Night had settled over San Francisco.
Dean and Sam slipped quietly toward Kurt Mueller's apartment, moving along the shadowed corridor with the ease of people who had broken into far too many places during their lives.
Dean worked the lock while Sam kept watch down the hallway, both of them focused on confirming whether Kurt was the werewolf they were hunting.
Henry stayed behind near the Impala, leaning against the back of the car with his arms folded.
From where he stood he could see the building entrance, but he wasn't really watching it. His thoughts were somewhere else.
"Sometimes knowing too much is a pain," Henry muttered quietly to himself. "You end up watching people do stupid things even when you already know the answer."
He knew Kurt wasn't the werewolf they were looking for.
He knew exactly who it was.
But saying it out loud would raise questions he couldn't answer without exposing everything about himself. The timeline, the knowledge he shouldn't have, the things that hadn't happened yet.
That would turn his life into a much bigger mess than it already was.
So he stayed quiet.
For a moment everything was quiet.
Then a low, rough sound drifted through the night.
A growl.
Henry's head turned slowly toward the side alley between the buildings.
"Hmmm."
He pushed himself off the car and slid his hand into his jacket, fingers closing around the handle of a silver knife as he started toward the alley.
The place was dim, lit only by a flickering security lamp above a back door. Trash bins lined the wall, and the ground was scattered with cardboard, dust, and the usual junk that collected in city alleys.
Henry stepped deeper inside, scanning the shadows.
Nothing.
Just the smell of garbage and damp concrete.
"Huh… maybe just a dog," he muttered, lowering the knife slightly.
Then another sound came.
A slow scraping noise.
Henry frowned and looked up.
Glen was hanging halfway up the brick wall.
His fingers were dug into the wood trim like claws, nails sunk deep into the frame. His body clung to the surface unnaturally, muscles tense, back arched. His eyes reflected the dim light with a feral yellow glow.
For a second neither of them moved.
Then Glen's head rotated slowly toward Henry.
His lips peeled back from his teeth.
"Oh… fuck," Henry breathed.
The werewolf dropped from the wall.
He hit the ground with a heavy thud and immediately lunged forward.
Henry barely had time to react.
He threw himself sideways just as Glen slammed into where he had been standing, claws gouging deep lines into the pavement. The force of the impact sent trash cans crashing over.
Henry rolled across the concrete and came up with the silver knife raised.
Glen turned toward him again, shoulders hunched, breathing rough and animalistic.
The wolf inside him had fully surfaced, and the hunger in its glowing eyes was unmistakable.
Henry reacted instantly.
"Super strength."
He kicked the trash can at his feet with brutal force, sending it flying as a distraction and rushed in immediately, silver knife aimed straight for the creature's heart.
Glen reacted faster than expected.
He smashed the flying trash can aside with a violent swing and grabbed Henry's wrist just before the blade could sink into his chest. The knife stopped inches from its target as the two locked in a struggle.
"Fuck you—just die already," Henry snarled through clenched teeth. "You've killed enough."
Using his free hand, he tried forcing the knife down toward the heart, muscles straining as he pushed with everything he had. For a moment the blade trembled dangerously close to piercing the werewolf's chest.
But Glen's strength was overwhelming.
His grip tightened and he lifted Henry completely off the ground as if he weighed nothing. With a savage motion, Glen hurled him across the alley.
Henry slammed hard into the brick wall. The impact rattled his bones and knocked the air from his lungs before he dropped to the ground, the knife slipping from his grip and skidding across the concrete.
Glen stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, drool sliding from the corner of his lips as those feral eyes locked onto Henry like he was prey.
"You know what," Henry muttered under his breath while reaching into his jacket, "for situations like this… I carry a pepper bomb."
He pulled out a small packet of powdered pepper and flicked it forward. The packet burst right in front of Glen's face, exploding into a cloud of red dust.
The effect was immediate.
Glen recoiled with a violent sneeze, his eyes squeezing shut as the pepper burned through his senses. He staggered back, clawing at his face while coughing and growling in frustration.
Henry didn't waste the opening.
He lunged forward and grabbed the silver knife from the ground, tightening his grip as he spun around, ready to drive the blade straight into Glen's heart and finish it.
But when he turned—
Glen was already halfway up the wall again, claws digging into brick.
With a single leap, he vanished over the roof.
"Sigh…" Henry lowered the knife. "Great. The guy escaped."
Footsteps rushed in, and Sam and Dean appeared at the alley entrance with their guns raised. They stopped when they saw Henry standing there with the silver knife in his hand.
Dean frowned. "What the hell happened?"
"Madison's front-door neighbor."
Sam blinked. "That guy?"
"He's the werewolf," Henry said. "Came at me right here. I tried to put silver in his heart."
Dean glanced at the crushed trash can and the pepper dust hanging in the air.
"And?"
"He caught my arm before the knife went in," Henry said. "Strong as hell."
Sam and Dean exchanged a look.
Dean shook his head slightly. "You're telling me the creepy neighbor is the wolf? I hate when the obvious answer is actually right."
Henry nodded.
"Then what are we standing here for?" he said. "Let's go."
*****
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