"I am officially the worst hunter in the world." Stiles shouts as soon as he enters his sister, Allison's room. "Seriously, no one could do any worse than me. Never."

"Come on Stiles, I'm sure it wasn't that bad." She replied, putting the book she was reading down. Stiles vaguely remembered his dad telling them that it was something to do with mistletoe or Wolfsbane or something to do with that.

"The target was about 5 feet in front of me and I was roughly 2 feet off." Stiles said while he gestured wildly with his hands.

"Everyone has off days, Stiles. You can't be good all the time."

"But that's the thing Allison, I'm never good. You're the ones that's good with a bow and arrow, or a knife." He chuckled. "In fact, you don't even need a weapon. You're good enough with your hands." Stiles said with a smirk.

"Oh shutup. Anyway, you're just good at other things."

"Like what, name one thing I'm good at that isn't messing everything up."

"You're good at video games and-"

"That helps me become a hunter."

"You can," Allison didn't speak for a while, instead she stood with a hand on her hip. "Recite all of the components found in Mistletoe." Stiles sighed,

"How is that supposed to help me when I have a gun in my hand and an alpha running towards me growling? I can't just tell them what's found in Mistletoe and hope they think I'm so much of a geek I scare them away."

"You're not a bad hunter, Stiles. You're just different."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Just different."

With that, Stiles walked out of his sister's room and across the landing, trying to ignore the angered whispers coming from beneath him. Bits of the conversation reverberated off of the walls.

"He wasn't born to be a hunter, Chris."

"How the bloody hell did he miss the flaming target? It was right in front of him."

He reached the familiar look of the white door decorated with stickers and a sign that says 'Stiles' room. Keep out!' The door slammed behind him and he threw himself onto his bed burying himself in his pillow. The room around him was like a normal teenage boy's room would be. A shirt was hanging off the back of his desk chair from where he'd thrown it the night before and a book was on the floor, from where he'd fallen asleep last night and the book fell out of his hand.

"Stiles?" The door was thin so the voice was hard to miss.

It was his mother.

"Go away." He called, his words half smothered by the pillow.

"No, I'm coming in." She said as the door creaked open.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk." She sat on the edge of his bed. "I heard that today's training didn't go too well."

"Dad spoke to you then?"

"Yes. Look Stiles," she begins.

"You want me to stop trying, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Stiles got up off the bed and stood at his desk where a picture caught his eye. It was Allison, after she's found her first werewolf, two years ago, everyone was so proud of her. No one was ever proud of Stiles, then again he'd never caught a werewolf.

"You want Allison to be the hunter. You want Allison to help you do things. Allison, Allison, Allison. Never me. Look I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment."

"Stiles you're not. You're just different."

"You're the second to tell me that today."

"Because it's true."

"I'll never be a proper Argent so what's the point of all this training. What do you do to a useless soldier? One that has shitty aim or crap strategies that ensures everyone on the freaking mission dies?"

"Stiles." His mother says, also standing up now and speaking in a calm, strained voice. "We're not having this conversat-"

"Tell. Me."

"We leave them behind, some survive. Some… don't." She paused before continuing. "But you aren't useless Stiles. You just-"

"That's a lie and you know it, just get out." When she didn't move, Stiles said in a strained voice, "please." Tears glistened in his eyes and his fingers were curled tightly around his desk.

"Okay, but we're talking about this again later." She said and left the room and faint 'whatever' coming from the room.

"How did he take it?" Her husband asks as soon as he sees her. His shoulders are tense and he looks worried.

"Not so well, Chris. He thinks he' useless."

"He is."

"But we can make him useful, right? Chris he's our son."

"I know, I know Victoria. Maybe, Gerard could help him?"

"Gerard's strategies are… weird." She finishes lamely.

"He just tries too hard sometimes."

"Okay, do what you think is best."

"But if this doesn't work."

"It will."

"But if it doesn't."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Chris laughed.

"So stubborn."

"You wouldn't have married me otherwise."

Stiles awoke to the noise of things being dragged up the stairs and people talking in hushed whispers. Stiles may not be the best hunter but if his family was in danger he wasn't going to go out without a fight so he got the knife and hand held gun from the back of his draw, took it off safety and prayed he was just being paranoid.

What he didn't expect to see was his grandfather outside his door, hand reaching out to open it.

"Woah, may want to put the gun down, Stiles. It's just me, your grandpa, Gerard. You remember me right, you were only young when I saw you last."

"Yeah, yeah. I remember you." He replied, lowering his gun and putting the knife onto the bed. "I just heard noises, didn't know what they were. Sorry."

"It's alright, only being cautious, 'eh."

"Yeah," Stiles went to put the weapons back behind a pile of books about werewolf hierarchy. "What are you doing here? No one told me you were coming."

"I'm here to help you and your sister with your training. I was told you might need a bit of help." He said with a smile. "Anyway, I'll be downstairs."

Stiles leaned against the wall of his bedroom.

"Shit."