Author's Note: Thanks again for all your kind words! I'm glad you all are enjoying this crossover as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

"You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore."

― William Faulkner

When Lydia opens her eyes, she's standing in the middle of a field, dirt crunching under her shoes. The grass blows gently in the night breeze. The moon above her glows brightly, but she can't make out any stars.

She's in the middle of nowhere, it seems. But at least, she's safe.

Castiel sinks to his knees, his breath coming in pants.

"Hey," Lydia places hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." He assures her, though his voice is weak and it makes her more worried than reassured. He rises shakily from the ground, swaying a bit as he grits his teeth from some unnamed pain.

"Okay," She lies, and then taking in her surroundings, she frowns. She doesn't recognize this area, doesn't know far she is from the bar or Beacon Hills. "We just need to get walking."

"To where?" He asks, coming to stand by her side.

Lydia smirks, "Forward, I guess."

And that's when she starts walking.

"So," Scott's mind is reeling, unsure of whether he can fully process this information. He faces the two hunters seated at the coffee table, his arms crossed against his chest as he leans against the wall. "Run this by me again?"

Dean sighs as he glances at his brother's pale figure. Sam has seemed to have gotten worse since the duo arrived at the house. His forehead is beaded with sweat, his hair clinging to it and his eyes are glassy and unfocused. The man is sick, no one could deny that.

But Scott can sense that this more than a simple case of influenza. There's something about this illness that the hunters aren't disclosing. Something supernatural maybe?

"Crowley is the King of Hell." Dean repeats, voice weary.

Alison shakes her head in disbelief.

"A demon?" She asks and Sam nods his head, "Right, okay, because we haven't face enough weird stuff." She huffs out a laugh, more cynical than calming.

"And he took Lydia because she's a key to open the vault to get to this mystical weapon." Stiles is up and pacing the length of the floor, a hand running through his hair. He's processing every detail in his mind, trying to come up with the solution that will save the strawberry blonde that he cares so deeply for.

"A weapon that will destroy anything and anyone that opposes Crowley." Dean completes.

"Though we don't know exactly what the weapon looks like or how it functions." Sam adds in a breathy voice. His cheeks are almost burnt in color, an awful maroon shade.

"But we do know that Crowley knows where the weapon is and he knows how to activate it." The eldest Winchester answers.

"Great." Scott sighs. "So, we really know next to nothing."

Alison comes to her former boyfriend's side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"And we should trust you two?" The huntress poses the question to the men. She doesn't know the Winchesters. They are the kind of hunters she's worked with before, that she's trained with. They are wild, unfocused, but from what she can make out, they are highly skilled and they know their lore. They do know a lot more than she's ever been told. Hell, Heaven and angels? Who knows that they existed? It is crazy to think about actually how little she really knows about the world.

Dean smiles a self-assured smirk, chuckling darkly, "Do you really have a choice?"

"Dean," Sam admonishes. Then, he turns his gaze to the teenagers in the room. "Look, you have every right not to trust us—"

"No, really?" Stiles interrupts sarcastically.

"But at this point, it really wouldn't hurt you, right? Your friend, Lydia, she's still out there—"

There's a knocking at the front door.

Instantly all conversation dies down and Alison motions for silence, placing a finger against her lip. She reaches for her blade and Scott nods at her, claws descending. Together, they move towards the front door.

"One." Alison mouths and Scott nods his head.

"Two."

They open the door on three, ready to maim whatever enemy is there. Except, it's not an enemy.

"Lydia?" Alison calls out, hesitant, unsure if her eyes are playing tricks on her.

But no, her best friend is standing there, her eyes tearing up, a brilliant smile spreading across her peach lips.

"Lydia!" Alison shouts now, dropping the blade and embracing her friend in a hug.

"Alison!" Lydia is crying now, the two girls practically jumping up and down from the sheer joy and relief at seeing each other.

"Cas?" Dean calls and the man in the rumpled trench coat standing behind Lydia waves sheepishly.

"We escaped." He states the obvious and Dean chuckles.

"Come inside." Scott takes charge, ushering everyone back to the kitchen.

"Lydia?" Stiles can hardly believe she's okay. Yet here she is, standing before him, as radiant as ever.

"Hey." She grins at him, warm and bright and it's like his lungs learned how to breathe again because she's alive and she's safe.

And before he knows it, he's taking her into his arms and holding her tight enough to reassure him that she's okay.

"I almost lost you." He whispers, her head coming to rest upon his shoulder.

"I know." She replies softly. "I'm okay, Stiles."

When she breaks away from his embrace and moves back to speak with Alison, he tries not to let the disappointment on his face show. His arms feel so cold without her, so empty. Yet, the important thing for him to keep in mind is that she is alive and safe.

That's all that really matters.

The Winchesters are talking to the man in the trench coat, voices low and faces drawn. Whatever the man is relaying to the two hunters isn't putting their mind at ease. If anything, it's worrying them more.

"Stiles?" Lydia calls softly and he meets her gaze.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry." She takes his hand in hers, holding it tightly.

But he can't help but worry because it's Lydia.

But it's also because he knows that whatever is going on, it isn't over. Not by a long shot.

It's only just beginning.

"Sir?"

Crowley glances up from the volume of medieval texts and meets the gaze of the young woman standing in the doorway. She holds a report in her hand and he grins upon seeing it.

"You have more news concerning the weapon?" He ventures a guess and the woman grins.

"I've got much more than that, Your Majesty." She enters the room and hands him the report. He opens it and scans the first few pages.

"Well, well," He chuckles lightly. "You figured out the third key."

"Indeed, Sire." She chirps.

"Good work." He commends her and she bows before hastily making an exit.

The blood of a banshee, an angel, and an alpha werewolf—how perfect! And really, how convenient. By letting the banshee and the angel go, they surely will lead him to the werewolf pack in Beacon Hills.

It's killing two bird with one stone.

He really does love being efficient.

And in no time at all, he'll be able to make his move.

Author's Note: Next chapter, Stiles/Lydia fluff, pack bonding and sick!Sammy! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!