Oh, wow. Had a hard time fixing this chapter for some reason. I finished my exams this week and restarted working right after. Hope I'll have enough time to update next week... I really want to thank anyone who read, leftcomments and faved/subscribed. It means a lot to me, honestly.

Dean parked the car in the parking lot of the "Bear House" and turned off the engine. He glanced over at the kid, about to shake him awake, but realized he had already woken up on his own, as he was stirring and slowly opening his eyes.

"We're here," Dean said, opening the car door. "Better make it quick."

As soon as Derek was lucid enough to get out of the car too, they walked down the road to the small woods, both scrutinizing their surroundings with suspicion.

"Do you remember were you left your stuff, at least?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure," Derek replied, angling his head upwards, as if scenting the air. Dean frowned, sniffing the air himself. He couldn't smell anything special, apart from the typical woodsy scents of nature…

Derek led the way, as they walked further into the woods. It was quiet – it didn't sound as if they had unwelcome company, but being careful definitely couldn't hurt.

"There, I found it!" Derek exclaimed, lifting up a black and grey backpack off the ground.

"Good, c'mon let's get the fuck outta here," Dean urged, turning around. He didn't go far, as Derek emitted a choked-off grunt of pain, prompting him to twist right back around again.

"What? What's wrong?!" he asked, hurrying to the kid's side, once he saw him lying in a heap on the ground.

"Fuck… trap," was Derek's only response. He shifted a little – not without moaning and gritting his teeth in agony – until Dean could see the toothed coilspring foothold trap which had snapped around his calf and had its teeth ebbed inside the meat of it. He was bleeding steadily, the leg of the blue jeans he was wearing slowly turning dark red.

"Holy – oh, shit!"

Dean kneeled down beside him - luckily it was one of those small traps that were meant to only keep trapped and not seriously injure, but yeah – the teeth kinda ruined that part of the equation. The plus was this kind was rather easy to disarm. He pressed down on the springs left and right of the center pan until the jaws fell apart and tried not to feel sick while watching the teeth of the trap slowly slip out of Derek's flesh. It must have been hurting like hell. As soon as Derek's leg was free, the kid pulled it out of the trap and enclosed his slightly shaking hands around it.

"Shit. Shit, c'mon we need to go to the hospital. Holy shit. I can't believe they just set up a trap in an area like this, where people probably walk their dog and could get hurt anytime. The fuck is wrong with them? And – Jesus – let's just go to the hospital, I don't know how much pressure it was under. It could've damaged the bone as well. "

Derek seemed frozen as he continued to press his hands around the wound. He looked like he was more scared than in pain, what with the wide eyes and trembling lips. He was probably in shock, poor kid. First getting beaten the shit out of him and then a leg stuck in a trap… Dean got up and wound his arms around Derek's torso from behind, right beneath his armpits. He tried to heave him up as carefully as possible, as not to joggle his injured leg too much. The hurt male wasn't exactly being cooperative though, even weakly seeming to struggle against his hold, but Dean couldn't blame him.

"C'mon we need to go to my car, I have a first aid kit and painkillers. It should do until we reach the hospital…" He pulled Derek's arm around his neck to support him and half carried, half dragged him along towards the main road. The kid finally seemed to snap out of his stupor and started to trash around for real.

"I – I think I need to go," Derek urgently squeaked, struggling to get out of Dean's supportive embrace.

"What? Dude, not this again, not now." Dean grabbed Derek firmer and continued to pull him along. He wasn't leaving the kid in pain, just because he was a moody lunatic and probably had a hospital phobia or something. He didn't like hospitals either, especially the part where he had to try and make the staff believe a fall down the stairs could do the same damage as being used as a punching bag by some pissed off vengeful spirit, but he knew when a couple stitches with dental floss were enough and when they weren't. They probably weren't this time… They reached the parking lot and Dean looked around, hoping they wouldn't attract any attention. Luckily, there weren't many people who weren't either just driving through or too far away to really see what was going on. He hoped the people in the bar were too hammered to care, as well. He opened the door to the backseat of the Impala and maneuvered Derek to the edge of the seat, then bolted to the trunk of his car and grabbed the first aid box.

"Alright. I'm just gonna cut them open. Your jeans are ruined anyway, so no hard feelings, right?" Dean muttered more to himself than to anyone else, as he started cutting along the denim with a pair of scissors. Derek didn't seem to care in the least about his jeans, but he did look strangely resigned and grim. His jaw was so tense that its muscles were twitching. The wound must have been really hurting like a bitch. Dean carefully parted the edges where he had cut the denim open and inspected the wound. He stared hard, brow scrunching up in concentration... but there was barely anything there. Derek's pale leg was smeared with blood and his jeans were soaked in it, which was proof he had been hurt at some point. He even had a bruise where the trap had snapped around his leg. But... there were no teeth marks. And even if the teeth marks hadn't been missing, the bruise was far too faint, for it to be considered normal. Surely a trap like that left behind more damage? Dean's gaze slowly rose to Derek's face, who was staring blankly back, though the tension in his arms and shoulders revealed he was ready to bolt, if necessary. Dean released his jeans and cautiously took one step back. He stealthily reached towards his lower back, where he was keeping his gun hidden.

"What the fuck are you?" he questioned, voice cold and firm.

Derek shakily exhaled... he looked nervous? He carefully climbed down from the seat of the Impala, wincing and grimacing in pain when his apparently-hurt foot connected with the ground. Dean slowly pulled out the gun from its holster.

"Look, you either talk or this is ending badly," he pressured, glaring at the kid. Or whatever Derek was. Obviously, not an ordinary human being. Dean couldn't believe he had been literally hanging out with some sort of supernatural freak, even going as far as spending the night in the same room... had Derek maybe done something to him in his sleep? Had he been manipulating Dean's behavior all along? What the hell was he? What healed so fast?

"Or we could leave it at this. Part our ways here. Nobody's going to get hurt and we will just forget about everything that's happened..." Derek finally talked. He was backing away slowly, not blinking once as he kept his eyes fixed on Dean's, even though each step seemed to cause him pain, as he was limping. He looked exhausted, even a little sad. But he was also slightly hunched over, his arms tense at his sides, fingers curled like claws. Obviously ready to attack, if needed.

"Or you could tell me what the fuck you are and maybe we could come to an agreement," Dean insisted. If Derek was a monster, the only "agreement" they could come to was that he needed to be eliminated, probably… but Derek didn't need to know that. Dean's glare faltered a little, thinking about killing this... kid. He thought about how young and hopeless he had looked the night before, talking about his sister. He thought about the pain and guilt he had seen in his eyes when he had mentioned his parents. He thought about how he had curled up against the door of his car, boyish face (otherwise always serious, always frowning) looking peaceful and innocent in his sleep. He couldn't - didn't want to believe Derek was some sort of supernatural freak, but nobody healed from an injury in a few minutes. But if Derek was a monster, why had he done nothing hostile yet? He sure had had plenty of occasions. Or had Dean just not noticed he already had?

"I know you're a hunter," Derek answered instead. "I know the way you people think. Even if we came 'to an agreement' as you so sweetly call it, it would end with me biting dust. So I suggest we really do leave it at this. And if you even think about pointing that gun at me, I'm going to rip your throat out. With my teeth." To emphasize what he had just said, Derek snarled, revealing a set of rather sharp and inhuman-looking teeth. His eyes flashed bright blue for a second and Dean understood: A freaking werewolf. But how could he control his shifts deliberately like that? The only werewolf he and his dad had hunted had turned on a full moon night and he had been completely out of control, barely recognizing his surroundings. Derek was obviously aware of everything happening, though. He stated out loud: "You're a werewolf."

Derek was putting more and more distance between them, still watching his every move. With that crazed look on his face and his hands covered in (his own) blood, it was easy to recognize him as a predator. Yes, he was a predator, but he looked like a cornered one. Like he knew he could overpower Dean, but didn't want to resort to it.

Dean replaced the gun in its holster and then slowly brought his hands up, showing his bare palms. He relaxed his stance and noticed Derek doing the same, though he still seemed wary.

"How about this: You tell me all the freakin' truth about everything and we look how to continue from there on?"

Derek hesitated – speechless? – then nodded. That's how they ended up getting into the "Bear House" (and wasn't this starting to be all homely?) and Dean ordered drinks for them both, while Derek went into the small local bathroom to clean himself up and change his clothes. He couldn't really walk around with cut open pants and looking as if he had come out of a splatter movie, after all. Dean went after him, cleaning mostly his hands, before returning to their place, where the kid was sipping the coke he had ordered for him. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and about to crush the glass in his hand. Dean didn't feel much better, as he sat down beside him at the small table they had chosen (somewhere, were people wouldn't hear their ramblings about werewolves).

"Alright, Derek," Dean blinked his eyes. "That even your real name?"

"Yes," was the dry answer.

"Okay, cool. How old are you, what are you doing out here alone, who were those guys and what happened to your family," Dean listed up everything he wanted to know, before adding: "And what kinda werewolf are you exactly? Why can you shift whenever? Are you a skin walker? Why did you stay if you knew I was a hunter? Why didn't you attack me?"

There was a short moment of silence, before Derek muttered a "wow", scrunching up his face. Well, okay. Maybe he had let his enthusiasm get the better of him, but Dean really needed to know.

"First of all, I'm 16," Derek replied. "What about you?"

"How does any information about me matter in this context?" asked Dean, cocking an eyebrow.

"Is this a conversation or a fucking interrogation?"

"Well, I usually don't converse with freakin' monsters." As soon as he had said it, Dean regretted it as Derek got up with the intention to leave. "Okay, okay, sorry. Touchy. I was just saying, no offense."

Derek sighed deeply, but sat back down. He rubbed the pad of his index finger along the rim of his glass of coke and didn't raise his gaze. Dean took a sip of his beer and decided they had all the freaking time in the world. After a while the werewolf seemed to have collected himself enough to actually talk. His eyes rose, meeting Dean's halfway and he looked afraid.

"Do you know... the Argents?" he softly asked.

"You mean, like, the hunters?" inquired Dean. He had heard of them, they seemed to be specialized in werewolf hunting though, which was weird considering there weren't that many werewolves around. In his life, they had had a case of one only once, after all.

"Yeah... the hunters. The Argent family. Those guys, who attacked me yesterday, were part of them," Derek explained. "And before you ask - no, I haven't done anything to deserve being hunted! I've never hurt an innocent before."

"Hard to believe, I mean why else would they be after you? I've heard of the Argents and as far as I know, they don't even hunt creatures, as long as they are peaceful. They have this codex thingy."

"So you... you're not connected to them or anything, right?"

"No? But they made themselves known, what with being considered the best when it comes to werewolves," Dean took another sip of his beer, studying Derek as he became more and more fidgety. "Well, what's up with that?"

It seemed to take forever, for the kid to finally continue. They sat quietly at the table for at least 2 minutes and Dean was starting to get impatient. But he didn't pressure Derek, as he seemed to have a really hard time saying what he wanted to say.

"A... about a year ago, I met a girl," he started. "She was an Argent. Older than me by a few years. She seemed interested in me so... I mean, she was really hot and interesting and funny. I just... liked her. A lot. She knew I was a werewolf and I knew she was a hunter, but I thought it didn't matter because she seemed to be into me, too. She didn't mind what came along with me being a werewolf, as long as I didn't hurt anybody... she seemed really open minded."

Dean listened quietly, watching how various expressions of pure misery flickered over Derek's face. He could already see where this was going.

"Well I... I kind of told her everything about me. And my family... My family was huge. We were a pack mostly of werewolves, but there were also a few humans among us. We were a happy and peaceful family, had never bothered anyone-"

"Uhm, excuse me, but did you just say a pack? And then, in the same sentence - a pack of werewolves and humans?" Dean asked disbelieving. First the fact that Derek was aware he was a werewolf and could shift whenever, showing incredible control over his wolf side. And now packs? What was next? Freaking Twilight? Should he expect sparkly vampires next?

"Werewolves aren't the way you think they are. We can be civilized too," Derek replied, angrily. "Not all of us are the bloodthirsty creatures you hunters make us out to be."

"Well, last time I met a werewolf, he seemed pretty bloodthirsty to me, considering he tried to eat my dad's heart," Dean muttered with scorn.

"He probably was feral. He didn't have a pack, was all alone. He didn't have control over his wolf anymore, maybe never learned how to in the first place. Maybe he had been freshly turned. Or maybe he had become mad after being without a pack for too long..."

"So basically what you're saying is that there are lots of werewolves out there and we don't even notice?!"

"Pretty much. The ones you hunt are probably just the feral bitten omegas. That's okay, because they are a danger to everybody, even other werewolves. And they probably would want to be put out of their misery in the first place."

"Omega?"

"Yeah. A pack is made of an alpha and a few betas. If a werewolf has no pack, he's called an omega."

"Okaaay..." Dean processed all the information he had just gotten. It was like a parallel universe. Everything he had believed was on rocky ground now. What if there were more supernatural creatures out there, living peacefully among humans? Acting like human beings themselves? And how long could such a facade really last? If his father and his life as a hunter had taught him anything, it was that most of the time a freak remained always a freak, no matter how peaceful they initially acted. But on the other hand... Derek was so... innocent. He was just a kid, in Dean's eyes. A kid with major issues, but he didn't' scream "werewolf!" in any way, apart from the flashy eyes, fangs and healing capabilities.

"What happened with that Argent girl?" Dean asked, getting back to the actual topic. Derek visibly tensed up once more, glancing down at the table.

"Well... she used me, to get to my family. She trapped my family in our house and... And burnt it down. They all died. Apart from my sister, my uncle – who is in a catatonic state though – and me, obviously..."

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He watched as Derek started shaking, visibly fighting off tears and anger.

"They died because of me. I killed them all." At that, a few tears spilled out of the kid's eyes. Dean looked away. He hated seeing people cry. He wasn't very good in comforting them and he wished they didn't have to in the first place. He could definitely sympathize with Derek. Family was everything to him and he didn't want to imagine what it would be like to lose so many members of it at once. The loss of his mother almost twenty years ago and the departure of Sammy had been painful enough already.

"It's... it's not your fault. You couldn't know she was a psychotic bitch," Dean offered, awkwardly.

"Yes, I could have," Derek replied, wheezing. "She was an Argent. A hunter. I should have known and instead I willingly handed over my family to her. It's entirely my fault!" The kid was sobbing at that point and the people sitting nearby were looking at Dean as if he had personally offended them. They probably didn't make a great scenario, what with him being a few years older and the kid crying, both sitting at the same side of the table.

"C'mon, don't be like that. If what you told me is true, then anyone could've fallen for that. It's not your fault. Also, the Argents shouldn't have a codex, if they don't follow it afterwards."

Derek continued to sob quietly for a while, using the sleeve of his sweater to dry his tears. He seemed to be embarrassed about crying, but also like he just couldn't help himself. Which Dean could understand. If all of this had happened only a year ago, the wound was still fresh, no wonder it still freaking hurt. Not to mention the obvious guilt-issues.

"Why did you run away from your sister? It doesn't make any sense," Dean asked, after a while of quiet sobs and sniffs.

"She doesn't know," Derek weakly replied. "I couldn't live with this burden anymore, but I also don't want to lose her by telling her the truth."

Everything made sense now, at last. Who Derek was, what had happened to him and why he was alone. Dean couldn't even be put off by him being a werewolf anymore. Unless Derek was the best actor in the world, Dean doubted he was lying. And if what he had told him was the truth, he had been the victim and not the culprit. He had been used, hurt and his whole world had been torn apart. Mixing in the supernatural, this was exactly the kind of stuff Dean liked to take care of. But it was a little weird seeing it from the other side.

"C'mon. How old did you say you were? 16? I started sooner than that. Want a beer?" he asked, trying to lighten up the mood.

"Alcohol doesn't work on me," Derek answered grimly. Well, that sucked. "Well, maybe if I drink enough of it. I dunno. Never bothered too much."

Dean hesitated, before shifting closer to the kid with his chair. He looked to the other customers, who had by then stopped watching, luckily, though some of them still cast some glances in their direction. He carefully placed a hand on Derek's shoulder, squeezing it gently. Derek raised his bloodshot eyes, meeting Dean's gaze. Dean nodded understandingly and left his hand there.

"I think we should toast to an alliance between you and me. I thought you needed somebody to watch your back before, but I know you do now. I'm gonna stick around for a while."

"So, you won't try killing me in my sleep?" Derek joked bitterly, but his cheeks flushed a little.

"Not unless you try to rip out my throat with your teeth. Or what was it again?"

Derek's lips twitched, shaping into a small smile. Dean flashed his best grin.

Haha, btw I wrote this before "Bloodlines" and "Sharp Teeth". So it's totally ALL pulled out of my ass. I hope it still makes sense somehow the way I merged these two universes. I also hope you're not disappointed Dean found out so soon, but this story isn't really about Derek hiding his werewolf side. Hey, are there any native speakers reading this fic? I'd really be interested in how bad my English is. Until next time, guys :)