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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Her car?

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

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

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

Or what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you talking about?"

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

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

Oh.

That fight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott.

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

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

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

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

Givens.

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

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

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

"What?" he hissed back.

"Givens, she –."

"Mr. Stilinski, is there a problem?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you two have arguments often?"

"Not like this. Never like this."

"Well, that explains it, then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott nodded. "Okay."

"Have a good day, Mr. McCall."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Stiles ran.

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

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

"Stiles! Stiles, wait!"

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

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

"Stiles," Scott said quietly. "I –."

"Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall?"

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

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

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

"But I –."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friggin' witches.