Stiles is a Winchester

Chapter XIII

3rd person POV

Stiles sat on the couch in the motel room. He sank into it some, the springs were probably broken. He just stared at the photo he'd taken. He observed every person.

He'd never seen these people look at him with anything but hate, but here they were, crowded around him in the photo with relaxed smiles.

Dean and Sam were on their own queen-sized beds. This motel was nicer than the previous—cream colors and basic—but still crappy enough to be deemed worthy of the Winchesters. Sam was doing something on his laptop, and Dean was just... thinking.

Stiles ignored them. He couldn't tell if the silence was awkward or not, but at this point he couldn't care less. He was tired, and after being in Hell for as long as he could remember, and then being with the Winchesters, he's never had the chance to relax. Maybe he'd feel better if he did, so he took a deep inhale, released the tension in his spine and muscles, and relaxed his face as he exhaled.

It felt weird, and he stayed like that until his shoulders tensed again when he felt himself being watched. He looked over to see Dean looking at him with a stern brow before turning his gaze to continue looking at the wall.

Okay, so Dean hated him for changing his posture now. Great. It still hurt, more than he was willing to admit, but he was done caring about what Dean thought about him. He might be his "father," but they were strangers, even before. So he rolled his eyes and looked back down at the picture.

It was getting later in the day, now. He was beginning to wonder if they were going to get a late lunch, or dinner, or a snack. He was hungry in case it wasn't obvious. He wanted another burger and curly fries like the ones Castiel gave him when he was first brought back. The thought oh curly fries made his mouth water.

He didn't say anything though. He just sat, looking at the photo. His leg was bouncing unconsciously, and it made the couch squeak every once in a while.

That squeak was quickly getting on the two older men's nerves, he could see them getting irritated out of the corner of his eye. Sam was trying to read something, and every so often he would look over at the youngest. But honestly, Stiles couldn't help it. He had so much energy after being trapped in a car for hours, and the room wasn't large enough to walk around, really.

All of a sudden, Sam reached over, taking five dollars out of his wallet. "Stiles, there's a vending machine downstairs by the lobby. You can go get a snack." Stiles smirks, maybe he should annoy them more often if they let him get free food. He leaped up, grateful to be able to take a walk and left the room.

Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes and rolling his shoulders. "What are you doing?" he asked, looking over to Sam.

"There's some unsolved murders here," he said.

Rolling his eyes, he responded, "Why do you have to research every place we visit?"

"There've been a lot of unsolved murders in this town," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's complaining. "And some people coming back to life? Like this one girl, presumably dead for over a decade, was found living in the woods. And two teenagers, Allison and Aiden, were both 'found' after they were pronounced dead, and their bodies we just misidentified, apparently."

"Well," Dean said uninterested. He laid and stretched on the bed. "When was the last death?"

"Not for a couple months. They're all different though. Some were set up as textbook sacrifices a little over a year ago, strapped to a tree and throat slit. And over time there have been several animal attacks."

Dean sighed. His hunter brain couldn't work right now. Usually he'd block out any emotional turmoil and painful events with the job, but this was different. Part of him was holding a grudge against the sheriff, but at the same time he can't really blame the older man for needing space and time to pull himself together. And Stiles, he didn't want to look too close into him. He wasn't oblivious to the boy masking all his emotions; if he didn't look too close, he won't feel too guilty.

And a hunt will mean staying here longer than needed.

"Mysterious murders were long enough ago, and animal attacks in a town completely enveloped in woods. Not really a huge case."

Sam turned away from the screen towards Dean. "Since when do you just turn away from a hunt? This could be something."

"If something happens we'll take a look, but its not convincing right now." And with that he turned and laid facing the way from Sam.

🥀🥀

Stiles creeped downstairs. He was glad to be out of the congested room. But he'll admit, outside of the motel was creepy. It was still light-ish out, but the area was giving horror movie. Nonetheless, we walked up to the vending machine and browsed the snacks.

His eyes landed on Reeses. He doesn't remind whether or not he likes them, but based on the fact that he seemed drawn to it... probably. He slipped the five dollar in and pressed the buttons—at least he knew how to use modern technology.

It stuck.

It hanged from the coil.

Fun.

He tried banging on the glass, and then the side. He knows that he's decided he doesn't care about Sam and Dean because they didn't care about him, but he could help feeling guilty about wasting their money.

So logically, if he tipped it just a little bit, it could potentially fall down to the bottom...

Before he had to quickly shuffle out of the way as it fell forward.

Shit.

Deja vu.

He looked around. God, he was going to be in so much trouble. The back of the machine had latch to open into all the food.

Well he was already in trouble, what's a little more.

He ended up bringing up a bunch of snacks back to the room. Chips, candy, drinks, and yes, at least ten Reese's because he was being petty.

"You bought all that with five dollars?" Sam asked.

Stiles chucked the pile of snacks onto the bed by Dean's legs and grabbed the candy bar.

"No." Then he turned back to the couch and didn't elaborate. Sam and Dean didn't question it, Sam letting out a small chuckle.

Happy holidays and happy new year!!