Chapter Text
Darkness painted the town, a silent rain falling silently to the ground, the passing if cars every so often the only sound for miles, not that anyone was listening at such an hour. Two Hunters, brothers, and an Angel lay in wait for morning in a crappy roadside motel, far from where they had been mere hours before taking on a pack of Wolves. Werewolves, to be specific.
The Angel remained in his chosen spot, watching over the elder brother, his charge, and his love, as he always promised he would on the few occasions they didn't share a bed, despite the fact he didn't need sleep as his Human friends did. The elder brother in question was content in his sleep, chest rising and falling rythmically, light snores rumbling against the pillow his face was half buried in.
The younger however, appeared to be restless, tossing and turning, lip bleeding under the pressure of the teeth that had taken it hostage in his sleep. He was in fact in the throws of a horrendous nightmare, flames and screams that did not belong to him plagued his mind. The guardian had noticed of course, though it was not unusual for the brothers to be overrun by their sleep induced fantasies, and he chose to merely observe rather than interfere.
In what the younger brother believed to be real, he could tell an evil was present. It was overwhelming him, forcing his brain to press against his skull and bringing him to his knees, surrounded by the pile of blazing brick and wood. This darkness, this evil, he noticed, it was familiar, something he had felt within him once before, yet it was foreign to him, as though he were catching the eyes of a stranger and seeing someone he once had known in their eyes.
The flames and their smoke reached out and clenched his lungs in their fist, the rest of his body following to the floor, pinning him there. He looked up and there stood a figure. Whoever, or whatever it was, had a twisted, psychotic smile, teeth like glass, one purple and ink black eye visible from underneath its bandage wrapped head. It walked through the dancing flames like the heat would not dare to sieze its corpse like body.
A sickening, eerie creak sounded like an alarm over the fires when the creature bent to hold the youngers head in his hand. A flash of a sign in his mind, pulsing as though he were drugged. A signature Sherrifs star badge melting under the heat. Torn pages of a book turning to ash and scattering on the floor, was that a sigil?
The creature forced his head upward and chuckled, a sound that shook his bones. The creature leant in, its vile breath against his ear. "Chaos." A bandaged hand wrapped around his throat and clamping down. "Has come again."
"SAM!" The name brought him into the land of the conscious and he shot up from his matress, the gun he kept under his pillow raised and ready to fire, sweat coating his skin, his mind a mess as it tried to process all that had happened. "Put. The gun. Down."
He blinked twice and ran his hands over his face, his chest moving at the rapid speed that could barely keep up with his pounding heart. "C-cas?" He stuttered out in confusion. "W-what...I-I..." he couldn't even complete a sentence when his brain throbbed and his body spasmed, sending him falling onto the floor.
"SAM!" Castiel ran to him and pulled his friends head onto his lap. "Sam, what's wrong?" He pressed two of his fingers to the younger Winchesters head and tried to ease his Grace to heal him, but something there, something impure, smacked his power away. He did his best to hold the younger brother in place, knowing his boyfriend had been forced into sleep by his Grace not two hours prior, and nothing would wake him.
Sam eventually gained control of his body, though his mind was still realing from the, in lamest terms, movie montage that had just played in his brain. His entire body ached, his chest heaving. He held onto Castiel and grit his teeth, he wasn't able to stand yet.
"Sam I...I can't heal you. What..what was that?" Castiel asked him in a pained confusion.
"N-nothing...nothing good." Was all he could provide as an answer. He could remember something faint, something familiar about this situation, but his mind was too screwed up to place it right now. "I...it...Cas, something is going on. I-it's bad. It's bad Cas, w-we need to-" he tried to stand and cringed in agony, falling weakly back into the Angel of the Lord's arms.
"Sam, I think we should wake Dean. Whatever that was, perhaps we can find out at the Bunker."
He shook his head. "I have a better idea." He gestured to his phone and albeit reluctantly, Castiel left his side to retrieve it. "There's someone we might know who could help." He began flicking through his contact list and Castiel sent a silent prayer to his brothers and sisters that he would not have to deal with- "Crowley hey, I need a favour, information." The Angel sighed and once more, silently, sent up a prayer to his brothers and sisters, though this one was far more vulgar than the one prior.
The Demon King himself made an appearance not seconds later, and with a smug but silent smile, helped hoist the Winchester up from the floor, and practically dumping him on the empty bed. He turned to find the older, his preferred Winchester after the Deanmon incident, out cold, and unmoving in his presence. "I was rather hoping to be greeted by his patented scowl." He turned to face the two conscious entities in the room, and threw a thumb to the unconscious one. "What is he on?"
"Angel Grace, and no you can't have any for your...excursions." Castiel told him before he could ask, flourishing his trenchcoat and taking a seat back in his self proclaimed chair. "Something has happened with Sam."
"Ah yes, why did you call me here Moose?" The King asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What has occured in my absence that you so desperately need my help with?"
"Remember when Lucifer went on a field trip and let babies drink his blood, so he could find the 'perfect one' for his plan to break out of Hell?"
"Ah yes, that master plan. The one you and squirrel put a stop to. What about it?"
"Do you have any idea if someone down there is trying to...I don't know, maybe take another shot at it?" Sam asked, hoping he was simply grasping at straws and that his nightmare had been just that, a nightmare, a pool of fiction that his screwed up mind came up with to torture him in his sleep.
Crowley hummed thoughtfully. "Not that I'm aware of, all my Demons seem to have been rather complacent. Why? Something going on in that head of yours Moose?" Sam grit his teeth and Crowley chuckled. "I can see the wheels turning. So I'll ask again shall I? What. Happened?"
Sam sighed. "I had a nightmare. But it wasn't...it wasn't just a nightmare, not a normal one. It felt more like...like a premonition." He held the s
Kheets tightly between his fists. The time in his life where his premonitions were regular had long ago been pushed to the back of his mind. It had been a different time. Almost a simpler one in fact. But what followed suite had been far more unpleasant, and they were not memories he liked to visit let alone dwell on.
He looked up to gauge their reactions and they were about what he was expecting. Castiel was fearful, frozen in place, Crowley just the same, though his expression also revealed his blunt curiosity. "Are you sure that's what it was?" They asked simultaneously.
He nodded. He could remember the feeling, and the flashes in his mi-oh crap! He leapt from the bed. "We need to go. Now. Right now." He began pulling on his jeans and mentally forming a plan.
"Go where, Sam?" Castiel questioned. "What about your premonition? Are we not going to deal with that?"
"We need to get to California and stop this first."
Crowley whistled and shook his head. "Deany boy is NOT going to like that. He smirked. "I'll have a little look-see in Hell and find out if any of mine have something to do with this, or if they know what's going on, but your brother? In California? AND you have to wake him up?" He shooked his head. "I'm not stayin' for that." In an instant, Crowley was gone, Sam groaning in annoyance.
"Cas, can you wake up Dean? We gotta go, now."
Castiel took a deep breath. "He isn't going to like that at all."
"Would you rather see what happens when he wakes up in a place he didn't fall asleep?"
"Good point." He glided over to the bed and pressed his forefinger to his boyfriends forehead, his eyes glowing briefly and Dean beginning to rouse. "Dean. You need to wake up."
He groaned in response and seemingly tried to burrow into his bed. "We do not have time for this." Sam pulled the pillow from his own bed and threw it at Dean just as he was rolling over, smacking him square in the face with the wafer thin sack of feathers.
He rose from his bed, gun in hand. "Unless I have slept four hours, give me one good reason not to shoot you." Dean was, put nicely, not a morning person, even less so when he was awoken from a sleep under for hours. He could function with four hours, didn't like to, but he could, and while Castiel often insisted he needed more than that, and since they had just finished a Hunt, he saw no logical reason that he should be awoken. "Angel, love, tell this dumbass that he's insane."
Castiel rolled his eyes. After having briefly been human himself, he understood Dean's dislike for being awoken from his slumber, and he oftened likened the man to that of a bear. "Dean, I'm afraid that your brother is not insane, and that is my concern. It appears we have more work to do before we can return home."
Dean's brow furrowed, but Castiel merely kissed him on the head. "Okay, one of you weirdos better tell me what the hell is goin' on right now." He demanded, rubbing at his tired eyes.
"Dean." Castiel said wearily, eyeing an all too quiet Sam Winchester. "We have some business to attend to. It appears that Sam had...well..."
"Had what Cas, a wet dream, a pringles can up his ass, what?!" He was extremely cranky this evening apparantly.
"Okay, Cas, this isn't working, put his back to sleep and let's just get him in the car." Sam asked, zipping up his bag with a scowl.
"For Chuck's sake man just tell me what's happening!" He had been in the middle of a fantastic dream, his Angel on a pole wearing nothing but the tie in trench coat he adorned daily.
"I had a vision, Dean. Like the ones I got looking for Lucifer's little home-grown lackeys! A kid is in danger and we need to get to Beacon Hills California, right now!"
An uncomfortable silence decorated the trio, when Dean stood suddenly and his eyes narrowed sharply. Sam hadn't had an aberration in years, and if Sam knew, maybe the Demons did or worse, the friggin' Angels, but the discussion of his visions would have to wait, there were more important things happening in their lives right now. "Alright. Beacon Hills, roughly what, seventeen hour drive?" Dean asked as he ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
"Yeah, so we need to leave ASAP." Sam shouted as he flung open their motel room door and loaded the duffel bags into the car. Dean joined him moments later, Castiel was waiting by the car. "I only needed to wake you so that you knew what was happening and so you could get in the car. Do you wanna sleep some more?" Sam asked him.
Dean breathed heavily. Sam woke him up, just so he could get into the car? Why hadn't Cas just used his Angel mojo? Then Dean wouldn't have had to wake up at all! He could've gotten more than his four hours instead of a mere two and a half.
"Dean, I know you're mad. But three reasons to wake you up. One, an explanation. Two, bathroom so we don't have to stop as much, and three, I knew you would want to know if this started again." Sam said carefully, raising his hands in a defensive manner. He knew better than anybody there were five things no one messed with when it came to Dean Winchester. One being family, particularly Sam, two being the Impala, three being sleep, four being food, and five being children. This situation had just messed with three of those.
He guessed that the only reasons Dean was so calm, because yes, a growling Dean with bags under his eyes and his hands in fists after two hours was sleep was very calm for him, was because it involved a child and himself. So when Dean nodded and climbed into the backseat without a fuss, Sam sighed in relief. He climbed into the front and waited for Castiel to join him. Castiel smiled a little, like the time he had first eaten a burger. He never got to sit in the front seat. Not unless Sam wasn't with Dean. If the two were separated for one reason or another, Castiel rather enjoyed sitting in the front with Dean. It made him feel more important, and like he was part of the group.
While he often found cars slow and confining, sometimes he enjoyed the change of pace. So he sat in the front and smiles when neither brother protested or asked why he didn't simply fly ahead of them. Sam jumped into the front seat and as he placed the keys into the ignition the slow rumble of Baby's engine was heard. Dean smiled softly as he sprawled out in the back seat, laying on his stomach with one of his rare hoodies under his head like a pillow. "Cas, watch Sammy. Wake me up when he gets tired m'kay Angel?" He said with an exhausted smile to his boy friend.
"Sammy, you get one scratch on her and I'll send you on a one way trip to visit Crowley." He said lazily as the movement of the car and the quiet beat of Carry On My Wayward Son playing through the radio lulled him into sleep. Castiel did as Dean requested of course. He kept an eye on Sam, and the boy seemed anxious and worried. It must have been because of the child that was involved. He did his best to comfort him, but Castiel wasn't overly good at interacting with Sam the way he could Dean. He assumed it had something to do with the profound bond he and Dean shared, but he didn't mention it.
"I am certain the child will be okay Sam. From what I know, the Angels have no idea about what is going on. I doubt the Demons do either, or Crowley would have sent word." It had only been a few hours since their discussion with the King of Hell but for the sake of everyone involved, he truly hoped no Demon had anything to do with Sams sudden relapse into supernatural powers.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right Cas. I'm just worried. This kid, well he was at the very oldest 17. He's only a teenager Cas. He seemed so familiar but I just, I don't know him!" Sam said, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. The feeling of recognition in his chest was bugging him, who was this kid? Why was he important? Why in the name of Chuck did he have an aberration about him?
"You and Dean will figure it out Sam. You always do." Castiel said, truly hoping it would be enough to calm the younger Winchester. Again, Sam was nodding at him, though this time he took a calming deep breath and a comfortable silence fell over the pair.
They stopped once, at nine for gas and breakfast. Sam had faint purple bags under his eyes now, and Castiel woke Dean as carefully as he could so he wouldn't have a weapon pulled on him. Surprisingly, Dean was in a much better mood than usual. It must have been because of the seven hour sleep instead of four. Castiel thought that maybe he should sleep a lot more, but again kept his mouth shut, not wanting to start an argument with his boy friend. Sam didn't eat breakfast, opting to do some research on the town while Dean ate. When they piled back into the car a half hour later, he could see his little brother fighting off sleep, head swaying and eyelids drooping as they drove around. When it hit eleven thirty, Dean actually had to tell Cas to use his Angel mojo to put Sam to sleep. Dean drove them the rest of the way to Beacon Hills, finding them a motel quickly and waking Sam. He had no clue as to the details of Sam's premonition and they were always vague, it could happen now or it could happen in a few days. A motel was the best idea, especially if they were about to have a kid on their hands.
"Any clue what this kid looks like? That could help us find him." Dean asked as he sat at the table with a beer in his hands. They had been trying to figure out how to approach the situation for a while now, knowing that turning up and spouting some fake bullcrap didn't always work.
"That should work." Sam said. "Cas, you should do your whole mind reading thingy. It'll be a lot easier seeing as I can't really remember and any minor description wont help but narrow it down." Castiel nodded, pressing two fingers to Sam's forehead and closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, Sam took a seat shakily. Angel mojo, it always bites you back.
"I have his face, I'll search the town." The Angel was gone from the room with a small 'whoosh' leaving the brothers alone in a silent room. He was back again in seconds, a boy in his arms covered in soot, passed out in Castiel's arms.
"What the hell?" Dean asked, standing fast and nearly knocking over his chair in the process of running towards his Angel boyfriend and the teenager in his arms. He helped Castiel gently lay him on the bed and then turned to question his boyfriend, they didn't just bring people in. "What happened?" He asked in confusion.
"I found him, his home Dean, it was on fire." Castiel said quietly, looking back at the boy sadly. "I read his thoughts. His Mother has been dead since he was eight. But his Father...he died in the house fire tonight. The boy was wrapped around him, screaming." Castiel removed something from inside his trench coat, three leather-bound books tied together in a string and a small stack of papers. "He was holding them." Dean took the books and pages from him, skimming his eyes over the papers that were in fact photos as he handed the books to his nerdy baby brother to handle. Photos of a boy, a woman and a man, stood in front of a familiar blue jeep. Photos of two little boys and the same man, dressed in a sheriff uniform. One last image, of the teenage boy on the bed, with another boy with a goofy smile and crooked jaw, a red headed girl, a girl with raven hair, and a man with a scruffy beard and a sour face.
"Dean." Sam's voice caught his attention, and he turned around to see what he needed. He was holding open two of the books to pages that Dean recognised. They were filled with sigils, notes on creatures that they had faced and a few Dean had yet to come up against. There were copies of these books were in the Men Of Letters Library, as well as in the shelves of research at Bobby's house.
The third book, was a diary. One near identical to their Fathers, same pages, same notes, same pictures, except for a faded photo of a depty, a woman, and a young boy. But held in its pages was a name Dean hadn't heard since the year Sam was soulless. "Campbell?" Dean asked, barely above a whisper. "Like...like Mom?"
Sam nodded. "Remember some random uncle paid for her grave, and Dad said that we had never, and would never, meet him? Well, that random uncle had a sister. A sister who married a deputy in a small town, and supposedly got out of the life." He said, eyes turning to stare at the boy on the bed. "They had a son, before she died."
Dean began catching on. "The aunt, she asked for help, Dad left us at a motel, but he called. He needed research done, but he didn't even know what he needed us to look for." His brother nodded. "Sammy, this cant be...holy crap I thought he was dead. Dad said they were gone, that we'd never see them again!"
"Dad told is a lot of things Dean. For all we know, this was one of his lies, to keep us on track."
Dean shook his head. "If that book is right, that means this kid..." Dean trailed off and shook his head. "Are you sure?"
"It's the same kid from my dream Dean." Sam confirmed, looking at the boys thick brown fluffy hair, a light dusting of freckles and moles across his pale face, the bruises under his eyes and the sleeping face he'd seen filled with tears and pain not even twenrt four hours ago.
"No freaking way is this him. It can't be." Dean went over to the boy, who had curled himself around a pillow in his slumber. Dean just hoped he would recognise him, the boy had only been seven when they had met, that was over ten years ago now. He shook his shoulder gently, remembering how easy it was to wake him up as a kid. "Mieczyslaw?"
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"You killed me!" She screamed, throwing punches at him
"You are going to get him hurt!" The other yelled, scratching her claws into his chest. He cried out, it was hurting, but it was true. He knew something was wrong with him. He was useless, damaging, a danger. He lied and kept secrets, he had to. It kept them safe. But these women were telling him otherwise, and he couldn't even tell them they were wrong.
"Never trust a fox" a whisper made its way into his ears and he screamed again. He could take anything but that creature inside him. Why wasn't his magic working? Why did the sigil tattooed onto his chest not work? He begged to every entity he could to keep him from becoming that monster once more.
He shot up, drenched in his sweat and heart racing. After the brain frazzling dream about his Mother and Derek's Mother screaming he had killed them both, Stiles Stilinski awoke with a jump and gasp for breath as if he had been drowning with two thoughts at the front of his mind. One thought was that something was bound to go badly in his day. The second, there was something keeping him in his bed. This of course set off several alarms om his head, far more than the dream of his Mother. For Stiles, actually sleeping in his bed was not a normal thing to do. The floor, yes, his chair, yes, the couch, even better. But never did he sleep in his bed.
So he turned his head, because for some reason he couldn't turn his body, and found out why. Derek "Sour Wolf" Hale, his boyfriend, had his arms wrapped around his waist, pinning him to the bed. Thankfully they were both wearing clothes, because just as Stiles was about to wake his Wolf so he could get out of bed and get ready foe school, his Father opened the door and Stiles squealed (yes, he squealed), falling onto his cold bedroom floor. "Um...hi Dad." Stiles said with a hopeful smile.
"Yeah, I'm not even gonna ask." John said, shaking his head and holding up a hand in defeat. Stiles was seventeen, the pair of them were both still fully clothed, and neither of them could get pregnant, so he really had no place to say anything on them sleeping in the same bed as long as Stiles was happy and Derek wasn't hurting him or treating him poorly. "Just letting you know no school today, there was a fire and they wanna check everything out. So I'm off to work. You two have fun." He left the room, closing the door behind him but stopping briefly to state "not too much fun" and actually leaving this time.
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head. "I know you're up now Derek. Come on, before i drag your little Werewolf ass onto this cold ass floor" he said standing, reaching for Derek's shirt.
Derek chuckled a little and rolled over, leaning his elbow on the bed to prop himself up. "I think your Dad is finally warming up to me."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he's definitely happy that his teenage boy has a Werewolf sleeping in his bed most nights of the week." He chuckled at the random thought of a puppy version of Derek waking him up.
"How is it my fault your bed is more comfortable?" The Wolf smirked at him. "Well as much as I want to stay with you today" Derek stood and stretched out his arms, Stiles would never deny staring, and pulled on a shirt. "I have to help Scott out with Liam." Stiles huffed. Liam, the newest puppy in their pack, was difficult to deal with. He was as stubborn as Scott, with the anger Derek held when they first met him, and the control of a teaspoon. So yes, Stiles maybe wanted all day with the Wolf, but teaching the newbie some control would be a whole lot safer. If there was one thing Stiles knew, untrained puppy's caused damage. The kid needed some help, and while Stiles wanted to spend all day in bed with his boyfriend he knew it was important. Besides, he had work to do, and he needed Derek gone.
"It's okay Der, I need to work on my magic anyways." Stiles said, pointing towards the books stacked up on his desk. Nobody knew what was inside these books, and Stiles kept it that way. Nobody was allowed around him when he opened them, for good reason. So Derek just nodded and finished getting dressed, kissing his boyfriend and leaving. Stiles would tell him what the books were when he needed to. But for now, Derek hoped he was okay. He had been through so much with the Nogitsune, it rattled him. Derek tried to help him, but he was a Wolf, he didn't have the same magic as Stiles. Nobody did. So he ran off to the school to meet Liam and Scott.
When Stiles was certain Derek was far away, he closed his curtains and switched off his lights. A glow in the dark devils trap lit up underneath his bed, and with a wave of his hand as his magic tingled through his fingertips, the enormous one on his ceiling became visible again. He nodded in confirmation himself, knowing his warding was in place. He then pulled down his shirt, eyes searching for the tattoo on his arm. The anti-possession charm was still in place, no destruction had befallen the ink yet. Another nod of his head, and he turned to check his window sill. He had used his magic to merge the salt into the wood of the sill, into his walls, and his door frame. He finally turned to his books, the diary in particular. It had been his Mothers diary. This was the one thing he had kept secret. Only his Father and the Argent family are aware, and it is only very mild awareness for the Argents. His Mother, Claudia Gajos, was a Hunter. The Gajos name was well known, considering it was related to the Winchester name.
As a child, he hadn't understood. But as he grew older and found her books, he had begun to realise why everything seemed so off. There were salt rounds in the attic, old guns and necklaces. Books of all kinds filled to the brim with stories about monsters. Ones that now of course, he could prove were real, though slightly inaccurate. Over time he had been adding to his Mothers journal, pieces of information that he had gathered from his time in Beacon Hills. Ever since his magic had manifested into his Spark as Deaton called it, he now had to master it to keep it secret. Hunters took down the monsters in the world, the Demons and the Werewolves and Vampires. If Stiles became one of those monsters, he was screwed. As if the Nogitsune hadn't been enough.
He shook his head, eager to erase the thoughts before he started down a dark road. He turned to on of his books, this particular page about Demons. Apparently, as a child, she had heard a story of her cousin having made a deal with a yellow eyed Demon. Stiles knew plenty about lore and mythology, able to place the name Azazel. He wondered, why anybody would make a deal with a Demon. But then he read on, finding she had made the deal to save someone she loved. Others had done so, with crossroads Demons. He didn't know it could bring someone back from the dead. An idea sparked in his head, a dangerous one. But he didn't care.
He gathered everything he would need to summon a Demon. He even used his magic to give a little extra boost, a Demon dressed in a black suit appeared once the incantation was complete. He had a bored look on his face as sighed as he spoke. "Come on now, I don't have much time for this, I'm rather busy as the King of Hell."
Stiles recoiled a little. King of Hell? Had he summoned Lucifer? Oh crap he totally messed up and summoned Lucifer. He felt his chest starting to speed up and his eyes go purple and he raised his hands, not knowing what his Spark would do but hoping it would work on the Devil. But the man he assumed to be the devil incarnate merely chuckled at him, and Stiles lowered his hands a little. "Easy there Spark Plug. My name is Crowley. Lucifer, the little Devil, is safely locked up in the cage of Hell and has been for a very long time now." He dare not mention that he had actually escaped once.
Stiles faltered. "Okay, plus is no Lucifer. Con, I was looking for Azazel." He sighed and fell to his chair. His Mother was related to the best Hunting family in America, and he couldn't even summon the right Demon.
"Oh, well yellow eyes is actually dead. As in, very dead not coming back to hell dead." Crowley informed him matter of factly, leaning on the wall. "That's why I'm here. Took over. King of Hell himself, at your service."
Stiles' head shot up quickly and he nearly (he totally did) fell off his chair in his erratic movements. "Can you bring my Mom back?" He asked, not even hesitating.
Crowley however, did hesitate. His time with the Winchester's had taught him plenty, like how only fools made deals. This was a teenager, a bloody child, and he missed his Mother. Crowley couldn't give him that, not knowing how badly it would go. "I'm afraid not Spark Plug. Not really in the business of making deals any more." He said with ease. There was no easy way to tell a child they were never going to see their Mother again, as if he and Rowena had such an amazing relationship, so he did what he did best, avoided the topic entirely.
Stiles stilled, clenching his fists in anger. "Why not? Demons make deals right? I want to deal. I want my Mother back."
Crowley shook his head, not overly aware of the spark of fire in the palm of the boys hand. "Kid, trust me, this isn't something that you want to do. Okay? It ends badly for everyone. Don't try it. I won't deal and I'll make sure every other Demon knows the same." He would not let this child sell his soul. What's dead, should stay dead.
Stiles felt nothing but rage and hurt, and his hand sparked, a fire blazing from his palm and aimed at Crowley, instead hitting the wall as the Demon disappeared. He screamed out in hurt, the flames engulfing his room and spreading, his eyes a deep purple as hints of green invaded his magic. He didn't realise what was going on as tears streamed down his face until he heard his Father screaming out his name. He saw the flames attacking his walls brutally and panicked. Had he caused this? What had he done. He grabbed some photos he knew he couldn't do without and the books on his desk, leaping over the fire and running downstairs. "Dad!" He yelled as he searched around for his Father.
His Father was laying on the floor of the living room. He ran to him, piling himself around the man and shaking his shoulders. "Dad! Dad wake up! We need to get out of here! Dad!" Stiles screamed, and begged his Father to get up. When he didn't, Stiles cried and curled around him. His Mother had been right. He killed her, and now he killed his Dad too. Perhaps if he just gave in and stayed here, nobody would know it was all his fault. The Nogitsune was right. He was a killer.
As his eyes drifted clothes after what felt like hours of crying, he could have sworn he heard something. A flutter of feathers. Maybe the Angels had finally come for him after his attempts to join them so many times in the past few years. His final thought before he dropped into pure unconsciousness was that he would see his Mother and Father soon.
That was of course, until Stiles heard his name. His real name. The name he had yet to hear pass someone's lips since he was seven. He shot up immediately, thinking he might find himself in a hospital room as the memory of the fire flew to the fore front of his mind. He remembered grabbing the spell books his mother gave to him, her hunting journal, and some photos he would die without. He remembered a noise, feathers fluttering. Now he was here, in the motel room on the edge of the town. He grabbed the knife in his boot and shot up, holding it out. "Who in the Hell are you?"