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"You know I'm surprised we arrived so early. I didn't think we'd make it with all of the traffic coming into town. There was a road block," Sam said when they had settled into the house.
"They said there had been a wild animal attack, but I don't think you set up stops for that," Dean added, exchanging a look with Sam. Stiles went rigid. "Hey, no need to get so uptight about something like that, tiger. You've got us!" Dean laughed. Stiles smiled softly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The Sheriff, meanwhile, furrowed his eyebrows.
"No one was told to set up a road block today. I should let someone know," he said, standing up and moving to the door. "I'm sorry, but I should be back by dinner. You boys can catch up together. Stiles, show them around. Just be back before six." The three glanced at the clock. It was only four. As soon as the Sheriff was out the door, Sam and Dean focused in on Stiles.
"Do you remember what we told you when we were kids? That our dad hunted monsters?" Sam asked.
"Yeah? How could I forget something like that?" Stiles replied.
"Good because that's we do now," Dean said, green eyes flickering over Stiles' face as he tried to gauge his reaction.
"I know," he murmured. "I doubted you guys when I got older, but now..." he trailed off, afraid to give too much information. Dean leaned closer.
"What happened, Stiles? Did you see something? Look, Sam and I aren't just here for a visit. We think there are werewolves out here. Maybe you've seen one, out in the preserve. It would have been similar to a person but with a messed up face and some nasty looking teeth bulging out of its mouth. The whole horror movie image: fur, glowing red maybe yellow eyes." Or blue, Stiles thought. He knew what Dean was describing too well. He knew the flicker of inhuman irises. He recognized those teeth and the sensation of hot breath on his skin as they hovered over his wrist. He knew the sound of a monstrous howl.
"I've never seen anything like that," Stiles huffed, hoping to draw the attention away from werewolves. "There's other things out there though. Pixies, lizard monsters, etcetera."
"Are you telling us the truth, Stiles?" Sam asked. Stiles tried to control his breathing.
"There aren't any wolves in the preserve. There can't be. Not even werewolves," he exclaimed. He was hyperventilating now, feeling as if he couldn't suck enough air into his lungs. Within seconds Sam was on his knees in front of him. "Hey, Stiles, it's okay. Breathe. It's going to be alright. Stiles, I need you to breathe. Breathe in for me, okay? One. Two. Three. Now breathe out. One. Two. Three," he whispered, his large hands lightly grasping Stiles' arms. Dean sat beside the teen, gently rubbing his back. It felt like an eternity, but, eventually, Stiles started breathing regularly again.
"Sorry," he choked out. Dean pulled him into a hug. "I thought you hated chick flick moments," Stiles huffed when he had calmed down.
"This doesn't count," the elder Winchester ground out. Stiles grinned and straightened up.
"It totally counts," he argued, the subject of werewolves forgotten.
Later, the Sheriff walked in to find the three boys (for even Sam and Dean would always be boys to him) in the kitchen. Stiles stood at the sink, peeling potatoes and barking out orders. Sam, meanwhile, had donned a pair of red oven mitts and was crouched in front of the oven, trying to pull out a lasagna. Behind him, Dean was setting the table.
"I thought we were going out tonight?" the Sheriff asked.
"We thought it might be nice for us to have a night in, like when we were kids," Sam piped up as he placed the lasagna on the counter.
"Just us and the lasagna," Dean added.
"We can go out tomorrow night, Dad," Stiles said quietly. The Sheriff glanced at him, finding the Winchesters already hovering over his shoulders.
"Thank you boys for making dinner. It smells delicious," he said instead of the questions going through his mind. "Eating out is overrated. Stiles likes to keep tabs on my diet anyways!" he chuckled. Stiles snorted and he took it as a win. It served to relax Sam and Dean as well as they stepped back and settled around the table. He didn't know what had happened in his absence, but he knew that they were working to smooth it over where he couldn't.
Stiles sat down eventually too, after having mashed and warmed the potatoes. Dinner passed with no small amount of teasing and reminiscing. The conversation got rough only once when Sam managed to let it slip that their father was missing. After a thorough lecture and large set of promises from the Sheriff, they agreed that they would leave the matter alone. As far as they knew, having received a phone call from him a week earlier, John Winchester was safe. It was, however, decided that Sam and Dean would stay through the holidays. They, argued the Sheriff, deserved a normal holiday spent with family. He wouldn't take no for a answer.
After dinner, having washed the dishes and packed away the leftovers, Stiles pulled a set of comforters out of the closet for Dean, who would be sleeping on the couch during their stay. Sam would be sleeping in the guest room (he was too tall and his lower body hung off of the couch when he tried to lay on it), so he stumbled after Stiles up the stairs once Dean was settled.
Once in his room, Stiles fell face first into bed, not even bothering to change his clothes. He was exhausted, but in a pleasant way. His family was all around him in various stages of slumber. He was safe, they were safe, and nothing could change that. Perhaps that sense of security was why he didn't check his phone before he went to bed. That accounts for why he didn't see his missed calls from Derek or the texts from Scott. It might even account for why he didn't see the flash of blue eyes in the corner of his room.