Hello hello! Here is the sequel to Beacon Hills Werewolf Mafia, and I do hope you enjoy! This takes place about a year after the events of BDS:BHWM Pt 1, and most of our teen wolves are now all grown up and graduated! Isn't that exciting?

The Winchesters left Beacon Hills and have gone off an had a few adventures, adverted a few Apocolypses, and saved the world once or twice. For those who are curious, it's loosely pre-season 8 of SPN. When a routine hunt goes wrong though, the Winchesters turn to the Beacon Hills pack for help.

I hope you enjoy and as always I love feedback and suggestions!

The motel door slammed open and Sam dragged his brother into the room. Dean had one arm clinging around Sam's shoulder and the other clutching a bleeding wound on his side. Sam guided Dean to the grimy bed and sat him down and flicked on every light in the small room.

Dean's breath was coming pained gasps. He had a feeling a rib or two must be broken and digging into a lung. Not good. Definitely not good. Sam was a flurry of rapid movement, grabbing a chair and first aid kit and dragging them to where Dean sat. Sam lifted up the layers of Dean's clothing, causing Dean to wince. Sam took in the injuries with an experienced eye. Deep bloody gashes over Dean's left ribs, and puncture wounds on the right.

"What was it?" Sam asked as he quickly, but gently started to clean and wipe away the blood.

Dean shook his head, trying to remember what happened. He reached his right hand to the gashes on the left side to feel if the bones were broken or cracked. What he didn't expect was to feel something move beneath his testing fingers with an audible crack as the bone reset itself. The pain made him double over.

"Dean?!" Sam caught him as he lurched forward.

The pain was gone and Dean eased himself back up. Sam's face went from confusion to worry as Dean pushed him away. "What are you-" Sam asked as Dean rushed over to the bathroom on the other side of the room. "Dean?!"

"I got it from here, Sammy. Just, pass me the kit," Dean called from the bathroom.

"Dean, do we need to go-"

"Just pass me the kit!" Dean nearly shouted.

Brows furrowed, Sam handed Dean the first aid kit and flinched when the bathroom door slammed in his face.

Alone in the bathroom, Dean stripped off his shirt completely and starred in the mirror. He used one of the wash cloths to finish cleaning away the blood. When it was all gone, he could see it clear as day. A perfect crescent of puncture wounds, no longer bleeding. A bite. It all came crashing back to him as he leaned back against the wall of the bathroom with a thud. A fucking bite. Sam was calling him on the other side of the door, clearly worried. Dean just stood there, watching the scratches that had been deep enough to show bone start to scab over. He swallowed, his mouth dry. "Fuck."

Sam forced the bathroom door open to find Dean on the floor, slumped against the wall. Dean looked up and Sam's heart skipped a beat at the fear on his brother's face. "Sammy, I think I'm in trouble," Dean said, his voice scratchy. He moved his arms and Sam's eyes went wide at the quickly healing wounds.

In the next week, Dean tried to run away twice. Both times Sam caught up with him quickly using a bit of tracking magic.

"Dean, just stop, ok?"

"I'm dangerous Sam! Don't you get it? A fucking werewolf bit me! And it's not even the kind we know about! It was some… freaking actual wolf!" Dean shouted at his brother, his voice too loud in his own ears. He could smell the worry and fear rolling off Sam in sickening waves. The heady scent made some horrible new part of him scratch just below the surface, and it made him furious. "Sam, I don't want you near me."

"No. This is not how we're handling this."

"Sam-"

"No!" Sam shouted this time. "I don't care how dangerous this is. We've been in a similar situation before," Sam's voice dropped back to normal and he looked Dean dead in the eye. "We'll get through this."

"This isn't like the time with the vampires, Sam. There is no cure."

"Well, this time I have a soul at least. So you're not dealing with this alone."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned heavily back onto the hood of the Impala. Everything vibrated around him and irritated his senses. He had put a dent in the Impala's steering wheel. He felt like he was trembling all the time with too much energy and it scared him. He heard Sam shuffle closer, put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

The hot Nevada sun beat down on the still highway where they stood, pulled over to the side. Dean opened his eyes and squinted at the ground. "So what do we do?"

"We need answers," Sam said, dropping some heavy, old books on the hotel room's desk.

Dean glossed over the titles and frowned, "these are the same ones we've always used."

Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair. Dean was right of course. "Maybe there's something we've missed?

"Unlikely," Dean muttered, but pulled the first one off the top of the stack.

An hour passed as they read through material. Dean slammed the first book shut, startling Sam. "Nothing. Same old thing. Full moons, silver knives or bullets, cravings for human hearts or organs."

Sam frowned down at his own book containing much the same. "Something was different though, right?"

Dean glanced over, "what do you mean?"

"The werewolf that attacked you… you said it was more like an actual wolf in shape?" Dean nodded, trying to fight the memory away. Sam leaned back as he thought. While Sam went deeper into thought, Dean sighed and pulled over their dad's old journal. He flipped through it absently, not expecting to find anything new. Something caught his eye though, and he paused, opening to the page and laying the book flat on the table.

"Hey, check this out. 'Werewolves that are turned up to four generations from pureblood...' '...are less feral and can transform before, during, and after the lunar cycle.' Boom." Dean pushed the book towards Sam who leaned forward. "Last week wasn't a full moon, but what bit me was definitely in a wolf shape."

"Let me see that. 'Purebloods don't black out during the transformation. They can control themselves.'" Sam tilted his head, reading the passage.

"Sound familiar?" Dean asked, tapping the page.

"Wait- do you think that's what those kids were? In California?" Sam stared in disbelief at the page, remembering the strange experience in Beacon Hills a year ago.

"Yeah," Dean fidgeted in his chair, "punk ass kids," he grumbled. It wasn't exactly a high point in the history of Winchester hunters.

Sam pulled out his laptop and busied himself while Dean tried to find more information in John's journal. When Sam pulled out his cell Dean looked up, suspicious. "What are you doing?"

"Calling the Beacon Hills police department," Sam responded, like it was the most logical thing in the world. Before Dean could catch up, Sam was asking for Sheriff Stilinski as Dean gawked.