Chapter 4

Dean snapped Sam's laptop shut and ran his hands roughly through his hair. The sound of water running stopped in the bathroom and Sam emerged a few minutes later clad in only a towel. The younger man began pulling on a fresh pair of clothes as Dean mustered the energy to rise out of the chair for his turn in the shower.

The faint rustle of wings heralding the arrival of the angel Castiel barely startled the Winchesters any more.

"Cas, any idea what we're up against here?" Dean asked gruffly. His research had hit a brick wall and he was beginning to get frustrated by his lack of answers.

The angel cocked his head to the side as if he was listening to something only he could hear. He paused a moment before replying.

"You were right to assume it was the work of a demon," Castiel replied in a gravelly voice. "I sense at least one of them, although I doubt it is very powerful. Old and crafty, yes, but not very powerful."

"But what about the animal attacks the Sheriff was telling us about?" Sam asked. "They don't fit a demon's M.O., nor are they consistent with ritual sacrifice. None of the organs were missing from any of the victims so it couldn't have been the work of a werewolf or a shapeshifter. A Wendigo, maybe?"

"A Wendigo this close to civilization Sam? I doubt it," Dean said. "That's just the problem, none of the victims have anything in common, and none of them died the same either."

Dean turned to where Castiel had been standing only to find the angel had disappeared.

"What the hell, Cas?"

Seconds later the angel reappeared. "I had to take a closer look at the man who followed you here, but I will agree with you that it is not a type of werewolf or shapeshifter that you are familiar with."

It took a split second for the words to register with Dean but he was out the door of their motel room with his Beretta in hand before Sam could process with the angel had said. When he realized what was happening he grabbed a sawed-off and took rear guard for his brother as they scoped out the parking lot and headed towards the wooded lot.

Cas materialized beside Dean and the man jumped.

"Jesus Cas! What the hell are you doing?!" he hissed.

"Dean, the man is no longer here therefore you do not need to search the woods," the angel said. "He is currently sitting in the library doing research on you and Sam, but he is not a threat nor is he responsible for any deaths."

"What do you mean he is doing research on me and Dean?" Sam asked as he headed back towards the motel room before they drew attention to themselves.

"I believe he may have followed you from the Sheriff's house and it is possible he may be wondering what another set of Hunters is doing in Beacon Hills," Cas replied.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there feathers," Dean interjected. "What do you mean another pair of Hunters in Beacon Hills? We talked to Bobby, ain't nobody here but us."

Castiel let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand roughly through his mop of untidy hair. The angel had begun to pick up mannerisms from the older Winchester and if Dean hadn't been so confused by the situation he may have chuckled at the action. I am probably the worst role model for an angel to base his human behaviours on, he thought wryly.

"Dean. Bobby only knows of one particular network of Hunters through the Roadhouse," he said. "Did you really think there were only about 30 of you trying to protect all of America from the supernatural?"

"Huh," Dean said slowly. "Guess I hadn't given it much thought, actually."

"That makes sense," Sam said, finally joining the conversation again. "Not to mention, we are pretty far out of our normal territory."

"Which brings me to another question," Dean said. "What was Dad doing this far west six years ago?"

/

Stiles groaned as he stretched, popping the vertebrae in his spine before he popped the top on one of the illicit cans of Red Bull he had stashed around his room. He knew he shouldn't be mixing his Adderall with the energy drinks his dad forbade him to have, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He didn't want to call it a night – or morning, he though dryly as he glanced at the clock beside his bed – until he finished piecing together the puzzle. He was so close, he knew it.

"But what does this have to do with my mom?" he said, at loss.

"More than you'd think," came a voice from behind him.

Stiles jumped at the voice, knocking the can of energy drink all over himself and his keyboard, and most certainly not shrieking in terror. And if he did, it was definitely a manly shriek.

"Fuck, Derek, you can't just do that," Stiles said turning to face the broody werewolf climbing in through his bedroom window. "You're going to give me a fucking heart attack one of these days."

He stood from his computer chair and walked over to the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room. Grabbing a shirt from the top of the pile, he crossed back over to his computer and started wiping the Red Bull off of his desk and keyboard.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep mixing your Adderall with energy drinks," Derek said dryly. He sniffed. "Or if you keep popping them like they're Tic-Tacs."

Stiles paused momentarily in his clean up to shoot Derek a glare. "How did you-? No, never mind, I know. It was your stupid wolf-y powers, wasn't it?"

Derek didn't say anything; his face remaining impassive as he stared at Stiles. Stiles snorted and went back to cleaning his keyboard. He managed to mop up most of the beverage and tried a few keys to make sure it still worked. The 'S' key stuck as he typed his name, dragging the letter across the page.

"Aww maaaaaaaaaan," he whined. "Now my keyboard is all sticky."

Derek raised his eyebrow in Stiles' direction and the boy flushed red. "Not that kind of sticky, ohmygod Derek," he choked out. "What are you, like twelve?"

"I didn't say a thing," he said. Stiles could have sworn he saw the corners of Derek's lip twitch, as if fighting back a smile. But he knew better; Derek the Sourwolf never smiled.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek's words. "But what does this have to do with my mom, Derek?"

He tossed the now soaking-wet dirty t-shirt back on to the laundry pile and realized the clothes he was still wearing were wet and sticky from the energy drink. He headed to his dresser and grabbed a fresh pair of pajama bottoms and his favourite Batman t-shirt. It had been washed so many times the fabric had stretched and worn down to threads but Stiles refused to throw it out. It had been one of the last gifts he had gotten from his mom before she died. All this talk about his mom had made him miss her so he sought comfort in the familiar fabric.

There was no answer from the other man, so Stiles turned and motioned for Derek to turn around so he could change into the clean clothes. He wasn't embarrassed about his body; sure he knew he was a little scrawny but he had changed a million times in front of other boys on the lacrosse team and had thought nothing of it. But it was Derek freakin' Hale, who probably had an eight-pack and pecs so defined you could probably count each individual cord of muscle. Derek Hale, who looked enough like a Greek god with his shirt on, Lord only knows what he would look like naked - whoa, where did that come from? Nope, so not dealing with this right now. Swallowing hard, he fought the blush that was once again rising in his cheeks.

Derek still hadn't moved. Instead he looked at Stiles and raised his eyebrow again. Stiles fought to control the slow roil of arousal that had started in his stomach. This is so not the time for, for… whatever this is, he thought. It's probably just all the Adderall. He coughed to clear his throat and made a frantic gesture for Derek to turn around. Derek huffed and turned his back to Stiles, who promptly ripped off his shirt and pants and climbed into his pajama pants while simultaneously trying to cover his bare torso with his t-shirt.

Unfortunately, Stiles wasn't very coordinated trying to put pants on when he only had to focus on the one task; trying to put on a shirt and pants at the same time was not something even the most coordinated person could achieve. Needless to say, Stiles' foot stepped on the hemline of his pants and he hopped around a bit trying to free it as he tried stepping into the other leg before losing his balance and falling to the ground.

In just his boxers.

In front of Derek Hale.

Who turned at the sound of Stiles crashing to the floor and growled impatiently. "Stiles, what are you doing?"

Stiles covered his face with his hands to hide the fact that he was blushing again. Then he realized he was still practically naked and Derek was staring. Right. At. Him.

"Dude!" he screeched, scrambling to pull on his shirt. "Stop. Staring."

Derek growled, but turned away again.

Stiles squeaked and shoved his pajama pants on quickly to try and save what little dignity he had left. For some unknown reason, Derek's constant growling was shooting straight through Stiles' body and pooling in his groin. Great, the last thing I need him to see right now: my erection, he thought, mortified. Although with my luck he can probably smell it.

Stiles groaned as he lay on the floor, finally fully clothed. Seriously, how is this my life? And when did I become attracted to Derek freakin' Hale?

"Stiles. Quit messing around. Tell me what you found," Derek said impatiently.

"No, not until you tell me what this has to do with my mom," Stiles said, sitting up and giving Derek his best 'I'm-a-badass, don't-fuck-with-me' look.

"Stiles." Derek growled again, eyes flashing electric blue. Wow, I'm really going to have to reexamine my life choices, he thought. Because the whole 'seconds-away-from-turning-into-a-giant-wolf' thing shouldn't be that hot.

Stiles let out a theatrical sigh and threw his hands in the air. "Fine," he said. "I'll show you what I've found."

As he dropped his hands and moved to get off the floor, he tried to discretely adjust his boxers to hide his erection. Oh my God, what is my life.

He strode past Derek and plunked himself down in his computer chair. He motioned for Derek to come closer to the computer so he could see what he had found. Stiles brought up the word document where he had typed all of the relevant information up and scrolled down to the last page where he had summarized his findings. (He may be just a high school student with a short attention span and a penchant to relate everything to a Marvel comic scenario, but let it be known that Stiles Stilinski was the master of researching AND of presenting said research in a way that would make many a university professor weep with joy. Mostly because he was practicing for his future research projects in university, but also because even when writing down his research he tended to get a little sidetracked. For instance, if he was to let Derek read all 23 pages of research that Stiles had typed up about omens, Derek would find a short page-and-a-half long dissertation about the movie "Omen" and why, in Stiles' opinion, the 1976 original was far better than the remake. Even though the man who played Sabretooth is in the new one.)

Derek leaned in close over Stiles' shoulder and quickly scanned the page. Stiles stiffened and held his breath at the proximity of the other man. He was close enough that Stiles could hear each soft inhale and exhale as Derek breathed next to him, could smell the faint traces of leather, motor oil and forest that clung to him like a second skin. Stiles didn't move a muscle. Not because he was afraid at how close Derek was to his jugular but because the feeling of arousal in his gut had returned tenfold and he was still trying to process what it all means.

Now is not the time for a big gay freakout, Stilinski, he thought to himself. You've got shit to do.

Derek exhaled loudly as he finished reading the summary and pushed away from the computer desk. "So, what do you think?" he asked as he began silently pacing the room.

Stiles spun in his computer chair and crossed his ankle over his knee to hide his – thank God – disappearing erection, and scrubbed both hands forcefully through his short hair.

"Well, a demon seems like the most likely thing to cause omens," Stiles told the pacing wolf. "And I looked into it, and Beacon Hills has had a number of low-grade demon omens over the past few months. And it explains why Sam and Dean are carrying shotguns and holy water, only it doesn't explain that at all."

Stiles rose from his chair as he hissed at Derek in a whisper.

"Sam is going to be a lawyer. Dean is a mechanic. I have known them for six years, they're not Hunters. They can't be. What the hell is going on, Derek? "

With that, he flopped face first on to his bed. "And what the fuck does this have to do with my mom?"

He flipped over on to his back shoot Derek a look, but it was too late.

Derek was gone.