Stiles is a Winchester

Chapter XVII

AN: this will be shorter than last chapter. Sorry.

Third person POV
Inside the small motel room, Stiles felt numb—not the type of numb where he felt nothing. In fact, he felt too much right now; bored, angry, sad, confused, hurt... Instead of feeling nothing, he felt like his mind was ringing with a monotone buzz. He was laying on the sunken in couch, while Dean and Sam were arguing quietly on the other side of the room. He didn't bother to listen, he didn't care enough to, especially after the last time he eavesdropped on their argument. They kept mentioning a 'hunt' and 'the kid' though, which was off-putting.

Stiles couldn't get the thought of the three men from the diner—well actually four but one of them wasn't in the picture. He didn't miss the fact that one of them was also his apparent best friend.

He wished that Dean hadn't driven away so quickly, and that Sam hadn't shoved him down. He's alive, and he's gonna stay that way—hopefully, although he won't be too sure if Sam and Dean keep using him and 'hunt' in the same conversation. So why did he have to hide he was alive? His father (the sheriff) knew, why couldn't he meet his friends? Why couldn't he know what they were like when they weren't torturing them?

He decided to stop thinking about it after that thought 'cause that was probably too dismal. Instead, he turned to his uneaten food on the side table next to his head. It was probably not too hot by now, but his stomach ached with hunger, and he reached over to begin eating it.

Outside

Derek stared at the motel room door about a hundred yards away. He could hear the whispers of the two Winchesters arguing inside, and he was able to make out that Sam was still wanting to start a hunt.

He was growling at the thought that his Stiles was inside with two hunters, probably in danger, possibly hurt already.

Scott caught up to him only seconds after he stopped running, and the rest of the pack soon after. He wasn't listening for it, but he could guess that the humans in the pack were racing over in a car as well.

He let out a growl, still in his beta form as he began to stalk towards the door. Scott pulled him back before he even made it two steps. He tried to growl at him and push him off--because how dare he try to hold him back right now--but Scott's eyes glowed red, daring him to challenge the alpha. "You need to be human," Scott said.

Derek didn't say anything, instead letting out a shaking breath as he turned back to the door. Scott didn't let go of his arm. "Hey," he said, grabbing Derek's attention again, "I missed him too. You think I don't want to barge in there right now and take him back?" Derek still had yet to shift back. "We'll get him back, but not only are there hunters that will kill you on sight, but the Sheriff said he has amnesia or something. You'll scare him."

Derek hesitated for another moment, but then ducked his head down as he shifted, hiding his wolfish features. The other weres behind him stood silently, and Scott finally released the grip on his arm.

Malia finally spoke up. "Is he really your mate?" she asked her cousin, which despite the time that's passed was still weird to think about. At the same time, a car could be seen pulling into the motel parking lot, and they knew it was the rest of their pack.

Derek only nodded, looking back at the motel, longingly. Peter walked up, placing a hand on Derek's shoulder--a rare gesture of comfort between the Hales. Derek looked to Scott, asking the Alpha for permission, and when Scott met his eyes with a short nod, he started walking.

In the room

Stiles was just finishing off his burger when there was a loud knock on the door--like, loud. Like it was being punched.

All three men looked up in surprise, and when Stiles turned to them in question, both of them stood and grabbed a handgun off the table. They both began walking towards the door, and Dean motioned for him to get back. He stood and made his way to the opposite wall, so whoever was outside wouldn't see him. Dean looked back at him, checking that he was ready and hidden, and if he thought too much about it, he'd realize he was also making sure he was okay and wasn't scared, but (thankfully) he didn't have time to think too much about it.

Sam stood to the side of the door, close but hidden, aiming his gun in its direction. Dean walked up cautiously, pressing the barrel of the handgun against the wood and waiting. Stiles didn't actually know what he was waiting for, maybe they were hoping whoever it was would just leave. There hopes were not heard however--they knocked again.

It took Dean another second to open the door, and when he did, he only opened it enough to show himself, keeping the space behind him hidden from view. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" He paused a second when he saw some girls behind them. "And gentle ladies?"

The shorter of the two in front began to talk, "We're here to-"

He was cut off abruptly by the older man, "Where is he?"

Stiles recognized the voices. You're a monster. You ruin everything you touch. You were never wanted in the first place.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" Dean deflected.

"Now," growled--yes, growled--the man behind the door. There was a brief pause before the previous voice began again.

"We know who you are. We saw you at the diner, and we recognize your car," although Stiles couldn't see it, he gestured behind him to the vehicle. "And we know he's alive. We know you have him."

Dean looked to Sam, pointedly avoiding meeting Stiles' eyes, and stepped back, opening the door further. Both men continued to hold their guns, now pointing at the floor, but ready to aim them if needed.

Two men walked in; they were at the diner. The broody one and his best friend. As soon as they saw him, they stopped in their tracks, just staring.

They couldn't believe it. A year of mourning him, and now he's right there. Tears filled both of their eyes, Stiles could see the shine, but they didn't fall, at least not yet. Nothing was said.

Stiles stared back at them--he felt more apprehensive if anything. There was no excitement or relief, he was just waiting for something to happen. He glanced to Sam and Dean, wondering if they'd do something, but they just waited with him, staring warily at the two.

Some others creeped in, and Stiles recognized most of them from the photo.

He waited.

They all stared.

He didn't like that they stared. It felt wrong, and it felt like he was somehow being punished by their stares.

All of a sudden, the taller of the two rushed forward, and Stiles was immediately reminded of how his experiences with him. Reminded of the hate, and the pain, and the torture. He walked back, back hitting the wall behind him as he slid down. He tried to get away from the man, adrenaline pumping and heart racing.

The man stopped, taking a step back when he realized Stiles' panic, and he heard a click as Dean's grip on the gun tightened up, holding it up. The wolves turned to him, cautious of the hunter's history.

Stiles' breathing picked up, and he looked away from the eyes staring at him. Pins and needles ran through his hands, and his head felt really heavy. He heard Sam calling his name, but it sounded distant and foggy. He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt hands on his shoulders, and he wanted to push them off.

He didn't want them to touch him. This was too much. He wanted Cas. Cas cared about him. Cas wouldn't hurt him. He wished Cas was there. He prayed Cas was there.

And then he was.

The hands that were touching him were pulled off, and Cas pulled his head up to make up look up. He felt relief flood through his chest, but he couldn't calm down. His heart was beating too fast, and it felt like his chest was shrinking, closing in on his lungs.

Cas' palm pressed against his forehead. He was able to inhale deeply, exhaling slowly as he felt the pressure on his chest release. Then his heavy eyes closed, and it all stopped as he fell asleep in Cas' arms against the wall.