DON'T GET MAD, GET EVEN

"Step away from the human and nobody gets hurt," Dean says slowly. "If you let him go we'll let you go scott-free. This is a deal you'll want to take, you understand?"

They are all standing around the pit with the monster and Stiles in it. The blue glow is only getting stronger, and Stiles' eyes has started to turn white. Both hunters have their shotguns aimed at the draugr, and both werewolves are as furry and fangy as they can possibly get.

"But Dean, I thought we were going to kill it. You shouldn't lie," the angel admonishes him. "Also, I believe one of the werewolves is named Scott, so you should probably rephrase that…"

"Thanks Cas," Dean replies grimly. "Your complete honesty really puts a ring on our negotiation here."

"Maybe we could try the spell now?" Sam chips in. "If it works, then the kid should be fine."

"'If' it works? 'Should be fine'?" Stiles cries. "I thought you guys were pros. You're just a bunch of murdering bastards, that's what!"

The draugr fucking chuckles and only tightens his arms around the boy. If Scott could grow extra fangs and claws, this is when he would have done that.

"Yeah, I'm gonna try it," Sam asserts. He picks up a plastic bag filled with an assortment of browned paperbits from his jacket pocket, and ruffles around in it for a minute before he pulls out two pieces. He has to flatten them by smoothing the papers out against his jeans. No one but himself is impressed. "Okay. Cas, if you read from that paper at the same time as I read from this, we should be golden. You got it?"

"Yes, Sam. I've got the paper. You just gave it to me."

"That's not what he…" Dean starts. "Cas, forget it. Just read the damned thing."

Sam has to concentrate deeply and read his paper through before he speaks up, but to the angel the incantation seems to come naturally.

"Vera farinn, látinn mann," they read. "Gera ekki skaða á lifandi. Fara heim í ríki þitt. Hel er að kalla þig. Hermóðr vilja veiða ykkur til enda heimsins. Alföðr mun bölva yður og börnum yðar. Fara heim í ríki þitt. Vera farinn."

Sam's and the angel's voices blend together. The words they are saying can barely be distinguished from each other, and become a sing song melody. They go on and on and on. After a while Scott gets fairly certain that it rhymes, but he can't quite figure out how. But the spell appears to work, and the draugr eventually screams and turns into a thin blue smoke. It trickles up towards the sky, and then it's gone. Stiles is still glowing in the dark, however.

"Well. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Dean beams. Stiles faints as if on cue, face first into the mud.

"Hey Sam, we should get one of these werewolves. We'll take smaller goofy one, not the sourpuss. Fucking useful for tracking and mauling, I say. We could keep him in the trunk and you could take him for walks and train agility with him. Maybe you could put him in contests. I bet he's real pretty if you put ribbons on him and give him a nice poodle 'fro. You know you want to, lil' bro." Dean laughs. He is driving and thumping the steer wheel along with "Ace of Spades". Sam grunts like he hasn't listened to a word his brother said, and continues to leaf through the bag of browned paperbits of ancient magic spells.

"Ha ha. Dog jokes. Never gets old," Derek says from the backseat. "Feel free to take him, though. You'll be doing us a favor."

Scott growls and tries to hit him, but the angel Cas turns his friendly eyes on him and from then on Scott goes stiff and quiter for the rest of the ride.

From that point it's oddly silent in the car on the way home. Dean's driving. They have a rule that people that has been cursed or hexed shall not drive a motor vehicle within the span of forty-eight hours. That goes for the pack as well. They came up with that rule after Isaac got dosed in fairydust and developed an extreme love for batik T-shirts and desperately wanted to drive to Woodstock. It's not an experience any of them would like to repeat in any way.

The silence lasts until Stiles wakes up. He starts to wriggle sleepily in Derek's lap, but goes very stiff and squeaks when he realizes exactly who he is sitting on.

"What did the monster do to me?" Stiles whines. He still glows faintly. "How am I going to explain this to Dad?"

"Just tell him what you normally do," Scott says helpfully. "It'll be okay."

"I am glowing in the dark. There is no normal explanation for this. I don't think he'll fall for the excuse that I've been to a rave. Dad was young in the 80's after all."

"Just make sure to keep all the lamps on?" Scott continues. Because he always gives the best advice.

"Yeah, 'cause that's going to work out just fine. He's going to kill us all for this."

"With a bit of luck he'll start with you," Derek whispers, and after that Stiles neither moves or speaks until they get back.

Scott manages to talk Dean into driving all the way to the Hale house. It takes some convincing, because neither hunter is overly keen to enter Ground Zero of the pack's territory. A golden dawn is starting to rise over the treetops, and the birds are tuning up.

"Wow, you guys really live up to all the monster stereotypes there are," Sam says and laughs. "Dean, have you even seen anything that looks more of an evil lair than this house? Do you, like, live here? Are you guys for real?" But Dean hasn't listened.

"Is that what I think it is?" he says and points at the Camaro with a shaky finger. "Is that for fucking real?"

"No, it's a were-ghost car out to kill you," Derek snipes. "Yes. It's my Camaro."

"Can I… Can I try it?" Dean looks and sounds childishly hopeful, like he has spotted a piece of apple-pie or a busty Asian beauty. Sam gasps a shocked "Dean!" at the same time as Derek growls "Don't fucking think so, Winchester!" And that's the end of that conversation.

"Don't ever come back here," Derek says. He's using his Alpha-voice now, but it doesn't seem to make much of an impact. "You have trespassed once on my territory, and I won't allow you to a second time. If you do, I'll be forced to hunt you down and marginalize you both like the murderers you are."

"Like Hell you will," Dean says. He's still cross from not getting to pet the Camaro, or whatever he wanted to do, and after all, he has a history of not reacting well to threats.

"Derek's got your scent now. If you even get close to Beacon Hills, he will know and he will find you," Stiles fills in. "He's the goddamned Terminator when it comes to that shit. You shouldn't underestimate a threat from Derek motherfucking Hale. That's not a mistake I would do. Fine, technically redo. Or like re-re-redo, but hey—"

"Shut up!" Derek roars. Stiles flips him off and whispers 'fuck you too' behind his back, like Derek wouldn't notice.

THE END

(I beg forgiveness if the Icelandic was off. Google Translate is not always my best friend. Anyway: I hope you enjoyed the story! This was my first crossover story ever, so I have no idea if it was any good… I want to hear what you thought of it! Please comment and spread the love!)