A/N: Thank you all for your very kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please note: because of rating rules, and because I've been burned before (so I'm sure I'm over-panicking), I've censored parts of this chapter for violence. If you'd like to read the full version, please hop over to AO3 - the link is in my bio. Thanks!

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

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

"Stiles?"

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

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

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

A phone.

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

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

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

"Stiles?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scott. Scott McCall."

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

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

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

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

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

He had to get out of here.

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

"Stiles? Stiles, are you there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what do you want?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes – she was definitely a witch.

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

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

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

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

Stiles shook his head back and forth, sucking in as much breath as he could to speak. "I'm not… I'm not a… a werewolf… I'm not… a werewolf…."

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

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

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

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