A/N: Time to learn what Blake's plan for Scott is! Tiny bit of violence in this chapter, but not really. Feel free to send me a PM in you're concerned.
After explaining his plan, Blake had sat back, seemingly lost in thought. Stiles didn't dare break the silence, knowing that Blake could go mad and attack him again. So for almost an hour, Stiles sat, staring at the man who had captured him and intended to hurt Scott.
Finally, Blake shook himself out of whatever was on his mind, grinning at Stiles. "Scott will be here tomorrow afternoon," he said calmly, "and I don't need anything from you until then." He stood up from the stool, grabbing the cloth that had been wrapped around Stiles' eyes earlier, and began moving closer to him.
Stiles panicked. He could not stay down here in complete darkness again. "Please," he said, eyes wide, "please, don't put it on me. I've seen everything I could have already, and obviously I'm not going anywhere, so I don't need the blindfold. Please."
Blake laughed, and Stiles flinched at the sound. "Alright," he said, dropping the cloth onto the floor, "no blindfold. And if you stay quiet down here, I'll bring you some water. Deal?"
Stiles nodded, realizing how dry his mouth had gotten. His stomach was growling too, but he was too terrified to mention food. Surviving without food for multiple days was easy, but without water, he would die.
With a smile, Blake started to leave the room. When he had walked around Stiles to where Stiles guessed the staircase was, he called out brightly, "See you in the morning!" Then there were more footsteps, the sound of a door opening, and the door slammed shut.
Stiles was alone.
"Okay Stiles," he muttered to himself, "you gotta get out of here. It's just rope. Easy."
He shifted for a moment, trying to figure out how tight the ropes around his hands were. He had read somewhere that if there was just a little slack in the rope, it would be easy to escape. But apparently Blake was smart, and the ropes were tight. No slack.
Stiles pulled on them for a few minutes anyway, and he felt the coarse material rubbing the skin on his wrists. He tugged harder, hoping to find any weakness at all, but there was nothing. He couldn't maneuver his fingers to even attempt untying the knots, and tugging was just going to make his wrists bleed.
There was absolutely nothing he could do to escape, and Stiles knew without a doubt that Scott would come.
For the first time since he had woken in the basement, Stiles lost hope.
…
Scott kept glancing at the clock nervously, even though it was only one o'clock. Still two hours until he had to meet Blake.
Two hours until he found out if Stiles was okay.
He hadn't slept at all the night before, kept up with nightmares, each worse than the last. Even awake, the images of Stiles in trouble wouldn't leave him alone. Scott wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was terrified. He didn't know how he could survive if Stiles…
"Stop that," Scott said to himself, running his fingers through his hair. "Stiles will be fine. You'll save him."
He had considered calling Derek, but Blake's words convinced him not to. If the man knew his name, knew Stiles, knew the rest of the pack, he would probably find out if Scott told anyone. And if that happened, Scott knew what would happen to Stiles.
Glancing at the clock again, Scott saw that it was now a little past two. The house Blake had described was on the other end of town, so if Scott ran at a normal human speed he would get there right on time.
"Alright Scott," he muttered, "Time to save your idiotic friend."
…
Stiles woke up slowly, again unaware that he had even fallen asleep. His mouth and throat were dry, his stomach ached with hunger, and his head was pounding again. Blinking, trying to wake up more fully, Stiles took a moment to get his bearings. There were no windows in the basement, but the light was still on from the night before. He had no idea what time it was. Blake had said that Scott would be coming in the afternoon, but Stiles had no way of knowing if it was still morning.
Suddenly, he heard the door open.
Stiles' breath caught in his throat, and he knew that Blake would be coming down the stairs. Sure enough, he heard footsteps a moment later.
"Wake up, Stiles!" Blake said brightly, the footsteps coming closer and closer to Stiles' chair.
Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder and couldn't hold in a gasp as Blake quickly turned the chair to face him and the staircase.
Blake was grinning, and he was holding a bottle of water. He held up the bottle and said sweetly, "I promised you water."
Stiles blinked, his throat feeling even drier at the possibility of water.
Blake laughed, unscrewing the top of the bottle. "Open up," he said, and when Stiles did, he slowly poured some of the water into his mouth.
Stiles was surprised that Blake poured the water so slowly, making it easy for him to get a good drink. He had been expecting to end up with water all over him, but only a little dribbled down his chin.
When the bottle was half empty, Blake screwed the cap back on and put the bottle on the floor. "Now," he said, grabbing the stool he had used the previous day, "Let's get down to business. Scott will be here in an hour. The two of us are going to talk. You are going to stay silent. Simple. Can you do that?"
Stiles swallowed, but nodded. He would agree with Blake, because he knew what would happen if he didn't, but secretly he knew that he wouldn't be able to stay quiet. If Scott agreed with what Blake wanted, Stiles would need to say something. Because he could not let anything happen to Scott.
Blake smiled, unaware of what Stiles was thinking. "Good," he said, dragging the stool so that he was sitting beside Stiles. "Now we wait."
…
They waited in silence for almost an hour, when Stiles finally heard a door open upstairs.
Blake smiled. "Ah, right on time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his switchblade, looking at Stiles with sympathy. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, "Just a precaution."
The knife was pressed against his throat, and Stiles froze. He didn't think Blake would kill him, but he didn't want it to happen accidentally. He heard footsteps above him, moving toward the staircase, and Stiles shut his eyes for a moment in defeat. That had to be Scott.
Taking a breath, making sure his head didn't move too much, Stiles forced his eyes open.
…
Scott walked down the stairs to the basement, making sure to follow Blake's instructions exactly. But when he reached the bottom of the steps, he froze. In front of him was a sight that he never wanted to see again: Stiles tied to a chair, a knife held against his throat.
"Come on in, Scott," Blake said casually. "Don't be shy."
Scott began trembling slightly. How was Blake so calm? How could he talk like this was a normal conversation while holding Stiles literally inches from death?
Stiles seemed to notice Scott's expression, and he smiled. Scott knew that his friend was trying to reassure him, but it didn't work. The werewolf could smell fear in the room, obviously coming from the human with a knife to his throat.
Stupid werewolf powers.
"Hey there buddy," Stiles said weakly, obviously struggling to keep his voice from shaking. "Long time no see."
"Quiet!" Blake snarled, pushing the knife a little harder on Stiles' throat, drawing a small bead of bright red blood.
"Leave him alone!" Scott shouted desperately. "You told me you wouldn't hurt him!"
"Yes, and he said he wouldn't talk," Blake responded with a shrug, as if the whole situation was only mildly inconvenient. "If you two cooperate, then I won't have to touch him again."
Scott could feel his control slipping, but he struggled to push the wolf down. What was wrong with him? It wasn't even close to the full moon.
"So what do you want?" Scott finally asked, his teeth clenched.
"A couple weeks ago," Blake began, "my little sister Isabel was going for a walk when she got attacked. By a werewolf." He looked pointedly at Scott, and then continued, "The wolf bit her and, 4 days later, on the full moon, she transformed. My sweet little sister was trying to rip my throat out."
Scott winced in sympathy. He knew personally how easily the bite could destroy your personality, especially in the first full moon. He himself has tried to kill Stiles, of all people, shortly after being bitten.
Speaking of Stiles... He needed to focus. Blake was continuing his story.
"I managed to restrain her for the rest of the night, but at that point I had figured out what was happening to her." Blake paused, showing more emotion than Scott had seen before. "I did some research, trying to figure out if there was anything to do for her." His eyes hardened, and he looked right at Scott as he finished, "I found something. But I need you."
"You found a way to cure the bite of a werewolf?" Scott exclaimed, incredulous.
Blake nodded. "Stiles told me the two of you searched for one when you got bitten, right?" He grinned, but the expression was almost feral. "I probably searched a little deeper than you. I found a certain ritual..."
"Don't listen to him Scott!" Stiles suddenly shouted, looking and sounding frantic.
"I told you to be quiet." Blake growled, turning his attention away from Scott to face the trembling human. In a movement so quick Scott didn't even have time to process it, Blake swung at Stiles' face with a powerful right hook.
His fist connected with a dull smack, and Scott saw red.
…
Stiles had been punched in the face before, but not like this. Blake's punch was so powerful that Stiles blacked out for a few seconds, falling sideways in the chair. When he finally blinked his eyes open, the knife was pressed against his throat again, and Blake was saying something.
"-any closer. I'll kill him if you move."
Stiles blinked again, trying to focus. What was Blake saying? Who wasn't allowed to move?
"Back up, Scott. Back up or I'll kill him."
Scott. Blake was talking to Scott. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, his vision had finally cleared. Stiles almost gasped at the sight in front of him. Scott was standing there, glaring at Blake, and he was transformed. His eyes were glowing bright red, he was baring his fangs, and his claws were extended.
"Blake," Stiles said, voice wavering, "Blake, step away from me."
Blake glanced at him, eyes hard, and didn't move the knife. "If I do that, he'll kill me."
"No he won't," Stiles said, hoping that he was right. "I can calm him down, but only if you put away the knife and step away. Please. He wouldn't want to kill you, I promise."
Blake looked at Stiles for a moment, and then at Scott, who was growling quietly, and then sighed. "Fine. But I will pull the knife out again if you try any tricks." With that, he removed the knife and took a single step to the left of Stiles.
Scott's eyes stayed on Blake as he moved away. "Scott," Stiles said, his voice more confident than he felt, "Scott, look at me. I'm okay, see? He's not hurting me."
Slowly, Scott turned his bright red gaze away from Blake and toward Stiles.
"Scott, please," Stiles continued, getting desperate. "Scott, you need to calm down. I know you don't want to hurt anyone. You're okay. I'm okay. Just calm. Down."
Scott's stance started to relax. The claws disappeared into his fingers, turning back into normal fingernails. The fangs slowly receded. Within a minute, Scott looked like Scott again… Except for his eyes. Those still glowed red.
"Come on, Scott," Stiles said, smiling a little. "Let me see those gorgeous brown eyes of yours."
Scott smiled, just a little, and the red faded back to brown. "Stiles," he said, voice soft, "Stiles, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get out of control like that. I just…"
"It's okay," Stiles responded, cutting him off. "I'm fine."
"Wow," said Blake, cutting into the moment and making Stiles flinch, "what a touching moment. Well done, Stiles. I must admit that I'm quite impressed with you." Taking a step toward Stiles' chair, he pulled out the blade again and spun it casually in his fingers. "However, I'm afraid that I must bring this lovely conversation between friends to a close. Now Scott," he continued, once again pressing the blade against Stiles' throat, "I believe we were having a conversation."
Stiles made eye contact with Scott, trying to silently plead with him to leave. But Scott's eyes were hard and determined, and Stiles knew that it was hopeless.
"Don't hurt Stiles," Scott said, sounding completely in control of the situation. "If you promise not to hurt him, I'll do whatever you want."
"Scott," Stiles said before he could help himself, "don't."
The knife was again pressed harder against his throat, and Stiles froze. "Quiet," Blake hissed, right in his ear, and Stiles closed his eyes, shrinking away from the voice.
"Blake," Scott said, his voice harsh. "I said I would do what you want if you leave him alone."
Stiles felt the knife slowly leave his throat, and he opened his eyes, swallowing with fear. He knew that Scott was going to do what Blake wanted, and he had a feeling that even if Blake's plan didn't kill Scott, the man would kill both of them anyway.
"Alright Scott," Blake said with a cold smile, stepping away from Stiles, "We'll do this your way. Now, as I was saying before we were interrupted, I found a ritual that can cure the bite of a werewolf. Most of the ingredients were quite simple and a little stereotypical, if you ask me." He grinned. "Candles, some herbs, things like that. But the most important ingredient is something a little bit more difficult to obtain."
Stiles shut his eyes again, knowing what Blake was going to say next. It terrified him, what Scott would have to do, but he knew that his best friend would do it. Scott, Stiles knew, would do anything to make sure that everyone was okay.
Except for himself.
"True alphas are rare," Blake continued, cutting into Stiles' thoughts. "And they have a lot of power. Apparently, so does their blood." Blake grinned at Scott, and Stiles shivered. He hated that smile.
"Their... Blood?" Scott asked, sounding less confident now.
Blake laughed again. "Yes, their blood. One gallon of it, in fact."
Scott froze, and Stiles knew what he was thinking. If Scott lost a gallon of blood, he would die. His healing powers couldn't create new blood, especially not a gallon of it.
"I..." Scott hesitated, looking Stiles in the eye.
"It's a hard decision, isn't it?" Blake asked, teasingly. "Your life, or his?"
Scott licked his lips, looking between Stiles and Blake. "Werewolves can heal, you know," he said finally, but his voice was still weak.
"Sure, their wounds can. But they can't create new blood any faster than normal humans can," Blake responded immediately.
"I..." Scott said again, looking agonized.
Blake smiled at him. "How about this. I'll let you think about it. Go home, talk to Derek if you want. Come back here in 24 hours with your answer. Sound good?"
In Stiles' opinion, that definitely did not sound good. He knew that Scott would eventually give himself up, and the deal Blake was trying to make would just leave Stiles trapped for 24 more hours. He didn't think he could handle that.
Scott looked at Stiles, maybe trying to signal something, but Stiles just shrugged. He didn't know what Scott was trying to tell him, but he knew what his best friend was going to tell Blake.
"Okay," Scott said finally, "I'll talk to Derek."
Blake smiled and answered, "Good. I'm glad we've come to an agreement. Now, you can be on your way, and I'll see you tomorrow."
Scott glanced at Stiles again, seemingly reluctant to leave. "Stiles..." he said, but Blake cut him off.
"Goodbye, Scott," he said harshly, the smile gone.
Scott swallowed, nodded, and turned around.
And Stiles watched his best friend walk away.