Hey guys. Sorry it took me so long to update, been kinda busy. This chapter was longer than I remembered. Longest chapter so far actually, so I hope that makes up for the long wait. As usual, I wanna thank everyone, who is still following me through this. And I wanna say hello and thank you to everybody who has recently joined the journey. :) I know I'm not very good at this, so it means a lot anyone is interested at all.
Btw, this chapter contains a lot of humor. After all the drama, a little bit of fun is needed. Beware tho, as my humor sucks. xD Anyway, good read.
Dean's alarm went off and he woke up with a start, then almost fell out of bed during the frantic attempt to turn it off. He heard a protesting grunt come from the bed beside his own and gazed over at Derek, while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The werewolf just pulled the blanket over his head and rolled up into a small ball underneath it.
"What's up, wolfy? Having a hangover?" teased Dean, his voice slightly scratchy from alcohol consumption and too little sleep.
"Not sure I can have one... but I do kind of feel like crap," came Derek's muffled reply.
"A couple of drinks to fall asleep at night, between two to five hours of rest, a crick in the back from a really shitty mattress… welcome to my life, kiddo. You get used to it after a while. Now c'mon, gotta get up – we need to have checked out before ten o'clock."
Derek grumbled, but unwrapped himself from his cocoon of blankets and slowly climbed out of bed, crawling over to his backpack. Dean slipped out of bed, as well, and trudged to the bathroom, feeling the strong urge to take a shower after having skipped one the evening before and having slept fully clothed. He took a leak, quickly showered and then got back into the room with only a towel wrapped around his hips to stow away his dirty clothes and put some fresh ones on. Derek was sitting on his bed, fully dressed by then, with his elbows braced on his knees and his hands dangling in between them. He tiredly looked up at Dean and seemed a little hesitant as he asked: "So what's the plan exactly? What are we gonna do now?"
Dean crouched down beside his bed, where he had thrown his meager belongings. He'd have to stop at a laundromat soon, he realized, as he went through his duffel. Most of his stuff was filthy. He thought about the last couple of days and could admit he had let himself go quite a bit after everyone had left him. He hoped Sam was taking better care of himself, there, at Stanford. (Oh, who was he kidding, of course his baby brother was, that little nerd…)
He quickly put on some more or less clean clothes and then turned around, seeking Derek's gaze, who immediately averted his eyes though, shifting a little uncomfortably. He looked kinda flustered, Dean noted. Huh, okay.
"I dunno. We could do it my way – you know, hunt," Dean proposed, sitting down on his bed, mirroring Derek. "I know what's up now and why you don't wanna, but I still believe we should get you back to your sister soon. Or at least let her know you're okay. If you two are all each other have left, you should stick together. Family should always stick together."
Derek softly snorted and cynically replied: "Funny you'd say that, considering it didn't work out so well in your case either."
The hunter, a little taken aback by the (sadly true) statement, was speechless for a few seconds, then firmly replied: "Well, my case is another case than yours. At least we're all adults and can take care of ourselves. You're only sixteen, for God's sake. You still need your family. Just get ready, I'm gonna go put my stuff in the car and grab something for breakfast in the meantime."
He pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his duffel bag and left the room. Outside, the sun was already high in the sky and it was a warm and clear day. Dean tried not to think about Derek's words, as they just reminded him that he had indeed failed to keep his family from falling apart, and angrily threw his jacket and bag into the trunk of the Impala. He guessed the kid was right though. He couldn't lecture him about something he himself knew didn't always work out the way one wished. Sometimes he thought he should have run, too, gone with Sam. His brother sure had asked him enough times. But then he remembered that Sam probably wasn't going to die if somebody wasn't watching his back in college. His dad though... he had a responsibility towards his old man. Too bad he wasn't fulfilling that job either at the moment. He braced his arm against the still open trunk and leaned his brow against his arm, shakily breathing out. He should call his dad soon, make sure he was okay. As soon as he had composed himself, he shut his car and then proceeded to buy something in the cafè next to their motel. He returned to their room after more or less half an hour. He immediately noticed, that the door was wide open, which made his heart skip a beat. What the…? As he entered it, Derek was nowhere to been seen, though his backpack was lying unpacked on his bed. It meant the kid probably hadn't run away, but it implied even worse things. Dean placed the food on the small table on the opposite side of the beds and took a look around again. The bathroom was empty too. Anxiety continued to grow and he went back outside, eyes flickering hastily back and forth, his increased pulse throbbing in his ears.
"Derek?" he voiced, insecure. He heard a quiet shush and huge relief washed over him at the sight of the kid crouching behind a neatly trimmed hedge. Then he actually considered the scenario in front of him.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" he asked in a low tone, and then hesitantly joined Derek in his hiding place.
"It's the Argents, they're here. I can smell them. They somehow tracked us down, maybe when we went back to get my stuff," Derek explained, looking very nervous.
"Where are they?" Dean took a peak from behind the hedge, but all he could see was a mother with her two kids walking down the street and an older man sitting on a bench with a small dog on his lap. Derek joined him.
"I'm pretty sure that black truck over there is theirs," he pointed at said car. "Not sure if they're inside of it though." They both sunk back to a crouching position and turned around to face each other better. Derek's gaze fell to the ground he and seemed to be contemplating if or how to say something. When he raised his eyes again, they met the hunter's right away and he looked like he had steeled himself.
"They have a weapon which can kill me. That's why they managed to overpower me so easily when you found me, even though there were only two of them. If we could somehow get rid of their guns I could take care of them."
"You mean they have silver bullets?" Dean asked, confused.
"No, I mean they have something much worse. I was born a werewolf, silver doesn't really kill me, just hurts like fucking hell," explained Derek, shifting a little and bracing himself against the ground, cocking his head as if he was smelling or hearing something interesting. Dean came back to what Derek had said: "You can't just kill them, they're humans!"
"Then what the hell do you suggest?! They've been following me around for ages, Dean! I can't keep running away forever and hope no other occasion arises, where I find myself pinned to the ground with a fucking gun pointed at my head!" Derek's eyes flashed blue, as he got more and more worked up and there was the barest hint of fangs each time his mouth opened to produce words. Despite this, and his instinct telling him to back off, Dean took a hold of Derek's biceps, feeling the lean muscles twitch underneath the cotton of the kid's grey henley.
"Jesus, calm down, your wolfy side is showing," he hissed, shifting closer to the other male until their legs interlocked. "I'm here now, remember? We're gonna deal with them together. I'm gonna take care of them and you're gonna be okay, yeah?"
They wordlessly stared at each other for a few seconds, Derek seeming to be looking for something in Dean's eyes as his gaze kept flittering back and forth between each of them. It made the hunter slightly nervous.
"Well, at least you really believe it," was what the werewolf said, in the end.
"What's that even supposed to mean?" inquired Dean with a grimace, releasing the younger male. The kid offered Dean a malicious grin, before replying: "I can hear your heartbeat. And I can smell most of your emotions. It makes it possible for me to tell if you're lying."
"Son of a bitch, are you serious?!"
Dean wanted to feel miserable about the newly gained knowledge and consider what never being able to successfully serve up a lie actually meant, but he was alerted by the werewolf emitting a small growl. Some seconds later it was clear what was going on, as the noise of steps approached their hiding place. Dean reached for his gun, unholstered it, while Derek ducked lower next to him, ready to pounce.
"Dean Winchester. Of all the hunters allying themselves to a werewolf, I would have expected a Winchester the least," a man said with a strange European accent, and Dean felt uncomfortable at the realization that the dude was standing right on the other side of the hedge.
"Your father would be so disappointed. He is so intent on wiping out anything remotely supernatural that he would probably not even think twice about wiping you right out with it, if he knew you chose to side up with a mutt."
Dean felt rage well up in his gut, but didn't allow it to take control over him. He knew his family had made a name for itself among hunters, as his father had spent two decades taking care of various creatures all over the states, once they were old enough, dragging him and Sam along on hunts as well. So he wasn't particularly shocked about this dude knowing his name. But if this douchebag thought he knew anything about him and his family, he was greatly mistaken.
"I am not here for a fight, obviously. It would be foolish, exposed like this. But I came here to make you a proposal," the man listed down an address, coordinates. Dean tried to memorize it all, despite not being sure what it meant yet. "We will be waiting for you there tonight at eleven o'clock. Hand over the werewolf and we are just going to let this little incident slide without further altercations. There is going to be no grudge about the fact you attacked two of my men for the sake of a rabious dog," the Argent made a pause, the sound of his feet scuffling on the ground so close to where they were crouching making Dean's hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Or you can keep protecting him and we will have to proceed in a more... let us say, less friendly manner."
A vicious growl came from Derek's side in response and Dean had to give him a glare and a little shove to shut him up. The man on the other side just chuckled, having probably perceived the situation beyond the hedge, and slowly walked away.
"Choose wisely, Dean Winchester. Tonight, eleven o'clock at the warehouse. And do not try to run away, because we are watching... and there are snipers among us."
"God, are they for fuckin' real?" Dean couldn't help but mutter, reholstering his gun, as soon as the footsteps had faded in the distance. He glanced over at Derek, who was still fidgety and twitchy beside him. "Would you freakin' calm down already, Larry Talbot?"
The werewolf just glared at him and then visibly forced himself to relaxed, his facial features softening.
"C'mon, we need to get back inside. I'm pretty sure they aren't stupid enough to try anything in public, but I'm still not particularly comfortable walking around with those freaks on the loose. I'll just go and pay for another day real quickly and then, we'll have to come up with a really good plan if we wanna make it out of this in one piece," said Dean, getting to his feet and already heading towards the check-in.
"Dean, wait…" Derek's soft voice stopped him. The hunter turned around, seeing how the kid was just standing there, with his head slightly lowered and his hands playing with the hem of his shirt. Dean slowly walked back to him. "I'm sorry about before. That thing I said about your family. I didn't mean to make you… sad," he apologized and it was so unexpected, especially after the whole Argent thing, that it took the older male a moment to process what Derek was even apologizing for.
"It's… it's okay, it didn't make me sad. We have bigger fish to fry anyway. Don't worry," he replied, then remembered Derek had probably "smelled it" or something. Well, fuck. He felt his face heat up and just gently pushed the werewolf towards their room, who, luckily, went without any resistance. Dean then walked in the opposite direction, to do as he had said and rent their room for another day. Once he was done (and had overcome the embarrassment of having Derek apologize to him over "making him sad" – how fucking lame did that sound), he returned to their motel room where he found the kid sitting on his bed and nibbling on one of the dozen small donuts Dean had bought just a while ago, before everything had gone to shit.
"Left me any of those?" asked Dean, locking up the door behind him and pulling the curtains together. He doubted the room was a real obstacle for the Argents, if they planned to do something, but he liked to at least pretend they had some sort of privacy, while trying to figure out a way out of this mess.
Derek wordlessly held out the box to Dean which still contained most of the donuts. The hunter made himself comfortable beside him and took a bite out of one.
"Hey, these are pretty awesome," he remarked with a full mouth, but his usual enthusiasm was kinda missing.
They ate until the whole box was empty and then drank their by then tepid coffees in silence, trying to ignore the heavy atmosphere of upcoming doom.
"So, I really hate to be the one to break it, but I have no clue how to handle the Argents. I've never worked with them before, and as far as I know, neither has my dad, so I don't really know their procedure. And if it's true that they are watching us with snipers at the ready, which by the way is really over the top and kinda fucked up -"
"They are, that's exactly their kind of thing," interrupted him Derek, leaning back on his arms, braced against the mattress.
"Okay. Wow. Anyway, do you have any suggestions, wolf boy?" Dean hopefully glanced over at him, waiting for an answer. Derek, however, was just sitting there, showing off his long, sleek body, and dangling one of his legs. His thick brows were relaxed, but his mouth was tense, lips thinned out with their angles pulled downwards.
It took a while for him to finally talk: "Just hand me over. If it had been only those idiots of two days ago, we could have handled it. But we literally don't stand a chance against a whole group of them. They would leave you alone afterwards. At least one of us can make it out of this safe and unharmed."
Dean's eyes widened at the werewolf's suggestion and the casual way it was spoken. He glared at the kid and kicked his swinging leg, pushing him off balance in the process. Derek emitted a soft grunt and composed himself, glaring back as if to say "what the hell was that for?!".
"Shut the hell up. Don't you talk like that. I told you I was gonna watch your back. I told you we were in this together and that I was gonna take care of them and keep you safe. I don't care about their stupid proposal. We either come out of this alive both or go down together," Dean said, then pushed himself into a standing position. He started to restlessly pace back and forth, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Handing Derek over was out of the question. He had known this kid for less than two days and he was a werewolf on top of that – it was stupid putting his own life at risk for him, seen from a rational point of view, but Dean couldn't help the way he felt. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't grown fond of the boy over the short period of time they had spent together. Not to mention how much having him by his side had filled the gaping void in his chest Sam had left behind. And anyway, being a hunter, he risked his life all the time for strangers, so was this really that different? Yes, it was. This was way more personal.
"There is a way, maybe..." Derek's voice cut through his thoughts.
"What way?" Dean asked, interested, coming to a halt next to the small motel table and leaning against it with his butt.
"Well... I'm not exactly at my full strength right now, since I've been wandering around without a pack for a while. Actually, I'm pretty sure..." Derek's eyes widened, as if he had just come to a realization he really didn't like. "I think objectively seen I can pretty much be considered an omega, by now..."
"Yeeah...? And this is helping us how...?" inquired Dean with a cocked eyebrow.
"I'd be much stronger if I had a pack again. Especially if I had an alpha. Alphas and betas make each other stronger."
"Woah, hold your horses, wolfy, are you suggesting, what I think you're suggesting?" Dean asked, horrified. He didn't even let him answer, before continuing: "Because let me tell you - I'm not turning into a werewolf and if you even try to nibble on my ear, I'm gonna kick your ass six ways from Sunday!"
Dean glared at the other male, who just stared back at him, unimpressed.
"That's not what I was suggesting. Doesn't work that way anyway, sadly. Only an alpha's bite can turn. And a werewolf is either born an alpha or becomes one by killing one. To be fair, I'm not even sure how what I'm suggesting really works. I read about it once, in a book we used to have in our library, but I haven't exactly witnessed anybody doing it before. Call it werewolf psychology," Derek explained. He stood up and slowly walked over to Dean, hesitant to meet his gaze. Dean waited a few seconds, but as no further words were spoken, he rolled his eyes and groaned: "Could you stop it with the suspense?"
"You could trick my wolf side into believing you're my alpha. It's only temporary, but it'd boost my powers enough to make the difference probably." Derek finally revealed.
"Those guns wouldn't kill you anymore?" asked Dean, ignoring the whole him-maybe-being-about-to-become-some-freaky-alpha-part, momentarily.
"Oh, they would. Not even an alpha is immune against them. But I'd be much faster and stronger and it probably wouldn't even come to the point where I'd need to worry about that."
Dean nodded. He met Derek's gaze as the kid shortly raised his eyes and noticed how uncomfortable he looked.
"So... uhm... and how the hell would I become your alpha?" he finally asked, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. He had seen porn with less ambiguous lines. Derek seemed to feel the same, as he blushed lightly and hesitated before answering: "Yeah, well. That's the… that's the weird part. You would have to make me submit to you."
The most awkward of awkward silences followed. Dean was afraid his eyes would pop out of his head, they felt so wide.
"Is that... is that a sexual thing?"
"What?! No! I mean - it can be, but it doesn't have to be, I wouldn't have suggested it if there had been no way around sexua-"
"Okay, I get it," interrupted him Dean, saving them both from further embarrassment. He was glad this submitting thing wasn't sexual, because Dean might have appreciated a few outstanding male exemplars every rare once in a while (not that he was ever going to admit it and not like his dad and Sam knew it and ever would) and Derek might be kind of cute, too, but he wasn't about to initiate any sexual activities with a kid who could be his baby brother (and who also was total jailbait…) "So what would I have to do then? Make you roll on your back like that dog whisperer guy does with the really difficult ones? Or make you kneel in front of me and kiss my boots or something?"
Derek rolled his eyes, still a little flushed. "Very funny. I'm not a fucking dog. And neither your slave."
The kid was quiet for a while, obviously thinking. His eyes kept darting around, as if he would find the answers in the dark grey linoleum floor or the white pop-corn-textured walls.
"I honestly don't know, I've never had to submit to an alpha before. I've always lived under stable pack dynamics. I've seen my mom accept new members into our pack though. Maybe that'd work? She used to scent the potential beta to analyze and memorize their smell. Then the beta either freely bared their throat or she made them, by force. Once the beta had submitted, she'd scent mark them and then they were part of our pack." Dean thought about his dog whisperer joke of before and wondered how the werewolf's description of the pack admittance ritual was in any way less dog-like than rolling on your back and showing your belly. He wasn't going to mention it though.
"That's really fuckin' weird," he deadpanned nonetheless. Derek hesitantly nodded with an "I guess it is for you" and then bluntly asked: "Should we try that?"
That's how Dean experienced one of the most awkward moments of his life. Probably even more awkward than that time his dad walked in on him jerking off to some really kinky Japanese porn (oh, God, he was never going to forget his dad's face and they never talked about it, but were so uncomfortable around each other that even Sam noticed something was up – yeah, okay, maybe not as awkward as that time). Under Derek's instructions, he gently pushed the kid against the wall of the motel room and started to sniff his hair, neck and even his freaking armpit. It wasn't terrible - the kid's hair smelled sweetly like almonds, probably due his shampoo, his neck wore just a neutral clean smell, well maybe a little... woodsy? And his armpit smelled very lightly of sweat, which - okay, was a little gross, but all in all, it could have been worse. It was still really freaking strange sniffing another person like that though. Derek wasn't just standing idly there either, seeming to be gingerly sniffing Dean, as well, in the meantime. The hunter was sure this couldn't get any weirder, but then, Derek tipped his head back against the wall, baring his throat and instructed: "Grab my throat and tell me to submit. Then rub you cheek against me."
"Is this really necessary?" groaned Dean, but did as told. He carefully placed his hand against Derek's throat, feeling the warm, clammy skin and a slightly quicker than usual pulse against his fingers. He muttered an awkward: "Uh, submit. To me." and had to hold back really hard not to add a "bitch!" at the end of the sentence (c'mon it would have fit and been funny.) The most mortifying part was giving the kid stubble burns, but he did that as quickly and shortly as possible.
"Did it work? Do you feel dominated?" Dean jokingly asked, taking a step back once he was done. Derek stared at him, still braced against the wall behind him, not moving apart from his quickly rising and falling chest.
"No," he replied after a while, disappointed. "I don't feel like anything changed."
"Oh, well, I guess we're screwed then," stated Dean. "Not to mention I just experienced the weirdest shit of my life for no reason at all. But I guess it'll be useful the next time I have a conversation about fucked up kinks. 'Sometimes I like to pretend I'm an alpha werewolf and rub my face all over yours' or 'let me sniff your armpit, baby, gotta remember that smell for when –'"
"You didn't even try," harshly interrupted him Derek, pushing himself off the wall and walking right into his personal space. His eyes lit up, his fangs started to elongate and the werewolf roared at him, seemingly angered. Dean was taken aback by the sudden hostility, but didn't even have the time to process it further, as Derek lunged at him, making him fly backwards in the process. He hit the edge of the bed with his back, before falling on the floor, and then almost didn't have the time to avoid Derek's fangs when the werewolf crawled over him and snapped at him.
"Derek, what the fuck?!" shouted Dean, bewildered. Why the hell was Derek attacking him all of a sudden?! Had he been waiting for the right occasion all along?! Had he snapped and gone crazy?! He struggled with the kid, rolling them around on the floor, while trying to keep his claws and fangs away from himself. He thought about how easy it would be to just grab the knife hidden by his ankle and shove it into the werewolf's neck. It wouldn't kill him, maybe, but it would be enough to distract him and get the hell out of there. The idea repelled him.
"Derek, damn it, calm down!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs and somehow managed to kick the werewolf hard enough in the stomach to shove him off himself instead. The latter flew backwards with a pained grunt and was sufficiently stunned for the hunter to grab him by his collar, smash him full force against the floor and pin him there by straddling his hips and pushing his hands hard against his windpipe.
"Derek," panted Dean, observing how the kid's eyes slowly turned back to their usual endearing hazel color. The werewolf looked surprised that the hunter had managed to overpower him, though if he really wanted, he could easily free himself now that he had gotten over the first moment shock. However, instead of fighting, he gasped for air, then, once he realized Dean wasn't going to release him, slowly turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, going slack as a sign of defeat. The older male had no clue what the hell was going on, but he was too afraid Derek would snap again if he let go of him, so he just waited for a while, until the pulse throbbing against his palms had slowed down. He only released him when the kid started to shift uncomfortably and emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a protesting whine. At that point, Dean stumbled to the side, where he fell back on his ass and stared at Derek in pure astonishment, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened. The werewolf reached up to massage his throat and then confused the hunter even further by flashing him a little satisfied grin.
"Well, I'd say that was a… success," he croaked, slowly sitting up. He glanced at Dean, somehow coyly, and added a "And I'm… I'm honestly impressed."
They sat in silence for a long time, studying each other. The pieces slowly came together in the hunter's head, until it finally all made sense and Dean was both relieved and angry as hell. "Son of a bitch, you tricked me?! I thought you had snapped and were trying to kill me! The freakin' scare you gave me, I thought I was gonna have to –"
"Dean," Derek gently interrupted him. "I guessed it was our best shot. And it really did work, like this."
The werewolf's eyes lit up at that and he inclined his head in respect. The older male just stared, at a loss for words. It was only later, when he had calmed down completely and his humous way of thinking had come back, that and he wondered if Derek had expected him to pat his head and call him a good boy.
Hope I haven't lost you. Feedback of any kind is always welcome. The next chapter will mark the end of the first part of this story. Not sure if I should divide this fanfiction in parts of a series. Can't say for sure when I'll be updating next, as I'll be working a lot these days. :/ Til next time, tho. :)