Dean and Sam had been on the road for hours when they finally reached a motel five miles outside of Beacon Hills, California. Dressed in some jeans and a black T-shirt, Dean rented out a room for two, grabbed his bag and then he and Sam walked into their motel room. Sitting his bag down on the bed closest to the door, Dean sighed.

"So Beacon Hills is like what? Some portal for monsters and stuff?"

Sam sat down at the table, pulling out his laptop and setting it up. "It's not a portal. The town is kind of like a beacon for the supernatural. Lots of weird shit happens around there apparrently."

Dean crossed his arms. "Remind me why we're going there again?"

Sam looked at his brother, annoyed. Dean had been acting like this since Castiel disappeared and Sam was sick of it. "We got a call from a hunter who'd been really close to dad, remember? Goes by the name of Chris Argent. He's a great hunter according to dads journal."

"But he hunts werewolves." Dean said. "We hunt everything under the sun."

Sam held up a finger and said, "That may be true but he taught dad everything there is to know about them. And besides, if Argent called us something must be seriously wrong."

Dean stared at him for a few seconds, thinking things over before grumbling he was right and saying he was going to go grab a beer.

----------------------------

At that same moment a certain dark, brooding werewolf was watching the motel, listening in on their conversation. It seemed like he had come back to Beacon Hills right on time before the action started. As the werewolf loped away the image of a young boy flashed behind his eyes and he smiled. He had missed him. A lot.

I'm coming Stiles.