A/N

Hey guys, thanks so much for reading, and the awesome reviews! Here's chapter three! I should probably mention, if it isn't already obvious, that I'm going to be working a lot with dreams in this story. I'm not really sure why, it was just an idea I had, but it's turning out to be really fun. I hope you guys like it too! Anyway, it won't always be like this, but to dispel confusion, the second half of the chapter, (the big italicized section,) is all a dream. The next chapter should be up by next Saturday! As always, review, check out my other stories, and enjoy!

Ch. 3

Communication Breakdown (Part Two)

It didn't take long for Sam to call back.

When he did, Stiles was ready, finger poised over the answer call button like it was a trigger. He answered it lightning fast, and just as quickly put his phone on speaker so he could keep driving.

"Sam?"

"STILES!" Sam said so loudly, Stiles jumped. He winced at the panic laced in it. "Stiles! Thank god you're okay! When you didn't answer my call, I thought I was too late, I thought Dean had-"

"Dean very nearly killed everyone, Sam." Stiles said bitterly. "I don't suppose you'd like to explain why?"

"Ah-" Sam said guiltily, and Stiles imagined what his face looked like. His hair was probably longer. "Yeah, I guess I'd better do that. Well, it's partially my fault... Ok, it's mainly my fault. There was this demon name Abbadon..."

Sam wove his long-winded story of Cain and Crowley and Metatron while Stiles drove in amazement. The highway was beginning to blend into the skyline from Stiles' exhaustion by the time Sam was finished.

"Wow." Stiles said after a moment of dazed silence. "I knew it was an election year, but I didn't know demons were running for office, too."

"This isn't funny, Stiles." Sam's disembodied voice scolded.

"You hear me laughing, Sam?" Stiles retorted. "My pack is scattered around Northern California and I had to trust Crowley to get me out of there alive! Crowley, Sam! The same guy who made Jody choke on her blood right before my eyes! That Crowley! Do you know how insane that is-"

"-the same guy who turned Dean into a demon in the first place!" Sam shouted. "Stiles, what were you thinking-"

"I believe something along the lines of 'OH MY GOD MY BROTHER IS A MURDEROUS DEMON AND I'M NEXT!'" Stiles shouted right back. "I don't know if you're aware of this, Sam, but rationale has a tendency of abandoning you when you're faced with your impending death! At the hands of your own brother, by the way, but I guess you know what you're talking about, because all of this happened because you couldn't keep him locked up!"

"I TRIED!" Sam said. "But when said BROTHER is a supercharged demon who's been studying your weaknesses for your entire LIFE, well, it gets a little DIFFICULT!"

"Well I guess I'm lucky, then." Stiles said scathingly. "Because Dean doesn't know a damn thing about me anymore. Not since he betrayed my trust for the billionth time and let an angel-"

"That's enough." Sam said coldly, and Stiles' tongue wound back into his mouth with the stunning realization that he had gone too far. "Stop and think for a moment, Stiles. Ever consider that Dean wants us to fight? He knows you're mad at me, and he knows that if he got to you before I could warn you, you'd trust me even less. We're possibly the only two people on earth who can take him down. You really want to stay angry?"

Stiles considered the burning pit of fury that settled in his stomach. "Yes." he said reluctantly. "But you have a point. When I told him I didn't answer your call, he was awfully happy."

"He anticipated this." Sam said. "He knows you and me better than anybody else on the planet. He knows it doesn't take much for us to start screaming at each other."

Stiles sighed, a breath that went bone deep and left him empty with worry. "Then what do we do?" he asked. "How do we stop the unstoppable? From what you've told me, he can't be killed. Not with that mark on his arm."

"Let me worry about that." Sam said calmly. "I'm at the bunker, I can do some research. You need to get your pack together, get them all to safety. Dean will be furious that they escaped from him, so furious he'll try to hunt them down and kill them all simply out of spite. You need to keep them safe and bring them together. It'll take all of us to stop Dean."

"I know what you're doing, Sam." Stiles said, but with more exhaustion than anger. "You're hoping I drag this out, so Dean keeps chasing us, buying you time to find a way to save him."

"No, Stiles-"

"It's alright." Stiles said. "I would have done the same thing. Except I'm not willing to gamble my friend's lives." he glanced at his cell phone, at Sam. "Which is why I'm making sure Dean will come after me."

Even 500 miles away from each other, Stiles felt the exact moment Sam realized what he was talking about.

"Stiles-" Sam said, horrified. "Your phone-"

"When Lydia told the pack to run, she probably told them to destroy their cell phones." Stiles interrupted nonchalantly, his eyes zeroing in on the road in front of him. "She probably realized, just as you have, Sam, that it wouldn't take Dean very long to figure out how to trace them. And while that means I can't contact my pack, it also means Dean can't find them."

"You didn't-"

"Of course," Stiles continued, raising his voice over Sam's protests. "I didn't destroy my phone. And since Dean's my brother, he also knows how best to trace it. I believe he's done that to you before."

"Stiles- you idiot-"

"Mine's the only signal he's going to find." Stiles said, uncharacteristically calm. "I am the only lead he has. He'll have no choice but to head to me."

"It isn't too late!" Sam said desperately. "Do you hear me, Stiles? You're probably still in California, you can kill the signal now and go anywhere, any state, disappear off of the face of the earth! Dean will never find you!"

"But he might find Scott." Stiles said sullenly. "Or Lydia, or Malia, or Kevin or Liam, and I can't take that chance. The only way I'll know they're safe is if he comes after me."

"Stiles, this is insane!" Sam said frantically. "This is exactly the kind of kamikaze behavior you warn me about! Dean's going to find you, and he's going to kill you, and then all of your friends are going to die anyway. Sacrificing yourself like some martyr isn't going to help them!"

"I'm not going to sacrifice myself!" Stiles said harshly. "I said I'd lead him to me! I never said I wouldn't fight back!"

"You can't take him on by yourself!" Sam pleaded.

Stiles sighed. "I guess you're right. That's why I'm headed to you."

Silence.

"Sam..." Stiles said evenly. "I'm heading to you. I'm going to buy you time. Have that trap ready when I get there, and then we'll finish this game."

"Stiles-" Sam said dishearteningly, "this is dangerous, even for you. Who says you'll even make it to Lebanon?"

"I do." Stiles said firmly, confidently. "I'm going to make it there, we're going to save Dean, and Sam, then we're going to fix things. You, me, Dean, and Kevin."

"Oh god." Sam said mournfully. "Kevin."

"It's all right, Sam." Stiles said soothingly. "It'll all work out. Let me do my part. You do yours."

"I don't like this." Sam said, his dark tone melding perfectly with the darkening sky. He sighed. "But if you insist on carrying this out, leave your phone on. Keep it with you at all times. Try to stay isolated from the rest of the pack. Don't contact them until it's all over. And above all, keep me updated."

"You got it, Sam!" Stiles said cheerfully, performing a salute his brother could not see. "I'll see you on the other side."

"Goodbye, Stiles. And good luck."

Stiles quickly pulled over to the shoulder of the highway, then hung up. As soon as he did so, his reluctantly creeping smile melted into a look of cold determination. He plucked his phone from the passenger's seat and unbuckled his seatbelt, sliding out of the jeep with ease. Outside, the world was caught between evening and night, a blue mist filling the air as the sun set. The blue light camouflaged the jeep perfectly as Stiles stepped in front of it, bending down and placing his phone in front of the right front wheel. Then, quickly, carefully, Stiles slid back into his car, turning the ignition, hearing the old engine sputter to life, the highway suddenly flooded with yellow light. With a grimace, Stiles shifted the car into drive, and inched forward carefully. With every crunch of glass and metal, Stiles winced, until finally, it ceased. Then, Stiles put the car in reverse and endured it again. And again, and again, until Stiles' phone was reduced to dust. No one, not even Dean, would be able to trace it now.

Stiles collected the dust and scattered it along the shoulder, and then before long he was barreling down the highway at a breakneck pace, completely untraceable.

Okay, so he had lied to Sam. Big deal, Stiles lied to a lot of people. It was why he was so good at what he did. Yes, Stiles wanted to save his pack from the fury of Dean Winchester, or what was left of him, but no, Stiles wasn't naive enough to think he could win a cross-country game of cat and mouse. And he certainly couldn't run to Sam. If Dean escaped from Sam before, then he would do it again, and Stiles barely trusted his brother with his life, let alone his pack's. Could he be playing into Dean's hands? Possibly. But at least like this it would take a little longer to find out. No, Stiles could not run. So he would have to hide.

He also certainly wasn't going to Lebanon. No, that would be way too obvious. He couldn't go to Mystic Falls, either. Although he had a lot of friends there, he also had just as many enemies. Las Vegas was out. It was too close to home, and Danny and Ethan weren't equipped for Dean. He wouldn't put Jody through this ever again. No, there was only one place left for Stiles, the only place in the world where the knowledge of his crimes was safe from Dean: New Orleans.

It wasn't until one hour later that it hit him.

"Oh, SON OF A BITCH!" Stiles groaned, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose in aggravation. So stellar was his untimely revelation, that he swered his car magnificently, and almost drove it over all together. As it was, he pulled over, the same few sentences ricocheting around his head, creating an unpleasant echo of guilt and fear.

"Your little werewolf gang doesn't scare me." Dean said, casting his black eyes around Stiles' pack, invoking more than a few shudders. "Besides, it isn't you I want at all. I'm looking for Sam, the problem is he can be damn hard to find when he wants to be."

Stiles grimaced. "What, you want bait?" he challenged. "You and I both know how bad of an idea it is to use a Winchester as bait. This won't end well for you."

Dean, the demon was looking for Sam. Dean wanted Stiles to get to Sam. That was his so-called reason for bursting into Stiles' home and ruining his life. But Sam hadn't moved since Dean had escaped from him.

Dean was lying. That wasn't much of a surprise.

But why was Dean lying? That was a question that would eat at Stiles' brain for days, or however the hell long it took to end this. Yes, demons lie, but they tell the truth, too, if they think it will mess with you. Being used as bait for Sam? That would mess with Stiles. A lot. Dean knew this. So... if that wasn't the real reason for his return... then what the hell was?

Stiles groaned again, and banged his head against the steering wheel in frustration. Said action accidentally caused the car to honk, but he couldn't care. His brother was a killer demon. His other brother was useless. He was exhausted, beaten, kidnapped, run from his only home in a span of hours, tired, confused, concerned, fearful... and more alone than he had ever felt in his life. Scott and Lydia and Malia and Kevin seemed eons away, unreachable. Stiles needed friends. He needed allies. He needed familiarity. He needed a plan. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

He needed to get some sleep. It would be a long drive tomorrow.

Stiles found a cheap motel and rented a room with the cash he kept in his car for emergencies. (He also had spare changes of clothes, hunting weapons, food, water, toothpaste... What? He was paranoid sometimes.)

He crashed on the bed and hoped for a dreamless sleep.

Naturally, he didn't get his wish.

Maybe it was because he was heading to New Orleans, and dredging up so many old memories. Because Stiles didn't dream about Scott, or Lydia, or anyone else from his current pack. He dreamt about Isaac.

Stiles and Isaac were sitting opposite each other, cross legged on the floor of the vast atrium of the treatment plant. The sun was up, and shining through the blue-tinted windows, making Isaac look mysterious in the periwinkle light. As it was, he looked wrecked, wearing a rumpled suit and carrying scratches and gouges on his face.

"Stiles," Isaac said fearfully, "you have to get me out."

"I know, Isaac."

"No you don't!" Isaac shouted, his fist nearly flying in rage. "You don't know what it's like to be trapped in your body while a 1,000-year-old psycho terrifies everyone around you-"

Isaac stopped, looking at the ground with pure horror, and he slowly tilted his chin up, meeting Stiles with apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry-"

"It's all right, Isaac." Stiles interrupted sagely. "I do understand. You know that. That's why I'm going to save you."

Isaac sniffled, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "You can try." he said sullenly. "I know what will happen next. You'll try, oh, you'll try so hard, but ultimately my imprisonment will become a sacrifice for the fate of the rest of the world."

"What?" Stiles asked, mouth agape. "Isaac, when has that ever happened? I've saved everyone, I've always saved everyone! The only time I couldn't is when-"

"-you couldn't save yourself." Isaac said with bitter tears. "I know. But this is what's going to start to happen, isn't it. There will be one you can't save, because it was truly impossible. There will be the one you can't save, because you weren't there. There will be the one who's not worth saving. And then, then there will be the one you could save, but you didn't. Maybe the rest of the world was in danger. Maybe you have some other excuse. Or maybe you just didn't want to.

"That's not going to happen!" Stiles said with panicked forcefulness. "I will always save who I can. And I've saved everyone!"

Isaac's mouth set into a grim line of disapproval.

"You didn't save me."

The voice came from behind Stiles, and he whirled to face the speaker. And then he stumbled in alarm. There, before him, looking as alive as the last time Stiles ever saw him, was Theo.

"You- you-" Stiles stuttered for a suitable response.

Theo tilted his head to the side, analyzing Stiles, his mouth twitching into the faintest of cocky grins. "Face it, Stiles," he said, "Isaac was right. You didn't save me."

"I- I-" Stiles tried desperately, but his mind went blank with guilt. "I couldn't."

"Okay." Theo said with a shrug. "Sure, whatever. You couldn't. Unless you had, you know, tried harder. I didn't have to die that night, Stiles, if none of the pack had wanted me dead."

"But- you-"

"Deserved it?" Theo finished with a bitter smile. He crossed his arms. "I don't think I did. But maybe I'm just biased. I should have known that you're the authority on who can live and who can die, am I right?" He shot Isaac a sarcastic grin, one that Isaac returned.

"No one deserves to be dragged to their grave by their dead sister, Stiles." Theo said a great deal more seriously. "Even someone who tried as hard to be deserving as myself. I didn't have to kill Josh and Tracey, Stiles. With a little nudging in the right direction, you might have prevented my own self destruction."

"I can't be responsible for that!" Stiles finally snapped angrily, images of Tracey and Josh's crudely abandoned bodies flashing through his mind.

Theo smirked again. "I know, Stiles. And yet, you do feel responsible. You're wracked with guilt. It's why you're having this dream."

Stiles looked down at his twelve-fingered hands and sighed deeply. "I know."

Isaac's smirk mirrored Theo's. "And why you've had this dream before." he said, uncharacteristically smugly. "Almost every night, in fact."

"Two months." Theo whistled. "That's a long time to feel guilty for three dead chimeras."

Stiles ignored him. Instead, he locked eyes with Isaac. "You didn't die." he said sternly. "I saved you."

"Did you?" Isaac asked. "Well, that's news to me. If I recall correctly, Matt saved me. You were too busy on your own crazy-train. Well, my mistake. I blame uncorrectable mental trauma for not thanking you properly."

"You know, maybe it wasn't Tracey's death." Theo mused behind them, completely unaware of their conversation. "Or Josh's. Maybe you feel so guilty for letting everything get out of hand, for having the beast kill hundreds of innocent people and not realizing that it's human form was right under your nose the whole time. Maybe you feel guilty for going back on my offer to work with you, instead going to Scott and making him hate me even more. Maybe you realize that if we had worked together, we might have ended everything sooner, and saved the lives of countless civilians, not to mention Tracey, Josh, and..." Theo looked down at his own body, which was suddenly covered in dirt. "Me."

Stiles childishly slapped his hands over his ears. "I realize." he said through gritted teeth, even though his heart hurt to do so.

Theo shot Isaac an amused glance. "See? Told you I could do it."

Isaac grimaced. "Whatever." he looked at Stiles' heartbroken form with no sympathy.

"I'm sorry." Stiles said weakly, not looking at Theo or Isaac, but speaking to both of them.

Theo sighed. "You've had this dream a hundred times, Stiles, and a hundred times I've told you that it's worthless to apologize. But today, I might just change my mind."

Stiles looked up from the floor in surprise. "Why?"

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Recent events have caused us to rethink things." he drawled. "So we've decided that we're better off teaching you a lesson instead of beating you down."

Stiles blinked. "What?"

"You can't keep doing this, Stiles." Theo said, joining Isaac cross legged on the floor. Together, they sat across from Stiles, staring him down. "You can't keep thinking everything that happens to your friends is your fault."

Stiles blinked again, twice, confused. "You guys have made it pretty clear that what happened to you is my fault."

Isaac laughed, harshly. "Stiles, you didn't make me leave Beacon Hills, you didn't make me head to New Orleans."

Theo chuckled. "From what I can tell, now you've left Beacon Hills and are headed to New Orleans." His gaze turned a little more serious. "But you also didn't make me kill my sister, and set everything in motion."

"You certainly didn't make Kol Mikaelson possess me." Isaac chirped.

"And while it's true you weren't there when Kira dragged me six feet under," Theo continued, "how the hell could you have known?"

Stiles lowered his eyes to the floor in shame.

"Here's the thing, Stiles." Isaac said. "You have to stop doing this. You have to stop feeling guilty for things that are so obviously out of your control."

"You do that," Theo said. "And you'll start breaking your back solving problems that aren't yours."

"Leaving less time for the people you care about." Isaac continued. "And less time for when they get into trouble."

"Leaving you with less energy, less solutions, and a whole lot more guilt." Theo said with a grim frown.

"Which means you'll do something drastic." Isaac said grimly. "And in your world, drastic tends to mean catastrophic."

"And a whole lot more people will get hurt." Theo said forebodingly. "And the cycle starts again."

Stiles nodded, and took a deep breath. "And then what?" he asked, with all the dread in the world.

Theo and Isaac looked at each other. Theo nodded. "And then," Isaac said, "and then you're no better than Dean."

Stiles looked up sharply, surprised. "I- that can't happen!"

"But it will." Theo said. "Or at the very least, you're concerned it will."

Stiles shook his head. "Dean was-"

"Dean was just trying to save his brother." Isaac snapped. "And look at you, running across the country to save your friends. Are you willing to risk everything, Stiles? Because if you are, everything doesn't just mean your life. It means theirs."

"You're headed to New Orleans." Theo mused. "Ready for it to become a mass grave?"

"You're foolish to think Dean can't track you." Isaac said with a gleam in his eyes. "Ready for me to become dead for real?"

"That's not going to happen!" Stiles said angrily, his guilty haze snapping.

"Why?" Theo challenged with a simperingly mocking grin. "Because you'll stop him? You?"

"YES!" Stiles shouted, standing up in rage, glowering down at the smugly sitting Isaac and Theo. "Yes! Me and my pack, we'll stop him! Or has your untimely death made you forget that they're perfectly capable and can fend for themselves?!"

Theo grinned, ear to ear in pure, unsettling joy, and Isaac mirrored him perfectly. Together, they stood, slowly, languidly, dusting themselves off with smugness, clearly pleased with themselves.

"Well, would you look at that." Isaac said.

"I haven't forgotten that, Stiles." Theo said with a wicked grin. "But it would do you well to remember that. Your pack can protect themselves. Remember that the next time you're looking to carry the world on your shoulders." He and Isaac turned toward the wide double doors of the treatment plant, and began walking, their footsteps casting light blue shadows, but before long, Theo turned back, almost as an afterthought.

"One more thing, Stiles." he said deviously. "I believe today was the day you found out I'm not dead after all."

"Goodbye, Stiles." Isaac said to the dumbstruck hunter. "I suspect both of us will be seeing you very soon."

Stiles woke up in his motel room on the side of the road in an unknown town in a yet-to-be determined state. It was still dark out, but he didn't care. He got into his car and drove.