First time I wrote such a long crossover. Will update soon! I am so sorry if my English sucks or stuff sounds wrong, I'm not English and I've never been in the USA. You are welcome to point stuff out to me, if you notice something and feel like telling me. I don't own the characters, I just spent quite some time using them to satisfy my weird fantasies.

Sam was gone. Sam had been gone for weeks. "This isn't the life I want, Dean," he had said, and the next day, he was gone. Then, written down: "I'm gonna go to college. Make friends - maybe even get a girlfriend? I'm gonna be a lawyer and have a normal life. I don't care anymore what you and dad say. I know you don't agree, I know you want to find whoever killed mom. But she's dead. She's not coming back, not even if we find and kill them. I'm done with this life. I'm sorry, Dean, but this is my final decision and I'm not coming back. Good bye. I love you. Tell dad I love him too, despite what he said."

He had at least left that note, also telling where he had gone: Stanford. And it was a good thing, too, that he had left a note and not told Dean those things face-to-face, because Dean was sure he would have snapped at the words regarding their mother. He also would have made a huge fuss and physically restrained Sam from going, probably...

Well, thing was, Sam was gone. And so was their dad, because he had gotten so angry that he had taken his truck and drove off with "there's a case in Wyoming, gonna get over there and check it out" as the only explanation.

Any other day, Dean would have followed his dad anywhere. Any other day, Sam would have been right there though, in the passenger seat of the Impala, and whined about having to listen to the same old tapes since, like, forever.

But these days, Dean was just driving around – like right at the moment. He would have loved to deny it, but as he thought about his little brother, a single tear managed to escape the corner of his eye and slip down his cheek. He just wanted to stop at the first town he crossed, find the first bar available and get shit-faced.

It was two hours later when he finally parked the Impala in the parking lot of some shady bar in a small village at the border of North Dakota. The sun had already set since a few hours, but the temperature was still pleasantly warm. Dean got out of the car, shut the door and fondly ran his hand over her roof. "Just the two of us now, baby," he muttered under his breath, before walking over to the entrance of the bar. Judging by its name (House of Bear, seriously? If that was a reference to beer it was like the worst pun ever?) and the looks he got as soon as he entered it, this wasn't exactly the best of places to have a drink, but as good as any to get piss-drunk. Who cared about the creepy bear-based decor littering the walls (like lots and lots of stuffed heads and furs), everybody in there seemed to be drinking huge mugs of beer and that was just fine by him. He sat down on a stool at the bar, making himself comfortable and took a look around. People had returned to mind their own business (thank God for small miracles) and as soon as Dean got his own mug of beer, he started to feel like this place wasn't as bad as he had first thought. He planned to drink a shitload, spacing out most of the time, thinking about Sam - his little Sammy – states away, who had decided he no longer needed a family, as long as he could realize his dreams and forget about the supernatural.

It hurt. It hurt a great deal. He missed his baby brother, but if this was what Sam truly wanted, he had to deal with it.

He was halfway through his third beer, a little fuzzy around the edges, as he hadn't even bothered to eat dinner before, when turmoil outside caught his attention.

There were shouts and noises of running, and though he felt like he deserved a break from freaking drama, a little action never failed to raise one's mood. The other people in the bar seemed interested too, but nobody bothered to get up and take a closer look, so Dean effectively chugged down the rest of his drink, slapped a few bills on the counter and then hastily exited the bar. He could hear noises coming from down the road on his right, so he ran, noticing how the path led into some sort of woodsy area after a while. And then he abruptly came to a halt and hid behind a tree, unholstering his gun. A few dozen feet in front him were three men. Well, more like, a boy, probably a few years younger than him (like Sammy, little Sammy) and two men around the thirties. One of the men was holding the boy face-down against the earthy ground, twisting his arm harshly behind his back. It looked like one wrong move might be enough to dislocate his shoulder. The other was holding a gun to his head and hissing at him - things Dean couldn't quite make out from this distance.

This was definitely not a supernatural case, something for the police mostly, but well, Dean wasn't about to let a poor kid get killed just because human monsters weren't exactly his business. He breathed heavily, the adrenaline making his heart pump twice as fast as usual. He needed to act fast, but he couldn't just kill the guys, and with the distance and the darkness of the night, he wasn't confident he would be able to shoot an arm or a leg, without injuring any vital arteries. His eyes flitted left and right, before landing on a long and thick cut off branch, lying on the ground. Perfect. He moved quietly, as he sneaked over to it, lifted it up and then proceeded to stealthily approach the trio, hiding in the shadows of trees and bushes. As soon as he was close enough, he could hear them talk.

"I asked you a fucking question, you goddamned mutt!"

There was a rustling of clothes and dry leaves and then a sharp cry. Freaking assholes had probably dislocated the poor kid's shoulder if the pop hadn't been just his imagination. Dean could feel rage well up in him. He thought about anyone hurting Sam like that and closed in, balancing the heavy branch in his hand like a baseball. The guys were so focused on the kid, yelling insults about "his whore of a sister", "fucking filthy mutts" and beating the shit out of the boy, that they didn't even notice when Dean was right there, behind the guy with the gun. He raised his make-shift bat and swung it hard and fast against the back of the man's head, taking him out cold. The second man didn't even have the time to fully realize his buddy was down, before getting hit in the temple. Dean let the branch fall to the ground, realizing he was trembling slightly (he wasn't used to dealing with human beings) and gingerly kneeled down to check both men's pulses. They were still alive, fortunately, but that just meant he had to get the kid out of there fast.

Speaking of which: The kid was still curled up in a position which revealed he had been trying to protect his gut from being kicked into a messy pulp just a second ago. It didn't look like he had had any success though, considering his right arm was hanging limply and in a slightly unnatural angle from his body and therefore must have been barely usable for protection.

"Jesus, do you think you're able to get up?" Dean asked, trying to see more in the slight moon light. The kid was lanky, dark-haired. He was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, but he couldn't tell more in that light.

"C'mon, I'll give you a hand," Dean muttered, as he got no reply but a few pained groans, gingerly taking a hold of the kid's uninjured arm and pulling him up until they were both standing. The kid whimpered through it, but he surprised Dean by relocating his shoulder as soon as he was on his feet (not without an agonized howl, but still impressive).

"Dude."

"Let's get the hell away from here," were the first words the kid spoke and Dean couldn't agree more. His voice wasn't high-pitched like a child's, but not entirely developed into a man's voice either. It reminded him of Sam, when he was fifteen and struggling through the worst of puberty.

They made it back to the parking lot in complete silence and Dean was a little put off by the fact that the kid seemed to be able to walk just fine and without any help, despite having just suffered a serious beating. He was definitely tougher than he looked. When they got to the Impala Dean made a gesture towards her.

"Is that your car?" the kid asked, soothingly rubbing his bad arm.

"Yeah. There a place I can drop you off? Are you going to be fine? Do you want me to bring you to a hospital? Should we call the police?" Dean questioned, leaning an arm against the roof of his baby.

"No, no hospital! And no police!" the kid shouted, before seeming to realize his mistake and visibly calming down. He repeated, calmer "No hospitals and no police, please. The next motel should just be fine."

"Well, okay," Dean replied. He stared at the kid for a while, noticing how he started to fidget under his stare. "I'm headed for a motel myself, as well, anyway. What's your name?"

The kid hesitated, his gaze flickering shortly to where Dean's gun was hidden under his dad's old leather jacket. Dean frowned, but didn't voice his confusion – had the kid somehow seen it? – and waited for an answer instead.

"Derek," said the kid - no, Derek. Only the first name, but Dean could deal with that. He didn't share his family name either, after all.

"Well, Derek, I'm Dean and we are going to have a long talk, as soon as we find a motel. Because those two guys back there?" He used his thumb to point towards the woods. "It looked like they were gonna kill you if I hadn't been there. And we need to be ready in case they come looking for us again."

"For us? I won't be your problem anymore, once we get to the motel," Derek said, his face scrunching up in confusion.

"Dude, I'm not leaving you alone until this shit is cleared up," was Dean's firm answer. He unlocked his car and ordered a "Get in!" before slipping behind the wheel himself. Derek got around the car and joined him on the passenger side, wincing only slightly, when his battered body came into contact with the Impala's seat.

"Look, I appreciate that you helped me. Really. But I can take care of myself and I don't need a babysitter," Derek said, as soon as he had made himself comfortable. Dean started the car and rolled out of the parking lot, taking the road in the opposite direction he had come from earlier that evening.

"Yeah, I see how you can take care of yourself just fine. I mean, you had a guy twisting your arm behind your back and another pointing a gun at your head, but I guess you could've handled it fine on your own." Dean couldn't help the sarcasm, as he concentrated on driving to the next town as fast as legally possible.

"Shut up. It would have been different if it wasn't for the wo- the gun."

"Okay, Jackie Chan."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence and Dean found himself in a surprising good mood, considering a few hours before he had still been whining over Sam leaving. Now there was a kid sitting in his car with him, and though it wasn't his baby brother, it felt good to not be alone.

About an hour later, they found a motel. It was small and shabby-looking, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he was sure the kid didn't really care either.

"Wait here," he said, turning off the engine and getting out of the car to pay for a room. Looking at it objectively, he knew he was being a freaking idiot - he didn't even know this kid and was leaving him alone in his car and renting a single room with two twin beds for them. He knew it was insane, but it felt like the right thing to do, somehow.

When he got back outside, the Impala was still there, fortunately, and Derek was leaning against her hood, looking upset. He had his hands shoved inside the pockets of his jacket, his brow was furrowed and his jaw tense.

"C'mon, room 13 over there," Dean muttered, nodding towards it. He quickly got his duffel out of the back and then headed towards their room. He heard Derek hesitantly follow, before asking: "Did... did you just get a room, as in for both of us?"

"Yeah, so? Not to be rude, but you don't look like you got a lot of money on you, kid. Also, I told you we were gonna have a talk."

Dean glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Derek nervously nibbling on his bottom lip. Looked like he wasn't the only one thinking about being an idiot for being too trusty.

"So, you don't... uhm... want anything from me?" the kid asked, with a voice so tiny Dean wondered for the first time if maybe he was younger than he looked.

"Dude, are you fuckin' kidding me? That's sick, man, not to mention you could be my younger brother or something," Dean replied, grimacing at the implying.

"You're not lying. Well, okay," the kid muttered. And he seemed to be happy to follow then, just like that. He needed to have a talk with the kid about taking people for their word - this couldn't be safe, seriously.

They entered the motel room, which was just as shitty as Dean had expected, but at least the light green sheets of the beds looked clean enough and there wasn't too much dust on the furniture. The kitty pictures on the walls were rather cheesy though. Whatever, they weren't staying past tomorrow anyway.

"It smells of cat piss in there," Derek groaned, carefully slipping out of his jacket and throwing it over a chair in the corner of the room. There wasn't even a small table to accompany it, just that mere chair, Dean noted. He sniffed, noticing the smell only faintly. Ugh.

"Well, isn't this a great place to crash," he joked, taking off his own jacket, as well, leaving it on the bed closest to the door. "You can have the first shower. I guess you deserve it after a night like that," he offered, gesturing towards the bathroom.

Derek looked hesitant for a moment, almost bashful, before effectively leaving the bedroom and closing himself up in the bathroom. Dean waited until he could hear the water running, before placing his duffel on the floor and rummaging through it. He found the salt and started lining it up in front of the door and the window. He wasn't taking any chances, just because he was sharing the room with some kid. God, he was sharing a room with a complete stranger. The hell was wrong with him?

When he was done with all security measures (hiding his knife under the pillow, checking the room for anything suspicious and finding only a big dead spider behind the trashcan - shiver - gross!), he lay down on the bed and flicked on the small TV on the dresser at the feet of their beds. Well, at least it worked.

When Derek came back, wearing all his clothes once more, but with noticeably more tousled hair, Dean got to really check him out in the light for the first time. Just as he had already perceived before, Derek was lanky, but obviously starting to fill out in all the right places. He also had to be more or less a head shorter than Dean, roughly estimating. He had almost black, short and thick hair and a pretty, boyish face, though it was starting to sharpen out already.

"Go on. It's all yours," Derek's voice cut through his thoughts. Dean blinked, realizing that staring at the kid after the conversation they had had outside wasn't exactly the best of ideas. He switched off the television (kid could switch it back on himself if he wanted), rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom without further words. He just hoped the kid wasn't cheeky enough to go through his duffel, because he didn't want to explain why he had a small collection of weapons and strange "satanic" artifacts on him.

Dean took off his clothes, dropping them carelessly onto the floor, before stepping into the shower. He turned on the faucet and groaned as warm water cascaded down on him. This place had a decent shower, if nothing else. He took his sweet time, washing himself until the water started turning cold and then turned off the shower and stepped out of it. Roughly drying himself up, he wrapped the towel around his hips and picked up his clothes, before returning to the bedroom. Derek had slipped under the covers of his bed, though he was sitting with his back leaning against the headboard, clearly waiting for Dean. And looking kind of nervous too, if the wide eyes and the clenched jaw were anything to go by. Dean cocked an eyebrow, but just threw his clothes beside his duffel, holding the towel firmly in place while he looked for a pair of boxer briefs, a t-shirt and some sweatpants to wear through the night. Once he was dressed, the towel joined the dirty clothes on the floor and he made himself comfortable on the bed, keeping one leg angled to lean his elbow on it.

"Alright, Derek. Who were those guys and what did they want from you?" he started right away, without talking around it. Derek eyed him warily (he had nice eyes, almost the same color as Sammy's).

"They were hunt- I mean, bounty hunters. After my sister..." Derek revealed, fidgeting with the blankets. Dean frowned. Why the hell were bounty hunters after this kid's sister? Was she some sort of VIP? Or were they part of some gang?

"Why?"

"Family business. My family... has some sort of conflict with another one."

Mafia then. Jesus, what had Dean gotten himself into? As if he didn't have enough to deal with, what with the supernatural and all.

"Wow. Okay, I didn't expect that. Where's your sister then?" he asked, noticing how grim Derek seemed, while talking about this issue. He looked suddenly very small and broken and Dean felt a painful tug in his chest. Sam used to have that look too, every time they left a town after a successful hunt, where he had managed to create himself a small life in a matter of weeks.

"I don't know. I ran away from home some months ago."

Dean kind of froze. This was all reminding him a little bit too much of his Sammy and it was starting to become almost ridiculous.

"Why would you do that?" he inquired. Derek's face scrunched up and he seemed more pissed than sad, then.

"Look, I appreciate the help, as I already said, but to be blunt, this is none of your business and I already told you too much as it is. So unless you're some sort of... professional, who knows how to deal with this kind of thing, there's really nothing you can do to help me further. Not that I need any help, at all. I'll leave tomorrow."

Dean's brow rose at the little outburst and he just studied the kid for a while, before shrugging.

"Fair enough," he replied. "But considering I sort of am a professional, I could help you out with this. You would be safer with me than alone. So I'll let you sleep over it and then we'll talk about this again in the morning, alright?"

Derek huffed irritated, shuffling deeper under the covers and turning his back to Dean. He muttered a low "whatever" and Dean slipped into his bed as well, turning off the lights. He thought about Sam at Stanford, wondered if he was okay, missing him dearly for a few moments, before concentrating on the soft breathing coming from the bed beside him and falling asleep peacefully.