Stiles glared at Givens, his body slowly rocking back and forth, the rope tying him to the ceiling pulled taught. His entire body felt as though it were on fire, save for his hands and arms, which had grown numb hours ago. He had no idea what time it was, only that he was certain it had to be past eight-am, as the light outside was significantly brighter than when he'd first woken up. With the way things were progressing, he had a feeling he wouldn't be going to school today.

Givens had spent the last few hours rotating through a series of beatings, cuttings, and magic, the first two leaving him near-sobbing in pain and the last leaving him feeling as though all his energy had been completely sucked out of him. The constant pain left him exhausted, both mentally and physically; he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep – and perhaps never wake up. He was so sick and tired of this.

At the beginning he'd thought about using his… his power, but Givens had barely given him enough time to think before she started torturing him, much less time to focus on doing something that had taken him hours to work up to before; and even then, the results were less than impressive. The clarity of his mind that he'd had with Alayna was gone, replaced with the dense fog of confusion that had been with him ever since this whole thing began.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word. Mother's going to buy you a mocking bird," Givens sang as she dragged the edge of a knife down the middle of Stiles' chest, but not pressing hard enough to cut the skin, almost as though she were mapping out the places she wanted to cut for future reference.

Givens sang a few more verses before Stiles interrupted her. "Has anyone ever told you that you're weird? Like, seriously – who sings a lullaby to someone as they're slicing them open? Even for a sadistic psychopath that has to be –" Stiles hissed and took a sharp intake of breath as the knife suddenly dug into his sternum. Givens quickly pulled it back out and hummed as she continued to drag the knife across his torso.

Stiles could hear the annoying voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Scott, berating him for having had to open his mouth and make a sarcastic comment to the person who was running a knife down his chest. He wanted to refute the voice and defend what was clearly only a sound observation, but with the middle of his abdomen stinging as though it was on fire, he couldn't help but agree that maybe that had been a stupid decision. He couldn't help it though; after having finally found his voice again with Alayna, silencing himself would be like trying to build a dam against a raging waterfall.

Stiles blinked, trying to keep his eyes from falling shut. He could feel the sting as Givens' knife began cutting into his body, but he felt oddly indifferent about it, the pain feeling only like a minor annoyance that was stopping him from being able to fall asleep. When he noticed Givens had stopped, he managed to open his eyes part-way to see Givens bent over before him, her hands holding a bowl, collecting the blood that was slowly running from his stomach.

Stiles swallowed, his voice coming out strained and hoarse. "Gonna use that to resurrect your dark lord?" he asked. His eyes fell shut against his will and he fought off the urge to fall asleep. His words began to slur as he spoke. "You're gonna half'ta cut off your arm, y'know. Drop it into a boiling pot. Hope you get a new one. Your dark lord's a bit of a bitch, by th'way. Throw's a lot of temper tantrums. Likes t'torture people…. Hey, at least you'll have sum'thin in common. Jus' r'member – there's only one dark lord of th'ring, an' he doesn't share power. Or somethin' like that…."

Givens ignored him and rose to her feet, taking the bowl of blood and walking to the door where it opened before her. "Do get some rest, Stiles," she said as she walked out of the room. "You'll need to get your energy back for when we have our next round." With that, Givens walked out, and the door closed and locked behind her.

Sleep. Sleep sounded really good right about now.

But he couldn't.

Stiles forced his eyes back open and watched the door for a few minutes in silence. When Givens didn't return he turned his attention upwards, his eyes landing on the end of the rope that disappeared into the ceiling. He clenched his teeth as he pulled on the rope with his wrists, trying to lift himself and swing back and forth to gain whatever momentum he could, in order to loosen whatever part of the rope could be loosed. What little strength he had quickly disappeared and he soon gave up, leaning his head exhaustedly against the crook of his elbow.

He had to use his power; it was the only way he would get out of this. He could feel the end closing in on him, like a dark storm growing ever larger on the horizon. The words Givens had said about being nearly done ran over and over through his mind, a mocking foreshadow of what was to come.

No one was coming for him – if he wanted to get out of here alive he would have to use his powers, which he barely knew anything about, and either kill Givens or simply escape for his life. He would make that choice when the time came, but for now he would focus on the little things – like getting his tired, aching body down from this damn rope.

Stiles took a deep breath and looked back up, his eyes landing once more on the end of the rope where it met the ceiling. He took another breath and started to focus. What was it Alayna had said? He had to focus on the air around him, take control of it, manipulate it into doing what he wanted it to do….

At first there was nothing – not a single molecule of air appeared to have been disturbed. Stiles growled through his teeth and shifted his body, determined to make the rope move. If the rope moved then maybe he could get enough momentum to swing back until he reached the nightstand or the bed, and then….

And then what? What was he going to do once he managed to catch his foot on something solid? Hold himself up for no apparent reason? Magically gain enough strength to rip the rope from the ceiling? Stiles swallowed, realising that his idea had been completely stupid. But what else was he supposed to do? He knew he could move the air and create a wind; he knew he could take that wind and throw it at somebody, but that was all he knew. And if that was all he knew, then how could he possibly know how to do anything else? How could he –

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his rising heartbeat to slow down. Think. He had to think. He was the plan-maker, the Maker of Plans – there had to be something he could do….

Alayna had said he could control air. She didn't just say he could create and control wind, she had said he could manipulate and control air. So what could air do? Air could… air was oxygen. Did that mean he could control the amount of oxygen that was around him? But then what good would that really do? If he tried to remove the oxygen from the room to kill Givens, he'd also be killing himself. Sort of defeated the purpose of trying to get out alive.

So what else? Air… air had to do with a lot of things. Air was one of the classical elements as described in ancient Greek philosophy and science, and was made up of gasses that thusly made up the earth's atmosphere. It gave itself to words such as aerodynamics, aspire, air-pressure –

Stiles' eyes snapped open.

Air pressure. The pressure of the air. The closeness of air-molecules and the amount of force it exerted, which could often cause something to implode or break. If he could somehow create a vacuum where the rope met the ceiling, if he could somehow snap the rope or use of the force of the air to make the area of the ceiling around the rope crack – then maybe, just maybe, he could finally free himself. It would be like using his own weight to push against the ceiling, only this weight would be about a thousand times stronger.

Stiles looked up, focusing on the area of the ceiling surrounding the rope. What had Alayna said? He needed to focus, to feel the air and take control of it….

Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for the same feeling that he had felt back in the clearing, back in the mirror-world with Alayna….

The tug against his sternum came faster this time, the familiar sensation sending a pulse of energy surging through his veins, searching for something to take hold of – searching for a way to escape.

Stiles opened his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration. He opened his hand as best he could, his fingers reaching towards the air that lay above him. Something tingled in the back of his mind and he realised that he could feel it – that he could feel the air in the room, could feel the molecules, could feel its movement – could feel its pressure.

Liked a slipped disc sliding back into place, Stiles felt his fingers grab hold of the air and he immediately began to squeeze it together. At first nothing happened, then a few moments later the wood ceiling began to creak, then groan. The sound of snapping wood echoed in the room and a second later Stiles crashed to the ground in a heap.

Holy shit, he did it – he actually did it.

If this were any other place he'd pump his fist in victory, but this was not the time to celebrate. He had to figure a way to get out of here before Givens found out he'd gotten down.

Stiles got to his knees and quickly began looking around, searching for something with which he could cut the rope that still bound his wrists together. He picked at the rope with his fingers as best he could, trying to undo the knots, but it was to no avail. He continued to scan the room for something, anything sharp, but there was nothing. There was –

There was the window.

Stiles paused for only a moment before he stumbled over his feet, rushing to the window by the bed. It was a cross window, so there wasn't much glass to work with, but he was sure there had to be some way to….

He stared at the window for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to break it, before he simply pressed his fists against the middle and began to push. As the minutes passed he started pushing harder, trying to get the window to break with as little noise as possible. If Givens heard it break, or saw the glass raining down through her own window on the floor beneath him, then this would all be for nought.

Stiles kept pressing against the window, but it was like pressing against a cement wall – nothing – not even the glass panes – gave an inch. It was almost like it had been reinforced with –

With magic.

Stiles' eyes widened and he swore under his breath as he suddenly remembered that he had done this before, that he had tried to break this window before and it hadn't broken because Givens had spelled it with her stupid, friggin' magic for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn't leave.

Stiles let out a shaky breath and took a step back, running his bound hands over his face and through his hair. What was he going to do now? Even if he threw all his weight against the window or even threw the damn bed, it wouldn't break. No matter how much pressure he pressed against it, it wouldn't –

Stiles blinked. Of course – pressure. He could use the air pressure to break the window; only instead of using it to press against the window like he'd done with the ceiling, he could use the pressure to suck the window in.

Without a second thought Stiles closed his eyes and began focusing on the air. After a few moments he could feel the now-familiar tug start to pull and he grabbed hold, gripping the feeling as tightly as he could. He opened his eyes and fixated on the centre of the window, before lifting his hands and reaching out towards it. He focused on the air in the room, slowly trying to change its pressure, but doing his best to keep the change centred solely in the space in front of the window.

At first nothing happened, and Stiles began to wonder if Givens' magic had spelled the window to hold up against more than just the strength of an eighteen-year old; but before he could truly start to question, the window suddenly bent, and pieces of wood and shards of glass flew across the room, crashing against the door and clattering to the ground in a heap.

Stiles cringed. Dammit, that was loud.

Not wanting to wait another moment in case Givens had heard the noise, Stiles ran over to the now-broken window where pieces of glass still sat in the window-pane; he quickly put his wrists overtop of one the shards and began to saw the rope. The glass was sharp and the rope was quick to give way, taking only a few minutes to cut through it and finally free his hands; but for Stiles, those few minutes were some of the longest minutes of his life.

The rope finally broke and Stiles threw the remains on the bed, taking a moment to flex his hands and arms. Damn, if that hadn't been the most awkward, painful, and uncomfortable few hours of his life. The numbness in his arms had started to fade, only to be replaced with the painful sensation of pins and needles. Ignoring the discomfort, Stiles looked out the window and peered down, trying to determine how high he was and how painful it would be if he jumped to the ground. It was the attic of an already two-story house, so it was no small distance to reach the ground. If he jumped, he wouldn't simply be getting a battered and bruised body in his wake, but he'd very likely break a leg or an arm. Stiles shook his head. There was just no way he could do it. Unless….

Stiles turned his eyes to the blankets and sheets that lay strewn across the bed. He bit his lip for a brief moment, then quickly strode over to the bed and began gathering the sheets in his arms, starting to tie the ends together. He'd only ever seen people do this in movies, but anything in the movies could be done in reality, right?

Right.

There were only two sheets and a thin, useless blanket, all of which were soaked in blood and torn from where the springs had pierced through them. But they would work. They had to. He finished tying the last end and began looking around for something near the window to tie it to. The only thing that would be able to hold the weight would be the bed, so Stiles quickly moved the nightstand away from the window and grabbed the bed frame, dragging it underneath the window as quietly as he could. When he finished, he wrapped the end of the rope of sheets around the bedpost, knotting it as tightly as he could. He took the rest of the makeshift-rope and with a deep breath, threw it out the window.

He looked over the edge and let out a sigh of relief. While the sheets didn't reach all the way down, they did make it about three-quarters of the way; it would be easy to jump the rest of the distance to the ground.

Easy. Right.

It wasn't until he was standing in front of the window with nothing to stop him from climbing down, that he realised his heart was racing in his chest and a lump of fear had wedged its way into his throat. He took a cursory glance across the tops of the trees and the sky, noting how the morning was turning into yet another beautiful day – the blue sky nearly empty of clouds, the sun brightly shining, reflecting off the grass and leaves where they shimmered in the breeze like gold. It was a perfect day – a perfect day like all the others he had spent here. He hadn't realised until now that perhaps everything was just a little too perfect.

He knew he had to leave, that he was already halfway to getting out of here, but he found that while his mind wanted to climb down and run into the forest, his legs didn't want to move. This time, however, it wasn't magic that made them immobile – it was fear. Because if he messed this up, if he got caught… he didn't think Givens was going to let him go without consequence. She'd either kill him, or she'd torture him within an inch of his life. And Stiles wasn't sure he could handle another night of torture. He was still exhausted, the cuts on his torso still burned, and his aching body was fighting him with every movement he made. He was running on adrenaline, and he knew it. If he messed up and got caught, this was it – game over. And in this game, you didn't have an extra life.

Stiles swallowed, his fingers digging painfully into his palm as he clenched his fists. The smart thing would be to leave at night under the cover of darkness where he'd be least likely to be seen; the problem, however, was that it was under the cover of darkness that Givens liked to do her best work. She would leave him alone for the entire day, lulling him into a false sense of security, only to appear during the night and make his life a living hell. So if he tried to leave at night, she would only find him sooner than if he left now. So in the end, there wasn't really a choice. It was leave now, or never.

Stiles waited for a few minutes in silence, straining his ears to hear if Givens was still in the house somewhere, whether she was in the kitchen making food, or worse – walking up the stairs. He went from placing his ear against the bedroom door to pressing his ear against the floor, listening for any noise that would tell him the Witch was still nearby. After ten minutes of hearing nothing but silence, Stiles determined that Givens was either sleeping, or she wasn't in the house. He didn't know where she went during the day, whether she disappeared across the acreage or went out into town, but he knew that no matter where he went, he would have to constantly be on his guard.

Stiles waited another moment, took a deep breath, and swallowed. He placed his leg over the ledge and gripped the sheet in his hands.

It was now or never.

Scott drove his bike faster than he had ever driven it before, weaving in and out of traffic amidst the blaring of horns of unhappy drivers as he passed them by, but he didn't care. At the moment there was one thought going through his mind and one thought only – and that was to get to the east end of town as fast he could.

He turned sharply off the highway and onto the dirt road, his tires nearly wash-boarding him off into the ditch, kicking up a mountain of dust behind him as he righted himself and continued down the road and through the trees. After a minute he came to an abrupt halt, his bike nearly flipping over its handles and landing on the ground with a crash, but Scott barely noticed. Digging his hand into his pocket he pulled out his phone, pressing Liam's number and holding the phone to his ear.

"Where are you?!" Scott shouted when Liam picked up. Liam told him that he was nearly there and that Scott only had to wait a few more minutes. He explained that he didn't have a car or a bike, and so the only thing he could do was catch Scott's scent and run on foot. Scott ran his hand through his hair and started pacing, his heart feeling ready to burst.

He shut the phone off and stuffed it back in his pocket, trying to get himself under control. A few minutes later he caught Liam's scent, and a few minutes after that Liam burst through the trees, his face marred with worry and concern, his mouth opening to speak. "Okay," Scott interrupted, walking towards him. "We need to get Stiles' scent and follow it – that's all you have to do, okay? Follow the scent until you find him. You catch it before me, you tell me, okay? Don't go chasing it until I know where it is." Scott passed him and started heading into the trees.

"Scott, Scott listen –."

"There's no time to talk! Stiles is in trouble, we have to find him –."

"Scott!" Liam ran in front of Scott and raised his hands, forcing the older teenager to a halt.

Scott growled, pushing Liam away. "I'm serious, Liam! We need to focus on finding Stiles' scent; whatever you have to say, it can wait. This is the most important thing right no –."

Liam ran back in front of him again, his eyes set in an exasperated glare. "That's what I'm trying to tell you! I found his scent!"

Scott blinked, his anger immediately disappearing as his eyes widened. "Where?!" he asked quickly.

"It's a few miles away from here – but Scott, it's old. It's a couple days old, at least."

"Take me to it."

Liam looked at Scott in confusion. "But I thought you knew?" he said. "Isn't that why you told me to come here? Because this was where the scent was? Why else did you pick the east-end of town to start?"

Scott didn't have an answer to that. He had no clue why his instincts had told him to come east, but at that moment he couldn't care less. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Now show me where the scent is."

Liam gave Scott one last bemused look, before starting to run through the trees, Scott following close behind.

They ran the few miles in just a few minutes, they're wolves giving speed and strength to their legs and bodies that no human could possess. When he caught Stiles' scent Scott didn't stop, but continued to follow it through the trees. It was terribly faint and intermixed with the smell of exhaust, along with the scent of who Scott now recognised to be Alicia Givens. Anger coursed through his veins at the woman's presence and he used it to fuel his legs further, dodging trees and jumping over logs as fast and deftly as he could. In the back of his mind he wondered why there was the smell of car exhaust in the middle of the forest, but he ignored the thought and continued to push himself forward, knowing in his gut that with every second that passed, the Stiles continued to be in danger.

They had been running for over twenty-minutes when Liam suddenly came to a halt. It took Scott a moment to realise he wasn't moving, and when he did he skidded to a stop. "Liam!" he yelled. "Come on! What are you doing?!"

Liam ran up to him, a look of utter confusion across his face. "I lost the scent," he said, sniffing the air and looking around. "The scent, it just – it just stopped."

Scott stared at the younger werewolf incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about? The scent is still here, just like it's been for the last twenty miles!" When Liam didn't respond but continued to look around, Scott swore. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"No," Liam insisted. "I seriously can't smell it! It's like… it's like when there's a river and the scent just stops on the shore, because the rest of it was washed away when the animal jumped in the water. It's seriously not here!"

Scott shook his head. "Something must be wrong with you, because I can still smell him just fine; the scent hasn't changed at all."

"I'm telling you, it's not here –."

Scott growled, turning around and starting to run once more through the trees. "I don't know what happened, but I can't wait for you to find the scent again – I'll keep going by myself!"

Liam gave an exasperated sigh before chasing after Scott. "Scott, geez man, you don't have to be such an ass! I can still follow you, and –." Liam came to an abrupt halt, nearly falling over his feet as his eyes widened in shock. Where Scott had been running seconds before in front of him, there was now no one. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone – he had completely disappeared. "Scott?!" Liam shouted. He ran up until the point where Scott had vanished, along with his scent. It had completely stopped, just like Stiles'. "Scott!" Liam shouted again, using every sense that was available to him, but finding nothing. "SCOTT!"