"Where's your brother, Dean?"

"Bite me, Gordon."

The hunter smiled. He always liked the fire that coursed through each of the Winchesters, only this time that fire was corrupted and poison in Sammy's veins. He had to prevent Sam from becoming what he was meant to be, and if he had to cause Dean pain to do it, he would. He motioned for Dean to step backwards then turned to Allison, "you too Argent."

The hesitant outrage that sparked in Dean's eyes frightened Allison. She knew he was prone to violent outbursts—and she didn't think Dean would actually hurt her—but having that ire focused on her was unnerving nonetheless.

"You knew he was in town?" he demanded. "And you didn't tell us?"

"Relax, Dean. She thought her old man would be able to slow me down long enough to finish your little hunt." Walker was close enough to Dean that if he were to fire, almost all of the buckshot would find some part of Dean to tear through, and if he were unlucky, any stray shards would find the girl. "Now, tell me where little Sammy is."

Dean was saved from answering by Kansas, but that in turn did nothing to save Sam. Gordon's black eyes followed the sound to Dean's jacket pocket. All three hunters let it ring twice before Gordon motioned to the phone with his gun.

Dean could see by Allison's posture she had an idea, some stupid notion that she was going to warn the others about the man holding them hostage. While digging the ringing device out of his leather pocket, he caught her gaze, wide-eyed. Trying not to tip of Gordon, he shook his head and was relieved when she uncoiled slightly.

"Dean," his brother was yelling on the other line. Even holding the phone up to his ear, Gordon and Allison could hear the Winchester's every word.

Dean cut off his brother before he could say anything more, "Sam, we just finished up with our first cemetery, and let me tell you, it's one funky town." He had long ago perfected hiding his emotions, it being one requirement of the job, and so when Dean answered the phone, he sounded like the same light-hearted Dean Winchester.

Sam hesitated for only a second. "Well you can stop your search 'cause we found her." One of the teenagers in Sam's party howled, but it could have been a really angry Stiles for all Dean knew.

"What? Where?"

"Marstonsville."

Gordon grinned victoriously. He motioned for Dean to hang up the phone, and after a quick goodbye and reassurance that they'd be joining him soon, Dean did as he was told. Gordon kept pressing the two back towards his scrap metal car. As soon as they were practically resting on the beat up, peeling paint, Gordon replaced his shotgun with a standard pistol, resuming his aim on the older hunter. "We're going to take a little trip to Marstonsville Cemetery. Get in the car."

Dean tried to keep his eyes on the road, but having a gun pressed up against his neck was fairly distracting and Allison would not sit still, which he saw out of the corner of his eyes. Gordon crouched in the back of his own car, watching carefully the road signs that stretched past in the dark. He had to make sure Dean was going the right way, which Dean had debated before deciding that Allison's life was not worth the risk.

"So, Gordy," Dean grinned. "I know me and Sam ain't exactly your favorite people, but don't you think this is a little extreme?"

Gordon's eyes traced the words 'Marstonsville, ten miles,' before answering in his usual slimy manner, "Like I told your little friend here. This isn't revenge."

"Well we did leave you tied up in your own mess for three days," Dean chuckled, though it wasn't as light as he would normally laugh. He was too close to Marstonsville to feel really like laughing. He tried still. "Which was awesome. Sorry, I shouldn't laugh."

Gordon cracked a smile beside himself. "Yeah, I was definitely planning on whuppin' your ass for that." He paused again, searching for the sign for the local church and burial ground. "But that's not what this is. I'm a hunter, Dean, and Sammy's fair game."

~.~

Scott landed uncomfortably next to Stiles, who was undoubtedly glad his very solid best friend hadn't come down directly on top of him and was vocally grumbling about having already done this fight before. Scott had to agree with the unfairness of it , but nevertheless, he growled—already, as Stiles loved to put it, "wolfed out"—and charged the bloody phantom. No matter if he struck with his supernatural claws or simply tried to punch with his closed fists, Scott continued to fall through the ghost till it grew annoyed with his attacks and sent him on his way. He probably would have been more of a nuisance if he hadn't lost his iron blade in the first few minutes after the ghost had appeared. The rusty knife had gone flying off into the blue yonder and only Stiles and Sam were the only ones left with a weapon.

Stiles swung full force with his bat. Under normal circumstances, a baseball bat wouldn't do much in the way of killing the undead, but they had fiddled with Stiles's favorite weapon and covered it with a thick salt lining. It still didn't mean he could land a blow on the ghostly woman. Sam took the blunt of the hit, who had been behind the ghost at the time Stiles had swung, but he managed to rip the object out of the kid's hand.

Both went flying and landed next to Scott.

"Why don't you just die!" Stiles yelled. A soaring rock crashed next to him in answer.

Sam, Scott, and Stiles scrambled behind a mausoleum, one different from the one that they needed to get into to incinerate the remains. The ghost of Elizabeth Queen never moved from the entrance to her tomb, so their little reprieve went undisturbed. The hunter took the time to dig out his phone.

"Dean," Sam yelled as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Stiles and Scott glanced at him curiously when his brow furrowed worriedly. "Well you can stop your search 'cause we found her…Marstonsville." He disconnected the call. "Dean's in trouble. Someone's got a gun on him."

"How do you know?"

Sam was busy staring at his phone's screen to monitor what he was about to admit to. "He said a code word: Funky town." He paused and groaned. "Well, he thought of it. It's kind of a…long story. I... Look never mind; we need to distract her," Sam breathed out. "We need to get into that mausoleum."

"How?" Scott snatched up his friend's bat and handed it to its owner. "She's not even interested in chasing us away."

"I don't know. Do something. Distract her, I'll burn the bones."

Stiles palmed the bat and grinned. "Distract her. I can do that." He dashed out from their hiding place and waved his arms over his head, yelling at the top of his lungs. The ghost flickered uninterestedly, at least until her form comprehended the words he was shouting.

"I had this girlfriend once, well it was more like three. And polygamy? It's like heaven on earth."

His friends stared at him confusedly, but eventually they caught on when the ghost grew more corporeal than not. The rosy blood that glowed from her silk dress deepened into a more life-like crimson, her hair a more dirty gold.

"Her reason for being here," Sam whispered.

Scott jumped in behind his best friend and tossed him out of the way before tangible hands could thrust themselves through Stiles's chest. They stared at each other for a second then started yelling and moving from place to place.

Sam waited until they had baited the apparition far enough away from the crypt doors that he could stand comfortably before them. Decorated iron doors creaked as they opened, but other than the initial resistance of age, the stuffy charnel house was the same as any catacomb he had been in. The marble coffin rested in the center of the tomb, leaving little room to move in between the enclosing walls and the extravagant ridge placed on top.

Sam slipped his backpack off, letting it topple onto the floor. In previous times, he and his brother would take off the cover together, often Dean making jokes about mummies and 'those fancy coffins with faces and animal jars they stuff their mummy guts in.' In ideal circumstances, the brothers would take their time in sautéing the bones in lighter fluid then competing with each other as to who could throw the match and actually catch the fumes with the flame.

He remembered one time Dean had sauntered into the crypt with his leather jacket, trying to emanate dad, and had full blown Sparta-kicked the top to the coffin intending to knock it off entirely. Needless to say the next few weeks he was forced to walk around in a boot as more than one bone in his foot broke under the strain of hitting the marble.

This time, Sam took care to slide the ton of stone off the tomb. He was prepared for the smell, so when the fumes of the toxic, decomposing bones reached his nose, he barely flinched instead of retching. Not much was left of the adornments that had covered the corpse. Little scraps of black cloth still stretched over the tawny bones, and the hair and nails in the coffin was gray and powdered among the decomposing soil. It took a few seconds to dowse the bones in the three bottles of kerosene and a full pounds worth of salt—they had decided that one of each wouldn't be enough to ensure there wasn't a piece of her left.

Sam was about to light the bones up when a force threw him against the wall. He cracked his head hard on the stone surface, hard enough to force him to drop the packet of matches. He couldn't see the ghost, but the fact the two teenage boys appeared in the crypt was enough to prove she was no longer bothered by their taunts.

With less than a thought to actually what he was doing, Sam had taken what was left in the bag of salt and showered it across the small sepulcher room. Salt rained from the corners, and a packet of matches, fully on fire ignited the fumes rising from the grave.

~.~

"So this is how it's supposed to be like?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah, pretty much."

With the ghost now definitely, permanently destroyed, Sam, Scott, and Stiles made their way through the patched grass and raven stones. Now that the horror movie-like reality was over, the cemetery returned to its normal, creepy type atmosphere. There were still very few lights and the smoke grey clouds swiftly covered most of the visible stars, but Stiles no longer felt that urge to write his own obituary. What he did notice was the slight nagging in his throat in place of his own demise.

Stiles hesitated in his step, fixing it quickly when he stumbled over the uneven terrain. "Didn't you say Dean was in trouble?"

Sam's smile fell from its somewhat happy expression. "Yeah, I know." He had taken out his phone, watching the screen blankly. Since Sam's initial call to tell Dean they had found the ghost, there had been no attempt to contact them by the older Winchester, which under the circumstances and Dean's choice of words was worrisome.

"Maybe it was a mistake?" Scott proposed. "He may have just said it by accident."

Stiles scoffed at his friend, the same tone he would use when telling a two-year old they were wrong. "How many people do you know that use 'funky town' on a regular basis?"

Sam intervened before the two could continue their usual banter. "There's no way he'd use the code word. Dean knows what it means." He stopped just before the jeep, leaning against the hood as he sighed.

"Right you are, Sammy," a voice called from the shadows in the road. Distantly, small lights echoed off of the sleek, black paint of the impala, three human shaped figures becoming a mirage to the side. One shadow was thicker and more bulky than the thinner, more shapely and feminine to the right. The closer Sam inspected, the starker the image of three people became.

Allison stepped into the street light first, her hands stretch out straight, her arms in a V-shape to show she wasn't going to try anything. The moment her facial expressions were distinguishable from the rest of her obscured form, she proved Dean hadn't made a mistake. The young hunter wasn't terrified, but she was pissed and alarmed. Her crossbow was nowhere on her person, her kunai knives gone from their sheath at her hip.

The second to appear was Dean, but he was far from as free as Allison. His hands were trussed in front of him with course ropes, and his plaid over-shirt bunched at the nape of his neck, suggesting there was something, or someone, holding the fabric so as to prevent the hunter from moving too far away. They made their way one step at a time

Gordon uses Dean as a human shield. He forces Dean forward, whose hands are tied with rope. Allison is in his sights of his Zastava. Stiles and Scott almost rush to the hostages, but Gordon says I'd stay where you are, if I were you. They stop, and Sam seems frozen.

"See, I was doing an exorcism down in Louisiana. Teenage girl, seemed routine, some low-level demon. But between all the jabbering and head-spinning, the damn thing muttered something. About a coming war. And I don't think it meant to, it just kind of slipped out. But it was too late. Piqued my interest. And you can really make a demon talk, if you got the right tools."

"What happened to the girl? The one being possessed?" Scott demanded.

The hunter looked at the alpha straightly. "She didn't make it," he admitted apathetically.

Dean shook his head in disgust, at least as much as he could as Gordon still had a forceful grip on the back of his shirt. "Well, you're a son of a bitch."

It took a moment for Gordon to move. He stared at his captive slightly, as if deciding how to react, then he struck the back of Dean's head with his other hand. Dean ground his teeth together, his knees buckling momentarily, before he regained his control and chuckled darkly.

"That's my momma you're talking about."

Sam was frozen through this whole ordeal, the same with Scott and Stiles. The same worry for a different person was all either could think about, and it was slowly cutting away at their veins. Sam, obviously was worried about his brother, who at the moment was the only thing stopping Sam from tearing the wicked hunter apart. Scott kept his eyes on Allison, and although he was worried for Dean's and Sam's safety, he wanted Allison away from any potential fight. Stiles's mind was far away from the San Margetta graveyard. Allison and Dean had come under duress, but neither of them had even mentioned his father.

"Where's my dad?" he demanded.

Gordon continued like the sheriff's son hadn't even spoke. "Anyway, this demon tells me there are soldiers to fight in this coming war. Humans, fighting on hell's side. You believe that? I mean they're psychics, so they're not exactly pure humans, but still." His gaze never once moved away from Sam's face, even as Dean struggled against his grip. "What kind of worthless scumbag have you got to be to turn against your own race? But you know the biggest kick in the ass? This demon said I knew one of them."

All eyes slowly turned to where Sam was rooted to the ground, knuckles white, mouth set in a scowl.

"Our very own Sammy Winchester. I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this, but for what it's worth, it'll be quick."

Gordon finally made the mistake, and Dean had had enough of the bastard threatening his brother's life. The hunter began to move his gun to aim at Sam, and in the motion, Dean drove his elbow deep into Gordon's gut.

With an opening in sight, all hell broke loose, figuratively. Sam charged just as Gordon retaliated and drove the butt of the pistol into the nape of Dean's neck. Allison and Scott fought to get closer to the struggling hunters, the alpha intent on forcing his ex-girlfriend away from the fight while the former wanted to help. Neither won, as the two teens lost solid footing and managed to trip Stiles on the way down. But neither Sam nor Dean really noticed what the Beacon Hills inhabitants were doing.

Blood seeped out of the youngest Winchester's mouth from a tooth knocked loose, but he barely noticed the pain. He held tightly onto the hand still grasping the gun, but there were too many appendages to make sense of what and who Sam was attacking. But it didn't matter as the deadly alloy somehow moved from Gordon Walker's hand to Sam's own, and Dean was knocked to Scott's and Stiles's feet.

Gordon, seeing the tables turned, focused on Dean, who had scrambled to his feet. He kept away from his brother and the other hunter, much like how Sam had reacted when Dean had held Argent in the sight of his own firearm. Sam's hand gripped and re-gripped the handle, one on top of the other.

Stiles had known that the brothers killed things on a regular basis, and they've dealt with death more than even the Beacon Hills inhabitants. There was bound to be some sort of resounding effect and anger that lingered in the back of their minds, a blurred feeling of whether there's a difference between killing the undead and demonic monsters and killing the living. Looking at Sam and his shaking hands, Stiles saw the battle between hesitation and hatred.

Gordon, seeing there was no way in hell he could reason with Sam, turned to Dean, who was hovering just out of the line of fire. His hands were still tied with the coarse rope, but he nevertheless tried to use them to stop his baby brother.

"You can't see it yet, Dean," Gordon rushed, "but it's his destiny. I get it: he's your brother, you love the guy. This has got to hurt like hell for you—"

"Shut up," Sam hissed. He stepped closer.

"—but your dad? If it really came right down to it, he would have had the stones to do the right thing."

"Shut up!" The gun shook violently and uncontrollably in his hand. Sam was a foot from the other hunter now, the gun practically between his ebony eyes. Gordon was nervous now, shifting minutely from one foot to the other. His eyes crossed to stare at the weapon.

"You wouldn't shoot me, would you, Sammy? Because your brother, he thinks you're some kind of saint. I bet these kids feel the same way."

"Yeah? I wouldn't be so sure."

"Stop!" Scott probably wanted to jump between the two men, but the distance was too short so he settled for placing himself in Sam's sights. "We don't kill people."

Stiles moved similarly, only to the left of the hunter rather than the right. "Even if they deserve it."

Gordon's eyes traced every moment but always fell back to the gun pointed at his head. "You're no better than the things you hunt. Do it. Do it! Show your brother the killer you really are, Sammy!"

Dean didn't know what his brother would do. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he wanted his brother to do. Dean wanted to kill the man who tried to kill Sammy, but killing someone who wasn't evil—in the supernatural sense—was different and possibly the one push that would turn Sam into what their father feared.

In a second, Sam had made his decision. He crossed the last of the distance between him and Gordon, and struck the butt of the pistol brutally against the hunter's head. "It's Sam," he growled.

Any and every awkward conversation that would have followed was prevented by the arrival of blaring sirens and a flashing police car. Luckily, one was by far the closest and the friendliest. The sheriff's car sped past the scene of the confrontation and parked in the shade of the cemetery to anyone would really have to look for the jeep to actually see it. With the engine still running and barely having put it in park, the sheriff of Beacon Hills dropped out of the jeep. Relief was evident on his face when he saw the kids were all unharmed, although it turned to anger and an unidentifiable emotion when he saw the crumpled form.

"Please tell me—"

"He's not dead," finished Stiles hurriedly.

The sheriff nodded. "Good," he sighed. He stepped behind the large group, resting one hand on Allison's shoulder and urged the frozen girl to begin moving back into the cemetery. "But right now, we need to move. Go."

"What—m"

"Not now," the sheriff urged. He grabbed his son's arm and dragged him to where the bright blue jeep rested on the grass. At any other time, Stilinski would have criticized the pathetic parking job and how careless it was, but with an army of police cars, that was not the right time.

Dean followed similarly, Sam trailing behind him, and already had the Impala's engine humming before his brother had even touched the passenger side's handle. The shifting of locations took less than a minute, terminating the engines and any electronic light just as four blue and white patrols spun into the miniature parking lot, which was closer to a square cut road.

Dean's eyes never left the eight police officers as they prepared to do a search of the area as he said, "Dude, if you ever take off like that again…"

Sam cracked a sideways grin, "What? You'll kill me?"

"That is so not funny," groaned the elder Winchester. But even he couldn't keep away the grin when he saw one of the officers preform a search of the abandoned vehicle belonging to a one Gordon Walker. Among the random searching, the secret storage of bloody weapons, linking the hunter to dozens of murders, was slid from its hiding spot behind the driver's side seat. The three officers who had wandered into the graveyard returned with aforementioned hunter in handcuffs and a nasty, bleeding cut above his eye.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Alright, very sorry for how short this is, but I'm slowly losing inspiration: seeping out of my head while other stories sneak in the back door.

The comments really help though and as answer to one of the reviews, I did mean to put some of the nogitsune and evil Stiles in the story, but I forgot till it was a little late to randomly throw in the chapters. I did mention it and reference it if you read carefully, but Kira is not one of my favorite characters.

If you want me to continue it with the Winchesters aiding for a chapter I will, but without further ado: the penultimate chapter.

Also for ideas for stories, if any of these sound goo, give me a shout

Batman and Arrow

Assassin's Creed and X-Over -Ranger's Apprentice, Arrow, Young Justice, or Chuck

Daredevil (Netflix) and Arrow

Throw any ideas together that sound good