Warnings: Seeing as this a period piece racist remarks might occur here and there but in no way do they reflect my personal beliefs. This story isn't beta'ed, so all mistakes are mine - feel free to point out annoying typos.
Corporal punishment will be part of this story, so if that's not your thing this is the time to hit that back button. Everyone else; welcome to some hurt!Stiles ;) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf and the cover photo isn't mine (no copyright infringement intended).

Scott watched in terror as the old woman raised both hands, her palms facing the group.

"Get down!" Derek roared and grabbed Isaac who had started running towards the witch.

Derek tossed the teen to the ground and then fell to his knees, arms protectively wrapped around his head.

"LYDIA!" Stiles screamed and threw himself over the girl, just as the witch opened her mouth.

Words in a strange language flowed through the air as the witch chanted. She balled up her fists before releasing a huge energy wave, and her eyes temporarily glowed an icy blue as the blast boomed through the forest.
The wave hit Stiles first, making him fly through the air, and he landed several feet away with a pained "oomph". He turned his head to see the witch closing in on his friends but could only utter a desperate squawk before everything went black.

-xxx-

Stiles woke with a start and fell to the floor. The duvet was wrapped around him and he wrestled it for a moment before realizing what it was.

"What's-," he mumbled as he got to his feet.

Stiles ran a hand though his hair and wondered how he'd gotten back to his house. The last thing he remembered was the energy wave blasting him off his feet and then everything turned black. He had to get a hold of Scott to hear what had happened after he was knocked out.

Stiles looked around and frowned at the room. He didn't remember taking down his posters or replacing his comfy desk chair with a wooden chair! Just how long had he been out cold? Stiles grabbed a pair of jeans from the closet along with a tee and quickly dressed. When he turned to his night stand to get his phone it wasn't there and the teen let out a curse.

"Where are you!" he said and ducked to look under the bed.

His phone was nowhere in sight and Stiles sighed. As he got back up, he looked at the alarm clock on the table and Stiles widened his eyes.

"Shit!" he exclaimed and threw open the door.

He trampled down the stairs, and out of the corner of his eye noticed a fully set table. Stiles raised a brow, wondering what could possibly make his dad cook such a breakfast. The room smelled wonderful and Stiles felt his stomach growl. He skidded to a halt and went back to grab a small stack of pancakes off a plate. Stiles quickly stuffed the first one in his mouth while opening the fridge. The teen crinkled his brow when he took out the milk. Since when did that stuff come in glass bottles? He unscrewed the cap and chugged down a huge gulp before putting the bottle back. Then he turned around and headed to the front door.

"Where do you think you're going in such a hurry, Stiles?" he heard his dad yell rather sternly, and without looking back Stiles opened the door and went outside.

"I'm gonna be late for school!" the teen hollered with a half eaten pancake hanging out his mouth.

When he went to the driveway his heart nearly stopped. His Jeep wasn't there, and Stiles wondered why Scott would leave his baby in the woods. How had they gotten home after the witch-fight? He turned around to go grab his skateboard instead, but noticed his dad leaving the house.

"Dad, can you give me a ride to school? Harris is gonna lose his shit if I'm late!"

The Sheriff stopped in his tracks, then turned to walk to his son. He raised a finger and pointed at Stiles sternly.

"What were those words just coming out your mouth, son?"

"Sorry, Dad," Stiles said and threw his dad a quick, confused look, "But can you give me a ride, please?"

"No, sorry, I have to get to the station. Just grab your bike like always!"

"My bike?" Stiles said slowly and turned around.

He noticed an old, rusty bike leaning against the side of the garage and nodded at it.

"What, that piece of crap-aah!"

The Sheriff thumped the teen in the back of the head and Stiles rubbed the spot.
"Fine, I'll ride the bike. Jesus, Dad!"

Sheriff Stilinski sighed as Stiles got on the bicycle.

"In this house we don't take the Lord's name in vain! And straighten your hair, it's a mess."

"Oh-kaay..." Stiles said slowly, and with one last look on his father hurried down the driveway and headed for school.

-xxx-

Stiles threw the bike on the ground and raced to the doors. The halls were empty and his steps echoed down the corridor as he hurried to the right room. He took a deep breath and then knocked.

Harris narrowed his eyes when Stiles entered.

"Mr. Stilinski," he hissed and pointed at the empty desk with the ruler, "tardy for the third time in two weeks, that's another detention."

Stiles threw him an annoyed glance and quickly went to sit down, while a few of the girls rolled their eyes at him.

"And do something about that hair, you look like a hooligan!"

"What?" Stiles crinkled his forehead, but ran a hand through his messy hair nonetheless.

Mr. Harris started teaching again and Stiles looked to his left. His eyes grew wide as he spotted his best friend next to him. Stiles almost couldn't contain his laughter and had no idea why Scott would ever leave his house looking like that. The slacks and button-down shirt were one thing but the hair was unbelievable. Scott appeared to have half a bottle of grease in his dark hair, the locks combed up and forward and meeting in the middle to form a curl hanging down his forehead.

Stiles sent the teacher a quick glimpse and, when he turned his back to the class, caught Scott's attention.

"Scott," he whispered, "what happened with the witch?"

"What?" he said in a hushed voice, looking confused, "Stiles why do you look like that?"

"Like what? You're the one looking like freakin' Elvis!"

Scott raised a brow.

"Elvis is the king of Coolsville," he whispered and Stiles didn't know what to say to that, "You're not supposed to wear dungarees to school, you better hope Mrs. Moore doesn't see you!"

"Dunga-what?" Stiles asked, feeling more and more baffled.

Before Scott got a chance to answer, the ruler slapped down right in front of Stiles, making him jump in the seat.

"Would you like a trip to the principal's on top of your detention, Mr. Stilinski?" Harris slithered angrily.

Stiles bit down on his tongue for a moment and inhaled loudly.

"No!" he said then with as much attitude as possible.

Harris narrowed his eyes even further.

"No, what?"

"No, thank you?!" Stiles spat with an eye-roll, sick of Harris always being on his back.

The next second the ruler whistled through the air and caught Stiles right on the back of his hand.

"Aah," he yipped and rubbed his hand, "no, sir?" he tried then and threw the teacher an uncertain look.

Harris gave a curt nod and pointed at Stiles with the ruler.

"One more peep out of you and it's straight to the principal's."

Stiles nodded vigorously and felt his cheeks heat up. When Harris turned his back on them Stiles looked at Scott again.

"She must have cast some kind of insane spell," he whispered and looked around at all the greasy hair and poodle skirts in the room, "and we gotta figure out what the hell to do!"

"She who, Stiles? Are you okay, you seem different..."

"Me, Scott look at yourself, man, I'm not the one who doesn't look like myself here!"

Stiles shook his head when he sensed that Scott's confusion was sincere and he let out a puff of air.

"After class you're coming with me. We need to talk!"