Givens began handing out the stack of papers in her arms. She gave Stiles a brief smile as she handed him his test and he gave a quick smile in return as she continued down the aisle. The room went quiet and soon all that could be heard was the scratching of pencils against paper and Stiles settled in for forty minutes of mind-numbing torture.

Stiles finished his exam half-way through the class, feeling vaguely confident that he’d done a good job; he turned his paper over and settled back in his chair and waited for the final twenty-minutes to pass. He glanced to his left and saw that Scott was still writing furiously, and was annoyed when he felt a stab of pity at the worry he saw on his friend’s face. Eventually the bell rang and Ms. Givens began gathering up the test papers as everyone got to their feet and began exiting the room. Stiles shoved his books in his bag and made for the door, but was stopped by a tug on his sleeve.

“Hey man, look,” Scott said, coming up beside him, his trademarked Puppy McCall look set on his face, “I know you’re still pissed about the other day – again, I’m totally sorry that I had to bail. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah? And how will you do that?” Stiles asked lightly, making his way to his locker door.

“Well… I haven’t thought of anything specific at the moment, but I thought maybe you knew the best way for me to make it up? You’re always the one that comes up with the plans.” It was blatant buttery-upness and Scott and Stiles both knew it. Stiles thumbed his combination lock back and forth a few times before snapping it open and shoving his books inside.

“Well, I suppose there are a few things you could –.”

“Hey Scott!”

Both boys turned to see Liam running up to them, a look of panic stricken across his face.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, his light tone from before replaced with the authoritative tone of an alpha. “What happened?”

“The – the creature from before, the one that attacked the elementary-school principle – we didn’t kill it.”

“What? How is that possible?”

Liam glanced at Stiles nervously, then quickly looked back to Scott. “I don’t know, but it’s somewhere in the woods. One of the kids in my class saw it, and –.”

“Call Malia and let her know where we are; I’ll call Kira. We’ll meet at the south trail in fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” Liam took off back down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Scott immediately dug out his phone and began punching in numbers. Stiles shut his locker and watched Scott with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asked quickly. “What creature was he talking about? Is it one of the ones from –.”

“No Stiles, you don’t know what it is.” Scott brought his phone to his ear, then glanced one last time at Stiles. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It has nothing to do with you. Just go to class or – or whatever it is you do now.”

“But Scott –.”

“No, Stiles!” Scott’s voice was deep and sharp, allowing no room for dispute. “I can’t keep having you try and join us whenever something supernatural comes our way.” Scott began moving towards the entrance doors and Stiles followed him, right on his heels.

“But Scott, I can help!” Scott ignored him, and Stiles felt something within him snap. “Why are you kicking me out? What did I do to deserve being kicked out of the pack, huh? I know I’m not a werewolf or a kitsune or a banshee like everyone else, but I can –.” They had just walked out of the doors and onto the front steps, where a grey, overcast sky covered the town in an atmosphere of gloom. At Stiles response Scott immediately stopped and turned around, shoving a finger in Stiles’ chest, phone forgotten at his side.

“No! That’s just it, Stiles – you aren’t! You’re a human – you don’t have any defense against these things that come at us, and yet you still insist on fighting them!”

“Because I can do something –.”

“No you can’t! You can’t do anything! But you think you can, and that’s the problem!”

Stiles tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that told him to stop as he followed after Scott down the steps and into the parking lot, to not push the issue because he wouldn’t like where it would go, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth as he said, “How is it a problem? How am I a problem? All I ever try to do is help, that’s all I ever do – .”

Scott came to a halt and spun on his heel, a look on his face that Stiles had only ever seen directed at those he was genuinely angry with. “You don’t see it, do you?” he asked. Stiles swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but Scott cut him off. “You don’t realise how many times your being with the pack has put them in danger. You don’t see how when we’re fighting a creature of the supernatural, that half our time – half of my packs’ time – is spent trying to keep you safe, when they are barely able to keep themselves safe. And they always keep you safe because they know what it would do to me if you were hurt or killed; and so they put their own lives at risk to save yours. And I can’t keep risking their lives like that. I can’t keep risking my life like that.”

There was a long silence after that, neither boy saying a word as they stared at each other on the empty cement steps of the school. Stiles glared at Scott, doing everything he could to force back the heat and sting that were burning his eyes. It was one thing to think that you were an imposition to someone; it was another thing entirely to have that person to tell it straight to your face. “What are you saying?” Stiles finally asked. Scott looked back at him, a hint of guilt on his face, though Stiles knew it was a guilt born only out of pity.

“I’m saying that I can’t keep wasting my time looking after you when I’m supposed to be leading a pack and protecting them. A pack – a pack is like a family, Stiles. It is a family. And it’s my family, and I can’t keep putting them in danger. Not anymore. So please. Just stay… stay here. Okay?”

Stiles said nothing.

Scott watched him for a moment, guilt further edging his features, but he remained where he was. His expression finally crumbled slightly and he looked at Stiles pleadingly.

“Stiles – I’m sorry. Really, I am. But I just – I can’t….” Scott took a breath. “I don’t want to see you hurt. And if… if that means keeping you away, if it means kicking you out of the pack – then that’s what I’ll do.” There was another long silence and Scott began backing away. “Look, I have to – I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay? We’ll do something this weekend, go to a movie or play video games. Okay? I – I’ll see you later.” With that, Scott turned around, his face still twisted in guilt as he ran over to his bike and kicked it into gear. He put on his helmet and revved the engine, before disappearing onto the road.

Chapter Text

Stiles stayed where he was for nearly ten minutes, staring into the parking lot, trying to fight down the panic that was rising in his chest; trying to stave off the wave of fear that was threatening to wrap its fingers around his neck and choke the breath out of his lungs. He didn't know how long it was before he finally moved, digging his hand into his pocket and taking out his keys. Without a second thought he made his way to his jeep and got inside, placing the key into the ignition and starting it up. He got onto the road and began driving east; at first he didn't know where he was going, he just knew that he wanted to get as far away from the school and Scott and the pack and everything as fast as he could.

Twenty minutes later he found himself down a familiar back road surrounded by trees on the other side of town; He came to a stop and parked his jeep on the side of the dirt road. A small trail lay obscured between trees and brush, hidden to any passerby who didn't know it was there. The trail led to a small, secluded pond that was surrounded by grass and trees; it was one of Stiles' few places in the world that belonged solely to himself, where he could go to get away from everything in his life that was nagging at him, bothering him, or hurting him. He'd spent so much time here after his mother died, just him and the forest and the pond, and sometimes Scott. Because Scott was more than his best friend, he was his brother – and brothers were there for each other no matter what.

Except today. Today, Scott had more important things to do.

After nearly fifteen minutes of walking through the trees and over lifted roots and brambles, Stiles came into the clearing where the hidden pond lay – his sanctuary.

The wind whispered through the trees and gently nudged against Stiles' back, rustling the grass and rippling the surface of the pond. Stiles walked over to a spot near the trees and laid down on his back, settling his hands behind his head. He stared at the grey sky above him, refusing to think about anything other than the quiet, peaceful sanctuary that he was in and not give one thought to his friends or what had happened that day.

But as it turned out, that was a very hard thing to do.

He got where Scott was coming from; he got where he was coming from completely. And that perhaps was what made the whole thing worse – because, no matter how angry and hurt he was by Scott's words, he knew that, deep down, he was right. He always knew that he could sometimes be in the way of the others, he'd felt guilty and embarrassed many times before whenever someone had to save him because he couldn't save himself; but they'd always managed to come through intact in the end. Stiles knew that he wasn't completely useless, that more than one plan of his had been the key to defeating a werewolf or some other supernatural creature; he knew that his brain and ability to think had saved them on more than one occasion. But apparently it wasn't enough to save himself from losing what he had thought had been his place in this world; from losing his friends. From losing his best friend.

Stiles didn't know when he had fallen asleep, only that one moment he'd been lying with his hands behind his head as he watched the ripple of the trees and the slow movement of the sky, and the next he'd woken to a face full of grass, having turned onto his side at some point during his sleep. He pushed the grass away and spat out the remnants that had made their way into his mouth, sitting up with a start when he realised how dark the sky had become and how late in the day it now was; it was probably the late afternoon now, maybe even closer to evening. The grey overcast clouds from earlier that day had turned deep and dark, heavy with rain that would soon undoubtedly fall. As if hearing his thoughts, the wind began to pick up, no longer a gentle breeze but a warning of what was to come. Rain started to spit and Stiles quickly got to his feet, making his way to the cover of the trees in the woods. Thunder rolled in the distance.

Less than ten minutes later Stiles arrived at his jeep. By the time he got to the door the wind was roaring through the trees and Stiles had to fight to keep his feet beneath him. Rain was falling faster and faster, carried by the wind and stinging as it hit his face. He pulled the jeep's door open and jumped inside, fighting with the wind and rain for a few moments before finally shutting the door closed. He took a few heavy breaths once he was inside, pushing his rain-soaked hair back with his hands as he got his breathing back under control. He shoved his key into the ignition and turned it, saying a quick prayer of thanks when the engine immediately started. He put the jeep into gear and swung it around onto the road and began heading for the highway. A shiver ran through his body and he turned up the heat, not having made it to the jeep before getting half-soaked by the rain.

As he drove down the road the rain and wind began to pick up and thunder cracked loudly above him, shaking the entire vehicle. Stiles had his wipers going full blast, but that was still not enough for him to clearly see where he was going. If he didn't know this road so well, he might –

Something suddenly caught Stiles' eye and he slammed on the brakes, flying forward into the steering wheel. He stayed there for a moment as the wipers moved back and forth, wondering what on earth it was that he had seen. A half-second later he caught the movement again on the side of the road. He squinted at it and after a second realised what it was – a person. The person was in front of their vehicle beneath its raised hood, smoke rising around them from the engine. A moment later Stiles recognised who the person was. Getting out of his vehicle, Stiles quickly made his way over to the truck.

"Ms. Givens?!" he shouted above the roar of the rain and wind. The woman – Ms. Givens – looked up with a start, the worry etched deep on her face giving way to marked relief.

"Mr. Stilinski?!" she called back. Stiles made his way over to her, holding the back end of his jacket above his head in a small effort to keep from being blinded by the rain.

"Do you need help?!" Stiles asked. Thunder boomed above them and the wind picked up.

"My car broke down," Ms. Givens replied, not appearing to have heard Stiles' question. Stiles looked at the engine and the smoke rising from both beneath and above it. Ms. Givens had a wrench in her hand, but clearly didn't know what to do with it. "I tried to call my husband," she said loudly, trying to be heard above the wind. "He said I needed to call a tow-truck but then my phone died, and I've tried and tried by the car just won't start – I've been here for over an hour!"

Stiles tried to gauge what was wrong with the car and if he could fix it, but the rain and wind obscured his vision to the point where it was nearly impossible to get a good look at what was wrong. From what he already saw, he highly doubted he could do anything to fix it. He turned to face the older woman. "I'll take you home!" Stiles called. "I don't know what's wrong with it, but I'll give you a ride home and you can call the tow-truck then!" Ms. Givens nodded and the two quickly made their way to Stiles' jeep. Once inside, Ms. Givens quickly began conveying her thanks.

"Thank you so much Mr. Stilinski," she said, sweeping her wet hair away from her face. She looked exhausted. "I've been trying to fix that thing for over an hour and then it started to rain and then my phone died, and I honestly didn't know what I was going to do."

"Well it's a good thing I happened to be driving by," Stiles replied, putting his jeep into gear. "Was there anything you needed from your car?"

"Nothing that can't keep until tomorrow," she replied. They were quiet for a moment as Stiles made his way back onto the road, before Stiles started speaking again, glad to finally have a distraction from the rest of the day. "So do you live near here?" he asked.

"We do, actually," Givens replied, calm making its way back into her voice as she regained her composure. "My husband and I just moved to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago. We have a place a few miles from here."

"How've you liked it so far?"

"Oh it's been wonderful, really. The last place we lived in… well, it wasn't exactly the easiest place to be; but this town has been great to us, so far."

Stiles wondered what had happened in her previous home, but he respectfully ignored it in stay of a different question. "So what brought you to Beacon Hills, of all places?"

"My work," Ms. Givens replied. "My husband and I have been looking for the right place to settle down for good, a place where we can really use our skills and contribute to our community. We've moved to a few different towns, but none of them seem to… stick. I'm not sure what it is, but we just don't feel like we…."

"Belong?" Stile finished for her. He figured that Ms. Givens jitters and adrenaline hadn't yet left her from her experience in the storm, so that was why she was talking so much more freely than a teacher normally would with a student. But Stiles didn't blame her; this was a pretty big storm that had come out of nowhere, and if he'd broken down with the sky feeling as though it was going to crash to the ground, he'd be pretty unnerved too.

"Yes – exactly. There just haven't really been the right… people."

They finally made their way to the highway and Stiles peered into the sheets of rain, looking for any vehicles before slowly making his way onto the road.

"And do you think Beacon Hills has the right people?" Stiles asked. He'd never asked so daring questions before to a teacher – except maybe with coach – but Ms. Givens didn't feel like a regular teacher, probably because she was just a substitute and wouldn't be here for long; she felt more like just a regular adult that he could talk to, like his dad or Scott's mom or the guys at the station. But really, when Stiles thought about it, he hadn't really felt like a teenager in a long time. Adulthood had come to early for him and Scott; far too early.

"You know," Ms. Givens began as she directed Stiles towards her street. "We haven't been here for very long, but… yes. I think it does."

Stiles followed the rest of Ms. Givens' directions to her house, a small acreage a couple minutes outside of town. He parked the jeep in the driveway, leaving it running as he waited for Ms. Givens to get out. Ms. Givens had just started to open the door when suddenly the jeep began to rattle, and then it died. Stiles frowned, turning the ignition back on. The engine turned over a couple times, but nothing happened. Stiles tried again, but the jeep remained silent. Stiles could not believe his luck.

"No way," he muttered, trying the key again.

"It won't start?" Ms. Givens asked.

"It's – I thought I'd gotten the stupid thing fixed, but it –." The engine turned over a couple more times, then refused to move no matter how many times Stiles turned the key. Stiles hit the steering wheel with his hand. "Dammit!" He groaned and put his face in his hands, then realised with a start that he still had company. He groaned again, only this time out of embarrassment. "Sorry Ms. Givens," he said, running his hands through his hair. "It's just been… a really long day."

"Don't worry about it," Ms. Givens replied comfortingly. "I can relate – on this day of all days." She paused, then said, "Why don't you come inside? You're absolutely soaked; the least I can do is give you a towel and some food in thanks for rescuing me. Then you can call someone to come look at your jeep."

Stiles sighed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he thought who he could call. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't had supper yet. He nodded. "Okay, yeah – sure, that'd be great; thanks." Ms. Givens smiled and the two got out of the jeep and made a mad dash for the house, thunder crashing loudly above them as lightning forked brightly in the sky. Ms. Givens opened the door and they both walked inside, shaking the water from their hair as she closed the door.

Ms. Givens immediately set to work trying to make Stiles as comfortable as she could. "Here," she said, taking Stiles' soaked jacket from him and hanging it on a nearby hook. "Let me get you a towel; I'll be right back." She disappeared and returned a moment later, a large, fluffy towel in her arms. She draped it over Stiles' shoulders and he smiled gratefully.

"Thanks," he said, drying off his hair and trying to soak up as much water from his shirt and jeans as he could.

"Not a problem," she replied, then began walking into the living room. "Come into the parlour," she said, waving him over and motioning to the couch. "Take a seat. Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink, something to eat perhaps?"

Stiles sat down on the couch, finally feeling warmth ease back into his skin. "No, no, I'm alright. I'll just call one of my friends; they'll pick me up. Would it be alright if I left my jeep here until tomorrow?"

"Oh of course! Of course you can."

Stiles smiled in thanks and took out his phone, scrolling through his contact list until he found Scott's name. His thumb hovered over it for a moment, wondering if Scott was really the right person to call, and if he would –

Oh wait. That's right; Scott was busy. Something supernatural had come up during school and he'd gone off to deal with it. Him and everyone else, most likely. Which meant the only person he could really call was his dad. Stiles scrolled until he found his dad's name and he was just about to tap it when he remembered – his dad and everyone at the station were all on overtime; they were on high alert and searching for those people that were trying to pass the state border. Although he knew his dad would either get him himself or send a squad car for him, he didn't want to disrupt their work for something as ridiculous and juvenile as a ride home. He'd had enough of being an imposition in peoples' lives for one day, thank you very much.

Which meant then, that he was… screwed.

Stiles sighed and leaned back into the couch.

"Is everything alright?" Ms. Givens asked, returning from the kitchen with two glasses of juice. Stiles inwardly thanked her for ignoring him when he said he didn't want anything to drink; in reality, he was incredibly thirsty. She set one glass on the coffee table in front of him and proceeded to sit down on the chair on the other side.

"Well," Stiles drew out, trying to decide what to say. "I just remembered that all my friends are busy tonight, so they won't be able to pick me up. And my dad's busy at the station – he's the chief of police – so I don't know how much help he'll be, either."

"Well if you can't get a ride home, you can certainly stay here for the night – you are more than welcome to do so. We have a guest bedroom upstairs you could use; it's all ready to go."

Stiles took a deep drink from his cup, immediately feeling guilty at her offer; the last thing he wanted to do was impose on her and her husband in such a way. "You don't have to, really. I can find some way home, and I can walk if I have to. My place isn't far… from here…." That was a lie, and he was pretty sure Ms. Givens knew it. His house at least fifteen miles away if not more, and it was already difficult enough to drive in this storm, much less walk in it in the dark. Stiles inwardly groaned as he realised the circumstance he found himself in was inescapable.

"Nonsense," Ms. Givens said firmly. "There's no way you're walking home in this monster of a storm. I insist you stay here for the night. It would be completely irresponsible of me if I let you leave at a time like this." At Stiles' expression, her face softened. "Honestly Stiles, I assure you – you're not imposing by staying here. We are more than happy to have you."

Stiles took a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay. Seriously though – thanks so much; I really appreciate it."

Ms. Givens smiled and she rose to her feet. "Wonderful. Now, have you had anything to eat yet?" Stiles shook his head; if he was staying here for the night, there was no real use in pretending he had eaten. "Okay. I'll get supper together then, while you go on upstairs. The guest room is in the attic; the stairs that lead there are at the very end of the upstairs hallway. Will you be okay to find it on your own?" Stiles nodded, finishing the last of his apple juice and setting the empty glass back down on the table. "Good. There are some clothes in the dresser that should fit you; feel free to change into them if you want something dryer." Stiles nodded and said his thanks, before making his way to the stairs and the second floor of the house.

The upstairs floor was completely dark and Stiles searched for a light-switch, but couldn't find one. He squinted, looking for the stairs that Ms. Givens had said would lead to the attic. Finally spying it in the far end corner, he quickly walked past three closed-doors until he arrived at the staircase. The stairs were small and narrow, and were really more of a ladder than anything else. Still – Stiles was thankful to at least have a bed and a room; he could very easily have ended up on the couch.

He walked up the stairs quickly and came to the attic door. It opened with a creak, the hinges obviously not accustomed to being used. The room was completely dark, save for a small window by the bed, where a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the room. Stiles fumbled for a light until his fingers finally grazed over a switch and a small, dim bulb in the centre of the ceiling turned on, dousing the room in a warm orange glow.

The room was simple, but cozy. There was a bed on the opposite end by the window, a small side-table and lamp sitting beside it. A dresser and vanity sat opposite of the bed and an old hope chest was sat on the farthest wall in-between, a large decorative doily spread overtop. Stiles closed the door behind him and began shrugging out of his clothes, his shirt and jeans falling to the floor with a slap as water quickly began pooling beneath it. Stiles wrapped them in his towel and tossed it to the side; he stood there for a moment in silence, listening as thunder crashed and banged above him, oddly feeling more at ease than he had all day. He walked over to the dresser and pulled out the drawers, rummaging around until he managed to find an old pair of slacks and a button-up shirt, both appearing as though they'd been freshly pressed that morning.

When he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, he was met with Ms. Givens' warm, gentle smile. "Those were my grandfather's," she said, setting down a bowl of hot, chicken-noodle soup. Stiles took a seat. "He wore them when he was about your age, I'd imagine."

Stiles thanked her for the food and dipped his spoon into the soup; he wasn't sure he'd ever been so thankful for warm soup in all his life. "You keep your grandfather's clothes?" he asked, taking a bite as he stared at Ms. Givens curiously.

Ms. Givens shook her head and laughed softly, taking a seat opposite Stiles. "No, I'm not that sentimental I'm afraid. This was his house, years ago. It's where he was raised and where my mother and her siblings grew up. He left it to me in his will and I inherited it when he passed away a few years ago. My husband and I hadn't known what to do with it at the time, but I was too attached to it to just give it up. I wasn't raised here, but I spent a lot of summers here growing up. We were very fortunate to still have it when we decided to move here."

Stiles smiled as he took another spoonful of soup. The food sat warmly in his stomach and Stiles wished that he could cook as well as this. His father was useless at making food, so when his mother died Stiles had become the incumbent cook of the family. But there were some things that only a woman's hands seemed to be able to make.

Stiles and Ms. Givens finished their supper and Stiles sat back in his chair with a sigh, the exhaustion of the day finally settling over him like a heavy blanket. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was 10:15. Stiles let out a wide yawn.

"Why don't you head on up to bed?" Ms. Givens said, taking Stiles' empty bowl along with hers and walking over to the sink. Stiles quickly sat up.

"I can help you wash," he said, standing to his feet, but Ms. Givens just gave him a smile and shook her head.

"Don't worry about it," she said, setting the bowls in the sink. "It's not a problem at all. You just head on up to bed and go to sleep. And sleep in as long as you want – you are my guest, and I won't have you doing anything but relax. I'm sure you can get a hold of your friends tomorrow."

Stiles wanted to resist her suggestion and help her clean up, but he had to admit, he was exhausted. "Okay," he said at last. "I'll see you in the morning. And thanks again for letting me stay here, I –."

"You're welcome, Stiles," Ms. Givens interrupted with a smile. "Now go to bed!" Stiles smiled in return, before finally heading up the stairs and into the attic. He changed into a pair of pajamas that he'd found in the bottom dresser drawer and crawled into the bed, curling beneath the warmth of the covers and shutting off the light, dousing the room in darkness once more. The thunder crashed above him and lightning crackled across the sky, but Stiles heard none of it, and within minutes his breathing evened out and he fell into sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning was the exact opposite of the night before. The sky was a bright, clear blue, with white clouds drifting lazily across it. Birds sang in the trees outside Stiles' bedroom window as water from the previous night's storm dripped from the leaves of the trees. Stiles woke up more rested and comfortable than he had since he could remember; the blankets draped over him like a cocoon, feeling warm and comfortable and incredibly safe. He buried his head in the pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. But then he remembered where he was.

Stiles shot up as though he'd been burned as he remembered that he was at Ms. Givens' house, that he had slept there for the night because mother nature and lady luck had both decided that he was their enemy, because his day hadn't already been crappy enough. Stiles groaned and covered his face with his hands, digging his fingers into his skull. Scott would find it hilarious to learn he'd been forced to stay the night at their teacher's place. Which was why, Stiles thought determinedly as he slowly removed the covers and stepped out of the bed, he would never know.

The wood floor was cold beneath Stiles' feet and he quickly made his way over to his clothes that he had left in the corner; they still might be damp, but at least they were somet –.

Stiles came to an abrupt stop, frowning as he stared down at the, decidedly empty, corner of the room. He looked around, searching for his clothes and the towel he had left on the floor the night before, but there wasn't a single trace of any of it. Stiles took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Yesterday had been a disaster – he was not about to start freaking out when this day had barely begun.

Walking over to the dresser and vanity, Stiles picked up the clothes he had worn the night before, the ones belonging to Ms. Givens' grandfather, and reluctantly put them on. He had to admit, they weren't that bad looking, and they were even – dare he say – comfortable.

He walked over to the door as he finished putting on his shirt; after he slid the last button through its hole he reached out and grabbed the door handle. He twisted it and pulled, and –

Nothing happened.

Stiles frowned and pulled the doorknob again. The door did not move. Stiles jiggled the handle, trying to get the door unstuck and banged on the door with his fist, hoping to dislodge whatever it was that had decided to lock him in; but no matter what he tried or how hard he tried it, the door did not open. Stiles rested his forehead against the door with a groan. How embarrassing. Not only had he been forced to stay at his teacher's place for the night and take advantage of her hospitality and kindness, but he had now – somehow – locked himself in her guestroom. And the only way to get out would be to…

Call her.

Great.

Stiles cleared his throat; better now than never. "Ms. Givens?" he called, hoping that she'd hear him and he wouldn't have to yell her name at the top of his lungs. He jiggled the door-handle again. "Ms. Givens!" He paused, listening for any sign of movement from anywhere in the house, but he heard nothing. Stiles growled in frustration and began banging on the door with earnest. Suddenly he heard something creak. He stopped what he was doing, looking around for the source of the noise. His eye caught a movement from the other side of the room and he leaned back, trying to get a better look, and saw that it was – a closet?

The door of the closet was slightly ajar, most likely having fell open from the banging Stiles had given on the wall. Stiles frowned and walked over to it; he hadn't realised the room had a closet, but it made sense, as most rooms did – he just must not have noticed it the night before.

Stiles grabbed the closet handle and opened the door further, expecting to see old hangers filled equally with old clothes, but instead he saw –

Holy shit.

Stiles' eyes widened as he realised that the closet door wasn't a closet door, but rather, it was a doorway into another part of the attic. Stiles took a few steps forward and peered inside.

The room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from a small window high above near the ceiling. The old wooden floors creaked beneath Stiles' feet as he walked; he knew he shouldn't be in here, that he should have permission before he went snooping around things that weren't his, but something about the room drew him in – whether it was his own curiosity or the room's mystery Stiles didn't know – but he simply couldn't stop himself from walking inside.

The room was filled with old furniture and knickknacks, most of which looked old enough to be in an antique shop. An old rocking chair sat along the wall, cobwebs and dust blanketed overtop of it from disuse. A number of dressers were scattered across the room, along with countless dust-covered boxes and chests. Stiles' eyes fell over each of them as he scanned the room, before catching something in particular. He stared at the item for a moment, then began walking towards it.

A full-length mirror stood at the end of the room, its ancient feet standing proud and strong in its old age. The silver brass that surrounded the mirror was faded and lined; the mirror itself was smudged around the edges, causing its reflection to appear blurred and dull. Stiles brushed the dust away from the mirror's surface, restoring a small amount of clarity to its reflection. As he did, something caught the corner of his eye and he squinted, confused. Everything was still for a moment, and Stiles began to wonder if he had seen anything at all; but then it moved again, and Stiles' eyes widened in shock. He tried to move back but something stopped him, and soon he couldn't move away, his eyes transfixed on the sight in front of him. The mirror shimmered, and the image of Stiles disappeared and was replaced with another. It was –

"What are you doing in here?"

Stiles jumped and spun around, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest.

Ms. Givens stood in the doorway, looking at Stiles with raised eyebrows and a dark stare. She remained silent, waiting for Stiles to answer.

"Um, I was – I was… I thought it was a closet and the door was open, so I wanted to see what was inside –."

"The door was open," Ms. Givens repeated. Stiles nodded vigorously. Givens' stare deepened into a glare, something so completely different than Stiles had ever seen her wear before. The uncommon reaction made his palms sweat, and he wondered just how angry she was going to get.

Ms. Givens looked Stiles up and down, as though sizing him up. They remained that way for a few moments, before suddenly the atmosphere completely changed, and Ms. Givens broke into a wide smile. "Why don't you come join me downstairs for some breakfast; I made French toast with eggs. I even have orange juice in the fridge." Stiles stared at Givens uneasily, hesitating for a moment before slowly stepping towards her and following her out of the room.

When he entered the bedroom he felt a wave of fresh air wash over him and he paused, blinking in surprise. He heard Ms. Givens close the closet door behind them and he waited for her to finish locking it, before they made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Stiles asked if he could help her with anything, but Ms. Givens just shook her head with a smile and politely declined. A few minutes later she set down two plates of French toast and scrambled eggs on the table along with a pitcher of orange juice, and the they both began to eat.

"It's a beautiful day out," Ms. Givens said after a few minutes of silence. "Why don't we go out for a walk after we finish eating? There are some nice trails that lead through the woods behind the house. If you want."

Stiles nodded between mouthfuls of food. He swallowed and said, "Yeah, sure – that sounds great." He glanced out the window at the trees and watched as the breeze sifted through the leaves, the sun's reflection making them appear like gold.

They finished eating ten minutes later and Stiles helped dry as they washed the dishes. Eventually they made their way to the door and put on their shoes and jackets; Stiles followed as Ms. Givens led them on a path behind the house. An old swing-set sat in the backyard along with a yellowed teeter-totter. A tire-swing spun lazily beneath a tall oak tree.

"These were what my mother and her siblings played on growing up," Ms. Givens said, motioning to the playsets. "And they were what I played on too, as a little girl."

"You must have had pretty nice summers here," Stiles replied as they made their way through the backyard.

"Yes. They were great summers; very fun and… educational."

"Was your grandfather a teacher?" Stiles asked curiously.

Ms. Givens paused when they reached the treeline, before answering, "Of a sort." They made their way into the trees and began walking down the trail. Stiles had to admit, it was a beautiful day for a walk. Birds sang in the trees, squirrels chippered on branches, and the leaves swayed gently in the wind above them. Stiles peered up through the leaves, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. Sunlight shone brightly through the leaves and the branches, almost hurting Stiles' eyes as he looked at it. They continued walking down the path for nearly twenty minutes; Stiles didn't know where they were going or how long they'd be, but for the first time in a long time he felt calm and relaxed, and he wasn't about to ruin that with unnecessary questions.

His eyes stayed glued to Ms. Givens' back, watching her hair sway as she walked. A long while later, after what felt like over an hour of walking, they suddenly broke through the trees and into a clearing. There was nothing in the open space except grass and… a well? Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and followed Ms. Givens as she made her way over to the stone structure.

The well looked like one that came from a medieval storybook; stone sat upon stone and gathered around in a circle, completed with wooden stands and a wooden roof above it. A rope hung down from the top and disappeared into the hole beneath it. Stiles walked forward until he reached the well and peered over the edge, trying to see how deep the well went. It didn't go far, perhaps twenty-feet in depth. The bucket attached to the rope floated at the bottom, already half-filled with water. Stiles jumped when the bucket started to move, and he looked up to see Ms. Givens turning the handle at the side. She gave Stiles a small smile.

"This used to be the only way my grandfather and his family could get water," she said.

"And it's still good to drink?" Stiles asked.

"Of course. Here." A few moments later the bucket reached the top and Ms. Givens grabbed it, setting it on the side of the well. She tilted it gently towards Stiles. "Go ahead and take a handful of water; it's some of the best tasting water in the county."

Stiles reached in and cupped his hands, lifting out a handful of water. The water sparkled in the sunlight and Stiles suddenly smelled a hint of lilacs in the air. He brought his hands up to his mouth and closed his eyes, about to drink when suddenly, as though a switch had been turned, the light dimmed and the entire forest and clearing was cast in shadow.

Stiles looked up, surprised, and saw that where seconds before there had been white clouds drifting against the back of a bright-blue sky, there were now dark, angry billows encompassing the whole sky, moving swiftly towards the east. The wind whistled loudly through the trees, beating against Stiles' back and nearly knocking him off his feet. The old well that had appeared so perfectly intact a moment before was now broken and decrepit, the roof splintered and torn in half; what had once been perfectly placed stones were now crumbled and strewn across the ground. Stiles looked down at the bucket Ms. Givens was holding and realised with a start that it was splintered and rotted. The water inside looked filthy and stale, dead insects floating on the surface. Stiles looked towards Ms. Givens, his eyes wide as revulsion surged through him, but was suddenly distracted by a voice shouting in the distance, nearly lost amongst the roaring of the wind.

"STOP! Don't drink the water! DON'T DRINK WATER!"

Stiles turned, searching for the source of the voice. His eyes landed on a young woman running towards him through the trees, a look of terror stricken across her face; he frowned and was about to move, when suddenly Ms. Givens' hands were beneath his and pushing them towards his face. "Drink," she said quickly. "Drink, Stiles." His handful of water was shoved into his face and splashed into his open mouth.

In an instant the darkness disappeared and the day returned, dousing the clearing in bright, warm sunlight. The roaring of the wind was replaced with the singing of birds; leaves that were nearly being torn from their branches moments before were now rustling quietly in the breeze.

The water from the well tasted like nothing Stiles had ever tasted before; he closed his eyes and instinctually brought his hands closer, drinking until all the water was gone. When he was finished, he looked up to see Ms. Givens looking at him with a gentle smile.

"Did you like it?" she asked. She appeared oddly out of breath, though Stiles didn't know why. He nodded.

"Yeah, that – that was amazing. You weren't kidding when you said this was the best water in the county."

"You'll find I'm not much of a jokester," Ms. Givens replied with a smile.

Stiles reached towards the bucket, intending to take another drink, when Ms. Givens' hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it tightly. "You can't have anymore, I'm afraid," she said. Her voice was light, but the grip she maintained on Stiles' wrist was fierce. Stiles winced and Ms. Givens let go. She let the bucket swing back into the well and lowered the handle until the bucket fell back into the water with a splash. She turned back to Stiles. "Shall we head back?" Stiles nodded and they made their way back onto the path and back towards the house.

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon playing board-games and card-games, chatting about everything from family and friends to what their favourite subjects were in school. There was no TV in the room and Stiles had yet to see a radio or even a clock, but he was far from bored. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd ever had so peaceful and enjoyable a day as this in his life – certainly at least in the past few years.

"Would you like to help me make cookies?" Ms. Givens asked after they had finished another round of Monopoly. "Baking is a favourite pastime of mine." She reached over to take Stiles' cards and put them away, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of Stiles' hand.

A feeling of deep unease coursed through Stiles' body and warning bells rang loudly in the back of his mind; he frowned, trying to figure out where the feeling was coming from, when he was interrupted by Ms. Givens rising to her feet. Stiles looked up, confusion still wrinkling his forehead, but at the sight of Ms. Givens' gentle smile the confusion and unease faded away, and Stiles suddenly wanted nothing more than to spend the afternoon baking. He rose to his feet with a smile and followed her into the kitchen, where they began pulling out baking sheets and bowls and ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

Ms. Givens began putting the various ingredients into the bowl, then took a wooden spoon and began stirring them together. Stiles measured and poured whatever she asked, turning on the oven as she worked and tearing out tin-foil for the cookie sheets. He felt very content, unable to remember the last time he had helped bake cookies; it was most likely before his mom had died.

"Stiles," Ms. Givens asked, "could you grab some baking soda from the cupboard? It should be on the second shelf." Stiles did so, leaning on his tip-toes and moving various jars aside as he searched for the ingredient. As he looked, he noticed a dusty jar tucked away in the back corner, holding what appeared to be some sort of liquid. He pushed a few jars aside, trying to get a better look. He reached towards it and grasped the edges with his fingers, slowly pulling it towards him. As it turned, Stiles realised that not only was there liquid in the jar, but there was something else in there, too. He squinted, trying to get a better look; it was pickled-something, he was sure, but as to what it was, he couldn't quite make out. Suddenly, the items inside shifted; Stiles stared for a long moment in shock, before fully comprehending what the items were.

They were eyeballs.

Stiles' eyes widened and his hand jerked back as though burned. Ms. Givens' voice broke the silence. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "Did you manage to find the baking soda?"

Stiles shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the revolting image, trying to understand if what he was seeing was actually real. "That – that jar," he stuttered. "It's filled with – with –."

Ms. Givens reached past him and grabbed the jar, bringing it out into the light. "This?" she asked, holding it in front of Stiles. "These are pickled pears. It is rather dusty, though. I can understand if it's a bit hard to see them."

Stiles shock gave way to confusion, as he took a closer look at the jar and realised that instead of eyeballs, a number of sliced pears floated in the water. Stiles was speechless. Givens set the jar back in the cupboard and grabbed the baking soda beside it. Stiles stared at the jar a moment longer, unable to let go of the feeling of unease that now sat deep in his stomach. Finally when he heard the sound of beaters against the porcelain bowl, Stiles turned his attention back to the task at hand, trying to gather himself back together and ignore the feeling of embarrassment at having thought something so absurd.

After a while his attention began to wander, and his eyes began to roam across the kitchen absently. They landed on the fridge on the other side of the room, in particularly on a small picture held by a magnet on the front; Stiles stared at it for a long moment, before walking over to it. He took the picture in his hand and frowned.

The image was of a family; a father, a mother, and their three children, along with who appeared to be the grandfather at the back. The two girls and one boy crouched at the front with big smiles on their faces, each holding onto the family dog. The picture had clearly been taken in the seventies, and if Stiles wasn't mistaken, it had been taken on this property. Part of Stiles knew that the picture was of Ms. Givens and her family, but for some reason his eyes were drawn to the dog in the middle of the picture. The dog was clearly tame, but its breed didn't look like that of an average farm-dog. Its coat was a mixture of black and white, and its face was narrow, its eyes reflecting a dark shade of yellow. If Stiles didn't know any better, he'd say that the dog was related to a wolf. Something stirred in the back of Stiles' mind as he stared at the animal, before an image of a young man appeared began to form. Stiles' fingers brushed over the photo, trying to figure out what the wolf-like dog was reminding him of, when –

Suddenly the photo was ripped from his hands by Ms. Givens, who hastily asked if there was a problem. Stiles didn't hear her, though, as suddenly his head began to ache and he slowly started to realise what he was doing.

"That's right," he said, turning around. "I was… my jeep. I was going to call someone and… and have them pick me up. I forgot." Stiles' head hurt and he felt incredibly confused, trying to understand how he could have forgotten about calling someone for help. He began patting his pockets, searching for his phone. "Do you… where's my phone?" he asked, his movements growing frantic. "I can't find my phone. I need to call Scott, or – or my dad. I didn't mean to stay this long –." Panic began to rise in his chest and his breathing grew short and quick.

Suddenly long, gentle fingers ran through his hair and Stiles froze. He looked down to see Ms. Givens in front of him, looking at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. "Shh, shh," she whispered quietly, tucking Stiles' hair behind his ears. "Calm down my dear one, calm down. You've no need to worry." The panic from moments before began to fall away and was replaced with a an unexplainable feeling of calm and safety. A feeling of peace washed over him and suddenly he felt very tired, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Why don't we go upstairs to your room, hm?" Ms. Givens asked, tugging Stiles' arm and leading him through the living room and to the stairs. "You look like you could use a long nap, I'm sure." Stiles followed her up the stairs and into the attic room, collapsing on his bed in a heap, his legs nearly having given out from beneath him. Ms. Givens moved the blankets and draped them across his body, tucking them him in. Stiles watched her as she moved, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiled at him and brushed his hair back from his face. "There, there," she said quietly. "Go to sleep. I'll see you when you wake." With her words Stiles' eyes closed, and he knew no more.

Scott stared at his phone, gripping it tightly in his hand, his thumb hovering over the name of one particular contact.

Stiles.

Ever since their fight last Friday, Scott had felt nothing but guilt. The look on Stiles' face when he'd said those words made him feel as though he had just personally taken a knife and stabbed him in the back, and twisting it for added measure. And then he'd just left him standing there, alone in the middle of the parking lot, looking after him as he drove away until he was nothing but a speck in his rear-view mirror.

He hadn't meant it. Not really. He meant it only in the ways in which he wanted Stiles to be safe; but he knew that it was a selfish, unrealistic, and unfair desire that could never be met. Not in the long run. But at the time he had just really wanted Stiles to stay away from the supernatural world until he found a way he could keep him safe, along with the rest of his pack.

His pack. That had been perhaps the biggest lie of them all. Of course Stiles was a part of the pack; he'd been the first, really. Ever since they'd met in pre-school they had been a pack; and for the longest time it had been just the two of them, until certain events occurred and their outlooks on life and their friend-base expanded in ways they never thought possible. Scott thought he could keep Stiles with them forever, that Stiles would just magically remain unhurt each and every time, but he was wrong. And that's why Stiles had to stay away.

At least, that's what he told himself.

He hadn't really thought about it until a couple months ago when a stray werewolf pack had come through Beacon Hills. By then Scott had dealt with a number of packs that passed through the county, learning that some werewolves were more nomadic than others. The visiting wolves had been surprised when they saw just how many non-werewolves were apart of Scott's pack, but they'd been most surprised by their human member – Stiles. That had caused a bit of a stir, but Scott had remained largely indifferent to their disapproval. At least, until one of their members took him aside and spoke to him.

She'd identified with him about love for humans, and relayed her own story about a human friend that had almost become like a pack to her. She had let her friend join them in hunts and sometimes even in fights; the human was her best friend, and despite the dangers, she didn't want to keep her away. But then another pack came through and a fight broke out, and when her friend had tried to defend her, she'd been caught in the crossfire. She'd tried to save her, but the wound had been too great and her friend died. After that, the werewolf said, she never befriended another human again. When she had finished her story, Scott had felt physically sick, thinking of all the times Stiles had been in danger and nearly lost his life, all because he was too stubborn to stay away.

The werewolf went on to relay all the dangers that humans were vulnerable to, and that, unless an alpha was willing to risk both the life of their human and the lives of their pack-members, the alpha would let their human go; and if their human wouldn't go, the alpha would force them to leave. Because otherwise, all that waited for that human was death. And Scott knew. He knew that while he could survive the death of Allison and even the death of pack-members, he knew that he would never survive the death of Stiles. If Stiles died, then he would too.

So he kicked Stiles out. It had hurt, and Scott never hated himself more than when he had done it, but it was the right thing to do.

It had to be.

Except now Stiles wouldn't answer his phone, no matter how many times Scott called or texted. It was Sunday afternoon and he hadn't heard from Stiles all weekend; Scott couldn't even remember the last time they'd gone so long without communicating. He wanted to chalk it up as Stiles merely being pissed at him, and rightly so, but Scott could not get rid of the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him something wasn't right. He didn't know why he needed to see Stiles so badly, he knew he needed to see him; if for nothing else, than to tell him he was sorry, and try and put their friendship back together.

Scott took out his phone, and deciding to try one last time, pressed Stiles' number. Unlike previous attempts that resulted in being sent directly to voicemail, this time the phone finally began to ring, and Scott held his breath, hoping that Stiles would finally pick up.

Chapter Text

Stiles sat on the lawn chair beneath the large outdoor umbrella, drinking slowly from the teacup he held in his hands. Ms. Givens sat across from him, holding her own cup of tea as she read a book.

It was another beautiful day outside, the sun shining brightly through the trees and the birds singing in the branches. Ms. Givens had insisted that they not waste such a wonderful day, and so they made some tea and snacks and set them up under the outdoor patio set. Stiles wasn't sure how long they'd been here, only that whenever he ran out of tea Ms. Givens insisted he take more, which he did. He stared into the distance, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin and the gentle breeze through his hair. His eyes fell on a jeep – his jeep, he thought absently – which sat by the trees, silent and still. He vaguely remembered that the jeep had broken down, that it needed someone to come and fix it, but at the moment he just couldn't be bothered. He felt incredibly relaxed and calm, and he just didn't want to ruin that feeling. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

"Stiles?"

Stiles looked back at Ms. Givens, who was looking up at him above her sunglasses. "Would you go into the house and boil some more tea? The pot's nearly out."

Stiles nodded and rose to his feet, grabbing the empty kettle and walking into the house. He filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, turning on the heat. He tapped his fingers absently on the counter, waiting for the pot to boil. It was in the silence that he first heard it, the sound of something buzzing; he frowned, his eyes skimming across the room as he searched for the source of the noise. His eyes were drawn to a drawer beneath the counter a few feet away from him. His eyebrows furrowed together; unlike the rest of the cabinetry in the kitchen, which looked old but still in nice condition, this drawer looked weathered and beaten, the wood splintered and grey and smudged with dirt. Stiles stared at it, puzzled – he could have sworn he'd never seen it there before now. He walked over to the drawer, grasped its handle, and slowly pulled it out.

Inside lay a strew of papers and pencils, looking as old and frail as the drawer they were in. The buzzing came from beneath them, and Stiles brushed them aside to reveal….

A phone.

His phone, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

An image of a young man was displayed on the screen, a mop of brown hair laying haphazardly on his head, a smile that nearly closed his eyes stretched wide across his face. His name appeared beneath the photo, bright and clear: Scott.

Stiles stared at the image a moment longer, before swiping across the screen and bringing the phone to his ear.

"Stiles?"

Stiles frowned, trying to place the uncannily-familiar voice. He knew he should recognise it, that the voice should mean something to him, but it was as though a barrier stood in his mind, keeping recognition just out of reach.

"Stiles, are you there? It's Scott."

"Scott," Stiles repeated slowly. His head suddenly began to ache and something inside him screamed at him to put the phone down, to stop what he was doing, but Stiles found he couldn't move.

He heard a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. "Hey man, look – I was just heading over to your house to talk to you. Do you – can we talk? We need to talk, man."

"Scott," Stiles repeated. The name tasted familiar on his tongue, like warm honey on a cool day, but why couldn't he remember who it was?

"Look, I know you're pissed at me, and you have every right to be, but… you have to let me explain. What I said… I didn't mean it. At least, not really. Are you – are you at home? Is it all right if I come over?"

The ache in Stiles' head increased tenfold and he pressed the palm of his hand against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut he felt pressure build against his skull. Suddenly a memory trickled behind his eyes and his eyes snapped open. "Scott," Stiles said, his voice more certain than before. "You're… where are you?"

"I'm at home, but I thought about maybe heading over to your place to… to talk. You weren't answering your phone before but I thought I'd try one last time. Are you at your house?"

Water dripped in front of his eyes and Stiles realised belatedly that he was sweating. His hand held onto the phone tightly while his other hand gripped the sink painfully, his legs growing weak beneath him as he struggled to stay upright. "Scott. Scott McCall."

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Scott slowly spoke, "Yeah… yeah, it's me. Is something wrong? You don't sound so hot."

Memories came back to him, bit by bit, filling in blanks that he hadn't realised had been empty. "We go to Beacon Hills High School," Stiles said. "You and I. You're… you're my… my brother?" Stiles frowned, unsure if that was right; it felt right.

There was another pause on the other end and when Scott spoke his voice was quiet, but strong. "Yeah. Yeah man – we're brothers."

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though his heart was about to explode as it raced faster and faster in his chest.

"Dude, I hate to ask this, but… are you drunk?"

He had to get out of here.

That single thought screamed through his mind, pumping adrenaline through his body and he stumbled forward, pushing himself away from the sink and towards the front entrance. Without warning his legs fell out from beneath him and he crashed to the floor, his phone clattering across the wood and out of his reach. He could hear Scott's voice still coming through the speaker.

"Stiles? Stiles, are you there?"

A shiver wracked through Stiles' body and he stretched out his hand, reaching towards the phone as he pulled himself across the floor until his fingers were getting ever nearer, and –

A foot appeared in his line of vision and stepped on the phone, before calmly moving it to the side. A hand reached down and picked it up; Stiles followed the hand as it raised the phone to the person's ear. Stiles' heart froze in his chest.

Ms. Givens smiled at Stiles warmly before turning her attention to the phone.

"Scott?" Stiles' eyes widened and he stared at Givens in shock, for when she spoke, it wasn't her voice that came out of her mouth – it was his. "Yeah, no, everything's fine," Givens continued, then paused. When she spoke, she sounded angry and offended. "And so what if I've been drinking? You gotta problem with that?" Another moment, then, "Yeah, well screw you McCall! The last thing I want to do today is talk to your worthless ass. If you don't want me around anymore, I am more than willing to oblige!" With that, Givens ended the call, her eyes looking down and catching Stiles', a smile stretching across her lips. The phone in her hand suddenly caught fire, and Givens held it in her palm until all that was left was soot and ash. She tipped her hand and the dust pooled onto the floor near Stiles' head.

Stiles glared at her, struggling as he pushed himself back. "Get away from me."

"Oh, Stiles," Givens said, making clucking sounds with her tongue as she crouched down beside him. "Stiles, Stiles, Stiles…." She brushed his hair away from his face, her fingers caressing gently down his cheek. "You know, from all that I heard about you, I'm surprised this lasted as long as it did. Though I must say, you were far more difficult than previous men I've come across. I've been trying to get you here for weeks."

Stiles pushed himself further away as he struggled to get to his feet. He stared at Givens with wide eyes, as though seeing her for the first time. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice biting with anger. He had trusted her – he had trusted her, and she – she was –

Givens' smile never left her face. "I thought at first that I would kill you. Get rid of the threat, and all that." Her finger trailed down Stiles' neck and across the exposed part of his chest. Stiles made to move backwards, but the skin beneath her finger grew hot, and he suddenly found every muscle in his body had frozen and every joint had locked into place. She slowly began unbuttoning the top of his shirt. "But then I thought, why would I waste such potential? Why would I waste such power?" She finished unbuttoning his shirt and spread it open, exposing Stiles' bare chest. Her palm ran down his chest, before lifting to trace her finger over the muscles on his stomach. Light followed her finger, chasing after it and leaving behind a bright, yellow trail of circles and lines. Stiles watched it, his heart hammering in his chest, fear and adrenaline trying to spur muscles that refused to move.

"I searched and searched and searched for you; for years I've been searching. Ever since I heard what you would do, I knew that you had to be stopped. For a while I began to wonder if you even existed. But here you are – in the flesh. A bit younger than I thought, but that's what I get for starting early, I suppose."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stiles spat. The muscles in his stomach began to spasm painfully and he grimaced. "Listen lady, I don't know who the hell it is you're looking for, but there are many threats in Beacon Hills and I guarantee you that none of them are me."

Givens took her hand away, leaving a bright, intricate circle of designs on Stiles' stomach. She rose to her feet and walked towards one of the cupboards, leaving Stiles lying paralyzed behind on the floor. He watched as she opened the cupboard and reached in, taking out a variety of jars and boxes along with one large bowl. She opened the ingredients and began pouring them together, humming to herself as she worked. Stiles tried to see what she was putting in the bowl but his position on the floor obscured his vision. A few minutes passed and Stiles finally open his mouth. "What are you doing?" he asked. When Givens didn't answer, Stiles spoke again. "Who are you?" Again, Givens remained silent. Stiles grew angry. "Answer me!"

"You know, your teacher had a simply awful disposition; normally it's rather difficult to find someone as angry as herself in a place as small as Beacon Hills, but she was a rather pleasant thing to find. Or unpleasant, depending on how you look at it." She continued to whisk the bowl; a growing unease began to stir in Stiles' chest. "You see, anger and bitterness are great for spells and potions, and all sorts of magic, really. At least, the kind of magic that I enjoy." She took one of the jars beside her and turned her head, looking behind her at Stiles with a smile. She shook the jar in her hand and the ingredients shifted inside. Stiles recognised the jar as the one filled with pears that he had seen in the cupboard before; only now, there weren't pears bobbing around inside, but eyeballs. Stiles' eyes met Givens', dawning recognition quickly giving way to horror. His eyes narrowed in revulsion as a wave of fear and disgust burned through his body.

"You killed her," he said, nausea rising in his throat. "You killed her –."

Givens returned to whisking the bowl and began humming once more. Finally she began pouring the contents into a cup; Stiles caught a brief glimpse of a foul looking liquid, a thick mixture of grey and white, and filled with lumps. Givens took the cup and turned around, looking down at Stiles with a bright smile. She crouched next to him and lifted the cup to his face. "Come now, drink up!"

The drink was more revolting in smell than it had been in appearance, and Stiles fought the urge to gag. He stared at the drink, his brain unwillingly making out bits of hair, toenails, and pink skin, along with a number of other unidentifiable bits and pieces. Givens tipped the cup against his mouth and Stiles immediately clenched his jaw shut, pressing his lips together as hard as he could. Givens pressed the cup firmer against his lips, tilting it until the liquid splashed against Stiles' mouth. "Come now child, don't make me force you." Stiles continued refusing the drink and Givens finally rolled her eyes. "All right then, if I must." She spoke a few words of a foreign language Stiles didn't recognise, and the next thing he knew his mouth was springing open and the drink was being poured inside.

The drink was worse than anything Stiles had ever tasted in his life and he immediately began to gag, the liquid spurting back out of his mouth and down his chin. Givens clucked her tongue and her fingers pinched Stiles' throat, as though massaging it. "There, there," she said quietly. A few moments later the cup was empty and Givens rose to her feet, making her way to the sink.

Whatever had been holding Stiles paralyzed suddenly disappeared and he collapsed back against the floor. He coughed and spluttered, backing away from Givens as he struggled to sit up. "What the hell did you give me?!"

"Just something to make the next few days go by easier, that's all," she replied, placing the dishes in the sink. "Would you like to help me wash the dishes?" she asked, looking behind her with a smile. "No? You were so willing, before." Stiles glared at her, strength slowly returning to his legs as he finally managed to get to his feet.

"Is this some sort of ploy to get Scott? Because it won't work; we've dealt with and defeated so much shit, you don't even know –."

"I'm not after Scott, Stiles. I told you that. At least, not yet."

"Then what do you want?!"

Givens abruptly turned around and walked over to Stiles, the light in the room suddenly dimming. She stared into Stiles' eyes and Stiles tried to look away, but found that he couldn't. She lifted her hand and trailed her fingers down his chest; before Stiles could even wonder what she was doing, her nails suddenly dug into his stomach and he began gasping for breath that had suddenly disappeared. The circles and lines of light that she had traced before were now shining brightly and blinding the whole room. Pain erupted in the middle of Stiles' body and he opened to his mouth to scream, but a second later everything stopped, and Stiles was left panting against the wall, his legs barely holding underneath him.

"I think we've had enough questions for one evening," Givens said, taking Stiles by the arm and leading him out into the living room. Stiles tried to resist, but found he was barely able to keep himself upright, much less escape. She pulled him over to the staircase and dragged him up the stairs until they had reached the guestroom in the attic. The door swung open without a touch as they reached the top of the stairs and Givens shoved Stiles inside; he stumbled and landed painfully on the floor. He glared up at her, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm afraid you haven't been a very good boy today, Stiles," she said, her voice dripping with mock disappointment, "so you won't be getting any supper tonight. You can spend the rest of the evening thinking about what you've done." With that she gave Stiles a smile and closed the door, and a moment later the lock snicked into place.

Stiles surged to his feet, stumbling over to the door and twisting the knob, only to find it securely locked. He spun around, searching for another way out. His eyes landed on the window by the bed and he quickly ran over to it, grabbing its base and trying to pry it open, but it wouldn't budge. He hit his fist against the window pane, trying to break the window open piece by piece, but no matter how hard he tried it refused to move. Stiles gripped his hair for a moment, taking a deep breath, before turning back around and going back to the door. He shimmied the knob back and forth and began banging on the door, shouting for Givens to let him go, to tell him what the hell she wanted by all this, what the hell she was trying to do. He shouted and screamed and banged on the door for over fifteen minutes, until finally he collapsed and slid down the door to the floor. His eyes were wide and his breathing was heavy as he tried to gather his thoughts.

His memories from the past few days were cloudy and it was all he could do to try and remember what had happened. He recalled picking Givens up on the side of the road because her car had broken down, that at some point there had been a thunderstorm and he had driven Givens home, but after that everything grew foggy and Stiles didn't know what had happened. They obviously had arrived at her house and Stiles remembered sleeping in the room he was in now, but as to why he'd stayed the night here and not gone home, or called someone the next morning, he couldn't figure out in the slightest. Stiles gripped his head and curled in on himself, panic surging through his veins and beating against his chest, trying to rip open his heart, trying to choke him, trying to drown him.

He didn't know when he passed out; all he knew was that one moment he was focusing on trying to breathe and the next he was waking up on the floor. The room was dark, save for the beam of light coming from the moon that was shining through the window. Stiles slowly got to his feet and walked back to the window; he peered through the glass and into the front yard, where his jeep sat silently on the edge of the forest. Stiles frowned; his fingers rested gently against the window pane. His eyes searched the grass and the trees, but he couldn't find what he was looking for. Where was the road? They had driven on a dirt road, they had to have. There would have been no other way onto the property; there wasn't even a clearing in the woods or a well-worn track. But then how…?

Stiles swallowed, stepping away from the window until the back of his legs bumped against the bed and he sat down, the old springs creaking beneath him. He rested his elbows against his knees and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes until it was almost painful. After a minute he ran his hands through his hair and turned his attention to the door, his eyes narrowed in a glare.

His memory may be shit at the moment and he may not know what the hell was going on, but there was one thing he did know – that Alicia Givens was his enemy. She was obviously something supernatural – she had to be. Maybe she was a witch; she'd spoken about spells and potions and magic, and those were witchy-type things, right? Stiles had never met a witch before, he hadn't even known they existed. But like werewolves and kitsunes and Nemetons, there had to be a ton of things from the supernatural world that he didn't know about. But what she wanted with him and the pack, Stiles had no idea. He was obviously being used as bait, there was no question about that, but what her ultimate goal was, what she was hoping to gain from all this –

Stiles was suddenly brought out of his thoughts when the door handle began to turn. All of Stiles' muscles tensed and he prepared himself for what lay behind the door; a moment later the door opened and Ms. Givens stepped through, a smile plastered across her face. "Good evening, Stiles," she said, closing the door behind her. "How are we doing this evening? Have we calmed down a bit?"

Stiles glared at her, gripping the bedsheets beneath his fingers, his body wanting desperately to run but having nowhere to go. He said nothing as Givens flicked the switch and turned the light on. She stared at Stiles for a long moment as though contemplating something; Stiles stayed still, refusing to falter under her gaze. Givens' hand passed over the door and Stiles heard it locked.

Yes – she was definitely a witch.

Givens stepped across the room and looked out the window briefly, before her attention finally turned to Stiles. "You know, ever since I found you I've been reading up on as many spells as I could in order to learn how best to take you. Your kind is known for their… resilience, and the last thing I would need is for something to go wrong and end up dead or injured myself."

Of course, Stiles thought, she thought he was a werewolf. That's why she was doing this; she thought she could take the wolf from him. Before he could say anything, however, Givens sat down on the bed beside him. Stiles started to move away, but as he did he felt something snake around his ankle and he looked down to see a metal spring wrapping itself around his leg. He took in a sharp breath and began kicking his leg as he moved backwards, but instead of releasing him the spring only wrapped itself faster and squeezed his leg tight, the metal digging into his flesh. Another spring came through the bed to his right and began wrapping itself around his other leg. Out of instinct Stiles began kicking both legs, but to no avail. Springs popped out of the bed on all sides of him, taking hold of his arms and his torso, completely immobilising him. His head spun towards Givens.

"Let me go," he said, trying to keep the fear and panic out of his voice. He tugged on the springs with his arms, but they did not move.

Givens ran her fingers through Stiles' hair and Stiles shuddered, moving his head away as far as he could. Givens removed her hand with a sigh. "I'm sorry Stiles, but it's for your own good."

The edges of the springs curled and pushed into Stiles' skin, digging deeper and deeper without stop. Stiles cried out in pain, his body bulking as the metal springs dug through muscle and flesh, making him feel as though his body was on fire. Springs began pushing through his shirt into his back, until they too pierced his skin and began driving into the flesh beneath his shoulder-blades and along his spine.

Stiles screamed.

As the metal began to weave its way through his body, Stiles began to gag. White spots danced in his front of his eyes and his vision began to dim. A loud ringing echoed in his ears, drowning out all other noise. After what seemed like an age, they finally came to a stop.

Stiles' chest was heaving up and down, and sweat ran down his face and chest. He tried to pull himself together, but the pain scrambled his thoughts and made it impossible for him to think. As his vision came back into focus, he became aware of fingers once more sifting through his hair. "There, there," Givens' voice said gently, before he felt her body rise from the bed.

Stiles shook his head back and forth laxly, sucking in as much breath as he could to speak. "I'm not… I'm not a… a werewolf… I'm not… a werewolf…." The springs tightened minutely, sending shockwaves of pain through Stiles' body and he grimaced, forcing down the cry that was trying to rip itself through his throat.

What Givens said shocked him. "I know you're not." She stared at Stiles curiously, as though trying to solve a puzzle. She leaned over him, resting her hands on either side of his body. She leaned down until their noses were nearly touching, staring intensely into Stiles' eyes. He wanted to move, but the metal rods in his body stopped him from doing so.

Givens frowned for a long moment, before she broke into a bemused smile, slowly speaking as she did. "You don't know who you are, do you?" Stiles glared at her, blinking away the sweat that was running into his eyes. Givens suddenly laughed, leaning back. "No matter. All that you are will soon belong to me, anyways." She raked her fingernails over Stiles' chest, digging them into his skin until they drew blood. He groaned, biting his lip to keep himself from crying out.

Givens reached behind her and brought out a knife, laying the edge underneath Stiles' left pectoral muscle; she pushed on it and a drop of blood welled up before running to the side. Stiles' heart hammered in his chest; he wasn't sure he'd ever been as terrified in his life as he was right now. "What do you want from me?" he finally whispered.

"Don't worry Stiles," Givens said, glancing up at him briefly before turning her attention back to his chest. "I'm not going to kill you, remember? As for what I want from you… just know that all you have to do is lay here, and I assure you that I will get what I'm looking for."

Chapter Text

Dawn had barely broken above the horizon when Stiles woke, slowly expelling the darkness within the small attic room. Stiles lay motionless on the bed, staring into nothing as his mind struggled to form coherent thoughts. Givens – the witch – had left hours ago, after having sliced Stiles' chest and abdomen with her knife and fingernails, leaving a countless number of mismatched lines in disarray across his skin. His torso was nothing but one large stain of blood, looking as though someone had emptied a ketchup bottle and proceeded to spread it all over him until you could see no skin underneath.

At the time Stiles had felt lightheaded at the loss of blood, but now, with most of the cuts having stopped bleeding save one or two and the blood now having mostly dried, Stiles could only feel a sense of utter despondency. Exhaustion had forced him to sleep shortly after Givens had left, but the sleep had been fleeting and as a result, Stiles had woken up more tired than he had felt before. The metal springs had retracted from his body during the night, waking him up screaming in pain and leaning over to puke. He hadn't leaned far enough, however, and now the sick sat in a semi-dried stench on the side of the bed and across his mouth and pillow.

He wanted to get out of here; he needed to get out of here. He knew that fact with every part of his being. He still didn't know why she was doing this, why Givens was torturing him even though she claimed to know that he wasn't a werewolf, but at the moment Stiles didn't care. All he wanted was to get out of here; but it seemed that no other reality was as far from possible as that one.

The light outside grew brighter and Stiles found his thoughts becoming clearer as the minutes – hours? – went by. He honestly didn't know how long it had been since this whole thing had started; he didn't even know what day it was. Time had become lost to him, but he found that he didn't care – he just wanted for all of this to stop. He wished he had his phone with him so that he could call his dad or Scott. He knew Scott didn't want him around anymore, but he would take time out of his day to rescue him from this hell-hole, surely?

Stiles took a deep breath and slowly tried moving his arms. Pain coursed through his body from where the springs had entered his body and Stiles quickly stopped. He gathered his strength for a moment before trying again; he made it halfway to sitting up when his arms gave out and he collapsed back onto the bed. He was just about to try a third time when the door suddenly opened, and Ms. Givens walked inside.

Stiles watched warily as Givens walked over to the dresser and vanity, whistling a happy tune as she opened the drawers and began pulling out clothes. Stiles licked his lips and swallowed. "How long do you plan on keeping me here?" he asked. "If you're going to kill me, just do it; I'd rather die than stay here with you."

"Because no one will miss you?" Givens asked, folding a pair of pants and laying it on the vanity. She took out a shirt, appraising it before humming her consent and placing it on top of the pants. "But we won't think about that right now. Right now you need to start getting ready for school." She took the clothes and set them on the end of the bed. Stiles stared at her in disbelief.

"What?" he said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You think I'm gonna go to school?! After what you did to me?!"

"It's Monday, Stiles – where else would a teenaged boy be?" She leaned over him and placed a motherly kiss on his forehead. Stiles jerked back, scrubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. Givens ignored the gesture. "Now get up and get dressed, then come down for breakfast. We'll drive to school together – won't that be fun?"

"I can barely move, and you expect me to get up and go to school? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh Stiles, you worry too much. Now up!"

Stiles shot her a venomous glare, not moving a muscle. "No."

Givens clucked her tongue and shook her head, then raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

Against his will, Stiles' legs began moving out beneath him until he suddenly found himself out of bed and standing up. He cried out in pain as the sudden movement jarred his wounds, but his legs held firm and he didn't collapse. Without warning his feet took a few steps forward and his arms began taking off his shirt and blood-stained pants. Soon all he was left in was his underwear; he looked up, expecting to see Givens watching him, reveling in his humiliation, but was surprised to find the space she once occupied now empty. His arms began putting on the shirt and pants Givens had left for him, and soon he was fully dressed in dry, iron-pressed clothes. His legs began moving towards the door and Stiles gritted his teeth, fighting against whatever force was causing him to move. Memories of the Nogitsune flashed in his mind but Stiles quickly forced them back, refusing to think of the haunting similarities to the situation he was now in.

Stiles' legs walked down the stairs and led him into the kitchen, where Givens was setting two plates of toast, hash-browns, and eggs on the table. She smiled warmly as Stiles sat down and joined him at the table. "Eat," she said briskly, never looking up from her food. Stiles' hand immediately reached for his toast and brought it to his mouth, where he promptly began to eat it. He barely had time to swallow before his fingers were shoving in more food, continuing to stuff his face without Stiles' consent. Within minutes all of the food on his plate was gone and Stiles was left drawing his breath in great gulps as his body settled. "All right," Givens said, standing to her feet. "Let's get into the car – we don't want to be late for school." Stiles rose and followed Givens out of the house and towards her car, which sat parked just outside the house and –

Wait. Her car?

Stiles frowned, forgotten memories slowly resurfacing. Her car had broken down. That's why he'd driven her here in the first place, because she'd broken down in the rain and needed a ride home. But then how….?

Stiles bit his tongue to stop himself from talking; it seemed that his tongue was the only thing that he could control at the moment. Weeks under the control of the Nogitsune taught him that there was no use in trying to re-gain control that was already lost; it would only wear him out. He turned his focus instead onto the situation that he now found himself in and what, if anything, he knew about what was going on.

He'd told her he wasn't a werewolf, that he wasn't part of Scott's Pack, but she hadn't listened to him. Either she thought he was lying, or….

Or what?

If there was one thing Stiles had learned over the last three years of being in the middle of nearly every supernatural attack on Beacon Hills, surrounded by werewolves and banshees and kitsunes, it was that he was absolutely, 100%, completely human. So whatever it was that Givens – the witch – was looking for, it wasn't there. Which meant that, unless Stiles found Scott and told him what was happening, he could probably expect another night like the one before in the near future. So he would have to find Scott, Lydia, or any of the pack and get their help in breaking whatever hold Givens had over him. Because, to be quite frank, he'd had his fill of witches and spells for one weekend, thank you very much.

Givens drove into the staff parking-lot and parked her car in one of the stalls. The moment the engine turned off Stiles felt the bonds of the spell break, and suddenly all his movements were his own once more. He immediately grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, and scrambled out onto the pavement. He spun around, expecting Givens to snap her fingers or wave her arms or whatever it was she did and take back control of his body, but he only met her smiling face.

"Have a good day at school, Stiles," Givens said. She stepped out of the car and began walking towards the school, the car lights flashing as she locked the doors behind her.

Stiles stared after her, bewildered. Why was she letting him go? Perhaps… perhaps she had realised that he'd been telling the truth, that he wasn't a wolf and didn't have anything for her to take; but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth – whatever the hell that meant. Stiles shut the car door and started running towards the school.

As soon as he entered the building, Stiles began searching for Scott. His eyes roamed over the mass of students laughing and talking in the hallway, catching each other up on all that had happened over the weekend and bemoaning the fact that another week of school had begun. Stiles all but ran over to his locker, hoping that Scott would be there, but the space was empty. He spun around, the drive of urgency beating louder and louder in his chest with every passing second. He'd gotten away from Givens, thank God, but she was still here and Scott needed to know of the threat that was facing him. Stiles hadn't forgotten what Givens had said about going after Scott after she was through with him.

Stiles spotted one of his classmates and asked him if he had seen Scott. The boy said no, and Stiles proceeded to ask everyone he knew in the vicinity if they'd seen his friend. After a multitude of shaking heads and negative responses, Stiles suddenly spied Lydia walking past him down the hall. He immediately went after her.

"Lydia," he said, coming up beside her. "Lydia, I –."

"You're in big trouble, you know," Lydia replied, her long strides never ceasing.

Stiles frowned. Did she – did she already know? But how?

"What are you talking about?"

"Scott didn't go into detail, but I know he's upset over your guys' fight. He's been moping about it all weekend. I finally told him to call you so you both can kiss and make up, but he only became more mopey and angry. Whatever you said to him, you'd do well to think about apologising. Because let me tell you – I am having a party this weekend and if you don't fix whatever problem it is you have with Scott, you are so not invited."

Stiles looked at her, confused, not understanding at all what she was talking about. What fight had he had with Sco –

Oh.

That fight.

Stiles shook his head. At the moment, that fight was the farthest thing from his mind and by far the least of his concerns. "Lydia," he said, "look – you have to tell me where Scott is. There's a teacher here, and she –." Stiles' words caught in his throat, as though someone had taken their hand and begun squeezing his throat. He coughed and tried again. "Our teacher, she –." Again, the words refused to leave Stiles' mouth. Panic started to grow in his chest and suddenly Stiles was finding it hard to breathe.

"Stiles, I don't care about your teacher," Lydia replied, coming to a halt in front of her locker and opening the door. She grabbed her books and closed the door with a bang. She turned around, finally looking Stiles in the eye for the first time that morning. "Look. I know you don't want to hear it and you clearly have a hard time accepting it, but what Scott said is true. It's not that we don't want you around, because we do, but with all of the…" her voice lowered to a whisper, "supernatural things that have been going on, it's just not safe for you to be with us all of the time. And training has been getting intense lately, and honestly Stiles, we just don't want you to get hurt."

Stiles' pulse quickened and he struggled to take in a deep breath. He opened his mouth, trying to say the words that were hanging off the tip of his tongue, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't say them. Lydia sighed.

"We'll all do something together soon," she said, squeezing Stiles' arm reassuringly. Her hand lay over the holes that the metal springs had left from the night before, and a hot pain seared through Stiles' arm, stealing his breath away. Lydia had already begun moving past him and didn't see the grimace of pain that crossed Stiles' face. "Like I said," she continued, "if you go say you're sorry to Scott and make up with him, I'll let you come to my party this weekend. Okay?"

Scott. Scott, he had to find Scott. He had to tell him what was happening, he had to warn him – whatever plan Givens had, she clearly was not finished with it yet. He belatedly realised that's why Givens had let him go so easily; because he had never really gone.

He turned around to face Lydia, his tongue sticking in his mouth as he spoke. "I, I need to find – to find Scott. Do you know where he is?"

Lydia sighed. "Scott's probably in his homeroom. Don't you two share the same one?"

Homeroom – that's right, that's where Scott would be.

Without a second glance Stiles began running down the hallway, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he turned the corners until he finally arrived at the open door of his first-period class. He rushed inside, eyes scanning the room until –

Scott.

Scott was sitting at his desk, talking to one of their classmates in front of him. Stiles ran over to the empty seat beside him and sat down, grabbing Scott's arm. Scott immediately turned to him, a look of surprise on his face, before it was quickly replaced with a look of guarded annoyance. "What do you want, Stiles?"

Stiles was stunned for a moment at the sharp bite of Scott's tone; Scott never spoke to him like that. Scott pulled his arm from Stiles' grasp and started to turn back around, but Stiles stopped him, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "Scott, look, I have to tell you something – Ms. Givens, she –."

The bell rang, cutting Stiles off. A second later the door shut, and a woman's voice spoke loud and clear: "All right class, settle down. Everyone take your seats."

Stiles' eyes landed on the teacher and his heart skipped a beat, for rather than their regular home-room teacher, Mr. Jacobs, the person walking to the front of the classroom was –

Givens.

"Good morning everyone, my name is Alicia Givens. Mr. Jacobs called in sick today, so I'll be covering his home-room class. I understand you all have assignments you can be working on?" A few people muttered 'yes' and everyone began taking out their books and papers. Stiles stared at Givens, unable to tear his eyes away from her. What on earth was she doing here? He thought –

Givens sat behind the desk and took out a book, never once looking up. The class fell into silence, the only sound coming from the shuffling of papers and scratching of pencils. Stiles stared at Givens a moment longer before turning back to Scott. Scott was leaning over a bunch of papers on his desk with his pencil in hand, a small frown on his face. Stiles knew he was angry, for what he didn't know, but Scott's anger at the moment was the least of his problems.

"Scott," Stiles hissed, kicking Scott's leg with his shoe. Scott looked up and shot him a glare.

"What?" he hissed back.

"Givens, she –."

"Mr. Stilinski, is there a problem?"

Scott and Stiles both looked up to see Givens looking at them above her book, her eyebrow raised questioningly. Her eyes lingered on Stiles, a silent warning of reproach; Stiles swallowed. After a minute Givens broke their gaze and went back to her book. Stiles stared at her a moment longer before looking away; his eyes caught Scott's, who was giving him an odd look. Stiles tapped his fingers on the desk, trying to figure out how to tell Scott that Givens was a psycho witch who had her sights set on him, just as soon as she was finished with Stiles. Stiles hadn't seen his backpack with his papers and pencils since he'd taken Givens home, so he didn't have anything to write on; he had no way, short of yelling it in front of the class, to tell Scott what was happening.

He sat silently for a few minutes, glancing every few seconds at Scott, hoping to catch his eye, while at the same time avoiding Givens' suspicion. After a few minutes Scott finally looked up, frowning when he saw the look that Stiles was giving him. He mouthed a silent, 'what?'. Stiles nodded towards Givens and mouthed 'witch, she's a witch', over and over again. Rather than understanding what he was trying to say, Scott's frown only deepened in confusion. He looked briefly towards Givens, then back at Stiles, shaking his head. He silently asked 'what' again and Stiles growled in frustration, motioning for Scott to hand him his pen and paper. Scott had just started to pass them to him when Givens' voice spoke, cutting through the air like a knife.

"Mr. Stilinski! Come to the front of the class."

Stiles glared at her, heat rising in the back of his neck as anger coursed through his body. After a moment's silence, he said, "No."

A heavy weight settled over the classroom and students shot each other wide-eyed glances, some fighting back awed smiles at the unexpected drama they were witnessing so early in the day; Stiles was known for getting into trouble with teachers, but that usually came from pranks and an inability to pay attention. He wasn't known for angry, disrespectful defiance. Everyone sat with baited breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Givens' frown deepened into a glare and she set her book down on the desk, her voice low and firm. "Mr. Stilinski, I asked you to come to the front of the class. If you don't want a suspension, I'd suggest you do as you're asked." Stiles didn't move an inch, his eyes never leaving Givens. Givens' eyes were as cold as ice and Stiles could see the storm brewing behind them as he continued to defy her commands. Givens snapped her fingers and said loudly, "Now!"

Stiles could feel something tugging on his legs, trying to make him stand, but he pushed back, refusing to move. A weight began pushing against his back, like a strong wind trying to push him over, but Stiles resisted. His foot slipped and screeched against the floor; he gripped the sides of the desk, doing all he could to fight against the spell that was trying to take control of his body.

Sorry, Stiles thought silently, his knuckles turning white against the aluminum sides of the desk. But I've been possessed enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.

The anger in Givens' eyes gave way to disbelief, before turning into what Stiles could only describe as fury. She snapped her fingers again, but again, nothing happened. The tension in the room was taught enough to be cut with a knife, not a single student even daring to breathe. After a moment Stiles heard Scott's voice whisper quietly beside him: "Stiles, what are you doing? Just go to the front!"

Stiles watched as Givens' eyes turned to Scott, before coming back to rest on him. She glanced between them again, before her eyes suddenly widened and her back straightened in her seat. She continued to look back and forth between them until Stiles was sure she had lost it; she suddenly leaned back in her chair and spoke: "Everyone, you may leave. Mr. Stilinski and I need to speak alone." No one moved. Givens turned her glare on the rest of the class. "Now!"

Everyone snapped into action and chairs started screeching against the floor as papers were quickly gathered and shoved into bags. They shot Stiles looks of shock and concern as they made their way out of the room and into the hallway.

"Dude, what the heck are you doing?" Scott whispered as he shoved his papers and pencils into his bag, looking at Stiles as though he'd grown a second head.

Stiles whipped his head towards him, speaking as fast as he could. "Scott, Scott you have to listen to me – Givens, she's not a teacher, she's a –."

"Mr. McCall, I'm afraid you'll have to leave," Givens said, appearing in the aisle between them. She laid a hand on Stiles' shoulder and Stiles' jaw immediately snapped shut, locking into place. He tried to move, to kick or hit Givens, to show Scott that she was an enemy, but as Givens squeezed his shoulder beneath her hand, the rest of his muscles and joints locked painfully into place, refusing to budge. Scott looked between them, trying to figure out what was going on. He gave Stiles a wary look of concern, before standing to his feet. Givens left her post beside Stiles and walked Scott over to the door.

"Is there – is there anything I can do?" Scott asked, looking over Givens' shoulder at Stiles, who remained in his desk, unmoved.

"I'm sorry to pry," Givens said, her voice quiet and soft. "But have you two had any… arguments, lately? Any fights?"

Guilt crossed Scott's features and he hunched over slightly, drawing in on himself. "Um, well… yeah, actually. We had an argument on Friday and didn't talk all weekend until Sunday. When we did, he, uh… he just got really mad and hung up on me. I was going to talk to him today, but…."

"Do you two have arguments often?"

"Not like this. Never like this."

"Well, that explains it, then."

Scott frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Explains what?"

Givens sighed. "I found Mr. Stilinski passed out on a dirt road out past the east-end of town on Sunday. He was very drunk and was quite angry when he woke. You don't happen to know what he might have been doing there, do you?"

Scott thought for a moment, then closed his eyes with a sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, uh… there's a place out there that he likes to go to whenever he wants to think, or… or when he's upset." Scott looked through the door window at Stiles, guilt eating away inside his chest. He should have gone looking for Stiles the moment they'd finished with the creature on Friday; he should have grabbed him and apologised to him, should have fixed things between them as soon as he'd broken them. Stiles rarely got drunk and when he did, it was always out of celebration. He'd never before gotten drunk out of anger. From what he'd experienced with his father after his mom had died, he would have never….

Givens' voice brought Scott out of his thoughts. "Well it was raining when I found him and he was too out of it to tell me where he lived, so I took him to my place and warmed him up and gave him some food. He was still quite angry when he came to, and I'm afraid he took it out on some of my dishes and glass cups."

Scott frowned, staring at the back of Stiles' head in confusion. "That doesn't sound like Stiles…."

"Everyone is different when they're drunk, I'm afraid."

Scott stared at Stiles a moment longer, before turning back to Givens. "I'll talk to him. After school I'll talk to him, and… and we'll get things figured out. I said some things to him that I shouldn't have, and I need to apologise. That's probably why he's so upset. He doesn't normally talk back to teachers, at least not like this."

Givens smiled warmly. "Well he and I will have a chat and hopefully after that he'll calm down."

Scott nodded. "Okay."

"Have a good day, Mr. McCall."

Stiles heard Givens walk back into the classroom and shut the door, listening to her footsteps as she walked up the aisle behind him. There was a pause and Stiles tried to move, but the spell kept him firmly in place. Suddenly Givens' hand was on the back of his head and his forehead was smashed onto the top of the desk.

"You little piece of shit," Givens growled. Stiles barely heard her, his head throbbing in pain as his ears rang loudly. He looked up to see Givens standing near the front of the classroom, fury etched across her face. "I should have known. I should have known that him being near you would negate the effects of the spell. That little bitch. Well I know better now, don't I?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stiles spat.

Givens continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I was a fool to let you out so early. If it wasn't for the suspicion it would raise, I would keep you locked in that attic room for the rest of your life! But no matter." In two quick strides she was in front of Stiles and grabbed the back of his neck. Fear surged through Stiles' body and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped. He blinked, his heart hammering in his chest.

For the briefest moment, he could have sworn his leg had moved.

Givens gripped Stiles' cheeks between her fingers painfully, before sliding her hand along the side of his face. "Shush shush," she said, her voice dripping with fake reassurance, her eyes and smile as wide as a mad woman's. "Everything will be okay, you needn't worry. Our plans can still come to pass. We will simply have to limit the interaction you have with your friends, that is all." She pressed the palm of her hand against Stiles' forehead, her fingernails digging into his scalp. Before Stiles could say a word she began to speak. It was the same, unfamiliar language that Stiles had heard her speak before.

The words fell over him like a bucket of cold water and he immediately felt sick to his stomach. A familiar pressure began to build beneath his skull and just as he began to cry out, Givens let go. The pain abruptly disappeared, leaving Stiles gasping for breath. The invisible restraints that had kept him frozen vanished and Stiles almost fell out of his desk. He coughed, struggling to get to his feet.

"What did you do?" he demanded, stepping away from Givens.

Givens was already back at her desk, gathering her things together as though the past fifteen minutes had never happened. "Don't worry Stiles," she said as she placed her book in her purse. "By the end of this week I'll have gotten what I wanted, and if you behave, I may even let you live." She walked over to the door and opened it, exiting the room with a wave of her hand.

Stiles stumbled out of the room, his legs feeling like jelly beneath him. A few students gave him odd looks, but Stiles ignored them, looking only for one thing. His eyes landed on Scott, who was standing at the corner of the hallway. When he saw Stiles he quickly began walking towards him. "Stiles – what was that all about?"

Stiles began walking towards him in return, but as they drew near each other a wave of nausea suddenly rolled in Stiles' throat. He halted, covering his mouth and grabbing the wall for support. Scott stopped in front of him, a look of concern crossing his face. "Dude, are you feeling okay? You're… you're really pale."

The nausea intensified and Stiles backed away, looking for the nearest bathroom. Scott seemed to know exactly what he was looking for and grabbed his arm, beginning to lead him down the hall and towards the bathroom.

The moment Scott's fingers wrapped around Stiles' forearm, Stiles' skin began grow hot, until it felt as though it were burning. Stiles ripped his arm from Scott's grasp, gasping in pain. He looked at his arm, expecting to see burned flesh, but was only met with clear, unharmed skin. He stared at it incredulously, before realising that Scott was still talking to him.

"Dude, look – I know you're still angry at me. I don't know how many times I have to apologise for what I said before you'll let it go, but… but seriously, man – you can't come to school drunk."

Stiles opened his mouth, trying to speak, trying to tell Scott that none of what he had said mattered right now, that right now there was a witch pretending to be a teacher who was trying to steal something he didn't have, and once she was done with him she'd go after Scott and the rest of the Pack and they needed to do something now, but between his vocal cords refusing to work and the nausea rising in his throat, he couldn't say a damn thing.

"Stiles, look – let me take you home, all right? Where are your keys? I'll drive the jeep." Scott reached out to Stiles and grabbed his wrist; it burned just as before, feeling as though someone had taken a hot iron and pressed it against his skin. Stiles reflexively wrenched his hand away and backed up, not wanting Scott to touch him again. He felt as though he were going to puke at any moment, and above all, he simply had the overwhelming desire to just get away, get away, get away.

So Stiles ran.

He turned around and ran down the hallway until he reached the front entrance. He pushed the doors open and stumbled out into the daylight, nearly falling down the stairs until he'd reached the bottom. He took a deep breath, savouring the fresh air as it entered his lungs; the moment he'd started running the nausea had all but disappeared and the searing pain on his arm and wrist were now gone. Everything had gone back to nor –

Stiles' stomach suddenly churned, and he began to gag as the nausea returned with a vengeance.

"Stiles! Stiles, wait!"

Stiles turned to see Scott running down the school steps towards him. Stiles instinctively stepped back. "Stay away, Scott!" he shouted. Every step Scott took nearer towards him, the more sick Stiles began to feel.

Scott slowed to a halt. He stared at Stiles, eyebrows knitted together in the trademark hurt puppy-McCall look. Stiles felt a stab of guilt, but at the moment his head was throbbing and his stomach was trying to jump out of his mouth and he just needed to get away so he could think.

"Stiles," Scott said quietly. "I –."

"Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall?"

Stiles looked past Scott to see Givens walking down steps. He inwardly growled; would he never get a break from this woman?

"We were just talking," Scott said quickly. "Stiles isn't feeling well so I'm going to take him home."

Givens eyed Scott before looking over at Stiles, then said, "That won't be necessary Mr. McCall; I'll take Mr. Stilinski home. You head back inside, all right?"

"But I –."

"Honestly, Mr. McCall – I've been with Stiles for most of the weekend. I can take care of him. You go get ready for your next class; you don't want to be late."

Scott stared at Givens unsurely, glancing back at Stiles before finally nodding his head. "All right. I'll see you later, Stiles."

"Yeah," Stiles said, finally finding his voice. "See you later."

They watched as Scott walked back into the school; when the door had closed behind, Givens sighed. "This was my fault, really. I thought I had prepared enough for you to come to school without there being any incidents. I guess I was wrong. It's a shame, really – you didn't even make it an hour into the school day. Your friend made sure of that."

Stiles glared at her. "Why did you even bring me in the first place? You can't be that stupid as to think I wouldn't try and tell someone."

"Of course I knew you would tell someone. That's why I made sure to have the right spells in place to ensure you wouldn't go 'spilling the beans', so to speak. But there were circumstances that I did not take into account, and I can only blame myself." She snapped her fingers and the familiar invisible-binds took hold, and Stiles began walking behind her towards the parking lot. They got into the vehicle and Givens started the car. "I'm sorry Stiles," she said. "I didn't mean for you to go through all this stress. Tomorrow will be a better day, I promise."

"Tomorrow? You're going to let me go to school again? I'm not going to stop, you know. I'll find someone and I'll –."

Givens reached over and cupped Stiles' jaw with her hand, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. Stiles shuddered, but couldn't pull away. "I know you won't, my dear," she said. "But I assure you, I am more powerful than you think I am. Tomorrow I'll make sure you know all of the rules that are in place before we go to school; then maybe you'll be able to make it through the day." She turned her attention back to the road. "It would be easier to just keep you in the attic for the rest of our time together, but like I said before, I can't have your absence raising suspicion. Not only are you the son of a Sheriff, but you're also friends with a pack of wolves, banshees, and kitsunes, and those creatures are annoyingly loyal to those whom they consider family." She stopped speaking for a moment, then looked at Stiles with a wry smile. "But maybe we don't have to worry about that anymore, where you're concerned."

Stiles glared at her; it seemed to be the only thing he could do, lately.

They arrived at her house shortly, driving on the same dirt road and entrance that Stiles remembered driving on before. He turned around as Givens parked the car and turned it off, hoping to see the road and remember where it was, but the road had already disappeared and they were surrounded by grass and trees once more. They might as well be in the middle of nowhere.

"All right," said Givens, "let's go inside."

Stiles' legs took him out of the car and followed Givens into the house. They made a direct path towards the stairs and up to the attic, where Stiles automatically walked inside. His eyes fell on the bed and his heart began to beat a bit faster, memories of the night before flashing through his mind.

"You'll stay in here the rest of the day," Givens said, her voice light, as though Stiles had been a naughty boy and was now receiving his standard punishment. She turned and began to leave.

"What if I need to go to the bathroom?" Stiles asked, raising his arms angrily.

"Just knock on the door three times," Givens replied. With that, she shut the door, and a second later he heard the familiar sound the lock as it snicked into place.

Stiles stared at the door in disbelief. He couldn't believe it; he'd been surrounded by hundreds of students, he'd been surrounded by his friends, Givens hadn't been anywhere near him and he still wasn't able to tell a single person what was going on. Stiles swallowed, his anger slowly abating, only to be replaced with a growing fear. If he couldn't tell someone he was in trouble when they were standing right in front of him, then how –

Stiles dug his fingers through his hair and gripped his scalp, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stave off the rising panic that was growing in his chest. He was a prisoner; he was a prisoner, and at the moment he could see no way of escape.

A scream of anger tore its way through Stiles' lips and he kicked the door repeatedly with his foot before turning and grabbing the bedside lamp, throwing it across the room where it crashed against the wall. He blinked and the lamp disappeared, reappearing on the bedside table, perfectly intact as though nothing had happened. Stiles growled in frustration.

Friggin' witches. 

Chapter Text

It was Wednesday afternoon, the sun shining brightly in a sky covered with white, fluffy clouds, the heat outside hot and the humidity high. Stiles sat at the back of the classroom, his jacket tight around his body, the hood pulled firmly over his head. He was doing everything he could to appear as though he were paying attention, while at the same time trying not to move a single muscle in his body. The wounds and injuries he'd received from the night before were still fresh and painful, and if it wasn't for Givens' – the witch's – spells, he'd be bleeding through his clothes or already passed out by now.

After he'd been taken home on Monday he'd sat in the corner of the attic bedroom for the rest of the day, rarely moving from his spot on the floor. He'd refused to sit on the bed or even go near it, the memories of it coming to life and stabbing him in a thousand different places while holding him down were far too vivid for him to go back to it. He'd tried opening the door again along with the window, but after an hour of futility he'd grown weary, and defeated he'd gone and sat back in the corner.

He'd used the washroom once, knocking on the bedroom door three times, at which point it opened and revealed a modest looking toilet and sink, all which seemed to be in working order – thank God.

He'd spent the rest of the day bored, hurting, and frustrated, for if there was one thing he hated in life, it was not knowing what was going to happen. That was why – among other reasons – he'd always been the one who came up with the plans whenever he and Scott had decided to do something; because if there was one thing Stiles Stilinski liked to have, it was situational control. And when he didn't have that, well – he could sometimes become a bit of a mess. A nervous, angry, off-the-wall mess. So he'd stayed in his corner, waiting for Givens to return, because he knew she eventually would.

And she eventually did.

He'd fallen asleep at some point in the late afternoon and woken up to darkness, night clearly having fallen hours ago. He'd looked up to see Givens standing in the room by the bed, smiling down at him with a slight, crooked turn of her lips, her head tilted back in an off-hand manner, as though she knew something that he didn't. Stiles supposed that, in the end, she did.

The rest of the night had been one long, painful test of endurance that Stiles knew he had failed. She had forcefully dragged him onto the bed and the springs had once more ripped through the mattress; but unlike before, the springs proved only to wrap around his arms, legs, and torso, constricting him like a snake and squeezing until he swore his bones were going to break. They didn't, for as it turned out, Givens wanted to do that herself.

Rather than use a knife, Givens chose instead to use her fists and her nails, punching and slapping Stiles in the face and chest until his ears rang and his head throbbed. He had refused to react at the start, forcefully biting back shouts and groans of pain behind his teeth; but then she'd raised her hand, a yellow light surrounding it, and proceeded to slam it into his side. Stiles had heard something snap and the scream had torn its way out of his mouth; the light had wrapped itself around his chest and began to burn him, stealing the breath from his lungs. He remembered little after that.

He'd woken next to Givens standing over him, daylight shining in the room, snapping her fingers and forcing him to walk. If it hadn't been for her magic, his legs would have collapsed long ago. She explained to him the "rules", that he would not be able to speak a word about her or his situation to anyone, or communicate it to them in any way whatsoever. Scott, for whatever reason, got special attention, and Givens suggested that if Stiles didn't want to feel as though his insides were trying to escape through his mouth and his head was trying to explode, he'd keep a good distance away from the werewolf.

When they'd arrived at school, Stiles had ignored her rules and tried numerous times to tell one of the pack what was going on, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the next person he spoke to would understand what was going on.

But they never did.

The moment Stiles had seen Scott in front of their lockers his breath had caught in his throat and nausea began to stir in his stomach. Scott had looked up and tried to walk over to him, but the closer he got the more sick Stiles began to feel, and soon all he could think about was the headache beating against his skull and the puke trying to upchuck from his body. He'd stayed as long as he could, fighting against the spell, but the witch's magic soon won out and he'd ended up stumbling into the nearest bathroom, where the nausea had promptly died down and disappeared.

He'd avoided everyone for the rest of the day, and Tuesday ultimately passed without further incident. He'd gone back to Givens' house exhausted, in pain, and despondent; he'd curled up in the corner of the room and was asleep minutes later. He'd woken up when supper had appeared on the floor in front of the door, and though he wanted nothing more than to throw the food against the wall and tell Givens to go to hell, his stomach insisted he do otherwise, and so reluctantly he dragged himself over to the plate and cleared it within minutes.

He'd sat in the corner for the rest of the night, his arm tucked protectively around his broken rib, waiting for the door to open or for Givens to materialise in front of him, ready for another night of – quite literal – torture.

But she never came.

He'd forced himself to stay up through the night for as long as he could, watching and waiting, until his body eventually shut down against his will, and the next thing he knew it was morning and Givens was waiting to take him to another day of school. He didn't know why she had given him a night of reprieve, but for whatever reason it was, he wasn't going to complain.

But he wasn't an idiot. He knew that the reprieve wouldn't last; whatever it was that she was looking for, she hadn't gotten it yet. Considering there wasn't anything for her to get, he was fairly certain that he would be dead or tortured within an inch of his life before she figured it out he was a useless cause. Which meant that, as long as he was alive, he was her prisoner. He was going to die over a crazy, obsessed, psycho-witch who couldn't tell the difference between a magical, supernatural creature and a normal, very-human human.

Because that's what he was. Human. He was human.

He was human.

After she'd forced him to eat breakfast Givens had driven him to school, which brought him to where he was now – sitting at the back of his last class before lunch, trying to act invisible, wishing everyone would stop shooting him weird looks or concerned glances, because even if they did ask what was wrong it wasn't like he could actually tell them, so they might as well just let him suffer in peace, thank-you very much.

The bell finally rang and Stiles began gathering his books – Givens had finally returned his backpack, from who-knew-where she'd been keeping it – and slowly rose from his desk, wincing as the movement jarred his bruised chest and abdomen from the beating two nights before. He made his way out of the classroom and towards the cafeteria; he wished he had money to buy something, but along with the keys to his jeep, Givens had taken his wallet as well; apparently she thought he was a "flight risk" or something. Stiles couldn't begrudge her that fact; if she hadn't spelled him and continued to watch his every move, he'd have been out of here faster than you could say 'go'.

Stiles had just about made it to the cafeteria doors when he heard a voice calling from behind him, their footsteps quickly drawing close towards him. Stiles turned to see Malia walking up to him. "Stiles!" she said, a small smile on her face in greeting. "Hey, how are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in like, a really long time." She stressed the word 'really', and Stiles mustered up a smile in return.

"Uh, yeah, hey – I've been… busy this week, so I haven't had a lot of time to hang out with anyone. Lot's of homework and… stuff…. Dad's been really busy lately and I've been helping him on some cases, too, so… so yeah."

"Well are you busy tonight? We're thinking of going out for pizza; do you want to join?"

"Um, well…."

At that moment Scott and Liam started walking by. When Scott saw Stiles and Malia he slowed, hesitating, his brows knitting together in the kicked-puppy look that he had mastered so well. Liam turned when he noticed Scott had stopped and his eyes fell on Stiles; he looked between the two before quickly hunching in on himself, clearly aware that he'd just inadvertently ended up in the middle of The Epic Fight of the Century that was occurring between the renowned Great Friendship that was Scott and Stiles.

Stiles and Scott stared silently at each other for a long moment, before Malia suddenly huffed and rolled her eyes, taking long, purposeful strides towards Scott and grabbing his arm.

"Okay, I'm done with this bullshit," she said angrily, bringing Scott over to stand in front of Stiles. "You two – I don't know what the hell is going on between you guys, but it's time to bury the hatchet and get over it. I mean, come on! You two have been best friends since you were barely out of diapers. We've all heard the story of how you two met in the sandbox when you were four, you've told us so many times that I swear we could say it with you. Are you seriously going to throw an entire life of friendship in the toilet over an argument?! You guys – you guys are better than that. I mean, the end of the world could come, world war three could begin and you two would still be right at each other's sides, no matter what. You guys are brothers. So I just… I don't understand."

The hallway had now virtually emptied, leaving the four standing huddled by themselves along the wall. After a moment Scott took a deep breath, and began to speak: "Stiles… you're my brother. You've always been my brother. I was an idiot for what I said and I was so, so wrong. The only reason I said it was because I didn't want you to get hurt. I didn't want my actions and my choices to end up hurting you, or – or worse. You've already gotten hurt way too much because of me. But I…. You've always been a part of the Pack, Stiles. You were always a part of the Pack. Ever… ever since we met, you've been my pack; you've been my family. we need you. I need you. So please Stiles… please, forgive me." Scott's face had scrunched together, and Stiles was sure that he was just about ready to cry – manly tears of course, but tears nonetheless. Because this was Scott and between the two of them, Scott had always had the softest heart.

Stiles felt the familiar stir of nausea begin to stir in his chest, but he ignored it. He stared at Scott for a long moment. He wished desperately that he could tell him everything that as going on, that he could explain why he was being such an asshole to him and everyone else, that he needed Scott, too – in more ways than even Scott himself knew. But his need for Scott wouldn't matter for much longer; not if Givens got her way.

His eyes began to grow hot and Stiles swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat, his fingers clenched in tight fists. His tongue wanted to speak, but the spell kept his jaw firmly shut. Scott had never looked more sad and guilty than he did now, and it broke Stiles' heart not to be able to give him a hug and tell him that everything was alright, that they'd always be brothers for as long as they lived.

Well, he could offer his forgiveness, at the very least.

"Hey man, don't worry about it," Stiles said, his voice threatening to break. "Everything's good, okay?"

A tentative smile broke across Scott's lips and his eyes looked at Stiles hopefully. "Yeah?"

Stiles nodded, unable to stop his own small smile from forming across his lips. "Yeah."

"You forgive me?"

"Yeah dude, I forgive you."

Scott's smile spread into a grin and he started forward, arms opening with the intent to hug, but Stiles abruptly took a step back, his hands raising to push Scott back. The nausea and headache were almost unbearable by now; he knew what happened when Scott touched him, and he didn't think he could handle any more pain.

Scott's smile faded and he blinked, staring at Stiles in confusion. "Stiles, what's – ."

"Scott!"

The group looked up to see Lydia running towards them, her shoes clacking furiously against the floor as she all but sprinted down the hallway. Fear marked her face, and everyone immediately turned their attention towards her.

"Lydia," Scott said quickly as she came up to them. "What's wrong?"

"A – a werewolf – there's a werewolf that just attacked a kid out on the track field."

"Do you know who it is?" Scott asked.

"No, I didn't recognise him, he took off into the trees. But Scott, he still has the kid with him!"

Scott's eyes widened in alarm and Malia and Liam immediately started running down the hallway, Lydia hot on their heels. Scott had started running with them but halted when he realised that Stiles hadn't moved. "Stiles!" he urged, "Come on, we gotta go!" Stiles stayed where he was and Scott's frown deepened. "Stiles!"

Stiles shook his head. "No," he said quietly.

Now Scott looked slightly pissed. "Stiles we've just been through this! You're a part of the Pack, now come on! The guy's getting away!"

"No, Scott," Stiles repeated, his voice harsher than before.

"Why not?!"

"I – I can't," Stiles replied, his voice breaking.

"SCOTT!" Lydia yelled, her voice echoing in the hall.

Scott gave him one last look of incredulity before growling in frustration and taking off down the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

The hallway fell quiet for a few moments, the only sounds coming from the shuffling of feet and murmurings between students as they walked down the hall. Stiles' eyes turned to the woman standing just outside a nearby classroom door; Givens watched him and the two stared at each other for a long, unbroken moment, before her lips turned up in a small smirk and she walked back inside the room.

Stiles didn't see Scott or the others for the rest of the day; he hoped they'd managed to catch whoever it was that had attacked the students, but clearly it was serious enough to warrant disappearing for the rest of school.

The home-bell eventually rang and Stiles made his way to his locker, where he gathered his things before shutting the door with a bang. Givens was waiting by the doors and Stiles hesitated for a moment, but then the familiar tug of magic pushed against his legs and he reluctantly followed her out the door and towards her car.

He stared absently out the window as the car drove through the town and eventually onto a dirt road, where it disappeared through the trees and onto the now very-familiar acreage. Givens walked him to the attic and locked the door behind her when she left.

Stiles walked over to the window, watching the trees as their leaves shimmered in the wind. A shot of anger coursed through Stiles' veins as his eyes fell on his jeep, which sat dejectedly on the grass near the trees, pinecones and needles strewn overtop of it from disuse.

He was waiting to die – that's what he was doing. Givens wouldn't let him speak, so no one knew of what was happening. Givens wouldn't let him near Scott – why him in particular Stiles didn't know – so Stiles stayed away from Scott. Or felt as though he were going to upchuck his entire guts and beat his brain from his skull if he didn't.

Stiles ran his hands through his hair, just about ready to scream in pent up anger and frustration, when suddenly he heard the front door of the house open, closing a second later with a bang. He quickly walked back to the window, where he saw Givens hastily walking to her car and getting inside. She turned it around and drove straight towards the trees; Stiles frowned, wondering what she was thinking, but rather than crashing into the trees like he expected, the car instead simply passed through them and disappeared into the forest.

Ah, so that's how she did it.

Which didn't really explain much at all.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh and began walking back to the corner of the room that had become his impromptu sleeping space.

And that was when he heard it.

A quiet creak came from somewhere to his right and Stiles turned, looking for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on a closet door that was open just a few inches, giving the smallest glimpse into the softly-lit room that lay behind it. Stiles stared at it in bewilderment, wondering where on earth the door had appeared from. A small tingling in the back of his mind whispered words of familiarity, that he had seen this before. He walked towards the door and reached for the handle, taking hold and pulling it slowly open.

He took a tentative step into the room, and then another. Dusty light shone through a small window that lay at the top of the wall beneath the ceiling, giving just enough light to see the myriad of chests and dressers that sat in dust-covered and cobweb-strewn silence. The sight was uncannily familiar and Stiles felt his heart begin to beat faster. Something suddenly slammed behind him and Stiles jumped, spinning around, expecting to see Givens and –

Givens.

Stiles blinked.

That's right – Givens. She'd been standing in the doorway when Stiles had last been in here. The closet had appeared out of nowhere and curious, Stiles had entered the room to check it out.

Memories began flooding Stiles' mind of what had happened here and he stood in shock, unable to believe that he had actually been in here before. He vaguely wondered how many other memories there were that he had forgotten.

The bang that had sounded moments before had come from the closet door, which he had left open but was now completely shut. Stiles swallowed and turned back around, eyes drifting across the room, falling over shelves and chests, books and figurines. His eyes came to a stop on a tall, full-length mirror that sat at the end of the room with an intricately designed metal-frame surrounding it, covered in cobwebs and dust. He frowned for a moment, confused, but then his eyes widened slightly in recognition as the memory of the mirror played behind his eyes. He slowly crept towards it, each step carefully taken as he drew closer and closer; he raised his arm, reaching out towards the aged mirror, until, after a moment's breath, his fingers brushed against the dusted glass.

The air in the room suddenly grew thin and Stiles' breath caught in his throat, as though someone were trying to steal the air from his lungs. The mirror shimmered once, then twice, and began to grow brighter and brighter until Stiles was forced to shut his eyes. When he opened them, the image in the mirror no longer reflected himself, but showed a house nestled tightly amongst surrounding trees, creeping vines blanketing its roof and sides.

Without warning Stiles' fingers began falling into the mirror, until he could no longer see his hand or his wrist. He instinctively started pulling back, panicking as he struggled to free his arm, which was being pulled further and further in with each passing second. The mirror grew blindingly bright and his ears began to roar, as what felt like a gale-force wind pushed and pulled him into the mirror. He managed to cry out for only a moment, before he lost his footing and disappeared into the looking glass.

He stumbled forward in a whirl of wind, trying to keep his footing, but failing and falling to the ground in a heap. He quickly pushed himself against the grass and got back to his feet, where –

Wait – grass? Stiles blinked, spinning around and quickly taking in his surroundings.

He was standing outside in front of the same house that he had seen in the mirror, its moss and vine-covered walls only a few feet in front of his face. The place was surrounded with trees, much like Givens' house was, but these trees were different. Where the trees that grew around Givens' were thin and dense, these trees were large and spacious, their canopies filtering in a soft, warm light onto the forest floor beneath them. Stiles frowned in bemusement; he didn't recall ever seeing those kind of trees around Beacon Hills before.

Movement caught the corner of his eye, and Stiles stared as a young woman appeared from behind the trees, making her way slowly towards him. This time when the familiar feeling of recognition washed over him, the memories followed swiftly on its heels.

This was the woman from the forest; the one he had seen but then forgotten, who had screamed through wind and rain for him to not drink the water, don't drink the water. She was also the one he had seen in the mirror, who had peered back at him for the briefest moment before Givens had appeared and taken him away.

"We don't have long," the woman said, drawing closer towards him. Her long, chestnut hair flowed in the breeze behind her; her hands were lifting her long, green skirt until it rose just above the bramble-covered forest floor. Stiles was mesmerised for a moment, but the moment quickly passed as the woman drew nearer.

"What is this place?" Stiles asked, finally finding his voice, feeling more clear-headed and unconstrained than he had in what felt like an age.

"A sanctuary," the woman replied. She came to a stop a few feet in front of Stiles, her eyes and mouth set in a quiet determination as she peered up at him. "I've drawn the Witch away from her house for now, but she will soon return. We must work as quickly as we can."

Stiles stared at her. "You live in a mirror?" he asked. He knew it was a glib question, but no one seemed to tell him anything anymore and he was more than finished with veiled answers and hidden threats.

"This is a place surrounded by deep magic; it can only be accessed by those who wish it to be discovered. The mirror was merely an old doorway that I chose to open in order for you to enter." Stiles stared silently at her for a long moment, until she began speaking again. "I know you have many questions; I promise to answer as many of them as well as I can. But not here; follow me." She walked past Stiles and headed towards the house. Stiles watched her for a few moments, before turning and following after her.

The inside of the house was warmer and cleaner than the outside would have led one to believe; a table and chairs sat by the wall near a fireplace, which was currently in disuse, while a strew of items lay across a long counter that ran along the wall. The woman motioned for Stiles to sit as she sat down in her own chair across from him. Stiles obstinately remained where he was.

The woman sighed. "I can understand your distrust," she said. "But I assure you that you are far safer here than back in Beacon Hills."

Stiles frowned warily. "You know where I live?"

"I know many things about you."

"So what – you're a stalker? A creepy, voyeuristic nut-job who knows my favourite foods and drinks and the TV shows I like to binge-watch at two-am?" The words came out in a rush, as though the dam that had held back his voice for so long had finally broke.

The woman smiled. "Not so great as that, I'm afraid."

"You haven't even told me your name. For all I know, you could be another psycho who's decided to kidnap and torture me for fun. I mean, mirror as a portal? That's only something you read in fairy-tales – you really need to be more original."

"It's Alayna," the woman replied, ignoring the last part of Stiles' sentence. "Now sit. As I said before, I have much to tell you and little time with which to say it."

Stiles thought about refusing her just for the sake of being difficult, but after a moment he finally acquiesced and sat down.

Alayna was quiet for a minute, appearing to gather her thoughts, before she finally spoke. "The woman holding you captive – Alicia Givens – she is a witch."

Stiles raised his eyebrows in incredulity, unable to stop the reply from spewing out of his mouth. "Yeah, no shit. I think I figured that one out a while ago. Any more great insights to give me? Are you going to tell me that my best-friend is a werewolf? 'Cause I don't think I've quite figured that out yet, I mean – he disappears a lot and comes back bruised and bloody and complaining about all these crazy supernatural creatures, but hey, you know me – it could easily just be that he likes to go out with friends and beat each other up for fun. And the fact that whenever Lydia screams, we end up finding a dead body right after? Yeah, no correlation there whatsoever. And Kira! I mean, I saw her grab that live electrical-wire and not get blown to smithereens, but I –."

"Has she told you what she's after?" Alayna asked, interrupting him. Stiles fell silent. "Do you know what it is that she wants from you?" Stiles' frown deepened. He looked away, trying to focus on anything other than the question that was being put in front of him. "While the Witch has lied about many things, she speaks the truth when she says that there is something within you that she wants for herself. And all of her spells and magic that she has used in the past week have been working towards removing that power from you."

At this, Stiles turned back to face her. "I don't have any power," he said firmly. "Whatever it is she's looking for, it's not there. I don't –." He broke off, took a breath, then started again. "Scott is the one who's the werewolf; Malia's the werecoyote, Lydia's a freakin' banshee and Kira is a kitsune. And do you know what they all have in common? They didn't ask for it! They never wanted to be anything other than human, and neither do I! When Scott bit Liam, he didn't do it because Liam wanted to have fun running around the woods, killing off bad guys with everyone else. When Peter offered me the bite, do you know what I said? I said no! I said no, because –."

"Because you were afraid. And you still are." Stiles' mouth snapped shut and his body tensed. Alayna didn't wait for him to speak and carried on, "You're afraid of the responsibility that power can carry. You've seen what happens to good people when they have too much power; you've seen what happens to bad people when they have too much power. You've seen what happens when power is left uncontrolled, left unchecked. You've seen what happens when good people with good intentions make bad decisions, and all because of their power."

Stiles was silent for a long moment, clenching his teeth until it was almost painful. "I don't want any power of my own," he said at last. "I don't want to be any different than who I am now – I'm happy just being me."

Alayna's eyes softened and she let out a quiet sigh. "I know," she said gently. "I too, wish that there are many things that could have stayed the same in my own life. But that is not the way of the world. Whether you want it to happen or not, change will occur. Both around you and within you. Change can be good, you know; we humans are far from perfect. Perhaps we may need change, and we just don't know it yet.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said I wasn't human?"

"Oh, you're human," she affirmed. Stiles felt an odd weight both lift and settle on his shoulders at the same time. "But you're also very much not."

Stiles' mouth fell open. "What – that doesn't make any sense! How the heck can I be both human and not human at the same time?!"

"It depends on how you define human, I suppose."

Stiles rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Great. I feel like I'm in a philosophy class. If I'm not human, then what am I?"

"You are one of the Blessed." She spoke the word blessed with two syllables, the last syllable falling off her tongue with a snap.

Stiles stared at her, his eyebrows knitted together and eyes wide in incredulity. "I'm what?"

"One of the Blessed. A person with great gifts and even greater potential. Prophecies have been foretold of the Blessed for centuries, of the power they possess and the things they would do with it. That is why the Witch came after you – she heard of what you would do and she sought to stop it. But she became greedy, as many do, and is now trying to take your power for herself. I've brought you here so that I might help you learn to both access and control your powers and get rid of the Witch for good. She has been a thorn in the side of many for far too long."

The silence in the room was so great that you could hear a pin drop.

Stiles stared at the young woman in utter disbelief. Alayna said nothing more, waiting patiently for the news to soak in. Suddenly the legs of Stiles' chair squeaked against the floor as he shoved it back, abruptly rising to his feet.

"Okay," he said, backing away towards the open door. "You've had your fun. Now tell me who you actually are. Are you another witch? Some new, supernatural creature we haven't heard about yet? I assume you're going to kill me and you just like to play with your food before you eat it. But please, tell me – would you like to eat me face down, or face up? Maybe roasted on a spit? I'm pretty cool with whichever way." He turned around and stormed out of the house, heading towards the woods. Alayna rose to her feet with a sigh and followed him out the door.

"Stiles," she said loudly.

"No really!" Stiles called out, nearing the trees. "You can kill me! I won't mind! But I seem to have already lost my mind, so I'm afraid if you were planning on having my brains for dessert, you're outta' luck."

Alayna let out a growl of frustration. "Stiles!"

"'You're a wizard, Harry'?!" Stiles shouted, suddenly spinning around and walking back towards Alayna, his arms waving high in the air. "That's what you decide to tell me? That I'm some 'great, blessed being' that's going to save the world? Well I got news for you lady – that… that's not gonna happen." He turned around and stomped back into the woods.

"I never said anything about saving the world," Alayna called back, traipsing after Stiles through the trees. "And I definitely didn't say you were great." Stiles didn't reply and simply continued on through the trees. Alayna came to a halt with a huff. "Where are you going?!" she shouted.

"To find a cliff," Stiles replied, never turning round, "so I can jump off it."

Alayna watched after him with a frown of annoyance, before she turned around and started heading back towards the house. She passed the lone structure and made her way to the edge of the wood behind it where she stopped just in front the trees, folded her hands, and patiently waited.

A few minutes later Stiles appeared, walking towards her with angry steps and a deep-set frown. When he saw her he stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. "What the hell?" he said. "How – how did you –."

"This place is surrounded by magic," Alayna replied. "You can't go far; if you try you will only end up back where you started. And I assure you, there are no cliffs anywhere nearby – if there were, I'd have thrown myself off them long ago. Now come; aren't you the least bit curious to find out what these 'powers' are that you actually possess?"

Stiles stared at her for a long moment, before walking towards her once more, his face poorly masking the anger and petulance that lay just beneath the surface. Alayna nodded and lifted her skirts, and the two made their way back toward the house.

Chapter Text

Stiles followed the not-a-witch-but-maybe-she's-lying-and-is-a-witch, to the front of the house. He expected her to go inside, but instead she walked to the edge of the tree-line and turned around.

Stiles came to a stop a few feet in front of her. "So what can I do?" he asked, raising his shoulders questioningly. "Turn people into frogs? Blow-up my aunt Marge? I do have an aunt that I wouldn't mind blowing up; she is crazier than a loon, I tell you. I took a test online once; it said I would do well in Care of Magical Creatures and Charms. It must of known I already take care of Magical Creatures for a living. And hey – I got sorted by the Sorting Hat, and do you know where it put me? Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff! But then I took another one and it put me into Ravenclaw, so who knows what I really am. The only way to tell is if I actually wore the Sorting Hat, and I'm pretty sure that's still at Hogwarts." He gave Alayna a skeptical look. "You're not sending me to Hogwarts, are you?"

Alayna rolled her eyes. "My goodness, you sure have a mouth on you. I am glad to see that the Witch's spells didn't silence your sarcasm. Your wit, however, may have well been lost."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows together. "Did you just insult me?"

"Go over there," Alayna said, motioning to the area a number of feet in front of her.

"You haven't answered my question, you know," Stiles said, walking away from her. "What is this power that you say I have? What can I do that somehow makes me 'less than human'?"

"To be honest, Stiles, I'm not entirely sure what it is you can do."

Stiles stared at her, then shook his head in disbelief. "You know, I don't know why you brought me here – you don't really seem to know anything. Is there anything you can do besides drag me around in a circle and tell me I'm some weird freak, whose freakiness is what psycho-witches are after? Because you don't seem to be helping a whole lot otherwise –."

"Who do you think opened that drawer, the moment your friend Scott was calling you?" Alayna snapped, glaring up at Stiles. "Who do you think it was that tried to tell you to not drink the water the Witch was trying to give you? Who do you think made the closet door appear, not once, but twice, in order that you might be able to escape the Witch?" She gave Stiles a hard stare. Stiles said nothing.

Alayna continued, "I cannot tell you exactly what you can do because no one but yourself will be able to find that out. The powers of your kind are never stated in writing; I have a inkling of what your gift is, a suspicion of where your power lies, but that is all I have – and if you will sit still long enough and shut that mouth of yours, I will do all that I can to draw that power out."

Stiles huffed out a breath of air, but kept silent. He wasn't sure whether or not to believe her; whether or not anything that she was saying was the truth. He didn't feel like someone who had some special 'power'; he certainly had never seen any hints of anything like that in his entire life, nothing had ever happened that gave him reason to suspect he was different. Just because a witch and now some other woman said he had them, didn't mean that he actually did.

It was early Thursday morning and Scott had just managed to get back to his house, dragging himself up the stairs and flopping exhaustedly onto his bed. He'd spent the entire night chasing the scent of the wolf that had taken the student from the school grounds, essentially kidnapping him; for what purposes, Scott didn't know, but he usually tried to answer that question after they'd gotten the kid back safely. He had seen too many kids die or receive life-changing injuries from the supernatural, many of which came thanks to the Nemeton, and he'd be damned if he let one die or get hurt thanks to his own kind.

He, Liam, and Malia had chased the wolf for hours, making their way deep into the forest outside the town until they'd reached Crypt Lake, a large lake west of the town that was home to numerous campgrounds around its border. The scent from the wolf intermixed with the scents of humans, vehicles, and food, and Liam, being the youngest, quickly lost track of the scent. Although they were tired, the smell of fear radiating from the kidnapped student kept Scott and Malia going and they continued chasing the wolf down for another two hours, all the while trying to avoid being seen by any of the campers.

Eventually they'd caught the guy; a thirty-something werewolf who had been more feral than human. They'd tried to reason with him but he only responded in grunts and growls. The young student was passed out over his shoulder and when reasoning refused to work, Scott finally tackled the wolf and pinned him down, while Malia grabbed the student and quickly took him to safety.

To Scott's surprise, another werewolf suddenly stepped out from behind one of the trees. He immediately recognised her as the she-wolf that he had met a couple months ago, the one who had urged him to keep Stiles away from the dealings of the Pack. She quickly explained that the deranged wolf was one of her pack's, and that he had recently been attacked and had subsequently "gone off the wall". They talked for a bit and Scott asked if she needed help carrying her pack-member back home, but she simply shook her head and proceeded to pick the werewolf up with ease, disappearing with him through the trees.

Scott thought the meeting was a little strange, but the exhaustion from running for over four hours straight caught quickly up with him, and he returned to Malia, Liam, and the student; they made their way to the hospital where Scott placed the young teenager in the care of his mother and the rest of the hospital doctors.

He thought that would be the end of the evening for them, but Deaton had called soon after and informed him that something supernatural was happening near the Nemeton. Scott had been left busy for the rest of the night and into the morning, fighting off and pushing back creatures that were appearing around the magic stump, as though a switch had been flicked and a portal had been opened, and they all decided that now was as good a time as any to come through. Afterwards Scott swore that he was going to douse the Nemeton in gasoline and light it up like a Christmas tree. This was getting ridiculous.

He now lay on his bed, utterly exhausted, determined not to ever wake up again – no matter what Deaton or anyone else said.

He had closed his eyes for what felt like only a second before the alarm on his clock went off, feeling like a drill trying to dig itself into the side of his brain. He groaned, curling under the covers, hoping beyond hope that the noise would magically stop on its own. It didn't. Scott finally reached out and grabbed the clock, throwing it across the room where it hit the wall and smashed into pieces.

His first thought was that he'd skip school; as a werewolf he could function pretty good without much sleep, but even his high metabolism had its limits. He knew his mom wouldn't mind, she'd been surprisingly good about his skipping school when he needed to. He could sleep 'till the afternoon, get up, make lunch, then go back to sleep until supper. Scott closed his eyes – it sounded like a pretty good plan to him.

A moment later his eyes re-opened, as a name suddenly ran through his thoughts.

Stiles.

Scott frowned. He had been so busy all night that he'd forgotten about Stiles' odd behaviour before he'd left.

They had made up – he was sure of it. They'd repaired their friendship and everything was back to normal – at least he had thought it was. They'd nearly cried, for goodness sake – if that didn't bond a friendship, he didn't know what did.

So then why did Stiles refuse to come with them?

Scott knew Stiles – he knew him about as well as a person could possibly know another human being – and Stiles didn't hold grudges.

Okay, so that was a lie – Stiles could definitely hold a grudge. But he didn't hold grudges with Scott. Not like this. He wouldn't refuse to help them if someone's life was on the line; he wouldn't sit back when someone was in danger, not if he could do something to help. Except that he did – and Scott couldn't be more baffled.

He had to talk to him. They'd barely had any time to talk in the hallway, and they'd been surrounded by Malia, Lydia, and Liam, as well as a ton of other students. They needed talk just one-on-one, with no one else around to listen in. And where Stiles wouldn't look as though Scott made him sick just looking at him – that'd be nice.

With a groan, Scott got out of bed, slowly changing his clothes and getting his things together. He'd find Stiles before first period and drag him outside, where they'd find a private place to talk. They'd get everything back out in the open, say what they couldn't say before, maybe shed a few manly bro-tears, and hug it out. They would head back to Scott's place where they'd both go back to sleep, because seriously – who the heck thought that eight-am was an appropriate time to start 'learning'? Both Scott and Stiles were naturally night-owls, and despite having eight-am starts for nearly their whole school careers, they could never really get used to it; both of them couldn't be more happy that this was their final year of high school.

Scott brushed his hair with his fingers, making himself look as decently presentable as he needed in order to be out in public. Leaving his backpack on the ground, he grabbed his bike keys and headed outside.

Stiles let out a deep sigh, struggling to stay focused as Alayna had instructed him. For the past hour and a half she had been leading him through "exercises" that she claimed would "draw out his gift". He'd been sitting cross-legged on the ground with his eyes closed, trying to "dig deep" within himself and find that "inner part of him" that he would just "know" held something more. He felt as though he were in some yupped-up yoga class that wanted him to find his inner spirit animal. Stiles inwardly scoffed – he already knew what his spirit animal was, and they weren't exactly proving to be very useful at the moment.

Alayna suddenly spoke, startling Stiles out of his near-doze. "All right, get to your feet," she said. Stiles opened his eyes to see the young woman already standing, looking down at him expectantly. Stiles sighed dramatically, but followed her and rose to his feet.

Stiles looked at her impatiently. "So what are you going to d –." Something smacked Stiles in the face and he stumbled, losing his footing and falling to the ground on his backside. He looked up at Alayna, who was staring back at him with a raised eyebrow. "What – was that you?!" Stiles asked, hastily getting back to his feet. Before he could fully stand, another blow hit him against his chest, pushing him back to the ground. He spluttered in disbelief.

"Fight back!" Alayna told him, another blow from an invisible force striking him and knocking him back to the ground. Stiles instinctively curled in on himself and protected his face with his arms. Alayna started walking towards him and the force of the blows grew fiercer. "Fight back!" she said again. Again, Stiles was struck against the side, then across his arms, the blows leaving his skin stinging painfully. "You will never find your powers if you stay on the ground like a quivering dog! Now fight back!"

"With what?!" Stiles shouted, his voice muffled by his arms that were covering his face.

"Fight with your instincts, Stiles!" Blows began raining down on him faster and faster, and Stiles' patience quickly reached its limit.

"STOP IT!" he yelled, pushing himself away from her as fast as he could. His arms and legs stung like hell and he could already feel bruises forming on his chest and sides. He managed to make it to his feet and he stumbled backwards, glaring at Alayna as hard as he could. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Are you angry?"

"What the hell does it look like?!"

"Good. Now use that anger, and fight back!"

Alayna raised her arm and what felt like a whip came snapping down across Stiles' front; while it didn't break his shirt, he could feel his skin break and a moment later blood began to soak into the fabric.

"Are you really that weak?" Alayna asked, taking another step towards him. "Scott's not here to help you, you know. Liam, Malia, Isaac, Derek – they won't be saving you this time."

Anger swelled in Stiles' chest and he glared at the woman furiously, ignoring the twinge of humiliation that he felt at her words. Why the hell did everyone have to keep bringing up how weak he was? Why did everyone have to point out how much he actually depended on Scott and the Pack? Why did everyone have to make note of how, as the only human, the only thing he could ever do was to be a hindrance, to be a burden.

Stiles' hair ruffled in the wind and he swallowed. "I know what you're trying to do," he said, biting back his anger. "You're trying to piss me off enough to get whatever it is you think I have. I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again – I don't. Have. ANYTHING!"

Another whip, another painful sting. The invisible force suddenly changed, until it felt as though he were no longer being hit with a whip, but with a fist. It was a ceaseless rain of blows coming one after the other, pushing Stiles further and further back with each hit, and it was starting to drive him mad. He raised his voice, yelling above the wind. "I'm not joking around! Stop!" The wind whistled deafeningly in his ears; it began bending the trees, their leaves rustling together and a swoosh of noise.

"Not until you fight back," Alayna replied.

"I can't fight back! I don't have anything to –."

"Fight!"

"I can't!

"FIGHT!"

"I CAN'T!"

" FIGHT!"

"Goddammit – I CAN'T!"

Without thinking Stiles shoved his hands out in front of him and a gust of wind rushed forward, slamming into Alayna and knocking her to the ground. Stiles stared in disbelief. Energy coursed through his body, surging and pumping through his veins. His body hummed, feeling as though it needed to do something, though it didn't know what.

Startled, Stiles dropped his hands and stumbled backwards. The wind immediately died down and grey clouds that Stiles hadn't realised had formed overhead dissipated, letting the sun shine across the clearing once more. Stiles' eyes fell on Alayna, who was still on the ground, a quiet, smug smile resting on her lips.

He hadn't believed her. Even when she'd insisted that he could do something supernatural, that he had a 'power' of some sort, he didn't believe her. He'd gone along, placating her and doing as she asked in the hopes that, like Givens, she too would realise she was wrong and she'd eventually send him back to Beacon Hills – maybe even help him escape from Givens. He'd wondered for a moment, had briefly entertained the idea that what she claimed might be true, but deep inside he'd never actually….

He wanted to deny it, to accuse her of using her own magic in order to make it seem as though it were his own, but even he couldn't deny the reality that was sitting right in front of him. For what felt like the first time in his life, Stiles was at a loss for words.

"I told you," Alayna said softly, rising to her feet and making her way over to Stiles. Stiles could only stare at her, his eyes wide.

"Holy shit," he said finally. He drew his arm close to him, turning his hand back and forth, as though he would find some default or marked change from what it had been before. He looked up as Alayna came near. "What was that?"

"You took control of the air, created a force of wind and threw it against me. Rather good for your first try, I must say. So you can be assured that air is at least one of your talents; I would not be surprised in the least to see more elements come under your control."

Stiles frowned, then blinked. "Elements?" he repeated. "So… what? Like the 'four elements'? Like earth, air, f –."

"Fire and water, yes," Alayna finished for him. "I had my suspicions that elemental magic was one of your gifts. I am glad to see that my years here haven't ruined my intuition entirely."

"Elemental magic," Stiles repeated. The words were utterly foreign on his tongue; he blinked, feeling as though he were in a daze.

"They don't show up all at once," Alayna continued. It sounded as though she were speaking through a tunnel, her voice far away and muffled; Stiles vaguely felt like he wanted to throw up. "We can't know for sure until you use all of them, but I'm confident that there is more to discover than just your talent for air."

The muffled sensation that had fallen over Stiles' ears suddenly disappeared, and he snapped his head up. "Why now?" he asked, a frown set deep between his eyebrows. "Why now, and not before? I've been pissed off plenty of times before, why didn't this… this power, show up then?"

"Gifts of the Blessed rarely show up before they've reached adulthood. I imagine that, had they been left alone, your powers would have surfaced within the next two or three years. But the Witch has put you in danger, and she has intentionally tried to draw your power out so that she can take it for herself. That's why, in the end, it really wasn't all that difficult to finally access them. They were already there to use. You just needed a little prompting, that's all."

Stiles listened intently to everything Alayna said, but every word she spoke felt like it was flying over his head. His whole body ached and he wanted nothing more than to find a nice comfy bed – one without living, torturous springs – burrow in the blankets, and not come out for several days.

"What we need to do now is start working on your control. I'll be right back." Alayna turned and disappeared into the house. She came back a few minutes later with a handful of glass jars, each one a different shape and size from the other. She placed the tallest one on the grass in front of Stiles and promptly pulled him down. "Sit. Now I want you to knock that jar over on its side, okay?"

Stiles stared at her for a moment, gave her a look, reached out his hand, then flicked the jar over with his fingers. Alayna gave him a hard stare. "That is not what I meant, and you know it. Now, try again." She righted the jar and looked at Stiles expectantly. Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes, but this time tried focusing on the jar, imagining that it would magically tip over.

It didn't.

"This is ridiculous," Stiles muttered after a minute when nothing happened.

"You need to focus, Stiles."

"I am focusing!"

"Not in the right way; you need to focus on the air around you – you need to bring that air under your control and use it to knock the jar over. Just focus on the air – you'll know it when you feel it. Here," she said, lifting his hand until it was reaching out towards the jar, "perhaps this will help."

Stiles was very annoyed, but did as she told. He closed his eyes and focused on the air that was around him, on the small breeze that was drifting across his skin, on the oxygen that he was breathing into his lungs….

He felt something stir inside him, a feeling similar to the one he had felt when he'd used the air shortly before. He gathered the feeling – the air – in the palm of his hand, and opening his eyes he threw the air forwards, and –

Nothing happened.

Stiles blinked. The jar remained sitting smugly on the ground in front of him, not having moved an inch. Stiles dropped his hand to his lap.

"I think I saw some grass move," Alayna said after a moment.

"This is ridiculous," Stiles said after a moment. He turned to Alayna. "Maybe the first time was a fluke. You could be wrong, you know – I may not be one of your 'Blessed', or whoever they are. I could just be Stiles Stilinski. I don't – I can't see how…. I mean, this is ridiculous! This is bullshit! I can't believe – I just – I just knocked you over with my hands! My hands! I mean, not just my hands, but with the wind from my hands. How – how the hell…. This is crazy. I'm crazy. I must secretly be envious of Scott but instead of a werewolf, I want to be friggin' Thor –"

Alayna suddenly took Stiles' face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. Caught off guard, Stiles' tongue came to an abrupt stop. They were silent for a moment, and Stiles was suddenly taken by just how captivating her deep-green eyes were, thinking vaguely how pretty she really was. "Stiles," she said sternly, "you need to accept this. If you don't accept the power that you have, you will never be able to use it. Not in the way that you need in order to defeat the Witch – and all those who will come after."

Stiles frowned, turning his attention from her eyes to the words she had just spoken. "Those who will come after?" he repeated. "What are you talking about?"

Alayna stared at Stiles a moment longer, before letting her hands fall to her lap. "You're one of the Blessed, Stiles. I know it, and the Witch knows it – but we are not the only ones who do." At Stiles' confused look, she continued: "You are a beacon, Stiles. You draw the supernatural and those with magic towards you like a moth to a flame. The more they find out about you – about the power you hold, the things you will do – the more they will seek to find you and either destroy you, or use you for their own purposes. Why do you think you've seen so many attacks in the last few years? Why do you think Beacon Hills has suddenly decided to be true to its name?"

Stiles leaned slightly away from her, as though distance would make what she was saying less true. "It's because of the Nemeton," he said. "Because of Scott and the rest of the Pack; he's an Alpha, so a lot of creatures try to challenge that. And let's face it, Scott sometimes likes to put his nose where it doesn't belo –."

"No, Stiles," Alayna said softly. "It was never about Scott and the Pack. It was you – it was always about you – from the very beginning. You were one of the Blessed long before Scott was ever a werewolf, long before your Pack even knew each other's names or became who they are now. You are what everyone has been looking for, but no one has been able to see. Until now."

Silence settled over them for a long moment, until Stiles finally managed to get his voice to speak. "I don't want to believe you," he said quietly."

"I know you don't," Alayna replied. "And I cannot force you to. But you will need to decide quickly, for the Witch is still out there, along with all your friends and family. And those like her will not stop their destruction, even after they have gotten what they want. For those who seek power are never satisfied, and can never be satisfied."

For the first time in a long time, Stiles thought about his dad. He had no clue where he was or if he even knew that Stiles wasn't at home, but he knew that Givens was crazy and if she had the chance, she'd go after his father simply out of spite for Stiles. She'd already stated her intent to go after Scott at one point, and Stiles was sure that she wouldn't stop with him. Lydia, Malia, Liam, Kira… all of their friends were in danger – and he was the only one who knew. Stiles' eyes turned away from Alayna and settled on the glass jar, which sat quietly a few feet in front of him.

Well, he thought to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists. I guess if I have a weird, freaky power, then I have a weird, freaky power. It's not like I was ever that normal anyway, I mean – I hang out with werewolves and kitsunes, werecoyotes and banshees. This can be just another thing to add to the list that is the Weird Life of Stiles Stilinski. Yeah. Just another thing on the list.

It wasn't just another thing on a list and Stiles knew it, but for the moment he was just going to do his best to accept it. When all of this was over he'd have a proper, well-planned, well-executedFreak Out. But until then he was going to learn to control this – this magic – and then he'd escape from Givens for good. He'd find Scott, tell him everything that had happened, maybe share a few manly bro-hugs and bro-tears; he'd get three Big-Macs from McDonalds, two large-fries, two large Root Beers, gorge himself, then sleep until Christmas.

Stiles raised his hand and closed his eyes once more. He focused on the air around him, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. Minutes passed and he was almost ready to give up, when suddenly he began to feel things he'd never felt before – the pressure of the air, its movement, its weight. The life that it gave to those who breathed it in.

Something stirred within Stiles' chest and his palm began to grow warm. He could feel wind begin to drift over his hand and weave through his fingers, but the rest of his body remained untouched. Tentatively, Stiles opened his eyes. They widened as large as saucers when they saw a small sphere – a small sphere of what looked like wind – hovering in the palm of his hand.

"Good," Stiles heard Alayna say. He wanted to look at her, to revel in his achievement, but he feared that if he looked away the sight he saw before him disappear. "Now," Alayna continued, "take that wind and release it towards the jar."

Stiles aimed his hand towards the jar and the wind shot forward, hitting the glass container. The jar wobbled for a moment, as though unsure if it really wanted to fall, then gave up and fell quietly on its side.

There was a few moments of silence and Stiles frowned. "Well that was… slightly disappointing,"

"You'll learn," Alayna reassured him. Stiles could swear she was fighting back a smile.

"Yes, well –."

Suddenly the sky grew dark, casting the house and trees into shadow. Stiles looked up, expecting to see dark clouds having crossed in front of the sun, but to his surprise there was not a single cloud; it was as though someone had simply taken a dark filter and placed it over the sky. The wind suddenly picked up, nearly throwing both Alayna and Stiles to the ground. Stiles looked at Alayna, his eyes wide. "That's not me," he said quickly, but Alayna wasn't looking at him.

"The Witch – she's coming back. Hurry! We have to get you back before she finds out you've been gone." She grabbed Stiles' arm and ran to the edge of the forest. She waved her arm in front of them and a large doorway appeared, its edges shimmering in the air. Beyond it Stiles could see the dusty room in the attic that was beside the bedroom, its dressers and chests as untouched as when he'd left it. Stiles felt Alayna pushing him towards the door and he abruptly turned around, his heart beating fast in his chest.

"I can't leave yet!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "You haven't – I haven't learned anything yet! I can't do anything yet! I can barely knock over a stupid little jar!"

"It will have to do," Alayna replied, staring at him intently, her eyes a mixture of determination and fear. "You'll be fine! Now go."

She pushed Stiles forward until his right leg had gone through the portal. The rush of white noise that he had heard when he'd first gone through sounded again, until it felt as though he were in the middle of a hurricane. He made to move in further, when suddenly he snapped his head around, his eyes wide. "What about you?!" he shouted. "I don't – I don't even know why you're here, but you can't – you can't stay here!"

A sad smile crossed Alayna's lips. "I'll be fine," she assured, pushing Stiles away from her and further into the doorway.

"But you –."

"Don't worry about me! You have to go, now!"

Stiles stared at her, torn, but before he could do anything he felt the portal begin to tug, pulling him further through it. Stiles swallowed. He was just about to stop fighting it when he suddenly heard Alayna's voice. "Stiles!"

Stiles quickly turned around to see Alayna looking at him, her mouth set in a thin, determined line. "Remember – you can do more than just control the element of air; your power extends far beyond just that. Fire, earth, water – maybe more. And Stiles…." The resolve on Alayna's face fell away and was replaced with a look of concern, as though she were unsure whether or not she should say what she was going to say next. She swallowed, then spoke again. "Stiles, you must also know – Scott is more important that you realise. The prophecies –"

Stiles blinked and his eyebrows knitted together in complete confusion, but before he could respond his vision turned white and the next thing he knew he was standing in front of the antique mirror in the old attic room – alone.

Stiles stared at the mirror, now reflecting only his own image once more, his brain trying to catch up to what Alayna had said in those last moments. Scott – why would Scott be important? He thought he was only a –.

Suddenly Stiles heard the sound of the front door open and he spun on his heel, running as quietly as he could to the door. He swung it open and ran into the bedroom, closing it tightly behind him. He turned around, waving his hands towards it. "Go! Shoo! Disappear!" The door stayed where it was and Stiles felt a sense of panic begin to rise in his throat. He tried again, "Go! Disappear already! Disappear!" He could hear the sound of Givens' keys dropping into her glass bowl and the first creaks of the stairs as she began to walk up.

Panicking, Stiles pressed his hands against the door, willing everything that was within him that the damn thing would just disappear. "Disappear!" The door beneath Stiles' fingers shifted and when he opened his eyes he saw that the door was just a wall once more. Relief fell over his shoulders and Stiles quickly made his way to the corner of the room, sitting down and covering himself with a blanket, just as Givens made it to the top the stairs. The door to the bedroom opened with a groan.

"Good morning my dear one," she said, lightly stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. Stiles eyed her warily, his eyes briefly glancing towards the window where the light outside was thin and dim with the morning's dawn. Givens walked up to Stiles. "Did you have a good sleep? I don't know how you could, what with having to lie on that uncomfortable floor. I can't understand why you'd choose that over a nice, comfortable bed." She winked at Stiles and he glowered at her in return. The Witch leant down and grabbed Stiles' arm, dragging him to his feet. "Now – why don't we have some fun before class starts, hmm?"

She waved her hand a length of rope appeared from ceiling. She grabbed Stiles' hands and pressed them together, taking the rope and wrapping it tightly around his wrists. She tightened the rope painfully across his skin and knotted it, giving Stiles a smile at his discomfort. When she was finished she snapped her fingers and the rope retracted into the ceiling, pulling Stiles up by his arms with it. He shouted in pain at the sudden stress it placed on his shoulders and he tried to maneuver enough to make himself somewhat comfortable, but it was to no avail. He gave up with a huff, glaring at Givens as he swung aimlessly from the ceiling. Givens cupped the side of his face with her hand and made small cooing noises.

"There, there," she said, patting Stiles' cheek. "You'll survive." A smirk tilted the side of her lips. "Or maybe you won't. You know, I think we're nearly done here; a few more days and your gift will be mine."

Stiles swallowed, and said nothing in reply.

Scott walked through the school doors, making his way over to his and Stiles' lockers in the middle of the hallway. He frowned slightly when he didn't see Stiles there, letting out a disappointed sigh. He took a deep breath and settled in to wait; as he leaned against the lockers he spotted Lydia coming up towards him.

"Oh hey Scott," she said, coming to a stop in front of him. "I didn't think I'd see you here this morning."

"You haven't. I'm just waiting here until Stiles arrives; he's still not answering his phone so once he gets here we're gonna take off."

Lydia gave him a quizzical look. "I thought you guys made up?"

"I thought we did too, but… I think we need to still hash out some stuff. He's just been acting so off lately."

Lydia nodded just as the bell rang. She quickly said goodbye and disappeared into her homeroom class. In a few minutes the hallway dissipated, leaving Scott alone by the lockers.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. When a half hour went by Scott grew agitated, wondering where on earth Stiles could be. He tried calling his cellphone on the off chance he'd actually pick up, but unsurprisingly he didn't. After forty minutes Scott finally gave up and made his way back to the parking lot. He quickly threw his leg over his bike and put on his helmet, his mind set. If Stiles wouldn't come to him, then he'd go to Stiles. Kicking his bike into gear, Scott drove out of the parking lot and began making his way to the Stilinski household.

Scott arrived at the Stilinski house and kicked the bike stand with his foot, leaning the bike on its side as he stepped off. He tucked his helmet under his arm and walked to the front door, knocking on it briefly before opening it; he'd stopped waiting for someone to allow him in long ago.

"Stiles?" Scott called. He walked towards the stairs. "Stiles, I need to talk to yo –."

"Do you mind telling me what you're doing in here, son?"

Scott turned to see Sheriff Stilinski standing in the kitchen entrance, his arms crossed, peering across the room at Scott with a raised eyebrow.

"Mr. Stilinski," Scott said. "Is Stiles home? I was wanting to talk to him –."

"I'll ask you again," John interrupted, his arms crossed and eyes hard. "What are you doing in my house?"

Scott blinked, smelling the anger and annoyance that was coming from the Sheriff. Embarrassment coloured his cheeks as he realised that Stiles must have told his dad what had happened. "I came to apologise," he said quickly. "What I said was completely out of line and I wanted to tell Stiles I was sorry."

"Look, son, I don't know what you're talking about, but you better get out of my house now before I arrest you for trespassing."

Scott frowned. The Sheriff would sometimes give him a hard time, especially if he had done something stupid or been a jerk, but he had never stopped him from seeing Stiles when he wanted; and he'd definitely never kicked him out of his house or threatened arrest. "Mr. Stilinski, please – I just want to see Stiles."

"Do you really want to test me?"

"But –."

The Sheriff walked towards him and grabbed his arm, forcefully leading him to the door. Scott could have stopped him if he wanted, but he didn't want to anger him more than he already had. "Look, son," the Sheriff said, opening the door, "I don't know who this 'Stiles' is, but he's not here. If you come back on this property or break into my house again, I won't hesitate to arrest you. You got that?" He shoved Scott out onto the front yard and Scott stumbled, turning around in shock. He stared at the Sheriff, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"What?" he said.

"You heard me. Now get out of here." The Sheriff started to close the door and Scott jerked forward.

"Mr. Stilinski, wait!" Scott pleaded. "What on earth are you talking about? Is – is this some kind of joke? Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was a jerk, I know I was – I shouldn't have said any of it, for – for God's sake, I didn't mean it, okay?! I didn't mean a any of it, but I don't want Stiles to get hurt because of me! I don't want him to get killed! He's suffered enough and it's my fault; it's always been my fault ever since we ran into that stupid forest and I – I just can't let him get hurt anymore because of me!"

The Sheriff frowned at Scott, giving him a hard stare. Scott waited for him to reply, to maybe even let him back in the house, but what he said instead shocked him to his core.

"Are you high?" he asked skeptically. "Because if you are, I can not only arrest you for trespassing, but for public intoxication. Look. I don't know who your friend is, or where he is, but I can tell you he's not here."

"He's your son!"

"I don't have a son, I've never had a son. Now I want you to get off this property right now, do you hear me?"

The Sheriff closed the door, leaving Scott standing alone in the driveway. He stared at the door, his eyes wide, feeling as though a bucket of ice-cold water had just poured down his back. Not because the Sheriff had kicked him out, or even because he refused to let him see Stiles – no. What had sent alarm bells ringing in his head and what had raised his hackles in fear was not what Mr. Stilinski had said, but what his heart had said. Because when he told Scott he didn't have a son, that he'd never had a son, Scott had heard his heartbeat.

And it hadn't skipped.

What had been only a distant feeling that something was off, that something was amiss, was now a full-blown panic as Scott's instincts screamed at him to run, to do something, to find the source of the disturbance and destroy it. Scott knew one thing for sure – he had to find Stiles, and he had to find him now.

Scott grabbed his cellphone and quickly swiped it open, finding Liam's number and pressing it. He held the phone to his ear and waited impatiently until he hear a click on the other end as Liam picked up, his voice a low whisper when he spoke. "Dude, I'm in the middle of class! I'm not even supposed to have my cellphone. If the teacher sees me he'll kick my ass –."

"Stiles is in trouble," Scott said quickly.

" What –."

"I don't know how or where he is but I know he's in trouble. I was just at his house and his dad doesn't know who he is."

"What?" Liam said. "How does he not know who his own son is?"

"I don't know, but Liam – you have to get out here. We need to find Stiles' scent and track him, we need – we need to find him now. We need to find him right now." Scott's words were increasing ins speed as panic began to grip his chest; he ran a hand through his hair, gripping it until it was painful.

" Dude, okay, chill – calm down, I'll be right there. Do you want me to get the girls?"

Scott swallowed, suddenly feeling lightheaded. His mind went through everything that had happened in the past week, from Stiles' unusual panicked, angry retorts to his sudden desire to avoid everyone he knew. He'd been acting so weird, so unlike Stiles, but Scott had busy with all these sudden supernatural threats, that he hadn't had time to slow down and see what was going on. He'd thought that Stiles had just been pissed over their fight, but now he wasn't sure. In fact, he was positive that something else was going on entirely.

" Scott! Do you want me to get the girls or not?"

Scott blinked, his attention swerving back to Liam. "Yeah – yeah, get the girls. Tell them to start searching on the west end of town. You and I will go to the east."

"Okay." Scott was about to hang up, when he heard Liam's muffled voice suddenly speaking to someone nearby. A second later Liam was back on the phone. "Hey Scott, Leonard said he saw Stiles."

Scott's heart skipped a beat. "What? Where?!"

Another muffled moment, then, "He says he saw him yesterday. He was getting into a car with… Givens?" Liam paused, then continued. "Yeah, he says Stiles got into the car with Ms. Givens and they left the parking lot. Says he saw him leave with her on Monday – and Tuesday, too."

Scott frowned. What the heck was Stiles doing with Ms. Givens? She was just a substitute teacher. They didn't even get along….

Scott suddenly remembered the way that Stiles would glare at Givens, as though she had personally wronged him somehow. He remembered the fight they'd had, where she had ended up throwing everyone out of class so that she could speak to him alone, the way Stiles would sometimes look at her with fear….

Pieces started falling into place and Scott bit his lip, trying to stave off the wave of anger that was threatening to explode from within him. He heard something start to crack and he realised that he had been squeezing his phone so hard that it had started to break. Scott quickly told Liam to meet him on the east-end then turned off his phone, sticking it in his pocket.

Fear and anger coursed through Scott's body, as he realised that while they had all been dealing with their own supernatural attacks, another danger had been happening right under their noses – and they hadn't noticed a thing.

Chapter Text

Stiles glared at Givens, his body slowly rocking back and forth, the rope tying him to the ceiling pulled taught. His entire body felt as though it were on fire, save for his hands and arms, which had grown numb hours ago. He had no idea what time it was, only that he was certain it had to be past eight-am, as the light outside was significantly brighter than when he'd first woken up. With the way things were progressing, he had a feeling he wouldn't be going to school today.

Givens had spent the last few hours rotating through a series of beatings, cuttings, and magic, the first two leaving him near-sobbing in pain and the last leaving him feeling as though all his energy had been completely sucked out of him. The constant pain left him exhausted, both mentally and physically; he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep – and perhaps never wake up. He was so sick and tired of this.

At the beginning he'd thought about using his… his power, but Givens had barely given him enough time to think before she started torturing him, much less time to focus on doing something that had taken him hours to work up to before; and even then, the results were less than impressive. The clarity of his mind that he'd had with Alayna was gone, replaced with the dense fog of confusion that had been with him ever since this whole thing began.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word. Mother's going to buy you a mocking bird," Givens sang as she dragged the edge of a knife down the middle of Stiles' chest, but not pressing hard enough to cut the skin, almost as though she were mapping out the places she wanted to cut for future reference.

Givens sang a few more verses before Stiles interrupted her. "Has anyone ever told you that you're weird? Like, seriously – who sings a lullaby to someone as they're slicing them open? Even for a sadistic psychopath that has to be –" Stiles hissed and took a sharp intake of breath as the knife suddenly dug into his sternum. Givens quickly pulled it back out and hummed as she continued to drag the knife across his torso.

Stiles could hear the annoying voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Scott, berating him for having had to open his mouth and make a sarcastic comment to the person who was running a knife down his chest. He wanted to refute the voice and defend what was clearly only a sound observation, but with the middle of his abdomen stinging as though it was on fire, he couldn't help but agree that maybe that had been a stupid decision. He couldn't help it though; after having finally found his voice again with Alayna, silencing himself would be like trying to build a dam against a raging waterfall.

Stiles blinked, trying to keep his eyes from falling shut. He could feel the sting as Givens' knife began cutting into his body, but he felt oddly indifferent about it, the pain feeling only like a minor annoyance that was stopping him from being able to fall asleep. When he noticed Givens had stopped, he managed to open his eyes part-way to see Givens bent over before him, her hands holding a bowl, collecting the blood that was slowly running from his stomach.

Stiles swallowed, his voice coming out strained and hoarse. "Gonna use that to resurrect your dark lord?" he asked. His eyes fell shut against his will and he fought off the urge to fall asleep. His words began to slur as he spoke. "You're gonna half'ta cut off your arm, y'know. Drop it into a boiling pot. Hope you get a new one. Your dark lord's a bit of a bitch, by th'way. Throw's a lot of temper tantrums. Likes t'torture people…. Hey, at least you'll have sum'thin in common. Jus' r'member – there's only one dark lord of th'ring, an' he doesn't share power. Or somethin' like that…."

Givens ignored him and rose to her feet, taking the bowl of blood and walking to the door where it opened before her. "Do get some rest, Stiles," she said as she walked out of the room. "You'll need to get your energy back for when we have our next round." With that, Givens walked out, and the door closed and locked behind her.

Sleep. Sleep sounded really good right about now.

But he couldn't.

Stiles forced his eyes back open and watched the door for a few minutes in silence. When Givens didn't return he turned his attention upwards, his eyes landing on the end of the rope that disappeared into the ceiling. He clenched his teeth as he pulled on the rope with his wrists, trying to lift himself and swing back and forth to gain whatever momentum he could, in order to loosen whatever part of the rope could be loosed. What little strength he had quickly disappeared and he soon gave up, leaning his head exhaustedly against the crook of his elbow.

He had to use his power; it was the only way he would get out of this. He could feel the end closing in on him, like a dark storm growing ever larger on the horizon. The words Givens had said about being nearly done ran over and over through his mind, a mocking foreshadow of what was to come.

No one was coming for him – if he wanted to get out of here alive he would have to use his powers, which he barely knew anything about, and either kill Givens or simply escape for his life. He would make that choice when the time came, but for now he would focus on the little things – like getting his tired, aching body down from this damn rope.

Stiles took a deep breath and looked back up, his eyes landing once more on the end of the rope where it met the ceiling. He took another breath and started to focus. What was it Alayna had said? He had to focus on the air around him, take control of it, manipulate it into doing what he wanted it to do….

At first there was nothing – not a single molecule of air appeared to have been disturbed. Stiles growled through his teeth and shifted his body, determined to make the rope move. If the rope moved then maybe he could get enough momentum to swing back until he reached the nightstand or the bed, and then….

And then what? What was he going to do once he managed to catch his foot on something solid? Hold himself up for no apparent reason? Magically gain enough strength to rip the rope from the ceiling? Stiles swallowed, realising that his idea had been completely stupid. But what else was he supposed to do? He knew he could move the air and create a wind; he knew he could take that wind and throw it at somebody, but that was all he knew. And if that was all he knew, then how could he possibly know how to do anything else? How could he –

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his rising heartbeat to slow down. Think. He had to think. He was the plan-maker, the Maker of Plans – there had to be something he could do….

Alayna had said he could control air. She didn't just say he could create and control wind, she had said he could manipulate and control air. So what could air do? Air could… air was oxygen. Did that mean he could control the amount of oxygen that was around him? But then what good would that really do? If he tried to remove the oxygen from the room to kill Givens, he'd also be killing himself. Sort of defeated the purpose of trying to get out alive.

So what else? Air… air had to do with a lot of things. Air was one of the classical elements as described in ancient Greek philosophy and science, and was made up of gasses that thusly made up the earth's atmosphere. It gave itself to words such as aerodynamics, aspire, air-pressure –

Stiles' eyes snapped open.

Air pressure. The pressure of the air. The closeness of air-molecules and the amount of force it exerted, which could often cause something to implode or break. If he could somehow create a vacuum where the rope met the ceiling, if he could somehow snap the rope or use of the force of the air to make the area of the ceiling around the rope crack – then maybe, just maybe, he could finally free himself. It would be like using his own weight to push against the ceiling, only this weight would be about a thousand times stronger.

Stiles looked up, focusing on the area of the ceiling surrounding the rope. What had Alayna said? He needed to focus, to feel the air and take control of it….

Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for the same feeling that he had felt back in the clearing, back in the mirror-world with Alayna….

The tug against his sternum came faster this time, the familiar sensation sending a pulse of energy surging through his veins, searching for something to take hold of – searching for a way to escape.

Stiles opened his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration. He opened his hand as best he could, his fingers reaching towards the air that lay above him. Something tingled in the back of his mind and he realised that he could feel it – that he could feel the air in the room, could feel the molecules, could feel its movement – could feel its pressure.

Liked a slipped disc sliding back into place, Stiles felt his fingers grab hold of the air and he immediately began to squeeze it together. At first nothing happened, then a few moments later the wood ceiling began to creak, then groan. The sound of snapping wood echoed in the room and a second later Stiles crashed to the ground in a heap.

Holy shit, he did it – he actually did it.

If this were any other place he'd pump his fist in victory, but this was not the time to celebrate. He had to figure a way to get out of here before Givens found out he'd gotten down.

Stiles got to his knees and quickly began looking around, searching for something with which he could cut the rope that still bound his wrists together. He picked at the rope with his fingers as best he could, trying to undo the knots, but it was to no avail. He continued to scan the room for something, anything sharp, but there was nothing. There was –

There was the window.

Stiles paused for only a moment before he stumbled over his feet, rushing to the window by the bed. It was a cross window, so there wasn't much glass to work with, but he was sure there had to be some way to….

He stared at the window for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to break it, before he simply pressed his fists against the middle and began to push. As the minutes passed he started pushing harder, trying to get the window to break with as little noise as possible. If Givens heard it break, or saw the glass raining down through her own window on the floor beneath him, then this would all be for nought.

Stiles kept pressing against the window, but it was like pressing against a cement wall – nothing – not even the glass panes – gave an inch. It was almost like it had been reinforced with –

With magic.

Stiles' eyes widened and he swore under his breath as he suddenly remembered that he had done this before, that he had tried to break this window before and it hadn't broken because Givens had spelled it with her stupid, friggin' magic for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn't leave.

Stiles let out a shaky breath and took a step back, running his bound hands over his face and through his hair. What was he going to do now? Even if he threw all his weight against the window or even threw the damn bed, it wouldn't break. No matter how much pressure he pressed against it, it wouldn't –

Stiles blinked. Of course – pressure. He could use the air pressure to break the window; only instead of using it to press against the window like he'd done with the ceiling, he could use the pressure to suck the window in.

Without a second thought Stiles closed his eyes and began focusing on the air. After a few moments he could feel the now-familiar tug start to pull and he grabbed hold, gripping the feeling as tightly as he could. He opened his eyes and fixated on the centre of the window, before lifting his hands and reaching out towards it. He focused on the air in the room, slowly trying to change its pressure, but doing his best to keep the change centred solely in the space in front of the window.

At first nothing happened, and Stiles began to wonder if Givens' magic had spelled the window to hold up against more than just the strength of an eighteen-year old; but before he could truly start to question, the window suddenly bent, and pieces of wood and shards of glass flew across the room, crashing against the door and clattering to the ground in a heap.

Stiles cringed. Dammit, that was loud.

Not wanting to wait another moment in case Givens had heard the noise, Stiles ran over to the now-broken window where pieces of glass still sat in the window-pane; he quickly put his wrists overtop of one the shards and began to saw the rope. The glass was sharp and the rope was quick to give way, taking only a few minutes to cut through it and finally free his hands; but for Stiles, those few minutes were some of the longest minutes of his life.

The rope finally broke and Stiles threw the remains on the bed, taking a moment to flex his hands and arms. Damn, if that hadn't been the most awkward, painful, and uncomfortable few hours of his life. The numbness in his arms had started to fade, only to be replaced with the painful sensation of pins and needles. Ignoring the discomfort, Stiles looked out the window and peered down, trying to determine how high he was and how painful it would be if he jumped to the ground. It was the attic of an already two-story house, so it was no small distance to reach the ground. If he jumped, he wouldn't simply be getting a battered and bruised body in his wake, but he'd very likely break a leg or an arm. Stiles shook his head. There was just no way he could do it. Unless….

Stiles turned his eyes to the blankets and sheets that lay strewn across the bed. He bit his lip for a brief moment, then quickly strode over to the bed and began gathering the sheets in his arms, starting to tie the ends together. He'd only ever seen people do this in movies, but anything in the movies could be done in reality, right?

Right.

There were only two sheets and a thin, useless blanket, all of which were soaked in blood and torn from where the springs had pierced through them. But they would work. They had to. He finished tying the last end and began looking around for something near the window to tie it to. The only thing that would be able to hold the weight would be the bed, so Stiles quickly moved the nightstand away from the window and grabbed the bed frame, dragging it underneath the window as quietly as he could. When he finished, he wrapped the end of the rope of sheets around the bedpost, knotting it as tightly as he could. He took the rest of the makeshift-rope and with a deep breath, threw it out the window.

He looked over the edge and let out a sigh of relief. While the sheets didn't reach all the way down, they did make it about three-quarters of the way; it would be easy to jump the rest of the distance to the ground.

Easy. Right.

It wasn't until he was standing in front of the window with nothing to stop him from climbing down, that he realised his heart was racing in his chest and a lump of fear had wedged its way into his throat. He took a cursory glance across the tops of the trees and the sky, noting how the morning was turning into yet another beautiful day – the blue sky nearly empty of clouds, the sun brightly shining, reflecting off the grass and leaves where they shimmered in the breeze like gold. It was a perfect day – a perfect day like all the others he had spent here. He hadn't realised until now that perhaps everything was just a little too perfect.

He knew he had to leave, that he was already halfway to getting out of here, but he found that while his mind wanted to climb down and run into the forest, his legs didn't want to move. This time, however, it wasn't magic that made them immobile – it was fear. Because if he messed this up, if he got caught… he didn't think Givens was going to let him go without consequence. She'd either kill him, or she'd torture him within an inch of his life. And Stiles wasn't sure he could handle another night of torture. He was still exhausted, the cuts on his torso still burned, and his aching body was fighting him with every movement he made. He was running on adrenaline, and he knew it. If he messed up and got caught, this was it – game over. And in this game, you didn't have an extra life.

Stiles swallowed, his fingers digging painfully into his palm as he clenched his fists. The smart thing would be to leave at night under the cover of darkness where he'd be least likely to be seen; the problem, however, was that it was under the cover of darkness that Givens liked to do her best work. She would leave him alone for the entire day, lulling him into a false sense of security, only to appear during the night and make his life a living hell. So if he tried to leave at night, she would only find him sooner than if he left now. So in the end, there wasn't really a choice. It was leave now, or never.

Stiles waited for a few minutes in silence, straining his ears to hear if Givens was still in the house somewhere, whether she was in the kitchen making food, or worse – walking up the stairs. He went from placing his ear against the bedroom door to pressing his ear against the floor, listening for any noise that would tell him the Witch was still nearby. After ten minutes of hearing nothing but silence, Stiles determined that Givens was either sleeping, or she wasn't in the house. He didn't know where she went during the day, whether she disappeared across the acreage or went out into town, but he knew that no matter where he went, he would have to constantly be on his guard.

Stiles waited another moment, took a deep breath, and swallowed. He placed his leg over the ledge and gripped the sheet in his hands.

It was now or never.

Scott drove his bike faster than he had ever driven it before, weaving in and out of traffic amidst the blaring of horns of unhappy drivers as he passed them by, but he didn't care. At the moment there was one thought going through his mind and one thought only – and that was to get to the east end of town as fast he could.

He turned sharply off the highway and onto the dirt road, his tires nearly wash-boarding him off into the ditch, kicking up a mountain of dust behind him as he righted himself and continued down the road and through the trees. After a minute he came to an abrupt halt, his bike nearly flipping over its handles and landing on the ground with a crash, but Scott barely noticed. Digging his hand into his pocket he pulled out his phone, pressing Liam's number and holding the phone to his ear.

"Where are you?!" Scott shouted when Liam picked up. Liam told him that he was nearly there and that Scott only had to wait a few more minutes. He explained that he didn't have a car or a bike, and so the only thing he could do was catch Scott's scent and run on foot. Scott ran his hand through his hair and started pacing, his heart feeling ready to burst.

He shut the phone off and stuffed it back in his pocket, trying to get himself under control. A few minutes later he caught Liam's scent, and a few minutes after that Liam burst through the trees, his face marred with worry and concern, his mouth opening to speak. "Okay," Scott interrupted, walking towards him. "We need to get Stiles' scent and follow it – that's all you have to do, okay? Follow the scent until you find him. You catch it before me, you tell me, okay? Don't go chasing it until I know where it is." Scott passed him and started heading into the trees.

"Scott, Scott listen –."

"There's no time to talk! Stiles is in trouble, we have to find him –."

"Scott!" Liam ran in front of Scott and raised his hands, forcing the older teenager to a halt.

Scott growled, pushing Liam away. "I'm serious, Liam! We need to focus on finding Stiles' scent; whatever you have to say, it can wait. This is the most important thing right no –."

Liam ran back in front of him again, his eyes set in an exasperated glare. "That's what I'm trying to tell you! I found his scent!"

Scott blinked, his anger immediately disappearing as his eyes widened. "Where?!" he asked quickly.

"It's a few miles away from here – but Scott, it's old. It's a couple days old, at least."

"Take me to it."

Liam looked at Scott in confusion. "But I thought you knew?" he said. "Isn't that why you told me to come here? Because this was where the scent was? Why else did you pick the east-end of town to start?"

Scott didn't have an answer to that. He had no clue why his instincts had told him to come east, but at that moment he couldn't care less. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Now show me where the scent is."

Liam gave Scott one last bemused look, before starting to run through the trees, Scott following close behind.

They ran the few miles in just a few minutes, they're wolves giving speed and strength to their legs and bodies that no human could possess. When he caught Stiles' scent Scott didn't stop, but continued to follow it through the trees. It was terribly faint and intermixed with the smell of exhaust, along with the scent of who Scott now recognised to be Alicia Givens. Anger coursed through his veins at the woman's presence and he used it to fuel his legs further, dodging trees and jumping over logs as fast and deftly as he could. In the back of his mind he wondered why there was the smell of car exhaust in the middle of the forest, but he ignored the thought and continued to push himself forward, knowing in his gut that with every second that passed, the Stiles continued to be in danger.

They had been running for over twenty-minutes when Liam suddenly came to a halt. It took Scott a moment to realise he wasn't moving, and when he did he skidded to a stop. "Liam!" he yelled. "Come on! What are you doing?!"

Liam ran up to him, a look of utter confusion across his face. "I lost the scent," he said, sniffing the air and looking around. "The scent, it just – it just stopped."

Scott stared at the younger werewolf incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about? The scent is still here, just like it's been for the last twenty miles!" When Liam didn't respond but continued to look around, Scott swore. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"No," Liam insisted. "I seriously can't smell it! It's like… it's like when there's a river and the scent just stops on the shore, because the rest of it was washed away when the animal jumped in the water. It's seriously not here!"

Scott shook his head. "Something must be wrong with you, because I can still smell him just fine; the scent hasn't changed at all."

"I'm telling you, it's not here –."

Scott growled, turning around and starting to run once more through the trees. "I don't know what happened, but I can't wait for you to find the scent again – I'll keep going by myself!"

Liam gave an exasperated sigh before chasing after Scott. "Scott, geez man, you don't have to be such an ass! I can still follow you, and –." Liam came to an abrupt halt, nearly falling over his feet as his eyes widened in shock. Where Scott had been running seconds before in front of him, there was now no one. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone – he had completely disappeared. "Scott?!" Liam shouted. He ran up until the point where Scott had vanished, along with his scent. It had completely stopped, just like Stiles'. "Scott!" Liam shouted again, using every sense that was available to him, but finding nothing. "SCOTT!"

Chapter Text

Stiles landed softly on the grass, his body immediately tensing and his ears straining as he waited to see if Givens had seen or heard him. He crouched in the shadows against the house, his eyes scanning the area around him, trying to decide what he should do next. His eyes landed on his jeep which sat in front of the trees on the other end of the lawn, about three-hundred feet away from him.

Stiles glanced around the yard again, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. This was it. There was nothing that could hide him between here and the jeep; when he ran, he'd be running completely out in the open. If Givens was anywhere in the vicinity she would certainly see him, and that'd be it.

That would be it.

Stiles took a deep breath and rose to his feet.

Now.

He ran faster than he'd ever ran in his life, running the three-hundred feet to the tree-line as fast as his legs would carry him. Every second he was expecting to get stopped, for something to hit him, for Givens' voice to suddenly scream into the air. But it didn't. He made it to the jeep and dove behind it, catching his breath for only a moment before he got back up and took off again, running into the trees. He had no clue where the forest ended or where Beacon Hills lay, or if he was even going in the right direction; all he knew was that he had to run and run as fast as he cou –

Oomph.

Something hard crashed into Stiles' chest and he was knocked off his feet, falling to the ground on his backside. He snapped his head up, his eyes wide as his heart hammered in his chest, expecting to see Givens looking down at him, but instead he saw…

Scott.

Stiles could only gape, his mouth hanging open as he tried to find words to speak. "Scott?!"

"Stiles!" Before Stiles knew what was happening, Scott was getting on his knees beside him, grabbing Stiles' arms and pulling him into a massive hug. They stayed like that for a few moments, before Scott finally let go, pulling back to get a proper look at his friend. Stiles could only stare at Scott incredulously.

"Scott, what – what the hell are you doing here?!"

"I came to find you!"

Stiles' eyes widened in disbelief, his hands gripping Scott's forearms, trying to prove to himself that what he was seeing was real. "How – how did you figure it out?"

Scott took a deep breath, trying to get his breathing under control as his heart began to calm down at having finally found Stiles and seeing him in one piece. "I went to your dad's place, and he –"

"Is he okay?" Stiles asked quickly, a new wave of fear suddenly rolling off him. "Is he hurt?! Is he –"

"Dude, Stiles – calm down; he's okay. At least, he's physically okay. When I talked to him he… he didn't know who you were. He didn't even remember he had a son."

Stiles blinked. "He doesn't remember me?"

Scott shook his head. "That's when I knew that something was wrong. I mean, you'd been acting weird all week, but –."

"But he's okay, right?" Stiles interrupted. Scott nodded.

"Yeah, man – he's fine."

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath of relief. For the first time Scott caught the faint smell of blood and he frowned, realising that it was coming from Stiles. His eyes scanned his friend up and down, searching for the source. "Stiles, are you bleeding?" he asked.

Stiles' eyes snapped open and he looked behind him once, before he rose to his feet and grabbed Scott's arm, pulling him back into the woods. "We have to get out of here," he said, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "We have to get out of here now."

Scott looked at him, confused. "Stiles, what are you talking about? Stiles I know you're in trouble, but I don't know anything else – you have to tell me what's going on!"

"I can't tell you," Stiles said.

"Why not?!"

"Because I can't!"

"Why?!"

Stiles came to an abrupt halt and spun around, nearly crashing into Scott. "Because Givens placed a spell over me! She made it so that no matter how hard I try, I can't tell you or anyone else about what's going on! Why do you think I've been acting so weird all week, huh?! Because every time I'd try to start a conversation, every time I'd try to tell you guys what was happening, give you a hint about what was going on, the spell would literally shut my throat so I couldn't speak!"

Scott's eyes widened in shock. "Givens placed a spell over you? So what, she's a – a witch?"

"Yes! She's a witch, Scott! She's a witch who pretended to be a teacher so she could kidnap me and string me up in her attic and torture me for fun! Every time I'd try to run away she'd use her magic and force me to stay; and she hates you too, for whatever reason, I don't know, but Scott – we need to get out of here. She's somewhere on the property and I don't know where –." Stiles broke off when his eyes caught something move behind Scott, out by the house. He grabbed Scott and they both fell to the ground, ducking behind the jeep.

They watched in silence as Givens lazily strode across the lawn and towards the house. She started heading towards the door when suddenly she stopped, pausing for a moment, before slowly making her way to where the rope of sheets lay drifting in the wind. Stiles swore under his breath. He could feel Scott tense beside him and he immediately gripped his arm tighter, turning to hiss at him. "You can't fight her, Scott! We just need to get out of here as fast as we can…." When Stiles looked back up his heart jumped in his throat and he froze.

Givens was gone.

He whipped his head around, searching for the witch, but she was no where to be found. "Where'd she go?" he whispered. "Did you see where she went?"

"I – I don't know," Scott replied, looking frantically around. "I turned away for a second and she was gone."

Which meant they needed to leave, now.

Without a word, Stiles pulled Scott away from the jeep and they both started to run into the trees. The leaves and branches began to lift and turn in a whirl of wind and a second later Givens appeared before them, a wicked smile on her face. "Hello boys," she said. Stiles and Scott immediately started backing up, grabbing onto each other's arms as they stumbled over their feet. Givens started walking towards them. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. McCall," she said to Scott. "I was wondering whether you would show up. I've been having a simply delightful time with your friend Mr. Stilinski. We've had many wonderful nights together…."

Scott glared at the woman, his teeth elongating as his eyes began to grow feral, his fingernails slowly sharpening into claws as anger surged through his veins.

"Oh, Mr. McCall – there's no need for violence. You're friend here simply left his room before his punishment was finished; if you let him come back with me, I'll let you leave – unharmed."

"Fuck you."

Givens clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "My, my – such language from such a beautiful mouth. Don't worry; I have more than enough room for you to join him. You'll get a new roommate, Stiles," she said, winking at him with a smile. "Won't that be fun?"

Before Stiles could say a word Scott leapt forward, swinging his claws towards Givens. The moment his fingers made contact with her body, Givens disappeared in a whirl of smoke. Scott stumbled forward into the empty space, quickly turning round and sniffing the air, searching for where she'd gone.

"Forget it!" Stiles shouted, heading back into the woods. "Just run!" But before he could take even three steps Stiles crashed into an invisible barrier, nearly knocking him off his feet. He backed up, looking at what appeared to be empty space, but when he reached out his hands he felt what was clearly a wall standing before him. He pushed at first with his hands and then with his shoulder, trying to get it to break, but the invisible barrier refused to budge. Scott tried as well, but even the strength of the wolf was no match for the witch's magic.

"We'll have to run along the edge," Scott said. "There might be a break somewhere, a weakness that we can get through."

A deep laughter echoed through the forest and both Scott and Stiles turned around, trying to find the source. While searching for Givens, Stiles eyes landed on something else. A dense, dark fog started to roll towards them from deep within the forest, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. As it got closer Stiles and Scott instinctively started to draw back; it started coming faster and faster until it suddenly rose up and crashed over them like a giant wave, enveloping them in a choking smog of darkness. They both began to cough, covering their mouths and trying to breathe until they were forced to run in the opposite direction. They ran out of the fog and back onto the yard, coughing and heaving as they tried to catch their breaths. As the fog met the forest's edge it stopped, rising and dissipating into the air.

"Is there another way out of here?!" Scott yelled, still trying to catch his breath. Stiles shook his head.

"No, not if the entire place is surrounded by that barrier. There's not even a road anywhere, there's only trees."

Scott took a breath, running his hands through his hair. "Then we'll have to fight her."

The elation and hope that Stiles had felt at seeing Scott fell away, replaced in its stead with a sense of utter hopelessness. Werewolves could do many things, but what good would they do against a witch? "She's a witch, Scott," Stiles said. "You've never fought a witch before; you have no idea what she can do. I've been with her all week – she'll kill you if she has the chance and she'll do it before you even realise you're dead. It's hopeless."

Scott stared at Stiles incredulously, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Stiles… Stiles, I know you've been through shit but we've been in shit before, we can –."

"Not like this. I… I'm tired, Scott. She… what she's been doing to me, I can barely keep standing. I'm running on fumes, here. If we don't find a way out of here in the next few minutes, I – I don't think I'll be able to escape at all. It'd better if you just find a way out without me –."

"Stiles that's ridiculous," Scott said firmly, not giving Stiles any chance to refute him. "There's no way I'm leaving you. If you stay, I stay. No objection."

Stiles stared at Scott, wanting to argue but feeling too exhausted to say anything more. Besides, he knew that when it came to Scott, arguing was futile.

"What a wonderful thing to see. Two fratrems, one desperately urging the other to save himself, while the other vows to stay and die by his side. What a simply beautiful display of friendship."

Stiles and Scott turned their heads to see Givens slowly making her way around them, like a predator corning its prey. Scott gave her a glare of acid, while Stiles clenched his fists and swallowed, his eyes never leaving the Witch.

"Do you know," Givens continued, turning her attention to Scott, "that a werewolf's claws make wonderful ingredients for potions? It's been a long time since I harvested any for my stores…. I think yours will make a wonderful addition to my collection. As well as many other parts of you…."

"Why did you kidnap Stiles?!" Scott demanded, his eyes following Givens as she made her way towards him, his fingers twitching, his body urging to fight. "What the hell did he ever do to you?!"

Givens raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips turning up in a smile. She looked Scott up and down, as though appraising him. "Do you truly not know, either? My goodness… the prophecies have clearly failed to make themselves known where they matter the most." She walked behind Scott, reappearing on his other side and making her way back towards Stiles.

Scott gave her an incredulous look. "Prophecies?" he repeated. "What the hell do you mean by prophecies?"

"Oh don't worry, my dear. They don't concern you nearly as much as they concern him." She nodded towards Stiles with a smile. "I must admit though," she said to Scott, "I certainly did not recognise you at first; it wasn't until I saw you disrupting my magic that I realised the connection you bore with the Blessed."

Scott turned angrily to Stiles, confusion etched across his face. "What the hell is she talking about?"

Stiles didn't reply, his eyes never leaving Givens' form as she walked towards him.

"I wouldn't bother asking, Mr. McCall. Your friend is as oblivious as you are when it comes to these things. But no matter. You don't need to know what you have in order for me to take it away from you."

Stiles felt the wind flow gently across his neck and down his arms, whispering across his skin. He glanced up and saw that the sun was no longer shining as grey clouds began to gather across the sky. The air felt charged and heated, as though it were filled with an energy that was just waiting to be released. Without thinking, Stiles clenched his hand by his side, feeling the air tighten in his grasp, rushing, waiting, ready to be set free.

"Now who should I kill first?" Givens asked, tapping her finger against her cheek in mock questioning. Her eyes shifted between the two boys before finally landing on Scott. "I think I'll take the werewolf first. No offence, Stiles, but you seem a little under the weather – so I think it's your friend who poses the most fun right now. But don't worry; when I finish killing him, you'll be right next on my list!" She gave Stiles a wink and turned to Scott, whose features were quickly morphing once more into that of the wolf, his teeth fully grown and claws extending as he backed away from the Witch. Stiles knew he could wait no longer.

"Scott," he whispered under his breath, gathering the wind in the palm of his hands. He saw Scott's eyes briefly glance at him before looking back at the Witch, and he knew his friend had heard him. "When I say go, you run to the right, okay?" Scott's eyes glanced at him again and Stiles could see the confusion hidden behind them. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but you have to trust me, okay? You gotta trust me." Scott didn't look back, but gave a quick, nearly-imperceptible nod of his head.

Givens advanced towards Scott who continued to back away, as Stiles silently lined himself up behind them. His arms were spread down at his side, pulling in as much air and creating as powerful a wind as he could manage. The hold he had felt shaky, and more than once he thought he was going to lose the wind and send it flying in all directions, but he refused to let it slip from his grasp. When he had first used his power, Alayna had told him to rely on his instincts – to use his anger as his fuel. So now that was what he was going to do.

The sky grew darker and the wind picked up. As Givens walked closer and closer to Scott, her hands rising, Stiles knew that it was time to act. Raising his arms, he shouted into the air – "Go, Scott – now!"

In less than a second Scott jumped to the side, leaving Givens completely in the open. With the wind roaring in his ears, Stiles threw his hands forward, sending the wind in his hands gusting towards Givens. Just as Givens had started to turn she around the force slammed into her and she was thrown across the yard, where she crashed against the trees nearly four-hundred feet away. Stiles' muscles tensed, waiting for Givens to move.

Givens' form slowly rose to her feet, wavering for only a moment before she suddenly disappeared. A second later she reappeared, only a few feet in front of Stiles. Startled, he stumbled back, nearly falling to the ground. The playful smile Givens had worn before was gone, her face now contorted into a terrifying look of pure and utter fury.

"You little bitch," she swore, pushing Stiles back as she continued to walk towards him. "You little fucking bitch. How did you find out about them?! Huh?! TELL ME! How the hell did you find your power?! "

Stiles stretched his arms, frantically trying to gather as much wind as he could, but before he could release it, Givens waved her hand, sending Stiles flying backwards and rolling across the ground. He struggled back to his feet and raised his hand, gathering the air as quickly as he could. He released it towards her but Givens simply waved her arms and deflected it. Stiles tried again but it was too late, as Givens stood over him, raised her arm and –

A hand suddenly appeared in the middle of Givens' chest, its fingers and claws covered in blood and flesh. Both Givens and Stiles froze, their eyes wide. A moment later the hand retracted, leaving a gaping hole through Givens' body.

The Witch continued to stand, staring at the hole in her chest in shock, as though wondering how on earth it got there. She slowly began to waver and a second later she collapsed to the ground, completely still. Stiles' eyes landed on the person who stood behind her, whose hand and arm were now covered and dripping with blood. Scott looked down at Givens' lifeless body, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession, his lungs breathing heavily. After a few moments of silence, Scott turned his attention to Stiles.

"Are you okay?" he asked, stepping around Givens' body and reaching his hand down to Stiles. Stiles didn't take it and he shook his head.

"I – I'm fine," he said, leaning back on his elbows. "I just… I just have to catch my breath."

Scott's hand fell to his side and he sat down on the grass beside Stiles, his hand running shakily through his hair as he worked to calm himself down. He looked down at Stiles, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms stretched out in exhaustion, his eyes closed.

They stayed like that for nearly ten minutes, neither saying a word as both struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. Suddenly out of nowhere, Givens' body began to shudder, and a moment later it disappeared in a whirl of grass and leaves. Scott furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He opened his mouth to say something, when suddenly he heard Stiles retching beside him. He turned and saw Stiles leaning over on his elbow, throwing up on the grass. Scott could only lay his hand on Stiles' back and rub it gently as he waited for the bout of sickness to end. After nearly seven minutes, Scott frowned.

"Man, what'd you eat?" he asked lightly, but secretly hoping that Stiles wasn't seriously ill. A few minutes later the sickness finally abated, and Stiles fell weakly back against Scott's chest, breathing heavily.

Scott moved them a few feet away for the sick, which Stiles couldn't be more grateful for, and he'd tell Scott that if his tongue and mouth didn't feel like cotton. Suddenly a drop of water fell on Stiles' face and he looked up to see that grey clouds now encompassed the entire sky, their rain slowly falling to the ground. It was odd to see such a sight after a week of endless sunny days. His eyes drifted downwards, where they landed on the house. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up, staring at the building in shock.

The house that he had lived in for the past week, which had seemed like such a beautiful and strong old home, now sat in complete and utter ruin. The once-chestnut walls were now grey and rotted, pieces of boards springing out from the edges as nails stood haphazardly out of their sides. Pristine windows were now broken and covered with dust, and the door that he had used so many times now lay half-way off its hinges, looking ready to fall apart. The roof was torn and broken, and its shingles were nearly all gone. Overall, the house that he had been living in for a week was now in a decrepit state of ruin, looking as though it hadn't been lived in for decades.

"What's the matter?" Scott finally asked, looking between Stiles and the house in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Stiles replied, his eyes setting in a hard glare and his lips pressing together in a tight line. "Just realised that I was under more illusions than I thought was, that's all." Stiles fell onto his back with a heavy sigh, pushing the revelation to the back of his mind.

Scott let out a sigh and leaned back on his hands beside him. "So Givens was a witch?"

"Yep."

"And she kidnapped you?"

"Yep."

"And she kept you here, in that house?"

"Right again."

"How long were you with her?"

"Nearly a week. Her car had broken down and I'd stopped to help her. Well, she said it had broken down. She also said she had a husband. Turns out she's a bit of a liar."

"Shit, man – I can't believe I didn't see –."

Stiles, whose eyes were now closed, reached out and grabbed Scott's arm. "Dude, stop. We can both cry and blame everyone later. But for now, I'd just like to –." He suddenly felt Scott's fingers touching his stomach and pulling up his shirt. His eyes snapped open to see Scott looking at the various bruises, cuts, and whip marks on his torso, a mixture of shock, fear, and guilt etched deep across his face.

"Stiles," he said, his voice shaking. "Stiles, what did she do to you –."

Stiles grabbed Scott's wrist and pushed him away, hastily pulling his shirt back down. "It's nothing; forget about it."

Scott glared at him incredulously. "Fuck that, Stiles – that's not nothing. We need to get you to a hospital –."

"No. No way man, I am not going to a hospital. Seriously, it's not that bad!"

"Like hell it isn't," he said. He grabbed both Stiles' hands and gripped them tightly in his own. The pain that had been with Stiles for the past six hours – for the past six days – immediately began to abate as black lines appeared along the veins underneath Scott's skin, taking away Stiles' pain and making it his own.

Stiles wanted to resist, to reject Scott's help, but as the pain that had been such a constant ache in his body for so long began to disappear, exhaustion quickly took its place and Stiles found that, for the moment, he really couldn't resist. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the ground, vaguely thinking that the grass would make a pretty comfy pillow. "I'd stop you," he said, "but I have to admit – you're a pretty damn good painkiller. Seriously; if you were a drug, you'd be the hottest damn drug on the street."

"Dude, you can't fall asleep here," he heard Scott say somewhere above him. He wrenched his eyes open, giving Scott a weak glare.

"Hey, I'll sleep wherever I please, thank-you very much. I've spent an entire week with a crazy, psycho-witch who tortures people for a hobby, so I think I deserve to fall asleep on the ground if I want to. If I want to sleep on an active volcano, that's where I'll sleep. If I want to sleep in a swamp, so be it. So don't tell me what to do, McCall."

Stiles heard a quiet sigh from above him, but heard nothing more as the sleep that had eluded him for nearly seven days finally encompassed him like a soft, warm blanket, and he gladly fell into its depths.

Scott stared at Stiles who was now asleep, and let out quiet sigh. He couldn't believe what had happened; he couldn't believe that Givens had been a witch, that she had tried to kill the both of them. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't arrived, if Stiles had been caught before they'd managed to reach each other.

Guilt buried itself deep within Scott's chest. He wanted nothing more than to let out a scream, to attack something or beat something up, but now was not the time. Now he had to take care of Stiles, and once Stiles was safe and healed, they would talk – about everything. Because clearly things had happened in this past week, big things, somehow-throwing-wind-with-your-bare-handskind of things, and Scott wanted to know what the hell had been happening to his best friend while he had been off gallivanting with the Pack.

Pushing the self-deprecation to the side for the moment, Scott rose to his feet and picked Stiles up, easily shifting him until he was lying across Scott's back, gripping Stiles under his knees while his hands draped over Scott's shoulders. Stiles didn't stir once. After getting comfortable, Scott glanced around one last time, before he began his trek back through the woods and home to Beacon Hills.

Chapter Text

 Scott watched the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest, his friend in a deep – and so far peaceful – sleep. They were at Scott’s house and Stiles was sleeping in Scott’s bed, in the same place Scott had put them when they’d returned from the forest. Stiles had been sleeping for a day and a half now, not having woken once. Scott wanted desperately to talk to him and learn about everything that had happened, but with the way Stiles had all but collapsed on the ground, the deep bags of sleeplessness that had been under his eyes, and the way he was sleeping now – there was just no way Scott could bring himself to wake him up. After everything he had missed, after everything he had done and hadn’t done, he was obligated to give that to his friend, at least.

So he waited.

He’d walked only ten minutes through the forest with Stiles on his back before he ran into Liam, who looked to be on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. After Scott had taken off and disappeared from his view, Liam found he had lost his scent, as well; he’d searched for nearly an hour until he’d finally found them. He quickly called Lydia, Malia, and Kira and informed them that Stiles had been found and was in one piece. Scott had been tight-lipped about what had happened, so he wasn’t able to tell them much more than that.

They’d walked back to Scott’s bike and much to Liam’s surprise, Scott handed him the keys. He didn’t say much, other than for Liam not to wreck it, then had continued on walking down the road with Stiles on his back. Liam had wanted so much to ask what had happened, to see if everything was all right, but his instincts – and maybe even his common sense, although everyone kept telling him he didn’t have that yet – told him that this was not the time to ask questions, and that it’d be best to just leave his alpha alone. So Liam got on the bike and left.

Scott eventually picked up his speed, running the rest of the way until he finally made it back home. He’d thought about disregarding Stiles’ demand not to go to the hospital and take him anyway, but after a quick phone-call with his mom he determined that the best route was to take Stiles back to his place and take care of him there. Melissa had said that it sounded like what Stiles needed the most was rest, along with anti-septic and bandages for his cuts and bruises. Being the son of a nurse, Scott was more than familiar with the procedure of fixing someone up, so once he’d placed Stiles on his bed, he’d proceeded to get out the bandages from the hall-closet and fix his friend as best he could.

He had to cut Stiles’ shirt off, an act which he knew would get him an earful of complaints later on, but Scott didn’t care. He doubted this was one of Stiles’ favourite shirts anyway, as he didn’t think he’d ever seen it before. The style looked old and the sleeves looked pressed, something which Scott knew Stiles would never take the time to do. When he’d finally removed the shirt he sat back, his breath catching in his throat as he surveyed all the damage that had been done to Stiles’ body in the week since he’d been taken.

The injuries he had seemed as various in kind as they were in number. His chest and abdomen, along with a few spots on his sides, were covered in bruises ranging from a deep black and purple, to green, to a sickly yellow. Small, half-healed cuts littered his body, interspersed with deep, long cuts, some already scabbing over while others were an angry, vicious red, some of which were still bleeding. Scott quickly began running anti-septic over the wounds to stave off any infection, covering them with large cloth-bandages when he was done. It was a testament to Stiles’ exhaustion that he neither woke nor flinched during the entire process.

Melissa had come home a couple hours later and re-checked Stiles’ bandages, replacing some and tightening others. She’d stood over Stiles with a look of sympathy and fear, a look that clearly said she wished she could help him more. Scott knew that look only too well – it had been so often directed at him throughout his entire life. It was the look of a mother’s pain for her hurting child.

Melissa had brushed the back of her hand over Stiles’ brow, thankful to see that no fever had so far set in. She’d tried asking Scott what had happened, but he refused to say much, telling her only that he’d figured out Stiles was in trouble somewhere in the woods, and that when he’d found him, he looked as though he’d gone ten rounds in a ring, and that he’d shortly passed out after that.

Melissa knew he was lying – she always knew – but she didn’t press him for the truth. Scott had become adept at keeping secrets from her over these past few years since he’d been bitten, but even now – and as when he was a child – Melissa knew that if she let him be, he’d eventually come to her on his own and tell her everything. She had long since come to accept the fact that Scott was an adult now, if not in age, then certainly in experience. Although it pained her that she could no longer protect her son like she used to – that she could no longer protect both her sons – she knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself and those around him.

She’d offered to call Stiles’ dad and Scott had quietly said that might not be a good idea. At this Melissa argued with him, as no matter how grown-up your children became, a parent was still a parent, and they deserved to know what was happening with their children. They didn’t have to argue long, however, as shortly afterwards Melissa got a call from a frantic John, asking where his son was. She explained everything that she knew, and soon after John arrived at their house, grabbing onto his son’s hand and not letting go.

Scott could smell the confusion rolling off him and listened as he explained how three hours ago he felt as though he had suddenly “woken up” even though he was already awake, suddenly wondering where Stiles was and realising that he hadn’t seen him – that he hadn’t thought about him – in almost a week. He’d tried calling Stiles’ phone but it had gone straight to voicemail; he’d then called Scott, but his had been out of service. He’d spent the next forty-five minutes having his men scour the area for Stiles, but to no avail. Scott asked him if he remembered their conversation from earlier that day, but the Sheriff just shook his head, claiming that this was the first time he’d seen Scott in nearly a week.

They had all stayed by Stiles’ side for another hour, before John got a call on his phone telling him to get back to the station. He’d refused at first, but Melissa encouraged him to go, saying that Stiles most likely would be sleeping for the rest of the evening and through the night, and that she’d call him if he woke up. John was still reluctant, but at his work’s insistence, he eventually left.

It was now a day and a half later; John had returned a couple times to check on Stiles, but an emergency at work kept him coming and going. He’d just left an hour ago, along with Melissa who had to start her shift at the hospital, leaving Scott alone in the house with Stiles, his hand gripping his friend’s arm, and wondering when – if ever – he was going to wake up.

He didn’t have to wait much longer.

While Scott was staring absently out the window, he felt the muscles beneath his fingers move and he quickly looked down, watching as Stiles’ eyes slowly drew open.

Stiles blinked a few times, trying to gather his bearings as his brain slowly started to come back online. He wondered where he was for a moment, unfamiliar with the blue walls and carpet on the floor. He tried to figure out where he was, when suddenly he realised with a vicious start that he was lying on a bed.

Adrenaline and fear started pumping through his veins and he immediately sat up, fighting against the sheets and blankets that had twisted themselves in his arms and legs. Visions of large, metal springs entered his mind, ripping through the mattress and spearing into his body, stabbing through his back, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his chest, holding him, suffocating him. Only one thought coursed through his mind, screaming at him to get out, get out, get out. It was only when someone grabbed onto his arms that he realised a voice was speaking – a very deep, not-female voice. He snapped his head up, his eyes wide, and saw –

Scott.

Stiles stared at Scott in confusion for only a moment, before the memories of all that had happened came rushing back, and he fell against Scott’s arms as he realised that he was safe.

Safe. What did that feel like, again?

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Stiles said quickly as Scott frantically asked if he was all right. He pushed Scott away and fell back onto the bed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He was expecting to hear Scott say something, to ask him again if he was all right; when he didn’t, Stiles opened his eyes and looked up at him, catching his eye – he immediately wished he hadn’t.

Scott was looking at him with a  pure, full-blown, trademarked Puppy-Scott-McCall look, his eyes already begging for answers to questions he hadn’t yet asked and betraying the guilt that he undoubtedly felt. Stiles had seen Guilty-Scott before, but he hadn’t seen a Guilty-Scott like this. He swore under his breath, trying to steel himself for what was to come. Stiles could stand-up against many things, but a quivering, guilty, upset-Scott-McCall had never been one of them. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that they would be sharing manly bro-tears and bro-hugs; he just hadn’t thought they’d come so soon.

“Hey man,” Stiles greeted, propping himself up against the pillow.

Scott stared at him, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I just woke up from the dead,” Stiles half-joked. By Scott’s expression, he clearly didn’t find it funny.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Water? Something to eat?”

Stiles was going to refuse on principle, as just because he’d been kidnapped and tortured by a crazy person, it didn’t mean he was an invalid who couldn’t take care of himself. But as his stomach clenched painfully and his throat grew suddenly dry, Stiles stubbornly realised that yeah – maybe he was. He was just about to begrudgingly accept when another bodily need suddenly made itself known – his bladder. He quickly sat up and started to get out of the bed. Scott was immediately by his side, grabbing his arm.

“Dude, it’s fine,” Stiles insisted as he swung his legs over the bed. “I just have to pee, that’s all; you don’t have to help.” When Stiles finally made it to his feet, his legs suddenly turned to jello and started to fall out from under him; Scott’s strong arms quickly caught him and held him up, much to Stiles’ chagrin. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “So maybe I could use some help.”

“All right, let’s just – let’s just move here, for a second,” Scott said, adjusting his hold and draping Stiles’ arm around his shoulder until they were finally able to make their way out of the bedroom and towards that bathroom. Stiles shrugged off Scott’s help once he’d reached the door and – thankfully – was able to make the rest of the way by himself. He actively avoided looking in the mirror as he did his business; he already knew that he looked like shit, he didn’t need to actually see it, thank-you-very-much.

When Stiles was finished he slowly made his way back out into the hall, relieved to see that, bit by bit, the strength in his legs was slowly returning. Scott still grabbed his arm for support – which Stiles was secretly thankful for – and helped him back into what Stiles now realised was Scott’s bedroom. He pushed away the fear he felt at seeing the bed and forced himself to sit back on it, but despite the knowledge that this bed was Scott’s bed and he was in Scott’s room, the uncomfortableness and unease never went away.

Scott sat down on the chair beside the bed and the two sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, before Stiles finally spoke with a sigh. “I guess someone has to start this sob-fest,” he said.

“I guess,” Scott replied quietly. They were silent for another minute, until Scott finally began. “So what… what happened?” he asked. His eyes glanced down at Stiles’ stomach before looking back up. Stiles knew exactly what he was thinking.

“‘You wanna know how I got these scars?’” he asked jokingly, lowering his voice in mimicry. To his surprise, Scott didn’t laugh with him; instead his eyes darkened and he leveled a disapproving glare.

“This isn’t funny, Stiles!” he said harshly. “You were kidnapped by a witch! You nearly died out there! If I hadn’t found you –.”

“Fuck you, McCall,” Stiles swore, suddenly finding himself sitting bolt-upright, glaring viciously at the other man, anger coursing through his veins like fire. “Fuck you! You think I find it funny that I was kidnapped in broad daylight? You think I find it funny that she strung me up by my wrists and tied me to the bed while she cut and stabbed into my chest like I was a fuckin’ lab experiment? You think I find it funny that even when I was surrounded by hundreds of people and everyone I knew, that I was still her prisoner? I know what she was doing, I know what she was going to do – so don’t you think for a fucking second that I think it’s funny –”

“Stiles –”

“And let me tell you another thing! I did not need your help – I did not need you to save me like I was a fucking damsel; I didn’t ask you to save me, I didn’t ask to be your burden – I saved my own fuckin’ self, you stupid, ungrateful, fucking bastard –.” Stiles cut himself off, pressing the palms of his hands hard against his eyes.

No. No, no, no – he wasn’t going to lose it. Not now, not in front of Scott, not like this; he wasn’t going to have a breakdown as soon as he woke up. He couldn’t. Pull yourself together Stiles, pull yourself together.

“Stiles, I….”

Stiles scrambled off the bed until he was standing and began to pace, suddenly needing to just move. He walked back and forth, trying to calm himself down and slow his racing heart. He could feel Scott’s eyes on him, could feel his concern, his worry.

His judgement.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Stiles said after a few minutes, refusing to look up.

“No you don’t,” Scott replied.

Stiles continued like he hadn’t heard him, “You think your once-sane friend – well, semi-sane friend. Let’s face it, I was never really sane – you think he’s finally gone off the deep-end; one kidnapping and he’s completely lost it. Finished. Kaput. Psycho.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Scott said firmly. Not giving Stiles the time to speak, he continued, “I was thinking that my best friend was kidnapped, right under my nose, and I didn’t have the sense or wherewithal to realise he was in trouble. I was thinking that now my best friend – my brother – is going to have memories for the rest of his life that will haunt him every day, and there’s not a single thing that I can do about it.”

There was a pause, then Stiles sniffed, fighting back the sting that had started to grow hot in his eyes. They stood in silence for a long while; Stiles came back and sat down on the edge of the bed, but he still couldn’t look Scott in the eyes. Finally, when it seemed like neither was ever going to speak, Scott opened his mouth. “Stiles, when we… when we were fighting Givens, you… I thought I saw… I mean, when you told me to get out of the way, it looked like you… like you had….”

“Attacked her?” Stiles finished. He stayed motionless, his eyes never turning to Scott.

He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d barely had time to process that he had these powers, that he had actually used them against the Witch – it had been what, one day? Two? He’d barely had time to realise he had them, much less figured out how he was going to explain it all to everyone else. How could he explain something that he himself really didn’t know anything about? How could he take something so personal, something that so greatly affected him and his life, and share it with everyone around him, like it was nothing at all? Like it didn’t affect how he lived, what he thought of himself, who he thought he was? These powers, this prophecy of the Blessed – it was personal. It was personal. And how could he possibly pretend, even for a moment, that it was not?

But this was Scott. This was his best friend, this was his brother. They told each other everything, heck, they practically did everything together – practically lived in each other’s pockets. When Scott was bitten and first learning about his own abilities as a werewolf, Stiles had been there for him, he’d been there every step of the way. How could he tell Scott that he couldn’t do the same for him now?

Plus, he’d actually seen him use his powers, so in the end, he didn’t really have a choice.

Stiles took a deep breath, and finally spoke. “There was, um… there was a reason, apparently, why Givens took me. Why she chose me out of everyone else in the world.”

There was a pregnant pause and Scott frowned. “And why did she choose you?” he asked.

“Well, I mean – I don’t know if it’s true, or if she and everyone else is just making it up, but… but apparently I’m ‘important’, or something. Or I have something important. I mean, I know I have something kinda useful, I can’t exactly deny that anymore, but I don’t think it’s that important. But she does – did – apparently, so that’s why she decided to kidnap me and keep me as her pet in her little hell-hole of a house.”

He heard Scott huff and could sense he was struggling to keep his annoyance in check. Stiles inwardly smiled. “So what is it?” Scott pressed.

Stiles’ heart began to race again and suddenly he felt incredibly nervous. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to calm himself down, but it didn’t really help. Finally, he took a deep breath – if he was going to say it, then he’d better just say it and get it over with.

“I can… do things,” he spluttered out. Yeah, great – that sure explained everything. He tried again, “I can… I can move the… the air, or… or something.” Geez, that sounded stupid. ‘Move the air?’ Stiles inwardly cringed. Finally, before he could stop himself, he spat it out: “I have magic. I’m an Elemental.”

There was a long, heavy silence, then Scott asked, “What… what’s an elemental?”

Stiles shook his head, finally turning around to face him. “Shit, man – I don’t know. Alayna just said I was an Elemental, that I had elemental powers, that I could use elemental magic. Like earth, air –.”

“Fire and water?” Scott finished for him, his eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

“Hey man, I was as skeptical as you; I didn’t believe her for a second. But then I got mad and it… it sort of turned out to be true. At least partly, anyway.”

“What do you mean, ‘partly’? And who’s Alayna?”

“I mean so far I can only control air, though Alayna said I probably could control the rest in time. And Alayna is a woman I met in a mirror. She was actually pretty nice. Pretty helpful in the end.”

There was a much longer silence after that and Stiles wondered if maybe he should have explained everything a little more gently. Or if he should have explained it at all. He finally chanced a look at Scott and saw his friend looking at him incredulously, his eyebrows raised high in disbelief, as though his mother had just told him he was going to have a new sibling. Stiles could no longer keep the grin from spreading across his face.

“It looks… it looks like you had a pretty busy week,” Scott finally got out.

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, I’d say. Far from my most enjoyable week, I tell you, but definitely one of the most enlightening.”

“Did you say you were ‘blessed’?” Scott asked, his voice a slightly higher octave than normal. “Who – who the heck blessed you?”

This time, Stiles laughed outright. “Dude, if someone could give me that answer, I’d give ‘em a million bucks. Look – I don’t know what any of it means, I just know that it’s true. At least the part about me having powers. The jury’s still out on the rest.”

“That sounds….”

“Remarkable? Exciting? Psychotic?”

“It sounds amazing.”

Stiles gave him a look, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Amazing?” he repeated.

Scott returned the grin with his own. Suddenly he leaned forward, a curious look on his face. “Can you show me?” he asked. Stiles frowned.

“You wanna see me use my powers?” he said, his eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I mean – I saw you use it against Givens, but… I didn’t exactly know what I was seeing at the time.”

“Dude, I’m not some wind-up monkey toy for you to laugh at.”

Scott frowned. “I wouldn’t laugh at you, Stiles. Come on – can’t you show me? Or is it… is it like, something you can only do once in a while or in special circumstances?”

Stiles sighed, turning his body to fully face in front of Scott. “Fine, I just… I’m still figuring it out, okay? I seriously only learned about it a couple days ago. And with everything going on, I haven’t exactly had time to ‘practice’.”

Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes, calming himself down enough so that he’d actually be able to focus. He held out his hand in front of him, his palm facing upwards, searching for the pull that he knew was sitting somewhere inside him. He waited a few minutes, but found that rather than feeling his power, the only thing he could feel was Scott’s stare. He opened his eyes with a frown to see Scott staring intently at him, his eyes wide in expectation. When he saw Stiles look at him, he blinked.

“Did you… did you do it?” he asked unsurely. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“’Cuz I can’t exactly do it when you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to grow another head!” Stiles hissed.

“I’m not looking at you like anything!” Scott insisted.

Stiles huffed. “Well, stop staring at me like that, at least.” He closed his eyes again before Scott could reply and held out his hand once more.

This time the feeling came quick and Stiles latched onto it, suddenly becoming acutely aware of the air in the room, the oxygen that he and Scott were breathing, how fast they were exhaling, how still and calm everything was. He felt the air around his hand and he began to move it, turning it faster and faster while doing his best to contain it to the palm of his hand. He suddenly heard Scott gasp, and he opened his eyes.

A sphere of wind lay in the palm of his hand, similar to the one that had appeared when he was with Alayna. He looked up at Scott tentatively, hesitant to see the look on his face, but rather than seeing fear or disgust, Stiles only saw wide-eyed wonder.

“Holy shit,” Scott said, never taking his eyes off Stiles’ hand.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Stiles replied. He vaguely wondered how long he could keep the wind there, whether it would just dissipate when he lost focus or if he’d lose his energy before that. Nothing happened right away, so Stiles just shrugged.

“What can you do with it?” Scott asked after a minute, looking up to catch Stiles’ eye.

Stiles frowned. “Well, I used it to get out of the room Givens was keeping me in; I used the air-pressure to break the rope she was hanging me from and to break the window so I could climb out. Other than that, though, all I’ve used it for is throwing it at people. And jars. People and jars.”

Stiles saw Scott’s face fall at the mention of being hung from the ceiling, but thankfully he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he tentatively reached out his hand towards Stiles, his fingers slowly inching their way towards the wind that was being held in his friend’s hand. After a brief pause, he placed his fingers through the sphere.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting, whether he thought Scott’s fingers would be ripped from his hand or if his hand would simply shake like a rattle. Neither or those things happened; rather, the wind began to weave through Scott’s fingers, over his hand and up his wrist, sometimes moving it, but never with force. Stiles blinked, surprised, as suddenly the sensation of touch washed over him and he realised that, through the wind, he could actually feel Scott’s hand. He could feel the rise and fall of his knuckles, the edges of his fingertips; he swore he could even feel the rush of blood that ran beneath the veins that lay underneath his skin. With a jolt Stiles ripped his hand away, his eyes wide in shock. At Stiles’ movement, Scott quickly retracted his own hand, looking up at Stiles in confusion. “What?” he asked quickly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Stiles replied, contemplating the new discovery only for a moment before pushing it to the back of his mind. “Nothing. I just… I’m still trying to figure it out, that’s all.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. “So… do you believe me?” he asked.

Despite Stiles’ odd behaviour, the wonder that had been in Scott’s eyes hadn’t disappeared; if anything, it had grown. “Stiles, man – that… that’s probably the coolest and most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” Stiles couldn’t stop the small smile from turning up his lips. Coming from Scott, who was a werewolf and fought supernatural creatures as a side-job, that was saying something.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, both taking a moment to just enjoy the silence and relish in each other’s company, in the knowledge that the other was here and that they were safe. Suddenly Scott frowned and he looked up at Stiles, confusion creased slightly between his brows. “Hey, before in the woods when we first found each other, you said that you couldn’t tell anyone who Givens was because she’d placed a spell over you….”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well, if you couldn’t tell anyone, then… how’d you tell me?”

Stiles blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, then blinked again. “Huh,” he said after a minute. “Yeah, uh… that… that doesn’t make sense. Didn’t think about that.” Stiles leaned back against the wall, fighting back a yawn, fighting the urge to go back to sleep. He didn’t know how someone could sleep for so long and still be tired when they woke.

They sat in a amiable silence for a while, before Scott suddenly jerked and stood to his feet. “Oh I forgot,” he said. “I was going to get you something to eat! And to drink. I’ll be right back!”

Stiles started moving off the bed and got to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“Stiles, you should be resting! Go back to bed; I’ll get you something good, I promise.”

Stiles shook his head. “Dude, I’ve been sleeping on your bed for the past two days. I am sick of beds and I’m sick of sleeping. I am not an invalid. Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t poison the food, right?”

Scott sighed in defeat and waited as Stiles made his way over to him, his movements more than a little reserved as he walked. He tried to push Scott’s hands away as he reached out to help him, but Scott determinedly grabbed hold and together they walked through the hallway and down the stairs; Stiles all the while completely unaware that while they walked, black tendrils wove their way up Scott’s arm, taking his pain away.

Stiles ate the cereal that sat in front of him like a madman, finishing the bowl in a matter of minutes. What had been an absent hunger had turned into ravishment, and Stiles found that he couldn’t remember when it was the last time he had ate. Without asking, Scott poured him another bowl, even adding the milk for him. Stiles protested slightly, telling Scott he could do it himself, but by then it was finished and Stiles’ stomach insisted he continue to eat; so he did.

When he finished, he pushed the bowl away and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly, wincing as the movement jarred one of the wounds on his arm. Scott leaned forward, resisting the urge to reach out and grab Stiles’ hand to take his pain away. “Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked instead. “Here,” he said, moving his chair back and getting to his feet. “I’ll help you up the stairs.”

“No,” Stiles quickly replied, shaking his head. “No, I’ll just… I’ll just go lie down on the couch; I don’t need a bed.” He didn’t think he would ever need a bed again. He got to his own feet and Scott quickly came up beside him, grabbing his arm and leading him into the living room, slowly lowering him onto the couch. Sinking into the cushions felt like sinking into heaven and Stiles was unable to stop the sigh of relief from escaping his mouth.

They sat side by side in silence for a long while, Scott’s bare arm pressed close against Stiles’, black tendrils weaving their way across his skin and disappearing underneath his shirt. Stiles wished he had the strength to push Scott away and deal with his pain on his own, but he didn’t, so instead he found himself leaning further into his friend, his eyes slowly closing as sleep warmly beckoned him into its depths.

A thought suddenly crossed Stiles’ mind and his eyes snapped back open, his brows knitting together. “She killed Mrs. MacMillon,” he said quietly. The memory had come out of nowhere, of Givens remarking on the teacher’s temperament and waving the jar of eyeballs at him with a smirk.

Scott tensed, but remained where he was. “I guess… I guess that’s not really a surprise,” he said after a moment. “Some of the teachers mentioned that she’d left really quickly, that she hadn’t given any formal notice or anything. There were some rumours saying she didn’t even have any family; people thought she just decided to quit.”

“She cut her up. Used her for ingredients in her… spells. She made me drink some of it.” He didn’t know why he was telling Scott this, why he was telling him this incident out of all the others, but he found that once he started talking, it was rather difficult to stop.

Scott was quiet for a long moment, his arm shifting and turning, grasping Stiles’ hand and gripping it in his own. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I thought by pushing you away I was keeping you safe, when in reality, I….”

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” Stiles replied. “She said that after she got what she wanted from me, that she’d go after you. I didn’t want her to go after you.”

Scott fell silent and Stiles thought for a moment that the conversation was over, when suddenly Scott spoke, his voice raw and strained. “Why aren’t you mad at me?” he asked. “After what I said to you, after what I did to you… you should be pissed at me. You should be angry. I was an asshole to you; I said – I said things that were complete lies, I said terrible things but you… but you’re acting like it’s just… like it’s just not a big deal. I know you said you forgave me, but –.”

“I did forgive you,” Stiles interrupted, pushing away to get a better look at his friend. “And I still do.”

“But you only forgave me because you thought… because you thought you weren’t going to escape from Givens.”

Stiles made a face. “You think I forgave you out of pity? Out of some sort of Last Will and Testament? Dude, Scott… I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yes you would.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, yes – maybe I would. But I didn’t. I forgave you because you asked. I forgave you before you asked. Because you’re my best friend. I know we’ve said it a thousand times, but I’ll say it a thousand times more if I have to – you’re my brother. And believe it or not, I actually did understand where you were coming from.”

“Oh come on Stiles; I may have had legitimate reasons but I was a complete asshole about it, admit it. And even if I did have reasons, it didn’t mean I could just cut you out like that. It didn’t mean I could decide your life for you.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe I was pissed as hell at you for a while and maybe I wanted to punch you in the face and swear at you until my face turned blue, but I guarantee you that after –.” His words caught in his mouth and Stiles came to an abrupt halt, his eyes widening. He turned to Scott, his words falling out in a rush. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “What I – what she said, it wasn’t me.”

Scott’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Stiles, what are you talking about? What wasn’t you?”

“On the phone, before, last – shit, I don’t even know when it was, but you called me; when you called me I picked up, but then I dropped the phone and –.”

“Do you mean when you… when you were drunk?” Scott asked tentatively.

“Yes, yes but – but I wasn’t drunk, Scott, it wasn’t me talking to you. I mean, it was, but then I dropped the phone and Givens picked it up. She told you I’d been drinking, that I wanted you to leave me alone. She was using my voice, she was pretending to be me but it wasn’t me, I swear to you it wasn’t –.”

The creases in Scott’s forehead gave way to understanding. “That wasn’t you,” he repeated, as though affirming the truth for himself. “It was Givens.”

Stiles nodded, the memory of that scene playing in his head and he leaned back into the cushions of the couch, seeking what comfort he could. “That weekend… when I stopped to help her on the side of the road… I didn’t realise at first what was happening; I didn’t realise that she was putting me under a spell, that she was taking me prisoner. When I look at it now I can see that something was wrong, that the whole thing was wrong. But I didn’t see it at the time. I just… I just thought she was being nice.”

“What did she do?” Scott asked quietly.

Stiles swallowed, licking his lips. “When I dropped her off at her house, the jeep broke down. I didn’t think anything of it, I know I should have, everyone else in the world probably would have, but –.”

“Dude, Stiles – calm down, it’s all right. I understand. Just… keep going.”

Stiles took a breath, then started again. “She asked if I wanted to stay there. I thought it was weird at first, but then she invited me for supper and we ate, and… and then after that everything gets fuzzy. It all just seems like a dream. A really vivid, horrible dream. She told me to stay at her house for the night and I did, and the next morning I just… I just forgot I was ever supposed to leave. So I stayed. It wasn’t until you called me that I realised something was wrong, that she was doing something to me and I had to get out. I tried to get out, but she found me, and….” Stiles swallowed. “She kept me in a room in the attic and she… did stuff….” There was a long silence, then Stiles quietly whispered, “Please don’t tell my dad or the Pack.”

Scott frowned, shaking his head. “Stiles, your dad needs to know –.”

“I know. I know he does, just… just not now. So please don’t tell him. Especially about the magic. He doesn’t need to worry about me more than he already does, y’know? He always worries about me, and… and it’s over now, so it would only make him feel guilty if he knew everything that happened.”

“Do you think… do you think Givens put a spell on him, so that he’d forget about you or something like that?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Yeah that seems like something she would do. She didn’t want anyone getting suspicious; she didn’t want anyone to think I was in trouble. I think… I think maybe she was purposely keeping Dad busy at work, keeping him preoccupied, but she probably didn’t trust that he wouldn’t notice I was gone. It’s okay. If that – if that’s all she did to him, then that’s okay.” Scott squeezed Stiles’ hand and Stiles’ eyes started to shut as a wave of exhaustion fell over him. He looked back up, staring vacantly into the black abyss of the television. “I’m glad I got out,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

Scott felt his heart clench and he closed his eyes, trying but failing to force back the hot sting of tears that had started to gather there. He squeezed Stiles’ hand again, unashamedly leaning into him. “I’m glad you made it out, too,” he replied.

The room fell into silence and a few minutes later Scott heard Stiles’ breathing even out and listened as his heartbeat fell into a steady rhythm, as sleep finally took him. His whole weight was against Scott, but Scott was more than happy to take it. Grabbing a blanket off the arm of the couch, Scott silently but expertly maneuvered it until it was laying across both him and Stiles. He let go of Stiles’ hand and instead wrapped his arm protectively around his shoulder, holding him close and relishing in the comfort that his best friend – his brother -was safe.

Chapter Text

Scott tapped absently at his phone, the light of its screen shining on his face in the darkness of the room. He was lying on the couch beside Stiles, his arm still wrapped around his friend’s shoulders as he continued to sleep. Stiles hadn’t woken once since he’d fallen asleep hours before; since then the sun had fallen and shrouded the room in darkness, the clock on the wall ticking quietly as its long hand clicked over to 8:02pm. Scott had dozed off and on and even though he had missed supper, moving from the couch didn’t even enter his mind. Sitting in the silence with Stiles beside him, Scott felt more safe and at peace than he had in a very, very long time.

He’d texted Stiles’ dad and let him know that Stiles had woken up. John was chagrined that he wasn’t able to make it before Stiles fell back asleep, but he told him that he’d stop by as soon as he could. Scott then texted his mom, who told him that she’d be home after by nine and would check on Stiles then.

He’d taken the time to finally text the rest of the Pack, letting them know that Stiles was okay and updating them on what had happened, meticulously censoring and abridging where needed – which was virtually everything. He hadn’t forgotten Stiles’ request that he keep his magic and the events of the past week a secret, and after having made Stiles keep his own secrets for so long, Scott knew that it was only right he keep his now – at least until he could convince him otherwise.

Unsurprisingly, Lydia had been furious that he’d ignored her texts and phone-calls for the past couple days, demanding to know how Stiles was and why he had so blatantly ignored her for over a week. Scott told her that Stiles had gotten into a bit of trouble and had lost his phone, but he didn’t tell her much more than that.

Malia had been just as adamant in her demands about Stiles’ condition, but she had been easier to mollify than Lydia. She didn’t ask too many questions, just wanted to know if Stiles had been hurt and if he was all right. Scott answered yes to both. Kira had been similar in her questions, though she extended her concern to Scott, for which he was both secretly grateful and guilty for. He told her he was fine, but that he’d be staying with Stiles for the next few days while he recovered. Kira, as always, was completely agreeable and encouraged him to stay with his friend as long as he needed.

Liam had been harder to deal with. He’d been with Scott in the woods, had seen him so incredibly freaked out and so terrifyingly focused as he all but commanded his Pack for Stiles to be found. He’d been mad at Scott’s lack of reply when he asked him what had happened, but Scott knew he’d get over it. He placated him as best he could, apologising for his behaviour and lack of communication, but insisted that everything was fine now and that he didn’t need to worry about it anymore. Stiles had been found and he was now safe. Liam hadn’t replied since then and Scott knew he was royally pissed off. Even though there was only a few years between him and the younger wolf, he didn’t think he’d ever felt that difference in age and experience more greatly than he did now.

Scott suddenly felt Stiles shift under his arm and he looked down, watching as Stiles slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he woke up. Scott leaned back and turned the lamp on, flooding the room in light. Stiles squinted and frowned, his eyes following the length of his impromptu-pillow until they met Scott’s. His frown deepened and he slowly pushed himself away. “Dude,” he said, his voice still scratchy with sleep. “Were you – were you cuddling me?”

The side of Scott’s mouth turned up in a grin and he clicked his phone off with his thumb. “Yep. Gotta problem with that?”

“Yes. Dude, guys – guys don’t cuddle. That – that was un-consensual cuddling that you just did. I did not agree to that.”

“Oh I don’t know, you seemed pretty happy to use me as your pillow. At one point you even hugged me like a teddy-bear.”

“Dude.”

“Dude.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Stiles with a put-upon frown and Scott with a smug smile, until finally Stiles sighed and leaned back into the couch, waving his hand. “Whatever. I don’t care. You’re part wolf, cuddling is probably part of your DNA or something. So you can go and cuddle with whomever you want – go cuddle with your Pack; that’s what wolves do, right?”

“Dude, you’re my Pack.” Scott’s grin widened into a smile. “So I guess that means you’re okay with cuddling, then?”

Stiles gave him an annoyed glare, opening his mouth to retort back when suddenly the front-door opened and the lights turned on; the boys turned to see John standing in the doorway, looking very bedraggled and out of breath. He looked around the room until his eyes finally landed on his son, and in a few long strides he was in front of him and enveloping him in a hug.

They stayed that way for a long while, the Sheriff whispering something into his son’s ear and Stiles murmuring something quietly in return. Scott began to feel he was intruding on a private moment and was about to get up when John finally pulled back, his eyes shimmering. He sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch, placing his hand on Stiles’ knee and squeezing it tightly.

“I’m okay Dad,” Stiles said and Scott could see that his eyes too, were shining with unshed tears.

“Are you?” John asked, his voice taking on a sharp tone. “What the hell happened, Stiles? Scott told me that you were… that you were kidnapped by a supernatural creature? And that it placed some sort of… spell on me and that’s why I didn’t even realise you were missing for a week?”

Scott could hear Stiles swallow and his heartbeat speed up, as he struggled to come up with the best answer to tell his father. He knew that Scott had told him he’d been hurt, that the Witch had knocked him around pretty good and locked him in an upstairs room, but as to why the witch had taken him, why she’d beaten him – he’d left that explanation up to Stiles.

Stiles opened his mouth, gaping for a moment before he finally found the words to speak, schooling his face into a small, half-smile. “Well, you know how I’ve always said that all our teachers came on a one-way ticket straight from hell itself?”

John frowned, shaking his head. “Stiles, what does that have to do with –.”

“Well as it turns out, it’s actually true! Our teacher, Ms… Ms. Givens, she, uh… it turns out she was a… a witch.”

“Your teacher is a witch?” John asked, frowning incredulously.

“Was a witch,” Scott interjected. “She’s dead now.”

John turned to him, his eyebrow raised questioningly. “Who killed her?”

Scott suddenly found the back of his neck grow hot and he swallowed. He always avoided killing as much as he could; the first time he’d taken a life, even though it was a supernatural one, he’d been a wreck for weeks afterward. He never killed if he didn’t have to. But this… this was different. Much different. “She was going to kill us,” he said quickly. “She tortured Stiles, she was going to kill him so I had no choice –.”

“Woah, hey now,” John interrupted, his eyes softening. “I’m not interrogating you Scott, I’m just trying to figure out what happened. My son was missing for almost a week and I didn’t notice a thing, so I either I’m the worst father in the world or there was something – or someone – making sure I didn’t know and I’m just trying to figure out who it was. If you had to kill someone to save my son – to save yourself – that is more than acceptable. So don’t think for a second that you’re in trouble, okay?” Scott nodded and John turned back to Stiles. “Did she say what she wanted from you? Why she kidnapped you?”

Stiles’ fists clenched imperceptibly by his sides, his voice low and scratchy as he spoke. “She… she thought I was… that I was special, or something. Like Scott and the others. She thought she could take it from me, whatever it was, but obviously there was… there was nothing to get, so she just ended up getting mad. A lot.”

John’s eyes glanced briefly down to Stiles’ stomach, where he knew hidden wounds lay, then looked back up. “Is that why she… is that why she beat you?” he asked.  

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, she uh… she wasn’t too thrilled when she realised there was nothing there.”

They were silent for a few moments and John finally sighed, leaning back and rubbing his hand tiredly over his face. “You kids….” he muttered under his breath. He looked back up at Stiles. “If Melissa hadn’t checked you over already, I’d be taking your hide to the emergency room right now, you know that?”

“I’m fine Dad, I swear! Yeah, maybe I’m a bit black and blue at the moment, but it’s nothing that time won’t heal.” Catching his father’s skeptical look, Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes. “Seriously Dad, I’m fine. Yeah, I was kidnapped; yeah, maybe I got knocked around a bit, but Scott found me, I got out, … it’s fine now, okay? She’s dead. It’s over. So now I’d just like to go home and keep sleeping for the rest of the year, if that’s okay with everyone else.”

John rose to his feet. “Then we’ll leave right now,” he said. “Do you have everything you need? Did you bring anything?”

“Just me, myself, and I,” Stiles replied with a smile. Neither Scott nor John were an idiot – they knew it was forced.

Stiles tried getting to his feet but fell back on the couch at his first attempt; he pretended it was nothing and tried again, but Scott could tell that he was in pain, could see the grimace hidden behind his eyes. John, with the intuition that only a parent could have, took his son’s arm and helped him finally get to his feet. For once, Stiles didn’t complain.

“I guess I’ll see you later, Scott,” Stiles said as he walked over to the door beside his father. Scott quickly rose and followed after them.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said. “The guys were wanting to see you. Should I tell them they can stop by sometime?”

Stiles remained with his back towards him, slowly putting his shoes. “Sure,” he said after a minute. It was a reluctant agreement, Scott could tell, but he honestly couldn’t blame him. If he’d been held captive by a Witch and tortured for a week, he’d want a few days off, too.

“They won’t stay long,” Scott assured him as John opened the door. “They just want to see you, make sure you’re okay – you know?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just not too early, okay? The weekend is meant for sleeping; especially Sundays.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t,” Scott affirmed.

“Tell your mother I said thank-you, will you?” John asked. Scott nodded. A few moments later they were out the door, heading towards John’s police-car and getting inside. A minute later the engine turned over and roared to life; the lights shone bright in Scott’s face as the car pulled away, and few minutes later they were driving down the road and disappearing into the darkness.

Stiles stared into his bedroom, his eyes unblinking and his feet unmoving. He’d just said goodnight to his dad, who he knew was exhausted from a week of overtime and days of worrying over his son, and now looked nearly ready to collapse. They’d talked for another couple hours after they’d gotten home, John trying to wring out any more information from his son about what had happened to him. Stiles told him a bit more, such as the first couple days under her spell of illusion and some of the kinds of beatings he received, though he left out the events involving the bed and knives. His dad didn’t need to know about that.

Even though he’d been sleeping for nearly a day and a half straight, Stiles still felt inexplicably exhausted and was more than ready to close his eyes. The only problem was that ever since his dad had gone to his room, Stiles suddenly found that he was unable to step a single foot into his own.

His room was exactly as he’d left it: his bed half-made, his board pushed to the side with various amounts of scribbles strewn across it, his desk and laptop sitting along the wall, vacant and unused. Everything was the same, and after unexpectedly being away for so long he should be ecstatic to finally be back.

Except he wasn’t. Rather than feeling elated, Stiles instead felt trepidation, he felt worry.

He felt fear.

This is stupid, he told himself, trying to gather his courage and step forward through the doorway. This is stupid, just go. Just go inside and go to bed; you’re tired, why can’t you just go….

Taking a deep breath, Stiles finally walked across the threshold and into his room.

It was an odd mixture of both relief and fear; relief at being back with the familiar and comforting, while at the same time feeling fearful of the ever-shrinking walls that surrounded him on all sides, closing him in, trapping him.

Imprisoning him.

He glanced at the bed only once before stepping away, knowing immediately that there was no way he was going to stay there for the entire night. After nearly ten minutes of standing in silence, Stiles finally dashed over to his bed, grabbed a handful of blankets, and sat down on the floor, his eyes never leaving the hallway through the open door until he finally fell asleep.

Scott arrived the next morning at ten to find John’s police-car sitting silently in the driveway, the house quiet and unmoving. He stepped lightly through the door that he unlocked with his key and made his way up the stairs until he reached Stiles’ room. As he neared it he noticed that the door was wide open and for a moment he frowned, wondering if maybe Stiles was already awake and he’d somehow missed him; but when he peered into the room, he found that he hadn’t missed him at all.

Stiles laid under a mountain of blankets, not a bit of him visible except for his tousle of hair and his closed eyes. What surprised him the most, however, was that rather than lying on the bed, Stiles was curled up in the corner of the room nearest to the window, nothing beneath him but the hard-wood floor. As though sensing him nearby, Stiles began to stir and peeked sleep-filled eyes up at Scott. Scott was glad to see that, despite having slept on the floor, Stiles appeared to be in better shape than he had in the last couple of days.

“Hey,” Scott greeted. Stiles disappeared back under the blankets and Scott heard him mumble something unintelligible in reply. “How are you feeling?” Scott asked, taking a seat on the edge of Stiles’ bed.

“Fine,” Stiles replied, pushing the blankets away and sitting up against the wall. He yawned, stretching his arms in front of him.

“Was something wrong with your bed?”

Stiles blinked, rubbing away the water that had formed in his eyes. “Hmm?”

“I said, is something wrong with your bed? Why were you sleeping on the floor?”

Stiles blinked a few more times, awareness suddenly returning to him as he realised that he was indeed on the floor. Colour tinged his cheeks and he hastily pushed the blankets off his legs, realising belatedly that he was still in the same clothes he had worn yesterday. “Oh, um… I uh, I just accidentally fell asleep here, I guess. Too tired to make it to the bed.”

If lies had scents, Scott would be smelling this one a mile away. But at the moment it didn’t matter; there were far more important things to take care of now.

“You should probably take a shower,” Scott said after a few moments. “The girls and Liam will be here in half an hour and no offence man, but you kinda stink.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, rising slowly to his feet and making his way to the door, slapping Scott’s shoulder with his hand as he passed him. “I appreciate your support.”

“Just trying to help,” Scott called after him as he disappeared into the hallway. A few minutes later Scott heard the shower turn on and he settled back to wait until his friend returned.

Stiles came back twenty minutes later with a towel wrapped around his neck, his hair wet and flat against his head. He was wearing an old pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt, looking more alive and relaxed than he had in a long time. He plopped down on the chair and threw his towel at Scott, hitting him in the face. Scott grinned and threw the towel back at him until Stiles finally threw it to the side. They sat in a peaceful silence until Scott’s phone buzzed, Lydia’s text letting them know that the rest of the Pack was waiting outside.

“They’re here,” Scott said, looking up at Stiles with a tight smile. “You ready?”

Stiles sighed, but nodded his head. “Yeah. Best to get it over with, I guess.”

A twinge of guilt moved in Scott’s chest, understanding that Stiles would rather stay under the radar for the next while, but knowing that their friends wouldn’t allow that to happen. “Sorry,” he said sympathetically. “After this I’ll make sure they give you some space, all right?”

“Dude, you don’t have to hover over me like I’m some kid; I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know you can. But I’m your alpha; it’s my responsibility to keep… to keep you safe.”

Stiles sighed, leaning back against his chair and stretching his legs. “You know buddy, it’d sound a lot better if you just said you’re concerned for me as a friend. Pulling the alpha card is kind of a trashy move. Not to mention slightly weird.”

“Too bad. I’m gonna pull that card as much as I need to if it means we can avoid another Givens.”

Stiles’ eyes softened. “Scott….”

Suddenly the sound of the front door opening could be heard, slamming shut a few moments later. Seconds after they could hear voices, then the sounds of footsteps as they ran up the stairs and down the hall until they finally reached –

“Stiles!”

Stiles barely had enough time to take a breath before he was being wrapped in a huge hug, his face covered with a mass of strawberry-hair. After a long moment the person finally pulled back and Stiles could see Lydia looking down at him, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. That there were tears at all was saying something – for Lydia Marten never cried in public.

“Stiles – Stiles, are you all right?” she asked quickly, scanning him over with her eyes before he even had time to reply. “Scott said you got hurt –.” Her hands reached for Stiles’ shirt, intending to lift it up to see his bruises, but Stiles quickly grabbed her arm and pushed her away, hastily pulling his shirt back down.

“Hey now,” he said. “Let’s leave the doctor-stuff to the doctors, okay? Scott’s mom already checked me over and fixed me up so it’s all good; no need to see for yourself, all right?”

Lydia’s hands clenched by her sides and she took a step back, guilt marring her features in a way Stiles had never seen before – much less towards him. “Stiles, I’m so – so sorry. I didn’t – I didn’t realise that you were… I didn’t realise that you were in trouble, or else I would have –.”

“Lydia, it’s fine,” Stiles interrupted, trying to calm her down. “No one knew, okay? Not even Scott. The Witch made it so that I couldn’t tell anyone and she worked damn hard to make sure no one found out. It’s not your fault, all right?”

Lydia shook her head. “I should have known. I should have sensed it, I should have known you were in danger –.”

“Lydia you’re a banshee,” Stiles said. “Though I know you think you are, you’re not actually all-knowing. It wasn’t like I was on death’s door, so why would you have sensed anything?”

Lydia grabbed Stiles’ hand and squeezed it tightly between her own, her fingers trembling beneath his. “I’m so glad you’re safe…” she whispered.

“I knew something was wrong,” Malia announced, stepping into the conversation. “I knew something was off with you; I just didn’t know what. You would never act the way you did. And that teacher – Ms. Givens? – she was a regular bitch from hell. She pretended to be nice at the start, but whenever a kid did something annoying she’d get real pissy really fast.” Malia moved past Lydia and leaned down, wrapping her arms around Stiles in a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered in his ear. Stiles hugged her back. While he’d been nervous to see everyone again, he had to admit – it was nice to know they cared.

Malia stepped back and Kira took her place, leaning down and hugging Stiles briefly before taking her place beside Scott. “I’m so happy you’re safe, Stiles,” she said.

Lydia stepped to the side to reveal Liam standing behind her. He hunched in on himself when everyone turned to look at him, but straightened back up when he turned to Stiles. “Uh, hey man. Glad… glad to see you’re not dead.”

Scott and Lydia grimaced while Malia rolled her eyes and colour tinged Kira’s cheeks. Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks man,” he said. “I’m glad I’m not dead, too.” Liam brightened and gave a small smile, which Stiles returned.

Silence fell over the group for a few minutes until Lydia finally spoke, asking the silent question that everyone had been wanting to know: “So what happened, Stiles?”

Stiles took a deep breath, steeling himself as he opened his mouth to speak, having already rehearsed what he was going to say. “Well as you probably know already, our substitute teacher kinda left a few things off her resume when she applied for the job. It turns out she was a witch and for some reason in her little witchy-mind, she thought that I had some special power like you guys and she wanted to somehow take it for herself.”

“She thought you were a werewolf?” Kira asked.

“Or a banshee. Or a kitsune. But since I’m not any of those things, she obviously didn’t find anything, so she just… knocked me around a bit. I’m fine though, I’m okay now, so don’t give me any more of your teary-little anime eyes, okay? Scott found me in time so it’s all… it’s all good.”

“Where was she keeping you?” Lydia asked quietly.

“She had some sort of house hidden in the woods; it was surrounded by magic so no one would have been able to find it. Or leave it.”

Malia frowned. “How did Scott find you, then?”

That was a question Stiles had been wondering himself for a while now, but not having a real answer he simply said the first thing that came off his tongue: “He’s a True Alpha. He can do all kinds of crazy things.” Scott gave him a look that went unnoticed by the others, but no one pursued the question further, seemingly content with the answer.

 Silence enveloped them once more, though this time it was much more amiable and calm. Stiles could see they all had more questions they wanted to ask, but none wanted to aks them in front of the others.

After a while Lydia announced that they’d all be going out for pizza for lunch, which everyone – even Stiles – was happy to agree to. Liam started to ask whether he could bring his girlfriend along when John’s voice suddenly sounded in the room: “You kids do realise that there’s more than one person that lives here, don’t you?”

Everyone froze and turned to the door where John Stilinski stood, looking tired with his eyebrow raised. A chorus of apologies bombarded him and John shook his head, unable to stop his lips from twitching upwards. “No, no, it’s fine. I was just reading in my room anyways; wanted to let Stiles sleep in.” He locked eyes with his son and nodded his head. “You good?”

A small smile brushed his lips and Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”

John smiled and leaned away from the door. “All right then; I’m going to go put on a pot of coffee.” The Sherriff walked away and a few moments later they could hear the sounds of his feet as they padded quietly down the stairs.

“All right, well, that was awkward,” Malia announced. “Let’s never do that again.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh please Malia. If you think that was awkward then we really need to get you some experience in what true awkwardness is. Have you ever woken up hungover in the house of someone’s parents that you barely know? Who found you sleeping in their bed?”

Malia frowned, leaning away. “No….”

“Then you haven’t experienced the true meaning of the word ‘awkward’. You know nothing.”

“Jon Snow,” both Stiles and Scott said in unison, immediately turning to each other with a grin. The conversation and banter was so achingly familiar that, for a moment, Stiles almost forgot how they all came to be here in the first place.

Almost.

“Well how about we head out and go get pizza?” Malia suggested, standing to her feet.

Lydia gave her an incredulous look. “Malia, it’s only quarter after eleven.”

“So?”

“So we don’t just eat whenever we want to! There is a time and place for everything, including meals.”

Malia scoffed. “You know, if I knew being a human meant I had to be so uptight about everything, I’d have just stayed a coyote. You guys let that clock run your entire lives.”

“Come on,” Scott said, getting to his own feet. “It’s not that early. By the time we find a place and order our food, it’ll be almost noon. Let’s go.”

Everyone stood and a few started to walk towards the door, when suddenly Liam spoke up. “Oh Scott, I forgot to tell you. There was a Pack from Colorado that came through here a couple days ago, looking for you. I told them I didn’t know where you were, because I didn’t at the time. You were… you were looking for Stiles.”

Scott frowned. “Did they say what they wanted?”

“They were looking for one of their pack members, an older guy in his thirties. Said he went missing a couple months ago and they’d tracked him to our territory. I told them we hadn’t seen him, but that they could talk to you if they wanted. They didn’t stay.”

Scott thought for a few more moments, then shrugged his shoulders. “Well I guess all we can do is keep our eyes out for him. Did they say what he looked like?”

“Brown hair, blue eyes – tall. Didn’t say much else; they seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Well like I said, we’ll keep an eye out for him. But for now, let’s go get something to eat.”

Everyone voiced their agreement and made their way out of the room, until Stiles and Scott were the only ones that were left. Scott turned to Stiles, his hand on the doorknob, his eyebrows pinched slightly together. “You okay?” he asked.

Stiles took a deep breath, paused for a few moments, then nodded his head. He was still tired beyond belief, he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable around the rest of the Pack – around anyone, really – but he had to admit, after a week of nothing but soups and sandwiches and tea-parties (he shuddered just remembering that random bit of memory), he was more than hungry.

And damn, but did pizza sure sound good.

At first the conversations and banter around the table were calm and comfortable, and Stiles thought for a moment that settling back into normalcy would be easy.

He was wrong.

Halfway through the lunch as people began to question him more and more about what had happened, he found himself shutting down, hunching in on himself – wishing that he were anywhere other than where he was. Scott, ever aware, quietly grabbed Stiles’ arm and led him out of the booth, telling everyone that he wasn’t feeling well and so he was going home, and as Stiles’ ride, Stiles was leaving too. Giving no one time to question him, he simply walked Stiles out the door.

Stiles went back home and spent the rest of the day and night doing almost entirely nothing but sleep. His dad had taken the rest of the day off from work and stayed home, watching over him like a hawk. Stiles didn’t mind. After spending nearly a week being on constant alert and having to be always aware, it was nice to let someone else take over – if only for a while.

The next few days passed in the same way. Scott stayed home from school both Monday and Tuesday to hang out and keep an eye on Stiles after his dad had gone back to work, but Stiles was sure that even if his father had been home, Scott would still be right beside him.

On Wednesday Stiles finally managed to convince Scott to go back to school. He himself still didn’t feel up to it, but he knew that as much as he loved Scott as a brother, he was going to climb up the walls if he didn’t stop hovering over him like a worried mother hen. Scott had fought him, saying it was still too soon to leave him alone by himself, but Stiles just shook his head and told him that he’d be fine, and that whether they liked it or not, things would have to go back to normal eventually.

He thought he’d spend his time sleeping like he had for the past three days, but as he sat on the couch watching an old show on the TV, his thoughts began to drift and he found himself focusing on that which he had been trying to avoid ever since he first woke up.

His powers.

He’d been trying to avoid it, putting it to the back of his mind whenever he happened to think about it, but now it stood firm before him, refusing to be ignored any longer.

The house was quiet, but unlike Givens’ house, it was a warm quiet. For the longest time Stiles just stared at his hand, open and palm facing upwards, for all appearances barren and empty.

But as Stiles had learned only all too well, appearances could be destructively deceiving.

Alone in the silence of the house, Stiles, for the first time in nearly a week, dug deep within himself and took hold of the feeling that was starting to become only all-too familiar.

Wisps and tendrils of wind wrapped around his palm, weaving through his fingers and circling his wrist. The wind shimmered with a quiet blue, fading and reappearing as it ran around his hand.

Well, he thought, now’s about a good a time as any to have that well-deserved Freak Out I couldn’t have before. Oddly enough, however, Stiles didn’t exactly feel like freaking out any longer.

Stiles lost track of how long he stared at the wind that he had conjured, the air that he was controlling, until suddenly he heard a car speed by his house, the unexpected noise startling him out of his reverie. The air circling in his hand didn’t vanish, though, and it wasn’t until he intentionally brought it to an end that the wind calmed and disappeared. He looked up, his eyes falling on the television and over the few pictures that stood on the mantle.

He couldn’t do this here. Not in his house, where if something went wrong he’d end up either hurting someone or breaking every single thing his father owned. No, he had to go somewhere else if he was going to do this; if he was going to… going to practice his power. If he was going to see what exactly it was that he could really do.

Turning on his phone, Stiles saw that it was two in the afternoon. Scott would still be in school for another hour, but Stiles had a feeling he wouldn’t mind skipping the last class of the day. 

Stiles never missed his jeep more than when he was sitting behind Scott on his flimsy little motorbike, driving down the dirt road as dust kicked up in large billows behind them.

He hated this thing, he’d always hated this thing. People always accused him of driving a large, metal deathtrap, but at least he had a box around him if he crashed; on this thing they only had their bodies, a thin little helmet, and a million miles of momentum to throw them across the ground and shred them to pieces.

 And people said he was the reckless one.

They came to a stop along the road and Scott kicked his stand with his foot, tilting the bike on its side.

“You ever going to trade that thing in for real transportation?” Stiles asked as they began walking down into the ditch. “Girls don’t like those deathtraps as much as you think they do.”

“Well Kira seems to like it,” Scott replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And when you go faster or make a sharp turn, they hold on to you tighter, too. I’d say that makes it worth it right there.”

Stiles grinned, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, dude.”

They made their way into the woods and continued to walk for another fifteen minutes, until at last they arrived at their destination, a place Stiles felt he hadn’t seen in an age.

The hidden pond and clearing looked exactly like Stiles had left it, appearing untouched and unchanged since the last two weeks. Stiles could not say the same for himself. He paused for a brief moment, standing completely still as he closed his eyes and inhaled in the fresh, pine-filled air. Though he was well out in the open, Stiles still felt comfortingly safe. After a few minutes, Scott spoke.

“So what are we doing here?” he asked, setting his helmet down beneath a nearby tree.

Stiles took a deep breath and put back his shoulders. It was now or never.

“Well I figured there were too many things to break in the house, so this place would be as good as any to… practice.”

Scott looked up at him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn’t seen or heard Stiles talk about his powers since he’d first shown him after he first woke up; he had been silent about it ever since, wanting to give Stiles the space he needed to figure everything out, just as he himself had needed all those years ago. “Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated. “And I figured since I don’t really know what could happen, I might as well bring someone along to make sure I don’t – I don’t know – fly through the air or something.”

Scott’s eyes widened slightly in wonder, a smile touching his lips. “Can you?” he asked.

Stiles snorted. “Dude, I honestly have no idea. But that’s what we’re here to find out. You ready?”

Scott quickly nodded his head. “Hell yes.” He looked around for a moment. “Where should I stand?”

“Um…” Stiles glanced around the clearing, then back to Scott. “Behind me, I guess?”

Scott quickly strode across the grass until he was a few feet behind Stiles, his excited anticipation as clear as day. Stiles took one more deep breath, calming himself down. He had no more excuses now.

An hour later found Stiles randomly throwing bursts of wind at the tree branches and pond while Scott voiced his approval and cheered from behind. He then started making suggestions and soon both teenagers were seeing just how much Stiles could actually manipulate the air to his will. The first experiment was to see how big a wind-force Stiles could make, an idea which resulted in many of the surrounding branches to be torn from their trees, and for Scott to be knocked off his feet and sent tumbling through the bushes. Stiles quickly followed him after he lost his focus and the control he had over the wind was ripped from his hands, sending him spinning and landing on the ground in a heap twenty feet away. Scott, unhurt, could only laugh as Stiles dizzily made his way to his feet. Stiles glared at him and in a spur of the moment threw out his hands, sending a wave of wind towards Scott where it knocked him back down on his rear-end.

The next goal was to see just how small a wind-force Stiles could control. They both leaned over Stiles’ hands as he cupped them together, leaving just a small amount of space between them as he focused on the air and squeezed it together. Not realising just how much pressure he was creating, Stiles suddenly lost hold and the wind shot forward, piercing through the air until it hit a tree, exploding the bark and looking as though the tree had been shot. Stiles had swallowed, straightened up, and promptly stated that he was going to concentrate on doing things a little-less dangerous for the next while, thank-you very much.

Hours later the sun had fallen and was nearing the horizon, casting a warm glow across the clearing and trees, illuminating the leaves and grass in gold. By now Stiles was able to conjure the wind and manipulate the air with relative ease, managing to hold a sphere of wind between the palms of his hands, as the air wove and danced through his fingers and around his wrists. The more Stiles used his powers, the more he began to feel comfortable with them; though he wouldn’t admit it even to himself yet, it felt as though the air was somehow a part of him – as though it were an extension of himself, yet at the same time very much its own entity. It was strangely familiar to him, like meeting an old friend you had forgotten, but at the same time still so completely foreign and new. Stiles wasn’t yet sure about all his powers, the prophecy, and the Blessed, but deep inside he had to admit – this was at least a little cool.

So now they sat on the ground, Stiles leaning back on his hands and Scott lying on his back with his hands behind his head, enjoying the cool evening of Autumn and the silence and peace of nature.

Stiles bit his lower lip, a frown set deep between his eyes as he stared unfocusedly into the distance, thinking about something that had been nudging the forefront of his mind more and more over the past couple days. After a long moment he finally gave it voice: “She still has my jeep, you know.”

Scott opened his eyes, looking up at his friend. “Who, Givens?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know she’s dead so she obviously doesn’t have it, but it’s still at her place. She’s just been sittin’ there gathering leaves, dust, and who knows what else.” Stiles mumbled under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like less-than-kind words about Givens. Scott opened his mouth, just about to say that they’d have to start looking for a new vehicle, when Stiles interrupted him. “We gotta go back for her, Scotty.”

Scott stared at Stiles, leaning up on his elbows as he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Stiles.”

Stiles turned to him, a look of determination set across his face. “I am. No one gets left behind, Scott – you know that.”

“But Stiles –”

“No buts! I’m going to get her and I’ll do it whether you come with me or not. Besides, what’s the danger? Givens is dead, the spell is broken, the illusion and the barrier are both gone – what’s there to worry about?”

Scott eyed him warily, sitting up as he shook his head. “Stiles, do you… do you honestly want to go back there? Like, seriously? It’s only been a week since….”

“Yeah, so?” Stiles questioned. His eyes locked with Scott’s, holding the stare for nearly a minute before Scott finally broke and breathed out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, fine. I’ll go with you to get your stupid jeep. But tell me Stiles – how do you figure we’re gonna find the place to begin with? It’s not exactly located on a map and I only remember the general vicinity.”

Stiles grinned and slapped the side of Scott’s arm with his hand. “That, dear Scott, is where you come in. A werewolf’s nose has to be good for something, right?”

Scott grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I figured that’s what you’d say.”

“Great. We’ll start tomorrow then; it’s getting late, now.” Scott gave another sigh and heaved himself to his feet, and the two teenagers began making their way out of the clearing and onto the trail that led back to the road. Just as they left, Stiles suddenly spoke. “Oh, and Scott?” Before Scott could blink, he felt Stiles’ fist punch him on the shoulder. He yelped, jerking back and looking at Stiles with furrowed brows as Stiles returned to him a disapproving glare. “Don’t ever call my baby stupid again, okay?”

Scott rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. “Whatever you say, man.”

Chapter Text

They left the next morning and drove on Scott’s bike to the place where Scott and Liam had first started looking for Stiles over a week ago. They made their way through the woods, searching for any signs that would lead them to the house; after over an hour of walking they found an old, unmaintained dirt-road that began out of nowhere in the middle of the trees, leading straight through the forest and disappearing into the woods.

“Well this isn’t weird at all,” Stiles said, stepping onto the road and kicking absently at the loose gravel.

Scott came up beside him. “I guess we should follow it?” he asked.

“Well what says ‘witch’s cavern’ more than a road that appears out of nowhere in the middle of the woods?”

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Scott said, his eyes following the road as it disappeared through the trees.

“You know Scott, if you keep saying that, then something bad will happen. It’s never good for the protagonists when one of them starts to question the rightful order of things.”

“Do you even know what you’re saying anymore?”

“Of course I do,” Stiles replied, starting to walk down the road. “And I’m telling you, everything will be fine. Besides, it’s not like I want to stay there the night or anything; I’ve had enough creepy tea-parties for one lifetime, thank-you very much. All we’re gonna do is get in, get the jeep, and get out. That’s it.”

The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked down the path and Scott quickened his pace to draw up beside Stiles. “You had tea-parties?” he asked, looking at Stiles with a raised eyebrow.

“Not one of my prouder moments, I’ll admit, but yes. We sat outside under a patio-set and drank tea together in the sun.”

“That sounds… relaxing.”

“If you like being under a spell that keeps you permanently stupid and unaware, then yes – it was very relaxing.”

After another twenty minutes of following the road, the shape of an old, wooden house could finally be seen emerging through the leaves. After a few more minutes the form became clearer and Stiles was finally able to recognise what he was looking at.

His steps slowed to a halt and it was a few more seconds before Scott noticed and stopped walking, turning around to look at his friend with a frown. “Stiles?”

Stiles didn’t respond, his attention remaining steadfastly on the part of the house that was now visible through the trees. Scott followed his line of sight until he saw what had caught his  friend’s eye: an old, broken cross-window in the topmost room of the house. The attic.

Stiles stared at the empty, broken window, unable to tear his eyes away from the room that had been his prison for what had felt like a lifetime. He had spent so many hours there, imprisoned behind those glass panes, having tried to break them so many times but never succeeding. He’d spent so many hours panicked and fearful, in that terrified state that one could only feel when they suddenly realised that they were trapped and were going to die.

He didn’t think he’d feel this way; he didn’t think going back would be a problem. It wasn’t the same as before; Givens was dead, Scott was with him, and he… he could now defend himself in more ways that just using a bat and his fists.

Nonetheless, seeing the house – the old, broken, decrepit house which looked utterly nothing like it did when he’d first laid eyes on it – made him feel antsy, it made him feel nervous. It made him feel afraid.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice permeated his thoughts, breaking the reverie he had found himself in and Stiles took a breath, letting it out slowly through his nose as he steeled himself and took a step forward.

He was tired of being afraid.

It was another seven minutes before they reached the end of the road which led out onto the front lawn of Givens’ – the Witch’s – property. The unease that Stiles had been feeling momentarily disappeared when his eyes landed on something very familiar.

“My jeep!” he shouted, running across the grass until he reached the old, blue jeep, which had sat silently in the same spot for two weeks. Scott jogged up beside him, looking the jeep over as Stiles ran his hand over its hood, caressing it gently like a newborn baby. “Oh you poor, poor thing,” he said. “What did that Witch do to you, huh? Did she hurt you? Did she drive you? I’m so sorry I let her touch you, it’ll never happen again!” Scott had no trouble believing that he’d keep that promise.

Stiles brushed off the leaves and twigs that had fallen on the hood with his arm and proceeded to lift it up, checking the engine for anything out of order. Scott stood quietly nearby, unable to stop the feeling of unease that had settled across his shoulders. He glanced behind him, a frown creased between his brows as his eyes fell across the house and the trees behind it, not knowing what he was looking for, but feeling as though he were looking for something. “Does it look good?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Well it doesn’t look like she did anything to it,” Stiles said as he resurfaced from the engine, running a hand through his hair.

“Good,” Scott replied. “Then let’s get in and get out of here.”

Stiles glanced briefly up at the house, staring at it for a moment before turning back to the jeep. “Right.”

Stiles climbed into the driver’s side and Scott got in the passenger’s, both shutting the doors with a very-welcomed bang. Scott could smell the mixture of excitement and happiness that Stiles was feeling at having his jeep back, but he couldn’t ignore the hint of fear and anxiety that lay just beneath the surface. Scott took a breath; they’d spent enough time here – it was time to go.

“Right,” Stiles said again, gripping the wheel with his hands and tapping the leather with his fingers. He let out a deep sigh of relief. “Damn, I am so happy to have her back, you have no idea….”

“I think I have a very good idea,” Scott said with slight agitation, happy for his friend but at the same time wanting very much to leave. “But let’s celebrate our victory after we’ve actually gotten out of here, all right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.”

Scott breathed a sigh of relief and Stiles turned his hand at the key, waiting for the engine to turn over and –

Stiles blinked.

Wait.

Scott tore his eyes away from the house and looked at Stiles. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He watched Stiles’ face for a moment before following his eyes until they landed on his hand by the key-slot, and Scott’s face fell in realisation. “You don’t have the keys,” he stated.

“I don’t have the keys.”

“We need the keys.”

“We need the keys.”

“Where are the keys?”

Stiles looked up, his fingers restlessly moving and tapping in the empty space. “Well, uh… I don’t… I don’t know.”

Scott stared at him, his eyes slowly widening in incredulity. “Are you saying we came out all this way, came back to a witch’s cavern, came back to the place where you were kept prisoner, all to get your stupid jeep and you don’t know where the keys are?!”

“Hey, what did I say about calling her stupid?” Stiles retorted, shooting a glare at Scott. “And what – I spend a week being tortured and I’m supposed to still have my keys in my pocket the entire time? Yeah, ‘cuz I was just that good at hiding from her.”

Scott huffed in annoyance, knowing that Stiles was right, but unable to ignore the anger he was feeling at the poor turn of events. The unease that he had been feeling earlier grew and the wolf in him urged them to leave, but Scott knew that they couldn’t. Not yet. He took a deep breath, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth as he calmed himself down. “Do you know where they might be?” he finally asked, looking up at Stiles questioningly. Stiles was looking past him, his eyes staring fixedly through the window and Scott knew the answer before he even had to speak. “It’s in the house,” he said.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied quietly. “Yeah, it’s most likely in the house. Unless she kept it on her when she died. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did do that. One last ‘fuck you’ to screw my life over more than she already had.”

Scott turned, looking out of the window and at the house, where the front door lay nearly off its hinges and the windows were peppered with rock-sized holes. It looked like a terrible house to live in for a week, much less any longer. He didn’t know how Stiles could have seen the place and not have thought something was off, much less thought someone actually lived there.

“Well,” Stiles suddenly said, jarring Scott out of his thoughts, “let’s get this over with.” The driver’s door opened with a creak and Stiles got out, heading towards the house. Scott opened his own door and quickly followed.

Stiles walked quickly to the front of the house, pushing down the fear that bubbled underneath his skin, his eyes fastened to the broken attic-window that loomed over him as he made his way through the front door.

If possible, the inside of the house looked more decayed and in ruins than the outside. The floorboards were scratched and worn, some rising from the ground, nails sticking out haphazardly through them. Old, faded wallpaper lay torn from the walls, curled and yellowed around the edges. The furniture that Stiles had sat on were broken and torn, springs sticking out of ripped fabric; one chair leaned severely to its right, its leg snapped in half. Stiles wondered if the spell Givens had cast had fixed the house and everything within in, or if it only made it appear to be. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer.

He didn’t linger in the living room, moving quickly through and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was the most starkly different than when he’d last been there before. The table and chairs remained, though now old and rotting, but where the fridge once stood there was now a wooden shelf, glass plates and cups stacked within it, covered in dust. Stiles made to turn, intending to start looking in drawers and cupboards, when something caught his eye.

At that moment Scott came in, taking in every inch of the room with wary observance. “I can’t believe this is where she kept you,” he said, his eyes scanning the room.

“She didn’t keep me here,” Stile replied, walking over to the shelf. “And it didn’t look like this before. Just… start looking in the drawers and cupboards. That’s where she kept my phone, before. That’s probably where the keys are now.” Stiles drew close to the shelf, his eyes narrowing as his brow furrowed. He reached towards an old picture frame, grasping it between his fingers and bringing it closer to his eyes.

It was an old black-and-white photograph from the 1800s, judging by the clothing. It was a picture of a family, a mother and father with their three children, a boy and two girls. An older man stood at the back behind them, a severe frown set deep on his face, his hand resting on a shined, wooden cane that hooked just beneath his fingers.

The family sat on chairs in front of the older man, the children sitting lower than their parents. The boy was no older than fourteen, while the girls were no more than sixteen and twenty. They all had stern expressions across their faces, their backs as straight as rods and their hands folded on their laps in front of them; a dog sat at their feet, even its expression looking grim.

It was the oldest daughter that caught Stiles’ eye. Where all the others were looking vaguely towards the camera – some looking slightly away, some looking above or below – the girl was looking directly into the lens, her eyes clear and sharp. Like the others, her mouth was set in a firm line, save for the smallest hint at the edges which were turned slightly upwards. The effect it gave was unsettling; her posture, her eyes, her smile…. It was almost as though she knew something that no one else did….

A deep rumbling resounded through the house, vibrating through the floor and shaking the walls and ceiling. Dust shook loose from the boards and floated down before dissipating into the air.

Both boys immediately looked to each other, their eyes wide and their bodies frozen. It wasn’t uncommon to experience earthquakes where they lived, but staying in an old, unfamiliar house was never a place you wanted to be when one hit. Scott abruptly turned back to the drawer he was looking through, rifling through its contents as fast as he could. “Hurry,” he said.

Stiles paused for only a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the photo, ripping the backend out from the case and fumbling at the picture’s edges before tearing it out and stuffing it in his pocket. He ran to the other end of the counter and pulled out the drawers, shoving past papers and trinkets as he searched for his keys. Although the Witch was dead and there was no threat, being in the house again couldn’t help but make him feel unsafe.

The drawers were filled nearly to their tops and the boys soon began pulling them completely out of their slots, overturning them on the counter to better sift through. They did this to all of them until they came to the last one in the middle. Scott reached it first and ripped it out, dumping its contents by the rest. For a moment Stiles’ heart dropped, thinking that the keys weren’t there, that this was all for naught, when Scott suddenly let out a shout of triumph and lifted up Stiles’ familiar old keyring. Relief fell over Stiles and he grinned, grabbing the keys out of Scott’s hand and slapping him on the shoulder in celebration.

“Now let’s get the hell out of here,” Scott said, spinning around and heading out the kitchen and into the living room, making a beeline for the front door. Stiles was right on his heel, following after him through the living room and to the –

Stiles halted; a few seconds later he could hear the door open.

Realising that Stiles wasn’t behind him, Scott turned around, looking at Stiles in confusion. “Stiles, come on,” he said, his hand gripping the doorknob. Stiles didn’t move. Scott furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, before following Stiles’ eyes and seeing that he was looking at the staircase. Scott frowned, turning his eyes back to Stiles. “Stiles!” he said again. “What are you doing? Come on, we have to go!”

The stairs looked as though they led into darkness, only the barest hints of light touching its floor and caressing its walls. The fear of what lay down the hall coursed through his veins, but the single thought running through his mind kept his feet fastened to the floor and his body unable to move.

Scott looked between Stiles and the stairs, wondering what on earth was going through his friend’s mind. All of a sudden the house shook again, harder this time, the lights above them rattling in their sockets, the legs of the chairs and tables squeaking as they trembled across the floor. The shaking lasted longer this time, the walls and ceilings groaning in unison. The hairs on the back of Scott’s neck stood up, every instinct screaming at him to get Stiles and get out of there. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Scott walked quickly over to Stiles, reaching out his hand and intending to grab his arm when suddenly Stiles moved, but rather than heading towards the door, he was running up the stairs. “Stiles!” Scott shouted. “Stiles what the hell are you doing?!”

Stiles didn’t reply as he disappeared up the stairs and Scott growled, his eyes flashing red and the incisors of his teeth elongating. He yelled Stiles’ name again, and when he didn’t respond Scott finally took after him, taking the steps two and three at a time until he reached the top. He followed Stiles’ scent to the end of the hallway where a door stood half-open, sunlight peering through the jagged, broken window.

He strode quickly inside, ready to grab Stiles and bodily carry him out of the house and to the jeep if he had to, when suddenly with a start, he realised where he was.

This was the room. This was the room that Stiles was kept in, where he slept for six nights and where… and where Givens tortured him. Scott swallowed, his hackles rising slightly as he took in the sight before him.

There wasn’t much to the room; it was as broken and decrepit as the rest of the house, but the feeling of wrong nonetheless whispered to him, telling him that bad had happened here, that there had been pain, that there had been suffering. All that stood in the room was a small bedside table and a broken lamp, a bed covered in blood and whose mattress was all but shredded, ripped holes scattered all across it. The scent of the blood, though old, belonged to Stiles and Scott had to push down the protective urge that rose within him at the clear and marked evidence of one of his pack-mates having been hurt. He turned instead to his right where a dresser and vanity sat against the wall, and on whose other side Stiles now stood.

“Stiles what’s going on?” Scott asked. Stiles was standing in front of the wall, staring at it with a frown creased between his eyes as his hands roamed over the wood, as though trying to find some hidden nook or cranny. When he didn’t respond, Scott spoke again, “Stiles! Answer me!”

“It’s not here,” Stiles whispered, his fingers fluttering over the wall, tapping and pushing against it. “It’s not here.”

“What’s not here?” Scott asked. He took a step forward. “Stiles, what on earth are you looking for?” He was met with more silence and Scott clenched his teeth. “Stiles!”

“There was a door here,” Stiles finally said, never looking up, his fingers continuing in their search. “There was a door here, a closet door. It led into another room – there’s another room behind here and the closet door is supposed to lead there, but it’s… it’s not here.”

The house shuddered again and Scott tensed, but Stiles didn’t appear to notice, his focus placed entirely on the barren wall before him. Scott watched him for a few minutes, shifting his weight as he looked behind him and out the broken window, where Stiles’ jeep sat waiting for them by the trees. He turned back to Stiles, wanting to tell him again they should leave, but knowing that somehow it wasn’t his place, that this was something he knew nothing about.

Stiles suddenly banged on the wall and Scott jumped. “Damnit, where is it?!” Stiles shouted. “Why won’t this damn thing open?! It was here before, it was always here it was just hidden by her spells, so why the hell is it now –.”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupted, coming up beside him and leaning his hand against the wall by Stiles’ head. “Stiles, whatever you’re looking for isn’t important right now; right now we have to get out of here. The whole house is shaking and this place is ready to fall down as it is….” Scott trailed off as Stiles’ eyes grew wide and it was clear he wasn’t paying him any attention. Scott frowned. “Stiles, what –.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, instead grabbing Scott’s shoulder and pulling him around to face the wall and –

And it wasn’t a wall. At least, not anymore.

Where there had once been an old, rotted wooden wall there was now an old, broken closet door, its shudders falling apart and its doors already halfway off their hinges. Scott stared at it, taken aback. “That… that wasn’t there before,” he stated quietly. After a few moments Stiles pushed past him, opening the doors further apart and stepping inside.

Scott hesitated, peering into the dark, stale room, whose light came only from a small window at the top of the wall where it met the ceiling, the sun’s light shining a beam of floating dust across the room. Worn dressers and boxes filled with old items lay strewn across the floor, leaving only a small path between the door and the other end of the room to which Stiles was heading straight towards. Scott followed him until he came to a stop and it was then that Scott was able to look past him, seeing the thing that had so strongly taken his attention.

Scott had to admit he was a bit surprised. Out of all the things he thought Stiles might have wanted in the house, an old, antique mirror was not one of them.

The mirror was framed in an intricate, faded-iron design, standing on old, cabriole legs and reaching just slightly-higher than both Stiles and himself. The mirror itself was covered in black spots, rusted-gold stained around the edges, creeping ever slightly to the centre. Its reflection was foggy and unclear, but for whatever reason Stiles’ eyes remained steadfastly upon it. And for the life of him, Scott couldn’t understand why.

Scott looked at Stiles, waiting for him to do something. For a few minutes all Stiles did was stare at the mirror, until finally he raised his hand, reaching slowly towards it until his fingers brushed gently against its surface. He whispered quietly under his breath, and if it weren’t for Scott’s enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have caught the small, single word:

Alayna.

The name was familiar, but Scott couldn’t immediately place it and he didn’t have time to think about it when the house began to shake again; but this time it was stronger and didn’t stop after a few moments. It continued to shake, growing fiercer and fiercer with each passing second, the dressers, vanities, and boxes shaking with it, jumping and moving across the floor, shuddering and spasming, almost as though they were about to explode –

With a start that shook him to his core, Scott suddenly realised that what they were experiencing wasn’t an earthquake.

The house was breaking apart.

Scott whirled around to face Stiles, just as a piece of a wooden beam fell from the ceiling a few feet in front of him. “Stiles, we have get out of here now! I think this whole place is going to fall!”

The sound of Scott’s voice tore Stiles from his gaze and he turned around, noticing for the first time that the whole house was shaking and dust was falling to the ground in droves. The floor beneath him shook and his eyes widened as he realised what was happening. He turned back around, grabbing the edges of the mirror and gripping them tightly in his hands. “Alayna, can you hear me?” he said quickly. Nothing happened. He tried again, “Alayna, it’s Stiles, I –.” The floor suddenly jarred beneath his feet and Stiles nearly lost his footing, holding onto the mirror to keep himself upright. He looked behind him to see Scott looking at him wildly, his posture screaming that he was ready to take flight. They had to leave, Stiles knew that; they had to leave now or else they’d be in this place when it collapsed.

But despite the dangers, Stiles couldn’t turn away.

Turning back, Stiles gripped the mirror tighter and began to pull on it, trying to drag it across the room. He could hear Scott swear behind him and a second later he felt a hand on his arm, Scott’s voice shouting at him to let the mirror go and leave.

“We have to take the mirror!” Stiles shouted above the shaking of the house and the rattling of the beams above them. He looked at Scott, trying to convey with his face just how important this was. Scott’s eyes were wide with disbelief and panic, looking at him as though he had lost his mind. He couldn’t blame him; he felt as though he’d lost his mind ever since this whole thing began. “Please Scott, it’s Alayna – she’s in the mirror, it’s the only way through –.” Part of a beam fell to the floor only a few feet away from them, and Scott stared at Stiles for only a moment longer before he grabbed the mirror and began pulling it towards the door.

It was heavy and cumbersome, its weight a testament to its age. The house hadn’t stopped shaking, the noise around them growing louder and louder until it was almost deafening. Even with Scott’s werewolf strength Stiles could see he was struggling, barely having made it halfway across the room and still moving slow. Out of nowhere one of the dressers exploded, sending pieces of wood flying towards them. Instinctively Stiles threw his hands up to cover his face and the wood that had been coming towards them veered to the side, crashing against the wall behind them. Stiles’ eyes widened but he had no time to wonder as another chest exploded to their right. It happened too quickly this time for Stiles to react and the shards of wood hit both his and Scott’s faces, cutting their skin and some imbedding themselves within it.

Scott turned to Stiles, his eyes set deep in a glare. “We can’t take it with us, we have to leave it here!”

Stiles turned around, looking at the mirror with guilt-filled eyes when suddenly it, too, began to shudder and shake, the mirror dancing in its frame. Suddenly Stiles heard Scott shout and the next moment he was being shoved forward, his body crashing into the mirror and falling to the ground. Something crashed loudly behind him and Stiles turned to see a large wooden beam in the spot where he’d just stood, the floorboards broken and splintered beneath it, a terrified Scott standing behind it. Stiles briefly caught his eye before turning back to the floor around him.

The mirror had shattered, pieces scattered across the floor and around his body like broken ice. Stiles’ eyes widened with shock and horror as realisation dawned upon him. “No. No, no, no – no this can’t… it can’t be broken, it’s the only way to –.”

Suddenly Scott was by his side, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. “Stiles enough of this, let it go!” Stiles shoved him away, his hands sifting through the glass, its sharp edges piercing and cutting his skin. Alayna, she – and how he had no way of reaching her and –

Another large beam crashed to the floor at the other end of the room and Stiles knew he could wait no longer. Grabbing the biggest piece of glass he could find, Stiles surged to his feet and both he and Scott immediately ran towards the door, three more dressers and chests exploding behind them as they ran through the threshold.  

They tore into the bedroom and Stiles’ eyes flew towards the window where his makeshift-rope was, only to see that it was no longer there; its end was still tied to the bedpost, but it lasted only a few feet until it reached the window where it had clearly been ripped, its edges shredded and torn. Scott pulled him towards the door and out of his shock, just as the beside-table exploded in front of them.

They ran down the stairs like madmen, nearly tripping over their own feet and falling into each other as they did. They reached the floor and turned on their heels, making for the front door as fast as they could. Tables, chairs, and glass exploded all around them as the house began to jerk more forcefully back and forth, pieces of the ceiling breaking away and falling to the floor with a crash. Stiles raised his hand, warding off the shrapnel as they flew towards them, sending them flying in the other direction.

They were nearly at the door – they could see the grass and trees beyond it, could see the jeep sitting there, waiting for them to reach it, to reach safety –

But they didn’t make it.

They were only a few feet away from the door when the supports gave way and the house came crashing down on top of them in a deafening roar. Stiles surged forward, tackling Scott to the ground and in the last moment, raised his hands.

When Scott opened his eyes he expected to see chaos, expected to be covered in piles of broken wood and wreckage. He knew that his body could most likely take the impact, could most likely survive, but Stiles, on the other hand….

But when he opened his eyes, Scott didn’t see broken pieces of walls and ceiling; he didn’t feel the pressure of a ton of wreckage against his back. Instead he only saw blue-sky and sunlight, and could feel Stiles’ chest and his racing heartbeat against his back.

Scott blinked.

They were safe.

Scott looked around him and his eyes widened. Stiles’ arms were stretched out on either side of him, his palms shoved outward and fingers splayed as though pressed against an invisible wall. The rubble of the house lay five-feet away from them, running around their bodies in a perfect circle. It were as though a bubble had appeared out of nowhere, protecting them from the falling debris.

A few moments later Stiles dropped his hands and rested more of his weight against Scott’s back, his heart racing and lungs breathing as though he’d just run a marathon race. Scott moved out from under him and grabbed his arms, helping him move to the bare, untouched floor of what used to be Givens’ front entryway.

Stiles sucked in huge breaths, exhaustion falling over him in waves as he struggled to keep himself from collapsing to the ground. After a few minutes his vision grew sharper and his mind cleared as his body began to calm down.

Scott was breathing heavy too, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain his composure. After a few minutes he looked up at Stiles to see him peering back in return, his face a mixture of fear, shock, and relief.

“What’d you do?” Scott finally asked, glancing at Stiles’ hands.

Stiles shook his head, still out of breath as he spoke. “I… I don’t know. I just threw up my hands and… and tried to keep the house from falling on us.”

Scott rubbed his hand across his face, taking a deep breath. “That’s a helpful step-up from just throwing it all the time.”

“Yeah, just a bit.”

The corners of his mouth that had been turning slightly up faded away, and Scott became serious once again. “We could have died, Stiles,” he said, the alpha seeping into his tone.

Stiles’ mouth pressed in a thin line. “I know.”

“What the hell was so important about that mirror?”

Stiles didn’t respond and for a moment Scott didn’t think he’d answer, that he’d stay silent on the issue just has he had with so many other things over the past week, but after a few moments he opened his mouth, licked his lips, and spoke: “The mirror was a portal, a gateway to… to another plane, another world – I don’t even know, really. But there was a woman there. Do you remember me telling you about Alayna?”

Scott nodded. “She’s the woman you met who… who helped you find your powers, or something. You didn’t tell me anything more than that.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but….” Stiles took a deep breath. “The mirror was the only way to reach her. At least that I know of, anyway.” He took out the piece of glass that he had shoved in his shirt pocket, its edges and surface smeared in blood from his cut-up fingers. He stared at it for a long moment before putting it back with a sigh. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed there that long; I should’ve made you leave.”

Scott gave him a hard stare. “Stiles, out of the two of us, I’m the one who could best survive being in a house when it collapsed. It was you who needed to get out.”

“Well if you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the same as I was a month ago,” Stiles replied, trying and failing to keep the bite out of his voice. He rose to his feet, brushing dust from his shirt and pants. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said. “We were in the house when it collapsed and we both survived, so I’d call that a success.” He patted at his side pockets and a second later pulled out his keys, offering Scott a smile. “See? And we even still have the keys. I think we can call it a good day.”

Scott wanted to argue more on the issue, to tell Stiles off properly like he wanted to, but he kept his tongue clamped firmly behind his teeth and instead got to his feet. He took a moment to survey the wreckage of the house, unable to make anything out other than a jumbled mess of splintered and broken wood.

They stepped over the debris as carefully as they could until they made it to the lawn, quickly walking across the yard until they reached the jeep. They both got inside and slammed the doors, and Scott finally felt the tension begin to ease from his shoulders. He waited as Stiles put the key into the slot, expecting him to turn it and start the engine. When he didn’t, Scott looked up, only to see Stiles’ hand still on the unturned-key and his eyes staring out the window, a small frown creased between his brows. “I’m sorry, Scott,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet and steeped in guilt. But Scott didn’t need to hear his apology; he could already smell the contrition rolling off his friend in waves.

Scott sighed. “It’s fine, Stiles,” he said, and he meant it. “Just don’t… don’t make a habit of looking for treasure when the whole place is falling around you, okay?” Scott expected Stiles to at least smile, but instead his face grew only more somber, his eyes staring at the remnants of the Witch’s house.

“Why do you think it fell?” he asked after a few moments.

Scott shook his head. “I have no clue. You’re the expert on witches, not me.”

Stiles stared at the house a moment longer before leaning back and finally starting the jeep. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, and pulled the jeep onto the road. As they drove, a question suddenly popped into Scott’s mind.

“Hey Stiles?”

“Hmm?”

“How are we gonna drive on a road that stops halfway through the trees?”

Stiles was silent for a moment. “That’s a good question Scotty,” he replied. “How about we deal with that when we come to it?”

Scott leaned back in his seat, turning his eyes back onto the road.

They’d deal with it when they’d come to it.

Chapter Text

“They’d deal with it when they came to it” was the dumbest idea that they had ever agreed to.

Ever.

It took them over four hours to reach the main road, twisting and turning through the trees, slamming on the breaks, backing up, hitting the trees, painfully listening to the thorn bushes as they scraped along the jeep’s metal sides, and nearly running over a stray rabbit that had jumped out of a hidden bush. Scott had to act as spotter nearly every time Stiles had to back up, and they’d gotten the tires jammed on overturned trees and stumps so many times that Stiles had been near ready to scream; if it wasn’t for Scott’s strength freeing the jeep each time, they’d have never made it out.

By the time they did make it out, it was after five-o’clock and both boys were ready to tear each other apart. When Stiles finally drove the jeep onto the road Scott immediately got out, got on his motorbike, and left.

The weekend passed uneventfully – which Stiles had never been more thankful for – and Monday came quickly. John sat Stiles down the night before and told him straight that if he didn’t want to go to school, he didn’t have to. But Stiles wasn’t an idiot; he understood that it was senior year and that if he didn’t pass his courses or get enough credits, he wouldn’t graduate. He’d already missed an entire week of school and hadn’t been paying the least bit attention to the one before that, so he knew it was time to start picking up the slack. He couldn’t stay hiding forever; while he knew that life would never go back to the way it had been, he had to start picking up the pieces somewhere – so he might as well start now.

Besides, life hadn’t been the way it was for a very long time now.

So Monday morning came and Stiles got out of bed, put on clean clothes, got in his jeep, and drove to school. When he arrived, Scott was waiting for him by their lockers, turning his head when he caught Stiles’ scent after he walked through the door. A few students glanced at him but gave him nothing more than that; on the one hand Stiles couldn’t help but be a bit miffed at their lack of courtesy to at least acknowledge that he’d been gone for over a week, but on the other – well… he and Scott had never been that popular anyways.

“Hey man,” Scott greeted as Stiles walked up to him. He opened his locker, shoving his bag inside and taking out his notebook and textbook for his first-period class. It felt a bit odd to be doing something so normal, something he had done a thousand times before, but he was determined to push through it, because normal – what was left of it, anyways – was exactly what he was trying to get to.

“Hey,” Stiles replied. He looked up at Scott and rolled his eyes when he saw the very poorly-disguised concern that was marked across his face. “Scott, we went through this last night – don’t worry about it.”

“Who’s worried?” Scott asked, quickly trying to school his features into something that wasn’t such a dead-giveaway of his feelings. “I’m not worried, I’m just waiting for you to get your things so we can go to class.”

Stiles rolled his eyes again and pushed his locker closed. The two milled into the throng of students and made their way to first-period biology. Stiles let out a sigh as they walked. “You can’t treat me like I’m fragile forever, Scott – or one of us will break and it won’t be pretty.”

“I just think we need to take it easy, that’s all. You’re still not fully healed, and running through that house didn’t help –.”

“I’m completely fine, Scott. Your exaggerating –.”

“– and you’re still trying to figure out,” Scott glanced briefly at Stiles’ hands, then back up to his face, “you know; and I know you’re not sleeping well –.”

“Hey now, I sleep just fine –.”

“You sleep on the floor, Stiles!”

“So what, you’re spying on me now?”

“I’m not saying you can’t sleep there, with everything you’ve gone through it’s understandable, but it’s not exactly a sign of a healthy –.”

“– because I have to say, Scott, that’s a little creepy. Mothering me like a hen is one thing –.”

“– so I’m just saying you don’t have to act like everything’s normal or that everything’s okay, because it’s not okay, and that’s okay that it’s not okay, okay?”

“– but hovering over me like crazed mother-bear protecting her cub is going to drive me crazy, all right? I understand you’re like, part animal and all, but can we please tone down the psycho-instincts, huh? Just for a while? And then –”

“What?”

“What?”

The two paused for a moment and Scott frowned. “Did you… did you just say I was a mother bear?”

“I said you’re like a mother bear, not that you are one.” Stiles patted Scott on the shoulder as the two arrived at the classroom. “Don’t worry Scotty, I know what kind of animal you really are. Literally.”

“Stiles –.” Scott broke off when his eyes caught Stiles’ face and saw that he was no longer paying any attention. He followed his eyes to the front of the classroom where the new substitute, who had replaced Givens, sat at the desk. They stood in silence for a few moments before Scott finally spoke, knowing exactly what his friend was thinking. “It’s not you’re fault, you know.”

“Yes it is,” Stiles replied. “Givens wanted me, so to get me she killed Mrs. MacMillon. Someone who had literally nothing to do with any of it.”

“And she was the one that made that choice. Not you. You weren’t even aware that it had happened. So unless you’re going to blame yourself for being alive, I’d just accept the fact that none of this was your fault.”

Stiles said nothing and a moment later the bell rang, and he and Scott made their way into the classroom and sat down in their seats.              

The minutes and hours eventually ticked by and Stiles soon found himself sitting in his fifth-period English class, one of the few he didn’t share with Scott or anyone else in the Pack. They opened the novels they’d been reading – a novel Stiles hadn’t even cracked open the first page of, much less read the five assigned chapters – and the teacher began dissecting it bit by bit, encouraging the students to interpret what they’d read any which-way they wanted, while at the same time insisting that his own view was the correct one, a bit of an oxymoron that Stiles had never fully been able to comprehend. Which was why, halfway through the class, his attention began to shift, drifting from the classroom to the window, watching as the rain that had been falling for over an hour tapped against the glass.

Stiles stared at the rain, unable to tear his eyes away from it. The wind beating the rain against the window was oddly mesmerising and for a moment, Stiles wanted nothing more than to go outside and enjoy it.

He suddenly blinked and leaned back in his chair, belatedly hearing the thought that had just gone through his mind.

Enjoy it? Sure, he didn’t hate rain or thunderstorms, but he wasn’t their biggest fan, either. He always preferred the sun to the rain, so why did he suddenly feel the need to go outside right now? To feel the rain fall against his skin, to soak it in, to bask in the water and the air and to feel its power surge through his veins, strengthening him, invigorating him, reviving him –

“Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles jerked and spun his head around, seeing his English teacher – Mr. Galaway – staring at him with a raised eyebrow, his head slightly tilted up as he peered at Stiles down his nose.

“Um, yes?” Stiles said, glancing around the room in the hopes that someone would hint to him what he should say. They didn’t.

Mr. Galaway cleared his throat. “What did you think about the passage where the father and son go into the den?”

Stiles blinked, trying as quickly as he could to come up with an answer. “Um, uh – I thought… I thought it was, um… interesting.”

Mr. Galaway gave him a flat look. “Interesting?” he asked. “Care to elaborate?”

Stiles coughed and straightened in his seat, his mind racing to come up with an answer as quick as he could. “Well, I thought the den was pretty… dark,” he began. At Galaway’s questioning glare, he continued. “Well, when they went into the den, I… I thought maybe that it… that it represented a, um… a prison.” Stile thumbed at the book on his desk, flipping its pages over in front of him. “But that… that they didn’t know it was. They thought it was just something normal, something safe.” Man, this was the worst time ever to get called on in class. Stiles continued, “They didn’t realise that by walking into it, they were walking into a trap. That they were walking into a prison. A prison that they would try to leave, but they’d never succeed.” Stiles swallowed, suddenly finding his throat had gone dry. “And when they did succeed, they’d only be walking into more danger, but they had to do it.” He took a breath. “They had to do it.”

“And why did they ‘have to do it’, as you so succinctly put it?”

Stiles’ heart began to beat faster and he suddenly began to feel nervous, though he couldn’t tell why. “Because if they didn’t, they would die.”

“Prisons don’t always mean death, though.”

“This one did.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because they were drawn there for a reason; they were lured there. They had something everyone else wanted but they didn’t know they had, so they went in.” The words came faster and faster, tumbling out before he could stop them. “They went in and they shouldn’t have, but they did and as a result they got hurt, and the dad… the dad should have known, he should have known something was wrong but he didn’t figure it out and because of that the kid got hurt, he was innocent and he got hurt and –.”

“Woah, look outside!”

Murmurs and exclamations began buzzing in the room and Stiles turned his head to look at what had so abruptly taken everyone’s attention.

The rain that had been lightly tapping against the window before was now pounding against it with the force of a torrential downpour. What had caught everyone’s attention, however, was not the rain beating against the window, but the golf-ball sized hail that was throwing itself against it with so much force that they had begun to crack the glass. As they watched, three more cracks appeared, each one greater than the last. The rain and wind were unrelenting and as more hail hit the window, spreading the cracks farther across the pane, Stiles could swear that it was going to break. It was something none of them had ever seen hail do before – not like this. Not with such force, not with such purpose.

Stiles’ eyes went wide and every muscle in his body froze, as he suddenly realised what was driving the raging storm.

It was him.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. He could feel the storm surging through his veins, vibrating beneath his skin as though it were on edge, the charge that he could almost tangibly feel in the air. It was angry, it was fearful – just as he had been moments before. It felt like it was a part of him, like it was reaching towards him, like it was trying to break through the window to get to him –

A larger piece of hail made a particularly loud crack when it hit the glass and Stiles could hear a few of the kids move their chairs back, and it was then that he realised just how silent the room had become. He tore his eyes away from the window and glanced at the rest of his class, all of whom were shifting their gazes between the storm and each other, looking at their teacher every so often in hopes for direction. Mr. Galaway was looking uneasily at the window, but appeared to be trying to gather himself so as not to show his concern in front of the class. “It’s all right, class, it’s all right,” he said. “Just an afternoon hailstorm, that’s all. Nothing to panic about.”

They were afraid, Stiles realised. They were afraid and it was because of him. He turned back to the window and swallowed.

He had to stop this – now. With a deep breath, Stiles closed his eyes and focused. He opened them after a few moments and stared intently at rain still beating against the window, willing it with all that was within him to slow down and stop.

A heavy weight rested against Stiles’ shoulders and he clenched his fists, his teeth gritting together as he searched for the air and wind outside, and took hold.

Like grabbing onto an errant steering-wheel, Stiles suddenly found himself jarringly in control of the storm. It fought against him at first, but Stiles gripped it tighter and forced it to slow down, for the wind to calm and for the rain to cease. His fingers gripped the sides of his desk, his knuckles turned white. At first, nothing happened; then a few moments later the hail slowly began to lessen until it at last it disappeared, and a few minutes after that the pounding of the rain abated until it, too, ceased. Within seconds sunbeams were hitting the window, and all that was left was the steady drip of rain from the roof and the cracks in the window-pane.

The room was utterly quiet as everyone stared out of the window, their expressions a range of shock, fear, and disbelief. A moment later the bell rang, jolting them out of their stupor and onto their feet,. They gathered their bags and quickly left the room, their voices buzzing in excitement and awe over what they’d just seen.

Stiles stayed where he was a few minutes longer in silence, unable to tear his eyes away from the vast myriad of cracks that covered, and had all but destroyed, the window-pane. 

Stiles sat stiltedly down into his seat between Scott and Lydia in their last-period class, setting his bags quietly on the floor beside him. Scott shot him a concerned look – or maybe concern was just his default now – but Stiles didn’t return his gaze. He was hoping to just lay low for the rest of the class then head home as soon as the bell rang and hopefully pretend like the day had never happened. He wasn’t that lucky, though.

“Hey, did you see that storm this afternoon?” Lydia asked, a look of awe on her face. “It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen; one moment it was barely raining and the next it was like mother-nature was trying to tear down the school!”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s definitely weird,” Stiles replied, keeping his voice purposefully light. He finally glanced at Scott who, catching his eye, promptly frowned.

“And that’s not even the weirdest thing about it! I heard from Jessica that the hail only damaged three windows on the west-side of the school; the rest were just barely scratched!”

Stiles deliberately kept his gaze held forward, but he could still see Scott in his peripheral, who was looking between him and Lydia, his face set in a frown of confusion. Finally, Stiles turned his head slightly and caught his eye. They held their gaze for a few moments, then suddenly Scott’s features fell back and he raised his eyebrows slightly in questioning disbelief. Stiles just gave him a quick nod before the bell rang and class began.

After school Scott questioned Stiles ceaselessly and Stiles could only offer a helpless shrug, because how was he supposed to know that his control of the air also included the weather?

The incident freaked Stiles out more than he let on, but he was sure that Scott knew anyway. He could have a weird sixth-sense like that.

Getting back into a routine was both stressful and oddly comforting, as Stiles began to settle into what had become the new normal of his life. He still hadn’t told anyone outside of Scott of what had really happened with Givens or the discovery of his gift, and at the moment he really couldn’t bring himself to even want to. His powers were still so new that he felt he had a hard enough time convincing himself that they were actually real, much less having to explain and convince them to someone else. So until he knew what he really could do, he didn’t plan on telling a single soul.

Wednesday eventually came and went, and Stiles was soon making his way to his locker where he grabbed his bag and keys and began heading towards the front door. With no incidents having shown up since the feral wolf a few weeks ago, the Pack had been using the time to catch up on each of their own schoolwork and classes and any other extracurricular activities they liked to do – besides fighting the supernatural. So it was a bit of a surprise when within minutes all of them showed up, immediately falling into chatter about the week they’d had so far and what they were planning to do for the rest of it.

Scott kissed Kira on the cheek and made his way over to Stiles, a smile spreading wide across his face. “Hey, we’re thinking of heading down to the river later this afternoon to do some training; do you wanna join?”

Stiles fought to keep a smile from tugging at his lips. “What, have I leveled up enough now to be around you guys when you fight?” he asked. The question was made mostly in jest, but there was an unexpected bite that hung on at the end. Well, not a bite – a nibble, maybe. A nibble of annoyance and pent-up resentment that Stiles had thought he was over, but suddenly found that maybe he wasn’t as over it as he had thought he was.

Scott’s smile faded and his eyes hardened slightly with a touch of guilt. “Stiles, you know that’s not what I meant –.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles interrupted, immediately feeling guilty for having made the remark. “I know buddy, I’m just messing with you.”

“Because you know I’d have asked you to come, even if….”

“Yes, I know,” Stiles said quickly, not wanting the others to hear them. “Its fine, Scott. I was just being an ass.”

Scott gave him one last look before everyone started making their way down the hallway and towards the exit. They had nearly made it to the door when Stiles felt Scott shift beside him, and he looked over at his friend to see him looking past his shoulder, his eyes slowly narrowing as wrinkles creased between his brows. Stiles turned his head to see what had caught his attention, and managed to catch the tail end of a two students pushing through the maintenance door that led to the basement and disappearing inside. Stiles looked back to Scott; students weren’t allowed in the basement of the school – a myriad of hallways and cement rooms that resembled more of a horror house than anything else – but it wasn’t exactly uncommon for them to find their way down there, usually out of a sense of mischief and adventure that school boundaries always seemed to inspire. But nonetheless, something about it had caught Scott’s eye.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked.

Scott’s eyes remained steadfast on the door, a frown now set between his eyes. “Did you see the way that kid was holding onto the other one? The older one. He was holding him by the arm, like he was forcing him to move.”

Stiles glanced back to the door, then once more back to Scott. He had learned to read Scott’s expressions well over the years when it came to his more “special” instincts, and he knew that something wasn’t right. “You wanna go check it out?” he asked.

By now the rest of the Pack had stopped walking and were watching Scott, waiting to see what he’d say. He was silent for a moment, then began walking towards the door. “I’ll just go and check to see if everything’s all right; you guys wait here.” He quickly strode over to the maintenance door and disappeared inside.

Scott was their pack leader, their alpha; he always was the first to check and scope out a situation. But still, Stiles didn’t like it. Something was wrong, and it almost felt like he could sense it, like he could almost feel it in the air….

Lydia took a few steps forward, her heels clacking against the tile floor. A look of concern was set deep on her face, her eyes staring off into the distance, seeing something that no one else could; it was then that Stiles knew they had to go after Scott.

Suddenly both Malia and Liam started where they stood, then quickly began making their way towards the door. “Someone just screamed,” Malia informed them as she and Liam all but ran through the door. The rest of them quickly followed, nearly falling over their feet as they all but ran down the stairs and into the basement.

The lights were dusted and flickering along the walls, shafts of sunlight touching the floor every so often along the hallway and into the distance. Malia and Liam, catching Scott’s scent, immediately began making their way down the hall with everyone else following close behind. After a minute both Liam and Malia came to an abrupt halt, then suddenly veered off down a hallway to the left. The sounds of fighting could be heard echoing through the hallways and Kira and Lydia were about to chase after them when suddenly something slammed into their sides, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The thing that had tackled them got to its feet and Stiles recognised him as the guy who had dragged the smaller student through the door. He was big and bulky, and looked like no one Stiles had ever seen in the school before.

Lydia got to her feet, and turning to their attacker she opened her mouth and let out a terrifying scream. The scream acted like a shockwave, sending the boy flying backwards and crashing into the cement wall. Stiles stared, stunned – when on earth had Lydia learned to do that?!

He didn’t have time to contemplate the question, as seconds later the boy was back on his feet and running towards Lydia, his hands raised and his teeth bared. She tried to dodge out of the way but there was no room and the boy grabbed hold of her, his fingernails digging into her arm and throwing her to the ground. She screamed, this time in pain. Stiles jerked towards her, but Kira made it there before him. She already had her weapon out and Stiles felt the air suddenly charge with electricity as she brought the sword down on the attacker’s head. The kid disappeared for half a second before reappearing behind Kira and raising his fist, bringing it down on Kira’s back and sending her to the ground.

His heart racing, Stiles automatically began looking around, searching for anything that he could use to attack the creature with as he always did in situations like these. Spying a pile of steel pipes around the corner, Stiles quickly ran over to them and took one in his hands, looking quickly back up in search of their attacker. He was leaning over Lydia, his hand squeezing her neck as Kira struggled to regain her senses beside them. Without a second thought Stiles ran forward and raised the pipe, bringing it down on the creature’s head as hard as he could.

It was like hitting a cement wall, the pipe bouncing off the guy as though it were made of rubber; nonetheless it turned its attention from Lydia and up towards Stiles. The creature snarled at him, cracking its neck to the side and back again. It was then that Stiles could see just how in-human this “student” really was – its eyes were a dark green and its pupils were thin, black slits. Each of its countless teeth were elongated so much that they resembled a shark, parts of them stained with blood. “You’re going to regret that, human,” the creature said. Stiles took a few steps back but didn’t run away, his fingers gripping the pipe tighter between his hands. The creature discarded Lydia on the ground and Stiles could hear her sudden gasps as she was able to breathe once more.

Kira had just managed to get to her feet when something caught her eye in the hallway to her right and she immediately tensed; a second later something appeared, crashing into her side. Prepared for the impact, Kira grabbed hold of the newcomer and swung it around, sending it crashing into the wall. Stiles looked past the creature in front of him to see what it was that had appeared, only to see that it was –

The creature?

Stiles’ wide eyes snapped between the creature attacking Kira and the one coming towards him, and realised with a shock that they were the exact same. A deep shout could be heard from down one of the hallways and a moment later Scott appeared, a creature – the same creature as the other two – right behind him. Stiles continued to move backwards as the creature in front him continued to advance, completely and utterly confused.

What the hell was going on?

Chapter Text

 Stiles was given no time to think as at that moment the creature in front of him surged forward, intending to throw him to the ground. Stiles jerked back, raised his pipe, and swung it against the creature’s body. Again, it bounced off like rubber and this time the creature chuckled. “Not so easy, is it, boy?” it said. It continued to push Stiles back down the hallway and farther away from the Pack, who were now all engaged in fights with the two other identical creatures.

Stiles swung the pipe again, aiming for its stomach, when with a great strength the creature grabbed the pipe in his hand, stopping it short. He tore it out of Stiles’ fingers, throwing it into an empty room beside them where it clattered loudly on the cement floor. “All this, just to get something to eat. Sometimes I wonder if you humans are worth it.” Before Stiles could register what had happened, the creature grabbed his arm and threw him into the room, following quickly and closing the door behind him, turning the lock shut.

The room was large, most likely an old classroom or a room that had once held the large computers of the 1980s. All that it held now were broken desks and old filing cabinets shoved against the walls. And, Stiles realised, one terrified-looking student.

It was the student the creature had led through the door, the one that had caught Scott’s attention in the first place. He was curled up in a corner between two desks, a deep gash and a myriad of lacerations – nail imprints – circling his arm. He couldn’t have been more than a freshman, his fear making his features look even younger.

“I thought I was only going to have one meal tonight, but I suppose I can have two. It’s a good thing I’m not on a diet.” The creature smirked.

Stiles turned towards him, anger flashing across his face. “Let him go,” he demanded.

The creature laughed. “You humans. You think by just asking us to leave, that we’ll actually do it. But you see, I didn’t come here to have a nice chitchat, I came here to eat! So just go and sit down by the little human over there, and it will all be over before you know it! It’ll hurt at first, yes, but that is simply the way it has to be. If you settle down and be quiet, perhaps I’ll eat your hearts, first!”

The boy whimpered behind him and Stiles clenched his teeth, digging his nails into his palms. He wasn’t aware of the air that had begun circling around his hands, of the wind that was starting to drift around his feet, shifting the dust away, its energy slowly building as it readied to fight.

The creature didn’t notice either, continuing to advance on Stiles with its claws and teeth bared, a wicked smile stretched wide across its face. Stiles took a few steps back, unconsciously raising his arms by his sides, his fingers slowly opening as air began to gather in the palms of his hands, swirling and cascading over and through his fingers and up his arms. Silence fell in the room for only a moment, before the creature suddenly surged forward, its hand raised over Stiles and ready to fall. At that same moment Stiles spread his arms wide and shouted, the wind that he had gathered lashing outwards and picking the creature up off the floor and throwing him against wall with an almighty crack.

The creature slumped to the floor and Stiles stared, his eyes wide as he realised for the first time what he had just done. His thoughts then turned to the boy and he immediately spun around to look for the young teenager, finding him cowering behind his arms in the corner of the room, his face turned away from him and towards the wall. Stiles ran over to him, grabbing his arm where the boy jerked with a painful start, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Come on, let’s go,” Stiles said, pulling the boy to his feet.

The boy’s eyes turned and latched onto the creature who still lay on the ground, his face stricken with fear. Stiles blocked his view and quickly began pulling him over to the door, unlatching it and pulling it open. “Run,” he said, pushing the boy towards the stairs. “Get out of here, now!” The boy took a few steps forward, looking back at Stiles for only a second before the sounds of fighting echoed from down the hall and he immediately ran to the stairs, running up and out the door.

Stiles let himself feel a brief moment of relief before he turned his attention down the hallway where Scott, Lydia, and Kira still were, one creature lying on the ground while they all fought the other. He took a step forward, about to go and help them when suddenly he felt fingers wrapping around his neck and pulling him back into the room, where the door closed and latched behind him with a bang. He was lifted off the ground and thrown through the air, heading straight towards a cement wall filled with large, metal cabinets.

Stiles braced himself, waiting for the impact of the sharp metal corners or the cement wall itself, but the impact never came. Instead he felt as though he’d collided into a pillow, as though something had caught him before he could crash. Opening his eyes he found himself mere inches from the wall, and more than a few feet still above the floor. Panic began to set in but before it could take hold, whatever force was holding him – the air, a voice in the back of his mind whispered – set him down gently on the floor, his feet stepping back onto solid ground.

Laughter suddenly resounded through the room and Stiles looked up to see the creature giving him a big, toothy smile. “I can’t believe it,” it said, taking a few steps towards Stiles. “I can’t believe it! Here I was just looking for my next meal and instead I find the Blessed sitting on my plate, instead!” He shook his head, continuing to grin. “The boys will sure be jealous when I get back and tell them what I had for lunch!”

Stiles shifted on his feet, his shoulders tensing as he back against the wall. This time he knew what he had to do, and opening his palms he began to gather the air once more.

The creature continued forward, unaware of what was happening. It’s eyes were wide in gleeful surprise, and Stiles could almost see the wheels churching behind them as it spoke. “To think! The Blessed was here in this shoddy little town. People sure have been waiting for you, boy. They’ve been waiting for a very long time….”

Striking first, Stiles raised his hand and released a lash of wind towards the creature. The creature was ready this time, though, and crossed his arms in front of him, bracing himself against the impact. The force of the wind pushed him back several feet, but was unable to throw him to the ground. Looking up, the creature grinned. “You’re not as powerful as they said you’d be,” he commented, making his way towards Stiles once more. “But then, they said you would be a lot of things –.”

This time a lash like a whip struck the creature’s face, cutting in his skin and leaving a deep gash bleeding across the right side of his face. The creature’s neck was snapped back, its words ripped from its mouth. He turned back to Stiles with a snarl, ready to surge forward when Stiles raised his hand again, gripping the wind and bringing it down across the creature once more. The creature jumped out of the way, rolling onto its side and crouching onto its feet. Wind had begun churning around the room, creating a vortex and causing the desks and cabinets to shudder where they stood, whipping both Stiles and the creature’s hair against their heads, their clothes beating against their bodies.

The creature fought against the wind, slowly rising to its feet, its eyes narrowed as its mouth turned into a smirk. “You’re younger than they said you’d be,” he said above the growing noise of the wind. “A man, they said, would rise up and defeat the Darkness, would stop the coming Death, would hold the power of the world in the palm of his hand. A man – not a boy.” The creature stalked towards him and Stiles willed the wind to move faster, to push the creature down, but the creature remained where he was, words still falling out of his mouth, words that Stiles still barely understood.

Pounding suddenly sounded from the door and Stiles could hear Scott shouting from behind it, shimmying at the knob and trying to break in. A moment later the door cracked open and Scott stumbled inside.

Caught off guard by the sudden change in dynamics, the vortex Stiles had been creating became unbalanced and Stiles suddenly found himself thrown across the room, rolling across the floor in a heap. When he looked up he could see the creature being whipped violently across the room where a moment later it crashed into the wall, its head cracking violently against the cement.

The wind died down until it completely disappeared, leaving Stiles staring at the creature’s body with wide, stunned eyes. A moment later the body disintegrated, turning into a pile of dust.

“Stiles!”

Scott was suddenly by his side and Stiles quickly got to his feet, shaking off the shock and gathering himself back together, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he regained his breath. Stiles looked at Scott, who was looking at him in return, his features silently asking if he was all right. Stiles nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah, yeah, I’m all right, I’m fine. The kid – the kid’s fine too, he made it out. He got out.”

They both looked at each other for a long moment, quickly passing unspoken words until a few moments later the rest of the Pack rushed in, looking for each other and trying to make sure everyone was all right.

Besides being cut and bruised, all of them had made it through the fight relatively unharmed. Stiles later found out that the creatures the rest of the Pack had been fighting had suddenly disappeared sometime towards the end of his own fight, at which point Scott had realised Stiles was missing and had immediately gone looking for him, the Pack shortly arriving after.

When asked about what had happened to him, Stiles had replied that he’d been cornered in the room and  that Scott was the one who had killed the final creature. The Pack were somewhat confused but accepted the answer, all except Liam, who gave Stiles and Scott a suspicious look that said he knew they weren’t telling the whole truth. He didn’t say anything, however, much to Stiles’ relief, and the group eventually made their way back upstairs into the school, where they spoke in rushed whispers about what it was that they’d just fought. Lydia suggested they go meet Deaton later that evening and ask him, to which everyone agreed.

Stiles quickly made his way to his jeep, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly against his chest, hoping that no one would see him and start to ask questions before he could escape. He eventually made it to the vehicle and quickly got inside, shutting the door beside him. He started the engine and watched as the rest of the group went to each of their own vehicles; his eyes followed Scott as he walked towards him, expecting him to get on his bike, but instead he made his way to the passenger side of Stiles’ jeep, opened the door, and got inside.

“What, am I your personal chauffeur, now?” Stiles asked. Scott just gave him a look. Stiles sighed. “Fine, just call me Mr. Branson.”

They both knew exactly where they were going without ever having to say a word, because they knew that what needed to be discussed could only be discussed in private. Thirty-minutes later they arrived in the clearing, the late afternoon sun shining warmly across the glade.

Stiles filled Scott in as best he could on what had happened, including what the creature had said about Stiles being the Blessed. As Stiles walked back and forth in the clearing, his arms animated and his voice high, he seemed to finally be having the Major Freak-Out that he’d promised himself so long ago.

“I mean, I just don’t get it!” he said, walking away from Scott who was sitting on the ground, looking up at him. “What the hell is all this stuff about the Blessed anyway? And why the hell does everyone seem to know everything about it but me?!”

Scott gave his friend a sympathetic look. “I don’t know, Stiles; but I promise we’ll figure it ou –.”

“You can’t promise something like that, Scott,” Stiles said, shaking his head and walking away. “No, I think I’m going to go to my grave without ever knowing who or what the hell I am. Not knowing what’s going on seems to be the definition of my life.”

Scott sighed. “Stiles –.”

“And what the hell is all this with my powers?” Stiles asked, spinning back around. “I was told that I was an elemental, which seems pretty self-explanatory when you think about it, but it turns out it doesn’t mean shit, because why not just take words and give them new meanings, huh? Because that’s not messed up at all!”

“Stiles, you just have to be patient!” Scott finally broke in. “It hasn’t even been a month since all this started; you can’t expect to have everything already figured out –.”

“Oh don’t give me that ‘patience’ bullshit, Scott McCall; I can’t – I can’t even begin to tell you how much that pisses me off.”

Scott sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, choosing to stay silent instead of saying anything and setting Stiles off more than he already was.

“I just… I just don’t get it…” Stiles said after a few moments, his back turned to Scott and looking off into the trees.

As Stiles trailed off, Scott ventured carefully forward. “What don’t you get, Stiles?”

“I can move the air with my hands, Scott,” Stiles replied, turning back around. “The air! With my hands! With my freakin’ mind! I didn’t… I didn’t even try to move it, and it moved – you know? And that storm – for all that’s holy, that storm – it reacted to me! It reacted to my emotions, to what I was feeling! You heard what Lydia said – there wasn’t supposed to be any storm that day, there wasn’t supposed to be any rain and do you know what happened?!”

“It rained.”

“It rained! It was a freakin’ hailstorm like nothing I’d ever seen before; all the teachers were saying they hadn’t seen it storm like that since they were kids themselves, so not only am I giving people a show, I’m giving people a freakin’ once-in-a-lifetime show. And I hadn’t meant to do a single bit of it.” He suddenly spun on his heel and began walking back to Scott, his hands raised in the air questioningly. “Is this what it’s always going to be like now? I have to watch what I’m feeling because if I don’t, the air or the weather or whatever might decide to react to it? As an excuse to do weird, crazy, phenomenon-type-things that will freak everyone out? Because that’s not fair. I may not exactly be human anymore, but that doesn’t mean I should have to become as emotionally constipated as a Jedi!”

Scott opened his mouth to reply when suddenly something by Stiles’ feet caught his eye. He blinked, then blinked again, watching as the grass around Stiles’ feet began to twitch and then began to grow. It grew  several inches, reaching up and gently brushing against his shoes and ankles. Stiles never stayed in one spot for long, but wherever he walked the grass grew, looking greener and healthier than the rest of the grass around it. Scott stared, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, then managed to open his mouth. “Um, Stiles?”

“ – and another thing! What the hell am I supposed to tell my dad? ‘Hey Dad, just wanted to let you know that your son can control the air, the wind, and now the weather, just thought you should know. Oh, by the way, he’s also something called the Blessed, which we don’t know what the fuck that is about –.”

“Stiles –.”

“ – but that’s okay, because in the end we don’t really know what any of this is, so welcome to the Clueless Club! Here we just walk around all day not knowing anything –.”

“Stiles!”

“ – but hey, at least we have jackets.”

“STILES!”

“What?!”

Scott held Stiles’ gaze for a brief moment, before looking significantly down. Stiles stared at him, shaking his head questioningly before following his gaze and looking down at his feet.

Stiles’ eyes went wide and he jumped back off the now foot-length grass, staring at it incredulously. “What… h-holy shit.” He took a few more steps away and both boys watched as he left footprints of grass growing behind him. The entire area where he’d been pacing looked like a lush field of green, rolling gently in the wind.

Stiles backed up until he bumped into a tree, unable to take his eyes off the ground. A tingling sensation ran through his body and he froze, looking at Scott with wide eyes.

At first nothing happened; then after a moment Stiles felt something nudge at the back of his mind, and suddenly he was acutely aware of the life that was within the tree; not a sentient, conscious life, but something that was growing, always growing, being fed and feeding everything around it. He could feel the roots digging deep beneath the soil, could feel the leaves dancing on the branches, whispering gently in the wind. He could feel it reaching towards him, feeding him, calming him, becoming a part of him –

Suddenly he heard someone gasp. “Stiles!”

The voice broke through the reverie he had fallen into and his eyes snapped back to Scott from where they’d drifted unseeingly to the side. Scott was looking at his arms so Stiles looked down; rather than pale flesh, his arms that were touching the tree were now covered in a mixture of shrubbery and moss, gently wrapping around him like a blanket.

Reality came crashing down on him and Stiles jerked away, the moss tearing and sprinkling to the ground. His arm quickly began turning back to normal. He looked up at the tree, trying to understand what had happened, when he suddenly became aware that, unlike the others, the tree was slightly hunched over, its leaves and branches hanging over him, as though they were actually reaching towards him.

Scott came up beside him, his attention still on Stiles’ arms, not having noticed the now oddly-bent tree. He looked up at Stiles’ face, his eyes wide. “What on earth was that?!”

His choice of words gave Stiles the answer before he even really had to think.

Earth. One of the four elements. Alayna had said that she wouldn’t be surprised if more elements came under his control, in fact she had all but assured that they would. He just hadn’t known when.

Stiles continued to stare at the tree for a few moments before finally speaking. “Well that… I think it’s safe to say that’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced in my life; and with the life we lead, that’s saying something.”

Both boys glanced back at the unusually tall grass still waving in the wind behind them. After a long minute of silence, Scott voiced what they both were asking. “So is this… is this a new… a new power?”

Stiles swallowed. “Well the four elements are air, earth, fire, and water, so….” Stiles trailed off and Scott looked up, giving as comforting a look he could give.

“Well you were just complaining that you didn’t know enough about your powers, so now you know a bit more, right?”

Stiles frowned, a frown set on his face as his eyes fell across the tree and over the grass. The headache that had started to form earlier was now throbbing painfully against his temple. “I’m gonna sleep on it,” he said, turning around and making his way to the path that led back to the jeep. “I’m gonna sleep on it for a very, very long time.”

Scott quickly walked after him, his eyes glancing back one last time at the clearing before turning back to Stiles. “Hey, don’t forget – we’re meeting everyone at Deaton’s in an hour, remember?”

Stiles sighed. “All right, we’ll go to Deaton, ask him what the hell kind of creature likes to eat students as their meals, and then I’ll sleep on it.”

An hour later everyone was gathered at Deaton’s, describing to him what had happened and what the creature had looked like.

“So you’re saying there were four of them?” Deaton asked, raising an eyebrow. They all nodded.

“One was fighting Scott, another was fighting Liam and I, one was fighting Lydia and Kira, and the other was after Stiles,” informed Malia.

“And he had sharp teeth?”

“Like a shark’s,” Liam said. “And his eyes were slits like a cat.”

Deaton frowned, looking away as he thought, thumbing through an old book that he had laid out in front of him. Stiles crossed his arms and glanced at Scott who returned the look, before turning his attention back to Deaton.

Silence fell over the room for nearly five minutes, the pages of the book slipping quietly through Deaton’s fingers, until finally he stopped, his eyes resting on a single page towards the end. “Did all four look alike?” he asked after a moment.

Everyone looked at each other, then Lydia spoke. “Well we didn’t exactly have time to check each one; we were kinda busy.”

Deaton gave her a look in return for her sass, but didn’t say anything in response. Then Liam spoke up, “They all smelled the same,” he said, glancing at Scott and Malia for confirmation. Both of them nodded. Liam turned back to Deaton. “Is that the same as looking the same?”

Deaton nodded. “Yes. If they each had the exact same scent, then it most likely confirms my theory.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Which is…?”

“That there weren’t four separate creatures fighting you, but one.”

“One?” Lydia repeated. “How could there have been only one? There was four of them!”

“It duplicated itself. Three were merely decoys, feeding off the real one. It’s a tactic used to cause a distraction when fighting a large group; makes it easier to feed or obtain its goal that way.”

A few of them frowned, as the same question ran through everyone’s mind. “Which was the real one, then?” Malia finally asked, looking around at the rest of the Pack.

Neither Scott nor Stiles spoke, neither wanting to lead the conversation where they both knew it was already going.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lydia asked. “The ones that we had been fighting out in the hallways all just suddenly disappeared; the only one that was still there was the one Scott killed in the room with Stiles.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Scott, who turned his own eyes to Deaton. “It’s true,” he said. “After the ones we were fighting disappeared, I could still smell one in the room nearby – so I went inside and killed it. It turned into dust.”

Deaton frowned. “It turned into dust?” Scott nodded. “Hmm….” Deaton began leafing through the book again, rubbing a hand across his chin. “It might not be what I thought it was, then. I’ll have to do some more research before I can be certain. I’ll make sure to let you guys know when I figure it out.”

“You don’t think there’ll be more?” Kira asked.

Deaton shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Most creatures that go after people for food travel in packs, but if one of their members die, the rest will usually leave the area to find somewhere safer. That there weren’t any others with it suggests that it was a loner, separate from its group. That you haven’t seen any since then is also a good sign that there won’t be more to come.”

A tangible feeling of relief swept over the Pack and a few of them smiled, glad to have the weight of worry off their shoulders. “Good,” Liam said. “I think I’ve had enough of searching for people, ever since we went looking for Stiles –.”

“Liam!” Scott cut off, shooting a glare at the younger wolf. Deaton glanced between the two, his eyebrow raised.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” Scott replied, shooting Liam a dark, pointed look.

To his surprise, Liam didn’t back down, but rather straightened up and glared right back. “No it’s not,” he said. “I know something’s going on with you guys and I’ve had enough of nobody telling me anything! Just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean –.”

“Liam, I swear, if you don’t shut up –.”

“Hey Scott, take it easy,” Malia said, stepping between the two werewolves. She looked over at Liam. “Liam, that was a bit of a dick move and you know it. Not to mention completely immature.” She turned back to Scott. “But he’s right. There’s no harm in telling Deaton what happened with Stiles; besides, he should probably know when these kind of things have happened.”

“What happened with Stiles?” Deaton asked impatiently, realising just how significant this thing was that they weren’t telling him. Stiles gave Malia a wide-eyed look of disbelief, shaking his head rapidly along with Scott.

Malia ignored them. “Stiles was kidnapped by a witch,” she said. Stiles bit back a growl of annoyance and Scott continued to shoot disapproving looks in Malia and Liam’s direction.

Deaton raised his eyebrows, turning his attention to Stiles. “You were taken by a witch?” he asked. “When did this happen?”

“It happened a few weeks ago,” Stiles said quickly while shrugging his shoulders, trying to convey that it was no big deal. “She thought I was a werewolf and that I could lead her to the True Alpha, but I wasn’t and I didn’t, and then Scott showed up and killed her and now we’re both here and we’re fine, so can we please just forget about it?”

“Did she hurt you?” Deaton asked.

Stiles did his best to appear nonchalant. “She knocked me around a bit, but nothing more. It was just a really boring week where she kept me alone in a room the whole time; seriously – it’s no big deal.”

Deaton stared at Stiles a moment longer before turning his attention to Scott. “You killed her?” he asked.

Scott nodded. “Yeah; she was about to kill Stiles so I shoved my hand through her chest. She died right away.”

“And you burned her, right?”

Both Stiles and Scott blinked, and a sudden silence fell over the room.

“What?” Scott asked after a long moment, unsure he’d heard right.

“I said, did you burn her?” Deaton looked between Scott and Stiles, an eyebrow raised expectantly. At their lack of reply, his eyebrow lowered into a look of slight wariness. “You do know that witches need to be burned in order to be killed, don’t you?”

Neither of them spoke, and suddenly Stiles could feel his heart begin to beat faster within his chest and could hear the rush of blood pumping in his ears.

At their continued silence, Deaton finally realised what they weren’t saying. “You didn’t burn her,” he stated flatly.

Scott finally shook his head. “We – we didn’t… I didn’t know witches needed to burned in order to die.”

The room was suddenly filled with a tension so thick it could be cut with a knife, everyone looking at each other with stunned and shocked expressions marked across their faces. Stiles’ heart was now pounding loudly in chest and seeing Scott glance towards him, he knew his friend could hear it too. He tightened his fists inside his hands, finding his palms slick with sweat.

“Are you sure?” Scott asked, shifting his gaze from Stiles to Deaton, his muscles taught beneath his skin. “Because I ran my hand through her heart and her body disappeared afterwards; I assumed it turned to dust like that creature –.”

Deaton’s eyes remained on Stiles for a long moment before turning back to Scott, his voice level and calm as he spoke. “Well we obviously can’t be certain she’s alive until we see evidence of it for ourselves, but I’ll be honest with you – I have yet to see a case where a witch dies without being burned.” He turned around to the rest of the Pack. “So it’d be best to keep your eyes open for the next while,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “Take note of anything suspicious that you see or hear. Witches aren’t like regular supernatural creatures; they are largely, in essence, completely human. Greed is one of their major driving factors, so use that against them if you can. I’ll start working on something tonight that will help identify nearby magic; hopefully I’ll be able to get it ready before anything should happen.” Seeing their faces, he added, “if anything happens. It may very well not. You said she was only after the True Alpha and since she knows now it’s not Stiles, he won’t be in any more danger. You’ll all have to keep an eye out for Scott, though. He’s the one she’ll want.”

Everyone nodded, looking towards Scott in a mixture of trepidation and concern.

Stiles tucked his hands around his sides and said nothing.

They left Deaton’s shortly after, Lydia assuring them that the moment she sensed something, she’d call Scott and let them all know. They worried over Scott for a bit before he managed to convince them to go home, insisting that he’d call them if something happened, and reassuring them that he’d be fine, reminding them that he’d already killed the witch once, this time he would just make sure she was dead – if she ever showed up again.

Soon the only ones left in the parking lot were Scott and Stiles, who silently got into the jeep and closed the doors.

“Everything will be fine,” Scott immediately said, starting the vehicle. He had taken the keys from Stiles’ hands and climbed into the driver’s side without a question, and Stiles hadn’t objected once. He sat pressed between the corner of the door and the seat, his arms still wrapped around his sides.

“Let’s just go,” he said, not looking Scott in the eye. Scott gave his friend a concerned look before he shifted the jeep into gear and pulled out onto the road. They had barely started driving when Scott’s eyes narrowed and he frowned, leaning forward over the steering wheel as he looked out of the window. Stiles caught the movement and shifted, straightening in his seat. “What is it?” he asked.

Scott continued to frown, squinting into the dark. “I thought I saw –.” His eyes widened and he jerked the steering wheel to the left, throwing Stiles against the door. Stiles looked up and out the window, and saw a human-figure running just beyond the headlights in front of the vehicle.

“Is that a werewolf?” Stiles asked, trying to make the figure out.

“Yeah, I – I think it is. It actually… it actually looks like the one Malia and I found a few weeks ago; that rogue wolf that had gone feral – do you remember me telling you about it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, now staring at the running figure in slight confusion. “But didn’t you say it’s pack-mate came and took him back?”

“Yeah…” Scott trailed off, confusion marring his features. They were silent for a moment, then he asked, “Do you want to follow him?”

Stiles knew that if he answered no, Scott would let the wolf go and take him back home. But Stiles also knew that Scott wanted to follow him, to see what was going on. And though Stiles was still feeling the cold, churning in his gut of fear, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to check it out, too.

“Sure,” he finally said. “Let’s see what he’s up to.”

They followed the wolf in the jeep through the town and onto the main highway, until they eventually made it to the same campground and lake that Scott, Malia, and Liam had first tracked him to all those weeks ago. Eventually they could drive no more and they got out of the vehicle, cautiously following it on foot.

The werewolf was walking calmly, though it appeared to be walking with a limp. Scott could smell that it had been wounded, but he couldn’t tell if the wounds were fresh or old. The wolf gave no notice of its company, walking through the trees and up the hill until it reached an old, cement watershed, its dark shape illuminated in shadow by the bright moon from above.

“Where’s he going?” Stiles whispered, watching the wolf with a deep frown.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. Its pack-mate said they weren’t from around here, that they’d just been passing through –.”

“Hello there.”

Both Scott and Stiles nearly jumped out of their skin, spinning around to see a woman standing before them, a curious look upon her face. Scott instantly recognised her as the She-wolf, the one who had passed through Beacon Hills all those months ago and the one who had taken the feral-wolf back home to their pack.

“Shit, you scared us,” Scott said in way of greeting, his nerves vibrating beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry,” the She-wolf apologised. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked. “Did you lose your pack-mate again?”

“Yes,” the She-wolf said. “He tends to get loose quite a bit, I’m afraid. His mind has gone, so he can be difficult to contain.”

Scott glanced around, searching for the rogue wolf. “Did you need help capturing him again? Because I can call my pack, I’m sure they’d come right away –.”

“No, no,” the She-wolf said quickly, shaking her head. “There’s no need; I’ve actually got all the help I need.” She glanced briefly towards Stiles with a small smile, then looked back to Scott.  

“Are you guys just passing through again?” Scott questioned. “And honestly, I can help you catch your pack-mate – we don’t want him to attack someone else here, and I’m sure you don’t want to lose him for good.”

“No,” the she-wolf replied, glancing again towards Stiles again, a small smile stretching across her lips. “I certainly do not wish to lose him for good. That would be a great shame.”

The wolf and Scott continued to talk, but Stiles was no longer listening. A loud ringing had overtaken his ears, drowning out all other noise until all he could hear was the blood racing through his heart and fear rushing through his veins. The She-wolf glanced at him one more time, and that was the last glance he needed.

He jerked back as though he’d been shoved and his hand shot out, grabbing Scott’s arm and pulling him back with him. Scott was abruptly torn from his conversation and turned to Stiles in surprise, about to ask what was wrong when he suddenly registered Stiles’ face and smelled the fear that was now emanating from his friend. Scott immediately looked back at the She-wolf, his eyes narrowing as his entire body went on guard. “What is it, Stiles?” he asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

“It’s her,” Stiles snarled, continuing to step back, every single sense on high alert.

The She-wolf looked at them in confusion. “Who am I?” she asked, looking between the two teenagers in bemusement. But Stiles wasn’t falling for it.

Not this time.

He made to turn, ready to run as fast as he could to safety, but before he could even move his foot, he felt Scott jerk beside him. Not a second later he felt something come crashing down behind him, and he knew no more.

Chapter Text

It was a feeling he’d hoped he’d never have to experience again – the painful, burning pinch of rope wrapped tightly around his wrists, the awkward and horribly uncomfortable angle of his arms being held above him, the weight of his body forced entirely upon his shoulders. It was a position he had only been in a handful of times, but that handful was more than enough for a lifetime. For a brief moment he thought that he was back in the attic, back in his prison, idly waiting for more torture, idly waiting for death. It wasn’t until he heard a deep voice frantically calling his name that he realised something was amiss, and with a start he wrenched open his eyes.

He was surrounded by four cement walls and a concrete ceiling, from which inexplicably hung the thick rope that bound his hands together. A door stood to his right and a window lay behind him, the moonlight from outside shining through and casting his shadow on the wall in front of him. Only there wasn’t just one shadow hanging from the ceiling, but two.

Scott. Stiles turned his head, moving his arm as best he could to be able see the other boy, who was currently struggling against the ropes that were tied around his wrists and hanging him from the ceiling. Only unlike Stiles, Scott had more than just ropes binding him; a piece of thin cloth was wrapped around the lower half of his face and tied behind his head. His eyes were bloodshot and shining with tears as he fought to lift himself up, something that should have been easy for him, but which he was now struggling to do. Stiles’ eyes hovered over the fabric around Scott’s mouth and nose, and if he couldn’t already tell from Scott’s pain, the smell would have definitely given it away: Wolfsbane.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles said, trying to swing himself around to see Scott better. “You okay?” It was a stupid question, but one he had to ask, nonetheless. Scott’s attention turned from the rope to Stiles, his mouth moving as he tried to speak, but his voice too muffled to understand what he was saying. Stiles’ chest tightened and his movements increased as he tried to pull at the rope, hoping to somehow rip it from its connection to the ceiling; but nothing happened. Stiles gritted his teeth, his heart feeling as though it had fallen through his chest. It was like someone had re-winded his life back two-weeks, forcing him to relive that long night and day strung from the ceiling like a puppet, completely defenceless and vulnerable to all that the Witch wanted to do. He had vowed to himself that he would never be in that situation again. But here he was.

Stiles looked around, searching for anything that he could use to save them, to get them out. It was dark in the room, which Stiles had figured to be an old tool-shed, and it was difficult to find anything that would help them, much less be able to reach it. “I – I’ll find something,” he said, eyes jumping from shadow to shadow, from object to object. Scott grunted beside him, jerking his arms a few times more before falling lax, his head resting against the crook of his elbow as he struggled to fight the pain of the wolfsbane. Stiles continued to search. “We’ll get out of here, I swear.” He was surprised at how calm he was, how calmly he was taking Givens’ resurgence and being imprisoned once more. He should be freaking out, he should be panicked and screaming, but instead he found himself strangely focused, his attention fully devoted to one thing – escape. But before Stiles could do anything, the handle at the door turned and its hinges squeaked open.

Both Stiles and Scott’s heads snapped up, watching as the shadowed form of a woman entered the room, followed by the form of a werewolf, its claws open and its teeth bared. The woman held something in her hand and a moment later she whispered a small, foreign word, and the candle she had been holding flared to life. Givens smiled, the shadows created by the light casting her cheek-bones and features into shadow, giving her smile an all-the-more sinister look. The Rogue-Wolf stood expressionless as his large form loomed behind her, a silent threat.

Givens strode across the floor, her right hand holding the candle and her left lifting her skirts. She was wearing an old, dark-green dress and her hair was lifted in intricate curls behind her head, making her look as though she’d just stepped out of the 19^th century. It was a strangely familiar look and Stiles frowned, trying to understand why the image was so uncanny, when the answer suddenly appeared before him.

It was the image from the photo; the one he had seen in Givens’ house when they’d gone back for the jeep, the one of the family and their dog, where the woman at the front was staring directly at the camera, her mouth turned in the smallest of smiles. It was the same woman and as the pieces fell into place, Stiles couldn’t believe that he hadn’t made the connection before.

Givens came to a stop a few feet in front of Scott and Stiles, her eyes switching between the two as her lips stretched into a large smile. No one said anything for a long moment, filling the room with a heavy, tangible tension. The Witch leaned forward, her eyes fastened on Stiles. “Hello, my dear one,” she said. When she spoke, all the memories that Stiles had been trying to forget from the past month came rushing back, her lilting voice sending a surge of fear through his heart and panic through his veins. She took a step forward, lifting her hand and caressing the back of her fingers down the side of his face. It was like a jolt of electricity had been shot through his body, and Stiles reacted out of instinct without a second thought.

A surge of pressure blasted forward from Stiles like a shockwave, breaking the crates and boxes that cluttered the room and throwing the Rouge-Wolf against the wall like a rag doll. Givens, however, remained unmoved, her fist raised beside her, surrounded in a dark-blue light, her smile changing into a smirk. She brought her hand forward, gently cupping Stiles’ cheek, gripping his jaw between her fingers. A shock ran through Stiles’ body and every muscle froze into place, her magic holding him in an iron grip.

“Stiles, Stiles…. Do you honestly think that I wouldn’t be prepared this time around?” She squeezed his face and his muscles grew tighter, sending tremors of pain throughout his body. She clucked at him as she had done so many times before, as though he were nothing more than a misbehaving child; but this time her eyes spoke what her words didn’t, and Stiles could see the wild anger just waiting to be released.

She looked between Stiles’ eyes as though searching for something, but all Stiles could see behind hers was madness. “We can end this all, you know,” she said, her smile slowly fading. “We can still end this. All this pain, all this hurt. Just give me what I want and it will all be over. Your friend will go free, his Pack will no longer be in danger, and even you might escape… if you survive.” She squeezed his face tighter, her fingers digging into his cheeks. Stiles didn’t reply, his eyebrows narrowed and eyes turned into the most vicious glare he could give. He tried to use the air, to grasp it, to take hold of it as he had done so many times before; but he found that no matter how hard he tried, it always slipped through his fingers, it was always just out of reach.

Givens continued to stare at him, ignoring the grunts and movement from Scott as though he wasn’t in the room at all; she had eyes only for Stiles. “You don’t even know what you can do,” she said softly after a moment. “You don’t even know who you are. You don’t know your powers, and you certainly don’t know how to control them. So why do you defend them so? Why do you defend that which you do not understand, that which you did not ask for, which you do not even want?” She continued to look between his eyes and Stiles could see her thinking, her mind suddenly contemplating something new. She brought her face closer to his until they were only a few inches apart, her breath brushing over Stiles’ mouth and nose. “You could come with me, you know. If you so chose, you could come with me, follow me. I could teach you all you need to know about your powers, your gifts, your place in this world as one of the Blessed.

“You would no longer be in the dark, you would no longer need to fear who you are, what you are. You would no longer need to fear yourself. I could teach you to control your powers and become the most powerful Elemental in all of history. You would never have to worry about defending yourself again.” She licked her lips, her mouth turning up in a small smile. “And you would never again, need to be rescued by another.” Stiles could hear Scott thrashing harder now, but neither Stiles nor Givens paid him any attention. Givens face remained close to Stiles’, her eyes never turning from his. “All you need to do is forsake your friends and your family. Leave them. Leave them and never return. Because I assure you, Stiles, they will only ever hinder you. They will only ever slow you down. Even if they don’t, do you know what will happen to them? Don’t you ever wonder what will become of them, if your powers continue to go unchecked?

“What about that little incident in your school-room, hmm? You did not even have to think and the storm that you created could have hurt someone – killed them, even. Certainly harm them. What if someone had been walking outside? A sudden storm appearing out of nowhere, with no warning, giving no time to hide or seek shelter…. You could have injured them. You, Stiles. You. And this is only the beginning; you have not even touched the tip of what it is you can do. And if you do not learn to control it, do you know what will happen?”

She licked her lips again, leaning forward until they were brushing against his ear, her voice a whisper as she spoke. “Your friends will be the ones to pay; your family will be the ones to suffer. You will hurt them, whether you intend to or not. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. Because it will happen eventually; whether now or years from now, they will get hurt. And it will be all your fault.” She leaned back, a dark smile on her face once more. When she spoke, her voice was loud and strong. “Abandon your friends and follow me, Stiles. Leave your friends and family, and freedom and safety will be yours.”

Stiles gritted his teeth, his fingers clenching into fists. Did she really think he’d say yes, just like that? He had seen and gone through far too much over the past three years, he had been offered power before, and his loyalty to his friends, his family, and to Scott were far too strong to be broken so easily. Did he want to know what he was and what he could do? Of course he did. Did he want to learn to control his powers? Of course he did. But he knew that when Givens spoke of freedom she was lying; someone like her, who lived and acted only for herself and her own desires, would never give someone like him freedom. For those who sought power were never satisfied, and they would never be satisfied. So with his body immobile and his powers locked, Stiles did the only thing he could do.

He spat in her face.

Givens blinked and jerked back, the spit running slowly down her cheek. She stared at Stiles with wide eyes for a long moment, before her eyes slowly narrowed and her lips pressed in a thin line. She stepped back, tightening her grip on the candle-holder and taking her skirts in her hand, tilting her head ever so-slightly back, saying only three, short words:

“So be it.”

She shifted her eyes from Stiles and for the first time that night, turned her attention to Scott. “Mr. McCall,” she said, her voice deceptively light, as though it were just another day of class. She smiled, but her smile was tight. “I would say it is a pleasure to see you again, but that would be a lie.” Scott glared at her, trying to speak behind the cloth, but his words unintelligible. Givens smiled then waved her fingers, and the fabric fell off Scott’s mouth.

Scott coughed, hacking and spitting out as much of the wolfsbane that he’d inhaled as he could. A few moments later the coughing died down and Scott turned his eyes to Givens. “I’m going to kill you,” he snarled, his voice raw and hoarse.

A smirk pulled at Givens’ lips, and she threw her head back and laughed. “Oh Mr. McCall,” she said between laughs, regaining her composure. “Mr. McCall, you have already tried to kill me once, and I’m afraid that you failed. Though not for want of trying. I’ll admit, you have an alarmingly good aim.” Her smile faded and her laughter fell away, a dark glare overtaking her features. “And thanks to you, I will never forget it.” Givens grasped the top of her dress and pulled it down, exposing her chest to the tops of her breasts. What she revealed beneath left both Stiles and Scott in wide-eyed shock.

A large hole lay in the middle of her chest where her heart should have been, its edges torn and mangled, the inside a mixture of bone and flesh. It was barren of blood, surrounded instead in a dark, charred sludge. The hole was undoubtedly the result of Scott’s hand having gone through her chest, and by all means should have been a fatal blow. But as much as Deaton claimed witches to be human, they clearly didn’t need hearts to live.

Givens pulled the top of the dress back up, until it lay at the base of her neck once more. “You should have known, Mr. McCall,” she said with a tut. “Killing a witch is not as simple as ripping out their hearts. We need far more effort than that. But then, you are not the most clever of werewolves.”

Scott’s eyes darkened as he glared at her. “You’re the one who told me to push Stiles out of the Pack. You were trying to separate us, to isolate him so it’d be easier to take him. It was your plan all along.”

“Very good Mr. McCall, top marks! And I must say, it all worked out rather perfectly, didn’t it?”

Scott was silent and Givens stared at him a few moments longer before turning and walking back to Stiles. She began to unbutton his outer-shirt, Stiles completely unable to stop her, and Scott swore, bucking against the rope. “Leave him alone! If you want someone, come after me!”

Givens turned her head to Scott and smiled, her fingers continuing to make their way down Stiles’ shirt. She said nothing in reply as she finished and spread the shirt open. Stiles’ t-shirt lay beneath and she ran her hand lightly across it, before pressing each of her fingers gently against the fabric and dragging them down. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth as deep cuts were left behind, tearing the fabric and slicing his skin. Scott yelled, his voice turning into a snarl as his teeth elongated and his eyes turned red, the rope around his wrists creaking and groaning as he tried to pull it apart. Givens continued to rip the fabric and cut into Stiles’ skin until his shirt was completely shredded, and his chest and abdomen were covered in blood.

Stiles’ chest heaved rapidly in and out, his heart racing and pain lashing through his body as he fought to calm himself down. He couldn’t be here, not again – not like this. Givens began to draw circles and designs in his blood, stopping only once to reach up and caress a bloody finger down his neck.

Scott continued to yell obscenities at Givens, cursing her, threatening her, struggling as hard as he could against the rope and her magic, but Givens continued to ignore him. Stiles fought against her magic, trying to free his body and his tongue, but nothing he did changed a thing. It was exactly as it had been before.

Except it wasn’t.

Ever since his fight with the creature in the basement of the school, it felt as though the air was always charged around him, as though it were vibrating, an energy waiting to be taken and released. But it wasn’t just the air; there was something else humming all around him, brushing against his skin and the back of his mind, its presence surrounding him both around and below. It was a sense that felt both foreign and familiar, both strange and normal, both dangerous and safe; a sense that he’d never felt before, but knew exactly how to use.

He knew it was his power, he knew it was his gift. He knew what he was sensing were the trees and the earth, the air and the wind, the elements reacting to his fear and his panic. He knew what they were as surely as if he’d felt them his entire life. He wanted to reach out, he tried to reach out, pushing as hard as he could against the magic that was binding him, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t grab hold.

Pressure began to build beneath his temple, competing with the gashes on his abdomen for most painful distraction. He clenched his teeth together until his jaw ached, the unnatural feeling of exhaustion that he’d felt back in the attic falling slowly over him once more. He internally swore, feeling as though he were about to scream, when suddenly everything stopped and the pain disappeared.

Stiles looked at Givens, seeing that her attention was no longer on him, but on the door. He turned his eyes to the door as well, trying to see what was there, but saw nothing. The Rogue-Wolf was watching the door attentively as well, and Stiles glanced back at Scott, who turned his eyes from the door to Stiles. “There’s someone outside,” he whispered, before looking back at the door.

Stiles looked back at Givens and waited to see what she would do. She stayed crouched a minute longer, before turning to the Rogue-Wolf. “Go out and see what’s there,” she commanded. The wolf immediately obeyed, stepping to the door and walking outside. Givens began to turn her attention back to Stiles as though nothing had happened, when suddenly there was a shrill, animalistic scream, followed by the sounds of fighting.

Givens gave a heavy sigh of exasperation, before rising to her feet. “Must I take care of everything?” She strode over to the door with her candle and disappeared outside, the absence of light shrouding the room in darkness once more.

A few minutes later it was like the strings that were binding him had been cut, and Stiles suddenly collapsed in on himself, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

“Stiles?” Scott said quickly. “Stiles, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Stiles nodded his head, continuing to gasp. “She… her magic’s gone; whatever was holding me, it’s… it’s gone.”

Scott’s eyes glanced towards the door. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where did she go?”

Stiles didn’t answer, instead reaching for the earth and air that he’d been trying so hard to grasp before, closing his eyes when he suddenly felt a cool wave fall across his body. The pain emanating from his chest and abdomen lessened, and the fog that had been shrouding his mind began to clear. When he opened his eyes, he opened them with purpose. They’d just been given an opportunity to escape, and he was not going to waste it.

“I don’t know where she went,” Stiles replied, turning his attention to the ceiling, where the rope met the concrete. “But I’m not waiting for her to come back.” Scott followed his lead and began tugging once more at his own rope, swinging himself back and forth in an attempt to rip it from its invisible lodgings. Stiles knew that simply jarring it wouldn’t work, so concentrating as hard as he could, he focused the air and began building pressure at the end of the rope as he had back in the attic, doing all he could to make it snap free.

But whether from the rope entering a cement ceiling rather than wood, or whether the rope and ceiling had been reinforced with magic, nothing that Stiles did caused the ceiling or rope to break. Givens obviously hadn’t been lying when she’d said she’d come prepared.

Scott’s eyes flitted between watching Stiles and focusing on his own attempts to escape, as he tried to manoeuvre his claws to reach the rope in the effort to slice it in half. But with the way his wrists had been tied, his hands bound facing away from each other, the thick rope twisted and knotted to hinder any movement, he found finding purchase to be impossible.

Stiles glanced at Scott’s wrists before turning his attention back to his own efforts, the fumbling of his fingers increasing as he did. They had to move fast; they had no idea when Givens would be back, whether or not this would be their only chance, whether Givens would suddenly come back and punish them both for trying to escape. Stiles’ frown deepened as he focused on the rope so near to his fingers. If he could just reach a little higher, just move his fingers a bit more to get at the knots, then maybe, just maybe….

Ever so slowly, the tips of Stiles’ fingers managed to reach a bit higher, until he finally had a grasp on the knots. Unlike Scott, his wrists were bound facing one another, and from what Stiles could only assume to be from his constant moving, the knots had already started to come loose. Stiles’ heart pumped loudly in his ears as adrenaline rushed through his body; just a little higher, just a little higher….

Scott growled in frustration as his fingers slipped once more, his arms and shoulders throbbing painfully as he forced his exhausted muscles to keep moving. As he tried once more to reach the rope with his claw his eyes glanced briefly towards Stiles, suddenly widening as his eyebrows raised in shock.

Stiles was working his fingers frantically at the knots surrounding his wrists, each knot slowly but surely pulling loose. But that wasn’t what had taken Scott by surprise.  

Stiles was standing on his tip-toes, concentration etched deep on his face as he pushed himself as high up as he could in order to better access the knots. The rope lay partially slacked between the ceiling and Stiles, making it much easier to remove the knots from their place. It was the easiest way to do things, something Stiles should have done long before – except for the fact that he shouldn’t be able to do it all.

It was impossible. He was standing on the air; he was literally pushing himself off the air, stepping on it as though it were solid ground. He was, with no other way to describe it, floating in mid-air.

Scott had seen Stiles use his powers before. He had seen him throw Givens across the yard, had seen him create a vortex of wind in the palm of his hand, had seen him toss a creature against a cement wall; but for some reason this particular act made him realise more than any other just how different Stiles had become, just how much his life had now changed. The entire thing was still so new to him, that Stiles had power and control over the elements was still mind-blowing, but if Scott knew one thing for sure, it was what it was like to watch yourself become something so much more than what you once had been and jarring that process could be.

His eyes still locked incredulously on his friend, Scott finally found his tongue spoke. “Stiles!”

Stiles looked down, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, about to ask what was wrong when he suddenly took notice of the unusual position that he was in. He stared at his hands, his eyes following the rope as he noticed just how slack it had become; glancing up at the ceiling, he realised that he was now only a few inches away from it. Looking down, his eyes widened and he jerked with a start as he saw the tips of his toes lifting him up from their firm place on thin air.

Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Stiles suddenly fell back down, the rope pulling taught and his feet swinging in the air once more. Enough knots had already been removed, however, and a second later they finished pulling loose and Stiles fell to the floor with a crash. He sat in shock for only a brief moment, before getting to his feet and brushing off the strands of rope as he ran over to Scott.

“Just lift me up,” Scott said, motioning to his claws. “I just need a little more room and I can –.” Before he could finish, Stiles was already wrapping his arms around his legs and pushing him up until the rope went slack. Scott quickly found an opening and a second later the rope was sliced, and he fell to the floor with a thud.

Both boys eyed the door, standing completely still as they listened for any sign that Givens was about to return. Suddenly something snapped outside the door and both boys tensed. The hair and teeth on Scott’s face grew and he adjusted his stance in preparation. Stiles shifted his own feet and clenched his fists by his sides. He wasn’t going to let her take him one more time; and if he was going to go down, he was going to go down fighting.

The doorknob turned and both boys held their breath; a second later the door opened and in came –

Liam?

The tension in each boy’s face fell away and they both stared at the younger wolf incredulously. “Liam?!” Scott exclaimed. “Liam, what the hell are you –.”

“Come on, we don’t have time!” Liam interrupted, glancing behind him before turning back to Scott and Stiles. “Let’s go!”

There wasn’t time to wonder how Liam had gotten there, how he had found out where they were or that they needed help. There wasn’t time to wonder what on earth he had done to distract both a much-bigger werewolf and a Witch, and how he’d managed to do it unscathed. There wasn’t time to question or wonder about anything.

So they ran.

They ran through the trees as fast as their legs would carry them, their feet barely touching the ground as they all but flew across the forest floor, fear and adrenaline driving their exhausted muscles and tired bodies. Their senses were on high alert, waiting for the moment when their luck would give out and they’d be blown off their feet. But as the minutes passed, their luck held, and they continued to run.

Scott was a werewolf; he could run faster than any human on earth. He’d ran before from fights and creatures with humans like Stiles, Kira, and Lydia, and if he didn’t force himself to slow down, he knew he would leave them far behind. So he’d learned to train himself, on instinct, to slow down for the sake of his friends. But this time when he turned to find Stiles, he found that he was strangely keeping an impressive pace. At first Scott was confused, not understanding what was different, when he belatedly – and with shock – he realised what it was.

Where he himself and Liam were spending half their energy avoiding and jumping over tree branches and fallen logs, Stiles wasn’t dodging a thing. It were as though he was running on an already-made path, as though he’d somehow managed to pick the one route that had not a single obstacle. Something caught Scott’s eye, and as they neared the jeep and began to slow, what he’d thought he’d seen was confirmed – that the trees and brush were clearing Stiles’ path; they were literally moving out of his way.

As soon as they reached the jeep, they wrenched the doors open and threw themselves inside. With great relief, Stiles pulled the keys out of his pocket and turned on the engine, throwing the jeep into reverse and turned it around, spinning the tires in the dirt as he took off down the road.

“Where should we go?!” Scott asked as they tore onto the main road. Stiles didn’t reply, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel beneath his fingers. Scott looked out through the window. “We need to call Deaton. Whatever he was making, we need it now.” Scott fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Deaton’s number. After a few rings, he picked up. “Deaton! Look, we ran into the witch…. Yes, we’re fine, but we need that mixture you were going to make, the one to…. Well do you have any already made?! …. Okay… Okay. Well what should we do until then? What if she comes back?!”

“She won’t come back,” Liam interrupted. “At least, not for a while.”

Scott glanced at him, a questioning look in his eyes. He spoke a bit longer on the phone before clicking it off, then turned his attention back to Liam. “What did you do?” he asked. “How did you know where we were, or that –.”

“I followed you. You guys were acting weird and I knew you weren’t heading home when you left, so I just… I wanted to figure out what was going on.”

Scott gave him a look of silent incredulity, before shaking his head. “You can’t… dude, you can’t just spy on us because you want to know what’s going on. If we say something’s none of your business, it’s none of your business –.”

“But you won’t tell me anything! I’m not an idiot, Scott – I know something’s going on and nobody else seems to see it, but I do! I saw you when Deaton said the witch wasn’t dead; you were looking at Stiles, Stiles wasn’t looking at you! It was Stiles that got scared, not you –.”

“Because he was kidnapped by her! Because she held him and tortured him for a week and threatened to kill him! So of course he would –.”

“That’s not why, and you know it! Do you wanna know what I think? I don’t think that witch is after you, I thinks she’s after Stil –.”

“Liam, so help me, if you don’t drop this –.”

A sharp turn abruptly tore Scott and Liam from their argument, jerking them to the side as the jeep swung onto a dirt road and came to an abrupt stop. Stiles fumbled at the jeep’s door before throwing it open and jumping outside. Scott followed quickly after him, trailed after by Liam.

All was silent as Stiles paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair and pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few minutes he spoke, not looking up. “How did you get rid of her?” he asked quietly.

Liam glanced at Scott briefly, before looking back at Stiles. “There’s an old iron-well that was part of the town’s water system years ago that nobody uses anymore; it was near the watershed you guys were in, so I covered it with leaves and got rid of its scent as much as I could. Then I made some noise to draw the werewolf out and I managed to lead him to the well, and he fell in. The witch came out soon after and tried to follow me until she fell in the well, too. After that I went back and got you guys.”

Both Scott and Stiles stared at Liam, their eyebrows furrowed and their eyes wide as they stared at him incredulously. They were silent for a long moment, before Scott spoke. “You… you led a rabid werewolf and a witch out into the dark, and you got them to fall into a hole, where they still are now? Just like that?”

“Well it was an iron hole,” Liam said, shrugging his shoulders as he looked between Scott and Stiles. “So I figured it was probably the best way to make sure she wouldn’t get out.” At Scott and Stiles’ blank stares, Liam’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. “What?” he asked.

“What do you mean, ‘it was probably the best’?” Scott asked.

“Because it’s iron! I’d read that iron weakens a witch’s magic, and since she hasn’t come after us yet, I’m assuming it worked.”

Stiles and Scott both blinked, and after a long moment Scott spoke. “Where the heck did you learn that?”

Liam shrugged. “Well after you got Stiles escaped the Witch, I figured I might as well learn something about them in case they ever showed up again, and everything I found said they were weak against iron.” The two older boys were silent, and Liam continued. “It was more luck than anything that there was an iron well there. If it wasn’t, I’m not sure what I would have done.”

Both Scott and Stiles continued to stare a few moments longer, before Stiles finally broke the silence. “Well if someone had told me witches didn’t like iron, I’d have thrown an iron pipe at her when this whole damn thing started.”

“That – that’s good, Liam,” Scott fumbled out, his eyebrows still furrowed together in slight disbelief. “That you knew that. That… that’s really good.”

Liam looked slightly pleased with himself, putting his shoulders back and standing a bit straighter. “Thanks.”

Everyone was silent for a few minutes, the older boys still blinking incredulously, until Scott suddenly turned to Stiles. “Deaton doesn’t have the indicator yet,” he said, relaying the conversation he’d had back in the jeep. “He doesn’t have any in his stores, either. He said he’d make it as fast as he could, but that it’d only be ready tomorrow morning. He’d call us when it was done.”

“And what does this do, exactly?” Stiles asked, quietly wrapping his arms around his abdomen carefully. Neither Scott nor Liam noticed.

“It’s some sort of vial that turns a certain colour whenever it senses magic nearby. It can’t do anything to defend us, but it can at least give us a heads up.”

“And so what do we do until then?” Stiles asked, sarcasm dripping into his voice. “Just twiddle our thumbs and hope she doesn’t show up? She’s supposed to be dead, Scott! That damn witch is supposed to be dead, she’s not supposed to be back here, we’re not supposed to be dealing with this shit anymore –.”

“Stiles, calm down. I’m as surprised about this as you are, but we can’t start freaking out; we need to just calm down and come up with a plan –.”

Stiles suddenly turned on Scott, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “Don’t tell me what to do, Scott – don’t tell me what to fuckin’ do. I have every right to freak out about this, I every damn right –.”

Scott held up his hands, trying to keep his tone as level as possible. “You’re right, you have every right to be angry, you have every right to freak out. But freaking out won’t get us anywhere, Stiles. It will just make everything worse –.”

“Then what do you suggest we do, huh?” Stiles asked, raising his arms questioningly in the air. The branches of the trees around them began to creak, shifting as though something was pushing against them. Scott eyed them warily before turning his gaze back to Stiles, ignoring the strong breeze that had begun to pick up.

“We need to find anything made of iron and surround ourselves with it. We need to tell the rest of the Pack what’s going on, and most of all we need to stay together.” Both boys locked their gaze, speaking silently with their eyes until Scott finally spoke. “The next time she shows up we’ll be prepared, I promise. We killed her once and we’ll do it again; this time we’ll just make sure to finish the job. She can be defeated, Stiles. I swear to you, she can be defeated.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, then quietly nodded. Then before he could say a word, Scott stepped forward and grabbed him in a hug. They both stayed that way for a few moments, neither saying a word, before Scott finally stepped away.

Liam watched them both warily, eyes flitting between the two older boys before he finally opened his mouth to speak. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he said. Scott and Stiles glanced at him, their eyes guarded. Liam continued, “The witch isn’t after Scott, she’s after Stiles.” He turned his gaze to Stiles, his eyebrows furrowing together. “But why would a witch be going after you? What does she want?”

Stiles didn’t answer. Instead he simply turned and started walking back towards the jeep. When he reached the vehicle he paused, running a tired hand over his face and moving it until he was gripping the back of his neck. Scott came up beside him, leaning on the hood of the jeep against his arms. “You’re coming to my place,” he said firmly.

Stiles looked away, the moonlight shining into the clearing and casting shadows across his face. “I don’t have a say in it?” he asked.

Scott managed a small smile. “Nope. And you won’t be going back home until this whole thing is finally over.”

Stiles sighed. “And what will I tell my dad?”

Scott stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “The truth,” he answered quietly. Stiles didn’t reply. When he continued to stay silent, Scott knew that the conversation was over – for now.

Turning around, he spotted Liam standing on the other edge of the clearing, giving the appearance that he was trying to give Scott and Stiles some privacy, but Scott knew that with his hearing, he had heard every single word. Sighing, he waved Liam over and everyone made their way back into the jeep.

They dropped Liam off at his house, suggesting he surround himself with iron and instructing him to call the rest of the Pack and let them know what was going on, and to keep an eye out for their safety. But it was merely formality; they all knew who was really in danger.

Stiles called his dad and let him know he’d be staying at Scott’s, offering no real excuse as none had ever really needed to be given. When they arrived at Scott’s house it was nearly one in the morning, and as they shut the door behind them, they both realised just how utterly worn and tired out they were. Being kidnapped and running for your lives could do that to you.

It was only when they’d made it up to Scott’s room that Scott became aware of the smell of blood, and remembered that Stiles was injured. He quickly went about gathering towels and bandages, forcing Stiles to sit down and wait as Scott performed the now only too-familiar routine of cleaning his wounds and bandaging him up. His shirt was destroyed and Scott had no qualms of throwing it in the garbage the moment it came off.

He proceeded to wipe antiseptic across the wounds, causing Stiles to hiss in pain and grip the bedsheets tightly beneath his fingers, unaware of the black lines that quietly trailed along Scott’s fingers and up his arms. That was the only noise he made though, remaining strangely quiet throughout the rest of the procedure. It was only at the end when Scott had finished wrapping the bandages around his torso, did he speak. “We don’t have any iron here,” he said quietly.

“We’ll find some,” Scott replied, not looking up. “There’s always iron in houses somewhere. I’ll smell it out and put everything along the windows and doors; and as soon as Deaton calls, I’ll run out and get the vials. It’ll be fine.”

He was trying to comfort Stiles, and while Stiles appreciated his efforts, he knew that the comfort came at the expense of the truth. “Thanks Scott,” he said, and he meant it. “Seriously. Thanks for… thanks for everything. I’m sorry you had to go through that. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. It was me she wanted, not you. You didn’t deserve to get hurt.”

Scott looked up at Stiles sharply, a frown set deep on his face. “And you did?” he asked.

“This whole thing started because of me. She came back because of me. And she will keep coming back because of me.”

“I’ve already told you, Stiles – this isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

“And I’ve already told you, it is. I’m the one with these powers, I’m the one who’s the… the Blessed. I’m the one she wants. It’s my powers she wants; and she won’t stop until she gets them.”

Scott’s frown deepened, and he leaned back on his heels, giving Stiles a hard stare. “So what – you’re just going to give up? You’re going to let her take them, just like that?”

Stiles turned to Scott, looking him in the eyes, lines of worry and fear etched deep across his face. “What choice do I have?” he asked quietly. “She wants these powers, she seems to know about them more than I do, and to be honest….” He took a deep breath. “To be honest, I really don’t know a thing about them. So maybe it’d just be easier to let her….”

“She’ll kill you, you know. There’s no guarantee that her taking them won’t kill you, and even if it didn’t, I doubt she’d leave you alive to potentially take them back. You can’t let her take them, Stiles. You have to –.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Stiles snapped. “She’s a witch, Scott! She’s too powerful. We can’t… how are we supposed to kill her? We’re trying to play offence, when we have no idea where she even is! She could be coming here tonight, she could find us while we sleep and she’ll kill us –.”

“If she’d made it out of the well she’d have come after us by now,” Scott interrupted. “And it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to stay awake all night. Once Deaton calls I’ll wake you up and we’ll go get the stuff, or I’ll have someone bring it here. She caught us by surprise, but this time we’ll be ready. The moment she comes near us, we’ll know. We’ve faced a lot of creatures before, Stiles. We’ve faced a lot of dangerous people, we’ve faced a lot of things that wanted us dead, and we always managed to defeat them in the end. I swear to you – this will be just another win to add to the list.”

A short time later they turned off the lights and Stiles got into bed, Scott taking up residence at the end of the bed as they waited for morning and for Deaton’s call to come. Stiles curled up on his side, wishing for nothing more than to disappear and for all of this to be just a bad dream. But it wasn’t. And Stiles knew that, for all of Scott’s insistence that they’d get through this, that they were safe, that they’d defeat the witch – he knew that, in reality, Givens’ return could very well mean his death, along with the deaths of anyone that stood in her way.

Chapter Text

The call came at 5:30 in the morning. Scott had woken Stiles and they’d both tiredly driven to the clinic, where Deaton looked just as exhausted as they did. He gave them two small vials filled with clear liquid, deceptively innocent in appearance, but which he assured would turn a dark purple in warning of any nearby magic from a witch. He told Scott to be careful and that he’d make more for everyone else as soon as he could.

Scott had been eyeing Stiles throughout the conversation, hoping that he’d speak up, that he’d tell Deaton what was really going on, admit who was actually the one that needed to be kept safe; but he never did. He remained uncommonly quiet and unnaturally still, keeping his thoughts and words firmly behind sealed lips. It frustrated the hell out of Scott that Stiles wasn’t saying anything; the only problem was that he knew exactly why Stiles wasn’t doing it.

They got in the jeep and started heading back home. Scott sighed, leaning back in his seat and running his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. He’d been meaning to have this conversation with Stiles for a while now, and six-thirty in the morning seemed like a good a time as any to do it. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, before quietly saying, “Stiles, I know what you’re feeling.”

Stiles’ lips twitched in a wry smile. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yes. If you haven’t exactly noticed, I’m probably the one who knows what you’re going through the best.” He took a deep breath. People always thought he was the more sensitive one; well, he wasn’t going to prove them wrong.

“When I became a werewolf, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I could smell and hear so many things, I could tell when people were happy or excited, I could hear when they were upset. I could run as fast as cars and suddenly I was the strongest guy I knew. All those years wanting to be popular, wanting to be admired… suddenly I could have all of that at my fingertips. It was awesome. For a while, I really didn’t think life could get better than that. Then I started getting better at lacrosse and suddenly people were paying attention to me, they were watching me. Girls I’d crushed on in seventh-grade were suddenly cheering for me and yelling my name…. it felt amazing.”

Scott paused, staring out the window in silence for a moment before continuing. “It’s nice to be different than everyone else. It’s nice to be or have something that sets you apart, that makes you unique, that makes you feel special. But that feeling didn’t last. I’m not even sure it was ever real in the first place; because I hadn’t ever thought about the consequences of it all. I hadn’t ever stopped long enough to realise that this wasn’t just some cool power-up, that this wasn’t just some dormant mutant-gene that had finally shown itself. I began to realise that, if I wanted to protect those I cared about, I couldn’t tell anyone what I was; because if I did, there was a very real possibility that someone else would find out and they might come after me, to capture me or experiment on me, to do whatever it is they do to that which they never thought existed. If you… if you hadn’t been with me, Stiles – if you hadn’t walked with me every step of the way, I don’t… I don’t think I’d have ever made it that first year.” He chuckled. “Or I’d have become as emotionally constipated as Derek. Neither were particularly good outcomes.

“So I guess… I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I understand. I understand what  it’s like to think you’re weird, to think you’re a freak, to have more power and abilities than you even know, and to wonder just how long it will take before you hurt someone with them. I know what it’s like to wonder what you are, to wonder what you can do, to wonder if what you are is more important than who you are. It’s not, by the way. What you are is part of you, sure – but it’s not all of it. Your choices, your beliefs, your values, your actions – those are what make you you. And in the end, I think that’s what matters the most.”

Scott leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “So yeah, neither of us may be completely human anymore – I may be a werewolf, you may be a Blessed, but in the end that doesn’t matter, because we’ll still have each other. We’ll still be us. We were always a pair of misfits growing up, now we’re just more so.” Scott finally turned to Stiles, whose eyes were still on the road, but Scott could see the barest hint of red tinging the corners. “You helped me when I first turned, when I didn’t know what the hell was going on or what I was becoming, and I swear that I’m going to do the same for you now. And I swear you’ll figure it out.” Scott finished his speech and the jeep fell into silence, nothing to be heard but the sound of the tires running across the pavement.

“I’m not you, Scott,” Stiles said quietly after a long moment. “You at least had Derek and werewolf-lore to help you. I have… I have nothing. I have no one. I don’t know anything about any of this; I don’t know anything about my powers, or what a Blessed is. And until I figure it all out, until I learn what it all means….”

The two sat in silence until a few minutes later, when they pulled back up into Scott’s driveway. The air was chilled in the morning fog and the two quickly made their way inside, where they found Melissa just setting her purse down on the table. She turned when they came inside, looking tired, obviously having just finished a night shift. “Hey guys,” she said, her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at seeing them. “What are you doing up so early?”

Scott glanced at Stiles who looked away, something that was becoming all the more common and definitely starting to grate on Scott’s nerves, but he pushed the feelings of annoyance down. He decided that since Stiles wouldn’t speak, he had to at least say something. “The Witch is back,” he said bluntly.

Melissa’s eyes widened, flicking between Scott and Stiles. “I thought you killed her?”

“We thought so too; but it turns out ripping out their heart doesn’t actually kill them. You have to burn them to finish the job.”

Melissa was quiet, her gaze hovering over Stiles, who continued not to meet their eyes. She looked back at Scott. “What are you going to do?”

“You need to keep iron on yourself at all times,” Scott replied, taking off an old iron-chained necklace he’d found earlier and handing it to his mother. “Witches don’t like it, apparently. Deaton’s working on making indicators that will tell us when she’s nearby; I’ll get one to you as soon as he’s finished. But I don’t think you’ll have to worry. She’s not… she’s not after you.”

Melissa stared at Stiles, her concern evident on her face, as well as the knowledge that there was more going on than what Scott was telling her. “And who is she going after?”

Stiles suddenly moved past Scott and Melissa and made his way through the living room, disappearing up the stairs. It was so uncharacteristic of him that Melissa could only watch in stunned silence. After a few moments Scott spoke, his eyebrows narrowed and his eyes hard. “She’s after Stiles,” he said quietly.

Melissa turned back to Scott, frowning. “Why?”

“I can’t say. But we have to keep him safe, so he’s staying here until we kill her for good.”

Melissa paused, then asked, “Will the rest of the guys be coming here, then?”

Scott was silent for a long moment, before finally answering. “They don’t know she’s after him. They think she’s after me.”

“What? Why would –.”

“Because Stiles wants it that way.”

Melissa let out a frustrated sigh. “Scott, you have to tell me what’s –.”

“I can’t.” Scott ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “At least, not yet. Not until he’s ready.” They were both silent for a moment before Scott finally looked his mom in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Melissa leveled her gaze at him before speaking. “You know I do.”

“I promise I’ll keep him safe and I promise – I’ll kill that witch once and for all.”

Scott slept the rest of the morning while Stiles stayed awake, unmoving as he sat at the end of the bed with his back against the wall, his mouth pressed into a firm line. The vial Deaton had given them sat on the desk, the liquid inside as clear as crystal, the same as it had been since they got back. The hours passed and the vial remained unchanged. Around nine-thirty in the morning Scott finally woke back up.

They argued for a while about whether or not to go to school, Stiles pushing that they stay home, while Scott insisted that there were safety in numbers. Stiles then suggested that he stay by himself, to which Scott adamantly and viciously refused, stating that he was never letting Stiles out of his sight again. Eventually Scott won out, and at ten they got in the jeep and drove to school, stopping only briefly at a store to stock up on lead bracelets, necklaces, and anything else they could wear to keep themselves and the others safe.

They arrived at school in time for their third-period class that they shared with Lydia and Malia. Both girls gave them a mixture of worried and concerned looks as they walked in, their postures betraying then tension and fear that they were feeling. Scott had texted them and Kira earlier that morning, briefly telling them what had happened and instructing them to gather and surround themselves with as much lead items as they could.

Scott pressed his lips together in a small smile and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement before sitting down. Stiles tried to do the same, but his smile resembled a grimace more than anything else. He supposed it wasn’t too suspect, though. Givens had been his captor for a week and his best friend was in danger, after all.

As soon as the class ended, Lydia and Malia jumped on them, asking what had happened the night before and what they were going to do now. Scott talked to them as fast as he could before the next bell rang, assuring them that they would get together after school and come up with a plan. The girls listened attentively, but for Stiles, Scott’s voice was nothing more than a ringing in his ears.

Stiles couldn’t describe how he felt, because he wasn’t sure what he was feeling himself. All he felt like was running as far away from Givens and this place as fast as he could, but he knew that there was no way he’d ever leave Scott and the others to deal with her on their own. It felt as though he were imprisoned all over again, only this time there was no way to escape.

The entire day felt as though he were walking on thin ice, every moment feeling like an eternity as he waited for something to happen, for Givens to suddenly show up and attack them, to try and kill one of them.

To kill him.

They’d all gathered at lunch and began discussing what their plan of action should be, mapping out which moves they would make and how they would manage to isolate Givens so that they’d be able to kill her. None of them save Scott and Stiles had any experience with witches and magic before, and it left almost all of them unsettled as they tried to figure out just how they would defeat her. Stiles stayed silent throughout the exchange, watching as everyone talked to each other, hands waving and fingers pointing as they all offered their own opinions and ideas on what had to be done. So taken-up with what was going on, no one noticed Stiles’ unusual silence, except one.

Being the youngest of the Pack, Liam was often overlooked when it came to making plans; it was never intentional to leave him out, but there were only so many cooks you could have in a kitchen; but now Stiles found himself wishing he had been included.

Liam’s eyes were boring holes into Stiles’ head, until finally Stiles’ own eyes turned and their gazes met. Both were silent as everyone else talked, but Stiles could clearly hear everything the young wolf was thinking without as word ever having to leave his lips. It was a knowing, calculating gaze, one that clearly knew something was going on; Liam knew that Stiles was the missing piece to the puzzle, but he had yet to figure out how and where he fit.

Stiles finally tore his eyes away, fingering the lead bracelet he was wearing on his wrist, searching the cafeteria for any sign of the Witch. She was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe she’s left, a small voice whispered hopefully in the back of Stiles’ mind. Maybe the well killed her. Maybe she’s still stuck down there and is now starving to death. It could happen. Stiles made a mental note to tell Scott that they’d have to go out to the watershed and find the well to see if she was still there. If she was, he planned to kill her and burn her, finally ending this entire nightmare once and for all.

 By the end of lunch no one had eaten a single bit of food, but they’d finally come up with a tentative way to draw Givens out and kill her. They planned to go out into the forest as far from the town as they could, and each would take their positions hiding amongst the trees while Scott would stand-out alone in the open. He would then send out a howl, which they knew the Rogue Wolf would hear. It would be their beacon, their signal – telling the Witch exactly where Scott was and that he was ready to fight. Givens, Scott insisted, was an egotistical and narcissistic woman, and would not give up the opportunity to fight him if she could. After she arrived, the rest of the Pack would attack, and they’d weaken her as best as they could before finally setting her alight and sending her to her death.

After they’d finished devising the plan, Lydia’s eyes fell to Stiles for the first time, who still hadn’t said a word for the past forty-minutes. “What about Stiles?” she asked, glancing back at Scott. “He can’t – he’ll need to have something to protect himself with, an iron-bat, or….”

“Stiles is a part of the Pack,” Scott said firmly, wondering how many times he’d have to have this conversation before everyone would let it be. His protective instincts began flaring to life, feeling a stab of anger in his chest at Lydia’s words. “He’s fought many times before and has come out the winner; he’s been doing this a lot longer than any of you and he’s done more to help us than you guys will ever know. He’s the one that’s come up with all the plans that have saved all your asses and mine, and without his help we’d all be dead ten times over. He’s never let us down before; I don’t know why you’re doubting him now.” It was an overreaction, Scott knew, but it couldn’t be helped.

“We’re not doubting him, Scott,” Lydia said, her eyes narrowed. She turned to Stiles, her eyes softening. “We’re not doubting you, Stiles. We know that you’re strong and we know that you’re smart; if anyone can get us out of a terrible situation, you can. But it just seems like the creatures we face are just getting stronger and stronger every time we meet them, and it’s just a matter of time before you get hurt to the point of permanent injury, or worse – killed.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and the resentment that Stiles had been feeling for all that Lydia had said, for all that she had done in the past to keep him away from the pack, slowly began to fade.

Lydia held Stiles’ gaze for a long moment, the whites of her eyes betraying the barest hint of red. “Nearly every night I dream of death,” she said at last, taking a deep breath. “When I’m not screaming and seeing people about to die before my eyes, I’m dreaming of them dying as I sleep. Whether it’s a death that’s happened centuries ago or years in the future, I see it. Whether it’s someone tragically dying young or passing away in their sleep at an old age, I see it. And do you know what? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of seeing death every where I turn, I’m sick of watching people die. It’s hard enough when I don’t know them; it’s ten times worse when I do. And let me tell you Stiles, the last thing I want is to see my friends’ deaths – the last thing I want to see is yours. I don’t want to watch you running after some stupid, supernatural creature and then feel that terrible, awful scream as I watch you die in front of me. I’ve seen enough death to last me a lifetime. The last one I ever want to see is yours. And if being a bitch and keeping you from fighting dangerous creatures with the rest of us will do it, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The group was silent for a long moment, eyes flicking rapidly between Stiles and Lydia.

Stiles stared at Lydia for a long time, never taking his eyes off her. He hadn’t realised just how pissed at her he’d been until now; so much more important things were going on that he hadn’t had time to slow down and take in all that she had been saying to him, and the evident pushing-away that she’d been trying to do. But now he was pissed; because no matter what her motivations were, it was him that ultimately made the choice to fight with them or not. But he also felt guilt; because he knew that, if he were given the chance, he’d keep everyone as far away from the supernatural and crazy, psycho-witches as he could.

Finally, Stiles replied. “I know you don’t want to watch me die. I wouldn’t want to watch any of you die, either. But in the end it’s my choice, Lydia. I’m glad that you care about me – let’s be honest – fifteen-year-old me would be jumping for joy right now if he heard that – but I’ve been with Scott from the beginning. And there’s not a damned way in hell that I’m going to stand by while someone else tries to kill him. And if that means I have to die to do it, then so be it.”

Everyone fell quiet once more and Scott caught Stiles’ eye, a wary but determined look etched across his features. “You know I’d do the same for you, buddy,” he said, his voice strong, eyes clear and sharp. Stiles nodded and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “We should probably eat something,” Scott said, turning to face the rest of the Pack. “We’ll meet after school and figure out exactly what we’re gonna do and when we’re gonna do it. Does that sound okay?” Everyone nodded and voiced their consent, finally turning to the food they’d temporarily abandoned over a half-hour before. Stiles, too, attempted to eat something, though he’d never had less of an appetite than he had now.

They left the cafeteria a short while later and stopped outside the lockers, about to separate and go to each of their classes, when two girls suddenly walked by them. They stopped by their lockers a few feet away, opening them while whispering loudly and excitedly to each other. “Did you see it?” one of them asked.

“I could only see half of it before Mrs. Thomas forced us to leave; what did it say?!”

“It was the weirdest thing ever! Seriously, it had to be a prank. It made no sense at all.”

“And… and was it really written in … in blood?”

“That’s what they’re saying. It looked like blood.”

“And what did it say?!”

The girl took a breath, leaning in to her friend’s ear, but still whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “It said, ‘From what foolishness sews, the blessed shall reap.’ I know, right? It makes no sense at all; whoever wrote it must have been drunk or high.”

“Did… was there anyone who was hurt? Like, where would all that blood have come from?”

“They didn’t say there was anyone there, I –.” The bell suddenly rang and the girls walked away, their conversation fading into the distance.

Stiles stood perfectly still, trying to appear indifferent to the girls’ conversation, but unable to stop his teeth from clenching together or his knuckles from turning white as his fingers tightened in a fist. He glanced at Scott who returned the look, his expression a mixture of both anger and surprise.

“What was that all about?” Malia asked, a frown set deep on her face.

“I don’t know,” Lydia replied. “But we should go check it out.”

Liam shifted his feet, his eyes constantly glancing between Scott, Stiles, and the girls.

“You guys go on,” Kira said, giving Scott’s hand a quick squeeze. “I have history with my father, and if he sees me missing he’ll start to ask questions.” Scott nodded and gave Kira a quick kiss before they parted, and Kira disappeared down the hall.

Lydia made to move, heading towards the girls bathroom when Malia spoke up. “It may not even be there anymore,” she said. “So why bother? Whoever did it is long gone by now.”

“But they said it was written in blood,” Lydia replied. “There’s a lot of things that go on in Beacon Hills, Malia, and there’s a heck of a lot of things that happen in our school; but writing cryptic sentences on bathroom mirrors in blood isn’t one of them.”

Scott stepped forward, a slight frown on his face. “You didn’t sense something, did you?” he asked.

Lydia shook her head. “No. Not like when someone is dying or is in danger. Which is why I want to check it out; usually if someone was being hurt – even if it was from themselves – I would at least sense something. Which is why I want to know why I didn’t.”

“Lydia,” Scott interjected, “Lydia, we don’t know who did it for sure. It could be some random student, or… or it could be the witch. And if it is the witch, then you should stay as far away from her as you can. We can’t start a fight that we won’t be able to finish.”

Lydia opened her mouth, about to argue, but stopped when her eyes fell across Stiles, her countenance softening. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “But Scott, if the witch… why would she be writing random messages on the wall? I get that it’s creepy as hell, but what’s the point?”

Scott didn’t reply right away. When he did, he spoke slowly, his words carefully following after each other. “I don’t know why she wrote what she did, but I know that, given what Stiles has told us about her, she’s using the message to try and draw us out.” He glanced at Stiles. “Which isn’t going to work.”

The final bell rang and the crowd of students milling in the hallway began to dissipate as everyone drifted into their respective class. The Pack stood together for a few more moments, before agreeing that they’d just go to class and finish the rest of the day. When everyone left, Scott immediately turned to Stiles. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “We’re surrounded with lead; there’s a reason she had to use a message to get to us – you don’t have to worry.”

Scott was being overprotective, Stiles knew that. He didn’t want to lose him again; he didn’t want to make the same mistake he had made twice before. And as much as it angered Stiles to put Scott in such a position, he couldn’t begrudge him it.

He stared at the bathroom door that lay farther down the hallway for a moment longer, before turning on his heel and walking away. “Let’s get to class.”

The rest of the day passed in a tense silence. When everyone met at the old loft after school they were all clearly on edge, knowing that something was going on but not quite sure what it was. They discussed the plan further, mapping out where each of them would stand and when they would attack. By now everyone had begun to notice Stiles’ unusual silence, his lack of input in the plan’s design an evident void. Scott tried to distract them as best he could, keeping their attention off Stiles and firmly on the witch and himself. It didn’t work entirely, though, and they all continued to shoot Stiles looks of concern throughout the discussion.

Scott kept his senses on high alert, diverting his attention between the Pack and Stiles. He was constantly sniffing the air, trying to catch any change of emotion in Stiles’ scent, trying to see where his friend’s head was at. He knew he was worried, he knew he was scared, but he didn’t know what he was going to do, how he was going to react. His lack of response and silence made Scott nervous and anxious, putting his nerves on edge as he tried to figure out the best way to defeat the Witch. The fear of losing Stiles again was overwhelming, and he wanted nothing more than to remove the threat that loomed over them and threatened to kill him. Scott couldn’t even begin to imagine a world without Stiles, and he would do everything he could to make sure he never found out.

When six-o’clock came the Pack finally began to leave, each making sure everyone had enough lead on them, as well as the vials that Scott had picked up from Deaton. As they slowly left the loft, Lydia and Malia came up to Scott, both eyeing Stiles before turning to the alpha. “Is Stiles okay?” Malia asked, trying to keep her voice low. “He’s been acting weird all afternoon, ever since those girls….”

Scott looked at Stiles, who was waiting for him by the door, his arms wrapped uncharacteristically around his sides and his eyes staring unseeingly into the distance. Scott sighed and shook his head. “Once this whole thing is finished and over with, he’ll be back to normal, I’m sure of it. We just need to kill the witch, and we need to do it fast.” He paused, hesitating for a moment, then added, “And when we do, I want you to keep an eye out for him. The witch… she’ll probably be happy for the chance to kill him, seeing as he got away from her.”

Lydia stared at Scott for a long moment, her eyes hard and her jaw visibly clenching beneath her skin. “Stiles didn’t just get ‘knocked around a bit’ in that attic, did he?” she asked, her tone clearly stating that she already knew the answer. “Something more happened there. Something you guys aren’t telling us. Whether he was actually seriously hurt, or… or if she….” Lydia swallowed, glancing towards Stiles again, worry and concern rolling off her in waves.

Scott, for once, was glad that Stiles had sworn him to secrecy on what had happened in the attic, though he knew that he hadn’t been told everything that she had done to him. What he had learned already was enough to make him want to throw up; he was sure anything more would leave him feeling sick and angry for days. “That witch did a lot of thing to him,” he said at last, choosing his words carefully. “And she wasn’t happy when he escaped. All I can say is that I doubt she’ll want to leave him alive, the next time she sees him.”

“Where did she come from?” Malia suddenly asked, anger biting in her voice. “Witches don’t just go gallivanting around the countryside, looking for people to kill or piss off. I’ve never even heard of one until now; I didn’t even know they existed –”

“There are a lot of things that exist that we don’t know about,” Scott interrupted. “Just because we haven’t met a witch before now, doesn’t mean that they’re not out there, or that more won’t come. As for why she came now….” Scott sighed heavily, taking a deep breath. “There aren’t many True Alphas out there, so I guess she figured I was more special than other alphas, and she decided I’d be better off dead and harvested for her ingredients, than alive.”

Lydia made a face. “She would actually harvest you?” she repeated, appalled. “That – that is –.”

“That is disgusting,” Malia said. “And believe me, living as a coyote for most of my life, I’ve seen a lot of disgusting things. But that definitely takes the cake.”

“Yeah, well – she’s not exactly the nicest person you’ll ever meet.”

The group talked for a bit longer, before finally everyone left and went home. Scott kept an eye on Stiles and an eye on the vial the entire ride home, hoping beyond hope that this whole thing would soon come to an end.

But the next day, things only got worse.

Stiles sat in the back of his math class that he shared with Scott, trying to keep any and all attention away from him, wanting nothing more than for the day to come to an end. While listening to the teacher drone on about formulas and equations that they’d never use in real life, Stiles noticed one of the students sitting nearby him shift her phone towards her friend who sat nearby her, her eyebrows raised in stunned shock, placing it just enough in Stiles’ eye-line to see the screen. He didn’t usually care about the goings on of other students – he had enough drama in his own life to want to be involved in anyone else’s – but the image on the screen caught his attention, the bold words of the news headline and the vivid picture causing his eyes to go wide and his back to straighten in his seat.

BEACON HILLS LIBRARY BURNED TO THE GROUND OVERNIGHT – NO REPORTED INJURIES – WRECKAGE UNSALVAGABLE.

Stiles’ heart began beating loudly in his chest, catching Scott’s attention who then turned to him, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern. Stiles immediately took out his own phone, quickly tapping until he had the news-story brought up on the screen. He stared at it in shock for a long moment, before looking up at Scott and tilting the phone towards him. Scott’s eyes scanned the headline before widening, then turning into a frown. He got out his own phone and a moment later Stiles received a text: It was probably an accident, it wasn’t her.

Stiles paused for a moment before typing back. Libraries don’t just randomly burn to the ground in the night.

Scott typed again: Seriously – it was just an accident. Don’t worry about it.

Stiles swallowed, trying to gather himself back together. Maybe Scott was right; maybe an accident was all that it was.

The incident had left him unnerved all afternoon until he finally took out his phone and called his dad. He’d admitted that the cause of the fire was currently unknown, but told his son that, until the fire was deemed an arson, any information gathered would be taken by the fire department. “I have to admit, though – it had to be a pretty hot and fast fire to destroy a building as big as the library so quickly. It’s a shame; they had some pretty old books in there.”

“Wouldn’t that mean it has to be arson?” Stiles asked.

“Not necessarily. We haven’t had a lot of rain, lately; dry conditions are always recipes for fire.”

Stiles closed his eyes, pressing his thumb hard against the bridge of his nose as he struggled to calm himself down. Scott’s class was on the other end of the school, but he was certain that the alpha could probably hear his heart beating fast anyways. “Okay, well, thanks for telling me,” Stiles finally said.

“I’d say you’re welcome, but aren’t you supposed to be in class right now? I better not be aiding and abetting delinquency, here.”

Stiles couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips, the familiar reprimand achingly normal and even comforting. For a moment, it almost felt like this was just another case and he was just trying to pull information he didn’t need to know, about things that were none of his business. “I’m between classes, dad,” he replied, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Then you better be getting ready for your next one.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Stiles was just about to hang-up when his dad suddenly spoke up again. “Oh, hey – they actually did find one book intact at the site,” he said.

Stiles opened his locker, pushing his textbooks inside and taking out the ones for next class. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s called ‘Blessed Child’. Kind of ironic – or fitting, depending on how you look at it… Stiles? You okay?”

The breath in Stiles’ lungs had caught in his throat, his heart beating fast once more and leaving him feeling lightheaded. It was clear now – the library hadn’t been an accident; it had been another sign.

“Son, are you okay?” John’s voice was slightly more frantic and Stiles came back to himself, reassuring his father as quickly as he could.

“I-I’m fine Dad,” he said. “I’m fine. I better go to class; I’ll talk to you later.” Before his father had a chance to reply, Stiles hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket. He gripped his textbooks against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled to stave off the panic attack that he knew was hovering just beneath the surface.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a great wind picked up and roared through the hallway, slamming shut any locker door that was still open, and pulling closed any open classroom-door with a bang. The students that were still in the hallway stood in shock, many blinking in stunned surprise at the odd and sudden event.

Stiles stared too, watching as the students shifted from stunned silence to frantic talking about what they had just witnesses. A few moments later Stiles felt a hand on his arm, bringing him out of his shocked stupor. He turned to see Scott looking at him worriedly. “What was that?” he asked, his voice low. Clearly the wind hadn’t torn through just the one hallway, then.

Ignoring what had just happened, Stiles instead told Scott what his father had said, his words quickly tumbling out of his mouth. “It wasn’t an accident. I called my dad; he said that only one book was found unburnt. It… it was called the ‘Blessed Child’.” Scott’s eyes widened as the unwanted realisation spread across his face. Stiles continued, “The message in the bathroom yesterday, and now this? She… she’s calling me out, Scott. She can’t get near me because of the lead and all of you guys, so she’s calling me out the only way she knows how.”

Scott looked away, a frown set deep on his face. After a long moment he spoke: “The day after tomorrow is when we plan to go after her. If it’s a fight she wants, then it’s a fight she’ll get.” 

But for Givens, that day was too long to wait.

The next morning before they left for school, Stiles and Scott were sent a text message from Lydia, giving the news that one of their teachers had fallen down the school stairs and were now laying unconscious in the hospital with a broken arm and several broken ribs. Scott watched Stiles as the latter stared at the text message for the longest time, before finally speaking. “The way she’s going about it all… she’s sure being discreet about it. I’m not trying to downplay what she’s done or that Mr. Jacobs is seriously hurt, but… everyone thinks they were accidents. If she was trying to get people’s attention, she’s not exactly doing a very good job.”

“That’s because she’s not trying to get people’s attention,” Stiles said quietly, his fingers still gripping the phone. “She’s trying to get mine.”

They sat in silence for a long time, before Stiles finally looked up at Scott. They looked at each other for a moment, passing unspoken words until Scott’s eyebrows furrowed together and he started shaking his head. “No, Stiles. You’re not doing it.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Scott.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t.”

“Then I’ll force you to stay.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re going to lock me in my room?”

Scott’s frown momentarily fell away in embarrassment, before returning with a vengeance. “That’s not what I meant, Stiles – and you know it.”

Stiles rose to his feet. “I’m not letting anyone else get hurt because of me.”

Scott rose to his own feet, too. “And they won’t! I’ll call the Pack; we’ll meet in the woods today and I’ll call Givens, and –.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What? Stiles, you agreed to this plan –.”

“And I’ve changed my mind! Don’t you realise? You’re sending a bunch of kids out to fight a fucking witch, and you think no one is going to get hurt?! You guys have no idea what you’re dealing with! You’re not fighting some pissed off werewolf or psyched-up kanima – you’re fighting against fucking magic –.”

“We’ve fought magic before, Stiles! We’ve fought it before and we’ll fight it again, and this time we’ll make sure she’s dead for good! I promise!”

Stiles glared. “You can’t keep making stupid promises that you can’t fucking keep, Scott. And if I want to carry out my own plan to stop this whole thing, then I’m going to fucking do it.” 

Stiles started to walk towards the door and Scott grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “No, Stiles – you’re not going.”

Stiles shot him a look of venom. The posters on Scott’s wall and the pages of paper laying on his desk began to stir and flutter against each other. “The fuck I’m not,” Stiles said, trying to pull away, but Scott’s grip only tightened. The wind in the room began to pick up, circling around them, but neither boy noticed as they continued to argue.

“Stiles, you’re staying here!”

“Let me go!”

“No!”

Stiles turned around, grabbing Scott’s wrist and trying to push him off as the two struggled against each other. Stiles swore. “I said let – me – go!”

A blast of wind suddenly screamed through the room, tearing the posters off the wall and throwing any loose papers and objects to the ground, swirling together in a vortex of wind. There was a sound of breaking glass which could barely be heard over the noise of the wind, and both Stiles and Scott were knocked off their feet, falling to the ground on top of each other in a heap. As soon as it started it finished, the wind quickly dying away until it was completely gone.

Both boys looked up, blinking in shock. Before they could do anything, though, the door to Scott’s room suddenly burst open, a very livid Melissa McCall standing in its place. She in her pajamas, her hair messy and tangled and sticking every which way, her hands clenched into fists by her side, looking as though she were ready to punch somebody in the face. Her eyes immediately locked on the heap that was Stiles and Scott, her features shifting into a dark glare. When she spoke, her voice was one that only a very angry, loud, pissed-off parent could make. “What the HELL are you two doing in here?!”

For a brief moment, the frustration and anger that Stiles and Scott had been feeling towards each other disappeared, replaced with the familiar notion of being in deep, deep trouble. They quickly disentangled themselves, mouths opening in an attempt to offer an explanation. They quickly realised, though, that there was none.

Melissa turned away from them long enough to finally looking at the rest of the room. She blinked, staring in stunned silence, before her eyes narrowed once more. Stiles and Scott finally managed to look up and turn their attention to the room, and both their eyes widened in shock.

The room looked as though a cyclone had hit it; and, in many ways, it probably had. Any and all papers that had been unlucky enough to be out in the open were now torn and strewn across the floor, some even sticking to the ceiling fan, which was still spinning slowly above them. Books and objects were lying on the floor, some open, some broken, leaving the place looking as though a child with a temper-tantrum had come through and thrown down everything it could grab. What was most startling though, perhaps, was the shards of glass that lay beneath a now broken window.

Everyone was silent for a few minutes, until finally Melissa groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. Both boys turned to her, their shoulders hunched as they waited for their sentence. “I am going back to bed,” she said quietly. “And I am going to sleep. For a very long time. And when I wake up, I am going to come back here, and I am going to find this entire place spotless. Do you understand me?” Both boy quickly nodded. “And whatever fight you’re having, I expect you to make up and get over it, or else you’re both grounded.” Without another word, Melissa turned around and left.

They stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, sitting on the floor in silence, before Scott finally spoke. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, getting to his feet. He headed towards the door before pausing, turning his head slightly to the side. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” he said quietly, then walked out the door. 

Stiles stared into the empty hallway for a long while, his fingers curled tightly against the carpet on the floor. He could still feel the air vibrating in the room, could feel the draft coming in through the broken window, drifting gently around him. The heat he hadn’t realised had been growing behind his eyes began to fade, but the frustrations and anger of the position he was now in, did not.

It was bullshit. All of this was bullshit. Givens, the Pack, Scott. If the Witch wanted him, if she was willing to burn down buildings and throw people off staircases, then how could he just stand by and let it happen when he had the power to stop it? This was only the beginning. If he stayed here, if they refused to do anything, the witch’s actions would only escalate. There would be more destruction and more people would get hurt. And all for the sake of his powers. Well, as far as Stiles was now concerned, if she wanted them that badly – then she could have them.

Stiles’ eyes drifted to his bag that lay on the floor by the end of the bed a few feet away. The anger stirring in his chest grew and he stood to his feet, walking over and lifting it onto the bed, opening it up and shoving his hand inside; when he took it out he was holding a piece of glass between his fingers, the same piece of glass that he’d taken from the broken mirror in Givens’ attic, the one that had he had walked through and that had led him to the young woman in the forest – Alayna.

He held the mirror before him, glaring at it with all he was worth. “You’re useless, you know that?” he said quietly after a long while. “You’re fuckin’ useless. You tell me I’m all these things, that I have all these powers – but what the hell good are they? They haven’t done a damn thing for me since I got them; the only thing they’ve done is put me and everyone around me in danger.”

He paused, continuing to glare at the mirror as he slowly began to pace. “You could have told me she needed to be burned; that would have been helpful. But no – what did you think was more important? You thought knocking over empty bottles was a better use of my time. Well I can tell you something; that little trick has gotten me nowhere. Yeah, maybe I can push a few people over, but what the hell is that gonna do for me? You tell me I can use these powers, but how the hell am I supposed to fuckin’ learn how to use them?! Huh?!”

Stiles rose to his feet, anger suddenly coursing red and hot through his veins. All the fear and frustration that he had been feeling ever since they’d found out Givens was alive – ever since he was first taken – surged together, leaving him more feeling more furious than he’d ever felt in his life; he was gripping the mirror so tightly that his hands began to bleed. He was silent for a long moment, before his grip weakened and his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well I never asked for them,” he said quietly. “I never asked for these powers, to move the air and earth with my hands. I never asked to be a part of some damn prophecy, to be your Blessed. I never wanted them. And if stopping the Witch means giving them up, then I am only too happy to do it.”

The room fell silent, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You know, I’d been feeling bad that I’d left you there, in that weird dimension or whatever it was. But I can’t say that I really care a single bit anymore.” His eyes watched his own, angry features before he shook his head and tossed the mirror into the garbage. It missed, hitting the side of the bin and falling to the floor with a quiet thud.

Before Stiles could make a single move, the mirror suddenly began to glow until it was shining so bright that Stiles had to close his eyes. He lifted his arm to block out the light, barely having any time to register the invisible pull that had begun to drag him forwards. He suddenly felt the sensation of falling and his arms and legs immediately started to flail, until he suddenly fell on his back with a thud.

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he struggled to get his bearings. When his vision finally cleared, he realised he was looking up into a dusk-filled sky, the colours of sunset tinging the clouds pink and orange. A moment later his view was obscured, when a young woman with brown hair leaned over above him, a wry smile on her face. “You can be a real jackass when you want to be, you know that?”

Stiles closed his eyes.

Alayna.

Chapter Text

Scott came back into the room ten minutes later, drying his hair with a towel as he walked inside. “Look, Stiles. I think we need to –.” Scott halted, his hands still wrapped in the towel on his head as he blinked into the empty room. He swallowed, pushing down the panic that was threatening to rise. He took a few more steps into the room, looking in every corner and even glancing behind the door and under the bed – but he wasn’t there. Scott’s heartbeat sped up and he sniffed the air, inhaling Stiles’ scent and tracking it through the room. He ran back to the hallway, expecting to find his scent heading down the stairs into the kitchen, but it didn’t – it wasn’t there at all. He turned back into the room, continuing to sniff, Stiles’ scent strongest by the bed – just as he’d left him. Scott called his name again, hoping beyond hope to hear an answer, but there was none.

Panic was now fully formed, thrumming in Scott’s chest and surging through his veins as he struggled to keep his breathing under control.

He’d lost him, he’d lost him again; the Witch had taken him and now she was ripping his skin apart with her fingernails – fuck, he’d never get that image out of his mind –  and when she was finished torturing him, she was going to kill him. She was going to kill him and he’d be dead, and – and –

Scott spun around, feeling as though he was going to throw-up. Fear coursed through his body, his instincts urging him to run, to look, to find his missing pack. Scott sniffed the room again, running out into the hallway and down the stairs, searching and smelling every corner of the house, desperate to find that maybe he was wrong, maybe Stiles was still here somehow, somewhere. He wasn’t.

His phone began ringing and Scott ran back upstairs and into his bedroom, grabbing his phone off the dresser and hoping to see Stiles’ face on the screen, but seeing Malia’s instead. Swiping his thumb to answer, Scott brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Scott, Scott you have to come quick! The witch, she –” Malia broke off, her voice turning muffled and unintelligible.

“Malia?! Malia, what’s happeni –.”

Malia’s voice came back, her words coming out in a rush. “The witch – Lydia saw the witch in a vision, she saw her coming into the school and she went to stop her –.”

“Alone?! What the hell is wrong with her?!”

“She called me and told me what she was doing, and I tried to go with her – she said the witch was going to burn the school down and she had to stop –.”

“Where is she now?! Where’s Lydia now?”

“I can’t – I don’t know, I – I’m trying to track her scent but I keep losing it –.”

Scott was already moving, grabbing his shirt and dressing as fast as he could. “Where are you now?” he asked quickly.

“At the edge of town on the north side – I think they went into the woods.”

Scott ran down the stairs, his feet pounding on each step until he reached the door, where he started putting on his shoes. “Malia, have you seen Stiles?!” Scott asked fervently, grabbing his keys off the counter and opening the door. “Have you smelled him, or –.”

“No,” Malia replied, her voice panting for breath. “Why, where is he? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, I just – he was here fifteen minutes ago and now he’s just… he’s gone. I can’t find his scent and I – I think the witch –.”

“We’ll find him,” Malia replied firmly. “We’ll find both of them. If the witch took Lydia, then she probably took Stiles too –.”

Guilt and fear tore at Scott’s chest. He had lost him. He’d lost him after he’d sworn to protect him, after he’d promised to keep him safe, and now Lydia was taken too –

A deep frown set on Scott’s face as he got on his bike, his eyes narrowing and flashing red. The time for waiting was over. The witch was going to die now.

Stiles blinked, momentarily in shock before his eyes narrowed into a glare, still looking up at Alayna from his back. “Yeah, well, some people have really deserved it lately.”

Alayna stepped back as Stiles sat up, then got to his feet. “You may feel weak for a little while; transition through the portal does not do many favours to one’s body.”

Stiles kept his gaze on her for a long moment as he worked to reorient himself from the sudden arrival to Alayna’s world. Or plane. Or dimension. He really had to ask her about that at one point; but at the moment he couldn’t think of anything other than how angry and freaked out he was over everything that was happening. After a few minutes he finally spoke, his voice holding a sharper bite than he’d originally intended: “What the hell took you so long? The Witch has been back for over a week now and she –.” Stiles broke off, swallowing before he continued, “I needed your help a long time ago. She’s been in the school, she’s injured teachers – she burned down the fucking library…”

Alayna’s eyes softened and her fingers lightly gripped her skirts. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I would have brought you back sooner – you’re right, there’s so much more you need to know, so much you need to learn – but the portal’s breaking made it difficult to re-open. It also requires a large amount of energy that needed to be recuperated, and so I needed to wait. Believe me, if I had been able, I would have brought you here as soon as you’d made it back to attic.”

Stiles stared at Alayna for another moment, before turning away and hunching slightly in on himself, running both his hands through his hair, belatedly realising that his arms were shaking. Damn it, he just wanted to scream right now. Everything was happening too fast, it was too much; and now he was back here, with Alayna, just as he’d been wishing he was ever since he’d found out the Witch was alive, but this was no longer where he needed to be. He needed to be back home, he needed to find the witch, he needed to give her what she wanted, give her his powers, because it was the only way to make all of this stop –

A hand rested gently on his arm and Stiles jumped, head snapping to the side to see Alayna standing beside him, her brows slightly furrowed and her lips pressed together, her dark-blue eyes reflecting bright in the evening sun. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before she finally spoke. “You’re going to stop her, Stiles – I promise you. She may be a witch, but she is not all powerful. You will defeat her; and once you have, I will bring you back here and I will teach you all that I can.”

Stiles hesitated for only a moment before tearing himself away and walking across the grass, taking a deep and heavy breath. “I know I will. And I already know how I’m going to defeat her. I’m going to give her my powers. It’s what she wanted from the beginning, and if it means that I can stop anyone else from getting hurt, then I –.”

“You can’t give her your powers, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned, turning back around to face Alayna. She was staring at him intently, a frown on her lips, though her eyes expressed her regret; her knuckles turned white in a tight grip against the dark brown of her dress. He leveled his gaze at her, his own fingers clenched in fists by his sides. “Yes, I am. I’ve already had this conversation with Scott and I’m not going to argue about it anymore; I’m going to give her my powers whether you want me to or not. I don’t give a damn what you think, so stop trying to talk me out of it.”

“If you give her your powers you will die,” Alayna said plainly. “She most likely has implied otherwise, has told you that you will somehow survive the removal, but you won’t. Your powers are a part of you – they are like a second heart. If you take them away, you will not be able to survive.” Stiles’ brows furrowed in confusion and he opened his mouth to speak, but Alayna cut him off before he could begin. Her voice was low and strained, adding to the tension that already filled the air around them. “And let me tell you something Stiles – if you think that giving her your powers will make her stop, will bring an end to the danger she is posing in your home – then you are mad. I’ve told you once already, but clearly these things need to be hammered into your head before you will see its truth: those who seek power are never content with what they have. They will always want more, and nothing you can give will ever satisfy them. So yes; you can give the Witch your powers – but you will condemn yourself to death, and in doing so will condemn your friends and family to death as well. You will be doing the exact opposite of all that you are wanting to achieve – and I will not allow that to happen.”

Stiles stared at her for a long moment, his mouth now held tightly shut. She was right; he knew she was right. It was a long shot in giving Givens his powers – he knew that. But he’d let himself hope, he’d wanted to hope that giving her what she wanted would make her stop. But what Alayna said was most likely true – Givens would never stop hurting others. But if he didn’t give her his powers, then that meant he had no other options; he had no more ideas of how to stop her. He wouldn’t know what else to do.

He didn’t know what else to do.

Stiles finally opened his mouth, opening and closing it a few times before words finally left his tongue. “Then what… what am I supposed to do?” He raised his arms in the air beside him questioningly, his heart starting to beat fast once more. “What am I supposed to do?! I can’t – Scott and the others can try and fight her, but they won’t…. She’s a witch, and they can’t – they can’t see that she’s going to be different, that she won’t be like some other supernatural creature they’ve faced before, so how –.”

“Why can’t you fight her?”

Stiles halted and blinked, his eyes wide and his arms still raised in the air. “I can’t… I don’t know….” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to fight. And I can’t – I’m not strong enough. I don’t know the first thing about these powers, I don’t know how to use them, I can barely knock someone over, much less actually use them to fight –.”

“You can do more than that, Stiles, and you know it. You’ve used the air more than once since I last saw you – I know you’ve been able to feel it. You’ve felt it surging beneath your skin, its power stirring deep within you, giving you energy, giving you strength. You know its instinct – you know that its waiting for you to use it, to take it in your hands and do with it what you will. It’s yours for the taking – if only you would.” She paused, looking Stiles straight in the eyes. “But you won’t.”

“I’ve told you, it’s because I don’t know how to use them –.”

“Stop lying!” Alayna looked Stiles up and down, appraising him, judging him. He withstood her gaze, though he wanted to run. The problem was that he had nowhere to run to. After a long moment Alayna spoke: “The last time we met I said that you were afraid – that you were afraid of responsibility, that you were afraid of the consequences these powers might bring. Is that still what you fear? Is that why you continue to run?”

Stiles jerked back, his heart beating loudly in his chest and he turned away, shaking his head. He had enough of this. He didn’t even know this woman, he didn’t even know where he was or anything that had been happening to him in the past month. She had no right to presume what he thought, what he feared –

“Where are you going?” Alayna called, and Stiles could hear her footsteps as she followed after him. He walked faster, hoping she’d get the hint and leave him alone. She didn’t. “Stiles!”

“Just leave me alone!” he shouted, stepping foot into the trees. As he was just about to move a stray branch out of his way with his hand, the branch suddenly moved on its own, bending backwards to the side until it was no longer in front him. Stiles came to an abrupt halt, staring at the branch with wide eyes. Movement caught his eye and he looked down to see raised roots sinking back into the ground, shrubbery and bush creeping across the ground and behind the trees, and fallen logs rolling away – all of it leaving behind a clear and clean path in front of him, dusted only in fallen leaves.

It took Stiles a moment to realise what had happened, and when he did he balked, taking a step back. Rustling sounded behind him and Stiles turned to see more branches moving out his way, like a crowd of people parting for their king. Footsteps broke leaves and twigs behind him and Stiles turned around to see Alayna looking at the trees with wide eyes. “Did you mean for them to do that?” she asked, her words coming out in an unexpected rush.

Stiles frowned. “No,” he replied, looking back at the trees.

“You’re saying they just moved like that, all on their own?”

Stiles turned round, looking back at the trees, not knowing why Alayna seemed so concerned. “Yeah, I – I guess. I was just walking and they moved in front of me. Or away from me.”

“But you didn’t try and make them move? You didn’t hold out your hand or will for them to do it?”

Stiles looked back at her, staring at her in irritated confusion. “I told you, I didn’t mean to make them move! It did it by itself!”

Alayna looked back at the trees, completely still for a long moment before turning back to Stiles. “You need to start learning, and you need to start now. When did you begin controlling the earth?”

“I don’t know, a – a week ago? A week and a half? I was just walking around and everywhere I walked the grass started growing, and then a tree decided it was going to start growing on me, so I –.”

Alayna suddenly grabbed Stiles’ wrist, pulling him back out of the trees. “You need to start learning how to focus. You have no idea what your potential is or how strong you are, and until you do –.”

Stiles ripped his hand out of Alayna’s and stopped, digging his heels into the ground. “I told you, I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not going to deal with any of this shit –.”

“And I told you that giving up your powers wasn’t an option – unless your goal is to commit suicide and give the Witch the ability to kill far more people than she already can!”

Stiles glared at her, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

They stared at each other, now in a standoff, both utterly still until Alayna finally broke the silence. “Then you have condemned your friends and your family to death. Is that what you want? Well?” Her voice grew louder until she was shouting. “Is that what you want?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Stiles shouted back, his voice echoing through the trees and the clearing. His hands gripped his hair until he ripped them away, glaring viciously at Alayna. “And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?! Huh?! You bring me here, you give me some bullshit-spiel about nothing, telling me you’re not like Givens but not saying why. You just expect me to trust you, to believe you’re trying to help me – but I know nothing about you! And yet you stand here, trying to tell me what to do with my life? What to do with my powers? I didn’t even ask for them! I didn’t ask for these damn powers and I sure as hell don’t want them! I told you this before but you obviously don’t know how to listen worth a damn, because you keep shoving it all in my face! You keep telling me that I need to use them, that I need to learn how to use them, but that’s all you do! You don’t actually show me what to do! You don’t show me what to fucking do!

“Well I’m not dealing with this anymore. I am not a part of your stupid fuckin’ prophecy; I am not your Blessed. I’m just Stiles Stilinski – a regular, normal, seventeen-year-old kid who’s about to finish high-school then go to college. I’m going to get married and have kids and grow old and I’m gonna have a normal fuckin’ life – I’m not going to fight off some fucking ‘darkness’ or whatever the hell it is you say I’m supposed to do. I’m just a normal human – that’s all I am. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be….” Stiles trailed off, his throat scratchy and raw, heat burning threateningly behind his eyes.

They stared at each other for a while, Alayna’s expression unreadable as she looked back at him, though her hands were wrapped tightly within in her dress. After what felt like an age of silence, she opened her mouth, tilting her head forwards slightly in a small nod of acknowledgement. “You’re right,” she said quietly. Stiles suddenly became aware that he was breathing heavily, his heart pounding loudly and steadily in his chest. “I haven’t told you much of anything about your powers, the prophecy, or the Blessed. I haven’t told you who I am or given any reason as to why you should trust me. I’ve placed far too much on your shoulders at once than what you ever deserved. And for that I am sorry.”

She tilted her head back, taking a deep breath before continuing. “My name is Alayna Asterleigh. I am not a witch, not like Givens, but I can use some magic. The witch you are fighting is Alice Givhan. She is relatively young, born in the mid-nineteenth century, and has been causing havoc ever since. She is particularly greedy, which is why she has come after you so early in your years. Had she waited even a few years, you most likely would have discovered your powers and been ready for her when she came for them.”

“And why are you here?” Stiles asked, looking around. “What is this place?”

Alayna swallowed before answering him and Stiles knew this was a topic she didn’t enjoy, but at the moment he couldn’t care less what she felt. “I cannot tell you everything about this place,” she said. “But what I will tell you is that you are not the only one to know what it is like to live in a prison.”

The anger that had been coursing through Stiles’ veins faltered and he blinked, his frown momentarily falling from his face. “You’re… you’re stuck here?” he asked.

“Well I certainly wouldn’t spend my years here of my own choosing,” she replied caustically.

Stiles’ frown returned. “But why… who put you here?”

A shadow fell across the house and the trees, interrupting their conversation and causing both their heads to turn to the sky. A dark cloud drifted across the orange sky, blocking out the setting sun. A crack of thunder rumbled across the clearing, a stark contrast to the endless blue-sky and shining sun that had been so present the first time he was here. As Stiles watched, a small sensation began prodding him in the back of his mind, whispering that something was wrong, that somewhere there was danger. He was brought out of his thoughts, however, when Alayna spoke. “Come with me, Stiles.” Stiles looked down and saw Alayna walking away towards the house. He paused for only a moment before following after her.

They walked through the door and into the kitchen, which looked exactly the same as when Stiles had last seen it, but instead of stopping they continued on through the door and into the back of the house. The room was filled with a clutter of different things, from papers and books strewn across old shelves and tables, to an actual spinning wheel tucked away in the corner, thread still latched through the spinner. Stiles didn’t have time to look too long, however, as Alayna continued to lead him through yet another door, entering a small room on the other side.

A desk stood beneath the window with a tome of a book sitting on top, nothing else nearby. Alayna sat down on the chair and Stiles came up beside her, wondering what it was she was trying to show him. The book looked very old, intricate designs raised across the cover and dancing around to the back. There was no title or any words to describe it, but it was clear that it held something important. Alayna brushed her fingers briefly across the cover, before grasping the edge and pulling it open.

Stiles frowned, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He had been expecting to see pages upon pages filled with nothing but words, but instead what he saw were pictures, followed by brief paragraphs beside or beneath them. The pictures weren’t just any pictures, though – they were photographs. They were recent photographs. They were photographs from the 21^st century.

“This book tells me everything that is going on, everything that is happening or has happened throughout history. It is my only window to the outside world.” She turned to a page with a car on it, surrounded by buildings and skyscrapers. She pointed to the picture, tapping it with her finger. “As a child, I would never have thought that the world would come to see moving carriages with no horse to pull them. It’s rather remarkable, really, what human hands have accomplished.”

She flipped through a few more pages, her eyes quietly scanning each picture before moving on to the next. Stiles glanced between her and the book, a mixture of sadness and guilt slowly growing in his chest.

So she was trapped here. And from the looks of things, she had been trapped here for a very long time. Her words from their first meeting echoed in Stiles’ mind, when she had told him in a very off-handed manner that if there was a cliff, she’d have already jumped off it. Stiles swallowed, realising just how much he had misjudged her. He’d thought Alayna was just another witch, that she was just another person trying to make him do what she wanted him to do, trying to push and control his life. He hadn’t thought that, in reality, she was just another prisoner like he had been – like he still felt he was. Perhaps she was even more so.

Alayna let out a soft sigh, before shutting the book with a thump. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking tired and weary as she ran a hand across her mouth, before settling it on her lap. “We all have our trials that we must go through, Stiles,” she said, looking out the window into the empty yard. “We are all put in positions that we do not want to be in, we are all given things that we do not want to deal with. You’re right; you didn’t ask to be the Blessed, you didn’t ask to have powers, to control the elements of this world. You didn’t ask to be part of a prophecy centuries old – you didn’t ask for any of it. You’ve done nothing to deserve being in this position, in this place.” She paused briefly, taking a small breath before continuing, “But you are. You have a right to mourn the loss of your past and what you thought was going to be your life – you have every right. And it is right that you should do so. But mourning and grieving your loss will not bring it back; it will not make the reality you now face disappear.”

Alayna finally turned, looking up at Stiles, her mouth pressed in a thin line and her eyes betraying the empathy and sympathy that she was feeling. Stiles fought back the lump that had formed in his throat and clenched his teeth, determined to hold onto the anger that was now slowly starting to fall through his fingers.

Alayna watched him for a few moments, before speaking. “Do you remember what I said the last time we met, about how I thought what you feared was the responsibility these powers gave you, the fact that power can often change and corrupt a person if they let it? I am sure you still fear those things, certainly – but I don’t think that’s why you’re running away from your powers now. I think don’t think you’re afraid of your powers, Stiles – I think you’re afraid of yourself. You’re afraid you won’t be able to use them, that when you try you will fail, that in the end, you won’t be able to live up to all that has been said about you, all that has been foretold. You know these powers give you strength, but you fear that, in the end, you won’t be strong enough for them.”

Stiles finally turned away, shaking his head and walking back until he reached the wall, trying to keep his emotions in check, shouting in his mind that she was wrong, that none of what she was saying was true. He hated his powers, he didn’t want them, he wanted to get rid of them, because power was dangerous, power meant responsibility, power meant corruption –

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his arms wrapped painfully around his sides as he tried to come up with an answer, as he tried to gather the words he needed to refute her claims. The only problem was, he realised, opening his eyes – he couldn’t.

She was right.

He didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t want to accept it – but she was telling the truth. A truth that he really, really didn’t want to hear. But it didn’t matter what he wanted, because she knew more about this whole thing than he did, and when he really thought about it…. The feeling he felt when he used his powers, the feeling of the air moving beneath his fingers, wrapping around his heart, his soul…. Even when he’d touched the tree back in the clearing with Scott, he’d felt an inexplicable connection, a pull unlike anything he’d ever felt before in his life. It had felt good, it had felt right; it had felt safe, it had felt comforting.

It had felt like home.

If he’d let himself admit it, deep down he was actually curious about these powers, he wanted to know what he could do, just how far he could push them, how strong he could be. But it was all happening too fast; it had barely been a month since he’d first walked into the classroom where Givens stood, pretending she was a scared, meek, and mild substitute teacher; a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Everything was just too overwhelming; he needed time to stop, to process, to accept it all. But Givens wasn’t giving him that time.

He felt much like he had the last time he was here, when he was forced to accept the revelation of his powers and the prophecy in only a matter of hours before he went back to face Givens in the attic. But it hadn’t been acceptance so much as stalling; he’d needed to escape the Witch and to do that he had to pretend he understood, he had to pretend that he was okay with it all. He hadn’t been and now he was back here, forced once again to make a decision; forced once again to accept his powers, to accept that they were a permanent part of him, of his life. Only this time, however, that acceptance meant so much more. Its weight sat on his shoulders like concrete, pushing him down, making it impossible for him to move. It wasn’t like before, when he’d only had a few hours to discover his powers. It had been almost a month now of being aware they existed, of quietly reaching out in the night and holding them, grasping the air and moving it to his will. He’d fought with his powers, he’d felt his powers, he’d used his powers….

Stiles took a deep, heavy breath, and raised his head.

He didn’t understand it all, maybe he never would. But Alayna was right – he had to stop running away. He had to stop running away from his powers, from his gifts, from the prophecy – and he had to start accepting that they were now a part of him, and always would be. Perhaps they always had been. Because if he didn’t stop fighting them, if he didn’t stop refusing them, then only more people would get hurt; only more people would die. He’d said that Scott and the others wouldn’t stand a chance against Givens, that they were only werewolves and werecoyotes, banshees and kitsunes, and their abilities, for all they were worth, would be nothing against a witch.

But maybe, Stiles thought, turning around to face Alayna, his lips pressed in a thin, firm line – his could.

They both stared at each other for a long moment, neither saying a word, but whatever was on Stiles’ face must have said something, for Alayna’s worried frown slowly began to ease, until she was looking at Stiles with something akin to relief. Stiles took another deep breath, and unclenched his fists. “Tell me what I need to know.”

Scott drove his bike through the trees as long as he was able, until he finally was forced to abandon it and continue on foot. He caught the scent of his pack easily, weaving his way through the trees and jumping over fallen logs and branches as fast as he could. The scents were many and ran in different paths, but the one Scott latched onto the most was Givens. Her scent was a pungent, musty smell that made his nose hurt, but he knew that if he wanted to find the others – if he wanted to find Stiles – he had to find her.

He ran for nearly twenty-minutes before he broke through the clearing and found them, the sight before him bringing him to an immediate halt.

Liam was currently in the middle of a fight with the Rogue Wolf and was losing – badly. Malia was trying to help him, but neither of them could gain an upper hand against the much larger – and much more feral – werewolf. Givens was nearby, being attacked repeatedly by Kira’s sword as it came crashing down on her, wrapped in the flame of the kitsune. Kira was surprisingly holding her own against the witch rather well, forcing the older woman to step back with every blow she gave.

But where were Stiles and Lydia?

Scott swung his head every which way, searching desperately for the rest of his pack, sniffing the air for their scents. He caught Lydia’s and began to look for her, knowing she was nearby, but he couldn’t find Stiles’.

“SCOTT!”

Scott turned to Liam, who gave him a frantic look in amongst defending blows from the other wolf, looking pointedly at Kira and Givens. Scott took off without a second thought and ran towards the witch, his claws and teeth extended as his eyes turned a dark red. He raised his hand, just about to bring it down across Givens’ neck, when suddenly he was thrown back and sent sprawling across the clearing, crashing hard into the trunk of a tree. He gave no time for his injuries, however, and immediately rose to his feet, running back to the fight.

Kira looked up at him as he returned and Givens used the distraction to send her flying across the ground, her sword ripped from her hands and sent tumbling through the air, landing on the forest floor nearby. Scott made to punch Givens’ face then ducked, dodging the shockwave of magic that tore through the clearing and crashed into the trees, ripping the bark from their sides. He swiped his hand at her back, his claws ripping through her dress and tearing into her skin. The witch screeched and spun around, a ferocious snarl on her face as she raised her hand towards him.

At that moment, however, there was a loud scream, and Givens was thrown away to the side, landing on the ground in a heap. Scott looked up and saw Lydia standing at the edge of the trees, her dress torn and dirtied, her skin littered with cuts and blood. Her chest was heaving with rapid breaths, but her eyes were narrowed and held an anger and determination that Scott knew meant someone was going to get hurt. “Lydia!” he called out, wanting to know she was all right, but they were given no time to talk before Givens got back to her feet, and started towards the banshee. Lydia’s eyes grew wild and she opened her mouth, and a second scream tore through the clearing, sending Givens flying back to the ground.

“Scott!”

Scott looked up to see Kira running up beside him, panting for breath as she adjusted her sword in her grip. He grabbed her arm, looking back only briefly to see Givens still on the ground, slowly getting to her feet. He turned back to Kira. “What hap –.”

“She took Lydia at the school – Malia and Liam ran after her. When I found out I followed, and when I got here they were already fighting –.”

“Where’s Stiles?”

“What?”

“Where’s Stiles?!”

A shout was heard to their left, and both of them turned to see Lydia being held in the air, her fingers grasping at invisible binds that held her by her neck. Scott growled and extended his claws, turning his full attention to the Witch. “Let her go!” he yelled.

“I must say, Mr. McCall,” Givens said, still holding Lydia in the air, a small smile on her lips. “It’s about time you arrived. The party started without you, I’m afraid.”

Scott ran towards her and gave her no time to continue before he lunged forward; but rather than try to rip out her throat, he instead crashed into her side, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Lydia fell from the air with Kira beneath her, managing to break her fall.

Scott quickly got back to his feet, crouching defensively, waiting for Givens to make her next move. The Witch stood up with ease, looking none the worse for wear, despite her torn dress and bleeding skin. The smile she had been wearing before was now gone, replaced with an angry glare. “You’re testing my patience, wolf,” she said, waving her arm to the side. Kira and Lydia’s shouts were immediately silenced and they were frozen where they stood. They struggled to move from the invisible bonds, but to no avail.

Scott glared at the witch, backing slowly away as he looked for any opening he could take. “I’m going to kill you,” he growled. He expected the witch to talk, to give him some monologue about how he would fail and she would win, but she did neither.

“I don’t care about you or your pack,” she said evenly. “I only want the Blessed. Where is he?”

Scott kept his mouth firmly shut, continuing to look for an opening of attack. Even if he did know where Stiles was, he would never tell her – even if it cost him his life. “Go to hell,” he replied instead, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his wolf urging him to attack, maim, and destroy.

Scott felt a force pushing against him, trying to move him farther back and off his feet. He stood his ground, digging his heels into the soil and refusing to let her move him. Givens’ glare darkened and she extended her hand, taking a few steps towards him. The force increased, but Scott’s determination was stronger and he continued to stay where he was. Givens finally let out a screech of anger and waved her hand, sending everyone in the clearing – including the Rogue Wolf – to the ground.

“Where is the Blessed?!” she screamed. “Give me the Blessed!”

“Who the hell are you talking about?!” Lydia shouted, wavering back to her feet. But Givens paid her no attention.

“I want the Blessed! Give me the Blessed this instant or I will kill each and every one of you!”

“We don’t know who the hell the ‘Blessed’ is!” Malia intervened, trying to keep her attention on both the fight with the wolf and with the Witch.

Givens stared at Scott, her eyes dark and wild. “Give him to me,” she said, stepping closer towards him. “Give him to me or all your friends will die.”

Scott continued to remain silent, until finally Givens straightened her shoulders and tilted her head back. “Fine,” she said, walking away. “Then until your fratrem shows up, you will have the enjoyment of watching each one of your friends die before your eyes.” She waved her hand towards Kira and Lydia and both were lifted into the air, their feet kicking as they struggled to find solid ground. Scott jerked forward, but Givens held out her other hand and an invisible barrier appeared, stopping him from moving any further. “Who shall we kill first, hmm?” Givens looked between the two girls, her finger tapping her chin in mock contemplation, before her eyes finally came to a rest on Lydia. A smile spread across her lips. “I wonder if a banshee can predict her own death?” she asked. “Let us find out.”

Stiles raised his arm and splayed his fingers outwards, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before opening them once more, staring intently on the tree before him. Nothing happened for a moment, and Alayna spoke: “Feel the earth, Stiles,” she said quietly. “Feel it beneath your feet, feel it all around you, feel the life of the trees that stand before you. Feel their strength, feel their essence. Once you have that, you must focus on it – focus and push it to move in the way you want, urge it to do as you will.”

Stiles could feel the essence she was talking about, could feel the earth and the trees around him; he could even sense the tree that was standing in front of him. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to grasp the tendrils of the element that seemed just out of reach. He suddenly grasped it, then faltered and lost it. Growling in frustration, Stiles opened his eyes, glaring at the unmoving tree. Alayna hushed him, whispering for him to try to again. Closing his eyes, Stiles pushed away his anger and refocused on the tree, trying to grab hold once more.

This time when Stiles grabbed onto the element, it didn’t slip away. A sudden strength poured through him, rejuvenating and reviving him, giving him a sudden burst of energy and awareness he hadn’t had before. He willed for the tree to move, for the branches to dance, for the leaves to sing. When he opened his eyes a smile spread across his lips, as the branches and leaves of the tree moved back and forth in a windless air, waving with invisible strings. “Very good,” Alayna said.

Stiles turned to look at her; her brown hair fell gently over her shoulders, a small, pleased smile turning up the sides of her lips. Stiles vaguely realised that he was rather pleased himself, too. They hadn’t been working for even an hour, but he’d still managed to do almost everything she had asked, revealing to both her and himself just how far he’d come since he’d last been here. The air was his most easiest element to handle, obviously, since it was the first one he’d learned; but even the earth was falling quickly into his grasp, taking barely anytime to respond to his promptings, seeming almost eager to come under his control. The fear that Stiles had felt about his powers, though still very much within him, was slowly beginning to ease.

“Now,” Alayna said, leading Stiles out of the trees and into the clearing. She motioned to the sky, stretching her arm high. “You can control the air, the wind, the trees, and the earth – but can you control the clouds?”

Stiles knew this was coming; he even already knew the answer. But he knew that her question meant far more than just making the clouds move. This, perhaps more than anything else he had done so far, frightened him. He knew he could control the clouds, that he could control the weather – but he also knew that that control was far from perfect. If anything, it was dangerous. But he didn’t have time to worry. The knowledge that Givens was still out there – looking for him, threatening his friends, his family, his town – forced all feelings of fear and uncertainty aside, and with a deep breath he raised his hand to the sky, and closed his eyes.

He’d expected to at least feel something, to at least sense the air above him moving in the clouds, to feel the electricity rippling within them. Instead he felt nothing, only a hollow void where nothing could be grasped, where nothing could be moved.

Sighing, Stiles let his arm drop to his side, frowning at the untouched-sky above him.

“You need to trust yourself,” Alayna said, coming up beside him.

“You’ve already told me that,” Stiles replied, trying and failing to keep the petulant sarcasm out of his voice, “and I don’t think the sky cares whether or not I know how to trust myself. It seems pretty fine to just sit there and do nothing.”

He expected Alayna to make a snarky reply back – she had a surprising propensity for that – but she didn’t. Instead she sighed, brushing her fingers rigidly through her hair along her shoulder. “Your elements are a part of your instincts, Stiles,” she said, her calm voice a contrast to the nervous fidgeting of her fingers. “You just need to find them, and once you do I am sure this will all, in time, become second nature to you.”

“And how long do you think that will take?” Stiles asked.

Alayna looked up at him, catching his eye. “With the rate at which you are already proceeding? I can’t imagine more than –.” Alayna broke off, her eyes suddenly growing wide and her body going completely still.

Stiles frowned, concern etching across his features. “Alayna?” he asked tentatively. “Alayna what’s wron –.”

Without any warning Alayna suddenly keeled forward, her arms wrapping around her sides before moving to her head, her hands covering her ears just as she let out a very loud, terrifying scream.

Stiles jerked back, flinching as he covered his own ears, staring at Alayna with wide, fear-filled eyes. He quickly recovered, running back and leaning down, grabbing her shoulders and trying to get her attention. “Alayna!” he shouted, trying to be heard above her screams. “ALAYNA!”

Fear coursed through his body as he stared at her, helpless for what to do. He tried shaking her but she didn’t respond, her eyes remaining tightly shut and her hands still covering her ears as her mouth continued to scream. Just as he thought it would never end, the screaming stopped, but only for a moment; it quickly returned and continued, but this time it was accompanied by something else.

A loud voice echoed throughout the clearing and the trees, filling the entire place with its presence, resounding through the air as though coming from every and all directions. “I’m waiting for you, my little Blessed,” it said lightly. Stiles’ surprised eyes immediately turned into a glare, as he immediately recognised the all-too familiar voice.

Givens.

Alayna continued to scream and Stiles noticed blood beginning to run from her eyes and her nose, as Givens voice continued to boom loudly around them. “I’ve got your friends, little Blessed,” she taunted. “I’ve got the coyote, the banshee, the kitsune, and your two pet wolves – and they’re all waiting for you. We’ll have a tea-party,” she laughed. “Won’t that be fun?” The air shimmered before him and a moment later an image of a clearing appeared. Within it stood all his friends – his Pack – all standing before Givens and the Rogue Wolf, save two. Kira and Lydia were currently standing on a branch high in a tree; though Stiles couldn’t see them very closely, he was able to make out the one detail that mattered most – the nooses that were wrapped around both of their necks.

Stiles’ muscles froze, then tensed, as his eyes widened with horrifying realisation.

“Run, run, run, my foolish little man,” Givens sang above Alayna’s screams, “you’ll have to catch them, for no one else can.”

Just as it had started, everything stopped. The image disappeared and the voice faded away, leaving only Stiles and Alayna by the house once more. Alayna’s screams abruptly ceased and without any warning she pitched forward, falling into Stiles’ quickly-outstretched arms. “A-Alayna,” he stuttered, looking her over, trying to see if she was all right. “Are you okay? Alayna, wake up!”

Alayna’s eyes fluttered back open and she blinked a few times before her gaze caught Stiles’. He tried wiping the blood that was streaked across her face but she pushed him away, struggling to get to her feet. “You must leave,” she managed to say, trying to stand but falling back into Stiles’ arms. She pushed away once more. “You must – you must find her; she is going to kill your friends – she will kill all of them. You must hurry.”

Stiles watched her, helping her to her feet. “Alayna, you, I – I –.”

Alayna’s one hand dug tightly into her thigh as she waved the other in front of her. The sky above her cracked with a sudden bang, and a large portal appeared before them, wind swirling around an image of a forest looking down over a hill. Alayna struggled to move, but when she did she grasped Stiles’ arm and pushed him towards the portal. Stiles tried to protest, tried to stop – help, she needed help – but she had a surprising strength and Stiles found himself inching ever closer to the door. “Go,” Alayna said. Stiles started to argue but she broke him off. “I’ll be fine! Now go!”

The familiar sensation of the portal pulled against him and Stiles closed his eyes against the onslaught of the wind. When he opened them next, he was standing in a forest on a hill, overlooking a valley and the forest beyond. Dark clouds loomed overhead, encompassing the entire sky as thunder rumbled low in the distance.

A quiet sensation gently touched the back of his mind and Stiles stilled, wondering what it was, before realising with a start that it was an element – that it was the earth. Stiles looked beyond the valley, trying to figure out where he should go, when the sensation brushed against his mind once more, and he suddenly knew exactly where they were.

Without a second thought, he began to run.

Chapter Text

Stiles flew down the hill and through the trees, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran towards the witch and the pack. Trees and branches moved out of his way like a parting sea, giving him a straight and clear path to the fight.

As he drew closer, the first thing he noticed was the amount of damage to the trees and the ground; many trees had their branches cut or their bark torn away, while the earth was ripped up and gauged out, soil strewn across the ground. Stiles came to a halt, looking every which way, trying to find Givens and the Pack – but they weren’t there. Stiles made to move, about to follow the trail of destruction further into the woods, when he heard it.

A deep crack echoed through the trees, followed by a loud crash. A pained cry sounded from somewhere to his left, and Stiles stared in its direction for only a moment before running towards it. It took him only a few minutes before he found its source.

The Rogue Wolf was growling loudly and panting heavily, its teeth elongated, its claws extended and held by his side, ready and waiting to attack. He was turned away from Stiles, his attention fixed solely in front of him as he walked slowly forwards. Stiles looked over to see what he was looking at, and his breath caught in his throat.

Liam, beaten and bloody, was pinned beneath a massive, fallen tree. He was struggling to move, pulling on his leg, but with no avail. He was snarling and swiping his claws, attempting to fend off the older wolf while trying to free himself, but it was like a puppy trying to fend off a bear – his efforts made no deterrent. The Rogue Wolf continued to approach him, his arm raised and preparing for the final blow.

Without a second thought, Stiles flung out his hands and threw them to the side. Air that he hadn’t realised had been gathering by his feet flew forward and crashed against the wolf, sending him flying to the side and crashing into the trees. Thunder cracked loudly above them and bit by bit, raindrops began to fall.

The wolf was momentarily stunned, but quickly gathered himself back together and bared his teeth, his head snapping around, golden-eyes searching for the new threat. They landed on Stiles and his snarl deepened, giving no chance to speak before he began running towards him. Stiles’ eyes widened and for a moment he hesitated, fear coursing through his veins as he watched the feral wolf draw near.

But then something happened.

While reaching for the elements, a sudden strength and sensation surged through him – running through his body and sharpening his mind, clearing his thoughts and heightening his senses in a way he had never felt before. He was left with nothing but complete focus and utter determination as he suddenly knew exactly what he had to do.

Silently tilting his head up, Stiles waited a few more moments as the wolf drew closer. The moment the wolf lunged towards him, he raised his hand.

A rush of wind roared down from above, colliding into the wolf with such a force that it immediately sent him flying backwards and crashing into the trees once more. Only this time the wind didn’t cease; it continued to beat against him, whipping the branches and leaves around him like a cyclone, the noise almost deafening. The wolf crossed his arms in front of his face, trying to stand to his feet, but each time he tried his feet would slip out from under him and he’d be knocked back to the ground. Stiles watched his futile efforts and slowly began walking towards him, his arm still outstretched in front of him as the wind continuing to roar. The wolf looked up helplessly as Stiles drew near, but the fear in its face was quickly replaced with its ever-present snarl, as it bared and snapped its teeth, fighting until the bitter end. Stiles walked forward until he was directly in front of him, never once looking away from the wolf’s bright, gold eyes.

This was the wolf that had tricked him Scott, that had led them back to the Witch and nearly gotten the both of them killed. This was the wolf that attacked Liam, that had been going to kill him. This was the wolf that helped Givens, the witch – the witch who had lured him and deceived him and tortured him, who’d dug her nails into his skin and cut him up like a rag doll; who’d taken metal springs and shoved them through his arms, his legs, his entire body – piercing muscle and flesh and bone –

The Rogue Wolf suddenly jerked then began pawing at his neck, his eyes going wide and his mouth gaping open as it tried to take in breath. The wind had died down and all that could be heard in the trees were the sound of the wolf gasping for air, the colour and defiance quickly fading from his face.

Stiles glared at the wolf, his outstretched fingers twitching, gripping the air as it tightened around the wolf’s neck, barring the oxygen from entering his lungs.

This was the wolf that had aided the witch, that had served the one who had made his life a living hell, who had given not a second thought to his life or any others. Well not anymore. Now Givens would see what happened when she tried to take things that didn’t belong to her; now she would see what happened when you dared to cross The Blessed –

A high-pitched screech sounded throughout the forest, tearing Stiles away from his thoughts and forcing him to cover his ears with his hands. The screeching continued for nearly a minute, until finally it came to an abrupt end. When it did, Stiles quickly opened his eyes and looked down, only to see that the wolf was no longer in front of him. He spun around, searching for him, but he was gone.

Stiles blinked, his eyebrows furrowing momentarily together in confusion, feeling as though he had suddenly just broken the surface after being underneath the water, his senses and awareness suddenly coming back to him. He continued to stare into the distance until he realised that someone was panting heavily behind him; he turned around and his eyes widened as they met Liam’s.

Liam was looking up at him, his own eyes wide and his mouth open, holding a look of complete shock and astonishment that Stiles had never seen him wear before; and, if Stiles looked closely, he swore he could even see a hint of fea –

A coughing fit overtook Liam, bringing them both out of the silence they’d fallen into and Stiles immediately dashed forward, getting on his knees beside the young wolf. Liam groaned and leaned back, and Stiles could finally see just how stuck he really was. The tree had him pinned just above his right knee-cap, looking for all the world as though it had been crushed; Stiles could only imagine what his leg looked like now.

“Here,” Stiles said, trying to find a way to free the leg. “Here, just…just try and –.” He pushed his weight against the tree to try and move it, but it did nothing other than to make Liam cry out in pain. Stiles finally stopped when the cries turned to screams and he leaned back, his heart racing as he tried to find a way to free the younger wolf, because if he didn’t then he would be the perfect target, completely trapped and unable to get away. But if he couldn’t push the tree off, then what else could he d –  

Stiles stilled for only a brief moment, before he leaned back and rose to his feet. He swallowed, his palms beginning to sweat as he realised what the only way out was. He took a few steps back, trying to get his breathing under control and focus on what he had to do. He’d never moved something as large as this, he could barely move a twig; but as of this moment, there was no other choice.

“Stiles – Stiles, what – what are you doing?” Liam asked, eyeing Stiles nervously as he tried to follow him with his eyes. “Stiles, just go – forget about me, the others are still with the witch, and they –.” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, as at that moment Stiles closed his eyes, and everything around them went completely still.

Stiles took a deep breath, then raised his hand towards the fallen tree, focusing on it – and only it – as hard as he could.

He could feel the fallen tree just as he had felt the trees back in the clearing with Scott, when he’d first discovered his control over the earth. He could feel the leaves, the bark, the roots. He could feel how it lay against the ground, where it touched Liam’s leg. He willed it to move, to come under his control, to fall into his grasp.

Without warning he felt his control of the earth take hold, sliding into his grasp, a slack rope suddenly pulled taught. It was different than holding onto the air, which could be gathered together and moved with ease; with the element of earth, he felt like he was really holding onto something physical, something heavy. Something strong.

He heard something creak and Liam cry out, and Stiles’ eyes snapped open. He looked at the fallen tree and realised with a start that it was no longer in the same position it had been before. It had shifted slightly away from Liam, revealing part of his very injured – but thankfully still intact – leg. Liam’s cries continued, though, and Stiles quickly refocused back on moving the tree. It felt as though he’d gotten stuck, as though he were pushing against a wall. He pushed against it harder, gripping the tree and lifting it with all and every bit of his will.

The tree lifted above the ground and off of Liam’s leg, but it gave barely any room for Liam to move away. The tree began to shudder and Stiles realised that his arm was shaking. Doing the only thing he could think of, he threw up his other arm, fingers splayed wide against the air. The tree immediately stabilized and rose another ten feet.

It felt as though he were lifting cement; the tree continued to rise and Stiles’ shoulders began to ache. Liam made a noise and for a brief second Stiles’ focus faltered; the tree slipped down a few feet in the air before he managed to grab it back, lifting it even higher than before. Thunder cracked above him and Stiles gritted his teeth as his arms began to shake. By now the tree was raised above the canopy of the forest, and with a final push, Stiles threw his arms to the side, sending the tree flying across the woods and crashing into the distance.

Stiles stumbled back, his lungs heaving in his chest. He turned his eyes to Liam, who was struggling to get to his one good leg. Stiles ran over to him but Liam just shook his head, his eyes still wide in a mix of adrenaline and disbelief. “No, go,” he said, pointing behind Stiles. “They’re straight through the trees. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right behind you.”

Lines etched between Stiles’ eyes in a frown. “But your leg –.”

“It’s fine! I’m a werewolf, I’ll heal – now go!”

Stiles stared at Liam a moment longer before he finally pressed his lips together, nodded, and turned around, running through the trees and to the fight.

Givens had been in the middle of taunting Kira and Lydia while holding off Scott with her magic, when she suddenly went completely still, her words dying on her tongue. Scott narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what was going on, when a large smile suddenly spread across her face. She turned around, staring into the woods, Kira and Lydia momentarily forgotten. “He’s finally here,” she said, her smile growing dark. Kira and Lydia were left standing on the tree branch where Givens had left them, still held immobile by her magic.

Nearly two-minutes passed before Givens’ smile began to waver, her eyes seeing something that Scott’s could not. After a moment she swore. “That damn wolf – he’s utterly useless.” She snapped her fingers and a loud screech pierced the air, resounding through the trees and forcing Scott to quickly press his hands against his ears. His heightened sense of hearing made the high-pitched-sound all the more painful and he reflexively squeezed his eyes shut.

After what felt like an age the sound finally ended and Scott opened his eyes, watching as the witch continued to stare through the trees, before finally turning around and making her way back to the girls. “Well young ladies, I think the time is nearly here! Are you both ready for your sentencing? Oh, and we mustn’t forget these….” Two black hoods appeared above the girls’ heads, before quickly sliding over them. Scott could see the fear and panic in their eyes as their faces disappeared from view and he began beating his fist against the invisible wall that was barricading him from the rest of the group, shouting at the witch and telling Kira and Lydia that they’d be okay, that everything would be okay. His efforts made no change, however, and Givens continued to ignore him. Almost seven-minutes passed before something finally happened.

Scott could hear the noise of someone running through the trees from over a mile away, running closer towards them with each passing second. He was downwind so Scott couldn’t catch his scent, but he knew instantly who it was. He didn’t know why or how he knew, but he could sense with every bone in his body that the person running towards them was Stiles.

Stiles burst through the trees, stumbling to a stop. His chest heaved in and out as he caught his breath, his eyes flashing between the girls and Scott as he took in the scene before him. Scott was being held behind a barrier, four invisible walls surrounding him on all sides; the air didn’t flow through there as it should, a void left in the otherwise normal space. The girls stood atop a branch high in the trees, their heads covered with black cloth and their wrists and necks bound with thick rope.

A dark glare settled over Stiles’ face and he finally turned to Givens, who was watching him with a small, crooked smirk. “My dear little Blessed… so you have finally decided to join us. Tell me,” she said, motioning to the girls in the tree, “are those not the prettiest necklaces you’ve ever seen? Pretty necklaces for such pretty girls, don’t you agree?”

His heart dropped in his chest and panic surged through Stiles’ veins; he jerked forward, attempting to raise his arms and gather the wind to attack her, when Givens suddenly raised her own arm and he came to a halt, his muscles locking into place and his body refusing to move. Givens smiled and waved her fingers at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve witnessed a hanging. It will be exciting to watch them struggle, their feet kicking helplessly in the air as they die.”

Stiles wanted to scream at her, to tell her to stop, but his mouth would not move. The witch just grinned and raised her hand. “You should have given me what I wanted when I first asked you for it,” she said. “Now these two innocent girls will die because of the choices you made. Such a shame.” With a snap of her fingers the branch beneath Kira and Lydia’s feet broke, sending them plummeting only a few feet towards the ground before the ropes around their necks pulled taught and they began to swing, their bodies and legs jerking frantically in the air for purchase that wasn’t there.

A panic and anger seared through Stiles like fire and he yelled, throwing his hands against the barrier of magic in front of him. Thunder cracked loudly above them, shaking the entire forest and the ground beneath them; the air whipped up into a violent wind and every tree began to shudder. Without warning the magic that had been binding Stiles broke and he lunged forward, flinging his arm out in front of him towards Kira and Lydia. The surge of air cut through the ropes like a knife and sent the girls falling towards the ground. Throwing out his other hand he just managed to catch them, using the air like a pillow beneath their bodies, before he was suddenly and violently thrown to the ground.

Stiles’ hold on the air broken, Scott watched helplessly as the girls screamed and fell to the ground. Lydia landed first, her head hitting the base of the tree with an audible crack. Kira fell a second after, landing on the forest floor nearby. Scott beat his fists against the barrier, his eyes red and roaring in panic as he fought to reach them. The smell of blood quickly hit his nose as the ground around Lydia’s head slowly turned red. Neither girl moved an inch.

Stiles pushed Givens off of him and sent her flying backwards, trying to throw her into the trees. Her magic caught her and she quickly righted herself, landing gently back on the ground. He heard Scott roar behind him and he turned to see Lydia and Kira lying on the ground, their bodies completely still. He turned back to Givens, who was raising her arm towards him, magic coursing and spiking through the air like electricity. Lightning flashed and a crash of thunder immediately followed, as the rain picked up and began to pour. Stiles quickly raised his own hand to mirror Givens and shifted his footing beneath him – he wasn’t going to let this go on any longer.

Givens threw the first attack, a wave of magic rushing like a shockwave through the forest, ripping through the trees as it came speeding towards him. On instinct Stiles crossed his arms and gathered the air in front of him, creating an invisible barrier of his own. The magic hit the wall and surged up towards the sky, pushing Stiles through the mud and back towards Scott until it finally dissipated.

“STILES!” Scott yelled, watching as Givens began to walk towards them, starting to lift her hand and bring her fingers together. Stiles threw his arms out towards Given and two cyclones of wind and rain erupted in the air, running across the ground and colliding into her, obscuring her from view.

Stiles turned around and met Scott at the barrier, looking frantically up and down as he ran his fingers across its shimmering wall, searching for a way to break it. His eyes suddenly met Scott’s and he pressed both his palms against the barricade. “Put your hands against it!” he shouted above the wind and rain. Scott had no idea why he was asking it or what he thought it would achieve, but there was no time to question. Putting up his hands, Scott placed his palms against the wall, directly in front of Stiles’.

The barricade shook once, then twice, shimmering with a mixture of purple and blue, before – like a hammer against glass – it shattered. Without a word Scott ran past Stiles, his claws extended as he brought them down on Givens, who had been only a few feet behind Stiles.

Caught off guard, Givens shrieked in pain as Scott slashed her shoulder, claws catching the end of the hole in her chest and ripping a deep gash across her skin. Stiles spun around and held out his hand, gripping his fingers into the air. Givens began to gasp as the air-pressure around her neck increased and started to choke her. She stumbled backwards and Scott ran around behind her, ready to shove his hand into her back, just as he had before. He glanced briefly at Stiles and nearly faltered, when he realised with a start that his eyes were glowing. A bright, clear mist surrounded and highlighted them, a stark contrast to the dark clouds above and the rain around them. Pushing the shock to the back of his mind, Scott instead placed his focus entirely on Givens, waiting for the right moment to attack.

But Givens didn’t give him that moment. As she continued to choke, she managed to raise a shaking hand and snapped her fingers. Out of nowhere the Rogue Wolf appeared beside them, and a second later he tackled Stiles to the ground. Scott ran forward, aiming for Givens’ neck, when the witch suddenly disappeared into thin air. Scott started to spin around to look for her when he was suddenly thrown across the ground and sent rolling through the muddied forest floor. When he managed to right himself, he realised that his claws were only inches from Lydia’s unconscious head. He quickly moved away from her and got back to his feet, running to where the Rogue Wolf had Stiles pinned to the ground, its claws slashing at his shoulders and neck. Just as Scott was about to reach them Stiles suddenly pushed his hands forward, and a gust of wind sent the Rogue Wolf flying off of him and crashing into Givens.

The witch was still bleeding from Scott’s attack, as well as from numerous other injuries she had obtained throughout the fight. The witch and the Rogue Wolf were just getting back to their feet when Stiles waved his arm in the air, motioning above them. Branches and tree-limbs broke away and flew through the air, hurtling towards and beating against Givens and the wolf, tearing at their clothes and skin, bashing against their heads and bodies. They covered their faces, trying to ward off the flying projectiles, while at the same time trying to take shelter in amongst the surrounding trees. And that was exactly where Stiles wanted them.

As soon as they were out of the clearing, all of the branches from the trees above them cracked in unison and with a massive noise they fell to the ground, burying the witch and the wolf beneath them. But Stiles didn’t stop there; he walked forward, his arm still outstretched in front of him. Thunder roared and the ground shook, nearly knocking Scott off his feet. The branches and trees that had fallen on Givens shifted under Stiles’ hand, stabbing and beating into the ones beneath it.

A noise sounded behind him and Scott turned. Kira was starting to move, groaning in pain as she did. Scott quickly went over to her, turning her around and leaning over her to block her from the rain. She blinked as water hit her face, looking at Scott only briefly before turning on her side and throwing up. “Kira! Kira, are you okay?!” Scott asked quickly, shifting his attention between the kitsune and the battle. He turned back to Kira, who was taking deep breaths and nodding her head, motioning for him to go. With a quick brush of his thumb against her forehead, Scott got back to his feet and ran towards Stiles.

When he reached him, Stiles was standing only a few feet away from the pile of branches, his fingers clenched against the air, the glowing mist that had surrounded his eyes now tinged with green. “Are they dead?” Scott asked. “Are they –.”

The branches suddenly began to move and a shockwave burst through the clearing, pushing Scott and Stiles back as it pressed against them. The brush shifted and a moment later Givens arose, like a scarecrow rising above a field. Her face was torn and bloodied, her dress shredded to pieces. Numerous branches were lodged into her abdomen and sides, but she paid them no notice. Instead, she had her focus entirely on the Rogue Wolf, who was now wrapped tightly in her arms, constricted against her body. Where there had once been nothing but a feral snarl etched permanently across his face, there was now a look of complete brokenness, a mixture of fear and defeat shining in his eyes.

Givens smiled, running a shaking finger underneath the Rogue Wolf’s chin. “Shh, shh, my pet,” she whispered. “All is well, do not worry.” She looked over at Stiles and Scott, her eyes wide and crazed as her smile spread across her lips. “Well, my Blessed, you are  putting up a fine fight, I must give you that. I had no idea you had come so far in so short a time.” She continued to stroke the werewolf’s cheek, her fingers running down along his neck. “But tell me, have you met my little pet?”

Both Stiles and Scott said nothing, their bodies tensed as they gauged the situation, waiting to see what Givens was doing. The witch looked between them and licked her lips, her smile never leaving her face. “My little pet here was lonely when I picked him up; oh so lonely and sad – isolated from his friends, isolated from his pack. It can be awful difficult when you’re living so secluded in the mountains….”

A memory that Scott had forgotten suddenly appeared before his eyes and the colour drained from his face, as the pieces of the puzzle finally put themselves together. “He’s the missing wolf,” he said, staring at the werewolf who was silently watching them back. “The missing wolf from the Colorado Pack. They came looking for him, they were asking where he was.” Scott blinked, stunned as realisation dawned. “You weren’t a rogue wolf at all. You’re not even feral. You were just taken, by her –.” He looked at Givens, who smiled widely back. His eyes narrowed. “And you forced him to obey you. You controlled him, you forced him to do what you wanted –.”

Stiles shifted beside him and without warning he raised his hand, his eyes wild and his mouth twisted in anger. “You fucking bitch,” he swore and Scott could smell the fury emanating from him, even with the pouring rain. Stiles took a step forward. “You fucking piece of shit –.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Stilinski,” Givens said, her fingers shifting from the wolf’s cheek to across his neck, her nails digging into the skin. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You wouldn’t want more blood on your hands, would you?” She motioned to Kira and Lydia, who were still in the same spot what Scott had left them. Kira had moved closer to Lydia and was leaning over her, trying to shake her, but her movements were weak and she soon collapsed back to the forest floor.

Givens cackled and Stiles and Scott turned back to her, both glaring at her with vicious anger. The witch smiled and rocked the wolf back and forth, cooing in fake comfort as her fingernails cut into his skin and began to draw blood. “Do you know how much he screamed,” she said, looking back up at Stiles, “when I ripped his claws from his fingers, one by one? Or how much he whimpered, like a little dog, when I beat him until he was covered in blood?” Her eyes drifted to Scott. “You werewolves have great strength and endurance, far more than humans. But you are certainly, in the end, no match for a witch.” She turned her gaze back to Stiles, her voice soft and low. “He was easy to break, in the end, though he was never truly happy to do as I told him. I rectified that, of course, with a simple spell to keep him under my control. It is so much easier when they don’t fight back, don’t you agree?”

Stiles was at a loss. He could attack the witch, he could pierce her with more branches or throw her against the tree, but the moment he did that she would kill the Rogue Wolf. Except it wasn’t a rogue wolf, it was the Colorado wolf – the one his pack had been searching for, who had been missing; but as it turned out he’d actually been captured – he’d been kidnapped. Like Stiles. But unlike Stiles, he had been tortured for far longer, and in the end had been placed entirely under her control. But at least she had a reason for taking Stiles. This wolf, he was an innocent – and Stiles would be damned if he let him di –

“D… don’t….”

The voice took everyone by surprise, including Givens, and they looked at the Rogue Wolf, who was opening his mouth and trying to speak. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, whether from disuse or from screaming, Stiles didn’t know. He was looking directly into Stiles’ eyes, his gaze never breaking away. Givens tightened her grip on his throat in warning, but he paid her no attention. “Don’t… don’t try t’fight… run…” he stuttered out. “Tell my pack… tell th’m I… I’m s’rry… tell them I tri’d….”

Stiles frowned at the wolf, trying to understand why he was saying this, when suddenly, with a last burst of energy, the wolf flashed out his claws, and stabbed them through his chest.

Scott shouted and Stiles jerked forward, but it was too late. His hand had gone through his entire chest and out the other side, where it was now lodged in Givens’ neck.

Givens screamed and pushed the dead-wolf away, tearing his claws from her neck as she stumbled over the branches and back into the woods. Stiles didn’t wait a moment longer.

Using the air, Stiles lifted Givens above the ground and threw her to the side, sending her flying into the trees with a crack. Giving her no time to recover, Stiles used the wind like whips, beating her down and keeping her from getting up. The witch, however, managed to push away the wind with her magic and snapped her fingers. She disappeared from the trees and reappeared behind them in the clearing. Scott took off towards her, followed closely by Stiles.

The next few minutes were a flurry of punches and dodges, of lunges and tackles, as Scott and Stiles fought alongside each other against the witch. When Scott missed an opening, Stiles would take it and when Stiles forced the witch into defense, Scott would use her distraction to attack.

Unbeknownst to any of them as they fought, Lydia had started to stir. Kira was lying on the ground beside her, having fallen back into unconsciousness, blood continuing to seep from a deep gash on her leg, dangerously near her artery.

Lydia struggled to sit up, her head swimming and her entire body pulsating in pain. She struggled for a moment to move her arms, before realising that her hands were bound. She tried to release them, but unable to move the rope, she began pushing at the hood that was covering her head. Her movements were slow and uncoordinated, her hands slipping numerous times before she finally stopped. She leaned forward, pressing her wrists against her head as a sudden headache began to throb beneath her scalp. Nausea rolled over her in waves and she struggled to focus, to gather herself together and figure out where she was.

Then suddenly, a familiar feeling washed over her and she squeezed her eyes shut, dreading but unable to stop what she knew was about to come. A second later it rose in her chest and tore through her throat, and with a terrifying intensity, she screamed.

The scream ricocheted through the clearing and across the forest, throwing everyone around her to the ground. The rope still tied around her neck was shredded, falling away in pieces. The witch, however, did not stay on the ground for long.

Getting back to her feet, an aura of magic appeared around Givens and she used it to lift Stiles into the air and bind his wrists together, barricading Scott behind a wall of magic once more. The front of Stiles’ shirt suddenly began to burn until there was nothing left, and a second later his chest and stomach began to glow bright in numerous, intricate designs – the same designs that she had drawn on his chest over what felt like an age ago, back when he had been lying on the cold floor of her house.

“You should have run the moment you learned what I was,” Givens said, striding towards him, blood and sweat dripping from her head and neck, her dress dirtied and torn. “But now it’s too late. I’ve done all the magic that is required, fed you all the food that you needed, and had you drink all the potions necessary. All that is left is to take your powers away from you. I hope you enjoyed them, Stiles – because you will never see them or another waking moment again.” With that, Givens rasied her hand, and shoved it into Stiles’ chest.

Stiles’ eyes went wide and he jerked, his body spasming violently. A scream had lodged in his throat and couldn’t get out, while white-hot pain coursed through his body as though he were on fire and his vision turned white. He gasped, then began to choke, his breath suddenly disappearing from his lungs. He felt himself weaken, the sensation and feeling of the air and the earth that he had only just started to get used to, slowly starting to fade away. He struggled against it, trying to grab hold of them, trying to bring them back, but with every passing second he felt himself grow more tired and the edge of this vision began to tinge with darkness. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t cry out, he couldn’t breathe…. He was going to… he was going to –

An almighty roar sounded in his ears, and suddenly the weight against his chest disappeared and air roared back into his lungs, his chest heaving as he sucked in breath. Energy immediately began returning to his body and he slowly became aware of what was going on around him. Looking up, he saw Givens over forty-feet away from him, pinned to the ground. Scott was on top of her, slashing at her face and arms with an abandon that Stiles had never seen before. The witch defended his blows for a few moments before throwing him off. What she hadn’t counted on, however, was Kira, who in the last few minutes had regained consciousness and with great effort, managed to find her sword and get to her feet, walking towards Givens until she was right behind her. Raising her sword just as Givens threw Scott away, Kira took her sword and stabbed Givens through her back.

Givens screamed and spun around, throwing out her hand and sending Kira flying back into the trees. Grabbing the sword and ripping it out of her back, Givens grabbed both ends and broke it in half, tossing it to the ground. By that time Scott had regained his footing and began attacking Givens once more.

Pain continued to sear through Stiles’ chest and throughout his body, but he pushed the pain back and slowly got to his feet, his body shaking as he did. He took a small step forward, then another, his left arm wrapped around his abdomen as his body bent over, struggling to stay on his feet. With each step he could feel his energy returning; he could feel the earth beneath his feet reviving and strengthening him, he could feel the air all around him helping him, pushing him forward and closer towards the witch.

Stiles watched as Kira got back to her feet and ran towards the witch, her body wrapped in fox-fire and ready to attack. Lydia was still crouched on the ground, her hands pressed against her forehead, and Stiles knew that she was getting ready to scream.

As Stiles walked towards Givens the witch looked up and their eyes met. The witch snarled and ducked out from under Scott, lunging towards Stiles. “Let us finish this,” she said, and tackled Stiles to the ground.

A dark sensation washed over Stiles and he felt as though his insides were suddenly being squeezed together, all at once. The sensation left as quickly as it began and when Stiles looked up he realised that they were no longer in the rain-soaked clearing with Scott, Lydia, and Kira, but were now instead in a different clearing, shrouded in a dark, dense mist. Stiles rolled to the side as he tore himself away from Givens, pushing past the abrupt change and setting his entire focus on the only thing that mattered – the witch.

Strengthened and surging with a sudden new energy, Stiles rose to his feet and readied his hands, glaring at Givens who stood on the other side of the clearing. He walked to his right and she did the same; they began to circle each other, each waiting for the moment to strike. Her snarl momentarily leaving her face, Givens grinned. “Are you ready to die, Mr. Stilinski?” she asked. She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, and a multitude of sharp, diamond-shaped lights appeared in the air, before shooting straight towards Stiles.

Stiles threw up his arms and brought the air together in front of him to form a barrier; most of the magic deflected off the element and shot into the trees, but some made it through, whizzing past Stiles’ head before one grazed deep into his side. Stiles released the shield and with a wave of his arms, threw a blast of wind towards Givens. Knowing she’d dodge, he sent another wave right after the first, knocking Givens off her feet and sending her to the ground.

Stiles refused to allow her to get up and closing his eyes for the briefest moment, he dug deep inside himself and, sensing the element of the earth around him, he grabbed hold.

The ground began to rumble, and then it began to shake. The trees shuddered and shook as the earth quaked beneath them; Givens tried to get to her feet, but fell back down each time, before growling in frustration and finally snapping her fingers.

All the noise around him suddenly ceased, and Stiles was left with nothing but utter silence. It were as though someone had turned off the sound on a movie, and he was left with nothing but the moving picture to see what was going on in front of him.

In his distraction the earthquake began to subside and Givens rose back to her feet, her smile returned as she extended her hand towards him, and snapped her fingers again. In the next moment his sight disappeared, leaving him now not only deaf, but blind.

For a moment, Stiles began to panic. The sudden absence of his senses was jarring, sending him unintentionally stumbling back, grasping for anything to reorient and gather himself. He stopped after a few steps when he felt the bark of a tree touch his back, and suddenly a familiar sensation brushed the back of his mind and he suddenly became aware of its presence all around him. Without any thought, Stiles knew exactly what it was.

Earth.

For a moment it felt as though time had stopped, as he suddenly took notice of every tree and every root in the clearing around him, every brush and every branch, the soil strewn across the ground and the life growing within it.

The sensation of the air followed, whispering around his arms and legs, his head and his body, its power ready and waiting to be used.

Suddenly, though Stiles could neither see nor hear, he knew exactly where Givens was – and she was coming directly towards him.

Extending his arm in front of him, Stiles reached towards where Givens stood and the wind rushed forward, wrapping itself around her. But instead of simply pushing her down, this time the wind lifted her purposefully into the air, raising her high above the ground, her arms and legs kicking the entire way. Stiles pressed the air around her, grabbing onto her arms and legs, its pressure closing and pressing around her body until she was completely immobile.

Stiles still couldn’t see or hear, but he knew nonetheless that he finally had her in a spot she could not easily escape. Holding her in place with one hand, Stiles used his other to raise a large branch into the air, turning and breaking pieces off its end until it was as sharp as a knife. With a final wave of his arm, Stiles sent the branch flying straight towards Givens’ chest.

Suddenly the weight of Givens’ body disappeared, and his sight and hearing returned just in time to see the branch fly through the empty air and lodge into a tree.

Stiles swung his head back and forth, trying to find where Givens had gone. With fast breaths he closed his eyes, reaching out with the earth and the air, trying to find where she was hiding. While he could not pinpoint exactly where she was, he nonetheless could sense that somewhere, she was there.

Raising his hands by his sides in ready defense, Stiles crouched into the mist, eyes scanning the fog and the darkness as he looked for any movement he could see.

A deep cackle resounded through the clearing, echoing off the trees and vibrating throughout his entire body. Stiles searched for its source, but he could find nothing. “Look how far you’ve come, my dear little Blessed! So quick, so strong – yet so unwise. Did you really think you and your band of misfits could defeat me? Did you really think you had that power?”

Stiles saw something shift to his left and he flung out his arms, sending a burst of wind crashing through the trees. The witch’s voice cackled again. “You missed, dear one. Would you like to try again?” Something shuffled in the trees to his right and Stiles sent another burst of wind towards it, once more breaking through the trees, and once more missing the witch. “No, no, no, not there. Perhaps I am behind you?” A branch cracked only a few feet behind him and Stiles spun around, throwing the air from his hands. “Or am I beside you?” Another branch broke to his right and with a yell Stiles threw his arms to his side, a particularly powerful burst of wind cutting through the fog and the trees, but once again hitting no one.

Givens cackled once more, and Stiles felt the heat of anger begin to rise in his chest and the back of his neck. The earth rumbled threateningly beneath him but no quake followed, leaving Stiles in the silence of the clearing with only the sound of his racing heart pounding in his ears to be heard. The silence was short lived, however, as after a few moments Givens voice returned. “You’re weak, you know,” she whispered, her words slipping through the fog and the air like a snake. “You’re weak and your friends know it; why else would they have sought to fight me without you? They still believe you’re a burden, they still believe you are nothing but a hindrance, a damsel to be saved – even your brother, Scott.”

With a growl Stiles stretched out his hands to each of his sides, palms pressed outwards and fingers splayed, and every tree around him began to shake. When the shaking died down all was silent, but the silence lasted for only a moment before the witch’s voice sounded once more. “You know your efforts are futile; you’ll never be able to kill me. I know everything about you, your powers, the prophecy, but you know nothing about yourself. Aren’t you least bit curious to know what it is these centuries-old stories say about you?”

Stiles said nothing, refusing to let her goad him. His silence, however, only spurred her to continue. “Centuries ago there was an old woman who had a vision. And do you know who she saw in that vision? She saw you, my little Blessed. She saw you, and she saw all of those that you would defeat, all of what you would deem to be dark, to be evil. With what would eventually enter your world, she believed you would be the one to defeat it – that you and your great power would defeat it, and send it back from whence it came.” Givens chuckled. “Rather silly, don’t you think?”  

Givens paused, then said, “I’ll give you one last chance, Stiles. Admit your defeat – give up your powers, and I promise that you and your friends will go free. I’ll even let you live, unharmed.” The witch laughed. “Well, no more unharmed than you already are, that is.”

Stiles stood completely still, his chest heaving in and out as he struggled to catch his breath. He was completely exhausted, both the physical fighting and the use of his powers draining him of all energy. He thought back to Kira and Lydia, the nooses wrapped around their necks, their bodies struggling in the air as the rope choked them to death. He thought of Liam, trapped beneath the fallen tree, his leg crushed, watching helplessly as the Rogue Wolf advanced towards him, a predator cornering its prey, ready to finish it off. He thought of Malia, wondering where she had gone, what the wolf had done to her and if she was even still alive. He finally thought of Scott, beaten and bloodied, nearly killed by the witch countless times already, all thanks to him. It was all thanks to him.

Swallowing, Stiles stepped back into the clearing, his hands slowly falling to his sides. She was right; he couldn’t defeat her. He could throw the wind at her all day, he could trap her in a hurricane, he could split the ground beneath her feet – and she’d still manage to survive, she’d still manage to escape. Perhaps, like she said, if he really wanted to end this, if he really wanted to save them, he’d have to give her what she wanted.

He’d have to give her his powers.

Raising his head, Stiles took a deep, shaky breath, before he finally nodded. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Fine. Take them, take all of them. Just stop hurting my friends – just let them go. Promise me you’ll let them go.”

The darkness that had covered the part of the forest that they were in slowly weakened, rays of sunlight breaking through the canopies and shining into the clearing. The fog in front of him dissipated and in its wake stood the witch, a smile spread across her face. “I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light, Stiles,” she said, walking towards him. Out of instinct Stiles couldn’t help but back away, fear etched across his as his heartbeat began to race.

Givens cooed at him, her eyes feigning sympathy and concern. “Oh you don’t have to fear me, Stiles,” she said, coming to a stop. “What will happen will be very quite simple. Think of it as visiting the dentist; all it will be is a simple extraction.” She looked Stiles up and down, a grin spreading across her face. “You really are quite handsome, you know – in a young sort of way. It’s a shame you didn’t agree to come with me back when I had you strung up in that little shack; together, we could have conquered the world.” Her eyes finally met Stiles’ and she smiled. “But no matter. We have made our choices, you and I. And I think it is quite safe to say that you have made the right one.”

With her final words Givens finally moved, making to step forward, only to jerk and nearly fall over, instead. Confusion spread across her face as Givens looked down at the ground, and her eyes grew wide. Her feet were buried deep into the ground, soil covering and encasing them nearly to her knees, completely immobilizing her into the earth.

“You’re right,” Stiles said, taking a step back. “I did make the right choice.” He continued walking backwards until he reached the trees, leaving Givens standing alone in the middle of the clearing. “And I think it’s quite safe to say, that you made the wrong one.”

Givens snapped her head up, her eyes wide and wild in a terrifying fury. She opened her mouth to speak when suddenly she began to feel something touch her legs, and she looked back down.

Branches and roots began growing out of the soil, wrapping around her legs over and over again, running up her body and weaving their way over her chest and shoulders, binding her arms and hands to her sides and continuing to add layer after layer, until no exposed-inch of her body was left. The roots and branches wrapped around her twice, then three, then four times, encasing her in a wooden sarcophagus of a tomb, until all that was left was her head. She glared at Stiles, struggling to open her mouth, struggling to speak, but before she could manage a single word, a spear of wood shot through the encasement and right through her body. Her eyes widened and she began to scream in utter fury as blood ran down from her mouth. At that exact moment the roots began wrapping around her head and over her shoulders until they disappeared beneath it, bringing a abrupt and instant end to her screams, leaving the clearing in a sudden silence.  

Stiles stared at the makeshift tomb, his eyes dark and his face without expression. A moment later fire erupted at the base of the encasement, rippling across the bottom before quickly licking its way up. Within moments it swallowed the entire tomb, burning the branches and wood and everything within it. Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

The witch was finally dead.

And this time, she wasn’t coming back.

Chapter Text

Scott turned Lydia onto her back and helped her sit up against the tree, trying to stem the blood flow that was seeping from her head with a ripped piece of fabric from his shirt. He knew that head-wounds always bled more than the actual severity of the wound, and he hoped that this was the case. She was falling in and out of consciousness, managing to open her eyes for only a few seconds at a time before closing them back again. Once she was settled, Scott turned his attention to Kira.

Kira was more awake than Lydia, but her attention span was short-lived as her eyes constantly fluttered between various spots around the clearing. Scott tried to get her attention numerous times, lowering his head and trying to catch her eyes and saying her name over and over again, but nothing kept her attention for more than a few seconds. Her behaviour worried him and he knew that they’d have to get her and Lydia to the hospital as fast as they could. He felt around the back of her head, looking for a bump, before finding one near the top. She moaned when his fingers pressed against it and she started to gag. Scott leaned her over to the side, waiting as she proceeded to throw-up. Panic beat loudly in his chest, knowing that he couldn’t leave them here alone, while at the same time knowing that he had to find Stiles and he had to find the witch.

He dug his cellphone out of his pocket and pressed the button, only to find that his screen was cracked and the shell broken. With a growl of frustration he threw it to the side, running his hand through his hair as he struggled to figure out what to do; but before he was forced to make that decision, he suddenly heard a loud voice calling through the woods.

“SCOTT!”

Scott snapped his head up and opened his eyes to see two figures walking through the trees, their gaits slow and limping as they came towards him. With a huge sigh of relief, Scott rose to his feet.

It was Malia and Liam.

Both teenagers looked as though they’d been through a battle – and really, Scott thought, they had. They were both covered in a mixture of mud and blood, their clothes soaked and torn. Numerous cuts and bruises ran over their faces and arms, and Scott hoped that what he could already see was the worse there was.

Malia was supporting most of Liam’s weight with her right shoulder, her left arm tucked protectively around her middle and from the odd way it was angled, Scott could tell it was broken. Liam was using only one leg, his left dragging uselessly against the ground as they drew near. Scott quickly ran over to them and grabbed Liam’s other arm, putting it around his own shoulder and helping them walk back to where Lydia and Kira lay.

“What happened?!” Scott finally asked as he and Malia set Liam onto the ground next to Lydia. “Are you guys okay?”

Malia nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, but Liam’s got a crushed leg.”

“I do not!” Liam protested. “It’s just not fully functioning right now.”

Malia scoffed and rolled her eyes, but the movement quickly sent her into a coughing fit and she bent over, crying out weakly as the movement jarred her broken arm.

“Malia, sit down,” Scott said, trying to force her to sit. She refused, though, stubbornly shaking her head and pushing Scott away.

“No, stop it Scott – I’m fine. I broke my arm and I think I’ve bruised a couple ribs, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“What happened?” Scott asked again. “Where did you –.”

“I fell over a cliff,” she said. “Landed on my arm and it snapped like a twig.” Scott grimaced, but Malia continued, “Liam and I were fighting that feral wolf and he threw me over the edge of a ravine. That’s why I couldn’t get back here right away, that’s why I couldn’t help Liam.” She looked down at Liam, her dark eyes filled with guilt. “I’m sorry, Liam,” she said quietly.

“I told you Malia, it wasn’t your fault! Quit blaming yourself. If anything, it was my fault that I wasn’t able to get to you –.”

“What happened?” Malia interjected, not wanting to give up her guilt so easily. “What… what did that wolf do to you? How’d you defeat him if you were trapped under a tree?”

Scott frowned, looking back at Liam. “You were under a tree?” he asked. “Is that how you broke your leg?”

“Yeah,” Liam replied, fingers brushing absently against his leg. “Yeah, the wolf managed to break a tree and it fell on me. I have to say, even as a werewolf, having a gigantic tree fall on your leg isn’t exactly funnest thing to do. I was completely stuck; I couldn’t get out no matter how hard I tri –.”

“Well then how did you get out?!” Malia demanded. Here eyes were wide and slightly wild, reflecting an exhaustion and stress that all of them were feeling.

“It was Stiles,” Liam said, his words coming out in a rush and his own eyes growing wide. “It was Stiles, he came and he… he did something, and –.” Suddenly Liam caught Scott’s eye and he froze. Scott’s eyes were wide and narrowed, his jaw clenched and his head shaking ever-so-slightly back and forth, giving Liam a loud and clear message to quit talking.

For once in his life, Liam heeded Scott’s command and his mouth snapped shut. He looked back to Malia, who was looking at him in confusion, before stuttering out a response. “Um, uh – that is… that is, he helped me get my leg un… un-stuck.”

“And what happened to the werewolf?”

“He… left.”

Malia stared at him in bemusement. “He left?” she asked. “Just like that?”

“He – he disappeared,” Liam finally managed to say, glancing briefly at Scott before looking back to Malia. “There was a loud noise and then he just disappeared. I don’t know where he went after that –”

“He came to the clearing,” Scott interrupted, taking over the conversation. “The witch used him as a distraction while we fought her.”

Malia turned to Scott, her ever familiar frown etched deep on her face. “And what happened to him?” she asked. “Did you kill him?”

Scott hesitated for a brief moment before speaking. “It… it turns out that he wasn’t working for her. At least, not really. And he wasn’t feral, either. She… she had him under a spell, or something. I’m not quite sure how she controlled him, but at one point during the fight she… she was using him as a shield, and she was weak so her spell must have broken, because he… while she was holding onto him, he killed himself.”

Both Liam and Malia’s eyebrows jumped slightly at the news, and both were silent for a few moments before Malia finally spoke. “And where’s Stiles now?” she asked, looking around the clearing. “You said he showed up at the fight, but where is he now?” She frowned, thinking, before looking Scott straight in the eyes. “You killed her, right?” she asked. “The witch – she’s dead. That’s why you’re all here – because we won?”

Scott took a deep breath, then shook his head. “No,” he said, moving towards Liam and helping him to his feet. “She disappeared into the woods and I’m going to look for her. You guys need to call Stiles’ dad – call the Sheriff. He knows about us, so just tell him to come get you guys – Kira, Lydia, both you – you need to get to the hospital. Kira and Lydia both have head-wounds, and they’re not responding to anything I do, so it’s probably serious. So just – just call the Sheriff now, okay?” He began walking away and into the trees.

“Where are you going?” Liam called as Malia helped steady him.

“To find S – to find the witch,” Scott replied, not looking back. “I have to find the witch.”

Malia made to move forward, but her hold on Liam stopped her. “Scott, you need help!”

“Malia, I’m serious – I’ll be fine,” Scott replied, turning briefly around. “Now get to the hospital – or we may actually not get out of this alive.”

Scott caught Stiles scent fairly-quickly after running a few minutes through the woods and followed it for another five minutes, slipping and sliding through the mud as rain poured down through the trees. As the scent grew stronger the rain grew weaker and he suddenly caught the smell of smoke. A moment later he could spot a fire burning through the trees and soon after that he broke through, stumbling to a stop as his eyes fell on Stiles’ back, standing a few feet in front of him. Seeing no immediate danger, Scott’s eyes fell from Stiles and turned to what was holding his friend’s attention.

What looked like a tall bonfire stood in the centre of the clearing, burning bright and strong despite the rain. He stood still for only a few moments before turning his attention back to Stiles and taking a few, quick strides over to him. “Stiles,” he said, coming up beside him. “Stiles, are you okay?!” He sniffed the air around him, scanning for any damage that had been done. He could smell blood and could see countless cuts and wounds, but looking at Stiles’ face, none of that seemed to be an issue.

At Stiles’ lack of response, Scott tried again, this time grabbing Stiles’ arm and gripping it beneath his fingers. “Stiles.”

Stiles blinked and leaned back, eyebrows furrowing briefly in confusion before turning to look at Scott. His eyes widened slightly and Scott watched as realisation set into place. “Scott,” he said, clenching his jaw as he took a deep breath. He looked back at the fire, its flames flickering in his eyes.

Scott looked back at the fire and understanding dawned. “Is that… is that her?” he asked.

“Yes,” Stiles replied, never taking his eyes off what was left of the witch. “She’s dead.”

“How did you – I mean, how did… how did she…?”

“Greed,” Stiles said. “She was killed by greed.” He paused, before adding, “And the fact that her legs somehow got stuck in the ground. And she got covered in roots and branches then set on fire. Not sure how that happened, to be honest –.”

Stiles was cut off as he suddenly found himself being grabbed into a hug. Scott’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him tight, his damp hair brushing against Stiles’ temple and his shoulder pressing into Stiles’ chin. Stiles fell silent and after a small moment he quickly wrapped his own arms around Scott, hugging him tightly back.

They eventually broke away and Stiles stumbled a few steps back, leaning his hand against a tree as he fought against the white spots that had suddenly appeared in front of his eyes. Scott steadied him and black lines began running along his forearm; Stiles swatted him away, insisting he was fine. Scanning his body for any pressing wounds, Scott’s eye landed on a particularly soaked piece of fabric along Stiles’ side. He lifted it up to reveal a deep and ugly gash running along the side of his ribs and down to his stomach, still bleeding profusely. He quickly ripped the bottom of his shirt and tied it around Stiles’ waist, stifling the bleeding as best he could. Stiles let him work, taking the brief respite to close his eyes and have a few moments of rest.

When Scott was finished he rose back to his feet and turned around, eyeing the flames as they continued to burn. Stiles opened his eyes and they both watched in silence as wooden-tomb slowly turned to ash.

As the flames died down and the ash began to spread in the wind, Stiles suddenly frowned, the events of the day finally catching up with him. “What happened to the girls?” he asked, turning to Scott. “And Liam. What happened to them? Are they okay, are they –.”

“Dude, stop – they’re… they’re fine. Well, they’re not fine, but when I left them they were alive and I told them to call your dad, and –.”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupted, moving to get a better look at his friend. He raised his eyebrows incredulously. “When you left them, they were alive? What – what the heck does that mean? Were they – were they hurt? And how – oh shit, Lydia and Kira, they – they were hanging from a rope, and then they fell, and –.”

“Stiles,” Scott said, gripping Stiles’ shoulder with his hand. He looked him square in the eyes, trying to calm him down. “Stiles, everyone’s alive, but none of us got out without getting roughed up – some of us just got more roughed up than others. Liam broke his leg, Malia broke her arm, and Kira and Lydia both hit their heads.” Stiles opened his mouth to intervene, but Scott cut him off. “I didn’t smell death on them, Stiles. They were hurt and they need a hospital, yes, but they’re not dying. By now I’m sure your dad has found them and taken them to emergency. So just… just calm down, okay? You’re hurt enough as it is, you don’t need to start freaking out about everyone else.”

Stiles took a deep breath, steadying himself before looking back at Scott. “You’re hurt too, you know,” he said, eyeing pointedly at some of Scott’s wounds.

Scott shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’m a werewolf; we have a tendency to get thrown around and heal better than others.”

Stiles wanted to keep arguing but a coughing fit broke him off, and he spent a few moments hacking away until the fit finally died down and he lifted his head back up, looking over at the flames which were now no higher than a few feet off the ground. The tomb had burned; the witch was dead. And for the first time in a long time, Stiles felt peace.

“Come on,” Scott said, taking Stiles’ arm and leading him into the trees. “You need to get checked out at the hospital, and I wouldn’t mind taking a really hot shower. I don’t think I’ve been covered in this much mud since the fifth-grade mud bog.”

“Dude, the hospital’s like, twenty-miles away from here. It’ll take us hours to get there! By then, we could –.”

“We’re not going to walk the whole way there,” Scott said, his feet splashing through puddles and slipping in the mud. “I left my bike only a mile away from here. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Oh great,” Stiles replied. “So we nearly die fighting a crazy-witch hell-bent on killing us, only to get killed instead on your stupid motorcycle. Thanks, Scott.”

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. “No problem, man.”

Stiles fought back a smile of his own as they two continued to walk through the trees. After a few minutes Stiles looked back, his eyes catching the flickering flames one last time.

The ride to the hospital was anything but pleasant. Each bump they hit sent jarring shocks of pain through Stiles’ body, letting him know of every single injury and wound he’d received during the fight. The fabric Scott had tied around his stomach brushed uncomfortably against the gash, and Stiles could feel the cold wind biting against his blood-wet skin.

Thirty-minutes later they arrived at the hospital and found a place to park, trying to at least be somewhat conspicuous and not go into the emergency room. Scott used Stiles’ phone – which, though cracked and now permanently red and purple, still worked. He called his mom, who met them at the door. Upon seeing them, her eyes immediately went wide and she gave them a look of utter disbelief. “Are you two okay?!” she asked, running her hands over their muddied and bloodied cheeks, and brushing quickly over their arms. “What happened?!” she demanded, looking them both in the eye.

“We’re fine, Mom,” Scott said quickly, looking past her for any signs of the rest of the pack. Catching his mom’s eye, he quickly retracted. “At least, we’re not dying. But the others – the girls and Liam – have they come in yet? Are they okay?”

“They got here half an hour ago,” Melissa replied, her eyes beginning to calm as the nurse in her took over and she began to mentally catalogue all of her son and Stiles’ injuries. “The Sheriff brought them in. Liam and Malia are getting their arms and legs set; Kira regained consciousness on the way here and she’s now being taken care of. She’s got a nasty bump to the back of her head and it’s causing her to throw up, but otherwise they think she’ll be fine. Lydia woke up shortly before you got here; she also hit her head and has been in and out of consciousness. They think it’s a concussion, and they’ll likely keep her overnight to watch her and make sure there’s no further damage.”

Melissa moved past Scott and began checking out Stiles, her hands immediately going to the makeshift bandage that was already soaked through along his side. She frowned before gently pressing the cloth back. She grabbed a clipboard and pen and started walking down the hallway. “Come with me,” she said, and Stiles and Scott quickly followed her down the hallway and into an unoccupied room. She shut the door behind them and locked it, immediately grabbing a trolley and bandages. “Sit,” she said, motioning Stiles towards the bed. Once Stiles was sitting she moved beside him, her eyes never leaving his wound as she began to unwrap it. “Tell me what happened,” she said sternly.

Scot and Stiles eyed each other. After a moment Scott spoke. “What did… what did the girls and Liam say?”

“They told the Sheriff that you all fell off a cliff,” she said, never looking up from her work. Stiles hissed as she began pouring peroxide on the gash. Melissa offered no apology. “But neither he nor I are that stupid, so why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

Scott coughed. “Well, that sounds… that sounds like a pretty good reason to me, so –.”

“Scott.”

“No seriously Mom, that’s what –.”

“It was the witch.”

Both Scott and Melissa looked up at Stiles, Scott with an expression of reluctant acceptance, while Melissa looked at Stiles with a deep frown of concern. She stared at him for a long moment, before going back to his side. “And did you guys kill her?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light, as though this were a normal, every-day conversation.

Stiles didn’t answer, but looked to Scott. Scott swallowed, his eyes dark and lines wrinkled slightly between his eyes in concern, but he nodded in understanding. “Yes,” he said, watching as his mom finished cleaning the wound and started to thread the needle. “Yeah, she’s – she’s dead. We… we killed her and we burned her body, so this time she won’t be coming back.”

Melissa brought the needle down to Stiles’ side, hesitating for a moment, saying, “This will sting a bit,” before pressing the needle into his skin. Stiles clenched his teeth together and gripped the edge of the bed as Melissa worked. Scott placed his hand against Stiles’ arm, black tendrils helping to ease the pain.

A few minutes later Melissa tied a knot and cut the string, and leaned back with a sigh. “You two will be the death of me,” she said, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead. Her eyes scanned the rest of Stiles’ chest and arms which were visible through his torn shirt, and she shook her head. “Take your shirt off,” she said to Stiles, before turning to Scott. “You too. And you might as well take a seat, Scott. I have a feeling we’re going to be here a while.”

She sent both of them home a few hours later, instructing Stiles to stay at their place so that she’d be able to keep an eye on him throughout the night, just in case something should happen. They stopped by Liam and Malia’s room, but Liam had just been taken to get his cast and Malia was getting ready to go next. They asked how each other were doing and when she asked about the witch, Scott assured her that she was dead and her body had been burned. Malia’s eyes stayed on Stiles for a long moment, a slight crease between her brows, as though trying to find an answer to something she didn’t quite know the question to. Stiles didn’t meet her gaze, keeping his eyes stoically on the floor; whether intentionally or not, Scott didn’t know.

They told Malia to let Liam know that they’d been there and that they were going home to rest, but that they’d all get together the next day and let everyone know what had happened. Kira and Lydia were still asleep in their rooms, and likely would remain so through the rest the day and into the night. So after finishing their talk with Malia, Scott and Stiles finally headed home.

Stiles had gone quiet ever since Melissa had stitched him up, letting Scott do all the talking whenever someone saw or stopped to talk to them. When they arrived at Scott’s house, Scott had been about to ask him what was wrong, when Stiles’ phone suddenly rang.

He stared at it for a brief moment, as though unsure about whether to answer, when finally he took a breath and swiped his thumb across the screen. “Hey Dad,” he said, his voice heavy with forced enthusiasm. Scott watched as his smile faded and his lips pressed together, exhaustion evident with every line on his face and every movement of his body. “No, I wasn’t with them… no… no, Dad – I’m fine, really. Yeah, she’s… she’s dead. We burned her body, so… so she’s not coming back.” His jaw shifted slightly, his teeth clenching together. “Not this time.”

A few more moments passed and Stiles took a breath, rubbing his hand against his forehead as he closed his eyes. “I got banged up a bit, but that’s all. Melissa checked me out and said I was fine.” Scott rolled his eyes and Stiles gave him a look, but Scott remained silent. Stiles turned back to his conversation. “No really, Dad – I’m fine. I’m at Scott’s right now…. Because Melissa told me to – no, wait – no Dad, that doesn’t – I didn’t mean…. I’m fine, seriously. No Dad, you don’t have to come over… honestly Dad, I’m not in danger, I’m completely fine….” Scott wasn’t sure how many more times Stiles could say he was fine before the word lost its meaning, but after a few more minutes of assuring his dad that he was okay and insisting that he not come over, Stiles finally said goodbye and hung up.

He stared at the phone for a moment before slipping it in his pocket and turning to Scott. “I’m going to head to bed,” he said, making his way towards the stairs.

Scott frowned, stepping forward and following after him. “Stiles,” he started, and Stiles stopped at the foot of the stairs, breathing an audible sigh.

“What?”

“What… what’s wrong?” Scott asked. “Did… did something happen, when you were fighting the witch? Did she say something? Are you still hurt and you’re not tell –.”

“I’m fine, Scott. Really.”

“Then why aren’t you talking? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Stiles finally turned around, leaning his back against the wall as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just tired, Scott –.”

“Bullshit. Something’s wrong and I’m tired of listening to you brush it off like none of it matters. So tell me the truth!” Scott’s eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed. “Please.”

Stiles watched him for a long moment, his brows creasing together as he bit his lip, before finally he spoke.

He told Scott everything. He told Scott what had happened when he’d left the room and how he’d gone through the portal to Alayna’s world. He told him how he’d been practicing his powers when she started screaming, how he heard Givens’ voice and how he saw everyone about to be killed. He told him how he felt horrible at leaving her there, how he felt terrified that something was happening to her, that something was killing her, and he was being forced to leave. He told him about finding Liam underneath the tree about to be killed by the Rogue Wolf; how he’d managed to distract the wolf enough before he had suddenly disappeared, and how he was able to lift the tree off Liam and free him.

He spoke about fighting Givens and how he’d almost had a panic attack when he saw Kira and Lydia hanging from the tree; how after that, everything became a blur, and all he wanted to do was kill the witch once and for all.

He talked about teleporting to the other clearing, how he’d fought Givens and how she’d taunted him, how he finally decided that, if he wanted to catch her off guard, if he wanted to finally kill her, he’d have to pretend to give himself up – a typical “succeed or die” Stiles Stilinski plan, and how finally, at last, he caught her – and he’d killed her, before finally setting her alight.

Stiles sighed once he finished, resting his head against the wall from his seat on the stairs, staring at the ceiling. They both sat in silence for a few minutes, before Scott quietly spoke. “So Liam knows,” he said, his words an affirmation rather than a question. Stiles nodded and Scott sighed. “I figured he did. When he and Malia found us afterward in the clearing, he’d started saying something about how you’d freed him, and he seemed really freaked out by it, so I basically told him to shut up.”

Stiles lifted his head, his eyes slightly wide in concern. “So he didn’t tell them?”

Scott shook his head. “No. But I’m sure he’ll be wanting to know, and if we don’t tell him at least something, he’ll eventually tell someone. That kid doesn’t exactly know how to keep his mouth shut.”

Stiles thumped his head back against the wall once more. “Well I don’t think what he saw can exactly be explained away. He sort of got a ringside seat to a fight with elemental magic….”

Scott sighed, slumping in his seat by the table. “I guess… I guess we’ll just have to deal with it tomorrow.”

Stiles stared at Scott a moment longer, before nodding and getting to his feet. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came bright and early and much to both Scott and Stiles’ chagrin, Liam came bright and early with it.

They were woken first by an incessant ringing from Stiles’ phone and then by a loud pounding on the front door, to which they finally, after much groaning and complaining, answered.

Liam was standing on the other side with a wide smile on his face, two crutches being held beneath his arms, and a large cast wrapped around his entire left leg. He looked between the two older boys, his smile never leaving his face. “Hey guys,” he said. “How are you feeling? Are you feeling great? Because I am, even though I had my leg crushed under a tree that somehow got –.” Both Scott and Stiles grabbed him by the collar and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him with a bang.

They sat him on a chair and turned two more around to face him. He looked between them, his smile fading and his lips pressing together in a thin line. “I’d like to know what’s going on now, please,” he said firmly. “Or I swear, I’m going to –.”

“Liam,” Scott warned, his voice trying to set the younger wolf back into place. But Liam would not be easily deterred any longer.

“No, Scott! I know what I saw and I’m not going to let you guys blow it off like it’s nothing; I’m not going to pretend that what I saw was nothing –.” Liam suddenly stopped as his eyes caught Stiles’ hand which was held out before him, and his eyes grew wide.

In the palm of Stiles’ hand lay a vortex of wind, blue streaks of magic intertwined with white wisps of air, circulating over his palm and through his fingers, its force pushing back Liam’s hair and brushing against his shirt. He stared in awe at it for a long moment, before the vortex slowly disappeared. He looked up to see Stiles’ eyes, which were staring back into his own, watching and reading his every reaction. Liam swallowed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Stiles’.

“The witch kidnapped me because I’m what she called a Blessed. I’m an Elemental. I have… I have power over the elements. I can control them and use them in whatever way I want. That’s how I was able to get the tree off your leg – I used the earth to move it away.”

Liam was silent for a long moment, then asked, “And when you were fighting the werewolf, that was….”

“That was the air. I can only use those two, so far. I don’t know if I can use the rest, maybe I can, but it’ll probably be a while before I find that out….”

Liam stared in a stunned silence and Stiles looked away, waiting for his reaction, waiting to see what he’d say, if he’d call him a freak or if he’d run away screa –

“That…” Liam started, licking his lips. “That’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, elemental powers? Seriously?! So you’re like Thor, or something? Or Storm? Or Professor X?!”

Stiles blinked, turning back to Liam with a frown. “I can move stuff with the elements, Liam – not with my mind –.”

“You’re basically like a mutant!”

“I’m not a mutant, Liam, I don’t even know what I am –.”

“Can you fly, like Storm can? Or Jean Gray? Can you?!”

Stiles gaped and he heard Scott laugh, as he tried to calm the young wolf down. “Liam, no – no, I can’t fly, I’m not Storm – holy crap Liam, just sit down, you’re going to break your other leg –.”

Liam, having stood to his feet, suddenly swung around, his eyes wide with excitement. “Wait till the rest of the guys hear about this –.”

“No, Liam,” Stiles said firmly, all traces of exasperation gone from his voice. He caught Liam’s gaze and held it, staring him sternly in the eyes. Liam blinked and his smile slowly died down.

“You can’t tell the others,” Scott said, his arms crossed in front of him, watching Liam carefully.

Liam looked at him incredulously. “Why not? Why wouldn’t you want –.”

“Because people will be looking for me,” Stiles said quietly. “The reason the witch came after me was for my powers, and she was ready to kill me and everyone around me to get them. More people will be looking for me, and they’ll want to try and take them, too. So for now… for now, until I figure more of this stuff out, the less people who know about me, the better. So please, Liam… just don’t, just don’t tell anyone, okay? Not until it’s safe.” Not until I’m ready.

Liam stared at Stiles for the longest time, before finally he sat down, and he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I… I get that, I guess.” They all sat in silence for a few moments before Liam’s face suddenly lit up once more. “Hey, can I at least watch you while you practice? ‘Cause you’re gonna be practicing, right? Like we do at the river? Dude, that’d be so cool to see if you could –.” A loud honk sounded from outside, cutting Liam off. He immediately hunched in on himself, a guilty look crossing his face.

Scott looked past him out the window and frowned. “Dude, did your mom drive you?” he asked.

“Well I couldn’t exactly drive myself, could I?” Liam asked, motioning to his casted leg. Scott and Stiles both rolled their eyes and everyone stood to their feet, making their way to the door where Liam finally made his way outside, promising Stiles that he wouldn’t say a word and telling Scott he’d check in with him later.

As they watched Liam get in his car and leave, Scott couldn’t help but let a wide grin spread across his face. “Looks like you’ve got a new admirer,” he said as he closed the door, trying to hold back a laugh.

Stiles glared at him, resisting the urge to growl. “I don’t want a new admirer,” he said through gritted teeth, “thank-you very much.” At that, Scott did laugh and with a quick pat to Stiles’ uninjured shoulder, he began making his way upstairs, telling Stiles he was going to take a shower and to go ahead and find something to eat. Stiles nodded and watched him go, until finally he was, for the first time in a long while, alone.

He stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to process everything that had happened over the past 24 hours.

The witch was dead – he’d killed her. He still wasn’t sure what he felt about that, about killing another living being and being the one solely responsible for their death. But knowing that, had he not done it, more people would have died – that was a pretty decent comfort.

The second person his mind turned to was Alayna. He’d tried last night to contact her, talking to the mirror when Scott wasn’t in the room, asking if she was all right, if she was still alive, but nothing he said or did elicited any response. He remembered what she’d said about the portal needing to recharge, needing to regain power, and he hoped beyond hope that her silence was all that was, and nothing more.

Then his thoughts turned to himself.

Staring at his hand, Stiles set it out in front of him, spreading his fingers and facing his palm to the ceiling. After a few moments the vortex of wind reappeared, the air weaving and running through his fingers and dancing over his hand once more.

He still didn’t know all that much about his powers or what it meant to be a Blessed. He didn’t know much about Alayna or Givens, and he knew next to nothing about the prophecy; but whatever it was, whatever any of it was – he’d face it. He’d face it, just like he’d faced Givens, and eventually he would figure it out. Because this was his life now – and there was nothing he could do to change it; he could only move forward.

And maybe, Stiles thought, as he turned and spread his fingers towards a plate of cookies sitting on the counter, lifting one off the top and carrying it through the air, until it landed in the palm of his hand – he didn’t want to.