And fuck the rest of the Argents
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"Ah!" Stiles cuts him off, scooting closer to the wooden bars that seemingly make up his prison, "No! You're both here for a reason, okay? Don't be a speciest bigot, Chris, you're the best of a bad lot, I expect you to act like it," Chris is shocked to actually feel chastened, he puts his gun back in his waistband, "And Peter, you are smart enough to ask questions first. Sane enough, too, might I add."
"Well, then," Peter says, still glaring, and Chris wonders how this boy all dolled up in a dress, knows all this about them. "I suppose my first question would be: Why did you invite a Hunter to join us, hmm?"
"Same reason I asked you to join me, Peter," Stiles answers, and doesn't even bother hiding how coy he's being, "I'm lonely. I wanted people to talk to, and I wanted said people, specifically, to be useful to a certain cause, later."
"And what cause would that be?" Chris asks, wary.
"That," Stiles beams, "is a secret."
[Or: The one where there's a boy in a dress, a werewolf, and a hunter. It sounds like the beginning of a joke, but it's all fairly serious business... Mostly.]