Crossfire

[Sterek. Supernatural / Teen Wolf crossover, because I need more Stiles Winchester in my life.]

Sam is just hanging up the phone when Dean comes into the bunker. Dean begins unpacking the salad he got for Sam, sliding it across the long table with a look of disgust, before pulling out his own cheeseburger. He digs in, and turns to Sam expectantly. "So?" He asks around a mouthful of food. Classy, as always. "Was that a case?"

"Um... No." Sam prods his salad with a fork. There's a frown on his face that makes him look both sad and uncomfortable. After a silence, he sighs and sets the utensil down, turning his uneasy gaze on Dean. "That was Travis-- The hunter in Oregon we helped out with a harpy problem last year. He told me that there have been quite a few stories revolving around California recently, some stuff he thought we might be interested in."

Dean swallows, takes a drink, and gestures for Sam to continue. "A job," He prompts. "Okay."

But Sam shakes his head. "Not exactly. I mean... Sort of."

Dean sighs. "Spit it out, Sammy. I'm getting old over here."

And then Sam says, "Stiles is dead."

That catches Dean's attention and he sets down his burger slowly. "Stiles. Our cousin, Stiles? Aunt Claudia's kid?"

Sam simply nods, looking more uncomfortable than ever. He always had a problem with this sharing-feelings thing with Dean, especially when it came to feelings about family. "Apparently a lot of different stories are going around," He finally says, opting to sound professional, like this is just another case they're working. "But from what I gather, there was a werewolf problem in Beacon Hills a couple months ago. Maulings, animal attacks, the whole nine yards."

"Why didn't we hear anything about this back then?" Dean demands.

Sam offers a shrug. "Probably because it only lasted a couple of weeks, and then stopped. By the time I caught wind of it, it was over. No more bodies means we didn't have a case. I figured some other hunter took care of it, but Travis told me that it was a Mage."

"A Mage?" Dean repeats dubiously. "Like... Black magic deal?"

Another shrug. "Most likely."

Dean lets out a long breath. "So a werewolf and a Mage fight, and Stiles somehow got caught in the crossfire?"

Sam's returning frown is enough assurance.

"Dammit," Dean leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face. "We haven't seen him since Aunt Claudia's funeral. He was, what? Twelve? He's got to be eighteen now, right?"

"Seventeen," Sam corrects, and that doesn't make Dean feel any better.

"He was just a kid." Dean feels his jaw clenching, tightening, as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. His food is long forgotten. "So we're going to Beacon Hills," He decides. "Gank the son of a bitch who killed him."

His statement doesn't leave room for argument, but it doesn't look like Sam disagrees. Instead, his little brother just nods and pushes his salad back farther on the table. "I'm gonna grab some stuff, you call Bobby and let him know we're going off the grid for a few days. Then we can leave."

...

The town isn't much different than Dean remembers, though it's been close to five years since he'd been back here. He'd gotten the call from Bobby when Mary's sister, Claudia, died. They'd been on a poltergeist job in Tennessee when it happened and Sam and Dean barely had time to make it across the country to insignificant Beacon Hills, California, just in time to change into their suits and head to the funeral.