THIS CHAPTER RUINED MY WEEK. I hated it so much that I had to rewrite complete parts of it. Now I hate it 40% less, but I definitely still hate it a lot. xD I hope it isn't as bad as it feels to me.

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WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Lots of alcohol...

After a dozen shots of tequila and a couple of beers in between, Derek actually felt the effects of the alcohol. His vision had turned blurry, his head was spinning and his face felt hot as hell. He supposed a human being would be wasted after consuming the same amount he had. Or maybe unconscious. Yes, probably unconscious and on the way to the hospital. Derek felt only tipsy though. Well, it was better than nothing. He had always wondered why his school mates made such a big deal out of meeting in the woods in secret and drinking. He could admit it was an interesting experience, especially since he felt almost worry-free for once. Or maybe he just felt that way because he had been able to share his terrible secret with someone.

Dean, who had drunk along with him (though way less of course), seemed to be slightly tipsy too, as he had noticeably loosened up, as well. They were sitting even closer than before, knees bumping into each other under the table now and then, arms constantly brushing, and they were chatting a little about everything and a little about nothing at all. It was easy, now that the cat was out of the bag. Ever since he had broken out in tears like a pussy, Dean had been giving him these little glances and touches – a gentle squeeze of his shoulder or a warm palm cupping the back of his neck. At one point, right after they had chugged down a shot together, his hand had even lingered on the latter, and he had (probably without even realizing it) started to rub his thumb over the short, soft hair there. It was definitely awkward. Or it would have been in a normal situation, among two normal guys. Dean was obviously trying to comfort him in his own speechless way. And while Derek didn't want to be treated like he was a delicate little flower, he couldn't help but appreciate a little portion of touch that wasn't meant to be hurtful in any way. He had almost forgotten what it felt like…

Being a werewolf, he was actually a rather tactile person on principle, simply for the fact werewolves interacted a lot by touch. Pack mates touched all the time for many different reasons – for example to scent mark, show affection or comfort each other. He and Laura had spent the first couple days after the fire sleeping curled up to each other like pups. Afterwards, he had started to distance himself from her, avoiding any kind of closeness. Once he had run away from her, he didn't indulge that side of himself at all anymore.

And now, there was Dean…

An image of beautiful, deadly Kate briefly flashed through his mind, with her bright smile and her persistent hands. She was always whispering sweet things to him, always touching him everywhere, leaving her scent all over him, even before they had gotten intimate for the first time. Seducing his wolf side by making him believe they could be pack – or maybe even mates. Getting the human side of him to feel like he was special, somebody worthy of being desired and loved, despite him being a werewolf and her, a hunter.

As Derek's heartbeat and breathing pattern started to quicken, he forcefully suppressed the rising anxiety and made himself calm down again instead. Dean wasn't Kate. Dean didn't smell of lies and hostility like Kate did, to the point he didn't even acknowledge it anymore after a while, deciding it was just her natural scent. Being madly in love with her had made it easy to ignore any clue.

Dean wasn't making him feel the way he was feeling on purpose. He wasn't manipulating him. He wasn't seducing him. He was simply trying to comfort him.

It came to Derek as a slight shock, when he realized how close he felt to Dean in that instant. Almost like… almost like he would feel with a pack mate indeed. The man knew he was a werewolf, knew what he had done in the past and had seen him at his worst already. And yet here they were. No blood had been spilled (at least not between them…) and despite everything, they were still sticking around each other. Derek could honestly say he had never gotten that close to a person in such a short time, ever. He wondered if it was the same for the hunter or if he had already experienced something like that before. Did he often rescue and take under his wing random kids in need? Did he often stay around when he saved people on hunts, just to make sure they didn't get in any trouble again? Did he often sit in bars and try to comfort almost complete strangers by ordering them drinks and giving them careful little touches?

He sure as hell had never done any of that for a werewolf. Even excluding that last bit, he hoped Dean didn't do that kind of things often. Derek needed to know this whole situation was just as exceptional to the hunter as it was to him. He wanted to believe this was a special case for the both of them.

"So, are you going to tell me how old you are or what?" Derek asked, meeting Dean's sleepy gaze with his own slightly unfocused one, trying to distract himself from all his confusing thoughts.

"I'm 22" answered Dean, taking a sip from his beer. Derek couldn't help but tense up a little. He had known Dean was older of course, but he hadn't really put much thought into how much older he was. The… the same age as Kate actually.

The hunter must have seen a change in his posture (was he that easy to read?), as he was quick to reassure: "Don't worry. You're like the second little bother I never had. You even make almost the same bitch faces as Sammy actually. He's 18, you know? Just two years older than you. Left as soon as he came of age."

Derek appreciated both the attempt at reassurance and the disclosure of personal information. Taking the bait, he asked: "Where did he go? And where's your dad?" Dean started giving off that smell of sadness once again. The werewolf was starting to really dislike it.

"Sammy went to college. Wants to become a lawyer. My dad needed some time to handle the freakin' drama that came with it, so we parted ways for a while," Dean weakly replied. Derek found himself wondering what the hunter's younger brother was like. What were his reasons to leave his family behind like that? He wondered if they would get along if they ever met, if he was like his brother or completely different. And then, he was thinking about how Laura would feel about Dean. Would she like him? Would she hate him?

How would she feel if she knew the hunters who killed their family, did so, because of her own brother? How would she feel if she knew, he was hanging around a hunter again?

It didn't matter. She wasn't there anymore, after all.

"So you're all alone, too."

Dean offered a little smile. "Not anymore, no," he countered, casting a short, almost bashful glance in Derek's direction. The werewolf's heart skipped a beat and he lowered his eyes, as well. They were silent for a while, nursing their respective beers. Derek thought about the things he had revealed to the hunter and what he himself knew about him in contrast. It wasn't particularly much. Once he found the courage, the younger male asked: "How did your mother really die?"

The hunter seemed to freeze for a second, before slowly relaxing again. His mother seemed to be a touchy subject. "I told you already. In a fire."

"Yeah, but was it an accident?"

"No..." Dean answered. "It was... it was a demon. We've been looking for years, but we can't seem to find it anywhere. There are days… sometimes I feel like the need for retribution it is the only reason dad gets up in the morning. I guess that's another reason why Sammy left. He wanted a normal life. Not only a life away from the supernatural, but also a life which doesn't revolve around revenge."

Derek took it all in, creating himself an image of Dean's family and their life as hunters, driven by the death of a wife/mother. He could see why Sammy would leave, now. It didn't sound like a particularly fulfilling existence.

"I didn't know demons were real," he remarked, feeling a little ridiculous. He was a werewolf for God's sake. The thing was, he had never met any other supernatural creatures apart from other werewolves, and that one single time a werefox, who had been quick to leave again once she realized she had stumbled into werewolf territory. They used to have a giant library with all kinds of books, some of them about folklore and mythology. But with that kind of books you never know how much of it is true and how much isn't.

Dean offered him a little grin. "I bet there are many things you didn't know truly exist."

"Like?"

"Well, like... ghosts, wendigos, pagan gods, ninja turtles."

"Ninja turtles are real?" Derek faked awe, and the hunter chuckled. Even Derek cracked a small smile. Dean's hand, which had been either enclosed around his mug of beer or tapping a lazy rhythm against the table surface for a rather long time now, curled into a fist and came up to bump against Derek's shoulder. Then it lingered there, grabbing him and comradely shaking him a little. The werewolf's already heavy-lidded eyes fluttered closed for a second, his face feeling even hotter than before. Then Dean released him.

"Do you want your life to be only about revenge?" the werewolf asked, then explained: "Because I tried to think like that for a while, but I just hope I will never meet her again. Ever."

"I dunno... there's not much else I could be doing. Hunting things, saving people… it's the family business. It's the only life I've ever known. And my dad needs me by his side when we find who killed my mom."

Derek nodded understandingly. He watched as Dean took one last sip of his beverage, emptying it in the process, and did the same.

"What'd you say, should we get going, have something to eat first, and then drive a couple of hours until we find a decent place to crash? This time, one that doesn't smell of cat piss, preferably," the hunter offered, already fishing his wallet out of his backside pocket.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," the younger male agreed.

They left the bar, Dean once again tricking him into not paying a single cent of the huge bill they had gotten thanks to his overenthusiasm in the drinking department. It left him feeling embarrassed and guilty about having drunk so much. At that point, the hunter confessed that he was paying with somebody else's credit card anyway. Derek didn't know if that made him feel better or worse, but considering he hadn't always been acquiring his money in completely legal ways either, he decided he wasn't going to argue anymore.

Since Dean was still too tipsy to drive, they walked around until they found a little Italian restaurant nearby, where they ate enough pizza to feed a small army. Once they had both sobered up, they (true to Dean's words) proceeded to drive for a couple hours. It was already late, by the time the older male decided he needed a break and stopped at a motel.

They took a single room with two twins again, just like the night before (but this time Derek actually agreed) and made themselves comfortable in it. At least, he had his stuff now, so the werewolf closed himself up in the bathroom, brushed his teeth thoroughly, shaved himself (though there wasn't very much to shave yet) and then took a shower, finally being able to use his non-perfumed products. He didn't mind a little of cologne or deodorant, he just hated the mix up different products created, when people used too many of them. Also, it made it kind of impossible to sense somebody's natural smell. And considering how much their scent told about a person, no werewolf liked being deprived of that possibility.

Once he was done with cleaning himself up, he stepped out of the shower and put on some briefs, a pair of black sweat pants and a simple dark green t-shirt. When he left the bathroom, Dean was lying on his bed watching TV, his hands resting on his belly and his eyelids drooping with sleepiness. Derek walked quietly past him and stuffed his kit and clothes back into his backpack, before climbing onto his bed. He grimaced, as his leg was still a little achy from the severe injury his body had had to endure. His wounds healed quickly, but when they were as bad as that one had been, the phantom pain lingered for quite a while. In the morning it would be gone for sure, though. He glanced over at Dean, before fixing his gaze on the TV. He was watching some crappy amateurish-looking movie about the Wild West.

"See this shit right here? Someday I wanna wear a hat like that. And a poncho too, of course. Would be awesome," the hunter drowsily slurred, nodding towards the protagonist of the movie displayed on the screen.

"I don't think they really wore those," retorted Derek, slightly amused.

"Of course they did. Clint Eastwood wore one. Why else would they wear those in movies?"

"Because they're shitty movies and not exactly historically accurate?"

Dean huffed, muttered something about "the Dollars Trilogy being a classic and Derek being too young to appreciate the good things in life", but he was clearly amused, as well.

"Aren't you going to take a shower?" Derek asked, tugging at a loose strand attached to his sheets. He gazed around. At least this motel room was definitely better than the one of the night before, having a rather simple and modern interior. It was actually clean too, though to the werewolf it smelled disgusting nonetheless from all the people that had been there before them.

"Nuh-uh, I'm freakin' tired," Dean childishly replied. "I'll just shower tomorrow morning." He then proceeded to slip off his boots with the tip of his toes and kick them off. And just like that, he curled onto his side, ready to get a couple hours of sleep. Derek stared at him. Took in the long eyelashes resting gently against his freckled cheeks. Took in the pouty lips. Lowered his gaze to the ground. He still couldn't completely grasp the way the day had played out. Just that morning he had been so sure Dean wasn't going to find out about him being a werewolf – or at least not anytime soon. And then he had stepped into that stupid trap, obviously a gift left behind by the Argents to taunt him even in their absence. It was placed perfectly by his backpack, after all.

Life sure kept screwing him over. But at least, this time, it had turned for the better. Telling Dean everything about Kate, the fire… He felt like a huge burden had been taken from him. He felt much lighter, more carefree... and almost kind of... happy.

"Dean?" Derek inquired softly, afraid the other male had already fallen asleep. He heard a small affirmative grunt and slowly placed his feet back on the floor.

"Can... can I try something?"

"What?" came Dean's slightly muffled voice and the hunter cracked an eye open.

"It's a werewolf thing... don't freak out," Derek warned, trying to suppress the embarrassment that came with the thought of what he was about to do.

"I really don't like the sound of that," was Dean's response, but his heartbeat was still slow and steady, so he wasn't really worried. Good.

"I promise I won't hurt you."

Derek got off the bed and walked over to Dean's instead, climbing on top of it beside him.

"The fuck are you doing?" protested Dean, his heart rate finally picking slightly up, as he twisted around to turn on his back.

"Shhh, stay calm."

Derek laid an arm across the hunter's chest and pinned him to the bed. Before the older male could start struggling, the younger one buried his nose in the side of his neck. He heard Dean gasp and felt him tense up, but ignored it in favor of taking in his scent, discovering aspects of it he would never have, otherwise.

"What the..."

Dean shifted a little, his hands coming up to grab Derek's arms and try to push him off. Derek might have been a head shorter and a couple dozen pounds lighter, but he was stronger than him and used it to his advantage. He nuzzled his face against the underside of the hunter's jaw, making sure to pick up as much of Dean's scent and leave behind as much of his own as he could.

When he finally moved away, Dean had stopped struggling and was slightly flustered instead.

"What the fuck was that?" he shakily asked. Derek felt his cheeks heat up and he shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. Returning to his own bed he replied: "Just… scent stuff. Werewolves do this kind of thing to get to know each other better."

"Well, next time, buy me a fuckin' drink first, at least," replied Dean, disguising his obvious embarrassment as irritation. He was blushing, Derek noticed. He couldn't help but snicker.

"I will, if you'll let me."

"Whatever," muttered the hunter, turning around once more, this time with his back to Derek. He pulled the sheets over himself, not even bothering to take his pants off. Derek turned off the light and the TV and curled around his pillow, mashing his nose against his armpit in the hope of keeping off all the foreign smells clinging to the linen. From the other side of the room, Dean's heart was still beating a little faster than usual and Derek replayed the whole day in his head to the sound of it, over and over and over again, getting stuck on little details like how the corner of Dean's eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled widely, or how he absently licked his bottom lip each time he was too focused on something to notice his own actions. He hadn't even actively considered those things during the day, but now they were all there, catalogued in his brain.

I like him, his wolf side was telling him. We should become pack.

I don't know, Derek replied, closing his eyes. Dean sure smelled good though. Especially with his own scent over him. I guess so.

How was it? I'll try to update again in a week or two. :) Oh, and happy fourth of July, I guess!