Dean shifted against the door behind him, turning to face Cas. Cas was giving him the same concerned look Sam was giving into the rear view mirror. Sam looked back over his shoulder to Cas, reluctant to address the problem Dean didn't seem to notice.

"Cas, could you heal him before he bleeds out?" Dean gave him a confused look. Cas shifted uncomfortably, looking Dean up and down.

"I… already tried healing him. I can't even ponder what could be wrong. My powers should be working, but it seems they aren't." Sam shrugged as he drove.

"Try healing me." Sam offered. Cas reached forward to touch Sam, healing his scratches and bruises and probably a bit of a concussion. Which for some reason made Dean irrationally angry. He swallowed the annoyance, figuring he'd figure out what that was about later.

"It would seem it worked." Cas sighed, all the more concerned. Sam nodded, giving Dean a worried look. Dean rolled his eyes.

"What the hell are you two talking about? I feel fine! Cas healed me, and now I feel great." Sam looked disbelievingly at Dean in the rear view mirror, and Cas looked him up and down again. Dean's eyes followed theirs to see two gashes starting in the middle of his stomach. He had to twist his torso just to see them end in the middle of his side. "Damn! How the fuck does that not hurt?!" It almost sounded like a whine.

"Good question." Sam said looking to Cas for the answer.

"The lack of pain is probably due to my trying to heal him."

"But my vision was blurred before you healed me. Was that a mind trick too? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that's not how vision works." Dean asked, a bit frantic. Cas sighed.

"The wound to your brain most likely occurred when you hit the wall."

"What? So you're saying doggie wounds are immune to angel healing powers?!" Cas looked uncomfortable.

"I'm… not sure. It may be due to me being fallen." Sam didn't seem to understand.

"I thought you still had your powers." Cas turned to stare Sam down.

"Well, I did not have many occasions to heal wounds inflicted by werewolves while in the service of Heaven. So, admittedly, I... am not aware of the cause of this predicament."

"It sounds like you're trying desperately trying not to say 'I don't know', Cas…" Cas looked at Dean but didn't have the heart to glare or stare him down.

"I believe it would be best to take Dean to a hospital." Cas said worriedly, looking back to Sam. Dean ran his finger over the wound, realizing that under all the blood that had accumulated, it wasn't much more than torn skin. His muscles, although more exposed than usual, were perfectly intact.

"I'm sure I'll be fine if Sammy patches me up. It's just a flesh wound." Sam looked at him wide eyed in the mirror.

"Dean! You're insides are exposed! You need stitches and antibiotics!" Sam scolded him. "Cas, please look up the nearest hospital." Cas nodded already taking out his phone.

"I planned to." Dean brooded, not looking at Sam or Cas.

"I hate hospitals…." Dean grumbled before a sheriff's car ripped past them, siren blaring. Cas watched until it was out of sight.

"Sam, I think we should maybe... get the fuck out of here." Cas suggested, voice obviously a bit nervous. Sam sped off as fast as he thought he could get away with if caught.

~!~

Stiles exhaled shakily as Derek came back into the house, still on edge. Derek pulled him over, manhandling him and pulling up his clothes to reveal his skin.

"Hey, Derek! What the hell?!" Derek yanked up Stiles' right sleeve revealing a long scratch up his arm. Stiles hissed at the friction caused by his sleeve as it rubbed against the bleeding scratch. Derek touched it worried, absorbing the pain from it.

"I knew it... I get my hands on those assholes again, they're dead..." Derek growled with a low seething anger. Peter cleared his throat. He pulled a bloody nail out of a floor board, a small piece of skin hung off.

"He scratched himself on a loose nail, Derek. Calm down a bit before you have an aneurysm." Peter picked up Stiles' phone and threw it to Stiles, then went to grab the gun off the porch. The boy whined.

"Oh, fuck! I was on the phone with my dad when they showed up! You don't think he heard anything, do you?" Peter hid the gun in the hidden space under the stairs.

"Oh, yeah. He heard." Peter said hurriedly. Stiles looked between the werewolves.

"His police sirens are coming. Pretty quickly." Derek said broodingly, obviously still pissed, nodding in greeting to the other teenagers as they entered the foyer carrying boxes.

"What happened? Is everything okay?" Scott asked first. Isaac didn't leave time for an answer.

"Sirens… Should we get out of here?" Derek shook his head.

"A couple guys broke in. Shot at Stiles. He was on the phone with his dad. If he asks, say it was probably a burglary." Stiles perked up.

"Well, maybe they were burglars! They come to loot an abandoned old house, figure they'll rob the people that are here!" Derek and Peter gave him their usual looks that made him feel like an idiot.

"One threw me into the stairs without touching me, Stiles. That can't be a coincidence." Stiles pouted.

"You guys act like I've never been right before. And you guys are forgetting, this is MY DAD. He's been freaking out since he found out, and he's not gonna believe me getting shot at has nothing to do with the werewolf thing. According to him, I've been getting into a 'whole new dimension of trouble' since Scott got bit. Let alone you two being involved, I'm never going to be able to leave my house again." Peter rubbed his back, even though Stiles turned to glare at him.

"Aw, don't worry Stiles. You know I'd break you out." The older man smirked. "At a price, determined at a later date, of course." Derek growled at Peter in annoyance, and Peter moved away slightly, holding up his hands in innocence."Yes, yes, I know. Let's not give Big Bad Dad reason to shoot any of us." Just then Stiles' dad's car rolled up. He got out, drew his gun and ran up to the house, calling out to his son. Derek moved out of the way so he could clearly see his son was fine, sitting on the stairs. He slipped his gun in his holster and ran to his boy, who stood up and went to hug him.

"Thank God you're okay! Damn it, Stiles, you scared me! What happened?" Neither pulled back, Stiles could deal with the embarrassment, because he honestly had thought he was going to die, and while he was on the floor he had prayed for one last chance to hug his dad, and he'd be damned if he wasted this hug. He could actually feel his eyes starting to tear up a bit.

"A couple guys broke in, I think their gun went off accidentally. Derek got here just after that. He and Peter scared them off. But, God, for a second I thought…" The last part was a whisper, as if he could hide the words or the fact that his throat was quivering in the room of hypersensitive hearing gifted werewolves. He chose to stop talking and break the hug before he started crying.

"What did they look like?" Sheriff Stilinski demanded. Stiles gave a quick look to Derek, who nodded that it was okay.

"There were three of them. One was freakishly tall, like taller than Derek. I'm talking like 6 and a third, maybe taller. He had a slim to average build though, well proportioned I guess. Light tan skin- but definitely still Caucasian, long medium brown hair. The one that came in with that guy was about 6 foot give or take. His hair was either dirty blond or light brown. He wasn't as tan as the other guy but he wasn't that pale." Peter popped out a word before Stiles continued.

"Fair."

"He seemed a bit better built than the tall guy, bit stocky, barrel chested. That's all I really noticed about him. I didn't really get a good look at the third. The shorter guy called the taller guy Sam, though." Sheriff Stilinski nodded, having written all that down.

"Derek and, um, Peter is it? Do you two want to add anything?" Peter spoke up first, which took a few seconds.

"The taller one had murky green eyes. And amazing skin. He was a very handsome young man." Stiles rolled his eyes. There's no way Peter hadn't said that just to be an ass. "He seemed to be a fairly experienced fighter. I didn't really see the third guy either though. Derek did." The sheriff turned to Derek to see him glaring at Peter.

"Could ya give a description, Derek?" Derek rolled him eyes at the edge put on his name.

"Brown hair, loose curls, and blue eyes I think. Caucasian, Average Build. Stiles' height. Wearing a suit, a blue tie, and an overcoat. They were driving an older Chevrolet Impala." Sheriff Stilinski nodded and sighed.

"For the record, I haven't reported this yet. Should I?" Derek shrugged.

"If you're asking if I'd like to press charges, the answer is yes, I would. I'm pretty sick of trespassers." The sheriff nodded again, as he turned back to Stiles. He hugged his son again; as soon as he pulled back he put his hand to his son's forehead and then his cheek, looking concerned.

"Stiles, you're cold-"

"Dad, come on. It's just cold out; I'm not going in shock."

"Stiles, it'd make me feel a lot better if you came with me to the precinct and let me take you to the hospital." Stiles sighed.

"Dad, really, I'm fine. You have work to get done, I'm not gonna distract you because I'm a bit shaken up." Peter got up and took a couple steps toward the two.

"Stiles, your father is right. That scratch isn't bleeding as much as it should be, your nails are discolored, if you're cold, you should most definitely get to the hospital. The sooner the better, I'll drive you to the hospital while your dad finishes up at the precinct. He can meet us there." Stiles rubbed his head.

"Great. I'll get going then." The sheriff turned and started walking out, back to his car.

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?" Peter clamped his hand onto Stiles' shoulder, smiling as Derek rolled his eyes.

"Nope. Let's go for a drive, Stiles."