A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed and favourited/followed! Please enjoy.
Stiles followed the not-a-witch-but-maybe-she's-lying-and-is-a-witch, to the front of the house. He expected her to go inside, but instead she walked to the edge of the tree-line and turned around.
Stiles came to a stop a few feet in front of her. "So what can I do?" he asked, raising his shoulders questioningly. "Turn people into frogs? Blow-up my aunt Marge? I do have an aunt that I wouldn't mind blowing up; she is crazier than a loon, I tell you. I took a test online once; it said I would do well in Care of Magical Creatures and Charms. It must of known I already take care of Magical Creatures for a living. And hey – I got sorted by the Sorting Hat, and do you know where it put me? Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff! But then I took another one and it put me into Ravenclaw, so who knows what I really am. The only way to tell is if I actually wore the Sorting Hat, and I'm pretty sure that's still at Hogwarts." He gave Alayna a skeptical look. "You're not sending me to Hogwarts, are you?"
Alayna rolled her eyes. "My goodness, you sure have a mouth on you. I am glad to see that the Witch's spells didn't silence your sarcasm. Your wit, however, may have well been lost."
Stiles furrowed his eyebrows together. "Did you just insult me?"
"Go over there," Alayna said, motioning to the area a number of feet in front of her.
"You haven't answered my question, you know," Stiles said, walking away from her. "What is this power that you say I have? What can I do that somehow makes me 'less than human'?"
"To be honest, Stiles, I'm not entirely sure what it is you can do."
Stiles stared at her, then shook his head in disbelief. "You know, I don't know why you brought me here – you don't really seem to know anything. Is there anything you can do besides drag me around in a circle and tell me I'm some weird freak, whose freakiness is what psycho-witches are after? Because you don't seem to be helping a whole lot otherwise –."
"Who do you think opened that drawer, the moment your friend Scott was calling you?" Alayna snapped, glaring up at Stiles. "Who do you think it was that tried to tell you to not drink the water the Witch was trying to give you? Who do you think made the closet door appear, not once, but twice, in order that you might be able to escape the Witch?" She gave Stiles a hard stare. Stiles said nothing.
Alayna continued, "I cannot tell you exactly what you can do because no one but yourself will be able to find that out. The powers of your kind are never stated in writing; I have a inkling of what your gift is, a suspicion of where your power lies, but that is all I have – and if you will sit still long enough and shut that mouth of yours, I will do all that I can to draw that power out."
Stiles huffed out a breath of air, but kept silent. He wasn't sure whether or not to believe her; whether or not anything that she was saying was the truth. He didn't feel like someone who had some special 'power'; he certainly had never seen any hints of anything like that in his entire life, nothing had ever happened that gave him reason to suspect he was different. Just because a witch and now some other woman said he had them, didn't mean that he actually did.
It was early Thursday morning and Scott had just managed to get back to his house, dragging himself up the stairs and flopping exhaustedly onto his bed. He'd spent the entire night chasing the scent of the wolf that had taken the student from the school grounds, essentially kidnapping him; for what purposes, Scott didn't know, but he usually tried to answer that question after they'd gotten the kid back safely. He had seen too many kids die or receive life-changing injuries from the supernatural, many of which came thanks to the Nemeton, and he'd be damned if he let one die or get hurt thanks to his own kind.
He, Liam, and Malia had chased the wolf for hours, making their way deep into the forest outside the town until they'd reached Crypt Lake, a large lake west of the town that was home to numerous campgrounds around its border. The scent from the wolf intermixed with the scents of humans, vehicles, and food, and Liam, being the youngest, quickly lost track of the scent. Although they were tired, the smell of fear radiating from the kidnapped student kept Scott and Malia going and they continued chasing the wolf down for another two hours, all the while trying to avoid being seen by any of the campers.
Eventually they'd caught the guy; a thirty-something werewolf who had been more feral than human. They'd tried to reason with him but he only responded in grunts and growls. The young student was passed out over his shoulder and when reasoning refused to work, Scott finally tackled the wolf and pinned him down, while Malia grabbed the student and quickly took him to safety.
To Scott's surprise, another werewolf suddenly stepped out from behind one of the trees. He immediately recognised her as the she-wolf that he had met a couple months ago, the one who had urged him to keep Stiles away from the dealings of the Pack. She quickly explained that the deranged wolf was one of her pack's, and that he had recently been attacked and had subsequently "gone off the wall". They talked for a bit and Scott asked if she needed help carrying her pack-member back home, but she simply shook her head and proceeded to pick the werewolf up with ease, disappearing with him through the trees.
Scott thought the meeting was a little strange, but the exhaustion from running for over four hours straight caught quickly up with him, and he returned to Malia, Liam, and the student; they made their way to the hospital where Scott placed the young teenager in the care of his mother and the rest of the hospital doctors.
He thought that would be the end of the evening for them, but Deaton had called soon after and informed him that something supernatural was happening near the Nemeton. Scott had been left busy for the rest of the night and into the morning, fighting off and pushing back creatures that were appearing around the magic stump, as though a switch had been flicked and a portal had been opened, and they all decided that now was as good a time as any to come through. Afterwards Scott swore that he was going to douse the Nemeton in gasoline and light it up like a Christmas tree. This was getting ridiculous.
He now lay on his bed, utterly exhausted, determined not to ever wake up again – no matter what Deaton or anyone else said.
He had closed his eyes for what felt like only a second before the alarm on his clock went off, feeling like a drill trying to dig itself into the side of his brain. He groaned, curling under the covers, hoping beyond hope that the noise would magically stop on its own. It didn't. Scott finally reached out and grabbed the clock, throwing it across the room where it hit the wall and smashed into pieces.
His first thought was that he'd skip school; as a werewolf he could function pretty good without much sleep, but even his high metabolism had its limits. He knew his mom wouldn't mind, she'd been surprisingly good about his skipping school when he needed to. He could sleep 'till the afternoon, get up, make lunch, then go back to sleep until supper. Scott closed his eyes – it sounded like a pretty good plan to him.
A moment later his eyes re-opened, as a name suddenly ran through his thoughts.
Stiles.
Scott frowned. He had been so busy all night that he'd forgotten about Stiles' odd behaviour before he'd left.
They had made up – he was sure of it. They'd repaired their friendship and everything was back to normal – at least he had thought it was. They'd nearly cried, for goodness sake – if that didn't bond a friendship, he didn't know what did.
So then why did Stiles refuse to come with them?
Scott knew Stiles – he knew him about as well as a person could possibly know another human being – and Stiles didn't hold grudges.
Okay, so that was a lie – Stiles could definitely hold a grudge. But he didn't hold grudges with Scott. Not like this. He wouldn't refuse to help them if someone's life was on the line; he wouldn't sit back when someone was in danger, not if he could do something to help. Except that he did – and Scott couldn't be more baffled.
He had to talk to him. They'd barely had any time to talk in the hallway, and they'd been surrounded by Malia, Lydia, and Liam, as well as a ton of other students. They needed talk just one-on-one, with no one else around to listen in. And where Stiles wouldn't look as though Scott made him sick just looking at him – that'd be nice.
With a groan, Scott got out of bed, slowly changing his clothes and getting his things together. He'd find Stiles before first period and drag him outside, where they'd find a private place to talk. They'd get everything back out in the open, say what they couldn't say before, maybe shed a few manly bro-tears, and hug it out. They would head back to Scott's place where they'd both go back to sleep, because seriously – who the heck thought that eight-am was an appropriate time to start 'learning'? Both Scott and Stiles were naturally night-owls, and despite having eight-am starts for nearly their whole school careers, they could never really get used to it; both of them couldn't be more happy that this was their final year of high school.
Scott brushed his hair with his fingers, making himself look as decently presentable as he needed in order to be out in public. Leaving his backpack on the ground, he grabbed his bike keys and headed outside.
Stiles let out a deep sigh, struggling to stay focused as Alayna had instructed him. For the past hour and a half she had been leading him through "exercises" that she claimed would "draw out his gift". He'd been sitting cross-legged on the ground with his eyes closed, trying to "dig deep" within himself and find that "inner part of him" that he would just "know" held something more. He felt as though he were in some yupped-up yoga class that wanted him to find his inner spirit animal. Stiles inwardly scoffed – he already knew what his spirit animal was, and they weren't exactly proving to be very useful at the moment.
Alayna suddenly spoke, startling Stiles out of his near-doze. "All right, get to your feet," she said. Stiles opened his eyes to see the young woman already standing, looking down at him expectantly. Stiles sighed dramatically, but followed her and rose to his feet.
Stiles looked at her impatiently. "So what are you going to d –." Something smacked Stiles in the face and he stumbled, losing his footing and falling to the ground on his backside. He looked up at Alayna, who was staring back at him with a raised eyebrow. "What – was that you?!" Stiles asked, hastily getting back to his feet. Before he could fully stand, another blow hit him against his chest, pushing him back to the ground. He spluttered in disbelief.
"Fight back!" Alayna told him, another blow from an invisible force striking him and knocking him back to the ground. Stiles instinctively curled in on himself and protected his face with his arms. Alayna started walking towards him and the force of the blows grew fiercer. "Fight back!" she said again. Again, Stiles was struck against the side, then across his arms, the blows leaving his skin stinging painfully. "You will never find your powers if you stay on the ground like a quivering dog! Now fight back!"
"With what?!" Stiles shouted, his voice muffled by his arms that were covering his face.
"Fight with your instincts, Stiles!" Blows began raining down on him faster and faster, and Stiles' patience quickly reached its limit.
"STOP IT!" he yelled, pushing himself away from her as fast as he could. His arms and legs stung like hell and he could already feel bruises forming on his chest and sides. He managed to make it to his feet and he stumbled backwards, glaring at Alayna as hard as he could. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"Are you angry?"
"What the hell does it look like?!"
"Good. Now use that anger, and fight back!"
Alayna raised her arm and what felt like a whip came snapping down across Stiles' front; while it didn't break his shirt, he could feel his skin break and a moment later blood began to soak into the fabric.
"Are you really that weak?" Alayna asked, taking another step towards him. "Scott's not here to help you, you know. Liam, Malia, Isaac, Derek – they won't be saving you this time."
Anger swelled in Stiles' chest and he glared at the woman furiously, ignoring the twinge of humiliation that he felt at her words. Why the hell did everyone have to keep bringing up how weak he was? Why did everyone have to point out how much he actually depended on Scott and the Pack? Why did everyone have to make note of how, as the only human, the only thing he could ever do was to be a hindrance, to be a burden.
Stiles' hair ruffled in the wind and he swallowed. "I know what you're trying to do," he said, biting back his anger. "You're trying to piss me off enough to get whatever it is you think I have. I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again – I don't. Have. ANYTHING!"
Another whip, another painful sting. The invisible force suddenly changed, until it felt as though he were no longer being hit with a whip, but with a fist. It was a ceaseless rain of blows coming one after the other, pushing Stiles further and further back with each hit, and it was starting to drive him mad. He raised his voice, yelling above the wind. "I'm not joking around! Stop!" The wind whistled deafeningly in his ears; it began bending the trees, their leaves rustling together and a swoosh of noise.
"Not until you fight back," Alayna replied.
"I can't fight back! I don't have anything to –."
"Fight!"
"I can't!
"FIGHT!"
"I CAN'T!"
"FIGHT!"
"Goddammit – I CAN'T!"
Without thinking Stiles shoved his hands out in front of him and a gust of wind rushed forward, slamming into Alayna and knocking her to the ground. Stiles stared in disbelief. Energy coursed through his body, surging and pumping through his veins. His body hummed, feeling as though it needed to do something, though it didn't know what.
Startled, Stiles dropped his hands and stumbled backwards. The wind immediately died down and grey clouds that Stiles hadn't realised had formed overhead dissipated, letting the sun shine across the clearing once more. Stiles' eyes fell on Alayna, who was still on the ground, a quiet, smug smile resting on her lips.
He hadn't believed her. Even when she'd insisted that he could do something supernatural, that he had a 'power' of some sort, he didn't believe her. He'd gone along, placating her and doing as she asked in the hopes that, like Givens, she too would realise she was wrong and she'd eventually send him back to Beacon Hills – maybe even help him escape from Givens. He'd wondered for a moment, had briefly entertained the idea that what she claimed might be true, but deep inside he'd never actually….
He wanted to deny it, to accuse her of using her own magic in order to make it seem as though it were his own, but even he couldn't deny the reality that was sitting right in front of him. For what felt like the first time in his life, Stiles was at a loss for words.
"I told you," Alayna said softly, rising to her feet and making her way over to Stiles. Stiles could only stare at her, his eyes wide.
"Holy shit," he said finally. He drew his arm close to him, turning his hand back and forth, as though he would find some default or marked change from what it had been before. He looked up as Alayna came near. "What was that?"
"You took control of the air, created a force of wind and threw it against me. Rather good for your first try, I must say. So you can be assured that air is at least one of your talents; I would not be surprised in the least to see more elements come under your control."
Stiles frowned, then blinked. "Elements?" he repeated. "So… what? Like the 'four elements'? Like earth, air, f –."
"Fire and water, yes," Alayna finished for him. "I had my suspicions that elemental magic was one of your gifts. I am glad to see that my years here haven't ruined my intuition entirely."
"Elemental magic," Stiles repeated. The words were utterly foreign on his tongue; he blinked, feeling as though he were in a daze.
"They don't show up all at once," Alayna continued. It sounded as though she were speaking through a tunnel, her voice far away and muffled; Stiles vaguely felt like he wanted to throw up. "We can't know for sure until you use all of them, but I'm confident that there is more to discover than just your talent for air."
The muffled sensation that had fallen over Stiles' ears suddenly disappeared, and he snapped his head up. "Why now?" he asked, a frown set deep between his eyebrows. "Why now, and not before? I've been pissed off plenty of times before, why didn't this… this power, show up then?"
"Gifts of the Blessed rarely show up before they've reached adulthood. I imagine that, had they been left alone, your powers would have surfaced within the next two or three years. But the Witch has put you in danger, and she has intentionally tried to draw your power out so that she can take it for herself. That's why, in the end, it really wasn't all that difficult to finally access them. They were already there to use. You just needed a little prompting, that's all."
Stiles listened intently to everything Alayna said, but every word she spoke felt like it was flying over his head. His whole body ached and he wanted nothing more than to find a nice comfy bed – one without living, torturous springs – burrow in the blankets, and not come out for several days.
"What we need to do now is start working on your control. I'll be right back." Alayna turned and disappeared into the house. She came back a few minutes later with a handful of glass jars, each one a different shape and size from the other. She placed the tallest one on the grass in front of Stiles and promptly pulled him down. "Sit. Now I want you to knock that jar over on its side, okay?"
Stiles stared at her for a moment, gave her a look, reached out his hand, then flicked the jar over with his fingers. Alayna gave him a hard stare. "That is not what I meant, and you know it. Now, try again." She righted the jar and looked at Stiles expectantly. Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes, but this time tried focusing on the jar, imagining that it would magically tip over.
It didn't.
"This is ridiculous," Stiles muttered after a minute when nothing happened.
"You need to focus, Stiles."
"I am focusing!"
"Not in the right way; you need to focus on the air around you – you need to bring that air under your control and use it to knock the jar over. Just focus on the air – you'll know it when you feel it. Here," she said, lifting his hand until it was reaching out towards the jar, "perhaps this will help."
Stiles was very annoyed, but did as she told. He closed his eyes and focused on the air that was around him, on the small breeze that was drifting across his skin, on the oxygen that he was breathing into his lungs….
He felt something stir inside him, a feeling similar to the one he had felt when he'd used the air shortly before. He gathered the feeling – the air – in the palm of his hand, and opening his eyes he threw the air forwards, and –
Nothing happened.
Stiles blinked. The jar remained sitting smugly on the ground in front of him, not having moved an inch. Stiles dropped his hand to his lap.
"I think I saw some grass move," Alayna said after a moment.
"This is ridiculous," Stiles said after a moment. He turned to Alayna. "Maybe the first time was a fluke. You could be wrong, you know – I may not be one of your 'Blessed', or whoever they are. I could just be Stiles Stilinski. I don't – I can't see how…. I mean, this is ridiculous! This is bullshit! I can't believe – I just – I just knocked you over with my hands! My hands! I mean, not just my hands, but with the wind from my hands. How – how the hell…. This is crazy. I'm crazy. I must secretly be envious of Scott but instead of a werewolf, I want to be friggin' Thor –"
Alayna suddenly took Stiles' face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. Caught off guard, Stiles' tongue came to an abrupt stop. They were silent for a moment, and Stiles was suddenly taken by just how captivating her deep-green eyes were, thinking vaguely how pretty she really was. "Stiles," she said sternly, "you need to accept this. If you don't accept the power that you have, you will never be able to use it. Not in the way that you need in order to defeat the Witch – and all those who will come after."
Stiles frowned, turning his attention from her eyes to the words she had just spoken. "Those who will come after?" he repeated. "What are you talking about?"
Alayna stared at Stiles a moment longer, before letting her hands fall to her lap. "You're one of the Blessed, Stiles. I know it, and the Witch knows it – but we are not the only ones who do." At Stiles' confused look, she continued: "You are a beacon, Stiles. You draw the supernatural and those with magic towards you like a moth to a flame. The more they find out about you – about the power you hold, the things you will do – the more they will seek to find you and either destroy you, or use you for their own purposes. Why do you think you've seen so many attacks in the last few years? Why do you think Beacon Hills has suddenly decided to be true to its name?"
Stiles leaned slightly away from her, as though distance would make what she was saying less true. "It's because of the Nemeton," he said. "Because of Scott and the rest of the Pack; he's an Alpha, so a lot of creatures try to challenge that. And let's face it, Scott sometimes likes to put his nose where it doesn't belo –."
"No, Stiles," Alayna said softly. "It was never about Scott and the Pack. It was you – it was always about you – from the very beginning. You were one of the Blessed long before Scott was ever a werewolf, long before your Pack even knew each other's names or became who they are now. You are what everyone has been looking for, but no one has been able to see. Until now."
Silence settled over them for a long moment, until Stiles finally managed to get his voice to speak. "I don't want to believe you," he said quietly."
"I know you don't," Alayna replied. "And I cannot force you to. But you will need to decide quickly, for the Witch is still out there, along with all your friends and family. And those like her will not stop their destruction, even after they have gotten what they want. For those who seek power are never satisfied, and can never be satisfied."
For the first time in a long time, Stiles thought about his dad. He had no clue where he was or if he even knew that Stiles wasn't at home, but he knew that Givens was crazy and if she had the chance, she'd go after his father simply out of spite for Stiles. She'd already stated her intent to go after Scott at one point, and Stiles was sure that she wouldn't stop with him. Lydia, Malia, Liam, Kira… all of their friends were in danger – and he was the only one who knew. Stiles' eyes turned away from Alayna and settled on the glass jar, which sat quietly a few feet in front of him.
Well, he thought to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists. I guess if I have a weird, freaky power, then I have a weird, freaky power. It's not like I was ever that normal anyway, I mean – I hang out with werewolves and kitsunes, werecoyotes and banshees. This can be just another thing to add to the list that is the Weird Life of Stiles Stilinski. Yeah. Just another thing on the list.
It wasn't just another thing on a list and Stiles knew it, but for the moment he was just going to do his best to accept it. When all of this was over he'd have a proper, well-planned, well-executed Freak Out. But until then he was going to learn to control this – this magic – and then he'd escape from Givens for good. He'd find Scott, tell him everything that had happened, maybe share a few manly bro-hugs and bro-tears; he'd get three Big-Macs from McDonalds, two large-fries, two large Root Beers, gorge himself, then sleep until Christmas.
Stiles raised his hand and closed his eyes once more. He focused on the air around him, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. Minutes passed and he was almost ready to give up, when suddenly he began to feel things he'd never felt before – the pressure of the air, its movement, its weight. The life that it gave to those who breathed it in.
Something stirred within Stiles' chest and his palm began to grow warm. He could feel wind begin to drift over his hand and weave through his fingers, but the rest of his body remained untouched. Tentatively, Stiles opened his eyes. They widened as large as saucers when they saw a small sphere – a small sphere of what looked like wind – hovering in the palm of his hand.
"Good," Stiles heard Alayna say. He wanted to look at her, to revel in his achievement, but he feared that if he looked away the sight he saw before him disappear. "Now," Alayna continued, "take that wind and release it towards the jar."
Stiles aimed his hand towards the jar and the wind shot forward, hitting the glass container. The jar wobbled for a moment, as though unsure if it really wanted to fall, then gave up and fell quietly on its side.
There was a few moments of silence and Stiles frowned. "Well that was… slightly disappointing,"
"You'll learn," Alayna reassured him. Stiles could swear she was fighting back a smile.
"Yes, well –."
Suddenly the sky grew dark, casting the house and trees into shadow. Stiles looked up, expecting to see dark clouds having crossed in front of the sun, but to his surprise there was not a single cloud; it was as though someone had simply taken a dark filter and placed it over the sky. The wind suddenly picked up, nearly throwing both Alayna and Stiles to the ground. Stiles looked at Alayna, his eyes wide. "That's not me," he said quickly, but Alayna wasn't looking at him.
"The Witch – she's coming back. Hurry! We have to get you back before she finds out you've been gone." She grabbed Stiles' arm and ran to the edge of the forest. She waved her arm in front of them and a large doorway appeared, its edges shimmering in the air. Beyond it Stiles could see the dusty room in the attic that was beside the bedroom, its dressers and chests as untouched as when he'd left it. Stiles felt Alayna pushing him towards the door and he abruptly turned around, his heart beating fast in his chest.
"I can't leave yet!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "You haven't – I haven't learned anything yet! I can't do anything yet! I can barely knock over a stupid little jar!"
"It will have to do," Alayna replied, staring at him intently, her eyes a mixture of determination and fear. "You'll be fine! Now go."
She pushed Stiles forward until his right leg had gone through the portal. The rush of white noise that he had heard when he'd first gone through sounded again, until it felt as though he were in the middle of a hurricane. He made to move in further, when suddenly he snapped his head around, his eyes wide. "What about you?!" he shouted. "I don't – I don't even know why you're here, but you can't – you can't stay here!"
A sad smile crossed Alayna's lips. "I'll be fine," she assured, pushing Stiles away from her and further into the doorway.
"But you –."
"Don't worry about me! You have to go, now!"
Stiles stared at her, torn, but before he could do anything he felt the portal begin to tug, pulling him further through it. Stiles swallowed. He was just about to stop fighting it when he suddenly heard Alayna's voice. "Stiles!"
Stiles quickly turned around to see Alayna looking at him, her mouth set in a thin, determined line. "Remember – you can do more than just control the element of air; your power extends far beyond just that. Fire, earth, water – maybe more. And Stiles…." The resolve on Alayna's face fell away and was replaced with a look of concern, as though she were unsure whether or not she should say what she was going to say next. She swallowed, then spoke again. "Stiles, you must also know – Scott is more important that you realise. The prophecies –"
Stiles blinked and his eyebrows knitted together in complete confusion, but before he could respond his vision turned white and the next thing he knew he was standing in front of the antique mirror in the old attic room – alone.
Stiles stared at the mirror, now reflecting only his own image once more, his brain trying to catch up to what Alayna had said in those last moments. Scott – why would Scott be important? He thought he was only a –.
Suddenly Stiles heard the sound of the front door open and he spun on his heel, running as quietly as he could to the door. He swung it open and ran into the bedroom, closing it tightly behind him. He turned around, waving his hands towards it. "Go! Shoo! Disappear!" The door stayed where it was and Stiles felt a sense of panic begin to rise in his throat. He tried again, "Go! Disappear already! Disappear!" He could hear the sound of Givens' keys dropping into her glass bowl and the first creaks of the stairs as she began to walk up.
Panicking, Stiles pressed his hands against the door, willing everything that was within him that the damn thing would just disappear. "Disappear!" The door beneath Stiles' fingers shifted and when he opened his eyes he saw that the door was just a wall once more. Relief fell over his shoulders and Stiles quickly made his way to the corner of the room, sitting down and covering himself with a blanket, just as Givens made it to the top the stairs. The door to the bedroom opened with a groan.
"Good morning my dear one," she said, lightly stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. Stiles eyed her warily, his eyes briefly glancing towards the window where the light outside was thin and dim with the morning's dawn. Givens walked up to Stiles. "Did you have a good sleep? I don't know how you could, what with having to lie on that uncomfortable floor. I can't understand why you'd choose that over a nice, comfortable bed." She winked at Stiles and he glowered at her in return. The Witch leant down and grabbed Stiles' arm, dragging him to his feet. "Now – why don't we have some fun before class starts, hmm?"
She waved her hand a length of rope appeared from ceiling. She grabbed Stiles' hands and pressed them together, taking the rope and wrapping it tightly around his wrists. She tightened the rope painfully across his skin and knotted it, giving Stiles a smile at his discomfort. When she was finished she snapped her fingers and the rope retracted into the ceiling, pulling Stiles up by his arms with it. He shouted in pain at the sudden stress it placed on his shoulders and he tried to maneuver enough to make himself somewhat comfortable, but it was to no avail. He gave up with a huff, glaring at Givens as he swung aimlessly from the ceiling. Givens cupped the side of his face with her hand and made small cooing noises.
"There, there," she said, patting Stiles' cheek. "You'll survive." A smirk tilted the side of her lips. "Or maybe you won't. You know, I think we're nearly done here; a few more days and your gift will be mine."
Stiles swallowed, and said nothing in reply.
Scott walked through the school doors, making his way over to his and Stiles' lockers in the middle of the hallway. He frowned slightly when he didn't see Stiles there, letting out a disappointed sigh. He took a deep breath and settled in to wait; as he leaned against the lockers he spotted Lydia coming up towards him.
"Oh hey Scott," she said, coming to a stop in front of him. "I didn't think I'd see you here this morning."
"You haven't. I'm just waiting here until Stiles arrives; he's still not answering his phone so once he gets here we're gonna take off."
Lydia gave him a quizzical look. "I thought you guys made up?"
"I thought we did too, but… I think we need to still hash out some stuff. He's just been acting so off lately."
Lydia nodded just as the bell rang. She quickly said goodbye and disappeared into her homeroom class. In a few minutes the hallway dissipated, leaving Scott alone by the lockers.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty. When a half hour went by Scott grew agitated, wondering where on earth Stiles could be. He tried calling his cellphone on the off chance he'd actually pick up, but unsurprisingly he didn't. After forty minutes Scott finally gave up and made his way back to the parking lot. He quickly threw his leg over his bike and put on his helmet, his mind set. If Stiles wouldn't come to him, then he'd go to Stiles. Kicking his bike into gear, Scott drove out of the parking lot and began making his way to the Stilinski household.
Scott arrived at the Stilinski house and kicked the bike stand with his foot, leaning the bike on its side as he stepped off. He tucked his helmet under his arm and walked to the front door, knocking on it briefly before opening it; he'd stopped waiting for someone to allow him in long ago.
"Stiles?" Scott called. He walked towards the stairs. "Stiles, I need to talk to yo –."
"Do you mind telling me what you're doing in here, son?"
Scott turned to see Sheriff Stilinski standing in the kitchen entrance, his arms crossed, peering across the room at Scott with a raised eyebrow.
"Mr. Stilinski," Scott said. "Is Stiles home? I was wanting to talk to him –."
"I'll ask you again," John interrupted, his arms crossed and eyes hard. "What are you doing in my house?"
Scott blinked, smelling the anger and annoyance that was coming from the Sheriff. Embarrassment coloured his cheeks as he realised that Stiles must have told his dad what had happened. "I came to apologise," he said quickly. "What I said was completely out of line and I wanted to tell Stiles I was sorry."
"Look, son, I don't know what you're talking about, but you better get out of my house now before I arrest you for trespassing."
Scott frowned. The Sheriff would sometimes give him a hard time, especially if he had done something stupid or been a jerk, but he had never stopped him from seeing Stiles when he wanted; and he'd definitely never kicked him out of his house or threatened arrest. "Mr. Stilinski, please – I just want to see Stiles."
"Do you really want to test me?"
"But –."
The Sheriff walked towards him and grabbed his arm, forcefully leading him to the door. Scott could have stopped him if he wanted, but he didn't want to anger him more than he already had. "Look, son," the Sheriff said, opening the door, "I don't know who this 'Stiles' is, but he's not here. If you come back on this property or break into my house again, I won't hesitate to arrest you. You got that?" He shoved Scott out onto the front yard and Scott stumbled, turning around in shock. He stared at the Sheriff, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"What?" he said.
"You heard me. Now get out of here." The Sheriff started to close the door and Scott jerked forward.
"Mr. Stilinski, wait!" Scott pleaded. "What on earth are you talking about? Is – is this some kind of joke? Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was a jerk, I know I was – I shouldn't have said any of it, for – for God's sake, I didn't mean it, okay?! I didn't mean a any of it, but I don't want Stiles to get hurt because of me! I don't want him to get killed! He's suffered enough and it's my fault; it's always been my fault ever since we ran into that stupid forest and I – I just can't let him get hurt anymore because of me!"
The Sheriff frowned at Scott, giving him a hard stare. Scott waited for him to reply, to maybe even let him back in the house, but what he said instead shocked him to his core.
"Are you high?" he asked skeptically. "Because if you are, I can not only arrest you for trespassing, but for public intoxication. Look. I don't know who your friend is, or where he is, but I can tell you he's not here."
"He's your son!"
"I don't have a son, I've never had a son. Now I want you to get off this property right now, do you hear me?"
The Sheriff closed the door, leaving Scott standing alone in the driveway. He stared at the door, his eyes wide, feeling as though a bucket of ice-cold water had just poured down his back. Not because the Sheriff had kicked him out, or even because he refused to let him see Stiles – no. What had sent alarm bells ringing in his head and what had raised his hackles in fear was not what Mr. Stilinski had said, but what his heart had said. Because when he told Scott he didn't have a son, that he'd never had a son, Scott had heard his heartbeat.
And it hadn't skipped.
What had been only a distant feeling that something was off, that something was amiss, was now a full-blown panic as Scott's instincts screamed at him to run, to do something, to find the source of the disturbance and destroy it. Scott knew one thing for sure – he had to find Stiles, and he had to find him now.
Scott grabbed his cellphone and quickly swiped it open, finding Liam's number and pressing it. He held the phone to his ear and waited impatiently until he hear a click on the other end as Liam picked up, his voice a low whisper when he spoke. "Dude, I'm in the middle of class! I'm not even supposed to have my cellphone. If the teacher sees me he'll kick my ass –."
"Stiles is in trouble," Scott said quickly.
"What –."
"I don't know how or where he is but I know he's in trouble. I was just at his house and his dad doesn't know who he is."
"What?" Liam said. "How does he not know who his own son is?"
"I don't know, but Liam – you have to get out here. We need to find Stiles' scent and track him, we need – we need to find him now. We need to find him right now." Scott's words were increasing ins speed as panic began to grip his chest; he ran a hand through his hair, gripping it until it was painful.
"Dude, okay, chill – calm down, I'll be right there. Do you want me to get the girls?"
Scott swallowed, suddenly feeling lightheaded. His mind went through everything that had happened in the past week, from Stiles' unusual panicked, angry retorts to his sudden desire to avoid everyone he knew. He'd been acting so weird, so unlike Stiles, but Scott had busy with all these sudden supernatural threats, that he hadn't had time to slow down and see what was going on. He'd thought that Stiles had just been pissed over their fight, but now he wasn't sure. In fact, he was positive that something else was going on entirely.
"Scott! Do you want me to get the girls or not?"
Scott blinked, his attention swerving back to Liam. "Yeah – yeah, get the girls. Tell them to start searching on the west end of town. You and I will go to the east."
"Okay." Scott was about to hang up, when he heard Liam's muffled voice suddenly speaking to someone nearby. A second later Liam was back on the phone. "Hey Scott, Leonard said he saw Stiles."
Scott's heart skipped a beat. "What? Where?!"
Another muffled moment, then, "He says he saw him yesterday. He was getting into a car with… Givens?" Liam paused, then continued. "Yeah, he says Stiles got into the car with Ms. Givens and they left the parking lot. Says he saw him leave with her on Monday – and Tuesday, too."
Scott frowned. What the heck was Stiles doing with Ms. Givens? She was just a substitute teacher. They didn't even get along….
Scott suddenly remembered the way that Stiles would glare at Givens, as though she had personally wronged him somehow. He remembered the fight they'd had, where she had ended up throwing everyone out of class so that she could speak to him alone, the way Stiles would sometimes look at her with fear….
Pieces started falling into place and Scott bit his lip, trying to stave off the wave of anger that was threatening to explode from within him. He heard something start to crack and he realised that he had been squeezing his phone so hard that it had started to break. Scott quickly told Liam to meet him on the east-end then turned off his phone, sticking it in his pocket.
Fear and anger coursed through Scott's body, as he realised that while they had all been dealing with their own supernatural attacks, another danger had been happening right under their noses – and they hadn't noticed a thing.
A/N: If you enjoyed the chapter, please feel free to leave a review! Thanks so much.
