So, I've had this idea brewing in my head since the end of season 5, and this just wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think!

Something's Gotta Give

Prologue

The silence was deafening around them. It always had been. The tense atmosphere that built around the two always said more than words ever could. Though they were both completely different; one a troubled teen, lost in his own thoughts and scared of the person he believed he was becoming. And the other, older; taken and consumed by darkness and slowly realising that darkness and revenge wasn't what he thought he needed afterall. Stiles sat on the floor today, the normal hard plastic chair he would normally sit on was discarded in the corner and instead the teen perched against the wall, his knees against his chest, his skinny arms holding onto them tightly. Peter watched, his eyes narrow and curious as he perched on the corner of his made bed.

"Why are you here?" Peter finally asked. Every week, Sunday at 3pm he would have a visitor. The first time he had been shocked, deep down he thought that maybe it was Malia who had wanted to see him, but when Stiles had walked through the door, confusion hit him. He thought maybe something had happened to his daughter, it had been the first thing he had asked and after several long minutes of Peter questioning Stiles about his daughter and what had been going on, the younger boy had finally spoken, well, he had shouted really. He told Peter that Malia was fine and it had been a mistake for him to have come and that was that. Then the next week he had shown up, and that was how their silent hour meetings started. But it had been a month now, and as much as Peter liked the company - though he wouldn't admit that. He had questions, and whether Stiles liked it or not, today would be the day he answered them.

Stiles looked up at the sound of Peter's voice. Even though they were in the same room, hearing him speak surprised him. "W-what?" Stiles stuttered and looked up at him. Peter hadn't changed much since being at Eichen house. He still looked a little dishevelled, a little rough around the edges, in Stiles eyes he still looked creepy, but really looking at him now all Stiles could see was tiredness. "I'll bring you some earplugs next time." Stiles nodded as though Peter must know what he was talking about, "I remember sleep wasn't that easy to come bye... Too many crazy people in your head..."

"And sometimes it's hard to figure it if those voices are either the other crazies here or your own..." Peter cut in, receiving another surprised glance from the anxious teen.

"Or if they're real at all." Stiles finished and Peter nodded slowly. It pained Peter to know that Stiles had been here, had been so lost, so consumed that he needed to be in such a place. "I... I come to see Lydia..."

"Yet every week, for an hour, you come and see me." Peter said and Stiles looked at him as though he hadn't even heard him.

"Do you see her?" Stiles asked.

"No..." Peter sighed.

"I can't face her." Stiles whispered. "I... It's like when you see an old friend and you want to tell them so bad that everything is okay, but what is there for me to tell her? And she's so lost and she's searching for a way out, but what's there to come back to... A pack that's fallen apart, a true alpha that's too blind to see that he's lost his pack...and then there's me. Sometimes I think she knows me better than Scott..."

"And what will she find out about you?" Peter asked. He had listened patiently to what felt like an endless ramble, ever since Stiles' first visit him Peter knew there was something different about him, something had happened and the annoying, know it all kid that once was Stiles, was long gone. He tolerated Stiles at the most, why should he care what happened to him?

"That I'm..." Stiles was standing now, his hands picking and scratching at his skin. Peter watched closely, he could smell blood and wanted to pull Stiles' hands sway, to tell him to stop hurting himself, Peter knew that this wasn't the first time Stiles had hurt himself, he could smell the fresh cuts, see the sensitive skin. But Stiles was rambling now, mumbling words he couldn't even hear or begin to understand.

"Stiles!" Peter yelled, he cut the younger boy off and Stiles looked up at him, his face pale and tired, withdrawn.

"I killed someone!" Stiles shouted and they both stared at each other for a few seconds, the silence that had once comforted them both now felt heavy around them.

"Stiles talk to me," Peter said gently. He couldn't comprehend what the boy was telling him. Stiles wasn't a murderer, he just wasn't. It was one of the annoying qualities Peter found oddly charming - the way Stiles would never even harm a fly, he was loyal to the end but he would never deliberately hurt anyone. Stiles just stared at him, eyes wide open with fear and something Peter couldn't quite put his finger on, his mouth opened and closed as though he was going to say something, but he stopped himself before any words left his mouth, instead he just shook his head and made a dash for the door. Peter was once left again in silence, with only questions that he desperately needed the answer to.