Hey guys, so here's the next part. Gotta study for the rest of the week, so expect another update next week or so. Hope this doesn't suck too much. :) Thanks to everybody who read this so far!

Derek woke up to the sound of a heartbeat he wasn't familiar with. The smells were all wrong too, but he was used to that by then, as he had been spending nights on the streets and in random motel rooms or other available buildings for a while now. At least he was warm and rather comfortable, so wherever he had ended up the night before couldn't be too bad.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his sight. And the first thing he saw, was some random dude, sleeping in another bed next to his. His eyes widened comically, body going all tense, before he actually remembered what had happened. The Argents had found him. They had hunted him down, threatened him with a gun loaded with wolfsbane bullets and questioned him about his sister's (his alpha's) whereabouts. He might have run away from home, after one too many discussions (she couldn't understand, would never understand why he smelled of guilt and pain all the time), but he would rather die than endanger her. They were all each other had left, after all…

This guy - Dean? - had saved his ass. He didn't have any doubts that the Argents would have tortured him to the point of insanity - if not outright killed him, estimating him useless since he wouldn't give in - if Dean hadn't helped him out. He didn't know what reasons Dean had to do that, but the guy didn't smell hostile and so far he hadn't really lied either (or at least his heartbeat hadn't revealed anything). Derek would just write it off as Dean being a genuinely good man, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a damn hunter. The scent of leather, gun powder and blood, mixed up with his own personal fragrance. The salt lining the door and window (he had smelled it, before actually seeing it). His clothes, plain and practical, the duffel bag filled with various knives and guns, a journal filled with notes about strange supernatural beings. It was ridiculously obvious. He had checked while Dean was in the shower and he had been tempted to just leave, then, but realized it wasn't safe wandering around alone with the Argents nearby. Dean might be a hunter, but he didn't seem to be familiar with the Argents. If Dean didn't work with them, he wasn't much of a danger to him, as most hunters outside of the Argent family knew only how to deal with bitten omega werewolves. Most of them didn't know about born werewolves, pack dynamics and the things that could actually hurt them. There hadn't been any wolfsbane, mistletoe or mountain ash among his stuff, which at least confirmed his suspicions. His conclusion had been that he was safer with Dean, especially as long as - since he didn't know what he was. And even if he somehow did find out, he would be able to defend himself and flee just fine.

And who knew… maybe Dean was different? Maybe he – even if he knew – wouldn't care, if he realized he wasn't dangerous…?

Derek's thoughts were interrupted by the bitter smell of sorrow, coming from Dean's side of the room in waves. His heart rate had slightly increased as well, and he was twitching, obviously about to wake up. Derek took a moment to stare at this stranger, who had offered to take him under his wing even though they had never even seen each other before. He was ridiculously handsome, what with being tall, muscular, brown-haired, green-eyed and having the prettiest face Derek had ever seen on an adult guy. He felt the faintest hint of attraction, before immediately blocking it off. He was not going to let himself feel attracted to anyone ever again and most of all - not to a hunter.

With a heavy sigh, Derek climbed out of bed and put on his sneakers, just as Dean was groaning and struggling into a sitting position.

"Crap, I forgot to set the alarm. What freakin' time is it?" the guy mumbled. With a look over his shoulder while he was slipping on his jacket, Derek saw him check the time on his cellphone and rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Eleven o'clock? Could've been worse," huffed Dean, before climbing out of his bed, too. Derek sat down on the chair in the corner, fidgeting with his hands, really not knowing what to think of Dean and the whole situation. He cast glances in the hunter's direction as he put on some clothes and shoved all his belongings into his duffel bag. Once he was done, he caught Derek's gaze with his own and asked: "You up for lunch in the diner on the other side of the road?"

Derek just shrugged, knowing he should leave for his own good, but finding himself strangely reluctant to do so, after all the thought he had invested in Dean probably being no menace. All of his wounds had healed overnight (he hoped Dean didn't notice the lack of injuries), he had finally had a few hours of decent sleep in a warm place (even if it reeked) and he was in the company of somebody, who seemed to be on his side for now. Emphasizing the "for now". It was the most of luck he had had in a while and Derek wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Though he probably should…

"Yeah. Yeah, I could eat," he answered instead, pushing himself off the chair.

"Awesome, c'mon then."

They took short turns in the bathroom and then left the room. As they walked past Dean's car (a rather nice Chevy Impala 67, almost as nice as Laura's Camaro) the hunter gently patted her roof, before throwing the duffel in the back. They then walked over to the small diner "Aunt Emily's" and slipped into the first free booth. Saying that Derek felt slightly uncomfortable sitting vis-a-vis a man he didn't even know the last name or age of, while studying a menu with various simple meals, would be the understatement of the year.

"Oh God - they have homemade bacon burgers," Dean moaned, face buried in the menu. "They have some healthy rabbit food, too, just like something Sammy would've taken," he murmured softly, obviously not meant to have an audience. The smell of sorrow was back and Derek lowered the menu, glancing over at the other man. The faint sweetish smell of a young man in the car (it probably was Sammy's right?), the recurrent bursts of sorrow emanating from Dean, the speaking to a person, who wasn't there. This Sammy must have been really important to Dean (A relative? A close friend? ...) and he was either dead or gone for other reasons.

"Do you think the bacon burgers are good around here?" Derek asked, trying to loosen up the heavy mood.

"I freakin' hope so, considering I haven't eaten one in ages. Also, I'm seriously starving," Dean replied, carelessly dropping the menu on the table.

Shortly after, a pretty, dark-haired girl in her twenties approached their table holding a small notepad and a pen in her hands.

"Hello boys, what can I get you?" she asked with a sweet smile. Derek studied her for a second, hearing the light skip of her heartbeat as she expectantly looked at Dean, who was shamelessly flirting with her. The slowly expanding smell of attraction from both sides was repulsive.

"Well, hey there, sweetheart. I'll take a coke and the bacon burger special with the onion rings," ordered Dean, leaning back against his seat and relaxing his posture, showing off an inviting body language.

The girl reacted flustered despite being obviously interested, and she turned to Derek, who just stared at her blankly.

"What about you?" she asked, her smile faltering slightly at the sight of his grim face.

"Still water and the burger, too. But with a side of salad," he muttered. She scribbled on her notepad, gave Dean another bashful smile and then walked off to deliver their orders.

"Dude, she's fuckin' hot," Dean commented, as soon as she was out of earshot. He leaned his elbows back on the table top and frowned at Derek, when he just shrugged in reply. "What? Not your type?"

Derek sighed, rolling his eyes annoyed. "She's fine," he answered in hope of concluding that particular topic. He couldn't help but think about long, golden curls, emerald eyes and sunbathed skin. He couldn't help but think about perky breasts, and long slender legs wrapping around his hips and fingernails leaving behind bloody welts on his back. Smoke and screams of agony. He panicky forced himself to stop thinking, roughly rubbing his face with both hands.

"Are you okay?" a voice interrupted his little moment. He raised his gaze and in the sunlight shining in from the huge window on his right, Dean's hair looked almost golden. His eyes were green like emeralds, his skin smooth and tanned. And he was a hunter too.

Derek abruptly stood up and ran out of the diner. He had been an idiot for underestimating Dean. Hunters were unpredictable. They were all the same. If Dean had known he was a werewolf, he wouldn't have helped him – that was for sure. He would have left him for dead and he would have genuinely believed to have done the right thing. Hunters didn't have a heart, when it came to creatures like him and he had been stupid to let himself believe he was safe for even an eye blink. Dean didn't know he was a werewolf, but if he were to find out, he wouldn't hesitate. He would try to get him killed, somehow. Sometimes wolfsbane and mistletoe weren't necessary to do that...

And now his eyes were burning and his throat starting to close up. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn't cried in weeks, less and less since he had run away from home. He wasn't about to do it now. He heard Dean run after him and walked faster. He didn't even know where to go. He hadn't known in a while.

"Derek! DEREK, DAMN IT, STOP!" Dean shouted, getting a hold of his jacket. Derek felt his wolf struggle to be released, but he tried to hold it back, thinking about his sister still alive and fine, though a few states over. He thought about her eyes when she still used to smile, warm and bright. And about how they turned red in anger – no, despair, when he said she couldn't understand ("Why can't you just tell me what's going on, then?"). He thought about her fingers carding through his hair and telling him she loved him no matter what he thought he had done, the last time he had seen her. In the evening they went to bed and in the morning he was gone.

Derek calmed down, though a huge sadness washed over him. He hadn't felt his sister's absence this much in weeks. He didn't struggle apart from emitting a small growl, when Dean turned him around, hands planted firmly on his shoulders, keeping him there.

"Dude," Dean muttered, looking straight into Derek's eyes. "The hell is wrong with you? C'mon, it's okay. We can go to another diner if you don't like this one. Just don't freak out on me again. Derek?"

Derek sniffled, ashamed of being seen in such a mental state by a man he wasn't even close to. He used the back of his hand to roughly rub his eyes and then firmly avoided Dean's gaze, while replying: "I need to go now. We don't know each other and we can't trust each other."

There was a short moment of silence, before Dean's gruff voice interrupted it. "That what you're afraid of? That you can't trust me?"

Derek hesitated, then nodded. "I can't trust you. I don't even know you. There is no reason for us to still hang around each other. You saved my ass, you were nice enough to give me a place to crash, but I can't see why you would keep me around, unless there's something else you want from me." He then raised his gaze and glared at Dean, hoping to be left alone. The hunter's hands slipped down to his upper arms, still holding him, but not restraining him anymore. He looked slightly helpless, before seeming to steel himself.

"Listen here, kid, and listen well," he started, then took a deep breath. "I totally understand your point of view. Seriously. I don't know you and I'm not sure I can trust you either. I only know that you're a kid who almost got himself killed last night and who seems to be wandering around alone at the moment. Think about your sister, man. What would she feel like, if she knew what happened yesterday? Because it would fuckin' kill me if I got to know my brother got hurt and almost died, and I wasn't there to protect him. I know for a fact, because I have a younger brother. I don't care who you are and where you come from. We all have our secrets, right? No need to judge. I just wanna make sure you're okay before I leave you on your own again" Dean concluded. He let go of Derek's arms and took a small step back, as if saying: You can or cannot believe me, you can leave or stay - your choice. Derek's heartbeat had quickened in hope, as every single word Dean had spoken had been true. He hadn't lied and he smelled concerned and caring. Maybe Dean was different, after all? He did say, he didn't care who he was and where he came from. No. No, he needed to stay careful nonetheless.

"Okay. I believe you. And I will trust you, for now," Derek said. "But the question is: How can you know you can trust me?" He cocked an eyebrow, curious of what answer Dean came up with. Dean couldn't tell if he was lying after all. Neither could he smell emotions off him.

"I don't? But I'm choosing to do so, for now. You seem to be an okay kid, if a little bit messed up in the head and that's just fine by me. Aren't we all, in a way? I'm on my own too, right now, so I wouldn't mind the company. But believe me, if you take advantage of my trust, you're gonna be surprised. You're gonna freakin' regret it because I'll give you one hell of a beating. Now, c'mon, the burgers must be done by now."

Dean walked off, not waiting for Derek and neither checking if he was following him. He did so, after a few seconds of perplexity. He seriously couldn't get his head around this guy, but shook it off, before following the older male. How old was Dean anyway? If this was a thing, they needed to get to know each other at least partially better, Derek decided. Calling Dean a potential pack-mate was more than a little bit insulting, considering he was a hunter. But forgetting about it for a second made it easy to imagine: Having a pack again, having somebody looking after him, somebody to care about. He wanted that again, with somebody who didn't know about his past, who didn't smell the guilt off him. A human would be an advantage, from that point of view. But Dean was a hunter…

They sat down in their booth again, their meals already there and going cold. When the waitress walked by, she gave them a weird look and Dean winked, saying something about "having a smoke before meal-time". Strangely, he ignored her completely afterwards, giving Derek a cautious look, before grabbing his burger and taking a huge bite out of it.

"Oh hell yeah," he groaned, mouth full. "This is awesome."

Derek grimaced (Dean was a little gross while eating), before digging into his own food. They didn't talk for the rest of lunch, but the atmosphere was surprisingly light and pleasant.

When their plates were empty, Dean leaned back against his seat, rubbing his belly and looking sleepy. Derek quietly pulled his wallet out of the hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket and looked at how much money he had left. He still had a couple bills of hundred, so he supposed he could pay this meal, as long as he made some more in the near future... He wasn't looking forward to whatever he would have to do, to earn it.

When the waitress came to get the dishes, Derek grimly asked her for the bill and she nodded, faking a smile. He heard her talk to her coworkers as she reached the kitchen:

"Man there's this hottie at table 6, but I think he's gay because he's with another guy and the other guy looked really pissed when he started flirting with me... why are the hottest ones always gay?!"

Derek scoffed under his breath, half-amused, and then noticed Dean stare at him with a questioning frown.

"What?" the hunter asked, before fishing his own wallet out of his backside pocket.

"I got this," Derek assured him, making a small gesture with his wallet. "You already paid the motel room."

Dean shrugged, pocketing his wallet. He got on his feet and left the table with a "gotta take a leak". Derek sat awkwardly in the booth alone, feeling strangely exposed, between the bright sunlight shining in from the window, the couple of customers sitting in the other booths around him and all the noises. He tried not to focus on any conversation because mostly it just gave him a headache hearing what people talked about. But then, he noticed Dean's voice: "Thanks, sweetheart. Well I guess I'll call you then, huh?"

When Dean finally came back, he didn't even sit back down, he just gestured with his hand and told Derek to "c'mon". Derek's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

"We didn't even pay yet. She didn't bring the bill."

"S'okay, I already took care of it," Dean replied, already starting to move to the entrance. Derek hurried to follow, casting a last glance at the waitress, before leaving (she was glaring at him with jealousy and it was kind of hilarious, but also a little mortifying).

"You didn't have to do that," he huffed, once he was at Dean's side. "I have money."

"So where we headed now?" Dean abruptly changed topic. Derek could take a hint, so he just shrugged as they reached the Impala. He studied how the black paint reflected the sunlight and then stared at the ground. Deciding to willingly go along with Dean was probably on the top ten list of stupid things he had done in his life (sadly, he had done many of those... and not the "you're-going-to-laugh-about-it-someday" kind either). He was playing with fire and fire had already taken enough from him…

"Well... last night, when I was attacked, I left everything I own there," Derek muttered, thinking about the backpack with the few possessions he had. It had seemed rather irrelevant in a life or death situation. "I would like to get back there and get it... if you don't mind."

Dean leaned back against the side of his car, his eyes impossibly green as he gazed towards the sun. Derek felt his mouth go a little dry.

"It's an hour long drive. And what if your mafia friends are still there?" Dean reasoned, crossing his ankles. Derek snorted at the mafia part. So that was the theory Dean had created for himself? He could work with that, he decided. It kind of fit too, considering everything.

"I'm not saying we have to... well, it would be nice, since I have nothing on me otherwise. And if they're still there, we can take them out. Together, I mean. We'd probably be stronger." I could off them any time, if it weren't for the wolfsbane, Derek thought bitterly.

"Hold your horses, Tony Montana. Nobody is taking out anyone. The last thing we need, is to get involved with the cops!"

"But what if they're there and want to kill us? And why do you even bother walking around with a gun, if you never use it? A man who doesn't intend to use one, doesn't keep one on him all the time, Dean."

Dean seemed surprised that Derek knew about the gun. If he wanted to keep it a secret that he carried weapons with him, he sure as hell shouldn't have left him alone in the motel room while he took a shower. Not that it mattered, since he could clearly smell the gun powder on him anyway.

"I told you, I'm a professional – sort of cop," the hunter replied grumpily. Despite everything, Derek found himself smirking lightly.

"Then why didn't you arrest those guys? Why don't you want to get involved with the cops?"

"Because," Dean started, pushing himself off his car and getting into it instead. Derek quietly followed. "It's family business. And it's... confidential." The hunter said the last word with a slight mocking undertone, as if he found using a word like "confidential" amusing. Derek could have continued to push Dean's buttons until he either snapped or told him the truth (he didn't think he would, ever, being a supernatural creature, he knew how nobody talked about the supernatural with the "unknowing"), but he let it go. Provoking Dean too much would be a bad and suspicious move anyway. From Dean's point of view, they probably were just two lonely guys with two secret, messed up lives, keeping each other company for a while.

"Alright, we're going back there. But what about afterwards? Am I taking you back to your sister?" Dean asked, pulling out of the parking lot. Derek hastily twisted in his seat, glaring at him.

"What?! No, of course not!"

"And what exactly are your plans? Keep wandering the streets forever? Blow dudes in back alleys to get by?" Dean inhaled sharply, sounding exasperated. "C'mon don't be a fuckin' idiot. What about your parents? They must be worried sick."

"I don't have parents," Derek spat, before he could stop himself. There was a very short moment of tense silence, in which Dean started to smell sad again. But this time, it was pity... or maybe sympathy. Either way, Derek didn't like it. He didn't need any compassion from a hunter like Dean.

"Well... I guess that settles that matter then," he just said, surprisingly. Derek released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and slumped in his seat. He stared out of the window, feeling miserable and awkward. Dean wasn't supposed to know stuff like that about him.

"My mom died too, you know. It... It was a fire which killed her," Dean revealed, sounding like it was taking quite a lot of effort to tell him. Derek's blood froze at the mention of fire and he gaped at Dean, breathing heavily. Was this just the genuine truth, which would mean they had a thing in common, or was this some sort of... hint? Had Dean been playing him? Had he known who he was, all along?! Was this a trap?!

Calm down, he told himself. Jesus, he had had that monologue at least twice that day. And even a talk with Dean about it, in which he hadn't lied about not wanting to do him any harm. So either Dean was the best liar in the universe, who could even trick a werewolf's hearing and smell sense, or... well - he had just tried to be really nice and share a piece of himself, as well. Not that Derek needed that. He didn't give a crap about Dean on a personal level. He was just using the situation to his advantage. Yeah, totally.

"That's... I'm sorry," Derek said, hoping he didn't sound too stiff, while saying it. Dean shrugged and then continued to drive in silence. Derek chose not to break it for the time being, and instead gazed outside the window, watching the landscape pass by. At some point, Dean switched on the audio system and Hetfield's voice filled the car (in a slightly shitty quality, but still). Derek liked Metallica. He closed his eyes, listening to Dean's even heartbeat and breathing pattern. Listening to the rhythm he was tapping against the driving wheel - the same as the song - and the way he was humming quietly along, probably thinking Derek couldn't hear it. He took a deep breath, smelling leather, gunpowder, blood and Dean's own musk. Derek leaned his head against the window, the sun warming his skin.

He could live with all of that, for the time-being.

Lol yeah, I'm taking quite some liberties with the supernatural aspects of this fanfic.

P.s. Does anybody even ship this pairing?