Chapter Twelve

Graduation Day

"Are there any hunters in town right now?" Allison asks Chris. Graduation day has finally arrived, and they're standing in the main foyer of their house, waiting for Scott and Isaac to arrive so they can all head over together. This is the first chance Allison has gotten to ask Chris this because he's been out of town since the beginning of the week.

"The Shays were here for a few days, but they're gone now," Chris says, adjusting his dark grey tie. "Why?"

"Derek was out in the woods chasing the vampire-thing I told you about, and he got shot. We think by a hunter."

Chris turns around and lays his hand on Allison's shoulder. "No one's checked in with me. You're sure it wasn't the Shays?"

"I'm sure," Allison says. "Dean really did a number on them. They were in no shape to be running around in the woods."

"Dean?" Chris cocks his head to the side.

"A friend of Stiles'. He and his brother Sam are visiting. Didn't I tell you?"

"Dean and Sam?" Chris asks, his heart suddenly taking off because he thinks he's heard those names before, but then the doorbell rings, and Allison jumps, a grin lighting up her face, and she rushes to answer it. Melissa, Scott, and Isaac stand there in their formal clothes, Scott and Isaac with their red robes draped over their arms. They kiss Allison on the cheek in unison.

"Ready to go?" Melissa asks.

Chris grabs his keys and makes sure Allison has her own robes, then they all climb into his red SUV. In the front seat, Melissa twists around to look at all the kids in the back. "So, are you three excited? Nervous?"

"Just ready to be done," Scott says, and the others laugh a little in agreement.

Chris glances left and right before rolling through the next intersection. He hadn't attended his own high school graduation. His father had taken him on a hunting trip to kill a rogue werewolf in upper California. Gerald hadn't even mentioned the ceremony the whole weekend, so Chris didn't say anything either. When the school mailed him his diploma a week later, his name had been spelled Kris Argant.

He pulls into the school parking lot and finds one of the last open spots. Scott, Allison, and Isaac jump out and immediately take off towards the school where they're supposed to meet the rest of the class. "Hey, wait, we need to–!" Chris calls, but it's already too late. He rolls his eyes, turning towards Melissa. "Pick a meeting spot."

"Kids." Melissa laughs.

"Hey, Melissa! Mr. Argent!" a voice calls from behind them, and he turns around to see Stiles leading Derek, Cora, and two incredibly tall men across the parking lot. One is blonde and tugging at the collar of his black tie, and the other is even bigger with broad shoulders that could swallow Chris whole. He narrows his eyes. Two brothers, one blonde, one brunette. Both tall. Sam and Dean. He wonders if they're the Sam and Dean, the hunters who trail bodies everywhere they go.

"Mr. Argent, I want you to meet Sam and Dean," Stiles says when their two little groups meld together. "They're visiting for the summer."

Again, no last names. Chris studies their eyes. There's something there, but it's cleverly hidden.

"Where's Alan?" Melissa asks.

"He's going to be late. He said he'll grab a seat in the back," Derek answers.

The ceremony is being held on the football field, so they head around to the back of the school to find seats. Most of the bleachers, covered with cushions for the occasion, are packed, but they head up to the top and manage to locate a mostly open row. Stiles plops himself down between Dean and Derek, and Chris finds himself beside Sam. The man smells very faintly of cologne.

"Why aren't you sitting with Dr. Crowley?" Cora asks, leaning around her brother to address Melissa.

"He has to sit with the teachers." Melissa nods towards the chairs set up on the field.

Both brothers twitch and glance at each other at the sound of the chemistry teacher's name. Dean's hand makes a fist.

The ceremony begins before he can grill them. There's a large stage in the center of the field which is flanked by heavy, black curtains, and one side splits to let the red-clad graduates file through as Pomp and Circumstance starts up. The audience applauds, a few people whooping and cheering. The graduating class is small this year. It could just be from normal causes or it could be all the deaths over the years. People just don't move to Beacon Hills anymore.

Once they're all seated, the teachers and officials stride out onto the stage, to the chairs placed there. The principal – a woman Chris doesn't recognize because, once again, she's new – approaches the podium and tests the microphone. It shrieks and crackles. "Welcome, one and all," she begins. Chris searches for Allison in the sea of red hats, but they all look the same. The president's speech turns into a drone of congratulations and inspirational platitudes. Chris glances over at the brothers out of the corner of his eye. Their gazes are locked on the stage, but Dean's phone is balanced on his knee as if he's waiting for it to go off.

The principal trades places with the commencement speaker whose speech is a perfectly calculated 40% congratulations, 30% encouragement, 15% anecdote, and 15% humor. The microphone is then handed off to the class president, a girl with fiery orange hair, and she's all confidence and bubbly smiles.

"Thank you," the president says once she's finished. "Now, graduating class of 2017, please begin to form a line before the stairs, and families, I would like to request that you save your applause for the very end so that all the names can be heard."

She begins to read off the names, and of course, several families whoop and holler for their children despite her request. Allison is one of the first to walk across the stage, with Boyd close behind her, and Chris makes sure to get as many photos as he can. After that, he zones out. It's hot, crammed onto the bleachers with all the other warm bodies and the sun beating down overhead, and he begins to sweat in his suit.

Somewhere in the Hs, Dean's phone goes off, buzzing on his knee. Dean jumps, fumbles at it, then stands up and slides his way towards the aisle, apologizing profusely as he climbs over them. Chris watches him race down the stairs and disappear around the corner.

"Sorry," Sam whispers to them. "Our friend, Bobby, is in the hospital. We've been waiting to hear from him."

Bobby? Chris wonders. Bobby Singer?

"Is he okay?" Melissa asks.

Sam smiles at her, nodding. "It's nothing too serious. Just pneumonia, but he's like a father to us, so we made him promise to call with any updates."

Chris glances over at Derek and Cora, but the werewolves give no indication that they think Sam is lying. Chris drums his fingers against his leg. Something feels off. If these men are who he thinks they are, then he definitely doesn't want his daughter hanging around them. They're dangerous. People who get too close to them end up dead. He's heard stories about the Winchester Brothers. They don't hold to the Code, and their methods are unpredictable at best. He needs to know for sure whether Sam and Dean are, in fact, Sam and Dean Winchester. And if they are, well, he'll just have to do the world a favor and get rid of them.

Dean returns as the principal gets started on the Ls. He sits just as Isaac's name is called, and he, along with the others, whoop loudly as Isaac struts across the stage and shakes the principal's hand. Then Dean leans over and whispers in Sam's ear. "I know what it is."

"What?"

"Later."

"And Cas?"

"Haven't heard from him."

Dean knows what what is? Are they hunting the same vampire-thing as the Pack? Chris doesn't like this, and – god! His heart stops suddenly. Do they know that Scott and the others are werewolves? That they're living in a house with the very creatures they hunt? Chris wonders if this is some kind of long con for them; worm their way into the confidences of the Pack and then learn everything there is to know about the other werewolves in the area. If they hurt any of Allison's friends, Chris will rip them apart.

Lydia gets called, then Scott, and last but not least, Erica. Stiles and the others cheer for them obnoxiously, earning petulant looks from the people seated around them.

Then the list of names ends, the principal says her closing remarks, and the ceremony breaks up, the graduates tossing their hats triumphantly into the air.

It takes a hellishly long time to make their way out of the stands and back to the parking lot, and Chris picks a prominent, visible tree for them to wait by. A tide of red-robed teenagers comes pouring around the side of the school, and Chris stands up on his toes to try and see Allison a little sooner, and when they lock eyes, a big, goofy grin spreads across her face, and she points his group out to her friends.

The six of them hurry over, and a long round of hugging ensues. Melissa is in tears by the time it's all said and done. "I'm…I'm just so proud!" she sniffles, and Scott grabs her into another hug and lifts her off her feet.

He sets her down.

They all turn and start towards their various cars.

And then all hell breaks loose.

It starts with a scream. It's not close to them. It comes from the far side of the parking lot. The one scream turns into heads turning to look at each other, turns into a rippling gasp as those at the front catch a glimpse of what has happened, turns into a nervous murmuring, turns into people pulling out their phones to call the police.

Without even bothering to explain their actions to Sam and Dean, the Pack takes off running towards the sound, the graduates ripping off their red robes and leaving them behind for Chris and Melissa to deal with. Derek is in the lead with Scott right behind him. They skirt around a knot of worried people, bursting out into one of the back areas of the parking lot. There's nothing there. No bodies. No blood. No monster.

"I thought I saw something in the woods!"

"Some kind of beast!"

"It was huge!"

Derek glances at Scott. The area reeks of burnt cinnamon and metal.

"Allison, Stiles, Lydia, stay here," Derek says.

"Like hell!" Lydia retorts, and he doesn't have time to argue with her. The thing is getting away.

The Pack runs into the woods and fans out to cover as much ground as possible. Now that they're away from other people, Derek allows himself to shift, his face prickling as his hair grows out, his muscles aching as they expand, and soon, everything is sharper and more real.

This time, he picks up on a clear scent trail, shooting out directly in front of him, and he lets out a howl. The Pack knows what it means; try to circle around this thing and trap it. Scott bounds away, rapidly picking up speed, and the werewolves quickly leave the humans behind. Derek can't worry about them right now.

He plunges through the forest, the scent trail growing stronger, and he hears Erica howl to indicate that she's caught a glimpse of the creature. He's not going to let it get away this time. Its killing spree ends here. He pushes himself to run even faster, and he overtakes Boyd then Cora.

The thrill of the chase is strong within him, the wind crisp in his hair, the scent of the forest, nearly overpowered by the smell of burnt cinnamon and metal, in his nose. This is where he's supposed to be, how he's meant to live. This is freedom. Even with the impending fight and the unknown danger hanging over his head, Derek is happy. He's running with his Pack.

Scott howls, signaling that he's caught sight of the creature, and Derek lifts his head to tell him to cut it off. The anticipation, the tension, drives him to new speeds, and his excitement pulls the Betas along with him, lending them strength.

Three gunshots ring through the forest, and he howls for the others to be careful. There are hunters in these woods, too. He doesn't know if they're after the vampire-creature or after his Pack. Scott may have a no killing policy, but if it's between that and letting the hunters hurt one of his own, he's not afraid to rip a throat open. He's done it before.

He sees a dark shape rushing towards him, moving faster than seems possible, and it bats Scott out of the way as if the other Alpha were just a rag doll. Derek howls and speeds towards it, his Betas gathered around him, and when the thing sees them, it lets out a shriek that steals the leaves from the trees and cuts the strings off the Betas, sending them crashing to the ground, writhing in pain with their hands over their ears.

Derek's head pounds, but he's able to keep running, and he chases the creature as it flees back the way it came. Three more gunshots ring out, and he sees black blood fly off it, but then it knocks the shooter out of the way with one arm, and Derek sees a flash of blonde hair. The beast poises itself over their prone form and lifts a pale hand, the fingers tipped with claws.

Derek is sure the man is a hunter, but he tackles the creature anyways, bowling it over, the burnt smell of cinnamon and metal in his nose. They crash into the ground, but the beast slips out of his grip, and before he knows it, it's gone, racing off through the trees. He stands, breathing heavily.

"Thanks," a voice says behind him. "I…"

Derek turns around, too riled up by the fight and the loss of his prey to make himself change back to human. A blonde man in a suit stands behind him, and when he sees Derek's face, his eyes go wide and his gun jerks into the air.

At the other end of the barrel is Dean's face.

As soon as they hear the scream, Sam and Dean disappear. They're standing at the back of the group, so it's easy enough to slide away and run off through the cars. No one notices. When they reach the site of the scream, there's no body or monster in sight, but Dean sees a glimpse of movement through the trees. There's no way they can catch it on foot, but the Impala is close by, so they fling themselves inside and peel out of the parking lot.

"What are we dealing with?" Sam demands, pulling his gun from his belt and checking the magazine.

Dean tells him. "We don't have what we need to kill it right now, but maybe we can wound it."

As they race down a highway parallel to the forest, Dean hears the howl of a wolf through the open window. It sounds close. He shares a worried look with Sam. He knows there are werewolf packs in the area, but they have yet to encounter one, and he really hopes that's not what he's hearing right now. If the werewolves are working with the creature, then things just got a whole lot more complicated.

The road dips away from the forest, but Dean knows that it will turn back again soon enough, so he keeps driving, pressing the accelerator into the floor. He yanks the wheel through the curve, the tires squealing, and halfway to the next turn, something plunges out of the forest and collides with the front of the Impala as it tries to race across the highway.

Metal shrieks, and the engine yells in protest, and the Impala slams to a halt, nearly knocking Dean's head into the steering wheel. He sees a flash of a pale, bare arm and fluttering black hair as it leaps back to its feet and rushes back the way it came. Dean flings himself out of the car, firing three shots as he does so, but they hit only the tree trunks. He races into the forest, Sam right behind him, as another howl rises through the air.

He sees sunlight glinting off metal as the creature pulls away from them, and his feet pound heavily on the ground as he sprints through the trees, finding his way easily over the dips and hills, weaving through the underbrush. He begins to leave Sam behind. Despite his longer legs, Dean has the superior speed, and though he knows in the rational part of his mind that they should stick together, his adrenaline has taken over.

There's a third howl, quickly followed by another, and then an unearthly shriek shatters the air, shaking the leaves from the trees. Suddenly, the creature is sprinting directly at him, moving so fast that all he can see are glowing red eyes and fluttering black hair, and he plants himself in place and fires three shots at it. He sees black blood fly, but the creature doesn't falter.

It lowers its shoulder and slams into him, the scent of cinnamon washing over him, sending him flying. Then its standing over him, but his head is swimming, and he can't lock on its features, and the sun is glinting off a piece of metal, blinding him. Then something else tackles the beast with an animalistic roar, and the two of them disappear.

By the time Dean regains his feet, the creature is gone, and his savior is standing with his back turned, clad in a rumpled suit, shoulders heaving. "Thanks," Dean says. "I…"

The man turns around. Dean's gun snaps up on instinct, pointed directly at the werewolf's face.

Because the man is definitely a werewolf, though he's not like any werewolf Dean has ever seen before. His face looks almost distorted, animalistic, his brow prominent over his glowing red eyes. His black hair is thick, and side burns crawl down his cheeks, and his teeth are razor sharp when he pulls back his lips to snarl, thick brown claws tipping his fingers.

"Don't move. These are silver bullets," Dean says, even though they're not, but the werewolf doesn't need to know that.

"Silver bullets won't do anything. That's a myth," the werewolf says, and his voice, though gravelly, is so familiar that Dean takes a step back in surprise and nearly drops his gun.

The werewolf begins to change. The sideburns recede, the face returns to its normal shape, the glowing eyes fade, and Dean is left staring at Derek Hale. His jaw drops, but he doesn't lower his gun or turn off the safety.

"What…?

Even more werewolves come out of the woods, one with red eyes, one with blue, and the others with yellow. They snarl at him, tense, until Derek lifts a hand, and then they all shift back into human until Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Cora are standing around him.

"Dean?" Scott says, puzzled.

"Scott? What the fuck is going on?" Dean demands.

Just then, Sam bursts out of the woods. When he sees all of them arrayed there and Dean with his gun trained on Derek, confusion flashes across his face and sticks there. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"They're werewolves," Dean says.

Sam's eyes widen, and he lifts his gun, but he can't decide who to point it at or even if he should, so he just sort of aims it at the ground. "I don't understand."

"They're werewolves!" Dean repeats, yelling. His voice cracks. His eyes feel hot and thick. "They're all fucking werewolves!"

"Not all of us," Isaac pipes up. "Stiles, Allison, and Lydia are human."

Derek motions for him to be quiet. "And you've been lying to us. You're hunters! I knew there was something off about you. I knew we shouldn't trust you. You're here to kill us!" His words are full of rage, and his eyes glow red. Dean's grip tightens on his gun.

"We didn't come here on a job," Sam says, trying to calm everyone down. "We came because Stiles invited us. We know a lot of weird supernatural stuff goes on here, but we didn't come here to hunt anything. I swear." He slowly crouches down and sets his gun on the ground, stepping away from it.

Dean doesn't move. His hands are rock steady. He will shoot Derek if he has to.

Stiles, Allison, and Lydia arrive at the scene, red faced and puffing. "We're here, what'd we miss…" Stiles' voice trails off. "Why does Dean have a gun?"

"Your new best friends are hunters," Derek says, his voice sounding like red hot lava oozing over a village.

"Hunters?" Stiles looks at Sam and Dean, hurt splashed across his features. "Like Chris?"

"They're here to kill us," Derek tells him.

"No, we're not!" Sam protests. "Dean, goddamnit, but the gun down! These are our friends!"

"How many hearts have you eaten?" Dean demands. He's gone ice cold. He won't let them kill anyone else if that's what they're doing.

Revulsion wrinkles Derek's face, replacing the anger. "Hearts? We don't eat hearts. That's disgusting. Why would we eat hearts?"

"You're werewolves, aren't you? That's what werewolves do. They eat human hearts."

"Your information about werewolves is seriously screwed up," Scott says. "We don't eat hearts."

Dean looks wildly at Sam, confused and floundering. Sam shrugs. He's just as lost. "No, we've hunted werewolves before," Dean says. He finally lets his gun drop away from Derek's face, though he keeps a firm hold on it. "For three days around the full moon, they wolf out and lose control and go hunting for hearts."

Derek glances around at the other werewolves, and all of them shake their heads. "I mean, it's harder to keep control during the full moon, but we definitely don't eat hearts."

Sam scoops up his gun – all the werewolves tense and eye him – and slides it back into his belt. "Maybe there are different types of werewolves."

"Like breeds." Dean nods thoughtfully.

"We don't kill people," Scott says. He walks forward to stand beside Derek, back straight and authority rolling off him. "Even if it's the easiest solution. There's always another way."

That's a little idealistic, but they don't kill people for hearts, and that's what he needs ot hear. Dean takes a deep breath and finally puts his gun away. His hands are shaking slightly. He stuffs them in his pockets to hide it. "Okay. You don't eat hearts. You don't kill people. That's good."

"Hang on, you owe us an explanation!" Stiles storms forward and gets in between Dean and Derek, slamming his hands into the blonde man's chest and sending him staggering back a step. Surprised, Dean stumbles. There's a fierce, red hot anger in Stiles' eyes, enough to be murderous. "I trusted you! I thought we were friends! I brought you back to my home, to my friends, and you've been lying to us about everything!"

He pounds his fists against Dean's chest, tears streaming down his face, and Dean lets him. He feels he deserves it.

"We didn't know," Sam says in his calm-calm voice. "We didn't know that you knew about the supernatural, and we didn't want to drag you into the world, because it's full of darkness. We couldn't bring you into that. We were trying to protect you."

"We don't need protection," Erica growls.

"Well, we know that now." Sam tries to laugh to diffuse the tension that has a chokehold on the forest, but it doesn't work.

Stiles jabs his finger at Dean. "Tell us the whole truth. Now."

Dean looks around him and Derek to Sam, and Sam nods. Dean takes a deep breath. He's told people the truth before, but every time, it's hard, so hard. He's afraid of their reactions, their fear, their rejection. It's hard to shatter someone's world view, but Stiles and the others already know about the supernatural, so that should make it easier.

"It's a long story," he begins. The others gather around to listen, and they wait expectantly for him to continue. He looks around at their faces. All of them are wary, a few curious, none of them particularly friendly.

"When Sammy was a baby, our mother was killed by a demon."

Boyd cocks an eyebrow. "A demon?"

Cora shushes him.

"Our father learned everything he could about the supernatural, and he discovered a whole network of humans across the country. So that's how Sammy and I spent our childhoods. Going on hunting trips with him. Training. Studying. Living in motels and eating at fast food joints." Dean grins. "It was a pretty great childhood, honestly."

"That's debatable," Sam mutters.

"Sam didn't get along with Dad. He wanted to go off to college and live a normal life." Dean tries to keep the scorn out of his voice.

Lydia glances over at Sam. "Stanford."

"That part was true," Sam says, nodding. "I got out, I went to college. But our dad spent our whole lives searching for that demon, and then he disappeared on a hunting trip, and Dean dragged me back in." He leaves out the part about the psychic powers and the demon blood.

"Our dad died fighting the demon, and we've been hunting ever since. It's the family business," Dean finishes though there's still more to the story. But he thinks that's enough sharing for now. The rest of it gets complicated and confusing, and he doesn't feel like getting into it.

But Sam motions for him to continue.

Dean rolls his eyes, glaring at his brother. "Then the demon killed Sam, I made a deal with a different demon to bring him back, and a year later, I got dragged down into Hell because that was the deal, then an angel saved me, we fought the devil together, and stopped the Apocalypse." He says this all in one breath.

He has eight pairs of eyes staring at him. "Wait…what?" Allison asks.

"We've lived a weird life," Sam says. "Let's leave it at that."

"Your turn. What's your story?" Dean says so he doesn't have to explain any more of it.

"Uh…" Scott tries to gather his thoughts, still processing what he's just heard. "Well, um, when I was a sophomore, I was bitten by Derek's creepy uncle Peter who was an Alpha."

"I knew right away what was going on," Stiles cuts in. "I was on top of that shit."

"We found the body of Derek's sister who was the previous Alpha, and we totally thought Derek did it."

Derek glares at them. "They got me arrested."

"We said we were sorry," Stiles says, grinning.

"Peter wanted me to join his Pack and tried to get me to kill all my friends, but Derek killed Peter."

"You want?" Dean interrupts.

"Don't worry, he got brought back to life because he turned Lydia into a banshee and got her to bring him back."

Dean and Sam look at Lydia who shrugs and flicks a piece of hair over her shoulder.

"So Derek became an Alpha, and he turned Isaac, Erica, and Boyd." Stiles picks up the story. "And baddies kept coming to town trying to kill us all, including an entire goddamn Alpha Pack, and then Scott, through the sheer force of his willpower or whatever," Stiles' voice becomes mocking, "Became an Alpha too, and yeah. That's pretty much it."

"Your story's weirder," Erica decides. "And that's saying something."

"My father's a hunter, too. Maybe you two should talk to him sometime," Allison adds.

"So are we okay?" Dean asks, looking at Derek.

"You lied to us," Derek says, icy cold.

"You lied to us, too," Sam points out.

Derek tips his head to the side. "Fair point."

"I think we're the same," Dean says. "Saving people. Hunting things. That's what we do. It sounds like that's what you do, too."

"Wait a second," Lydia interrupts, laughing a little. "Have you guys been running around behind our backs trying to investigate the killings?"

"Yes." Dean pauses. "Have you guys been doing the same?"

Derek nods, and Dean cracks up, throwing his whole body into the laughter and bracing himself on his knees. "Oh my God, that's hilarious! We're supposed to be crack detectives, and we couldn't even see what was going on right under our noses! We're so stupid!"

His outburst finally breaks the tension, and soon, everyone is laughing. Dean offers Derek his hand. "We're cool?"

Derek shakes it, and then he tightens his grip and nearly pulverizes Dean's fingers. "We are. But if you hurt any of my Pack members, I will rip you apart."

"Alright." Stiles rubs his hands together. He's back to his old, grinning self, and he claps Dean on the shoulders. "Now that we've got that settled. What do you two know about this vampire?"

"Well, first off," Dean says. "It's not a vampire."

A/N - Well, I hope the reveal was satisfying. If not, let me know and I can try to make it better. Thank you all so much for all your comments; they mean a lot to me!