The call came at 5:30 in the morning. Scott had woken Stiles and they'd both tiredly driven to the clinic, where Deaton looked just as exhausted as they did. He gave them two small vials filled with clear liquid, deceptively innocent in appearance, but which he assured would turn a dark purple in warning of any nearby magic from a witch. He told Scott to be careful and that he'd make more for everyone else as soon as he could.
Scott had been eyeing Stiles throughout the conversation, hoping that he'd speak up, that he'd tell Deaton what was really going on, admit who was actually the one that needed to be kept safe; but he never did. He remained uncommonly quiet and unnaturally still, keeping his thoughts and words firmly behind sealed lips. It frustrated the hell out of Scott that Stiles wasn't saying anything; the only problem was that he knew exactly why Stiles wasn't doing it.
They got in the jeep and started heading back home. Scott sighed, leaning back in his seat and running his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. He'd been meaning to have this conversation with Stiles for a while now, and six-thirty in the morning seemed like a good a time as any to do it. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, before quietly saying, "Stiles, I know what you're feeling."
Stiles' lips twitched in a wry smile. "Oh you do, do you?"
"Yes. If you haven't exactly noticed, I'm probably the one who knows what you're going through the best." He took a deep breath. People always thought he was the more sensitive one; well, he wasn't going to prove them wrong.
"When I became a werewolf, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I could smell and hear so many things, I could tell when people were happy or excited, I could hear when they were upset. I could run as fast as cars and suddenly I was the strongest guy I knew. All those years wanting to be popular, wanting to be admired… suddenly I could have all of that at my fingertips. It was awesome. For a while, I really didn't think life could get better than that. Then I started getting better at lacrosse and suddenly people were paying attention to me, they were watching me. Girls I'd crushed on in seventh-grade were suddenly cheering for me and yelling my name…. it felt amazing."
Scott paused, staring out the window in silence for a moment before continuing. "It's nice to be different than everyone else. It's nice to be or have something that sets you apart, that makes you unique, that makes you feel special. But that feeling didn't last. I'm not even sure it was ever real in the first place; because I hadn't ever thought about the consequences of it all. I hadn't ever stopped long enough to realise that this wasn't just some cool power-up, that this wasn't just some dormant mutant-gene that had finally shown itself. I began to realise that, if I wanted to protect those I cared about, I couldn't tell anyone what I was; because if I did, there was a very real possibility that someone else would find out and they might come after me, to capture me or experiment on me, to do whatever it is they do to that which they never thought existed. If you… if you hadn't been with me, Stiles – if you hadn't walked with me every step of the way, I don't… I don't think I'd have ever made it that first year." He chuckled. "Or I'd have become as emotionally constipated as Derek. Neither were particularly good outcomes.
"So I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say is that… I understand. I understand what it's like to think you're weird, to think you're a freak, to have more power and abilities than you even know, and to wonder just how long it will take before you hurt someone with them. I know what it's like to wonder what you are, to wonder what you can do, to wonder if what you are is more important than who you are. It's not, by the way. What you are is part of you, sure – but it's not all of it. Your choices, your beliefs, your values, your actions – those are what make you you. And in the end, I think that's what matters the most."
Scott leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "So yeah, neither of us may be completely human anymore – I may be a werewolf, you may be a Blessed, but in the end that doesn't matter, because we'll still have each other. We'll still be us. We were always a pair of misfits growing up, now we're just more so." Scott finally turned to Stiles, whose eyes were still on the road, but Scott could see the barest hint of red tinging the corners. "You helped me when I first turned, when I didn't know what the hell was going on or what I was becoming, and I swear that I'm going to do the same for you now. And I swear you'll figure it out." Scott finished his speech and the jeep fell into silence, nothing to be heard but the sound of the tires running across the pavement.
"I'm not you, Scott," Stiles said quietly after a long moment. "You at least had Derek and werewolf-lore to help you. I have… I have nothing. I have no one. I don't know anything about any of this; I don't know anything about my powers, or what a Blessed is. And until I figure it all out, until I learn what it all means…."
The two sat in silence until a few minutes later, when they pulled back up into Scott's driveway. The air was chilled in the morning fog and the two quickly made their way inside, where they found Melissa just setting her purse down on the table. She turned when they came inside, looking tired, obviously having just finished a night shift. "Hey guys," she said, her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at seeing them. "What are you doing up so early?"
Scott glanced at Stiles who looked away, something that was becoming all the more common and definitely starting to grate on Scott's nerves, but he pushed the feelings of annoyance down. He decided that since Stiles wouldn't speak, he had to at least say something. "The Witch is back," he said bluntly.
Melissa's eyes widened, flicking between Scott and Stiles. "I thought you killed her?"
"We thought so too; but it turns out ripping out their heart doesn't actually kill them. You have to burn them to finish the job."
Melissa was quiet, her gaze hovering over Stiles, who continued not to meet their eyes. She looked back at Scott. "What are you going to do?"
"You need to keep iron on yourself at all times," Scott replied, taking off an old iron-chained necklace he'd found earlier and handing it to his mother. "Witches don't like it, apparently. Deaton's working on making indicators that will tell us when she's nearby; I'll get one to you as soon as he's finished. But I don't think you'll have to worry. She's not… she's not after you."
Melissa stared at Stiles, her concern evident on her face, as well as the knowledge that there was more going on than what Scott was telling her. "And who is she going after?"
Stiles suddenly moved past Scott and Melissa and made his way through the living room, disappearing up the stairs. It was so uncharacteristic of him that Melissa could only watch in stunned silence. After a few moments Scott spoke, his eyebrows narrowed and his eyes hard. "She's after Stiles," he said quietly.
Melissa turned back to Scott, frowning. "Why?"
"I can't say. But we have to keep him safe, so he's staying here until we kill her for good."
Melissa paused, then asked, "Will the rest of the guys be coming here, then?"
Scott was silent for a long moment, before finally answering. "They don't know she's after him. They think she's after me."
"What? Why would –."
"Because Stiles wants it that way."
Melissa let out a frustrated sigh. "Scott, you have to tell me what's –."
"I can't." Scott ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "At least, not yet. Not until he's ready." They were both silent for a moment before Scott finally looked his mom in the eyes. "Do you trust me?"
Melissa leveled her gaze at him before speaking. "You know I do."
"I promise I'll keep him safe and I promise – I'll kill that witch once and for all."
Scott slept the rest of the morning while Stiles stayed awake, unmoving as he sat at the end of the bed with his back against the wall, his mouth pressed into a firm line. The vial Deaton had given them sat on the desk, the liquid inside as clear as crystal, the same as it had been since they got back. The hours passed and the vial remained unchanged. Around nine-thirty in the morning Scott finally woke back up.
They argued for a while about whether or not to go to school, Stiles pushing that they stay home, while Scott insisted that there were safety in numbers. Stiles then suggested that he stay by himself, to which Scott adamantly and viciously refused, stating that he was never letting Stiles out of his sight again. Eventually Scott won out, and at ten they got in the jeep and drove to school, stopping only briefly at a store to stock up on lead bracelets, necklaces, and anything else they could wear to keep themselves and the others safe.
They arrived at school in time for their third-period class that they shared with Lydia and Malia. Both girls gave them a mixture of worried and concerned looks as they walked in, their postures betraying then tension and fear that they were feeling. Scott had texted them and Kira earlier that morning, briefly telling them what had happened and instructing them to gather and surround themselves with as much lead items as they could.
Scott pressed his lips together in a small smile and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement before sitting down. Stiles tried to do the same, but his smile resembled a grimace more than anything else. He supposed it wasn't too suspect, though. Givens had been his captor for a week and his best friend was in danger, after all.
As soon as the class ended, Lydia and Malia jumped on them, asking what had happened the night before and what they were going to do now. Scott talked to them as fast as he could before the next bell rang, assuring them that they would get together after school and come up with a plan. The girls listened attentively, but for Stiles, Scott's voice was nothing more than a ringing in his ears.
Stiles couldn't describe how he felt, because he wasn't sure what he was feeling himself. All he felt like was running as far away from Givens and this place as fast as he could, but he knew that there was no way he'd ever leave Scott and the others to deal with her on their own. It felt as though he were imprisoned all over again, only this time there was no way to escape.
The entire day felt as though he were walking on thin ice, every moment feeling like an eternity as he waited for something to happen, for Givens to suddenly show up and attack them, to try and kill one of them.
To kill him.
They'd all gathered at lunch and began discussing what their plan of action should be, mapping out which moves they would make and how they would manage to isolate Givens so that they'd be able to kill her. None of them save Scott and Stiles had any experience with witches and magic before, and it left almost all of them unsettled as they tried to figure out just how they would defeat her. Stiles stayed silent throughout the exchange, watching as everyone talked to each other, hands waving and fingers pointing as they all offered their own opinions and ideas on what had to be done. So taken-up with what was going on, no one noticed Stiles' unusual silence, except one.
Being the youngest of the Pack, Liam was often overlooked when it came to making plans; it was never intentional to leave him out, but there were only so many cooks you could have in a kitchen; but now Stiles found himself wishing he had been included.
Liam's eyes were boring holes into Stiles' head, until finally Stiles' own eyes turned and their gazes met. Both were silent as everyone else talked, but Stiles could clearly hear everything the young wolf was thinking without as word ever having to leave his lips. It was a knowing, calculating gaze, one that clearly knew something was going on; Liam knew that Stiles was the missing piece to the puzzle, but he had yet to figure out how and where he fit.
Stiles finally tore his eyes away, fingering the lead bracelet he was wearing on his wrist, searching the cafeteria for any sign of the Witch. She was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she's left, a small voice whispered hopefully in the back of Stiles' mind. Maybe the well killed her. Maybe she's still stuck down there and is now starving to death. It could happen. Stiles made a mental note to tell Scott that they'd have to go out to the watershed and find the well to see if she was still there. If she was, he planned to kill her and burn her, finally ending this entire nightmare once and for all.
By the end of lunch no one had eaten a single bit of food, but they'd finally come up with a tentative way to draw Givens out and kill her. They planned to go out into the forest as far from the town as they could, and each would take their positions hiding amongst the trees while Scott would stand-out alone in the open. He would then send out a howl, which they knew the Rogue Wolf would hear. It would be their beacon, their signal – telling the Witch exactly where Scott was and that he was ready to fight. Givens, Scott insisted, was an egotistical and narcissistic woman, and would not give up the opportunity to fight him if she could. After she arrived, the rest of the Pack would attack, and they'd weaken her as best as they could before finally setting her alight and sending her to her death.
After they'd finished devising the plan, Lydia's eyes fell to Stiles for the first time, who still hadn't said a word for the past forty-minutes. "What about Stiles?" she asked, glancing back at Scott. "He can't – he'll need to have something to protect himself with, an iron-bat, or…."
"Stiles is a part of the Pack," Scott said firmly, wondering how many times he'd have to have this conversation before everyone would let it be. His protective instincts began flaring to life, feeling a stab of anger in his chest at Lydia's words. "He's fought many times before and has come out the winner; he's been doing this a lot longer than any of you and he's done more to help us than you guys will ever know. He's the one that's come up with all the plans that have saved all your asses and mine, and without his help we'd all be dead ten times over. He's never let us down before; I don't know why you're doubting him now." It was an overreaction, Scott knew, but it couldn't be helped.
"We're not doubting him, Scott," Lydia said, her eyes narrowed. She turned to Stiles, her eyes softening. "We're not doubting you, Stiles. We know that you're strong and we know that you're smart; if anyone can get us out of a terrible situation, you can. But it just seems like the creatures we face are just getting stronger and stronger every time we meet them, and it's just a matter of time before you get hurt to the point of permanent injury, or worse – killed." Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and the resentment that Stiles had been feeling for all that Lydia had said, for all that she had done in the past to keep him away from the pack, slowly began to fade.
Lydia held Stiles' gaze for a long moment, the whites of her eyes betraying the barest hint of red. "Nearly every night I dream of death," she said at last, taking a deep breath. "When I'm not screaming and seeing people about to die before my eyes, I'm dreaming of them dying as I sleep. Whether it's a death that's happened centuries ago or years in the future, I see it. Whether it's someone tragically dying young or passing away in their sleep at an old age, I see it. And do you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of seeing death every where I turn, I'm sick of watching people die. It's hard enough when I don't know them; it's ten times worse when I do. And let me tell you Stiles, the last thing I want is to see my friends' deaths – the last thing I want to see is yours. I don't want to watch you running after some stupid, supernatural creature and then feel that terrible, awful scream as I watch you die in front of me. I've seen enough death to last me a lifetime. The last one I ever want to see is yours. And if being a bitch and keeping you from fighting dangerous creatures with the rest of us will do it, then that's what I'll do."
The group was silent for a long moment, eyes flicking rapidly between Stiles and Lydia.
Stiles stared at Lydia for a long time, never taking his eyes off her. He hadn't realised just how pissed at her he'd been until now; so much more important things were going on that he hadn't had time to slow down and take in all that she had been saying to him, and the evident pushing-away that she'd been trying to do. But now he was pissed; because no matter what her motivations were, it was him that ultimately made the choice to fight with them or not. But he also felt guilt; because he knew that, if he were given the chance, he'd keep everyone as far away from the supernatural and crazy, psycho-witches as he could.
Finally, Stiles replied. "I know you don't want to watch me die. I wouldn't want to watch any of you die, either. But in the end it's my choice, Lydia. I'm glad that you care about me – let's be honest – fifteen-year-old me would be jumping for joy right now if he heard that – but I've been with Scott from the beginning. And there's not a damned way in hell that I'm going to stand by while someone else tries to kill him. And if that means I have to die to do it, then so be it."
Everyone fell quiet once more and Scott caught Stiles' eye, a wary but determined look etched across his features. "You know I'd do the same for you, buddy," he said, his voice strong, eyes clear and sharp. Stiles nodded and let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "We should probably eat something," Scott said, turning to face the rest of the Pack. "We'll meet after school and figure out exactly what we're gonna do and when we're gonna do it. Does that sound okay?" Everyone nodded and voiced their consent, finally turning to the food they'd temporarily abandoned over a half-hour before. Stiles, too, attempted to eat something, though he'd never had less of an appetite than he had now.
They left the cafeteria a short while later and stopped outside the lockers, about to separate and go to each of their classes, when two girls suddenly walked by them. They stopped by their lockers a few feet away, opening them while whispering loudly and excitedly to each other. "Did you see it?" one of them asked.
"I could only see half of it before Mrs. Thomas forced us to leave; what did it say?!"
"It was the weirdest thing ever! Seriously, it had to be a prank. It made no sense at all."
"And… and was it really written in … in blood?"
"That's what they're saying. It looked like blood."
"And what did it say?!"
The girl took a breath, leaning in to her friend's ear, but still whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. "It said, 'From what foolishness sews, the blessed shall reap.' I know, right? It makes no sense at all; whoever wrote it must have been drunk or high."
"Did… was there anyone who was hurt? Like, where would all that blood have come from?"
"They didn't say there was anyone there, I –." The bell suddenly rang and the girls walked away, their conversation fading into the distance.
Stiles stood perfectly still, trying to appear indifferent to the girls' conversation, but unable to stop his teeth from clenching together or his knuckles from turning white as his fingers tightened in a fist. He glanced at Scott who returned the look, his expression a mixture of both anger and surprise.
"What was that all about?" Malia asked, a frown set deep on her face.
"I don't know," Lydia replied. "But we should go check it out."
Liam shifted his feet, his eyes constantly glancing between Scott, Stiles, and the girls.
"You guys go on," Kira said, giving Scott's hand a quick squeeze. "I have history with my father, and if he sees me missing he'll start to ask questions." Scott nodded and gave Kira a quick kiss before they parted, and Kira disappeared down the hall.
Lydia made to move, heading towards the girls bathroom when Malia spoke up. "It may not even be there anymore," she said. "So why bother? Whoever did it is long gone by now."
"But they said it was written in blood," Lydia replied. "There's a lot of things that go on in Beacon Hills, Malia, and there's a heck of a lot of things that happen in our school; but writing cryptic sentences on bathroom mirrors in blood isn't one of them."
Scott stepped forward, a slight frown on his face. "You didn't sense something, did you?" he asked.
Lydia shook her head. "No. Not like when someone is dying or is in danger. Which is why I want to check it out; usually if someone was being hurt – even if it was from themselves – I would at least sense something. Which is why I want to know why I didn't."
"Lydia," Scott interjected, "Lydia, we don't know who did it for sure. It could be some random student, or… or it could be the witch. And if it is the witch, then you should stay as far away from her as you can. We can't start a fight that we won't be able to finish."
Lydia opened her mouth, about to argue, but stopped when her eyes fell across Stiles, her countenance softening. "You're right," she said quietly. "But Scott, if the witch… why would she be writing random messages on the wall? I get that it's creepy as hell, but what's the point?"
Scott didn't reply right away. When he did, he spoke slowly, his words carefully following after each other. "I don't know why she wrote what she did, but I know that, given what Stiles has told us about her, she's using the message to try and draw us out." He glanced at Stiles. "Which isn't going to work."
The final bell rang and the crowd of students milling in the hallway began to dissipate as everyone drifted into their respective class. The Pack stood together for a few more moments, before agreeing that they'd just go to class and finish the rest of the day. When everyone left, Scott immediately turned to Stiles. "It's fine," he said quickly. "We're surrounded with lead; there's a reason she had to use a message to get to us – you don't have to worry."
Scott was being overprotective, Stiles knew that. He didn't want to lose him again; he didn't want to make the same mistake he had made twice before. And as much as it angered Stiles to put Scott in such a position, he couldn't begrudge him it.
He stared at the bathroom door that lay farther down the hallway for a moment longer, before turning on his heel and walking away. "Let's get to class."
The rest of the day passed in a tense silence. When everyone met at the old loft after school they were all clearly on edge, knowing that something was going on but not quite sure what it was. They discussed the plan further, mapping out where each of them would stand and when they would attack. By now everyone had begun to notice Stiles' unusual silence, his lack of input in the plan's design an evident void. Scott tried to distract them as best he could, keeping their attention off Stiles and firmly on the witch and himself. It didn't work entirely, though, and they all continued to shoot Stiles looks of concern throughout the discussion.
Scott kept his senses on high alert, diverting his attention between the Pack and Stiles. He was constantly sniffing the air, trying to catch any change of emotion in Stiles' scent, trying to see where his friend's head was at. He knew he was worried, he knew he was scared, but he didn't know what he was going to do, how he was going to react. His lack of response and silence made Scott nervous and anxious, putting his nerves on edge as he tried to figure out the best way to defeat the Witch. The fear of losing Stiles again was overwhelming, and he wanted nothing more than to remove the threat that loomed over them and threatened to kill him. Scott couldn't even begin to imagine a world without Stiles, and he would do everything he could to make sure he never found out.
When six-o'clock came the Pack finally began to leave, each making sure everyone had enough lead on them, as well as the vials that Scott had picked up from Deaton. As they slowly left the loft, Lydia and Malia came up to Scott, both eyeing Stiles before turning to the alpha. "Is Stiles okay?" Malia asked, trying to keep her voice low. "He's been acting weird all afternoon, ever since those girls…."
Scott looked at Stiles, who was waiting for him by the door, his arms wrapped uncharacteristically around his sides and his eyes staring unseeingly into the distance. Scott sighed and shook his head. "Once this whole thing is finished and over with, he'll be back to normal, I'm sure of it. We just need to kill the witch, and we need to do it fast." He paused, hesitating for a moment, then added, "And when we do, I want you to keep an eye out for him. The witch… she'll probably be happy for the chance to kill him, seeing as he got away from her."
Lydia stared at Scott for a long moment, her eyes hard and her jaw visibly clenching beneath her skin. "Stiles didn't just get 'knocked around a bit' in that attic, did he?" she asked, her tone clearly stating that she already knew the answer. "Something more happened there. Something you guys aren't telling us. Whether he was actually seriously hurt, or… or if she…." Lydia swallowed, glancing towards Stiles again, worry and concern rolling off her in waves.
Scott, for once, was glad that Stiles had sworn him to secrecy on what had happened in the attic, though he knew that he hadn't been told everything that she had done to him. What he had learned already was enough to make him want to throw up; he was sure anything more would leave him feeling sick and angry for days. "That witch did a lot of thing to him," he said at last, choosing his words carefully. "And she wasn't happy when he escaped. All I can say is that I doubt she'll want to leave him alive, the next time she sees him."
"Where did she come from?" Malia suddenly asked, anger biting in her voice. "Witches don't just go gallivanting around the countryside, looking for people to kill or piss off. I've never even heard of one until now; I didn't even know they existed –"
"There are a lot of things that exist that we don't know about," Scott interrupted. "Just because we haven't met a witch before now, doesn't mean that they're not out there, or that more won't come. As for why she came now…." Scott sighed heavily, taking a deep breath. "There aren't many True Alphas out there, so I guess she figured I was more special than other alphas, and she decided I'd be better off dead and harvested for her ingredients, than alive."
Lydia made a face. "She would actually harvest you?" she repeated, appalled. "That – that is –."
"That is disgusting," Malia said. "And believe me, living as a coyote for most of my life, I've seen a lot of disgusting things. But that definitely takes the cake."
"Yeah, well – she's not exactly the nicest person you'll ever meet."
The group talked for a bit longer, before finally everyone left and went home. Scott kept an eye on Stiles and an eye on the vial the entire ride home, hoping beyond hope that this whole thing would soon come to an end.
But the next day, things only got worse.
Stiles sat in the back of his math class that he shared with Scott, trying to keep any and all attention away from him, wanting nothing more than for the day to come to an end. While listening to the teacher drone on about formulas and equations that they'd never use in real life, Stiles noticed one of the students sitting nearby him shift her phone towards her friend who sat nearby her, her eyebrows raised in stunned shock, placing it just enough in Stiles' eye-line to see the screen. He didn't usually care about the goings on of other students – he had enough drama in his own life to want to be involved in anyone else's – but the image on the screen caught his attention, the bold words of the news headline and the vivid picture causing his eyes to go wide and his back to straighten in his seat.
BEACON HILLS LIBRARY BURNED TO THE GROUND OVERNIGHT – NO REPORTED INJURIES – WRECKAGE UNSALVAGABLE.
Stiles' heart began beating loudly in his chest, catching Scott's attention who then turned to him, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern. Stiles immediately took out his own phone, quickly tapping until he had the news-story brought up on the screen. He stared at it in shock for a long moment, before looking up at Scott and tilting the phone towards him. Scott's eyes scanned the headline before widening, then turning into a frown. He got out his own phone and a moment later Stiles received a text: It was probably an accident, it wasn't her.
Stiles paused for a moment before typing back. Libraries don't just randomly burn to the ground in the night.
Scott typed again: Seriously – it was just an accident. Don't worry about it.
Stiles swallowed, trying to gather himself back together. Maybe Scott was right; maybe an accident was all that it was.
The incident had left him unnerved all afternoon until he finally took out his phone and called his dad. He'd admitted that the cause of the fire was currently unknown, but told his son that, until the fire was deemed an arson, any information gathered would be taken by the fire department. "I have to admit, though – it had to be a pretty hot and fast fire to destroy a building as big as the library so quickly. It's a shame; they had some pretty old books in there."
"Wouldn't that mean it has to be arson?" Stiles asked.
"Not necessarily. We haven't had a lot of rain, lately; dry conditions are always recipes for fire."
Stiles closed his eyes, pressing his thumb hard against the bridge of his nose as he struggled to calm himself down. Scott's class was on the other end of the school, but he was certain that the alpha could probably hear his heart beating fast anyways. "Okay, well, thanks for telling me," Stiles finally said.
"I'd say you're welcome, but aren't you supposed to be in class right now? I better not be aiding and abetting delinquency, here."
Stiles couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips, the familiar reprimand achingly normal and even comforting. For a moment, it almost felt like this was just another case and he was just trying to pull information he didn't need to know, about things that were none of his business. "I'm between classes, dad," he replied, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.
"Then you better be getting ready for your next one."
"Yeah, yeah."
Stiles was just about to hang-up when his dad suddenly spoke up again. "Oh, hey – they actually did find one book intact at the site," he said.
Stiles opened his locker, pushing his textbooks inside and taking out the ones for next class. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, it's called 'Blessed Child'. Kind of ironic – or fitting, depending on how you look at it… Stiles? You okay?"
The breath in Stiles' lungs had caught in his throat, his heart beating fast once more and leaving him feeling lightheaded. It was clear now – the library hadn't been an accident; it had been another sign.
"Son, are you okay?" John's voice was slightly more frantic and Stiles came back to himself, reassuring his father as quickly as he could.
"I-I'm fine Dad," he said. "I'm fine. I better go to class; I'll talk to you later." Before his father had a chance to reply, Stiles hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket. He gripped his textbooks against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled to stave off the panic attack that he knew was hovering just beneath the surface.
Suddenly out of nowhere, a great wind picked up and roared through the hallway, slamming shut any locker door that was still open, and pulling closed any open classroom-door with a bang. The students that were still in the hallway stood in shock, many blinking in stunned surprise at the odd and sudden event.
Stiles stared too, watching as the students shifted from stunned silence to frantic talking about what they had just witnesses. A few moments later Stiles felt a hand on his arm, bringing him out of his shocked stupor. He turned to see Scott looking at him worriedly. "What was that?" he asked, his voice low. Clearly the wind hadn't torn through just the one hallway, then.
Ignoring what had just happened, Stiles instead told Scott what his father had said, his words quickly tumbling out of his mouth. "It wasn't an accident. I called my dad; he said that only one book was found unburnt. It… it was called the 'Blessed Child'." Scott's eyes widened as the unwanted realisation spread across his face. Stiles continued, "The message in the bathroom yesterday, and now this? She… she's calling me out, Scott. She can't get near me because of the lead and all of you guys, so she's calling me out the only way she knows how."
Scott looked away, a frown set deep on his face. After a long moment he spoke: "The day after tomorrow is when we plan to go after her. If it's a fight she wants, then it's a fight she'll get."
But for Givens, that day was too long to wait.
The next morning before they left for school, Stiles and Scott were sent a text message from Lydia, giving the news that one of their teachers had fallen down the school stairs and were now laying unconscious in the hospital with a broken arm and several broken ribs. Scott watched Stiles as the latter stared at the text message for the longest time, before finally speaking. "The way she's going about it all… she's sure being discreet about it. I'm not trying to downplay what she's done or that Mr. Jacobs is seriously hurt, but… everyone thinks they were accidents. If she was trying to get people's attention, she's not exactly doing a very good job."
"That's because she's not trying to get people's attention," Stiles said quietly, his fingers still gripping the phone. "She's trying to get mine."
They sat in silence for a long time, before Stiles finally looked up at Scott. They looked at each other for a moment, passing unspoken words until Scott's eyebrows furrowed together and he started shaking his head. "No, Stiles. You're not doing it."
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Scott."
"Yes, I do!"
"No, you don't."
"Then I'll force you to stay."
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "What, you're going to lock me in my room?"
Scott's frown momentarily fell away in embarrassment, before returning with a vengeance. "That's not what I meant, Stiles – and you know it."
Stiles rose to his feet. "I'm not letting anyone else get hurt because of me."
Scott rose to his own feet, too. "And they won't! I'll call the Pack; we'll meet in the woods today and I'll call Givens, and –."
"No, you're not."
"What? Stiles, you agreed to this plan –."
"And I've changed my mind! Don't you realise? You're sending a bunch of kids out to fight a fucking witch, and you think no one is going to get hurt?! You guys have no idea what you're dealing with! You're not fighting some pissed off werewolf or psyched-up kanima – you're fighting against fucking magic –."
"We've fought magic before, Stiles! We've fought it before and we'll fight it again, and this time we'll make sure she's dead for good! I promise!"
Stiles glared. "You can't keep making stupid promises that you can't fucking keep, Scott. And if I want to carry out my own plan to stop this whole thing, then I'm going to fucking do it."
Stiles started to walk towards the door and Scott grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "No, Stiles – you're not going."
Stiles shot him a look of venom. The posters on Scott's wall and the pages of paper laying on his desk began to stir and flutter against each other. "The fuck I'm not," Stiles said, trying to pull away, but Scott's grip only tightened. The wind in the room began to pick up, circling around them, but neither boy noticed as they continued to argue.
"Stiles, you're staying here!"
"Let me go!"
"No!"
Stiles turned around, grabbing Scott's wrist and trying to push him off as the two struggled against each other. Stiles swore. "I said let – me – go!"
A blast of wind suddenly screamed through the room, tearing the posters off the wall and throwing any loose papers and objects to the ground, swirling together in a vortex of wind. There was a sound of breaking glass which could barely be heard over the noise of the wind, and both Stiles and Scott were knocked off their feet, falling to the ground on top of each other in a heap. As soon as it started it finished, the wind quickly dying away until it was completely gone.
Both boys looked up, blinking in shock. Before they could do anything, though, the door to Scott's room suddenly burst open, a very livid Melissa McCall standing in its place. She in her pajamas, her hair messy and tangled and sticking every which way, her hands clenched into fists by her side, looking as though she were ready to punch somebody in the face. Her eyes immediately locked on the heap that was Stiles and Scott, her features shifting into a dark glare. When she spoke, her voice was one that only a very angry, loud, pissed-off parent could make. "What the HELL are you two doing in here?!"
For a brief moment, the frustration and anger that Stiles and Scott had been feeling towards each other disappeared, replaced with the familiar notion of being in deep, deep trouble. They quickly disentangled themselves, mouths opening in an attempt to offer an explanation. They quickly realised, though, that there was none.
Melissa turned away from them long enough to finally looking at the rest of the room. She blinked, staring in stunned silence, before her eyes narrowed once more. Stiles and Scott finally managed to look up and turn their attention to the room, and both their eyes widened in shock.
The room looked as though a cyclone had hit it; and, in many ways, it probably had. Any and all papers that had been unlucky enough to be out in the open were now torn and strewn across the floor, some even sticking to the ceiling fan, which was still spinning slowly above them. Books and objects were lying on the floor, some open, some broken, leaving the place looking as though a child with a temper-tantrum had come through and thrown down everything it could grab. What was most startling though, perhaps, was the shards of glass that lay beneath a now broken window.
Everyone was silent for a few minutes, until finally Melissa groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. Both boys turned to her, their shoulders hunched as they waited for their sentence. "I am going back to bed," she said quietly. "And I am going to sleep. For a very long time. And when I wake up, I am going to come back here, and I am going to find this entire place spotless. Do you understand me?" Both boy quickly nodded. "And whatever fight you're having, I expect you to make up and get over it, or else you're both grounded." Without another word, Melissa turned around and left.
They stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, sitting on the floor in silence, before Scott finally spoke. "I'm gonna take a shower," he said, getting to his feet. He headed towards the door before pausing, turning his head slightly to the side. "I'm sorry, Stiles," he said quietly, then walked out the door.
Stiles stared into the empty hallway for a long while, his fingers curled tightly against the carpet on the floor. He could still feel the air vibrating in the room, could feel the draft coming in through the broken window, drifting gently around him. The heat he hadn't realised had been growing behind his eyes began to fade, but the frustrations and anger of the position he was now in, did not.
It was bullshit. All of this was bullshit. Givens, the Pack, Scott. If the Witch wanted him, if she was willing to burn down buildings and throw people off staircases, then how could he just stand by and let it happen when he had the power to stop it? This was only the beginning. If he stayed here, if they refused to do anything, the witch's actions would only escalate. There would be more destruction and more people would get hurt. And all for the sake of his powers. Well, as far as Stiles was now concerned, if she wanted them that badly – then she could have them.
Stiles' eyes drifted to his bag that lay on the floor by the end of the bed a few feet away. The anger stirring in his chest grew and he stood to his feet, walking over and lifting it onto the bed, opening it up and shoving his hand inside; when he took it out he was holding a piece of glass between his fingers, the same piece of glass that he'd taken from the broken mirror in Givens' attic, the one that had he had walked through and that had led him to the young woman in the forest – Alayna.
He held the mirror before him, glaring at it with all he was worth. "You're useless, you know that?" he said quietly after a long while. "You're fuckin' useless. You tell me I'm all these things, that I have all these powers – but what the hell good are they? They haven't done a damn thing for me since I got them; the only thing they've done is put me and everyone around me in danger."
He paused, continuing to glare at the mirror as he slowly began to pace. "You could have told me she needed to be burned; that would have been helpful. But no – what did you think was more important? You thought knocking over empty bottles was a better use of my time. Well I can tell you something; that little trick has gotten me nowhere. Yeah, maybe I can push a few people over, but what the hell is that gonna do for me? You tell me I can use these powers, but how the hell am I supposed to fuckin' learn how to use them?! Huh?!"
Stiles rose to his feet, anger suddenly coursing red and hot through his veins. All the fear and frustration that he had been feeling ever since they'd found out Givens was alive – ever since he was first taken – surged together, leaving him more feeling more furious than he'd ever felt in his life; he was gripping the mirror so tightly that his hands began to bleed. He was silent for a long moment, before his grip weakened and his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Well I never asked for them," he said quietly. "I never asked for these powers, to move the air and earth with my hands. I never asked to be a part of some damn prophecy, to be your Blessed. I never wanted them. And if stopping the Witch means giving them up, then I am only too happy to do it."
The room fell silent, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You know, I'd been feeling bad that I'd left you there, in that weird dimension or whatever it was. But I can't say that I really care a single bit anymore." His eyes watched his own, angry features before he shook his head and tossed the mirror into the garbage. It missed, hitting the side of the bin and falling to the floor with a quiet thud.
Before Stiles could make a single move, the mirror suddenly began to glow until it was shining so bright that Stiles had to close his eyes. He lifted his arm to block out the light, barely having any time to register the invisible pull that had begun to drag him forwards. He suddenly felt the sensation of falling and his arms and legs immediately started to flail, until he suddenly fell on his back with a thud.
He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he struggled to get his bearings. When his vision finally cleared, he realised he was looking up into a dusk-filled sky, the colours of sunset tinging the clouds pink and orange. A moment later his view was obscured, when a young woman with brown hair leaned over above him, a wry smile on her face. "You can be a real jackass when you want to be, you know that?"
Stiles closed his eyes.
Alayna.
