It was so dark that Stiles' eyes had a difficult time adjusting. Something cold and metallic encircled his wrists, and he suddenly realized how sore his arms were from being suspended above his head. He was kneeling, and the legs of his pants were soaked through from the freezing water.

Stiles' eyes fully snapped open, panic fluttering in his chest. Water was pooling around him, three or four inches of it, steadily rising. He tried standing, but he slipped and his knees smacked the tiled floor. Stiles looked up, and the blood drained from his face.

His wrists were chained with a pair of handcuffs, latched securely to a pool ladder whose rungs dug uncomfortably into his back.

Wait, a fucking pool?

His eyes scanned it immediately. He was trapped in the diving tank; the white numbers on the opposite side of it informed him that it was twelve feet deep. With these kinds of pools there was no shallow end for him to easily clamber up and escape with, even if his hands were free. Stiles sighed, tugging experimentally at the handcuffs. What was with him and potentially drowning these days?

"It's good to see that you're finally awake."

Stiles felt the bile rise in his throat as he heard Peter's voice from above. He craned his neck up; Peter was perched on the edge of the pool, smiling down at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I'd ask where you get the handcuffs from," Stiles said, shaking them for emphasis, "but I seriously think I don't want to know."

Peter rolled his eyes, as if Stiles was being the unreasonable one here. "Relax," Peter said, swinging his legs over the edge. He pushed forward, and landed a few feet from Stiles, barely making a splash. When he turned to face the teenager, his eyes were glowing with that icy blue.

Stiles swallowed nervously, but his voice remained steady when he spoke. "Relax? How am I supposed to do that when I'm shackled up like bad bondage porn?" His teeth were chattering, and he looked down. He was still missing his shirt, which wasn't helping matters much. His skin felt clammy for being God-knows-how-long in this pool.

Peter walked over to Stiles in a few short strides and grabbed Stiles' hips (thank God he was still wearing his pants) and forcing him to his feet. This gave Stiles more slack in his chained wrists, but they still hovered awkwardly by his sides. He stumbled slightly, but Peter was there to hold him steady, his spidery fingers gripping his biceps.

It was then that everything from the bathroom came back to him, and Stiles instantly understood the entire set-up that Peter had prepared. Stiles looked past Peter's shoulder, and saw the old swimming banners on the walls. He'd been here before when he was little, back when his mother was still alive and not ebbing away in a hospital room. His heart twisted horribly at the memories, and then he shoved them away in order to deal with his current predicament.

This was one of the older recreation centres that had been shut down this season for some major maintenance. Stiles noticed the smile on Peter's face, and he felt dread climb up his throat.

"Usually there are people working day shifts here," Stiles said slowly, watching the older werewolf for a reaction.

"They have… taken the night off," Peter replied coldly. Stiles' eyes darted, staring at Peter's hands. His claws were out, lightly digging into Stiles' arms. It didn't break the skin, but Stiles could've sworn he saw dark blood under his nails anyway.

"Looks like death hasn't changed those murderous tendencies," Stiles scoffs, but he winced as Peter drew close, his mouth now pressed against Stiles' ear.

"We're not here to discuss me," he hissed impatiently, and Stiles could feel the scrape of teeth against his soft earlobe. "Remember?"

The conversation from the bathroom filled his mind: Scott will need some motivation to create a new anchor, and you can help with that part.

"Scott," Stiles breathed, and Peter nodded sharply. "No, no, no, nope, not going to happen. I refuse to go along with this trap. Because that's what it is, a freaking huge trap." Stiles pretty much expected that Peter left Scott a message in blood on the bathroom wall, saying something so classically villainous like 'COME TO SILENT HILL' or 'HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER' in order to initiate the final showdown.

Peter shook his head. "It's not a trap, it's a lesson," Peter corrected. He gripped Stiles' chin, forcing him to look into his eyes as they pulsed with that glowing blue. "Lessons need motivation, otherwise there's no reason to garner new skills or information from them."

"Then what's the motivation here?" Stiles challenged. He winced as Peter's hold on his chin tightened, pricking him with sharp claws.

"Don't feign ignorance Stiles," Peter warned, digging his claws into the flesh. Pinpricks of blood welled up, and Stiles tried to ignore the stinging pain as crimson beaded down and collected before dripping off his chin. Peter was glaring at him now. "I told you once that you were the clever one; you know exactly what I'm planning and if you don't cooperate now—"

"Oh yeah, because I've been such a willing participant so far," Stiles gritted out. This earned him a hand at his throat, lightly squeezing with the promise of additional pressure.

"Do you really want to test me?" Peter growled, "Especially when you're—?"

"In such a compromising position?" Stiles said helpfully. He gasped loudly as Peter ripped his claws out of his chin. Trickles of blood followed in their wake. The werewolf casually inspected his bloodied fingertips before returning his focus to his "lesson plan".

"At my mercy," Peter finished coldly. He lazily brought his free hand back to Stiles' chin, stroking the blood from his fresh wounds across his lips and cheek.

Stiles' eyes glanced down at his feet, and his heart leapt when he saw that the water was just below his knees.

Peter smiled cruelly. "At my mercy," he repeated. He nodded at something behind him. Stiles' eyes followed, and panic seized his chest.

Several black hoses were hanging off the other end of the diving tank, gushing out torrents of water.


"The Beacon Hills Recreation Centre?" Allison said, frowning as they sped down the road. She was pushing herself to go over the speed limit without drawing attention to themselves. Scott sat in the passenger's seat, morbidly still and tense. His kneaded his fists into his legs, forcing his claws back into his fingertips.

"It's been closed for a while, but it's not abandoned," Scott breathed out. He closed his eyes, practically hearing Stiles guiding him through something breathing exercises that he found on the internet.

"There seems to be a lot of those," Allison mused. "Abandoned buildings, I mean."

"It's the economy," answered Scott absentmindedly.

"It seems like the town can afford to have quite a few of them lying around."

Scott's eyes snapped open, focusing on the road ahead. They were so close now that the anticipation was driving him insane.

Finally, Allison swerved into the nearly emptied parking lot and settled into one of the vacant spots. Scott swung his door open, slamming it shut as he walked across it.

A few vehicles were scattered through the parking lot, no doubt belonging to some of the employees working inside.

Knowing Peter, it was now a past tense for them.

Anger roiled in his stomach at the thought. "We got nine minutes until the deadline" he heard Allison say behind him. He nodded, but his focus was on a sleek, black car parked neatly in front of the recreation centre's doors. Scott walked up to it, snapping out his claws in the process. Fury was building in his chest. He was terrified for Stiles and felt unspeakable hatred for Peter in that moment. There was no doubt in his mind that this was car responsible for the abduction.

Without thinking, he slashed the rear tires, ripping the rubber into jagged strips as the air was forced from its containment.

"Scott!" Allison warned, just as Scott gutted one of the front tires. Before he could tear into the fourth and final one he felt Allison's hand on his arm.

"He can't get the insurance on them if there's at least one that isn't punctured," she said with a small smile.

Scott lowered his hand, retracting his claws in the process. She was right; he remembered Stiles listing off that random fact during one of Adderall withdrawals.

"Having to pay for new tires will be the least of his worries," Scott growled. He lightly tugged away from Allison before pushing his way through the front doors.