A/N: Un-beta'd. This is the first part, and I already have the 2nd part outlined.

**I'm not sure I can post the 2nd part - I haven't written it yet, so I can't say for sure - but it may be too explicit for this site. If so, just look for 'Ebyru' on Archive of our Own, and both parts will be there. :)

Enjoy!

Dean is fed up of hearing people say 'the angel in love with you', 'profound bound', or worse even, 'the flasher who looks head over heels', he storms off. He doesn't tell Sam where he's going – he's good at figuring that stuff out – and he certainly doesn't give Castiel any chance to ask to tag along.

Castiel is his best friend, and they've never even considered crossing that line before. Just because Dean is used to the lack of personal space doesn't mean he wants to go over that invisible boundary, to taste Castiel, to let himself be taken over…He shakes the images off.

It's worse than when people used to think Dean was dating Sam. (Now they all assume it's Cas sharing Dean's bed, though.)

XXX

Dean is finishing up his pie and leaving some small town diner, trying to figure out where the nearest liquor store is, when he notices a Camaro parked outside.

"Hey, baby," he tells the Impala. "You found some worthy company? I hope he was treating you right while I was gone." Dean strokes the hood of his car.

A tan-skinned man with a leather jacket and faded jeans - who goes by the name of Derek Hale - takes that moment to step out of the convenience store. When he hears Dean's conversation, he raises a brow, and asks, "Are you talking to a car?" He takes out his keys from his pocket, and slides them in the Camaro's door, not waiting for an answer.

"That's yours and you don't talk to it?" Dean huffs out, laughing. The man seems like he's trying very hard not to laugh, or maybe he's just constipated.

Derek would just glare and leave – usually. Everyone in this town wants something from him; wants to learn his secrets or call the police on him. But something's different about this one, besides the fact that he's not from around here. Derek isn't sure how he knows – maybe a perk of being the Alpha – but he has a feeling Dean is someone older; someone he should look up to and learn from. He shouldn't dismiss him just yet.

Castiel appears between them, and Dean tries very hard to pretend like he's shocked. You can't let everyone know angels exist; not everyone's ready for that kind of knowledge. He sure as hell wasn't.

"He is a werewolf, Dean," Castiel announces in his guardian-like tone (that Dean hates). He takes up a fighting stance, putting himself between Dean and the stranger.

Derek growls a bit, holding back his snarl. He's not bothered by Castiel appearing out of nowhere – okay, maybe a bit – but he's a bit hesitant to get closer.

Dean doesn't blame the guy for standing his ground; escaping would be dangerous (and mostly pointless). Also, it's probably better to feign innocence than to let everyone know werewolves exist, Dean thinks. Not that the stranger is doing a very good job of hiding his fangs.

Dean shoves Castiel aside. "Don't worry about the nerd-angel. He's a bit of a stalker." And there goes the information he was trying to keep on the down-low. Son of a bitch.

Derek gapes, fangs definitely on display. "Angel?"

His eyebrows do this weird, angry wave thing, and Dean is fascinated by it. Castiel could never show that much emotion on his face.

"You know, those things with wings that most people think are nice?" Dean explains, mockingly.

"Dean," Castiel warns. "Do not insult my kind due to a select few."

Dean scoffs. "I'd say it's more than just a few."

Derek narrows his eyes; they flash to red for a second. "Angel?"

"Just…take my word for it," Dean adds, a wry smile on his face. "I've seen more than you can ever imagine, dude."

Derek nods, but his frown doesn't go away. At least he was right about this man being different from everyone else in Beacon Hills.

"But I gotta ask. Are you really a werewolf? You don't seem like the ones I've met so far."

Derek crosses his arms over his chest, looking insulted. "How were the ones you saw?"

Dean doesn't pause. "Ugly."

Derek somehow looks even more insulted, but a wave of colour slowly starts climbing his neck. And, of course, Stiles has to have found him right at that moment. He parks his Jeep next to them just as the man looks like he wants to say something else.

Stiles rushes towards them, expecting to have to break up another fight. "Hey Der- whoa!"Derek doesn't look as stiff as usual. That's a good sign. "You actually took my advice, and found some new friends?"

Derek growls at Stiles, but he's not bothered by it.

Castiel, though, tries to step in front of the innocent bystander to protect him from the werewolf.

Dean rolls his eyes. "So now it goes by whoever's younger? I'm too old to be killed by a werewolf?"

Stiles barks out a laugh. "I'm used to being shoved against walls and things, man." He pats Castiel's shoulder. "I'm tougher than I look."

"You are the weakest among us," Castiel deadpans, brows knit.

Derek grins, and Stiles makes an undignified sound. "Thanks a lot!"

Dean snorts, shaking his head like this happens all the time. And…it kind of does. "Don't take it personally, kid. He's still kind of bad at telling a lie."

Stiles glances over at Derek, quirking an eye. "Who are your friends, Derek? They seem kind of…old."

Derek grumbles, sighing. Sure, Stiles is trying to protect him or whatever, but Derek is the Alpha, and he can use his instinct to sniff out enemies. Stiles doesn't quite have that yet.

"I don't know them, Stiles," he answers truthfully. "But I don't need you here to worry; I can take care of myself. Go home. The pack's probably waiting in the den already."

Stiles's eyes bulge. "You – you want me – me who has no wolf powers, claws, teeth or strength, to watch your wild pack on the full moon?"

"Consider it your initiation. You've been wanting to join for a while, right?" Derek's gaze is glacial, daring Stiles to disagree. Dean and Castiel exchange a look, but say nothing.

"That doesn't mean I want to die trying!" Stiles protests, scrubbing a hand over his short hair roughly. "Jesus, this is revenge for all the times I've tried to get you arrested, isn't it?"

Derek snarls at that, fangs protruding and crimson eyes glowing. "Don't you dare pretend like this is their first full moon! I've been through many with them already. You just have to babysit and make sure they don't kill other people."

Dean clears his throat. "I don't mean to – uh – cut in, but maybe Cas here could give him a hand? I mean, angels can be dicks and all, but he's definitely there when you need him."

Castiel ignores the insult in favour of accepting the compliment. "Thank you, Dean." He stands up straighter, looking to Stiles and Derek. "I would not mind being of service, if it is Dean's wish."

Derek wants to laugh so badly. Dean trained an angel to listen better than Derek has trained a bunch of sixteen year olds. He could definitely learn a thing or two from Dean. Derek nods, peering over at Stiles. "If he agrees."

"An angel? Did I just hear right? Holy – wait no, that's blasphemy. Shit, I'm already going to Hell, aren't I?" Derek growls at that, and Stiles sucks in a breath. "Yeah, sure. I – I can get used to the idea of an angel helping me babysit Betas."

"And, you look like you could use a drink," Dean tells Derek. "Why don't you help me find a liquor store, and we can hang out. I'm Dean, by the way."

Derek shakes Dean's hand, and replies, "Derek." A tiny smile appears on Derek's face, much more genuine than the one he gave that officer, and it blows Stiles's mind. Is this the same Derek who throws people through walls?

"So, booze?" Dean asks, hopeful.

Stiles opens his mouth to tell Dean that Derek can't get drunk, but thinks better of it when Derek's fangs flash in the sunlight. He swallows down the bromance jokes he wants to make, and turns to Castiel – who seems to be gone.

"Where's…" He trails off when Dean points to the Jeep. Castiel is sitting in the passenger's side. "Oh my god! When did he – how did he –"

"Angel," Dean replies, sounding a bit smug. "Have fun."

Stiles climbs in the car, turning to Castiel, and giving him an awkward smile. "So, I guess I don't need to tell you to buckle up." Castiel pulls the strap across his chest, clicking it into place. "Huh."

They drive off, and Dean tries not to worry about how awkward Castiel is going to be.

Derek tilts his head towards his car. "You wanna-" He swallows down the tension, the nerves, in the pit of him. It's the first time he's going to be alone with a human who isn't Stiles. "-use mine?"

Dean considers both sides before saying yes. For one, the Impala has been overworked today – since he's been driving all morning trying to get his frustration out. (His stupid brother with his stupid Dean, if everyone's saying it, did you ever wonder if it's true? bullshit. Sam is a bitch like that.)

But, then again, it's his baby. And he loves her; knows how to make her purr. Hell, he could even convince Derek to get his own Impala. He looks over at the Camaro. He hasn't driven one of those, and that one is really nice. In fact, when will he ever get the chance to be in one of those again? Also, it would be awesome to save some money on gas; they'll need it for the next town they go to…

"Only if I can drive," Dean tries, flashing Derek one of his winning smiles. He's not really serious, but there's no harm –

"Sure." Derek throws the keys at Dean, and Dean catches them, awestruck.

"Really?" Dean asks, sounding a bit like that overactive teenager from before. Stiles, was it?

But it's just so unexpected. He'd never let anyone – save for Sam, Castiel and Bobby – drive the Impala. Derek doesn't even know him, and he handed his keys over without a thought. It's like Christmas came early.

"I see how you treat your car," Derek explains, "I'm not worried." Not like he would be if it was Stiles driving. That kid is a maniac. That's why he needed a Jeep; it's the only vehicle that could handle his spastic behaviour.

"Dude. Awesome." Dean grins, locking the Impala. "Just … give me a second."

Derek raises a brow, but waits, leaning against his car door.

Dean strokes the hood of the Impala. "Well, baby, looks like we're going to be apart tonight. I'll make sure no-one hurts you, though. I promise," he whispers, hoping Derek doesn't hear.

When he looks over at him, Derek is smirking. Damn, there goes that sliver of hope.

"Ready now?" Derek asks, walking around the front of the car.

Dean takes in a deep breath, the excitement of being behind the wheel of the Camaro making his pulse flutter. "Oh, yeah."