It was a feeling he'd hoped he'd never have to experience again – the painful, burning pinch of rope wrapped tightly around his wrists, the awkward and horribly uncomfortable angle of his arms being held above him, the weight of his body forced entirely upon his shoulders. It was a position he had only been in a handful of times, but that handful was more than enough for a lifetime. For a brief moment he thought that he was back in the attic, back in his prison, idly waiting for more torture, idly waiting for death. It wasn't until he heard a deep voice frantically calling his name that he realised something was amiss, and with a start he wrenched open his eyes.

He was surrounded by four cement walls and a concrete ceiling, from which inexplicably hung the thick rope that bound his hands together. A door stood to his right and a window lay behind him, the moonlight from outside shining through and casting his shadow on the wall in front of him. Only there wasn't just one shadow hanging from the ceiling, but two.

Scott. Stiles turned his head, moving his arm as best he could to be able see the other boy, who was currently struggling against the ropes that were tied around his wrists and hanging him from the ceiling. Only unlike Stiles, Scott had more than just ropes binding him; a piece of thin cloth was wrapped around the lower half of his face and tied behind his head. His eyes were bloodshot and shining with tears as he fought to lift himself up, something that should have been easy for him, but which he was now struggling to do. Stiles' eyes hovered over the fabric around Scott's mouth and nose, and if he couldn't already tell from Scott's pain, the smell would have definitely given it away: Wolfsbane.

"Hey, hey," Stiles said, trying to swing himself around to see Scott better. "You okay?" It was a stupid question, but one he had to ask, nonetheless. Scott's attention turned from the rope to Stiles, his mouth moving as he tried to speak, but his voice too muffled to understand what he was saying. Stiles' chest tightened and his movements increased as he tried to pull at the rope, hoping to somehow rip it from its connection to the ceiling; but nothing happened. Stiles gritted his teeth, his heart feeling as though it had fallen through his chest. It was like someone had re-winded his life back two-weeks, forcing him to relive that long night and day strung from the ceiling like a puppet, completely defenceless and vulnerable to all that the Witch wanted to do. He had vowed to himself that he would never be in that situation again. But here he was.

Stiles looked around, searching for anything that he could use to save them, to get them out. It was dark in the room, which Stiles had figured to be an old tool-shed, and it was difficult to find anything that would help them, much less be able to reach it. "I – I'll find something," he said, eyes jumping from shadow to shadow, from object to object. Scott grunted beside him, jerking his arms a few times more before falling lax, his head resting against the crook of his elbow as he struggled to fight the pain of the wolfsbane. Stiles continued to search. "We'll get out of here, I swear." He was surprised at how calm he was, how calmly he was taking Givens' resurgence and being imprisoned once more. He should be freaking out, he should be panicked and screaming, but instead he found himself strangely focused, his attention fully devoted to one thing – escape. But before Stiles could do anything, the handle at the door turned and its hinges squeaked open.

Both Stiles and Scott's heads snapped up, watching as the shadowed form of a woman entered the room, followed by the form of a werewolf, its claws open and its teeth bared. The woman held something in her hand and a moment later she whispered a small, foreign word, and the candle she had been holding flared to life. Givens smiled, the shadows created by the light casting her cheek-bones and features into shadow, giving her smile an all-the-more sinister look. The Rogue-Wolf stood expressionless as his large form loomed behind her, a silent threat.

Givens strode across the floor, her right hand holding the candle and her left lifting her skirts. She was wearing an old, dark-green dress and her hair was lifted in intricate curls behind her head, making her look as though she'd just stepped out of the 19th century. It was a strangely familiar look and Stiles frowned, trying to understand why the image was so uncanny, when the answer suddenly appeared before him.

It was the image from the photo; the one he had seen in Givens' house when they'd gone back for the jeep, the one of the family and their dog, where the woman at the front was staring directly at the camera, her mouth turned in the smallest of smiles. It was the same woman and as the pieces fell into place, Stiles couldn't believe that he hadn't made the connection before.

Givens came to a stop a few feet in front of Scott and Stiles, her eyes switching between the two as her lips stretched into a large smile. No one said anything for a long moment, filling the room with a heavy, tangible tension. The Witch leaned forward, her eyes fastened on Stiles. "Hello, my dear one," she said. When she spoke, all the memories that Stiles had been trying to forget from the past month came rushing back, her lilting voice sending a surge of fear through his heart and panic through his veins. She took a step forward, lifting her hand and caressing the back of her fingers down the side of his face. It was like a jolt of electricity had been shot through his body, and Stiles reacted out of instinct without a second thought.

A surge of pressure blasted forward from Stiles like a shockwave, breaking the crates and boxes that cluttered the room and throwing the Rouge-Wolf against the wall like a rag doll. Givens, however, remained unmoved, her fist raised beside her, surrounded in a dark-blue light, her smile changing into a smirk. She brought her hand forward, gently cupping Stiles' cheek, gripping his jaw between her fingers. A shock ran through Stiles' body and every muscle froze into place, her magic holding him in an iron grip.

"Stiles, Stiles…. Do you honestly think that I wouldn't be prepared this time around?" She squeezed his face and his muscles grew tighter, sending tremors of pain throughout his body. She clucked at him as she had done so many times before, as though he were nothing more than a misbehaving child; but this time her eyes spoke what her words didn't, and Stiles could see the wild anger just waiting to be released.

She looked between Stiles' eyes as though searching for something, but all Stiles could see behind hers was madness. "We can end this all, you know," she said, her smile slowly fading. "We can still end this. All this pain, all this hurt. Just give me what I want and it will all be over. Your friend will go free, his Pack will no longer be in danger, and even you might escape… if you survive." She squeezed his face tighter, her fingers digging into his cheeks. Stiles didn't reply, his eyebrows narrowed and eyes turned into the most vicious glare he could give. He tried to use the air, to grasp it, to take hold of it as he had done so many times before; but he found that no matter how hard he tried, it always slipped through his fingers, it was always just out of reach.

Givens continued to stare at him, ignoring the grunts and movement from Scott as though he wasn't in the room at all; she had eyes only for Stiles. "You don't even know what you can do," she said softly after a moment. "You don't even know who you are. You don't know your powers, and you certainly don't know how to control them. So why do you defend them so? Why do you defend that which you do not understand, that which you did not ask for, which you do not even want?" She continued to look between his eyes and Stiles could see her thinking, her mind suddenly contemplating something new. She brought her face closer to his until they were only a few inches apart, her breath brushing over Stiles' mouth and nose. "You could come with me, you know. If you so chose, you could come with me, follow me. I could teach you all you need to know about your powers, your gifts, your place in this world as one of the Blessed.

"You would no longer be in the dark, you would no longer need to fear who you are, what you are. You would no longer need to fear yourself. I could teach you to control your powers and become the most powerful Elemental in all of history. You would never have to worry about defending yourself again." She licked her lips, her mouth turning up in a small smile. "And you would never again, need to be rescued by another." Stiles could hear Scott thrashing harder now, but neither Stiles nor Givens paid him any attention. Givens face remained close to Stiles', her eyes never turning from his. "All you need to do is forsake your friends and your family. Leave them. Leave them and never return. Because I assure you, Stiles, they will only ever hinder you. They will only ever slow you down. Even if they don't, do you know what will happen to them? Don't you ever wonder what will become of them, if your powers continue to go unchecked?

"What about that little incident in your school-room, hmm? You did not even have to think and the storm that you created could have hurt someone – killed them, even. Certainly harm them. What if someone had been walking outside? A sudden storm appearing out of nowhere, with no warning, giving no time to hide or seek shelter…. You could have injured them. You, Stiles. You. And this is only the beginning; you have not even touched the tip of what it is you can do. And if you do not learn to control it, do you know what will happen?"

She licked her lips again, leaning forward until they were brushing against his ear, her voice a whisper as she spoke. "Your friends will be the ones to pay; your family will be the ones to suffer. You will hurt them, whether you intend to or not. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. Because it will happen eventually; whether now or years from now, they will get hurt. And it will be all your fault." She leaned back, a dark smile on her face once more. When she spoke, her voice was loud and strong. "Abandon your friends and follow me, Stiles. Leave your friends and family, and freedom and safety will be yours."

Stiles gritted his teeth, his fingers clenching into fists. Did she really think he'd say yes, just like that? He had seen and gone through far too much over the past three years, he had been offered power before, and his loyalty to his friends, his family, and to Scott were far too strong to be broken so easily. Did he want to know what he was and what he could do? Of course he did. Did he want to learn to control his powers? Of course he did. But he knew that when Givens spoke of freedom she was lying; someone like her, who lived and acted only for herself and her own desires, would never give someone like him freedom. For those who sought power were never satisfied, and they would never be satisfied. So with his body immobile and his powers locked, Stiles did the only thing he could do.

He spat in her face.

Givens blinked and jerked back, the spit running slowly down her cheek. She stared at Stiles with wide eyes for a long moment, before her eyes slowly narrowed and her lips pressed in a thin line. She stepped back, tightening her grip on the candle-holder and taking her skirts in her hand, tilting her head ever so-slightly back, saying only three, short words:

"So be it."

She shifted her eyes from Stiles and for the first time that night, turned her attention to Scott. "Mr. McCall," she said, her voice deceptively light, as though it were just another day of class. She smiled, but her smile was tight. "I would say it is a pleasure to see you again, but that would be a lie." Scott glared at her, trying to speak behind the cloth, but his words unintelligible. Givens smiled then waved her fingers, and the fabric fell off Scott's mouth.

Scott coughed, hacking and spitting out as much of the wolfsbane that he'd inhaled as he could. A few moments later the coughing died down and Scott turned his eyes to Givens. "I'm going to kill you," he snarled, his voice raw and hoarse.

A smirk pulled at Givens' lips, and she threw her head back and laughed. "Oh Mr. McCall," she said between laughs, regaining her composure. "Mr. McCall, you have already tried to kill me once, and I'm afraid that you failed. Though not for want of trying. I'll admit, you have an alarmingly good aim." Her smile faded and her laughter fell away, a dark glare overtaking her features. "And thanks to you, I will never forget it." Givens grasped the top of her dress and pulled it down, exposing her chest to the tops of her breasts. What she revealed beneath left both Stiles and Scott in wide-eyed shock.

A large hole lay in the middle of her chest where her heart should have been, its edges torn and mangled, the inside a mixture of bone and flesh. It was barren of blood, surrounded instead in a dark, charred sludge. The hole was undoubtedly the result of Scott's hand having gone through her chest, and by all means should have been a fatal blow. But as much as Deaton claimed witches to be human, they clearly didn't need hearts to live.

Givens pulled the top of the dress back up, until it lay at the base of her neck once more. "You should have known, Mr. McCall," she said with a tut. "Killing a witch is not as simple as ripping out their hearts. We need far more effort than that. But then, you are not the most clever of werewolves."

Scott's eyes darkened as he glared at her. "You're the one who told me to push Stiles out of the Pack. You were trying to separate us, to isolate him so it'd be easier to take him. It was your plan all along."

"Very good Mr. McCall, top marks! And I must say, it all worked out rather perfectly, didn't it?"

Scott was silent and Givens stared at him a few moments longer before turning and walking back to Stiles. She began to unbutton his outer-shirt, Stiles completely unable to stop her, and Scott swore, bucking against the rope. "Leave him alone! If you want someone, come after me!"

Givens turned her head to Scott and smiled, her fingers continuing to make their way down Stiles' shirt. She said nothing in reply as she finished and spread the shirt open. Stiles' t-shirt lay beneath and she ran her hand lightly across it, before pressing each of her fingers gently against the fabric and dragging them down. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth as deep cuts were left behind, tearing the fabric and slicing his skin. Scott yelled, his voice turning into a snarl as his teeth elongated and his eyes turned red, the rope around his wrists creaking and groaning as he tried to pull it apart. Givens continued to rip the fabric and cut into Stiles' skin until his shirt was completely shredded, and his chest and abdomen were covered in blood.

Stiles' chest heaved rapidly in and out, his heart racing and pain lashing through his body as he fought to calm himself down. He couldn't be here, not again – not like this. Givens began to draw circles and designs in his blood, stopping only once to reach up and caress a bloody finger down his neck.

Scott continued to yell obscenities at Givens, cursing her, threatening her, struggling as hard as he could against the rope and her magic, but Givens continued to ignore him. Stiles fought against her magic, trying to free his body and his tongue, but nothing he did changed a thing. It was exactly as it had been before.

Except it wasn't.

Ever since his fight with the creature in the basement of the school, it felt as though the air was always charged around him, as though it were vibrating, an energy waiting to be taken and released. But it wasn't just the air; there was something else humming all around him, brushing against his skin and the back of his mind, its presence surrounding him both around and below. It was a sense that felt both foreign and familiar, both strange and normal, both dangerous and safe; a sense that he'd never felt before, but knew exactly how to use.

He knew it was his power, he knew it was his gift. He knew what he was sensing were the trees and the earth, the air and the wind, the elements reacting to his fear and his panic. He knew what they were as surely as if he'd felt them his entire life. He wanted to reach out, he tried to reach out, pushing as hard as he could against the magic that was binding him, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't grab hold.

Pressure began to build beneath his temple, competing with the gashes on his abdomen for most painful distraction. He clenched his teeth together until his jaw ached, the unnatural feeling of exhaustion that he'd felt back in the attic falling slowly over him once more. He internally swore, feeling as though he were about to scream, when suddenly everything stopped and the pain disappeared.

Stiles looked at Givens, seeing that her attention was no longer on him, but on the door. He turned his eyes to the door as well, trying to see what was there, but saw nothing. The Rogue-Wolf was watching the door attentively as well, and Stiles glanced back at Scott, who turned his eyes from the door to Stiles. "There's someone outside," he whispered, before looking back at the door.

Stiles looked back at Givens and waited to see what she would do. She stayed crouched a minute longer, before turning to the Rogue-Wolf. "Go out and see what's there," she commanded. The wolf immediately obeyed, stepping to the door and walking outside. Givens began to turn her attention back to Stiles as though nothing had happened, when suddenly there was a shrill, animalistic scream, followed by the sounds of fighting.

Givens gave a heavy sigh of exasperation, before rising to her feet. "Must I take care of everything?" She strode over to the door with her candle and disappeared outside, the absence of light shrouding the room in darkness once more.

A few minutes later it was like the strings that were binding him had been cut, and Stiles suddenly collapsed in on himself, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

"Stiles?" Scott said quickly. "Stiles, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Stiles nodded his head, continuing to gasp. "She… her magic's gone; whatever was holding me, it's… it's gone."

Scott's eyes glanced towards the door. "What's going on?" he asked. "Where did she go?"

Stiles didn't answer, instead reaching for the earth and air that he'd been trying so hard to grasp before, closing his eyes when he suddenly felt a cool wave fall across his body. The pain emanating from his chest and abdomen lessened, and the fog that had been shrouding his mind began to clear. When he opened his eyes, he opened them with purpose. They'd just been given an opportunity to escape, and he was not going to waste it.

"I don't know where she went," Stiles replied, turning his attention to the ceiling, where the rope met the concrete. "But I'm not waiting for her to come back." Scott followed his lead and began tugging once more at his own rope, swinging himself back and forth in an attempt to rip it from its invisible lodgings. Stiles knew that simply jarring it wouldn't work, so concentrating as hard as he could, he focused the air and began building pressure at the end of the rope as he had back in the attic, doing all he could to make it snap free.

But whether from the rope entering a cement ceiling rather than wood, or whether the rope and ceiling had been reinforced with magic, nothing that Stiles did caused the ceiling or rope to break. Givens obviously hadn't been lying when she'd said she'd come prepared.

Scott's eyes flitted between watching Stiles and focusing on his own attempts to escape, as he tried to manoeuvre his claws to reach the rope in the effort to slice it in half. But with the way his wrists had been tied, his hands bound facing away from each other, the thick rope twisted and knotted to hinder any movement, he found finding purchase to be impossible.

Stiles glanced at Scott's wrists before turning his attention back to his own efforts, the fumbling of his fingers increasing as he did. They had to move fast; they had no idea when Givens would be back, whether or not this would be their only chance, whether Givens would suddenly come back and punish them both for trying to escape. Stiles' frown deepened as he focused on the rope so near to his fingers. If he could just reach a little higher, just move his fingers a bit more to get at the knots, then maybe, just maybe….

Ever so slowly, the tips of Stiles' fingers managed to reach a bit higher, until he finally had a grasp on the knots. Unlike Scott, his wrists were bound facing one another, and from what Stiles could only assume to be from his constant moving, the knots had already started to come loose. Stiles' heart pumped loudly in his ears as adrenaline rushed through his body; just a little higher, just a little higher….

Scott growled in frustration as his fingers slipped once more, his arms and shoulders throbbing painfully as he forced his exhausted muscles to keep moving. As he tried once more to reach the rope with his claw his eyes glanced briefly towards Stiles, suddenly widening as his eyebrows raised in shock.

Stiles was working his fingers frantically at the knots surrounding his wrists, each knot slowly but surely pulling loose. But that wasn't what had taken Scott by surprise.

Stiles was standing on his tip-toes, concentration etched deep on his face as he pushed himself as high up as he could in order to better access the knots. The rope lay partially slacked between the ceiling and Stiles, making it much easier to remove the knots from their place. It was the easiest way to do things, something Stiles should have done long before – except for the fact that he shouldn't be able to do it all.

It was impossible. He was standing on the air; he was literally pushing himself off the air, stepping on it as though it were solid ground. He was, with no other way to describe it, floating in mid-air.

Scott had seen Stiles use his powers before. He had seen him throw Givens across the yard, had seen him create a vortex of wind in the palm of his hand, had seen him toss a creature against a cement wall; but for some reason this particular act made him realise more than any other just how different Stiles had become, just how much his life had now changed. The entire thing was still so new to him, that Stiles had power and control over the elements was still mind-blowing, but if Scott knew one thing for sure, it was what it was like to watch yourself become something so much more than what you once had been and jarring that process could be.

His eyes still locked incredulously on his friend, Scott finally found his tongue spoke. "Stiles!"

Stiles looked down, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, about to ask what was wrong when he suddenly took notice of the unusual position that he was in. He stared at his hands, his eyes following the rope as he noticed just how slack it had become; glancing up at the ceiling, he realised that he was now only a few inches away from it. Looking down, his eyes widened and he jerked with a start as he saw the tips of his toes lifting him up from their firm place on thin air.

Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Stiles suddenly fell back down, the rope pulling taught and his feet swinging in the air once more. Enough knots had already been removed, however, and a second later they finished pulling loose and Stiles fell to the floor with a crash. He sat in shock for only a brief moment, before getting to his feet and brushing off the strands of rope as he ran over to Scott.

"Just lift me up," Scott said, motioning to his claws. "I just need a little more room and I can –." Before he could finish, Stiles was already wrapping his arms around his legs and pushing him up until the rope went slack. Scott quickly found an opening and a second later the rope was sliced, and he fell to the floor with a thud.

Both boys eyed the door, standing completely still as they listened for any sign that Givens was about to return. Suddenly something snapped outside the door and both boys tensed. The hair and teeth on Scott's face grew and he adjusted his stance in preparation. Stiles shifted his own feet and clenched his fists by his sides. He wasn't going to let her take him one more time; and if he was going to go down, he was going to go down fighting.

The doorknob turned and both boys held their breath; a second later the door opened and in came –

Liam?

The tension in each boy's face fell away and they both stared at the younger wolf incredulously. "Liam?!" Scott exclaimed. "Liam, what the hell are you –."

"Come on, we don't have time!" Liam interrupted, glancing behind him before turning back to Scott and Stiles. "Let's go!"

There wasn't time to wonder how Liam had gotten there, how he had found out where they were or that they needed help. There wasn't time to wonder what on earth he had done to distract both a much-bigger werewolf and a Witch, and how he'd managed to do it unscathed. There wasn't time to question or wonder about anything.

So they ran.

They ran through the trees as fast as their legs would carry them, their feet barely touching the ground as they all but flew across the forest floor, fear and adrenaline driving their exhausted muscles and tired bodies. Their senses were on high alert, waiting for the moment when their luck would give out and they'd be blown off their feet. But as the minutes passed, their luck held, and they continued to run.

Scott was a werewolf; he could run faster than any human on earth. He'd ran before from fights and creatures with humans like Stiles, Kira, and Lydia, and if he didn't force himself to slow down, he knew he would leave them far behind. So he'd learned to train himself, on instinct, to slow down for the sake of his friends. But this time when he turned to find Stiles, he found that he was strangely keeping an impressive pace. At first Scott was confused, not understanding what was different, when he belatedly – and with shock – he realised what it was.

Where he himself and Liam were spending half their energy avoiding and jumping over tree branches and fallen logs, Stiles wasn't dodging a thing. It were as though he was running on an already-made path, as though he'd somehow managed to pick the one route that had not a single obstacle. Something caught Scott's eye, and as they neared the jeep and began to slow, what he'd thought he'd seen was confirmed – that the trees and brush were clearing Stiles' path; they were literally moving out of his way.

As soon as they reached the jeep, they wrenched the doors open and threw themselves inside. With great relief, Stiles pulled the keys out of his pocket and turned on the engine, throwing the jeep into reverse and turned it around, spinning the tires in the dirt as he took off down the road.

"Where should we go?!" Scott asked as they tore onto the main road. Stiles didn't reply, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel beneath his fingers. Scott looked out through the window. "We need to call Deaton. Whatever he was making, we need it now." Scott fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Deaton's number. After a few rings, he picked up. "Deaton! Look, we ran into the witch…. Yes, we're fine, but we need that mixture you were going to make, the one to…. Well do you have any already made?! …. Okay… Okay. Well what should we do until then? What if she comes back?!"

"She won't come back," Liam interrupted. "At least, not for a while."

Scott glanced at him, a questioning look in his eyes. He spoke a bit longer on the phone before clicking it off, then turned his attention back to Liam. "What did you do?" he asked. "How did you know where we were, or that –."

"I followed you. You guys were acting weird and I knew you weren't heading home when you left, so I just… I wanted to figure out what was going on."

Scott gave him a look of silent incredulity, before shaking his head. "You can't… dude, you can't just spy on us because you want to know what's going on. If we say something's none of your business, it's none of your business –."

"But you won't tell me anything! I'm not an idiot, Scott – I know something's going on and nobody else seems to see it, but I do! I saw you when Deaton said the witch wasn't dead; you were looking at Stiles, Stiles wasn't looking at you! It was Stiles that got scared, not you –."

"Because he was kidnapped by her! Because she held him and tortured him for a week and threatened to kill him! So of course he would –."

"That's not why, and you know it! Do you wanna know what I think? I don't think that witch is after you, I thinks she's after Stil –."

"Liam, so help me, if you don't drop this –."

A sharp turn abruptly tore Scott and Liam from their argument, jerking them to the side as the jeep swung onto a dirt road and came to an abrupt stop. Stiles fumbled at the jeep's door before throwing it open and jumping outside. Scott followed quickly after him, trailed after by Liam.

All was silent as Stiles paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair and pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few minutes he spoke, not looking up. "How did you get rid of her?" he asked quietly.

Liam glanced at Scott briefly, before looking back at Stiles. "There's an old iron-well that was part of the town's water system years ago that nobody uses anymore; it was near the watershed you guys were in, so I covered it with leaves and got rid of its scent as much as I could. Then I made some noise to draw the werewolf out and I managed to lead him to the well, and he fell in. The witch came out soon after and tried to follow me until she fell in the well, too. After that I went back and got you guys."

Both Scott and Stiles stared at Liam, their eyebrows furrowed and their eyes wide as they stared at him incredulously. They were silent for a long moment, before Scott spoke. "You… you led a rabid werewolf and a witch out into the dark, and you got them to fall into a hole, where they still are now? Just like that?"

"Well it was an iron hole," Liam said, shrugging his shoulders as he looked between Scott and Stiles. "So I figured it was probably the best way to make sure she wouldn't get out." At Scott and Stiles' blank stares, Liam's brows furrowed slightly in confusion. "What?" he asked.

"What do you mean, 'it was probably the best'?" Scott asked.

"Because it's iron! I'd read that iron weakens a witch's magic, and since she hasn't come after us yet, I'm assuming it worked."

Stiles and Scott both blinked, and after a long moment Scott spoke. "Where the heck did you learn that?"

Liam shrugged. "Well after you got Stiles escaped the Witch, I figured I might as well learn something about them in case they ever showed up again, and everything I found said they were weak against iron." The two older boys were silent, and Liam continued. "It was more luck than anything that there was an iron well there. If it wasn't, I'm not sure what I would have done."

Both Scott and Stiles continued to stare a few moments longer, before Stiles finally broke the silence. "Well if someone had told me witches didn't like iron, I'd have thrown an iron pipe at her when this whole damn thing started."

"That – that's good, Liam," Scott fumbled out, his eyebrows still furrowed together in slight disbelief. "That you knew that. That… that's really good."

Liam looked slightly pleased with himself, putting his shoulders back and standing a bit straighter. "Thanks."

Everyone was silent for a few minutes, the older boys still blinking incredulously, until Scott suddenly turned to Stiles. "Deaton doesn't have the indicator yet," he said, relaying the conversation he'd had back in the jeep. "He doesn't have any in his stores, either. He said he'd make it as fast as he could, but that it'd only be ready tomorrow morning. He'd call us when it was done."

"And what does this do, exactly?" Stiles asked, quietly wrapping his arms around his abdomen carefully. Neither Scott nor Liam noticed.

"It's some sort of vial that turns a certain colour whenever it senses magic nearby. It can't do anything to defend us, but it can at least give us a heads up."

"And so what do we do until then?" Stiles asked, sarcasm dripping into his voice. "Just twiddle our thumbs and hope she doesn't show up? She's supposed to be dead, Scott! That damn witch is supposed to be dead, she's not supposed to be back here, we're not supposed to be dealing with this shit anymore –."

"Stiles, calm down. I'm as surprised about this as you are, but we can't start freaking out; we need to just calm down and come up with a plan –."

Stiles suddenly turned on Scott, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. "Don't tell me what to do, Scott – don't tell me what to fuckin' do. I have every right to freak out about this, I every damn right –."

Scott held up his hands, trying to keep his tone as level as possible. "You're right, you have every right to be angry, you have every right to freak out. But freaking out won't get us anywhere, Stiles. It will just make everything worse –."

"Then what do you suggest we do, huh?" Stiles asked, raising his arms questioningly in the air. The branches of the trees around them began to creak, shifting as though something was pushing against them. Scott eyed them warily before turning his gaze back to Stiles, ignoring the strong breeze that had begun to pick up.

"We need to find anything made of iron and surround ourselves with it. We need to tell the rest of the Pack what's going on, and most of all we need to stay together." Both boys locked their gaze, speaking silently with their eyes until Scott finally spoke. "The next time she shows up we'll be prepared, I promise. We killed her once and we'll do it again; this time we'll just make sure to finish the job. She can be defeated, Stiles. I swear to you, she can be defeated."

Stiles was silent for a moment, then quietly nodded. Then before he could say a word, Scott stepped forward and grabbed him in a hug. They both stayed that way for a few moments, neither saying a word, before Scott finally stepped away.

Liam watched them both warily, eyes flitting between the two older boys before he finally opened his mouth to speak. "I'm right, aren't I?" he said. Scott and Stiles glanced at him, their eyes guarded. Liam continued, "The witch isn't after Scott, she's after Stiles." He turned his gaze to Stiles, his eyebrows furrowing together. "But why would a witch be going after you? What does she want?"

Stiles didn't answer. Instead he simply turned and started walking back towards the jeep. When he reached the vehicle he paused, running a tired hand over his face and moving it until he was gripping the back of his neck. Scott came up beside him, leaning on the hood of the jeep against his arms. "You're coming to my place," he said firmly.

Stiles looked away, the moonlight shining into the clearing and casting shadows across his face. "I don't have a say in it?" he asked.

Scott managed a small smile. "Nope. And you won't be going back home until this whole thing is finally over."

Stiles sighed. "And what will I tell my dad?"

Scott stared at him for a long moment before speaking. "The truth," he answered quietly. Stiles didn't reply. When he continued to stay silent, Scott knew that the conversation was over – for now.

Turning around, he spotted Liam standing on the other edge of the clearing, giving the appearance that he was trying to give Scott and Stiles some privacy, but Scott knew that with his hearing, he had heard every single word. Sighing, he waved Liam over and everyone made their way back into the jeep.

They dropped Liam off at his house, suggesting he surround himself with iron and instructing him to call the rest of the Pack and let them know what was going on, and to keep an eye out for their safety. But it was merely formality; they all knew who was really in danger.

Stiles called his dad and let him know he'd be staying at Scott's, offering no real excuse as none had ever really needed to be given. When they arrived at Scott's house it was nearly one in the morning, and as they shut the door behind them, they both realised just how utterly worn and tired out they were. Being kidnapped and running for your lives could do that to you.

It was only when they'd made it up to Scott's room that Scott became aware of the smell of blood, and remembered that Stiles was injured. He quickly went about gathering towels and bandages, forcing Stiles to sit down and wait as Scott performed the now only too-familiar routine of cleaning his wounds and bandaging him up. His shirt was destroyed and Scott had no qualms of throwing it in the garbage the moment it came off.

He proceeded to wipe antiseptic across the wounds, causing Stiles to hiss in pain and grip the bedsheets tightly beneath his fingers, unaware of the black lines that quietly trailed along Scott's fingers and up his arms. That was the only noise he made though, remaining strangely quiet throughout the rest of the procedure. It was only at the end when Scott had finished wrapping the bandages around his torso, did he speak. "We don't have any iron here," he said quietly.

"We'll find some," Scott replied, not looking up. "There's always iron in houses somewhere. I'll smell it out and put everything along the windows and doors; and as soon as Deaton calls, I'll run out and get the vials. It'll be fine."

He was trying to comfort Stiles, and while Stiles appreciated his efforts, he knew that the comfort came at the expense of the truth. "Thanks Scott," he said, and he meant it. "Seriously. Thanks for… thanks for everything. I'm sorry you had to go through that. You shouldn't have had to go through that. It was me she wanted, not you. You didn't deserve to get hurt."

Scott looked up at Stiles sharply, a frown set deep on his face. "And you did?" he asked.

"This whole thing started because of me. She came back because of me. And she will keep coming back because of me."

"I've already told you, Stiles – this isn't your fault. None of this is."

"And I've already told you, it is. I'm the one with these powers, I'm the one who's the… the Blessed. I'm the one she wants. It's my powers she wants; and she won't stop until she gets them."

Scott's frown deepened, and he leaned back on his heels, giving Stiles a hard stare. "So what – you're just going to give up? You're going to let her take them, just like that?"

Stiles turned to Scott, looking him in the eyes, lines of worry and fear etched deep across his face. "What choice do I have?" he asked quietly. "She wants these powers, she seems to know about them more than I do, and to be honest…." He took a deep breath. "To be honest, I really don't know a thing about them. So maybe it'd just be easier to let her…."

"She'll kill you, you know. There's no guarantee that her taking them won't kill you, and even if it didn't, I doubt she'd leave you alive to potentially take them back. You can't let her take them, Stiles. You have to –."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Stiles snapped. "She's a witch, Scott! She's too powerful. We can't… how are we supposed to kill her? We're trying to play offence, when we have no idea where she even is! She could be coming here tonight, she could find us while we sleep and she'll kill us –."

"If she'd made it out of the well she'd have come after us by now," Scott interrupted. "And it doesn't matter, because I'm going to stay awake all night. Once Deaton calls I'll wake you up and we'll go get the stuff, or I'll have someone bring it here. She caught us by surprise, but this time we'll be ready. The moment she comes near us, we'll know. We've faced a lot of creatures before, Stiles. We've faced a lot of dangerous people, we've faced a lot of things that wanted us dead, and we always managed to defeat them in the end. I swear to you – this will be just another win to add to the list."

A short time later they turned off the lights and Stiles got into bed, Scott taking up residence at the end of the bed as they waited for morning and for Deaton's call to come. Stiles curled up on his side, wishing for nothing more than to disappear and for all of this to be just a bad dream. But it wasn't. And Stiles knew that, for all of Scott's insistence that they'd get through this, that they were safe, that they'd defeat the witch – he knew that, in reality, Givens' return could very well mean his death, along with the deaths of anyone that stood in her way.


Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review! Your support means the world :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter.