A/N

Hey guys! Thanks so much or reading! I am loving all the reviews, and to answer some questions: my prequel will begin to be posted a matter of days after this one is finished. I'm not sure how many chapters that one will be, but it'll be pretty long. As always, makes sure to check out my non-crossover "one way ticket," be sure to review, and enjoy!

Ch. 11

All Hell Breaks Loose (Part 3)

The pause that followed Dean's announcement reminded Stiles vaguely of the moment of silence that comes after reciting the pledge of allegiance in school; everyone looked at each other, unsure of what to do, just like class!

The silence broke, however, and questions followed. Lots of panicked, loud questions. Stiles could barely keep up with them all.

'How many?" asked Stiles and Sam simultaneously.

"How do you know?" asked Allison.

"Who were you on the phone with?" inquired Lydia

"We're all going to die, aren't we?" Isaac said, sounding fearful.

""How do we know they aren't following you instead of us? Or that you're telling the truth?" Peter spat.

'Can you teach us how to protect ourselves?" asked Derek.

"I was worried something like this would happen." groaned Chris.

Dean had had enough. "Ok, everybody QUIET!" Dean roared over the cacophony of voices. To his surprise, everyone immediately ceased talking and looked at him expectantly. "Ok, everyone calm down. Nobody's killing any wolves. Look, there's demons, five of them. I just got off the phone with their boss, Crowley. He said they were missing from their ranks as of this morning. Now I don't know who they're after-"

"Wait," interrupted Scott, looking confused. "You said their boss, as in... a demon?"

"King of Hell." corrected Dean. 'He's, uh.. and associate." Upon seeing the panicked look on Scott's face, Sam came in to the rescue.

"He helped us defeat Lucifer a couple months ago, and he hasn't caused any trouble since, he's actually pretty useful. He's nothing like the demon you met last week."

Dean chuckled. "Nah, Crowley'd flip if he got any blood on his fancy new suit or whatever. Anyway," Dean continued, his voice serious again, "like I was saying, I don't know if they're after us," he gestured to Sam and himself, "the demon's body, or the killer." Dean looked Stiles squarely in the eyes, expressing his worry. Stiles suddenly felt very, very small. "Either way, they're closing in, and it won't take them long to figure out he came to Beacon Hills. I mean, it's freaking nematon is what drew Alexander here in the first place."

"Alexander?" asked Lydia.

"The demon's name, not like it matters. Ok, anymore questions?" Dean looked around as the pack collectively shook their heads. "Good. Cause we need to get moving. We need to teach you guys how to hunt demons, prep the town, get our hands on some rock salt..." The pack nodded, very confused Especially the part about the rock salt. Stiles, however, seemed totally up to speed. If anything, he was eerily calm. Scott thought back to their brief Q-and-A with Dean, and realized that right from the beginning Stiles had been all business, totally in sync with the Winchesters. This sharp contrast to jumpy and panicked Stiles spooked Scott.

"Don't worry." said Stiles. "We'll be ready. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice." Stiles flinched a little as he said this, still feeling guilty for the carnage the last demon had caused.

"Good." said Dean. "Cause all Hell's about to break loose." He grinned at his brothers knowingly. "Again."

Teaching Scott to hunt demons was a lot like teaching a cat to drive a truck. Actually, screw that. thought Stiles as he went through yet again how to draw a devil's trap. I'm pretty sure a cat would have successfully merged onto the highway by now. Stiles sighed in exasperation. Around four had passed since they had moved from the woods to Derek's loft, the sky was beginning to grow darker, and he was exhausted. An emotional standoff with Peter would do that to you, not to mention learning that not only were your demonic problems far from over, you might have just made them worse. Stiles supposed that this was what his brothers felt like all the time: constant action and knowing that half of the preset demonic activity was your own doing. Stiles didn't envy them for a second. While he enjoyed each hunt he spent with his brothers, each one had further fermented the belief that he only wanted hunting to be a recreational activity. Maybe he could run a supernatural support group or something. Actually, the more he thought about it, Stiles realized that there was never any help available to victims of demonic possession or other attacks without being declared clinically insane. Maybe he could be a supernatural psychiatrist...

"Now, why can't we just use mountain ash?" Scott asked, snapping Stiles out of his daydreaming. Stiles felt annoyance rise up inside him and resisted the urge to punch his best friend in the face.

"Demons are human, Scott, or they used to be. While traps and holy water work, mountain ash doesn't because they are possessing human bodies." Scott nodded.

"So the mountain ash your brothers had, that was only for us?" Stiles mentally kicked himself as he realized he had walked into a trap.

"Yeah, but just as a precaution, I swear." Scott looked incredulous. "Really! I didn't even ask them to bring it! Though if it makes you feel any better, they got it from a crazy old guy who called it goofer dust." Scott's expression softened and he let out a laugh. Stiles thanked the pagan gods (that his brothers hadn't killed) that that crisis was averted.

Scott and Stiles turned their attention back to the art of demon trapping. Meanwhile, Sam was making much more progress teaching Lydia how to do an exorcism.

"..te rogamus, audi nos!" Lydia finished chanting.

"Perfect!" exclaimed Sam, happy he was making headway. "If I didn't know better I would say you were actually speaking the language rather than reciting it." Lydia smiled.

"Well, I am fluent in archaic latin." she bragged.

"Oh my gosh! Me too!" Sam all but squealed. Lydia's grin widened.

"It's odd, though. I never thought that stringing words together in an order like this could have such an... impact. I mean, you can't do that with English."

"Yeah you can." replied Sam. "It's called amazing poetry, or unbelievable stories, or powerful words. It's all the same, only here it just happens to expel demons, which is, you know, handy."

"Deep." replied Lydia, somewhat sarcastically, but Sam could tell she actually liked that explanation.

"When you two are done with your gibberish maybe you can help me out here!" Dean yelled at his brother from the other side of the loft, where he was attempting to explain the uses of rock salt and holy water to Peter and Derek. All three were rather tense.

Sam turned to Lydia. 'Have you got the exorcism memorized?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"Obviously." Satisfied, Sam ran over to his brother and the two former Alphas.

"What's up?" he asked. Dean glared at him for no reason other than being tense.

"Well," Dean replied, "we're trying to figure out how to get holy water into the local water supply, and we could use a few extra heads." Sam nodded and gestured for Lydia to join him. She sauntered over in her designer heels.

"It would be easiest to just throw a crucifix and blessing into a water tower, like Dad did when dealing with Meg" Sam offered.

"Beacon Hills doesn't have anything like that." Lydia interjected. "It's all groundwater. But if we use the filtration and treatment plant we should be good."

"How will that help?" asked Derek. "When a demon shows up, we can't exactly run to the nearest faucet."

"No, but it may stop the demons from possessing local townspeople." supplied Sam. "Think of it like poisoning Gerard with mountain ash, only not harmful to the host. Holy water won't hurt the human, only the demon."

To Sam's surprise, Derek nodded. "Ok, when do we do this?"

"Right now." Sam said. "Dean, want to go ahead?"

"Sure thing Sammy. Oh, and here." Dean slipped several anti-possession charms into his brother's hand. Sam tossed Dean the keys to the impala and Dean made his way out the door.

"Okay!" Sam announced to the loft. Everyone turned to look at him. "Everybody needs to take one of these!" He held up the small gold charms on the thin leather bands. "They'll keep you from getting possessed." Sam handed two to Derek and Peter, the latter studying it suspiciously before putting it on. Sam then threw two over to the Argents, who were filling shell casings with salt and coating Allison's arrows with it. He then threw one over to Scott, who was still trying to spray paint a devil's trap by the door. Satisfied that everyone was protected, Sam moved over to a map Derek had procured of the town.

Scott turned to Stiles. "Don't you need one too?" he asked, gesturing to the charm around his neck. With a sigh, Stiles pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the black tattoo of the anti-possession charm over his heart.

"Sam and Dean have them too." he said in response to Scott's gaping expression. Scott quickly closed his mouth.

"You know, it all makes sense now."

"What does?" asked Stiles.

"Why you never take your shirt off." Stiles looked at Scott for a moment in sheer disbelief. Then the two friends burst out laughing.

"Alright, Scotty," Stiles said in between chuckles. "Let's try this one more time." He gestured to the many failed red pentagrams on the floor. They had just begun again when Sam strolled over to the two boys from across the loft.

"Hey Stiles, I need a favor." Sam stated as he squatted down next to his brother on the floor. "Can you ask the sheriff to put a curfew up for tonight?"

"Of course!" Stiles said without missing a beat. "But why? You really think they'll get here that soon? I thought we were only dealing with five demons." Sam shrugged.

"I don't know." he admitted. "Crowley is helpful at times, but isn't exactly 100% accurate. Alexander's followers could have followers of their own, friends, hell, I have no idea. Lydia thinks we should prep for the worst." Sam gestured to the steel table across the loft where Lydia, Derek, and Peter were planning around a map of Beacon Hills. "She also thinks we should spray-paint a giant devil's trap through town."

"It's a good plan," admitted Stiles. "It might take a while, though."

"I'll do it!" exclaimed Scott, sick of being the useless one for a change. "With my werewolf speed, I can maybe do it in an hour." Sam nodded.

"Good. Stiles, go with him." Sam looked gravely at the indistinguishable red blobs on the floor. "Make sure he doesn't screw up." Within seconds, Scott was out the door. Stiles mumbled a few words of encouragement to his brother before picking up the spray cans and following him. Sam sighed, relieved to have a plan of action, no matter how flimsy. Hopefully Isaac wouldn't fail him either. He picked himself off the floor and then made it over to the makeshift Argent forgery in the corner. Chris raised an eyebrow when he saw Sam sit down next to him.

"So," Sam said to the two werewolf hunters. "What do you guys think about carving devil's traps into bullets?" Allison looked up from the arrowheads she was fashioning, intrigued.

Dean sighed in relief as he finished his latin chanting and dropped his small wooden rosary beads into the water plant. He could practically see the blessing working, spreading throughout the town's water supply. Satisfied, Dean walked away from the plant and towards his beloved Impala. It was nice to have a plan for a change, no matter how flimsy. All in all, Dean was in a good mood. He had saved his brother from losing his friends, formed a sort-of alliance with the locals, and on top of it would get to wipe five stinking demons from the earth. Sounds like a good day. Dean was so preoccupied in repacking the car and pondering, that he didn't notice he wasn't alone.

"Squirrell, always a pleasure." Dean hit his head on the top of the trunk as he jumped in surprise. He cursed whatever god was listening and slowly turned around. Sure enough, there was Crowley, impeccably dressed with his usual designer suit and smugness.

"Well, Crowley, I would say the same, but you know, I kind of hate you." Crowley smirked at Dean's sarcasm.

"Charming as ever. Anyway, I hardly swung by to talk about pleasantries. Let's talk business, mainly that demon you shot." Crowley begun pacing, and Dean matched him, so that the two men were now circling each other. Dean silently thanked the same god he cursed that Crowley was misinformed. He needed to keep the bastard away from Stiles.

"You mean Alexander? Well, I'm sorry for your loss." Dean said with his usual sarcastically arrogant pretense. However, inside he was beginning to panic. What would happen if Crowley found out about yet another Winchester roaming the earth? One without an angel on his shoulder?

Crowley scoffed at Dean's mock concern. "Please. I would have killed the bugger eventually. Useless prat was only good for causing small trouble. I should probably thank you. I won't given that it was me who have you the Colt in the first place, but I digress." Dean rolled his eyes, and was about to reply with a witty retort of his own, but something stopped him.

"Wait, how do you know we shot the bastard? We put him in the ground less than half an hour after he bit the dust, and if you have been tracking us you know we're using the knife. Not to mention you can't see us thanks to Ruby's hex bags. Have you been here the whole time?" Dean played this off as anger, but in truth he was worried. He put his hands in his pockets, thinking. If Crowley had been there...

"Relax, Squirrell. I heard it through the grapevine. 'Winchester killed Alexander with the Colt' doesn't take much interpretation skills."

"Well how did the grapevine hear it?"

"No idea." Unconcerned, Crowley continued. "Doesn't matter. I want to inquire as to why you and your brother are not currently 'hitting the road' as you call it."

Dean scoffed. "It might have something to do with the backup you mentioned? A little late, I might add." Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Please, Dean. You boys are so predictable. Last minute demons are no problem for you. It is, however, a little intriguing that you aren't leading them away from a town that has just been steamrollered by demonic activity."

"Who says they'd follow us?" Crowley looked at Dean the same way one might look at a pesky bug.

"You're the bloody Winchesters and you killed their leader! Of course they'd follow you, since apparently no one but me seems to think outright attacking you is a stupid idea! You boys have a stronger pull for the supernatural then that godforsaken tree stump on the town border." Dean whistled.

"I gotta say, Crowley, that almost sounded like a compliment."

"Anyway," Crowley said through grit teeth, the last of his patience rapidly disappearing, "you still haven't answered my question. What are you hiding?"

"Nothing, Crowley." Dean said forcefully. Crowley smirked, as if he could sense Dean's nervousness.

"Guess I'll find out for myself, then." Crowley winked before he disappeared.

"You son of a BITCH!" Dean shouted to thin air. He slammed the trunk to his car loudly before running his fingers through his hair. He reached into his pocket to call Sammy before a sudden, splitting pain ran through his skull. Dean clutched his head, feeling the blood, before everything went black and he fell gracelessly to the ground.

"C'mon Scott! Let's go!" Stiles yelled as he sprinted up a boulevard. Scott raced on his friend's heels, the tell-tale clattering of spray-paint cans echoing along the empty street. Stiles dived down to the ground, sliding to a stop at the end of the street. He began painting another part of the carefully constructed circle before he took off again. Scott quickly spray painted a blood-red line down the entire street sprinting after his best friend, who was already on to the next. Due to Scott's enhanced running abilities and Stiles' fervor, they finished the street in less than a minute. "Okay," Stiles gasped, out of breath. "How many- m-more do we need to do?"

"We're about halfway through town!" Scott announced proudly.

"Okay," Stiles said again, bending over as he struggled to speak concisely. "How long have we been out?"

Scott checked his phone, and took the lack of texts from any pack members as a good sign. "1 hour."

"Good. That's good. Means I can rest for a minute." Stiles flopped down on a patch of grass near the street. Scott grinned, not having broken a sweat.

"Hello, boys." Scott whirled around to find a bearded man in a black suit standing in front of him. With a yelp, Stiles jumped up from his reclining position and took a very poorly executed defensive stance. Crowley laughed at the theatrics.

"What the- how- w-" Crowley waved his hand, and a flustered Scott immediately stopped stuttering. Scott opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked at Stiles pleadingly.

"I didn't know demons could do that." Stiles stated, his hand inching towards his pocket.

"I didn't know teenagers knew about demons." Crowley retorted.

"Are you one of Alexander's followers?" Stiles asked apprehensively, ignoring Scott's silent panic.

Crowley looked downright insulted. "Hardly. The name's Crowley. Don't pretend you haven't heard of me." At this, Stiles quickly reached into his waistband, but stopped short when he realized nothing was there.

"Looking for this?" Crowley inquired. Stiles paled when he saw the King of Hell raise a very familiar looking gun. "My, my, how things come in full circle. I was the one who gave the boys this, you know." Crowley twirled the gun in his hands for a moment before clicking a bullet into place and raising it. Instead of aiming at Stiles, however, Crowley pointed the gun at Scott. Stiles started forward but one look from the demon sent him screeching to a halt. "Don't even think about it, Stiles. You and I both know this gun has the capability to kill your furry little friend over here." Stiles raised his hands in surrender.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked. Crowley was pleased at the boy's compliance.

"I want information. I want to know why Sam and Dean Winchester, hunters extraordinaire, famous for leaving towns in record-breaking times, are hanging around in northern California with a pack of flipping werewolves!"

"I don't know." said Stiles sardonically, desperate to hide his fear. "I only met them yesterday."

Crowley smiled threateningly. "See, I doubt that. At first I thought that they were protecting that blasted nematon. But you having the Colt is odd enough, and Dean so helpfully pointed out that he and Sam have not been using it, so..." Crowley trailed off, looking at Stiles expectantly. Stiles warily took a step back. He didn't like the evil glint in Crowley's eyes one bit. "I don't know what you are, but you could be important." Crowley reached out and touched Stiles on his arm. Before Stiles could react, the pair had vanished, leaving Scott tongueless and alone with nothing but a flickering streetlamp for company.