A/N

Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading! Thanks so much for all the supportive reviews! As always, please remember to check out my non-crossover "one way ticket". The next chapter is the last one before the epilogue. Enjoy!

Ch. 12

Demonic Omens

Sam had just finished etching into a bullet when a harsh alarm made him snap to attention. Derek ran over and shut it off. "Expecting anyone?" he growled at Sam.

"It must be Scott and Stiles. Or Dean. That was quicker than I thought." Sam hurried over and opened the door and saw Scott tumble through alone.

"Scott!" Allison shouted as she rushed over to the werewolf's side. "Scott! What happened? Where's Stiles?" While Allison fussed over him, Sam took stock of Scott's condition. No visible injuries, no blood, and yet the kid was rendered speechless. No, wait a minute... Upon further examination, Sam saw that Scott was indeed trying to speak, but no words were coming out. Lydia, seeing this at the same time as Sam, ran over with a pen and a scrap of paper. Scott leapt from Allison's arms and hastily scribbled a single word before collapsing back into the huntress, shaking. Sam quickly snatched up the paper and read. Then he cursed violently, crumpling up the note and tossing it to the floor in disgust. Lydia bent down to retrieve it.

'What the hell is a 'Crowley?'"

Dean came to tied to a chair. Well, this is new. he thought bitterly. Hadn't demons come up with any new captivity techniques? As he took in his surroundings Dean noticed that all of his hidden knives were still on his person and it would be very easy to escape from the chair. He was actually in perfect condition, except for where he had been hit on the head. So the demon that got me is stupid. That could be very bad or good. Stupid meant easy to escape from, but it also meant terrifyingly reckless. Dean decided to ignore this for the time being, and with a little struggle he retrieved the knife in his left shoe. He had just finished slicing through the ropes when a burnett woman who looked to be in her late twenties walked through the door he was facing. She grinned when she saw Dean.

"Where am I?" Dean barked, purposefully giving off a confused facade.

"You're in the warehouse next to the treatment plant." The demon said smugly, clearly proud of herself.

"And let me guess, you're one of Alexander's supporters?" She nodded, stepping forward so that her face was illuminated by the single bulb hanging over Dean's head.

"I'm his second in command." She said with a smirk.

"So, what? You're gonna kill me for ganking your fearless leader? Well, I got news, sweetheart. Killing me won't solve anything."

"I know you didn't kill him, Dean. Alexander was smart, he would have avoided you Winchesters. You're bait for the one who did." She said Dean's last name with a snarl, as if the very word was poisonous.

"If this is your first time dealing with hunters, then you are even stupider than your boss." Deciding it was time to leave, Dean stood up swiftly, surprising his captor. With a sharp kick to the knees, the brunette demon was on the floor. Dean ran out of the barren room, locking the door behind him for good measure. Seeing that the rest of the warehouse was empty, Dean ran for the door, but before he could get there he found his path blocked by a surly looking Crowley, holding a pale and terrified Stiles by his wrist.

"Care to explain, Dean?" Crowley asked as he shoved Stiles towards his brother. Dean caught him before Stiles could faint, and, seeing his brother was unharmed, turned towards Crowley angrily.

"There's a demon in the other room. Deal with her and then maybe we talk." Crowley sighed.

"Please, squirrell. She vanished the moment she felt my presence, most likely to go deal with your brother and his new friends. Speaking of which, who is this astonishingly stupid friend of yours?"

"This is Stiles." Dean said, struggling to keep his voice emotionless. "He's part of the local werewolf pack. We joined forces to take care of the demons you neglected to mention" Unbeknownst to Crowley, Dean slipped his demon-killing knife from his pocket into Stiles' hands as he made a show of comforting him. Stiles met his eyes and nodded.

"Well how does a member of a local werewolf pack you met yesterday get his hands on this?" Crowley pulled the Colt from the inside of his jacket pocket. Dean cursed Stiles' idiocy.

"He must have swiped it from Sam. Apparently he has a reputation for being a trickster." Crowley rolled his eyes.

"As if he could get past Moose. No, here's what I think happened. I think your little friend here," he gestured to Stiles with the gun and Stiles stiffened, "killed the demon. I think you have been lying to me and the two of you have known eachother for a long time. Now tell me what's going on or I pick a target and I shoot!" Dean decided the jig was up. He was not going to risk innocent people's lives.

"Alright, alright! Take it easy." Dean said angrily. "If you must know, this is Stiles Winchester." He gestured to the pale, shaking kid in his arms. "My brother."

Ring...Ring...Ring... 'You've reached Dean's other, other cell so you must know what to do.' *BEEP*

"C'mon, Dean! Pick up! DAMMIT!" Sam exclaimed as he angrily threw his cell phone against the wall, having once again reached Dean's voicemail. Behind him, the whole pack watched warily as Sam leaned up against the wall and took several steadying breaths. Lydia stood with her hand on the shoulder of a crouched Allison, her face a mixture of worry and panic. Allison was frozen, her arms reaching towards the wolf she was tending to as Scott had his hand on his throat, as if to force his tongue to work. Behind them, Derek and Peter stood, arms crossed, the former concerned, the latter impassive. It was to this tableau that Sam turned to as he ran his fingers through his long hair, his face etched in worry.

"Sam?" Lydia stepped forward, afraid but holding herself together. "Where's Stiles? What kind of trouble is he in?" Sam sighed deeply, and was just about to answer that he had no idea when Derek's shrill alarm once again resonated through the room. Derek stomped over to it and angrily shut it off, then turned towards the door. Hope sparked through Sam's eyes, only to be extinguished and replaced by a sense of duty. For stumbling across the threshold was a panting and haggard Isaac, dragging two enormous sacks full of rock salt. Wheezing, the werewolf collapsed down the steps by the door, and landed at Sam's feet. In an echo of the previous day, Sam pulled Isaac off of the ground by the scruff of his neck, but instead of shoving him down the stairs, he steadied the wolf at the foot of them.

"I- I- I finished it." Isaac grinned from ear to ear as he gasped out his accomplishments, gesturing to the nearly empty salt bags. "The whole town!" Seeing Sam's less than happy expression, however, Isaac turned from the hunter and took in his surroundings. He saw Scott's fearful expression and grew worried. "Hey, what's wrong? Where are Dean and Stiles?" Isaac directed the question to Scott, then, seeing he couldn't talk, to Sam.

Sam looked at a loss for words; for everything. "I don't know." he said to Isaac. Then, more slowly, as if to truly absorb what those words meant, he repeated them. "I. Don't. Know."

"Another Winchester? As if three of you running around wasn't enough, there's got to be a fourth?" Dean sighed as Crowley ranted, having just provided a detailed explanation of Stiles' lineage.

"Technically, there were always four. Well- until Adam bit it." Crowley rolled his eyes

"Shut up Squirrell. How have I- I mean- how has no-one known about this kid?" Dean couldn't help but smile at Crowley's exasperation.

"Aw, Crowley!" Dean taunted. "Don't feel bad! Adam didn't get his guts eaten out until he was 19." Next to him, Stiles shifted uncomfortably, yet watched the conversation intently.

"Angels knew, Dean, even if you were too ignorant to save the kid's life. What I want to know is how Stiles flew under the radar and avoided the apocalypse." Dean looked about to reply with a comment on what Crowley could do with the Colt when Stiles interrupted him.

"I dunno Crowley. I was a bit busy with a killer lizard, a killer werewolf, and a killer English teacher, not necessarily in that order." Stiles said, regaining his composure. "Add an apocalypse to that, and who knows! I might have never finished my homework." Stiles smiled sardonically, and, seeing that Crowley looked unamused, dropped to a more serious tone of voice. "I don't know why, ok? I'd just like to hope it wasn't because of something worse, which, to be fair, it always is. Can we go now?"

"No." Crowley sneered. "I still have so many more questions." Stiles and Dean exchanged alarmed looks, and Dean ever so subtly inclined his head towards the door. It was time to go.

"See, here's the thing Crowley. We weren't asking." Dean said, before lunging and tackling Crowley to the ground. The two grappled, leaving Stiles with an opportunity. Stiles ran over to the struggle before raising the demon knife and plunging it into Crowley's leg. The King of Hell howled in pain, and Stiles quickly pulled out the knife. Dean disentangled himself from his opponent, and the two looked at each other triumphantly before running like hell.

"Over there!" Dean shouted as they cleared the door to the warehouse, gesturing wildly to the Impala parked in a nearby lot. Stiles, still exhausted from his previous adventures with Scott, was wheezing as he struggled to keep up with his brother. Finally, the two made it to the sleek black car, and they unceremoniously threw open the doors and fell into it. Dean quickly started it and the two peeled away from the warehouse and treatment plant, just as Crowley was getting to his feet, watching the car disappointedly.

"That's Crowley?" Stiles asked, breathing easier in the safety of the car. "I thought he'd be taller."

Dean laughed and released much of the tension building up inside him.

"Oh, man. I am so telling him you said that." Dean reached into his pocket for his phone to call Sam after he peeled quickly out of the parking lot.

"Eyes on the road, Dean!" Stiles exclaimed as the pair tore down a stretch of (thankfully) empty road. Annoyed, Dean threw his phone at Stiles, who frantically began dialing.

"It's voicemail. Dean, should we be worried?" Stiles asked, phone still pressed to his ear as he looked over at his brother. Dean looked calm as he kept his eyes fixed to the pavement. Almost too calm.

"Nah. We'll be there in a few minutes." Dean paused after speaking, looking thoughtful. With a jolt, Stiles realized why he was so concerned.

"Dean..." Stiles began slowly, not wanting to alarm him, "Your escape. It was..."

"I know." Dean replied.

Stiles gulped. "Then who's following us? Crowley or ...?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know. Either. Both. Doesn't really matter. There are hex bags all around the loft so it makes sense why they would let us go just to follow us. I should have known that the demon wouldn't be that stupid."

"What, did you underestimate her just because she was a girl?"

Dean looked appalled at Stiles' accusation. "Hey man, give me some credit!" He replied angrily. "The chick demons often turn out to be the smarter ones. No, I just figured she'd be lousy because Alexander was lousy and she was second in command. Stupid!" Dean hit the wheel angrily and accidentally honked the horn. Besides him, Stiles was beginning to get angry.

"Yeah! You were stupid, Dean! Thanks to you, we are leading not one but TWO demons right towards our previously defended loft with no backup and no plan!" Dean, to Stiles' surprise, took the berating without batting an eye.

"New plan." Dean said gruffly, his shaking arms betraying his held back rage. "We lead them to the wolf den, and we fight." Stiles began to show signs of protest, but Dean called him off. "Admit it, it's our only option. We should just be lucky that you called your dad, and hope that Isaac succeeded, since you didn't finish drawing that devil's trap." Dean shot Stiles a pointed glare, and any response that Stiles might have had caught in his throat. After a moment, Dean sighed. "Look, I'm sorry that we have to drag your friends into this. But why bother spending all afternoon preparing them for a fight that they wouldn't participate in?" Dean looked at Stiles, who shrugged.

"I don't know. I mean, they were going to kill me when they found out that I was planning to fight without them. They've already had a hard time adjusting to who I am, I didn't want to make it any worse by them seeing me in action. I guess I knew deep down it would come to this."

"Stiles, man, take it from someone who knows. Trying to keep your loved ones out of the fight only gets them hurt. You've been lucky so far, but your luck has just run out. You tell them everything, and you keep telling them, understand? Everyone will be wiser and everyone will be able to protect themselves."

"Ignorance is bliss." Stiles muttered half-heartedly.

"Bliss gets you killed. Stiles, you've got friends so close they're family. Family is our fatal flaw. Let them fight, and stop driving yourself mad trying to protect them all."

"Okay, Dean, I get it."

"Good." Dean said satisfactorily. "Cause you look terrible." Stiles chuckled. "No, seriously, how much sleep have you been getting since the Darach?" The smile that had begun to grace Dean's face fell as he took in his brother's suddenly ragged appearance. Mentally, he kicked himself. How had he been with his brother for 24 hours and not noticed?

"Eight." Stiles replied.

"A night?" Dean asked incredulously.

"This past week. No, let's see," Stiles began to slowly count on his fingers until all but two of his fingers were splayed out. "Yeah, eight." Dean looked alarmed and was about to speak when he noticed that they had arrived at their destination. Two car door slammed as the brothers exited the car and gazed at the loft apprehensively. Worried, Dean glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, and was both relieved and confused to see that Stiles looked completely normal. The ashen gray face, impossibly dark circles, and tired demeanor were replaced by Stiles' usual energetic self. Dean sighed. He must have imagined it. Except for the Winchesters, it never was imagination. Dean could have sworn that Stiles looked almost... dark. He would have to talk to Sam later...

"Should we go in?" Stiles asked, taking his eyes away from the loft to look at his brother.

"Yeah." Dean said. "You got the knife?" Stiles rolled his eyes but pulled out the knife from his pocket. Dean nodded, and the two made their way into the loft. Once they made it to the door, Stiles slowly slid it open, only to be immediately ambushed by something small, fierce, and bright red.