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Chapter Text

As Dean pulled out the still ringing phone from its place inside the glove compartment of the Impala and first got a good look at which one of their many phones was actually ringing, his eyes narrowed. Body subconsciously tensing in trepidation, Dean showed Sam what his fingers had fished out of their collection. Of course, as soon as the younger Winchester caught a look at it, his posture shifted to mirror Dean’s. The object itself looked entirely unremarkable. They recognized it immediately nonetheless, for it was such a rare event for it to actually ring since its previous owner died.

“Isn’t that Dad’s phone?” Sam’s voice was tinged with the same unease that churned in Dean’s gut the moment he held it in his hand.

John Winchester would only hand out this personal number to a very small group of people. Mostly hunters who had earned his grudging respect and tentative trust, and his sons. It was never a good sign if someone was trying to contact them on this phone instead of one of the brothers’ own.
Dean nodded and took a calming breath. His instincts told him whatever was going to happen next would shake them up. A hunter’s instincts were seldom wrong.

“Hello?”

“Hello, John. It’s Noah.” a man’s voice answered. Sam had leaned in to listen in as well.

Noah, whoever he was, sounded stressed and ever so slightly angry. Always a good combination, but not an unexpected one when dealing with people who knew John Winchester. As talented a hunter he was, capable of maintaining friendly relationships he was certainly not. Dean had never heard of a Noah before, so he could only hope this conversation would stay civil. The complication of informing yet another stranger of his father’s death two years ago added to his discomfort. He would stall, at least until Noah told him what he wanted.

“He can’t come to the phone. I’m his son, Dean. Can I help you?”, he asked, polite but firm.

“Oh…”, the man’s tone changed to hesitant and worried at the unexpected introduction, “Is John okay?”

He appeared to recognize Dean’s name and his question revealed his knowledge of John’s actual chosen profession. A hunter, obviously, Dean concluded. A recluse though. Gritting his teeth, Dean decided to bite the metaphorical bullet and speak bluntly.

“I’m sorry to break this to you, but John died two years ago.”

He tried to keep his tone neutral, flippant even.  Sammy frowned regardless, letting him know that he didn’t quite succeed. A sharp inhale followed his words, and the other end of the line went silent for a few seconds.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, thank you for telling me.”, he sounded genuinely compassionate, the previous anger had all but evaporated.

Noah managed to convey his condolences without the usual fatalism that colored a hunter’s perspective on life and death in those conversations. He acknowledged Dean’s grief and empathized with it. Dean wondered who the other man had lost. In their business, it was very common, almost a given, to have lost a loved one to the monsters lurking in the shadowed corners of their world.  

“Well, anyways, why did you try to reach him?”, he got back on topic.

“There is…I have a situation here in Beacon Hills.”, Noah started cautiously.  

“Involving something a little outside of the local law enforcement’s expertise?”

“Yes, I believe so.” The other was clearly relieved that Dean knew what his father’s job had been and wasted no more time to explain. “Back when I met your father, I was a deputy, now I’m a sheriff. The case I have on my desk right now shares far too many similarities with the one John and I worked on about eighteen years ago.”

A hunter in law enforcement. Dean shared a raised eyebrow with his brother. A rarity and a huge advantage to have on their side.  Although, there must be a reason why John hadn’t uttered the Sheriff’s name in his children’s presence even once in eighteen years.  

“Bodies were going missing and I helped John without knowing exactly what we were dealing with. I had no idea about the supernatural when we first met, but I thought he had solved the case because there were no further incidents after he left town.”  

So, he wasn’t a hunter back then, but he had somehow found out about the supernatural since then. Was John the one who educated the Sheriff on their world of monsters after he found out? It would explain them being on a first name basis. Dean blinked. He hadn’t gotten Noah’s last name yet. And how did the man have his dad’s number in the first place if the other hadn’t been a hunter during his stay in his town?  

“For the last couple of weeks, however, it started again.”, Noah continued, “It was corpses in the beginning, but during the last few days, the perpetrator’s M.O. changed. He escalated. Two people have disappeared, and they both worked with us the first time.” Grief colored his voice. He had known those people. That didn’t sound good at all, Noah himself might be in danger.

“You’re sure they got taken by the same thing as the corpses?”

“Yes, I am. I’ll send you the files if you want to know the details.”, Noah reaffirmed.

The Winchesters locked eyes for a second, conferring silently and reaching their decision in unison.

“Okay, where is Bacon Hills? My brother and I are comin’ over. I’m gonna send you an e-mail address too, for the files.”

“Beacon Hills.”, the Sheriff corrected, chuckling at his food related pun. He started to like the guy. “It’s in Beacon County, in northern California.”

“We’ll need a few days to drive there, we’re somewhere in Iowa right now.”

“That’s quite far, you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s our job, the family business.”

The conversation tapered off, leaving Dean with the impression that their talk was over, until the other man’s voice cut him off before he could hang up.  

“Family business…” Noah’s breath hitched, “Dean, listen, there is something I need to tell you and your brother – what’s his name? Your father told me once, but it’s been too long.”

Sam and Dean stiffened at the nervous inflection in the Sheriff’s voice. That sounded slightly suspicious. Their instincts had warned them after all. Should they give him Sam’s name as well? Dean had a feeling about Noah. His gut was telling him the guy wasn’t untrustworthy. The Winchesters’ inner alarm bells weren’t warning them about him, but something else. After a quick glance at Sam, who nodded curtly, Dean went along with the conversation’s shift into a more personal direction.

“Yeah, we’re listening. It’s Sam, by the way. What’s yours, Noah?”, he added, remembering they only knew his first name as well.  

“All right, Dean and Sam. I’m Noah Stilinski, but you can keep calling me Noah.”

“Okay, Noah it is.”, Dean smiled.

A sort, awkward pause, then “It’s about my wife, Claudia. She, ah…she was a hunter – “ She was. Hunters didn’t exactly retire with old age. There it was, the reason why Noah knew about them, it would have been nice to hear a different origin story for once. “ – and only settled down here in Beacon Hills shortly after this hunt with John. We were all working together and she, uh…”

Dean’s unease grew as Noah stuttered and rambled on, talking around what he actually wanted to say, so he prodded “Yeah?”

“She had…slept with John before he left, and we became a couple a few months later.”

Was he trying to tell them that their father slept with someone other than their own mother? That wasn’t exactly a secret, they hadn’t exactly expected the man to swear an oath of celibacy after her death, that would have been unreasonable. Dean was about to reassure the Sheriff that the brothers could pretend John’s short relationship with his dead wife had never happened. In fact, he would be happy to do so. There was a small possibility of the Sheriff not knowing their mother had already been dead by the time John’s hunt in Beacon Hills took place and he was trying to find a tactful way of informing them about his unfaithfulness. However, Noah wasn’t done with his revelation, and the next line caught them both completely off guard.

“By then, she was, ah…already pregnant.”

All breath left his body in a shocked exhale. Feeling like he had just taken a punch to the gut, Dean’s mind was left reeling with the implications of Noah’s statement, and seeing Sam’s wide eyes staring at the phone in utter disbelief, Dean knew his brother felt the same. Their attention turned back to their caller and Dean flatly formulated the one thought cycling in both their heads out loud.  

“What.”     

__________

“Dean, look, best I can tell, Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski is real. Seventeen years old, born on the 8^th of April 1994 to Claudia Stilinski here at Beacon Memorial Hospital. No biological father listed, but Noah is his father by law. He’s actually the sheriff of this town, got reelected recently. Stiles is a bit of a troublemaker with ADHD, but he steadily maintains a near perfect GPA. He plays Lacrosse. And he was involved in a lot of those incidents over the last few years I told you about when I was researching the town.”

Sam climbed out of the Impala, relieved they finally made it to their destination after over 24 hours on the road, and he didn’t have to endure Dean’s passive aggressive driving anymore. They were parked in front of a well-kept middle-class home in the middle of Beacon Hills. It wasn’t far from the police station and the school, the perfect location for a sheriff and his teenaged son.

“Mis-chis- what?”, Dean huffed, sounding almost offended by his inability to pronounce the kid’s name when Sam had let it roll off his tongue in such an easy, offhanded manner. The same way Dean had radiated asperity for the last few hours. Needless to say, it had been a terrible car-ride.

“God, who names their kid that? It’s just cruel, and ‘Stiles’ is not much better. Stiles Stilinski, seriously…”, he muttered, rummaging around in their trunk for weapons. Then he asked, “What kind of trouble are we talkin’ about? How exactly was he involved?”

“Well, it’s a Polish name.”, Sam shrugged, trying to calm his brother down a little before they went to knock on the kid’s front door. At this level, Dean would end up taking his sourness out on the wrong person and ruin any possibility of a friendly relationship with their possible half-brother.
“And nothing serious. He just appeared at a lot of crime scenes with his friends. The local newspaper mentions him a few times as witness or victim. Another kid his age filed a restraining order against him once after Stiles and his friend kidnapped him, but got it lifted again relatively fast, on the grounds that it was just a misunderstanding. The Sheriff got suspended for a while though. Stiles also went missing for two days a few weeks ago.”

Dean slammed his car door shut and met his brother’s eyes over the roof of his Baby, quirking an eyebrow. “So, he’s been behaving suspiciously for a while?”

“Nah, I think he’s just being a nosey teenager, looking for a bit of excitement.”, he shook his head.

“Like this town needs any more of that.”, his brother mumbled.

Well, he was right, the amount of people that died of strange and unknown causes in the last year alone was exorbitantly high. Somehow, the town managed to stay under the radar from more hunters besides the Argents as well as the higher authorities. Only recently had the FBI gotten involved. Dean was right, it was suspicious, and Stiles was in the middle of it. 

His brother was going to try his best at proving Stiles to be anything but their half-brother. The truth was more disquieting than believing this hunt to be a trap. Noah Stilinski might have come off as a good man over the phone, but the second he mentioned his son, the brothers disposition leaned more towards cautious. Sam reluctantly admitted that it was likely that some fling of John’s lead to an unknown third Winchester sibling, but he would still be on guard.

Dean, however, didn’t even want to consider the possibility. It was easier to believe a monster or demon was setting an elaborate trap than facing such a deeply emotional issue as well as the problem of protecting a kid from the dangers a connection to the Winchesters might bring to his doorstep. Especially now, when the seals to Lucifers cage were being broken faster than they could figure out which ones they needed to protect. They were essentially being given the run-around. The Apocalypse had already been set in motion with little hope of stopping it, and any civilian with a relation to them was a potential target.

Sam shoved those thoughts aside and confidently set the pace as he walked up to the patio and rang the bell whilst Dean was busying himself with a final weapon’s check. Shuffling through his pockets, he felt the familiar weight of their demon-killing knife, a smaller silver knife, the smooth metal of his flask filled with holy water, his handgun with extra ammunition of different kinds, and lastly, a packet of salt. He was as prepared as he could be without unduly alarming the neighbors.

Backs subconsciously straightening at the sound of footsteps nearing the door, the brothers held their breath until it swung open to reveal a brown-haired boy with large, whiskey colored eyes and moles dotting his cheek. Sam noted with some amusement that he was wearing plaid, which was such a Winchester style of dressing. Then, on second glance, other details about Stiles’ appearance caught his trained eye. The waxy paleness of his skin, the weary, suspicious gaze he mustered them with, far too old for his age. His messy hair and the many layers of his clothing, too warm for even the North-Californian winter weather. Lastly, the deep purple bags under his eyes that looked like they were close to developing sentience of their own. In short, he looked worn out.

“Hello, can I help you?”, he ripped the brothers out of their silent inspection. His voice sounded so young and yet, there was an edge hidden behind the polite smile and greeting.

 Sam caught himself and instinct took over from the many times they had needed to gain entrance into someone’s home for their hunt. “Hello, I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean.”, he gestured between the two of them. “Your father Noah called us a few days ago. Did he tell you we were coming?”

He kept the introduction simple and left out the reason for their presence, not knowing what Noah had told his son about them. At least some of the distrust seemed to drain away with his words. Curiously enough, not all of it. Although, he was a cop’s son, and all the recent killing sprees would set anyone on edge. If anything, Sam should commend Stiles for his paranoia since it could very well save his life one day.

“Oh, yeah, he did. I’m Stiles.”, he nodded at both of them, hesitating to step aside and letting them into his house, but clearly curious. He didn’t know who they were to him.

“Nice to meet ya, kid.”, Dean smiled thinly.

Sam could see the change in Stiles’ posture immediately. Dean’s behavior was insincere, and Stiles had picked up on that fact. This guarded, closed off expression shouldn’t look so at home on someone his age. Shit, there went their chance at a good start.

“Yeah, same.”, Stiles answering smile was just as amiable as the one he first greeted them with, and his tone didn’t waver the slightest. “Look, my dad’s not home right now. He’s at work until approximately eight in the evening. You can visit him at the station if you want to, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

He was trying to get rid of them by sending them where they would actually want to go if they were here for his father. Not a bad tactic, especially since there would be an entire station of cops around to stop them if they weren’t who they said they were. His mimic was slightly changing now, it sent Sam’s neck tingling. Eyes widening into an earnest, open, far too innocent look, Stiles continued to talk, and talk. And then talk some more. While exuding far too much energy for any sane person to possess at any time of the day.

“In fact, he works far too much and needs a pause sometimes. He forgets to eat too, always thinking about the job first, that’s him. You know, as the sheriff, he thinks the whole county is his responsibility, it’s ridiculous. Like, he has deputies to help him and share his workload!”, his arms flailed in mock frustration.  

“Uhm, kid – “, Dean tried to butt in valiantly, and failed.   

Stiles was simply bulldozing over him, not even trying to hide the fact, but enjoying their obvious shared discomfort. Mischief was what he couldn’t identify earlier, he had it in him. Their newest brother was a little shit, Sam thought, privately amused that the trait apparently did run the family.

“So, getting him out of his office for what’s probably the first time on this double shift would be an amazing feat I would commend you for. Best you take him to that little diner called Claire’s two blocks from the station. He’ll tell you where it is. We often go there during weekends. I recommend their food, it’s great!”  

Stiles was barely taking a breath through that rant. Sweet Jesus, the kid could talk. He was taking back what he thought about him earlier, this was genuinely horrifying. Sam wanted to simultaneously pat him on the head for his outstanding performance and strangle the kid into silence. He was trying to talk them to death, or at least until they literally ran away, playing up his rambling and ADHD tendencies to put them up around him like a smoke screen. His own way of warding off people, and it worked. Sam couldn’t get a word in edgewise. He traded a glance with his brother, who seemed as taken aback by the sudden onslaught as he felt.

“Make sure he eats healthy, yeah? He doesn’t need to risk a heart-attack when his job is already dangerous enough. No burger for him, except of the veggie variety, thank you. It was nice meeting you, Misters Winchester.” and with those abrupt final words, Stiles waved cheekily, stepped back, and pretty much slammed the door in their faces before they had the time to realize he was done with their chat.

They were left standing on the doorstep staring at the offending piece of wood, like two unwanted stray cats, or parcels ordered and not picked up. The hunters didn’t get the chance to test him either. However, Dean’s expression soon changed from mildly annoyed to one of indignant anger. Intervention was necessary, going by the progressive reddening of his brother’s face. He didn’t want him to cause a scene. Sam shook his head in defeat and took his brother by the elbow to steer him back to their car.

Great, what a disaster.

__________

Noah was, as Stiles had predicted, holed up inside his office behind mountains of files, pictures, and reports. Most of them were old cases, like Malia’s, he suspected of having ties to the supernatural. Some of them had already been scanned by his son, under his grudging supervision. He had to admit that Stiles was exceptional at police work and had an excellent eye for details. Stiles made connections and looked into directions he would never even think to consider. He had a talent to look at the facts and keep an open mind, to gather all the facts before forming his theories; and no matter how unlikely they might sound, he worked on each of them with equal dedication until they were proven or disproven. It had become Stiles’ side job of a sort since school would be over in a week. One Noah wasn’t too fond of, but couldn’t disapprove of either, seeing how his son not only helped other people by solving those cold cases, but also himself.

To be honest, Noah had been worried in the direct aftermath of Stiles’ possession. The way he was coping the first week after he had…escaped from the Nogitsune – that was to say, he wasn’t dealing with it at all, or anything outside his own bedroom if he didn’t absolutely have to – had the Sheriff fearing for his son’s life in an entirely new way he hadn’t at all been prepared for.

He had learned how to restrain himself from bundling Stiles and his friends up and stashing them safely inside his house while he dealt with whatever wanted to hurt them. With his gun and lots of wolfsbane. He had learned to trust those children to fight a guerilla war to protect this town he was supposed to be the sheriff of and support them in any way he could whilst staying out of their way. The helplessness he felt when handing dangerous situations off for children who were better equipped to fight the supernatural, including own son, to handle, was neigh overwhelming. A simple truth he had to acknowledge was his own reduced adaptability compared to the younger generation as well as those who were raised as warriors in this shadowed fight. Not only was he out of the loop until the youths deigned to tell him about their most recent exploits, but also hindering him from intervening was his own struggle to broaden his horizon and take leaps in logic that took him beyond the human spectrum of possibility. As much as he defended the necessity of human law, his position did at times effectively block the children from seeking his help. Chris Argent had, after a serious discussion about the law, morals and justice in his town, helped him cope by gifting him with a translated copy of the Argent’s Monster Book of Monsters – it’s called a beastiary, Dad! – and some of his special ammunition. He would be prepared to support their supernatural militia better in their coming struggles.

Noah had also learned years ago after a terrible, grueling period of grieving for Claudia the wrong way by getting lost in the bottle for far too long, all but forgetting about his child, how to take care of his remaining family’s emotional needs and mental health. The panic attacks, his irrational guilt over his mother’s death, and the consequences of his own unwitting neglect. 

At least, he had thought he knew how to deal with Stiles’ bad days. Now though, there had been bad days, and worse days, with hardly any improvement in sight. Until Noah had caught him looking into his case files again. Two weeks ago, he would have been angry, but mostly resigned at the sight. However, all he had been able to feel then was relief. His son was showing interest in something again. A whisp of his former personality was returning to the ghostly figure of his son. How could Noah do anything but nurture it? Anything would be an improvement from his state in that first week.

Moreover, in the process of puzzling out the crimes, Stiles and Noah both learned a lot about the supernatural in order to spin their theories. In the last week, the number of very bad days had decreased and there was a day he could hesitantly call a good one as well, where Stiles had hung out with Lydia in the mall after school. Noah was grateful for his son’s compassionate group of friends, his Pack. The most amazing changes came when they were there, Stiles felt their compassion and in turn helped them to cope with the recent deaths. It couldn’t work every day, but they were making progress.

Yesterday had been a bad day. Though his son had barely managed to find the energy to move around, he wasn’t feeling up to going outside or paying attention at school. Reluctantly, Noah had left him at home with a promise of not going back to bed during the day and trying to catch some sleep at night. Nightmares stole most of it away. Malia helped with them sometimes, sneaking into his son’s room at night to sleep in his bed. Normally, his parental instinct would be going haywire, chanting NO! But sleeping was really all they were doing, and the girl was good at calming Stiles down after a nightmare. Helping her fit in with human society was also aiding Stiles in forgetting about his own problems for a bit, just like Noah’s casefiles.

Noah hoped that his sleeping problems were mostly the reason for his uncharacteristic lethargy. Even with his medication Stiles would always be in motion. Bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers, shifting and playing with something in his hands. He was still moving, but the rhythm had changed. It was disconcerting and he felt as if an integral part of Stiles’ body language had suddenly switched to something he couldn’t yet understand. As a police officer, he struggled to adjust to this new state.  Flashbacks proved his son’s trauma might have progressed into PTSD, and the father feared he might be skirting on the edges of depression as well. Anxiety was a definite yes, though he’d had it since his mother died. Of course, being a child soldier would do that to someone. Taking medication for those was difficult with Adderall in the mix. Noah gritted his teeth. Why was he allowing those kids to put themselves into danger so readily? Was he failing as a father again? Stiles’ state seemed to prove his self-recriminating questions to be true. He just hoped that by trying to protect the Pack, he hadn’t invited even more trouble into town.

With a heaving sigh, he snapped the file he was currently scanning shut. Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he tried to refocus, as he had done for hours. His thoughts simply wandered back to Stiles in a never-ending cycle of worry, and his efforts to think about anything else for more than ten minutes at a time were futile and slowly verging on desperate. He hated himself for needing a distraction from the palpable cloud of misery surrounding his home. Yet, he knew he couldn’t support Stiles if he was driving himself insane by staying at home with him. Stiles wouldn’t let him either way. He also had his position as the sheriff to fill. Taking too many days off was impossible, he had to make up for the last two weeks of irregular absences already by working double shifts when possible.

Noah’s gaze drifted through the window of his office. Jordan Parrish, his newest deputy, who was being shown the ropes by Deputy Kayne, had just brought a box of pastries from the Golden Bun. Their patrol through the city earlier had completely coincidentally taken them right by the bakery on the upper end of town that was famous amongst the population of Beacon Hills. Of course, the older man had imparted Parrish with the secret of its location only for a small bribe. Their confections were the downfall of any honest cop in this town and the next. He hoped he wouldn’t have to investigate them in the future because there was witchcraft involved in making them so addictive. Noah wouldn’t put it past this town to ruin one of the last good things he could eat – without being chewed out for violating his dietary rules by Stiles – in the most insane manner possible. The thought managed to lift the corners of his mouth a little. Progress. 

A file on the left side of his desk caught his eye. It brought back memories of a case he had worked on almost eighteen years ago. One he now knew must have been connected to the supernatural. Leafing through the beastiary had yielded no results and Stiles admitted there were far too many creatures that could fit the pattern, and he couldn’t narrow it down or find nearly enough credible lore on some of their options.

He had called Argent first, to no avail. The hunter had left for France a few days prior and couldn’t come back for a few weeks yet. Argent had to settle Isaac in and meet with the other branches of his family to report Gerhard’s and Kate’s crimes. There was also a hunt in France he was called in on to provide his expertise and skills. Argent had told him to call the hunter that had worked on the case the last time. He had heard of the name Winchester and his reaction had been suitably impressed.

It was difficult to impress a seasoned hunter like Argent, so Noah had taken his advice, carefully asking the Pack if they agreed. Not for permission per se, he was still the sheriff, but they had every reason to be weary and object to the presence of a new hunter in town, given prior experiences. They were the ones in danger if John found out about the local pack and didn’t abide by the code. The fact that there were two unknown hunters now instead of one Noah could vouch for complicated matters. Okay, so he did ask for permission. From his own son. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. He may be the sheriff, yet he didn’t have a standing in their world. He wasn’t surprised they disagreed at first, inviting new hunters to Beacon Hills was extremely risky. Only after the second death, they reluctantly agreed that they couldn’t handle a new threat right away when they were still left reeling from the fallout of the last. They would keep to the background and observe, if possible.

He himself had been strangely indifferent about the idea of calling Stiles’ biological father to return to Beacon Hills. Nothing would hold the man here, he was sure of it, not even a son. He also wouldn’t drag Stiles into his life, that was for sure. The only times when Noah had called John’s number in the past was to inform him about Stiles, Claudia’s death, and the occasional update on his son. John had continuously stayed away, saying Stiles already had a father and a stable home, he didn’t need him to barge in and insert himself into their happy family. Claudia had always agreed without protest. Noah had found it a little strange but didn’t really mind not having to share his son. It made a lot more sense now, looking back on their decision.

Noah knew his kid would never abandon his friends either. The hunter seemed decent enough not to drag an unwilling child along in his hunts. Winchester’s other sons Dean and Sam had already been adults the way John spoke about them. They hadn’t been able to join him on this hunt back then, so Noah had hoped he would bring them along this time. Noah had planned to inform Stiles about John being his biological father with the man himself present, as well as his half-brothers.

His boy had known that he wasn’t Noah’s son by birth for years now and it had never bothered him. To him, Noah choosing to become his father and keeping him even during difficult times had only been more proof that Stiles’ dad loved him. He had never asked about his other father, content with the one he already had. A rare occurrence since Stiles normally questioned everything. And now, he would never get the chance to meet him. Despite never really being a part of their lives, John Winchester had been a known constant somewhere in the background. Noah didn’t often think about him, but he had been ready to answer some of Stiles’ questions and arrange a meeting should the need arise.

It felt strange to hear about the man’s death two years after it happened from the sons he had never met. He felt for them, it was terrible to lose a loved one and being reminded of your grief by a stranger. John had never told his boys about Stiles. How betrayed they must feel, Noah mused. He hadn’t expected to be the one to air this secret like dirty laundry. To be honest, he hadn’t told Stiles about his half-brothers either, but it shouldn’t have been his responsibility to tell them about Stiles’ existence.   

It was close to five o’clock now, John’s sons should be arriving soon. Hopefully, they would come to the station first. He didn’t want them alone in his house with Stiles. He didn’t think they would harm the kid in any way, but they were hunters and Stiles would be distrustful and would probably try to interrogate them or make them severely uncomfortable.

As a normal human, Stiles should have nothing to fear from hunters, but he was part of a werewolf pack. Some hunters had taken offense to this fact in the past, and his son certainly hadn’t forgotten. He and Noah both knew on which side they would stand if the Winchesters found out about the Pack and their connections to them. Blood relations aside, the Pack was part of Stiles’ family. Introducing the Winchesters to Stiles as his half-brothers would change nothing in that regard. He would have to be careful with the introduction, Stiles didn’t need even more stress right now. They had only been invited to deal with the threat in order to take some of the weight off the kid’s shoulders, after all. The last thing the Pack needed was another catastrophe so soon after the last. They needed to concentrate on getting better, on school and relationships and normal teenage drama.

Speaking of drama, his guests had arrived. Two men entered the station, clearly looking for someone. One was exceptionally tall with longer brown hair and the second had shorter, slightly lighter colored hair and a face that wouldn’t look out of place on a magazine cover for adolescents. Both of them were wearing plaid shirts that reminded him of Stiles far too much. Now he knew where his kid got his fashion sense from. They approached the front desk and left Noah’s field of vision.

Quickly he stood up and went out of his office to greet them properly. It wouldn’t do to make a bad first impression. He studiously ignored the relieved looks his deputies were throwing him for finally leaving his office and walked up to the brothers.

“Yes, he knows, we have an appointment.”, the taller one was saying. His voice was deeper than Dean’s, so he must be Sam, the younger one.

“All right, I will ask – “ Deputy Miller started, before seeing her boss arrive at her desk.

“Thank you, Deputy. I will take those two to my office.”, he nodded reassuringly at her.

“Of course, Sheriff.”, she answered dutifully.

The petite blonde woman had a core of steel and would defend their station like a dragon if it came down to it. She hadn’t been on duty when almost the entire force was slaughtered by Matt and survived the Nogitsune attack as well. Their little station had felt so much loss in the last year that it was no wonder the remaining force had banded together all the more tightly, growing fiercely protective of their comrades, old and new alike. He forced his thoughts back on track and turned around, holding out his hands for the brothers to shake.

“Noah Stilinski, good to meet you.”

Sam took the offered hand first and answered “You as well, Sheriff. I’m Sam.”

He had a firm handshake and an easygoing smile. The puppy eyes reminded him of Scott, but the professionalism he exuded was more similar to Argent.

“Dean. It’s a pleasure.”, Dean smiled as he repeated the gesture, though it felt somehow more forced. He wasn’t offended.

“Well then, let’s go to my office then. Do you want some coffee?”

“Oh, thank you. Your son said we should ask if you want to go to a diner instead. He was very insistent we get you out of your office, in fact.” Sam laughed.  

Dean threw his brother a look the Sheriff couldn’t decipher, something close to incredulity. Noah repressed a sigh. The brothers had gone to his house first. He could imagine how this conversation with Stiles had gone when he watched Dean’s face contort into a scowl.  

“I could use a break.”, he gave in, “We can go to Claire’s. It’s not far from here and the food is good.”

For some reason Sam snorted at his suggestion, but agreed nonetheless, “Sure, you need to get something form your office?”

“No, I’ve got everything with me.”, he turned around, “Miller, I’ll be gone for at least an hour.”

“We’ll man the fort for you, Sheriff.”, the woman grinned, “Don’t come back any sooner!”

“I’m the sheriff here…”, he grumbled, smiling all the same at the proof that his officers cared for him.

“Let’s go.”    

___________

Despite its borderline sadistic way of delivery, the suggestion of stopping by the sheriff’s station first was a good one. Sam was glad his brother had calmed down on the way to the station and was now mulling over what information they had gathered from meeting Stiles. They discussed their first impressions and concluded that something must have happened to the kid not too long ago. Considering the astonishing amount of gruesome, suspicious deaths over the last year and a half, they would have their work cut out for them if they wanted to shed light onto all these incidents. Research was a favorite pastime of Sam’s. However, this seemingly quiet small town looked more and more like the Bermuda Triangle of weirdness, it would take a lot of time to investigate every single strange occurrence. Sam would be busy for weeks, if not longer, should they not find someone who knew what went down here.

With this in mind, they hoped to gather more information not just on their present case from the Sheriff. Subtle inquiries couldn’t hurt, Noah would understand they were just doing their job. The man held himself like a hunter and didn’t object to their tests. During their time studying the menu of the twice recommended Diner, they found out why that was the case. Noah had apparently once served in the Army, like their own father had been part of the Navy. Some of his mannerisms were eerily similar to John’s.

All those ‘animal attacks’ the papers screamed about were actually part of a very long story he couldn’t really tell in public without anyone overhearing them getting convinced their sheriff needed to be admitted to Eichen House – the local psychiatric hospital. Though the name asylum would be more appropriate here.

“Fitting for such a creepy town.”, Dean muttered, staring intently at the menu in order to concentrate on something besides the horrible vibes he was getting just hearing about this place.

At least the diner had a really extensive and delicious sounding assortment of dishes. The atmosphere was cozy and warm, a direct contrast to their topics of conversation. Dean kind of regretted opening his mouth. Noah wasn’t shy to share his opinion on the matter at all.

“Well, I wish I could tear the whole building down already, but that’s outside my power. Their practices are shady at best, and the way they treat patients is atrocious. Criminal even, but there is no evidence besides questionable first-hand accounts, and only against single staff members, not systemic long-term abuse.”

How would the man know so much about the inner workings of the facility then? Maybe he would ask later. The waiter, probably a college student, had arrived to take their orders.

“Hello, welcome to Claire’s. Sheriff Stilinski, nice to see you again!”

Noah chuckled. “David, I hope you’re doing well? Did you get your car repaired?”

“Yeah, the tail-lights are in working order again. Thanks for letting me off that one time, Sheriff.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, son.”

Noah seemed to have a decent relationship with everyone in this town they had met until now. The other patrons of the diner had smiled at him as well when he entered. It seemed that despite the recent killings, the people saw his dedication and hard work in keeping them safe. He paid attention and took his time getting to know them personally.  

“So, may I collect your orders?”

Dean nodded, finally settling on a sandwich that made his mouth water at the description. Sam chose a curry dish and Noah decided on a burger. All three of them ordered a beer to go with their meals.

“Don’t tell my son!”, he winked.

David snorted and shook his head. “He doesn’t pay me, Sir.”

Noah laughed and Sam had to grin as well, remembering Stiles’ instructions at his door. He certainly wouldn’t tell on the man either. As soon as David left to the kitchen, Noah got down to business again.

“Well boys, we can discuss solved cases after we finish the current one, sounds fair?”

Sam and Dean nodded, accepting the prioritization. However, it didn’t escape their notice that the Sheriff seemed to be doing his best to avoid touching upon past problems right now. Talking about classified information on an active case with them could get him in far more trouble after all, and he was ready to do so in public.

“All right, so here’s what we know…”, the Sheriff started laying out his investigations, past and present, that lead him to calling them. It took him over half an hour talking over food and drink to fill them in on the details.
The facts were the following:

In the summer of 1994, the three younger deputies Noah, Barton and Singh were sent to investigate a grave robbery at the local cemetery. They blamed it on random vandalism after finding no leads. Three days later, the next body went missing, then the next and so on. No matter how many patrols they posted around the cemetery, they never saw anyone committing the grave desecration. The corpses simply vanished right under their noses. The story went public, and a few days later, the count of missing bodies hitting eleven, a man by the name of John Winchester came to town. A day later, Claudia arrived as well, and they both went to the cemetery on the same day. The deputies on patrol noticed their suspicious behavior and questioned them, one of them being Noah. A truly romantic place for a first meeting between the two men and the future mother of their child.

Claudia had been a wildfire back then. Smart and skilled as she was, she talked their way out of trouble immediately. She introduced them as private investigators, and much flirting ensured the other deputies wouldn’t look too closely. Bodies continued going missing for a while, John managed to convince Singh to give them more details and was seen climbing into the empty graves a few times together with Claudia. Noah and the other two deputies soon joined them. They discovered the tunnels leading to the graves, which lead into an elaborate system underneath the cemetery, before joining with the sewer system. The three policemen soon called in their discovery. Sheriff Eames called someone in to test the structural integrity of the tunnels, not wanting to risk a cave in beneath the cemetery. The entire area was crawling with people and yet, the thing still kept on stealing bodies.

John and Claudia asked Noah to give them a small window to continue with their investigation undisturbed. Somehow, they managed to convince him he wouldn’t regret it. He stood waiting for them at the gate, whilst they disappeared into the tunnels that night. They came out dirty and slightly beaten up but smiling in victory. Until today, Noah had no idea what actually went down inside those tunnels, but the case was marked as solved and the count had been frozen at seventeen bodies. John told the three officers everything was taken care of and where exactly to find the bodies. He then asked them to take the credit. Barton did just that, and the tunnels were filled up. John left soon after. Claudia chose to stay, her knee had been more seriously injured than she thought in the heat of the moment, adrenaline aiding her in the fight. Originally, she only meant to stay long enough for her knee to heal. However, Noah and the child growing inside her shattered that plan. She couldn’t let either of them go.

Fast forward to one and a half weeks ago, a new grave had been desecrated. It was a family crypt. The only reason why the grave robbery had been noticed by the mourners was the broken stone plate on a casket. Noah had sent a new member of his force, Deputy Parrish, to investigate, who found embalming fluid inside the crypt. The bodies must have been opened. Three other graves had been robbed since then. Former Deputy Barton – who’d become a bartender – and Deputy Singh had come to his office not long after Parrish’s report to address their concern over the similarity this case shared with the one they had never truly solved in the past. They hadn’t really known John closer than in passing after all. For all they knew, the perpetrator could have simply stopped on his own. Noah had reassured them that he saw the connection as well and would dig out the old files again. Singh had disappeared without a trace two days after that on a patrol around the cemetery. The only evidence Noah found was a patch on disturbed earth near his deputy’s forgotten flashlight. Careful testing had revealed a tunnel.

The Sheriff hadn’t told the rest of the station what he had found for no human could have dug a tunnel like that so fast in order to hunt a man. He could see this case more clearly now than when he was a deputy fresh out of the army who didn’t believe in the supernatural. Noah listened to his instinct and avoided the hole. He was well aware of the danger. A wise choice, Dean appreciated the man’s common sense and caution. Soon-to-be-pensioner Barton had vanished from his own house three days ago. They only knew he had been abducted because the neighbor had heard his terrified screams. Whatever it was seemed to hunt down anyone involved with John’s investigation nearly eighteen years ago. It was capable of leaving the cemetery and move in broad daylight outside its tunnels. 

“My wife and John are both dead, so are Warner and Singh, that leaves only myself. And I can’t risk leaving my son an orphan. This thing is smart. I have no idea how to fight it. Did John leave you any information about his previous hunts?”

God, how he wished his own father had cared even half as much about his sons as Noah did. The man hadn’t called them solely out of fear for himself, but rather for Stiles, and the brothers respected that. 

“Yeah, he did. We have his old Hunter’s Journal. There’s a problem though. The entry on Beacon Hills is missing. The pages were ripped out.”, Sam confessed, pinching his nose.

Noah exhaled in disappointment. “Great, so we can start over again. Do you have any ideas what we’re dealing with? I researched, but there are far too many myths involving monsters that eat people, living and dead.”

Sam hummed and asked his brother, “Zombie?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, not intelligent enough and the tunnels don’t fit.”

“Right. Rugarus prefer their meat fresh. Ghouls don’t usually bother with the living.”, Sam ticked the supernatural creatures off like he was reciting a shopping list. “Revenant? Pishtaco? Nachzehrer?”

“What, fish-taco?”, Dean made a face after the last two. “We need to research.”, he said resignedly. “Can you recommend a motel where we can do that in peace?”

Noah protested, “There is no need to pay for a motel, I have a nice guest room with a bed and a transformable couch.”

“You would let us stay with you? What about Stiles?”, Sam inquired, mildly surprised.  

They hadn’t expected him to invite them into his home so easily. The wisdom of doing their research next to their curious half-brother was questionable.

“I would, although you need to tell me something first…Do you follow The Code?”  

“Code?”, Dean asked, bewildered.

“Yes.” Noah’s expression hardened. “I haven’t known about the supernatural for long, but I have already met different sorts of creatures. Those who hurt others and those who live together with us peaceably. I cannot allow you to stay if you start harassing good people. It’s my duty to protect the people of this town from harm, whether they grow fangs and claws or not.”

The Winchesters’ eyebrows collectively rose higher with each sentence. Sheriff Stilinski knew of other monsters besides the creature they were hunting, and whatever it was must reside in Beacon Hills with his blessing. Something with fangs and claws. There were quite a lot of options. Living amongst the populace, protected from hunters by the town’s sheriff himself. What an interesting development. And what was The Code? The brothers could hear the capitalization.

“Oh! Don’t worry, Sheriff. We only hunt those who are a danger to humans and just try to keep an eye on the rest.”, Sam reassured him, somewhat caught off guard.

Dean agreed “We mostly go to towns were people are dying to stop what’s happening.”

“Mostly?”

“Cursed objects and hauntings are jobs for us too that don’t involve killing something, for example.”, Sam explained and remembered a case with a vampire coven that had changed their perspective drastically.

They must have said the right thing. A relieved sigh could be heard as the man’s expression softened once more. “Good to know you do follow the Code even if you didn’t know about it. Please remember to ask questions first if you see something unusual around here. As for Stiles, he knows.”  

“Come again?” Dean sounded incredulous.

“He knows you are hunters and he’s the one who does the most research on the supernatural. He’s really good at it too. And puzzles, loves solving my cases, supernatural or not.”, Noah grumbled, before his demeanor changed to that of a very concerned father. “In the last year Stiles has been through so much. A lot of people he knew got hurt or died, and he had to do and witness things no child should. He had to grow up fast. A lot of our trouble here was caused by hunters in the first place, so he has reason to mistrust you. Please be patient and don’t be offended if he watches and questions you and generally comes off as rude.”

Sam winced, “We understand, Noah, we were a bit like him when we were kids. He looked quite tired when we met him earlier. If you actually want us to sleep at your house though, we need to test if he’s really himself.”

How had Stiles become involved in the first place? Why would hunters harm the kid enough to leave a lasting negative impression? Sam added this to his ever-growing list of questions about Beacon Hills. The father’s narrowed blue eyes mustered them for a few seconds. Long enough for Sam to contemplate the possibility of their brother being supernatural himself. Given Sam’s own experience as a psychic it wouldn’t be impossible to accept. John would have had a conniption at the mere idea of one of his sons being anything other than completely human. His musings seemed to be incorrect, however.   

“Do what you must, but don’t say it like that. You’ll freak him out. Say you need to see if he’s supernatural or human.”

A strange request that send a tingle of unease down Sam’s spine. He shared a look with Dean. The implications weren’t lost on them. Could it be that Stiles had already encountered a creature capable of imitating him, or even stealing his body? Both were horrible scenarios the brothers had experience with curtesy of shapeshifters and demons. It would explain his haggard look. They shouldn’t come to conclusions based on this alone, Sam reminded himself.

“No problem, it’s just a precaution anyways.”

Noah nodded solemnly. “I get it, I really do.” And from his expression, he did. Something inside Sam twisted. “Prepare yourself for a lot of questions though. I’ll text him to let him know you’ll be coming and get him to prepare your room.”

“Thanks, Noah.”, Dean said earnestly. This was a great gesture of trust from the man. To let him inside his house, alone with his son.

He smiled and huffed, “I hope your second meeting goes smoother than the first.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s scowl had thankfully grown less pronounced over the course of their dinner.

The text was sent, and soon they waved David over for the check. After paying for their decently priced high-quality meal, they left for the station.

“So…when will you tell him we’re…you know?”, Sam stumbled over the words ‘half-brothers’.

“Today. When I come home, we’ll all have a conversation if that’s okay?”

The brothers gave their assent. They still had some time to prepare. It would be uncomfortable, but maybe they could bond a bit with Stiles in those few hours before they sprung this revelation on the kid. Fighting a common enemy united people. This unknown threat wasn’t welcome per say, but it could be good for something. Like learning more about the Winchester’s newest family member. At least, Sam hoped that was what they would achieve, instead of what happened last time. Dean was slightly more open now, and they knew not to push too much. They also had a common interest, that should count for something.

Dropping Noah off at the station, they made their way back to their Impala and drove once more to the Stilinski residence.      

Chapter Text

Stiles didn’t know whether he wanted to slap or pat himself on the shoulder. Getting rid of those hunters may have been immensely satisfying now. However, it could cause problems in the future. He was the only one in the Pack who would have contact with them if all went well. Their security detail, protecting their potential victims and not themselves. First impressions were important, and he ruined his. The consequences could be bad not only for his dad, who they were supposed to support. But for the Pack too if they were offended enough to refuse to see reason and attack them as well should they have to interfere with their hunt. Those brothers seemed dangerous. Trained killers. Soldiers. He would know since he could remember being one. Before his reassignment to Oak Creek, he had been in France for a while, fighting for his life in the chaos of the battlefield. Which was why he wanted to learn French before – No!  

Stiles’ fist hit the wall; the sting pulled him back to the present. He gripped his aching head. This was his body, his brain. His memories. And Rhys’. As well as so many others. The Nogitsune. They were still in there, little fractioned sharp-edged shards of their former selves giving him a splitting headache whenever he was confronted with something that triggered those foreign memories. Rhys’ were the most recent and therefore on the forefront. He hated remembering being someone different. All those echoes of people whose life the Nogitsune stole and left behind inside him like a consolation price for the void it left everywhere else. To him, comparing it to a splinter he couldn’t pull out of his flesh seemed more accurate. It constantly reminded him of his possession, and he felt less and less like himself whenever he remembered what he shouldn’t know.

Fighting in a war he had only read about history books before. Being burned alive, shot, stabbed to death. Countless faces of people he never met. Of course, the Japanese language and customs, and how to wield a Katana. He knew who he was, but his life had been short in comparison to all those centuries of lingering memories and knowledge. Many of it was tainted by the Nogitsune’s view on the world. Mocking, condescending, hateful, cruel, envious, and beneath it all gaped the empty chasm of his all-devouring hunger.

Retreating into the kitchen Stiles threw a glance at the sandwich he had been nibbling on. The guilt churning in his stomach and the lingering impressions of the sweet taste of pain and misery effectively killed his appetite. Differentiating between his own emotions and those of the Nogitsune had been impossible. During its time inside his body, they were one. Stiles had enjoyed hurting people because the Nogitsune had – and for no other reason.

He clenched his fists. He would eat this stupid sandwich and he would like it. Sitting down he tried to turn off his raging thoughts. His mind was moving in circles, hyper-focusing on those fractures within, not dissimilar to a child’s compulsion to play with a loose tooth until it came free. For once he wished he wouldn’t obsess so much over a single topic. Research binges were very productive, but in this instance, he didn’t want to poke the wound. Alas, his brain seemed to only switch tracks when it should focus and vice versa. At least, the people around him often thought so. He sometimes skipped a dose of meds without meaning to, especially when he was alone.

Most of his usual energy had been drained by the fox. The constant exhaustion from his messed-up biorhythm slowed his thought process considerably and his simultaneous anxiety made it more difficult to determine why he was tapping his fingers. The world was far too loud on most days, but it had been much worse than usual since his possession. He felt out of tune with it and his own body. Especially in the mornings after waking up when he had to remind himself that he could move at will. The stiffness of his limbs faded away on most days, but not if he woke up with sleep paralysis. Those days, the bad days, his cold muscles ached. A heavy weight pulled at him until he could barely move.         

Stiles was drowning, but what was new about that? His head constantly under water he wondered sometimes why he was still so desperate in trying to paddle his way back to the surface and holding his breath. What awaited him up there? Only more problems, he was sure.
As soon as he had formulated that thought, he stomped it down. Allison’s death couldn’t have been for nothing. He was still alive because of her and Aiden. Real or not, Stiles had to believe he was and carry on. They sacrificed their lives to stop the Nogitsune and saved his in the process. It was a gift he didn’t deserve, but had to accept and cherish, nonetheless. The decision to fight had been theirs alone, and he had to respect that. Loyalty and selflessness, family and love, dignity and honor – those were the values they lived and died for.

He should know he wasn’t responsible for their deaths, nor all the others that had died during the void spirit’s rampage. By God where there many. All those people killed solely for the amusement of one being. Logically, he could argue it wasn’t his fault, there was nothing he could have done. Scott and Lydia reminded him every time he said something self-depreciating. Emotionally though, he still had to deal with the soul crushing guilt and memories of the events. The thing that possessed him took pleasure in them, and he could still feel and taste the echoes of it, as well as the phantom aches of that bottomless hunger gnawing at his insides for more. The darkness around his heart held a very distinctive flavor now.

Hands suddenly coming up empty when he wanted to take another bite, Stiles realized he had managed to eat all of his sandwich. With a relieved sigh he got up and put his plate into the dishwasher. Homework was waiting for him. Winter break might start soon, but his teachers wanted to make the last weeks challenging, nonetheless. After his absence he still had to catch up. To think that exactly one year ago, he’d had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t known werewolves, banshees or kitsune existed and his grades were already excellent. His only fear was leaving Scott behind by the end of the year and getting Lydia Martin’s attention somehow.

Pulling the door to his room shut behind him, he couldn’t help double checking that it was closed. A new quirk of his, making sure to shut any and all doors behind him. It reassured him as much as it made him feel silly. Not like it would change anything, or really protect him if something happened. It was made of wood. Derek had proven during their ill-advised not-quite bank heist that even a thick concrete wall couldn’t stop a determined werewolf. Just another piece of him out of alignment, an effect of trauma and nothing else, proving he was broken. He hated it but couldn’t stop himself from doing it without getting more and more anxious until he gave in.

For this case, when working with new hunters, he would need to pull himself together fast and try to fake being okay for as long as they were in town. Showing no weakness to a potential enemy. Their guests, they were definitely fighters. He could see it in every line of their bodies. Large frames, confident stance, yet a cautious, ruthless glint in their eyes that told of battles fought and won. They reminded him of Chris, though his instincts told him they were even more dangerous. He hoped summoning them to Beacon Hills was the right choice. They had debated for days whether they should tackle the issue themselves. In the end they had to concede defeat to his dad, Chris, and Melissa’s arguments. The Pack was far too drained and distracted to fight at their strongest right now.

Chris wasn’t here, Isaac left with him and he hadn’t heard from Ethan since his brother died. Cora was long gone – as were Erica, Boyd, and Allison, though more permanently. Jackson could stay in London until he was old and grey for all that Stiles cared. He would never trust Peter to have his back and Deaton was somewhere else with his psycho-sister, Morell, doing God knows what. He would never fully trust the veterinarian either, even if he did help in finding a way to defeat the Nogitsune. Withholding information from them had proven to be a Bad Idea in the past and yet he still only told them relevant information when he had no other choice and often kept himself out of their conflicts. In short, his Pack was severely diminished in their numbers, even with the two new girls, Malia and Kira.

All of this could get someone killed. Again.

And this time, this someone could be his dad. The man who raised him, who supported and loved him unconditionally. His dad, who put up with all of his shit and had such a hard time himself after mom’s death. Stiles couldn’t imagine being left alone in the world without him. His fear had almost come true multiple times already, with Matt Daehler and the Darach. This thing needed to be stopped before it could grab him. At this point, Stiles would probably go insane otherwise. It was terrifying, he could say that from experience, and he shouldn’t even think about the possibility.

Walking over to his desk he spied his bright red map titled ‘unfinished homework’. Rifling through its subsections labeled in bold letters on the side, he checked each subject for new assignments he could have forgotten about. He wouldn’t be doing half as well in school without organizing his schoolwork as he did. His brain would at times simply forget something existed if he lost sight of it, be it homework, clothes, or even his friends. Labeling his things clearly and color-coding them helped him remember what he had to do and where he put more important things. His English paper still needed to be written today. Pulling a cozy blanket over his shoulders as he sat down by his desk, he tried to ward off the cold radiating more from his own core than the already heated winter air around him. The obscene number of layers he wore didn’t really help either.

Stiles went to work again, drifting off and walking around when focusing became impossible and he needed to move. His brain latched onto any new stimulation outside the paper he should be writing. The neighbor’s dog was barking madly at his arch-nemesis walking by. The two hated each other with a passion and yet, the owners never changed their walking routes to avoid the other. It reminded him of Lydia’s interaction with Clarice, her rival at school. His friend wouldn’t be very amused at being compared to a dog, though she owned one herself. The house was silent around him, but the light from the windows drew the most interesting patterns in the room. He still needed to do the laundry. More and more individual tracks branched off, opening up like tabs on a computer, fading into the background and switching in between at random. When he found one that sufficiently kept his interest for a short while, he was almost sorry it wasn’t English. The topic was just too boring though, and he was nearly done with the last paragraph anyways.  Instead, he circled back to his most entertaining interaction in weeks.

Sending the hunters to the station should have been a good move. His dad was brilliant at appeasing people and getting them to do what he wanted without being forceful. The authority he had he only used when it was truly necessary. It was his superpower, Stiles mused, a good character and a backbone was all his father needed. One day he hoped he could be a man like him. He may not know who he actually had gotten half his genes from, but that wasn’t important to Stiles. He could decide for himself who he wanted to be. His biological father held no influence over his course in life, and he was fine with that.

Some assholes like Jackson Whittemore took their issues over their adoption out on others. Stiles didn’t really understand the guy’s problem with having a loving family despite never having met his birth parents, but it didn’t give him the right to be a douche to everyone anyhow. Jackson had helped with the Peter Problem before Zombiewolf resurrected himself. Even so, he hadn’t changed much, and Stiles was glad he wasn’t part of his Pack, playing American werewolf in London instead. Sue him, he didn’t forgive and forget easily, especially if the person in question didn’t even put up the pretense of being regretful and improving their behavior. The way he broke Lydia’s heart was also unforgivable.

Stiles held grudges like nobody’s business and knew his revenge could get downright vicious and brutal. Point in case, scratching that car and pinning it on Scott. Teen Wolf’s control issues back then had nothing to do with that if he was being honest with himself. Had he lost his cool he could have seriously hurt those guys, and Stiles kind of regretted putting them in danger. Mostly because Scott would have taken the fall for it and felt guilty for the rest of his life. He could be callous sometimes without meaning to. His capacity to care for other people was also kind of limited to the few people that actually meant something to him.

Maybe that was the reason why he was possessed by a demon instead of Allison. The thought often kept him awake at night, whether he was just a bad person and the Nogitsune had felt most at home within his mind. His dad had reassured him time and time again that he wasn’t. As his dad, he was biased. But he had decades of experience in assessing a person’s character, especially those with personality issues like criminals often had. Next to their own lack of manpower and the danger to his father, it was also a reason why Stiles backed his father in his decision regarding the hunters. If he gave them his approval to stay, Stiles would, very cautiously, go along with it.   

About an hour after the disastrous introduction to the Winchesters his thoughts were still spiraling when his phone chimed, interrupting his inner monologues and sporadic progress with the rest of his homework. It announced a new text message from his dad. The moment of truth. What was the temporary verdict on those two?  

‘The Winchesters are staying with us. They follow the code, should be okay. Please prepare the guest room and try not to make it too difficult for them. I’ll be home at 6, then we’ll talk. Take care and eat something!’  

Talk, about what exactly? The way he shut them out, probably. Stiles sighed. At least his father thought they wouldn’t murder his friends. With hunters, you never knew which degree of homicidal maniac you’d get. Every hunter he ever met had been somewhere higher up on that scale, even Allison and Chris. He certainly wouldn’t let his guard down around them for a second.

He sent a quick ‘OK’ to his dad and went to work. English had been the only assignment left for tomorrow to complete, and he did finish that one at least. He had the time to quickly clean the guest room and fix fresh bedding. Then he looked around the house one last time to ensure there was no incriminating evidence of his extracurricular activities lying around anywhere and the house was tidy. Nerves strained, he double and triple checked. Then he wrote an update for Scott, before deleting it. Lydia and Malia also wanted to know what was going on. In order to communicate more efficiently, they had a group chat for things like that. Between them it was understood that only relevant messages pertaining their Pack should be shared and they didn’t clot it with nonsense – or far less than any other chat he had ever been in on the internet. He debated for a few minutes if he should add a smiley face or not. In the end, his still slightly socially awkward self simply sent it as it was.

‘First real engagement was friendly. My dad says they follow The Code. They agreed to sleeping at our place. So far so good…’     

No answers yet. It unsettled him even more. He paced back and forth in between the kitchen and the living room, arranging and rearranging things to keep himself busy. Fifteen minutes that seemed to stretch into an eternity later, the black Impala pulled into the street once more. This time around he swung the door open before the visitors could reach the front porch. The haggard teenager kept his facial expression perfectly neutral as he greeted them. He couldn’t get rid of them by using the same tactic as before.  

“Well, hello again.”

With a cordial nod and an uncomfortable smile, the bigger one – Sam Winchester, Stiles remembered from the earlier introduction – offered a tentative “Hey!” in return.

“Look, I was tired from the drive earlier, so let’s do this again. I’m Dean.”

He even offered Stiles his hand. Sam actually seemed surprised for a moment before his smile widened into a more natural expression. It seemed his brother was actually trying right now. That had to count for something, Stiles decided, and returned the gesture.

“It’s okay, I, ah, wasn’t very welcoming either, sorry.” He meant it, too. His passive aggressive word vomit didn’t help anyone. With this much better start the tension was unwinding a little. He stepped aside and invited them in. “Please, come inside!”

“Thanks!”

Let me in, Stiles. Let me in!   

With a shudder that sent a twitch though his entire body, he all but slammed the door shut, making Sam and Dean jump a little at the sudden loud noise behind them. He grimaced awkwardly and led them to the kitchen first.

“Do you want some water?” Stiles could be polite if he wanted to. Take that, dad!   

“Yeah, thanks.”, they agreed, then awkwardly held their glassed, not taking a sip.

“Uhh, the guest room is over there – “, he started.

“Ah, thank you, Stiles, but there is something we have to do first.”, Sam kindly interrupted.

It still served to raise his hackles. He stopped himself from taking a few steps back, but tensed up, nonetheless. “Yeah?”  

“It’s just a few simple tests, purely routine when we meet someone. With our jobs, we can’t be too careful about walking into a trap. We need to see if you’re human, not a supernatural creature.”

Stiles understood. How could he not, a couple of weeks ago they would have met the Nogitsune instead of himself. He still disliked the implications though.

“What if I wasn’t human? Isn’t that kinda racist, to automatically distrust any kind of creature you encounter? Would you try to kill me?” He rolled his eyes at their raised eyebrows and rising suspicion. “Fine, what do I need to do?”

“Drink this.”, Dean said, and shoved a flask in his face.

“Not before I know it’s not poisoned or drugged.” Stiles looked him in the eye, dead serious.

Dean snorted and took a swing himself. “Kid after my own heart.”

Stiles took the bottle when it was offered again and gulped some water down, grimacing at the stale, metallic taste.

“What was that?”

“Holy water. You’re not a demon.”

Stiles suppressed a flinch, his face paling further. He had been one all too recently. Would the Nogitsune have had an adverse reaction? Holy water was a Christian myth. As a Japanese youkai he shouldn’t have been affected. He could only guess what kind of expression he had made, but the brothers traded a meaningful look, growing more concerned.

“Okay, ah, the next one is for shifters, like ‘weres and skinwalkers. Take the knife and nick yourself a little, like this.”

Dean’s tone had become softer by a small margin – or maybe that was Stiles’ imagination. He pulled out a small knife and flicked it over his thumb. It only grazed him and caused hardly more than a paper cut. Stiles shrugged and nodded, doing the same. Although, he cleaned the blade beforehand, unwilling to risk any diseases from a stranger’s blood.

It wasn’t like this test would have revealed him as a werewolf should he have been bitten by now. Silver killing werewolves was a myth based on the Argent name, wasn’t it? On the other hand, those two seemed much too experienced not to tell if they had killed the creature or not. That begged the question whether there were other kinds of werewolves out there that weren’t immune to silver. There were too many contrasting myths surrounding werewolves and he could imagine they had developed differently in other regions.
He could ask Mr. Argent when he came back. If he came back. But then, he would have to look Allison’s father in the eye again. If he did that, Stiles would feel compelled to apologize over and over. Their conversation would get painfully awkward like last time. Talking to Mr. Argent again would have to wait until he could see himself in the mirror without flinching.

“Kid?” Dean’ voice yanked him back into the kitchen.

“Stiles.” He automatically corrected. Stiles hadn’t been a child in a long time. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“No problem, Stiles.”, Sam said, “Now put some of that salt into your palm.” He held out a bag, presumably of salt. Stiles was baffled at first but accepted it.

“Sure…”

“And eat it.”

“What…” Eww.

“It’s a very pure substance.” Seeing his expression, Sam took a pinch of salt into his mouth and swallowed it. 

Stiles grimaced but complied with an almost petulant huff. Afterwards, he emptied his glass of water to get rid of the horrid taste this entire ordeal had left in his mouth.  

Dean nodded in thanks. “Not a wannabe witch bitch or a ghost either. That’s it, negative for all the commons.”

He blinked, “A ghost? Wouldn’t you notice if I wasn’t alive?” Would he?  

The witch part could wait until later for dissection. Deaton was a druid. They sounded similar. Stiles had so many questions and the Argent beastiary wasn’t very comprehensive. The data it contained allowed merely a small glimpse into a much bigger world he needed to explore. It was also written in Latin, so was dependent on Lydia’s translations. He wondered what she was doing at the moment– later.

“Ghosts can do all kinds of nasty tricks, one second they’re solid, throwing you through walls and squeezing your heart into mush, then they’re gone.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“You have no idea.” Sam said. Then he addressed the issue Stiles brought up before, laying his doubts about this strange procedure to rest. “Just so you know, we don’t mind the friendly creatures who want to live their lives without hurting anyone. But in our line of work, they usually aren’t like that. Most of the time, we get our cases from newspaper reports about strange deaths. Your father called us here because people died. Whatever this thing is will certainly try to kill us too. We just like to be prepared. Our tests are nothing personal and we do them every time when meeting another hunter.”

“I get it.” Stiles would love to know how to test for their potential enemies as well. Here he was, learning useful stuff. “You wanna see your room now?”

“Sure, thanks. Lead the way, ki– Stiles.”, Dean corrected himself.

When he smiled, genuine and open, Stiles resolved to forgive and forget their earlier introduction. As important as first impressions were, a fresh start sounded good. He could see why his father gave the two a pass in his evaluation. He did pride himself in having inherited his father’s skill in character assessment, though Stiles wasn’t as experienced as he was and relied more on instinct and impulse. Sam and Dean were dangerous, and he would never trust them, but Stiles could let himself hope that they weren’t bad people. Both, his father’s experience and his instinct told him the Winchesters were all right.

__________

The guest room held one bed and one extendable sofa. Sam had an easy time deciding which one he preferred since the sofa had a few extra inches to the bed and his bag bounced slightly on the soft surface when he threw it down. It was definitely springy and didn’t even squeak when he sat on it. Even some of the sturdier motel beds did. He could never be sure if they would fit someone of his stature either and their cleanness was questionable at best. Other places he had slept in included the Impala and a prison cell. He wasn’t used to the luxury of a cozy home. They had their own bathroom as well, just as neat as the rest. The two hunters had taken a quick shower to wash off the long drive to California.

Muscles relaxed and mind far more focused after the brief intermission, Sam and Dean were ready to tackle this job. Sam reached into his bad and pulled out his laptop and some books on lore he had nabbed – borrowed – from Bobby’s at their last visit. He would give them back, of course, he wasn’t suicidal. Dad’s journal, and some wrinkled sheets of paper with two pens to take notes followed. Spreading them on the desk by the window, his thoughts turned to the options he had mentioned to Dean earlier. Research was his element, and he knew where to start. Before he could immerse himself in it, however, he needed the Wi-Fi-password from Stiles.    

He found him in the kitchen, staring at the coffee-machine. It wasn’t on, but the pot was at the ready. For a brief moment, Sam wondered what the boy was thinking about so hard. His expression was distant, and his brow furrowed. The lighting made him appear even more tired and pale than during their introduction. He didn’t want to startle him, so he walked in with heavy steps and a small sigh. Stiles still flinched a little when he heard the steps behind him, but quickly recovered and turned to face him.

“Oh, hello…I was just making coffee.”

“Hey! That’s nice, thanks, can I help you with anything?”

“No, no! It’s fine. Did you need something else?” His awkward politeness was kind of cute. Noah had definitely raised his half-brother well.

Sam smiled. “Ah, yes, actually. I’ll need to use your internet connection for my research, if that’s all right?”

“Sure. The password is a string of numbers and letters. We wrote it down somewhere on a post-it-note, I think. It should be here in the kitchen somewhere…” he muttered and went to look for it, forgetting all about the coffee in the meantime.

Sam checked the machine for water and coffee. The ingredients were already there, so he flicked it on himself. It would be impolite to rummage through the cupboards though, so he waited for Stiles to show him where to find the rest. A few minutes and half a pot of black gold later, the teenager concluded his search with a loud ‘Ha!’. He waved the blue sticky note in victory and handed it to Sam.

“Thanks.”

Stiles nodded and went to pull out three cups, spoons, sugar and creamer from various spots around the kitchen. Sam paid attention for next time.

“How do you want your coffee?”

“A bit of cream, no sugar please. Dean drinks it black with sugar.”

Mundane conversations like this would break the ice better than the test could. They moved to their temporary headquarters, greeting Dean with a steaming cup.

“Thanks.” he muttered, throwing it a look and returning to unpacking his various weapons.

Sam wasn’t sure how Stiles would react to having so many of them lying around. He needn’t have worried. The kid took it in stride. That more than anything showed them that he knew about their job. Him setting down his own cup next to Sam’s and grabbing one of his books was unexpected though. Noah had mentioned Stiles’ natural curiosity, maybe he should have expected it.

“Stiles…” he trailed off, not knowing how to voice his concerns. They had just met, and did he really want to involve this kid in their hunt? He was younger than Joe, and not a trained hunter.

“Hmm?” He was already leafing through the pages. “I’m good at research, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, your father said so…Are you sure you want to get involved? Don’t you have school to worry about?”

At this, Stiles looked up at him. “This isn’t just some case for me, it’s about my dad. I’m involved. I’ve been involved for longer than you. And school isn’t until Monday.”

“We don’t doubt the case is important to you. But this stuff can really get to you. Besides, when did you last take a break?” He really wanted to spend time with the kid and get to know him, but this issue took priority.

“Last night.”

“For how long? You must have been under a lot of stress lately, it’s not healthy. You should back away from this case a little because it’s personal.”

“Honestly, Stiles, you look tired.” Dean said.

They only mentioned what was happening now, not whatever happened prior to that. Both incidents seemed to play a role in interrupting Stiles’ sleep. Sam and Dean understood worrying themselves sick over family, and nightmares were close companions.

Jaw set in typical teenage-stubbornness, he said “My dad could die. I can’t just do nothing!”  

“You’re right.” Sam said, surprising them all. “He is in danger, that’s why we’re here. But in order to solve this case, we need to be at our best.”

Stiles frowned. “Okay, makes sense, but I’m not tired enough for it to affect me that much. I can function on very little sleep. Believe me, I’ve been worse.”

Sam’s lips thinned and he frowned. He wouldn’t win this argument. “Fine, just don’t overwork yourself, all right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” he mumbled, and then tuned everything out but the pages in front of him.    

_________

Two and a half hours later saw Dean jumping at the chance for a brief break from their research. Sam pointed out they needed to get a feel for the local myths as well. Many folktales couldn’t be found on the internet, being so specific to a certain region. The main reason why the brothers wanted to consult the local library. Dean volunteered as soon as the suggestion had left Sam’s mouth. The dust on those book pages was going to suffocate him slowly otherwise. He didn’t know how Sam could burrow himself in old tomes all day long if he let him. The kid, Stiles, he was just as bad. At least, those two could bond over their nerdiness. Dean himself was more of a hands-on kind of guy, who enjoyed the practical aspect of their work far more. He couldn’t quite understand the appeal of spending hours sitting inside, absorbing tons of useless information until maybe finding a nugget of useful information. One that couldn’t be proven unless you tested it in battle.

Stiles, on the other hand, became so immersed in his research that he forgot about his surroundings and even his own bodily needs. Sam informed him that it was common for people with ADHD to hyper focus on a topic they found interesting. It was impressive how fast he read through the material, unearthing more and more from the internet from places they wouldn’t have thought to look. People in internet forums sure liked to talk about all the strange occurrences in their lives. Some of them knew more than others, and Stiles had traded information with them like a semi-professional info broker. He knew his stuff. Dean could acknowledge as much. That only left him with the question of where he got his knowledge from. They wouldn’t ask until this case was solved. Their priorities were set.

Dean wasn’t one to waste time and would have been out of the door in less than a minute had Stiles not offered to accompany him on his trip.

“I know where the library is, and I know where to find the books we need. There’s also the school library, which you’ll need my student card for to get through the door. They’ve got some good books too.” 

He wanted to object and say he would find his way, but this was a good opportunity to learn more about Stiles.

“Sure. Your car or mine?”

Normally, he would have taken his Baby and nothing else. He was curious though if Stiles could drive already, or if he had his own car. Showing off the Impala might have played a role, he wanted to know what Stiles would say about their home. It would be rude not to invite him since he let them into his. One’s taste in cars also reflected a bit of their character.

“Roscoe is a bit too conspicuous.” Stiles said with great reluctance.

“Roscoe?”

“Yeah, he’s a blue Jeep with a lot of character.”

Dean grinned at the description. An old car, treated with much love. As unique as it’s driver. Maybe, Dean had as much in common with Stiles as Sam did, only in a different area.

“Same with my Baby, she’s got personality too. I’ve lost count on how often I’ve had to repair her, but she’s worth it.”

“She’s a real beauty.” Stiles sounded happy someone understood him. “You repair her yourself?”  

Dean took pride in that as much as the compliment for the Impala. “She is. And yeah, I do. My civilian cover isn’t a travelling mechanic for nothin’. I can take a look at Roscoe when we get back, if ya need some help?”

They climbed into the car, starting their small tour. His Baby purred, smooth and even.  

“Man, I wish I could do that! I’d save so much money. You’d do that for free?”

“Now that you mention it…” Dean laughed when he saw the mock pout on Stiles’ face. “Yeah, no problem. After we’re done with the case, I could fix whatever needs fixin’ too.”

“That’d be awesome! Like, seriously, he’s in such a bad shape.”

“I fixed my Baby after she got totaled. Whatever needs to be done can’t be as bad as almost completely rebuilding her.”

They continued talking about their cars and various other topics, Stiles giving directions in-between. He seemed impressed by Dean’s assortment of practical skills in general. Car-related or otherwise. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at their destination. Stiles led him to the right section where they found one book detailing local legends and one on the history of the region in general. Including myths that people used to believe in. The bored librarian barley spared them a glance when they checked out their haul the same minute they had entered.

The school library would be different. Students would recognize Stiles and Dean didn’t exactly want their association becoming public knowledge. The less people saw the Winchesters with their half-brother the better. Keeping their connection secret wouldn’t work forever, but he hoped he could put that can of worms off for a while longer. At least until they found a way to stop more seals from being broken and the literal apocalypse wasn’t imminent anymore. They would have more time to focus on protecting their youngest then. Moreover, whatever they were hunting shouldn’t know of their presence yet either. Without a working theory they couldn’t rule out the possibility of the creature disguising itself as a student. Dean told himself to stop overthinking this. The sun had nearly gone down. Which self-respecting teen would be at school this late at night?

They pulled over in front of a large building with glass doors. The light inside was still on. He couldn’t see a single soul anywhere near besides themselves. They walked inside in a quick pace. The library was indeed large, almost the same size as the public one. Their section on the supernatural was surprisingly large. Dean could see why Stiles had insisted on coming here. He wondered how often Stiles had already had to use the information available to save a life, be it his or someone else’s. The kid hadn’t said how he had gotten so much practice at researching the occult. Dean pictured him sitting here at one of these desks, bent over countless books and desperately searching for a clue. Wandering the rows, he saw an interesting title. He pulled it from the shelf, distracted by the description on the back.        

“That’s not the one.” a voice said from behind him.

Dean’s heart jumped and he whirled around, defense back up as fast as humanly possible. There stood a girl of about Stiles’ age with flaming red hair and big green eyes. Had he been a decade younger, he would have flirted with her shamelessly. If she wasn’t a monster, that is.

“Sorry!” She put her hand up, palms facing outwards. The most common gesture for someone meaning no harm. “I just wanted to point out that this author hasn’t done his research and most of it is utter rubbish. I though you wouldn’t want to waste your time like I did when researching this topic.”

“Oh? You were doing a school project or somethin’?” Dean relaxed his stance but kept vigilante.

“Not quite.” she said, her smile more of a grimace.

“Lydia?” Stiles came over from the other row.

“Hey Stiles.”

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“I was working our project and lost track of time. You’re here with one of your guests, I presume?”

“Yeah, this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Lydia Martin, one of my closest friends.”

“Hi.”

She nodded and held out her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”    

Dean blinked at the formal tone, shook her hand and smirked. “Very pleased.”

Stiles side-eyed him but didn’t comment. “Lyds, what have you got here?”

It was only now that Dean noticed the book she had taken out of her bag whilst talking. She frowned lifted it up for inspection. Her eyes unfocused, her gaze went straight through him.

“You need it.”

“Okay, thank you!” Stiles said in a gentle tone, taking the book from her. It sounded indeed like the right one. “If you were working in here the entire day, you must be tired. You should really go home now, Lyds. Did you come by car or do you need a ride?”

During his speech she had snapped back into focus. “Worry more about your own health, Stiles. Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got my car in the parking lot.”

“Okay, see you on Monday?”

“Yeah.” She sent Stiles a stern look. “And text me.”

He nodded. “Will do.”

She said her goodbyes and left them alone in the building. Lydia was acting a bit strange earlier, but it didn’t have to mean anything. Stiles seemed to know her pretty well. Dean had a feeling he missed half of their conversation.

“So…she your girlfriend? Nice catch!”

“Ah, no!” Stiles was back to flapping his arms. More quietly he added “But I wish she was.”   

__________

Stiles started working on their dinner as soon as they got back. He multitasked between different pans and pots and bowls, stirring here and seasoning there. Dean could hear his stomach growl louder the longer he watched him. Though he had noticed the large number of vegetables that went into this dish, as well as the large salad bowl on the counter. Stiles was shaping up to be as bad of a health nut as Sam when it came to food.    

“Can we help with something?” Sam asked.

“Well…” Stiles looked at them in consideration. “You should have mean skills with a knife, right? Care to impress your gracious host with your slicing and dicing skills?”

They snorted and Dean said “Sure, you watch and learn!”

“Show me, great hunter.” The dryness of his voice rivalled a desert. “Me and knives aren’t a good combination though. I can chop veggies without my fingers ending up as a side dish, but that’s it.”

“All the more important that you learn how to use them.” Sam said, more serious than before.

Their half-brother having been involved with the supernatural already was bad enough, but without even the ability to fight…That couldn’t end well. Sam’s logic made sense, and he hated it. Damn, Dean needed to ensure he was safe now. That he wouldn’t walk into the field unprepared. Should he and Sam stay longer to teach him? Or would that have the opposite effect on Stiles and simply put him into more danger? Maybe he would become less hesitant to leap into danger if he thought he could defend himself anyways.

For the first time in his life, Dean understood the dilemma their father had faced when they were younger. Stiles wasn’t a little child anymore, but he wasn’t an adult either. Far too young to throw himself in harm’s way, in front of monsters who wouldn’t hesitate to tear him apart. Stiles had seen the darkness and it had already left its mark on him, and Dean had an inkling of what may have happened. It was amazing how bright he was despite of it. He could see the fire in the kid, even in his current state. Considering Stile’s position and how he didn’t seem to be one who looked away or backed down when it counted, Dean couldn’t voice the objection burning on his tongue.

Instead, he nodded and took the knife Stiles presented him. He noted the hidden weariness in his frame, the tension he couldn’t quite conceal though he was doing his best. Giving Dean a knife and turning his back was an act of trust he hadn’t expected. They had made a lot of progress in one afternoon.   

“It’s never too late. No matter how clumsy you are, if you practice enough, you’ll be able to handle it blind.” he said.

“You say that now. You haven’t seen me have a go at it yet. Everyone knows to keep me away from weapons.” The tension seeped back out as all Dean did was starting on the vegetables.

Stiles procured some plates and cutlery, holding them out for Sam to take. “Could you set the table, please?” Then his attention was back on the soup, and Dean. “You really do know how to murder greenery.”

“I know my way around a kitchen too.”

Sam snorted. “When did we ever have our own kitchen…”

“You don’t remember the good ol’ times when I cooked for you as a kid? Dad was away on a job and we had a stove in some hotel rooms.”

“I remember you trying to recreate Mom’s cooking and failing. Then we’d go to the supermarket and buy a sandwich.”

“That was only at the beginning, I became better!” Dean said, indignant.

Their banter in front of Stiles made him smile. Normally, they wouldn’t reveal personal details of their lives to someone they had met the same day, but this was an entirely different situation than usual. Stiles wasn’t just some stranger, and once Dean got invested in getting to know him, he found he liked him. He couldn’t help but wonder how it would have been like to grow up with another sibling they visited occasionally. His involvement with the supernatural had nothing to do with them. Maybe, he would have been better prepared if he had learned about it from a younger age. Maybe, the shadows under his eyes wouldn’t have been as big as they were now if he had known how to defend himself.

“Hello!” The sound of the door slamming shut interrupted his thoughts. Noah was home.

Chapter Text

Seeing Stiles and his brothers interact with each other left Noah with a sense of pride and guilt. The first mainly because of how well they were getting along despite initial mishaps and Stiles’ clear investment in making their arrangement work. Guilt, mainly because he should have told Stiles about the Winchesters much sooner. Their potential for a familial relationship was most likely lost. They would never be as close as they would have been had they known each other from an earlier age. Sam and Dean were much older than Stiles, and they couldn’t have all grown up together, but their connection might have flourished, nonetheless. Of course, John would have had to agree to introduce his boys and remain in contact as well. Noah had the suspicion that he wouldn’t have wanted any contact with Stiles in order to protect him and to leave Mary’s memory undisturbed for his children.

However, now he could see all the lost years as clear as day playing out in front of him. It was a stunning scene. Stiles seemed more at ease than he had since the decision was made to involve outsiders. More relaxed, in fact, than he had seen him since the start of this case. He wasn’t fine by any means, there was still this air of terrible exhaustion about him, but some tension had definitely left his frame. Putting together the salad – he wouldn’t be able to escape this one – Stiles didn’t react the slightest to the hunter wielding a large, very sharp knife behind him. Dean cut the ingredient expertly and handed them over. He and Stiles made a good team. Sam had set the table and took over serving the soup. A wholesome picture Noah had never expected to see coming home that day. They held off the heavy discussion until after dinner, not knowing how Stiles would react. He picked up on their current mood though and fidgeted more and more the longer they talked about other topics such as Noah’s work and food. He had to admit the soup was much better than he thought, and the turkey for the main course was seasoned well. They were cleaning the table and washing the cooking utensils when their conversation led them to discussing their favorite older bands. Sam mentioned one Noah knew about.

“Back when I was seventeen and the band was brand new, I once convinced my dad to take us to a town where they were giving concert. Best idea, it was awesome!”

Wait, he was seventeen a year after Stiles was born…Noah’s brow furrowed. That would mean, by logic, when John had talked about his sons that he had taken with him on his ‘family hunting trips’– those experienced, seasoned, skilled boys – they had been just that when they had started years prior. Boys.
Damnit. He had been wrong. Tragically, inexcusably so. From the impression John Winchester gave him about his sons, he would have never guessed them to be that young. That man had made his own children fight his war against the supernatural, pitted them against vicious monsters and horrors no child should have to face, much less fight. His thirst for revenge must have twisted him far more than Noah had imagined. He had never asked how old they were, simply assumed. How stupid he had been. Something in his gut twisted. Child soldiers. All of them. He was sitting at a table with a family of child soldiers and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. For the two men, it was far too late. He had no right to say something now, to criticize their father when he failed in his duties just as much.

The boys noticed his heavy frown and the chatter subsided. It was too late for getting angry at John, who was long dead. And he yet hoped the day would come when he could look at himself in the mirror without seeing the deep dark cloud of shame hanging over his head. He couldn’t do anything to change the past, the men before him had their path laid out before them and were determined to walk it. But he would do his best to pave a better path for his son. Who fought as they had, suffered as they had, but could still see a different future. First, he had to understand his roots and heritage, to know what could have been and which choices he could make for himself. It was time to address their current situation.

“Stiles, son. You remember I said we needed to talk?"

“Yeah.” Stiles shot a confused look at the Winchesters. He would think their continued presence for this serious, private conversation was strange.
“It involves Sam and Dean as well.”

The brothers shuffled and stopped working, paying close attention. He could almost hear them holding their breaths in anticipation.

“Okay…? So, what’s the matter?” Stiles asked. “If its about the case, we were researching the whole afternoon. We went to the library already. Both of them –“

Noah sighed and gently interrupted Stiles’ flow. “There is something we should talk about before we work on the case. Well, it’s important and it kind of does have to do with the case…First of all, you have the right to get angry with me for not telling you this sooner. However, keep in mind that there were reasons for everything, and please, don’t blame our guests.”

“What? Dad, stop stalling. It’s not your style.”

“All right, come on, sit down.”

“I’m not done with the pots, and I can hear you just fine over here.”

“Fine, okay. Uhh…” Noah fumbled with his words before deciding to ease him into it. “Stiles, I sometimes asked you whether you wanted to hear more about your biological father. You always said no. But there is something you didn’t know, and I maybe should have mentioned that sooner.” he rambled on as Stiles’ eyes widened. “I called the Winchesters and no one else, because of our personal connection with them.”
Noah could see the exact moment comprehension dawned on his son’s face.

“I think I do need to sit down…” Stiles said faintly, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

The room was silent for a moment, but before any of the adults could clarify the matter for him, Stiles had drawn a conclusion himself.

"Oh my God, is this my own personal ‘I am your father’ moment? This is too weird! Which one of you is it?”

“What?!” Dean shouted in utter bafflement as Stiles stared at him accusingly. “No! No, no, no. No. This isn’t…What? I’m not that old! I’m not your- “he spluttered und stuttered in denial.

Noah had a hard time containing his laughter and Sam didn’t even try to muffle his snort. A Star Wars reference for the occasion. Yeah, Stiles would be just fine with what they told him, if he still had his wits about him and joked around. Trust this boy to make a situation both more awkward and hilarious at the same time.

Dean swiveled around and glared at his brother in betrayal.

“He really isn’t.” Sam finally had mercy on him – after he’d had his laugh of course. “John Winchester was your father. He was our father too. Dean and I are your half-brothers.”

“Ohh! I, uh…That’s…I mean, we are…?” His son did his best impression of a fish on dry land. His eyes flickered between Sam and Dean in rapid succession before he decided where to start. “I have half-brothers I never knew about…Did you know about me?”

They shook their heads and Sam said “No, we only learned about your existence when Noah called our father’s phone to ask for his help with this case.” His eyes were honest, fixating Stiles’ own. It calmed him. “We would have had a word with Dad if we’d found out about you when he was alive, and he didn’t even tell us. Probably would have visited too sometimes.”

“Alive…He died? I’m sorry.” Stiles was sincere, but Noah could see he didn’t know what to do with that information. A father he had always been aware existed somewhere in the world had spent his life without meeting him even once. He lived and died separate from him. Beyond its beginning, John Winchester had made no impact on Stiles’ life.

Dean gave a tight smile. “It was two years ago.”

The need to know more was written on Stiles’ face plain as day, but he restrained himself. He knew what it was like to lose a parent after all. Though his pain had faded, it never went away entirely. Noah knew Stiles wouldn’t like to be asked questions about Claudia’s death by a stranger, and so he only nodded in understanding. Someday, he might get to ask, when he knew them better. For now, his son switched back to his original line of questioning. His quicksilver mind analyzing every word that was said. The furrow of his brow told Noah he was still trying to wrap his head around this sudden revelation.

“Why would our fathers keep us a secret from each other? Is it because of your job?”

“Most likely. He wouldn’t have wanted something coming after you. I think he was trying to protect you the only way he knew how. The life is dangerous. Knowing about all the creepy crawlies out there is also detrimental to your sleep, especially as a kid.” Dean said.

“I honestly don’t know if it was the right decision, leaving you out of it but defenseless.” Sam said.

Dean threw Sam a strange, layered look at that. Noah couldn’t quite interpret it, but he agreed. He wanted to ask what their training had looked like, and if Stiles would have gone through the same. He didn’t. Imagining it was more than enough, he could see the result right in front of him. He knew military training when he saw it, and John wouldn’t have taken his sons with him on his hunts if they weren’t trained. He had described them as proficient when they were still so young. Maybe, they wouldn’t see it that way, but the man had ruined their childhood. His stomach churned again when he thought about his own son as a little boy, learning about killing and monsters that ate human flesh.

“John tried to keep as much distance as possible. I called him after Claudia’s death, and very little for updates. He didn’t talk much about his life, and rarely mentioned his sons.” he said instead and prayed for his kid’s understanding. “Stiles, I asked you a few times over the years if you wanted to know more about him and you always declined. I should have mentioned Sam and Dean, but John was always so reluctant to talk about them and I had the impression that he wanted to keep you separate. I didn’t know his reasons back then, but it was his decision.”

A slow nod. Stiles chewed on his lip; brows furrowed. Then, he focused on his newfound half-brothers. Studying them in a completely new light. Noah wondered, what did he see? All the things he noticed in the short time he had talked to the brothers had shown him they had quite a few things in common with Stiles. He should have talked to John much sooner to arrange a meeting. Stiles would have liked them for sure. Maybe, he would have looked up to them. His boy had been so lost after his mother’s death. He would have had more people to hold on to than his grieving father. What ifs were useless to think about, however. It was all they could do to make the best of this late start. He had his regrets but inviting those two into his town wouldn’t become another one.

_________

Stiles’ head resembled an agitated beehive. Part of him wanted to stay and ask more questions. He had so many. Another part wanted to stay away. That was probably the more rational one – or perhaps the more fearful one. Thoughts swirled around and multiplied as he tried to order them. Facts slid into place, and he needed time to inspect them more closely.

All the little similarities were so much more obvious now, and he kicked himself for missing this connection. There was no way he could have expected this curveball though. He studied the small physical features they had in common, like the shape of Sam’s brow and his hair color, or Dean’s freckles and the quirk of his lips. The way they dressed themselves was almost the same. Dean’s love for cars and his witty comebacks. Sam’s efficient research and his sharp eye for detail.

They, in turn, looked back at him. What did they see? A paly, scrawny kid with far too many layers of clothes. And many layers of secrets as well. They were hunters, and they would want to get to know him. As nice as they seemed, Stiles didn’t feel ready in the slightest to spend more time with them now. His half-brothers. Not just some hunters his dad invited to deal with the newest threat. He was a little overwhelmed at the idea of more family. It had always been his dad and him since Mom died.

Hunters as brothers, who would have thought? Certainly not him. Allison would have laughed. His breath hitched. It was too much.

“I…I’m gonna need some time. I need to talk to someone. Can I call Scott?”

The brothers frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of more people knowing. “Who is he?” Sam asked.

“My best friend since kindergarten.” The answer came automatically, Stiles’ mind seemed far away.

His Dad knew Scott though. He was like a second son to Noah. His dad knew to perish the thought of forbidding him to talk to Scott about this new development. Scott wouldn’t blab about this to anybody else without Stiles’ permission, even to the rest of the pack. The two of them shared everything, they were brothers in all but blood.

“Scott is fine.” The ‘and nobody else’ was left out but heard all the same.

“Okay. Uh…” Uncertainty written across his face he addressed his new family “We’ll talk more tomorrow, yeah?”

Dean nodded and Sam said “Yeah, whenever you’re ready.”

_______

Once he closed the door of his room behind him, he felt much safer. With a mighty sigh, he let himself fall onto his bed. For a moment, he just lay there, contemplating on how strange his life was. A few minutes ago, he had been an only child. His family was the normal one. No hunters or magical creatures in his family tree, or so he had thought. Oh well…Stiles huffed, somewhat incredulous. Normal was never meant for him anyways. At least, he didn’t grow furry. And whilst he sometimes did feel homicidal listening to the pure stupidity around him, he wouldn’t say he approached hunter-levels of violence. When he wasn’t possessed by an evil spirit, that is. He grimaced.

Could the fox have sensed his potential for a hunter’s insanity? He shook his head. Allison would have been a better target in that case. He hated to think of her like that. There was a phase in their relationship, however, that showed him exactly what could happen to the gentlest of souls if they stemmed from a hunting family and were incited into a rage. She did realize what happened, but a bit too late in his opinion. Up until her death, he still hadn’t been able to fully forgive her.

But what if he had the potential to be even worse? He was vindictive and more than a little ruthless after all. It took some real effort not to lash out sometimes. His trusty baseball bat had seen a lot of action lately. What could he have done with training under his belt and the blanket permission to do violence when necessary? He struggled to see himself next to the Winchesters as one of them. With their big, intimidating muscles and sharp eyes.

No, he would never belong there. He barely even knew them or anything about their lives besides the obvious. They admitted to not knowing whether that was for the best. Stiles was aware of the dangers of their profession. He had seen several hunters die in gruesome ways. Given his proficiency with knives, or the lack thereof, would he have survived hunts with them? He would have certainly become more ruthless and skilled over the years, no matter his weapon of choice. The whole last year would have played out completely different, that was for sure. Stiles couldn’t bear the thought of his reaction to his werewolf friend in this scenario. Scott wasn’t a monster, and he had never thought of him as such. Had he been raised to hate and fear all that wasn’t your garden-variety human, would he have defended his friend still? Or would he have tried to kill him? Would they even have met and become friends in the first place?

He really needed to talk to Scott right now. Taking out his phone, his thumb hesitated for a second before making the call. Their whole Pack was a mess right now. Scott was stressed out so much already. Should he really burden him with another secret to keep? He had to tell him though, not just because he needed a confidant, but also because Scott would be angry and hurt if he found out later.

“Hey Stiles! What’s up? Everything alright?”

“Scotty, I really need to talk to you, man. The situation just got a bit more complicated.”

“What do you mean? They aren’t onto us, are they?”

“No, no. Don’t worry, they don’t know. Its about something else I just found out that’s important.”

“Okay…should I call the others?”

“No, I need you to keep this to yourself. They don’t want me to tell too many people. It’s a secret, apparently.” How strange, to call himself someone’s secret.

“A secret? All right, I won’t tell anybody…what’s going on, Stiles?”

“You remember how my dad isn’t my biological father?”

“Yes...?” He could almost hear Scotts confused frown over the phone.

“It turns out, the hunter he was trying to contact actually was. My father, that is. Which means, Sam and Dean Winchester are my half-brothers. You hear me, Scott? My father was a hunter, and my half-brothers are too! I’m freaking out here…” Once he’d started talking the words wouldn’t stop rushing out.

“What! Stiles, slow down! These hunters are your brothers?! Wow…I mean, that’s so weird. Unexpected, I mean! What are they like? Do you have stuff in common? And did they tell you about your father?”

“Scotty” Stiles huffed. It wasn’t exasperated, but fond. Scott’s chatter eased something in his chest he hadn’t realized had become heavy. “You’re way too excited about this. They’re still hunters, very dangerous ones too. We don’t really know them at all.”

“Yeah, but your first impression was all right, and your dad agreed, or you wouldn’t have sent us that text. Afterwards, you spent hours in their company, and you didn’t text us an alarm at all. Also, they came when your dad called. Did they know about you?”

Stiles hesitated. “Yeah, but one afternoon where they tried their best to be nice doesn’t tell me how they would react to…other stuff. And no, they didn’t know about me either.” He carefully avoided saying something directly incriminating in case someone was listening.

“They follow The Code, so they can’t be too bad. If they’re trying hard to be friendly with you, that’s a good sign too. I think you would have noticed if they were just pretending. They came here when they just found out about their father having another son. That must have been hard for them to accept too.”

“True…but we still can’t trust them. I won’t risk it.”

“Start smaller. Trust them with little things about you first and see what they do with it. Get to know them better, ask questions.” That did sound like a good idea. Scotty may not be the best student, but he wasn’t dumb. “You’re perceptive, Stiles. You’d figure it out in no time if they’re insane or evil or both.”

“I’ll try. I’ve got to be careful though, they’re already suspicious. About what exactly, I can’t say, but they treat me like…”

“Like what?”

Stiles’ insides boiled with frustration as forced himself to say it. “Like I’m a victim.”

“So, they noticed you’re not at one hundred percent. You’re recovering, Stiles, it doesn’t matter what they think about it. You do what you can and whatever helps you. It doesn’t make you weak. If it really bothers you, you can try to tell them?” Recovering was such a nice word for being useless.

“No, I don’t want them to ask more questions.” He didn’t want to talk about it, period.

“I get it…They’ll stop soon enough once they find out what a menace you can be on the best of days.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested with a smile.

Scotty was right though, he needed no one’s pity. The Winchesters would learn that soon enough. Although, their first interaction might have given them the right impression after all. He needn’t have worried. Scott always knew what to say. Another part of the knot in his chest untangled itself.

“I’m surprised you’ve been getting along with them and are only calling me now.”

Stiles shrugged, aware that his friend couldn’t see the gesture. “It wasn’t that difficult. We were focusing on the case and did a lot of research. Time went by fast.”

“Do they like going on a research binge like you?”

“I think Sam does, he’s the younger brother. He enjoys reading and learning, I can tell he’s intelligent. Dean forces himself to do research if he must, but he doesn’t enjoy it. He’s a more of a practical guy. That doesn’t mean he’s stupid though. He’s smart, fast and witty.”

“Sounds like you’re a perfect blend between the two.” his friend said earnestly.

“Aww, Scotty, you say the nicest things, I’m blushing!”

“Anyways, tell me more about them and everything that happened since yesterday!”

Stiles started to describe his day in detail, leaving nothing out.

________

Dean didn’t know what to do or say when Stiles nearly bolted out of the kitchen und locked himself in his room. On one hand, he really wanted to stop him from talking about their relation to anybody. This could have catastrophic consequences one day if that Scott boy blabbed. He didn’t know the kid. And even if he didn’t choose to give away information, there was still the possibility of possession or torture.

On the other hand, the need to confide in someone and get an outside perspective was important. Just because he struggled to trust people didn’t mean it was healthy to only talk to his brother about important things. Even that he rarely did. Emotional conversations were a foreign concept for John Winchester. His dad had raised them as soldiers and tried to train emotional reactions out of them. Talking to his best friend was a healthy approach for a teenager to take.
Stiles wasn’t in immediate danger. He might never encounter one of their enemies here in Beacon Hills. Though he seemed to have had a run in with something else already. Dean couldn’t be there to protect him after they solved this case. He couldn’t prevent his newest brother from talking to Scott, but he and Sam could teach him to protect himself better if some psycho came calling.

“Sam – “

“We should teach him.” Sam spoke his thoughts first. His brow furrowed and his mouth was pressed into a hard line. Of course, Sam understood what that meant more than anybody else.

For a moment, Dean was surprised his brother even considered it. He was the one who always opposed their father at every turn and wanted nothing more than to live a normal life, to be a normal kid. However, Sam was as perceptive as Dean when it came to the supernatural and who had encountered it. He’d seen that Stiles was not new to their world. Last time, the kid had gotten away, though whatever had happened had left its mark. Next time, he might not be so lucky. Now that they knew of him, they had a responsibility to protect him. Leaving him to his normal life wouldn’t help him, he was already involved. Sam could see that too. They needed to prepare him for everything they could think of. And they needed to find out what he had experienced before.

“Yeah, we need to train him.” Dean agreed and looked at the kid’s father.

Noah frowned but nodded slowly. “I would appreciate my son being able to defend himself better. Promise me you won’t do him serious harm by training him.”

“’Course not. We can’t exactly put on the kiddy gloves since we don’t have the time, but we won’t go too far.” Sam promised with his most earnest face.

Noah relaxed slightly and smiled wryly. “All right then. I hope you can teach him not to shoot or stab himself at least. That will already be a challenge.”

________

After his uplifting talk with Scott, Stiles decided he needed to talk with his dad next. There were some things he wanted to ask him, and things he wanted to reassure him of. His dad was still in the kitchen, while the two brothers had gone somewhere else already. It seemed he was waiting for Stiles to come back. Of course, he knew Stiles would want to talk to him too.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Stiles resisted the urge to say he wasn’t a kid anymore and instead simply sat down in front of him.

“So…that was quite the exciting day…”

His father snorted. “Indeed.” Then his face shifted into a more serious expression. “How’re you holdin’ up, Stiles?”

Saying ‘fine’ always sounded like a lie, so he said, “Okay. I talked with Scott.”

Nodding, his dad said, “That’s good.” A brief, awkward pause. “How did it go?”

“He was more excited than anything. And he had sound advice. He knows about absentee fathers. Less so about brothers, but still.”

“Sounds like you could sort through your thoughts a bit. You wanna talk some more about everything?”

“Yeah, I do have some questions. The whole situation is kinda weird. But first, I just wanted to tell you I’m not angry at you or anything. You didn’t keep anything from me, you asked if I wanted to know, and I said no. I don’t regret it. I don't think I would have wanted to grow up like them, or feeling like they weren't honest with me and always absent our entire lives. John Winchester obviously didn't know what to do with me, so he just pretended I didn't exist. And that's...not okay, but I don't really care about him either, never have. You are my family. I don’t care if someone new comes in, that won’t change.”

Eyes sightly wet, his father smiled and nodded at him. “I’m glad, Stiles, thank you.”

“Don’t cry, I haven’t even used any interrogation tactics on you yet.”

“What interrogation tactics? You got them from some bad cop show on TV? I haven’t shown you any.”

Stiles pouted. “Of course, you have! You use their milder forms on me frequently. When I am, in fact, totally innocent of what you’re accusing me or Scott of…”

“Well, you won’t need those with me anyways. Feel free to ask as many questions as you like. You know I’ll answer honestly.”

In this case, Stiles wouldn’t hold back. Taking a deep breath, he looked his father in the eye and started at the beginning.

“So, how did you and mom actually meet?”

________

A little later saw them both sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a bag of chips. Stiles had decreed this day to be an exception to the meal plan for his dad.

“Hmm, where have my brand-new half-brothers gone?”

“They wanted to check out Barton’s house, since he vanished from there” his dad said, “They went there after dinner.”

“Why after dark? That’s such a cliché in every horror movie.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “At least, they didn’t ask you to come with them and lead you directly to the monster.”

Noah snorted, “I think they’re used to operating in the dark of night when they aren’t as easily spotted breaking and entering. They also seem too invested in keeping us safe to take the risk of us running into that thing.”

“Yeah, at least they do have some common sense. I hope they don’t run into it either, though. They don’t even know what it is yet.”

It wasn’t late enough to worry. Stiles decided to wait for another two hours before setting out to find them, if they hadn’t come back by then. He settled in for a long wait in the living room with the book Lydia gave them.

Much to his relief, they did come back in just under an hour. Though Dean was dirty, dusty and grumbling all the way to the shower, neither he nor Sam seemed to be hurt in any way. It was odd to Stiles, how much he cared for their wellbeing already, when they had only met this day. He usually needed much longer to feel more than just apathetic towards new people in his life.

“Hey, what happened to Dean?”

Sam’s lips quirked upwards. “He lost at rock-paper-scissors.”

“Which means?”

“He had to crawl through an air vent at Barton’s house.” His expression grew grave, “He did find some remains in that vent. Probably Bartons. Your dad can investigate further.”

Noah had just arrived in the kitchen and nodded. “Of course, but I can’t send my officers to the crime scene when we don’t know if they’ll run into this monster. We should collect a sample in broad daylight with as many people present as possible.”

“That’s sensible.” Sam agreed. Stiles couldn’t be more relieved that his dad was acting cautiously for once.

A few minutes later, Dean returned from the shower and recounted his side of events a little more thorough. There was no more information to be gleaned, so they all decided to resume their investigation the next day.

“We’re all tired, but there’s one thing we should check first before heading to bed.“ Sam said, “The house should be as secure as possible. We don’t want anything to get in when we’re asleep.”

Dean concurred. “I’ll take the first floor. You take the basement and the ground floor?”

Letting Sam secure the basement seemed to be his little petty revenge for having to crawl through the vent.

Sam just shrugged and nodded. “They should watch how to secure a house against the most common threats.”

So, Stiles and his dad got to shadow Sam as he worked his way through their house, starting with the basement. Thankfully, they kept it relatively clean. Contrary to what Dean thought, not all basements needed to be dirty and creepy. Sure, the occasional spiderweb couldn’t be avoided, but Stiles was certain the hunters had seen much worse in their career. The salt lines by the doors and windows were simple enough, the devil’s traps at strategic positions throughout the house were not. He found himself fascinated by the symbols and their meanings and asked plenty of questions, not all of which Sam could answer. Different from most of his professors, who just wanted him to shut up when they'd had enough, Sam was as interested in the conversation and theorizing about the hows and whys as Stiles.
A small part of him wondered if he would have been caught in such a trap when the nogitsune possessed him, but he doubted it. The traps were aimed at Christian demons, not Japanese spirits.

After they were done redecorating, the brothers got some more weapons from their car. Stiles and his father were now in the proud possession of a silver knife each. The Winchesters wouldn’t sleep without one under their pillows, as well as their guns. They also had some iron objects they found during their tour of the garage at the ready, and a huge machete that they apparently used to behead vampires.

“Better be safe than sorry”, Dean shrugged at Stiles incredulous stare. At least, they didn’t expect him to wield one of those.

“Tomorrow, we’ll continue our little lesson from today with the spicier part. Since we’ve seen you can research like a pro already and we covered the basics of preparing for an attack, we should move on to the practical side of things.”

“What do you mean, do you wanna turn me into a hunter?”

“Not exactly, that would take a lot of time we don’t really have. But you’ll hopefully be able to handle yourself much better when in danger.” When, not if, he said.

“So, you’ll teach me…I’m not sure if giving me a weapon is a good idea.” His baseball bat was a weapon and he already had to be so careful with it.

Dean snorted; Sam grinned. The Winchester brothers weren’t taking him seriously. This wasn’t just about being clumsy though. Right now, he didn’t know if he trusted himself with a weapon.

“We’ll see. I bet you just need time to adjust, then you’ll do fine. You’re half Winchester after all.” Sam said diplomatically.

Stiles looked to his dad, who only nodded in support. He took a deep breath to steady himself. In that case, he best learned as much as possible.

“All right. I’ll head to bed now, sounds like tomorrow will be a challenging day.”

“Definitely. Good night, Stiles.” Sam smiled.

“Sleep well.” his dad said as he had done every night since Stiles was free from the fox. It always sounded more like a plea than a pleasantry.

Following his bedtime ritual, his head soon hit the pillow. Strangely enough, with all these safety precautions, Stiles felt even less safe than he did before. Their presence weighed heavily on him as he lied his bed, wide awake and staring at the closed door of his bedroom. His heart wouldn’t stop racing whenever he closed his eyes and stopped watching the door.