Title: Coordinating the Obscure 
Author: scy
Feedback: scynneh@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not in any way, shape or form. 
Fandom: Supernatural/BTVS
Pairing: Dean/Oz 
Spoilers: Consider entire series of both shows as game. 
Rating: R
Summary: When Sam went away to college, Dean and John Winchester didn't stop Hunting, Dean was just out on his own a lot more. Some of the trips took him into the ranges of other beings who had their own methods. Sometimes they were able to collaborate to solve problems.
Author's Notes: I spent a lot of time listening to Jeff Buckley during the writing of this story, which is something that I highly recommend. Thanks to Jyuu_chan who was a great support in the writing of this, both with comments and general squeeing. Further notes and title references in footnotes. 
January - February 2006

1. Only Here For This Moment

Interstate - Middle America 2006. 

He'd known that Sammy wasn't looking to continue in the family business. There'd been enough fights and near-walkouts that Dean had a pretty good ear for when Dad and Sam were about to go for 'most stubborn and righteous' Winchester titles. Sulking and being a brat wasn't the way to get through to Dad; whenever Dean had a problem, he and Dad  sparred. It wasn't about who won, although Dean was getting better, but it gave them someplace to start. If he couldn't get a better answer than 'because I said so' out of Dad after a couple rounds without an actual argument, Dean let it go. 

John Winchester had been hunting a lot longer than his sons, and he had a motive for all of his orders. It was easier follow them and be creative along the way than outright disagree, and Dean knew when to smile and nod, because the soft disappointment in their Dad's eyes was worse than a fight.

Sam saw him take orders and didn't get why Dean thought it was alright not to question. He called Dean 'a solider,' and when he mocked that the blind loyalty was 'fitting,' his lip curled like he could still see why he'd left and never wanted to be in that position again. Dean let the insults go when Sam was tired; knowing that should either of them slip, mention why their peace was so delicate, then he didn't see any chance of avoiding conflict. Still, it wasn't like he didn't remember feeling bad when he sided with Dad and Sam looked at him in a way that practically shouted 'not with me, doesn't know what that is anymore.' Now they tried for compromise, and were falling back into their thing of having sides in motel rooms and favorite snacks, and little things that made it feel more normal than either of them knew how to admit. 

Pacific Northwest 2000:

The first acceptance letter came while Sam was at school. Dean picked it up and then thought about throwing it away. It should have glowed or burned when he touched it; the message it sent was so explosive. Turning it over in his hands, Dean traced the neatly typed letters of Sam's name and thought that he wasn't quite Sammy Winchester anymore. Dean dropped the envelope on Sam's bed and didn't say anything. 

The day Sam left, he caught a bus. Dean would have offered him a ride, but Dad found out about an incident in the Northwest where a couple hikers had vanished, and then one of them turned up with some nasty bites and said that he'd been attacked by a a wild man. Sam waved off Dean's offer and although he said it nicely, managed to imply that by doing his job, Dean was just blindly following their old man without any idea of what he actually wanted. If anything, Sam had taken a few pointers from Dad, and could be just as hot and cold when he wanted to be. 

So Dean checked his tires, stocked up on supplies and headed for the West Coast as soon as Sam was on the cross-country bus. 

There were quicker ways to get from one point to another, but Dean preferred driving. He'd gone enough places that his car and a long stretch of highway were what he recognized as home. Dad had only kept them in one place so long as he could hunt without leaving them alone for too long. Once Sammy got old enough and he was sure that Dean wouldn't hesitate to take the shot, Dad let him have their own routines.

Parked up the street from the bus stop and watching as his brother loaded his stuff on and clambered aboard, Dean reflected that he'd known that pretty soon, Sammy wouldn't let him persuade him into hunting. By his senior year, he'd only gone with Dean if it was really dangerous, and that was with protest. He'd taken to shutting his door and holding up stacks of advance placement assignments as the reason he couldn't be out helping clean up the world. He hadn't said anything about how getting a degree was going to make him any more qualified, but he had the basics of a plan, and it was codenamed 'Getting Out.' Whatever he decided to do, Dean hoped it was worth it.

*
As he crossed the Rocky Mountains and followed the road into Idaho and then further north, Dean wished that shape-shifters would take to migrating into warmer climates. The weather was becoming unpleasant, and despite a couple of trips in this direction, he hadn't gotten used to the fact that it was damp year-round. 

The reports of animal attacks had come from a national forest, and one area in particular. Every place had an order to it, even if it was strange to an outsider. A threat that came at them from inside would have to shake them up worse than if it was from the outside. 

Pulling into a gas station just a few miles from the park boundaries, Dean looked past the squat building and could see the forest like a dark backdrop against the sky. It cut the town off from everything else and at the same time drew hikers and tourists to the town. Dean saw the expected mix of experienced outdoorsmen and day-hikers who brought pet and kids. There was a feeling about the town that was different though, it was tense, and as people looked at the woods, some of them turned around and didn't take the trails.

Dean saw park rangers positioned around the parking lot watching the crowds as they huddled around a bulletin board. They watched as if whatever had attacked the hiker was going to step forward and surrender. There was the official story about a possibly deranged bear, and the confused version of the truth that the authorities were keeping out of the papers. There was no official talk of how there had been both human and animal bites on the victims, but enough evidence had been logged as 'cannot be explained,' that they weren't just looking for a wild animal. 

Unfortunately none of them actually had a clue, so Dean didn't have any confidence what they would do if they confronted the creature. He had a much better idea of what they were looking for, and needed to find the thing and put a stop to it.

He knew better than to offer his expertise to the solemn men wearing badges and intense expressions. They'd appreciate the results; it was his methods that wouldn't suit them. 

'Only tell them as much as you need to get the story.' Although his Dad didn't come out and say that socializing was a waste of time when it didn't yield up any new leads, Dean knew that the older man didn't hold much with talking about the weather when there were things waiting for nighttime so that they could do their own hunting.

 He didn't look all that much like the type of person who'd have all the answers, and Dean didn't try to be. Still, if he had to fake being part of the club then he'd make the most of the opportunity. The best way to get past yellow tape and background checks was to know which tack to take. He could play confused, earnest, or be in someone's face without taking a breath, and he always walked like he knew where he was going. 

At the moment, he didn't feel like playing 'visiting agent' so he just loaded up and set off for the trail furthest from Smokey and company. Even if they were concerned about what was stalking the woods, someone in power was balking at closing the park, and so the rangers couldn't actually follow him and throw him out. There were other people setting out despite the warnings, and Dean just hoped that they'd be out of the woods before dark.

He didn't stop to chat with any of the casually meandering groups; they might be curious or oblivious and he could tell that they'd only stay as long as their nerve held. It was the people that didn't look as if they were out for a good time that he was interested in. They might not know exactly what was happening to their friends, but they looked as if they were going to keep moving until they found something that satisfied them, and then mob justice would suffice they got their way.

Dean insinuated himself in a group and let them tell him what he needed to know. Someone besides the hiker that escaped had seen something part animal and the rest human lurking in the woods.

"We thought it was just one of those tree-hugging guys, a little hardcore, but harmless."

"Well, I heard that Mike saw this guy hauling around a dead animal." The speaker grimaced. "Like, it was bloody and partly eaten."

"And you think this weirdo just slipped by the rangers?"

"Come on, if he's been out here long enough, then he knows how to hide from them." 

"Mike knew how to handle himself, he could take care of a freak like that," said one of the girls. She had dark hair cut like a pixie, but was built like she rappelled off cliffs in her spare time between running marathons and swimming the Atlantic. Watching her, Dean saw her shake her head as if denying something and then she hurried to walk out in front of the group. 

Nobody said anything in agreement or otherwise, and from the looks he saw exchanged, Dean guessed that this sort of thing was common.

"She seems freaked out," he observed and got a couple assessing looks. The leader of the trio was one of those blond and tanned types that had to have grown up convinced that the only way to see the world was with dirt and no running water, and he looked uncomfortable not striding off on some wilderness trek. 

"Beck's not used to doing this kind of thing without Mike or Gina. They're a great team, do lots of trips together, backcountry kind of stuff."

"But they're both missing."

"Yeah, she's upset that she wasn't there when they disappeared."

"What was she doing?"

"She was sick. Still not over it, but when she found out what we were doing, she wasn't going to sit around until we had news." He looked after her and added," That girl's determined, that's for sure." Putting his hand out for Dean to shake, he smiled wanly. "Jeff, and this jerk is Webb." Nodding to the skinny guy with a  thing going on, Dean took the offered hand. 

"Dean."

"Seriously? Like Rebel Without a Cause?"

"Yeah, same name, no relation." 

"So you came out here to look for our guys too?" This was the moment where Dean knew he was either in and could get away with whatever he needed to, or would be tolerated and ignored. At times like this he usually went with a reason that was as close enough to the truth that it sounded good and far enough away that he couldn't be called on it later. 

"Yeah, heard that something had happened and wanted to do what I could."  

"Good to have you, Dean." 

"Look like you came prepared," Webb observed, gesturing at the bag Dean carried.

"Sure did," Dean said, smiling and feeling the clank of the equipment inside.

"So you're what, a survival expert?" Webb pressed, and Jeff shot him a look.

"Something like that," Dean said amiably, knowing that Webb was curious and maybe trying to rattle the new guy.

Webb didn't seem entirely satisfied with Dean's vague answers, but a look from Jeff cut off any further prying for the moment. 

Up ahead of them, Becka found a marker that signaled they'd found the route her missing friends had taken, and they moved purposefully forward. Following the trail took the better part of a day and it was threatening twilight when they arrived at the base camp. There were no obvious signs of a struggle, and it looked like whoever had been staying there had just packed up and left.

While they were determined and obviously thought they knew what they were doing, the other three were kids, despite what their birth dates claimed. They practically embodied what proud ignorance looked like in the beginning. It was one thing to not know what was out there in the dark, but when people assumed that they knew everything, they were asking for more trouble than they knew how to handle.

Dean paced the area of the camp looking for evidence of the group's movements. He found tracks made by boots, and a depression tin the brush where a large animal had crouched down for awhile. it must have watched the camp before deciding which hiker to pick off and then stalked them as they set out for home.

Becka came up beside Dean and stared down at the crushed leaves disturbed leaves. "Did you find something?"

"Yeah, looks like an animal was hanging out here."

"Like whatever attacked them?"

"Maybe."

"Did it carry them off?" She stared at the ground intently as if it would give up an explanation.

"There's no signs of a struggle; whatever was watching them didn't come any closer to the camp.

"The fire could have scared it," Webb chimed in, wandering over to se what was going on.

Dean doubted that but let Becka and Webb argue about animal behavior while he figured out the route both humans and otherwise had taken out of the camp.

Becka looked even more wound up now that there was some evidence that they were going in the right direction, and she was almost bouncing in place. Jeff and Webb eyed her worriedly, and Dean hoped that hey knew how to keep her from freaking out.

The mere suggestion of turning aback though, made Becka object loudly.

"We need to stay here tonight," Jeff decided and that calmed her down.

Dean took first watch without being asked, because he didn't think giving one of these humpy kids a gun was going to make things safer.

Webb was interested in what he was doing, so he tried to sneak up on Dean and surprise him. Since he moved like a puppy still getting used to its paws, Dean had no trouble hearing him, although he guessed that even with caution Webb would be noisy. It was in the way he walked and the set of his shoulders, as though he could push his way past manners and common sense. 

He sat down next to Den on a fallen tree, seeming disappointed that his efforts had gone unnoticed. Glancing at Dean, he sneered. "Becka and Jeff think you're one of those off-dtur rangers or something, but you're not, are you?"

"Does it matter?" Dean stared past hte glow of the fire to the woods. Nothing larger than mice and the owls that hunted them were moving around at the moment, but he knew that other hunters would be about soon, and he was looking for the kind that wasn't afraid of humans.

"It depends on what you're doing out here." Webb slumped on the log in what he probably thought was a cool pose, but it wasn't anything close to intimidating.

"I told you already, I'm here to find out what happened in these woods."

"Yeah, and when you do, what's next?"

Dean looked at him sideways, feeling the heat of the fire billowing on his face and smiled widely. "And then I'll take care of it."

Webb looked like he was going to say something else and get himself punched, but then Dean heard what he'd been listening for. Some animal had begun its nightly rounds and whatever it was hunting wasn't worried about being quiet. From his seat by the fire Dean couldn't get a decent look at what was happening, but he translated the snap of branches and crackle of leaves into a chase going wrong for the one being pursued. 

By now Webb had clued in to the fact that something was happening and he got to his feet, taking several steps toward the bushes. Dean put out a hand to stop him.

"Don't, man, it's not safe."

"Like you can handle it by yourself?"

Above them, the sky seemed to draw up on itself and Dean felt the pressure change. Rain fell  in a torrent and slid down the back of his neck, the cold moisture over his spine a chill that he would have liked to avoid. Shuddering, he wiggled his shoulders, trying to get the damp off his body.

"Get back to the fire. Wake Becka and Jeff, and stay there." 

Webb, who Dean was beginning to think was asking to be put in his place, hard, opened his mouth again, undoubtedly to argue, and Dean shoved him in the right direction. 

"Now." Looking back at the forest, Dean reached into his bag and pulled out his namesake, checked that it was loaded, and set his sights on the woods. 

At first glance it looked like two animals having some kind of fight. Knowing better than to accept what his eyes said was the whole story, Dean took another look. The two animals weren't wolves or coyotes, or at least, they could have day jobs. Up until now his glimpses of of werewolves  had been brief, but he could recognize one when it was rushing toward him. 

The larger one made a leap and managed to pin the smaller of the two down for a few seconds as they struggled and growled at one another. Despite the noises, it didn't look like a truly serious fight, more like a point was being made, and it just happened to be with claws and teeth instead of words. The smaller one rolled onto its back and shrank into itself until there was a man lying there, hands up in a universal signal. 

He read the body language and knew some of what was being said, even if it wasn't coming across in the usual way. Dean had never gotten involved in the dominance games of his family. The closest he'd ever come to squaring off with his father had been during training. Of the three Winchesters, Sam had been the one to push the hardest and that had been mostly dares up until he left. Still, despite how angry they got at one another, none of their fights had reached the point of drawing actual blood, and this one wasn't limited by any lines. The one getting a beating didn't usually take it like they were counting trophies on the mantelpiece. They had to know that blood would stick to plaster just as well as skin and that making a stand only worked when you had something to fall back on, and this guy was up against an opponent who didn't care what was being proved. 

At the moment it looked as though whatever was being discussed wasn't going to be settled with anything less than a serious price, and if both of the werewolves were dead, Dean wasn't going to be able to find out what had happened to those missing people. Making a choice, Dean squeezed off a shot and purposefully grazed the larger animal. Yelping, it jerked up and stared at him. Its face slid from wolf to man as it tried to stare him down. 

His dad had told him about pack behavior and the sorts of individuals who left civilization when it got to be too much to handle, and he'd said that those who tried to control their beasts fell into several categories: disciplined and hopeless. Dean knew enough about self-control well to hope that either of these creatures was one of the former. 

When his target paused, visibly trying to decide whether it was worth it to try and stand its ground, Dean took another shot, this time shooting to disable instead of warn. This time it realized that he was serious, and took off into the woods leaving Dean and the other werewolf alone.  

2. In the Half Light

From across the clearing they sized one another up. The young man paused when he met Dean's gaze, almost as if he was unexpectedly recognizing something in a stranger.

As he stepped closer, he saw the signs of flight. Without any handy announcement there was no way for the werewolf to know that Dean didn't intend to attack him unless he gave him a good reason. 

He didn't know how to reassure a werewolf, or even if he wanted to. Looking him over, he guessed that many packs would at least take a chance on a healthy young lone wolf. Whether they would let him stay after his feelings on lycanthropy were mentioned was another story. Denial was looked down on in the wilderness. So very much unlike the policy endorsed by anyone who hadn't had to look outside and see. They had been raised to accept and forget anything strange. Things like people who turned from animal to human and who might have been mistaken for either if one didn't pause and check to make sure. 

Though it was hard to tell at first, Dean thought he could read the face beneath all the dirt. None of it was just random grime, but dirt applied to his face by some design of concealment. This one had gone distances, and seen things that most didn't care to notice. There wasn't much civilized about him; whatever his life was like, it wasn't easy or clean, and Dean could respect that. 

The sounds that he let out were inhuman; growls that Dean knew were a warning. Despite his own experience, it was still strange to hear such a bestial sound out of a human. It seemed out of place to have human speech cut off so suddenly, but then he'd learned a long time ago that words were unnecessary, and movements said much more than long words.  

So he stepped forward, albeit carefully, since he was on unfamiliar ground. Dean covered his teeth; a smile would be a greeting to humans, but he didn't want to take a chance with predators. Shape shifters judged with their senses, instead of using logic, so he let this one know the basics. He didn't try and pretend that he wasn't a potential threat, but he was honest about what he might do if pushed. 

Crouching down beside the werewolf, he saw reddish hair that flopped over pale skin and the body of someone who spent more time on their feet than sitting. He caught a little superiority in the way he was looked over, but that was nothing compared to the way his eyes caught him out as a predator whose niche had been worked on until it could be lived in. 

"Hey." Dean didn't offer his hand, figuring that not taking another shot was enough of an opening to some kind of conversation. "Can you speak English?"

Looking as if he wasn't sure a bout his answer, the werewolf cleared his throat and made a few unintelligible sounds before forming words.

"Yeah, it's just been awhile."

"That guy a friend of yours?" Dean gestured in the direction in which the other werewolf had retreated. 

"Was a neighbor. Not pack mate."

"Seems like you pissed him off real good." 

"Seems like."

"Is he going to try and take another bite out of you, or did he get the message?"

"Being shot at is clear enough. Even for him."

"That's something, then." Dean surveyed the werewolf, looking for obvious wounds. "So, you need stitches, or are you gonna be alright?"

"We heal fast, so I'll be fine." 

Basic manners covered all the bases, it didn't hurt to make the rest of the world happy with at least an attempt to appear tame. The werewolf might not be fooled, but if he appreciated the effort, he was more likely to do the same.

"Name's Dean."

Tilting his head back to look him in the eye, the werewolf evaluated him. He looked younger than Dean had guessed, and his eyes weren't crazy. "Oz. And what do you want as thanks?"

Letting himself smile a little, Dean answered, "Not much, just what you know about the people that were attacked, and which direction to head in. “I'm not here to try and get in the way of your pack.”

After a half an hour of walking through increasingly dense brush, the trail narrowed down to nothing but a scrape in the dirt and didn't even qualify as such. Picking his way over a rotted and moss-draped stump, Dean reflected that he had nothing against forests; it was just that he didn't like spending quite so much time picking leaves out of his hair or dealing with bugs. 

Of course his companion was striding ahead without being affected. “Do you sweat bug repellant or something?” Dean demanded. Oz didn’t respond; probably guessing it was better to let him get his frustrations out.

"Mud helps keep them off."

"No way I'm going to roll around in a puddle."

"Just smear some on your face and neck, that should help." Oz bent down and scooped up some mud and passed it to Dean. 

Dean covered his hands and face with it. "Great, thanks."

Oz had been moving in front of him for several miles, now he stopped and waited for Dean to catch up. It wasn't obvious looking at him that he wasn't like any other nature buff out to enjoy the wilderness- except for the fact that he was dressed in ragged clothes, had mud covering any place that wasn't scratched, and blood crusted one cheek There was no way that he could go anywhere without being noticed right away. 

His right eye was surrounded by a bloodied hollow of skin and Dean thought that the edges of the wound were still oozing even though he'd claimed he would heal fast. 

Gesturing at his face, Dean noted, "You're still a mess. Thought you were supposed to be able to patch yourself up without any help."

Oz fingered the wound gingerly and winced. "Sometimes it doesn't work as well if you're not all that strong."

"The top dogs get all the chicks and the good moves too, huh?" Swinging his pack off his shoulder, Dean pulled it open and dug inside for first aide supplies. "Let me take a look at it, you're bucking for a part in a horror movie." 

"What part?" Oz raised his eyebrows curiously.

"A mismatched zombie on the loose."

"Good disguise," Oz agreed. He let the Dean probe at the torn skin, muscle in his cheek twitching whenever a piece of dirt was discovered and removed, but otherwise he stayed still. 

Trying to make conversation when dealing with a werewolf still wearing fur wasn't easy, but now that Oz was walking and talking right in front of him, Dean tried to come up with something to say. 

"You grow up around here?"

This was funny apparently, and Oz's mouth twitched just slightly. "Werewolves don't all come from the woods."

"Really."

"Some come from the suburbs."

"Shocking."

"Yeah, who would've figured." 

"Where are you from originally?"

"Sunnydale, California." 

"I've heard some weird stories about that place."

"Probably all true." 

Leaning back, Dean turned Oz's head from side to side surveying his work. "Well, you're cleaned up a bit, doesn't look all that bad."

"Will I pass?"

"Just about." 

"How much further?"

"A few hours."

"This guys doesn't like being too close to people unless he's hunting them, right?"

"Some of the packs have moved away from the cities, a few of them are tired of being human only part of the time."

Sam would have asked this guy if that was why he moved out in the middle of nowhere, but Dean had other priorities besides this guy's motivations for being nature boy. "Well, everybody has a their issues." Stuffing the antibiotic ointment and gauze back into his bag, he motioned toward their path. "We'd better keep moving, you sure you've still got his scent?"

"I'm not a bloodhound, but yeah, I'm sure he went this way." 

Dean motioned for Oz to take the lead. "Let's go." 

3. If I Listen Closely 

Living in the woods by himself or with a bunch of people who wanted to be wolves most of the time hadn't made Oz into much of a talker if he'd been chatty before moving into the wilderness and for the first few hours he didn't talk unless Dean spoke first. It wasn't that strange for him to keep his thoughts to himself. Even if he and Dean were working through their truce, he didn't have any guarantee that Dean wouldn't turn around and let the authorities know that there were dangerous animals in the woods. The uncertainty kept them both alert but it made for an uncomfortable feeling between them and that made Dean's head ache. He would much rather everyone just said what they thought and didn't play around with variables and stupid chances.  

Whenever things felt like this with family, Dean knew how to defuse the situation. He was the one who could get between them and see each side well enough to know how to get them back to the center. Sometimes he still wondered if he should have seen what was going to happen with Sam earlier and then he could have tried harder to fix things. Before, he'd always been able to talk Sam down, and he had trusted him to keep everything under control. Then somehow it changed, and being a Winchester wasn't about pride or taking care of what nobody else wanted to, but about how nobody had the right to use them like tools. Sam said that if they really loved him, then they would let him do what he wanted; as if they were trading on love for his silence. When he'd reduced their lives to such simple acts of bargaining, as if he had the right to judge, things had turned ugly and sides plainly taken. Now there was no way to change what had happened, and since Sam hadn't left a number that he could be reached at, Dean guessed that he wasn't hoping to repair the damage. It would have to be done later, and by then, hopefully he would be willing to listen. 

Dean's foot caught on a root just enough to make his steps falter as he caught himself and Oz peered around a tree to see if he was alright. Waving him on, Dean shook his head trying to clear it. Something about this place or this guy was making him think too hard about stuff and it was interfering with the way that he was trying to focus on that one goal of making it through one crisis at a time. He'd learned that there wasn't time to dwell until he got everyone out and safe.

"You've got a lot going on," Oz observed. 

"Just. Family stuff, you know."

"Sort of." Oz stared out into the woods as if he was seeing stuff that Dean couldn't. "They won't be happy that I'm leading a human to their dens."

"Is that gonna be a problem?" 

"I don't know." Now Oz slumped a little, the reality of what he was actually doing probably just setting in. He was betraying his pack, for the right reasons Dean could argue, but he was still making them accept what he thought was the best course of action, and from the looks of things, he wasn't all that high on the pack ladder. Doing this could have longer lasting consequences than just disposing of a danger to the pack. 

"Do you have anywhere else to go?" 

"I have friends. They'd let me crash if I needed to, yeah, but I'd rather not put them out. This is my problem." 

"C'mon, skinny werewolf like yourself can't take up too much room on the couch, I bet they won't mind."

"A cage takes up a lot more space, and I like to have my own insurance." 

"Not a bad plan."

"You do this a lot?" Oz motioned around them and Dean frowned.

"Take long walks in the woods with werewolves?"

"Hunt things that most people don't believe in."

"It's what I do."

"You've got a destiny? Or is this about revenge?

"Not destiny. Family business." He might not be looking to put Oz on a leash and turn him in to Animal Control, but that didn't mean he had to share everything. Bonding over tragedy would have to wait.

"Most people take up carpentry or incorporate." 

"Whatever works."

"It's good that you're prepared."

"I come with a warning label and everything." Oz sounded bitter; as if not all of his time spent behind bars had been his choice. 

"That way people can make their minds up about safety."

"They don't always do what you want," Dean agreed,

"And sometimes that gets them in trouble."

"But all you can do is tell them the way things are and see what they want."

"When it goes badly, you'll still feel responsible."

This was bordering on hypothetically upsetting and hitting hard enough that Dean knew he was getting bruised. "No matter what happens, if you get involved, you're going to take it on yourself." 

"There are ways to get away from it, keep people safe."

"By running away? That's not protecting anybody but yourself."

Oz shot him a surprised look. "Does anyone know that you're a philosopher?"

"I like to think of myself as an optimist, no poetry involved."

This time Oz was smirking openly. "You'd better practice keeping things causal, otherwise someone could get wise."

"Oh, I never let anyone catch me at it." Dean confided. He took a look at the sky which was so gray and unchanged that it was impossible to figure out how long they'd been walking. 

"Don't you have a watch?" Oz asked.

"Nah, lost it to a mermaid in South Carolina a couple weeks ago, haven't had time to get a new one."

"What did she want with your watch?"

"It was on my wrist and she got a hold of it when she was trying to drown me." Pushing his sleeve back, Dean displayed the teeth marks still visible in his forearm. "She was pretty ticked off at me, so I thought I'd trade my wrist for the watch."

Oz took a careful step closer, and Dean stuck his arm out.

"Those are from a mermaid?"

"Yeah, they've got a nasty bite."

"Why were you fighting with a mermaid?"

"The local fishermen had been netting inside the mermaid's territory, and so this group of mermaids were cutting nets. They'd moved up to attacking small boats by the time I got called in."

"All part of the family business?"

"Yeah." Watching Oz's face, he cut off what he guessed was his next question. "No, not like Ghostbusters. This is not a containment operation."

"More like exterminators," Oz agreed, and he stepped back.

Rolling his sleeve back down, Dean couldn't tell if Oz was offended or not.

Catching his indecision, the werewolf shrugged. "This is actually a lot like taking shop with a girl I used to know. She did the monster hunting gig too." 

"Does she know you're out here with-"

"The big bad wolves?" Oz finished. "No, nobody from the Hellmouth knows where I am. I kind of left in a hurry."

"Wait, Hellmouth? Like that thing they've got in Cleveland?"

"There's another one?"

"You lived on one, and the town didn't get wiped out?"

"We had a Slayer and the rest of us were the backup."

"Sounds like fun. I was down in Cleveland handling this ghost thing; they were hassling a bunch of idiots who called them up actually, and yeah, there's a Hellmouth there too. Not as well controlled. These kids ended up getting into it with the local coven and they sealed things up really tight after that."

"A happy ending."

"It happens sometimes." Dean thought about those kids who had been so full of themselves and how they learned the hard way that they couldn't apply their own rules to the world and expect it to fall in line. When he'd taken off, the witches had been pulling them back in line. One of the high priestesses had said something about 're-education,' and Dean guessed that it wasn't going to be an easy time. Still, they were going to get a handle on skills that wouldn't be developed otherwise, and that could lead to something better. He knew that other kid excelled at sports or math, he did his best work outside of a classroom, and hunting happened to be what he was best suited for. 

Oz took one of those unnaturally long and evaluating breaths that reminded Dean that he wasn't human, and frowned. "If you've got anything to eat this would be a good time to drag it out. Rain's coming in. Good sized storm too, we're not going anywhere for awhile."

"Terrific."

"You did pack food, right?" 

"Sure."

Oz tilted his head to the side and eyed him seriously. "Stuff that would count as actual food?"

"Oh shut up."

"I guess I could go run something down if we found a place to build a fire."

"Don't suppose you happen to know of a handy cave around here?"

"That's the thing about us wild animals, we know all the best spots."

"Great, so go ahead and show off, I promise to be impressed we're there."

"Just so long as you promise to share your junk food, it's a deal."

"Funny, and yeah, just get a move on already, I'm going to be soaked by the time you do your thing."

Oz took the teasing without offense and cut a sharp left into a stand of trees. Dean didn't see how he could tell the difference between this area and the rest of what they'd been hiking through, but Oz had apparently seen a landmark he recognized and bounded ahead. 

The cave wasn't too far away, which was lucky, because the sky opened up wide for torrential rain. Oz came to a stop in front of a small hill and began yanking on the ivy and salal that had grown up. It took both of them to part the plants, but behind them was an opening into the hillside. 

Peering inside, Dean thought about animals making their homes inside and shot a look at Oz. He didn't seem worried about what might be in there, which hopefully meant that he would chase it out or have it for dinner. 

"Come on," Oz said and ducked inside. Dean followed, letting the branches and vines fall back into place behind them. 

Stepping forward into the darkness felt like falling into a deep hole and Dean stopped just inside the entrance. He couldn't make out anything beyond what his feet encountered on the floor and the sounds of Oz moving around.

"All clear?" he called, his voice bouncing back to him fast enough that he had a general idea of how big the cave was.

"Yeah, nothing's been living in here since I started hanging out here when I came this way." Oz stepped closer and paused to let Dean get his bearings. "We can make a fire if you want to; I left supplies in here from the last time I bunked down."

"Sounds good." Dean searched his pockets and pulled out his lighter. The flame was thin and only lit up the two of them, but it was better. 

Oz dragged some wood over to where he'd arranged some stones in a circle and pointed upwards to a small opening in the ceiling. "Smoke goes out, animals stay away, we just have to keep an eye on it."

Nodding, Dean lit the tinder and they worked on the flames until they burned without needing close attention. 

Taking a seat, Oz watched as Dean unpacked what he'd brought in the way of food. He accepted a bag of chips and tore into them. "You don't spend much time in the woods I'm guessing."

"Most of the stuff we go after has adjusted to humans and sticks close to them." 

"Not everything," Oz noted, and Dean acknowledged the point.

"You offering to hold classes?"

"Nothing organized, but I could give you some advice on the area, let you in on the local population." 

"Maybe after this is taken care of." 

"No problem, just something to think about."

Looking up, Dean let himself shudder a little dramatically. "Anyhow, I hate camping."

"You don't seem that bad at it." He waved the bag as emphasis. "Food aside."

"I'm not going to change my diet just because I happen to be in the woods."

Oz made a noise that wasn't unkind but shook him as he refused to let it out. When Dean gave him a concerned look, Oz let out a sort of squeaky laugh. It sounded like he didn't let himself be affected by the humor in a situation and now random stuff was catching up to him.

"You alright, man?" 

"I'm fine."

"Looked like you were having a fit or something."

"It's just that you're talking about staying out of the forest, and you've got dirt all over your face."

"You can see that well in here?"

"Day or not, I can see everything."

Dean rubbed the back of his hand across his face but could tell from the grit that dragged across his cheeks that he was only smearing the dirt more evenly. 

"You're making it worse," Oz informed him. He crawled forward and tugged off a rag from around his neck and offered it to Dean. "Here, let me try." He didn't make a big deal out of it, like he would do the same thing for any guy he'd just met who needed to get cleaned up, but Dean could feel the way he was putting himself out there. Animals hung out together in groups, and although this particular werewolf didn't exactly have a pack of his own at the moment, he was just doing what his instincts told him to. Get to know this stranger the way that he would any other wolf, with proximity and by earning trust. Dean could refuse the gesture, but it would put a roadblock between whatever they had going. Besides, he could use this as a chance to get a better idea of what Oz was like, and it wouldn't be a bad thing to get cleaned up. 

Meeting Oz's eyes directly, he put all of that in his expression. "Go ahead." 

4. Still Hopeful in Some Way

Oz moved closer as if the only way to approach was very slowly. There was stealthy caution in the way that he rested on his haunches, like he was considering how far away was an adequate distance. When Dean didn't hurry him he seemed to relax by millimeters, ducking his head to look at Dean from a different angle, making the offer of help into more of what Dean thought and less a cursory swipe at the mud on his face. From the first soft touch of cloth on his skin, Dean knew that Oz was trying to get to know him better. 

When Dean would have moved back or made a joke to ease the tension rising up around them, Oz held his gaze unflinchingly. There weren't many people who could do that for long without making a smart remark or looking away and Dean gave Oz his due; waiting for an explanation. 

If Oz was trying to test him to find out if he was going to give up, Dean knew he would be disappointed. He might like the sparkle and flash of a fast life but when it counted, he could be patient. He leaned back so that his back rested on the wall of the cave, and waited for Oz to produce an answer. 

"You're stubborn," he said, giving him a compliment but not telling Dean what he wanted to hear

"I have to be, it helps me stay alive, what's your reason?" 

"I value my privacy."

"If you'd said as much I would have backed off," Dean said understandingly and pushed away Oz's hand.

"I wasn't talking about you personally." Oz sounded frustrated. "I just prefer to stay out of people's way." 

From where Dean was sitting, it was more like Oz wanted to keep people from getting too close, protect them and see how long it took before they stopped looking. He might not be able to run far enough to be rid of his friends or family, but he could see as much as there was before coming back home. He'd been out here long enough that he thought it was a good idea or had forgotten that he'd had any other ones. He could have passed for a kid except to those who got the chance to take a long look. Oz's years were only evident when he allowed anyone to get close.

There was a change in the air, as though they were suddenly miles higher. Dean turned his face into the hand cupping his chin. He lipped at Oz's fingers, bumping his hand up so that as it fell away mouth, they leaned into each other. Oz nudged closer, and then Dean was being kissed more thoroughly than memory supplied, as if only intimate contact would make a difference in whatever was going to happen later. 

It was something to remember as Oz bore him down to the ground, and Dean wondered whether he always went about seducing people like this? It went quite a way to explain how he could vanish and think that he could be found again at any second without anger being an option. And this he could deal with; picking up on the rhythm of another body that was irresistible; like the beat of music on a dance floor good enough to move away from a wall and dance up to that partner that appeared as if they'd arranged it. 

Dean gave himself permission to freak out about the fact that he was being pinned by a werewolf whose motives he still wasn't entirely sure of, but in the meantime, he wanted to know if he could coax another squeak out of Oz. When he yanked him closer, Oz resisted for a second, unsure of what Dean was doing, and for a moment it was a test of wills, who had the advantage of familiar ground and which one would be willing to give up the advantage. Then Oz apparently realized what Dean was after, and shook his head with unconvincing seriousness. 

"Nobody's around," Dean said, not about to whisper as if they were doing something wrong. "Make some noise, let me know what you like." He spoke deliberately, putting himself into this, ready to take what he could get and enjoy it. 

Rocking against Dean almost absentmindedly but with a purposeful twist to his hips that kept Dean's attention focused below his waist, Oz considered the request, and then leaned back and demonstrated that wolves knew how to sing at the night in ways that most people couldn't begin to imagine.

"Damn."

Oz met his eyes again and hummed a little, that clear sound still in Dean's ears.

"That what you wanted?"

"Well, I didn't mean you had to perform an aria, but sure." He grinned. "You've got a nice singing voice." 

"I used to play bass in a band."

"Really. They should have put you up front as the leader singer instead." 

Dean could hear the rain pounding on their shelter and the mist from the droplets came into the cave itself. It reminded him that they weren't actually cut off from the world outside and that there was something he was going to have to take care of soon.

In the meantime though, he rested his hands on Oz's hips and directed his movements. "You know, this isn't really the most comfortable place for this." Oz didn't seem to mind, but then he was used to sleeping outside all the time and this wasn't a new thing for him. At least, the bit where they were groping each other in cave, hopefully he didn't make a habit of pouncing on every hunter who came through.  

"The problem with cities is that you all get too comfortable."

"I think you were gonna say 'soft,' which doesn't apply to me. I don't live in a city."

"But you can't handle a little discomfort?"

"Is that some kind of werewolf snobbery? You can't handle my territory, therefore you're a wimp?"

"You're reading too much into it." Oz said firmly, if unconvincingly. 

"That's what I thought." 

Oz was still resting lightly on top of him, seated as if he could move away in a second when Dean could tell that he didn't want to.

He made it simple, took the initiative and rolled them over.

Oz's eyes flicked from side to side and then back at Dean. "So you expect me to have a rock in my back?"

"I am a guest," Dean pointed out. 

"You remind me of Sunnydale," Oz told him. "Mostly the good parts." The way that the bones in Oz's face stood out after that admission, there was a lot there, and he was used to carrying it alone as he exhausted himself by steering clear of anyplace that had belonged to his past. 

Dean was never sure what to say to someone when they passed the point of being happy about something and tried to make it relate to a life he had no idea about. When he couldn't imagine what Oz wanted to hear and so stayed quiet, Oz seemed to understand. 

This was the problem with thinking too deeply with someone you'd just met; it led to all kinds of unsettling lines of thought. Much nice to just stick to having fun and maybe exchange a few meaningful sentences and then go take care of business. 

"We're having a moment here, aren't we?" 

"Guess so. My fault, sorry." 

"Just thought you should know."

"Glad you caught it, I was about to get into it."

Shaking his head, Dean said, "Let it go." He was lying half on top of Oz, fingers playing absently with the wave of hair that fell over Oz's ear. Oz either hadn't noticed Dean was petting his hair, or was enjoying it. When he tipped his head back a little, Dean took the hint and moved his hand to scratch below his chin. 

"I've never had a dog."

"Did you want one?" 

"Not unless it could handle my job." 

"It's more than what you want to put kids or pets through, I take it."

Dean remembered the weight of Sam in his arms and the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears as he ran outside, smoke choking him. "You can handle it if you know how." 

"Or if you don't have a choice." Oz blinked, and Dean watched the black of his pupil spread over the rest of his eye until there was only black. With Oz staring up at him, eyes undeniably inhuman, he knew that he could still change his mind. And he knew that so much of this encounter was dependent on what each of them needed.  Animal eyes or not, Dean could tell a dare when he was on the other end of one, and he didn't back down. Decision made, Dean didn't stumble over asking for what he wanted; he knew that an opportunity had to be seized while it lasted.

Putting his mouth above Oz's, he spoke slowly, lips touching with each word. "This isn't about who's got it the roughest, I don't do that. I know what I was meant to do, and I'm good at it. If you can't figure out how to live with who you are, then you're always going to be stuck out here." 

Oz responded by letting go of whatever rope he'd been holding onto and Dean saw his jaw shift into a more wolf-like shape. It didn't feel like he was trying to be difficult, but that he was trying to let Dean in on what he was getting involved with. 

Dean appreciated it, as he had to admit that it was strange to see Oz's features changing. Usually, when he was putting himself so close to a face like this, he was trying to get silver or a gun in his hands. At present, he pushed down the instinctive response, ignored the weight of the knife at the small of his back, the one in his boot, and didn't look away. He'd seen scarier things than a guy who knew people would likely back off when he shared what he considered private and thought it wasn't worth looking. Oz still wanted to find someone who would understand, even if he didn't expect to be taken seriously.

"You're doing a good job of trying to change my mind. I'm beginning to think that you're the one who doesn't know what he wants." 

Oz's smile was sad, even with his mouth distorted with a longer set of teeth. "Well, when you put it that way." Raising his head, he watched Dean all the while he moved in for a kiss.

Kissing someone with sharp teeth was a little like kissing someone with jewelry; it took concentration and finesse, but those were things that Dean had. He demonstrated as much, feeling Oz shiver underneath him.   

He'd never had a pet or gotten attached to any strays when they stayed in one place long enough to know the neighborhood. That didn't mean he couldn't guess that handling a freaked out werewolf could be somewhat similar. He kept petting Oz's hair and eased off him so that he was on his back with Oz on top again, all the while making soothing noises. It took a few minutes, but gradually he felt Oz gradually stop shaking. He felt Oz come back to whatever his baseline of calm normally was, but he didn't do the typical thing and pull away, which gave Oz another notch up on doing things unlike other people. 

"Been awhile," Dean observed.

"We don't normally get the sensitive hunter types up here." Oz put his head to the side in consideration." Well, not unless they're going through some kind of program."

"I didn't think you were into socializing."

"Who said anything about listening to those nuts?"

"Good boy."

Oz punched Dean in the arm with enough force to make it a warning, and Dean took it in stride, rubbing the area as if he was actually worried about bruises. 

"So, did you need to talk about your feelings?" Dean looked at Oz from under his eyelashes.

"Cute."

Dean shrugged. "It comes naturally." 

"You'd like to think so."

"I know it."

"It's amazing. To look at you, nobody would ever guess."

"What?"

"That you're so full of crap"

"People figure out what they need to pretty quick."

"You put up a good front, but eventually the truth will out."

"I'm too good for that."

"Or you get out of town too quick for anyone to pass the story along." Oz let it go at that, choosing to refocus his attention in a more interesting direction.

Oz's hands slid over Dean's chest, one stopping at his side to twist in his shirt, and the other stole underneath to find bare skin. He touched Dean as if he was trying to answer a question but seemed almost caught up in touching someone for the first time in what had to be a lengthy time and his fingers moved randomly at first. When they encountered a scar, Oz began to seek out other marks with purpose.

Most of his causal one-night stands never found more than a couple souvenirs of his work. They were usually intrigued and wanted to know what a risk they were taking by getting close to him. Giles like that were the easiest to lie to; they wanted a certain bad boy, and he knew how to play it with such flair that they just had a good time. Of course, if they went out in search of another guy with as bad an attitude another time, they would likely find more trouble than they could handle. That was their business though; he took care of people when there was a danger they wanted help with. He didn't get involved when they didn't care how deep they'd waded in and thought they could step away and not get caught.

Oz's fingernails caught on a line that rain the length of Dean's left side and lingered to identify it. "Sharp," he said, and then moved on. He found the place where Dean had been caught between a barbed wire fence and an angry hellhound and chosen to take the fence on first, where he learned that it was a good idea not to tease a ghoul, and the reminder that a bogey could be very unfriendly. When Oz came across one of Dean's knives, he nodded and let Dean put it aside. 

"You have an interesting job," Oz said as Dean told him where each scar came from. 

"It's just what I do."

"Without anyone's help?"

"My Dad's doing his own thing." Dean wasn't going to defend either his family or their choice of careers, and Oz got that from the way Dean didn't elaborate. 

"Fair enough." 

Oz paused to count Dean's scars or do a mental rundown of everything that had taken a piece out of him but which hadn't walked away afterwards. Whatever conclusion Oz reached was apparently not one that condemned what Dean was doing and that settled it. 

Oz had the same expression on his face that Dean had seen on a puppy that wanted to play, and he figured it was alright to indulge him. A firm push sent him falling willingly backwards. Following him down, Dean straddled him and grinned. The view was great from the top. For a moment, Oz reclined under him, hands playing on his thighs, fingernails scratching the denim, seemingly indulgent of his current position. Apparently Oz enjoyed an assertive partner, and even better, he gave back as good as he got. They rolled together, barely missing Dean's bag and came to rest against the opposite wall. 

Oz's shirt came off with minimal effort and the bare skin was as inviting as his expression. Different bone structure aside, from the waist up, he looked the same as any other guy, and werewolves reacted much in much the same way too. Dean found as his mouth met flesh. The sensitive line of his collarbone received the attention of teeth and tongue, and he was pleased to find out that Oz had no objections to a little roughness. His skin was pale, like he avoided the sun more than he sought out the moon, and while he wasn't exactly gaunt, Dean got the sense that a life in the wild didn't always bring the best rewards. After the first elation passed, a situation usually revealed itself to be a mite more complicated than 'free.' Choices were there, in so many forms, it was the matter of selecting one that was right that brought on headaches that ended up needing the sort of help that the Winchesters specialized in. 

Luckily Oz wasn't having any epiphanies where he abruptly changed plans and tossed Dean outside to be food for the territorial werewolf from the next cave down. He was sniffing Dean, unaffected by the chill in the cave and to all appearances, having a good time. Dean was still wary of having someone with teeth that large right close to any vulnerable area of his body, but it was kind of like being nuzzled by an animal who hadn't yet gotten around to scent marking him but was lulling him into it. The noises Oz made weren't even words, but rumbling vibrations that moved slowly along Dean's throat.

It was too cold and awkward to take all of their clothes off so they settled for wrenching shirts and pants out of the way until cloth tangled with limbs and there was nothing for it but to generate friction and settle into it. Oz tried to push Dean's head back, but he tightened his muscles and scraped his fingers on Oz's nape hard enough that he felt the scratches he made and caught Oz as he lowered his head and let Dean have his way. The submission only lasted so long as he dug in, and so Dean cupped Oz's head, nails tight against short hair and sweaty skin. Lowering himself to Dean's chest, Oz whimpered until Dean pushed him down further. The werewolf kissed each scar like he was greeting old friends and kept going.

He didn't so much as warn Dean before he closed his hand around Dean's cock, and as Dean breathed heavily, Oz waited long enough to draw it out, and then went down with tongue and more teeth than Dean was expecting. Right away Dean's hips twisted and pushed up, and Oz worked with him, holding him still with a hand on his hip, a fraction of strength that couldn't be explained by adrenaline pinning him. Dean always liked going up against a challenge, and he didn't relax into that power, but it didn't matter, Oz had found a combination that brought him down shaking and nicely wrung out.

When he sat up and knocked Oz over playfully, Oz said something vague about 'transmission' and 'moon phases,' and wouldn't let Dean make him lose control. Everyone had their own issues and messes to deal with, but Dean told him that he needed to figure something out to handle this one because it was seriously messed up. Oz agreed, and then Dean had to demonstrate that losing a little of that discipline wasn't going to hurt anyone who knew the risks. Oz turned his head away when he came, teeth snapping together with enough force that Dean winced in sympathy. He knuckled Oz's head roughly and elicited a low rumble and a yawn that he seconded. They didn't exactly have sleeping bags , but Oz had piled some ragged blankets up at the back of the cave and when he got himself back together, he brought a couple over to wrap around the two of them.

The rain was still falling heavily outside, and Dean let the sound fade in and out as he closed his eyes, taking whatever chance he got to rest up until the weather cleared up and they could continue on. 

5. Almost Completely Restored

The rain lasted until the next morning, and when Dean opened his eyes, Oz was standing next to the cave entrance surveying the landscape. He didn't look around, and Dean knew that his waking up had been noticed.

"It's cleared up enough to get moving."

Dean scrambled up, rubbing a hand over his hair and knowing that he was going to be missing hot water pretty soon. He could feel the dirt from yesterday and found cedar needles covering his coat and bag. 

"You know where this guy's place is from here?"

"His den isn't too far, that is if he doesn't come to meet us."

"You guys have some kind of network going on?"

"These attacks aren't a secret, and some of the pack thinks that it's not a bad thing to discourage people from taking over this forest too." 

"But you're not sure." He didn't tell Oz what he should do; if he was still picking sides it was something he would have to struggle with and Dean would simply be sure he kept an eye on all the werewolves. because if there was a change in loyalties, it would come at the worst possible time. 

He'd packed enough snack food to tide him over for a couple days on the trail of this thing, and finding a couple bags of pretzels, Dean tossed one at Oz, who smirked at it but accepted the food. 

"It's better than that trail mix crap," Dean told him, and Oz didn't argue. 

When they were done eating, Dean re-armed himself while Oz cleaned up the cave and made it look as if it really didn't serve as a refuge from time to time. Once he was sure that it wouldn't stand out to passersby, Oz looked to Dean, and he swung his bag onto his shoulder, ready to head out again. 

Head back to take a deep breathe, Oz turned slowly in a circle getting his bearings as well as whatever else a werewolf smelled first thing in the morning. Without announcing what he'd learned, he started off into the brush, leaving Dean to follow him. 

Oz hadn't asked him whether he was prepared to deal with this werewolf and so long as he didn't step into the path of a bullet, Dean didn't see the need to tell him what he'd loaded the guns with. The question was not if Dean would get a clear shot, but what would happen afterwards. Somehow he doubted that the death of a werewolf who might have had support in protecting what it felt was its rightful territory would not be easily accepted. The fact that a loner had helped the outsider come in and find it would likely be taken poorly. Hopefully Oz was smart and realized that he would need to have a quick route out of town. 

Oz led them uphill, through increasingly rocky terrain. "These were left by a glacier," Oz said off handedly, either trying to give a lecture and make this more of a tour than a hunt. Giving him background of the area wasn't going to make Dean any less focused or more apt to let the local wildlife run free when it was breaking the rules, but he thought it could be making Oz feel better, so he let him ramble on without interruption. 

It wasn't obvious at first that they were being followed. At first there was a hint, a sort of uneasiness to the air, as though something was rushing toward them, having no regard for the calm of the early, yet that faded rapidly into a more palpable tickle of presence. Something had picked up their trail, but it had some idea of what it tracked, or was naturally cautious. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that their prey had an idea of what was stalking it, and had decided to go on the offensive. It was a good strategy, and meant that he had to figure out how to outmaneuver it on its own ground. As he considered the possibilities, he kicked at a clot of mud that was clinging to his boot.  

“How close is it?”

"Nearby." 

Dean adjusted his stance as he scanned their surroundings for whatever was tracking them and did a last second weapons check, but in such a way that it looked like he was shifting his weight.

Now Dean could hear rustling in the brush as their pursuer decided that they were close enough that they didn’t have to try and conceal their approach any longer. The attack came at him first; they must have thought that with the noose tightened, a single human wouldn’t be a problem, that or they were just dividing their prey.

Dean reached back under his coat and drew his knife. He could hear growling and waited for the impact that approached through the nearest stand of bushes. The ruse made him feel a little like he was undercover; pretending that he wasn’t holding a weapon and just waiting for his chance to strike.

As the foliage gave way, he braced himself. Chopping and slicing, it took a few moments for Dean to recognize what he was fighting. He’d thought that wolves were only this size in books, but apparently some biologist needed to be chided for their sloppy research. Wherever this giant werewolf had come from needed to be put on a map with a warning, and he was going to see that the word got around to the right people.

There was little time for Dean to glance over at Oz, but based on the noises he was hearing, he wasn’t having any problems. He'd stepped back at first, probably that uncertainty preventing him from attacking someone who was more a member of his family than some guy he had fooled around with the night before. He was out of the way, but growling and barking almost pleadingly as if Dean's attacker was past listening to speech and Oz was hoping that another sound would get through. 

It wasn't having an effect; the giant wolf rushed at Dean repeatedly and then ducked out of the way of his knife. It was like fighting an enraged stuffed animal that happened to be hopped up on the taste of blood. 

Good thing that Dean had never been allowed to have a pet; the number of homicidal or possessed dogs that had tried to eat him at one time or another had put him off readily accepting anything that wagged its tail at him until he could make sure it'd had all its shots and gotten a nice bath in holy water. He didn't see that as an option so he made due with the usual methods of discouraging a werewolf. The animal was moving too fast for him to get the shot he'd like but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared. On the occasions when he had the chance to pick up supplies, Dean always made sure that he had a store of melted silver. He stored it in capsules that shattered easily when thrown at for instance, a tree just above a werewolf, driving them forward, mouth open as if inviting another toss. Dad advised that when throwing anything to visualize it going through the target and out the other side.

The werewolf caught the cylinder and bit down on it. Dean didn't care that it spat out the glass, it was the mixture inside that it reacted to.

The animal howled, pitch eerily human and it shook its head as it tried to cough the silver back up. Dean was counting on it being unsuccessful, and having  to shift shapes. 

He was right and the wolf retreated several paces and crouched down, whimpering as its mouth smoked. Its back bowed unnaturally, and it collapsed, bones realigning as fur withdrew until a naked man lay hunched over on the forest floor. 

Although it quivered and stayed down, Dean wasn't naive enough to think that was all the beast had to offer.

he knew that few things attracted attention like a fight, and like with any group, the call of distress would have been hear by other werewolves. Already he he caught the sound of brush being moved and a faint rushing sound as they were surrounded.

Oz was still only partly shifted and had taken up a position between Dean and the wounded werewolf.

He hadn't actively stepped in, but at least he wasn't leaving an opening for Dean to be attacked again.

One by one ,werewolves came out of the trees, some human in nothing but shape, and others stalking Dean on four legs. A woman in the lead came forward as the others spread out behind her. her authority was undisputed; as she moved among the pack, they stepped back or lowered their heads to her. Dean waited  as she approached, neither lowering his gun nor dropping his eyes like any of the others. He already knew that he was the intruder; there was no reason to give ground that he would need to stand on.

Coming to a halt between Oz and the other werewolf, the matriarch acknowledge Oz wit ha jerk of her head that ordered him to move out of the way.

Glancing back at Dean, Oz fidgeted uncertainly but didn't move. The female growled, unhappy that he wasn't obeying his alpha and Dean nodded to Oz.

"It's alright , man. We need to talk." 

Still reluctant, Oz walked to a spot just behind Dean where he sat, his body language alert and defensive.

Closing on his position, the female eyed Dean critically, trying to get a sense of what his loyalties were, and probably also reading his scent for traces of another pack. She was tall and skinny; barely passing for fit and nearing waifish. Her hair was some indeterminate shade of brown pulled out of her eyes with leather ties secured on either side of her face. As she approached, Dean heard an almost musical sound and realized that she'd knotted bits of metal into her hair. She wore something that had perhaps been a nice dress at one time, but was now nothing more than cloth covering her and offering some protection from the elements. He guessed that these were not the sort of werewolves to trade woods for cities, and it showed in the way their leader paused to search out words. 

"We have nothing against you when you stay to the paths, why are you away from them?"

"Well, I would be fine with that, expect you've got a revel who's taking it on himself to thin the local hunting club."

She motioned to the culprit and he crawled across the ground to her feet, making soft noises. "This one says that they were hunting in his territory and that he defended himself."

"And I say that he attacked a group of hikers and carried a couple of them off. I talked to their friends; they came looking for them and there's a lot of officials talking about launching a massive search party into this area if they don't turn up soon." He eyed the pack. "Something like that would really screw with your keeping your privacy." 

She didn't much like his tone, which wasn't anything new, but her expression showed concern about the safety of her pack.

"So it's a matter of whether or not you want to deal with the fallout of his mess, or you believe that he could have overstepped your rules." He put deliberate emphasis on those words, letting her know that he wasn't out of the loop when it came to politics, they just weren't his problem. Now that her position was in question, she had to fix the problem immediately, and in front of the pack in order to prevent any more disobedience.

"You swear that there are witnesses to these crimes?"

"I do. He tore into Oz here too. Don't suppose that's exactly normal behavior."

Oz was once again the focus of the alpha female's attention, and Dean imagined he wasn't comfortable with the situation.

"Did he attack you?" She asked, and Oz replied in the affirmative. That was apparently the final straw, and she turned on the werewolf at her feet and snarled in displeasure. Everyone flinched, even Dean, who wasn't stupid, they all knew what the sound meant. Apparently her anger was a signal as well as a statement, and the target of it all knew as well as anyone that his fate had been decided. Even so, he got tried to get his legs under him and to make an escape, but the rest of the pack closed ranks around him, forming a circle of teeth and fur that hemmed him in. Seeing where this was going, Dean cleared his throat and brought the female's eyes back on him.

"What about those kids he took? I need to bring something back to their families?"

She nodded sharply, unhappy at the delay and struck the trapped wolf with her hand, speaking quickly in a low voice. From where he stood, Dean couldn't make out what she was saying or the answer, but she turned to him seconds later, expression minutely lighter. 

"One is still living, the other was lost in the fight. The injured one is at his den." 

"By lost, you mean?" 

"Eaten." She didn't look like someone who liked to apologize, but she added, "I will send someone to bring the other one to you." 

"Thanks."  There was no harm in being polite to the werewolf who was cooperating and willing to make sure that the same thing wasn't going to happen again. She had that air of ruthlessness about her that was better than a written promise, and Dean knew that there wouldn't be any difficulties of this nature from this region for a good while. It was possible that he could even get in a little time down on the coast where it was seasonably warm instead of spending another couple days wringing the moisture out of his clothes. While the werewolves dragged their unfortunate pack mate off and the chick in charge directed several off in another direction, presumably to retrieve the surviving hiker, Dean thought about sun and beaches. He heard a soft thump to his rear and looked around.  

Oz had tumbled over, evidently relived to have gotten through that intact, and was on his back, staring upwards. 

Dean kept an eye on the leaves shaking off in the distance as the pack passed and stepped over to Oz. "You okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"Not what you were expecting?"

"I hadn't seen them, her, for a few months. It's kind of overwhelming to see them all like that."

"I get that." 

"So what will you do now?"

"There's a lot of stuff out there to deal with."

"And you have to handle it all?"

"I do what I can."

"Do you think you'll be up this way again?"

"Hopefully not for awhile." He smiled. "Why, do you think you're going to have a problem?"

"If I did, should I give you a call?"

"Sure, but you'd have to go into town, maybe even get cleaned up."

"I think I could handle it." He put a hand up and wiggled his fingers. "Number?"

"You've got pockets?"

"Better, I have a safety deposit box in town." 

"Good idea." Dean patted his jeans and found a sharpie. Taking Oz's hand, he scrawled his cell phone number on the back. 

Oz frowned. "You don't carry paper?"

"Not usually." 

"Guess I'll be heading into town a little sooner this month."

"Looks like it." Dean was very tempted to make a remark about how Oz could see if there was a store that stocked clothes in the styles that Oz preferred, someone had made it cool somewhere and someone else would have mass marketed it to the public. Being perceptive to sarcasm, even when it was suppressed, Oz kicked at Dean's ankle playfully and only just stopped short of knocking him over. 

This was where Dean should tell Oz that he made the right decision, that he'd learned something, even if he didn't know it yet, but Dean wasn't one to bring home the obvious as a learning tool. People got through stuff and remembered why, or they didn't and had problems later on. he didn't need credit for giving them the chance for future difficulties and left it at that. 

Oz had been tracing Dean's phone number but he left off to gauge Dean's mood. "They should be back soon." Only moments later, Dean could tell that they weren't alone, and two werewolves in human form appeared, carrying between them the missing hiker. 

Stepping forward, Dean nodded to them and he grabbed one side while Oz, now on his feet, stepped into place opposite.

The girl was pretty beat up, scraped and bruised and from the way she was limping, had at least a sprained ankle, but she was aware and watched the werewolves vanish back into the woods with the look of someone who'd seen a lot more than he could explain. When they were gone, she turned to Dean questioningly.

"Hi, Gina. I'm Dean, this is Oz, your friends will be glad to see you're okay."

"They're alright?"

"Worried, but yeah, they're okay."

"Mike's dead." She shuddered, and Dean hoped that she hadn't seen it happen.

"I'm sorry." 

She stared hard at him, face pale, expression hard. "Is the thing that killed him dead?"

"As good as." It was a sure bet that the werewolf wasn't going to be taking any more hikers, and the werewolves in this region were going to either have to lay low for the time being or find a new hunting range. 

"Alright." She didn't look happy, but the anger seemed to have left her as she tried to cope with everything that had happened.

"Let's get you back home," Dean told her, and she nodded, but brushed past the hands that were offered. 

"My ankle's just sore, I can walk," she said firmly, and set off in front of them at a slow but determined walk. Tough girl, Oz mouthed to Dean and he agreed, the two of them following closely in case she stumbled or needed a hand.  They soon passed out of the werewolves' territory as they headed toward where concrete and steel ruled.

Dean thought that the conclusion of a fight was usually much less exciting than the hunt leading up to it, and this reunion supported that conclusion. Becka, Webb, and a group of people he guessed were members of the  hiking club or family were waiting in the ranger's station. As Gina limped up, now being supported by Dean, they jumped out of their seats and hurried up to embrace her. A couple of them even hugged Dean, which was strange, but he smiled and waved of the tearful thanks.

Fortunately gin  was the returning hero and she was treated as such; being carried to a seat and fussed over by everyone.

Steeping out of the circle, Dean could feel the brief connection he'd had with these people fading. That was a good indication that his work was done, and he stepped out.

Outside Oz was waiting by Dean's car. He'd chosen to avoid the questions that his presence and appearance might raise, but Dean thought that Gina would see to it that he got whatever provisions he needed from then on. 

Dean eyed Oz closely. "You're not going to get emotional are you?"

"It's possible."

"Don't strain yourself."

One of the hardest parts of getting involved and then leaving was knowing what to say. Oz didn't let him stand around thinking about it though; he stepped into Dean's space and gave him a firm hug, brushing his mouth over Dean's cheek as he pulled back.

"If you're in the Northwest again and it's not out of your way, stop in" he said., and Dean nodded.

"You look into finding a better crowd to hang out with."

As he pulled out of the parking lot, Dean didn't look in the rearview mirror; he knew that as soon as he was out of sight, Oz would step back into the woods and disappear.

-end

Footnotes:

1. I tend to either edge slowly into a new fandom and have wildly complicated ideas of stuff I want to write at some point. Normally this leads to convoluted plotting and dithering until I get around to writing whatever it is. This is important because in this case I wrote this story, one of the longest stories I've written ever, in a little over a week after having written only a couple drabbles in Supernatural. Need I add that this show makes me v. happy? I didn't think so. 

2. Only Here For This Moment, From 'Everybody Here Wants You'.  In the Half Light, from 'Opened Once'  - Jeff Buckley: Sketches from 'My Sweetheart the Drunk. At last survey, there were no packs of werewolves living within any of the parks, although the Park Service chooses not to comment on rumors.