Aftershock

So it goes like this: I'm only on season 6 (a few episodes in) of Supernatural, and there are a lot of things that I love about the show and a few things I hate. Mostly, I hate that they keep killing off people that I love and adore – Gabriel, Ellen, Jo... I know more people die, but I'm not there yet.

So, in true 'this is my made-up version of the world' style… No one is dead unless I want them to be. Ellen and Jo are fine, Gabriel is alive and munching on M&M's and watching Casa Erotica because… well… because I said so.

This is my first time dipping my toes into the Supernatural fandom, so please try not to kill me if I get a few things wrong - The Teen Wolf community have been super supportive of my mistakes and cannon divergence.

I'm going to be doing a LOT of POV switches (Stiles and Dean) in this, so if that isn't your thing, I'm sorry.

I will try to update EVERY weekday, but I take the weekends off to watch Supernatural, play SWtOR, sleep and read fanfic.

I will be cross posting this on and Ao3, so you can use whatever site you prefer to read this.

I'd also like to point out that if you are on this site as a guest… I can't reply to your questions!

So… here goes! My first crossover! I hope you like it.

It started with stupid things that seemed out of place, but normal enough. The eight year sober teacher who drank himself to death. The head cheerleader who hung herself in the closet – the illness that had more than half of Beacon Hills calling in sick to work or school. Violent arguments in happy homes, a rush of muggings and three people mauled to death by their beloved family pets. Stiles hardly saw his dad, and when he did it was always in the middle of the night when he'd stumble home, open the bottle and not even manage to lift the glass to his lips before sleep overtook his body.

"Dude, I'm telling you, something is going on. Something freaky."

"It's just bad luck." Scott said, sitting on the bench in his lacrosse gear. They weren't training, coach wasn't there and half the team had been kept at home because of the bug that was going around. Stiles had so far managed to stave off getting sick by some miracle, and Scott wasn't going to catch some measly bug with his super-wolf immune system.

"Bad luck? Dude, the town is going to hell! This morning I saw two car crashes and a fistfight on my way to school." Stiles shook his head and looked about. The air was cold, like it was early spring and the frost hadn't quite lifted, rather than the start of summer. This time last year Stiles had been wearing factor a million and had still gotten burnt sitting on the bench, this year – he was shivering.

"Looks like coach isn't coming." Isaac called over from where he was running heats with Boyd. "Wanna call it a day and go get something to eat?"

Stiles nodded, looking over at Scott, who shrugged. There was no point in staying.

Stiles sat in his bedroom and did the only thing he was actually good at – he started up Google and did some research. Typing in 'flu' he saw what the news was saying – the epidemic was all over the country, spreading fast and hitting everywhere. Crime rates were soaring all over the place as well, sleepy little towns were dangerous after dark, and more and more cases of people shooting up their workplaces or schools were being reported every day.

He sighed and threw himself back on his bed. Something was going on, he was sure of it.

Dean rolled his eyes as they drove past another burnt out car on the side of the deserted road. "Place is going to hell."

"Pretty much." Agreed his brother, nose deep in some book he'd picked up. Dean hoped to hell it wasn't 50 shades of whatever. "I can't find anywhere that's not got signs of paranormal activity."

"Well, at least we know we can count on a job wherever we go." Dean replied before fixing his eyes back on the empty road. He was used to seeing long stretches of tarmac roll out ahead of him – not so much the burning buildings and abandoned cars. It reminded him of 2014, without the mad zombies. They'd stopped the Apocalypse – so why the hell wasn't crap working out? How long would it take to get things back to normal – or as normal as anything was for a couple of beat up hunters in a car with shitty mileage.

"It'll be dark soon." Sammy commented, turning a page.

"No shit?" Dean snarked. When it didn't get a rise out of his brother, he gripped the wheel tighter and looked around. Yeah, being on the road at night wasn't anything new for them, but the way things were going, pulling over and sleeping in a layby wasn't an option. They'd need to find somewhere where idiots (not even demons, just plain ol' human idiots) didn't try to steal their shit in the middle of the night. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Take the next left." Was all Sam said, eyes never leaving the page.

"What the hell are you reading?"

That, finally, got some kind of response from his kid brother, who looked up at him with a pleased expression that Dean hadn't seen in a long time. "Lord of the Flies." Sam grinned. "It was in the last motel we stopped at instead of those stupid little Bibles. I guessed no-one would miss it, so…" He shrugged, "I did a report on this at school once." He added. "I got full marks."

Dean did roll his eyes then, but his brother was already reading. Yeah, only Sammy would think a book for homework was worth reading. All Dean could remember was some shitty little poem about traffic lights. Then again, he had better things to do than school. Dean had to help dad.

The sign eventually proclaimed 'Fossil' – another tiny little nowhere on the map of America. Dean drove slower though the streets – sure enough, half the stores on Main were boarded up and the windows on most of the cars parked were smashed. He instinctively gripped the steering wheel harder. He'd make sure he parked well enough away from the main road – no one better even think about scratching his baby.

The motel room was just like any other motel room they'd ever been in. Faded wallpaper in some ugly brown and orange swirled pattern, two beds that creaked too much when you lay on them and a crappy tv that told you about all 100 channels and only three worked. The shower didn't have a curtain, and half the tiles were cracked, the toilet gargled for an hour after you flushed and you wouldn't drink the water that poured milky from the taps.

"So, Sammy, what wonders does Nowhere, Oregon hold in store for us?" Dean said, flopping down on the bed and not even noticing the screech of springs and the thinness of the mattress. He leaned over and opened the drawer between the beds – hell you never knew what goodies people left in motel rooms – but found only the cheap Bible and a receipt for a pack of gum and a skin mag.

"Probable vengeful ghost?" Sam said, opening his laptop. "Looks like Casper died in a car crash a few months ago and passengers in the car that him are being ripped apart in locked rooms."

"Been a while since we've had an old fashioned salt and burn." Dean said, feeling his eyelids droop. "Give me four hours and we'll go digging."

"No point." Sam said, clicking on a few keys. "We might as well lock up for the night and go in the morning."

"Scared of the dark, Sammy boy?"

His brother didn't even bother to respond, closing the laptop and picking up his book again. Dean kicked off his boots and punched the thin pillow a few times, and fell asleep with the sound of Sam turning the pages in the well-worn book.

When Stiles opened his eyes, it was still half dark. That didn't mean much, the mornings hadn't been bright for a while. It made waking up harder, that was about it.

He pulled on a pair of jeans, his favourite t-shirt – Scott had bought him a new one for his birthday, Green Lantern – and grabbed a shirt from the floor. He sniffed it as he walked down to the kitchen, it smelt fresh enough. Scott would tell him if he smelt bad.

His dad was already gone, note pinned to the fridge telling him that there was money in the tin for groceries, Stiles figured it was a subtle way of telling him to get his butt to the store and get the food in, and to be careful. All his dads notes ended with 'be careful' now.

He was half way through the last of the cereal – the powdery mess that gets caught at the bottom of the pack and turns into a thick slush as soon as you add the milk – when the backdoor flew open and Scott tumbled through, grinning from ear to ear.

"No one should smile like that before noon, dude." Stiles complained as Scott raided the cupboards. "We've got nothing."

"Nah, us either." Scott said, slumping into the chair opposite him. "Mom left me money to get stuff in."

"Are you just here to abuse your best friend privilege of free ride to the store?" When Scott looked utterly guilty, far more than he should for something so pathetic, Stiles grinned. "Poor show, dude, poor show."

"She's been working overtime for weeks." Scott said, slumping into the chair like a dejected puppy. "I hardly ever see her – and borrowing the car is out of the question."

"Yeah," Stiles nodded. "My dad got called out last night, another fender-bender turned into a full blown fist-fight. Luckily my baby is all beat to hell anyway – I doubt a crash would make much of a difference."

"You should probably stop using it as a battering ram, then." Scott laughed.

"Dude – I saved your miserable little life with that move!" Stiles grinned, lifting the bowl and slurping the last of the milk out of the bottom. "I just wish she hadn't paid me back with ripping two huge claw marks into the side. It was extremely awkward trying to explain that away to the auto-guy."

The store was deserted. Not just empty – deserted. They grabbed a cart each and raced each other, running and then lifting their feet off the ground and letting the carts roll them along, swinging dangerously from side to side and hitting off of the metal racks. For a couple of guys who were looking at their 18th birthdays that year, they managed to kill a couple of hours acting like kids.

Stiles didn't like the empty white spaces – when Scott was getting the Almond milk his mom loved and Stiles was trying to find some low sodium salt for his dad (who complained but couldn't actually tell the difference) the feeling of being utterly alone was almost crippling. The only sound he could hear was the 'tink tink' of the strip lighting overhead, and the hum of the huge refrigerators.

"Dude!" Scott called out as he turned the corner of the aisle. "There isn't anyone else here."

"Have you only just noticed we're alone?" Stiles said, giving his best friend a long look. "So much for those super keen senses, buddy."

"No, I mean, there is only us here." Scott responded.

"That tends to be the definition of alone." Stiles managed, rolling his eyes at the confused look on his friends face.

"No, I mean… who do we pay?"

"Huh?"

"There isn't anyone here to pay." Scott pointed out. "There isn't anyone else here."

He thought about it for a long moment. "We just take it them." He said eventually.

"I'm not stealing."

"Yeah, it's not exactly stealing if there isn't anyone here to take our money." Stiles argued. "We're here, and we're ready to pay." He shrugged, watching the play of emotion over Scott's face. "Dude, unless you know how to use a register – which might get us into more trouble if they catch you and think you're stealing money – then we can't pay." Stiles shrugged. He wondered for a few moments if the son of the Sheriff should be trying to convince his friend to steal a weeks' worth of groceries was maybe not awesome… but hey! No one was there to take their cash!

"You think we should just leave the money on the register?" Scott said, trailing behind him as he pushed the cart to the wide doors.

"That'll just mean the next guys that come in here will steal it." Stiles shrugged. "More likely that people would see the money and realise no one is there and wreak the place. We're actually being pretty responsible."

Scott didn't say anything else, so Stiles assumed that he was going along with Stiles plan. It was a great plan. His dad would never know that they hadn't paid, the food would be in the house, and Stiles had a week's worth of grocery money in his pocket and a car that needed new brake pads. Best morning at the store ever.

"Agent Green, this is my partner, Agent Clapton." Dean said, as they held up their badges to the screen door. The older woman behind it nodded. She was dressed all in black, holding tightly to the cross at her neck as she pushed open the rickety frame to let them in.

"I'm sorry," She said, as she waved them into the living room. "With all the trouble going around about here these days you don't open the door to folks you don't know."

"Sensible." Dean nodded, giving the place a quick once over as he sat down. "Always ask for I.D – you never know who you could be letting in."

Sammy gave him a constipated look that he ignored.

"We're here to ask about your son, Mrs Peters." Sam said in that comforting, gentle tone that people responded to. Might as well let the Sasquatch do his thing. "May I use your rest room?"

"Upstairs, last door on the right." The older woman smiled sadly, before turning back to Sam. "I just don't understand how this could have happened, he was such a good boy."

Dean let her voice trail behind him as he walked up the stairs. Nice house, he noted. Not too fancy, but clean and well loved. He noticed stuff like that, stuff that anyone who lived in a regular house might not – but spend long enough sleeping in your car or some fleabag motel and you appreciated little things like the notches on the bedroom doorpost beside words like 'Jake, 6years' and '8years'. Those little things that made it a home.

He pulled out the EMP detector from his pocket and quickly scanned the hallway as he walked. Sure enough, it hit red and let out a high pitched beeping when he got to Jake Peters room. He was the first kid, the passenger in the car that had crashed into Harris Wilson, killing him on impact.

As far as Sam could find, the kids in the car were drunk but the driver wasn't. He pushed open the bedroom door and looked about. Typical High School kid, he figured, the posters on the walls of football players and hot chicks in swimwear – but someone had obviously been cleaning. The carpet still stunk of bleach, and the roof would need repainted if they wanted to get rid of the splatter pattern there. Turning off the EMP, he slipped it back into his pocket and walked to the window. No yellow sulfur on the frame, but no build-up of dust either – the place was spotless. Looked like mommy had cleaned the whole place as best she could. Damn.

He walked back down the stairs to see Sammy shaking hands and giving the old 'We're sorry for your loss' thing that he was so good at, and Mrs Peters face crumpled a little before the mask of control quickly returned. Poor woman, Dean thought – probably had the kid late in life and obviously adored him from all the pictures and trophies and little things like childish drawings still stuck on the fridge door that hadn't been moved in years.

"Find anything?" Sam asked as they walked to the car, glistening in the dull morning light. You wouldn't have thought it was June, not with the sun hidden and the sky a washed out grey.

"Yeah, mommy here gutted the kids room – place is squeaky clean." Dean said, opening the door with a squeak. He'd need to get the oil out soon. "EMP had a party though – so we're not looking at some freaky suicide."

"Yeah, she seemed pretty adamant that Jake was a 'good boy' and wouldn't kill himself. He just got a full ride. Football."

"Sucks to be him."

"Nice Dean, real nice." Sam bitched.

As much as they didn't trust the local nightlife in Fossil, they weren't about to try digging up a grave in the middle of the afternoon.

Dean slammed the bathroom door shut, shrugging out of his suit jacket and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Despite the fact that every town had some kind of monster in it, and they'd not had a day off in about a year – he actually looked better than expected.

It helped that due to the regular human violence, working at night just wasn't viable – he'd gotten more sleep in the past 6 months than he'd had since he was a kid. Now he slept for 4 hours, got up for a piss and a parameter check, then fell back into bed for another 4.

Sammy slept right through, but then he always could sleep anywhere. Pulling off his tie and shirt, he took a good look at his body. The stitches on his hip were itching, but didn't look infected, so they were probably healing okay – and the purple bruise over his ribs was fading to a greenish yellow and only hurt when he poked it. The handprint on his shoulder had lost that swollen blister of a burn though, and had just settled into a red mark – when he ran his own hand over the skin he could feel the slightly raised shape, and it always ran a little hotter than the rest of his body, but hell – it didn't itch, didn't get infected and chicks thought it was cool, so he was okay with a little reminder that he once was saved from the pit. An angel pulled me from hell and all I got was this lousy scar.

"Going in the shower, Sammy!" He called through the closed door, so his brother wouldn't turn on the water in the tiny sink in what passed as a kitchenette in this place.

"Yeah." Was the only reply he got. Bigfoot was probably on his laptop watching porn, or reading that damn book. Dean wasn't sure which one he preferred.

The shower made painful noises before spitting out water so cold Dean wondered if his balls were trying to climb back into his body. Looked like it was another one of those showers where you had to get the dial just right, or you'd end up pelted with ice water, or drenched in the fires of Mordor.

No complimentary soap to steal in places like this, he'd already shoved his stuff into the corner. Unlike Sam, whose personal grooming put him up there with chicks, Dean used his bodywash to wash his hair as well as his skin, and didn't bother with any fancy crap. He'd used Sam's hair stuff once, never again. It had turned his hair into some poufy mess, too soft to even style. Nah, he thought as he scrubbed his skin (avoiding the gash on his leg as well as the stitches on his hip) he'd stick with his own stuff.

He didn't bother shaving – he'd done it that morning and hadn't got a shadow yet. He didn't really need to shower, but long days on the road and the fact that you never really knew the next time you were going to be able to stand under some warm water had resulted in him using the shower as often has he could. He ate like a pig for the same reason.

The towel wrapped around his hips was rough and faded, not worth taking with them, but it did the job well enough. He cracked the door open.

"Sammy, throw my bag over."

Moments later, his duffel, zipped and ready to go should they need to leave in a rush, landed in a heap at the door. "Thanks." He remember to add, before shutting the door again and pulling out a change of clothes. They needed to find a Laundromat as soon as possible, he was running out of clean shirts. Pulling on a pair of jeans that weren't too badly stained, and his green t-shirt, he walked back into the main room. Sure enough, Sam was had his nose stuck in a book – laying on the bed with his shoes kicked off. He'd gotten changed out of his suit too – back into jeans and a flannel shirt - Dean noticed that one of his socks was looking a bit threadbare, he made a mental note to pick him up a couple of new pairs next time they swung past a Wallmart.

"Still reading that, Sammy?" He grinned, packing up the suit into his bag carefully. "Doesn't normally take you this long to finish."

"I found 'Brave New World' in the dresser." His brother said, looking up with a grin. "How's that for luck?"

"Yeah, dude. Party on." Dean said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Stiles was half way through packing all the food he'd not paid for into the fridge when the back door was pushed open.

"It's just me!" Scott called out, before noticing that Stiles was right there, then he grinned. "Wanna go hang out at Boyd's? His parents are out and he's managed to download a copy of that Bond film."

"I thought he'd be spending the day with Erica?" He replied, grabbing the milk and trying to fit it in the stupid drawer thing that always looked like it was going to break.

"He was, but her parents are freaking out – their neighbours house was broken into last night, and they don't think it's safe out – she's basically grounded, and you know how her parents feel about Boyd."

He nodded. Her parents, who were pretty cool about Isaac hanging around (despite the fact that his dad had been brutally murdered and he'd been a suspect) really, really didn't like their daughter hanging around Boyd. Erica argued that they were being racist (which they denied) but Stiles thought it had more to do with the fact that Boyd was most definitely interested in their daughter, and Isaac looked like he cared more about hair products. He was hanging around Danny more, since Jacksons dad got the promotion that took them to Baltimore, so they probably thought he was gay or something.

Letting your daughter spend time with a gay dude versus letting her spend time with a guy who wanted in her panties… well… no contest really. He'd not told anyone this though – because he wasn't sure if Isaac was gay, he didn't need to get on his bad side, and Erica might kill him if she heard him talking about her sex life.

A sudden explosion of noise though, knocked them both sideways. Scott let out a pained howl – his hearing was much better than Stiles, and the blast had been loud enough to make him dive under the table.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles yelled, running to the front door. Throwing it open, he saw a plume of black smoke and orange fire reach over the town. "Holy shit!" He breathed, trying to calm his heart rate. "That's the gas station!" He called over his shoulder to Scott who was still covering his ears and stumbling towards the door. "The gas station blew up!"

Why his living room was always the meeting place when shit was going down now, he had no idea, but ever since the Alpha pack had torn through the town the Stilinski couch was in hot demand.

"Look, I'm telling you." Lydia was saying with exaggerated patience, "That it wasn't an accident. Do you know how many fail-safes are in place to avoid something like that happening?"

"She's right." Stiles agreed, and not just because it was Lydia Martin, love of his life (almost, the 10 year plan was still in place) but because she actually was right. "I looked online – which probably got me flagged on some government watch list, by the way – and it's actually damn near impossible to blow up a gas station. That whole 'single match on the ground and walk away slowly as it explodes behind you' thing is just in the movies."

"It takes planning." Lydia added, holding out her empty glass to Stiles who was on his feet and half way through the kitchen to refill it before he even knew what he was doing. Damn, the girl had him trained.

"It was either bomb or a suicide thing." He called from the kitchen, carefully pouring the soda. He saw the movement rather than the person, and dropped the bottle in fright. A hand grabbed it before the plastic hit the ground, and Stiles realized who it was by the leather and the glare. "Derek's here!" He called out, only to have the rabble in his living room yell back 'We know.'

Damn them and their noses.

"Why did you call me?" Derek asked Isaac as they walked back into the room together. Derek didn't really hang out with them much. He had older, more mature things that needed doing, Stiles guessed. Isaac was the only one who actually spent any time with him, and that might have had something to do with the fact that Derek lived in Isaac's house now. He needed adult supervision or something like that, and Derek had stepped in and was his official, legal guardian. He had no idea how they managed to get the paperwork, but hey – it meant Isaac got to stay in Beacon Hills with them, and that was a good deal.

"The gas station blew up." Isaac said, not sitting on the sofa but leaning his back against the small coffee table that was inching back over the carpet with his weight.

"I know." Derek replied, not even bothering to say hey to everyone. Dick, Stiles thought bitterly, No wonder no one wanted him as the Alpha.

"We thought it might have been something… I dunno… supernatural." Boyd said to his feet. Yeah, ever since Boyd and Erica had run off together to find a new pack and had returned, bloody and beaten, the teen hadn't been able to look his Alpha in the eye.

"It's not." He shrugged, leather whispering as he moved. "It was a regular person who had been acting a bit strange and then blew it up."

"How'd you know that?" Stiles asked quickly. "No one knows what happened yet – my dad is still trying to work it out."

"I was there."

Well, that was greeted with a cacophony of questions and exclamations. Trust Derek to have prime information on the biggest thing that had happened in Beacon Hills in ages (the last time had been the 'mountain lion' loose in the school car park) and holding out of information.

"Dude!" Stiles cut over them all with a wave of his arms. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He said, looking at Stiles for only a moment before his eyes moved on to Isaac. "The car is fine."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I filled the car, there was a guy behind me with his car – I drove off, the place exploded." He glared at Stiles. "Your father has already questioned me about my involvement."

Damn. Stiles thought. No wonder he didn't want to be there. His dad, who knew something was going on with Derek, but hadn't yet worked out what, spent most of his free time trying to pin crimes on the guy. It didn't help that every time something freaky happened in town it had something to do with the Alpha, like the kanima, or the Djin, and it resulted in Derek being in the eye of the storm. Stiles felt himself go red under the glare. It wasn't his fault! He couldn't stop his dad from putting one and one together and getting 3!

"Acting strange?" Lydia probed. "He was acting strange?"

"Yes." Derek ground out. He didn't like Lydia. Hell, he didn't really like anyone – but he really didn't think much of Lydia. Sucked to be him though, because Lydia was the only one who was able to work out Peter. "He filled up his car like normal, but… I don't know. He scent was strange, and he looked determined."

"To fill up his car?" She redhead pushed. She knew Derek didn't like her, and she didn't care.

"No. Just determined. Like he was focusing really hard on something."

"Did you see a bomb?"

"No."

"Maybe it was in his car?" Stiles cut in. "Blow up the car, get the gas station?"

"Wouldn't work." Lydia cut in. "That would just burn the gas in the pumps, not the underground reservoirs, which is what caused the plume."

Scott shrugged. "So what, we're just looking at some random guy blowing up stuff? A normal guy?"

"Looks like it." Isaac sighed. Stiles wasn't sure if that was relief or disappointment.

"Well, if it isn't anything I need to worry about, I'm going." Lydia said, getting to her feet and fluffing her hair. "Peter is taking me to the mall."

If there was one thing that was super freaky about the whole 'Peter coming back from the dead' last year, it was the 'Peter coming back from the dead and developing a freaky friendship with Lydia Martin that no one could explain'.

He was old enough to be her dad – and she assured them that nothing was going on between them with a 'Ew gross' but that didn't mean it wasn't… freaky. He took her places, the Mall, expensive restaurants, galleries in the city – anything she wanted that her parents didn't get her, Peter did.

He still made Stiles' skin crawl though, because Peter killed his niece – whom he had apparently doted on – and tried to kill Derek, and almost killed Lydia – then made her crazy. Stiles wondered if he was the only person who remembered that sometimes, when he would show up with food and smiles all round.

"Have you spoken to Alison?" Scott asked, and Stiles managed not to roll his eyes. Dude was just never giving up on that bag of crazy. At the mention of her name, Boyd got to his feet – managing to make the room feel smaller just with the amount of space he took up. Yeah, like Stiles, Boyd hadn't really gotten over the whole 'Argents are dicks' thing – being shot and tortured tended to linger in your memory longer than you'd like.

"Yes." Lydia said, pulling on her coat. "Okay," she turned, hair fanning out in a wave of bright red curls, "That's me. I've done my little 'team wolf' thing, and I'm going shopping. Next time something blows up, check if it's something I actually need to know about before calling."

She left, slamming the door as she went, although Stiles knew she was just making an exit and wasn't actually mad.

Derek frowned, and Stiles – never one to like a silence – gave a manic grin. "Well, xbox? Might as well, since we're all here."

By the time they'd set it up, Derek was gone, and Scott had stopped looking forlornly at the door Lydia had just exited. He wouldn't talk about Alison with Boyd in the room. He knew better.

Dean, bored out of his mind and fed up of Sam ignoring him, had taken a walk down the main street of Fossil while he waited for it to get dark enough to go dig up some dead dude. The town was small, like so many other places they'd drove through or spent the night. Half the shops were closed, the other half had signs over the boarded up windows that said 'We're still open!' in cheery lettering. No one hung out on the streets, no kids on bikes, no teenagers in alleyways trying to hide the fact that they were smoking. The only people he saw were the folks that had to be there, a few cars drove quickly past, not stopping just in case.

The apocalypse was over, it was supposed to be over, done, dead. They'd stopped it. Sammy had stopped it by jumping in that damn hole and pulling the Big Bad with him – but the world was falling apart regardless. They didn't know why – no one told them a damn thing. Now that they weren't about to be used as Angel Condoms, heaven had been pretending like they didn't exist. Bunch of dicks.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hello?" A youthful voice said after a few rings.

"What did you mom say about not answering the phone?" Dean said, good naturedly, and laughed when Ben gave a happy 'whoop' down the line. "How was school?"

"Good." Ben said, voice slightly muffled as he took a bite of something. "I was the only person in biology today." He added, chewing. "All my friends were at home, sick."

Yeah, that was another thing, the damn sickness that everyone was getting. A cross between gastric and swine flu – it swept over the country like fire and not one company had found a cure. "You sick?" Dean asked, dreading the reply, "Or mom?"

"Nah." Ben said, and Dean could hear him walking about. "Mom says we're the only folks in town who weren't puking up our guts."

"I'm pretty sure she didn't say that."

"Nearly." Ben said. "Are you ever coming back?" He must have sensed that this was the wrong thing to say, because he hurriedly followed with: "I mean to visit, not to stay."

"I'm gonna try to get back for your birthday." Dean said, "But you know, I can't promise anything."

When Ben spoke next his voice was disappointed. "Mom said you'd try. It just sucks, you know?"

"I know." Dean sighed. He'd loved Lisa and Ben, loved the house and the garden and working on his car. Hell, he'd even loved his job in construction and going bowling every other Thursday. Then Sammy had shown up, not dead – and there was no way Dean could sit back and let his brother going out and hunt on his own.

Lisa had been great. Bed had been devastated. But Dean kept his word, and called every day – no matter what. Lisa had a new guy now, although she'd not introduced him to Ben yet. Dean felt bad, because he was the reason she didn't trust Ben getting too close to this new guy – she wanted to stop him from being hurt again. "Hey, how was the game last night?"

"Cancelled." Ben grumbled. "Coach is sick."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Look, buddy, I gotta go, but tell your mom I called and that… I dunno, just tell her I called, okay?"

"Sure." Ben said, and Dean could already hear the TV playing his cartoons.

"Be careful, buddy. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye Dean."

They hung up at the same time. Ben was a great kid, he thought, as he dialed another number, and he missed him more than he missed Lisa, which was fucked up – but true.

"The number you have dialed cannot be connected. Please hang up and-" the robotic female voice on the line monotoned at him as he hit the 'end call' button and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He needed to kick that habit, calling that line. Hell, he wasn't sure what he'd do if he got an answer.

He made his way back to the motel, checked on his baby- parked far enough away from the road to keep her safe from any night-time vandals- and slipped into the room.

Sam was still reading, although he had changed his position on the bed. He looked up at Dean when he walked in, and then up at the window – frowning.

"Where have you been?" He asked, frowning.

"Just went for a walk, see what the town was like."

"And?"

"Just like everywhere else." Dean shrugged. "Deserted, quiet."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Sam said, looking out at the darkening sky. "We won."

"Yeah. I just can't help but wondering what it would be like if we'd lost."

Well, there you go, Chapter 1 of my Teen Wolf meets Supernatural story. So far, I'm loving every second of writing it, which makes a change from the total hell that I was going through with 'That Unfortunate Situation'.

As you know, I'm not a weekend poster, so I hope that this here will be enough to keep you going until Monday where I'll start up my posting at a more regular pace.

If you have time, please let me know what you think of this by leaving a comment – that way I know how I'm doing!

Love you guys :D