Cas appeared in the backseat of the temporarily misappropriated car that was sitting in the school parking lot when Dean called him. "Anything?" he asked, seeing no visible crazy signs.
"No," Cas said. "She went to the library to sleep while the other kids were eating lunch. She spoke to someone named Lydia and a boy named Stiles. Lydia went with her to the library."
"No weird stuff brought up in conversation?" Sam asked.
"They mentioned someone named Scott."
"What are you not saying?" Dean asked, able to sense it right off the bat.
"I may have…fallen asleep."
"What?"
"Only for a few minutes," Cas said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how tired I was."
"It's fine, Cas. You'll figure it out eventually." Dean passed a coffee back to his angel. "This'll help keep you awake."
Sam gave him a curious look, because that was Dean's coffee, but Dean ignored it because if he acknowledged it, Cas would notice. The fact that Cas could fall asleep while remaining invisible to the human eye was worrisome, but there wasn't much Dean could do about it, so he didn't mention it. "Okay, so, no leads on what the monster of the week is. Should we follow…"
Dean gestured with his hand and Cas provided, "Allison."
"Allison after school?" he finished.
Sam shrugged. "Or we could start checking the morgues, interviewing the families."
"I could keep an eye on Allison while you both do that," Cas offered, giving the coffee a funny look. "Dean, this is bitter."
He rolled his eyes. "Next time you can come with and half a latte or something."
"Maybe we should let the girl go," Sam said. "Cas would know if she was anything to worry about, right?"
"Yes," Cas said. "If she was a supernatural being, I would know."
Dean stared at the closed school doors. "Yeah. I guess. If I see her watching us again, though—"
"Right," Sam said, turning the keys in the ignition. "We'll figure it out, then."
They stopped at the hotel (once they'd hidden the Impala, they didn't feel there was much reason to hide out in the woods) to change clothes and get a plan down. Twelve dead, scattered around Beacon Hills. Six towns, no immediately known connections or similarities between victims.
Sam had his tie in one hand, and with the other he was scribbling something a piece of paper. "So you two will take these three towns," Sam said, "and I'll take the other three. And we'll meet here…" He jotted down an address. "In time for supper."
"Sounds good," Dean said, turning back to fixing adjusting Cas' collar. He smoothed out the shoulders and set about doing his tie. It was weird seeing Cas in a suit sometimes, after he'd started dressing like a normal human being.
"One of us can take a car from here and leave it where we're meeting," Dean said, finishing with the tie.
"Sam, you can take this car," Cas said. "Dean and I will find another one."
Sam glanced at his brother, just for confirmation. "Alright," he said. "I'll see you guys later."
"I didn't realize you were so eager to steal a car," Dean to Cas said as Sam shut the door behind him.
Cas rolled his eyes. "Do you have everything you need?"
"Yeah, why—"
Suddenly they were in the crowded parking lot of some grocery store and Dean was gripping the sleeve of Cas' blazer. "Holy—Cas, you've gotta warn me before you do that."
"One would think you'd eventually get used to it," Cas said, and Dean wasn't sure if he was being snarky or not. "So, which vehicle?" he asked.
They ended up in an old Chevy model from the 80s. Not his baby, but it would get them where they needed to go.
It was around seven when Stiles got up from the couch and announced, "I am going for a walk."
Lydia raised an eyebrow. "The Alphas still have your scent."
"Yeah, and they won't not have it until they're dead and I'm guessing that'll take a while, so if I want to go for a walk, I'm going for a walk."
She sighed. "I'll come with you, then. Through the woods or around town?"
He shrugged. "Wherever we end up."
She followed him out, locking the door behind them. Stiles didn't notice she didn't have any shoes until they were at least two blocks away. "Your feet," he said stupidly.
"Yes, good job, those are my feet. I use them to walk."
"You're not wearing any shoes," he said, shaking his head, as if he could shake the stupid out of himself.
"I like going barefoot," she said. "Don't tell anyone, or I'll go back to filling the official role of town whack job."
"Yes, ma'am."
They walked in companionable silence for a time, and ended up treading through foliage covering the earth, trees standing high above them.
"I was thinking," Lydia said. "The screeching the pack heard—what if it's here because of the Alpha pack?"
"Like…to help carry out their animalistic rituals?"
"No, I mean…what if it—or they—came to help?"
"Why? What would make you think that?"
"Humans couldn't hear it scream. Maybe it's designed to go after werewolves and it can make sounds that incapacitate them?"
Stiles was silent for a few beats. "That actually makes a lot of sense. But if that's the case, won't it be after all the wolves? Even our wolves?"
Lydia didn't say anything more to that.
At the diner, the three came to the consensus that they had nothing. Well, okay, there was a symbol that had been left at every place the bodies had been found, but none of them knew it right off the bat. Cas looked puzzled by it.
"So what we've got it fifteen deaths—three college kids, a high school couple that was camping, a single woman on a morning jog, an older guy taking an afternoon walk through the woods, another man's husband on an evening run with the dog, four best friends, and two employees and a customer at a gas station—and a symbol," Sam said, flipping through his notepad.
"And three of the seven occurrences happened where we're staying, in Beacon Hills," Cas said. "None of the other towns were hit more than once."
"Yeah, but could that just be a coincidence?" Sam squeezed some dressing onto his rabbit food. "I mean, if this thing had it out for one town, that would make sense, but why all the killings everywhere else?"
Dean bit into his burger. "So basically, we go back to the hotel and start digging around for anything about that symbol," he said. "And hope we find something before there's another kill."
Lydia and Stiles were lying on the forest floor, dead leaves crumpling every time they altered their positions.
"Stiles?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you…you and Derek, have you ever considered that maybe you two are good for each other?"
"What do you mean?" Stiles turned his head to look at her, but her eyes were still trained on the stars. He looked back up.
"You know, sometimes people are just good for each other. Like Bonnie and Clyde, or Noah and Allie, or Robin Hood and Marian."
"Are you…you mean like…like Scott and Allison? Me and Derek? Together?" His voice climbed intervals as he spoke.
"Yes, together. But not like Scott and Allison. I don't think they were really good for each other. I think they both needed someone and they made it work for a while. And now…we shouldn't be trying to get them back together, we should be helping them move on."
"But—Derek's, like, Derek!"
"Wow, good job, Stiles, A plus. I'm serious. He's different around you. In a good way, I think."
"Yeah, okay, but even if we are 'good for each other'—hypothetically—I'm pretty sure he's straight. That, and his last relationship didn't go so well."
"So he needs to see he can be with someone and be happy. Be with someone he trusts."
"This is a really awkward conversation," Stiles said, a funny feeling stirring in his gut.
"Just think about it," Lydia said. "That's all."
He sighed. "Fine, I guess—"
"Shh—" She sat up and put a finger to his lips. "Did you hear that?"
A few beats of silence, and then, sure enough, a far off howl.
"That's the pack," Lydia whispered. "That's our pack. Come on."
Dean, Sam, and Cas were sitting around the table back at the hotel, trying to make sense of the mostly useless information they'd collected.
"There is absolutely no pattern here," Sam said, throwing down his notepad. "No connections. All we've got is this symbol. Literally."
Dean shoved his laptop away. "I've got bupkis on it. How about you, Cas, anything?...Cas?"
The angel was intently focused on retracing the group of sharp angles that came together tat the center. He stood up suddenly, chair almost tipping over, and grabbed a piece of paper and the nearest available writing utensil—a red sharpie. He took the paper and pressed it against the wall before he began scrawling frantically on it.
"Cas?" the brothers said questioningly in unison.
He grabbed the tape they'd used to put up a few articles and stuck his now filled paper on the wall. Another sheet quickly became covered with red writing and was added beside the other one. This went on for uncounted minutes before Cs finally stopped, looked at the Winchesters, and said, "Werewolves."
"But the hearts—" Sam said.
Cas tapped his finger on one of the papers on the wall. "Not the traditional kind you two have dealt with. These are different. The symbol that was found at all the locations the bodes were found—it reminded me of another symbol—" He pointed to another paper and Dean and Sam got up to look. "—a triskelion. It's been used throughout the ages by different groups. The druids, mainly, and these werewolves come from Druids. They practiced magic, but were a peaceful people, and human. This made them easy pretty to others, and they were nearing extinction, so they created werewolves out of some of their own. The wolves acted as protectors to the Druids, but the sudden power corrupted some. They grew sick of fighting for the lives of those they were beginning to view as helpless, and turned on them.
"That was the end of the Druids, and with none left, the werewolves broke off into packs. Some stayed peaceful while others turned to violence.
"Now the symbol—some of the more powerful packs developed their own over time. Like this one." Cas pointed to a sketch of the symbol from the crime scenes.
"It resembles the triskelion," Sam said.
Cas nodded. "And the Argents," he continued animatedly, "—Allison; her father, Chris; all of them—are werewolf hunters."
"Well, they're doing a great job," Dean remarked sarcastically.
"A pack of this kind…they would be difficult to take down."
"Do they know about demons?" Sam asked. "Vampires, wendigos, all that?"
"Most werewolf hunters are strictly that," Cas said. "Your world and theirs are quite separate. And this may be completely unrelated, but the boy Allison was talking to, Stiles Stilinski, his mother was a vessel. She also associated with the werewolves, one particularly family that's been living in this town. The Hales."
"Could they be the ones on the killing spree?" Sam asked.
"The family was burned alive in their home several years ago," Cas explained. "All except for two—Peter and Derek. They may have formed a new pack, but they were peaceful before…I suppose it could be them though."
"Either way, they're werewolves," Dean said. "If we can kill them, we should."
"Dean…" Cas canted his head. "I know they must seem like monsters, to both of you, but if they've done nothing wrong…they're still human, in a way. They're souls aren't bound for Purgatory."
"So they're monsters with a conscious," Dean said. "Awesome."
"But most of the kills have happened here," Sam said logically. "And if the two survivors of the fire are still here…it makes sense. Or at least, it makes more sense than no sense. Was it a natural fire?"
"No, one of the Argents—Kate, Allison's father's sister—was behind it. I don't know if the police ever found out. Heaven had most of its attentions focused elsewhere after Lucifer was released, then Leviathan. Peter was institutionalized after the fire. That's all I really know on the matter."
"What about vessel mom?" Dean asked. "Can we talk to her, find out if she's still in contact with the werewolves?"
"Stiles' mother died before the fire," Cas said.
"Damn it." Dean rubbed his jaw. "Well, how do we kill these werewolves? Silver bullet or something else?"
"They're humanity makes it easier," Cas explained. "Depending on their rank. Within packs, they have Alphas, betas, and omegas. Alphas are their leaders, the only way to get rid of them is fire. Betas and followers and omegas are 'lone wolves' so to speak. Beheadings are efficient, and mountain ash is poisonous to them. Werewolf hunters often use mountain ash bullets, but the ash isn't easy to come across. Wolfsbane is also highly toxic and also put in bullets. If they're shot with one, they should be dead within twenty-four hours."
"Well, wee don't have any mountain ash or wolfsbane bullets," Dean said. "So fire and beheadings." He turned his head to look at Sam. "It'll be just like that rugaru."
Sam smiled humorlessly. "Like the one that almost ate you, great."
"Hey, I'm still here," Dean said. "Let's go hunt some werewolves."
Cas said the Hales used to live in a mansion in the woods and there were still remains there, so the three set out. "They can change at will," Cas explained, "or if they lose control. During the full moon, they're most dangerous." Dean figured that meant the killings would just get even worse; about a little over a week ago it had been a new moon.
"We should walk from here," Cas said. "They'll hear us sooner with the car."
They were armed with machetes, but no fire. Sam had reasoned that if they were faster than a rugaru, then the chance that they would tackle one of them while one fire was too great to take. Dean disagreed, but Cas, naturally, sided with Sam.
"So how big are these packs?" Dean asked as the three got out of the car and continued on foot. "Usually."
"It all depends," Cas said. "Anywhere from three to…" He thought for a moment. "I believe the largest was more of a community than pack, but there were fifty."
Dean's eyes bulged involuntarily.
"Such high numbers are very rare, though," Cas said. "Ten to twenty is average, unless the numbers have changed drastically in the past few years."
"Okay, and there are more ways to kill them, but how about how dangerous they are as compared to the werewolves we're used to?" Dean asked.
"It all depends on numbers," Cas said. "And how organized they are as a group, and their experience. There's a lot to factor in—" He stopped mid-step, Dean freezing a fraction of a second later, followed by Sam. There were a few seconds of silence that seemed to stretch longer before Cas and Dean leapt in opposite directions. The wolf—eyes glowing blue, ears tipped, and what looked like too much facial hair in the dark—tackled Sam to the ground, biting and snarling. Dean jumped him and they rolled around on the earth a few times before halting. The wolf was straddling him, and damn if he didn't need to trim his nails. They dug painfully into Dean's shoulders.
A snarl sounded from a few yards away, distracting the werewolf on Dean and he took the opportunity to shove it off him. He swung for the head, but another damn dog attacked, clawing his right arm. Sam was handling a wolf with gold eyes, and two others were circling Cas, both red-eyed. Dean swung at the second wolf that had attacked him, but it ducked to avoid the fatal blow. He raised the machete again, but the other wolf jumped on his back, slashing open his shoulder. Dean dove into a roll on the ground and heard a series of satisfying crunches as some of the mutt's bones broke. Dean got back on his feet in a flash and sliced across the gold-eyed wolf's belly. It fell onto hands and knees and the dog keeping Sam busy let out an awful howl and it tried to run for its comrade. Sam grabbed him and held a blade across his throat though. Dean didn't have to look to know the red-eyed wolves were still circling Cas. He just knew they were. In a split second, Cas slashed his machete at one, cutting halfway through the arm at the elbow, and then the other wolf saw Sam's hold on Scott. His lips pulled back into a snarl as he withdrew several steps. Cas put a foot on the belly of the wolf he'd cut, now lying on its back, and pressed the point against its throat.
"You've got three seconds to explain yourself," Dean said, "or we kill your little mutt friends."
The dark-haired wolf growled as he features shifted to something disturbingly close to normal. The fangs and red eyes stayed and a low growl sounded from his throat. His eyes flicked between everyone, lingering too long for Dean's comfort on Cas. He pulled Ruby's knife and stabbed blue eyes in the side. "Don't look at him," Dean barked. "Right now, I'm talking to you."
"What is he?" the wolf growled.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"They can heal fast, Dean," Cas warned.
Dean made two massive gashes along his gold-eyed wolf's calves. They couldn't lose the upper hand here. Sam pressed his blade harder against the dog's throat. The unharmed wolf snarled in response and the corner of Dean's mouth quirked up. "Have you got a soft spot for that one?" he mocked.
Behind him, a twig snapped and somebody hissed, "Shit."
Dean spun and saw a teenager in a red hoodie, sixteen, maybe seventeen, limbs temporarily frozen. As soon as Dean looked at him, the wolf let out a much more menacing growl than before. Obviously the kid meant something. The other wolves responded to him, too.
"And who the hell are you?" Dean questioned. "Little red riding hood?"
"What? No. No! Who're you? The Argents' long lost other murderous relative?"
"That's Stiles," Cas said, and of course this idiot kid running with wolves was Stiles. Vessel mom's kid.
"Stiles, get out of here," Sam's wolf warned. "We caught their scent—"
Sam pressed his blade closer yet against the exposed flesh of his throat, silencing him.
In a split second decision, Dean grabbed the kid. He was human, he wouldn't kill him, but they needed to know if these were the werewolves that had been slaughtering people.
"The Argents and us aren't related," Dean said, twisting Stiles' arms behind his back. "If you're worried about them, you should be terrified of us."
The free red-eyed dog roared and crouched low when Dean grabbed Stiles. "What do you know?" he snarled at Cas.
Dean's angel glared at the werewolf in a way that made him seem like an absolute imbecile for even opening his mouth. "I know that as of three years ago, you were a nonviolent Druid werewolf," Cas said, voice somehow echoing with power, even without all of his grace. "I know that your uncle Peter," he said, prodding at the wolf's neck under his blade, "was locked away. And I know you blamed yourself after Kate Argent burned your family."
"What are you?" Derek—Dean assumed—asked.
Dean swore Cas stood six inches taller. "You're not the one asking questions. Tell us, are you the ones committing the murders?"
"What? You think—oh my god, no!" The kid in Dean's grip squirmed and he held him tighter. "That's not us," Stiles explained, "that's—"
"Stiles," Derek hissed, more cat-like than dog.
"That's not our pack." And, holy shit, Dean thought, another one? He looked over his shoulder and saw a girl with leaves in her strawberry blonde hair. And…bare feet?
"She's not a werewolf," Cas said quickly. "She's Lydia."
"Yes, I am Lydia. And the werewolves on a killing spree are no friends of ours. You find them, you can get rid of them however you want."
"Okay, question," Dean said. "Stiles showing up I get, but what the hell are you doing here? You were talking with an Argent—"
"The Argents," Lydia said, marching up to Dean, a little too fearless, "are on good terms with this pack. We don't kill people. And you, mister, stabbed my boyfriend one too many times."
"Your boy—fuck, you've got to be kidding me."
"Interspecies mating is rare, but not unheard of," Cas said, like this needed an explanation.
"Dean, if they're not the ones killing people, we need to find out who is," Sam said.
Dean glanced around warily, putting human-slash-werewolf situations out of his mind. "No…no, I don't think so. If we let them go, they'll come after us."
Lydia turned her gaze on Derek. "If they go quietly, you'll let them. Right?"
He bared his teeth. "The hunters can go if they swear to leave us alone."
Dean and Cas exchanged an unspoken conversation in a glance. "Alright," Dean said. He released Stiles and the kid scrambled backwards. Sam let go of the wolf he'd had ahold of and Cas withdrew his machete from presumably Peter's throat. Of course, he'd been hanging around them an awful lot, so the Winchester luck must've been rubbing off on him. As soon as Peter was on his feet, he and Derek both jumped Cas, pinning him to the ground.
"Derek!" Lydia screeched at the same time as Dean pulled a knife from the back of his jeans and fired off a quick succession of six shots, three for each of the Hales. Wolfsbane, mountain ash, or not, he figured they had to do some harm if these bastards were at all human. Derek grunted and twisted his head, wolfing completely out again, and Peter snarled furiously.
"Get the fuck off him," Dean said, stepping forward. Another wolf charged at him, and he barely had to look to shoot it right between the eyes. It fell to the ground, moaning and writhing. Head shots: somewhat effective.
"Derek, what the hell," Lydia screamed.
"He's not human," Derek growled. "He's the thing that we heard shrieking. And he knew about us."
Dean heard the crunch-squish sound of Sam cutting flesh and the ear-piercing howl that followed.
"Jackson, don't," Lydia snapped, and Dean assumed Jackson was her were-boyfriend. He was pretty sure it was blue eyes.
Dean sensed someone standing behind him and with the others accounted for, he could only guess it was Little Red. He sprang backwards several steps and changed the direction his gun was aiming, pointing right at the kid.
"I swear to God, I'll blow his head off," Dean threatened.
"Let go of the angel." Dean's tone left no room for bargaining. The Leviathan grinned from ear to ear—literally—it's true form showing through the cracks in Purgatory. They had more teeth than Dean had seen them with back on Earth. Its eyes were enlarged, colors inverted, white pupils, red irises, and where the whites of the eyes should've been there was black instead.
The bitch seemed to purr an answer. "Mmm…but angels are quite tasty. And so rare." An ugly chuckle danced from her mouth. "You could have a bite, I suppose. Celestial beings are quite rich and too much can be…mmm…not so good."
Cas' gaze was locked on him, blue screaming at Dean to run, run, run, get away, with no words. Dean's eyes told him no. He was never losing his angel again. Ever. He'd chased Cas down in Purgatory, finding him the bloody way, slicing and dicing for information. Of course, nothing here stayed dead for long, but he killed them when he finished with them anyway, giving himself a head start. This was the first Leviathan he'd come across, thank God or whoever the fuck was up there, since being stuck here. Good thing, too, because Purgatory seemed to be a bit low on borax.
Her tongue slithered out, not snake-like, but just…monster-like, to lick up Cas' neck. Cas closed his eyes, lips forming silent words, as a shudder ran up and down the length of Dean's spine.
"If you won't join me," she purred, "you can join him. Mmm…up to you, tasties."
The tentacles that looked more like wicked, thorny vines that were wrapped around Cas' wings tightened, and his angel let out a gasp of pain. Red droplets dripped from the tips of black feathers and hit the ground. She lifted a tentacle to her tongue and licked the blood off it, letting out an appreciative mmmm, that Dean found repulsing.
"You fucking bitch," Dean shouted. "I'll rip out your intestines and shove them down your fucking throat when I get my hands on you."
The thing giggled in response and licked Cas' skin again, disfigured, large mouth almost kissing his flesh. It made Dean want to puke.
She giggled again and said, "Mmm…I could have some fun with this one before I eat him, mmmm, yes. So much fun." Her blackened fingers trailed down his chest and under his shirt. She fit her mouth around the area where Cas' neck and shoulder met and half-bit-half-sucked, emitting a whimper from Cas.
"Stop!" Dean screamed, totally clueless as to what he should do. Cas had explained this to him before—he wasn't sure if when they died they would be brought back to life. Supernatural monsters belonged in Purgatory—angels and humans, not so much. Dean couldn't let this thing kill Cas, not here, not like this.
The fucker laughed as Cas' legs began to quiver. "Does the human want to watch?" she murmured against his angel's pale throat. Cas shook his head almost imperceptibly, not so much in answer to her question as begging Dean to get away. Something clicked in his head then. Of course! He had to make it believable…
"Wait a second," Dean said. "Are you on good terms with the leader of your black worm race?"
She removed her mouth from Cas and Dean saw the bite marks went deep and the area was already bruising. But he'd get Cas away, he would—he just had to do this right.
She hissed at him at the insult, eyes briefly flashing completely yellow. That's new, Dean thought.
"I'll take that as a yes. I don't know if you've run into him down here at all since…well, since whenever you got here, but I had a bit of 'fun' with him before I stuck a bone through his throat, sending his ass straight here."
She opened her mouth and let out an ear-piercing shriek, three—yes, three—tongues hissing. Dean took that as his cue. He took off through the trees. He was fairly certain she'd let him go and keep Cas, but even if it went the other way and she chased after him, that would work, too. After several minutes of running, he began circling back. The Leviathan wouldn't be worried about any interruptions. Nothing down here would dare so much as look at one with their prey, and she thought Dean had run off. If he stayed quiet, he'd have the element of surprise. He came back and got as close as he dared.
As much as he didn't want to know what "fun" qualified as, he knew he'd have to wait until her hold on Cas changed so when Dean attacked he could separate the two without risking Cas' life.
"Nobody here, angel," she was saying. "Your little pet left you." She had him on the ground, vine-like appendages still wrapped around his wings and legs straddling him. "Too bad," she said, dragging a clawed finger down his chest and below his stomach. He shifted under her touch, barely able to move. "He was a pretty one." She dug her claws into the flesh on the inside of his thigh and Cas screamed. Dean wanted nothing more to cut the bitch's head clean off right then, but he knew if he did, she would crush his wings to smithereens and probably worse. So he bit his lip and forced himself not to move an inch. I'll save you, I'll save you, I'll save you, he chanted in his mind, not even realizing he was praying to Cas.
She laughed when he screamed, and it sounded clear through the trees, like an unnaturally loud set of wind chimes whose pitches clashed ever-so-slightly. She shoved his shirt up and raked her teeth down his bare chest. Cas was writhing beneath her, letting out wordless screams. If she would just let go of his wings, he was on the ground, he couldn't move them either way. She bit into his side, simultaneously letting out a moan and rolling her hips and she threw her head back, chewed, and swallowed. "You are delicious," she sang delightfully. Her fingers hooked the waistline of his pants and pulled them down and if Dean thought he'd wanted to vomit before, he'd been wrong. Let go, let go, let go, he thought desperately. She combed her fingers through his hair and he turned his head in disgust. "Did I say you could look away?" she hissed, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at her. "I want you to watch when I eat you and fuck you at the same time." Dean saw Cas' fists tighten and he wondered if he knew he was there, wondered if they angel part of him could still sense Dean's presence.
He wasn't sure how long he had to wait. It was probably only a matter of minutes, but it felt like ages. Watching his angel be tortured, violated—raped. It almost pushed him over the edge. But then he got his moment.
"Um…Derek…" Stiles gulped, pulse racing. "Maybe you wanna rethink the situation…"
"Tell me what he is," Derek snarled.
"Pulling a trigger would be easier," the guy holding a gun to his head said. Dean? Dean. That was his name.
"Don't you touch him," Derek practically purred.
"I SAID LET THE FUCKING ANGEL GO," Dean roared.
Stiles could feel the very air around them freeze. Angel? That guy was an angel?
"Dean," the obscenely tall guy said quietly. "Be careful—"
"I'm not doing a damn thing until he let's go of Cas," he shouted, Stiles felt like their situation was suddenly twenty times worse than it had been a few seconds ago. This guy was kidding around. Like, at all.
"Let me go," the pinned guy—no, not guy, freaking angel said. "He'll shoot him. You know he will. And I don't want him harmed—"
A low rumble came from Derek's throat. Stiles saw the subtle lift of his head as he sniffed the air and the gradual change of his features. The Alphas must be close, shit. He let go of the angel—seriously, this angel thing was screwing with Stiles' head, this could not actually be real—and Peter followed suit. He stood and backed away from them until he was by Dean. "Let him go," he said in a voice so low Stiles barely heard it. "Dean." Mr. Inivisi-Wings laid a hand on his shoulder and he finally dropped the gun. Stiles half-stumbled-half-ran to where Derek was, relief pouring over him. And if what Lydia had said before came to mind, he paid it no attention.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" Derek growled, shoving Stiles. The sudden relief seemed to mock him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Ow, no! But apparently you are! Just let him shoot me, Jesus—"
"If you weren't out here, that wouldn't have happened."
The three hunters—or two plus one angel or whatever—began backing away, slowly at first, then speeding up. No one made a move to go after them and, to be honest, that was probably for the best. They were fierce as hell from what Stiles had seen. No arrows, no special bullets—just machetes and an average, run-of-the-mill gun. But damn if they didn't know how to use them.
"Is everyone alright?" Derek asked once they were gone.
Scott had finally managed to dislodge the bullet from his skull (that had to have hurt like a bitch) and everyone was healing. Lydia hadn't even been touched, so Derek turned to Stiles. "Are you okay?"
"I'll live," Stiles said. "But tell me I'm not crazy. Did they say that guy was an a—"
"We've got to get you out of here," Derek said, totally cutting him off. "The Alphas are close."
"We don't have time," Scott said. "They'll find catch his scent and find him."
Stiles gawked. "They're that close?"
"If you idiots wouldn't have ruined it, maybe those guys would've helped us," Lydia said from where she stood with an arm around Jackson.
"Help us?" Scott said. "They were lunatics. With freaking machetes."
"Yeah?" Lydia seemed unfazed. "And they were after the Alpha pack. They just don't know it yet."
"Lydia has a point," Peter said. He'd been silent a while. "Angel-boy said he didn't want Stiles hurt. And he didn't seem eager to make any of us into chopped liver."
"The guy that had Stiles wasn't even going to hurt him," Lydia said. "Not until you"—she looked pointedly and Derek—"decided to tackle his friend." Peter smirked, but it didn't get passed Lydia. "Don't think you're off the hook," she snapped. "You're just as guilty as Derek on that."
Peter admitted his part. "Fair enough. But I do agree with you, Lydia. Our pack against the Alphas…it won't end well. We could use them."
"We've got the Argents—" Derek argued. (And, wow, Derek using the Argents as a pro instead of a con? Just wow.)
"The Argents aren't here right now," Isaac interrupted. "All we've got to get Stiles out of here is those guys. And they're getting farther away and the Alphas are getting closer the longer we stay here and waste time."
"Do I get a say in this?" Stiles asked.
"No," the majority of the pack said at once.
"It doesn't matter," Scott said. "They'll just follow Stiles' scent, even if we send him with the hunters."
"The…angel's…scent will cover it up. And if they catch on and start following that scent, they left in a car last time, right? So the wouldn't be able to follow them in that," Isaac reasoned.
Lydia grabbed Stiles' hand. "All in favor of having the hunters protect Stiles?"
She raised her own free hand, and of course Jackson did, too, then. Isaac also lifted a hand, followed by Peter. Ironically, that left Scott and Derek. (Seeing as Stiles didn't have any say in the matter. Bastards.)
"But someone needs to go with him," Peter said. "To ensure his safety." Stiles found it mildly creepy that Peter was actually saying he wanted him to stay safe, but he thought better than to say anything of it.
"You're not sending a werewolf," Lydia said, already backing away with him. At everyone's shocked expressions, she said "Think of it as a show of good faith. If one of you—one—would like to accompany us until we reach them, you have approximately five seconds to decide." She spun Stiles around. "We're going to have to run to catch up," she warned about two seconds before she yanked him ahead at a sprint.
A matter of seconds later, Isaac was right beside them. "Run fast," he said. "It's going to be close."
They ended up following him, because he could follow the hunters' scent more directly. What seemed like forever later, they finally saw them in the distance.
"Hey!" Isaac shouted—which was taking a risk, yeah, but risks had to be taken for anything to be gained. The three turned around in unnerving unison and Isaac, Lydia, and Stiles slowed to a jog, then walk. Isaac held his hands up in a we-come-in-peace way and said, not even out of breath, "The pack you're hunting, they're looking for him." He gestured towards Stiles with his head. "They're extremely close right now, and if we don't get him out of here, they'll kill him or worse."
Kill him or worse? Great, Stiles wanted to scream.
"We'll take him," the angel said without hesitation at the same time Dean said, "No way."
"Dean, his mother—"
"He runs with wolves!" Dean spat.
The tall guy rolled his eyes, like he knew how the argument was going to go already.
"Come on," he said.
"Sam, what the hell—"
"Stop whining, Dean. He's a kid and he's in trouble. Cas is going to win anyway."
What about my mother? Stiles refrained from asking.
"Thank you," Isaac said, sounding sincere. He probably wasn't faking it either. Lydia stuck close to Stiles. "The others are close," Isaac explained in a rush. "His scent," he said, pointing at 'Cas', "will cover up Stiles', but they might figure it out and starting following the new scent. The sooner you get to a car, the better. They can't follow then. Are you at the hotel?"
Gigantor nodded. "Find us when you can."
"Good luck," Isaac said before taking off in the direction they came.
Because of some sick pleasure she was getting, her grip loosened on Cas' wings. Dean hoped it was enough because he couldn't afford to wait any longer. He ran and threw himself at her and they went tumbling away from Cas.
"Dean!" Cas screamed.
Dean landed on top of the Leviathan, a small advantage, but an advantage nonetheless. He didn't waste anytime before he began hacking off parts of the bitch. Tentacles, limbs, and eventually her head. He picked them up the pieces when they stopped moving and threw them in all different directions, rage and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He let out a scream as he threw the last piece, her head, far past any of the others. He put away his weapon—the weird knife he acquired after killing two vamps—and ran over to Cas, who was standing weakly against a tree.
"Cas, Cas, Cas," were the only words Dean could find.
"We've got to get away from here before she starts putting herself back together," the angel said sensibly.
Dean didn't say anything, just wrapped an arm around Cas' back, beneath his wings, and let his angel lean against him as they walked.
Within a few minutes, Cas stumbled and fell. Dean grabbed him before he hit the ground. "Cas? What is it?" He groaned, shutting his eyes, fingers digging through Dean's jacket and into his arms. It was then that he saw the black ooze trickling out of the chest wound. "Shit, Cas, are you—"
"No," he gasped out. "Just me. She—poison—"
"Shh, okay, okay." That was all Dean needed to hear. He slid an arm behind Cas' knees and scooped his injured bird up. He was scarily light, but in a moment of childish thought, Dean told himself that birds had hollow wings and it was okay that they were light. He just couldn't let himself acknowledge just how bad of shape Cas was in. He let his head fall against Dean's shoulder and suddenly Dean knew he was a goner. Whether they ever got out of this Hell-hole or not, there was no way to change this. Cas was Dean's and Dean was his, simple as that. They were stuck together no matter what now, and Dean didn't even care.
He carried Cas to a stream (he still found the fact that there was water and trees in Purgatory weird, but whatever) and laid him down gently on the bank.
"Hey, buddy, you still awake?"
Cas moaned in response and turned his head.
Dean looked him over and found it wasn't just the chest wound that was infected—it was all the bites and scratches. Between his neck and shoulder, his thigh, all along his forearm. There was black dripping from his wings, too, and Dean thought that was probably the worst.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he said. Honestly, he had no idea if water would even make a difference, but it was all they had at the moment.
Dean shrugged out of his jacket, rolled it up, and placed it under Cas' head. He washed his hands off and started out just pouring the water out of his hands directly onto Cas' wounds. They're clothes were covered with dirt, but he had to clean out the wounds and he figured something was better than nothing. He tore off a strip of Cas' trench coat and got it thoroughly wet. "Hey, this is gonna sting a little, okay?" He wasn't sure if Cas heard him or not, but he pressed the wet cloth against the spot between his neck and shoulder. Part of the flesh was missing and Dean fought back the urge to vomit. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen plenty of blood, guts, and gore in his time, but this was just…wrong. This was Castiel, an angel of the Lord, that had been raped and attacked by the oldest breed of monster known. And in Purgatory, of all places.
Cas' fingers gripped for purchase and found Dean's arm.
"Shhh," Dean hushed, carding his fingers gently through Cas' hair. His angel whimpered and made a weak attempt to pull himself closer to him. Dean helped him up and leaned his back against his chest. "I've got you," he promised. "It's okay."
