The Duty in a Duet. {Sterek}

Chapter 1.

Twenty year old Stiles Stilinski was innocent in every possible way. But he's smart. He takes the safe route home and doesn't talk to seemingly harmful or dangerous strangers. He obeys the law and does everything to ensure that he stays on the good side of whoever is behind it. Everything his mother taught him when he was young. He was told that the safety basics would most likely keep him in relative safety. And of course they did, until one night, a stroke of bad luck crossed his path.

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Stiles had never been in immediate, life threatening danger. He'd never had the overwhelming feeling of anxiety and fear rush through him. He'd heard about stuff like this before on the news. And countless movies that including scenes like this were piled up on his tv stand back at his shared flat. But this was new to him. He hadn't been prepared for something like this! He had absolutely no clue as to what he was supposed to do in this situation!

He felt unbearably frightened, large waves of fear shook through his body. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. All he could do was stand there as two men began banging on the glass doors of his beloved dance studio. He could only stand there rapidly blinking as one of the men pulled a large hammer out of his black bag.

Stiles barely had time to flinch back and cover his head with his arms, as the man smashed the hammer into the glass door, sending glass shards flying everywhere. He fell to his knees, causing tiny pieces of glass to enter his skin, as the two men rushed inside the studio.

Panic shot through Stiles, he needed to hide before he was spotted. He scrambled behind the reception desk, thoroughly banging his head on the filing cabinet. He silently cursed, praying that the strange men hadn't heard. Unfortunately his attempt to go unnoticed only made his presence more noticeable. Stiles' eyes widened at the sound of footsteps coming towards the desk.

"Look what we've got here Ben" A man with dark hair said, after stopping in front of the desk and bending down to see Stiles underneath. The man reached over, taking a hand full of Stiles' hair and yanked his head towards him. The other man, Ben, squatted down to Stiles' level. "Were you about to lock up, ballerina?" Ben, taunted as he joined the dark haired man. A loud whimper was the only answer that was given.

"Here's the deal princess, you tell us the code to the cash box and we won't hurt you." Stiles knew the code of course. His mother owned this studio since before Stiles was even born. Stiles had inherited the studio when his mother passed away. But there was no way he was ever going to say the ten digit code to the threatening men. "Not gonna answer, huh?" Ben shouted, his hand coming down on Stiles' cheek with a loud smack. Stiles stayed quiet, not making eye contact with the short, red headed man.

"Well won't this just be a shame. We didn't want to hurt you." the first man laughed, grabbing Stiles out from under the desk. Stiles gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, the pain of the mans kick causing him to hunch over. A second hard kick had Stiles collapsing over onto his side. "Ben go look for that code, I'll finish up here." Stiles heard the man say. Then he felt the man grab him and start to drag him back down the hallway. Stiles struggled for release from the man's hard grip on his shirt collar. His weak tries to get the man off failing as he was taken farther and farther away from his bag.

The hallway spinned as he was suddenly slammed up against a wall,. He gave a loud cry as blow after blow was delivered to his body. Stiles tried once again to fight back as he felt a hand wrap around his neck. His struggles only to be met by fist after fist landing punches to his face. Then, another hand joined the first around his neck. It didn't take long before he passed out, his body slumping to floor as the man walked away.

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Derek Hale was halfway into his night shift when he got the call coming in on the radio. "Officer Hale, do you copy?" The familiar voice of Officer McCall flooded through the speaker. Derek flipped the switch on the radio and picked up the receiver. "Copy that. What's going down?" "We've got a 459. Repeat, we've got a 459. At Stilinski Academy of Dance. Fifth Avenue, next to Peter B. Lewis Theater. Do you read me?" Came the answer. "Read loud and clear. I'll be down in ten." Derek answered, turning his lights and siren on, before pulling out onto the busy street.