Fic: Of Wolf and Man - Supernatural/Teen Wolf - Chapter 2/4
Title: Of Wolf and Man
Artist: sophiap
Crossover: Teen Wolf/Supernatural
Characters/Pairing(s): Dean, Sam, Stilinski, Stiles, Deaton, Derek, John
Warnings: Show-level violence, language
Spoilers: SPN season 8 (minor); TW post season 2
Summary: After receiving a call from an old family friend, the Winchesters find themselves in Beacon Hills, CA, finishing a case they started in their teens, back when the creature of the week was hunting a young deputy named Stilinski and his pregnant wife. Now, the monster is back, and the hunters are needed, but there's more than one threat in this small town, and the guys are starting to think Deaton called them in for an entirely different reason, one involving a few secrets John Winchester kept past the grave. Gen. SPN season 8; TW post season 2.
Story Masterpost : Chapter 1 : Chapter 2 : Chapter 3 : Chapter 4
Art Masterpost
Chapter 2: The Hunters and the Prey
"My boy, my beautiful boy…Mommy needs you, Stiles…"
He rolled over in his bed, stinging eyes open and staring at the wall across from him. The voice wasn't real, he knew that. It was just some fragment of a dream, but it sounded real enough, and for a moment, Stiles sat up in bed, listening closely for it. For her.
"Mom?" he breathed out.
There was no answer, and he shook it off, that sudden stab-to-the-gut pain, and rolled off the mattress. His feet hit wet clothes, and he groaned. He'd been in such a hurry to pretend he was home in bed that he'd tossed his clothes off in a mad rush, forgetting to lay them out to dry. Hopefully his dad didn't spot them. Stiles wouldn't know. He'd fallen asleep almost as soon his head had hit the pillow.
That whole 'going to bed at a decent hour' thing was, frankly, a little disturbing, but he'd been worn out over the past few days. Like he had been after…Stiles didn't want to rewind to a few weeks ago, when emotions were high, when the adrenaline had dried up and left him beaten and sinking in his own cloudy emotions. He didn't want to call it depression, but coming out of the battle with his life didn't leave him floating on rainbows and butterflies, like he'd expected.
He'd thought that was over now, though. Things were getting a little back to normal. Or, at least, as normal as life could be when you were friends (and enemies) with werewolves and your dad was acting as crazy as the far-from-seasonal weather.
"Well, isn't this the beginning of a beautiful day," he groaned. "Thank God it's Friday."
He kicked the laundry aside, stirring up the scent of mildew and mud, and reached out for his cell phone, which was, thankfully, charging on his bedside table and not still in the his soaked hoodie. It was good enough to tell him that he was running late for school. Awesome.
Also, unsurprisingly, Lydia Martin hadn't sent him a text professing her undying love to him, but Scott had left a single message, apparently sometime after they'd parted ways: Smelled something strange. Did you?
"That's random," Stiles chirped, not quite sure if this was one of Scott's zany wolf moments or a poor imitation of a fart joke. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and pulled a dry T-shirt and sweats on over his boxers. Maybe he was just too tired to 'get it'.
Stiles stepped out of his room, destined for the bathroom, only to hear the shower running. So much for beating Dad to it this morning. (Weren't old people supposed to sleep longer when they stayed out all night?) Instead, he decided to shuffle into the kitchen to set the coffee maker and snatch a cold slice of pizza, breakfast of champions.
Only, huh, when he stepped into the kitchen there was already someone eating his two-day-old pizza and drinking his already-brewed coffee, and that someone looked nothing like Goldilocks. Stiles wasn't proud of the fact that his manly cry for help came out a squeak, or that his sudden turn to find a weapon left his feet twisted together. He landed on the floor with a thud, knocking the breath out of him. When he looked up, he found the intruder staring down at him, one brow above his green eyes raised.
"Paul, your kid is kind of a spaz," the guy said, spitting a few crumbs onto Stiles' fresh shirt, then offering an apologetic half-grin.
Stiles was ready to throw his cell phone at the man's head when he heard his father step out of the living room, sighing deeply. "Stiles, what are you doing down there?"
Stiles' mouth dropped open. Seriously? "Oh, you know, just checking for dust bunnies. Good news! No bunnies. However there is a friggin' stranger standing in our kitchen!"
A door in the hallway behind him opened, and Stiles craned his neck to see a tall man (or possibly a half-giant-it was hard to tell from the floor) step out of the bathroom in plaid and denim, the tips of his shoulder-length brown hair still wet.
"I thought I heard something fall?" he asked, then spotted Stiles. "Ah."
"Make that two strangers," Stiles corrected.
The other stranger, aka Goldilocks, only grinned, swallowing down a mouthful of crust. "Sam, check it out. This is a Stiles."
"Boys."
Stiles realized the warning tone had come from his dad. He also realized he was still on the cold floor. So he scrambled up, snatching an orange off the counter, as if it were part of his morning routine, and then gave his father a tight-lipped smile, waiting for him to go on.
"Oh." Thankfully, his father picked up on what was missing. "Stiles, this is Dean, and his brother Sam. They're old friends of the family, and they'll be staying with us for a few days."
"Old friends?" Stiles echoed, confused.
His dad was in a crisp, freshly ironed uniform, but he looked as tired as Stiles felt. "Yes, Stiles. Your old man actually has those, believe it or not. If you must know, they're private investigators, and they're going to be helping me with a case. And, no, I'm not going to discuss it with you. And, yes, you are supposed to be leaving for school already."
Stiles opened and closed his mouth before settling on a reply. "Okay, fine. School." He waved one hand in welcome. "Great meeting you, guys with no last names. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, 'cause apparently you already - "
His father cut him off with a glare. "Stiles."
Stiles moved back, pretending a trip to the bathroom was more urgent than it was. Then he slipped back into his room, snatching up a jeans and over-shirt combo and his bag, but his father's loud 'Dad voice' rang out through the house. "And I want you home right after school! You don't have practice. I already checked."
Damn. Stiles bit back his annoyance. So much for that excuse. But two could play at that game. He made a mental note to call the station and get his dad's schedule for the day, which had obviously been altered if it allowed for two 'private investigators'. Stiles paused at that thought and leaned against his bedroom door, opening it just a crack to listen in on the conversation in the living room. The men's voices had all dropped to near whispers.
"Sorry, boys, I'm usually the grumpy one in the morning. The nightmares are getting to him."
"Does he know what's happening?"
That was the shorter brother, Dean. Mr. Pizza-stealer.
Stiles heard his father's reply. "Not yet. And I'd prefer he didn't if there's any way around it. Hell, who am I kidding, he might already know. The kid doesn't talk to me as much anymore, and he's smart. He knows I'm hiding something from him."
"Listen, Paul," the giant picked up. "We're going to do our best to keep him safe. You warded his car already, right? And we put traps and sigils around the house this morning. He should be safe in public, for now. This thing doesn't sound like it enjoys an audience."
His dad was silent a moment. "It's not going to be enough."
The ache in the man's voice nearly shocked Stiles out of his stealth and into the room, but he held back, listening more closely. Wards? Traps? That didn't sound good.
"You're right," Dean replied, his voice gruff but strong. There was something dangerous about his tone. "It's not. But you know what is going to be enough? Killing the evil son of a bitch before it can get its claws into your boy."
Stiles did step away then, shutting the door, breath caught in his lungs. He finally managed to let the air escape his throat, his hands shaking as he tried to press the buttons on his phone. Instead he shot out the door, passing the men in the living room at a near run, but his cast down eyes still managed to glimpse Sam crouching down behind his brother, slipping a wicked looking knife into the inner pocket of his jacket.
"See you after school! Have fun with the private dicks," Stiles called, not giving his father time to answer back, or to hear the slight quake in his voice.
He didn't stop until he'd parked his Jeep at the end of the street. A rolling round of thunder announced that the rain would start up again soon. He held his cell up to his ear, pinching the bridge of his nose while it rang on the other end.
"Hey, man, are you running late?"
"Yeah, and now you are, too. Remember that part where you didn't want to contact Derek any time soon? Yeah, well, we might not have a choice."
"Slow down. What's going on? Did your dad say something?"
"You could put it that way." Stiles chewed his bottom lip. "Turns out I have two new roommates, and I'm pretty sure they're werewolf hunters."
"What? How…? What?"
"He knows." Stiles let out a shaky breath. "My dad knows, and I think he's taking it way worse than your mother did."
"I like that kid," Dean mused. He watched the teen speed off in a Jeep so fragile-looking it made him wary before dropping the curtain back down. "But you know he's hiding something, right?"
"He's a teenager," was Stilinski's reply, but there was something in his tone…Dean gave the older man a hard look, and apparently, it was enough to push out a better answer. "He's gotten into some trouble lately. He and his friends, they're good kids, but I'll be damned if I understand what they're thinking half the time. If there's a problem in Beacon Hills, they somehow always end up in the thick of it." The sheriff shook his head, his voice lower, not really meant for his guests. "God, I miss his mother. I know she would have been able to get it out of him. He would have talked to her."
Dean shared a look with Sam, reading the discomfort on his little brother's face.
"We need to talk about your monster problem," Dean said, drawing Stilinski back. He gave an embarrassed smile. "So, funny thing, Sam and I? We don't exactly know much about the hunt Dad was on back in the day. What do you remember?"
"I wasn't with your dad for all of it. He thought it was safer if I stayed with Sarah." He frowned, obviously not enjoying that memory. "Your father always told me it was something other than what he expected, but he was sure about one thing. It was a type of demon, just not the 'normal kind'. I don't even know what the hell that means, but…" He rubbed at his neck, finding an old ache that didn't exist. "At the time, I didn't even know Dr. Deaton was working with him on the hunt. It wasn't until later, when Sarah was sick, that I realized our small town vet had been the 'researcher' John was talking about."
"Deaton didn't talk to you about the demon?" Sam asked.
"Not really. No. And Deaton's avoided me every time I've tried to ask." Stilinski shook his head. "But I know why they kept so quiet. Neither of them wanted me to know it was the possession that killed Sarah. That was my fault. I was supposed to be watching out for her while they were on the hunt, but it still got in her. And, after the exorcism, she wasn't the same. Her body was weak, especially after she gave birth. The doctors must have treated her for a dozen different diseases over the years, trying to put a name on what she had… It was slow, the way she…"
Sam took an aborted step forward. "Paul, you don't have to talk about it."
Stilinski sat down on the edge of his couch, grasping his head between both hands. "I wasn't in the best shape near the end. Or after, for that matter. When your dad told me it was the demon's touch on her that had done it, I wasn't exactly the most thankful person. God, I was so pissed at the world. I was drinking, and, well, I wasn't a good father, or a good friend. So, when the signs started back again, and Deaton said he wasn't living that life anymore… and when you dad didn't call back, I just figured it was because they thought I blamed them for what happened."
Dean lowered himself down beside the other man. "Paul, I don't know what went down exactly, but I know Dad would have understood. Completely. He wouldn't have held a grudge, but he would have been pissed. At himself, because this job was left unfinished, and that's not the way a Winchester works."
Stilinski clasped his hands between his knees, focused on the floor beneath them. "You'll make sure it dies this time?"
"You bet your ass." Dean glanced up at Sam's solemn face. "Think it's about time we go see Deaton?"
Sam wasn't expecting the animal hospital to still seem so familiar or to cause him to feel such a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. He was glad for a distraction from memories of carrying an injured dog through doors just like the ones he'd stepped through, of meeting a woman who'd find her way into his heart. That distraction came in the form of his name being called.
"Sam and Dean Winchester. It's about time you two decided to show up."
Sam turned, expecting to see a man he barely recognized, but, surprisingly, Dr. Deaton looked almost exactly like he had all those years back. Maybe a little softer, maybe a little shorter. But Sam figured that last part was just perspective. His dark skin had a healthy shine to it, his eyes the same observant brightness to them. The years had been good to him.
"Dr. D," Dean said, chuckling, and leaned in when the veterinarian opened his arms for a hug. A normal person might not have noticed, but Sam saw his brother press his silver ring against the man's bare wrist, then the holy water dampened corner of his over-shirt. "Long time," he added, smiling in relief when there was no response.
Deaton only shook his head in return. "Too long. I would have enjoyed seeing the two of you grow up. Especially when Sam outgrew you. That must have been a surprise."
"You wound me, man."
Sam smiled fondly at the pair. Dean would never admit it, but he was the more physical of the Winchester bunch, always had been prone to making contact. Even so, Sam hadn't expected such a happy response from Dean, not toward this man. After all they'd only really stayed with Deaton the one time. But, as his brother had reminded him, it was a good one time. Despite what happened to the Stilinskis, they still had fond memories of Beacon Hills, and Sam hoped this experience wouldn't trample those into the dirt.
Or maybe it was already too late for that hope.
Sam had seen the look in his brother's eye when Stilinski had told them about his wife. A little part of him had been crushed to hear the details, too, but, while Sam had barely seen the then-deputy and his young, pregnant wife, Dean had been older, had been more involved with Sarah. Had still put mothers on an unreachable pedestal back then, as if they were something rare and precious. Knowing their dad hadn't told them what really happened to the couple and newborn they'd thought they'd left behind to enjoy a Happily-Ever-After was a blow to both their spirits.
"…and you, Sam."
Sam was pulled out of his thoughts by the hand clapping him on the shoulder. Deaton smiled at him, wearing a soft, knowing expression that reminded Sam of Pastor Jim whenever he was trying to be comforting.
"I'm sorry, about John." His grip tightened, squeezing Sam gently. "I haven't been in the hunters' circles in a long time, or I'm sure I would have known earlier."
"Thanks," Dean said, the smile leaving his eyes.
Deaton pulled away from the two of them. "I wish this reunion could have taken place under better circumstances."
Back to business, then. Sam nodded in agreement, but before he could open his mouth, Dean was already tossing out the bait.
"So, I'd like to say we're already up to speed on this fugly bastard, but we're not. Dad never told us exactly what you two were hunting. What the hell is it?"
Deaton glanced at his glass front door, then ushered the brothers back to his office, gesturing for them to find a seat before he began.
"Back then, we didn't know for certain," he said, "but we realized what it might be, eventually. That's how we found the exorcism we used on Sarah. Unfortunately, the lore on these creatures…It's not very useful, and we didn't have access to enough of it to know that…" He broke off, giving them a tight, regretful smile. "I'm getting ahead of myself. What we're likely hunting is an Ala, or a Hala as it's sometimes called. It's usually referred to as a type of demon, but it differentiates greatly, mostly because an Ala, the Ale, can shift their physical forms."
"That explains the gorilla-wolf-thing," Dean said.
Deaton blinked, surprised. "Come again?"
"Our welcoming party," Dean continued. "Something ran out in front of the car, busted out a headlight. It was furry, red-eyed, and damned fast."
Deaton swallowed hard, then turned around, pulling a stack of books off a shelf. None of them looked like they were about proper care of kittens. "Yes, well, perhaps…" But Deaton sounded very doubtful. And maybe even a bit nervous. Sam sat up a bit straighter, watching him more carefully, but he had already went back to the subject at hand.
"The Ale usual take the form of serpents or beautiful women. Sometimes even black clouds in the sky. And, of course, as we know, they can slip into humans as well, possessing them. They're very individualized creatures, which is what makes them so hard to identify. These texts should help fill in the gaps, but I'm sure your own researching capabilities can best mine these days."
"Sounds more like an Acheri demon, or the Rakshasas we hunted, than a regular demon," Sam muttered, but his brother was already talking over him.
"And you're a hundred percent sure this is what we're dealing with?" Dean asked.
Deaton nodded. "I'm sure the sheriff told you about the missing children? It's trying to regain its strength before it goes back to its target. All the signs are there. It's circling the Stilinskis once more. I don't know why it has it out for their bloodline, but it does, and Ale are known for attaching to families."
He flipped open one of the books, gesturing down to a long, indented passage. Sam wasn't sure he recognized the language.
"Serbian," Deaton said, as if reading his mind. "It's an exorcism of sorts…more of a summoning, really, pulling the demon from one spot to another. That was what we did wrong, back when your father and I had it. We cast it, we thought, to Hell. It wasn't enough. We didn't have the information to tell us that, though."
Dean leaned forward. "Is that why it hurt Sarah, when you exorcised it?"
Deaton frowned, hesitating. "No, I'm afraid not. In the lore, an Ala does not often possess its prey, but when it does, it often leaves them tainted. In most accounts they grow ill and die because of the demonic essence it leaves behind."
Sam raised a brow. "Most?"
"Well, there are always special exceptions, but I'm afraid Sarah was simply not one of the lucky few whose body could handle it." Deaton slid the books toward Sam. "Read up, and you'll see what I mean. But, as keen as your skills are, I don't know if you'll be able to find a better method of disposing of an Ala. Unless you have a dragon up your sleeve?"
Dean snorted. "Nah, we usually kill those."
Deaton raised a brow. "Really?"
"We've led weird lives," Dean noted.
Deaton smiled in agreement. "I was actually hoping the two of you might have a more easy-to-use weapon on you. Your father, he found The Colt, did he not?"
Now it was Sam's turn to be thrown off his game. He was pretty sure he and his brother were wearing matching furrowed brows.
"Should I even ask how you know about that?" Dean didn't wait for a reply. "Let's just say The Colt is no longer at our disposal. Or anyone's disposal at this…time. But we have something that works just as well on demonic dicks, though."
Deaton let out a breath. "That's good to hear, because I'm hoping not to make the same mistake twice with this creature."
"You get why dad hunted this thing? Why he took the job? It could possess people, it could turn into black smoke…Dean, he was looking for a demon. That's why he didn't tell us about it. Then it turned out to be something else."
Dean leaned more heavily off the sidewalk's railing, wadding up the burger wrapper in his hand before he pushed up to full height, turning around to face his brother. "So you're saying he left the hunt unfinished because it wasn't what he was looking for?" he snapped.
"No! I'm saying he knew what he was after before he ever told us about the demon. Before we knew anything about demons being involved with Mom's death. Way before, when we were still kids."
Dean didn't know how to reply to that yet, so he kept his mouth shut. Sam shook his head, resting a hand against the slick railing as well.
Past them, the parking lot was empty but for their Impala, dead ahead. The heavy gray clouds above must have been enough to keep people from their regular vet visits, but the rain had let up, at least for the moment, and the slight chill was almost a welcome relief from the stale air in Deaton's office. They'd spent the entire morning, well into the afternoon, taking advantage of his small library and the wi-fi before Dean had went stir crazy and insisted they pick up a bite to eat.
"Dean…" Sam was more cautious this time around. "You realize something is up with Deaton, right?"
Dean snorted. "Dude is worse at hiding stuff than Stilinski's kid. Did the rest of the world forget how to check for tells or something?"
"Or something," Sam agreed. "But why would he be hiding something from us? He seems to really want to help the Stilinskis."
"My guess? Might have something to do with Dad hauling ass out of here after the hunt went south."
"And about the missing journal pages?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged. Yeah, he was thinking Deaton knew how those two things were related, too. "But, honestly? Whatever came between Deaton and Dad was their problem. It's not where our focus needs to be."
Sam nodded in agreement. "So, we know how we can take this thing down, we've got all the lore on it we can find, but something is still bugging me."
Dean could guess what that something was. "Why the hell has it got a hard-on for Stilinskis?"
"Exactly."
Dean glanced down the sidewalk, where the glass door to the animal hospital remained closed. "What do you say we ditch Deaton and find out? The sheriff should be off work soon. And he knows something, whether he realizes it or not."
Scott waited, as patiently as he could, his hood drawn up over his head as he crouched down on the building's roof, watching the adjacent Animal Hospital for movement. He'd bailed out of his last few classes-something his mother and his final grade were not going to be happy about. Still, Scott, despite having been the one to call Derek, wasn't going to let the Alpha check this out on his own. Not when it involved Stiles' dad. Sheriff Stilinski had always been kind to him, treated him like he was his own, and he couldn't take the chance that the man might get in the other werewolf's way if he didn't run interference.
Scott had been surprised when he'd tracked the hunters' car to the Animal Hospital. And a little terrified. They were talking to Deaton?
Scott didn't know what to make of that, so he slid down, keeping them just barely within hearing range, and waited. Scott was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't sense Derek until the werewolf was on one knee beside him, a fierce red glow to his eyes.
"Scott," he growled, as a welcome. "What have you found out?"
Scott felt his body stiffen, but he tried to hold down that part of him that wanted to tell the Alpha not to order him around. He wasn't pack anymore, and there wasn't a chance he'd ever want to be pack again… was there? Scott wasn't sure he wanted to ask himself that question, and now was no time for it.
"I told you over the phone," he said, hating that it came out as a whine. He started over. "The two guys Stiles said were hunters are here. From what I can tell, they spent most the day visiting Deaton, but I haven't been here long enough to find out why."
Derek's frown deepened with anger. "Why Deaton?"
"If I knew, don't you think I would have told you?"
The werewolf glared at him. "Thanks for being so very helpful, Scott." He sat up a bit higher, studying the two men below. "That car… They came in the Impala?"
"Yeah." Scott couldn't keep the slight smile off his face. "Sweet ride, even if it is owned by hunters."
"A '67," Derek said, but he didn't sound as if he were admiring the classic. His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Did Stiles say their names?"
"Sam and Dean. They're brothers." Scott had barely finished when Derek shot up to his feet, leaping the distance over to the emergency stairs and disappearing over the side of the building. "Crap."
Scott thought about following but hesitated, leaning closer to the edge of the roof instead. "Derek!" he hissed, but the werewolf ignored him.
It was like watching a train wreck, or, more correctly, waiting for a train wreck he knew was going to take place. Scott didn't know how to stop the encounter that was about to happen, so he only stayed on his haunches, prepared to run, as Derek, down on the ground below, walked down the sidewalk, toward the loitering pair of hunters.
Then it got really weird, because Scott was almost certain Derek was now wearing a wide, genuine smile.
"Whoa. Weird."
"Sam? Sam Winchester?"
Sam had already opened the Impala's door, ready to slide inside, when he heard the voice. It wasn't familiar, and neither was the face he saw when he turned around. There was a man standing on the sidewalk, wearing a small smile. Dark features, maybe a few years younger than him, black leather jacket; Sam couldn't recall ever meeting him, but he stepped away from his open door, nevertheless, knowing, from instinct alone, that his brother was watching the stranger with caution, a hand on a weapon's handle.
The man shook his head in awe, stepping a few feet closer. "I told you you'd grow up taller than me," he noted. "I would never have recognized you if it hadn't been for your dad's car. Can't believe it still looks the same after all these years."
Sam cocked his head, eyes narrow as he stared at the man's face again. "Wait…Derek?"
Derek's smile widened slightly. "So you do remember me. Good to know I left an impression."
Before he could stop himself, Sam clasped hands with the man, their shake turning into a one-armed hug. "I can't believe it," Sam muttered, grinning. "I can't believe you still live around here."
Derek shrugged. "Home is home. I left for a bit, but I moved back not too long ago. What about you? What brought you back to Beacon Hills' Animal Hospital, of all places?"
Sam smiled back, hoping it reached his eyes, but it wasn't the lie on the tip of his tongue that gave him pause. There was something intense in Derek's tone, and he wondered where that had come from. Maybe it was just the time standing between them, but it left Sam unnerved. He remembered Derek Hale as energetic, tough, and lively. Granted, the Derek Hale he knew had been a pre-teen at the time. This man was subdued, hard around the edges. Like he'd lived a life too similar to Sam's.
"Dr. Deaton has some stuff that belonged to our dad. We thought we'd pick it up while we were passing through the area."
Understanding flickered across Derek's eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, more quietly.
"How'd you - "
"I know that look. Had it not too long ago. My parents…" He paused, the sympathy on his face disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. Sam was surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor, the widening of his nostrils, the stiffness in his jaw. "How long are you planning to stay in town?"
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but the slight creak of Dean's door cut him off. His brother was leaning across the roof of the Impala, one arm casually down at his side, and he caught his eye, nodding slightly.
"Few days," Sam finally replied.
"Dean," Derek said, tilting his head in acknowledgement.
Sam bit down a smile at his brother's raised brow. He somehow doubted Dean would have been able to pull Derek's name off the top of his head, but then again, Sam had been the one who'd been friends with the younger boy. They'd even written back and forth the first few years after they moved from Beacon Hills, and Sam honestly couldn't remember why they'd ever stopped. School, hunting, life; their friendship had simply faded over time.
Dean smiled back, earnest enough to fool a stranger. "Good seeing you again, Derek. Like Sam said, we'll be in town a few days. You two should hit that diner down the road one morning. I'm sure you pen-pals have a lot of catching up to do."
Sam raised a brow, as he watched Dean shift his weight uncomfortably. Sam hadn't even realized Dean knew about the letters, but what surprised him more was offer to hang out. His brother wasn't big on friendships outside the job.
"We should," Derek finally replied, quietly.
Dean tapped the car fondly, as if ready to dive inside it, but he paused instead, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Hey, uh, how's your big sister doing? Did she get to go to med school, like she wanted?"
Derek stilled, eyes dropping down a moment. "She started," he said, swallowing. "Laura died. About a year ago."
"Derek…" Sam's voice trailed off, but Derek took a step back, as if anticipating a touch he didn't want to receive. "How?"
"I'm sorry to hear that, man," Dean interrupted, his frown aging him, as it always did. "Laura was a great girl."
Derek nodded in agreement. "She liked you too. Even after you left."
A silence fell over them, the rumble in the clouds above taking over the conversation. Sam wasn't sure how to continue, but the sound of Dean's cell phone made the decision for him. Dean answered, keeping his head down as he listened to the voice on the other end. Derek's eyes trailed him, even as Sam jotted down his number.
Derek took the sliver of paper, still watching Dean. "I should be going," he muttered, distracted. "I'll call."
The man was headed down the sidewalk before Dean even snapped the cell phone shut. Sam wanted to stop Derek, but he knew from one glance at his brother that it wasn't good news.
"That was Stilinski," Dean said, letting out a shallow breath. A mist had begun to fall again, leaving the tips of his short hair glistening. "His kid's missing."
"How does he know he's missing?"
Dean pocketed his phone, dipping down into the car and out of the weather, and Sam mirrored the move, their doors slamming shut.
Dean gave him a sideways glance. "Stiles isn't home from school, he's not answering his phone, and, oh yeah, his car was abandoned in the middle of a road."
"We should have told him to pick his son up after we figured out what this was..." Sam ran a hand down his face, considering what they'd learned about the Ala. This thing was powerful, more than what they expected when they'd left the family that morning. "But, Deaton said we probably had more time. He said the storms would get worse, a lot worse, and there'd be more children taken before it attacked its intended prey. Like last time, when it came for Sarah."
"Well, I guess this thing tossed out its own rule book."
"Shit."
"Yeah, the sheriff shares your sentiments."
The Impala squealed as Dean threw it into gear, burning rubber as he skidded out of the parking lot.
Before the grumble of the old car had faded in the distance, the heavens released another floodgate, pelting Derek with small, stinging bits of ice, but Derek's stony expression didn't change in the least. He heard Scott hop down off the side of the neighboring building, running out from between them to catch up with Derek.
"What was that about?"
Derek raised a brow, glancing over his shoulder at the younger werewolf. "What was what about?" he asked.
Scott lowered his head, jaw hard and set as he glared up. Derek assumed the expression was supposed to be intimidating, but it would have looked more dangerous on a puppy, frankly. Realizing he was going to have to explain his reaction to seeing the Impala, Derek shook the ice off his hair and dipped beneath the overhanging lip of the neighboring building's roof.
"They're not here to hunt us," Derek said.
"But they are hunters?" Scott asked. "And you know them? How? Are they with the Argents? I heard you talking to them, with, like, actual sentences instead of grunts. You're friends with hunters now?"
"Yes, they're hunters. No, they don't run in the same circle as the Argents. And the rest is none of your business. They won't be a threat to you so long as you stay hidden from them."
"None of my business? And what do you mean 'so long as I stay hidden'…They don't know you're a werewolf?"
Derek resisted the urge to throttle him. "No," he bit. "Let's keep it that way. Now, if you're done asking questions, that was Sherriff Stilinski on the phone with Dean."
"I couldn't hear it," Scott said, the rolling thunder above giving him an excuse. Derek realized that something must have shown on his face, because the teenager was suddenly wearing a worried frown. "Is this…Did something happen to Stiles?" Scott asked.
Derek nodded, but before he could reply, Scott was already turning to run. Derek caught his arm, digging claws into his skin to stop him. He pulled him in close, a growl in his voice.
"Go, but stay out of the Winchesters' way. I mean it, Scott."
Derek released him, letting the young wolf run toward the Stilinski house, but he knew they wouldn't be apart for long. Scott would be back as soon as he realized he couldn't follow Stiles' scent from there. Maybe he'd be able to pick up on something useful though. Derek just hoped he could manage it without catching the Winchesters' attention.
Considering the pair of hunters again, Derek gave the animal hospital a glance. There was someone he needed to speak to before he pulled his meager pack together.
Chapter 3