Chapter Text
Castiel found ways to coddle Dean throughout the next few days. He gave him very detailed descriptions of vulnerable places on the human body, taught him to break out of various kinds of bonds, and made him memorize the characteristics of the more easily-detected poisons. Dean still felt like he was learning valuable information, even though it wasn’t the same training he’d had before.
Within three days of his embarrassing mini-breakdown in front of Castiel, neither of them had mentioned it and Dean was mostly healed. His body was still tired, but he felt less like he was going to pass out every time he stood up because of how badly everything hurt. And he was pretty sure his concussion from a few weeks ago when Nikov had struck him was gone now. All in all, he felt better physically than he had in a while.
The best part of the past few days was the knowledge that his dad had gotten a new job. He had to drive out half an hour farther than usual because there were few employers in the city who didn’t know about John Winchester and his reputation as an angry alcoholic, but farther out, the Alpha’s name was less well-known. He’d gotten hired into a small landscaping business, and the news had put him in a good mood for the first time in what felt like years.
Dean knew, in the back of his mind, that his dad would eventually lose the job. He’d get in a fight with one of the workers, or he’d be late too many times because he’d drunk too heavily the night before, or he would mouth off to the wrong person about old-school values and opinions about designations. Dean had seen this song and dance too many times before. He knew better than to feel anything but surface-level hope.
Still, it was nice to not have to walk on eggshells for a couple days. John was in such a good mood that he actually made dinner for once, too. When Dean was younger and his dad had cooked more often, he’d thought his food was the best in the world. Now, he saw it for what it really was. Overcooked beef patties and soggy hamburger buns, unmelted cheese and limp lettuce. He still pretended to enjoy it, for his dad’s sake.
“So how’s your job, son?” John asked, on the rare night that he was sober enough to hold a complex conversation. “You’re still working for that Alpha woman at the cafe, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, actively counting the amount of times he looked his father in the eye. Look at me like a man, his dad would say. And then later, when he was too drunk to remember his previous words, Don’t you fuckin’ look me in the eye, boy! You think you’re some kind of Alpha or something? You wanna challenge me? I’ll fuckin’ show you what you’re gonna get if you challenge my authority.
“Didn’t know cafes were open past the afternoon,” John said, taking a big bite of his burger.
Dean swallowed, his mouth tasting somewhat bitter. “I work there until the afternoon, and then I go to the burger place for the evening.” Maybe that was why his dad’s cooking seemed so shitty. Dean was just used to Grigori’s and Aleksandr’s gourmet burgers.
John frowned, looking at him. “Since when did you start working there? That’s two jobs, ain’t it?” He paused, seeming to think, trying to wrack his spotty memory for when Dean had mentioned two jobs in the past. “Guess it’s been a long time, then. My memory ain’t what it used to be.”
Dean wondered what that was like, getting so drunk that his memory of life was like swiss cheese. “Uh, yeah,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral, light, and respectful. “Yeah, I’ve worked at the burger place for a while now. I’m cleaning at Sandover two days a week now, too.”
John’s frown became deeper then. Dean carefully put the last few bites of his burger down, suddenly very aware of himself and his surroundings. There was an empty glass bottle a few feet away on the table they were eating at. It was within easy reaching distance if his dad suddenly lost his shit.
“Hold on. You work three jobs?” John asked.
Dean gulped, looking down at his plate. No amount of forced bravery could convince him to look at his dad right then. Don’t challenge, don’t challenge, don’t challenge. “Y-Yeah. Yes, sir.”
Submissive, but not enough to be considered a pussy Omega bitch. Confident, but not enough to challenge his familial Alpha’s authority. It was a fine fucking line to walk, and luckily Dean had a lot of practice.
“Since when was that?” John demanded. He sounded a lot less calm and easygoing now. Dean hated himself for ruining the good mood his dad had been in. It was typical of him to fuck things up, but shit, he’d been hoping this would have lasted longer.
“I, um… I picked up the third job a c-couple years ago,” Dean said, hating his nervous stutter. Christ, he was asking for it.
He expected his dad to get angry with him. It was the only logical route his father would follow. John had three modes: angry, drunk, and a combination of the two. If he wasn’t drunk right now, the only thing he could do was get angry. And when he was sober, he picked up on little shows of weakness a lot better. Like stuttering.
But to Dean’s utter shock, John didn’t get angry. Instead, his shoulders sort of slumped, and he looked down at the burger in his hands with an expression that almost looked like… sadness.
“Couple years ago, huh?” his dad asked, tapping his holey-socked foot on the matted carpet. “Christ. I didn’t even know. When’d you stop tellin’ me stuff, boy?”
He didn’t sound very accusatory. Just… sad.
For some reason, that was worse than anger. That made Dean angry.
I stopped telling you stuff when I had to send my kid brother away because you were getting too dangerous to be around, he wanted to shout. I stopped telling you stuff when you started using me as a Goddamn punching bag. I stopped telling you stuff when you decided that getting hammered every night was more important than watching your only remaining family members, your two sons, grow up. I stopped telling you stuff when you told me I was dead to you because of my biology, something I couldn’t control.
He said, “I’m sorry, sir.”
The rest of the meal was quiet. Dean went to bed with a pit in his stomach, trying to convince himself that at least it was better than his dad being angry with him.
Excluding that strange conversation, things were relatively peaceful at home. Dean was grateful, knowing it could always be worse. Far, far worse. He was lucky to be uninjured and well-fed, courtesy of the cooks at Mystery Spot and the extra money he had to buy himself lunch at Amara’s diner.
When he went to the training facility with Castiel three days after his embarrassing breakdown, he felt a lot better. As he and the Alpha made their way to the training room that was soon becoming their normal location, Dean tentatively said, “I think we can go back to fighting, if your, um, lesson plans call for it. I swear I’m not gonna freak out on you again.”
Castiel held the door for him, allowing them both in, and was quiet for a long moment before he said, “I was planning on teaching you some self-defense tactics that didn’t involve weapons today. Do you think, perhaps, that you’re up for it?”
Dean turned to look at the Alpha, surprised. “Uh, sure? What do you mean, no weapons?”
The corners of Castiel’s mouth quirked slightly, though he looked more tense than amused. “Sometimes you’ll find yourself in a situation where you’re unprepared or unable to reach for a gun or a knife. You should still know how to fight, even without those things. I’ve been teaching you about pressure points and weak spots over the past few days. I hope you can apply your learning to this series of lessons.”
“Okay,” Dean said, figuring he sort of understood what was going on. “So, like, wrestling? I did some of that in high school.”
The Alpha’s lips twitched again, but this time, there was some amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps it’s a little like wrestling. In the situations I’m training you for, however, there are no rules and no referees. Your opponent is out to kill you instead of pin you, and they might likely have a knife or a gun that they can use against you.”
Dean gulped. “Okay. So… not wrestling.”
Castiel chuckled a little. “Take your jacket off and we’ll see.”
And it was about then that Dean realized he was about to be getting real up close and personal with Castiel. Because whether it was like wrestling or not, the Alpha’s self-defense lesson would still require… touching each other. Probably an excessive amount of that.
Dean pulled off his jacket uncertainly, suddenly wishing he hadn’t worn a T-shirt. He saw Castiel taking off his dark boots and did the same, glancing at the mat in the center of the room with a new sense of understanding. Jesus, this was really happening.
Things got even worse when Castiel started taking off clothes and didn’t stop. Usually, he took off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, but today he took off his coat, his jacket, his dress shirt, and the fucking bulletproof vest underneath, leaving him in only a white tank top that did absolutely fucking nothing to cover his muscular chest, let alone his Goddamn arms. Jesus Christ, Dean wasn’t even gonna make it onto the mat.
“If I’d been more prepared, I might have chosen something other than suit pants, but I suppose my choice of dress plays into the theme of being attacked when it’s least expected,” Castiel said, making his way out to the mat.
“My, um… My jeans aren’t much better,” Dean said, which was a surprisingly coherent addition to the conversation instead of the vague computer-crashing noises that were ricocheting around his brain right then.
Castiel chuckled a little, nodding at Dean’s pants as the Omega tentatively stepped onto the mat as well. “You’re correct. Of course, you weren’t aware of the plan I had for today. That’s an excuse I do not possess.” He looked Dean up and down appraisingly, seeming to think. “Alright. I believe we should start with the easier situations. We can begin with those in which your attacker doesn’t have a weapon and takes you down instead.”
Dean gulped. “Okay.” That didn’t sound easier. It especially didn’t sound easier when he realized that in this instance, Castiel would be the one doing the taking-down.
The Alpha didn’t try to run at him, though. Instead, he instructed Dean to lay down and explained that there were few situations in which he would be tackled like in football, and if that was the case, then he would probably have bigger problems.
So Dean laid down on his stomach, and with every too-quick breath he took, he tried to calm his heart down. He prayed his scent-blockers would hold up, because if Castiel could smell how all over the place his inner Omega was, he didn’t think he would ever come back to Mystery Spot. He’d have to go to a different country and change his name or something.
“If someone has you down like this, they’ll pin your arms, if they’re smart,” Castiel said. And then fuck, he was climbing onto Dean, straddling him with thighs that felt just as powerful as Dean had imagined they were. Jesus Christ, he was quite literally going to pass out. He prayed Castiel couldn’t feel how badly his hands were shaking. Knowing his luck, the Alpha probably could.
Castiel showed Dean how to get his arms out in front of him, away from his body so they’d be harder to pin down. It was remarkably similar to some of the wrestling moves he’d had to do in high school, so Dean was able to get the hang of it pretty quickly.
The first time Dean succeeded in getting both his hands away before Castiel could pin them against his body, the Alpha chuckled low in his chest and said, “Good, Dean. Let’s do that again.” Dean swore someone could cook a fucking egg on his ears, that was how hot they were. He knew there was no hiding the bright red color that they’d turned, either. He prayed Castiel just wouldn’t notice.
They worked through a variety of other moves, most of them involving Dean stopping his arms from being pinned and getting out of various chokeholds. Castiel explained that the movements he was teaching were from different martial arts, from jiu jitsu to krav maga to systema. Dean wasn’t nearly smart enough to figure out which was which, but as he slowly cataloged all the different ways he could get out of being pinned down, he figured it didn’t matter.
After a while, Dean had learned enough for Castiel to be satisfied. He instructed Dean to turn over onto his stomach, and then Dean’s effort to act normal got a whole lot more challenging.
Because now, instead of being pinned down on his stomach, he was on his back, and he had a fantastic view of the slightly-sweaty, very-gorgeous Alpha on top of him. Suddenly, everything felt a lot harder to ignore. The feeling of Castiel’s thighs gripping Dean’s sides, the warmth of him, the feeling of his large hands as he grabbed Dean’s arms or shoulder, pretending to be an attacker when in reality he was being far too gentle.
Castiel’s piercing eyes settled on Dean’s face and stayed there for much longer than Dean was prepared to handle. He found himself unable to look away from the too-blue irises of Castiel’s eyes, his chest hitching a little as he forgot how to fucking breathe.
The light from above was making the ends of Castiel’s tousled black hair glow golden. He looked like an angel, but not the stupid fat baby kind—the avenging warrior kind.
“Your bruises are better,” Castiel said after what felt like an eternity of silence. His voice was low, rough.
“I-I’ve been using that cream you gave me,” Dean said. He’d buried it in the bottom of his bag so his dad wouldn’t find it if he went hunting for money to steal from him. “It’s been really nice.” He never had anything to help with his injuries, save some gauze and bandages if his dad threw a bottle at him.
Dean heard a low sound, almost like a growl, but softer and less aggressive. Something like satisfaction flickered through Castiel’s eyes. “Good,” he said, the word sending a tingle down Dean’s spine.
The whole situation—Castiel’s weight on top of him, his powerful thighs gripping Dean’s sides, his low, rough voice saying fucking words like that—the whole situation was too much. Dean’s face flushed bright red, too much for him to even hope to go unnoticed.
Castiel noticed, alright. Something else flickered in his eyes, something Dean didn’t even want to begin to analyze, and then he smiled. It reminded Dean of a predator: dark, satisfied, and way hotter than it should have been.
“The next part of our lesson involves getting out and away from someone on top of you when you’re on your back,” Castiel said, like he wasn’t ripping apart the last shreds of Dean’s self-control by just sitting there. “We’ll start with when your hands are free, and then we’ll run some situations where your arms are pinned.”
The struggle to focus on what they were doing increased about a thousand-fold after that. Maybe Dean would have been less inclined to be distracted if he hadn’t been days away from his heat, suppressants or not. Maybe it was just Castiel himself, the hottest Alpha Dean had ever laid eyes upon. Or maybe it was a combination of the two, plus the universe just trying to fuck Dean over for fun. At least he hadn’t gotten a boner yet. If he continued to keep the dirty thoughts in his mind at bay, maybe he’d make it out of this in one piece.
That idea lasted all the way until Dean successfully escaped a hold, laid back down to be straddled so they could do it again, looked up, and found Castiel smiling down at him with dark pride in his eyes.
“Well done, Dean,” he praised, putting those massive fucking hands on Dean’s hips. “You’re a natural. Your proficiency makes this… very enjoyable.”
Dean’s exhale was shaky, his throat tight with the whimper that wanted to escape his chest. The muscles of his body loosened, melting into the mat beneath him, an instinctual reaction to the warm weight of the Alpha above him. Dean wanted to tilt his neck to the side, offer the vulnerable part of it to the very attractive, very capable Alpha pinning him down. He wanted to—
Oh shit. Shit, God, what was he doing?
He might not have actually offered his neck like a shameless whore, but his dick had started to show its interest and, to Dean’s horror, he could feel that he’d slicked a little. No amount of blockers or suppressants could prevent the detection of that. Dean just about died when he saw Castiel’s nose flare slightly, the Alpha evidently catching the faint scent of Dean’s arousal.
“Sorry,” Dean managed, breathless. He was pretty sure his face couldn’t get any redder. Castiel’s hands, still wrapped around his waist, felt like iron brands burning into his skin.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, zaychik,” Castiel rumbled. He paused, his heavy gaze still fixed on Dean’s face, and then he said slowly, “Perhaps we should take a break.”
Dean wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or dismayed. He was pretty sure he was both when Castiel stopped straddling him, moving to stand in a single smooth move. The sudden loss of the Alpha’s weight and warmth made Dean’s inner Omega wail with unhappiness. The hand the Alpha offered him, warm and steady, strong as he helped lift Dean off the floor, only soothed his inner Omega’s distress a little bit.
Dean tried not to think about how easily Castiel lifted him off the floor, or about the hundreds of various scenarios that came of that single thought. Imagining himself being lifted and pinned to the wall instead of the ground was not helping his arousal any. And he definitely needed to get himself under control before he did something that would make him want to jump out of a window later.
Castiel walked over to the door, stuck his head out, and said something in Russian. Then he came back inside and sat down against the wall, gesturing with a hand for Dean to join him.
Dean was so embarrassed that he was tempted not to obey, but he knew that would only make him feel worse about himself later. As it was, he’d already humiliated himself enough that he was sure to lose sleep later, probably for the next three years straight. He could just imagine laying down to go to sleep at night and the memory of this particular fuck-up coming back into his brain to haunt him.
The door opened after a moment, revealing a blond Beta carrying two bottles of water. Castiel thanked him and took them, handing one to Dean. Dean didn’t miss the way the Beta’s eyes lingered on Dean curiously as he left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
“Your heat will be soon, yes?” Castiel asked, nearly making Dean choke on the nice, ice-cold water he’d been downing.
“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, wiping his chin with his hand. He didn’t dare look at the Alpha, figuring this was a conversation that was just like the one he’d had with Amara. There was absolutely no reason for his ears to be turning fucking red again. “I’ll be on suppressants, though. You don’t have to worry about giving me paid leave or anything.”
Castiel hummed, sounding thoughtful. “That was not my concern. I wanted to make sure you got the rest and relaxation you deserved. You won’t be taking time off?”
Dean blinked, turning to finally look at the Alpha, as if he might find something joking on his face. There was nothing. Castiel looked serious.
“Uh, no. Suppressants block all the uglier side-effects of having a heat, so I’ll be good to work,” Dean said. He laughed awkwardly. “Gotta pay the bills, y’know?” Even though the government required employers to pay their Omega employees during heat leave, everyone knew that it was easier for most employers to just ax their Omega workers and hire someone else. Dean kept his jobs as long as he kept working.
Castiel’s serious face turned to one of slight concern. “Even with chemical suppressants, your body will still be affected. I may not have heats, but I know that the Omega members of our brotherhood are given their month to nest and relax. Won’t your fatigue…?” He trailed off, seeming to realize something. “That was why you seemed so weak a few days ago. Your heat is near.”
Dean swallowed, feeling strangely like he’d been caught in a lie or something. “I mean… yeah? It happens every year, it’s fine. I just get tired and a little more emotional, y’know? It’s nothing that would excuse laying around for a month.” He laughed awkwardly again, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand that was cold and wet from the condensation on his water bottle.
“You seem ashamed,” Castiel observed, and Jesus Christ, his words cut through Dean like a fucking scalpel. How the hell was he so accurate? How was he able to pinpoint things about Dean that Dean himself couldn’t admit?
Dean had to look at the floor for this one. He stared at the concrete between his socked feet, trying to find the words to explain himself. “I mean… yeah? I guess it’s pretty annoying to be the only designation that gets so weak every year, y’know? Like, Alphas go into rut or whatever, but unless they have a mate, it only lasts a week. Omegas need the entire twenty or thirty days to fuckin’ make their stupid nests and stuff. Like, for a month of the year, we’re useless. It’s pathetic.”
He expected Castiel to hum in agreement or something, but the Alpha was silent. When Dean finally dared to look at him, he was surprised to see a deep frown on his face.
“Who taught you that?” the Alpha finally asked, after a long, rather uncomfortable silence.
Dean blinked. “Um, no one?” He hesitated, then said, “I guess my dad. He’s—”
“Your father.” There was bitterness to Castiel’s voice, something sharp hidden in his words. “You still live with him, don’t you?”
Dean swallowed, part of him tempted to lie. He was ashamed to admit that he was scared of how Castiel might react if he told the truth. Still, he wasn’t about to lie to a mob boss, especially about something that was so easily found out. “Uh, yeah. We share an apartment.”
Well, John technically owned the place, even though Dean paid most of the bills. The irony of that was a little too painful to think about for too long.
“In my culture, in my family, we think of things differently,” Castiel said. “I have lived in America for most of my life, and I can say that the majority of your society is aligned with my beliefs. It seems the general civilized world understands that Omegas are equal to Alphas and Betas. Indeed, some of the ancient civilizations of the past even thought you were better.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, I heard about those. I always thought those guys were crazy.”
Castiel didn’t seem to think it was funny. “Perhaps. Throughout history, there are plentiful examples of cultures revering Omegas, holding them dear as gifts from the gods.” Dean looked away at that. He couldn’t imagine being anything close to a gift from God or the gods or whatever else was out there. If anything, he was a curse. Castiel was still talking, though, and Dean didn’t dare to interrupt him to argue. “Omegas are the only designation that can carry children, aside from Beta females. You’re biologically designed to have a kind, gentle disposition. You create homes and places to rest out of pure natural instinct. It’s in your DNA to provide comfort and safety to those around you, Dean. Do you not find that amazing?” Castiel paused, his voice softening. “You are certainly far more than useless and pathetic. Please don’t ever associate those adjectives with yourself again.”
And Dean, for all that he was supposedly worth, couldn’t find a single Goddamn word to say to that.
Not a single fucking thing.