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.
