Derek slid out of Stiles' window and crept along the side of the house to the window in the kitchen. He kept himself hidden behind the bushes and the shadow cast by the house just in case the Winchesters weren't the only thing he needed to defend himself against. The smell from the backseat of the Impala still clung to his senses and worry pooled in the pit of his stomach as he considered what it could be. The wolf inside him was howling at him to run, far away and fast, even though he somehow knew the being responsible for the smell was not malicious. The lingering sense of power told Derek that the being could destroy him completely with no more than a thought if it chose to, but that it would only attack if it needed to. Whatever it is, is protecting the Winchesters, Derek thought with wonder. A supernatural being protecting those who hunt the supernatural. The thought sent shivers running down his spine, and his claws dug into his thigh as he struggled to keep the wolf howling inside at bay.
The sound of the front door swinging open caught his attention and he mentally berated himself for getting so distracted. Anything could have snuck up on me just now, he thought. I didn't even hear them leave the table. The men bade each other good night and the pair of Hunters got into their car and backed out of the driveway. Derek waited until he heard the Sheriff mount the stairs and wish Stiles goodnight before he crept out of the shadows and followed the distinctive trail left by the Winchesters.
/
The Winchesters checked into the slightly run down motel on the edge of Beacon Hills under the names Edward Van Halen and James Hetfield and if the clerk at the desk raised his eyebrows at the pair, he certainly didn't comment on it. They grabbed their duffle bags and the bag of weapons and toted them into the small room at the end of the building. Derek watched this all from the tree line across the parking lot. It was quiet enough on the edge of town that he could faintly make out what was happening inside the room even though the shades were drawn.
The bags were set down and the taller one – Sam, he thought – groaned lightly as he stretched his back and shoulders, still stiff from sitting in the cramped front seat all day. He heard the sound of a beer being cracked open and the TV set turning on. The sound of the shower running drifted dimly through the closed bathroom door. He listened for some time, before it was clear to him that the men weren't planning on doing anything more than unwinding from being on the road the better part of the day. He melted back into the shadows of the forest and headed for the library near the centre of town.
He missed the moment when the sound of two beating hearts inside the Winchesters' motel room became three.
/
Contrary to what Stiles may think, I am capable of doing my own research, Derek thought to himself as he hunched over the keyboard at the computer station at the back of the library. He made sure to pick the one facing away from the windows, tucked behind rows of shelving so the light from the screen wouldn't be visible outside. Breaking into the library in the middle of the night just wasn't something he enjoyed doing.
The first few searches on the Winchesters didn't turn up anything, mostly gun forums and hunting supply depots. He knew better than to search for anything under their aliases, even though he knew Stiles didn't think he had any clue about pop culture references. Half the time, he just did his level best to ignore whatever Stiles was saying anyways.
Frustrated by his lack of results, he tried to remember the search terms his teacher in high school had showed them to narrow down Google hits. Searching the term 'Winchester' but excluding anything about guns or ammo turned up a small town's newspaper article about a John Winchester who had recently returned from serving in the Marines overseas. Doing the math quickly in his head, he realized the man was old enough to be the Winchesters' father and confirmed the fact by searching through the newspapers online archive only to find two birth announcements four years apart for a Dean Michael and a Samuel John Winchester. He kept looking through the articles on the website tagged as 'Winchester' and found another article about a horrible house fire that killed Mary Winchester six months after Sam was born. After that, there was nothing.
He went back to Google to try his search again. There has to be something I'm missing, he thought. Why are they here? And why now? He typed "Winchester, Beacon Hills" into the search bar and made sure the guns and ammo hits were excluded before hitting enter.
The first hit in the list was an obituary from six years ago, detailing the sudden death of a woman named Cassandra Ginevra Stilinski.
And there beside her birth and death dates, in brackets, were the words "born: Winchester".
Derek stared at the screen in disbelief.
"Well shit."