Chapter 10 – Getting to Know You

The boy froze as Dean tightened his grip on his Colt, aiming directly at the kid's head.

On the one hand, Dean knew it was kind of a stupid move, placing six monsters at his back to focus on the one in front, but he had the kid in point-blank range and he had a feeling that they wouldn't risk hurting him. The kid himself was in no condition to fight back, deep grooves in his chest still bleeding sluggishly and barely able to stand without support.

Still, Dean indicated with the tip of his gun for the boy to move, and stepped to the side as he complied so that he could see the entire field. As he'd suspected, the rest of the local monster population were on their feet, glaring at him with a startling array of brightly coloured eyes and baring impressive sets of teeth and claws in his direction.

Sam, Bobby and Cas had spread out around the edge of the field, aiming their own weapons at the kids in the centre. Sam, Dean noticed, looked distinctly uncomfortable, whether it was about threatening their allies from mere moments ago or the fact that most of the monsters were still well under the voting age, Dean wasn't sure. Well, tough. Dean wasn't happy about it either, but they needed to know what they were dealing with here.

"Still waiting on an answer, kid," Dean prompted.

The boy in front of him wavered, face unnaturally pale, and didn't reply.

Okay then. Dean readied himself, before voicing his thoughts aloud. "Here's the problem," he said. "You look like a werewolf, but you don't fit the behaviour. Every other werewolf I've met has only been able to change on the full moon, and then they're uncontrollable, feral animals until they change back to human.

"You, on the other hand, seem to be able to change at will, and you're not trying to rip me apart right now which makes me wonder what you could be instead. Are you a variant, did Eve make you? Or are you something entirely different?"

The kid shook his head slowly, frowning in confusion. "I don't know what werewolves you've met, and I don't know who Eve is, but you have it all wrong," he said finally.

Movement caught Dean's eye, and he glanced up to see Argent take a step forward, corners of his mouth pulled tight. "Omegas," he said urgently. "Dean, you've only met omegas before."

"What?" Dean asked, and heard Sam's voice chorus with him. They exchanged glances, and Sam shrugged, apparently just as lost as he was.

"Omegas are werewolves without packs," Argent explained. "If they ever had control of their wolf forms, they lose it quickly, and you're right, they do become feral animals that are slaves to a full moon. But that's not the case here.

"Scott, all of these kids, they're a pack. They know what they're doing, they've learned to control the wolf. They're no more dangerous than a human who knows his way around a weapon." He paused a moment before finishing in a softer tone. "Dean, I swear to god, that kid in front of you has never killed anyone. All he's ever done is try to protect his family. I know for a fact you've done worse."

Dean's veins froze and his hand twitched, dangerously close to the trigger as he glared at Argent. Still, the words reached him and he hesitated, lowering the gun a fraction.

Bobby shifted, frowning at Argent. "No, that's not right," he argued. "We had a case a few years ago, an innocent girl who was bitten by a werewolf and was desperate not to hurt anybody."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam tense, taking a few harsh breaths and swallowing uncomfortably. Dean's heart ached for him. He didn't think Sam had ever really recovered from what happened to Madison.

"We tried a few things to try and cure her, but nothing worked," Bobby was saying. "During the night, she would lose all control, and people died. In the end, I called your father for advice. The Argents are werewolf experts, after all. He assured me that there was no cure, and no way for her to learn control. He told me that every werewolf turns feral, eventually."

There was a sharp intake of breath to his right, and Dean glanced over to see one of the girls, the one with the electric blue eyes, staring at the ground and breathing rapidly. She was trembling a little, and he suddenly wondered what the hell had happened to these kids, how much shit they had seen in so little time.

As he watched, the Asian girl beside her reached over and interlaced their fingers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. It seemed to work, and the blue-eyed girl looked up and managed a weak smile in her friend's direction. The light reflected off her eyes, and Dean realised with shock that she was blinking back tears.

Argent was speaking, and Dean turned his attention back to the conversation. "My father," Argent said in a gravelly voice, "was a sadistic bastard who killed for pleasure and hated every kind of creature that wasn't human. He would have said anything to rid the world of one more werewolf."

"That's true," the curly-haired werewolf said, speaking up for the first time. "He tried to kill me as soon as he found out I'd been bitten, before I even went through my first full moon. He didn't care that I hadn't hurt anyone, he just wanted me dead."

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam and Bobby, who caught his eye and lowered his weapon slightly. Argent's story was compelling, and none of them wanted to risk hurting innocent kids, but Dean still hesitated to drop his guard.

Instead, he turned to the one person that he trusted implicitly. "Cas?" Dean asked.

Cas squinted for a moment, concentrating, then nodded to Dean. "He's telling the truth," he said, and Dean released a rush of air and relaxed, lowering his gun to his side.

"Okay then," Dean said with relief, and watched as Sam and Bobby also lowered their weapons. Strangely enough, none of the monsters before him looked particularly comforted by that. The boy nearest to him was staring at him intently, as though trying to read his mind. Dean decided to make it a bit easier for him. "Look, we're not in the business of killing kids," he explained. "If things change and people start dying because of you, then we'll be back. But we're not going to kill you just because you had the misfortune to get yourself bitten."

The kid blinked a little, looking stunned. Dean was starting to get the impression that these kids hadn't come across too many reasonable hunters before, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for them. "I'm Dean," he said instead, offering a hand.

A long moment drew out, until finally the kid reached out his own hand and gripped Dean's firmly. "Scott," he said. Their eyes met and something seemed to click, the boy realising that Dean was being candid. As Dean watched, Scott managed a small smile and finally allowed himself to relax.

The moment was broken by the familiar beats of Back in Black, and Dean startled, releasing the kid's hand and fumbling for his phone. Dave was blinking on the screen, so he tapped the green button and raised the phone to his ear.

"Hey," he said, and then cut off as a frantic voice made its way down the line.

"Dean? Oh thank god, I've been trying all three of your phones for ages, where the hell have you guys been?"

Dean blinked before responding. "Fighting off a small army of demons, are you okay?"

"Me? I'm fine. Just having a small panic attack imagining all the ways that you guys could have been killed in the time that that I was trying to reach you."

"Dave, calm down," Dean said, amused. "We're fine, you're fine, Abaddon's dead and we're on our way back."

"No, wait," Dave countered. "I think I found something."

Dean raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

"You know that Nemeton that Sam told me about? I think I know a way to destroy it."

It was surprisingly simple, in the end. From what Argent had told them, this giant tree stump had been the root – pardon the pun – of all the problems in the town. The young man who introduced himself as Parrish had been able to lead everyone right to it, and Dave had rattled off a series of instructions that made Dean's head spin, until he ordered him to slow the hell down and break it down into steps.

Dave had done so, and now the Nemeton was doused in holy oil mixed with salt and a type of plant that Argent for some reason had on him, and Dean stood at the sidelines as Cas slowly spoke the incantation that Dave had texted him. The phrases were a familiar disjointed Enochian, and the pressure in the air seemed to increase as Cas worked his way through the words.

There was an unnatural silence settled over the area, save for a soft high-pitched whine gradually building in the distance. As Dean listened, the whine grew louder and louder and as Cas finished speaking the sound suddenly expanded, becoming an ear-splitting scream. Dean flinched, desperately pressing his hands to his ears, and just made it before the air solidified around him. The pressure increased until his breath was pushed out his lungs, and suddenly Dean couldn't breathe.

The moment stretched to eternity, and Dean was trapped. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't hear beyond the high-pitched scream still echoing through the clearing. A wave of panic hit him, but he couldn't even struggle against the pressure holding him still.

Eyes fixed on the tree stump in front of him, Dean flinched internally when it suddenly burst into a wall of fire. Flames stretched up several feet, and the heat hit him even as his eyes watered from the smoke. He almost thought he saw a fly escaping from the wood, zooming upwards toward the tree tops, but a tongue of flame reached out toward it and it twisted, burning, before falling to the ground and out of sight.

He had no idea how long he stood there. His chest wasn't moving, but somehow he didn't need to breathe. The flames ate through the wood in front of him, and he had a moment of terror when he thought they might spread to the surrounding forest, but something kept them contained.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but eventually the fire burned low. As the last flame flickered out of existence, the scream suddenly cut off, giving way to a silence that was somehow even more deafening, and the pressure vanished.

Dean dropped to the ground as though someone had cut his strings, and heaved a blessed breath of air. It tasted of smoke still, and he coughed at the harsh scratch on the back of his throat, before taking a few more cautious breaths and finally allowing himself to take stock of the area around him.

Everyone seemed to be in much the same state as he was, with some people rubbing blood away from their ears and most people sitting on the ground in shock. The air was thick with smoke, and when he peered toward the Nemeton, all Dean could see was black. The entire stump was completely gone, all that was left of the ancient power was a pile of ash that was even as he watched being picked up by the breeze and scattered over the earth.

It was over.

Sam made his way over to Dean and helped him to his feet. He was covered in smoke and ash, but was in one piece, and Dean couldn't help a small smile. Abaddon was gone, and maybe they'd done some good for this town as well. All in all, he'd call that a good day.

It was a long trek back to the cars, and although Dean appreciated the werewolf escort he couldn't help but grumble internally at having to keep up the charade of being a big bad hunter. Really, all he wanted to do was sit down for a while, and the ground was looking rather inviting. Still, he dug deep and managed to find the energy to put one foot in front of the other in the resemblance of a straight line.

The woods seemed to go on forever, but eventually the trees started thinning, sunlight poking through, and Dean sighed with relief. Almost there.

Two more turns and the edge of the carpark came into view. Dean picked up the pace, bypassing Scott and Bobby to take the lead, eager to get back to the motel and wash off some of the smoke. However, when he emerged into the carpark he was greeted with the sight of nearly six foot of pale teenager lounging on the Impala's shiny hood.

Growling, Dean cupped a hand to his mouth. "Dave, you have three seconds to get your ass off of my baby before I shoot you in the head!"

Dave had the audacity to grin at him, but slid off the hood without complaint. "I drove all this way to see you after saving the day, and this is the thanks I get. Kids these days, I don't know," he quipped.

Dean snorted. "Yep, saved the day from the comfort of the couch. That's the way to do it."

Bobby had caught up with them, and as he stopped beside Dean he narrowed his eyes at Dave. "How did you get here? You don't have a licence, or a car."

Dave managed an expression that vaguely resembled looking abashed. "I borrowed a car?" he offered.

"Borrowed?" Dean shook his head urgently at Dave, eyes wide, but Bobby looked back and forth between the two and aimed an honest-to-god disapproving Dad expression in Dave's direction.

"Uh, temporarily misappropriated?" Dave countered. Bobby's face darkened, so Dave changed tack, words tripping over each other in his haste. "Blame Dean, he's the one who taught me how to hotwire a car."

Dean raised his hands in forfeit as Bobby turned his stormy look on him. "Yeah, and that's the last thing I ever teach you. Thanks for that," he said sarcastically.

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned away with a grunt, so Dean took advantage of his distraction to throw a quick grin to Dave behind his back. "First try?" Dave nodded and Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Not bad for a beginner." Dave's face lit up with a broad smile, and Dean couldn't help but laugh. Angels, demons, apocalypses; sometimes it was the little moments that made the fight worthwhile.

Walking around the Impala, Dean slipped a hand into his pocket and felt for his keys. "Alright, let's get going," he said. "Sam can take your stolen car back. Dave, you come with me; we'll grab some food on the way back to the motel and with luck we can be back on the road before nightfall."

"Sounds good," Sam replied, shouldering his bag and clapping Dave on the shoulder as he passed, heading toward the green Camaro parked behind Cas' monstrosity.

There was a choked sound from behind and Dean frowned, catching Dave's eye as they turned back in unison. He'd almost forgotten about the werewolf pack, who had been chatty during the walk back but had fallen silent during the entire exchange.

When he caught sight of them, Dean's eyes widened. Scott had looked pale before, but that didn't compare to his bloodless face now as his gaze fixed on Dave. Next to him, the red-haired girl – Lydia, he recalled – was wearing an expression of absolute shock, her green eyes wide and lips parted. The others were filed in beside them, standing stock still and staring at Dave with varying expressions of surprise.

Dean glanced at Dave, but he seemed utterly nonplussed. "Are you guys okay?" he asked hesitantly.

Scott took a half-step forward, and Dean noticed with confusion that his breathing was harsh and uneven.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, voice cracking.

Dave frowned at him. "What the hell is a Stiles?"