A/N: All right folks, grab your coffees and your bookmarks - this is a long one!

Stiles stared at the computer screen, squinting at the small writing that he was currently trying to read. His hand gently touched the machine beside him, pushing it forward ever-so-slightly, reading the article as closely as he could. He'd asked Mr. Torrington, the school's computer teacher, if he could use the Microfilm Reader to go through some old newspapers they had in the archives, ones that came from numerous towns and cities in California, along with a number of other places in the States – including Colorado.

He'd been researching since seven that morning and it was now six o'clock in the evening. He'd tried looking for books to find any information he could on the small town in the mountains, but he'd had no luck, aside from learning a lot about coal-mining in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It wasn't until an hour ago that he'd finally landed on a few names of small towns that had been around in the early twentieth century, in the area of the mountains where he and Scott had been. He'd narrowed it down to three, and then to two, until at last he'd found the newspaper of a very small village, which had a picture of its main street on the front cover – the same street that he and Scott had walked down in their search of help after escaping the mountain.

That had been nearly forty minutes ago, and he'd been searching through the microfilm ever since. He had been about to give up, nearly ready to throw his hands in the air and admit he'd never find it, when, with the quickest glimpse of an eye, he saw it.

Tristan Jacobson.

Stiles' hand froze on the reader, his heart skipping a beat as he read the name over again, and again and again, until finally his eyes went to the top and he started reading the article from the beginning.

Operations of the Hillview Mine will begin in two weeks. Owner and operator, Mr. Tristan Jacobson, has stated that he looks forward to providing employment for over one hundred men, who will dig into the mountain and extract valuable coal which will be sent to refineries elsewhere in Colorado and surrounding States. Mr. Jacobson says he plans to harness the power of water to run many of the mining operations, including the operation of its elevators. When asked about the opportunities this mine will give to the town of Spring Creek, Jacobson says that, should all go according to plan, within fifteen years the town should see a boom unlike any other ever experienced by coal-mining towns throughout the mountains: "There is an underground river that runs through the mountain. Its current will provide enough power to run the mine practically by itself. All that is needed is enough manpower, which will create the tunnels and rooms needed to extract all the coal and minerals that is able to be removed from the mountain. Within ten years this will be one of the greatest mines south of 49. In fifteen, we will be the envy of all."

Not all, however, are as eager as Mr. Jacobson to see the mine begin operations. Mr. Daniel Asterleigh, a former employee of Mr. Jacobson, claims that Mr. Jacobson is too greedy, and that no good will come of the mine. "Tristan Jacobson may provide men with jobs, but he will run them into the ground to get what he wants. Jacobson is a greedy and power-hungry man. Having had the displeasure to work for him a few years ago, I can safely say that I will never work for him again, no matter what price he pays."

Stiles' eyes caught the markered-writing at the edge of the film, scribbled in quick handwriting along the side: For more on Tristan Jacobson and the Hillview Mine, see April 19th, 1911.

In a flash, Stiles pressed the button and spun the microfilm out, removing it and setting it on the table. He grabbed the box of film to his left and searched through it, until at last he found the date he was looking for. With shaking hands he spread the film out, setting it in place before closing the glass. He rubbed his hand against his chest as the screen turned on and the words came into focus. It took no time at all this time to find the article he was looking for, as it was clearly stated in large letters on the front page: "Hillview Owner Tristan Jacobson Missing, Presumed Dead."

Hillview Mine owner and operator Tristan Jacobson, who opened the mine ten years ago this week, went for a hike yesterday morning and has not been seen since. Expected for a meeting yesterday evening, Mr. Jacobson did not arrive. This morning a search party was sent to find him, but the spring blizzard earlier this week has hampered search efforts. Mr. Jacobson, who is known for his punctuality and professionalism, has not been seen in nearly forty-eight hours, and with the bears just coming out of hibernation and temperatures expected to dip below freezing, it is highly unlikely he will be found alive.

Jacobson, the owner and operator of the highly successful Hillview Mine, was forty-seven years old.

Stiles leaned back in chair, looking over the article once more. So Jacobson – Ran Gore – had started this mine, then disappeared in 1911 after going for a "hike". Yeah, he was pretty sure he knew where he ended up….

A loud ring broke the silence of the library and Stiles jumped, eyes searching for the noise until they landed on his phone, which was sitting on the table by the keyboard. He quickly grabbed it, noting the name and picture on the screen: Lydia.

Swiping to the right, Stiles brought the phone to his ear, his eyes drifting back to the black and white article on the screen. "Hello?"

"Stiles, where have you been all day? We've been texting you, but you haven't answered! You're lucky Scott said you were at the library, or you really would have started worrying people."

Stiles briefly held his phone back, and it was then that he saw the number of missed texts that were at the top of his screen. He grimaced, running a hand over his face in exhaustion before moving it down and rubbing it against his chest absently. "I'm sorry Lydia," he said tiredly. The lack of food from missing both breakfast and lunch was catching up with him. "I've been trying to do some research, and I guess I lost track of time."

There was a pause, before Lydia let out a sigh. "It's all right, Stiles," she said. "As long as you're okay. But hey, we were wondering – we're planning on going out for supper at Joe's Pizza. Did you want to come?"

The mere sound of food was enough to make Stiles' mouth water and he quickly began saving the articles into pdfs, throwing them onto this flash drive. "Yeah, yeah that sounds great! When are you guys meeting?"

"We'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"Bye, Stiles."

The call ended and Stiles clicked off his phone, shoving it in his back pocket. He put the microfilms away and shut off the machine, pushing the chair back and heading out the door. Though it took nearly twelve hours, he was glad he at least found something of what he was looking for. Ever since the incident at practice yesterday, he hadn't been able to get Ran Gore out of his head; he'd tried to write it off, tried to make himself believe that what he'd seen had just been a figment of his imagination, a consequence of a traumatized and overly-strained mind. Scott had said afterward that he believed him, that maybe Ran Gore was indeed here, somehow – that Stiles wasn't just seeing things; but Stiles knew that Scott was just trying to appease him, trying to calm him down so that he wouldn't freak out like he did the other day, when he'd been so angry that he could have just snapped his stupid lacrosse stick and thrown it as his friend, because for fuck's sake, he'd known what he'd seen, so why didn't Scott – his best friend, his brother – why didn't he fuckin' believe him?! Why didn't he –

Stiles pressed the palms of his hands hard against his eyes, taking a moment to breathe as he pushed the bubbling anger back down. After a moment he dropped his hands back down and made his way out of the library.

At supper Scott asked Stiles if he'd found anything interesting, and Stiles told him about the two articles discussing Tristan Jacobson. Scott said he'd like to have a look at them and asked if he could come over that evening. Stiles wanted to say yes, wanted to spend a night just relaxing on the couch and playing video games, but the energy that he'd had for the past few days had finally begun to wane, and he figured he'd try and get an early night before heading back to school the next day. Dinner was the first time all five of them had really been back together since Scott and Stiles had returned, and to Stiles' surprise it was shockingly void of concerned questions and worried looks. For a moment, it almost felt as though everything were back to normal. He spent the rest of the evening with his dad, talking about the latest cases the Sheriff's office was facing and any leads that they had so far. He didn't stay up for long, however, his constant yawning prompting his father to all but order him to go to bed, which Stiles eventually did.

The next morning Stiles woke with a headache thrumming behind his temples. He got dressed and grabbed his things together, popping a few Advil in his mouth before heading out the door. He got in his jeep and drove to the school, parking in his usual stall, where Scott arrived on his bike a few minutes later. They walked into the school together and as they did, Stiles handed Scott a copy of the articles that he'd printed out the night before. "Here. It's all that I could find on Ran Gore. Before he became a murderous psychopath, anyway."

Scott scanned the articles over briefly as they made their way to their lockers; he looked up after a few moments and saw Liam and Hayden standing a few feet away, watching them expectantly. Scott quickly folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "Hey guys," he said as they stopped in front of them. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Liam replied, and Hayden offered a smile.

The three proceeded to discuss when they'd be meeting next for training and Stiles let them talk, moving past them and opening his locker door. He rubbed his chest before moving his hand to the back of his neck, which was unusually hot. His throat began to tickle and he coughed a few times, trying to clear it. He shoved his bag inside the locker as he did, expecting the irritation to go away, but it didn't. Instead it continued, growing more and more painful with each and every cough. He covered his mouth with his arm, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could, but soon all he could think about was the cough that was trying tear its way through his throat, and the sudden and painful pressure that was increasing within his chest. He struggled to get air, to take a breath, to breathe – but he couldn't; it was like something had grabbed his lungs and was now squeezing tighter and tighter, until he couldn't breathe and he was trying to breathe, but he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe and –

Suddenly there was a fist pounding on his back and Stiles felt something slip inside his chest. Without warning his lungs opened up and he sucked in a great breath, taking in as much air as he could. It was after a few moments of desperate breathing that he realised someone was talking to him: "Stiles, hey Stiles – are you all right?!"

Stiles wiped his hand across his mouth, removing the spittle that fallen across his lips, and he looked up to see Scott staring at him in frightened worry. Stiles glanced back at Liam and Hayden, who were also looking at him in concern. He quickly nodded, pushing Scott's hand away. "Yeah – yeah, I'm fine. Just got something got caught in my throat, that's all." Scott frowned, worry still marring the edge of his features, but he didn't say anything more. A few minutes later Liam and Hayden said their goodbyes and disappeared into the hall.

When they were gone Scott slowly began grabbing his things, though he continued to glance at Stiles every few seconds. Stiles grabbed his books and gritted his teeth together, trying to ignore the werewolf, but he couldn't. He felt as though he could physically feel his eyes on him; as though he could literally feel his concern and worry blanketing him – suffocating him. After a few moments Scott's quiet voice finally spoke: "Hey Stiles, are you sure you're all right? Your heart is still beating pretty fast, and –."

A loud bang resounded throughout the hallway as Stiles slammed his locker shut, causing Scott to jump in surprise. Stiles turned, his eyes narrowed in a vicious glare at the other man. "Would you stop fucking listening to my fucking heart?!" he shouted. A few of the kids around them turned to look at the sudden commotion, but as the final warning bell rang, they turned back and continued on and passed them by.

Scott stared at Stiles in shock, taken aback by his friend's sudden outburst. He opened his mouth, hesitating a few times before speaking. "Stiles, I –."

"I don't need your fuckin' concern, Scott!" Stiles interrupted angrily. "The entire time we were in that mountain, that's all you fuckin' did! 'Are you okay?' 'Are you feeling all right?' 'Do you need me to help you walk?' Well guess what, Scott? I'm not your fucking damsel in distress. I am stronger than you could ever fucking hope to be – I can do things you can only wish you could do. So don't fuckin' patronize me –."

Scott could hear Stiles' heartbeat racing in his chest and could smell the anger rolling off him. Then suddenly, something hit Scott's nose that he wasn't prepared for – smoke. He looked round as Stiles continued to shout at him, searching for the source of the smell, when suddenly his eyes landed on Stiles' books, which were being held in his arms. Stiles' fingers held the edges of the cover like vice grips and as Scott looked closer his eyes began to widen, as he realised that Stiles' hands were starting to smoke and the area of the cover surrounding his fingers were beginning to turn black. Scott's eyes snapped up to Stiles, who was continuing to yell. It was then that Scott saw his irises begin to darken and a red mist slowly appear.

Without warning Scott grabbed Stiles' books, ripping them from his hands. Scott saw the confusion momentarily overtake Stiles' face, before being replaced with fury once more, the red mist around his eyes thickening. Scott had to push down the urge to roar and subdue his pack-member, that his instincts were screaming was becoming a threat with every passing second.

For a moment, Stiles fought back. He grabbed Scott's wrist and Scott nearly swore as he felt his skin begin to burn. But then suddenly the burning stopped and Stiles' grip fell away. Scott looked past the books to see Stiles staring at them in stunned silence.

Stiles stared at the book that Scott was holding in front of him, his eyes falling over the blackened handprint that now adorned its cover. The burns were deep, looking almost as though someone had taken a hot iron and pressed it hard against the wooden-covered plastic, leaving permanent black grooves in its place.

There was silence for a few moments until Stiles finally looked up at Scott, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I – I didn't… I didn't mean to do that."

Scott stared incredulously at Stiles' hands, before looking back at his eyes, which were now back to their normal brown, absent of any mist. "Stiles, that… that wasn't air or, or earth. That was fir –."

"I know," Stiles quickly interrupted. He grabbed the books from Scott, pressing his hands firmly against the covers. "I know."

"Has this… has this ever happened before? Aside from Givens?"

Stiles remained silent, but that was all the answer that Scott needed. By now the halls had mostly cleared, with only a few stragglers lagging behind. Scott looked Stiles up and down, taking note of the greased look of his hair, and the small sheen of sweat reflecting off his brow. "Stiles, maybe you should go home," he said. "You don't look so good."

Stiles wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and he took his books from Scott, holding them tight against his chest. "No, I'm fine."

Scott frowned, giving Stiles a stern stare. "Stiles, I'm serious – you don't look well, and you smell… you smell off. I think you're sick, man."

Stiles just shook his head, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine, Scott – seriously. I don't… I don't know what came over me, but I'm not going home. I spent four days thinking I'd never see this damn place again, and I'm not going to run off just because I might be under the weather. Besides, if I want to graduate, I can't be missing any more classes – you know that."

Scott did know that; he was in the exact same boat. Their attendance record for the past three years would be laughable, if it didn't pose such a danger to actually receiving their diplomas. But at the moment he didn't care about that; all he cared about was making sure that his friend, who had gone through more in the past six months than Scott ever wished to know, was okay; and after what had just happened, Scott was no longer sure he was.

But Stiles was right. He couldn't tell him what to do, no matter what his instincts as an alpha wanted. So with a sigh, Scott finally relented and nodded his head. "Okay, then – we better get to class."

Stiles smiled and Scott returned it with his own; whatever animosity that had been between them before now completely gone, as it most often did between them. Scott let Stiles move past him as they headed to home-room, watching as he lifted his hand and rubbed it against his chest. Scott frowned, but said nothing as he followed, hoping instead that whatever illness Stiles had, would quickly go away.

But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, no matter how much he tried to act as though it wasn't there, Scott could not get rid of the feeling that something – somewhere – was about to go horribly wrong.

Stiles tried to ignore what had happened earlier that morning, tried to chalk it up to having been nothing more than a mix of stress and exhaustion. But there were only so many times he could do that, before the excuse lost its meaning all together. He stared at his hand that was held open in front of him, ignoring the lecture on biology that Mr. Sullivan was currently giving at the front of the class. He followed the lines in his palm and the prints in his fingers, wondering how on earth he had just used the element of Fire, something he had been trying – and failing – to do for the past six months. Stiles' chest began to ache and he pressed his other hand against it, trying to massage the pain away. Maybe Scott was right, maybe he should have gone home; maybe he wasn't as well as he thought he was….

Suddenly Stiles' chest constricted and flames flashed in his hand, before abruptly disappearing into smoke. Stiles jumped and immediately closed his hand, warmth spreading through his fingers and up his arm. He looked up to see if anyone had noticed, but thankfully no one was looking at him. He clenched his teeth together and ran a hand through his hair, wondering what on earth was going on. He was happy to finally have control over fire, thrilled, even – Alayna had said they would all come eventually – but it would be nice if they didn't start spazzing out in the middle of class.

By fourth period Stiles was feeling a bit better, but he still couldn't get rid of the nagging headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes. He ended up digging into his bag for the bottle of Advil that he kept on hand – because not everyone had magical healing powers like werewolves – and took a few more pills, hoping that it would soon take away the aches in his shoulders and the thrumming pain in his head.

At lunch everyone agreed to meet in the forest at their training spot near the river; it had been nearly three weeks since they'd last met, and in an effort to make things feel as though they were back to normal, they figured a good day of training would be the best thing to do.

Stiles stepped over the branches and trees that had fallen over the path as they made their way through the woods, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. The sky was clouded in grey, casting a rather dismal atmosphere across the forest. He fought back a shiver, futilely hoping that none of his werewolf, werecoyote, and banshee friends would notice. Thankfully, though, no one said anything, and they continued to walk for another ten minutes, until they finally reached the river.

He could feel the Earth surround him, its energy trying to feed him and give him warmth, but whatever illness Stiles had caught – yes, he was willing to admit that he might indeed be sick – was having none of it, and Stiles continued to feel more and more like crap. He didn't say anything though, as he wanted to spend the day with his friends, of whom he hadn't properly spent much time with in what felt like an age.

"Okay Liam," Scott said as they arrived in their usual clearing. "You head over there and spar with Malia for a while; I'll stay here with Lydia. We'll try and work on your scream again, is that okay?" Lydia nodded and the two stepped further towards the river. Scott quickly looked over his shoulder at Stiles, who was just in the middle of sitting down on an old, fallen tree. "Stiles, you good?" he asked.

Stiles nodded as he sat down, taking a deep breath of fresh air as he leaned back against the tree. He wrapped his coat tighter around him and he closed his eyes, letting the Earth seep into his skin and provide whatever little comfort it could. Stiles took a moment to be thankful that he had his powers back, his thoughts turning briefly back to the mountains when his powers had randomly decided to stop working. He hadn't had much time to think about it since then, as other – far more pressing – events had taken primary focus, but now he couldn't help but wonder if what had happened was normal or not, and whether or not it would happen again.

Twenty minutes passed, and then forty, before Stiles' legs began to ache along with every other part of his body. The group had now switched, and Scott was working with Liam while Lydia was teaching Malia techniques to help keep her calm when angered. After a few more minutes Stiles stood up, supressing a cough that was trying to scratch its way through his throat. Scott still heard the noise, however, and turned to look at him with a questioning gaze. "I'm fine," Stiles said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm just going to go for a walk for a bit, stretch my legs."

"All right," Scott replied, though his voice was hesitant. "If you're sure."

Stiles couldn't help but roll his eyes as he turned away and began heading into the trees. "I'm sure."

He walked absently through the forest, with no particular destination in mind other than to just walk and to enjoy the elements around him, however muted they were. Eventually his thoughts turned to the incident that had happened that morning, and how – through no intentional effort of his own – he'd managed to finally use the element of Fire. It hadn't exactly been in the right place at right time, admittedly – but Stiles couldn't help but feel relief at having finally gained access to another element.

Stiles slowly came to a stop by the river's edge and lifted his hand, staring at his palm, a small frown tugging down at his lips. After a moment he closed his eyes, took a breath, and focused.

He felt his chest warm, and a few seconds later he could feel something tingling in his hand and he opened his eyes, looking down to see a bundle of flames sitting in his palm and dancing around his fingers. Stiles couldn't stop the small smile of awe that pulled at his lips, as he watched the fire wrap itself around his hand and begin to circle round his wrist. And to think, all that was needed was Scott to piss him off….

Suddenly the flames grew larger and without warning there was a small burst, and the flames fell off his hand and onto the ground. The grass quickly caught fire and began to burn. Stiles flailed in panic and immediately began stepping on them, trying to put them out as fast as he could. Instead of dying, however, they only spread further. Finally Stiles took off his coat and got on his knees, smacking the jacket against the flames to try and suffocate them; but then his hands erupted into flame once more and his jacket became washed in fire. He stared at it in stunned silence for a moment, before reaching out his hands, trying to think of something, anything to –

A gust of wind burst forth from his outstretched fingertips, pushing the fire further along the riverside, engulfing more and more grass with each passing second.

Stiles could only stare in disbelief. Shit. Shit, shit, shit –

Then suddenly, the water on the river's edge rose, swelling above the rocks and seeping into the ground, until it was running over the fire, covering the flames and snuffing them out in seconds. Stiles stared with wide eyes; was that – had he…? Did he just –

"Here, why don't you let me help with that?"

Stiles' head snapped up, and his eyes met those of Ran Gore.

There was silence for a moment as the two men stared at each other, nothing to be heard but the wind through the trees and the water running through the river.

Stiles slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him. His teeth were clenched tightly together, his eyes set in a hard stare; he gripped his fingers into fists, every muscle in his body growing taught.

Ran Gore was there – right in front of him. He wasn't an illusion, he wasn't a figment of his imagination – he was real. And he was here.

But this time, Stiles wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

Stiles raised his hand towards Gore, gathered the air in his palm, and released. The wind burst forth in a violent wave, heading straight towards the man in front of him, but rather than being caught off guard, Gore merely stepped to the side, a smile stretching across his lips. The wind missed and crashed into a tree, splitting it in half.

Gore's smile morphed into a grin. "My, it looks like someone has found their powers again, haven't they?"

Stiles glared, raising his hand once more. "How the hell are you here?" he spat. "You're supposed to be trapped in your mountain – in your prison that your idiotic greed got you stuck in a hundred years ago!"

Gore tutted his tongue, giving Stiles a faux look of surprise. "My, my," he said, beginning to circle in front of him, "looks like someone has been doing their research. Tell me, who is it that has been spreading such terrible lies about me?"

Stiles didn't answer; instead, he gathered another sphere of wind in his hand and sent it rushing forwards. Again, Gore merely stepped out of the way and the wind flew past, crashing and breaking into another tree. Stiles silently swore. "I know who you are," he said as Gore made his way behind him. "And I know how you got imprisoned in that mountain – Tristan Jacobson."

Instead of surprise, Gore merely smiled in understanding. "Ah, I see – you've been talking to Darius. That old wolf is still hanging about? How is he doing? He and I go way back, you know."

Stiles frowned, wondering what the man meant, but he refused to let himself be sidetracked. Once more he spread his fingers, but this time instead of gathering the wind, he latched onto the Earth – or, more precisely, the branches of the trees. In the blink of an eye he snapped one of the narrowed-branches off and sent it flying forward, straight into Ran Gore's back. This time Gore didn't move and the limb penetrated, impaling him through to the other side. But rather than seeing blood or pain, Stiles only saw water and Gore's sickening smile.

Gore took the branch and moved it casually through his side until it had passed through his body, and then dropped it on the ground. It was soaked through with water.

Stiles looked up at Gore in confusion, and it was then that he realised, as Gore shimmered in the light, that the man wasn't actually here – not physically, at least. Rather, he was just an image – a mirage. A mirage made entirely of water.

Gore grinned as understanding dawned on Stiles' features, and he started to walk around him once more. As though to prove Stiles' supposition, he walked past the rocks on the river's edge and onto the water, his feet never breaking its surface. "You escaped my mountain," he said, his voice holding a edge of respect. "I wondered if you would. There are great prophecies of you, after all." He clucked his tongue. "But you left without a parting gift! What a terribly rude thing to do." He smiled. "But no matter. I was still able to give you a gift before you left the mountains. And now, in return – you have given me a gift. A great gift. And I thank you for it."

Stiles followed Gore as he moved around him, never letting him see his back. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked. "You didn't give me anything, you bast –."

"Oh, but I did! I have ways of reaching outside the mountain than you, or even Darius himself realise. But that is no matter. What's done is done, and now all you need to do is sit back and enjoy the show. Besides, you'll soon be mine, anyway, whether you like it or not."

A deep sense of foreboding coursed through Stiles' veins and his heart skipped a beat, as fear began to thrum through his veins. "So what," he said, trying to bide time as he tried to figure out what to do. "You just randomly like to capture people that happen to wander in your mountain? Let them walk in the dark until they starve and die? Do you eat them for food right away, or keep them in a fridge for later?"

Gore's lips twisted in a dark grin, and Stiles suddenly wished he hadn't asked. "What happened a hundred years ago wasn't a mistake," he said, continuing to walk. He stepped out onto the water once more. "The people of that town were meant to feed me for a hundred years, and they did – they served their purpose, and they served it well. But now I need more. My energy is waning, and it's time to find another batch."

"So what? You just spend a hundred years eating their flesh? That's what you do to keep alive? You sick bastard –."

"Oh goodness, dear boy – is that what Darius has told you? What an awful thought! I am far more dignified than that." His eyes never left Stiles' as he made his way back onto the ground, his feet drifting through one of the fallen trees, readjusting itself as he stepped past. "No. It's not the flesh of a human that I need to stay alive, boy – it's their soul." Stiles took a step back as Gore drew closer. "To be honest, I didn't know how I was going to find more souls to feed on, what with my being trapped inside a mountain, and all." He caught Stiles' eye and a small grin tugged at his lips. "But then, something happened six months ago that I'd never felt before. It was like a powerful wave of energy had pulsated through the earth, through the air, through the water. I knew what it was right away, of course – I know the prophecies as well as any other. The Blessed had awoken.

"At first, I thought nothing of it. Being imprisoned as I am, what good would the Blessed do for me? But then I started to think, and I realised that you could be far more useful than I thought. The soul of a human can keep me alive for years; but the soul of the Blessed – now that could do far more than I could even dare to dream. So I started to plan. And I sent you an invitation, cordially inviting you to come visit. That the True Alpha was with you, was only an added bonus."

Stiles' brows furrowed in confusion. "Invitation? What invitation? You didn't send anythi –." The memories of telling Darius about the letter, and how no one in the Colorado Pack – including Darius himself – seemed to know anything about it, came back to him, and his heart fell in his chest as he realised what had happened. "You sent it," he said slowly. "You sent the letter, not Darius. You – you brought us to the mountains, you lured us there, like – like –."

"Like a fish on a hook, yes."

Stiles continued to stare in disbelief, the new information rapidly trying to sort itself in his mind. Thunder cracked loudly above them as the skies began to grow dark, but Stiles paid it no attention. "But… but if you knew that I was an Elemental, if you knew of my power, then why – how could you think that I'd –."

"Ah, yes, your powers." Gore spat the last word out of his mouth with vehemence, as though it were something distasteful on his tongue. "Well I've been planning this for a long time, it certainly wasn't a spur of the moment decision. So of course, as you implied, I would need to find a way to subdue the famed Blessed's powers if I hoped to kill him; just long enough at least, for him to be rendered momentarily helpless, so that I could take his soul. It was quite easy, in the end. All I needed to do was infect you, poison you long enough that, by the time you entered the mountain, you would be completely useless to fight back. Tell me, Blessed – do you know just how many diseases a rodent can carry?"

Stiles blinked once, before his eyes widened in understanding. "That – that… you?! My powers, the reason they stopped working – you planned that? You sent that racoon – that creature, whatever it was – you sent it knowing that I would find it, and that it would attack me –."

"Of course. Killing thousands of people and stealing the soul of the Blessed doesn't happen on a whim, you know. I have been planning this since the moment you awoke. But I must admit, you are more resilient than I gave you credit for. Or should I say, the bond you share with the True Alpha is far more powerful than I had expected."

Stiles frowned, looking at the man once more in bemusement. "What are you talking about?"

"You may be an Elemental, but the power of water is my domain. Only I am its true master, and only I can use it to all of its capabilities. The Water has been mine since the day I was born." Gore stopped walking and gestured to his right. A mist of water appeared in the air and shimmered once, before the image of a person began to form. Stiles watched as the person – the girl – came into focus, and as it became clearer and clearer, Stiles realised with a start that he recognised her.

It was the girl from the lake. The one that he'd rescued, the one that the four other swimmers had tried to help, which had caused them to get trapped in the reeds and nearly drown. It was the girl that Stiles had never seen before and had never seen again – until now.

Gore took note of Stiles' stare. "Yes, she's a pretty thing, isn't she? I fashioned her after one of the young women whose soul I took all those years ago. Hers was quite energetic, if I remember."

"So… what?" Stiles asked, turning his eyes to Gore. "You were trying to drown me? Is that what you were wanting to do?"

"Drown you, dear boy? Why of course not! You clearly do not yet know just how powerful the elements can be. No; I wasn't trying to kill you. The Water can do far greater things than you realise; had I been successful, I would have brought you to my mountain at that moment – we would have had such fun together, you and I, before I ripped out your soul. And I would have had you, too, if your True Alpha hadn't gotten in the way. He is a rather troublesome thing, isn't he? He's one of the most dangerous creatures I know. After you, of course."

Stiles straightened, lifting his head as he looked Ran Gore in the eye. A crack of thunder boomed loudly above them, followed quickly by another. The thunder shook the ground, like that of a war drum beating in the distance. "So what is it you want? Why are you here? Is it me you're after? Because if I am all you want, then I will gladly come back to the mountains and I'll kill you myself."

Gore threw his head back and laughed, his voice echoing alongside the thunder. After a few moments, he gathered himself back together, his smile still stretched wide across his face. "Oh my dear boy, I assure you – while yours will be the greatest soul to add to my collection, you are not the only reason I am here. No. I have lasted a hundred years so far, looking no older than the age I was when I first took my powers. But my strength is waning; the souls I took are now all used up. I need more. And I have chosen your little town of Beacon Hills to become my next supplier. And it's all thanks you.

"You see, when you left the mountains, you took more back with you than just your memories and your scars. You took back with you a connection – one that has now established itself with me, a connection that I will soon use to bring all the souls of your town to my mountain, leaving behind a wonderful mausoleum of death and decay – and I will feed on them for one, maybe even two-hundred years! And it's all thanks to you, my dear boy.

"But of course, I'll need energy, if I am to accomplish what I desire. And without any more towns nearby, I suppose I will have to use whatever options are available."

Stiles knew immediately what Gore was saying and he glared at the other man in fury. "You leave them alone," he said. Fire burst forth from his hands and engulfed his arms, the ground beneath them beginning to shake. "You leave all of them alone! They've done nothing to you!"

The smile from Gore's lips fell away and his eyes darkened. "Oh believe me, child – Darius and his little pack have done more to me than you will ever know. And I assure you, I'll only be too happy to pay them their dues."

Stiles thrust his hands towards Gore and the fire flew towards him, crashing over him and into the trees behind him. Stiles didn't give him any moment to retaliate, as he grabbed the wind and lashed it like a whip. The wind cut into Gore's body, breaking through the mist and momentarily disrupting his image, but which quickly reformed after. Anger welled in Stiles' chest and coursed through his veins, and for a moment, all he could see was red.

Scott looked through the trees, wondering where Stiles had managed to go off to. They had switched partners again, Liam now working with Lydia as Scott worked with Malia. Malia's voice suddenly sounded, bringing Scott out of his thoughts. "Scott?"

Scott continued to stare into the woods, about ready to start smelling where Stiles had gone. "Yeah?" he asked absently.

"Since when can Stiles make fire with his hand?"

Scott's head whipped so violently around back to Malia he could almost hear his neck snap. He could see Liam behind her off near the river, who had suddenly stopped what he was doing and was now looking at them with wide eyes. Malia's eyes were dark and her stare was hard, showing that her question was far from joking.

Finally, Scott managed to speak. "Wh – what are you talking about? Who on earth told you that Stiles could… why would even you think something like that?"

"I saw it, in biology today. I was sitting a few seats behind him when he started staring at his hand. Then suddenly fire just… just appeared in his palm. It went out right away, but when Stiles looked around, he didn't look shocked or surprised – he just looked panicked. But when he found out no one was looking, he relaxed. I guess he didn't see me."

Scott gaped, completely at a loss of what to say. Malia, she – she had seen, she had seen, and –

"Is this what you two have been hiding? I've known something was up with him for a while, but I –."

Suddenly there was a deafening crack of thunder and the ground shook. Scott looked up and suddenly realised how dark the sky had become. The clouds were moving swift and fast, having seemingly gathered out of nowhere, and were now heading to the east. Scott's senses went on high alert and he sniffed the air, vaguely catching Stiles scent. Every part of the wolf within him screamed that something was wrong, and before Scott could even say a word, he was off and running through the trees.

He followed the scent as it grew stronger and stronger, weaving his way around the trees and ducking under branches, following the clouds to where he knew Stiles would be. Suddenly he broke through the trees and into a clearing where he stumbled to a halt, his eyes growing wide in shock at what he saw.

Stiles was standing near the river, his arms surrounded with wind and flame, throwing them at a man in front of him, who seemed completely unaffected by it all. When Scott looked, he realised with a jolt of shock who the man was. Ran Gore.

Stiles had been right. Gore was here, he was here in Beacon Hills. He was here.

Without warning Scott gave a loud roar, his face and hands morphing into the werewolf, and he ran out towards the man, his hand raised and ready to attack. When he reached him, he brought his clawed-hand down and ripped it through his neck. To Scott's surprise, however, his hand did not meet flesh and bone, but instead became immersed in water until it broke through the body and to the other side.

Gore took a few steps back, smiling at Scott and Stiles all the while. "Well I must say, it's been wonderful talking with you; we must really do it again some time! I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, Blessed." Gore grinned. "Very soon." He turned his attention towards Scott, who was standing before him, his claws outstretched and ready to attack. "It was wonderful to see you again, True Alpha. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you – you were meant to join the Blessed in what will soon be his ending, but I will admit, I don't always have the best of help, something I plan to fix in time for your next visit." Gore smiled, then gave a wave. "Until we meet again, boys." Gore shimmered once, twice, then disappeared into the mist.

Scott stared into the air in utter disbelief for a moment, before spinning around to face Stiles. The flames around Stiles' arm faded, before disappearing entirely, and Stiles' arms fell to his side. Scott could see a thick sheen of sweat glistening off his brow and could smell the sickness rolling off him in waves. He quickly ran over to him, grabbing his arm to steady him as he began to tilt. Stiles managed to stay upright, however, and finally turned to Scott, giving him a half-hearted glare. "Do you believe me now?" he asked. A cough began tearing its way through his throat, and Stiles couldn't help but lean against his friend in order to stay on his feet. The fight had completely exhausted him, and he felt ready to collapse.

At that moment there was rustling through the trees, and Scott and Stiles looked up to see Lydia, Malia, and Liam bursting through into the clearing. They looked around a few times for any danger, before spotting Scott and Stiles and quickly making their way over to them.

"Stiles, Scott!" Lydia shouted as she drew near, her eyes wide in fear and concern. "Are you two okay?"

Liam stepped forward. "Scott, what happened –."

"Ran Gore was here."

The girls and Liam stared in shocked silence for a moment, before quickly finding their voices. "What – what are you talking about?" Lydia asked. "Ran Gore? Isn't that the man you met in the mountains? I thought you said he couldn't leave! What on earth is he doing here?"

"I don't know, but we need to find him. Liam, you take Malia and go –."

"No," Stiles interrupted, managing to speak between coughs. Everyone turned to him and he shook his head. "No. He's not… he's not really here, he's still in the mountain."

Scott's brows furrowed in confusion. "But then, how –."

"He's still able to be here, somehow. Use the water to make it seem like he's here; he's still able to use his powers. He… he wants Beacon Hills, he wants the people in Beacon Hills. He's planning… he's planning to do the exact same thing he did before, a hundred years ago. He wants to do to Beacon Hills, exactly what he did to the town in the mountains."

Everyone's eyes widened and the tension around them grew thick, as everyone realised what Stiles was saying.

"So – so he's planning on killing them?" Liam asked. "He wants to kill everyone? Every person in the town?"

Stiles ran a sweaty hand through his hair, shaking his head as he did. "No. No, he doesn't want to kill them – not yet. He doesn't want their lives, he wants their souls. That's his plan – to take everyone's souls and use them for himself."

Silence fell over them once more, as everyone took a moment to truly take in the weight of what Stiles was saying. "We have to stop him," Lydia said, her wide eyes turning to Scott. "How can we stop him?"

Scott opened his mouth, about to reply, when Stiles suddenly began to cough once more, his shoulders leaning more heavily against Scott. Scott pressed his lips together and he tightened his grip around Stiles' shoulders. He looked back up at the pack, his eyes set. "I'm going to take Stiles home," he said firmly.

Stiles immediately shook his head. "No, Scott – I'm fine! I'm fine, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather, that's all –."

"Stiles," Lydia interrupted, stepping forward. "Stiles, you look like you're ready to collapse. Let Scott take you home."

Stiles just shook his head once more, even as sweat began to drip across his brow. "No, no Lydia – you don't understand, I have… I have to help! I have to help you guys, we need to find Ran Gore, we need to stop him and –."

Lydia reached out and grabbed Stiles' hand, giving it a comforting but firm squeeze. "We'll take care of it, Stiles. We'll do the research, we'll do the planning – you just go home and sleep. You haven't been feeling well all weekend; and knowing you, you probably haven't been feeling well since you guys got back, and you've just refused to tell anyone." Stiles' look of guilt was all the affirmation that Lydia – and everyone else – needed. "Go home and get some sleep. As soon as you're better, you can come back."

Finally, Stiles nodded, letting Scott lead him out of the clearing and towards the trees.

Scott brought Stiles straight back home and helped him into his bed. By then, Stiles was all but asleep, completely gone the moment his head hit the pillow. Scott let out a heavy sigh as he stared at Stiles' sweat-glossed forehead, and listened to his quickly-beating heart and rasping breaths. He knew Stiles had been getting sick, he knew he hadn't been feeling well for a while, and he wished he had forced Stiles to get some rest sooner. The fight he'd had with Ran Gore had clearly pushed him over the edge, and his body was now rebelling against itself as the sickness made its way through him. Well, Stiles was certainly going to lay low and get better now. Scott sent out a text to Stiles' dad, letting him know that Stiles was sick and that he was back home.

Scott stayed for another two hours until the Sheriff got back from work. He told him everything of Stiles' symptoms, and how he hadn't been feeling well all weekend. The Sheriff sighed, but revealed that he'd been wondering if this was going to happen. Stile had a tendency to get sick whenever he had been too stressed, or whenever he went through a particularly traumatic event. After what had happened in the mountains, John had figured it was only a matter of time before his body responded accordingly.

With Stiles now in the care of his father, Scott finally went home.

Stiles was jarred awake when his chest gave a great spasm, his muscles and lungs contracting painfully, feeling as though something were exploding from inside. The pain abated for a moment, and Stile's hearing slowly came back. He could suddenly hear people talking downstairs, two low voices, and he vaguely recognized them as his father and Scott. He looked around for a clock, wondering what time it was – wondering what day it was. His eyes landed on the light of his clock near his bed: 12:03pm.

Without warning his chest spasmed again; Stiles grabbed his chest and gave a weak and strangled cry, rolling to his left and falling out his bed with a thud. He coughed, his throat feeling like someone had taken sandpaper to it; he needed something to drink. He was suddenly more thirsty than he'd ever felt before – well, maybe not ever. The mountain, the mountain was the most thirsty he'd ever felt. It was the most hungry he'd ever felt, the most tired, the most cold. The most despair. And it was all because of him – because of Tristan Jacobson. Because of Ran Gore.

Ran Gore. He'd seen him, he'd talked to him. He… he was going to do something, to someone – somewhere. He was going to hurt someone. He – he had to be stopped. He had to stop him, he had to find him and stop him; he had to find him….

Stiles' arms were weak and he could barely move, but he reached out across the floor, inching forward bit by bit. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find Ran Gore, he needed to stop him – he was going to do something, he was going to do something….

Suddenly the door in front of him opened, revealing a concerned-looking Scott, whose face turned to outright worry upon seeing him on the floor. "Stiles – Stiles, what are you doing? Did you fall off your bed?"

Stiles shook his head, continuing to crawl forward, trying to get to his feet. "I have – I have to leave, I have to go –."

Scott bit his lip, looking down at his friend in worry. Stiles looked completely out of it, his eyes glossed over and his face shining with sweat. His hair and bedsheets were soaked, along with his clothes. Scott was suddenly very glad that he'd chosen to stay rather than go back to school.

Scott crouched down and grabbed Stiles' shoulder. "Come on man," he said, urging him to move. "Let's get you back to bed."

Stiles shook his head once more, pushing Scott away. "No, you can't – I have to leave, I have to get out of here. He – he's coming! He's coming, Scott! We – we have to leave, we have to escape –."

Scott managed to pull Stiles to his feet, his heart dropping as he did. "We got out, Stiles. We escaped. You got us both out, remember?"

Stiles stared at him, his brows furrowed together in confusion, as though he were trying to comprehend what his friend was saying. After a moment he shook his head. "No, no we didn't – we're trapped, Scott – we're trapped and Gore is going to kill them, he's going to kill them all – we have to stop him, we have to stop him –." Stiles broke off with a cry, his body hunching over as he grabbed his chest in agony once more.

Scott quickly adjusted his grip, keeping Stiles upright. "Stiles, let me help you get back to bed. I'll get some new sheets, I'll change out your old ones, and you can go back to sleep and –."

"No!" Stiles' voice resounded loudly through the room as he regained his footing and he suddenly pushed Scott away, causing him to stumble a few steps back. For how delirious and sick he was, Stiles was surprisingly strong.

Scott took a deep breath, and tried again. "Stiles…." He reached for his friend once more, his fingers just about to wrap around his arm, when Stiles suddenly looked up at him, his glaring eyes covered in a blue mist. Without warning, he spread out his fingers and shoved them towards Scott.

Scott went flying backwards until he crashed into the wall and fell to the floor in a heap. He looked up just as the walls began to shake, and he saw Stiles' eyes squeeze tightly shut as his fingers gripped painfully into his hair, the muscles in his jaw moving as he gritted his teeth together. The posters and pictures on the wall began to shake violently until they fell to the floor with a crash. Scott thought the wind would stop, but it didn't. Instead the dressers began to move, shaking and rattling until suddenly each of them broke, snapping into hundreds of pieces. Clothes and objects began lifting into the air and Stiles began to keen, his shoulders hunching over as he curled in on himself.

Scott swore, immediately getting back to his feet. He dodged the wayward objects as they crashed through the air, until he finally reached Stiles' side. "Stiles, Stiles!" he shouted. "Stiles, you have to calm down –." He finally reached out and grabbed Stiles' wrist. At that moment the shaking stopped and all the objects fell to the floor. The mist disappeared from Stiles' eyes and the grip in his hair relaxed; he looked up at Scott, his eyes wide and confused. Scott let his hand fall and it was then that Stiles surged forward, moving past the werewolf and through the open door.

He stumbled out into the hallway and down the stairs, making his way into the dining room. Scott quickly ran down the stairs after him, watching him carefully, every sense on high alert. "Stiles," he said cautiously, "Stiles, man – you have to go back to bed. You're not well."

Stiles shook his head again, but didn't turn around. He looked around, searching for what, Scott didn't know. Suddenly he grabbed his chest, hunching over. Scott stepped forward, about to go over to him, when suddenly Stiles leaned back up and without warning, threw out his arms.

Everything happened at once. The dining table and chairs were thrown into the air, slamming into the walls and splintering into pieces. One of the pieces hit the glass of Stiles' mother's old china cabinet, breaking it into shatters. One of the pieces flew at Scott, nicking him across the cheek. When he looked back up, Scott saw Stiles grabbing his keys off the counter and heading towards the door. Scott swore. "Stiles!" he shouted, manoeuvering over the broken table and fallen glass, "Stiles, stop!"

He followed Stiles outside, where the delusional teenager was trying to open his jeep's door. To Scott's surprise, he managed to turn the lock after only a few tries. Scott ran over to him, keeping his hands to himself this time, but making his presence known. "Stiles," he said firmly, putting in as much alpha-authority into his voice as he could. "Stiles, you can't be driving. You're sick, you're not well enough to be driving. You can't –."

"I have to find him," Stiles said, pulling the door open with shaking hands. "I have to find him. I have to find him, I have to stop him – he has to be stopped, he's going to do terrible things; he's going to do terrible things –."

"Who, Stiles?" Scott asked, trying to deter him long enough to grab the keys from his hands. Though from what had happened inside the house, Scott was no longer sure that was a good idea.

"Ran Gore! He's here – he's here, Scott! Did you see him? Did you see him?!"

"I saw him, I saw him, Stiles!" Scott quickly affirmed, trying to calm him down. Stiles' manic eyes seemed to ease at the agreement, but his hand remained firmly on the door of the jeep as he pulled it open.

"We have to find him," he said, pushing Scott back. Scott stepped away, not wanting to set him off.

"Stiles, let me drive then. You're in no state to –." But it was too late. Stiles was already in the driver's seat and starting the engine. Scott had to move as quickly as he could. "At least let me come with you," he said, urging Stiles to listen to him. Stiles stilled, and after a moment he nodded. Wasting no time, Scott ran to the other side of the vehicle and got inside.

The drive was harsh and erratic, as Stiles' fevered-induced mind sent them swerving all across the road. Scott had one hand on the dash and one hand on the seat behind him, his body and muscles tensed as he prepared to grab the steering-wheel at a moment's notice. His eyes switched between Stiles and the street, thankful that it was mostly empty and that Stiles seemed to at least be obeying some rules of the road. "Stiles," Scott said after a few minutes, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "Stiles, where are we going?" Stiles didn't answer at first, and the tension and panic in Scott's chest began to boil over. "Stiles!"

Stiles suddenly turned the steering wheel to the left and Scott was thrown to the side as the jeep veered onto a dirt road, which Scott vaguely recognized as one that they would sometimes take to school, if the main roads were too busy. They drove for a few minutes, Scott's unease growing with every passing second, before he tried speaking once more. "Stiles?" he said cautiously. "Stiles, where are you taking us?"

To Scott's surprise Stiles answered, as sweat dripped down the side of his neck. "Have to find out more, have to research. We have to find Jacobson, have to stop him."

With a panicked realisation, Scott suddenly knew where Stiles was trying to go. "No Stiles," Scott said firmly. "No, we're not going there. There's no way in hell I'm letting you into the school like you are."

The wheel jerked and Stiles glared at Scott, his eyes holding a crazed sheen that Scott had never seen before. "We have to find him," he said angrily. "Do you want people to die?!"

"No, I don't! Which is why I'm not letting you go there!"

"Fuck you, Scott."

Without warning Scott grabbed the wheel and shoved Stiles to the side, pushing his foot off the pedal. He gripped the wheel and slammed on the breaks. The jeep came to an abrupt stop, throwing them both forward into the dash. Before Stiles had any time to respond, Scott threw the vehicle into park and opened the driver's side door, shoving Stiles out with all his strength.

By the time Scott had followed him out, Stiles was already back on his feet; but instead of looking at Scott, he was facing the other way and heading into the woods. "Stiles!" Scott shouted, running after him. "STILES!"

"I'm going to find him," Stiles shouted back. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to stop him! I can stop him, I can fight him – I can defeat him –."

"No, you're not! You can't go into the school Stiles, I'm not letting you go!"

"Just try and stop me!" Stiles had just made it into the trees when suddenly he was tackled from behind, and he was thrown to the ground.

The two boys rolled over each other across the ground, until at last they came to a stop and separated. Stiles crouched on his feet, his lips turned back in fury as he spread his arms and wind began to circle around them. Scott also crouched low to the ground as his teeth clenched in a snarl, his eyes turning red as his claws and teeth began to grow. Stiles threw his hands towards Scott and the wind bowled over him, sending him spinning to the ground. Scott was prepared, though, and he quickly got back up, running through the trees in the effort to catch Stiles from behind. Trees began to crack and snap in half, leaving a trail of mangled branches and torn ground behind him.

The once-clear sky had turned suddenly dark, and thunder crashed loudly above them as rain began to fall. Scott followed Stiles' scent as the trees began to move around him, their branches reaching towards him, trying to grab him. But Scott was ready, and he was quick – he dodged the trees and kept low to the ground, all the while his eyes never leaving Stiles.

Stiles could tell where he was, Scott could sense that, but he couldn't see him. So as soon as he had his back towards him, Scott surged forward and pushed him to the ground. He grabbed Stiles' arms and tried to pin them to his side, as Stiles continued to struggle relentlessly. Without warning Scott was thrown on his back, and suddenly it was Stiles who had him pinned. Scott stared at Stiles in shock as they struggled against each other, as Stiles' eyes were not merely a mist of blue or green, but they were a completely different colour entirely; his pupils and irises had completely disappeared, as a chaos of blue, green, red, and dark purple converged together, covering all of his eyes, including the whites.

"I AM THE BLESSED!" Stiles screamed at him, holding Scott's arms painfully to the ground. Scott pushed back at him with all his strength, but Stiles' iron-strong grip kept him down. "You are nothing, werewolf!" he spat as the two continued to struggle. "I have more power than you could ever dream to have – I could kill you right now, with just the smallest thought." Scott felt the bones in his arms begin to compress and his struggles to kick Stiles off of him increased.

Stiles, though, didn't appear to notice a thing. "You wolves think you're so smart, you think you're so clever – your kind may have been around for ages past, but my kind has lived for just as long, and we will endure far longer than you ever will." Spit ran down Stiles' chin, dripping onto Scott's chest, but Scott found himself unable to look away from storm roiling in Stiles' eyes. For the first time since Scott had known him, he was truly afraid.

Stiles continued to scream at him, his hold never ceasing. "I am the Blessed, werewolf – I am the Blessed and I will be the one to defeat Ran Gore and all those who will come after him. Mine is a destiny far greater than yours could ever be! I will stand before them when no others will, and I will be the one to break the Darkness. You have no idea what's coming; you have no idea what the future is going to bring. You have spent these past three years believing you have seen it all, that you have faced terrible and wretched things – but you know nothing. You thought that your journey ended with your graduation, that the end of this chapter would be the end of your story. But you are wrong. Your journey has only just begun."

The anger in Stiles' voice had lessened, and Scott took that moment to snap his head forward, bashing it against Stiles' with a loud crack.

Stiles immediately let go of Scott and he fell back, grabbing his head with a cry. Scott wasted no time and he leapt forward, tackling Stiles to the ground. This time, he did not let up, and he dug his knee into Stiles' sternum, before taking his arm and pressing it beneath Stiles' chin. Stiles fought back with a strength Scott only felt when fighting other werewolves, but Scott did not let him get far, as he opened his mouth and let out a terrifying and mighty roar.

Stiles fell back and Scott pushed his arm harder against his throat. Stiles struggled for a few more moments, until at last his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his body fell limp.

Scott drove like a madman, speeding through the town as fast as he could in order to make it to the hospital on the other side. Stiles lay unconscious beside him, his head pressed against the jeep's passenger door.

A short while later Scott pulled into the hospital parking lot, the tires screeching to a halt. He pulled Stiles out of the jeep and ran into the hospital, where his mother quickly met him and took charge. She led him up the stairs and to an empty room, closing the door behind them. "Put him on the bed," she said, grabbing a pair of gloves. "Quickly."

Scott did as she asked and placed Stiles on the sheets. Melissa went round to the other side, her brows furrowed together in worry. "What happened?" she asked.

"He's been sick all weekend," Scott told her. "I thought it was just a cold, but it's gotten worse. I was at his place during lunch, and when he woke he was delirious. His sheets and clothes were soaked and he was trying to get outside. He was completely out of it."

Melissa grabbed a wet cloth and pressed it against Stiles' sweat-sheened forehead. She took her other hand and pressed it against his cheek; she had it only there for a second before she removed it, her eyes wide with shock. "He's burning," she said. She grabbed Scott's hand and placed it on the cloth, pressing it firmly. "Keep this here." She turned around, heading to the cart to look for supplies.

It was at that moment that Stiles groaned and his eyes began to flutter open. Scott let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, when he saw he could see the whites of Stiles' eyes once more. His relief was short-lived, however, when it became evident that his friend was still under a state of delirium.

Stiles looked round a few times, clearly trying to figure out where he was. "Stiles, you're at the hospital," Scott quickly informed him. "You're sick. Don't worry, my mom's going to take good care of you –."

"Scott?" Stiles asked. Scott nodded, but rather than grow calm, Stiles began to move, trying to sit up.

"No Stiles," Scott said. "Stiles, just stay down –."

"Stiles, honey," Melissa said, "you need to stay lying down. I'm going to give you some drugs, so you should –."

Stiles suddenly let out a cry as he sat up, surging forward as he grabbed his chest. "Stiles?" Scott said, trying to get his friend to answer. "Stiles, what's wro –."

Melissa stepped forward, about to help, when suddenly Stiles shouted and flung out his arms. Melissa was sent flying into the wall, while Scott was sent crashing into the door on the other side. Scott immediately rose to his feet, panic coursing through his veins as he looked over at his mother, who was slowly getting back to her feet. Scott turned to Stiles, who was already getting off the bed and stepping on the floor. He noticed with alarm that the tile beneath Stiles' feet had begun to smolder and turn black; Stiles stumbled forward, landing against the wall beside Scott. His palm was pressed against the stuccoed surface, his fingers splayed, and Scott watched with shock as not Earth, Air, or Fire appeared – but ice. His fingers became covered in frost and the ice surged from his hand, crackling its way up the wall.

Scott raised his hands, trying to keep Stiles calm, but Stiles reacted by flinging out his arm, sending the cart of supplies at the end of the bed flying across the room and crashing into the window. Scott gritted his teeth and growled, his eyes flashing red, trying to subdue the other man. Stiles' own eyes flashed with a mist of red as well and he shoved his hands against Scott, pushing him against the wall. Scott roared in pain as Stiles' hands scorched through shirt and began burning into his skin.

They struggled for a few moments, Scott trying to push Stiles off of him as his fists continued to burn into his chest, but it was to no avail. Even sick with delirium, Stiles was too strong. He was too strong, and he wasn't relenting, and he would –.

Suddenly Melissa was standing behind Stiles, and in the next second she was jabbing a needle into his thigh. Stiles immediately let go of Scott and cried out in pain, stumbling back a few steps before collapsing to the floor, unconscious.

They both stared at Stiles for a few moments, catching their breaths, before Melissa finally broke the silence. "So," she said, still breathing heavily, "this is what you've been keeping from me."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Scott said, trying to find words that he could say that would somehow explain everything in just a few minutes. "He, I –."

"This started with the Witch, didn't it?" Melissa interrupted. As usual, she was far smarter than Scott gave her credit for.

"Yes," he replied.

"So… what? He has super-powers now?"

"He's an Elemental. He can control all four elements – and more, apparently."

Melissa let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand across her forehead. Though her words were light, Scott could tell she was about ready to panic. "Well, when you boys go out, you go all out. When he wakes up, do you think he'll be all right?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know what's going on. Ever since he woke up at lunch, he's been like this. We fought before and I managed to knock him out; I thought he'd be back to normal now, but clearly…."

"Well there wasn't much in the needle, so he won't be out for long. You'll need to get him out of here, if you think he's going to do this again."

"I don't – I don't know where to go."

"How many know about this?"

"Just me, Stiles, Liam, and now you."

Melissa stared at her son incredulously. "You mean you haven't told the rest of your friends?"

"Stiles didn't want me to; he kept my secret for me, Mom. I have to keep his for him."

Melissa looked down at Stiles, thinking for a moment, before she looked back up at Scott. "What about Deaton?" she asked. "Doesn't he know about this sort of thing?"

Scott stared at Stiles a moment longer, before looking up at his mom with hard eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, he does."

Melissa nodded. "Okay, let's get him there as fast as we can."

They managed to get Stiles out of the hospital through the staircase and a side door, placing him back in the jeep. "Go," Melissa said, knowing that if Stiles were to wake up, she'd only be a hindrance to her son. "Get there as fast as you can."

Scott arrived seven minutes later at the clinic, grabbing Stiles and carrying him through the door, where Deaton was sitting behind the counter, a book in his hand. At the door's opening he looked up, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Scott?" he said, putting his book down. He caught sight of Stiles held limp in Scott's arms. "Scott, what happened –."

"Stiles is an Elemental," Scott said quickly, his words falling out of his mouth in a rush. "Something's happening to him, his powers are going crazy – he's delirious, and every time he wakes he starts attacking someone –."

The surprise in Deaton's face disappeared, replaced with dark eyes and a heavy frown. "Follow me," he said, and led Scott into a side room, where a long table sat in the middle. Scott placed Stiles on the stainless steel, as his body just began to stir.

Deaton drew up beside him and placed his hand on Stiles' forehead, closing his eyes. A few moments later he opened them and he looked up at Scott, his eyes wide in stunned disbelief. "His soul is trying to escape his body," he said with shock. He placed his other hand on Stiles' upper-body and his brows narrowed together in a deep frown. He closed his eyes once more and pressed hard against Stiles' chest. At that moment Stiles' eyes tore open and his body spasmed, as he let out a scream, writhing in agony. Scott grabbed his arms and restrained him, trying to keep him from falling to the floor. Stiles screamed again and fire burst from his arms, lashing around him in chaos. Scott withstood the pain as the fire hit his skin, the burns quickly healing as the flames died away.

"What's going on?!" Scott shouted to Deaton over Stiles' screams.

Deaton was standing at the counter, rapidly combining different flasks of liquid into one cup. "An Elemental's soul is tied to their powers," Deaton shouted back. "Somehow his soul is trying to escape his body, but his powers refuse to let it go. As a result, they're lashing out in complete bedlam."

"What do we do?!"

Deaton appeared back at Stiles' side, a cup now held firmly in his hands. "Here," he said, motioning to Stiles' mouth. "We need to make him drink this. It will calm his soul and negate the effects of whatever it was that is trying to remove it."

They struggled for a moment as Scott gripped Stiles' mouth and forced it open; at last he did it and Deaton quickly poured in the drink. Stiles choked and coughed, the drink starting to splutter back out, but once Deaton had finished pouring Scott quickly let go and forced Stiles' mouth back together, rubbing his throat until the other man finally swallowed. Stiles' movements immediately began to calm, his head falling back against he table with a thud. The fire on his arms, however, continued to burn.

"Here."

Scott looked up to see Deaton holding a length of rope towards him, and he looked at him in confusion. "What is thi –."

"His soul may have stopped trying to leave his body, but his powers will still be restless. These ropes are filled with magic; they'll help bind Stiles' powers until they're able to calm down and he can control them again." Deaton began wrapping the rope around Stiles' right arm, weaving them across each other until his reached his shoulder. He tore of Stiles' shirt and continued to wrap it around his upper-body, before handing the other end to Scott. Scott hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was the right thing to do, before Deaton finally said his name and he quickly finished the last bit, knotting it at Stiles' wrist.

With a great and shaky sigh of relief, Scott let go and let himself fall back against the counter, closing his eyes as he struggled to reorient himself. For the moment, Stiles was safe. For the moment, they were all safe. For the moment.

For the moment.

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! And thank you to all who've left reviews for the last chapter - you guys are amazing!

Merry (belated) Christmas! I hope you guys are having great holidays.

Please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! I'd greatly appreciate it :)