Author's note: So once again, thank you guys for the reviews! Your responses keep this fic alive. I'm sorry that this is such a short chapter, especially after the length of the last one. Also, I realized after editing that Peter spends nearly all of this scene sitting on top of Stiles... Well he's not a creeperwolf for nothing. Oh well. Enjoy!

Peter leaned back in Sties' desk chair, watching the teenager sleep. By now, the other pack would have arrived in Beacon Hills. They would assume that, despite their history, Peter would run to his nephew's pack, and thus they would confront the young alpha about it first. Derek had already figured out that Peter was in the territory, if Stiles' missed calls were anything to go by, but he hadn't gone in search of him. This was most likely because he was stuck dealing with the other pack. If he explained the past well enough, they would think that Peter was going to go after Derek and his little pack of mutts. It was almost a shame, how wrong they were.

Most teenage boys fantasized about waking up to a hot stranger on top of them. Stiles might have too if said hot strangers weren't always trying to kill him. Which is why he found himself flooded with fear when he woke up to find Peter Hale, of all people, straddling him, one hand wrapped around his throat. Peter tilted his head, waiting for a scream or a struggle, but Stiles merely peered up at him, body tense and pulse racing.

"Look at you. Turns out the boy who runs with wolves has been running with hunters for far longer," he chuckled. Stiles fixed him with a hard glare.

"I swear to god, if you touch them, I'll-"

"You'll what? Throw another Molotov cocktail at me? Why haven't you called them yet, anyways? I'm not an alpha anymore. I'm sure they could take me."

"I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"I'm touched. You seem to be the only one who thinks I'm still strong enough to take down a pair of hunters."

"They're not the ones I'm worried about. They can handle their own."

"Oh," Peter murmured, sitting back and letting his hand slip from Stiles' throat. "You're protecting the pack from them. You've chosen pack over family..." Stiles sat up on his elbows.

"You listen here, I'm not choosing anyone over anyone. I love them. They're my family, but I'd be damned if I let them kill any member of the pack," he snapped.

"So you're risking your own safety for theirs?" Peter asked.

"Who said my safety was being threatened?" The werewolf raised his eyebrows.

"Stiles, have you seen who you're sitting under?"

"Yeah and when did you become a pedophile, anyways?" Stiles countered. Peter might have rolled his eyes if it weren't for the sudden noise outside, which caused him instead to slap a hand over Stiles' mouth.

"They're outside," he whispered in response to Stiles' squeak.

"Who's outside?" the teen mumbled around his hand.

"Victoria's betas."

"Who?"

"I'll explain later. I'll help you if you help me. Understand?"

"What? What are you helping me with? What am I helping you with? What?"

Peter's eyes flashed blue and he jumped to the floor. "Lock your window. Take a shower and spray some air freshener. I'll be back." He walked out through Stiles' bedroom door. Stiles leapt up and stared at the empty hallway. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it couldn't be anything good, so he pulled out his phone and dialed Derek.