A/N: So, uh, I stumbled across a fic (archiveofourown works/ 378235) by Tieleen on AO3, Game Plan, and it inspired me to write this. Only, this kind of...evolved. Into Monster-Fic with comedy and those wonderful oh, shit moments and lots of pain and darkness and me playing mind games in Nate's head. Don't ask me what I was thinking; I wasn't thinking. I was just admiring possibilities, and then the next thing I knew, the characters had pounced on me. Every time I thought I was done for a while, one or another of them would seize me by the ear or do something to make me drool, and my fingers could no more leave the keyboard than my eyes could leave the screen.
Many thanks to Wakko and Sunny for being sounding boards and giving my insane notions a chance!
Also, this is only my second crossover fic and so far they're both utterly massive. The first crossover? 8000 words in the first part of the prologue. This crossover? Uh, yeah, it's going to be long and involved. I'm just not good at plot-less crossovers. And this one, well, let's just say that Patricia Briggs' novels have inspired me to include Native American elements. So now there are myths and legends in here as well as Supernatural and Leverage. Hoo, boy. I've dug myself in deep, haven't I?
Warning: Swearing, mythical beings, Eliot-whumping, violence and bloodshed, mental devastation, cuddling, sexual implications and dirty dirty thoughts. (Really dirty.)
Oh, and I suppose I should warn y'all: THIS FIC WILL BE A THREESOME but there's going to be a lot of angst and pain before everything really gets anywhere near worked out.
Story Title: Hellhounds Run in Packs
Chapter One: Shoot First and Answer to Dean
Dean couldn't help grinning to himself; his werewolf lover was hot.Okay, so, yeah, it wasn't the smartest thing to be wandering through town with a werewolf and his brother was probably furious that he'd done this despite Sammy's urging otherwise, but—hell, he was only human, too, and Eliot Spencer was irre-fucking-sistible.
There was a canine yawn and then the furry form of his lover dropped down from the balcony. He looked a lot like a timber wolf, all multi-colored and huge, but those blue-gray eyes held a piercing intelligence.
Even as a wolf, Eliot was smart and dangerous, though he wasn't nearly so dangerous as most werewolves; Eliot had a human pack, he had a mate, he had people who would get in his way and make sure he didn't follow through on urges to go kill people. He was the pack's protector, the one who stood between them and danger, and that very fact was what kept him from changing them into werewolves. They were safe from hunters as long as he was the only werewolf in the group; he had reasons to notbite or kill humans.
Sam wasn't sure he believed it. Dean knew it was true. And if Eliot had more control over his wolf side than any werewolf they'd ever so much as heard of, well, something about his blonde friend, Parker, hinted at some very good reasons.
The wolf rose from the crouch he'd landed in, snuffling busily about. They were in a ghost town, Dean and Eliot and Eliot's team, with Sam and Hardison watching the road into town to make sure nothing got through. Well, it was a ghost town until the populace deemed it safe to return, since the ghastly manifestations had driven them from their homes in the first place.
Dean followed the wolf as it stalked a scent intently; he had, after all, asked Eliot to find the cause of the manifestations. Whatever scent wolf-Eliot had found, it led them straight to the most active ghosts. It wasn't a cemetery. That surprised Dean. Instead, it was at a mall.
Beside them, the blonde chick ran her fingers through the werewolf's ruff and then tapped him on the nose playfully. He snorted and gave her a glare. She must have been used to it, because it didn't deter her in the slightest.
"Let's have Alec take care of the cameras," she said to Dean.
Used to relying on Cas and Sam where computers and cameras were involved, the older Winchester brother shrugged. "Okay." He didn't say, If he fucks this up, I will shoot him.
As if to reassure his lover, the werewolf brushed a furry shoulder against Dean as he circled about his human pack. Unlike Dean, Eliot knew Parker had her ear bud in.
"Alright, I wiped all the cameras currently on and all systems I can tap are currently not recording. Go for it."
The brunette woman emerged from the van, carrying salt and minor supplies as Eliot's pack leader shouldered the backpack of tools Dean had prepared just in case.
Dean knew Eliot was ex-military of some sort, probably a spook or black ops or special forces. So he thought Eliot had probably been bitten and turned, but if that was so...then how did he have such control over the wolf within him?
Green eyes assessed the wall of the roof they came to, thankful that the blonde had picked all the locks they'd come across, equally happy she'd gone elsewhere to deal with further security systems. "So," Dean said finally. "Is your werewolf strength up to digging through this or do I have to go back to the vehicles and find a hammer or something?"
Wolf-Eliot huffed at him before shouldering him out of the way; Dean fell on his ass with a startled complaint, but rose again to watch—and avoid rather large chunks of brick and other hard materials those strong paws moved with canine haste.
Whoever had dumped this body had some bad stuff coming to them, either via vengeful ghosts—if it hadn't already happened—or a little traumatizing, courtesy of a certain green-eyed man and his werewolf lover. Dean didn't like it when people stuffed other people into walls, dead or not. And, judging from werewolf body language, neither did Eliot.
Paws shattered the last of the heavy brick and concrete filler between them and the body. Eliot backed away with a disgruntled growl and a huffed bark. The blonde chick came back from wherever she'd been and seemed to think werewolf anger was cute—or, at least, that thiswerewolf's anger was cute—because she grinned and patted him on the head. Seconds later, she could smell the stench of decomposition, a rotting body, and dove dramatically for the werewolf so she could bury her nose in his ruff.
Nate was an absolute mess of a man, standing behind his werewolf teammate. He was a pattern-reader, a man whose blue eyes saw clearly—or he had been, until his son died. Something about Sam Ford's death had warped his abilities. Now he alternated between being exceedingly sensitive to death and darkness and blood...and not being able to feel it at all. Liquor stopped or twisted his pattern readings, but it didn't do much to his new talent. If Nate had been sober and willing to think about it, he'd have realized that these extra things he was sensing, they matched patterns with some of the things Sam had seen and felt in the hospital, spoke of so quietly, more and more depressed and perpetually surrounded by death and disease and blood.
They say, "Like Father, like Son,"
But that is not the full truth.
For is not the Father like unto the Son?
A cold nose brought Nate's thoughts back into his own head and then warm fur brushed his fingers temptingly. He knew what Eliot was doing; he was offering comfort, silent companionship. Nate could almost forget they were on the roof with the body of a murdered mother-to-be.
No, he couldn't. It was hard to mistake the stench of death, even without a werewolf's nose.
Parker bounded up behind them, mouth open to demand an update, and stopped. Wild wolf eyes met hers, then one pointed ear flicked toward the short-haired Winchester. Sam was still in the van with Alec, trading tips between hackers. She went from bouncy to serious in a second, nodded at Eliot and moved up to help Sophie and Dean. Nate was...wrong. He wasn't acting like Nate, he was acting hurt and possessed or something, but not Nate. Eliot had seen it, though, and Eliot was a werewolf, so he could take care of Nate and the rest of them better than most.
"Leave Nate to Eliot," she said as she joined Dean with the body. She wrinkled her nose at the odor, but stayed. We do what the others can't.
Dean blinked at the blonde's words, then looked back at Ford and his lover. The wolf was pushing the dark-haired man to the ground. It was a touching sight, because Eliot didn't get close to just anyone. Not to the point of taking care of them emotionally. And yet, here he was, in wolf form and sprawled atop his boss, cold nose and warm fur and piercing gaze all working together to keep Nathan Ford focused in the present.
The man didn't know how to do the warm fuzzy things anymore; his son's death took all of that and left him with the cold of the grave, with an affinity for the dead. It was an affinity he often found himself lost in if his new family wasn't there. Maggie hadn't realized, had thought he was delusional with grief; she might lose it if she ever found out for real.
If he was honest, instead of jealous, Dean could admit that life had dealt the older man a real shitty hand. The brunette lady, Sophie, she lusted after Ford and she liked his mind when he was sober—but Eliot had proven time and time again that he was the only one capable of taking care of their leader when he went on his nastier, darker emotional paths.
It could have been awkward, almost was, but at the same time, watching his wolf-shaped lover being manhandled and tripped and stumbled over by a drunken genius mastermind who'd been fucked over seven ways to Sunday in the psychic department...it was kind of hot. Because Dean would have to be blind not to see the appeal of Nathan Ford clinging to a very furry retrieval specialist like he's a teddy bear, and so what if Eliot was a wolf? Dean knew his protective instincts were driving the werewolf ballistic in his need to care for the other man, and that's one of the traits he's always really loved about Spencer, and anyway, Nate's a bastard but Dean respected that just as much as the rest of him. 'cause honestly, Dean's pretty sure he couldn't do what Nate does half so well, drunk or sober. And Sammy would never hear this from Dean, but at least Nathan's asshole tendencies were milder than his brother's when Ford wasn't actively trying to pick a fight.
Dean turned back to the body and his own work, suddenly busy with salt and determinedly not looking at the furry companionship which was bound to start something physical once they're done and gone and safe.And, okay, maybe once the moon's down and Eliot has reverted back to human. His eyes slipped back to Ford and fur and Dean thought, Or maybe not.Then, with mixed hurt and malice, At least Sammy can't accuse me of chasing tail because it really has a tail this time. Thought El was going to bite him for that. Eliot hadn't, thankfully, but that may have been because Dean had buried a shaking hand in the fur of his ruff and pressed the werewolf subtly closer to him on the bed. It had not been a pleasant confrontation; Dean was hoping to avoid a repeat performance. Sam probably wouldn't let him get that wish.
Shaking negative thoughts away, Dean refocused and finished the salt and burn with Parker while Sam and Alec did their geek thing in the safety of that van even Sam had admitted had an undeniable odor to it.
It would have been a perfect, easy-as-pie night—Dean loved that phrase and he loved those days and he loved pie almost as much as he loved that Eliot cared enough to cook pies just for him—except, of course, that somehow everything suddenly went wrong. Because Murphy, like the law, was an ass and inconveniently just where no one wanted him to be. And suddenly everything that could go wrong damned well was.
There were other hunters, shouted words, and confusion. One of the strangers saw wolf-Eliot and stiffened in alarm, which brought his teammates' attention to the werewolf as well, because of coursenot one damn thing could really go right when Dean had plans for people he cared about. He'd wanted to bring Nate in on things, damn it, that was all,and these assholes were gearing up to act even worse than Sam had!
Wait. Where the hell wasSam? And Alec? Why hadn't they alerted anyone to the other hunters? Green eyes flicked to meet his lover's gaze. The unspoken question was, Didn't you sense anyone?
Pointed ears flicked sideways, a gesture somewhere between resigned and irritated.
Nathan flinched at something no one else could see, the specter of death hanging ominously close to everyone present. He whimpered in fear and loss, so deep in his own head that he couldn't tell if anyone was still alive. Eliot moved automatically to comfort his leader, to bring the man back out of his mind. A cold nose pushed lightly against Nate's neck, warm breath blew quite a contrast on just-chilled skin. It brought him back, alright. And it pushed the strange hunters over the edge of paranoia into action.
One man tensed further yet, called out, "No!"
The second swore and circled quickly, trying to find a better vantage point to get at the werewolf.
A short firecracker of a woman, the third hunter bared her teeth and snarled, "Damn murderous mutt!"
Dean was halfway between pissed that he was totally overlooked as a threat and offended on behalf of his lover when the shot rang out. He whirled to see blood spattered across Ford's shirt, hear the snarl of pain and reflexive rage from Eliot, witness that terrifying moment in which the wolf stumbled as he tried to rise and protect his pack. It's all the worse because he still didn't know what happened to Sam and Alec, and he might be about to lose everything he held dear in one fell swoop.
"If you have everheld anyrespect for the Winchester name, stop right fucking now!"Once the words were out, Dean realized he was baring his teeth in a gesture more typical of Eliot's wolf form than either man.
"Winchester?" The strangers startled, the first man putting his weapons away. The second man lowered his own gun, but remained watchful. That was okay; Dean could live with that, though he might be sorely tempted to beat the man to a pulp later. It was the woman who was a problem. She didn't disarm or even lower her weapons—and she kept advancing.
"Woman, back down! You're going to push him into lashing out—and, trust me on this, thatwerewolf is the lastone you should think about picking fights with." Because, quite aside from having four people as unofficial family, he's also got me and Sam. And he's a better fighter than most people will ever be, as a human or as a wolf. He only got shot because he was trying to help Nate. Speaking of which... Dean turned slightly to frown at Ford, who, to the shock of the other hunters, was talking Parker through checking the wound and the various stages of field dressing he'd learned from having to work on Eliot's human self. It was amazing, but Dean was proud of Nate for holding himself together.
The first man frowned, parsing Dean's words for underlying meanings. "Picking fights? He's a werewolf and he just went for a human's throat, Winchester!"
Dean gestured furiously at the obviously uninjured Nathan Ford. "If he was so serious about killing Ford, then why the hell is the man still completely whole?! For that matter, if you're right, then how the hell is a psychic who gets overwhelmed by death functioning so damned well as to direct his Fae comradewhile she digs the silver out of her injured werewolfadopted fucking brother?!"
A voice broke in—a welcome one, with words that Dean appreciated even if the other hunters didn't. "Are you done enraging my brother and trying to pick a fight that will end with you dead yet? Because, let me tell you this so you can't misunderstand: that werewolf you just shot? His name is Eliot Spencer. The people you've interrupted, used as target practice and fucking assaulted? Discounting us Winchesters, you're getting off to a real bad start in acquainting yourselves with the nastiest team of con men, thieves and bad guys in existence. You just shot the werewolf who sees them as his pack, whom they look at as either a very good friend or as a sibling. And—let me be even more clear on this—you just shotthat selfsame werewolf who despises guns and the people who use them, because he's only ever killed anyone in human form, mostly with guns, and he knows what he's talking about." Yeah, Sam had heard horror stories. He'd never believed them until he'd heard Eliot earlier, before his change. Damn, I feel sorry for the lady; in like a penny, out like a pizza.The retrieval specialist had then gone on to identify the murder weapon by looking at the ghost's ghastly wounds. "As if that was not enough, you drew on and then shot the werewolf my brother and I count as family. You want to know what's going to come back and really bite you in the ass? He's got a human psychic, two Fae, a mage and both Winchesters on his side.Tell me: how royally fucked are you?"
It was Sophie who chuckled, looking pissed and pleased at the same time. She was Fae, wild and free, wandering and manipulating just because. And now these people, these strange hunters, had shot the werewolf who meant safetyto her, had exposed Nate to still more death and dangerous possibilities. For the first time in centuries, Sophie Devereaux was livid for someone else's sake. Her hair, her clothes, her nails, the roof she was standing on—it all frosted in the cold fury she so wanted to unleash.
Parker's happy yelp of, "Got it!" had both Nate and Dean exhaling with relief. Sophie lost focus on her anger and turned to help her comrades. Sam was the only one still watching the strangers with care—until the wolf rose to his feet.
Eliot Spencer was a dangerous man and an even more dangerous wolf. His control was awe-inspiring and he had a very tactical mind that served him well. And he was a werewolf with a pack to protect; his inner wolf lunged forward to seize control. It took over only because he was fighting to function through the pain.
Dean saw the moment his lover's wildly protective nature took over. "Hold him!" he yelped, swearing viciously as he crossed the debris from the salt and burn.
Feral strength and fury coiled in taut muscles as the werewolf crouched to leap at the strange woman. Fur bristled from his ruff clear down his spine. A snarl curled his lips. And then a flying blonde tackled the wolf into the distraught man next to him.
There was a loud but less angry grumble, but Dean could tell that his lover had regained control. Despite the blonde limpet clinging to him, the wolf rose to his feet and nosed Ford's cheek as if asking how the other man felt.
Nate was just starting to smile wryly when the female hunter managed to sneak in close enough to sink a silver dagger into Eliot's side.
The sound was as much rage as pain, and Dean felt himself pale. There was no possible way this was going to end well.
Fangs locked around the woman's wrist; bone crunched and cracked, snapping in a split second. One furry shoulder knocked her sprawling. He didn't listen to the pained cries coming from her mouth; she hadn't listened to any of them and the wolf was in charge at the moment.
Just as his jaws neared her throat, there was a clinkand a popping sound and suddenly a pungent liquid doused the werewolf's head. For a long, frozen moment, everyone was shocked and still. Slowly, the werewolf turned just enough to glower at the person who had just up-ended Nathan Ford's flask of liquor over his head.
Parker blinked and shrugged at him. "What? Nate's in no shape for it right now and he needsyou."
Her words startled the wolf into looking back at Nate; the man really did look horrible. Dark hair slick with sweat, eyes clouded, Ford's face was pale as a sheet and he rocked back and forth, muttering to himself.
When Eliot's ears flicked back and he whined with canine concern, Dean knew it would be alright. Somehow, it would be alright.
For tonight.
But it was Sam who spoke to the other hunters, because Dean couldn't take his eyes off the knife still in Eliot's side.
"After all these thankless years, Dean doesn't really give a flying rat's ass about anyone he doesn't like as a person, or who isn't a child. If we see you in this country again, lady, you're dead even if Eliot decides you're not worth his time." Sam was especially venomous, making ladysound like the most scathing insult to come from his mouth. Then he dismissed her, turning to face her male comrades. "You," he stated, pointing to the first man, the man who had immediately put all of his weapons away when confronted. "You're alright as long as you remember this; we won't chase you out of the country. You,"he said to the second man, "are going to have to prove yourself, because none of us here will take non-aggression as a given anymore."
Eliot seemed to flow over the rooftop back to Nate, unwilling to show the extent of his injuries. Dean, moving to join them, couldn't help but narrow his eyes the slightest bit.
When a cold nose to the fingertips didn't get Ford to stop shuddering, the wolf gently took that same hand into his mouth and shook it back and forth, then used one paw to push the man over. Nathan twitched and grunted, blinking.
"Eliot?" His voice was rough, raspy with fear and the aftershocks of death-touched psychic power.
The wolf eased Nathan's hand down to his side, then huffed a soft bark, the tip of his tail wagging. Nathan sat up again, still shuddering, and cuddled against the wolf as his mind focused in the present once more.
Of course, the time he stopped shuddering was the same moment when the ill-regarded woman drew and fired a gun with her uninjured limb. Because she shot it one-handed, she missed Eliot—but hit Nate. Nothing fatal, not even a serious wound, but it rocked the man into the werewolf and jostled hiswounds, and that combination of fear and pain and fury shoved Eliot's wolf to the fore. Again.
Dean swore vehemently enough to turn the air blue and lunged toward the woman. Either he'd stop her or he'd stop Eliot; either worked for Dean, though the woman might come out a little worse off if he had to stop her.
The woman's comrades stood gaping, disbelief clearly written on their faces. Clenching his jaw, the black-haired man stepped forward empty-handed. His every move portrayed his intent to get her away so she'd stop causing problems. Their younger blond teammate followed, uncomfortable but aghast at the woman's persistence in attacking a werewolf who obviously could and would kill her if she pushed too hard—which she appeared set on doing.
Pain from the gunshot wound focused a man's mind wonderfully; no one needed to tell Nate that this was a disaster in the making. Ignoring the searing sensation in his nerve endings, Nathan clamped both hands around the injured leg and let Parker heft him to his feet. What he was planning was certainly playing dirty, but Eliot didn't need more death on his conscience and Parker must have had one of her Fae flashes of inexplicable insight, because she wasn't rushing to interfere. Her simple, supportive actions told Nathan all he needed to know.
Dean and Nate reached the werewolf at the same time. Their hands landed on Eliot's muzzle in tandem, though Dean grabbed a handful of fur and held the wolf's ruff while Nate ensured his own free hand had contact from the base of one pointed ear to a spot under that furry jaw.
"Eliot!" Nate called softly. "She's not after us. If she comes at you again, lead her off or knock her out." He coughed and winced. "I'd rather not be shot again."
Parker snorted inelegantly from somewhere behind Nate. "If she tries to hurt any of us again, I'll push her off the roof."
Sam flashed a grin. "I like that idea. Let's run with it. You can handle that much of a drop, too, right, Eliot? Because it's only fair."
Like any human had any chance against a pissed off werewolf. Like any human stood a chance of victory against Eliot in either form. Ha. How come Dean had never known his brother was this funny? Oh, right—because he wasn't.
Nathan frowned at the long-haired Winchester. "Can we at least get the knife out of his side first?" he asked acerbically.
Abashed, Sam ducked his head and agreed, keeping a sharp eye on the malevolent woman. Dean had taken her gun and, sick of his lover being injured for no good reason, searched her for any other weapons she could use against them. She didn't appear to be pleased, but even Sam didn't give a damn how mad she got; she was already insane or she wouldn't have tried to kill Eliot just for being a werewolf. And to think, regular humans thinkracismis bad. If they knew about all the different humanoid or sometimes humanoid supernatural species that exist, it would be even worse.
Eliot snorted derisively, as if dismissing the pain and the knife. His ears flicked in curiosity as he noticed something no one else seemed to: a canine of some sort walking on the edge of the roof. It wasn't a wolf, wasn't quite big enough. A coyote?
It turned to look him in the eye as its jaw dropped in a laughing grin. Eliot corrected himself. Notacoyote. Coyote himself. I'm honored.But the thought held a tinge of wariness. Of all his ancestors' beloved spirits and gods, Coyote was the most chaotic. At this moment, he wasn't sure that was a good thing; Coyote's mere presence was an omen.
The knife was pulled from his side with little warning; Eliot flinched and growled unhappily. He didn't see Coyote move, but suddenly every eye on the roof was focused on him and the trickster who was standing in front of him. Eliot didn't even have time to pull his head back warily before Coyote let out a yipped laugh and bounced forward to touch noses with him. A current of power surged through him, shocking his system and dropping the werewolf where he stood. He ended up with his head on Nate's uninjured leg and his furry chest on Dean's lap, and somehow Coyote kept their noses in contact the whole time. Mischievous eyes twinkled; Coyote breathed into Eliot's nose, just like any other canine might, but the werewolf felt that breath go through him, change him.
Eliot blinked, met eyes that sparkled with humor and ears that stood cheerfully upright. He sighed softly and tilted one ear sideways, silently asking what had been done to him.
Coyote changed into his human form, still yipping laughter. "Wolf was right; you area good one! But you play games that are more my style than Wolf's, so I say that gives me the right to meddle." His grin widened, but despite the way it invited the werewolf to share the humor, Eliot didn't feel like being amused. "We're going to have lots of fun together. I just know it." Then his eyes shifted sideways and he said, "I like your little blonde friend; she's interesting." The coyote-turned-human strode cheerfully over to Parker and poked her in the forehead. "You and I will have fun times, too." Casting a grin over his shoulder at the disgruntled werewolf, Coyote stepped away from Parker and off the edge of the roof.
Sophie hurried over to Parker, asking, "Where did he go?"
Parker shrugged. "The wind took him," she replied.
Frowning, Sophie checked the ground below, but it was clear. No bodies. Maybe the stranger really had vanished in the wind. Whatever the case, he was gone now, though. She shook her head, brown hair swishing softly.
Dean was swearing under his breath. "Fucking hell! El, you okay?"
Stunned, Eliot blinked and met worried green eyes. He growled softly as he lifted his head, but when he tried to rise to his feet, he staggered and nearly knocked Dean over.
"Woah, easy, man!" The older Winchester brother steadied the werewolf with a casual touch, concern in his eyes.
With a louder growl, Eliot shook his head. Then he tried to scent the air and sneezed. Three sneezes, immediately after each other. Teeth bared in another snarl, he sneezed a fourth time, then felt a phantom hand on his head, Coyote's voice in his ear.
You have my bloodline as well as Wolf's, kinsman. Let me show you what it means to really be Coyote...
He didn't even have time to process the meaning of the words before he sneezed a fifth time—and this time, he could feel his body contort in another shift. Only, he didn't turn back into a human and this shift was both quicker and much less painful.
Nate stared. He wasn't used to being totally flabbergasted, but this situation seemed to call for it. Surely Eliot hadn't been able to take coyote form before, right? Yes, he was pretty sure his hitter's only two forms were wolf and man, maybe something in between. Nothing smaller. But he was definitely a coyote now.
Green eyes watched in puzzled silence, then flicked a glance toward the spot he'd last seen the newest stranger. "Please tell me that was not a were-anything or a skinwalker."
Eliot shook his head, grumbled and joined Parker and Sophie on the edge of the roof. He sniffed about for any hint of where Coyote might have gone, but there was no scent to be found. Disgruntled, he was about to turn and walk back to the others when he felt something. It was nothing he could quantify, no scent or sound or even sight, but he could feel Coyote's presence. Hackles up and fangs bared, the retrieval specialist dove off the rooftop and shifted back into his wolf form in midair.
The wolf landed with a thumpso loud it was audible even to the humans on the roof, then took off running.
"Okay," said the younger blond stranger. "I get that he's a werewolf and we're hunters and this shit's all supposed to be fucking weird...but what the hell? He's been shot and stabbed, a coyote comes out of nowhere and makes friendly with the werewolf before turning into a human itself and somehow vanishing, and the only thing that seems to matter to you people is that two of your own have been hurt.I don't understand. What the hell kind of mystical shit is going on here?!"
His raven-haired teammate sighed and cast a weary glance at the Winchester brothers. "Rough phrasing, but he has a point. I'd like to know what's going on here, too."
Sam kept his eyes on the woman, though she seemed to be having some kind of breakdown now. "Dean? Ford? Did it seem like Eliot recognized the coyote?"
Before either man could respond, a voice boomed out from the speakers. "Yeah, he had that look, man. That I know you and I'm pissed, go awaylook. Only I get the feeling the other fella didn't care."
Nathan frowned. "They acted like dogs that had just met tonight; how would Eliot know him?"
"How should I know, man? Besides, he's a wolf right now. He can't really tell us anything until sunrise at least, Nate."
"That was a rhetorical question, Alec," Nate sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Parker, climb down and follow him, please. You can get down fastest."
"I'll meet up with them," Dean said. The phrasing said he was offering; the tone said he wasn't taking no for an answer.
"Right," agreed Nate. "The salt and burn is done?" He waited for an affirmative reply. "Good, then we can regroup back at the vehicles."
"Can we get a better explanation of things?" came the blond hunter's plaintive query.
Sophie sent a scathing glance his way; he shut up rather quickly.
It was Dean who sighed and ran a hand through his short hair, green eyes staring with frustration at the sight of Parker scrambling down the wall and running after Eliot. "Yeah, well, if you want more answers, I guess you'll have to go with the team and play nice. Sam—"
"I know," Sam said, smiling slightly. "Knock the woman out and tie her so she can't get free. You're going after Eliot and Parker, of course."
Dean cast a rueful smile at his brother. "Sorry, bro. You know I'd chase after you if shit this weird was happening, but this time it's Eliot instead."
Sam snorted. "So flattering. Get your ass gone already, Dean; you're going to have to give me some answers when you meet up with us."
"Yeah, yeah." Flashing a cocky smirk, Dean hurried back to the door and took the stairs three at a time.
Then it was Sophie's turn to chivvy everyone along, pushing them toward vehicles and safety—and Alec. And, maybe, answers.