Fic: Of Wolf and Man - Supernatural/Teen Wolf - Chapter 3/4
Title: Of Wolf and Man
Artist: sophiap
Crossover: Teen Wolf/Supernatural
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 3: The Boy Who Cried Wolf
1995
Rain water and sweat plastered his uniform to his back, but Sam was too flushed from excitement to feel the coldness seeping through. Practice had been decent, considering the weather, and better than expected when Gabriel Harris had wiped out trying to show off his 'moves.' Sam would be lying if he said he'd actually paid any attention to the time while he was out, especially after coach left, but now he realized it was almost pitch black past the yellow glow of the street lamps.
He reached up, pushing his sopped brown bangs off his ruddy face before he crouched down beside the single-level apartment, all but throwing his weight against the wall. A split second later, another body slammed into the brick beside him, ribbing him.
"I let you win," Derek announced, slicking back his spiky black hair.
The cocky grin plastered on his face and the mud smeared over his cheeks left the boy looking wild. He slid down to one knee to match Sam's movement, and the two were nearly eye to eye. Sam would admit, he was a little jealous of the guy's height. Derek was a few years his junior but had been bumped up to Sam's team, so when they'd met, Sam hadn't really paid much attention to the fact that they were the same height. Now though, he noticed, and it didn't help that, despite John's training, Derek was carrying more lean muscle than Sam.
Sam wondered if he'd ever grow out of his own pudgy chipmunk cheeks and shrimp stature, both of which tended to leave him dubbed "Dean Winchester's little brother, Sammy" instead of "Sam Winchester," even by kids his own age. The thought almost made him groan, but he bit it back, rolling his eyes at Derek instead.
"Bull. You're not that much faster than me," Sam replied, chuckling, but he kept his voice quiet and motioned for his friend to lower his as well. "I need to check and see if anyone's back yet. Dean's going to bite my head off for being out at night…"
Derek shook his head, smiling. "And you're going to sneak in past him?"
"Not past Dean. But if my dad's here? Yeah," he admitted. "Dean will keep Dad from going to my room until I can sneak in and change."
"Your brother's kind of cool."
Sam snorted. "And lame, and a jerk, and gross." But he was smiling, nevertheless, when he peeked around the corner and saw the car was still gone, which meant their Dad was still at Deaton's.
Derek reached out to stop him from standing, though. "That's my sister's bike. Bet my mom doesn't know Laura's not at work. Busted…"
Sam did groan this time, retreating back around the side of the house to peek through the crack in the curtains. Now that he was closer to the glass, he could feel the vibrations from the music playing inside. AC/DC, because Dean had his own favorite 'make-out' songs.
"Did I mention the 'he's gross' part?" he whispered.
Derek slid beside him, looking in as best he could. He made a face as soon as he spotted his sister Laura on the couch beside Dean. The two were caught up in one another, kissing. Sam was pretty sure he even saw tongue. And his brother's hand slip up her T-shirt.
Derek might not have looked his age, but he was still young enough sneer in disgust. Sam wanted to laugh at his expression, but he didn't have time. He saw the headlights coming down the road before he even heard the Impala's familiar rumble over the sound of thunder.
"Shit," Sam breathed, weighing his options.
He was a half second away from banging on the window to get Dean's attention, when John charged into the room, as if he were on fire. Sam froze, almost scared by the hardened look in his dad's eyes. Had something in the hunt gone wrong? Sam wanted to run in through the front door, consequences be damned, and ask if anyone was hurt, but he chickened out when he saw the expression on his dad's face when the man noticed Dean and Laura scrambling up off the sofa.
John nearly yanked the stereo off the shelf as he turned it off and raised a hand, pointing at Laura. "You need to go," he said, his voice low. "Now."
Laura shared a look with Dean before grabbing her purse and disappearing out the front door.
"Dad," Dean began, more confused than angry. "I'm sorry I had a girl over, but you didn't have to -"
"Don't argue with me, Dean," John barked.
Silence fell over them, and Sam could see that both his sixteen-year-old brother and his father were trembling with either anger or anticipation. Sam could definitely get the anger. Heck, he was angry for Dean. Sam might have teased, but he knew that Dean really liked Laura. They'd been talking at school since his first day there. It wasn't fair that their Dad was being so rude to her. Sam could see the hurt cross Dean's face before being pushed down, replaced by something stony.
"I'm not arguing, sir."
Sam winced, anticipating his father's comment on that tone of voice, but instead, his father stared off at the kitchenette, not making eye contact with his son. John finally ran a hand over his scruffy chin, as if coming to a conclusion.
"You're not to see her again," he said, quietly. "Even at school, don't talk to the Hale girl or any of her family. It's best for us and for them if you don't get attached. And I don't want you near them. Do you understand me?"
Dean's nostrils flared, and he took a step forward. "No sir, I don't understand, actually. Yesterday, Laura came over for lunch, and you liked her. What could she have possibly have done since then to piss you off?"
John marched forward, leaning into his son's space, close enough that Sam could barely hear the low growl of his voice. "You will watch your tone with me, son. And you will stay away from Laura Hale. I don't have to explain myself to you. When I give you an order, you follow it. Now, I repeat, do you understand me?"
Sam turned his back on the window, hunching down against the wall and pissed enough to punch it for not yielding. He didn't have to hear his brother's answer. He knew, as much as Dean liked Laura, as angry as Dean probably was, he wouldn't disobey an order like that, especially when their dad was in a mood.
Sam blushed, realizing the heavy sigh at his side belonged to Derek. For a second he'd forgotten his friend was watching, listening, with him, but now he realized what his dad had said, about the 'Hale family,' and the embarrassment washed over him anew.
"It's okay, Sam," Derek said, softly.
Sam felt the younger boy squeeze his shoulder.
"It's not okay," he hissed back. "My dad's an asshole. He probably won't even care who Dean's dating tomorrow. He's probably…" Sam didn't want to say drunk because that would somehow seem just as bad as paranoid. "Aren't you mad at him, for treating your sister like that?"
Wasn't anyone mad at his dad like he was? Sam kicked at the ground, throwing up rain slicked pebbles, but when he looked up, Derek's face was just as set as Dean's had been: stony and hiding whatever was going on behind it.
That wasn't what Sam had expected to see. "Derek?"
"I have to go home," he said, trying to smile and failing. "I'm sure you dad's just…I'm sure he's just trying to keep everyone safe."
Sam raised a brow, confused.
"Derek, get on."
Sam nearly jumped out of skin at the call from the front of the building, and he spun around to find Laura sitting on her bike, staring at the two boys knowingly. If she was surprised to find her little brother there, it didn't show on her face. Instead, she gave Derek a short nod and he ran up to her, jumping on the end of her bike to hitch a ride. He gave Sam a quick wave before turning away.
Sam wanted to stop him, tell him it wasn't safe to be out, because kids were missing one town over. But mostly he wanted to stop the other boy to make sure they were still friends.
Now
He awoke to the sound of a storm, and really, that was becoming quite the common occurrence as of late. The weather had been wacky, like global warming turned sentient ice age in a science fiction B-movie wacky, and didn't that description fit his life these days? Abet with less kooky science and more cheesy horror, minus the zippers in the back of the monsters' costumes.
Stiles was pretty certain his thoughts were actually slurred. Could thoughts be slurred? Maybe there was another word for it. Sludgy? Nope. Murky? He would have snapped his fingers in thought if he could actually feel them. They were surprisingly numb and cold. Dad needed to check the AC.
Something about that struck him as funny, but when he tried to laugh, he let out a wheezy breath instead, his sore chest catching him off guard. Why did his chest hurt? Did he get smacked in practice? Maybe he got smacked in the head too…That would explain the sludgy thoughts.
But no… 'Cause practice was canceled due to the weather. And Dad said to come straight home because he was worried…about the storm? Or something to do with Goldilocks and the giant staying at his house? Wait…that's not how that story went. Crap.
Stiles tried to shake off his confusion and pain lit behind his eyes, white and blinding. Someone might have whimpered. Certainly wasn't him.
Thunder rolled, laughing at him, and he was back to the weather again. The storm that woke him and seemed closer than his bedroom window. So close he could feel the chill of the wind, the splatter of rain on the legs of his jeans.
For the first time, he realized he was shivering. It wasn't only his fingertips that were freezing.
Stiles tried to open his eyes, but the lashes over his right eye were matted with something. He blinked a few times, working them apart, and the dull gray light around him left him disoriented. Or maybe it was the fact that he was standing against a wall of dirt, instead of laying in bed, and staring out at a muddy stream of rainwater runoff, instead of up at the ceiling.
"This can't be good," he muttered.
It was a testament to what kind of year he'd had that he didn't immediately scream when he realized his arms were bound at his sides. Shaking off his drowsiness, he tucked his chin in, looking down at his body. All the right parts were there, but he couldn't seem to pull himself up away from the packed earth behind him. After a moment, he realized he was standing against the side of a shallow ravine, the earth above curving out, grass overhanging and leaving a curtain of thin roots right over his head. And also leaving him in the shadow of the wall of dirt. He couldn't see what exactly had been used to secure him to the earth but it felt cool and slick. Like those roots above.
And that wasn't a good thing, because he was fairly certain that human kidnappers didn't use plant-life to tie up their victims. But leave it to those crazy supernatural villains…
"Great. That's just great." He let out a panicked breath, sucking on his bottom lip. He was supposed to be home right now, pretending to study for his exams, and, for once, not getting into trouble. "Dad's going to kill me."
Something moved at his peripheral, but Stiles didn't turn his head fast enough to see what it was. "Okay, whoever the hell you are, you can come out now. Or is your evil plan to just leave me here to die of boredom?"
Maybe mentioning his potential death wasn't a great idea at the moment. Stiles put that on his do-not-say-again list.
There was a whisper on the wind, one he barely heard. It came again, louder. From somewhere closer.
"My beautiful boy…"
He knew that voice. It was one he sometimes heard in his dreams. More than once, he'd been afraid of forgetting what it sounded like. He'd dig up old VHS tapes, ones from back in the day, when his parents had been young and gotten their hands on a hefty camcorder. He'd watch her and memorize the sound of her laugh, something he hadn't had the chance to hear often enough as a kid.
"Mom." He bit the word, swallowing hard. "Mom?"
He blinked, and the next moment she was there, standing in the knee-deep, running water, wearing the dress she'd been buried in. It was her favorite, a yellow print with tiny white flowers. The rain weighed down the fabric and her dark blond hair, leaving her soaked.
"My boy," she said.
Stiles could remember it now, how he'd gotten here, why his head hurt and his chest felt as if someone had taken a bat to his ribs. He'd seen his mother once already today, driving home. The Jeep had skidded to a stop, right in front of her. His instinct, even before he recognized the figure in the downpour, had been to get out of the vehicle, help her, and that was what he'd done. But as soon as he'd stepped into the rain, he'd realized something was wrong.
One second he was trying to crawl back into his car, the next, she was screeching into his ear, pulling him back out again, her hand sizzling like bacon on cast-iron when it touched the driver's side door. He'd been flung across the road, body hitting gravel at a sliding stop. She was on top of him in an instant, so heavy…Like she was more than what he could see.
His last memory was of trying to catch his breath, of glaring up at her scaled palm as she reached down, gripped his ear and slammed the side of his head into the stop sign's pole.
Stiles wanted to reach up, touch the broken skin at his brow, but he couldn't budge, and she was getting closer.
"Stop," he whispered, voice shaking. "Stop looking like her. I know…I know you're not her."
The figure stilled, a wide smile growing on her face. "No," she replied, "I'm not."
Then her skin melted away, sliding off into a pool of darkness hovering at her feet and leaving her a decaying thing, still smiling back at him. The bones shed their color as well, until it seemed she simply faded into the blackness, becoming a cloud that blanketed the stream.
Stiles' eyes widened in fear as he watched black smoke slither across the top of the rushing water, headed his way. It moved to his side, blending in with the shadows. He couldn't see her, but she was still there. He could feel her, watching him, eyes or no eyes.
"I'm not Sarah Stilinski," she hissed, still using his mother's voice. "She was a bag of bones I wore once. I fed on her, bled my poison into her veins."
Stiles pulled against the roots holding him still, head turned to stare into the darkness. He could feel the pounding of his heart against his ribs. "You…My mom." He couldn't process the creature's words, his mind circling back to images of his mother in a hospital bed. Of his mother, getting weaker with ever year. "She…You're lying. She was sick."
The smoke pressed against him, its whisper in his ear. "She was dead the moment she bore the son of a Stilinski."
The hunter had spent years learning to push down his emotions when it came to the people they failed, the victims they didn't reach in time, but despite his practice, Dean ached just looking at Sheriff Stilinski. Paul, the worry lining his face, the hard glisten to his dull eyes, took Dean back to a time before he'd been taught to wear a mask when dealing with the people he was trying to help.
Paul reminded him of Dad; it was that simply. The guy had almost nothing in common with John Winchester aside from a shared moment in time but being here in a familiar setting, it brought back memories of the man. And it didn't help that Dean could almost hear his father's voice asking his sons to make this right.
But it's not my mess, Dad. Not this time. It was John's. Dean and Sam, they were just stuck with clean-up.
Dean tried to push that tiny spark of resentment down and focus on what was going on in front of him. Stilinski chose that moment to slap a coffee mug off the dining room table, where Sam had set-up shop. The shatter was followed by footsteps as the man moved back a few paces, catching his mouth in his hand, as if he'd surprised himself with the action. His eyes warily drifted to a small cabinet, where a bottle of bourbon was staring at him before coming back to Sam, and the shadow behind him, Dean.
Dean realized, though he hadn't heard it, that Sam must have asked a follow-up question that rubbed the man the wrong way.
"I just don't see how this helps him," Paul said, a forced calm to his voice. "We shouldn't be going over genealogy. We should be out there, finding my son."
Sam's brow was furrowed as he stared up from his seat, and he frowned, mimicking the man without realizing it. "I know it seems that way, but the more we know, the more likely we'll be able to find him. We need to know what this thing wants, Paul."
Paul grimaced, shaking his head. "It wants to kill him. Like it did his mother."
"There has to be more to it." Sam tapped the top of his laptop. "We know it kills kids. We know it feeds on them to gain strength. But, Paul, it didn't do that to your wife. There's something it wants from your family."
Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know," he growled. "I just don't know. Sarah and I, neither of us grew up with a close knit family, but if there was a monster picking off relatives, we would have noticed. And I sure as hell didn't do anything to attract its attention. Your dad asked me that back then, too." He took a breath, shaking his head. "I just don't know why it went after Stiles. I warded his car. He was supposed to be safe around people…I was out all day. It could have gotten me at any time. But it didn't."
Dean raised a hand to cut him off. "You said before that you thought it was after him. It was giving him nightmares. So why would you even think it would - " Dean winced and let out a bitter chuckle. "Damn it, Paul. You dangled yourself out in front of it today, didn't you? Live bait. Made sure you were real easy pickin' by avoiding the wards. Christ."
"Well, it didn't work, did it?" Paul snapped. "It still went after Stiles."
Sam pushed himself up from his chair. "Wait, if it really did choose to ignore you completely, that helps us."
Paul glared at him. "What, because we now know it's trying to kill everyone I love before taking me out?"
Dean shrugged. "While that's a possibility whenever dealing with evil sons of bitches, I think Sam's pointing out something a bit more on the nose. There's a common tie between this thing's last two appearances. Your son. This thing didn't pop up in your life until Sarah was pregnant."
Paul stiffened, the fear on his face enough to knock Dean back a step. "It wanted him this whole time? It wanted my boy?"
"And I think I might know why," Sam muttered, to himself, leaning forward to snatch one of Deaton's books up off the pile. "Paul, I know this is a longshot, but do any of those relatives you're not close to live nearby?"
Shaking his head again, Paul collapsed down into his seat. "No…none of them are even alive, save a few cousins halfway across the states. Maybe a few in the old country too. Wait…my grandmother, she passed about a year ago, and I kept some of her old heirlooms she had in her attic, mostly stuff from her grandparents. I've been so busy, I never even went through it all. It's still stacked in the garage. Do you think that would be useful?"
Sam nodded. "It might. Were there any books, records, journals?"
"Yeah. Actually, there were. Third box from the floor, I think…I'll show you."
Dean put a hand on his shoulder, holding him still. "Sam can find it."
Sam gave his brother a nod, folding his laptop to take it with him to the garage, and Dean poured the older man two fingers of whiskey. "I think you need this. Hell, I need one too."
Paul didn't disagree. "Dean, I know I shouldn't ask, but what do you think she wants him for? What's she doing to him?"
Dean swallowed a shot of the warm bourbon, savoring the burn at the back of his throat. "Nothing good."
The thing had left its scent at the Stilinski house.
Scott had crouched down beside the front porch, wanting to hear inside, but barely able to concentrate on what the men inside were saying, because Stiles…He wasn't there. Not that he'd doubted it really. Not that he doubted Derek that much anymore, against his own better judgment. But he'd had to see for himself.
He hadn't expected that scent, though, but as soon as he caught it, he knew…Whatever had taken Stiles had been tracking him. It was the same rancid scent he'd smelled when Stiles had went out to his Jeep the night before, only it wasn't as heavy. The thing that had left it wasn't here anymore.
Scott heard something crash inside the house, but no shouting followed, no signs of a struggle. Still Scott winced, wishing he could go inside and see Sheriff Stilinski. The man was like a father to him, and if he knew that something not-human had taken Stiles, he was probably losing it.
"I'm sorry." Scott wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. For not knocking on the front door? For not being there with his best friend? For not telling the sheriff about the dangers right under his nose?
Scott shook off his moment of guilt, circling back through his options. For half a second, he considered calling Chris Argent, but there were already two hunters too many involved in this. He could try to find its trail, but Derek had already sent him a text, telling him they would be meeting and the few details he'd overheard about the abduction, so he knew this wasn't where Stiles was taken from and…
Scott's thought trailed off as he noticed the Jeep. Someone must have driven it home after it was found. The scent seemed heady around it. Scott shot the house a look, insuring himself a rifle-toting hunter wasn't about to march out and fill him full of wolfs bane, before running across to the driveway, where the vehicle was parked beside the Winchesters' Impala.
The scent was coming from the driver's side door. Scott remembered Stiles mentioning the ward and studied it a moment before creaking the flimsy door open. There, on the interior, right below the lock catch, a symbol had been drawn out. Or Scott had assumed it was, he could barely make it out now. There was something black burnt over the paint. He leaned in, taking a deeper whiff and nearly gagged.
It was the thing's flesh. The marking must have burned it when it took off with Stiles.
Scott hesitated, fighting back a tremble as anger rushed over him. He could almost picture it, something dark and decayed grabbing hold of Stiles, pulling him away. His friend struggling to get back into the safety of his car. And slipping loose.
Scott wanted to rush off right then, into the wood, let his wolf take over the hunt. Instead he gathered his wits and reached for a napkin in the Jeep's middle compartment, scraping the blackened flesh into its clean center and pocketing the wad of paper.
His phone vibrated with another message, but he already knew who it was from. Tonight, at least, he needed the pack.
"We'll find you, Stiles. I promise."
Then he was off, a wolf on the run.
"I have something."
Dean and Paul looked up from the scattered translations laying across the table, startled by Sam's sudden appearance. One look at his face, and both of them scrambled up out of their seats.
Dean raised a brow at his brother. "That was fast."
The youngest Winchester was carrying a small, pocket-sized journal with him instead of the book and laptop he'd left with. He held it up, one finger tucked inside to keep his page. "Yeah, well, it was easy. I just flipped through until I found the summoning ritual. Serbian kind of stood out amongst all the broken English." He glanced over at Paul. "Stefan Stilinski," Sam said, something close to outrage on his face.
Paul frowned. "That was my great grandfather's name," he muttered. "He was from the wealthy side of the family. I never knew the man personally."
Sam stepped up between them, holding the small journal open. "Bet you have no clue how he made his fortune…" He took a breath, starting over. "From what Dean and I learned about Ale, they tend to behave like regular demons in some ways. They can smoke out. They can possess people, or animals. And, here's the kicker, they can also make deals. Only, unlike the demons we usually fight, their interest doesn't seem to be in souls."
Dean winced. "Son of a bitch. She's collecting her due."
Paul shot him a look. "Okay, back up, and tell me what's going on again, as if I don't know what the hell a 'regular' demon is."
Sam held the journal closer, reading a line. " 'It is through my kindness to another that I have insured my good fortune, and the good fortune of my son and his son's sons…' He stops there. The ale, according to some of their stories, are benevolent to those who treat them kind. They do them favors, grant them wishes. Only - "
"Only," Dean picked up, "these things never work for free, even if they don't mention paying for their gifts. And they're always specific when it comes to wording their deals. Your great grandfather mentioned the good fortune of his 'son and his son's sons', which would be your grandfather, your dad, and you. Tricky douche bag didn't promise anything past that."
Sam nodded, closing the book again. "And that would be why the Ala went for your son." He hesitated, sharing a look with Dean. Dean knew that expression, it was the one Sam used when he wasn't sure if he should go on.
"He needs to know," Dean told him.
Sam sighed. "Paul, there's a good chance we already know what she might want with Stiles. If she wanted to consume him, she could have done that when he was in the womb, but she didn't."
"What are you saying?" Stilinksi asked. "She wants to possess him, doesn't she? God…" He shook his head, eyes wet with unshed tears. "I can't take that…I can't watch my boy die like his mother."
"That might not be exactly what she wants," Sam replied, trying to comfort the man. "Even if is, it might not happen the same way it did with Sarah."
"What's that even mean?" Paul asked.
Dean put a hand on his brother's elbow, stopping him from going on. He cleared his throat. "Paul. Sam and I think we know how we can use the summoning ritual in our favor, especially now that we have a copy of the original. But this bitch isn't getting off easy. We're going to kill her, as soon as we draw her out."
"But, Dean, what if it's already possessed him? The ritual, it'll…" Paul's voice trailed off, defeated. "There's no way around it, is there? Killing her, will it stop her…poison, if it's already in him?"
"Truthfully? I don't know. But we've got to do this, man. You've got to trust us," Dean said. He gave Sam a glance. "I'll call Deaton. It's nearly dark. If we're going to do this, we're going to need to do it now, before it gets any further with Stiles."
Scott burst out of the trees. Even without his heightened senses, he would have been able to hear the argument coming from the front steps of the old Hale house. For some reason, he hadn't expected to see the rest of the pack there, but Isaac stood against the front wall of the house, watching Derek and Peter from a safe distance. Derek stood on the top step and Peter on the ground, both of them going suddenly quiet as they sensed Scott's approach.
"Good, you're here," Derek snapped, still not looking in Scott's direction, his hostile glare on Peter. Scott came to a stop a few yards from them, raising a brow as he watched the group.
Derek's eyes flashed red as he continued to watch the older beta. "This isn't just about finding one boy, Peter. This creature's presence concerns us all."
Peter seemed to read another line after the acknowledgement because his face twisted into a bitter smirk. "Oh, I do love when you take charge…You're the Alpha, Derek. If you ask me, I'll stay, but I still say we don't chance a run-in with these hunters. It's not safe for any of us."
Derek didn't shift, his body too still. "Do you know something I don't?"
Peter's lips twitched, amused. "Let's just say, in the short time I've been back amongst the mostly-sane and living, I've heard things. Dean and Sam Winchester's reputation precedes them. You'd do well to stay as far from those brothers as possible. And as for this little creature feature roaming the land? Let the hunters do their job. They already have Alan helping them."
Scott had heard enough. "You know what it is?" He stepped forward, forcing the two to look his way. "You know what took Stiles?"
Derek let out a breath, wincing, as if he didn't like what he was about to say. "It's called an Ala. All you need to know is that it's dangerous."
Peter quirked a brow. "And also it's a shape shifting demonic monster that can possess people and change the weather. You might want to know that, too. And, yes, I talked to Dr. Deaton as well. He wasn't pleased to see me."
Scott's jaw dropped slightly. "Demonic? Seriously?" He opened and closed his mouth, stopping any questions forming on the tip of his tongue. Derek was right. He didn't need to know details at the moment. What he needed to know was how they were going to find his friend. "That's the thing that has Stiles? What does it want with him?"
Isaac slipped off the porch, landing beside Scott, and he gave one curt nod. "I was nearby when his Jeep was found. Something non-human had definitely taken him. And it wasn't a werewolf."
Scott reached into his pocket, pulling free the napkin. The werewolves sneered at the reek coming from inside it.
"I know," Scott said. "I picked up this scent yesterday, and then I found this on the Jeep. It was burned onto a protection symbol. Do you think we can track it?"
Peter snorted. "Yes, brilliant idea. Or you know, you could try sniffing out the human you're looking for."
Derek shot him a look but turned back to Scott. "He's right. Stiles is our priority, and he'll be easier to find."
"He…is?" Scott blinked, confused. "I mean, he's my best friend, so of course he's my priority, but I didn't expect you guys to…You're going to help?"
Derek cocked his head, brow furrowed as if he were offended by the question. "Why do you think we're here?"
Peter waved a hand, as if to draw Scott's attention. "Correction. They're here to help. I'm here to warn. Since I've done that, I'll be on my way…"
Derek growled under his breath. "Fine." He jerked his head in the direction of the driveway. "Run away. If you want to pretend you're being helpful, you can search the town. I'm fairly certain that won't be where the scary hunters are looking."
Peter's grin was tight. "Sounds like a plan."
Derek turned back to Scott. "We'll find him, Scott. But Peter's right. The Winchesters can take care of the creature. Leave that battle to them. Understood?"
Scott nodded, swallowing down an answer he might regret. "Where do we start?"
The gray fall of day brought with it a quiet rain that filled the forest with a low, humming song. Sam squinted against the water splattering is face, feeling strange with his head hidden beneath a hood, and then he went back to work on the tree's bark, carving free the rough layer to find the pale meat beneath. He worked free another chunk of wood before stepping back, looking at the symbol. It was the last, and when he turned around, he saw that Deaton had finished marking the trees making up his side of the circle and moved on to laying out the small altar to use in the summoning.
They were alone, the two of them, and it left Sam uneasy. There was something about the forest Deaton had chosen…Something dangerous. Sam couldn't put his finger on why his senses were on high alert, but he was sure they'd picked the perfect spot for the ritual.
"Are you certain this is going to work?" Sam asked, to fill the silence between them.
Deaton looked up, rain drops sliding off his slick head and rolling into his wide, somber eyes. "Unfortunately, Sam, I'm sure it does. Despite the consequences of its use, it did work on Sarah. And this is close to where we performed the ritual last time.."
"I'd feel better if Dean were here for this."
Deaton raised a brow in agreement. "Yes, as would I. But the sheriff intends to find his son, and I doubt very much your brother would be willing to leave the man alone in this forest."
Sam understood. Didn't mean he agreed. But then, he knew his brother. Dean needed to be there for Paul, and for the kid. There was a good chance that, if this went wrong, they might not have another chance to find him. Nevertheless Sam was uneasy with the plan. It wasn't a particularly solid one.
"Ready, Sam?" Deaton asked.
Sam nodded back to him, slowly drawing the demon killing blade out of his jacket, and the other man took that as an invitation to begin reading. As soon as the first line left his mouth, lightning struck in the horizon, lighting up the night sky, and a wolf howled in reply.
Chapter 4