Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stretching his arms as he walked down the street wasn’t generally a good idea, but as the incoming inclement weather was fast approaching Stiles didn’t feel too bad about taking the chance to enjoy his full range of movement. He’d been afraid that stab wound from one of the crew members aboard the ship he used to reach his last job wouldn’t heal up in time for the game, but it looked like he was wrong.

That’s what he got for not joining up long term with a specific ship, but honestly if he couldn’t trust them to keep their hands off his knives why would he sign on under their captain?

His thoughts were interrupted by a raindrop hitting his face.

It was well into spring - nearly summer even - so Stiles couldn’t say the afternoon rain shower was unexpected. The clouds were dark, hanging low and heavy enough that the slow sweeping light from the lighthouse was already visible even though sunset was still hours away.

Stiles squinted up at it and tugged at his jacket collar to protect himself from those first warning drops. He picked up the pace like most of the others on the street as thunder rumbled in the distance. Not that many were still out and about on the already damp cobblestone paths, but with nearly daily showers people got used to taking their chances with the weather.

Thankfully, he was among those lucky enough to make it to their destinations before the skies really opened up. With no one following him into the bar, Stiles was quick to shut the inn’s door against the rain before giving a small shake to get the worst of the rainwater off of his jacket and out of his hair.

The familiar inn was relatively empty at this time of day with just a few regulars sitting in their corner nursing their ales as they exchanged tall tales. Stiles grinned at the familiar strains of The Curse and ran his fingers through his short damp hair to try drying it out faster. Once the worst of it was set to rights he looked to the two men behind the bar and called out to the one he came here for.

“Scotty!”

Hands jumping from where they were setting another bottle back on the shelf, Scott turned with a grin.

“Stiles!” He held out a hand as usual, but even as they performed their secret handshake (they might have been teens when they thought it up, but Stiles could admit that while it was a bit childish that was what made it so fun) Stiles noticed that Scott’s shoulders remained tense. “I didn’t know you’d be returning so soon!”

“The sea was on my side.” He wasn’t going to tell Scott that he was never going to sail with that first crew again, his friend would just worry about him especially if he managed to hear about his newest scar. Stiles answered the implied question instead and took a seat at the bar as he eyed the room. “Plus, I hitched a ride on an earlier ship, which helped.”

It didn’t look like anything was out of place. Finstock was behind the bar as usual and he offered him a tight smile paired with a stern look as he refilled another of the singers’ glasses. The furniture showed the usual wear from card games and bar fights, but nothing was missing and nothing sinister lurked in the darkened corners where the lamp light never reached.

Turning back to his best friend, Stiles raised a brow. “You don’t sound as happy as I thought you would, bud. Something wrong?”

Reaching into one of his jacket’s inner pockets, Stiles paused with his fingers on the envelope he’d picked up before heading over when Scott didn’t immediately answer.

That was a guilty silence if he’d ever heard one. Eyes narrowing, he finished pulling the letter out and set it on the counter to focus on his friend.

“Scotty…” Stiles trailed off warningly as Scott placed a mug full of his usual down in front of him and didn’t meet his eyes.

A flick of his wrist had Stiles’ newest knife jolting out of its sheath and into his hand so he could point it at Scott who just raised his hands looking more resigned than threatened. That was a fair reaction considering Stiles had yet to actually follow through with any threats of bodily harm to those he liked, but he still thought the stiletto’s wickedly sharp edges deserved more respect. But that wasn’t important right now.

“Don’t tell me you already replaced me on the team.” He’d rushed back here to the island, paying extra for the speed just to make sure he wouldn’t miss the yearly game. He was going to be pissed if it was for nothing.

“No! No, of course not!” Scott’s answer was quick and honest enough that Stiles relaxed a bit, rolling his wrist to let the blade sag towards the counter. That didn’t mean Scott was off the hook - not when he still looked like a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies from the jar - but Stiles gave him a brief reprieve.

“Good, I’d hate to be replaced by someone like Greenberg.” He wasn’t sure how Finstock could hear him under another tall tale, but that derisive scoff only ever came out when the innkeeper heard that layabout’s name. The older man said something in response, but the angry looking mutter got lost when the rest of the men at the bar joined their fellow for the final chorus.

Tuning out the rest of their off key rendition of The Curse , Stiles turned his attention first to his tight lipped friend who was refusing to meet his eyes then the letter on the bar. It was addressed ‘Stiles Stilinski, Beacon Point’ in familiar calligraphy with no return address, but the ruby kiss mark pressed into the wax of the seal on the back left no doubt as to who it was from. The shade matched Lydia’s favorite lipstick perfectly.

He set the stiletto under the flap, gave a quick twist of the knife, and the seal popped open.

“Another letter from your girlfriend?” Scott asked cheekily a minute later after finally noticing why Stiles was so quiet.

His attempt to distract Stiles from whatever he was hiding was painfully obvious.

Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head at Scott’s persistent assumption. Correcting him was a practice in frustration especially with the method Lydia liked to hide her correspondences, but it was hard to prove that she was just a very good childhood friend without her there to back him up.

While Stiles practically grew up with the fiery redhead before moving to Beacon, their subsequent meetings after the move were usually back on her island or some of the others further south. That meant that Scott, who was too busy trying to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life to think about travel, had yet to meet her.

Stiles idly wondered if Scott’s current apprenticeship would stick this time or if he’d finally give in and admit to himself that he wanted to follow his mother into medicine. It wasn’t a secret to anyone who knew him for long, the guy loved helping people and was the biggest mother hen Stiles knew. Unfortunately, when they started picking apprenticeships years ago the other kids were vicious in their teasing when they learned that Scott wanted to follow in Melissa’s footsteps and so began Scott’s annual change in careers.

It was a little strange that he hadn’t tried any seafaring pursuits yet, but Stiles suspected it had something to do with how Scott’s dad, Rafael McCall, apparently went to sea and never returned. Considering the best case scenario was that the man found a crew he couldn’t or didn’t want to leave even for his family, Stiles didn’t see it as much of a loss, but he also wasn’t the one who married him. Melissa was entitled to her opinions and Stiles wasn’t going to question them. He saw what she can do with a scalpel and he never wanted to see it again.

The whole situation was one of the first things that made him so picky about selecting a long term crew though, because his small family was too important to leave behind permanently. Hitching rides worked for now even if it made it harder to know when he’d make it home and what condition he’d get there in.

At the other end of the counter the men were quieting and while that was good for Stiles’ ears it meant that Finstock would probably make his way over soon and then Stiles would have an even harder time figuring out what Scott wasn’t saying. Thankfully, he knew a lot of catchy bar tunes and there was one classic that he knew these fellows never could resist. Leaning in their direction with his tankard in hand, Stiles started it up.

“What will we do with a drunken sailor?”

The refrain was immediately repeated and soon Finstock was glaring at Stiles from where he was being regaled with all the sobering methods those men could think of.

With another glance at Scott to gauge his willingness to spill the beans- he’d returned to his work and his shoulders were relaxing, but his scrubbing motions were still a little too fast as he tended to the bottles - Stiles sipped his drink and he read through some rambling observations about Lydia’s latest stray. He smiled a little at exactly how much of the missive was dedicated to this oh-so-interesting woman and wondered if Lydia had noticed just how much she complemented her new roommate before setting the tankard down sharply when the next paragraph derailed to detail a recent pirate attack at her port.

Frowning at her warning that the repelled ship was last seen headed in Beacon’s general direction over a week prior when this letter was mailed, Stiles only belatedly realized that Scott was talking to him. Something about how bad the weather was?

“Well, it's just about summer which means hurricanes.” Stiles pointed out the obvious, still a little on edge even though no one had mentioned any pirates in the area. Scott was even more used to the local weather than he was considering Stiles’ family only moved to Beacon Point about a decade ago while Scott had been born here, so this couldn’t be a surprise. “Hopefully this will clear up before the game on Saturday.”

“Oh, right.” The guilt was back and Scott turned away to continue cleaning dust off the bottles behind him. “The game.”

Like a shark tasting blood in the water, Stiles set the letter aside to focus on his friend’s issue.

“Yeah, Scott. You know, the game? The final game of the season before it gets too hot and stormy to play?” It was now blatantly obvious that Scott was purposefully not meeting his eyes again even when he was facing away from him and Stiles quietly retrieved his knife from the bartop. “The one we always team up for and the reason I caught an earlier ship back to make sure I was back in town so soon.”

Scott winced.

Shit, now Stiles regretted starting up that song because it was still going strong over at the other end of the bar and he was sure Finstock would be ecstatic to back him up in this interrogation. A quick glance showed that the singers were well into their cups and ganging up on the innkeeper to try and get him to join in. There wouldn’t be any help on that front unless Stiles wanted to get roped in as well and that would be a bad idea for both his interrogation as well as all their heads once they sobered up.

“I, uh, won't be able to make it.” Scott muttered, barely audible over another round of the chorus.

“Why?” Stiles drew out the word, leaning his elbows on the bar with his knife back in hand and lazily twirling between his fingers as he offered a deceptively patient expression. Once those drunkards yanked Finstock in, it would only be a matter of time before they moved down the bar and Stiles wasn’t going to be there when they did for the sake of their livers, so that meant this waiting game they’d been playing was coming to an end.

“I'm going to be out of town.” Even though he hadn’t turned around to see Stiles’ face, Scott’s shoulders were practically covering his ears and Stiles was pretty sure the bottle his friend was still dusting had never been cleaner.

Giving his friend’s back a narrow look, Stiles quickly followed that implication to what Scott was obviously trying to hide. Beacon Point was one of three small towns on the island which was unusually big compared to the others around. None of those towns were more than an hour's walk from the midpoint that the playing field marked.

Scott being too far ‘out of town’ that he’d miss the game could only mean one thing.

The stiletto dropped from his hand to stick point first into the varnished wooden bartop. Stiles stood and planted one hand next to the weapon, ignoring how his stool nearly toppled over behind him as he pointed accusingly at his friend.

“You're going on your maiden voyage and you weren't even planning on telling me?!”

Scott nearly dropped the bottle in his haste to turn around, eyes wide.

“Who told you?”

“You did, dumb ass!” Stiles gestured at how Scott was practically holding the bottle up as a shield between them. “You think you're being clever when you have the lying abilities of a four year old?”

“Hey!” Glancing down at the decanter of whisky in his hands when it got in his way, Scott quickly set it down on the bar before successfully crossing his arms defensively. “I’m a perfectly good liar.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and hummed disbelievingly at that whopper of a lie before kicking back a foot to drag his stool back to the bar so he could sit down again. Elbows propped on the countertop once more, he dropped his forehead to one hand and took a deep, calming breath.

He could work with this, he just needed to adjust his plans on short notice. Not exactly fun, but he was used to rolling with the punches.

First things first, he needed all the details.

“Tell me everything.”

“What?” Scott asked, clearly suspicious about how quickly Stiles just calmed down.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Sometimes Scott drove him crazy. How did he think Stiles survived this long in the business without being able to compartmentalize and prioritize? Anger and petty behavior can be worked into any schedule, but they weren’t very useful when Stiles still needed to know which boat he was going to need to force his way onto.

“You heard me.” Stiles removed the hand from his face and counted off on his fingers as he listed the basics. “Who are you sailing with, why now, where are you going, what's the schedule - the works.”

“Uh,” Scott shifted his weight nervously, but his suspiciously short answer was mumbled almost too low for Stiles to hear.

Almost.

“‘Before the end of the week’?” He quoted back incredulously. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t even know when or where you’re going? Just who are you sailing with that you don’t know?”

“The Hale Company.”

“The Hale Company.” Stiles repeated back flatly feeling vaguely like an echo, then narrowed his eyes as the name rang more than a few dull bells.

He’d never met the new face of the Hale Company’s trade route, but he heard the stories. Ever since some rogue element burned all but a handful of ships to the waterline - some said it was pirates, others mentioned a rival trade office, and still more pointed towards the bounty hunters which Stiles doubted - taking the previous head of the company with it, the Hale Company’s most talked about captain was the mysterious Peter Hale. After taking over the main routes to the north and stretching up to the keys, the captain made a name for himself by offering deals to those in need - exchanging small sums for future work.

Stiles thought it was just a clever tactic to cover up the Hale Company’s usual deals, but it sounded like there was more truth to it than he realized.

“Scott. Tell me you didn’t take a loan from that shark.” It wasn’t really a question, not when Stiles was already sure of the answer.

Scott winced at the flat tone.

“It won’t be for long! He only ever asks for one voyage and this one is supposed to be just a few weeks.”

That was actually comforting, but it didn’t answer all of his questions.

“Why?” He couldn’t think of why Scott would get trapped in that scheme. Working at the inn made him a decent wage and as the local doctor his mother wasn’t exactly penniless herself. Why would he even need more money? On top of that, why hadn’t Stiles learned about this before? “When did this happen?”

Scott deflated, eyes cutting to one side and Stiles sat back realizing he already knew the answer.

“Four months ago.”

Four months ago when Stiles left the island for a quick hunt not realizing that his best friend’s crush on an obviously temporary visitor to the island would quickly grow into a full blown infatuation.

He watched as Scott slowly reached under his apron and pulled out that simple gold band, dejection clear on his face.

“Scott, buddy, please don’t tell me you sold weeks of your life to a shady tradesman so you could buy a ring for a girl you only knew for a few days,” Stiles pressed, resigned.

Sighing at the face Scott made in response, Stiles leaned back and rubbed a hand through his now mostly dry hair. Seriously, his friend fell in love and all common sense went right out the window.

Then again, considering the whirlwind romance Stiles’ parents apparently had, there was a good chance he’d be no better. He was sure it’d be a wild ride either way.

“When you put it that way it sounds bad.” Scott admitted, pocketing the engagement ring before picking the decanter back up and turning to put it on the shelf in an blatant attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“Only then?” Incredulous, Stiles reached for his drink again with a raised brow. “How would you make it sound better, then?”

“I thought I found true love and did what I could to make sure I wouldn’t lose it?” The kicked puppy-dog eyes Scott gave him should be illegal.

He felt the callous urge to ask his friend how that worked out, but he already knew the answer to that one too. After all, Stiles was the one who eventually found him roughing it out in the woods when he finally returned from his trip nearly a week after the trio of Argents left the island entirely. Apparently the weapon traders hadn’t been too happy with their only daughter’s overly-ambitious suitor.

Instead, Stiles sipped at his drink and dropped the issue in favor of his previous line of questioning.

“If you don’t know when you’re leaving, how do you even know you’ll be missing the game?”

They both reflexively glanced at Finstock who was starting to look more resigned than annoyed at the drunkards’ continued harassment. Stiles gave it two more verses before the innkeeper caved and joined in.

“I got this just a day ago.” Scott reached under the apron again to retrieve a letter of his own, holding it out as he continued. “It says the Hales’ Ship, Shelby, will be making a trip through here soon if the weather holds.”

As if on cue thunder rumbled outside, the force of it rattling the glaze of the windows for a moment. Everyone in the bar paused to wait until the thunder passed, the pockmarked sound of rain on the roof seeming quiet in comparison, which only made the belch one of the other patrons gave even louder. His fellows cheered then took up the song once more.

Stiles shared an amused look with Scott before snatching the letter from his hand. Turning away from the bar, Stiles kept it out of his friend’s reaching hands as he read it over.

There was actually a lot more information than Scott claimed. The ship should arrive early in the morning and the captain would likely be making the trip to the tavern to pick their temporary chef personally.

“You’re going as a chef?” Stiles asked with no small amount of humor as he finally let Scott swipe the letter from his loose grip. Trading time was a tricky business and Scott wasn’t exactly small, especially recently as he frequently needed to deal with irregular bar brawls. Knowing that his pacifistic friend wasn’t hired on for some of the bloodier parts of sea voyages was a weight off Stiles’ shoulders.

“It was what I’d already proved myself good at.” Grumbling a little, Scott folded up the letter and hid it once more. “I caught him as he was leaving so he couldn’t test anything else.”

Test? So the man liked to get his money's worth, that was good to know. This Captain Hale sounded even more interesting than the rumors led Stiles to believe. And after appearing out of thin air just over a year prior to act as the captain of his family’s flagship instead of naming himself head of the whole company, well, perhaps it was a good thing Scott gave him an excuse to seek the captain out because Stiles knew his own vices and curiosity was chief among them.

Picking up his own neglected letter off the bartop, Stiles slipped it back in his jacket pocket. He eyed his knife where it was still planted in the varnished surface and tapped out a thoughtful beat on his mug, ignoring Scott’s narrow look.

Further down the bar, Finstock’s voice joined in for the next chorus. He’d held out admirably, but the fact that the song allowed him to not so subtly call out the drunkards was evidently too much of a draw for him to miss.

Time to go then.

“Guess I’ll just have to show him my best side then, hm?” With a sharp grin Stiles pulled his stiletto out of the wood in one smooth motion. It disappeared back up his sleeve as Scott visibly started making the connections.

“Wait, Stiles, you can’t be serious.”

Draining his mug, Stiles dropped a few coins to cover his tab then made for the door.

“Don’t worry boys,” he called to the regulars, “I’ll take care of Scott while we’re gone. You’ll just have to deal with Coach’s cooking until then.”

“Bilinski! Don’t tell me you’re missing the match too!”

“Stiles! You have your own work to do!” Scott called over Finstock’s aggravated call and the cheerful yet unintelligible rumbles of agreement from the three drunks. “What about the game?”

“Sounds like Greenberg will actually get to play for once!” He offered them all one last grin and adjusted his jacket collar. Ignoring any further protests, he opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Door nearly slamming shut behind him in his haste, he made a break for another building just down the road.

If he knew Scott at all, staying in the tavern until the storm petered out would mean arguing the same points over and over even though Stiles wasn’t going to change his mind. Adding Finstock on top of that meant waiting out the weather would be torture. However, going all the way home right then meant basically swimming there, so Stiles was going to try and hit two birds with one knife.

The door to the sheriff’s station opened easily and Stiles hurried to shut the rain out as soon as he could. A drop of water tickled his nose at just the wrong angle, making Stiles shake his head like a wet dog while trying to muffle a sneeze.

“You came in like the devil himself was after you, Stiles.” Deputy Parrish was standing at his desk, hands loose at his sides and eyes sharp on the door. “Do you have another live one?”

It was a legitimate question considering how often he’d led offenders to the station and Parrish’s casually ready stance brought a smile to Stiles’ face.

“Nah,” he replied, this shake of his head just a simple negative that had the deputy dropping back into his desk chair. “Not this time. Is Dad in?”

He was rarely out of the sheriff’s office, but Beacon Point wasn’t exactly a small town. It wouldn’t be the first time the sheriff personally answered some of the concerns of the residents.

“In his office, as usual.” Parrish waved Stiles through, already returning to his paperwork or possibly a puzzle book.

His attempt to figure out which was spoiled as his dad’s voice called out from the indicated room.

“Stiles? What are you doing out in this weather?”

Whistling innocently, Stiles made his way over to lean against the door jam. His father’s raised brow flattened into an unimpressed look at the echoing tune.

“That’s not going to work on me.” Shaking his head at his son’s impertinent grin and generally wet appearance, the sheriff sighed. “Are you volunteering to wash the floors or what?”

“Hey Dad,” Stiles greeted before answering the question with one of his own, “did you know that Scott's shipping out for the first time this week?”

It was hard to see. Not misty or cloudy because the red of the setting sun was clear and turned the sea around them a bright red, matching the paint on the hull almost exactly.

Smoke? That must be what it was. Smoke from canon fire and the smell of charred and broken wood from where they’d been hit by return volleys.

"All hands prepare for boarding!" His first mate's strong voice rang clear over the sounds of grapples hitting the deck, scratching red paint as their lines crew taut. Peter sluggishly followed the chains back to their origin even as the rest of the crew acknowledged the warning with a rallying cry.

A stark black figurehead stood out against the crimson of the sky over the railing of their sloop, Artemis drawing her bow at the prow of the dark galleon that had snared them.

Movement along the chains drew his eyes back to the action and Peter widened his stance as men swung over across the narrowing gap between the two ships. The pistol in his right hand kicked back a little, its shot ringing out in a stilted chorus as he and his crew took out the first wave.

The next was upon them before he could finish reloading and then the fighting truly began. Muffled taunts and shouted words mixed with intermittent bursts of victory cries that almost sounded like a song, if the violence behind it all could be ignored.

Peter fought back with both his pistol and his sword, wishing that the breeze shifting both ship's black flags would come a little lower and take the thickening gunpowder smoke away instead of displaying his wolf banner or the silver bow of his enemy.

Even with all the noise and his own distant thoughts, it shouldn’t have surprised him when the other captain finally boarded, but it did. Somewhere inside though, it felt like he’d been expecting this.

“Face it ‘Alpha’. You and your crew will die here.” The blond stalked towards him out of the shifting grey fumes, a one handed crossbow trained at his head. Her thigh length black coat flared open over her expensive and rather impractical outfit. A white blouse and red trousers weren’t likely to stand up to the stains of the sea.

“Oh?” Peter asked, already annoyed at being boarded even without this unwanted lecture from the woman who already put far too many holes in his ship. “And that’s Captain ‘Alpha’ to you.”

She rolled her eyes.

Well, Peter couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.

He fired the pistol knowing it would miss before she even moved, jerking fast enough to one side that the bullet only grazed her cheekbone instead of perforating her skull. There was a sinking feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the slow demise of his ship happening just under his feet.

“I’ll burn you, your crew, and this whole ship for this!” The silver arrow accents on her black coat caught the light as she drew her sword, her crossbow never wavering in her other hand. “After cleaning up those Hales, this tiny little ship is nothing to me!”

The ringing in Peter's ears was deafening and all around them the world faded away.

“That was you?” That was Peter’s voice, but he couldn’t remember trying to voice the question.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of it even way out here?” Straightening her shoulders, she gave him a smile that looked more insane than proud. “That’s right. Kate Argent did what the others never could. Once I heard that their matriarch was doing the rounds I ran them all down like the rotten dogs they were.”

Another gunshot cut her off, the echo of it rattling his ears. The bullet lodged in her shoulder making Kate drop her unused crossbow with a grunt of pain. Distantly, he wondered when he reloaded the pistol. Was it still the same pistol or one of his two backups?

Peter felt himself snarling wordlessly and tried to stop, tried not to think about it, tried not to inhale too much smoke as he dropped his spent pistol, freeing his hand to grab another - his last one, that must have been his second - from inside his jacket. He cocked it only for that damn silvered sword flick up and nearly knock it from his grasp. She then used his distraction to rip his sword from his off hand.

Pain flashed across his knuckles, but he knew without looking that they were only nicked instead of cut off.

“Now, now,” tutted the blond smugly as she loomed impossibly over him, an insane glint in her wild eyes. “Only hunters are allowed real weapons, you cur.”

He said something, the words shifting over his tongue as he tried to distract her from where he fumbled with a strip of cloth, his pistol becoming slick with the blood from his off hand, but the bandage wouldn’t hold and Peter’s taunts felt like lead in his mouth.

Whatever he said made that smug smile curl up into an ugly sneer and suddenly Kate was lunging forward into a series of angry jabs.

Peter tried to dodge to the side and it felt like he was moving through molasses instead of soot. He managed to avoid a few strikes only to find himself popping up inside her guard and trying to wrench the sword from her grip with his wounded hand. His pistol discharged into her thigh as a distraction. A twist and a tug later left her with a sprained wrist and Peter with a shiny new stab wound.

The silvered sword glinted in the sun, hanging for an instant and an eternity before clanging as it skittered across the deck, but Peter was too busy putting pressure on his perforated side to pay attention to where it landed. Blood rushed in his ears and ash pricked his nose from where a fire burned on one of their ships.

Darkness gathered around the edge of his sight, merging with the persistent smoke to limit his vision even further and against his better judgement he fell to one knee in front of Kate. Peter tried to force himself back to his feet, but it felt like stones were tied to every limb and they were dragging him down.

She raised the silvered, bloody dagger she’d just stabbed him with.

Blades and blond hair glimmered in the red of the setting sun.

The bloody knife fell and so did Peter.

His body gave a jerk.

Peter pushed himself up with a gasp and looked for his attacker only to find four unadorned, wooden walls staring back at him. It took another heart pounding moment to recognize them as those of his infrequently used home back in Preservation Bay.

Sighing, he pressed a hand to his side where it felt like he’d just been stabbed. It was fine, he reminded himself, just phantom pain from the dream.

Flopping back onto the bed, Peter closed his eyes. The flashes of gunfire he found behind his lids forced him to his feet with a groan.

A glance at the threadbare curtains showed the first glimmers of nautical dawn.

Not a total loss, Peter mused to himself before stretching and reaching for his clothes. Five hours of sleep was better than none.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when he finally opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight ready for the day. Closing his eyes, Peter took a deep breath of the salty, humid air. A slow smile appeared on his face as the last of the nightmare finally fell away, growing to a full grin once he opened his eyes and took in the gentle waves gracing the ocean's surface in the distance.

Just as he’d hoped, yesterday’s early morning storm had cleared the way for perfect weather. After taking a moment to enjoy the view, Peter then turned to finally latch the door shut behind him.

That taken care of, he patted his frock coat to check his pockets and make sure he had everything. Once he was assured of that fact he made his way down the wooden front steps, unconsciously skipping a step only to land directly on one that squeaked a warning. He felt it threaten to buckle under his heel and shifted his boot to slip off it and onto the next step before it broke. The old board was still in one piece, but Peter was forced to stumble down the last three steps, only just managing to catch his balance on solid ground.

It was a good thing he didn’t have many neighbors and that none were awake at this hour to see his less than graceful descent. Straightening his jacket once more with a tug on his lapels, Peter eyed the step. He kept forgetting that it needed to be replaced. Considering that he was nearly never ashore that wasn't surprising, but it did lead to annoying situations like this. Not that he was going to take the time to fix it now.

Turning away, he headed down the weedy dirt path towards the docks.

It didn’t take long before he made it to his destination - a pier not far from the local dry dock. It was scarcely past dawn, but the two-masted sloop tied up there was already alive with activity. Crew members tromped up and down the gangplank with assorted barrels and sacks, singing a familiar working song as they went about it.

Running a hand along the ship’s smooth hull on his way down the busy pier, Peter eyed the blue paint that lined the sides and disappeared under the waterline. He paused to lean over and check the state of the sides or at least what little he could under the waves. Curiosity bled into satisfaction when he confirmed that the hull was well and truly clean. It looked like the break she took in the dry docks just down the way was well worth it.

With a push that righted him and did little to rock the ship, Peter headed for the busy gangplank that jutted out from the ship a little further down the dock.

“Hey-ho! Below, below! Stowing sugar in the hold bel - oh!" Pausing halfway to the dock when she spotted Peter, Erica put her hands on her leather clad hips and smirked at him. "Well, look who’s here!”

A few of the crew were drawn to the railings by her exclamation and Peter felt his chest warm as he gave their scattered calls and greetings a lazy wave.

“Morning, Sir,” Boyd stepped up behind Erica and nodded to him, one hand on her shoulder to direct her down to the dock and out of the thoroughfare.

“A shock I know,” Peter answered Erica’s comment, strolling up to stop just to the side of the walkway with a sardonic smile. “Good morning Erica, Boyd. How is she looking?”

“Beautiful, of course.” Sweeping her hands out, Erica turned towards the ship with a gesture that might have indicated herself or the sloop.

“As always.” He agreed easily before turning to Boyd with a raised brow.

“Stocking is nearly half finished.” His first mate clarified, nodding at where Kira and Deaton were helping the other crew members with the supplies. “Should be ready to leave with the tide if we have a destination.”

“Was the good doctor able to find everything he needed this time?” Peter wasn’t about to let that mistake happen again. Not after what happened with Isaac earlier that month.

“I made sure of it.” Boyd confirmed darkly, brows furrowing to match the frown on his face at the reminder.

“We’ve also fully stocked up on the usual kitchen basics.” Even though she didn’t turn from where she was waving her fellow swordswoman up the gangplank, Peter could see the tension in Erica’s shoulders. “Not sure what good they will do us though with Isaac still convalescing.”

“I’ve already planned for that. Our expected route should be taking us past a chef who owes me a favor.” Confirmed Peter, sharing a sharp smile with Erica when she glanced over her shoulder at him. She’d provided the destination after all and the information she got from Sealed With a Kiss, one of the local supernatural informants, was always good. “I just need to clear it with the head office and we’ll set sail as planned.”

“Any merchandise we need to make room for?” Boyd’s level head was one of the main reasons Peter chose him for a first mate.

“Most likely seeing as we don’t go south often.” Not since half their fleet burned at least. Peter glared at the horizon, remembering why they were doing this before turning back to his crew with a smile he hoped was simply sharp and not crazed. “I’ll check on that as well.”

“See that you do, Cap!” Erica’s smile was a bit feral as she clapped him on the shoulder, only fading into a lighter expression when she turned to help with the rest of the loading. Shouldering a crate easily she belted out the opening lines to a favorite song of the crew. “We are outward bound for Queenston town!”

Whistles and cheers met the announcement before those within range joined in for a scattered chorus that came together as they sang.

“With a heave-o, haul!”

Boyd’s eyes followed Erica for a moment longer as the crew’s efforts took on a cheerful edge due to her enthusiasm and then turned back to share an amused look with Peter.

“Good. I’d better be on my way then.” Jauntily touching the brim of his hat in an unspoken goodbye and receiving a nod in return, Peter gave his ship one last glance as he retraced his steps before branching off toward the center of town.

Peter made it to the Hale Company’s main office a little later than his crew probably expected. Avoiding the town square added an extra ten minutes, but the bakery he detoured to was well worth it even if it made opening doors a little tricky.

“Good morning, Nephew,” he greeted as he kicked the door shut behind him, a rakish smile firmly in place. Peter found it was always easier to show people the face they expected, especially when he only needed to emphasize a specific facet of himself to do so. Better to only put them on edge when he needed it.

The room held an air of organized chaos as usual, paperwork and maps cluttered most of the large empty desks with even more parchment sticking out between books on the many bookshelves lining the office. It made for quite a fire hazard if even a fraction of the candles placed haphazardly around the place were lit, but none of the few remaining Hales ever mentioned it.

Peter supposed the dust covering most of the chairs spoke for itself, really.

“Peter.” Derek returned without looking up from his documents, spectacles in place as he read through what was likely another shipping manifest.

Tutting, Peter wound his way through the room until he could put one of the wrapped pain au chocolats down beside the other man.

“Is that any way to address your favorite uncle?”

“You’re my only uncle.” Derek finally turned to give him a flat look that didn’t completely hide his amusement.

“And thus I win by default.” Peter smirked back, smug to have received a reaction. He leaned one hip against the side of heavy furniture and unwrapped his own breakfast.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” His nephew tried for a scowl and missed as he finally noticed the treat on his desk. It was snatched up and Derek’s eyes closed as he inhaled, clearly won over by the fresh pastry. He then froze and gave Peter a suspicious look. “Is this a bribe?”

It wasn’t, but he knew it was still hard for Derek to understand that Peter cared about his family, especially after so many years of willing separation while the boy was growing up. So instead of answering Peter merely raised a brow, tilted his head, and let his nephew come to his own conclusions.

A moment passed in silence with Derek giving him a narrow-eyed look and Peter ignoring it in favor of his own meal before the younger man broke it, sighing.

“Is there something you wanted, Peter?” He sounded tired as he unwrapped the gift.

“I was hoping you’d check this over for me.” Using his free hand, Peter reached inside his jacket to pull out a few sheets of parchment and dropped them onto Derek’s desk. He watched only long enough to ensure that Derek was prioritizing them before turning away to finish his meal by the nearest window. Papers shuffled in the quiet and Peter was brushing the crumbs from his fingers by the time his nephew spoke up again.

“You know you don’t need me to approve these.”

True - Derek handled most of the paperwork these days, but he didn’t have the authority to make or approve ship routes. That was left to the captain and the head of the company.

Talia had more than enough on her plate when they were fully staffed and didn’t care about the details of what he did for them in the southern sea as long as it was done right.

“And you know that your darling sister would raise hell if I didn’t.” His eyes flicked down the road towards the town square where Laura’s office resided. Another bonus of this morning’s detour.

After the events of last spring, his niece was left with barely a handful of ships and a lot more responsibility than she ever expected. As such, she preferred to be kept apprised of the comings and goings of their crews. Unfortunately for him and his nephew, Derek wasn’t the only one constantly questioning Peter and his motives.

“Peter…” Derek trailed off without arguing the point and Peter was glad he did. They both knew that if he went directly to Laura it would just turn into another pointless fight.

Turning away from the view, Peter offered his nephew a jaded smile.

“I don’t hold it against her, Derek. But her preferences do turn you into our middle man so if you would be so kind.” He raised his brows and gestured to the paperwork, trying to keep them on topic.

Derek stared at him a moment longer before shaking his head, lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure. Finally spreading open the parchment out on his desk to fully inspect the route, Peter watched as the younger man glanced over it. Evidently Derek noticed something he didn’t like as his brow furrowed.

“This is barely a route at all, Peter. You barely hit three ports here and two of them are the same one at the start and finish. What is this about?”

Peter gave him a look that hopefully screamed ‘Really? Do I need to spell it out for you?’ and Derek narrowed his eyes in response.

“Don’t tell me…”

As Captain Hale Peter was known for his loans, he wasn’t sure why his nephew was always surprised at that. Then again, it was probably for the best that he focused on the side trip instead of questioning why Peter suddenly wanted to sail south again. Evidently Derek wasn’t caught up on recent pirate sightings, though that could be due to Erica’s inside information.

“An innkeeper’s apprentice needed some help.” Peter said with a plaintive tone that he knew Derek would likely see through. “I had the means to assist, so why shouldn’t I? He knew what he was asking for.”

“I’m sure.” Derek’s tone was sarcastic before turning serious. “But Beacon? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

It was Peter’s turn to be surprised, though he hid it under a careless wave. He should have known that Derek tried to keep an eye on all Argent movements after last year. Fortunately for both of them, that information was a bit out of date.

“At the time it was, but they’ve cleared out since.” Peter assured him. “Besides, with Isaac still recovering we’re in sore need of a chef.”

Stiles whistled a bright tune as he made his way down the rows of docks. The sun was up, painting the sky a pale, cloudless blue, but the temperatures this morning weren’t yet unbearable even though he was wearing his usual traveling clothing. He regularly got teased by friends and fellow travelers alike for wearing both a waistcoat and jacket along with the usual belts and straps that came with specializing in knife work, but Stiles was of the opinion that one could never have too many backups.

It was work as usual around the pier, dock workers going about their tasks at a steady pace as visitors and crewmen rushed to finish tasks before they had to ship out. Thankfully, whoever those pirates Lydia warned him about were, they never made it all the way to Beacon because the port was as secure and lively as ever.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he approached the dock the ports master had pointed out to him earlier and scanned those pulling merchandise off the ship for the Shelby’s captain only to pause when he saw a familiar face.

“Erica?”

The blond froze where she was setting down a crate before whipping around to look at him, expression going from shocked to elated in the blink of an eye.

“Stiles!”

She ran over and he barely caught her, stumbling back under the force of the hug. It spun them around a little but he was laughing along when he set her down.

“You’re looking better than ever!” And he wasn’t just saying that. When he last saw her a few years ago she was still rather sickly even after a few months of solid meals and weapon’s training, but now she almost looked like she’d never been ill.

“Thanks, I know.” She grinned with easy confidence, giving him a flirty wink that just made him laugh more. He knew when she’d spit in her kidnapper’s eye at seventeen that she had a spirit brighter than her waiflike form could contain. It was good to see that whatever cure Lydia tried to find for her seizures had worked.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing! Did you rescue another orphan?” Erica returned, poking him in the stomach playfully only to laugh when he swatted her hand away. Her eyes flicked to his bag and her interest visibly sharpened. “Meeting up with your crew or are you still looking?”

Of course she remembered his complaints about most of the local crews. Those months they spent together gave them a lot of time to get to know one another.

“I’m actually here to ask about Captain Hales’ crew.” He paused at the wild grin she gave in response.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” Sweeping out a hand, she presented the two-masted ship. “May I present the Shelby, home to the finest crew to be found in these parts!”

A couple of the crew members who were close enough to hear the introduction called out some affirming noises as they continued their work.

“Well, they’re certainly lively.” Which was better than some crews he’d sailed with over the years.

“Perhaps we can convince you to join us if Peter allows it.” Erica’s eyes sparkled and Stiles wondered if it was because she missed him or if she just enjoyed the challenge. “You already have a couple of fans who I’m sure will help me convince him.”

“Fans?” Or maybe she was just happy to poke fun at him. That sounded on brand.

“What, you think I learned all of your songs only to forget them?” She gave him a pitying smile before turning back to her crew and calling out, “Favorite Batman song, sound off!”

Oh, for the love of-

“Are you still on about that?” Stiles’ annoyed question was lost under the other responses, shouting out everything from Good Morning Ladies All to Fish of the Sea with even more not knowing the names of the songs and resorting to just calling out lyrics. He looked at an unrepentant Erica as the chaos of at least three of his modified sea shanties started up around the ship and dock.

It was just about then that he spotted a pair of men approaching them over Erica’s shoulder. He dropped his mild glare to blink first at the wickedly handsome sailor and then to the familiar man standing next to him.

“Scotty?”

Blinking bemusedly at his sudden distraction, Erica turned and grinned. Pieces swiftly clicked together as she waved at the approaching men.

Erica couldn't know Scott as he had yet to set foot on a ship and Stiles himself only knew her because of that scumbag who kidnapped her leagues away. Erica was now a part of Captain Hales' crew and happier for it. Scott was hired by Captain Hale. Erica just greeted the man who led Scott to the dock.

It all added up to one mostly complete picture of the man in Stiles’ head and the plaque next to it was titled ‘Captain Peter Hale’.

Any thought Stiles had given as to what the man would look like was thrown out the window. That wasn’t a grizzled sea captain nor a babyfaced novice, no. Instead, the good captain was closer to the romanticized version of a sea captain - confident from bottom of his dark boots to the tips of his tricornered hat with a tan that contrasted nicely with his frock coat and piercing blue eyes.

Which meant that the added subscript underneath the title on his mental plaque updated from simply ‘Loan Shark’ to ‘Oh no, he’s hot’.

And to think Stiles came here thinking that he would hate the guy for tricking his best friend into that stupid loan.

Well, he was good at rolling with the punches even if the considering look the captain gave him during Erica’s introduction made his heart beat a little faster.

“Here to see your friend off?” It sounded like Scott took the time to explain a few things while Stiles was busy putting things together, but he definitely skipped the most important part.

“Not exactly.” Pointedly adjusting the pack still hanging over his shoulder, Stiles raised a brow at the captain. “I’d like to come along to ensure my best friend’s first voyage is as smooth as possible, you know? I’m happy to work for the trouble.”

That got him another considering look before Captain Hale’s eyes flicked towards Erica who didn’t look bothered by the idea. In fact, she looked a bit too casual for someone who was just trying to convince him to join them.

“I only know him in passing but he seemed pretty reliable at the time.”

A couple months of seeing each other nearly daily to teach her how to use a dagger and all he got for a review was ‘pretty reliable’. If this was her best method of convincing her captain, Stiles was unimpressed.

After a slow blink at her antics, Stiles shook his head and turned to the captain directly. Thankfully, it looked like Captain Hale was amused by their teasing. Good, Stiles could work with humor.

Giving the man his best confidence inspiring smile, Stiles waggled his eyebrows with a playful leer and a grin.

“Let’s just put it this way - I'm pretty handy and I get around.”

The sound of Scott’s hand meeting his forehead was a familiar one and Stiles didn’t bother suppressing his snort. It wasn’t like it could be heard over Erica’s cackles anyway.

Thankfully, the good captain seemed to find Stiles’ blithe summary of his skills as entertaining as he hoped if that twitch of his lips was anything to go off of. His ice blue eyes studied him a bit longer before he finally nodded and called up to his ship.

“Kira!” A young woman appeared at the railing at the summons, her healthy tan contrasting nicely with her dark braided hair. Her eyes scanned critically over Stiles and Scott before jumping back to her captain when he continued speaking. “Feel up to testing a new applicant?”

Stiles watched as Kira looked consideringly at Scott, biting her lip and then nodding. She moved across the deck toward the gangplank, giving Stiles plenty of time to watch Scott’s face bloom from slight awe into full blown crush territory. Another glance at Kira’s shy smile made Stiles think that maybe this time his best friend’s interest might not be entirely one sided.

A new strategy started coming together in Stiles’ mind, a welcome addition to the others already crowding around as he noticed the sword at Kira’s hip.

“Kira, this is Stiles Stilinski.” Captain Hale’s amusement at Kira’s distraction was clear as he introduced them. “He would like to join us to keep an eye on Mr. McCall. Mr. Stilinski, may I introduce Miss Kira Yukimura, our finest swordsman and your opponent for this challenge.”

Kira’s smile was as bright as Stiles’ was sheepish, but the handshake they shared was firm enough to let him know that neither of them fell for either of their reflexive disarming tactics.

Turning, Stiles tossed his bag to Scott who nearly fumbled it entirely.

“I sure hope you’ll be cheering me on out there Scotty.” That pulled his friend’s attention back to Stiles long enough for Scott to give him an exasperated look, so Stiles considered it a win. He turned back to his examiner and asked, “Where are we doing this? On the ship or on the beach?”

Who is getting the advantage here?

“The beach.” The captain answered and Stiles couldn't quite hide the surprise on his face as he looked over at the man. “We leave at noon and the crew doesn’t have the time to clear the deck for this while cargo is still being loaded.”

That was surprisingly biased towards Stiles. Given how long ago Scott received the warning letter, the crew likely spent at least a few days at sea by this point. Sealegs may not be as necessary when docked, but Stiles knew that transitioning back to land wasn't easy for even the most experienced sailor.

How unexpected.

Stiles didn’t realize he was staring until he noticed the corner of Captain Hale’s lips twitching up in response. Swallowing, Stiles pivoted on his heel to follow Kira and Scott back down the dock towards the beach.

Finding a bare stretch of sand didn’t take more than a minute or two even at a busy port like Beacon. By a mutual, silent agreement Kira and Stiles took a few moments to prepare themselves before settling into ready positions.

“This is just a test of ability not a real fight,” Captain Hale reminded them from where he, Erica, and Scott were standing a safe distance away. “Disarm, secure, or last a sufficient amount of time to win.”

No mention on how long that time was though. Stiles tapped one of the blades strapped to his right thigh before pulling both it and along with the stiletto from where it sat inside his jacket. He held them comfortably in his hands as he widened his stance on the sand.

Across from him, Kira stood straight backed even in the face of Stiles’ casual slouch. Her sword was one-sided and she was kind enough to take precautions by turning the sharpened edge away from him. Unlike Stiles’ knives, her sword lacked any crossguard.

It wasn’t often that he got the chance to see eastern style weapons. Stiles wet his lips and smiled. He always enjoyed a challenge.

Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Erica elbowing her captain, but he wasn’t stupid enough to look away from Kira to make sure.

There was no call to start, but Stiles wasn’t exactly one to stand still for long if he could help it. Of course, that didn’t mean that he was going to lose this waiting game either. Instead, he strafed carefully to one side, watching Kira closely as she matched him step for step.

Her sword swept towards him, testing the waters and he dodged it by taking a large step back, losing a bit of ground even as he kept them turning. He ducked out of the way of another few swipes, deflecting the last with his knife when it got too close for comfort.

The sun was high enough that he couldn’t put his back to it for an advantage, but there was something else that might work. Or rather, someone.

“I hadn’t realized all your years of experience only meant that you were too old to actually fight, Stiles!” Scott called out to distract him like the traitor he was.

Which made it especially funny that Kira was the one who looked away, glancing over Stiles’ shoulder to where their watchers were standing. It made an opening, but not enough of one so Stiles ignored it in favor of reversing his grip on the dagger in his right hand while she wasn't looking.

Then he leaned into the opening Scott gave him because sometimes you had to give a little to get a lot.

“You’re one to talk, McCall.” He loosened his stance as if distracted and turned his head slightly to return the taunt, eyes never leaving his opponent. “Have you ever wielded anything other than that pan of-”

There!

Cutting off his sentence to concentrate on avoiding having his ankles whacked, Stiles dodged the blow with a quick jump. He then ducked the return slash before bending backwards and catching himself on his left fist to avoid the blade now trying to strike him from above without losing his knife. Kira was good enough that her blade didn’t embed itself in the sand between his feet, but she obviously didn’t expect him to kick his foot out while still looking completely unbalanced so it connected solidly with the flat of her sword before she could dance back out of the way.

Flipping back up, Stiles pressed his advantage in hopes of disarming her before she could firm up both her grip and her stance. The sand worked against him, offering both too much and too little resistance at the same time, but he did manage to duck in close before Kira could do more than straighten her posture.

She defended herself with a downward slash only for Stiles to catch it against the crossguards of his knives, the dull edge of her sword falling into the ‘V’ made by the blades. With a deft twist, he pulled the weapon from her disrupted grip and then quickly continued his turn away from her to avoid the fist that followed it.

Kira’s weapon landed in the sand, her second punch landed just below Stiles’ ribs, and the point of his reversed blade stopped just under her jaw.

She froze, which was kind of her because Stiles was having trouble breathing, but he supposed it was more due to his second dagger’s proximity to her unprotected side than a show of mercy that did it.

A slow clap rang out from the sidelines, quickly joined by Erica’s cheers and Stiles was pretty sure that meant he won.

Thank fuck that worked because that’s the only move Stiles ever learned that could disarm a guardless sword with a dagger and Kira was more than fast enough to make any dodging that wasn’t flat out running away difficult.

Pulling his knives back, Stiles tucked them away and bent to retrieve Kira’s sword after glancing at her to make sure it was okay. He learned to be particular about who he let touch his knives after having so many stolen and even turned against him over the years, but Kira just smiled at the silent question.

“I’m glad this was just a spar or I’m pretty sure I’d be dead right now.” He offered it to her with a crooked grin. “Thanks for not stabbing me in the gut.”

Kira eyed him closely and then returned his smile, accepting her sword back to sheathe it at her waist next to her own dagger.

“Something tells me I would find a few stab wounds in my own gut if I tried.” Her smile grew, especially as Scott jogged up to where they were standing. “Besides, your friend might have come after me with a pan.”

Scott sputtered, flushing and Stiles just rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop his fond smile as he plucked his bag from Scott’s grip.

“Looks like you still have a few things to teach me, eh Batman?”

Rolling his eyes at Erica’s teasing reminder, Stiles shouldered the pack once more.

“Sure and our next lesson would include a whole section on how to let things go.” He shook his head and easily ignored the incredulous look Scott gave him. “You kill one rabid bat and no one ever lets you forget it.”

“If I pinned a bat to a tree with a knife from ten yards away I’d never let anyone else forget about it.” Erica returned, propping a hand on one hip. “Are you sure you aren’t the strange one here?”

Why did all of his friends love giving him shit? Was there something about him that just asked for backtalk?

Wait, he did this all the time to his dad. Was it genetic?

“Having second thoughts already?” Captain Hale asked teasingly. His smile was distracting, but Stiles was too busy realizing that as Erica’s captain he probably liked her slightly abrasive humor and possibly even had a similar one to match it.

Stiles sighed and shook his head.

The things he did to keep his bro alive.

“Good, because I am also interested in some lessons if you have the time.” There was something about the way he said lessons that made Stiles' ears feel hot, especially when the man’s smile turned a bit wolfish. “I’ve had a bit of trouble with daggers recently and getting a tip or two from an expert couldn’t hurt.”

Stiles met that challenging look with one of his own, his tongue swiping across his lips before he could stop himself. He tried to pretend his heart didn’t speed back up and responded. “I’m sure I could find some time in my busy schedule to lend a helping hand.”

With a low chuckle, Captain Hale held out his hand and they shook on it.

“Welcome aboard, we’ll get your temporary contract signed this evening.”

Erica crowed and threw an arm around Stiles shoulders, using it to steer him back towards the ship.

“Perfect! You’ll never guess where we’re headed.” Her grin was mischievous but after so many months of seeing her tired and worn all those years ago it was nice to see her burning so brightly.

“Where?” Stiles asked as he indulged the woman he had eventually come to think of as a sister.

Instead of answering directly, she started up a familiar song that he modified and taught her years before.

“We are outward bound for Queenston town!”

A knock at his cabin door startled Peter from his thoughts. Looking up from his paperwork, Peter turned in his desk chair to look at the door, its lines highlighted harshly in the candlelight.

No one on his ship ever knocked. The only time he ever got peace was when he locked the door and no one felt like knocking it down, which happened more frequently than he’d like.

“Come in,” he called to one - or possibly both - of his temporary crewmen, leaning an arm over the back of the chair as he waited to see who was seeking him out on their first night aboard. The chef perhaps? With his lack of seafaring experience he was likely fairly unused to sleeping in a hammock.

With a slight creak of too often abused hinges, the door opened to reveal the more interesting and unexpected of the newest additions.

“Are you busy?” Mr. Stilinski asked, glancing towards the papers at Peter’s elbow and hesitating in the doorway.

“Mr. Stilinski,” he greeted with a thin smile. “Always.”

It was more than a little ridiculous how much paperwork a captain was expected to deal with these days. Peter was starting to suspect Derek was making some of the forms up just to give his poor uncle more work to do.

“Why do you ask?”

“Call me Stiles.” Stiles leaned on the door frame and surveyed the rest of the room, letting Peter see over his shoulder that the deck was relatively quiet but still unfortunately cluttered with barrels. They were secure, he double checked earlier that day, but Derek really loaded them down with goods before they left earlier that week. It was a small mercy that the boxes that overflowed into his own quarters for the last few days were now safely delivered to Beacon Point, but many of his crew members were still getting used to having that much cargo under foot.

“I’ve still got to sign that contract you mentioned earlier.”

Right, of course.

Peter hadn’t forgotten exactly - the document was written up and ready right there on his desk - but it was already unusual for a contract to be signed after boarding so putting it off longer wasn’t any trouble. He knew that Stiles wasn’t likely to object to any of the usual terms considering the lengths he went through to join his friend, but it was a pleasant surprise to have him taking the initiative to come to him and sign it anyway.

“Come in and take a seat then,” Peter said and gestured to the wooden chair beside the desk that was often used for situations like this. “I have a few questions for you as well, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Stiles shrugged and let the door close behind him as he made his way over. “Can’t promise I’ll answer all of them though.”

“Of course.” It wasn’t an interrogation exactly, simply an interview much like any other profession had for newcomers. At least, that’s what Talia used to say. Peter wasn’t actually sure, having never applied for work outside the family. Laura keeping the practice up wasn’t surprising and Peter already argued enough with her over more important things so he kept asking the questions.

Besides, Peter was nosy enough that he probably would have instituted the questioning without being asked to if given the chance.

It took just a handful of minutes to get through all of the usual questions about credentials, history, and intent. The answers were about what Peter expected.

Stiles was an experienced deckhand who served in a temporary capacity on many different vessels over the last several years. He still technically lived in Beacon Point with his father, the sheriff, but his odd jobs meant he was regularly at sea instead of at home. The last question about why he was joining wasn’t really necessary seeing as they both knew exactly why Stiles signed up for this particular voyage - his best friend needed a minder. Passing the document over with his notes, Peter let Stiles read the short term contract over before they both signed.

“Is there anything else we should know?” This question was one of his own instead of the previous Hale Company standard ones he asked for the contract. While most hirelings didn’t volunteer anything, it was always worth it for those who did. Peter gave Stiles another sharp smile when he didn’t answer right away. “Outstanding warrants, allergies, dark secrets?”

Drumming his fingers against the desk, Stiles hummed a vaguely familiar tune that Peter couldn’t quite name. It echoed strangely in the wooden room and Peter frowned. If they weren’t alone he might have thought it wasn’t even coming from Stiles at all.

The humming stopped leaving only the tap of fingers against hardwood as Stiles gave his response.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Peter raised a brow at Stiles’ suddenly challenging smirk. He eyed the younger man, taking in how his posture was now more relaxed and open, probably deceptively so. Somewhere between his spar with Kira and now, the lacing of his shirt loosened as well, letting Peter see that those moles and freckles continued past his collar. A strategic move? Peter hadn’t exactly been subtle with his interests after all.

Above that growing smirk, however, Stiles’ eyes were sharp as they watched Peter consider the question.

The answer was obvious though. Played right, it could be a wealth of information. And it would be played right.

“Oh? Are we making a game of it now?” He smirked in turn and leaned in a little to mirror Stiles’ posture. “Because if we are, I'd like to know what you have noticed about us as well. Are you sure you want to play with me?”

Because Peter played to win.

Stiles was striking, but it was his way with words that interested Peter. Knowing that this was the fabled ‘Batman’ who taught Erica those clever songs gripped his curiosity tighter than any simple pretty face ever had.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure, Captain Hale.”

“There’s no need for formalities, sweetheart.” He let his smirk grow into a smile as he spotted a light flush on Stiles’ cheeks even in the dim candlelight. “Just Peter is fine.”

“Alright Peter.” The stress Stiles put on his name was somewhere between teasing and provocative. “How about you start us off then?”

That was fine, the first observation was an obvious one.

“You’re a bounty hunter.” The traveling for ‘odd jobs’ and close relationship to law enforcement were his second and third clues. His first was the symbol stitched into the inside of Stiles’ jacket that he’d seen during the spar.

Stiles gave him another sharp grin but didn’t verbally confirm or deny. Instead he offered his first fact as well. “Erica’s been cured of her seizures.”

An interesting choice, but also verifiably correct. Peter let him know by tilting his head at a point won and watched a flicker of satisfaction flit across Stiles’ face.

“Being a chef isn’t Mr McCall’s passion.” A non sequitur. Erica’s cure was unconventional and the subject change would make any further talk in that direction more obvious.

The observation got Stiles to shake his head and roll his eyes.

“He’ll get back around to it once the schoolyard teasing wears off.”

Both correct and an old argument then. Idly, Peter wondered what his temporary cook would be getting ‘back around to’ before brushing it off. He likely wouldn’t be around to see it either way.

“Most of your crew isn’t human.” Stiles offered too casually.

Peter kept himself from tensing and his glance neutral by sheer force of will. He received a lazy smile in return as Stiles raised his brows, but Peter noticed that Stiles kept his hands away from any of his weapons and well within view.

“You’ve met others.” Yet Stiles wasn’t known as a Hunter. Not well enough to have the rumor filtering back through the usual channels.

“The Hales are known for their protection,” Stiles returned before offering a little extra with a shrug, “sometimes I help send a few your way.”

A good Samaritan then?

His thoughts changed tracks from threat to possible ally, but ally didn’t always mean safe. Peter watched a moment longer as Stiles tapped out that beat against the desk. It wasn’t a nervous gesture, especially not when paired with that thoughtful look. Peter wondered if the expression was reflected on his own face, because it was likely they were coming to the same conclusion.

No, this was more than someone finding out and deciding to be helpful.

“You’re more than human as well, then.”

Those pale fingers stilled just long enough for Peter to know he was right. Stiles must have seen some of his smug satisfaction because he huffed a sigh and used that hand to scratch through his hair.

“Scott doesn’t know.” The admission went against their game, but as Captain of a crew of supernaturals Peter was grateful for the clarification.

“None of our temporary hires are told.” They either knew like Stiles did or were told once they joined. Some, like Erica, were later offered the chance to join their ranks in more ways than one.

“You’re very specific about who you allow to join your crew.” Stiles said, picking up the game once more.

That was an easy one. Most good captains could afford to be picky and Peter was among the best.

“And you are very specific about what crew you want to join,” Peter countered. That was clear from how he was still a free agent even though he was a skilled deckhand, but the revelation of his non-human status was likely part of it as well.

“So I have standards, sue me.” Stiles made a face then offered his next observation. “You’re looking for something in Queenston.”

Peter’s brow quirked up. Not entirely correct this time, but likely assumed from just a scattering of facts. He wasn’t looking for something, but rather someone. Erica had received word of an Argent ship and Peter wasn’t about to let that pass him by.

Revenge was a powerful motivator, after all.

But his tragic backstory wasn’t something he enjoyed sharing with strangers, so he changed the subject instead.

“You enjoy teaching.” Sometimes subtlety was unnecessary, especially when Stiles was likely to recognize even a more subtle tactic anyway.

“Playtime over then?” Stiles asked in reply, stretching his arms above his head before tugging his waistcoat back down.

“I do indeed like to teach and I have time to teach you now,” he paused and glanced down at the other papers scattered across Peter’s desk, “but if you’re busy we can reschedule for later.”

“As I said earlier: I’m always busy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take breaks.” Standing, Peter motioned for his new teacher to join him in the center of the room.

“In here?” Stiles asked.

“As I’m sure you’ve seen, the Shelby is carrying a fair bit and, unless you’d like to clear the crew quarters or mess hall, we’re unlikely to find a more open area.” Peter stepped towards the cleared area that had recently been home to crates filled with textiles. “If you’d like to remove your jacket there is a coat rack behind the door.”

There was a low hum and Peter looked back in time to see Stiles stand up from his chair with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I think I’ll keep it on for now, thanks.” Walking closer with only a slight hitch to his step betraying his recent change from land to sea, Stiles smiled. “This probably won’t take long.”

“Confident in your teaching ability are you?” Peter’s answering smile held a bit of challenge. He watched the earlier test carefully and could admit that Stiles was rather good, but sparing against a distracted opponent who was relatively unfamiliar wasn’t the same as going against a prepared opponent on their own turf even if Peter’s proficiency with knives wasn’t anything to sing home about.

Looking up after a quick stretch, Peter watched as Stiles’ pink tongue quickly peeked out to wet his lips. He smirked, continuing to work his muscles after sitting at his desk for so long.

It was nice to know that the interest he saw when they first met wasn’t just a figment of his imagination and that Stiles’ professionalism while out on deck was simply a good work ethic.

Stiles cleared his throat and shook out the stiffness from his own limbs to prepare for the lesson.

“As you seem to trust Erica’s abilities I should think you already know the answer to that, but in the interest of clarity: Yes, I am fairly confident.” Stiles paused as one of his joints cracked and he gave a groan of satisfaction. He then continued, hopefully without noticing just how interesting Peter found that noise to be. “Which is why I’d like to start by evaluating your current skill level.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Stiles made a show of inspecting Peter from his still booted feet to his partially untied shirt. Peter helpfully held his hands out to the sides and watched with satisfaction as Stiles’ pale cheeks flushed lightly once more.

“Do you even own a knife for this?” He asked, incredulous.

Peter thought of the silvered knife lying at the bottom of the chest just a few feet away and his side twinged.

“I’ve always used one of Erica’s whenever she tried to help me.” He said instead.

“So you’re probably not at the ‘never held anything sharper than a butter knife’ end of the how-experienced-are-you spectrum.” Pale fingers brushed thoughtfully up Stiles’ left thigh before he pulled out the lower dagger from its sheath. Stiles flipped it around to offer it to Peter hilt first. “You can borrow this one for now.”

The stiletto was simple - a standard size and shape in Peter’s relatively uninformed opinion, with only a small stylized ‘S’ imprinted on the hilt as a decoration.

He accepted it after a moment of inspection, testing its weight and balance like Erica showed him shortly after she joined the crew. Stiles nodded approvingly and gave Peter time to familiarize himself with the weapon by continuing to stretch.

Peter was a multitasker, so he quietly appreciated the view as he did so.

Even though he saw Stiles stretching in a similar manner earlier that day, Peter silently admitted to himself that he was a bit impressed by how limber the lean man was. With maneuvers like the one he used to initially loosen Kira’s grip on her sword Peter guessed mobility was a large part of his fighting style.

His mind imagined what else Stiles could do with that flexibility before he decided to abandon that train of thought. He was only going to embarrass himself if he didn’t focus on the weapons in their hands instead of their owner.

“Ready?” Stiles asked, his own knife twisting between long pale fingers.

Peter watched the blade dance in the candlelight for a beat before dragging his eyes up just in time to see that pink tongue drag across Stiles’ lips once again.

“Always.” His confident response got him a raised brow and no other warnings before Stiles lunged towards him, fast and low.

Sidestepping the telegraphed swipe, Peter revised his previous assumption as he dodged the thin knife a few more times. The attacks were quick, but obviously dialed back from the speed he used against Kira earlier. Instead, they started simple and then steadily became faster and less telegraphed as they progressed.

Objectively it was a great method for gauging his skill level. Subjectively Peter was getting bored with only dodging. Unfortunately, he wasn’t confident enough in his own offensive capabilities to try and use even the flat of the blade against someone he didn’t intend to kill.

On top of that, while his cabin was less cluttered than the deck outside it wasn’t large, so it was only a matter of time before Stiles trapped him. Peter didn’t expect to back up against his desk so quickly though.

The bump against its wooden edge distracted him just long enough for Stiles to get the point of his blade against Peter’s throat in a manner similar to how he stopped Kira earlier that day.

Stiles chuckled and Peter felt it through his fingertips where they pressed against that fitted waistcoat. Reflexively, he curled his fingers, letting his blunt nails drag against the fabric as he felt the muscles beneath twitch at the pressure. He heard Stiles’ sharp inhale as those low chuckles cut off and Peter watched as his eyes began to dilate, hearing Stiles’ unusual quickstep pulse speeding up even though they weren’t sparring anymore.

Swallowing, Stiles eyes flicked down to look at Peter’s lips. In response, Peter smirked and raised an eyebrow, daring Stiles to try.

He wasn’t sure which outcome he preferred - Stiles was both interesting and obviously interested, however, he was still largely an unknown to Peter - but standing on the edge of that decision was tantalizing.

It wasn't exactly what should be occupying him while sparring, but Peter thought he could be forgiven for the direction his mind was going. They were alone in his private quarters and he was bent against his desk by an attractive man with a knife to his throat.

Honestly, he’s had worse first dates.

“A stalemate then.” Stiles eventually acknowledged quietly, taking a careful step back and lowering his knife.

Dropping his curled hand to the desk's edge, Peter let him. There was no need to push or rush whatever may come from this, they were going to be on the same ship together for some days yet. Besides, he was curious to see if Stiles would come to him willingly, high standards and all.

“Peter!” The muffled call barely preceded Erica’s entrance as she flung the door open.

Peter was more surprised that this interruption hadn’t happened sooner.

“Scott’s just about done with dinner and I thought - oh!” She finally read the room, looking first to an unimpressed Peter where he was leaning against the desk and then to Stiles who was sheathing the knife in his hand while rolling his eyes at her. Erica's expression shifted from surprised to wicked in the blink of an eye. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just my first lesson.” Peter answered drily, holding out the borrowed weapon to return it safely to its owner.

“Uh huh.” Erica didn’t sound convinced even with the clear evidence. “Did you learn anything?”

“That I need a sturdier door.” He grumbled low enough that Stiles shouldn’t be able to hear it, though that depended on what type of supernatural he was.

“That you can’t teach for shit.” Stiles offered at a more audible level as he accepted the knife back and then laughed in Erica’s offended face. “Dodging is a good start, but most people appreciate better instructions than ‘the pointy end goes in them’ you know, for future reference.”

Peter raised a brow at that, wondering how Stiles knew of Erica’s teaching methods as he certainly didn’t hear them from Peter.

“Hey! That’s what you told me the first time!”

“Yeah, because you nearly stabbed yourself in the first five minutes you had the knife.” Stiles pointed out. “Do you not remember any of the rest of my lessons to pass on to others?”

“Of course I remember!”

Her skills made it obvious that she remembered, but there was a reason he was asking Stiles for his assistance instead of continuing to rely on Erica’s help. The woman had trouble articulating the hows and whys of what she did.

Peter watched as they squabbled for a bit longer and then pushed off the desk. Grabbing one of their shoulders in each hand, he firmly turned them towards his still open door.

“Erica, let our new cook know that I’ll be down shortly after I secure this paperwork.” He instructed over their similar squawks of protest. “Stiles, thank you for the lesson. I should be free most nights so we’ll work out a time that works best for future lessons.”

And with that he pushed them out the door one after the other and shut it behind them.

There was a pause before he heard Erica’s muffled voice.

“So, the captain huh?”

Whatever Stiles hissed back was lost under Erica’s laughter and Peter shook his head with a smile as he headed back to his desk. It sounded like he wasn’t the only member of the crew wondering if they’d meet Stiles’ standards.

Stiles owned a lot of knives.

Everyone who saw him knew that and most who talked to him about it were of the opinion that he owned too many. They were wrong of course, just like they were wrong when they guessed how many he had on him at any given time.

(The number varied, but he could always tell when someone had no imagination as they always guessed less than six. He also suspected they needed glasses because that’s how many he always had easily visible on his person.)

Among the knives, daggers, dirks, and stilettos he owned, only a handful served a singular purpose. Small knives were versatile and that was why he’d devoted so much time to learning them in the first place, but any blade could grow dull if used improperly.

As an innkeeper’s apprentice and son to a surgeon Scott should know this, but he still snickered whenever Stiles pulled this particular blade from his coat.

“Sure, you’re laughing now,” he paused to pull a stool closer to his friend’s workspace, shaking the small knife at Scott as he did, “but if I pulled out any of the ones I fight with instead you’d be singing another tune.”

“What, with them?” Scott gestured to the other side of the half-opened curtain that separated the cook’s space from the dining tables. As if on cue Erica hit the chorus of a familiar song and a few of their fellows joined in.

“A curse upon you sorrow fall thick and fast! Your days have been numbered each hour your last!”

Smiling a bit at their enthusiasm, Stiles turned back to Scott who was singing along under his breath. Unsurprising with how often those drunks back at the inn repeated it.

“It sounds like you already are, buddy.”

Scott laughed sheepishly before going back to the familiar argument. “It’s just funny that you carry your own steak knife and use it to peel potatoes.”

This wasn’t his steak knife - that one was still tucked away where it wouldn’t dull itself on root vegetables. Stiles knew Scott was aware of this and the teasing look in his best friend’s eye told him that Scott was waiting for the tirade that typically followed. He made a face instead and then moved to stand up.

“If you didn’t want my help, you could have just said so.” The attempt to leave was half-hearted at best, so it only took an apology that was more amused than sincere for Stiles to sit back down with a huff and reach for another potato.

Scott might laugh at him, but Captain Hale ran a tight ship and there wasn’t a lot for Stiles to do. Sure, he helped out on deck when another hand was needed and he spent more than a few hours each day training with Erica, her captain, and whoever else asked in the little space they could find, but all of that wasn’t enough to keep him truly busy. If Scott kicked him out of the galley, Stiles would likely find himself snooping around in the hold once again, trying to figure out if those dusty rolls of cloth he saw down there last night were really an assortment of flags or if he’d been hallucinating.

Shaving another peel off with a little more force than necessary, Stiles focused on his friend instead of the suspicions that kept him up later than usual last night.

“How are you liking it here?” he asked to distract them both.

“Not so bad now that I'm not seasick all over.” Scott made a face of his own at the reminder of his first few hours at sea, shaking his head and returning to his preparations. Another stew judging by the ingredients scattered around the table in separate bowls. “I wish I could provide more variety though.”

“That could be arranged if you want to stay on.” Boyd offered, pulling the cloth divider open the rest of the way and joining Stiles in potato peeling duty with a nod. “Most of us can only make stew so that’s the ingredients we keep in stock.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,'' Stiles cut in before Scott could agree to anything. His best friend’s indignation wilted under a warning look Stiles learned from Scott’s mother ages ago. “Let's let the honeymoon phase of travel wear off before committing, hmm?”

The way Scott’s eyes flicked to where Kira was happily joining in to another round of the song reminded Stiles that traveling by sea wasn’t the only thing his best friend was enamored with. He wasn’t surprised, not when the guy’s humongous crush on another girl got him into this job in the first place.

It was hard to be mad when Scott’s big heart was also the reason why they were best friends. Back when no one else on the island even tried to talk to the new sheriff’s strange kid, Scott was the one who reached out.

It was mostly when other parts of Scott’s anatomy started overruling both his heart and mind that Stiles got annoyed.

There was scattered applause at the other end of the galley as the crew seated around the tables finished one song before another classic started up.

“Come all you young sailor men, listen to me. I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea!”

It was easier to tune them out this time, especially when a few of the singers moved on to other chores including Kira who flushed on her way over to join them.

Judging by the matching blush on Scott's face as she walked over, it looked like that ‘dick over logic’ time wasn’t that far along, thank god. Stiles was keeping a close eye on his friend to make sure he didn’t make any decisions that both he and his crush might regret later, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. Besides, Scott might be his brother in all the ways that mattered, but Kira was sweet enough that Stiles already felt a bit protective of her even though she definitely didn’t need it with that sword arm of hers.

“Are you enjoying your time here?”

Belatedly realizing the familiar question was directed at him instead of Scott, Stiles gave Kira a smile and nodded.

“Your captain runs a tight ship and yet somehow none of you seem to hate everyone else.” Which couldn’t be said for most of the other ships Stiles sailed with.

The sloop was relatively clean and well maintained even with all of the extra cargo lining the hull and walls. Even if other traders could accomplish that it usually was at the expense of crew relationships, but Captain Hale seemed to have picked a good crew because even though arguments still cropped up over division of work and who got what seat at the table, it all felt surprisingly good natured. Stiles didn’t have a large family, but if he did he kind of imagined it being like that.

“You should join us next time.”

Stiles' thoughts stuttered to a halt at the suggestion.

Join the crew?

The idea that Kira was a mind reader was hastily smothered. Something was odd about her, but there was no way she could be reading Scott’s mind and still be blushing like a maiden at his smiles.

He looked up from his peeling to try and figure out what Kira meant by the comment. It took her a moment to see his confusion, her hands busy helping chop carrots by this point, but when she did she clarified with a smile.

“Your humming is wonderful! You should join us next - ouch!” Jerking back, Kira grimaced at the finger she just nicked with her knife.

Stiles humming stopped abruptly and he dropped his half-peeled potato back into the barrel.

Shit, he hadn't even noticed when he started humming the catchy tune of The Curse like an imbecile. Quickly wiping his knife clean, he tucked it away and pulled out some bandages. Scott accepted them, nodding his thanks before cleaning and dressing the small wound with sure hands. He was entirely professional until he finished and finally realized he was holding hands with his crush.

Motion at the corner of his eye snagged Stiles’ attention away from the blushing duo just in time to watch Peter skip the trick step on his way down the ladder from the misty upper deck.

(Trick steps and rungs were uncommon as far as security measures went - especially when implemented on all the stairs and ladders aboard a ship - but also hilarious because Scott never remembered them and consequently never failed to jump as they squeaked under his weight.)

The captain took in the whole situation at a glance, eyes flickering from the lovebirds in the galley and those continuing to work on the meal to the singers still lingering at the tables before swinging back to Stiles. He found it curious that Peter might want to speak to him when his first mate was seated right there and they’d be having their nightly lessons in just a few hours anyway.

Maybe he wanted to continue their discussion on how to best ward a ship? Peter had been adamant that spelling the materials as it was constructed worked best, but Stiles was pretty sure it was only because the captain didn't know many runic wards. He nearly got Peter to admit it after their training session last night before they realized how late it was.

Unfortunately, whatever Peter wanted to talk to him about remained a mystery as someone rang the bell above frantically.

“Enemy sighted!”

Immediately, Peter turned and led most of his crew back up the ladder to the deck, not one of them landing on the trick rung even in their haste.

“Will you be okay?” Kira asked Scott, obviously worried.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott’s question because love obviously blinded him to how badass Kira was. A little cut wouldn’t keep her from destroying her enemies with that sword of hers.

Reaching over, Stiles covered the cooking fire before picking up Scott’s sturdiest pan and offering it to him.

“Alright, bro. Let’s go meet the enemy before you insult your lady love’s fighting any more, hm?”

The sight of that dark wooden archer looming out of the murky mist was enough to root Peter to the deck. Face frozen, he fought to control his breathing, unwilling to give in to his growing panic in the face of the enemy he was tracking down.

Above them a black flag waved, displaying a pale bow and arrow.

Distantly he noticed as his crew streamed past, weaving through the cargo before bypassing the cannons in favor of manning the railing and preparing for boarders. A squeak of the trick rung behind him made Peter flinch and look back sharply.

Standing to one side as his wincing friend followed them up to the deck, Stiles gave a low, echoing whistle and looked over Peter’s shoulder at the ship that was nearly upon them.

“I’m not sure a schooner needed the mist to catch up to us, but it sure makes for a dramatic entrance.”

And just like that the panic bled away.

Schooner? Not a galleon?

Brow furrowing, Peter turned away from their sheepish chef and his friend to look at the figurehead once more.

It was Apollo instead of Artemis who led the single masted ship out of the fog, bow drawn and looking worse for wear. In fact, the whole ship was dinged and dented with more than a few broken arrows planted in its hull.

The ship flew the Argent’s black flag, but while Peter remembered hearing about the ship itself he wasn’t sure who was manning it. Some said it was built for Kate’s brother Chris and the man while he'd sailed it for a while, he eventually gave it up for one reason or another. Of course, with the now frequent changes in captaincy, most rumors about the vessel revolved around a curse instead of any one captain.

“Here.” Stiles nudged him with the sheathed dagger in his hand. It was the one he always loaned to Peter in their nightly spars. “I’ve got plenty.”

Never one to turn down an extra weapon in a fight, Peter accepted it with a small nod only to get distracted by Scott. Cast iron skillet hanging from his loose fingers, Scott gaped at the loaned weapon. Confused but unwilling to let it show, Peter glanced at Stiles who ignored them in favor of watching the enemy crew that was beginning the usual boarding maneuvers.

Mysteries could wait until later.

After quickly strapping the dagger to his belt - he knew from experience that the strap wouldn’t fit his thigh without adjustment - Peter drew his sword and readied one of his pistols. He might be getting better with knives, but he was still more familiar with his own weapons. For now he would only use it as a backup, especially as it wasn’t his to lose.

With all the damage to their attacker’s ship, it wasn’t surprising to see most of the schooner’s small crew swarming up and over their railings like ants. They weren’t just here for the merchandise. No, with the way they were focusing on the crew instead of the easily accessible crates they were likely trying to take the Shelby for themselves.

Better men than them have tried and failed. Peter would be surprised if they took down even one of his crew even with their usual precautions holding them back from going all out.

And then the time for thinking was over. Attackers broke away from their occupied fellows and made their way through the barrels secured to the deck only to meet more resistance from Peter and the others still guarding the way below decks.

Falling into the familiar movements, Peter took out the first two offenders that came his way before a loud unfamiliar clang caught his attention. The reflexive glance to see what it was - McCall’s skillet was getting some unconventional uses - nearly cost him. Luckily the bastard sword that was swung at his neck met just enough resistance for Peter to duck out of the way.

Stiles followed up his interference with a stab to the attacker’s shoulder and a kick in the stomach.

“I see our next lesson should include some awareness training.” He quipped, already moving on to the next opponent stupid enough to approach them as Peter kicked out at the fallen man’s head, knocking him unconscious.

“Only if you really want to invite your friend and his cookware.” He slashed out to the side and caught a blade headed for the younger man’s back and easily sent the woman holding it stumbling back to trip over a small crate with a quick shove. “But I’ll admit I’ve come to enjoy our one-on-one lessons.”

Stiles gave a pleased hum in response before moving back into the fray, still singing that song from below decks under his breath and Peter wondered if it was to help him concentrate or if the litting curse was more of an intimidation tactic.

Either way, it had the same strange quality Stiles’ humming usually had in that even out on the open deck it curled around him, making it hard to pinpoint the source.

Catching another sword - a fencing foil being wielded like a broadsword this time because their attackers wanted to confirm their status as idiots - on his, Peter shoved it away with enough force to tear the now bent weapon from the man’s hands. The hilt of his sword met the man’s temple and he fell with a thud to join a good number of his fellows on the deck.

Peter turned to meet his next opponent and paused, realizing that all of the boarders who slipped by the crew members at the rail were taken care of except one.

Standing at the midpoint between the ongoing fights and Peter’s smaller group the last man gave a slow clap as he sauntered towards them, one peg leg thunking in a solid counterpoint to his exaggerated applause. His clothes looked like they were expensive back when they’d been purchased, but the years had been as kind to them as they were to the man wearing them now.

“Bravo! I must say I’m quite impressed.” His sneer matched his insincere tone nicely. “You live up to your reputation, Alpha.”

A man with that much arrogance on an Argent boat - whoever he was, he clearly thought of himself as the captain even if he didn’t formally hold the title.

Any denials Peter considered making went unsaid as an unexpected voice spoke up.

“Dad?”

Scott’s pan fell to the deck, but the chef didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy staring at the invader who looked just as stunned.

Peter could see the resemblance.

“Scotty?”

Frowning at that implicit confirmation Peter looked first at Kira - who was thankfully still on her guard even if she was riveted to the drama unfolding in front of them - and then to Stiles. If the disbelieving look they shared was anything to go by he wasn’t the only one wondering when this fight went from dangerous to potentially heartwarming. Then again, it probably wouldn’t stay that way for long if Stiles’ white knuckled grip on his knives was any type of warning.

Stumbling over the bodies and boxes, Scott's eyes never left his father's face.

“Dad, what are you doing here? Where have you-” Scott’s earnest questions were cut off by a backhanded blow strong enough to send him toppling.

And with that they were back into the violent part of a boarding operation. Peter wondered what it said about him that he felt a little relieved to be back in familiar territory.

“So you’ve joined the dog’s crew have you?” The scruffy man sneered and rubbed his knuckles against his coat before reaching for his sword. “I should have known they’d go out of their way to make my life difficult.”

“I don’t even know who you are.” Peter pointed out, wondering if being delusional was something the Argents scouted for or if it was a natural outcome of being part of their crews. The man gave him a sharp glare and Peter met it evenly.

It looked like he wasn’t the only one who was going to receive a lesson on awareness.

Around them, a low, ominous hum echoed from all directions.

“You can’t expect me to believe this is a coincidence!” Spittle flew, but thankfully the man was too far away for any to reach him. “And who the hell is humming at a time like this?”

Once it was pointed out, the humming became louder and more obvious but the man couldn’t seem to figure out who was doing it even when Stiles flashed Peter a small smile as he raised a finger to his lips from where he stood just out of the man’s line of sight.

Scott’s father let out a frustrated sigh and then pointed his sword at Peter. “Now, wait your turn as I take care of this family matter. Rest assured, you’ll be next.”

Turning away from Peter once again, the still unnamed McCall (Peter guessed that they shared last names, but for estranged families that wasn’t always the case so he could be wrong) raised his sword against his betrayed looking son.

Metal clashed, clanging loudly even over the slowly quieting sounds of battle from the rest of the crew.

The man’s sword skidded across the deck and out of reach. Peter was amused as he watched the nuisance of a man look bewilderingly back and forth between his empty hand and where Kira was standing guard over Scott, sword at the ready.

“You will not touch him.”

Instead of responding verbally, the lousy father’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed to join the majority of his crew on the deck. Behind him, Stiles lowered his hand to give the hilt of his dagger a quick inspection before nudging the man’s body with his foot to ensure he was really out.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He gave Kira a smile, but instead of joining her in checking in on his best friend Stiles then turned to Peter.

“Got any spare rope for these guys? I’d normally leave it to your discretion on whether or not to kill them, but this guy owes Scott’s mom an explanation.” He gestured at the man with a knife and for a moment Peter was sure Stiles was going to drop it on ‘accident’. That wasn’t the case, but it probably would have made most of them happier if he had. “Besides, I know this guy has a bounty and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the rest did as well.”

“Captain?” Boyd approached as Erica led the rest of the crew in a cheer over the fallen invaders and Deaton began patching up the odd wound received in the fight. “What would you like us to do with their ship?”

Sheathing his sword, Peter considered his options. They stretched from burning the enemy ship with it’s beaten crew locked on board to letting them go. Neither of those extremes appealed to him even if the former would be a perfect revenge against those who did the same to his family, but even if he wanted to see them pay a quick and painful death still didn’t feel like it would be enough.

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, drawing their attention. “I know that Coney Cove’s dockmaster is always looking for cheap ships.”

Getting paid to let the law decide what to do with them was appealing, especially when Peter needed to keep up the appearance of simply being a well prepared merchant. Too many coincidentally sunken ships might get him arrested before he hunted her down. Keeping himself above suspicion would make it that much easier to stay out of the gallows after he avenged his family.

“Tie them up, remove anything that might cause trouble, and have some of the others take them to the brig. I’ll need you to take a skeleton crew over to their schooner.” He instructed Boyd before glancing over at a pleased Stiles. “It looks like we’re making a short detour.”

Coney Cove was the primary port of call on the larger of the two land masses that made up Two Fish Island and it saw a lot of business.

“Raf McCall is a pirate, no loyalty does he possess!”

Stiles was pretty sure that the townsfolk didn’t usually have visitors as rambunctious as the Shelby’s crew, however, because many of them were stopping to watch as they escorted their prisoners to the local sheriff's office.

“Keep it up! We’ve caught the pirate, now they’ll charge him along with the rest!”

Of course, Erica belting out that song with more than a few of her fellows joining in for the chorus was probably a big part of it. It almost felt like they were in some kind of parade instead of just turning in a bounty.

“Ho!”

So of course he wasn’t going to pass up joining in with the others on the most satisfying parts of the song! That’s why he’d sung it during the rowboat ride to the overcrowded pier in the first place. He just hadn’t remembered how quickly Erica picked up on his songs.

Thankfully, it looked like the only one who wasn’t enjoying the song was the subject himself as even his bound crew members were starting to join in.

“So, tell me the truth.” Peter stepped close enough that their shoulders brushed so that he could be heard over the ruckus. “Are all the bounties you collect this festive?”

Above them a woman leaning out of her window whistled and waved at the group, earning herself a cheer and several greetings. Stiles was certain none of the crew even knew her name.

“Not even close.” He paused in the middle of shaking his head in disbelief when he remembered that bounty up in the Keys and corrected himself. “Well, actually there was this time a whole crowd showed up, but it was more because the guy somehow managed to date like ten different women at the same time and they found out when I showed up asking about his whereabouts. But that was more of an angry mob than a party.”

It was a good thing the local sheriff wasn't too far away from the dock, so the parade should be over before they could get charged with disturbing the peace this time.

“Ten?” Peter looked somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. “You’ll have to tell me the whole story some time.”

That sounded like a fun evening. Maybe he’d even show the captain what one of the women had taught him to do with his tongue as a reward for cluing them all in. Stiles didn’t want to seem easy, but they’d basically been dating for the last week or so with their nightly knife fights (minus last night with all the excitement) and that was definitely long enough, right?

Fuck he needed some good relationship advice before he did something stupid and he didn’t trust anyone on this ship to give it to him. Not when Erica already roped many of the other crewmen into her constant pestering about the two of them and Scott’s advice would be more like a list of what not to do based on his past experiences.

Good thing Queenston was basically within spitting distance of Coney Cove. His current plan was to skive off training tonight in favor of having a bro to bro talk with Scott - an excellent excuse considering his best bud was still pretty shaken up over how he finally found his father and that talk really needed to happen sooner rather than later - and then they’d be there so he could ask an expert.

“I should have known.” The voice cut across the rowdy crowd with the ease of long practice. Stiles looked up and found a tired looking Sheriff Tara Graeme staring right back at him. “Only you would catch another bounty like this, Stiles.”

“You weren’t even there!” He protested, ignoring the crew’s good natured laughter. Tara was elected and stationed here years before he even started as a bounty hunter, there was no way she went all the way up to the Keys to see the other mob.

“I’m talking about the Basil incident.” She raised a brow and Stiles hoped that his flinch wasn’t too noticeable. “What are you talking about?”

Damn, he forgot about that one.

“Oh, right. I forgot that happened here and not the other island.” Better she think that than learn about something else to write to his dad about. Stiles shot a sharp look at Peter who was looking far too amused.

“Funny, I don’t think anyone here has ever forgotten that night.” A couple of locals who’d joined the convoy shouted their agreement, but went largely ignored. “Now, it looks like I’ll have enough people to fill my station with just the captives so if everyone else could disperse in an orderly fashion after they’re all escorted inside it would be greatly appreciated.”

She followed that up with a hard look that told Stiles that he was not included in that dismissal. He gave her a nod and snagged the edge of Peter’s cuffed sleeve to give it a tug. As captain, either Peter or a representative chosen by him would need to be there to verify the total bounty and ensure that it would later be split evenly as listed in the ship’s contracts.

With a knowing look Peter returned the favor by twisting to fit his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, his calloused fingertips laying right along Stiles' pulse point. After last night’s shouted clues from Scott’s father, Stiles was pretty sure he knew why Peter would do that.

“‘Not even close’, hm?”

Stiles sighed as they followed the bound pirates into the building, purposefully not meeting Erica’s eyes when she whistled at them on her way back towards the ship. He guessed that she was headed back to help Boyd with the sale of the Apollo.

“I can't help it if people are just this stupid, alright?” The Basil incident wasn’t even his fault. Not completely at least. That was back when he just joined the guild and the two others he shadowed at the time definitely should take some of the blame.

“I agree with your father on this one.” Sheriff Graeme chimed in from where she was locking up the gaol. “You just go looking for trouble.”

“I do not,” Stiles rolled his eyes before relenting under the pressure of her disbelief on top of Peter’s amused curiosity. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to get away with the lie if the way Peter’s fingers tightened on his wrist were anything to go by. “Okay maybe a little, but really if I can become a successful bounty hunter at sixteen then that means that the people I'm catching really are that stupid, okay?”

“I didn’t even know the guild licensed applicants that young,” Peter commented and released Stiles' wrist. He sounded impressed which was nice because Stiles worked hard for that license and completing his apprenticeship that fast was impressive if he did say so himself.

“He was doing it before then,” the sheriff revealed with a delighted air of a madwoman throwing him overboard into shark infested waters. Obviously she’d forgotten how shameless he was about his work. It was only when people tattled about how dangerous it all was to his dad that Stiles got mad. “He just couldn't follow up on them himself due to his age so he did it though vague notes. Scared the life out of his dad when the man found out.”

And that was why Stiles got mad when they told him instead of letting him break it to his dad in manageable chunks.

“Yeah, I was totally grounded after that.” Stiles wrinkled his nose before brightening. “It did let me convince him to get me fighting lessons though!”

“And then you started leading the bounties to you, Scamp.” Her chuckle was warm as they fell into a familiar argument.

“You all keep saying that, but you won't tell me how you think I do it. Magic?” Stiles loved this tactic because there was something about pointing at the truth and having everyone else take it as a joke that was wildly amusing.

“Must be.” She snorted, walking around the two of them to reach the front desk.

“Please.” Hiding his heritage from those not in the know was so habitual that hitting just the right levels of disbelief came naturally.

“A dozen bounties found their way to your port in just over a month all by themselves then?” The sheriff raised her eyebrows at him before sitting down and grabbing her keys to unlock a drawer. “Something bigger is at work there kid.”

“Are you going to keep spreading these conspiracy theories to try and get out of paying or can we get our gold?” Stiles asked, only half as exasperated as he made himself sound.

“Fine, fine.” She pulled the bounty ledger from the desk and set it on top with a thud, a few of the loose pages slipping out as she did.

While she double checked the men against the more detailed descriptions provided by the guild to the island law enforcement, Stiles glanced over at the surprisingly quiet Peter. They only met recently, but Stilesalready knew that even though Peter preferred to give his conversational partners enough rope to trip themselves on, he wasn’t the type to stay silent when just a few simple comments could pull out even more damning stories.

In reply to his unspoken question, Peter’s eyes flicked down to the bounty book, then back at him, and the realization made Stiles want to smack himself. The hints from last night about what kind of supernatural Peter was happened to also be wrapped up in accusations of piracy. Stiles found that to be a bit rich coming from people who were in the act of piracy, but even if any part of it were true it wasn’t going to be a problem.

That book was the same at every port and Stiles kept a close eye on his dad’s copy, so unless Peter and his crew were added over the course of this voyage - unlikely, seeing as the Shelby was obviously a merchant ship and bore all the markings of it no matter what she may have been in the past - they were safe.

It was hard to really convey his reasoning in a way that wouldn’t make Tara suspicious though, so instead Stiles stepped up and ran some subtle and completely unnecessary interference. Running his mouth and trying to be ‘helpful’ was pretty on brand for him, especially with those he met in his teens so it didn’t take long before Tara looked more weary than wary.

Plus it got the work done faster, so Stiles counted it as a win all around.

“Alright, troublemaker. Here’s your pay for all these nobodies and the handful of somebodies you managed to stumble across. Standard rates of course.”

“And one missing husband who should probably go to Beacon to face the music.” Stiles reminded her, picking up the offered gold and weighing it in his palm. It felt just about right, but he passed it back to Peter to get a second opinion.

“Not many ships headed that way, I think.” Pulling out a second book, Tara referenced what Stiles guessed to be the port’s expected traders for the upcoming weeks.

That was annoying, but maybe…

Stiles glanced back at Peter who looked like he was already thinking it over and grinned when he nodded.

“We could stop by on our way back from our drop off at Queenston in a couple of days if that helps.” He kept his tone casual and got a suspicious look for it. The smile he offered her in response was as sharp as Melissa’s scalpel. “His wife is Beacon Point’s finest surgeon and I’d hate to see him slip away from her again.”

From the corner of his eye Stiles watched as Raf McCall paled under his tan so he turned and gave him a smirk while Tara laughed.

“Fine. I could do with one less mouth to feed while we’re waiting for the guild to confirm all of them. If he’s still here when you pass by again, you can have him.”

“You’re a gem!”

She dismissed them with a wave and went back to filling out all of the paperwork that would be needed to process the pirates. Leaving her to it, Stiles followed Peter back out onto the sunlit street.

“Thank you.” Peter’s gratitude was quiet, but sounded genuine.

Stiles wasn’t sure what it was for. His distraction tactics? Passing over the full bounty without taking a sizable chunk like some of the more assholish bounty hunters did? Maybe even just checking with him first before volunteering his crew. It could be any, all, or even none of the above, but Stiles appreciated it nonetheless.

“We supernaturals need to stick together, you know.” Stiles offered quietly as he led them down the street.

“That’s surprising to hear from a lone siren.” There was a question in Peter's eyes as he kept pace beside him and continued in a similarly low tone. “I thought they rarely left their colonies at sea.”

“The colonies only allow entry to full sirens.” His mother was furious when she realized they wouldn’t even let him visit one back when she was alive. It didn’t bother Stiles anymore, not when none of them even came to visit her after she told them she was dying. “And I thought werewolves were hairier, but I guess rumors can make fools of even the best of us, Alpha.”

Peter’s eyes flashed red at the name before a quick blink revealed their usual icy blue and he grimaced.

“The Argents gave me that title back in my privateering days long before I ever became one in truth. They simply saw my crew growing and assumed I was the one biting people.”

“But you were finding them instead.” Stiles heard whispers of it a few years ago - a pirate rescuing supernaturals - but he always assumed it was just a warped tale about the Hales. It sounded like he was more correct than he knew at the time.

He wondered what government sponsored Peter’s piracy before he fully processed the first part of what he just said.

“Wait, the Argents?” Like Allison’s family? Those guys who ran Scott out of town?

“I believe they’re better known as the Silver Arrows.” Peter offered, watching Stiles’ reaction closely. Ignoring him, Stiles frowned as Peter’s motivations became clear.

The Silver Arrows were notorious hunters of the supernatural. Some claimed that they only took down those that harmed humanity, but Stiles had lost more than one friend to their arrows in the past.

One of the prevailing theories of the Hale tragedy was that the Silver Arrows had coordinated the attack using information from the company's rivals. If that was as true as it sounded, then it wasn’t surprising that Peter was making a trip out here, not after the recent attacks in the area.

On top of that - and probably more pertinent - was the fact that the Apollo was flying their flag up until last night.

Whatever revenge Peter was looking for wasn’t satisfied by their recent run in with the Apollo though so Stiles probably needed to stay sharp because with his luck they were bound to run into whoever it was sooner or later.

There was still one thing bothering him though.

“Is this why you loaned Scott the money?” He asked suspiciously, eyes just as focused on Peter’s reactions this time.

“No.” The denial was dismissive. “I didn’t even know who was manning the Apollo these days let alone who they were related to.”

Good to know, but not the reason why he asked. When Stiles didn’t reply Peter sighed and explained further.

“I gave Scott the money because I had it available, he was a decent cook, and it gave us an excuse to return to Beacon Point once Chris Argent and his family moved on from your island.” There was definitely some history there if the way he said Chris’ name was any indicator, but Stiles could worry about that later. “Especially as we came close to breaking our first trade contract with some merchants there when we hightailed it off the island after spotting them the day we landed.”

Finally relaxing, Stiles nudged Peter’s arm to direct him down a side street. He may as well tell the guy why he was so worried about it now that it was a nonissue.

“So it wasn’t because Scott wanted the money to buy an engagement ring for their daughter. Good to know.” The sharp look he received made him laugh because that was the alarm he’d just experienced. “They ran him out of town for even trying. Not the brightest of ideas all around.”

Sure Scott made a bad call and had to go rough it for a while, but the Argents were just a small family of fresh faces that ran off the town surgeon’s only son for daring to fall in love with their daughter. Apparently even Allison had words for her parents about the situation as many of Stiles’ contacts in town made sure to tell him upon his return. She probably didn’t return Scott’s feelings either way, but considering the family finally left because they were trying to locate their runaway daughter who was last seen at the docks, she didn’t seem too happy with her parent’s actions either.

“If he is playing around with Kira’s heart, he’ll regret it.” Peter’s growl was cute, especially since he’d have to be faster than both Stiles and Kira herself to make it to Scott first if he hurt her.

“That was months ago and trust me when I say that love makes him even more of an idiot, so expect a lot of awkward fumbling on his part.” Stiles loved the guy but he had no skills when it came to wooing. If Stiles could see that even with own shortcomings, there was no hope for Scott. Shaking his head, Stiles glanced up at the next shop's sign and grinned. “Here we are!”

Jogging ahead a few steps, Stiles pushed open the door to the smithy and laughed at the shocked face the shopkeeper made until he caught sight of the blonde at the counter.

Oh no.

“Nathan! Buddy, please don’t tell me you were letting Erica sweet talk you into giving her my beauties!”

“Why would I do that to you, my favorite customer?” Nathan looked genuinely baffled at the accusation even as Erica winked and smiled at Stiles, tongue in teeth. “I was just showing her what fine work I’ve done on your latest commission because she asked about purchasing some lovelies of her own.”

The man was thick as a brick in every sense and Stiles appreciated that, especially when Erica’s flirting was going right over his head. Trying not to laugh at her pout when she realized this, Stiles hummed his acknowledgement and made his way over to the counter to inspect the blades.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your pet blacksmith, Batman?” Erica ran a finger along the flat of one of the daggers laying on the counter. “He does good work.”

“I did.” He laughed at Erica’s confused face. “Where do you think your first set came from?”

He hadn’t thought his stupid pun would seem like a riddle, but it was fun watching the realization come to Erica’s face. The followup punch to his shoulder wasn’t so fun, but that was probably a werewolf strength thing more than actual anger.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know that your ‘I got them from the mouth of a fish’ thing was directions?”

“These are the only large islands shaped like fish in the area, Erica.” Peter pointed out from where he was inspecting one of the swords Nathan was displaying on the wall. “If you’d asked any one of your crew members we could have told you.”

Stiles ignored the two of them in favor of the pair of knives he’d commissioned.

“Some of my best work, I must say.” Nathan swelled up like a proud father. “What do you think?”

Picking one up, Stiles found it perfectly balanced and just the right size for his hand. He flipped it up in the air to gauge the heft of it and was delighted when it did exactly two rotations before the hilt dropped back into his hand. Solid enough to feel, light enough to throw, and quiet the whole way round. It’s twin performed just as well.

“Perfect.” Stiles grinned. “Did you have to use any more material or time than you expected?”

“Nope. Like I said, some of my best work there.”

That meant Stiles didn’t need to pay extra on top of what he already invested because the extra he'd provided was now a tip instead of insurance. Things were going so well here he felt like he was going to be on edge until the other shoe dropped from wherever it was hiding.

“Well, bring out the paperwork man and let’s get this wrapped up.”

“Sure thing, hang on while I get them from the office.” With that, the blacksmith disappeared through the door to the back and left the three of them alone with his goods.

“A trusting fellow, isn’t he?” Peter remarked, stepping up beside Stiles to have a look at the blades as well. Stiles let him, giving Peter a shrug along with his implicit permission.

“He knows I like his work too much to steal anything and if either of you tried I’d probably stop you to earn even more goodwill.” Also the whole bounty hunter thing, but that was less of a guarantee for some of the others in the guild.

“Probably? Should I feel honored or insulted?”

Stiles thought about it before realizing that Peter would likely find it flattering that Stiles both didn’t want to hurt him and was also pretty sure he’d lose to the two werewolves in an actual two-on-one battle even in a store full of weapons on top of his own more than human talents. Looking at the smug expression on Peter’s face Stiles went with option C.

“Honestly, you should feel thankful that I don’t feel like bloodying my shiny new knives on that pretty face of yours.” Wait, shit that was absolutely flirting. Damn it, Erica was going to be insufferable, he could already see it starting over Peter’s shoulder.

“I was going to try and return the knife you loaned me last night, but now I believe I’ll hold off on that until after your violent intentions against my face have passed.”

His knife? Oh, right! The stiletto blade he loaned to Peter. He hadn’t really forgotten that he was missing part of his secondary set - kind of hard to when it made his legs feel unbalanced - but he wasn’t missing it, especially not after seeing those beauties on the counter.

Actually, that gave him an idea. Reaching down, he unstrapped the lower strap on his right leg that was currently missing it’s partner on his left.

“Here.” When Peter just looked between him and the sheathed knife he was offering, Stiles wiggled it a bit. “Take it. You need a set of your own and I need someplace to put these.”

Stiles actually planned on slotting the new knives into his jacket when he commissioned them a few months ago, but the handles were definitely stylized enough that it almost seemed like a waste to hide them away.

“Thank you.” Peter said eventually, taking the knife and tucking it away, probably to make adjustments to the strap later Stiles guessed.

“Are you serious?!” The incredulous question got their attention and Stiles raised a brow at Erica’s suspicious look. “Have you guys just been playing with me?”

“Uh,” Stiles looked at Peter only to see that he was also confused by the question. “No? He does need his own knives and I need to show off Nathan’s newest masterpieces.”

She rolled her eyes at that answer and Stiles wondered what exactly went on in her head.

“Stiles I was your student for months and I only got one of your knives. Now you’re gifting them to Peter all willy-nilly after only a week or whatever. What am I supposed to think?”

“Erica, I gave you a whole set before we left,” Stiles pointed out. “We just talked about that, I got them from here.”

“Yeah. My set, with my initials on it and everything. Not your set.”

Stiles wasn’t getting it, she was just repeating everything back at him. Another glance at Peter showed that whatever Erica was pointing out might be a thing, however, as his confusion looked like it was making way for realization. That didn't help Stiles any though.

“Why would I give you mine if you can have your own?”

Thankfully, Nathan returned with the paperwork before Erica could throttle him. Stiles quickly looked everything over and signed for his daggers while Peter distracted Erica with a few quiet questions. Once it was all taken care of, Stiles snatched his new blades and made for the door.

“Thanks Nathan! See you next time I come through!”

“Bye Stiles!” Came the response, called after him as he made his escape. The door barely had time to close behind him before it was yanked open again. Stiles picked up the pace, his light jog becoming a full on sprint when possible in the narrow street.

“Stiles, get back here!”

Great, now he had to avoid both Peter and Erica when they all got back to the ship. Hopefully, someone could clear up what he’d done to make her so mad before she cornered him. Maybe Boyd would know?

“Thank you so much!”

Peter flashed a smile at his latest lendee and finished rolling up the contract they just signed.

Many came to him with sob stories and anxious faces, so tears weren’t uncommon, but Peter wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart so it was always a bit uncomfortable when they started falling over themselves.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Better to subtly remind them that he was also getting something out of this deal.

“Of course.” With a watery sniff they nodded and made their way out of the crowded inn, clutching their loan close to their chest as they stepped out into the rain.

Rubbing at his forehead with a sigh, Peter looked back up with a reflexive polite smile at the person approaching him before recognizing his first mate.

“Ah, there you are.” He said with a more genuine smile. “Have you decided to pay for a night or head back to the ship?”

“Most of us will be headed back.” Boyd replied, holding out a hand. “Better to save money on a quick turn around like this.”

Peter reached back into his coat and pulled out the contract he just stashed there along with the other two from earlier that evening, handing them over without comment. He was sure Boyd would keep them safe on their way to Peter’s desk.

“I’ll be here for a few hours yet.”

Nodding, Boyd wandered off to finish his quiet goodbyes to those staying before snagging Erica on his way out the door. Peter watched as she went without complaint, just a sultry wink at the patron who wolf-whistled at the two of them on their way out.

Queenston's largest inn was packed with locals and visitors alike. The tables were full and the bar was crowded with people looking for a quick meal and some good company. Only a few like himself were sitting alone, though in the case of those like the pretty redhead sitting by herself at the bar, a couple of people tried to remedy that fact.

This was only Peter's third visit to the island - he'd worked further south when still operating as a privateer and with his return to the Hale Company he worked to cover the family's more popular northern routes since the incidents - but rumors of loans with few strings attached made his table popular even for short visits like this. Even ashore, his work was never done it seemed.

Peter wondered if he should be jealous of his crew. Most were unknown enough to not have any expectations set against them and the trio that remained in the taproom were free to join another group in the corner, drinking to their heart’s content and belting out the familiar strains of drunken sailors.

The chair across from Peter dragged noisily against the wooden floor and pulled him away from his musings, the redhead from the bar not even hesitating at his assessing glance as she sat down.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss?”

“Martin.” Her ruby red lips curved into a polite smile before turning serious once again. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen the Hale Company in this port. I was worried that we wouldn’t after what happened last year.”

A previous contact then. Interesting.

“We are still rebuilding our fleet, but it is always our intention to return to our usual clientele once we can ensure the safety of our crews.” He gave the standard excuse and watched closely to see if he could guess what kind of contact she was.

Her lips thinned. The shade she painted them was striking and strangely familiar, but Peter couldn't think why before she replied.

“Does that mean your escort services aren’t available at this time?” She asked. “Specifically for an average person trying to get away from a violent family who won’t take no for an answer?”

Not a merchant then. Someone who knew of the supernatural side of things asking for help transporting someone adjacent to the community if her comment was anything to go by.

“It depends on who they are and how far they need to go.” He needed specifics before he could agree to this. His calm was unflinching even under her assessing look.

Peter lost a lot last year, he wasn’t risking what he had left for an unknown.

"North, as far as you can safely and discreetly take her. Allison's family does most of their business in the south, but a few are in the area and have already started combing the island for-"

Peter blinked and tensed when he realized she cut off only after looking at the open door. Turning, he watched as Stiles tugged the door closed behind him. He glanced at Miss Martin and then back to Stiles quick enough to catch the look of recognition that flashed across his face when he spotted her.

"Never mind." Her sharp tone made Peter turn back to her and she gave him another forced smile as she stood up. "Thank you for your time."

He nodded and was largely ignored. Instead, the woman headed straight for Stiles who was now looking between her and Peter, confusion written all over his face. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him to the bar.

Peter watched them a moment longer, wishing that he could hear them though the rowdy room. Whatever they were discussing looked serious if the frown on Stiles' face was anything to go by, but before he could try lip reading he was distracted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Aww, did she abandon you?" He turned sharply to the sultry stranger at his shoulder who was giving him a look that landed awkwardly between pity and lust. She leaned in and Peter clenched his jaw against a snarl. "Perhaps we can make a deal instead, Captain?"

It was times like these Peter hated the reputation he cultivated. He never had to deal with these sorts of heavy-handed propositions back when he was a privateer.

"No, thank you." He bit out, hoping that his grimace passed for a smile in the dim lighting, but he didn't count on it as he leaned away and let her hand fall off his shoulder.

"Ah." She pulled away as if burned and Peter frowned as he realized she was no longer looking at him. Her quick slide into disinterest stung his pride even if it made it easier in the long run.

Following her strangely cautious look, Peter's brow jumped a little in surprise when he found Stiles glaring at the overly perfumed woman who was already taking a step back from Peter's table.

It was only after she turned and started walking away that Peter was able to pick out the low, echoing melody barely audible under the dull roar of the crowded room. The humming then cut off with a cough when Miss Martin elbowed Stiles in the stomach, confirming the source of it for Peter.

Wounded pride forgotten, a smirk found its way to Peter's face as Stiles turned sheepish at his companion's obvious scolding. Even distracted by a fine young woman, Stiles found time to chase off the one bothering Peter. He wondered if it was solely for his benefit, especially as even when chastised Stiles didn't look guilty. Instead he sent a smile Peter's way and then turned back to the bar, shoulder brushing against Miss Martin's as they continued their quiet conversion.

Before he could get too far into that train of thought, Peter heard someone else approaching his table from behind and looked up as they rounded the table to face him.

"Are you Cap'n Hale?" The unsteady man asked gruffly, rum heavy on his breath.

Peter nodded and wondered if the man put his coat on inside out before or after he got drunk. Usually, he'd think after, but the lining was damp from rain.

"Is it true that you make deals fer things?"

"If it suits me." Peter clarified with only the slightest pause as what he did wasn't a secret, but he had his limits.

"Good, good." The man eyed the crowds around them before nodding at the door, listing a little to one side before catching himself on the table. "Mind if we see if my deal suits you some'ere quieter?"

It wasn't an unusual request, though drunks usually didn't think to make it.

Peter wasn't alive because he was a trusting person, however. Every other time he’d allowed a more private negotiation he had reliable backup. This time - with most of his crew deep in their cups, back on the ship, or both - Peter hesitated.

"Well?" The man stopped just short of slurring.

Humming to himself thoughtfully, Peter leaned back a little to check in on Stiles only to see him already looking in his direction. Was it the hum or was he already looking? How good was siren hearing anyway?

Brushing that off for later, Peter flicked his eyes to the drunk before raising an eyebrow in question. From the corner of his eye he watched Stiles nudge his companion who turned and narrowed her eyes. Whatever she said made Stiles do the same with a short nod.

"Or do you have some'in better to do?" The man's face turned stormy and Peter stood when he went to look towards the bar, recapturing his attention.

"Not at the moment. Where do you suggest?" Peter motioned towards the door, waiting for the man to pass him before sharing a look with Stiles who was already turning to stand as well.

Miss Martin stopped him with a hand on his arm, but Stiles' other hand was still working on prepping the straps that kept his knives in their sheathes so Peter felt confident in assuming his backup would be close behind as he slowly followed the drunk out into the light rain.

They went a few streets over and just a few places down a cluttered but dimly lit alley. If Peter hadn't been on alert before he certainly was now. If it weren't for the fact that he distinctly heard the inn's door open and close after they left, he never would have set foot in the alley.

But as he had, well, better to spring the obvious trap instead of giving the opposition time to improve their traps.

"Now," the drunk turned to face him on surprisingly steady feet. "Hand her over and we might not burn your ship to the waterline."

"It's always so flattering whenever people think I'm omniscient." It really was even if it made conversations a bit like a guessing game. Thankfully, Miss Martin's concerns gave him a clue as to what might be happening, but not nearly enough to fake it.

On the bright side, that non-answer was enough for the self centered man to make his own assumptions.

“Oh, I know you dogs don’t know everything. If you did, you never would have shown your face in this town or followed me here alone.” The man pulled a pistol from inside his jacket, allowing Peter to see the embroidered silver arrow hidden inside where it would be displayed proudly if the garment was worn correctly.

Ice filled his veins. First the Apollo and now this? Peter thought that he was the one chasing down the Argents and they certainly made it difficult over the last year, but now they were crawling out of the woodwork every time he turned around.

Footsteps began to echo through the alley, finally louder than the rain falling around them and Peter tensed further, hands flexing at his sides.

There are too many coming from behind him to only be Stiles. Had he misjudged him? Unlikely, the Silver Arrow didn’t take kindly to any supernaturals, not even those who had one foot in each world. That really only left one option, a conclusion that dropped like a frozen anchor into his gut.

His eyes flared, the alley coming into sharp focus as Peter forced the need to shift down, crouching a little as he prepared for a fight. These idiots may already know what he was, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone else in this crowded port city to believe them if they went crying to the authorities about werewolves.

“So the rumors are true.” The ‘drunk’ sneered, cocking his gun and holding it level with Peter’s heart. The footsteps grew louder, one clearer than the rest. It echoed down from the other end of the alley. “You really are the-”

A knife cut off the man’s obvious revelation of Peter’s previous occupation, slicing across the side of his throat and over Peter’s shoulder where it thudded into someone else if the pained yelp was anything to go by. The man fell and Stiles barely spared him a glance as he hopped over him to face the others at Peter’s back, but the handful of hunters in black and silver who followed him from the other side of the alley paused at the bloody scene.

“I can’t believe you were going to start the party without me.” Stiles quipped, pulling more knives from his jacket as he put his back to Peter’s.

“It was hardly a party until you brought the rest of the guests, sweetheart.” Peter pointed out and tried not to let his relief show in this voice or posture as he armed himself with the knives Stiles gifted him with. His sword would only be a liability in this narrow alley and, even though that idiot had thought otherwise, flintlock pistols would be nearly useless in the rain.

“Always happy to play the pied piper to rid the world of idiots.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating lightly against Peter’s spine before Stiles leaned forwards. “Just call me Saint Stiles.”

With that he tossed another throwing knife, singing of drunken sailors in that echoing tone that made more than one of their opponents stumble. Peter took ruthless advantage, putting all of Stiles’ teaching to good use as he darted up and around his attackers who came in ones and twos, blocking those behind them from succeeding in overwhelming them both.

Of course, just because he had technique didn’t mean he was perfect. He lost his first knife in his second enemy, stuck to a bone, and his remaining one was wrenched from his hands by the fifth. He stepped back as it skittered further down the street.

“Do you mind?” He asked, reaching back with an empty hand to rest it lightly on Stiles thigh as he leaned back, pressing Stiles into a slouch to dodge an incoming blow aimed at Peter’s chin. It was a risk, especially after Erica told him how touchy Stiles was about sharing his weapons back in the blacksmith’s shop, but it was either that or claws and Peter hated having to explain those wounds away. All too often a local pet would get blamed and put down which was always a shame.

“Only if you take your time about it.” Stiles replied, pushing both of them back upright to deflect a short sword and obligingly standing still as Peter blindly pulled Stiles’ newest daggers from their sheathes.

Once again armed, Peter stepped forward to take care of the final attackers on his side.

Thankfully, there were no further mishaps and after a few more minutes of battle the final hunter dropped. Peter wasn’t sure how many were still breathing, but if the blood splatter was any indication it likely wasn’t many. He couldn’t find any reason to be upset about that.

Shifting both the daggers to one hand, Peter carefully fished his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and began wiping the blades down. Once both they and his fingers were as clean as he could manage with only one cloth, he turned to hand them back to Stiles only to pause when he realized they had an audience.

“Thanks.” Stiles said, accepting his weapons back before noticing that Peter was looking over his shoulder. Turning quickly, Stiles was tense only for a moment before recognizing Miss Martin and her new companions, the local sheriff’s deputies if their badges were anything to go by. “Oh, hey. Look, I took care of your stalker issues via self-defense!”

The redhead and her taller companion gifted him with matching flat looks while their darker haired fellow merely shook his head. Miss Martin breathed deeply through her nose and let it out in a loud sigh before turning to the taller deputy.

“I hired him for protection against these men, Deputy Whitmore.” She said, matter of fact if not a bit stiff as she held out a folded piece of parchment. “I hadn’t realized there were so many of them, but that’s why I asked him to act as bait in the first place. Here, our contract for your records.”

A contract? Peter eyed Stiles who gave him a quick wink in reply.

With an incredulous look, Deputy Whitmore took the parchment and read it over. Whatever he saw there made him roll his eyes before handing it off to the other deputy.

“Whenever there’s a problem, why is it always you at the heart of it, Stupinski? You don’t even live here anymore!” Deputy Whitmore sneered, pointing an accusing finger at Stiles.

Ah, that was unexpected. Peter hadn’t realized Stiles grew up here in Queenston, but his variation of Good Morning Ladies All made more sense now that he knew.

“I don’t know, Jackass,” Stiles shot back, “why are you always making me clean up your messes?”

Deputy Whitmore lunged forward a little only to be held back easily by his colleague who rolled his eyes at the two of them.

“We’ll handle it from here Stiles, but you may want to get your ‘associate’ out of here.”

“Sure thing, Danny.” Slipping his cleaned knives back into place, Stiles made quick work of retrieving the rest of his weapons from among the fallen, including Peter’s own.

When they finally stepped back out of the alley, Miss Martin was still waiting for them as the deputies waded in to sort the whole mess out.

“A contract?” Peter muttered, keeping his voice low as he raised a brow in Stiles' direction.

“A contract.” Confirmed the redhead before turning to lead them back down the road, hair damp even though the rain was finally letting up. She explained further without looking back, “I was going to hire a mercenary to take care of them since the sheriff couldn’t do anything until they committed a crime.”

“And you approached me..?” Peter let the question hang as he followed her, glancing at Stiles who was too busy frowning at the bloodstains on his sleeve to notice.

“Not for that.” She glanced back over her shoulder, meeting his eyes briefly before continuing down the street. “I wasn’t aware that either of you would be in town, but the opportunity for a quick escape was too good to pass up.”

“And now that you’re no longer in danger?” Peter watched her closely, but her heeled boots didn’t even falter along the cobblestones. He thought that her tense shoulders were telling enough though.

“Lydia?” Stiles prompted quietly when she didn’t answer, looking as concerned as he sounded. Any flicker of jealousy Peter might have felt was doused by a flood of recognition. Her continued silence as she walked past the bar and continued down the road was an unexpected boon as Peter connected this woman to the Lydia of Erica’s letters from Sealed With a Kiss.

It was her information that brought him here.

Again, he wondered if this was some elaborate trap before dismissing the idea. There were too many inconsistencies, too many coincidences for a proper trap, especially considering how many of those belonging to the silver arrow that he already killed or had arrested in the last two days.

Finally, she stopped at the main street that led down to the docks. There were a few others on the road, but none sober or awake enough to pay attention to them when she turned and spoke.

“It’s not as pressing.” Lydia admitted, pursing her lips for a moment as if annoyed that she had to spell this out. “But they know where we are now and that means it won’t stop.”

“Until they have her back.” He finished her sentence when it looked like she wouldn’t just to see if he was right. It earned him a light glare and a tight nod.

So she wanted him to help evacuate someone hunted by the Argents.

It would be a bit risky, especially if they knew he took whoever they were referring to. Preservation Bay was hidden in wards that kept most hunters away from the island and why they’d needed to wait until his family was abroad to hunt them down, but the added allure of someone they already sent a dozen men after might finally motivate them to find the island even if she wasn’t actually there.

Then again, having the Silver Arrows come to him instead of having to find them would make his revenge so much easier.

It was something to consider, but first he needed her to actually answer his question. No sense in making plans for something that wouldn’t happen.

“Do you still need my help?”

He watched as she considered the question a little longer, running her tongue over her teeth before looking to Stiles who gave her a shrug in return. Peter was a little surprised to realize that the half-siren had stopped beside him instead of continuing over to Lydia when they reached the street. Whatever was implied in Stiles’ gesture was apparently enough for her because she turned back to Peter without any further interaction.

“I’d like to discuss it with Stiles first.” She raised a lofty brow at Peter, pulling him from his distraction as she continued. “Will you be available for further deals tomorrow?”

“Only in the early morning.” Peter hadn’t planned on staying long to begin with - especially not after adding the extra stops at Coney Cove - and waiting in a relatively unfamiliar, and more importantly undefendable, town for more Argents to find him wasn’t his idea of a good time.

“We’ll see you then. Have a good night.” Turning, she raised her eyebrows pointedly at Stiles only to give an annoyed sigh when he hesitated. “Stiles.”

“Right.” Turning to face him, Stiles grimaced a little. “Looks I’m going to be staying ashore tonight, but I’ll be back at the ship in the morning.”

The declaration was firm and Stiles didn’t look away until Peter nodded in response. He may have felt that tinge of jealousy rekindle, but the clearer air of the street revealed enough of their scents to put his mind at ease even on top of Stiles’ reassurances.

“I’ll see you there.” Peter confirmed, glancing between the two friends. “We leave three hours after dawn.”

Plenty of time for any deals to be made if necessary and restocking to finish before heading out. With that reminder Peter set off down the road toward the Shelby, eager to get into clean clothes and be alone with his thoughts on whether or not he’d accept the deal should Lydia approach him tomorrow.

“So you finally found the one, huh?”

Stiles shushed her before Lydia’s amused look made him realize that his reaction was even more damning than her statement. Clapping a hand to his face, Stiles hoped that some scuffle or another was distracting Peter enough that he might not have heard all of that. Unlikely, seeing as he couldn’t have made it more than a block, but after all the madness Stiles thought the world owed him that much.

“Now when I asked you that, did you think I was talking about the Shelby’s crew or it’s captain?”

“The crew.” He answered a little too quickly and cursed himself for being so transparent when talking to Lydia.

“Uh huh.” The affirmation dripped with disbelief. “I’m sure Erica will be happy to hear that when I tell her.”

Squashing his derisive snort, Stiles tried for a betrayed look and a shrug at the same time which went over as well as could be expected. Lydia narrowed her eyes and he mirrored the expression, trying to change the subject before she could interrogate him out here on the street.

“Speaking of Erica, why do you get to know who her captain is when I didn’t?”

“Because I told her how to find him and secured her an interview with them back when he was still sailing under a different flag.”

Huh, guess Erica was turned by one of the Hales then. He’d been wondering about that.

“She liked them enough to stay even after she paid them back for her cure, which leaves me wondering why she wouldn’t be happy to have you join them?”

The unspoken ‘what did you do?’ was clear, but Stiles was too busy trying to contain the urge to snort once again to register his fear. Not that he was successful on either front, especially when he felt Lydia’s knowing look on the back of his head as he looked away to check for any unwelcome eavesdroppers.

“Ah.” Lydia didn’t continue, but the humored satisfaction that dripped from that single acknowledgement was enough to have Stiles whipping back around to glare at her.

“Did she send you a letter by seagull or something?” He couldn’t be that obvious, could he?

She gave him a pitying look.

Fuck, maybe he was.

“Stiles, when I made it to that deathtrap of an alley Captain Hale was not only handing you a pair of your knives, but he walked out wearing another set.”

“Yeah?” Again with the whole lending people knives thing. Like he told Erica, it wasn’t that big of a deal!

Lydia’s slow blink ensured that he felt like an idiot even though he wasn’t sure why.

“Let’s try this again, because you’re being purposefully dense right now.” She continued before he could protest. “Last time you visited me you were on your third voyage with the Emerald. If any of her crew were to ask to borrow one of your knives, what would you say?”

Scratching the back of his head, Stiles thought about it. That crew hadn’t been too bad. Sure they were a little too big for the schooner they manned and the first mate was a bit too harsh with punishments, but he hadn’t collected many scars with them. It was more their extended routes that had him turning down a more permanent place on the crew, he just didn’t want to go seasons or even years without seeing his dad or Lydia.

But lending one of them one of his daggers? Well, she was comparing it to lending Peter a few during battle. He couldn’t see himself denying someone a weapon when it would save them both so...

“Yes?” Why did this feel like a test? He turned back to Lydia and found her giving him an expectant look, brows raised as she looked pointedly at his grimace. He wiped the expression from his face and replaced it with a scowl. “So what?”

Lydia sniffed and then let out a deep sigh through her nose.

“So,” she said pointedly, obviously annoyed that she was having to spell out whatever this was about. “You spent nearly six months with their crew and you had to think about whether you would or not for well over a minute.”

Yeah - wait.

The realization hit Stiles like a brick and he actually stopped walking in the face of it.

He absolutely hadn’t taken anywhere near that long to think about letting Peter borrow his newest beauties.

Well, some desperate part of his mind argued, he wouldn’t think twice about lending some to his dad, Lydia, or even Erica either so it didn’t have to mean anything. Except Stiles had a history with all of them.

Frowning and desperately trying not to think about what that said about both himself and his unexpectedly huge soft spot for Peter, Stiles forced himself to catch up to Lydia as he distracted himself by going through her helpful thought experiment with the crew of the Shelby. He was pleasantly surprised to find that, even discounting Erica and Peter (How did that happen? It couldn’t just be a simple crush at this point, but Stiles was absolutely not going to poke at what that feeling might slowly be evolving into right now), he was more willing to give any of them one of his knives than literally any other crew he’d ever sailed with.

His silence was apparently enough of an answer for Lydia as she gave him a lofty look. Whatever she was going to follow that up with had to wait, however, as when they reached her front door it opened as they approached.

“Lydia?” The brunette’s worry faded quickly into relief when Lydia smiled at her. It was cute, but Stiles was too busy making another obvious connection to really appreciate it.

“Allison?” Stiles asked incredulously. “Wait, were those-?”

He cut himself off even as Lydia turned to give him a sharp look. Right, not outside.

“What?” Allison’s confusion snapped into wary concern as she looked to Lydia, only to calm when the redhead laid a comforting hand on her arm.

“This is Stiles. I hired him to take care of the gift your aunt left us.”

“Stiles… Sheriff Stilinski’s son?”

Lydia looked between the two of them when he nodded and Stiles realized that while their infrequent letters were purposefully vague to keep people safe, they did run the risk of causing these sorts of mishaps. First where Erica went and now their mutual acquaintance Allison. He made a mental note to try and think up a code they could use to specify names better because this was getting ridiculous.

“She was Scott’s ‘one true love’.” He said by way of clarification and got a disbelieving look in response. Stiles shrugged, holding up his hands.

“Was?”

Lydia held up a hand before he could answer and motioned them indoors so she could shut the door behind all of them.

“Look, you said no and your parents ran him out of town. It took him a while, but he’s moving on.” He clarified as they walked further into the house.

“Good. It’s not his fault I’m not into guys.”

Stiles turned to Lydia with his eyebrows raised. She flushed a bit.

“Focus. They were part of the Silver Hunters, some of Kate Argent’s crew.” Her deflection was obvious, but effective.

“Kate Argent?” Stiles interrupted, wondering why no one on the Shelby’s crew realized she was also anchored at the port. He’d have to check around the docks tomorrow morning to see what the workers knew.

“My aunt.” Allison clarified, misunderstanding his question. “My parents obviously asked her to try and bring me back after I ran away. I’m pretty sure they asked everyone they knew.”

Everyone they knew? Stiles narrowed his eyes as he remembered something Peter had said.

“Including the crew of the Apollo?” That was her father’s old ship, right?

The two women exchanged a significant look before Lydia answered.

“They were the ones I warned you about in my letter. They hit the island over a fortnight ago before Allison helped the local lawmen run them off. Why?”

That explained all the arrows in the Apollo’s hull. Even Stiles knew good of a shot Allison was with a bow, especially when Scott waxed lyrical about it for hours even after the family vanished from Beacon. It didn't explain why they didn't actually make it to Beacon though.

“We ran into them on the way here and dropped them off at Coney Cove.”

“They only made it that far?” Her concern was understandable. They’d only run into the schooner a day or three away from Queenston and there wasn’t a whole lot for a ship that size to do out on the open ocean.

“Probably not.” They looked at Allison who frowned back at them. “I’ve been thinking about it since Aunt Kate’s ship docked a few days ago - she shouldn’t have found me this fast. I'm not sure why they headed North from Queenston when all of her stuff is usually much farther South from here, but I think some of Dad’s old crew were still aboard the Apollo and they probably let the rest of the family know where I am.”

And that meant more were likely to come to Queenston to find her.

Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Looks like we will need that ride after all.” She turned to Allison who looked apologetic. Lydia reached over to touch her hand with a tense, but reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, we’re just back to plan B. Can you go check our bags and make sure we have everything important? I’ll cover the hows with Stiles.”

Allison held her gaze a moment longer, her other hand coming up to cover Lydia’s before she nodded and headed upstairs. Lydia watched her go then focused on the matter at hand.

“Stiles, you’re still welcome to stay the night, but we’ll be coming with you in the morning if we can swing it. That means we need to know as much as possible about getting aboard starting with your captain.”

“He’s not my-”

“Fine, since you’re going to be a baby about this we’ll start there.” She gave him a look and he rolled his eyes already dreading the continued barbs he was likely to face in the coming days. “You have a crush on your captain.”

He had hoped that she would have forgotten their conversation from before or maybe just believed he was enamored with the crew as a whole. But just because that was the most unexpected thing to occur to him during that conversation didn’t mean that the stupidly large crush on Peter wasn’t just as obvious to Lydia. Especially as she had the dubious honor of knowing exactly what he was like when he was gone on someone.

He heaved a sigh and gave up. Stiles wasn’t really trying to hide it from her in the first place considering he wanted her advice on the subject anyway.

“Yeah.” Stiles scoffed at her surprised look, probably expecting him to deny it. “Erica’s been nice enough to point it out to me pretty much the whole way here. I just wasn’t sure what I’d do about it.”

“You weren’t?” Raising a brow as she stressed the past tense, Lydia leaned forward a little and pressed further. “And now?”

“Now…” He trailed off, still thinking about the realization that he trusted not only Erica and Peter but Shelby’s crew in general to watch his back. In one short journey they showed him that they were not only competent sailors - ready to ask for help as they were to lend a hand when they saw someone else struggling, and skilled fighters - taking down a crowded schooner’s worth of pirates on little to no notice, but also that even though no one but Peter and possibly Kira knew what he was they still accepted him and Scott so easily. The two of them weren’t outsiders on this trip. Not anymore.

They were crew.

And if Stiles was hesitating before because he wasn’t sure if he was going to stay aboard, now that he knew he wanted to stay it was almost worse. What if a relationship with Peter didn’t work out and he had to leave?

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Lydia’s expression was soft when she pulled him from his thoughts with a hand on his arm.

“Stiles, what do you want?”

That was an easy answer. Sirens were greedy and even though he was only half Stiles was no exception.

He wanted everything he could get.

He wanted his friends and family safe, happy, and close. On top of that he wanted a crew he trusted with his back, at his side, in his heart.

And to cap it all off he wanted Peter.

He wanted to spar with him both verbally and with his blades, wanted to debate about the best methods to attack and defend both himself and the ship, wanted to know if this longing he felt really was just a crush or if it was on its way to being something more, wanted to know if Peter felt the same.

Which was all so inconvenient when this whole Argent mess was going on at the same time.

Not only was Scott still broken up over his dad running around as a pirate under the flag of the Silver Arrow, but now Allison and Lydia were probably going to be on the run until they found a safe place to stay, and all that was on top of Peter himself who was turning the Silver Arrow’s motto on its head and hunting the Hunters.

So what did he want?

“The moon.” He finally gave his slightly sarcastic answer to Lydia’s question. “Or something nearly as realistic.”

Lydia gave him an unladylike snort in response.

“That’s what I thought about Allison too.” She admitted, confirming Stiles’ suspicions. “I wasn’t even sure if she knew I was a banshee until the Apollo docked.”

“What happened?”

“They wanted her to return to them and turn me over. She decided to save me instead and I plan to return the favor.” She gave him a sharp smile and patted his arm once before drawing back to sit more comfortably. “Now, help me figure out the best way to convince him to let us aboard. We can figure out how to help you lasso the moon after we’re on board.”

Rolling his eyes at her confidence, he nodded with a small smile. Better to tackle what was in front of them instead of borrowing trouble especially since he already knew one major issue they were going to have to address first.

“Alright. Well, showing him that you’re both useful is the easiest way, but you better be ready for some fast talking because Allison’s family is absolutely going to be a sticking point since they were the ones who killed most of his.”

Once again seated at the desk in his quarters, Peter stared down at his two newest contracts without really seeing them.

Having a banshee informant on board wasn’t something he expected, but that didn’t hold a candle to her supposedly ex-hunter girlfriend who was tagging along for the ride. Not just an ex-hunter, an Argent ex-hunter.

Even hours later he still wasn’t sure how they managed to convince him to let them aboard instead of simply killing her. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew it was because the pier was too public for that sort of thing and because they had hard evidence on their side - who would have thought those arrows in the Apollo were from an Argent bow? And maybe also because of -

A now familiar knock jolted him from his thoughts. Peter glanced towards a window, a brow twitching in surprise as he confirmed the sun was still up before turning towards the opening door.

“You’re early.”

“For the usual lessons yeah, but I really meant to stay for the negotiations this morning before Boyd called me over to help with everything so,” Stiles shrugged and closed the door behind him and leaned against it casually. “I assume everything went as well as it could considering everyone is alive and onboard?”

Peter lifted an eyebrow involuntarily as he thought back to the tense negotiations that occurred in this room just a few hours before. It was a close thing, but he liked to think they handled it well.

“I’ll take that as a yes. However,” Stiles continued more seriously, “on top of Scott’s dad, Allison’s psycho family, and the inevitable upcoming fight between Scott and Allison themselves that I’m likely going to have to mediate somehow, there’s something else I’d like to bring to your attention.”

Sighing, Peter felt more resigned than surprised considering the ups and downs of the voyage so far. “And what would that be?”

“I spoke to some of the dock workers while I was helping get the last of the return shipment on board. From what I can gather, we must have somehow passed the Artemis on our way to Queenston because she left for Coney Cove the day before we arrived.”

Just hearing the name of that cursed ship was enough to have Peter’s pulse jumping. He sat up straighter in his seat and the grim look on Stiles’ face told him that they’d come to the same conclusion.

Kate was likely near Two Fish Island.

“A trap then?” Peter surmised. If she saw the Apollo at the dock, she would need a crew to man it and without those she left behind she would need to go looking for more. Unfortunately for them, everyone in town knew where the previous crew was and a sheriff’s office that small wouldn’t be able to keep them. He knew more than one of the sailors heard their plan to return for their captain, making a trap the obvious choice.

“That’s what it sounds like, yeah.” Stiles agreed grimly.

A trap was only half as effective when the target knew about it and they weren’t due to reach Coney Cove until tomorrow so they had plenty of time to plan and prepare for the meeting. Peter intended to make the most of it.

He watched Stiles for a moment, taking the time to appreciate the way his dark eyes turned amber in the light of the sunset before waving him over to the chair by his desk.

“I know of a few things my crew can do to mitigate the risk, but if you have the time I’d appreciate your input.” From their previous discussions Peter knew more about sirens than he ever thought he would, but having Stiles integrate himself into their plans would be more effective than shoehorning him in. When Stiles didn’t move from the door, Peter looked back to see what was keeping him.

“I should really be helping with the whole Scott-Allison situation.” He said still making no move to leave.

“Then they can take our usual training time if necessary, but I believe the crew’s protection comes first, Sweetheart.” Amused at his reluctance, Peter gave him the out of being ‘ordered’ to help and pointed at the chair. “Sit down.”

With sigh that was clearly faked, Stiles shrugged out of his jacket and turned towards the coat rack a little too slowly to completely hide his smile from Peter. Whatever he may have said about it dried up along with his mouth at the sight of first the collection of small throwing knives sheathed over Stiles’ waistcoat at the small of his back and followed quickly by the somehow unexpected tone on his forearms when he cuffed his shirt to the elbows as he made himself comfortable in the chair.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” Stiles asked, massaging his wrists around the knives currently strapped there. He looked up after a moment and Peter blinked as the question finally registered. Instead of answering he held out a hand.

“May I?”

There was only a slight hesitation before Stiles bemusedly held out his arm, angled so that Peter could take the dagger. Ignoring the weapon, Peter grasped Stiles’ freckled forearm and used the skin-to-skin contact to leech the pain away, dark veins appearing across his own hand for a moment. It wasn’t much, probably simple bumps and bruises more than any hidden injuries from the previous night’s activities, so it was easy to give Stiles’ shocked expression the smug smile it deserved.

“What?”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean, yeah thanks, but also I had no idea weres could do that. Is it just an alpha thing or what?”

“Any werewolf can so far as I’m aware.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Stiles gave him a flat look at the unintentional pun so Peter grinned as if he’d done it on purpose. Rolling his eyes, Stiles made an obvious attempt to bring them back to the matter at hand. “Now, what do we want to do about the trap?”

“Our best bet would be to scout what we can without letting them know we know about the trap and then springing it.” Not only because they currently had an unexpected edge that they might not have in the future, but also because he needed to pick something up from the town.

Scratching at his chin thoughtfully, Peter tried to remember which of his maps had the best image of Two Fish. The small one on the upper right perhaps?

Reaching up he pulled the rolled map from where it was wedged between to others, checked it and then reached for the one next to it. That was the one. He put the other one back, tucked the contracts safely away, and spread the map over his desk.

“With their lead they’ve probably staked the place out. A galleon may be hard to hide, but it isn’t impossible, especially with the Apollo there to help them as well.” Peter pointed to the deep lagoon situated between the two islands. “If we come from the side we should be able to make it look like we were simply blown a little off course on the way there.”

“Which would let us see if anyone is hiding.” Stiles confirmed, reaching out to trace a path out to see what angle they would need. “We’re going to have to veer further North if we want to make it look natural.”

“I’ll let Boyd know and we can start adjusting this evening.” It was an easy adjustment. Storms knocked ships off course all the time and making adjustments at night was sometimes easier than during the day. “In fact, most of the crew will be informed by morning to make sure everyone is ready after we dock, but we’ll have to keep those most at risk on board.”

“Let me be the one to tell Scott and the others. They’re already going to be on edge if the way all of our guests were dancing around each other earlier was any indication.” Stiles rolled his eyes and didn’t seem to realize that he put himself on the wrong side of that dividing line between guests and crew.

“And yourself?” Peter asked casually, ruthlessly suppressing any outward signs of his delight after that unconscious declaration.

“Oh, I’m going ashore.” Obviously misunderstanding Peter’s question, Stiles gave him a challenging look. “I need to make sure Sheriff Graeme is still alive. Besides, my songs work best as a boost to what’s already there even if it has to pull, but only for so long. If I don’t come along most of the benefits would be lost in less than an hour.”

That made sense based on what Stiles already told him about siren song, except for one part.

“What do you mean ‘pull’?”

“Oh, uh.” Here Stiles paused to grimace. “Well, if I’m encouraging something that is close enough to conform to the song, it will be encouraged to do so, but I can’t create something from nothing.”

None of that was worth that wince so Peter raised a brow and waited for the full explanation. Seeing this, Stiles sighed.

“The best example is from the night we ran into the Apollo.” He raised a hand as if to defend himself from the sharp look Peter gave him. “Singing along to the crew’s rendition of The Curse was an accident, which is worse than if I did it on purpose because while I know how to stop the effects I need to be paying attention and focused to do it. So the nick on Kira’s finger and the timing of our run in was probably my fault.”

Peter remembered seeing the tail end of Kira getting bandaged and how quickly the Silver Arrow’s ship had found them in the mist, but he doubted that Stiles was at fault for the attack.

“They were on top of us by the time the bell rang which was shortly after Kira’s mishap, so while you might have hurried them along I’m sure they would have found us with or without your wind in their sails.” The attack happening earlier meant that everyone was awake for it, so it worked out for the best. “You may want to apologize to Kira though.”

That was a thought though.

“Speaking of wind-” his interruption of Stiles’ nod was paid back in turn by the door opening. They both turned to see his harassed looking first mate outlined by the sunset.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Stiles is needed down in the galley.”

“It’s Scott isn’t it?” Stiles asked, resigned and already standing to get his coat.

“Miss Martin actually.”

Stiles straightened from his slouch and snatched his coat before heading for the door, pace going from a shuffle to a run in the blink of an eye.

“Remember to tell him to go north!” He called back over his shoulder, all but sprinting across the deck.

Peter blinked once before looking over at Boyd who was looking similarly nonplussed. Then again, an angry banshee could be a problem for more than just her target he supposed. Shaking that off mentally, Peter waved his first mate over into the seat Stiles just vacated.

“I’ve been reliably informed that our trip to Coney Cove may involve an Argent trap.”

His idea for Stiles would just have to wait until later.

“Come all you young sailor men, listen to me. I'll sing you a song of the bitch in the sea!”

Stiles grinned as he started the call once again, the crew on deck picking up the modified refrain with gusto even after so many days of singing it every few hours.

“And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys! When the wind blows, we're all together, boys!”

Around them the light breeze picked up again and Stiles was still a little surprised that this worked. He wished once more that his mother was alive for him to ask if sirens knew that they could influence weather patterns with their songs.

When Peter first suggested it on their way to Two Fish Island Stiles didn’t think it would work, but even one chorus was enough to fill their sails for a few hours and it helped them get to the island long before sunset that day.

Unfortunately, their slower and more cautious approach once in sight of the port town wasn’t necessary. Both the Artemis and the Apollo were already long gone by the time they arrived. It took the rest of the day to find people willing to talk to them and piece together what happened. In the end it was Sheriff Graeme who was able to tell them the most once she woke up, still swathed in bandages as she told them what happened from where she lay in the doctor’s office.

Kate Argent came to Coney Cove just as Stiles and Peter thought, but she seemed more interested in something Rafael McCall had to say about the ‘dog’s den’ than sticking around to confront them. Already concussed at the time, Tara couldn’t remember much more than the man ranting about his son before she passed out in the corner of her own office due to her wounds.

Seeing as neither Scott nor his father knew where the Shelby and her crew docked - which is where Stiles assumed the Argent ships were trying to sail for - it was more likely that Raf was leading them back to Beacon Point and the heading remembered by the port's master aligned with that suspicion.

They left as soon as they were able, already days behind a pair of Silver Arrow ships that weren’t likely to ask questions before raiding Beacon if the current state of Coney Cove was anything to go by.

So the song was a real ‘good luck charm’, as Scott called it, and the crew was enjoying thinking up insults for the usual verses enough that they were happy to keep the rounds going. Stiles made sure to always join in for the chorus no matter who started it.

“Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow! Jolly nor'wester, boys, steady she goes!”

He pulled at the sails along with the others, trimming them enough that they wouldn’t risk tearing in the renewed wind and tying off his rope securely. Turning to see if anyone needed help, Stiles paused as Peter made his way down from the quarter deck, easily skipping the usual step as he made his way over.

“We’re making good time.” He said, nodding his silent thanks to Stiles who sighed agitatedly in response.

“I know, but another day of this and we’ll be to Beacon.” And with no sight yet of the Argent ships. Were they already there? If the schooner went ahead, the Apollo could definitely make it in that time, but Peter seemed certain that Kate wouldn’t allow it and Boyd assured him more than once that the little ship was in no state to be going that fast for long anyway.

Stiles bit the inside of his lip and tried not to worry about his dad. There was nothing he could do about it from here. A warm hand found its way to his shoulder and Peter gave him a tight smile, fingers tightening for a moment.

He was grateful for that silent reassurance. Scott’s were full of empty promises that barely masked his own worry for his family and friends and many of the crew were of a similar mind to Erica who was fit to spit tacks which - while satisfying and even entertaining to hear when they contributed another profane verse to both this song and others - wasn’t very comforting.

Stiles just wished they would catch up to them. To be done with all this waiting and worrying about things he couldn’t change so that he could try and focus on what he could.

Above them a bell clanged and Stiles wondered if he’d been humming or something because that sounded a lot like-

“Enemy sighted, dead ahead!” Someone called down from the crow’s nest, answering Stiles’ wish.

Patting Stiles on the shoulder one last time, Peter stepped around him towards the prow to get a better look. Stiles followed him along with most of the crew on deck, some of them hanging over the railings to try and spot the ship.

Even without the aid of a spyglass the dark shapes were obvious on the horizon and growing closer by the minute, but as he didn’t have enhanced sight to go with his hearing Stiles was thankful when Peter lent him his spyglass.

The Apollo was easily recognizable, but it was dwarfed by the dark galleon it was sailing beside. Where Apollo was worn, the Artemis - for it could be no other even if Stiles couldn’t see her figurehead - was well kempt and appeared to be fighting fit. However, galleons were made for battle and not speed and the Apollo was pulling ahead even as the Shelby gained on the large ship.

Stiles inspected the Artemis as best he could as they got closer and frowned before handing the spyglass back.

“Where’s her crew?”

“Hopefully back in Queenston where we left them.” Refocusing the glass for his improved vision, Peter took another look before offering it to Boyd. “Our taking of the Apollo wasn’t without losses on their part either, so anyone she could spare is likely aboard the schooner to keep it moving.”

“And boy is it moving.” Erica commented from where she stood confidently on the railing, keeping her balance with the help of some hempen rope. She shielded her eyes against the sun and squinted at the fleeing ship. “Do you think they’re trying for a maneuver or just running?”

“Hard to tell-” Boyd cut off at the sound of cannon fire. “Brace!”

Everyone ducked, Erica dropping to the deck in a crouch with inhuman speed, but the shot didn’t hit their ship.

It also didn’t hit the water.

In the distance, the Apollo shuttered at the impact, slowing as it began to take on water.

“She’s firing at her own people?” Allison asked as she stepped closer, carefully keeping her distance from the crew who still didn’t fully trust her. Her expression matched her terrified tone exactly and Stiles suddenly wondered if she’d ever lived aboard the Apollo with some of those men back when her father still captained it years ago.

He glanced at Peter who was still watching the ship battle take place with narrowed eyes before meeting Stiles' gaze directly as another shot was fired from the galleon at the schooner. Stiles flicked his eyes to first Allison, then Scott, and finally to the Apollo. Who exactly fell in the line of fire for his revenge, Stiles wondered silently. Was it just those who did it or anyone allied with them, knowing of their sins or not? He wasn’t sure if there was a right answer, but he was curious to see where the line was drawn for Peter.

“Man the rigging and prepare for boarding!” Boyd instructed, deeming them close enough to start the process of slowing them so the ship didn’t overshoot their target.

Peter broke their impromptu staring contest to glance over Stiles’ shoulder before turning to Erica.

“Drop the netting in preparation for the transfer. I don’t want anyone left adrift.”

“We’ll need a group to stay back and protect the ship then.” She said, glancing over the gathered crew. Stiles turned when she paused and grinned, realizing she was looking at Kira and Scott who were standing behind him. “Kira! Gather up a few men along with your loverboy and make sure no one who gets aboard takes advantage, yeah?”

As the swordswoman gave a nod, Stiles turned back to Peter who gave him a quick wink and then moved to help with final preparations before boarding the galleon who had yet to turn any cannons in their direction.

Did Peter just decide to allow any of those who made it to the ship a way up because he knew Stiles’ friends would be upset if his enemies died unnecessarily? That was Stiles looking too far into it, right? Right?

His heart lurched and Stiles was certain he was feeling his crush growing three sizes or possibly evolving into something like affection but stronger. He could probably label it if pressed, but as the grapples were already being thrown up to the Artemis’ railing it seemed like poor timing.

Setting that aside for now, Stiles helped secure some of the lines before giving a hand up and receiving one in turn as they boarded the ship.

The Artemis was a mess when on board. Ropes were loose and lashing in the wind over a deck that couldn’t have been swabbed in the last few days judging by the buildup of salt and grime. Most of the few crew members still on deck looked haggard as they tried to repel their boarders, but with only a dozen or so the Shelby’s crew was making short work of them.

Stiles assisted Boyd by tripping up his current opponent and then faced another who clambered up from below, humming the familiar tune of The Curse as he went. Without lyrics and with a specific subject in mind it acted as a bad luck charm, sort of a Murphy's Law for his opponents. The man he was facing tripped over one of the loose ropes and Stiles moved to incapacitate him only to stumble when the boat rocked a little at another fire of the cannon. His ears rang with the sound, but even that couldn’t cover up the harsh laughter coming from the other side of the deck.

Standing with one foot on the still smoking cannon was a woman who could only be the captain of the Artemis, Kate Argent. Who else would be stupid enough to pose with their foot on a hot cannon?

Stiles paid for his distraction with a slice to his leg which drew his attention back to the man who already picked himself up off the floor. He retaliated with a knife to the throat and the man dodged just enough to let it slice through an artery instead of into his spine. Picking the knife back up along with his humming, Stiles turned to see if anyone else was crawling up out of the lower decks and froze at the sight.

Earlier as they approached he wondered how a galleon of this size could be moving so quickly with just a handful of crew and now he had his answer.

It wasn’t just a handful of men. It was a barely diminished crew if the dozens popping up out of the hold were anything to go by.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Stiles wet his lips and adjusted his grip on his knives before throwing himself into the fray next to his crew. Swords clanged, gunshots rang out, and daggers flew. Somewhere between the third and fifth opponent, Stiles went from humming to singing in an attempt to drown out the maniacal laughter and snide remarks happening over to the side as Kate attempted to rile Peter who was already standing off against her.

“A curse upon you sorrow fall thick and fast!”

Boyd went high and Stiles went low, felling another gunman before he could shoot at Lydia who was taking a breath between some pointedly incapacitating screams. Allison threw them a distracted smile from where she was covering the redhead with as many arrows as she could get her hands on.

“Your days have been numbered each hour your last!”

“I see you’ve been branching out, you cur! What kind of witchcraft did you employ to turn my own niece against me?” Kate snarled, firing a crossbow bolt that eventually found its way into one of her own men after Peter dodged it.

“A wonderful spell that anyone can use: the truth.” Peter’s sharp remark earned him another chance to catch a bolt to the face which Stiles watched him decline to do so easily from the corner of his eye.

“May the land, sea or sky turn to swallow you whole!”

Erica joined him, a few others picking up the song too as they carved their way through another handful of the Artemis’ crew using nothing but their knives. At the end of it he tossed the one in his left hand out to cut down the man aiming for her back and then ducked when she twisted around and returned the favor. Retrieving her knife from the fallen woman behind him, Stiles moved on to the next and wondered when reinforcements would stop appearing. He wasn’t exactly out of shape, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, not when he was already a little short of breath.

“And forer' ner' forget what you stole!”

His eyes caught Kate's for a moment through the crowd and he got to see her eyes widen before she was hidden in the crush of bodies once again.

“So you’ve got yourself a siren to go with the banshee then? This is quite a haul you’ve brought to me for slaughter, I think I should be thanking you!”

“I’d like to see you try.” Peter snarled back.

“Oh, sweety, I already am.” Kate’s voice was saccharine sweet.

As if on cue, Stiles felt more than saw Boyd fall to one knee gripping his arm. In tandem he stepped forward with Erica to defend the first mate, but their foes were thick on the deck and even the fallen ones were hazardous as the two of them fought back.

“Can’t you see? I’ve already won even without that traitorous-”

She was cut off by the sound of a cannon shot followed by the shuddering impact that made the ship lurch under their feet and Stiles fought the urge to figure out where it came from in favor of stabbing the next man who went to shoot at Boyd. The answer was easy enough to answer without looking anyway, especially when he knew for certain where it didn’t come from.

Those on the Artemis’ deck were too busy fighting to rearm their cannons and the Shelby was too close to safely fire, which left only one source.

Finally he finished off enough of those around him to glance over at the shocked looking blonde.

“What?” Seemingly unable to comprehend being betrayed by the men she just sentenced to a watery death, Kate kicked Peter away and turned towards the Apollo. Or where the Apollo used to be, it was hard to tell how much of it was above water with the dark smoke starting to plume from the side of the Artemis.

Instead of trying to see through it, Stiles took advantage of her distraction to throw a knife at her exposed back. Somehow, she twisted to dodge his throw only to take a silver knife to the chest. Peter followed it up with a jab from his sword before grabbing the hilt of the dagger and kicking her off of both weapons.

Whatever he said or did to her after that was lost on Stiles as he took another sword to his already injured leg. He retaliated with Erica’s knife as he yanked another of his own knives from its sheath and focused on herding Boyd back to the Shelby.

It didn’t really matter if Kate was alive or dead, that black smoke wasn’t just the ship burning - it smelt of gunpowder even to Stiles’ unenhanced nose. He wasn’t sure how Raf was able to arm himself with a hot shot when his ship was sinking, but it was working as intended and the Artemis was now a bomb instead of a vessel.

“Peter! A little help here!” Erica called out as their crew evacuated back down to their ship, unhooking some of the grapples they’d boarded with as they did.

Seconds later another of the seemingly endless horde dropped to reveal Peter who gave her a raised brow when he saw her picking Boyd up easily.

“Do you just need to be covered on your way out?” He asked, providing some by cutting down another two attackers who were desperately trying to fight their way off the ship at this point.

Stiles snorted and ignored the stinging of his leg in favor of shouldering another woman back into her fellows, dropping them into a confused huddle for a bit of breathing room.

“Nope, Stiles needs a lift.” Erica clarified before jumping over the railing towards the Shelby.

“What?” Stiles asked indignantly, barely hearing Peter do the same with a sharper tone.

Of course that was right about the time one of the larger swordsmen of the Artemis tried to take advantage of his distraction and Stiles was forced to catch the downward blow on his knives or lose a lot more than just some blood. His weakened leg wasn’t too happy about supporting that and gave out as soon as Stiles pushed the brute back. He would have hit the deck hard if Peter wasn’t suddenly there supporting him on that side.

“Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s leave this place for better locales, hm?” Sweeping his sword out to force those crowding in back, Peter then swapped it to his other hand that was just beyond Stiles’ shoulder before using his free hand to pick Stiles up in a bridal carry, careful of the wound on his leg.

“What the - Hey!” Was all Stiles got out before they were following Erica’s trip down to the Shelby’s deck below.

“Get us out of here.” Peter ordered even as Scott rushed to their side, a worried look firmly in place.

“Stiles! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Probably the truth even if the world was tilting a bit ominously around him. “Mostly fine.”

Actually he was a bit lightheaded so maybe a little less fine than he thought?

“Hey, Prince Peter, could you set me down?” Turning away from his friend, Stiles barely got a chance to look at Peter’s concerned face before he had to close his eyes against the dizzy spell the movement gave him. “I seem to be missing a lot of blood.”

Whatever was said in response was lost on him, but the feel of solid wood under him was comforting. He grimaced when Scott immediately put pressure on the wound, calling for Deaton, but even that wasn’t enough to keep Stiles lucid for long.

In the end he barely even heard the explosion that echoed in his chest from when the Artemis’ powder kegs finally went up and took the ship out with the explosion.

Peter’s desk chair was more comfortable than the plain wooden one that was slowly becoming ‘Stiles’ chair’ in his head, but that wasn’t saying a whole lot. One thin cushion didn’t make that much of a difference. It did, however, provide the space and distraction needed to keep him from reaching out to touch Stiles where he was lying in his bed.

That speedy heartbeat was once again going strong, if slowed with sleep as the lanky man recovered from his wounds and subsequent blood loss. Peter knew he was recovering, not only had both Deaton and Melissa McCall confirmed that after they docked in Beacon Point, but he could hear it for himself.

None of that made the memory of Stiles slowly weakening in his arms go away though. Over the last few hours Peter found himself running his fingers against Stiles’ pulse points, double checking that the heartbeat he heard was truly Stiles’ before trying to distract himself once again by working on the contracts. Not that he trusted his writing abilities right now, but even trying to draft the basics was enough of a mental workout to keep him from dwelling on yesterday’s battle.

The heady satisfaction of having taken out Kate Argent and a swathe of her followers was marred by the wounds of his crew, most notably Boyd, who took a wolfsbane coated dagger to his calf, and Stiles who had taken not one but two hits to the same leg. It was only Scott’s examination that uncovered the second slice in time for Deaton to help heal it and even then it was at the cost of showcasing what a druid could do above and beyond normal healing that saved the half-siren.

One of these contracts was for Scott because of that, especially after the chef asked to be Deaton’s apprentice to help keep the crew healthy. That one was easy, a couple of modifications to the usual secondary contract used for such things and it was basically done. It just needed some input from Deaton as the ‘master’ in that field and a sign off from Derek or Laura and they’d be set.

It was the other one that Peter kept worrying about, because now that a large part of his revenge was complete he could move on to other priorities while trying to figure out how to neutralize the last of the Silver Arrows back on the mainland.

Sitting back in his chair, Peter fought the urge to sigh as he listened to the dock workers’ muffled calls back and forth along the pier.

Stiles was picky about what crew he wanted to join. Peter knew that from that first day, which only made it harder to hit that perfect sweet spot to try and convince him to stay on. Getting Scott was a good first step and ensuring Beacon Point’s safety was likely a good second one if Stiles’ pacing over the last few days was anything to go by, but for all their discussions about sailing and the supernatural Stiles never mentioned what his criteria for joining a crew were and it was slowly driving Peter around the bend.

Perhaps keeping Scott on as an apprentice would be enough for a few more voyages. That should be enough for Peter to pin down exactly what Stiles wanted.

He pushed the papers away and picked up the sheathed, silver knife he’d picked back up during the last stop over in Coney Cove. Twisting it around his fingers idly, Peter tried to convince himself that he was overthinking it. Stiles already included himself in the crew unconsciously, so it was unlikely that Peter needed to go out of his way to try to convince him to stay.

The knife flipped one last time before Peter stopped his fidgeting and grasped it by the sheath.

But he wanted to convince Stiles to do more than just stay as a crew member.

Turning the knife, Peter inspected the ‘S’ now decorating what was once Kate Argent’s dagger. If only Talia could see him now, commissioning courting gifts in the form of reclaimed weapons for a man he only met a few weeks ago.

A sharp inhale from his bed distracted Peter from his thoughts. The knife clattered back to the desk and he was on his feet before Stiles even opened his eyes. Blearily, he blinked up at Peter and then around at his quarters.

“This wasn’t how I planned to get in your bed.” Stiles remarked, voice rough with sleep.

Peter kept himself from reaching out for him again through sheer force of will and felt his fingers curling up anyway.

“And how did you plan it?” He asked, amused and allowed himself to sit on the edge of the bed as a compromise, carefully placing his hand on the duvet to steady himself instead of putting it on Stiles’ wrist once more.

“I was going to con my way onto your ship for a couple more trips until I could win my place on the crew and then continue to woo you with my wonderful personality, obviously.”

Snorting, Peter looked back at his desk to double check that Stiles’ contract wasn’t visible from the bed. It wasn’t which made the situation even more amusing.

Great minds think alike.

“Funny, I was just sitting here trying to think of how to get you to do exactly that as well.”

“Oh.” Blinking in surprise, Stiles studied him for a moment and then apparently decided Peter was sincere enough. “I guess we can skip a couple of steps then.”

“And where would that put us in your plan then?” Because Peter had a few ideas about that and a whole slew more for once Stiles was well enough to try them.

Stiles hummed lowly and even though it didn't hold the echo of a siren's power, it warmed something in Peter’s chest anyway before a pale hand reached up and caught him by his shirt ties.

“Right about here,” Stiles declared decisively and Peter let Stiles pull him down into a kiss which was only kept mostly chaste because he could still smell Stiles’ blood under the bandages.

Behind him the door banged open and Stiles pulled away with a groan, letting his head drop back onto the pillow.

“Sheriff’s here to see - ha!” Erica’s announcement was put on hold as she pointed victoriously and grinned at their annoyed looks before grabbing the handle to pull it closed behind her on the way back out. They could hear her through the door as she addressed their guest. “Sorry Sheriff, looks like they’re busy.”

Groaning even louder, Stiles rolled his eyes. There was no way he could know exactly how distracting Peter found him right then - especially not with his pale throat still exposed so perfectly - and Peter certainly wasn’t going to tell him if he could help it. Composing himself to meet those amber eyes with some difficulty, Peter cocked a brow.

“Would you like to see your father?”

He got a large sigh in response before Stiles smiled ruefully.

“Yeah, I do.”

Ah, family.

“Let him in Erica.” Peter said, not even raising his voice. She showcased just how likely it was that she knew exactly what she was barging into all the time when she immediately opened the door for Beacon Point’s sheriff.

The man walked in looking tense only to relax when he spotted Stiles trying to sit up in the bed and he heaved a familiar sigh.

“Hey dad.” Stiles greeted him with a tired smile.

“What happened this time?” The sheriff asked, expression fond as his son’s smile grew into a grin.

“I found my crew.”