Chapter Text
“Bro, I’m telling you, there was something off about them.” I spoke in a rushed tone, filling an uninterested Scott in on all the happenings of last night. Unfortunately, my dad took my phone, so I hadn’t been able to call him right when it was happening. So, I had to wait until lunch, which wasn’t a great time because it was so damn loud in here, and Scott just kept staring at the new girl. What was her name again? Allison? Whatever, that didn’t matter.
What mattered was the fact that these FBI guys weren’t who they said they were. “Scott.” I tapped him for what felt like the millionth time and he turned his head, giving me a side-ways glance.
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear anything I just said?” I frowned, letting out an exasperated breath. He nodded slightly, craning his neck to look across the room. I followed his gaze, and sure enough, we were now both looking at Allison. She was sitting next to Lydia (who was way hotter by the way), with an uncomfortable smile on her face. Jackson was telling some stupid joke, Lydia’s hand was on his shoulder, gross, and Allison looked increasingly out of place. A part of me felt bad for her, but then again, it took her like zero seconds to become the school’s second most popular girl, meanwhile Scott and I have been clawing our way out of dumpsters for fifteen years. It’s not fair, if you ask me.
“Scott.” This time, I snapped in his face, which seemed like enough to get his attention. He blinked back, looking at me with wide eyes.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Geez, I was gonna strangle him.
“The guys, the FBI guys that came to my house, I don’t think they’re actually FBI.” I explained again, rubbing my hands over my shaved head. I leaned in, my voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think they might be hunters.” This seemed to really get Scott’s attention as he leaned in too, his chocolate brown eyes going wide as saucers.
“What? Why?” He asked, a nervous edge appearing in his voice. I shrugged, stuffing some oversalted, soggy french fries in my mouth.
“They said their names were Angus Young and Brian Johnson.”
Scott looked perplexed. “...okay?”
I groaned, rolling my eyes. “Those are members of ACDC.” My voice was deadpan as I glared at my friend. Scott frowned, knitting his brows before a look of recognition appeared on his face.
“Oh yeah, Back in Black, right?” He smiled that stupid smile that apparently Allison found ‘cute’ and ‘endearing’. Don’t tell him I know that. It’ll only inflate his ego.
“Yes, ACDC. Don’t you get it! They’re fakes! They probably want to kill you, string you up, flay your skin, and then roast you over some hunter fire and eat you!” Okay, that probably was a little dramatic, but if being Scott’s friend has taught me anything, it’s that he needs drama to understand the stakes of certain situations. Especially werewolf centered situations. And like I said, Scott blanched. Any previous thoughts of Allison were definitely gone now. He gulped, obviously shaken by my gruesome image.
“Dude, get your dad to do a background check on them!” Scott hissed, not too happy with the thought of becoming a werewolf kebab. I exhaled incredulously.
Oh yeah, ‘hey dad, we think those FBI agents are actually werewolf hunters, so we need you to look them up and make sure they aren’t.” I glared and Scott rolled his eyes. Message received.
“Okay, well, what do you think we should do?” He bit his lip, eyes shifting around, a telltale sign that he was listening in on a conversation that wasn’t ours.
“We could follow them.” I suggested, flippantly enough so that he wouldn’t think we were doing something illegal, because we weren’t, we were just following a couple of guys that were posing as FBI agents. So, if anything, we were doing the world a service.
“But aren’t they gone?” Scott frowned, the cacophony of noises in the gym fighting for his attention. Being a werewolf doesn’t come without its downsides.
“No, I overheard my dad saying that they’re gonna be in town for a couple more days, and they’re headed over to the sheriff’s office today for some follow up questions or something. At least that’s what my dad told me this morning.”
“So you want to follow them back to their motel?” Scott pursed his lips and the look on his face told me he didn’t like this idea. I mean, I get it, I get that he doesn’t want to be a criminal on top of a werewolf, but this is a life or death situation, we don’t have the option of a moral standpoint. Besides, it’s more fun this way.
“After school, we can head over to the station and then follow them back. It can’t be that hard, right?” I grabbed some food off of his plate, shoving it in my mouth before the lunch bell rang, signaling us to go to our next classes. Scott and I got up, swinging our backpacks over our shoulders in unison. He was tense, I could tell by the way his jaw was protruding and his eyes were narrowed. “Scotty? You in there?” I poked him lightly, very aware of the fact that he could rip my heart out right now. He didn’t turn around.
“I don’t know, Stiles. I mean, I have practice tonight, and coach doesn’t want me to miss it.” He protested, stopping by his locker and throwing a couple of books in there.
“Bro, since when were you worried about Lacrosse ?”
“Since I got good.” He spoke despondently, like it was a bad thing that he was suddenly the best player on the team, cause I would kill for that. But apparently Allison hadn’t come to a single game so he doesn’t care anyway.
“Okay, well, tell coach you’re skipping today.” I offered the suggestion out like it would be easy, but knowing coach, it would be anything but that. The guy’s life was lacrosse. He lived, breathed and thought about it all day, every day, three-sixty-five, twenty-four-seven. Was it pathetic? Absolutely. But was it true? Yeah, it was. So asking that of Scott was the equivalent of asking Batman to fight Superman without his equipment, but I was running out of options.
“Dude, I don’t wanna die!” Scott stopped, flinging his hands up. “ You tell coach I can’t make it.” He gave me his pleading puppy dog eyes, and I huffed, letting my head dip as my shoulders sank. I was gonna give in.
“Okay, fine. But you owe me.” I grimaced, making it known that I did not like this idea. Coach hated me, almost as much as Mr. Harris. Almost.
“We’ll meet back here at three?” Scott looked down at his watch and then back at me with expectant eyes.
“Sure.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets, blowing out a hot breath.
“Okay, cool!” He grinned, patting me on the back before taking off for English class. Barf. The class he had with Allison. No wonder he was in such a good mood. Meanwhile, I was stuck going to Economics and I had to come up with a good lie as to why Scott couldn’t come to practice. Talk about the short end of the stick.
Class, unfortunately, went by in a but, and I still hadn’t come up with a good lie. I was running out of time, and fast at that. So, the only thing I could really do was stall, stall until I figured something out. Easy enough for me, but I might end up with a black eye. (Coach has no qualms about hitting children)
“Ah, Stilinski, wanna tell me why you’ve decided to grace me with your presence longer then our mandatory forty-five minutes?” Coach chuckled to himself, looking me up and down with a disgust I’ve only ever received from him. I groaned internally, cursing at myself for even agreeing to Scott’s plan, but I forced a smile on my face, taking a step towards his cluttered desk. The first thing I noticed was the mug that said World's Best Teacher and I was ninety-nine percent sure he got that for himself in an attempt to feel loved. Wow, now I kind of feel bad for the guy. “Hey, Stilinski,” Coach leaned forward, snapping his fingers in my face. “I don’t got all day. I’ve got a massage at four that I can’t miss, so hurry it up.” Never mind. I don’t feel bad for him. Sighing, I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting my weight to one side.
“I’m not gonna be at practice today.” I blurted out, wincing, waiting for him to yell, but he didn’t. He just leaned back in his chair, giving me a confused look.
“Do I look like I care, buddy? I mean, I’m not tryin’ to be rude or anything, but you suck. I wouldn’t care if you didn’t show up to practice the entire season!” He chuckled again, opening a drawer and pulling out a toothpick, using it to clean his teeth. My face contorted into a grimace and I tightened my jaw.
“Scott isn’t either.” This caught his attention.
“What?” Coach shot up in his chair, his toothpick clattering into the ground. “What do you mean McCall isn’t coming to practice?” He fumbled with his words, stuttering like crazy. “He-he can’t skip, Stilinski, tell him he can’t skip!”
“Coach, I’m not in charge of what Scott does. And besides, we’re skipping together. We have some…uh, experimenting to do.” I shifted again, hoping he didn’t catch my nervous gulp or the twitch in my right eye. Coach frowned, a puzzled look coming over his expression.
“Wait-experimenting?” He gave me a weird look, grabbing his mug and taking a sip out of it. “As in…uh, wow, Stilinski. I mean, I always thought you were…y’know, but McCall? He’s so manly, but I guess-“ He paused, exhaling with wide eyes. “I guess all I have to say is, remember to pull out.” He sighed, shaking his head as he stared down at the ground, not wanting to meet my eyes. Then he muttered to himself; “Well, I guess you’re both guys.” I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it, dumbfounded.
“Uh…what?” I pursed my lips, placing my hands on my hips and squinting, hard. What did he mean by ‘remember to pull out’? Actually, I didn’t want to know, at all.
“I mean, I was in love once, of course it was with a woman, but love comes in all different shapes and sizes.” Coach started rambling, running a sweaty palm through his equally sweaty hair. “But if you need any advice, you know you can just ask me, okay Stilinski?” He gave me a slighted grin, letting me know that he didn’t want to be a part of this conversation as much as I did. I shook my head, willing my mind out of the gutter (hopefully it was enough for the both of us) and composed myself, looking at Finstock with exasperation.
“It’s a science experiment. For class.” I deadpanned and he immediately stiffened, caught in the awkward situation neither of us wanted to be a part of.
“Oh…uh, well, have fun, I guess.” He shooed me away and as I walked out the door, I heard him mumble; “Geez, Finstock. Keep it together.” See, this is why I can’t stand him. Do you get it now? Because the last thing I wanted to talk about right now was the notion that Scott and I were banging each other. I’m not gay.
Finally, it was three o’clock. I could leave this godforsaken school and actually do something that matters; find fake FBI guys and expose them to the world. It’s almost like I was made to do this.
“Are we sure we wanna do this?” Scott was biting his lip, trudging behind me like a scared puppy as we made our way through the forests of Beacon Hills. It was kind of cold out and I wish I had brought another jacket, or an umbrella. It was bound to rain sometime this week, since that seemed to be the norm recently. The ground was muddy and sticky, not amazing for spying on people as we had more chance of leaving traceable tracks, but that was a problem for tomorrow. The wind picked up, whistling around us and tousling Scott’s mop of mocha colored hair. He looked so reluctant, I mean, have a little faith! My plan was foolproof, there was no way in hell we were getting caught, or shot, or worse. And if you really don’t believe me, I’ll tell you it; drop our backpacks off in the woods behind the sheriff’s office, tail the guys, find them, Scott wolf’s out and scares the shit out of them, then we tie ‘em up and find out who they’re working for. Easy.
“Yes, I’m sure. Now quit being such a baby, Scott. You’re the one who can defend yourself here.” I reminded him, shaking my head ever so slightly as I pushed past a branch. It whipped back with dramatic effect, thwacking something behind me, but I didn’t really care enough to turn around. That was until I heard Scott hiss, falling to the ground. “What?” I turned around, giving him an exasperated glare.
“Dude, you just branched me in the face.” Scott whined, clutching his right eye with one hand, steadying himself with the other.
“Oh, sorry.” I grabbed his free hand, helping him up and we continued our walk. Once the station was in sight, we both crouched down and I hated the fact that muddy rain water was seeping into my pants right now.
“What if they’re not here?” Scott offered, pushing a bush out of his face. And right as he said that, long-hair and short-guy walked out of the building, making their way to a sweet, sweet ride. I think it’s an Impala, which, wow…I have no words. I’m so jealous. Anyway, the guys argued for a minute, before long-hair reluctantly tossed what looked to be keys to short-guy, who chuckled loudly, saying something I couldn’t decipher as he got into the driver’s seat of the car.
“That’s them.” I whispered, motioning for Scott to follow me.
We tailed the guys to some shitty motel with a flickering neon sign that read; Free Massages, though it was missing a couple of letters. The parking lot was barren, save for a rusty toyota and the Impala. It was parked next to room 301, which had a colorful chipped coral paint with a turquoise trim. The one on the door was hanging by a thread and it looked that if we even knocked it would fall off. But we weren’t knocking. There was a window behind the motel, one that gave us a bird’s eye view of their room, which was perfect. We just had to stake out and wait for them to do something non-FBIish. So, Scott and I crawled our way around the back, and found a spot between a bush and a pile of rocks, and we waited.
Short-guy left the building around ten minutes in, leaving long-hair, who was doing something on his computer. He bit his lip, staring intently at the screen before sighing, shutting the computer and rubbing his hands over his face.
“What’s he doing?” Scott leaned into me and I swear I could smell steak in his breath. I cringed, pulling away.
“Dude, how should I know?” I snapped back, craning my neck to get a better view of the guy. He was just sitting there, staring at the chair across from him like it was talking to him. That was a little weird, actually, it was a lot weird. I frowned. As far as I could tell, this guy wasn’t doing anything that proved he wasn’t a hunter, I mean, for all we know he has a stash of weapons and holy water in his car trunk. Now that would be weird.
“Hey, man,” Scott shook my shoulder, bringing my attention back to long-hair in the room. Now he was sitting on the ground, lighting candles around him and drawing sketchy-looking circles on the ground. Cult circles. We stumbled into a cult. Great. “What the hell.” Scott muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he did so, and what the hell was right. This guy was performing a whole-ass seance in a California motel like it was normal. Well, at least we knew one thing; these guys weren’t FBI.
***
It occurred to me five months ago that I was crazy, or rather, I was going crazy.
It was a slippery slope that I was sliding down and I didn’t have any railings to cling to, except for Dean. He was about the only thing keeping me sane right now, and boy am I glad for it, because with the nightmares I’m having, it’s a wonder I haven’t turned into a psychopathic killer yet. Emphasis on the yet. Anyway, this mission, I think it’s Dean’s way of staying occupied after Cas’s death, it really hit him hard, harder than I expected.
So, I went along with it, letting him work out his feelings the way he knows best; killing things. At first, I thought it was a good idea. I mean, it was a win-win. Dean got to hunt monsters to release his pent up issues and I had something to distract my mind from in hopes that Lucifer wouldn’t appear out of nowhere, ready to torment me again. But then again, it was only hope.
“Aw Sammy, I thought we were friends!” Lucifer smirked, his hands clasped in front of him like he was in some sort of mock-disappointment. It made me cringe, the way he pushed himself onto me, into my life like he was a part of me, but no matter what I did, or how much I cut him out, he always seemed to crawl his way back. “S~a~m, I know you can hear me.” Lucifer leaned forward until our faces were almost touching and it took everything in my power not to smack him right then and there. My heart was beating like crazy, begging me to do something, anything and I could feel my breath catch.
Breathe. My mind screamed but my body wouldn’t listen. This seemed to please Lucifer, as his smirk widened and he pulled back, inspecting me like I was some prized possession.
“Yeah, that’s it, breathe Sam. That’s what’s gonna make me go away.” He taunted, placing his hand on his chest and breathing in a dramatic fashion. I closed my eyes, trying to shut it out, shut him out. But it was no use, it never was.
“Shut up.” I spoke through gritted teeth, well aware of the fact that I was just giving him what he wanted, but I couldn’t stop myself. Sooner or later I always ended up on my knees, weak, powerless, pathetic.
“You wound me, Sammy. You really do.” Lucifer tutted, squatting down so that he could meet me head on. The only thing I could think to do was squeeze my eyes shut and grab my temples, forcing this headache of a hallucination out of the room. But I could still feel the hellfire, it surrounded me, licked at my skin, leaving pink and blistery burns. There was no escaping it, the smell of burning flesh, the taste of sulfur that seemed to coat my throat whenever I tried for a breath, the sounds of thousands of tormented souls screaming, begging to be let free. It wasn’t real though, right? It wasn’t real because Dean said it wasn’t. He was always right, I knew that.
“That’s not necessarily true, Sam.” Lucifer’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, grated on me, making it hard to focus on much of anything. I could feel my fingers tracing jagged marks around the cracked cuticles of my nails, pushing them into the beds and sending a stinging pain through my system. It was enough to make me flinch, hissing quietly, but at least I knew this was real. Pain was real. Lucifer reached out as if to console me, patting me on the back with a fiery hot hand. It felt like a searing poker, meeting my skin with a sizzle and a pop. I recoiled, panting like crazy, knocking myself out of my chair and falling onto the ground.
The floor was cold, that was the first thought that entered my mind. It was like dipping a white hot coal into an ice bath, and though it was nice, it was a bit disorienting. I inhaled, letting my breaths come out of me shaky and uneven. There was still an ever present stinging on my back where Lucifer had laid his hand, but thankfully, he seemed to have disappeared, for now anyway. Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair, allowing the moment to pass over me. Where was I? The motel. What was I doing here? I had a mission. Who was here with me? Dean. I exhaled. Motel. Mission. Dean. No cage. No hell. Just me.
“Taking a floor nap?” Dean’s voice filled the room and for a moment, I flinched, sensing Lucifer’s presence, but he wasn’t here. It was my brother, holding an In-n-Out takeout bag with a familiar smirk on his face. He set the crinkled sack down on the dusty table in the corner of the room and plopped down in a chair with a sigh, peeling open the wrapping on his burger and taking a comically large bite. “Mmm,” He closed his eyes, savoring the bite he took like it was the first time he had eaten in days. “Sammy, you gotta try these.” Glancing down at me, he wiped away the spot of ketchup on his cheek. I stared at him for a moment, blinking, then standing up.
“What’d you get me?” I cleared my throat, trying to sound as normal as possible. Dean gave me a concerned look, but then he shrugged it off, probably not thinking it was worth it to ask what was wrong. I sat down across from him, opening the bag and peering inside.
“Animal fries.” Dean spoke in between bites of his burger and sips of his soda. I scrunched my nose.
“Animal fries?”
“It’s their speciality, just try it.” He waved a hand at me, stuffing his burger back into his mouth. I rolled my eyes, but opened the bag nonetheless, pulling out the box of the supposed animal fries. Surprisingly, they looked pretty good, with chopped sauteed onions and melty cheese. I’d be lying if I said my stomach didn’t rumble at the prospect of eating them. Dean gave me a knowing grin, one that told me ‘I told you so’, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “So, you get any research done while I was gone?” He started, licking the excess food off his fingertips and taking a large sip of his drink, burping loudly. A disgusted look came across my face at that, but I shrugged it off.
“Not really.” I admitted, stabbing the fries with a plastic fork. All of my leads turned out to be dead ends, and I guess I was a bit preoccupied, but I wasn't going to mention that part. There was already a towering pile of reasons for Dean to think I was crazy and I wasn’t looking to add onto it by telling him I was having a one-sided gossip session with Lucifer. “The guy…Derek Hale or whatever, he’s slippery. I mean, he doesn’t have an address, a license plate I can track, there’s literally nothing.” I explained, throwing my hands up to hint at the frustration I had with this situation.
It was like the guy was a ghost, except he wasn’t, because everyone I talked to in this town knew who he was. So unless this was some type of hallucinatory apparition that just happened to pull in the whole town, I had no idea what to think.
“He doesn’t have a house?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Where does he sleep? Under a bridge?” He gave me a sardonic look as he balled up his wrapper, shooting it into the trash can with a proud smile. “Hey, you see that?” Glancing at me, he wiggled his eyebrows expectantly, like he was waiting for me to praise him for making the shot.
“Dean, focus.” I gave him a pointed look as I grabbed my computer, opening it up. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him deflate, muttering under his breath;
“I am focused.”
“See, look.” Ignoring his annoyance, I flipped the computer around, showing him all the records I could seem to pull up about this Derek Hale guy. And it was a whole lot of nothing. All I found was his name, date of birth, and the stuff about him supposedly murdering that girl, so none of it was helpful information. Dean groaned, looking it over with steely eyes.
“Well, now what?” He rubbed his face, leaning back in his chair. “Cause I didn’t find squat when I was out either.”
“Then we’re screwed.”
“No, Sam, we’re fucked.”
I exhaled shortly, opening my mouth to retort before a loud crash caught our attention. Dean jumped up, gun already in hand, trained around the room, looking for the source of the sound and I reached for the salt-loaded shotgun that had been lying next to a potted plant in the corner of the room. Dean took a hesitant step forward, his tactical boots creaking on the old floorboards. The sound had come from the window, which could only mean there was something out there, watching, waiting.
“Dean,” I caught my brother’s attention, motioning with my head for him to take the right side while I took the left. We cautiously made our way towards the window, guns at the ready. Once we got close enough, Dean opened the window and lifted his gun quickly, a grim look on his face, but there was no one there. Well, correction, no one of danger to us. At least I don’t think. It was that kid, the sheriff’s kid, what was his name again? It was something weird.
“Don’t shoot!” The kid threw his hands in the air, and his partner, someone I didn;t recognize, squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. Dean and I exchanged glances that were most likely described as ‘ticked off’ and we lowered the guns.
“What are you doing here?” Dean barked, gesturing for the boys to come inside. “And who are you?” He jerked his head to the other kid, who visibly shrank under his attack-dog gaze. I almost butted in to relieve the tension but the kid opened his mouth and spoke.
“Scott.” He blurted, hands up in defense. “Scott McCall.” A quivering lip from him told me he was scared, and rightfully so, he was just a kid. So, I set down my gun, holding my arms wide to signal that I wasn’t intending to hurt them. Then I gave Dean a sharp glare and he reluctantly followed, muttering something incoherent under his breath.
“Hey, uh, Scott. I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean.” I pointed to the both of us, trying my best to keep a placate smile on my face. Dean, however, made no move to make them feel welcome. “You guys wanna tell me why you’re spying on us?”
“Uh…” The boys exchanged glances, each waiting for the other to speak. Scott kicked at the ground aimlessly and the sheriff’s kid (whose name I still couldn’t remember) puckered and popped his lips loudly.
“If you don’t talk, I’m gonna shoot.” Dean, obviously a bit impatient, grabbed his gun, holding it up to the boys, who in turn, shrank away with wide eye.
“Tell your dog to back off, man!” The sheriff’s kid yelled at me as he cowered behind the more imposing form of Scott.
“Dean!” I hissed, grabbing the weapon from him, unloading it, and throwing it onto the bed. “Sorry about him.”
“You should be.” The kid spat, crossing his arms and cautiously stepping out once the weapon was out of Dean’s house. He and Scott looked at each other for a moment, before he finally spoke. “We’re spying on you.”
“Yeah, well, no shit sherlock.” Dean chuckled humorlessly, giving him a pointed look. Great. This wasn’t going to go over well, especially when my brother was on edge like this. He had a very special gift of making people feel very uncomfortable, like he was going to shoot them or something, and of course, that wasn’t helpful to this situation. I groaned.
“Why are you spying on us?” I tried to make myself sound open and free of judgment, but both boys still looked at me like I was about to blast their heads off.
“Because we know you’re not FBI.”
“Stiles!” Scott hissed, eying Dean like he was about to blow him up.
“What?!” Stiles threw his hands up, obviously confused by his friend’s outburst. “What was I supposed to say?!”
“I don’t know, man! But why did you tell them that?!”
“I think they know why we’re here, Scott! And besides, after what we saw, I mean the whole mental breakdown of tall and broody over there, I mean, that’s all the proof we need!” He threw a hand at me, giving Scott a look. My eyes widened and I turned to Dean, who looked just as shocked, but for a different reason. Fuck. I knew he was going to chew me out for not telling him about the last episode I had, but to be fair, we were a little busy. He glanced at me, eyes softening and brows knitting in concern before he put on a practiced face of annoyed nonchalance.
“What mental breakdown?” He folded his arms, daring the boys to lie. Stiles gulped and Scott stared at the ground.
“Your friend over there, he’s batshit crazy.” Stiles started, and ouch, that kind of hurt. He pointed at me, continuing. “Oh, and while you were out doing whatever you were doing, he was drawing satanic circles all over the ground like the exorcist or something. Are you guys in a cult? Or, is it just him and you’re along for the ride? Also, maybe he’s on LSD but that-”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, pal.” Dean held his hand up, saving Stiles from digging himself into an even deeper hole, and blew out a hot breath. “He’s not crazy.” He pointed to me and Stiles’s face morphed into one of confusion. He bit his lip, taking in Dean’s words, then he opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the right words.
“Uh, I think I know crazy when I see it.”
“Uh, I think you don’t.” Dean retorted, stepping in front of me with his arms crossed. I almost moved to butt in, but Stiles got to it first.
“Why’re you protecting him? If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s cause you have something to hide.”
“Well,” Dean smirked, an annoyed twitch on his lip. “Everyone’s got something to hide.”
“Some more than others.” Stiles finished, eyes narrowing. “What’s your real name?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Dean laughed, throwing his head back. It was a bit unnerving, but I knew where this was going. He shook his head. “I already told you it.”
“Dean, right?” Stiles crossed his arms. “And your last name.”
“That’s none of your business, kid.”
“Oh, I think it is.”
“And why is that?” Dean took a step forward until he was face to face with Stiles, practically breathing on him. I was actually surprised Scott hadn’t stepped in yet. He seemed to be the brawn out of the two of them, but he was fairly meek when it came down to it. It was almost like he wasn’t used to being strong.
“Because you’re in our town, and you’re looking for Derek Hale.”
This seemed to shift Dean’s demeanor, because his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He leaned back. “Let me guess,” He pursed his lips, then exhaled. “You just so happen to know where he is?” At his words, Stiles nodded his head back and forth.
“That depends on who you are.”
“Wow,” Dean grinned, glancing at me as if to ask; are you seeing this shit? And yes, I was, and I have to say, I was very impressed by Stiles’ negotiating skills. They were pretty good considering he was only fifteen. So, I just shrugged at my brother, letting him have the floor on this one. I mean, what were these kids gonna do with our names? As far as the government knew, we were legally dead, so if they told anyone, they’d probably just get disregarded as annoying teens. Honestly, we had nothing to lose with this deal. “Fine.” Dean huffed, uncrossing his arms and rubbing his chin. “Winchester. Dean and Sam Winchester. We’re brothers.”
“Brothers?” Scott finally spoke up, looking between the both of us like it couldn’t be true.
“That doesn’t explain the fake FBI get ups.” Stiles chimed in, still looking at Dean and I in hesitation, which I don’t blame him for, we didn’t look like the best type of people.
“Who says they’re fake?” Dean countered. This made Stiles blow out a breath.
“It’s so obvious.” He laughed, motioning to our getups. “I mean, the flannel, the carhartt, it’s not very government agentish, wouldn’t you say?”
Okay, the outfits weren’t very professional, he got us there, but then how did he use that to decipher we weren’t the ‘real deal’? I mean, I wouldn’t have come up with that, but hey, maybe the kid’s a genius. Sighing, I placed my hands on my hips as I spoke to Stiles. “What are you trying to get out of this, really?” There was a noticeable shift in his demeanor at my words and he uncrossed his arms, looking at Scott then back at me.
“We just wanna know who you are.”
“Well, why does it matter?” I challenged. Something was off, really off. Why were these guys so pressed about our identities, it’s not like we posed a threat to the teenage boy population in Beacon Hills, but by the way they were reacting to us, you’d think we were. I glanced at Dean, hoping he was catching on to what I was thinking. By the expression on his face, I think he was, and thank God for that.
“Look, kids, we don’t wanna hurt you, but we will, so you might as well tell us why you’re here.” Dean stood in front of me, eying both boys sharply, like he was ready to bite their heads off. Scott blanched but Stiles remained composed. He was brave, I’ll give him that, but it made me wonder where the line was drawn between that and stupid.
“And you might wanna tell us why your friend is a satanist.” Stiles threw back with a pointed look. Dean exhaled, muttering something under his breath about child murder, then looked up.
“We’re hunters.” He uttered. Now, I expected the boys to be confused by this, maybe a little scared, but mostly confused. Boy, was I wrong. They looked like they had seen a ghost, especially this Scott kid. I mean, his eyes were wide as saucers and I didn’t miss the way he clenched his fists, lying in wait like a box spring about to explode.
“You work with Chris?” Stiles gulped, taking a step back. This was the first time I had actually seen him scared, but that didn’t matter right now. Who was Chris? I cocked my head to the side, looking to Dean as if he would have an answer for that, but he was just as lost as me.
“Who’s Chris?” I asked and Stiles’ shoulders relaxed slightly at that.
“Chris Argent.” Scott’s voice was a low whisper and his gaze was transfixed on the ground. “ Please I haven’t hurt anyone, ask Stiles, I promise I won’t.”
“Wait-” Dean frowned, opening his mouth to speak. “What?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he blew out a breath, trying to wrap his head around what was happening.
“What do you mean you haven’t hurt anyone?” I stepped forward, still keeping my hands up. There was no need to spook these kids even more, though Dean might not agree with that.
“I think he means he’s some sort of monster.” Dean clicked his tongue, reaching for the gun on the edge of the bed. Scott tensed and a low growl rumbled from his throat, one that made me flinch back. Something about him had changed. His clenched fists were now opened and long, gangly claws started growing out from his nail beds. My eyes widened. Werewolf. Scott’s eyes glowed a pale yellow and his teeth became razor sharp.
“Dean…” I started, moving towards my brother. “I thought werewolves didn’t grow fur.”
“Well, this one does.” Dean cocked the gun, aiming it at Scott. “But it’s not gonna matter in a second.” His finger hovered over the trigger and the werewolf shrank back, baring its teeth.
“Wait!” Stiles shouted, jumping in front of the gun, arms swinging wildly.
“Get out of the way, kid.” Dean didn’t even flinch and he tilted his head at Stiles. “I don’t want to have to shoot you too, but I will.” He grimaced, tightening his jaw.
“He’s not bad!” Stiles ignored that, staring down the barrel of the gun before tearing his gaze away and locking it on my brother. “He knows how to control it!”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Dean chuckled dryly. “Move.”
“Wait, Dean-” I swallowed, glancing between the both of them. Maybe Stiles was right. I looked at Scott. He was a werewolf, there was no doubt about that, but he wasn’t attacking, at least not yet. If anything, he looked scared.
“Get behind me, Sam.” Dean commanded, and I almost listened, almost. But something told me not to, so I stepped in front of the gun. “Sammy.” Dean’s brows furrowed and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. “What are you doing?”
“Dean, he’s not attacking.” I pointed to the werewolf, who was, true to my word, silently staring us down. “Maybe he’s really got it under control.” I looked back at Dean, pleading in my eyes. “Come on, man.” I said, my voice softer this time, but he didn’t budge.
“Move.” His voice was low, thundering throughout the room, like a storm beginning to break.
“No.” I exhaled, placing myself in front of Stiles. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can, dammit.” His voice cracked and he smiled at me, that smile that told me I was breaking his heart. He sucked on his lip, shaking his head. “You can.” It was silent for a moment and I could hear the clock ticking away, Scott’s labored breathing, the tremble in Dean’s hand as he held the gun up. I closed my eyes. “Sammy,” Dean’s voice was dulcet and I could feel him staring at me, even though my eyes were closed. “You know our job. Black and white. You know this.”
“He’s a kid, Dean.”
“Kids can be killers.”
“We’re killers.”
“That’s different, we had to.”
“No,” I shook my head, peeling my eyes open. “Not every time. You can’t tell me every time you’ve pulled that trigger it’s because you had to.” Pointing to his gun with a shaky finger, I let a breath out. “Because I know I haven’t.”
“Sam-”
“What?” I threw my hands up, letting a humorless laugh escape my throat. “Are you gonna tell me it's different? That-that I was possessed or I couldn’t ‘control it’?! Because that’s a shit excuse and you know it.” I stepped closer to him until we were face to face, jabbing my finger at his chest. “You can’t keep doing this for me, Dean.” I let my hand fall limp. “You can’t punish everybody else for the same things I did. If you let me go, you gotta do the same for him.” My lip trembled, so I bit down on it. “Just let him go, man.”
“I can’t let him kill someone.” Dean’s gaze lowered to the ground, yet so did his gun. “You know I can’t do that.” He looked back up, searching my eyes for something he knew wasn’t there.
“He’s not going to.”
“I can’t take that chance, Sammy.”
“Yes you can.” I retorted, my hand slipping around the weapon in his hand. “You’ve done it for me, now I’m asking you to do it for him.” The gun dropped into my palm, heavy and cool, a promise. I looked up at Dean, but he wasn’t looking at me, not anymore. His eyes were on Scott, who had shifted back into his human form. His breathing was labored and his jaw set, though his hands trembled, giving away his emotion.
“If he kills anyone,” Dean’s face trembled, and he pointed at Scott. “It’s on you. ” He said to me, turned around, and then stormed out of the room. Leaving me. Leaving Scott and Stiles.