Scott tapped absently at his phone, the light of its screen shining on his face in the darkness of the room. He was lying on the couch beside Stiles, his arm still wrapped around his friend's shoulders as he continued to sleep. Stiles hadn't woken once since he'd fallen asleep hours before; since then the sun had fallen and shrouded the room in darkness, the clock on the wall ticking quietly as its long hand clicked over to 8:02pm. Scott had dozed off and on and even though he had missed supper, moving from the couch didn't even enter his mind. Sitting in the silence with Stiles beside him, Scott felt more safe and at peace than he had in a very, very long time.
He'd texted Stiles' dad and let him know that Stiles had woken up. John was chagrined that he wasn't able to make it before Stiles fell back asleep, but he told him that he'd stop by as soon as he could. Scott then texted his mom, who told him that she'd be home after by nine and would check on Stiles then.
He'd taken the time to finally text the rest of the Pack, letting them know that Stiles was okay and updating them on what had happened, meticulously censoring and abridging where needed – which was virtually everything. He hadn't forgotten Stiles' request that he keep his magic and the events of the past week a secret, and after having made Stiles keep his own secrets for so long, Scott knew that it was only right he keep his now – at least until he could convince him otherwise.
Unsurprisingly, Lydia had been furious that he'd ignored her texts and phone-calls for the past couple days, demanding to know how Stiles was and why he had so blatantly ignored her for over a week. Scott told her that Stiles had gotten into a bit of trouble and had lost his phone, but he didn't tell her much more than that.
Malia had been just as adamant in her demands about Stiles' condition, but she had been easier to mollify than Lydia. She didn't ask too many questions, just wanted to know if Stiles had been hurt and if he was all right. Scott answered yes to both. Kira had been similar in her questions, though she extended her concern to Scott, for which he was both secretly grateful and guilty for. He told her he was fine, but that he'd be staying with Stiles for the next few days while he recovered. Kira, as always, was completely agreeable and encouraged him to stay with his friend as long as he needed.
Liam had been harder to deal with. He'd been with Scott in the woods, had seen him so incredibly freaked out and so terrifyingly focused as he all but commanded his Pack for Stiles to be found. He'd been mad at Scott's lack of reply when he asked him what had happened, but Scott knew he'd get over it. He placated him as best he could, apologising for his behaviour and lack of communication, but insisted that everything was fine now and that he didn't need to worry about it anymore. Stiles had been found and he was now safe. Liam hadn't replied since then and Scott knew he was royally pissed off. Even though there was only a few years between him and the younger wolf, he didn't think he'd ever felt that difference in age and experience more greatly than he did now.
Scott suddenly felt Stiles shift under his arm and he looked down, watching as Stiles slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he woke up. Scott leaned back and turned the lamp on, flooding the room in light. Stiles squinted and frowned, his eyes following the length of his impromptu-pillow until they met Scott's. His frown deepened and he slowly pushed himself away. "Dude," he said, his voice still scratchy with sleep. "Were you – were you cuddling me?"
The side of Scott's mouth turned up in a grin and he clicked his phone off with his thumb. "Yep. Gotta problem with that?"
"Yes. Dude, guys – guys don't cuddle. That – that was un-consensual cuddling that you just did. I did not agree to that."
"Oh I don't know, you seemed pretty happy to use me as your pillow. At one point you even hugged me like a teddy-bear."
"Dude."
"Dude."
They stared at each other for a long moment, Stiles with a put-upon frown and Scott with a smug smile, until finally Stiles sighed and leaned back into the couch, waving his hand. "Whatever. I don't care. You're part wolf, cuddling is probably part of your DNA or something. So you can go and cuddle with whomever you want – go cuddle with your Pack; that's what wolves do, right?"
"Dude, you're my Pack." Scott's grin widened into a smile. "So I guess that means you're okay with cuddling, then?"
Stiles gave him an annoyed glare, opening his mouth to retort back when suddenly the front-door opened and the lights turned on; the boys turned to see John standing in the doorway, looking very bedraggled and out of breath. He looked around the room until his eyes finally landed on his son, and in a few long strides he was in front of him and enveloping him in a hug.
They stayed that way for a long while, the Sheriff whispering something into his son's ear and Stiles murmuring something quietly in return. Scott began to feel he was intruding on a private moment and was about to get up when John finally pulled back, his eyes shimmering. He sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch, placing his hand on Stiles' knee and squeezing it tightly.
"I'm okay Dad," Stiles said and Scott could see that his eyes too, were shining with unshed tears.
"Are you?" John asked, his voice taking on a sharp tone. "What the hell happened, Stiles? Scott told me that you were… that you were kidnapped by a supernatural creature? And that it placed some sort of… spell on me and that's why I didn't even realise you were missing for a week?"
Scott could hear Stiles swallow and his heartbeat speed up, as he struggled to come up with the best answer to tell his father. He knew that Scott had told him he'd been hurt, that the Witch had knocked him around pretty good and locked him in an upstairs room, but as to why the witch had taken him, why she'd beaten him – he'd left that explanation up to Stiles.
Stiles opened his mouth, gaping for a moment before he finally found the words to speak, schooling his face into a small, half-smile. "Well, you know how I've always said that all our teachers came on a one-way ticket straight from hell itself?"
John frowned, shaking his head. "Stiles, what does that have to do with –."
"Well as it turns out, it's actually true! Our teacher, Ms… Ms. Givens, she, uh… it turns out she was a… a witch."
"Your teacher is a witch?" John asked, frowning incredulously.
"Was a witch," Scott interjected. "She's dead now."
John turned to him, his eyebrow raised questioningly. "Who killed her?"
Scott suddenly found the back of his neck grow hot and he swallowed. He always avoided killing as much as he could; the first time he'd taken a life, even though it was a supernatural one, he'd been a wreck for weeks afterward. He never killed if he didn't have to. But this… this was different. Much different. "She was going to kill us," he said quickly. "She tortured Stiles, she was going to kill him so I had no choice –."
"Woah, hey now," John interrupted, his eyes softening. "I'm not interrogating you Scott, I'm just trying to figure out what happened. My son was missing for almost a week and I didn't notice a thing, so I either I'm the worst father in the world or there was something – or someone – making sure I didn't know and I'm just trying to figure out who it was. If you had to kill someone to save my son – to save yourself – that is more than acceptable. So don't think for a second that you're in trouble, okay?" Scott nodded and John turned back to Stiles. "Did she say what she wanted from you? Why she kidnapped you?"
Stiles' fists clenched imperceptibly by his sides, his voice low and scratchy as he spoke. "She… she thought I was… that I was special, or something. Like Scott and the others. She thought she could take it from me, whatever it was, but obviously there was… there was nothing to get, so she just ended up getting mad. A lot."
John's eyes glanced briefly down to Stiles' stomach, where he knew hidden wounds lay, then looked back up. "Is that why she… is that why she beat you?" he asked.
Stiles nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, she uh… she wasn't too thrilled when she realised there was nothing there."
They were silent for a few moments and John finally sighed, leaning back and rubbing his hand tiredly over his face. "You kids…." he muttered under his breath. He looked back up at Stiles. "If Melissa hadn't checked you over already, I'd be taking your hide to the emergency room right now, you know that?"
"I'm fine Dad, I swear! Yeah, maybe I'm a bit black and blue at the moment, but it's nothing that time won't heal." Catching his father's skeptical look, Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes. "Seriously Dad, I'm fine. Yeah, I was kidnapped; yeah, maybe I got knocked around a bit, but Scott found me, I got out, … it's fine now, okay? She's dead. It's over. So now I'd just like to go home and keep sleeping for the rest of the year, if that's okay with everyone else."
John rose to his feet. "Then we'll leave right now," he said. "Do you have everything you need? Did you bring anything?"
"Just me, myself, and I," Stiles replied with a smile. Neither Scott nor John were an idiot – they knew it was forced.
Stiles tried getting to his feet but fell back on the couch at his first attempt; he pretended it was nothing and tried again, but Scott could tell that he was in pain, could see the grimace hidden behind his eyes. John, with the intuition that only a parent could have, took his son's arm and helped him finally get to his feet. For once, Stiles didn't complain.
"I guess I'll see you later, Scott," Stiles said as he walked over to the door beside his father. Scott quickly rose and followed after them.
"I'll come by tomorrow," he said. "The guys were wanting to see you. Should I tell them they can stop by sometime?"
Stiles remained with his back towards him, slowly putting his shoes. "Sure," he said after a minute. It was a reluctant agreement, Scott could tell, but he honestly couldn't blame him. If he'd been held captive by a Witch and tortured for a week, he'd want a few days off, too.
"They won't stay long," Scott assured him as John opened the door. "They just want to see you, make sure you're okay – you know?"
Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I know. Just not too early, okay? The weekend is meant for sleeping; especially Sundays."
"I'll make sure they don't," Scott affirmed.
"Tell your mother I said thank-you, will you?" John asked. Scott nodded. A few moments later they were out the door, heading towards John's police-car and getting inside. A minute later the engine turned over and roared to life; the lights shone bright in Scott's face as the car pulled away, and few minutes later they were driving down the road and disappearing into the darkness.
Stiles stared into his bedroom, his eyes unblinking and his feet unmoving. He'd just said goodnight to his dad, who he knew was exhausted from a week of overtime and days of worrying over his son, and now looked nearly ready to collapse. They'd talked for another couple hours after they'd gotten home, John trying to wring out any more information from his son about what had happened to him. Stiles told him a bit more, such as the first couple days under her spell of illusion and some of the kinds of beatings he received, though he left out the events involving the bed and knives. His dad didn't need to know about that.
Even though he'd been sleeping for nearly a day and a half straight, Stiles still felt inexplicably exhausted and was more than ready to close his eyes. The only problem was that ever since his dad had gone to his room, Stiles suddenly found that he was unable to step a single foot into his own.
His room was exactly as he'd left it: his bed half-made, his board pushed to the side with various amounts of scribbles strewn across it, his desk and laptop sitting along the wall, vacant and unused. Everything was the same, and after unexpectedly being away for so long he should be ecstatic to finally be back.
Except he wasn't. Rather than feeling elated, Stiles instead felt trepidation, he felt worry.
He felt fear.
This is stupid, he told himself, trying to gather his courage and step forward through the doorway. This is stupid, just go. Just go inside and go to bed; you're tired, why can't you just go….
Taking a deep breath, Stiles finally walked across the threshold and into his room.
It was an odd mixture of both relief and fear; relief at being back with the familiar and comforting, while at the same time feeling fearful of the ever-shrinking walls that surrounded him on all sides, closing him in, trapping him.
Imprisoning him.
He glanced at the bed only once before stepping away, knowing immediately that there was no way he was going to stay there for the entire night. After nearly ten minutes of standing in silence, Stiles finally dashed over to his bed, grabbed a handful of blankets, and sat down on the floor, his eyes never leaving the hallway through the open door until he finally fell asleep.
Scott arrived the next morning at ten to find John's police-car sitting silently in the driveway, the house quiet and unmoving. He stepped lightly through the door that he unlocked with his key and made his way up the stairs until he reached Stiles' room. As he neared it he noticed that the door was wide open and for a moment he frowned, wondering if maybe Stiles was already awake and he'd somehow missed him; but when he peered into the room, he found that he hadn't missed him at all.
Stiles laid under a mountain of blankets, not a bit of him visible except for his tousle of hair and his closed eyes. What surprised him the most, however, was that rather than lying on the bed, Stiles was curled up in the corner of the room nearest to the window, nothing beneath him but the hard-wood floor. As though sensing him nearby, Stiles began to stir and peeked sleep-filled eyes up at Scott. Scott was glad to see that, despite having slept on the floor, Stiles appeared to be in better shape than he had in the last couple of days.
"Hey," Scott greeted. Stiles disappeared back under the blankets and Scott heard him mumble something unintelligible in reply. "How are you feeling?" Scott asked, taking a seat on the edge of Stiles' bed.
"Fine," Stiles replied, pushing the blankets away and sitting up against the wall. He yawned, stretching his arms in front of him.
"Was something wrong with your bed?"
Stiles blinked, rubbing away the water that had formed in his eyes. "Hmm?"
"I said, is something wrong with your bed? Why were you sleeping on the floor?"
Stiles blinked a few more times, awareness suddenly returning to him as he realised that he was indeed on the floor. Colour tinged his cheeks and he hastily pushed the blankets off his legs, realising belatedly that he was still in the same clothes he had worn yesterday. "Oh, um… I uh, I just accidentally fell asleep here, I guess. Too tired to make it to the bed."
If lies had scents, Scott would be smelling this one a mile away. But at the moment it didn't matter; there were far more important things to take care of now.
"You should probably take a shower," Scott said after a few moments. "The girls and Liam will be here in half an hour and no offence man, but you kinda stink."
"Thanks," Stiles said, rising slowly to his feet and making his way to the door, slapping Scott's shoulder with his hand as he passed him. "I appreciate your support."
"Just trying to help," Scott called after him as he disappeared into the hallway. A few minutes later Scott heard the shower turn on and he settled back to wait until his friend returned.
Stiles came back twenty minutes later with a towel wrapped around his neck, his hair wet and flat against his head. He was wearing an old pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt, looking more alive and relaxed than he had in a long time. He plopped down on the chair and threw his towel at Scott, hitting him in the face. Scott grinned and threw the towel back at him until Stiles finally threw it to the side. They sat in a peaceful silence until Scott's phone buzzed, Lydia's text letting them know that the rest of the Pack was waiting outside.
"They're here," Scott said, looking up at Stiles with a tight smile. "You ready?"
Stiles sighed, but nodded his head. "Yeah. Best to get it over with, I guess."
A twinge of guilt moved in Scott's chest, understanding that Stiles would rather stay under the radar for the next while, but knowing that their friends wouldn't allow that to happen. "Sorry," he said sympathetically. "After this I'll make sure they give you some space, all right?"
"Dude, you don't have to hover over me like I'm some kid; I can take care of myself, you know."
"I know you can. But I'm your alpha; it's my responsibility to keep… to keep you safe."
Stiles sighed, leaning back against his chair and stretching his legs. "You know buddy, it'd sound a lot better if you just said you're concerned for me as a friend. Pulling the alpha card is kind of a trashy move. Not to mention slightly weird."
"Too bad. I'm gonna pull that card as much as I need to if it means we can avoid another Givens."
Stiles' eyes softened. "Scott…."
Suddenly the sound of the front door opening could be heard, slamming shut a few moments later. Seconds after they could hear voices, then the sounds of footsteps as they ran up the stairs and down the hall until they finally reached –
"Stiles!"
Stiles barely had enough time to take a breath before he was being wrapped in a huge hug, his face covered with a mass of strawberry-hair. After a long moment the person finally pulled back and Stiles could see Lydia looking down at him, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. That there were tears at all was saying something – for Lydia Marten never cried in public.
"Stiles – Stiles, are you all right?" she asked quickly, scanning him over with her eyes before he even had time to reply. "Scott said you got hurt –." Her hands reached for Stiles' shirt, intending to lift it up to see his bruises, but Stiles quickly grabbed her arm and pushed her away, hastily pulling his shirt back down.
"Hey now," he said. "Let's leave the doctor-stuff to the doctors, okay? Scott's mom already checked me over and fixed me up so it's all good; no need to see for yourself, all right?"
Lydia's hands clenched by her sides and she took a step back, guilt marring her features in a way Stiles had never seen before – much less towards him. "Stiles, I'm so – so sorry. I didn't – I didn't realise that you were… I didn't realise that you were in trouble, or else I would have –."
"Lydia, it's fine," Stiles interrupted, trying to calm her down. "No one knew, okay? Not even Scott. The Witch made it so that I couldn't tell anyone and she worked damn hard to make sure no one found out. It's not your fault, all right?"
Lydia shook her head. "I should have known. I should have sensed it, I should have known you were in danger –."
"Lydia you're a banshee," Stiles said. "Though I know you think you are, you're not actually all-knowing. It wasn't like I was on death's door, so why would you have sensed anything?"
Lydia grabbed Stiles' hand and squeezed it tightly between her own, her fingers trembling beneath his. "I'm so glad you're safe…" she whispered.
"I knew something was wrong," Malia announced, stepping into the conversation. "I knew something was off with you; I just didn't know what. You would never act the way you did. And that teacher – Ms. Givens? – she was a regular bitch from hell. She pretended to be nice at the start, but whenever a kid did something annoying she'd get real pissy really fast." Malia moved past Lydia and leaned down, wrapping her arms around Stiles in a hug. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispered in his ear. Stiles hugged her back. While he'd been nervous to see everyone again, he had to admit – it was nice to know they cared.
Malia stepped back and Kira took her place, leaning down and hugging Stiles briefly before taking her place beside Scott. "I'm so happy you're safe, Stiles," she said.
Lydia stepped to the side to reveal Liam standing behind her. He hunched in on himself when everyone turned to look at him, but straightened back up when he turned to Stiles. "Uh, hey man. Glad… glad to see you're not dead."
Scott and Lydia grimaced while Malia rolled her eyes and colour tinged Kira's cheeks. Stiles couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks man," he said. "I'm glad I'm not dead, too." Liam brightened and gave a small smile, which Stiles returned.
Silence fell over the group for a few minutes until Lydia finally spoke, asking the silent question that everyone had been wanting to know: "So what happened, Stiles?"
Stiles took a deep breath, steeling himself as he opened his mouth to speak, having already rehearsed what he was going to say. "Well as you probably know already, our substitute teacher kinda left a few things off her resume when she applied for the job. It turns out she was a witch and for some reason in her little witchy-mind, she thought that I had some special power like you guys and she wanted to somehow take it for herself."
"She thought you were a werewolf?" Kira asked.
"Or a banshee. Or a kitsune. But since I'm not any of those things, she obviously didn't find anything, so she just… knocked me around a bit. I'm fine though, I'm okay now, so don't give me any more of your teary-little anime eyes, okay? Scott found me in time so it's all… it's all good."
"Where was she keeping you?" Lydia asked quietly.
"She had some sort of house hidden in the woods; it was surrounded by magic so no one would have been able to find it. Or leave it."
Malia frowned. "How did Scott find you, then?"
That was a question Stiles had been wondering himself for a while now, but not having a real answer he simply said the first thing that came off his tongue: "He's a True Alpha. He can do all kinds of crazy things." Scott gave him a look that went unnoticed by the others, but no one pursued the question further, seemingly content with the answer.
Silence enveloped them once more, though this time it was much more amiable and calm. Stiles could see they all had more questions they wanted to ask, but none wanted to aks them in front of the others.
After a while Lydia announced that they'd all be going out for pizza for lunch, which everyone – even Stiles – was happy to agree to. Liam started to ask whether he could bring his girlfriend along when John's voice suddenly sounded in the room: "You kids do realise that there's more than one person that lives here, don't you?"
Everyone froze and turned to the door where John Stilinski stood, looking tired with his eyebrow raised. A chorus of apologies bombarded him and John shook his head, unable to stop his lips from twitching upwards. "No, no, it's fine. I was just reading in my room anyways; wanted to let Stiles sleep in." He locked eyes with his son and nodded his head. "You good?"
A small smile brushed his lips and Stiles nodded. "Yeah. I'm good."
John smiled and leaned away from the door. "All right then; I'm going to go put on a pot of coffee." The Sherriff walked away and a few moments later they could hear the sounds of his feet as they padded quietly down the stairs.
"All right, well, that was awkward," Malia announced. "Let's never do that again."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Oh please Malia. If you think that was awkward then we really need to get you some experience in what true awkwardness is. Have you ever woken up hungover in the house of someone's parents that you barely know? Who found you sleeping in their bed?"
Malia frowned, leaning away. "No…."
"Then you haven't experienced the true meaning of the word 'awkward'. You know nothing."
"Jon Snow," both Stiles and Scott said in unison, immediately turning to each other with a grin. The conversation and banter was so achingly familiar that, for a moment, Stiles almost forgot how they all came to be here in the first place.
Almost.
"Well how about we head out and go get pizza?" Malia suggested, standing to her feet.
Lydia gave her an incredulous look. "Malia, it's only quarter after eleven."
"So?"
"So we don't just eat whenever we want to! There is a time and place for everything, including meals."
Malia scoffed. "You know, if I knew being a human meant I had to be so uptight about everything, I'd have just stayed a coyote. You guys let that clock run your entire lives."
"Come on," Scott said, getting to his own feet. "It's not that early. By the time we find a place and order our food, it'll be almost noon. Let's go."
Everyone stood and a few started to walk towards the door, when suddenly Liam spoke up. "Oh Scott, I forgot to tell you. There was a Pack from Colorado that came through here a couple days ago, looking for you. I told them I didn't know where you were, because I didn't at the time. You were… you were looking for Stiles."
Scott frowned. "Did they say what they wanted?"
"They were looking for one of their pack members, an older guy in his thirties. Said he went missing a couple months ago and they'd tracked him to our territory. I told them we hadn't seen him, but that they could talk to you if they wanted. They didn't stay."
Scott thought for a few more moments, then shrugged his shoulders. "Well I guess all we can do is keep our eyes out for him. Did they say what he looked like?"
"Brown hair, blue eyes – tall. Didn't say much else; they seemed to be in a hurry."
"Well like I said, we'll keep an eye out for him. But for now, let's go get something to eat."
Everyone voiced their agreement and made their way out of the room, until Stiles and Scott were the only ones that were left. Scott turned to Stiles, his hand on the doorknob, his eyebrows pinched slightly together. "You okay?" he asked.
Stiles took a deep breath, paused for a few moments, then nodded his head. He was still tired beyond belief, he still didn't feel entirely comfortable around the rest of the Pack – around anyone, really – but he had to admit, after a week of nothing but soups and sandwiches and tea-parties (he shuddered just remembering that random bit of memory), he was more than hungry.
And damn, but did pizza sure sound good.
At first the conversations and banter around the table were calm and comfortable, and Stiles thought for a moment that settling back into normalcy would be easy.
He was wrong.
Halfway through the lunch as people began to question him more and more about what had happened, he found himself shutting down, hunching in on himself – wishing that he were anywhere other than where he was. Scott, ever aware, quietly grabbed Stiles' arm and led him out of the booth, telling everyone that he wasn't feeling well and so he was going home, and as Stiles' ride, Stiles was leaving too. Giving no one time to question him, he simply walked Stiles out the door.
Stiles went back home and spent the rest of the day and night doing almost entirely nothing but sleep. His dad had taken the rest of the day off from work and stayed home, watching over him like a hawk. Stiles didn't mind. After spending nearly a week being on constant alert and having to be always aware, it was nice to let someone else take over – if only for a while.
The next few days passed in the same way. Scott stayed home from school both Monday and Tuesday to hang out and keep an eye on Stiles after his dad had gone back to work, but Stiles was sure that even if his father had been home, Scott would still be right beside him.
On Wednesday Stiles finally managed to convince Scott to go back to school. He himself still didn't feel up to it, but he knew that as much as he loved Scott as a brother, he was going to climb up the walls if he didn't stop hovering over him like a worried mother hen. Scott had fought him, saying it was still too soon to leave him alone by himself, but Stiles just shook his head and told him that he'd be fine, and that whether they liked it or not, things would have to go back to normal eventually.
He thought he'd spend his time sleeping like he had for the past three days, but as he sat on the couch watching an old show on the TV, his thoughts began to drift and he found himself focusing on that which he had been trying to avoid ever since he first woke up.
His powers.
He'd been trying to avoid it, putting it to the back of his mind whenever he happened to think about it, but now it stood firm before him, refusing to be ignored any longer.
The house was quiet, but unlike Givens' house, it was a warm quiet. For the longest time Stiles just stared at his hand, open and palm facing upwards, for all appearances barren and empty.
But as Stiles had learned only all too well, appearances could be destructively deceiving.
Alone in the silence of the house, Stiles, for the first time in nearly a week, dug deep within himself and took hold of the feeling that was starting to become only all-too familiar.
Wisps and tendrils of wind wrapped around his palm, weaving through his fingers and circling his wrist. The wind shimmered with a quiet blue, fading and reappearing as it ran around his hand.
Well, he thought, now's about a good a time as any to have that well-deserved Freak Out I couldn't have before. Oddly enough, however, Stiles didn't exactly feel like freaking out any longer.
Stiles lost track of how long he stared at the wind that he had conjured, the air that he was controlling, until suddenly he heard a car speed by his house, the unexpected noise startling him out of his reverie. The air circling in his hand didn't vanish, though, and it wasn't until he intentionally brought it to an end that the wind calmed and disappeared. He looked up, his eyes falling on the television and over the few pictures that stood on the mantle.
He couldn't do this here. Not in his house, where if something went wrong he'd end up either hurting someone or breaking every single thing his father owned. No, he had to go somewhere else if he was going to do this; if he was going to… going to practice his power. If he was going to see what exactly it was that he could really do.
Turning on his phone, Stiles saw that it was two in the afternoon. Scott would still be in school for another hour, but Stiles had a feeling he wouldn't mind skipping the last class of the day.
Stiles never missed his jeep more than when he was sitting behind Scott on his flimsy little motorbike, driving down the dirt road as dust kicked up in large billows behind them.
He hated this thing, he'd always hated this thing. People always accused him of driving a large, metal deathtrap, but at least he had a box around him if he crashed; on this thing they only had their bodies, a thin little helmet, and a million miles of momentum to throw them across the ground and shred them to pieces.
And people said he was the reckless one.
They came to a stop along the road and Scott kicked his stand with his foot, tilting the bike on its side.
"You ever going to trade that thing in for real transportation?" Stiles asked as they began walking down into the ditch. "Girls don't like those deathtraps as much as you think they do."
"Well Kira seems to like it," Scott replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. "And when you go faster or make a sharp turn, they hold on to you tighter, too. I'd say that makes it worth it right there."
Stiles grinned, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, dude."
They made their way into the woods and continued to walk for another fifteen minutes, until at last they arrived at their destination, a place Stiles felt he hadn't seen in an age.
The hidden pond and clearing looked exactly like Stiles had left it, appearing untouched and unchanged since the last two weeks. Stiles could not say the same for himself. He paused for a brief moment, standing completely still as he closed his eyes and inhaled in the fresh, pine-filled air. Though he was well out in the open, Stiles still felt comfortingly safe. After a few minutes, Scott spoke.
"So what are we doing here?" he asked, setting his helmet down beneath a nearby tree.
Stiles took a deep breath and put back his shoulders. It was now or never.
"Well I figured there were too many things to break in the house, so this place would be as good as any to… practice."
Scott looked up at him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn't seen or heard Stiles talk about his powers since he'd first shown him after he first woke up; he had been silent about it ever since, wanting to give Stiles the space he needed to figure everything out, just as he himself had needed all those years ago. "Yeah?" he said.
"Yeah," Stiles repeated. "And I figured since I don't really know what could happen, I might as well bring someone along to make sure I don't – I don't know – fly through the air or something."
Scott's eyes widened slightly in wonder, a smile touching his lips. "Can you?" he asked.
Stiles snorted. "Dude, I honestly have no idea. But that's what we're here to find out. You ready?"
Scott quickly nodded his head. "Hell yes." He looked around for a moment. "Where should I stand?"
"Um…" Stiles glanced around the clearing, then back to Scott. "Behind me, I guess?"
Scott quickly strode across the grass until he was a few feet behind Stiles, his excited anticipation as clear as day. Stiles took one more deep breath, calming himself down. He had no more excuses now.
An hour later found Stiles randomly throwing bursts of wind at the tree branches and pond while Scott voiced his approval and cheered from behind. He then started making suggestions and soon both teenagers were seeing just how much Stiles could actually manipulate the air to his will. The first experiment was to see how big a wind-force Stiles could make, an idea which resulted in many of the surrounding branches to be torn from their trees, and for Scott to be knocked off his feet and sent tumbling through the bushes. Stiles quickly followed him after he lost his focus and the control he had over the wind was ripped from his hands, sending him spinning and landing on the ground in a heap twenty feet away. Scott, unhurt, could only laugh as Stiles dizzily made his way to his feet. Stiles glared at him and in a spur of the moment threw out his hands, sending a wave of wind towards Scott where it knocked him back down on his rear-end.
The next goal was to see just how small a wind-force Stiles could control. They both leaned over Stiles' hands as he cupped them together, leaving just a small amount of space between them as he focused on the air and squeezed it together. Not realising just how much pressure he was creating, Stiles suddenly lost hold and the wind shot forward, piercing through the air until it hit a tree, exploding the bark and looking as though the tree had been shot. Stiles had swallowed, straightened up, and promptly stated that he was going to concentrate on doing things a little-less dangerous for the next while, thank-you very much.
Hours later the sun had fallen and was nearing the horizon, casting a warm glow across the clearing and trees, illuminating the leaves and grass in gold. By now Stiles was able to conjure the wind and manipulate the air with relative ease, managing to hold a sphere of wind between the palms of his hands, as the air wove and danced through his fingers and around his wrists. The more Stiles used his powers, the more he began to feel comfortable with them; though he wouldn't admit it even to himself yet, it felt as though the air was somehow a part of him – as though it were an extension of himself, yet at the same time very much its own entity. It was strangely familiar to him, like meeting an old friend you had forgotten, but at the same time still so completely foreign and new. Stiles wasn't yet sure about all his powers, the prophecy, and the Blessed, but deep inside he had to admit – this was at least a little cool.
So now they sat on the ground, Stiles leaning back on his hands and Scott lying on his back with his hands behind his head, enjoying the cool evening of Autumn and the silence and peace of nature.
Stiles bit his lower lip, a frown set deep between his eyes as he stared unfocusedly into the distance, thinking about something that had been nudging the forefront of his mind more and more over the past couple days. After a long moment he finally gave it voice: "She still has my jeep, you know."
Scott opened his eyes, looking up at his friend. "Who, Givens?"
"Yeah. I mean, I know she's dead so she obviously doesn't have it, but it's still at her place. She's just been sittin' there gathering leaves, dust, and who knows what else." Stiles mumbled under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like less-than-kind words about Givens. Scott opened his mouth, just about to say that they'd have to start looking for a new vehicle, when Stiles interrupted him. "We gotta go back for her, Scotty."
Scott stared at Stiles, leaning up on his elbows as he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You can't be serious, Stiles."
Stiles turned to him, a look of determination set across his face. "I am. No one gets left behind, Scott – you know that."
"But Stiles –"
"No buts! I'm going to get her and I'll do it whether you come with me or not. Besides, what's the danger? Givens is dead, the spell is broken, the illusion and the barrier are both gone – what's there to worry about?"
Scott eyed him warily, sitting up as he shook his head. "Stiles, do you… do you honestly want to go back there? Like, seriously? It's only been a week since…."
"Yeah, so?" Stiles questioned. His eyes locked with Scott's, holding the stare for nearly a minute before Scott finally broke and breathed out a heavy sigh.
"Okay, fine. I'll go with you to get your stupid jeep. But tell me Stiles – how do you figure we're gonna find the place to begin with? It's not exactly located on a map and I only remember the general vicinity."
Stiles grinned and slapped the side of Scott's arm with his hand. "That, dear Scott, is where you come in. A werewolf's nose has to be good for something, right?"
Scott grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I figured that's what you'd say."
"Great. We'll start tomorrow then; it's getting late, now." Scott gave another sigh and heaved himself to his feet, and the two teenagers began making their way out of the clearing and onto the trail that led back to the road. Just as they left, Stiles suddenly spoke. "Oh, and Scott?" Before Scott could blink, he felt Stiles' fist punch him on the shoulder. He yelped, jerking back and looking at Stiles with furrowed brows as Stiles returned to him a disapproving glare. "Don't ever call my baby stupid again, okay?"
Scott rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. "Whatever you say, man."
