
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4405256.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV), Agents_of_S.H.I.E.L.D._(TV)
  Relationship:
      Stiles_Stilinski/Grant_Ward
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Grant_Ward, Gerard_Argent, Daniel_Whitehall, Agent_33
  Additional Tags:
      Firefly_References, Kidnapping, Hydra_(Marvel), Torture, Conditioning,
      Implied/Referenced_Brainwashing, Brainwashing, Male_Slash, Protective
      Grant_Ward, Manipulation, Obsessive_Behavior, Overprotective, Possessive
      Behavior, Possessive_Grant_Ward, I'm_Bad_At_Tagging, Other_Additional
      Tags_to_Be_Added, Eventual_Sex, Loss_of_Virginity
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-23 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4885
****** Not Asking for Salvation, I'm Asking For Company ******
by Alazan
Summary
     After Gerard kidnaps Stiles, rather than let him go, he sells him to
     H.Y.D.R.A where they experiment on him. He's tortured and brainwashed
     and is under strict possession of Daniel Whitehall.
     When Whitehall dies, Stiles feels so lost without him. His sole
     purpose was to serve and protect Whitehall.
     Enter Grant Ward. Stiles saved him and nurses him back to health.
     Grant feels he's indebted to Stiles. As they spend more time together
     they slowly fall for one another.
     It's twisted and morbid, the path they've taken to get where they
     are. But they no longer hope for an angel to save them, all they want
     is someone to share in their company and not flinch at the angry
     scars they've obtained along the way.
Notes
     This story may not be for everyone. Please be sure this is something
     you'd like to read before you do. I don't go explicit on the torture
     cos I'm not good at it, but it's still present. As are the after
     affects and such.
     Sex will eventually happen and Grant is older than Stiles.
     From a sane person's point of view their love may seem unreal and
     twisted and founded on Stockholm Syndrome and they may get really,
     almost unhealthily dependent of one another, but...that is how this
     story will be.
***** Chapter 1 *****
For a moment everything was perfect. 
It'd been his time to shine. He was in the spotlight. 
He was the one scoring and bringing their team to victory. 
The coach was yelling in excitement, actually calling him by his name. The girl
of his dream was cheering him on and smiling so proudly at him. His dad, god,
his dad was finally seeing him as the son he could be proud of instead of the
trouble he was burned with. 
Adrenaline had him high on all of those achievements. After the stream of chaos
that became their lives, where nothing seemed to go right anymore, in that
moment...all was perfect. 
He even scored the winning goal. 
So naturally he didn't get a chance to actual revel in those moments of
greatness. 
===============================================================================
 
He's been beaten before, so it wasn't that bad. Lacrosse practice had him
dealing with ungraceful tackles. Being in the midst of the supernatural also
helped build up his pain tolerance. Still hurt like hell though. 
Stiles couldn't say he was surprised when he realized he was taken by hunters.
After seeing how Allison's grandfather was like, after seeing what Kate was
like, he didn't hold much affection for hunters. There was a limit with
Allison. She was a good enough person, but the way her presence alone could
blind Scott when so much bigger shit was going on irritated the hell out of
him. It wasn't anything personal to her, Stiles just so happened to be in life
or death situations while she and Scott were typically being held back by the
need to act normal and participate in things like 'family dinners'. 
When he was shone what had happened to Erica and Boyd, he felt sick. Scared
that something would happen to him too that mirrored such fate. He actually
prayed that their code kept them from hurting him. He may be allied with
wolves, but he was still human, damn it! And the Sheriff's son!  But when he
was confronted by Gerard Argent, he knew that he could be related to Orion, the
Greek mythological Hunter himself, and it would mean nothing to the man. 
Steading his calmest, coldest glare to the man, Stiles was defiant until the
last of it. 
He thought he heard someone say, 'I thought you were going to let him go with
your message.'
It might have been just his imagination. Or it could have happened, but Gerard
being the dick that he was probably only scoffed and went back to torturing
him. 
The tazers probably weren't as strong as whatever Erica and Boyd were enduring,
but they still hurt. But they weren't strong enough to knock him out either. He
was blindfolded and hands cuffed together, but otherwise left alone. They
wanted him to be afraid. It was a fear tactic. They were hurting him but
wouldn't let him see where the next strike was going to happen. He couldn't
brace for impact or try to shy away other than just randomly scooting wherever
his back was.
It went on for hours. Random jolts that had his muscles spazzing, random
slashes of a sharp weapon, and random kicks and punches. Nowhere in his body
was spared from one form of attack or other.
"What do you think?" he heard Gerard say after...gods know how long. His
hearing wasn't all that sharp so voices sounded funny. Fuzzy. Muffled or like
when being under water.
"From what I've seen..." a German accented man drawled, "He shows promise. Too
soon to tell though."
"I'm telling you, he's a diamond in the ruff. He knows fear, but doesn't let it
stop him. Persistent. Stubborn. I've had my men follow him for some time now.
He is exactly what H.Y.D.R.A. is looking for." 
"And...he is human?" the German man asked, voice full of curiosity.
"For now. Until H.Y.D.R.A. decides otherwise, I assume. Our usual fee?" Gerard
asked. 
"Yes, yes. Do not worry about ze money. Keep bringing us subjects and you will
continue to obtain rewards."
Cold blooded dread knotted Stiles's stomach as his mind registered the
conversation. Before he could make any protest though, he was tazered once
more. This time...a high enough voltage to knock him out. 
===============================================================================
 
For the next couple of weeks, a cage was Stiles's home. He was starved,
dehydrated, and manhandled by his 'keepers'. But compared to some of the
others, he was fairing better than most. Because no, he wasn't alone. When he
was first taken and thrown into a cage with others, his first instinct was to
interact. To approach and plot. 
But he underestimated what true villainy was. Up until then, yeah things were
bad, but they were always home. The sights and surroundings were familiar
things that he could work with. He didn't have the tools his usually had. No
one was surely coming for him because he didn't even know where he was. He
didn't have Werewolf friends to knock out a guy twice his size who just
happened to be armed. Stripped to bare clothing, he shivered in coldness. He
ached and shuddered in hunger and thirst. 
The worst part was possibly his mistake of reaching out and making a connection
to the others. Telling them not to worry. To not be afraid. 
They were taken. Pulled away from his grasps no matter how hard he held on. He
never saw them again. 
Sometimes though...sometimes he sees the remains. 
===============================================================================
 
 
Many times he asked himself 'why', only to wish he hadn't. When he asked
himself, he was admittingly asking a higher being at how something so horrible
could happen to innocent people. The cruel truth of it was that these
treatments were a test. They needed strong test subjects, so after so long of
withholding food and water, they'd look to see who was still standing tall, or
as tall as possible, and make them the next target. 
 
When it came time for Stiles to be chosen, no one fought against the guards
like he had done. No one reached out for his hand. No one fought for him. 
Tears of fear and pain fell from his eyes as he realized he will die, but not
soon. And not painlessly.
===============================================================================
 
 
He was beat and put through torture methods he vaguely remembered reading about
after he got into reading the books of 'A Song of Ice and Fire'. Once he
survived those along with the hunger and thirst problems, they took him to much
cleaner stations, though he himself still remained very filthy. They wanted to
make their captives as vulnerable as possible and getting rid of one of the
senses was right up their alley. A lot of the times he would be blindfolded,
gagged, and his ears muffled. It was slowly driving him into insanity with the
solitary confinement of his own senses. 
 
He tried to take in as much information as he could when all of his senses were
freed, but then it all got fuzzy when they reached a lab and they injected him
with something. He was hooked up to machines and injected with more things that
made him sweat and heat up, made him sluggish, made him alert, made him
hallucinate. He was like a circus monkey on drugs. At some point he was
strapped to a gurney and wheeled into a new room. 
He tried to make heads or tails of the place but the drugs in his system were
wreaking havoc on his mind. That and he had limited motion. When he stopped
though, he saw a man with a doctor's mask loom over him. Looking around as much
as he could he noticed how much like a surgery room it looked like. 
Panic began to set in. 
This was it. The most painful of the experiments were about to be done on him
and then he'd die. 
Stiles struggled, tried to scream and fight, and anything that would help him.
But in the end...he was only human. 
===============================================================================
 
"How are you feeling today?"
"I am happy to comply." Stiles answered with faux cheerfulness immediately.
Whitehall looked over to the shrink with a skeptic look. "Sounds a
bit...sarcastic to me."
"Yes, well, it was one of his most dominant traits before." the shrink replied.
"So did the experiment fail?" Whitehall demanded. 
The shrink shook his head, "No, not at all. Granted, the sarcasm lingers, but
he is..." he smiled breathlessly as he looked back at Stiles, "He is perfect."
Whitehall clicked a few things on his tablet as he brought Stiles's file up. He
'hmm'd' while nodding.
"Took to training like a duck to water. Mastered weapons with ease as well. And
he is just...so...graceful! He is like the River Tam we've always wanted."
"River Tam escaped." Whitehall reminded him while he eyed Stiles's perfectly
still form. 
"True...but we are miles away from his home. His family has no resources. Not
any they haven't used up already, anyway. And it doesn't matter anyway. He is a
killing machine. One that doesn't think about morals or ethics. He is your
personal gun to fire when ready. He in lithe and nimble, and can reach
anywhere."
Whitehall smirked. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been too annoying lately. Let's see just how
perfect he really is."
The shrink turned to face Stiles, smiling excitedly at him. "Are you ready?
It's show time!"
"I am happy to comply." Stiles replied without missing a heartbeat.
===============================================================================
 
Along with another, someone called Agent 33, Stiles became close to Whitehall.
Became his personal PA as well as one of his best assassins. Sometimes they
worked missions together, sometimes Whitehall sent Stiles on missions all his
own regarding items of the supernatural kind. 
He first really encountered S.H.I.E.L.D. when they tried to obtain the painting
that held the writing on the back. When the fight between H.Y.D.R.A and
S.H.I.E.L.D ended, it was Stiles who had saved Agent 33 from being killed by
Agent May. He had been too late however, to stop May from fusing the
Photostatic Veil to Agent 33's face. 
The scar bothered her greatly, but Stiles suspected it had more to do with no
longer being able to see her own face. Part of Stiles wanted to reach out and
comfort her, but he held back. His first and foremost priority was to keep
Whitehall safe and satisfied. 
They chased more things like the painting that Stiles didn't question. It was
odd to him. He felt like he should question a lot of things. 
Raina was a problem for them, as was Skye. 
Stiles expected a kill order on them, but Whitehall never gave it. Or at least
not to him. 
Ward became a problem, Whitehall didn't trust him. He stirred something inside
of Stiles that scared Whitehall. Soon after they met with Ward, Stiles had
asked 'why' on an order. He was punished for it and never allowed to be in the
same room as Ward again. 
Stiles was there when Agent 33 gave the order for the four H.Y.D.R.A Quinjets
to fire and take the SHIELD Bus out of the air. He was nearly certain he'd
never see Ward again. 
But he did. 
In Puerto Rico where H.Y.D.R.A and S.H.I.E.L.D had a big showdown. 
Whitehall wanted Skye and her father about killing her mother. Ward tried to
talk to Agent 33, but when that failed he tried to talk to Stiles. Before Ward
could say something though, Whitehall gave Stiles his orders. Then all hell
broke loose. 
Stiles did his best to protect Whitehall. Killing as many S.H.I.E.L.D agents as
he could without caring who they were. 
The battle raged and in that time he was separated from Whitehall and thrown
into a mass of chaos. When he found Whitehall once more, he was dead. Agent 33
had some sort of breakdown. She must have felt what Stiles was feeling now that
the man who gave him orders and purpose was dead. The gunfire was still hot and
Stiles barely managed to get away from where Agent 33 was in a losing battle
with S.H.I.E.L.D agents. 
Stiles circled back to where he last saw Ward. The man was still there, but
injured. Stiles rushed to his side, his face confused and hurt and unsure as he
knelt down to Ward's side. Helping Ward stand, Stiles spoke in a quiet voice,
"Whitehall's dead..."
Ward's breathing was shaky, but he nodded as he held on to Stiles's hand, "It's
okay...Listen. It doesn't have to end here. Help me and I'll help you."
It could have been a lie, but with Whitehall dead Stiles no longer had a sense
of direction. No idea what his objectives were and that scared the hell out of
him. What was he without Whitehall?
Stiles grabbed onto Ward a bit tighter and hurried as fast as he could with
Ward's weight slowing them down, and getting them to safety. 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Even with all training he's received in H.Y.D.R.A.'s mitts, Ward was still
bigger than him. With his injuries being what they were, after making it out of
the warehouse in one piece without being spotted by some sort of miracle, Ward
wasn't going to make it far after. Stiles hid Ward behind some fallen trees and
dared to go back inside for some sort of supplies. He remembered when he
arrived with Whitehall that he had a pack full of supplies that should get them
by. It took all of his training to sneak passed the hoards of S.H.I.E.L.D
agents moving in to clean up the mess. 
For a moment he forgot how to breathe. 
He hasn't had a panic attack since the beginning days with H.Y.D.R.A. Didn't
think he'd have them again but with the uncertainty of his life now, he had to
use all his will power not to break down. 
He endured months of torture before Whitehall took him under his care. He was
trained and taught to be Whitehall's perfect weapon. To do all that Whitehall
commanded. To protect Whitehall at all cost. 
He failed and now he had no direction. He had no purpose. 
There was no way he could return to his life from before. They wouldn't
recognize him. They wouldn't understand him. They would see him as broken
beyond repair but he wasn't broken! He was taken apart and put back together
into something stronger! That's what H.Y.D.R.A did! That's what they promised!
But H.Y.D.R.A was falling all around him. Stiles could still hear bullets and
screams and even pieces of the building itself falling. 
When he looked down at his hands and saw blood, he was slightly confused. Then
he remembered it wasn't his blood. It was Ward's. Ward needed help. Ward needed
him. He hadn't become useless. He wasn't obsolete. His objectives just
changed. 
Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he stood up and went back in
search of supplies. Back near the office Whitehall had explained things to him
and Agent 33 when they first arrived, Stiles found his backpack along with
another. It wasn't nearly enough for what he calculated he needed, but it would
have to do.
Foregoing the stairs, Stiles shimmied down the gutter pipe outside one of the
windows. The building was full of agents, dominantly S.H.I.E.L.D while
H.Y.D.R.A either retreated or stood their ground and were being killed off. 
Luckily Ward was still alive when Stiles reached him. Bonus points for being
conscious. Stiles asked him to hold a flashlight while he made quick work of
wrapping the biggest wounds with bandages. It was sloppy work, but Stiles
needed to stop the bleeding and add some pressure to get them away long enough
without Ward bleeding to death.
Once the bleeding was somewhat controlled, Stiles helped Ward to his feet again
and they made it towards one of the locations where Whitehall had emergency
Jeeps stationed for quick get-aways. 
Stiles had to leave Ward leaning against a tree as he got rid of some of the
agents watching over the Jeep they reached. It wasn't all that graceful or
easy, but eventually Stiles got Ward into the Jeep and they were off. 
Something sparked in Stiles as he drove. Flashbacks of his beloved blue Jeep
surface and he swerved. 
"You okay?" Ward asked him as he cast Stiles a worried glance. 
Stiles looked over and even in the darkness he could see that Ward wasn't doing
so good. He was sweating, his breathing was labored, and he was in clear pain,
even if he tried to hide it. 
"Yeah. Just avoiding a pothole. We should be in town in less that twenty
minutes. We'll get you patched up." Stiles promised as he took a calming breath
to ease his nerves. 
"It's going to be okay." Ward spoke in a soothing voice. 
Stiles found himself relaxing to it...trying to believe Ward's words. The
silence that followed, only to be occasionally interrupted by a loudly broken
branch they run over, had Stiles's heart pounding with worry though. He was
still afraid of what life had in stored for him without Whitehall. Would Ward
need him once he was patched up and healing? Would he ditch Stiles the moment
presented itself? Stiles gripped the steering wheel tighter and only nodded in
response. 
===============================================================================
 
Stiles parked the Jeep in a darkened area before he scouted the first motel he
came across. He didn't have any money on him and knew better than being seen at
the moment. Once he found a room that was empty and had other empty rooms on
either side of it, he went back and fetched Ward. 
He knew that he would soon have to ditch the Jeep and get something else that
would grab too much attention. So after letting Ward take a deep breath, the
two slowly made their way to the room Stiles picked out. At the door, it took
Stiles less that ten seconds to pick the lock and motion Ward inside. Once Ward
was on the bed Stiles set down one of the other bags he brought with him and
opened up his backpack. Using his pocket knife Stiles ripped away Ward's
clothes, being more careful when it came to the roughly bandaged wounds. 
Stiles went to the bathroom then came back into the room to look for something
to hold water. In the end he had to rummage through his bags. He found an empty
canteen that he filled from the bathroom sink. Spreading out his supplies he
moved as fast as he could to clean each wound, remove the bullets, sew the
wound shut, and wrap it back up with clean bandages. 
All the while Ward watched him silently. It was a bit unnerving to be honest,
but H.Y.D.R.A trained him to ignore distractions and focus on his task. Though
after a while he turned to Ward and asked, "Would you like something to bite
down on? I don't have anything at the moment for the pain."
Ward shook his head. "It's alright. You're good at it." he said as he nudged
towards Stiles's working hands. 
Stiles's lips curved up ever so slightly. 
"H.Y.D.R.A would want to take credit." Stiles replied quietly.
"But they can't?" Ward inquired.
Stiles took a moment to consider it. Flashes of his past life and the McCalls.
How Melissa McCall taught him the basics when he and Scott seemed to always get
hurt one way or another at practice. When the supernatural crap began, Stiles
thought it would come in handy to learn more. 
"They...perfected it. But I...I was taught the basics...before..."
"Before they stole your life." Ward said evenly. 
Stiles froze at the words and part of him wanted to deny it. To claim that he
was happy. Happy to comply. But another part of him wanted to agree and be
angry! He flared his nostrils and breathed through his nose. He didn't reply as
continued and Ward didn't say anything else. 
Once he was done, he helped clean Ward up as best as he could, then continued
with the rest of the room. Stiles was about to grab the covers from the second
bed in the room before he grimaced at the stain. It was the first motel he saw
and not the best. Though it would help them keep a low profile, it made him
lose his appetite. Reaching into his pack he found a folded up emergency
blanket and placed it next to Ward.
"I'm going out for a while. I'll be back in about an hour. Try to rest...if you
get cold, I'd recommend using this." Stiles pointed to the folded square near
Ward's hand. 
"Where are you going?" Ward asked. Though it may have seem casual to anyone,
Stiles was always good at reading people. There was a slight panic in his eye
that made some unnamed emotion in Stiles flare. 
Stiles let out a shaky breath before steadying his expression, "Errands. I'll
be back." He promised then raised one finger. "One hour."
He and Ward shared a too long glance before Ward nodded and Stiles left the
room. When the door closed behind him, he slouched on it and let out another
shaky breath. He looked around as if he would find the answer to all his
problems. All he saw was darkness. 
With a sigh he stood up and began to make his way to the Jeep. Each step he
took, he steeled his resolve. He focused on what he had to do in a short run. 
Take care of Ward. 
Once Ward is better...then he'll deal with what comes next. 
===============================================================================
 
With the shroud of darkness...and in a rural area where there weren't many
traffic laws to abide, Stiles drove quite some distance in a short amount of
time. He gave the Jeep once last sweep and found a mini tool box, a radio, and
some protein bars. Finding a good enough location to abandon it, Stiles walked
five blocks before he came across a decent looking pick-up truck that had half
a gas tank full. Hot wiring it was simple enough and he was making his way
towards the closest pharmacy he could find. 
Picking the lock took a bit more than the motel room, but still just under the
minute mark. His Spanish wasn't the best, let alone his Spanish medical terms,
but he tried to guess as best as he could. Luckily his time in the hospital
because of his own mother and because of Mrs. McCall, he knew how the pills he
wanted looked like. Once he had the meds, he stopped by a local convenience
store and picked up basics. Water bottles, Chex Mix, Beef Jerky, sun glasses,
baseball caps, a pair of sweat pants and tourist shirts. They really weren't
his style but they'd do for now. 
Something in the back of him mind wanted him to be guilty for stealing all of
it, but right now he was in Survival Mode. 
It was as he was driving back to Ward that the voice in the back of his mind
got louder. It was a voice he hadn't heard in nearly over a year. A voice he
was sure he'd never hear again. He parked the truck on the side of the road and
rummaged through the glove box and cup holders. He found a few coins and hoped
it was enough. 
He had no idea why he was doing this. It was stupid. It was so beyond stupid he
should just get back to the truck and get to Ward. That was his objective! With
Whitehall dead, his object was to care for Ward. Care, mend, protect him. He
isn't doing that by staring at the damn phone booth! 
Time passed and before he knew it the coins were slotting into the machine and
he was pressing buttons. 
He should hang up. 
He really, really should.
 "Hello?" a groggy voice answered. 
A lump formed in his throat as Stiles heard his father's actual voice for the
first time in a very long time. Not a dream or a hallucination or his moral
conscious after committing a crime. But his for real, actual voice. 
"Hello? Who's there?" The Sheriff demanded. 
Stiles slammed the phone down on the receiver before he actually did something
stupid. Letting out a shaky breath he rested against the booth and swallowed
back the emotions that were running through him. His face felt itchy and when
he raised his hands to see why, he saw that he was crying. It's been months
since he last cried.
He wiped away his tears as he headed back to the truck. 
Driving down the road he told his objectives to himself out loud, "Care for
Ward. Protect Ward."
===============================================================================
 
"You were gone nearly half an hour longer than you said." Ward said as Stiles
entered the room. 
Ward was sitting up against the headboard and the old television was on. It was
spotty and flickered with static every so often. Since Ward managed to turn it
on himself without a remote in sight, Stiles was optimistic about the wounds.
Still, he frowned at the older man. "You shouldn't strain yourself."
"I was bored." Ward shrugged and something else was left unsaid. 
Stiles sat on the other bed and watched Ward for a moment before asking, "Did
you think I wouldn't return?"
Ward took a long time before answering. "It was...a possibility."
Stiles nodded. "It was."
"Why didn't you take it then?"
Stiles licked his lips. He then met and kept Ward's searching gaze. In the
times when S.H.I.E.L.D agents turned out to be H.Y.D.R.A and Ward himself was
pretty high up in ranks, Stiles almost laughed at Ward for looking for honesty.
But he held back since honesty was all he had at the moment. 
"Whitehall's dead. The past year has been dedicated to taking me apart and
putting me back together as his perfect toy. I...without him...I'm a weapon
without an owner. I...I don't have a purpose."Stiles replied as he finally
looked down at his hands.
"And what am I, then?" Ward asked. His voice was that soothing calm it had been
on the ride over. 
Stiles thought it over and over in his mind. He was conflicted with his loyalty
to Whitehall and his need to have someone to dedicate his life to. Ward must
have sensed his distress as he cleared his throat.
"It's okay...you don't have to answer that. I am curious as to what errands
you've been up to though." Ward replied, voice a bit more casual, bordering
playful. 
It confused Stiles a bit before shrugging off that odd feeling he had. 
"I needed to get rid of the Jeep. I got us a pick-up truck. The supplies I have
now will get us through until we find a better place. I know you're still in
pain, but the sooner we get farther from that warehouse-"
"The better." Ward nodded in agreement.
"So rest. I'll keep watch. We'll leave just before sunrise." Stiles said as he
stood and reached into one of the bags. He grabbed the bottle and passed it
over to Ward with a smirk. "I got you some of the good stuff. It'll help with
the pain and help you sleep."
While Ward opened the bottle and drank some water with the pills, Stiles pulled
up the chair from the corner of the room. He stationed it in the best angle by
the window while he reached for his gun. He only had his glock with him and two
more clips. 
"What's your name?" Ward asked after he shimmied down and made himself as
comfortable as he could on the bed.
Stiles turned to grin at him. "Now's not the time to be curious. Sleep, Ward."
"Grant. My name is Grant Ward."
"Good for you." Stiles replied playfully while turning his attention back to
the window.
"You're really not going to tell me? I told you mine." Ward said and Stiles
could hear the drowsiness in his voice. He should be out soon.
"I pulled your ass out of the fire. I earned your name." Stiles replied without
looking at the older man.
Ward yawned, "Guess we'll have to stick together long enough for me to learn
your name."
When the only noise was the hum of the television and the sound of the night
out side of their room, Stiles looked over. Ward's eyes were closed and his
chest rose and fell evenly as he slept. Despite himself, Stiles smiled at
Ward's words. 
That panicky feeling of dread and uncertainty left him...if only for now. 
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