As the years went by

Hiiiiiii :)
This is a new one shot I've written
It is steter, I hope you enjoy
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They came in the night, under the cover of a storm brewed by a disgraced emissary-turned-hunter. The Sheriff had been called out to redirect traffic after a pileup on the highway, and Stiles was left unattended. It should've been fine. He'd been left alone during the night before, and it wasn't like Noah would be far. But he had no idea Stiles was the point of it all. None of them did. The wolves were howling within the hour, feeling the tether of the human who'd stopped the fire suddenly blinking out of existence.
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" Again ."

Stiles felt a shove against his back, egging him on. He was used to this song and dance, forced trainings now a regular part of his life. It had been a decade since he was taken, and while the memories were fainter every day, he held onto them with a vise. He'd expected to be killed, after the hunters tortured him enough to hallucinate people long gone, yet here he stood.

"Y'know, what if, and this is just a silly little idea. What if we don't train, just for one day? Hmm?" Stiles' breath was heavy with exertion as he threw his elbow back, chuckling to himself when he heard a faint crack of his assailant's nose.

"Fucker broke my nose!" Simon called out, his tone slightly nasal.

"We all know you've suffered worse," Stiles said, a grin on his face.

He distinctly remembered when he'd broken one of their bones for the first time. It wasn't too long after he'd been taken, back when he actively tried to escape still. Simon was about the same age, only a couple of months older, and Stiles realized they were supposed to be makeshift brothers. When he hadn't bent to fit the shape the hunters had wanted out of him, that hope was quickly dashed.

"Yeah, like growing up with you," Simon griped. He came at Stiles, the purpose of this training not over yet. He was sloppy, as always, as he attempted to tackle Stiles.

Stiles easily side-stepped away, his hands making their way to Simon's back to use his momentum against him, making him topple over onto the ground. He was back up in a flash, but one glance to the side of the mat gave Stiles all he needed to know. Alice was smiling, that familiar fire in her eyes when Stiles earned her approval.

"After all these years, you still continue to impress," she said. Her voice stopped Simon, as both boys dropped their guard for the moment. "That's enough for now, I think they've earned some food, don't you think?"

She looked up to where the leader was, his cold stare seeming to always bore into Stiles. He gave a simple nod and turned on his heel, leaving them again.

"Ever the conversationalist," Stiles grumbled, following as the other two filed out of the room.

He knew he was the one the leader didn't talk to, knew he wasn't part of this family, this group, whatever they wanted to call it. It hadn't taken long for him to realize they were vaguely connected to Kate Argent and her plan to burn the Hales, nor for him to understand that they took him to remove him from the equation.

He'd been childhood friends with Cora and Brett, kids of the major packs in Beacon Hills, but it truly was mostly coincidence that led him to the house before the fire started. The building still burned partially, but the only loss of life had been the hunters. He'd seen Peter kill a man for the first time that night, and he hadn't been sure how to feel about it, the usually jovial and sarcastic teenager with shimmering blue eyes. Stiles knew he'd killed before, but that wasn't the type of thing people usually talked to children about.

He wondered if his own eyes were starting to become blue over time, the pieces of his heart being chipped away the longer he was forced to stay here.

"Happy ten year anniversary," Simon muttered, pulling Stiles out of his head. He had a smirk on his face, one he only wore in times of cruelty.