Heyyyy second fic! Woo! I just have so many Sterek feels right now. I needed to get this out of my head. Hope it doesn't suck and thanks for reading.

-Daft

The large van purred as it's engine was cut off behind the remains of an empty warehouse. It was mostly still intact, and even with a few walls knocked in here and there and a busted window or two, it would make a good home for a pack of wolves.

Stiles carefully slid the bolt into place in the crossbow, raising it up to aim at the yellow blue and red circles in front of him. "Is this good?"

His father, John, stood a few feet behind, instructing him on how to use the powerful weapon. "Yep, you got it. Just hold tight, don't let it kick back into your face, now. Squeeze the trigger gently, Stiles. Whenever you're ready." He looked from Stiles to the target worriedly. They'd already been at it for an hour and Stiles had managed to actually hit the target a total of 6 times. Out of 50. His best friend, Allison, was standing nearby giving pointers and cheering him on, having already completed her practice that morning. She smiled reassuringly at him when he turned to her and gave him an encouraging nod.

Stiles applied gentle pressure to the trigger, aiming with both eyes open, tensed up and gripping tight, taking a deep breath. The bolt left the crossbow, hitting a near perfect bulls eye instantaneously. He lowered the weapon, smiling at the target, then turned to his dad, rather proud of himself. "Well how about that? I'm a professional, now." he said, swinging the bow around in a carefree manner at his side.

John squeezed his shoulder, smiling. "Good job! Now do it 99 more times and we can stop for the day."

Stiles' smile turned to a frown but his father's held strong. He loved his dad, he really did. And the man meant well, always. He was a good father, a good man, and a good Sheriff. The only thing Stiles didn't like about his dad was his obsession with hunting werewolves. Which was exactly what Stiles had agreed to do, simply because his father asked him, and he could never say 'no' to his father.

Stiles groaned, looking over at Allison, who smiled sweetly and shrugged. "You did it once, right? Just keep doing the same thing over and over, you'll get it in no time."

Stiles made a face at her, "That's easy for you to say, you've been doing this with your parents for, what, 10 years?" he flailed the crossbow in the general direction of the target for effect. How they became best friends was beyond him. She was so sweet and quiet, and he was so sarcastic and loud. But he supposed knowing her since he was 10 kinda helped.

Stiles turned back to his dad who offered and encouraging smile. "We'll go with 49 more times. And that's bulls eyes, not shots."

Two hours later, Stiles fell back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. He had only managed 19 more bulls eyes, but his dad, being the huge pushover he was, decided to let him off easy. Allison headed home, leaving John and Stiles alone again in their too-large house. John sat in the living room chair, looking at his son expectantly. Stiles looked back at him. "...What?"

John shook his head. "You did... good today." he offered. Stiles gave him an exaggerated look of doubt. "Well, it was only your third time! You did okay for your third time." the look didn't stop. "Okay, you could be doing better, but I'm sure you could also be doing worse."

Stiles sighed and laid his head back on the couch. "I don't think I'm cut out for the crossbow thing. Isn't there anything else I could try?"

"Well you weren't good with the gun thing, or the stun gun thing, or the compound bow thing. There's not much left, really." John said, shrugging.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for any of this, then."

"You'll be fine, Stiles, we'll just have to find a technique that works for you."

Stiles gave him a halfhearted smile. "I guess so."

That night, Stiles, along with his father and a handful of Argents spilled out of a large black van in the middle of the woods. He found his dad quickly and stayed close behind him, grabbing at his elbow like he did when he was a child so he wouldn't lose him. He wished Allison were there. "What are we doing out here, again?" he asked his dad quietly, eyes searching the woods with wonder and maybe even a little fear.

"One of our traps was set off and Chris is pretty sure we caught what we were after. I thought you should be here for it, since you're a part of this now." John freed his jacket from his son's grip and lead him forward with a hand on his back. "Relax."

Stiles didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be in the middle of the woods when it was 40 degrees outside hunting werewolves, whether his father asked him to or not. They kept going further away from the van, and soon Stiles heard a terrifying snarling. He knew then what was about to happen and he really wasn't sure he could handle it. He let out a shaky breath when the group came to the source of the sound.

Stiles was horrified. And confused. And even a little angry. But he kept those feelings to himself, as the others didn't seem to feel the same. What he saw was a terrified man hanging from his hands in a tree. What the others saw was a monster undeserving of life.

Gerard Argent- the one Stiles was most afraid of- began to speak. "We've caught an Omega, here! Does anyone know what this means?" he asked rhetorically, swinging the man cruelly with a push. "It means that there's an Alpha nearby. It means, gentlemen, that we need to find and kill these things quickly. Before people start dying." he pulled out a long silver sword as the man stopped swinging. Stiles grabbed onto his father. "Starting with this one." There was a flash of silver, a yelp, a sickening, wet sound and a shower of blood and organs.

Stiles tore his eyes away from the carnage as quickly as possible to turn and bury his face in his father's jacket. The way he figured it, he may be a 17-year-old boy on his way to becoming a man, but when you witness someone being cut in half, even a man is allowed to cry into their parents jacket like a small child. They stood at the back of the group, the few others were focused on Gerard and the body. John gave Stiles a comforting half-hug with one arm, watching Gerard clean his blade.

"Well, that's one down," Gerard started with a smile, "These packs can have anywhere from three to twenty beasts in them. Be on the lookout, gentlemen." he stepped away, walking off to put his sword back into place. The rest of the Argents followed him. Stiles and John were left standing there alone.

John took Stiles by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. There had only been a couple tears and what was there now was just a look of pure horror. John gave him a sympathetic look. "It's not as bad as it looks, Stiles. We're doing the world a favor."

Stiles swallowed and risked turning to look back at the body. Or, half a body. He looked away again quickly, only to stumble a couple feet, grab onto a tree, and vomit.

He couldn't get that image out of his head for the rest of the night. He had seen the man's spine. But even while he was dreading sleep because he knew he would have nightmares, he wouldn't admit to himself that he couldn't do this. Because he had to do it. For his dad. And for his mother.

Derek woke with a start, sweat covering his forehead. He looked around quickly at the others, taking a head-count and making sure everyone was still there and intact. He breathed out his relief. Everyone was there, sleeping deeply in the room of the warehouse the pack had deemed the den.

The floor was covered in mattresses, pillows, blankets, and werewolves. The five of them always slept in a group, while Derek shared the room, but slept alone. It was only their second night in the warehouse, but the pack liked it there. They were content.

Erica's head rested on Boyd's chest, Isaac's head rested on Erica's thigh, Jackson was back-to-back with Isaac, and held Lydia in his arms.

Now, Derek was never one for displaying emotions, but he couldn't help but smile a small smile at his pack. For once, he acknowledged to himself that he might be doing a good job here. Maybe he could be a good Alpha for them after all.

At school the next day, Allison found Stiles as soon as she could. He looked absolutely drained. "What's wrong? How'd it go?" she sat next to him, close so that they could talk privately about Stiles' field trip the night before. Stiles gave her a deadpan look with bags under his eyes. "Not good, huh?" she offered him an expression of concern.

"No, no, it was fine. Except for the part where I cried, barfed, and almost wet myself because of your incredibly scary grandfather. I mean, he was creepy before, but after seeing him hack-" Stiles looked around before continuing in a lower voice, "-hack a man in half, he's fucking terrifying." he hissed, with some level of distress.

Allison wasn't really sure what to say to that. Her grandfather even gave her the creeps sometimes. "Did you really throw up?" she said with a tiny hint of humor in her voice.

Stiles stared wide-eyed at empty space for a minute before turning and staring at Allison. "Yes. Yes I did. And I believe I was completely justified in doing so."

Allison gave him half a smile. "Gerard is always saying that it becomes easier when you stop thinking of them as someone, and start seeing them as something. They're not like us, Stiles. They're not really people. These things take pleasure from killing. They're monsters that the world is better without."

Stiles turned to her, a little sad now. "Do you really believe that?"

"I try not to think about it. It's easier if you just accept it."

"It's not easy for me."

After a short silence Allison changed the subject to something school-related, and it helped a little to take Stiles' mind off of werewolves and death for a while.

By the time Stiles went to lacrosse practice after school, he almost felt like a normal teenager again. He didn't get called out on the field much, as usual, but that was okay. He spent most of the time talking to his friend Danny, who helped to bring him a sense of normality. Danny was his only friend who didn't know anything about werewolves and monsters and hunters. He was thankful for that. Although, he only really had two friends. Allison and Danny. But he was okay with that, too.

When he arrived home, he was glad for the first time that his dad was at work. Stiles found a note left by his dad. Stiles- get some practice in tonight, when you're done, there's left-overs in the fridge. Love you, Dad. He ate a large dinner of left-over Chinese food, potatoes, and macaroni, then planted himself firmly in his computer chair, picked a topic at random, and proceeded to research Hinduism for 4 straight hours before going to bed. It was the perfect evening. No werewolves, no creepy old men, and no blood and guts. Just like old times.

Derek sat on his cot watching the pack- his pack- interact. Erica did Lydia's hair while Jackson, Boyd, and Isaac talked amongst themselves and watched the girls be girls. Derek looked like a kicked puppy. The pack had to stay inside the warehouse until his backup arrived and he could go out to scout for hunters and other potential dangers. He didn't like keeping them cooped up and would much rather be out running with them or training them. To make things worse, he could hear their stomachs growl every now and then.

He had very little money- usually the other adult of the pack carried all the cash- and without money, he couldn't feed his hungry pack. He felt like a failed Alpha. The others noticed he was upset, silently putting himself down, but they didn't mention it. They knew it would only piss him off. He really did care about them, but he was shit at showing it, especially when they expressed concern toward him.

Then the backup finally arrived. A wave of relief washed over him when he caught the unmistakable scent of fried chicken and potato wedges and heard a door open downstairs. The rest of the pack perked up, smiling and looking from Derek to the doorway of the den. Peter stepped in with four big bags of KFC, giving the pack a warm smile."Who's hungry?" he offered, lifting the bags. For a minute the room was filled with hugs and 'Thank you's and 'Where have you been?'s, followed by the sorting through of 3 bags of food and sporks.

Peter took the last bag and sat by Derek, knowing he was just as starved as the rest of the pack, even though he didn't show it. He had to be strong in front of them, after all. Derek mouthed a relieved 'Thank you' with wide-eyed sincerity. Peter smiled and nodded at him and they ate in content silence.

I'm not really good at the long chapter thing, but I'll try to update as often as possible to make up for it. Estimated 9 chapters. Please Review! And thanks for reading!

-Daft