Stiles didn't even want to go on this stupid hunting trip and, quite frankly, none of the hunters wanted him here either. He couldn't blame them, really, because he wasn't exactly the best hunter and this was his first hunt, Chris insisting he'd have to learn how to hunt at some point otherwise he'd be deemed useless and killed. And, even if his life did suck a lot, he much prefers being well and alive than dead. If he was in the hunters place, he'd have protested much more to having a clumsy teenager going on a hunt with them. He wished they had protested more, giving Stiles an excuse not to go.

He'd be much happier staying at the training facility - even if it meant he'd have to spend more time with Kate and Gerard who were absurdly scary and obviously insane - where he could practise his spells. Spells that he was getting quite good at, actually, even if they did sometimes blow up in his face. And mostly not in the metaphorical sense, which never ceased to suffice to cause an argument between the Argents and him. Even if he was raised by the Argents, he refused to be categorised as one of them and he refused to listen to them when he told them to stop doing his spells.

He knew Kate and Gerard didn't like him, neither did Chris really and Allison just took pity on him. He knew it because of the way they watched him when he did spells instead of training or talked about his magic instead of strategies or asked for new ingredients instead of shining weapons. Their reaction to him and his magic was understandable, really, because many people had a hard time explaining why magic users shouldn't be hunted like werewolves and vampires and other supernatural beings. Because, magic users were just as freaky and wrong, right? He didn't think so but his opinion was nothing against the many others. He was sure the only reason he hadn't been brutally murdered yet was because many people were afraid of the Argents, didn't want to do anything to anger them.

But, the protection of the Argents didn't very comforting to him. He was sure that the Argents, even though they raised him, where just waiting for the moment when he slipped up, the moment when they'd finally get to kill him.

He'd been staring at his feet as he walked with the other hunters and, when he looked up, he saw he was alone, the hunters a fair bit a head of him. They probably took the chance when he wasn't watching them to move forward more quickly, not wanting a barely adequate hunter slowing them down. He let out a small sigh, glancing down an alley that was to the right of him. He knew he shouldn't stray from the hunters, knew it would just result in him getting whipped again, but this was his first hunt so if they found any werewolves, they'd force Stiles to kill it. They were currently hunting an Alpha, which would be even more terrifying than killing a normal wolf because the pack is more likely to come after him, and it lead Stiles' mind to the question of 'where could the Alpha be?'

He didn't want to kill any werewolves, he wanted to go back and practise what Kate called his 'little tricks' which was just so condescending - like most things Kate said and did - because he wasn't a monkey at a circus. He slipped down the alley; crossbow that he could barely used hanging loosely at his side. Crossbows had always been Allison's thing and, though she'd spent a few times trying to teach him how to use it, he still couldn't get the hang of it.

As he slowly walked down the alley, trained to be cautious and thinking this was probably a good time to put that to use, there was a long low rumble that was followed by some scuffling noise. Suddenly, the question changed from 'where is the Alpha' to 'how soon am I getting eaten?'

Natural curiosity got the better of his judgement and he walked further into the alley, seeing a man - werewolf, most likely, if the growls coming from him were anything to go by - slumped on the floor with blood pouring from his stomach. An arrow had obviously hit him, the dull metal sticking from his stomach as the man tried to pull it out, and his thoughts automatically went to Allison. The arrows looked like hers and she was one of the few that used crossbows, the other going for a different and more updated range of weapons.

"If you're going to kill me, at least have the manners to make it quick."

The man's voice is a strained growl, the hole in his stomach obviously making it hard for him to speak. Stiles is surprised that he even can speak, really. At the training facility, their told that werewolves are nothing more than beasts, not human in anyway. But the man on the floor looked more human than beast, even had the ability to form coherent sentences.

Stiles, with shaking hands, lifts the crossbow and tries to aim it at the man in front of him. No, not man, wolf. He needs to keep reminding himself that this is a wolf and not a human otherwise killing it will be so much harder.

He doesn't know whether it's his shaking hands or just his naturally horrible aim, but the arrow clatters to the floor near the werewolf's foot, not even scraping him. He could practically feel the sceptical look he's being given.

"Crap." Stiles mumbles, under his breath. That was the only arrow he had. It was stupid to only bring one arrow, he knew that because Allison had explicitly told him so, but he was kind of hoping that he could 'accidently' lose his only arrow and then he wouldn't have to kill anything, the other hunters wouldn't lend him their weapons. Well, it was unlikely the other hunters would lend him their weapons. He should probably call for help but, if he does, he'll be forced to pick up the arrow and kill the creature in front of him with the other hunters watching.

His only other option was to run away, to leave the werewolf to die from blood loss or the wolfsbane that had been shot into him or at the hands of some other, more experienced and blood thirsty hunter. A tingling sensation in his fingertips reminds him that it wasn't the only option, reminds him that could quite easily heal the werewolf. He guessed another reason that the Argents didn't like his magic was because it was all focused on healing and defensive magic, instead of offensive like they'd probably prefer.

He glanced upwards, not even realising he was sullenly staring at his crossbow, as if being stuck in an alleyway with a werewolf and feeling the urge to heal him was completely its fault. He saw the werewolf trying to get to his feet, eyes focused on the hunter as if Stiles had any power to take him on. He briefly wondered if werewolves could smell magic and if they could smell what type of magic they preformed. With a lack of weapon and virtually no strength, the only reason the wolf would be looking at him like that would be because of his magic.

Stiles, slowly, placed the arrow on the ground to show he wasn't trying to act as a threat to the older man. He wished that he'd been brought up as a hunter his whole life so he didn't get himself into magic - the only reason he did magic, really, was because he'd seen his mother do it when he was younger and somehow thought it'd bring him closer to her, to what she used to be - so he would probably be able to kill werewolves without any urge to heal them.

"Any part of you that touches me, you're not getting back."

Stiles rolls his eyes at the now standing werewolf but stopped himself from moving forward because he quite liked all of his body parts where they were, thank you very much. Even though the werewolf couldn't be much threat from where they were currently standing, a fair bit away from each other but still close enough to whisper/hiss at each other, if he got close enough, the man could easily rip him to piece with his teeth.

"I'm not going to hurt you; I just want to heal you."

The werewolf didn't seem as if he believed him, thick eyebrows raised in doubt before he was glaring at him. Stiles could understand the reaction because no werewolf in his right mind would trust a hunter, no matter how genuine they seemed.

If he was in the werewolf's position, he wouldn't trust a hunter either. Heck, he's one of them and he barely trusts them.

"I can do it from right here, wouldn't even have to get close to you. All you'll need to do is remove the arrow so your skin doesn't grow back around it."

After a few moments of hesitation, the wolf lifts his hand to his stomach and begins to pull the arrow from the wound. Stiles guesses that the man has probably decided that he's going to die no matter what so he should give Stiles the benefit of the doubt.

"Do you trust me?"

Stiles doesn't even need or want the wolf to trust him but his mother used to ask the question before she healed someone. He could remember – vaguely – because he was pretty young when he mother passed away and even younger when he watched her heal all sorts of people, usually supernatural creatures. She probably healed a few werewolves in her time.

"No."

Stiles doesn't blame him.

"Good. One of us needs to act at least a little sane here."

Stiles meant it as a joke, trying to lighten the awkward tension between them, but the other man looks at him as if he actually was insane. And he just might be. If anyone saw him helping a wolf, he wouldn't just get beaten but probably killed. Besides, it wasn't as if it was going to be possible to ease the tension between them. Stiles was a hunter helping a wolf and, as soon as the other was healed, he was probably going to kill him.

He tried not to think too much about his inevitable death, instead focusing on moving his power to his fingertips. They began to glow a warm amber colour, the same colour of his eyes, and he slowly aimed them at the wolf, the colour shooting from them.

He was thankful that the wolf didn't start screaming from the pain the spell would surely cause because Stiles wasn't in the mood for the headache it'd cause and the whole getting killed by the hunters if they saw this. He didn't know which death would be worse, at the hands of the hunters or the claws of a werewolf. He decided a werewolf would be more forgiving. He'd seen first hand just how destructive the hunters could be.

When the spell had finished, Stiles very nearly collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. Spells always took a lot out of him, especially since he'd only ever really preformed a healing spell on himself, usually after the beatings had finished.

For a brief second, the werewolf looks surprised - the first expression other than pain and the untrusting one he'd seen on his face - before his features were twisted into his wolf form. And, because his brain was a total traitor, the first thought that surfed forward was that he'd never thought someone could look good in their werewolf form. But, hey, he was probably going to die within the next five minutes so he could at least die with the thoughts of something hot in his brain, even if that something was a wolf that was going to murder him.

Except, he suddenly wasn't moving towards him and looking like he wanted to kill him. Instead, he stood motionless, head tilted upwards. And then he was running down the alley and the reason became apparent within the next few minutes, the hunters appearing at the entrance of the alley.