A Reason to Stay

by Jollyrancher1114

Peter was kidnapped during his patrol shift. Stiles was just looking for his target that he was hired to kill. Neither of them were expecting Stiles to walk in on an attempted murder. They didn't expect to become best friends, either. Or: Stiles is a hitman with extensive trust issues and the Hales just want to help.

2. Chapter 2

The minute Stiles saw Macie, he gave her the coldest glare he could manage. Which wasn't that cold, to be fair. But he couldn't help it! He hadn't seen his best friend in months. She was hired to get rid of an up and coming alpha in the Bahamas and while he tried to go because Bahamas, he decided to take Kate's case. He'd been dealing with her loose ends for years and had even wiped out a couple of her hide outs along with Macie. He didn't regret taking the case, especially since he was able to see how the Hales were first hand and because of that he was able to take their families name off of their potential suspects list for a different problem.

"Stiles!" He rolled his eyes as she focused on his injured leg and pulled her in for a hug. Afterwards, she led him by the hand down the long hallway and hit the top floor in the elevator, radiating disapproval. "You never listen, do you? You're lucky that bullet didn't hit your artery or you would've been dead right now. How many times have I told you that you're smart enough to go to college, huh? I bet you'd be one of their best students, too."

"I'm not interested. This lifestyle has been working great for me."

Macie snorted dryly and gave him a condescending once over. "What lifestyle? You live out of hotels and off of room service, have no friends besides me, and refuse to get an education higher than your high school diploma. Not to mention that the car you're driving is ready to fall apart."

"And what about you, huh? You could be a top fashion designer and yet here you are, going around and offing people for money."

They stared each other down before grinning in unison, Macie slapping his shoulder fondly.

"I missed you. I did finish most things on my end, though. What about you?"

"The alpha won't be a problem anymore." She held up two thumbs and grinned when he nudged her with a smile.

"Awesome. I have a meeting with Angelo about Kate's last hideout. Her followers got away, Travis and Dan. Knowing them, they'll probably get a big head about surviving when she didn't and start making plans to take over."

Macie groaned and threw her head back. "Man, we can never get a break, huh?"

"Thanks for the suit, by the way. It's probably one of my favorites you've made."

"'Course it is, I don't have that degree for nothing. But I want you to put more stealth runes on my knives in exchange. Oh! And I want you to get more mountain ash and wolfsbane for me, too."

"Deal."

"So, how were the Hales? Anything worth mentioning while you were there?"

"Just that they're all crafted from the gods, I mean fuck, leave something for the rest of us." He grumbled.

Macie let out a series of loud cackles. "Oh, man. I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Because I'm hot and funny?"

"Because you're funny."

"Ouch."

The elevator doors opened and she sent him out with an encouraging pat on his back. "Let's go out for drinks to celebrate later."

"Celebrate what?"

"Our reunion, of course!"

Stiles turned away with a beam and shouted his agreement over his shoulder, much to the annoyance of Angelo's cleaning staff. He missed the way Macie's face dropped into a guilty frown as she trailed him.

"I'm sorry, Stiles. I hope you'll forgive me once you realize that it's for your own good."

Stiles knocked on the large oak door once for pleasantries before opening it. He'd smoothed out his suit beforehand and made sure that his appearance was appropriate for the meeting. Angelo was sitting behind the desk with papers strewn about and a face clear of expression. His graying hair was combed back and he took off his reading glasses when he opened the door. Brushing off his nerves, he smiled warmly and sat across from him after the man's nod.

"Stiles. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"It has. I'm surprised you were the one who initiated the meeting this time around."

"I've gotten some disturbing news recently and wanted to make sure one of my best employees was in good health."

Stiles dropped the smile and leaned forwards so his elbows rested on his knees. "What do you mean?"

"I heard that you were injured during the last job I gave you."

"Oh, that? That's nothing. It was just a light graze from a stray bullet."

"You had to stitch yourself up after drinking half a bottle of Vodka." He deadpanned. Stiles could see the worry in his eyes and sighed.

"Macie told you, didn't she?" He continued on when the man didn't say anything. "I've been doing this job for more than five years, of course I'm going to get hurt. But I'm really okay, I promise. It's healed up now, anyway."

"Okay." Stiles fidgeted in his seat. Nothing was ever this easy with Angelo. He was strict with his business and only smiled when he got news that one of the jobs he'd sent them out for had been completed.

"Okay?"

"Some of my men found another hideout of Katherine's. It was in Biarritz, a smaller seaside town in France. I'm going to send out a group to ambush it in a couple months."

"Why a couple months? Wouldn't it be better to get it settled now?"

"That's what I thought too, but then Macie brought up a good point."

"Stragglers," Stiles murmured as it hit him. "There'd be more out there."

"Exactly. Apparently the two men that escaped you are planning a big welcoming ceremony for hunters that Kate spent years recruiting. It's being held there in France in exactly three months." He took a drink of wine from the glass beside him as he eyed him intently, his blue eyes hard and calculating. "There's also rumors that your father's murderer will be there."

Stiles' head snapped up and he stared back at the man, holding himself back from shouting his questions. "Who'd you hear it from?"

"I overheard it while I was on a business trip back in Toronto. It seems like Katherine set up a series of trials for the applicants to complete before she accepted them into her organization. A test, if you will."

His teeth grit together and he had to force the words out of his mouth. "And what, killing an innocent sheriff and a handful of high school kids were a part of that?"

"Along with some other professions and statuses, yes. I recall that nurses were on the list." Angelo watched his reaction closely and Stiles couldn't help but picture a boy with floppy hair and a crooked jaw. Shaking his head roughly, he stood up and paced in front of the desk, arms crossed as he pinched his nose.

"Alright. We need a plan, then. We need bait, someone that they'll want to kill to complete the list. I'm sure that they'll all be in a rush to get the list done as soon as possible so they'll be under more pressure and that'll make them more oblivious. Macie and I can pull it off, I'm pretty sure we'd be able to do it. I'll go and-"

"Stiles. Sit down." Angelo demanded in a low tone. Stiles glanced at him, ready to argue when he saw the man's frown. He slowly lowered himself back into the chair, wondering if there was going to be another bomb dropped on him.

"Give me your leg." Angelo told him firmly, holding out a steady palm.

Stiles faltered. "What? Why?"

"Just do it."

"Uh… okay." He put his calf in Angelo's outstretched hand awkwardly, waiting for him to say something. When he tightened his grip on his ankle and brought up his other hand to clasp his foot, Stiles' heart skipped a beat and dread settled into his stomach. "What's going on?"

"Just stay still, I don't want you to get hurt more than this." He stood up and Stiles swallowed. He was freaking out over nothing. They've known each other since he was in high school. He was probably just checking the bone alignment or something, right? Right. He listened and shifted his weight so he was somewhat more comfortable and, albeit hesitantly, he forced himself to stay relaxed when he heard a loud snap. Time seemed to still before the pain set in, ferocious in its wake as it traveled throughout his foot and nearly up to his knee. He yelled and shoved Angelo away, tears lining the bottom of his eyes as he tried to understand what was going on.

So many thoughts were going through his mind and his foot fucking hurt and he just wanted answers but his mouth wasn't moving and he couldn't find the words he wanted to say. He stumbled, unaware of when he stood up, and put his foot down in his muddled state, nearly falling over when a new wave of throbbing and ache and pain hit him, somehow ending up in his heart. A flash of dizziness came after that and Angelo caught his arm as he swayed, setting him down in the chair he was occupying gingerly. Stiles stared at him unblinkingly, giving up on wiping his tears when they kept coming despite his best efforts. His skin felt too tight and there was pressure around his eyes and it felt like his chest was closing in on itself but he couldn't do anything, not even walk away because he was- because Angelo had...

"Why…" He asked brokenly.

"Because I know you. As soon as I gave you any more information you would have booked a flight and gotten yourself killed because you were too impatient to wait for three months. Don't even try to argue, I know you like the back of my hand." He sighed at the look he received and dug into the drawer of his desk, pulling out a pill bottle.

Stiles made no move to grab it when he held it out and Angelo set it onto his lap. "They're pain killers. I made sure it's a clean break so you won't need surgery or anything like that. Macie went out to get the boot and crutches and-"

"Wait, Macie was in on this?" Stiles could feel himself dissociating. He knew the signs well by now, had gone through it multiple times in the past. First came the heaviness in his stomach, then his throat would close up and he'd be left feeling like he couldn't breathe. After that, the blood would rush to his ears and he wouldn't be able to focus on anything before he felt nothing at all. It was faster now, though. His head hurt. His brain was in shambles. Everything had happened too fast for him to keep up. Why had he come here in the first place? What excuse had Macie told him? Macie...why would she...He could hear voices in the background but couldn't get over the fact that Macie, his best friend, the person he was closest to, had sent him in here knowing he would be hurt.

Didn't she realize how important this was? His father's killer was going to be there, of course he would be eager to go after him for what he'd done! He'd spent weeks explaining his death to her, endless days of crying into her shoulder. It was the first time he'd ever cried in front of someone since his mother had died, and now he had a useless ankle and no work for the next three months because he was stupid enough to trust someone again. He was really naive, huh? To think that there were actually good people out there. He should've known this by now, but no, he had to push a little further until he got hurt again.

He came back to himself a while later. He didn't know what time it was but it was already dark outside and most of the lights were out in the penthouse, only a floor lamp lighting up the area. Angelo was seated across from him reading a pile of documents while Macie was snoring lightly next to his feet on a chair she had pulled up. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the reminder and he swallowed harshly before looking across from him. There, clad in a hard medical boot, was his left foot. It was resting on top of two pillows over the arm of the couch and he stared at it silently. Why couldn't they just tell him not to go and have somebody follow him? He'd probably try to lose them but he wasn't naive enough to think he could take on an entire organization of cold blooded killers by himself.

"I gave you some morphine. It should last an hour or two longer." Angelo told him as he signed a paper and moved on to the next. "I already stabilized your foot so as long as you stay off of it for six to eight weeks you'll be fine. That leaves time for any physical therapy or adjustments you'd need to get used to before the attack, also. The crutches are next to you. I want you to get used to them here before you go back."

"Go back where?" Stiles coughed at the hoarseness of his voice, glaring at Angelo when he tossed a water bottle to him. He took a sip anyway, the dryness of his throat too irritating for him not to.

"You had a run in with the Hales, correct? They seem like good people and have a doctor on hand. You'll be okay there."

"I wasn't planning on going back. I'm not going to be a freeloader for people I don't even know."

"They seem to be willing to know you, seeing as how Macie caught them looking for you earlier."

"They were probably making sure I wouldn't come back." Stiles grumbled.

The man didn't bother with trying to humor him and instead handed him a brown folder with multiple dividers inside. It was kept closed with the string attached and Stiles slid it off, curiosity winning him over. He pulled out the first paper and made sure that his face stayed passive. "What is this?"

"Information. Each portion in there has data on all of the people who'll be at the hideout when you go. You need to find out what's true about them and what's not so that you can brief your team properly. Just because you're injured doesn't mean you can stop working, got it kid? There's a whole other life out there. What're you going to do when you find a real career that you actually like?"

Stiles kept quiet and fingered through the rest of the papers. He wouldn't find another job, he'd been wrapped in this one too long. The way he looked at things was too different from other people and he'd be the first to object to him working anywhere else but in this field.

"Anyway. I have to board a flight in a couple of hours. I just wanted to make sure you were safe and informed so I-"

"So you broke my ankle and gave me a shit load of reading material."

"I'll know that you're safe because you can't go out and get yourself killed." He gave him a stern look. "And that's not the last of it, either. I know you'll probably finish that in a week so I'll send some more every Saturday until we have another meeting with everyone else."

Stiles hated how he couldn't tell him he was wrong. Turning his face away from him, he sat up and put a hand to his head when a wave of dizziness hit him. Angelo was there in a second, supporting his back so he didn't fall.

"Get up slowly, Stiles." He chastised. "Here, use my arm to get up and then I'll give you the crutches. I already had someone run out to get you some clothes so you don't have to worry about that. Macie brought your laptops, too."

"Whatever." Grabbing the end of the end of the couch instead of his arm, he hefted himself up. He kept his balance pretty good and only swayed a couple times before he grabbed the damned crutches. He noted the duffel bag that was by the elevator and gestured to it. Angelo stepped away once he saw that he was steady and went to retrieve it.

"Macie and I packed it for you. It should last you until the next time I call. I put another bottle of painkillers in there, also. I figured you'd refuse to take the ones I offered."

Stiles gave a curt nod and made his way to the elevator, biting his lip grimly at how loud they were. Angelo didn't say anything to him as he handed the bag to somebody, telling him to drive back to the Hales. He pushed the button to the elevator doors angrily and the man rushed in beside him before they could close. Stiles leaned against the railing and tightened his grip on the crutches, letting his mind go blank before he refocused on the folder in his hand. He handed it to the man and threw his head against the wall, clenching his eyes shut as the light chirps from the passing floors ticked by.

Peter wasn't one to panic. He wasn't. If anything, he was the one to calm the people who were panicking. But with the way his heart was racing and the scenarios running through his mind couldn't be anything other than that. Derek and Laura watched him pace as Talia called her husband to see if he'd seen Michael anywhere.

"Why are you so worked up? He's with friends, isn't he?" Peter shook his head and forced himself to sit back down, tapping his foot restlessly.

"David hasn't seen him either," Talia announced. "He said that he'll keep looking, though."

Derek looked between them, his eyebrows drawing together at their overwhelming concern. "Why do you guys care so much? Didn't you just meet him a couple days ago?"

"It's...complicated." She responded. "He reminded me of someone." She prayed that her son wouldn't ask who he reminded her of and thanked her lucky stars when they heard a car a couple streets down. Wait-

"I thought Dad was going to keep looking," Laura trailed off when the car made a turn on their street, the headlights shining from the end of the long driveway. "Was somebody planning on coming over today?"

Derek stood up along with her, letting his nails grow longer just in case. Peter was already by his mom and they shared a silent conversation with their eyes, looking away just as the car parked and a door slammed shut.

"St- Michael!" A man's voice rang out, tinged with worry and irritation. "Let me help you with the-"

"I don't need your help." Derek recognized the voice from earlier and made a face when he recognized what sounded like crutches. What was going on? Peter was already at the door and flung it open, the resounding slam echoing through the silent house. His mom wasn't far behind and hissed for him to calm down under her breath. Laura was next, making her way over to them and trying to peek over their shoulders to see what was going on with him trailing her.

"Michael," Peter's attention was drawn to the boot before looking up at the man, forcing down a string of curses at the bloodshot eyes, the only hint of expression on the otherwise emotionless face. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Sorry, but I'm going to have to stay longer than I planned to. I'll look for a hotel later and-"

"Absolutely not," he interrupted fiercely. "We let you go once and you come back worse than you were before."

Michael didn't say anything as he walked closer to the door, keeping his head down when he passed Talia and himself. Peter was uncomfortable with the sudden change in him, the vulnerability a stark difference from the confident man he'd seen and gotten used to before. He caught the attention of Derek and Laura, gesturing for them to move out of the way. Huffing, Laura went to sit on a stool near the kitchen counter while Derek was a bit slower, looking over them before he joined her and initiated a hushed conversation.

"Michael." Peter made a move to intercept the man that he'd arrived with but Michael looked back, just for a second, and it's enough for him to hold himself back. The man swallowed and passed them with hesitant steps before putting a hand on Michael's shoulder. He looked back at them, at how stiffly Peter was holding himself and his sister's smile that's anything but welcoming, her two children paying close attention from where they are in the background. Sighing, he leans in close to Michael's ear as if they wouldn't be able to hear everything he says. "You know that Boss, he's a… he's a good man. You know that everything he does has your best interest at heart, even if he doesn't say anything."

Michael's shoulders tightened even more, to the point where Peter thought the muscles would be sore the next morning. The man put the bag he was carrying down and gestured to it with his hand. "He said to tell you that he already put the money in there. He'll give you the other half later." Peter was sure that he wasn't the only one who caught the emphasis on 'later'.

Michael scowled and put both crutches under his other arm to bend down, picking it up and slinging it onto his shoulder before placing the crutch back where it was. It was awkward, incredibly so, but he managed to make his way to the guest room. They all winced as the door slammed and the man sighed before he gave them an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that. I'll take my leave now."

"Tell us what happened to him." Peter demanded. "When he left earlier all he had was a couple stitches and now he comes back in a boot and crutches."

"There was just an incident that happened at work."

"Work? So your boss did do it to him, then."

"Peter," Talia warned. "Let it be. We'll ask Michael later."

Grumbling when she flashed her eyes, he went straight for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring half of its contents into a glass and drinking it all in one go. He didn't look at anybody as he turned around and headed to his room. "Tell Valerie that I went to bed early."

"I will." There was a slight pause and he had already opened his door when she finished her thought. "Don't worry, Peter. You're not the only one who's uneasy about this. We'll ask him tomorrow and try to figure out a solution."

As it turned out, they didn't get a chance to ask him what had happened until almost a week later. Michael had taken to locking himself in his room and must've put a soundproof rune or sigil or something, because they couldn't hear anything from behind the door for the life of them. The only time anyone so much as caught a glimpse of him was when he forced himself out of his room - yes, everyone was well aware that the room was his now- and even that was only twice a day. Once at exactly five, right when the sun would rise, and the other sometime ranging from seven to eight. Peter himself, Valerie, Talia, and even Laura had tried to coax him out but other than Michael opening the door a crack to tell them he wasn't interested there was no result. They were growing more and more restless every day that passed. Valerie had expressed her increasing concerns multiple times when they were all together, from the depths of his eye bags to his injury that they still had yet to know exactly what it was to the way his face was becoming more pale and gaunt.

Surprisingly, or maybe not because out of all of them he was the one who had a shorter temper than all of them, it was Derek who managed to drag him out of his room. That night, he'd pulled an all nighter until Michael went to use the bathroom the following day and blocked his way back into the room as soon as he finished. Or so he was told by Laura. He still didn't know what his nephew had told him, but that morning they had all woken up to a pair of agitated men, one of them sitting on the chair closest to the window, freshly showered and typing furiously on his laptop with a pile of documents on top of a folder next to him on the arm of the chair. Derek was scrolling through his phone with a scowl, his legs crossed in front of him.

Talia was, as always, the first to recover from her shock. "Good morning, Michael, Derek." She greeted cheerfully, making her way into the kitchen to dig out pans for their breakfast. "Are you hungry? I'm thinking pancakes and fruit for today."

Michael shook his head without looking away from the screen. "I already ate."

"You ate a piece of toast, Michael! That's not eating!" Derek yelled. Peter jolted at the unexpected interruption and shared a glance with his wife as Michael's head snapped towards him.

"I told you that I was full." He told him slowly, something dangerous under his tone. "Do you need me to spell it out for you?" Derek glared and Michael returned it with one of his own before Valerie coughed to hide a smile. The two of them looked away and 'hmph'ed under their breath in unison. Peter raised an eyebrow at the two women at the abrupt development. Talia shook her head but didn't turn away fast enough to hide her amused grin.

"Three months, you can do it." Michael mumbled under his breath as he continued on typing. Peter sat on the other end of the couch that Derek occupied, close enough that they could have a quiet conversation if they wanted to and far enough that Michael wouldn't feel closed in or pressured.

"What have you been up to this past week? We've hardly seen you outside of the room." Peter spoke casually as he leaned against the cushions with a content sigh.

"Working."

"That's a shame. I found a journal from a retired emissary that was friends with a pixie colony. There's some pretty interesting observations in there, but since you're busy I'll put it back later today."

"What are you trying to do?" He asked with narrow eyes.

"Well, right now I'm trying to relax and have an engaging conversation with you. How's your foot? Ankle?"

Michael's eyebrows furrowed and his face hardened as he focused back on the paper he was reading. Peter didn't push, knowing the likelihood of him answering would decrease the more he pestered him. Finally, after a couple minutes of listening to his sister and wife debate how much food to cook and the occasional snort from Derek as he messed with his phone, Michael answered. "It hurts. But it's not like it's only…" He bit his lip and chewed on it, as if he were trying to come up with the right words. A few seconds later, Peter sat up straighter when Michael looked at him, a glazed look in his eyes that held a storm of emotions which he couldn't decipher because they were so muddled together. Talia and Valerie fell silent as his breath hitched and even Derek looked up with a small noise of confusion.

"It's more than the actual physical pain, y'know? It's like being forced into a situation but not really because you want to be there, you really do, but then you get there and everything that you've heard about it, everything that they made sound so easy and peaceful is gone and you finally realize for the first time what a shit show your life is. But it's too late to go anywhere because you're already in too deep and so you push the emotions down and just do it because you're good at it, everybody tells you you're the best and so you can't just quit, you can't just run away and hope for the best. But then something happens and the one thing that you thought would be there forever, the one support system that you relied on and put years and years into building backfires and does the one thing you don't expect it to and then you get hurt. It's like all of the defenses you've planned over and over again are taken away from you in a second and then all of those feelings come back up because suddenly you're on your own and vulnerable and can't do any of the usual things you want to do like run away and try to figure out what kind of sick world you're living and how you should adapt and where your fucking place in the world is now because it's obviously not-" He took a shaky breath and blinked, realizing how much he had said.

Shaking his head, Michael shifted and stood up, collecting all of his things and putting them into the drawstring backpack he'd brought out before putting it on. His hair cast shadows over his eyes as he moved back towards his room. "The painkillers are working, it doesn't hurt at all." Michael's voice broke on the last word as he closed the door, his breathing coming in irregular spurts.

Peter was shocked, he couldn't comfort the man even if he wanted to because his mind was running in all directions to try and figure out what Michael was talking about. What was it that he was forced into and yet he wanted to stay? Or did he want to leave but couldn't? He was talking about himself, right? He had to be. And the support system, what was it? Or was it a person? Maybe a group of people? Did they know about his injury or… or were they the ones that had hurt him? A cold chill ran down his spine at the possibility before a burst of protective rage spread through him rapidly.

They all stared at the door, not knowing what to say. Valerie frowned and put down the bowl of pancake mix, moving to sit beside them on the couch. Talia followed her and sat in the newly vacated chair.

"Did he say painkillers? I don't remember the guy he was with talking about a hospital or anything." Derek grumbled. Valerie's eyes snapped to him and she crossed her arms as she thought back on it.

"He had to have, though. He came with that boot and the crutches and apparently the painkillers, too."

"But he didn't smell like the hospital," Talia interrupted. "There was no sterile scent on him or the medical equipment."

"So how'd he get it, then?"

"They were talking about their boss, Michael and whoever that man was. Do you think it had something to do with them?" Valerie inquired, looking between all of them.

Derek frowned and leaned forward so his elbows were relaxing on his knees, his hands clasped together. "That would mean that whoever he was with purposefully hurt him to the point of being immobile on his own, and then gave him all of the things he would need to recover. That's just ridiculous."

"Not if they were friends," Peter mumbled. "He mentioned a support system that failed him. I think that could be the friend he went out with."

"So his friend was the boss?"

"It was a woman he was talking to, though. The man that dropped him off said that their boss was a good man." Talia muttered, deep in thought. "They had to have a reason on top of that, too." Talia sighed. "You sure know how to pick your friends, huh, brother?"

Peter rolled his eyes at her wry grin but had to agree with her, however grudgingly it was. He'd make sure Michael was in good hands. It was the least he could do, especially since he was the first person he'd consciously tried to become friends with in years. Since he was in high school, actually. He'd never seen a reason to have friends when he had his pack. People outside of his family would leave him, that's how it's always worked. But he wouldn't let Michael leave him, particularly because he seemed like the kind of person to throw himself head first into a dangerous situation without a second thought. He didn't know how he would do it yet, but he'd make sure that Michael knew he could trust them with his life.

Valerie nudged him awake the next morning with an annoyed grumble, telling him to get his ass out of bed and go see what the yelling was about. It takes another five minutes for him to actually do so and after he pulls on a shirt that was thrown carelessly to the floor the night prior, he rips their door open with a scowl. He wasn't too keen on being woken up by force, especially before the sun had risen. Still, he pushes it down and glares down the hall, where Derek's silhouette is towering over Michael's, arms crossed over his chest and anger radiating from him. Then the yelling starts again and Peter is confused and mildly impressed with himself on how he'd slept through it with how loud the two boys are being.

"Do you want me to break your other leg? Would that make you sit still for one goddamn minute?" Derek snarled.

"You just try that shit and I'll cut your hand clean off, s'not like you do anything useful with them anyway!"

"Excuse me? Say that again, I dare you." Derek stepped closer until their chests were nearly touching and Peter moved to intervene when Michael tossed his crutches to the side, the crash that echoed undoubtedly waking up those who haven't been already. He took a step on his injured foot, his jaw tightening when he put weight on it but ignoring it in favor of fisting his nephew's shirt and dragging him down to stare him in the eye. He had brought out one of the blades he'd used before and in an instant he held it towards Derek's throat, resting the metal to his skin. Derek glowered down on him and Peter looked to his sister when she fell in line beside him with a wrinkled brow and concerned eyes.

"I said," Michael whispered threateningly. "That if you so much as take one step towards me, I'll cut your fucking hand off. Got it?"

"Boys," Talia called, her voice too light for the situation and adding another layer of tension as they gave her their focus. "It's not even six. Let's save the bickering for later, yes?"

Michael snorted and let go of the shirt as if it insulted him, pocketing the blade into his sweatpants and gripping the doorway as he leaned down to pick up his crutches. Peter sent a glare towards Derek and went to help him, moving the duffel bag out of Michael's way so he could get to the bed sooner. Now that he looked at it, though….

"Michael," Talia started softly. "Have you been sleeping? It doesn't look like you've gotten a good rest since you've gotten here."

"Eh?" He looked at the bed and how there wasn't a crease in the blanket or pillows, then shrugged and gestured towards the desk before moving to flop onto the chair. There were three laptops open, each one with multiple tabs open and in a language Peter didn't recognize. There were piles of paper scattered on the flat surface, all of them having sentences highlighted, underlined, circled, or with comments scrawled on the side in thick, furious strokes. "I've been sleeping just fine here."

"That's terrible for your back." Peter frowned.

"I have more problems to worry about than my posture, thanks." Michael eyed him before crossing his arms. "Why aren't you asking me?"

"I have a lot of questions to ask so I'm not sure which one you're talking about." Michael hummed and studied him, his eyes flicking to the two in the hall and narrowing when he made eye contact with who he was assuming was Derek. He was proven right when, not a second later, a low growl filled the hallway before being interrupted by a slap and muttered 'ouch'. Michael sighed after Talia apologized on her son's behalf and turned back to him, as if he'd come to a decision.

"How about this, I'll answer one of your questions," he held up a finger and wiggled it, almost provokingly. "But you have to do something for me."

"And what would that 'something' entail?" He asked with a cocked brow.

"That depends on the question you ask."

Peter smiled at him. "Mysterious."

Michael shrugged and turned back towards the bright screens, his fingers making themselves comfortable as he began typing. "It's the truth. You don't have to decide now but I'm like you in the sense that I don't like waiting."

"I see. Well then. I'll have a question ready for you by the end of the night." He left before the other man could say anything, avoiding Talia as he made a beeline for office. This was obviously a test, Michael had made that clear, but what he was testing was the question. He settled into his chair and crossed his legs, tapping his knee with one hand as he blocked out his sister scolding Derek. He'd need to really think about this.

It wasn't that Stiles hated the Hales. He was indifferent to them, really. They were just another pack that he accidentally stumbled on during a job. It'd happened before and this definitely wouldn't be the last time, either. Still, there were two exceptions this time: Peter and Derek.

It was true that he'd saved Peter out of instinct. He had a track record for not having any innocents killed while he was on the clock and he worked hard to keep it that way. But the man was too observant for his own good. The first night he had stayed because of that damned bullet he noticed it straight away, the man's calculating eyes as he took in everything about him. Ever since he let him down from his back, the wolf had been in his line of sight. It was unnerving having somebody who he wasn't close to that willing to be around him. He was used to being alone and while he wasn't ecstatic about it, he'd grown used to the fact. Which is why Peter Hale was messing it all up. It started innocently enough, sure. Just a couple hours spent reading the bestiaries and journals together. It gave him some more insight and he'd written down everything he tucked away while reading into a long document that he immediately saved to his hard drive before deleting. That was just the start of the problem, though.

Stiles was getting used to being around him.

That, that right there was just unfathomable to him. He didn't have friends or anybody he could call to hang out when he was feeling lonely. Angelo was his boss and Macie was on jobs more often than not. As pathetic as it was, there were only three numbers he'd consciously remembered and one of them he hasn't called since he graduated high school. So it's understandable why he would try to put distance between Peter when the first sparks of interest came. Peter was easy to be with, comfortable, even. He didn't push him and seemed to sense when he wanted to be left alone. Plus, he had a dry humor that always lifted his mood. He was getting attached to his company. Just after he'd realized that, he'd gotten that phone call he'd jumped at the chance to get away from them, to recenter himself and re-prioritize his goals. And then Angelo had to go and break his fucking ankle and send him back to the place he was trying to get away from.

And that's where Derek came in. Derek was, in a nutshell, everything he hated. He blurted out whatever without thinking about it and then placed the blame on others when it backfired. He was rude, stopped talking on the few occasions he left the room, had a constant state of grouchiness and glared at him for no reason whenever he noticed him. Sure he was polite, but it was so obviously fake when he'd been wishing death on him just a few minutes before. There was also the whole shower fiasco, where the man had told him he was revolting and shoved him into the bathroom with a towel. He didn't let him out until he showered and then yelled at him again when he came out with the towel wrapped around him. After he kindly explained to the wolf it wasn't possible to change when he had no clothes, he stormed past him on his crutches and purposefully kicked his Achilles tendon with the crutch, taking pleasure in the way the man growled at him.

So there were obviously problems with him staying in the Hale house, and that's excluding the familial feeling that was everywhere he turned. It was nostalgic and it sucked. Stiles had been the one to leave and he knew and owned up to that, but it still hurt being reminded of what he had lost everyday. With the way things were going, he'd only get more used to the Hales and that scared the shit out of him, especially because he knew that it would be returned. Peter was already trying to build a routine with him, inviting him to read in his office together a couple hours a day which he refused. Each and every time. But the man was persistent and Stiles did want to read them, a fact that the man knew and held onto. He would accept it eventually, there was no doubt about it. The library that Peter had was no less than a hidden treasure. But not even two weeks had passed since he came back from Angelo's and he was already in this state. It was ridiculous and he hated himself for it more as each day passed.

Which is why he came up with the question and favor tactic. It wasn't a solution by any means, but it would buy him time. He'd used it in the past and it had worked... well enough. People were hungry for information, the things they didn't know and desperately wanted to. Stiles knew that and used it to his advantage. He already knew what favor he would use, there was no other choice but for him to use it. He just hoped that Peter wouldn't ask anything that hit too close to home. Knowing his luck, though, it would happen regardless of what he wished for.

Peter had been thinking about it all day. He knew that his family wanted to know the obvious things: where he went and why he came back injured, who he was hanging out with and if they were the ones who had hurt him. But those were all things that he was expecting, Peter was sure. He'd thought about asking what that rant was about too, but it wasn't likely he would get an answer that satisfied him. So he came up with one that would, hopefully, answer a couple of questions at once.

That evening after they were done eating, Peter knocked on Michael's door, an additional plate full of food in one hand. The man didn't say anything, but he didn't complain either so Peter took it as a win and put it on the desk, out of the way of the papers and laptops.

"I take it you thought of a question?" Michael asked idly, making himself comfortable in the chair after he shut the door.

"I did." Peter sat on the edge of the bed and scrutinized him. "Just to be clear, I have your word to answer truthfully, correct?"

Michael narrowed his eyes and an offended noise slipped from his throat, nearly making him smile. "Obviously."

"Alright then. Well, Michael, this is my question for you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to give the man his full attention. "The day we met, the way you tended to your wound as if it was instinct, how you came back from wherever you went with a man you saw as a stranger, and how you always try to avoid spending time with any of us." He ticked off his fingers as he stated his observations and noted the way Michael's jaw tightened and the skin between his eyebrows bunched together. "Those are just some things I noticed about you. I came up with my own theories, of course, but I figured it'd be better to get a straight answer from you. Everything points out that you're used to being on your own and while you don't seem substantially bothered by it, none of us see you smiling either. So, Michael. Why are you alone?"

There was a heavy silence that fell on them. Michael broke it first, running a hand through his hair as he sighed, almost as if it were a self depreciating matter. He leaned back in the chair and swayed himself back and forth with his good foot. "You're really not making this easy for me, huh? I can't say I wasn't expecting it, though. Alright then, I"ll answer your question as long you promise me that you'll do what I say."

"You never told me what that was."

"And I won't tell you until I need you to do it."

Peter suppressed a frustrated groan and nodded. "Fine. I promise you."

Michael gave him a humorless grin and gazed at his boot clad foot. "All right then. I guess we'll have to go back to my high school graduation for you to understand. There was an incident that happened during the graduation party. My friends at the time, we were all pretty close knit and decided to just throw one big one so we could all be together. We spent the whole year planning because somebody switched the damn color scheme every other week. Anyway, we were all looking forward to it and it was going smooth until the last half hour." Michael swallowed and stopped the chair from moving as he threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "To make a long story short, my dad was murdered and all of my friends were put in the hospital. I called the police and then booked it out of there. I already knew what the chances of them surviving were and I didn't want to stick around for their funerals. So I left. That's where my current boss found me. I was somewhere in the western states when I decided that I'd confront my dad's murderer. I don't know what I was thinking." Michael shrugged and glanced at him with hollow eyes. "I still don't, really. But I have something to talk to them about and an idea of how it's gonna go. My boss and I made an agreement. He'd find the best martial artists and fighters to train me and I'd lend him my services once I was good enough. We've been working together since he found me and that eventually led me here. You know the rest."

Peter was silent as he came to terms with what he'd been told. He'd gotten more questions to ask than the ones that Michael answered and the way the other man didn't elaborate on what 'services' he provided made his stomach clench. He couldn't ask that, though. Not yet, anyway. It was better to stick to the boundaries that they'd set by trial and error. "So you're alone by choice."

"For the most part, yeah. Man, I haven't talked about that in years." Michael put a hand to his neck as he cracked it.

"Thank you. For telling me." He elaborated at the confused look.

"Well we have a deal, y'know. I expect you to keep up your end when the time comes."

Peter stood up and rolled his shoulders as he stared at him. "You seem to be confident that such a time will come."

"Of course I am. What do you think I've been preparing for this whole time."

"Work?"

"Hey," Michael frowned and nudged his stomach with his crutch, smirking when he jolted because of the cool metal. "Speaking of jobs, what do you even do?"

"I didn't tell you? I'm a stripper." He raised a suggestive eyebrow and smiled to himself when Michael released a surprised trickle of laughter.

He would come up with something that would help him. He was too young to already be living a life of solitude. First thing's first, though, and that's creating an environment in which Michael would be comfortable and want to stay on his own free will, meaning that he'd have to have a discussion with his dear nephew to figure out what was going on between the two of them.

How joyous.

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Author's note: This chapter got a lot of... feelings out of my friends and readers so I'm excited to see what you guys think of it! Let me know and I hope you enjoy it. Next chapter will be up Monday.