Stiles had never experienced pain like this. Even the time when someone had hit him in the eye with a lacrosse stick during a game, or when he had fallen off their school's roof and broken his leg in elementary school hadn't hurt like this. He squeezed the armrests in his hands so hard his knuckles had turned white, and his legs were constantly trying to kick and break free from the ropes.

The man was unheavenly slowly pulling off one of Stiles' teeth, quietly humming a melody Stiles didn't recognize, with a calming smile on his lips. His fingers had drilled deep into Stiles' skin as he held his head still.

Stiles could only scream. He screamed so loud it hurt his ears, and he had screamed for so long his throat was getting sore and his voice had already faded a bit. The only thing he could do was to hope for someone from the pack to hear his pain and find him, but he was afraid the man had been right; maybe nobody would find him after all.

When Stiles least expected it, the man pulled harder, and his tooth was ripped off with a loud, disgusting sound that reminded Stiles of the sound a chicken bone had made when he had once broken it in half.

The metallic taste of blood filled Stiles' mouth before the man had even thrown the tooth on the floor with a pleased smile, and Stiles threw his head back with a shriek, having no idea what to do with the pain. He had nothing to ease it except his screams.

He had just the time to spit out the blood before the man already grabbed his jaw again, bringing the pliers to his mouth. Before Stiles' had fully internalized the fact that he was about to lose another tooth, and possibly all of them, the room's door was kicked in with a loud bang.

Stiles' heart was beating so loud it felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest, and he had never felt more scared in his life. Never. Not even when Isaac had lost it during a full moon and Scott had almost not had the time to come between them to save him.

His eyes had shut on their own, without him realizing it, and when he opened them again, the man was gone. Only the blood in his mouth and the ropes binding him to the chair were left of the horrible nightmare he had gone through.

"Hey?" a voice came from somewhere. Stiles had trouble to identify where it came from and who it belonged to; his head was swirling and all of a sudden he was feeling dizzy, to say it mildly. "You okay there, buddy?"

"No," Stiles breathed, "no, I need air." He could feel his heart rate fastening again. His chest became tight and he felt like he couldn't breathe; no matter how deep or how fast he breathed, he didn't seem to get enough air.

"I think he's having a panic attack," another voice said quietly, and Stiles hardly heard it.

"Well, do something about it!"

"We need to cut the ropes, he needs air."

The two voices were only distant mumbles Stiles barely heard under the ringing in his ears. His field of view was getting blurrier and blurrier, and he didn't notice he had been unbound from the chair until someone grabbed him from his shoulders and lifted him up.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asked, so much closer now that Stiles' heart missed a beat. He managed to nod as an answer. "Good. Listen to me. You're safe now. You're safe," the voice spoke to him calmly, and the hands held him just tight enough to keep him on his feet, "nobody's going to hurt you anymore. You're safe with us. Just take a deep breath, it's okay now."

Stiles kept nodding and tried to do as he was told to. He closed his eyes, started to count his breaths and used all his willpower to concentrate on the calm voice talking to him. Slowly his heart started to calm down, and he was finally able to actually take a deep breath.

"Better?"

Stiles kept breathing for a moment before he nodded: "Better."

"I'm gonna put you on the floor now, okay?"

Stiles nodded again. The floor felt cold under him as he sat down, and after he had sat for a few seconds, he opened his eyes again. A man with a brown, mid-long hair was crouching before him with a concerned look in his green eyes. Another man was standing a bit further away, looking around the room with some kind of a device in his hands.

"How are you feeling?" the man before him asked with a short smile.

"Better, I guess," Stiles shrugged. He still had to use a little too much of his energy to keep breathing properly.

"Good." The man smiled a little wider. "I'm Sam, and that's my brother Dean."

"Stiles."

"I'm sorry," the man on the other side of the room, apparently Dean, came a little closer, "what's your name again?"

"Stiles," Stiles repeated with a sigh. "Stiles Stilinski."

"Stiles," Sam hurried to say before Dean got the chance to say anything, "we need to ask you a few questions." Stiles nodded once again.

"First of all, how did you get here?" Dean asked, now crouched next to the chair Stiles had been sitting on before.

"I was walking home from Scott," Stiles answered with a heavy sigh. He didn't exactly feel like reliving what he had had to go through. "Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me, but I didn't see anything. I tried to call Scott, but my phone didn't work-"

"Didn't work?"

"Yeah, it went black and I couldn't use it anymore." Stiles furrowed, feeling a bit confused; did it mean something? "So, anyway, the guy came and punched me and I woke up here and he pulled my tooth off, and then you guys showed up."

"Did it get any colder when he showed up?"

"Yeah, it did, actually."

Sam turned to look at Dean, who had a meaningful look on his face. Stiles just didn't understand what it meant. "Did you smell anything weird? Sulfur?"

Stiles furrowed as he thought about it, and shook his head. "I don't remember smelling anything," he said with a shrug "But then again, my smell isn't the best in the world, so."

Sam nodded, not looking like he was exactly happy with the answer. "I think this is a pretty clear case," Dean said with a pretty bored voice.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "I think so too."

Sam helped Stiles up from the floor. He made sure Stiles could walk properly, and when everything was okay except for the missing tooth, the two men led Stiles out of the house.

The house wasn't exactly huge, but big enough not to be just a home. The white walls, tile floors and numerous doors along the long corridors reminded Stiles of an old hospital or a school.

"Are we gonna have to walk?" Stiles asked when they stepped outside and he saw no car.

"Sorry, kid," Dean said with an apologetic smile, "there was no way I was gonna drive here."

As they walked along the thin path through the thick forest, Stiles didn't have to wonder why Dean hadn't wanted to drive his car there. Stiles doubted if even his Jeep would've survived it, so a normal car definitely wouldn't have.

A loud crack came from behind them, and they all turned on their heels to see where it came from. Dean had already drawn his gun out and was now pointing at Scott with it. Scott slowly raised his hands in the air and took a step back.

"Let Stiles go," he said in a commanding tone, making Dean snort quietly.

"I think not." As Dean spoke, Sam also took out his gun and took a step closer to his brother so that Stiles had to move to stand behind them. "I think you're gonna back off."

"But Dean," Stiles said, but was cut off by Scott;

"Let him go," he ordered again, this time taking a few steps closer.

The brothers adjusted their positions so that they could aim better. "No," Dean said firmly. "Now you back off, and let us finish our job."

"Your job?"

"Yes, you're disturbing us."

"But Dean," Stiles tried again, but Dean quickly told him to shut it, so he did as he was told to. He didn't actually want to start a fight with a man holding a gun.

"You let him go," Scott said voice full of anger, "now."

"Or what, kid?" Dean laughed. "You'll make me?"

Stiles then knew it wasn't going to end well; in fact, it was bound to end catastrophically. From what Dean and Sam had spoken together during their walk, it had become clear to Stiles that they were hunters like the Argents. And hunters and werewolves were never a good combination, and he had, unfortunately, had the chance to be there to prove it to be true.

Silent growling came from somewhere, and while Stiles had no idea where it came from, Dean immediately turned to aim in the direction the voice had come from.

Stiles turned his eyes to Scott, meeting his gaze, and shook his head. "They're okay," he said quietly, hoping Scott was listening. While Scott furrowed with a confused look on his face, the growling came closer. "They're hunters."

Scott's eyes widened at the words and his head immediately turned to the direction the growling was coming from.

In a blink of an eye, Scott had sprinted towards the source of the sound. "Isaac, no!" Stiles heard him yell right before Isaac ran from the bushes, straight towards him and the hunter brothers.

It was a matter of milliseconds when Scott rammed against Isaac, bringing them both down on the ground with a loud thump. They rolled along the bumpy ground for a moment, until Scott pinned Isaac down and ordered him to calm down.

Dean was pointing his gun at the boys, looking like he was ready to shoot at any second now. Stiles felt his hands shaking and sweating from anxiety. He had no idea how he could save the situation if it even was in his hands to save it. But if he wasn't the one to stop Dean, then who?

"Dean, don't!" Before Dean had the time to shoot, or Isaac managed to fight his way from under Scott, Stiles threw himself in front of Dean to stand between his friends and the gun.

"What?!" Dean's voice was full of anger. "Just get out of the way, Stiles! They're not just regular teens!"

"I know," Stiles said, and both of the hunter brothers were more than confused by his words.

"You know?" Sam asked with his brows raised.

"Yeah." Stiles nodded. "And they're my friends. So if it's not too much to ask, I'd like for you to not shoot them." He flashed a smile at Dean, hoping the man would lower his gun.

"They're werewolves, Stiles. I've been trained to shoot them, I've always shot them, and I'll keep shooting them."

"But could you not this time?"

"No, I can't!"

"Dean wait," Sam walked up to his brother and pressed his hand on his brother's arm to tell him to lower the gun. "Maybe this time we can make an exception."

"They tried to attack us, Sam!" Dean turned to look at his brother, his eyes flaming with anger. "How can you say we shouldn't kill them?"

"The only reason Isaac almost attacked you was that we thought you had hurt Stiles." Scott had managed to calm Isaac down and was now walking slowly towards the brothers. "We only wanted to save Stiles."

"Please, Dean." Stiles locked his eyes into Dean's. "They're my friends."

Dean looked like he was pondering; weighing the pros and cons of both decisions. After what seemed like forever, Dean finally lowered his gun with a deep sigh. "If they behave, I won't shoot." After that, Dean pointed his finger at Scott. "But one wrong move, and I'll kill you all."