Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"There is a shipwreck between your ribs. You are a box with fragile written on it, and so many people have not handled you with care."

~ Shinji Moon

Dean’s day started off bad and only got worse from there.

If someone had given him the choice between waking up late or waking up early, he would have probably chosen to wake up early, since he was one late appearance away from being fired by the diner that employed him in the mornings. Still, that didn’t mean that waking up a solid two hours before his alarm felt good.

Dean found himself tossing and turning sometime in the early morning. When he rolled over groggily to check if it was nearly time to get up, he saw that his clock read 02:03. He cursed as loudly as he dared in the darkness and rolled back over, begging his brain to let him go back to sleep. He needed the rest, God damn it! He had a busy day today. Thursdays were always taxing, since he worked not one, not two, but three jobs.

It soon became clear, however, that despite his obvious need for rest, his body wasn’t having it. Dean felt like his internal heater had been turned up a couple degrees. He might have read as having a fever if he’d bothered to test it, but he knew he wasn’t sick. His fucking body was throwing a hissy fit about being stuck on suppressants for the fifth year in a row. If he hadn’t been on the little yellow pills, he’d be due for his heat in a week or two. Thank God for modern medicine.

As Dean rolled out of bed at a ripe two-twenty in the morning, however, he was hit by the full force of how unhappy his body was with being stopped up on suppressants. Dean nearly fell back onto his stupid bed with how dizzy he was, which would have hurt, since he’d sold the bedframe last fall and only had a mattress on the floor.

It was cold as hell despite the fact that it was nearly May, which was fucking typical of Washington. Dean swore he could see his breath in front of his face as he stumbled across the room and turned on the light, his body wracked with involuntary shivers as he hurried to turn off his alarm and find some clothes that would be warmer than sleep pants and a soft T-shirt.

His arms felt fatigued just from the effort of getting dressed, so Dean knew his day was gonna be fucking peachy. His fingers were nearly too numb to button his jeans and the two flannels he was wearing. He glared at the clock on the floor that announced it was a whopping hour and a half before he was supposed to be awake—an hour and a half he could be using to sleep, for God’s sake—and quietly crept out of his room.

Over the years since he and his dad had moved into this apartment, Dean had managed to get the stench of cigarettes mostly out of his room by periodically opening the windows to allow fresh air in. He still caught whiffs of the stink every now and then, but it had become tolerable. The rest of the apartment, however, wasn’t quite so lucky.

Dean wrinkled his nose as he tiptoed out of his room and into the crappy little bathroom across the hall, wishing for the thousandth time that his dad had managed to find somewhere that didn’t have a couple of chainsmokers as its last residents. Then again, this was the only place they were able to afford, and it was better than being out on the streets, so Dean had to remind himself not to complain.

The bathroom light was harsh when he flicked it on. Dean squinted his way through his morning routine, appalled at the fact that he had to take a break while brushing his hair, since his arms were getting tired. He hoped that the fatigue would decrease a little once he’d had something to eat for breakfast. The only good thing about cleaning the nearby office building every Thursday morning was that he got free breakfast once a week, which made three full meals. Even if it only happened once, Dean still looked forward to it.

Yesterday, he’d gotten off his shift at the diner late, so he hadn’t had time to eat. He’d tried to make up for it at the burger place he worked at night, but just one meal wasn’t enough to cover a whole day of not eating. Dean’s stomach was aching with emptiness, clenching on nothing as it growled quietly for food he didn’t have. Dean tried to comfort himself with the thought of an orange and maybe a muffin at the office.

When he’d finished making himself presentable, Dean turned off the light in the bathroom and crept out into the hall. The door to his dad’s room was thankfully closed, which gave him a small amount of relief. It was always much harder to get around in the morning when his dad had passed out drunk on the couch instead of in his bed. Without the necessity for extra stealth, Dean could get out of the house quicker.

Today, he had a lot of extra time, since he’d woken up so Goddamn early. Dean took that unwanted blessing and used it to clean up the apartment a little, since he was never home to do it in the daytime and too exhausted to do it at night. His dad usually yelled at him for the mess every couple days or so, even though Dean was rarely the one who’d caused it. Mentioning that was like asking for an ass-kicking, though, so Dean never said shit.

He tried to be as quiet as possible as he gathered up armfuls of the glass bottles next to the sofa. There were an impressive amount. Dean estimated about eighty percent of them were hard liquor, too. Seasonal depression was hitting his dad hard. The whole living area stank of alcohol and dirty, tired Alpha.

Dean cringed a little at the scent. This close to his heat, suppressed or not, his inner Omega was more sensitive to stupid shit like that. He was more prone to becoming emotional, and more likely to crave dumb stuff like nesting and cuddling and other useless things. He was also hyper aware of every shift in his familial Alpha’s moods, especially when John was angry or upset. Which, unfortunately for Dean, was most of the time. He’d learned a long time ago to get used to it, but that didn’t stop the sudden stink of Alpha rage from throwing him off guard sometimes.

He tried to breathe through his mouth as he quietly cleaned up the living area. By the time he’d finished, his hands were sticky with old alcohol and there was an impressive pile-up near the paper bag for recycling. Dean risked stuffing the bottles in a bag of their own, glancing back at the hallway that led to his dad’s room every now and then to make sure he hadn’t caused too much noise. When he’d packed away the mess neatly, he quietly washed his hands and set about picking up the various pieces of trash and other debris.

Something inside of Dean was strangely soothed by the feeling of cleaning up his space, his home. As much as he hated the apartment and the situation and all of his stupid instincts, Dean had to admit he felt better about tidying everything. It was a stupid, pussy thing to be comforted by, but it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone. Besides, his dad would never know.

Dean got started on the dirty dishes that had stacked up in the sink. He had to go slowly to make sure he didn’t wake the sleeping Alpha down the hall, but he managed to get through a good chunk of them before it was time for him to get ready to go. He had his backpack near the door, so it didn’t take very long for him to wipe off his hands, dry off the last of the clean dishes, and slip quietly out the door.

Outside, it was freezing. Dean’s cold fingers fumbled the key a few times as he locked the door behind himself. He stuffed the key in his pocket and headed toward the stairs that would take him down to the parking lot, jogging a little to warm himself up. He cast the Impala, Baby, a longing glance as he passed her in her parking space. Gas was expensive, and John didn’t trust him with her. Since Dean had yet to be able to afford a bike, he was forced to take the bus to work. It wasn’t so bad, but Dean didn’t love sharing space with creepy Alphas and homeless people that looked like they wanted to crack his skull open just to see what was inside.

It was the only mode of transportation Dean had, though. He was at least grateful that there was a bus stop only a quarter of a mile from his apartment. He knew he could have been stuck somewhere even farther, and he was glad he didn’t have to walk a mile or even longer.

The cold wasn’t so bad once Dean’s blood had warmed from walking to the bus stop. The bruise on his jaw from when his dad had hit him for being disrespectful last night throbbed a little with each beat of Dean’s heart, but the pain wasn’t too bad. His bruised ribs from a couple weeks ago were nearly healed, so Dean was actually feeling pretty good.

He sat down on the bench at the bus stop and exhaled, adjusting his backpack so it sat more comfortably. As he did so, Dean remembered that he needed to refill the small amount of cash he had for his bus fare, so he slung the bag into his lap to check that he had enough.

By his calculations, he’d be fine until next Tuesday, but when Dean opened the small pouch where he kept his bus money, he found it completely empty. There wasn’t a single coin or bill in sight. Dean stared at the empty pocket, sticking his hand in incredulously. Even when he’d completely run out of cash, he’d never had nothing. There had always been a stray one or a couple dimes in there somewhere. And he always remembered if he was getting too low. Always.

Dean’s stomach felt like it had solidified into solid rock and was now sinking down to his boots. A chill flickered down his spine as he realized what had happened. His dad.

He must have found Dean’s bus fare stash. He’d probably taken the cash for something, whether for buying more alcohol or to fund whatever gambling craze had overtaken him this time around. Dean stared at the empty pocket of his backpack with the cold rock of his stomach sitting in his boots, and he realized he’d never see that cash again.

Fuck.

The sound of a vehicle coming finally pulled him out of his stupor. Dean looked up from his backpack to see the bus rolling up right on time, interior lights illuminating the dark street as it came to a stop in front of the bench. The doors opened with an aging squeak. The hinges probably should have been oiled seven or so years ago, but no one had bothered to do it yet.

“You comin’ or not, Dean?” a familiar voice asked. The bus driver, a somewhat friendly Beta named Ernie, leaned forward in his seat so he could see where Dean was sitting on the bench.

“Sorry, Ernie. I, uh… I don’t have the cash I thought I did,” Dean said. He stayed sitting on the bench.

The man grimaced. “That sucks to hear, kid. I ain’t runnin’ a charity, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. He still felt numb when he unglued himself from the cold wood of the bench. His stomach must have still been in his boots, since they felt heavier than usual when he began to walk away from the bus stop. “See you around, Ernie. Maybe I’ll have enough to ride tomorrow.”

He seriously doubted it. Whatever his dad had stolen had set him back several days. He’d either need to sacrifice money for a few meals, or he’d have to walk to work for the next week.

Ernie closed the door and drove off with a sympathetic look on his face, the bus tearing away from the curb with a puff of acrid smoke. Dean watched it go numbly, thinking about the mile and a half he’d have to travel to get to the office building he was supposed to clean. He only had twenty minutes. If he wanted to make it, he was going to have to run.

The truth was, Dean had done much worse things in the past. He supposed the only reason he was dragging his feet now was because he was cold and his body was fatigued, and all he wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet and try to catch up on that sleep he’d missed this morning. Actually, no, what he really wanted was to curl up somewhere soft and warm and then get some sleep. Somewhere with blankets and pillows and low lighting, somewhere that smelled of home and safety and—

Jesus Christ, he needed to get a grip. Shaking his head at his own pathetic urges, Dean tightened the straps of his backpack and prepared to run to work. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He just thanked God he’d been a little early getting out of the house this morning instead of late. Maybe his impromptu wakeup had been a blessing in disguise.

The morning air was cutting as Dean set off at a run toward the building that he cleaned on Thursdays. The cold seemed to saw at the back of his throat with every inhale he took, his legs turning leaden after only about fifty feet of sprinting. Dean didn’t have time for his body’s weakness; he needed to get to work on time. It was because of this third job that he could even afford something like the bus anyway while still being able to keep his dad happy and pay the bills. Besides, there were more important things than his comfort.

Dean thought of the little ceramic jar in his closet, buried under a pile of clothes and books that had once been his brother’s. The jar was his brother’s too, as well as the couple thousand dollars inside of it. The amount of money was pitiful, and Dean knew that it wouldn’t even make a dent in whatever money Sammy would need for when he went off to Stanford or Harvard or whatever other brainiac college he was headed to. But it was still something, and Dean didn’t want his Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen to have to pay for everything of Sammy’s.

At the end of every week, Dean added whatever amount of money he could spare into that jar. Sometimes it was a couple dollars and sometimes it was a couple cents, but Dean hoped that by the time his little brother turned eighteen, he’d have a sizable amount to send Sammy where he was staying in Sioux Falls with their aunt and uncle. The thought of getting his brother that money was the only thing that kept him going sometimes.

The city was just beginning to wake up as Dean jogged down the streets toward Sandover. The few homeless people or early-rising runners on the sidewalks didn’t bother him as he ran past, which he was grateful for. He knew he’d have to reapply his scent blockers once he reached the office to maintain some level of professionalism, since the proximity of his heat made the protection offered by his suppressants wear thin.

Dean arrived at Sandover about two and a half minutes before he was supposed to get there. He applied his blockers around the back of the building before creeping in, wiping sweat off his face as he made his way into the suddenly too-warm office building.

The managers at Sandover hired him and a couple other random teenagers to clean the various floors of their building every week. Dean had floors four and five, which usually took him about an hour each. He could typically be done by about six thirty, which gave him half an hour to get over to the diner that he worked at in the mornings.

He tried to clean faster than usual today, not even stopping to check if there were condom wrappers in the boss’s trashcan or not. He wanted to be done early so he had time to run to the diner and cool off so he didn’t show up at work all sweaty. The diner owner, a crabby bitch named Amara that had given Dean the visual feel-up a few too many times for him to be comfortable being in a room alone with her, wouldn’t appreciate him looking like he’d just run halfway across the city to get to work, even if he had.

Thankfully, Dean was able to finish his floors quickly. He reported to the janitor, who grunted that he’d get his pay sent in the mail to him by Saturday. After that, Dean left the building with his backpack and prepared to run across town to the crappy cafe-slash-diner that he worked at from the morning to late afternoon.

The distance was only about two miles, but the sidewalks were getting crowded as the city started to wake up. Dean had to weave through crowds of people attempting to get to work at the same time as he was, his head growing dizzy with the myriad of different scents that began to cloud the early morning air.

What he could feel of his legs ached painfully when he finally reached Amara’s diner. Dean slipped through the back door that led into the kitchen and ducked into the bathrooms before anyone but the cooks could see him. Once he was inside the relative safety of the bathroom, he went into a stall so he could change into his apron and apply some more scent blockers. The crappy clock on the wall told him he had about seven minutes before he had to clock in and start helping open the diner, so he had to hurry.

When he’d changed and gotten his scent completely covered, Dean rinsed his face with cold water in an attempt to cool himself down. His body still felt overheated from his run and from the way his hormones were acting up because of his suppressants. His legs were aching fiercely now, not used to so much rapid exertion in such a short burst. Dean didn’t have time to work out anymore, so he wasn’t exactly in shape. Sure, he was used to standing on his feet for fourteen or fifteen hours a day, but that wasn’t the same as sprinting two miles in twenty minutes.

When he’d cleaned up as best he could, Dean exited the bathroom and ducked through the kitchen to get to the front. The cooks, two big Alphas who didn’t seem to know he existed, barely glanced his way as he slipped past the fryers and around the window where the food was placed when it was ready. Thankfully, Amara seemed to be in her office when he came out, so he didn’t need to worry about her shouting at him when he’d only just arrived.

Unfortunately, that was the only good thing about his shift that day. Almost from the moment the doors opened, the diner was flooded with customers. For a place that had mediocre food and even shittier coffee, it sure had a shitload of people that wanted to eat there. Dean was given no time to rest between waiting tables, running food, taking orders, and cleaning up after customers left. At some point, Amara even emerged from her office to help, which was an indicator of how fucking busy they were. She never did jack shit if she didn’t have to.

At around lunchtime, the flow of customers slowed down enough for Dean to be able to breathe and get a drink of water. His legs were aching, and his still-healing ribs were giving him pain again. Dean curled an arm around his torso as discreetly as he could while he waited for a couple plates of food to be ready, trying to focus on the nearby tip jar so his vision stopped swaying around.

The water helped a little bit. By the time the lunch rush hit, Dean felt a little better. Even then, by the time his shift was over at two in the afternoon, Dean was exhausted. As he clocked out, he thought of the shift still ahead of him at the burger place across town and felt like crying. He had almost two and a half miles to travel, but it wasn’t too bad, since he had an hour to get there.

Usually, Dean took that hour to eat something at the diner, but he knew that wasn’t going to be possible. The food was cheaper here than at the burger place where he worked, but Dean knew that if he wanted to get to his next job on time, he would have to make his way over and hope that he had a couple minutes to wolf down some fries or something, since that was all he could afford.

The wave of unnecessary emotion hit him as he was leaving the diner, his legs throbbing with pain, his body aching at the mere thought of walking two and a half miles to his next job, only to work for another six hours. Dean leaned up against the dirty brick of Amara’s diner as tears choked his throat and blurred his vision, fighting to breathe past the vice grip his despair had on his lungs.

God, everything was going wrong today. He hadn’t had enough time to eat at the office, he didn’t have enough time to eat here, and he doubted he was going to get to eat anything at the other restaurant, either. His day of three meals was turning into a day with no meals, and all he wanted to do was fucking sit down. God, that was all he wanted right now. Dean wanted to sit down and curl up and make the pain in his stomach and chest and legs and head go away.

I’ve done worse, he reminded himself. This is for Sammy. He’ll never be in this situation if he goes to college, and I’ll make sure that happens any way I can.

The thought brought him little comfort, but it was still enough to give him the strength to begin his trek to his third and final job of the day. As he walked, Dean tried to make himself feel better by thinking of all the good things in his life right now. There weren’t many, but he tried anyway.

For one, he only had to work twice tomorrow, which meant he got to sleep in. And for another, his job at the burger place wasn’t actually that bad.

The place was kind of weird. It was run by what Dean assumed was a Russian family—more specifically, a few men that he thought were brothers. If Dean was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on with the whole place, but he figured it couldn’t just be a burger restaurant. For one, there were always people coming and going in the back, exchanging words in rapidfire Russian with the cooks and the managers.

As far as Dean knew, he was the only non-Russian employee. He was treated in varying manners, from unnoticed to tolerated to welcomed. It was nicer than the disdain or disgust his other employers had toward him. None of the people working at the burger place seemed to care that Dean was a single Omega that was around mating age and didn’t seem to have a family to speak of. The pay was better than at Amara’s too. Dean didn’t mind the job at all.

He was about fifteen minutes early when he finally reached the burger restaurant, a place named Mystery Spot. Dean took a moment outside the building to catch his breath and make sure he looked presentable in the next door bank’s window. His hair was passable, but his skin was pale and his eyes had dark shadows underneath them. Worse, no matter what kind of fake smile he mustered, he couldn’t seem to get rid of the exhausted look that had settled over his whole body. At this point, he didn’t even have it in him to care.

Six more hours, and then I can go to bed, Dean thought to himself. It wasn’t very comforting.

He took a deep breath before entering Mystery Spot. Inside, it smelled of cooking food and the underlying scent of steel that never seemed to disappear. Dean saw, standing behind the register, that Castiel was on duty today. His heart did a quiet little flip-flop in his chest, and he reflected that this shift couldn’t be too bad if his favorite Krushnic brother was the manager for tonight.

There were four brothers, to Dean’s best estimations. They rotated who actually worked in the restaurant. Dean’s two favorites were the younger ones, Castiel and Gabriel. Gabriel was funny and nice to talk to, and Castiel was just… nice to look at. Dean knew, of course, that his little crush was pathetic and had absolutely no chance, but that didn’t stop him from admiring the Alpha.

Dean’s dad liked to tell him that he expected him to mate a nice Beta girl someday, which Dean figured was the best thing his dad could come up with as his son’s ideal partner. He would probably flip his shit to know that Dean was being a typical needy Omega by fawning over an Alpha, but he’d long ago stopped fighting himself on that. Castiel was just too attractive for Dean to bully his inner Omega into forgetting about him.

He was about Dean’s height, but his shoulders were broad and strong. He had thick, powerful thighs and muscled forearms, and his hands were fucking sinful. His voice when he spoke, which was rare, was gravel-deep and reminded Dean of whiskey or a far-off rumble of thunder. His face was achingly beautiful, his blue eyes were entrancing, and… and he barely acknowledged Dean on a good day.

Still, Dean sent the Alpha a hopeful smile as he entered the restaurant, unable to help himself. “Hey, Mr. Krushnic,” he greeted, stepping around the register to get to the back where he could hang up his backpack. He glanced at what Castiel had been doing as he passed and saw stacks of dollars, presumably being counted. Dean thought he also caught the glint of something dark and metallic, but it was probably just his imagination.

Castiel nodded at him silently as he passed, which was more than he gave Dean most days. Dean’s heart felt like a flower opening its petals for the first rays of dawn, vibrant and excited. Even the aching of his tired body couldn’t keep him from feeling a little more optimistic about this shift than when he’d first walked in. Yeah, Castiel was his favorite. He was gonna take that to his grave.

Dean said hello to the cooks in the back as he hung his backpack up. After his first few weeks working there, he’d tentatively asked if they could teach him how to say hello in Russian, since that was what they always spoke while working. They’d been surprisingly open to teaching him, and now he greeted them in their language as a sort of courtesy. He was pretty sure they didn’t mind. He even got a couple smiles today, so he knew the two men were happy to see him.

Dean waited until Castiel had finished at the register before sneaking out to clock in. The dark-haired Alpha had pulled out a notebook and was making notes in it on the counter, completely immersed in whatever he was doing. Dean didn’t bother trying to read what he was writing. That would be rude, and besides, it wasn’t like he could understand the Cyrillic symbols anyway.

The little sauce containers that they gave customers needed to be refilled, so Dean went about doing that. As he snapped lids on cups and stacked them neatly in the refrigerator beneath the counter, he became aware of the weight of someone’s gaze on him. There was only one other person in the front of the restaurant at the time, so Dean knew who it was. He didn’t react, though his ears heated at the attention. Fucking traitors.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” an accented voice asked, low and rumbling.

Dean looked up, praying the flush in his ears and cheeks wasn’t super visible. “Uh,” he said intelligently, brain struggling to comprehend what Castiel had asked and simultaneously form a response. Fuck, the Alpha’s eyes were blue.

There was an awkward silence, and then Castiel said, “Your hands are shaking badly. You look tired.”

Dean gulped, ducking his head. Right. He probably looked pretty nasty right now, after a day of working and running around the city. “I, uh… I’m okay. Thanks.” Shit, fuck, that hadn’t been what Castiel had asked. Jesus, the guy was talking to him more in five minutes than he had in two whole weeks and Dean was royally fucking it up.

“There is still time before your shift starts,” Castiel said, nodding at the clock behind Dean. His gaze felt like a physical weight resting on Dean’s shoulders, pinning him in place. “You should eat something.”

The refrigerator began to beep at Dean because he was still holding the door open like a dumbass. He stood abruptly and closed it, horribly embarrassed. There was no way the traitorous heat in his face and neck couldn’t be seen, now. God damn it, he was such an idiot. “Um, okay. Sorry.” He had no idea what he was apologizing for, but it sounded right. Besides, it was always better to apologize than not.

Castiel tilted his head a little to the side, something that reminded Dean of a dainty sparrow and a dangerous wolf at the same time. He grabbed a notepad for writing orders from across the counter, the movement sinuous, then held it out. “Here. You can put your order on this.”

Dean’s face flushed, this time with shame. He took the pad of paper so the Alpha didn’t have to keep holding it, but once he had it, he set it down beside him. “I, um… I can’t afford a big dinner.” God, he would love nothing more than to inhale one of the gourmet burgers that the cooks in the back made, but there was no fucking way he could pay for that. After the day he’d had, he couldn’t even afford the cheapest item on the menu.

Castiel’s face shifted for the first time, morphing into a slight frown at Dean’s words. Dean’s stomach turned to lead. “You are an employee here, yes? You don’t need to pay for dinner.”

Dean blinked. “What?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Castiel’s frown lines deepened ever so slightly. “You don’t need to pay for dinner. You work here, you should have free food. Here, come look.” And then he was reaching out, and then he was putting his Goddamn hand on Dean’s fucking shoulder, and Dean was pretty sure his brain short-circuited right there. Because Castiel had very large hands, very warm hands, and Dean could feel the heat of his palms through the material of his work shirt. The steady pressure of his hand on Dean’s right shoulder almost took Dean out right then and there.

It took him a second to remember where he was and what he was doing. Castiel was showing him the menu up on the wall, as if Dean hadn’t memorized it from working here for so long. The Alpha had handed him a pen, instructing him with a surprisingly patient deep voice to write down what he wanted to eat.

Dean obeyed numbly, scribbling down the number for the bacon burger he’d always wanted to try. Castiel’s hand left his shoulder as he took the pad of paper from Dean, and that helped partially bring the Omega back to earth. His brain came back online just as Castiel set the piece of paper with Dean’s order on it in the window, shouting something in Russian to the cooks in the back.

He came back out to find Dean standing there, frozen and unsure of what to do. Dean was too busy with his own internal freak-out to notice the slight softness in the Alpha’s blue eyes as he gestured at a booth in the corner, saying, “Go sit down until your food is ready. You look like you could fall over.”

Dean could, his knees were about to fucking give out any second now, but he couldn’t make himself move. It was only when the door opened and admitted a customer that Dean figured out how to unfreeze, how to get the fuck out of the way and flee to the corner of the restaurant so he could panic about how much of a colossal dumbass he’d just been.

He sat down in the corner booth and exhaled in relief. Even though he still felt disjointed from the interaction he’d just had with Castiel, he couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of finally getting off his feet. His legs were aching badly. Dean hunched over a little so his bruised ribs were happy, and then he sort of soaked up the bliss of his body finally being able to rest.

There was still phantom pressure on Dean’s right shoulder where Castiel’s hand had been. He wanted to reach up and feel it, to make sure it was real or something, but he didn’t want to make the sensation go away. It was nice. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d been touched like that, in a way that wasn’t meant to harm or direct, just to steady and comfort? Jesus, he was a fucking mess.

It’s the heat, he tried to convince himself. It’s just ‘cause my body is all wacked out on hormones and suppressants. That’s all.

He stared at the wood grain of the table he was sitting at, tracing it with his eyes, and tried not to think of feeling that heavy warmth on his face, in his hair, petting him gently.

Fuuuck.

Dean tried to pull himself together by focusing on what was going on in the restaurant. The customer that had come in a few minutes ago was now sitting at a table a few feet away, reading one of the free newspapers. Castiel was rearranging the jars of crushed up cookies and candy bars that they added to their milkshakes, his movements precise and quick. Dean quickly looked away before he could get too entranced. He didn’t want to do something stupid like get caught staring.

He must have zoned out while staring at the table, because it felt like only a few minutes before the delicious smell of a burger was reaching his nose and a tray of food was being set down in front of him. Dean blinked, looking up at Castiel in shock. For some reason, the idea of the Alpha bringing him food was hard to comprehend.

Castiel set a bottle of water on the table next to the food and said, “Eat, Dean.”

Dean had a whole new meltdown at the realization that the Alpha actually knew his name as he was walking away. It took him a few seconds to even register that there was food in front of him, that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday and that he was starving. Along with the delicious-looking burger was a mound of golden fries, which Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t ordered. He glanced back over at where Castiel was taking another customer’s order, then decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The burger, for the record, was just as delicious as it looked. The patty was juicy, the bacon was crispy, the sauce was tangy, and the cheese was satisfyingly melty. It was the best thing Dean had eaten in a long, long fucking time. He tried not to make any noise as he ate it, not wanting to disturb the other customers. He had to pace himself so he didn’t give himself a stomachache by eating too fast.

The person who’d been sitting down got up to leave soon after they got their food. The other person had only been grabbing takeout, so the restaurant was soon empty. Dean snuck glances at Castiel as he stocked the front and cleaned the counters, his gaze catching on the way the Alpha’s forearms flexed when he moved.

It was only because Dean was staring at Castiel that he didn’t even see the other man come in through the door. He heard the bell chime distantly in the background, and he saw the way Castiel’s gaze rose from the glass he was polishing to see who had just entered the restaurant. Dean saw the way the Alpha’s whole body went rigid with tension, as if someone had just pointed a loaded gun at him.

And someone had, because a few seconds later, Dean heard the thunderous crack of gunfire.

And then, it was only because he was looking at Castiel that Dean saw the way the bullet hit him right square in the chest. It was only because he was looking at Castiel that Dean saw the moment the Alpha’s body collapsed to the ground in half a second, like a puppet with its strings cut.

And just like that, the Alpha was dead, in less time than it took a living heart to beat.

Chapter Text

Dean sat bolt upright in his seat the moment Castiel’s body hit the ground, a horrified cry frozen in his throat, trapped there by the vice of panic and shock. In less than three seconds, before the scream had a chance to fight its way free, Castiel’s corpse was moving.

It wasn’t a corpse. He wasn’t dead. The Alpha was alive.

It was sheer dumb luck and the fact that Dean had unconsciously shifted forward, toward Castiel, that stopped the second bullet from blasting through his skull. The gunman fired without really gauging how much he’d moved, and as a result, the bullet exploded through the back of the booth a few inches behind Dean, where his head had been mere moments before.

Dean flinched, ducking down on instinct. He had enough mind to slip all the way down, underneath the table, but he needn’t have bothered. Castiel wasn’t just alive. He had a fucking gun. And when he got back to his feet, he raised it and fired, splattering the gunman’s brains across the front windows with a single shot.

Dean heard shouting from somewhere else in the building, and it was only when he heard another gunshot that he realized there were more gunmen. His heart was hammering so hard that he couldn’t hear much more than the thunderclap sound of guns firing, but he could barely make out shouted Russian, and then the unmistakable timbre of Castiel’s deep voice.

“Stay down, Dean!” he shouted. “Stay there!”

He sprinted into the kitchen, his gun still held in his hands. Dean wondered, in his half-panicked state of mind, where the hell the weapon had come from. How the hell was Castiel still alive? Dean had seen that bullet. He’d seen the way it ripped apart the white dress shirt Castiel had been wearing.

No blood, he remembered, his glazed eyes skating over the veritable horror scene still splattered across the front windows of the restaurant. There was no blood on Castiel’s shirt.

Nothing made sense. His brain was scrambling, struggling to fire off survival responses and simultaneously figure out what the hell had just happened. The result was Dean cowering under the table, protecting his head with fingers that were still greasy and salty from eating his fries.

At some point, the gunshots stopped, though the shouting continued for a while. Dean couldn’t understand a Goddamn thing, since it was both muffled and in Russian, but he wondered if he should run. What if Castiel had been shot for real this time? What if more gunmen were coming to kill him? He needed to run as far away from here as he could.

Even as that thought crossed Dean’s mind, though, he heard Castiel’s deep voice above the rest. He was alive. Somehow, he was alive.

It took Dean way longer than he would have liked to admit to drag himself out from underneath the table. He probably should have felt like a useless idiot for just cowering there the whole time, but he was too shocked to even think of doing anything else. His footsteps were uncertain and hesitant as he made his way across the restaurant to the entryway that led to the kitchen.

He peeked around the corner just in time to see one of the two cooks heft a man’s limp form over his shoulder and turn, carrying him out the back door toward where the dumpsters and employee parking was. The front of the other cook’s apron was covered in blood, and there was a massive kitchen knife sitting casually on the food window, covered in stuff.

What Dean’s eyes really caught on, though, was Castiel. The Alpha was speaking very low and fast in Russian while stripping off his ruined white shirt. There was only a smear of blood across the front, certainly not enough to suggest a gunshot wound to the chest. And as he yanked the shirt off altogether, Dean saw why.

Underneath Castiel’s shirt was a sleek shell of dark armor that gleamed dully in the light of the kitchen. The part of it that covered his heart was dented, the material ruptured slightly with how incredibly hard it had been hit. Dean didn’t even bother staring at the tanned muscle of the Alpha’s bare arms, his gaze too fixated on the vest that had apparently saved Castiel’s life.

Why the hell would a restaurant owner be wearing one of those? Had he… Had he been expecting the attack?

Just then, Castiel’s eyes flicked up, catching on Dean before the Omega could retreat. Dean froze, sudden terror shooting through him as he realized that Castiel had just killed someone, and that he might be about to do the same to Dean.

Castiel tossed his ruined shirt to the side and stalked past the cook, who was still talking to him even as the Alpha moved around him. Dean backed up on instinct as the Alpha came toward him, terrified to the point of trembling. He only found the voice to beg for his life when Castiel was barely a few feet away.

“Please,” Dean croaked, his body hitting the counter, the drawer of the register digging into his back as he leaned away from Castiel. “Please, I—”

“Shh, shh,” the Alpha soothed, shaking his head. “I’m not going to hurt you. Are you injured? Did he hit you?”

Dean had been struggling with words anyway, but when Castiel reached out and grabbed his face with his massive hands, turning his head gently side to side, Dean thought his soul was going to leave his body right then and there. He barely managed to open and close his mouth, sounds more than words emerging. “I can’t—I d-don’t—I—”

“Hush, zaychik,” Castiel murmured, sweeping a hand over the back of Dean’s skull, as if to check that it was intact. “You’re alright. That was frightening, wasn’t it?” He looked at Dean with those piercing blue eyes, his gaze shockingly calm, and Dean gave a trembling nod. The Alpha’s thumb stroked gently at the back of his neck as he murmured, “Yes, it was. But it’s okay. It’s okay now.”

Dean’s body knew he wasn’t in danger before his mind did. He tipped his head back a little without thinking, pressing into the gentle touch at the base of his skull. He was shaking all over with the aftereffects of intense adrenaline and fear. He felt like his knees really were going to give out this time.

“You were dead,” Dean managed, unable to think of any other way to say it. His words were choppy and blunt, unwieldy with shock. “You were dead. He shot you. Why the fuck did he shoot you?”

Castiel’s eyes flicked up to something behind Dean. In the distance, Dean thought he could hear sirens. “Come, we can talk about this in the office,” the Alpha said. He stepped back and tugged Dean with him, his hand settling at the base of Dean’s neck, heavy and strangely soothing. “I promise, I can explain. Come now, move your feet.”

Dean stumbled his way through the kitchen to the back office. The Omega resolutely kept his gaze on the floor so he didn’t have to see the cook washing the blood off the knife and mopping up the floor. God, Dean thought he was going to vomit. This was not how he’d seen his night going. This was fucking not what he’d been expecting. Christ, this was so bad. The full implications of what Dean had just witnessed hadn’t even sunk in yet, either.

Castiel’s office was tiny, barely big enough for a desk and a couple chairs. The Alpha led Dean around the small table and sat him down in one, directing him with gentle pressure and murmured instructions. It was a good thing Dean was allowed to sit down. He had a feeling his legs would have just given out if he’d been made to stand.

“What you just saw were two crazy men who have been stalking my family for a while now,” Castiel said, beginning to rifle through one of the drawers in the desk. He was still wearing only a vest to cover his upper half. If Dean hadn’t almost died a few minutes before, he might have stared at Castiel’s bare, muscled arms. “They are bad men, but they were interested only in hurting me and my brothers. You will not be in danger after this, is that understood?”

Dean did not understand, he didn’t understand a single Goddamn thing, but he nodded numbly. “They were… They were stalkers.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He grabbed something out of the drawer and shut it. Dean only knew what it was when the Alpha crossed around to the other side of the desk, where there was a little more space, and began to put on a new white shirt. “There is nothing to be concerned about. I’m sorry you were here for this. I didn’t think they would try to kill me in broad daylight.”

“Why… Why did they wanna kill you?” Dean asked, watching the mesmerizing way Castiel’s tattooed fingers buttoned up his shirt. With the fabric covering his ruined vest, it looked as if he’d never been shot.

The Alpha stopped moving at his question, his blue eyes burning into Dean’s green ones. There was something in his gaze that chilled Dean to the very marrow of his bones. Suddenly, he had a feeling that this man wasn’t just a crazy dude who wore bulletproof vests to work. He remembered the single shot Castiel had had to take to kill the man who had come through the door. This wasn’t the first time he’d shot a gun, maybe not the first time he’d shot a person. Dean suddenly thought he was in much deeper shit than he realized.

“They were stalkers,” Castiel repeated slowly. “They wanted to hurt me and my brothers.”

“Y-Yeah.” Dean was smart enough not to question again.

Castiel opened the door and shouted something in Russian, then closed it and turned back to Dean. “The police will be here soon. Aleksandr can take you home.”

“Aren’t they gonna wanna question me?” Dean really didn’t want that to happen. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Oh yeah, this guy came in and shot my boss, only my boss wasn’t dead because he was magically wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his shirt the entire time. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s an undercover soldier or a criminal or something.

“They don’t need to know you were here. I’ll save you the headache,” Castiel said.

“They’re not gonna check the security cameras?” There were cameras all over the restaurant, mostly for safety or to make sure no one broke in and tried to steal money from the cash register. There was a large homeless population in the area, but after today, Dean wondered if the cameras had been for a different threat than some crackhead desperate for their next fix.

“The cameras don’t work,” the Alpha said shortly. The door opened behind him, and Dean saw one of the cooks through it, his apron magically clean again. He handed Castiel a familiar glass pitcher with “tips” carefully written on the side. Castiel muttered a thanks, then closed the door again and set the jar down in front of Dean. “This is for you. No one is arguing that you deserve to get paid a little more tonight, yes?” He gave Dean a small smile, and under different circumstances, Dean might have had a little meltdown, because Castiel was smiling at him.

But sitting here, staring at a man he’d thought to be dead less than half an hour ago, Dean wasn’t so sure. He had a feeling the tip jar was an offering. There was a lot of cash in it, enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about his bus fare for weeks. Dean couldn’t shake the nagging voice in the back of his head that whispered that he was being bribed.

Dean remembered the way Castiel had taken the gunman out with little more than a glance and the squeeze of a trigger. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly impossibly dry, and leaned forward to take the glass pitcher.

Dean followed Castiel out to the kitchen area to grab his backpack. He loaded the cash into the little pocket where he normally kept his bus fare, the rolls of fives and ones and tens nearly too much to fit. When he’d finished, the Alpha took the tip pitcher from him and nodded toward the back door, where the blond cook with the tattoos on his neck was waiting. “Aleksandr will drive you back to where you live.”

Dean had a feeling it wasn’t a fucking offer. He glanced at the clock and saw it was only four in the afternoon, a full five hours before he was supposed to go home. It felt weird to be heading back to his apartment when the sun was still in the sky, but one glance along the kitchen aisle to the front of the restaurant showed that cop cars had already begun to pull up. Dean had to go.

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow?” Dean asked, looking at Castiel uncertainly. Did this incident mean he’d lost his job? The Alpha hadn’t said anything about firing him, but Dean suddenly wasn’t sure.

“Come back on Saturday,” Castiel said. “I’m sure they’ll want a day to clean this place up.”

“Okay,” Dean said numbly, backing toward the door where Aleksandr was waiting. “Bye, Mr. Krushnic.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel gave him one last nod, and then he was heading out to the front to meet the cops.

Dean turned and followed Aleksandr out the building and into the back parking lot. There was a dark van already idling by the curb, because of fucking course there was. The cook directed Dean into the back, then walked around to the front and got in the driver’s seat. There was a divider between the front seat and the back, but the little window was open, allowing Dean to see Aleksandr.

The Alpha glanced at Dean in the rearview mirror. “Where do I drive?” he asked.

Dean gulped, retaining enough sense to tell the man the address to the apartment block across the street from where he actually needed to go. He had no idea why, but he didn’t really want this guy to know where he lived. Thankfully, Aleksandr didn’t seem to notice Dean’s minor fib.

The car ride was silent. Dean was still shaking, so he spent the time trying to calm himself down, flexing his hands in and out of fists in an attempt to stop them from trembling so badly. He still hadn’t fully processed what he’d just seen.

Even with Castiel’s explanation of a stalker, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that the Alpha’s response hadn’t been normal. A normal person, even one confronted with a gun-wielding stalker, wouldn’t be so calm and confident after blowing said stalker’s brains out across the front window of their restaurant. A normal person probably would have wanted someone like Dean to testify to the police about what had happened. A normal person would also probably be dead, because they probably wouldn’t be wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a handgun with them.

Dean hugged his backpack to his chest, attempting to stop his body from shaking so badly. Through the tinted windows of the car, he could see that they were getting close to the side of town where he lived. The buildings were getting shabbier, the streets not as well-paved. Dean squeezed his backpack again, and then he remembered that there was an entire tip jar’s worth of money in the pocket. In half an second, he forgot all about the incident that had just occurred at the restaurant.

Dean unzipped the pocket and stared silently down at the money inside, something like excitement bubbling in his stomach. He hadn’t been excited for anything in a long fucking time, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that was rising through his chest like bubbles in a glass of soda.

He could do a lot with this money. He could put a lot of it away for Sam. He could keep some, could replace what he’d lost to his dad so he didn’t have to run to work. He could build up a small emergency cache just in case something like that happened and he lost money again somehow.

Dean counted the bills quickly, recognizing the buildings that were appearing down the street. As the car pulled to a stop in front of the apartment complex opposite the one Dean really lived in, the Omega finished counting thirty-eight dollars in total, not counting the coins.

He thanked the driver, Aleksandr. He was probably grinning like a giddy idiot, but he couldn’t help himself. He zipped the pocket of his backpack up, slipped out of the car, and pretended to walk toward the building like he was going home. Dean waited until Aleksandr and the car had disappeared down the street before turning around and making his way toward where he really lived.

It was only about four-thirty in the afternoon, so his father would still be working at his construction job. Dean never saw a cent of the money, since everything his father earned usually went into gambling or drinking, but Dean was just grateful his dad actually had work. Not only did it give Dean a blissful couple hours to himself today, but it also meant all the money he earned at his three jobs could go toward paying the bills and building up the little college fund he had for Sammy.

Dean was feeling so optimistic, he figured he could call Sammy tomorrow from the phone booth downtown. He and his dad couldn’t afford normal phones, but he knew his aunt and uncle’s number by heart and he had the coins and time to spare. The thought of getting to talk to his little brother only lifted his spirits higher.

Dean felt buoyed up as he walked around his apartment building toward the stairs that would lead him to the third floor. His hopes and his mood had risen like helium balloons, bright and shining and—

Dean caught sight of the Impala sitting in her parking spot, one back wheel haphazardly over the line, and those good feelings promptly punctured and plummeted to the cold, hard ground.

His father was home early. There was no other reason Baby would be in her parking spot when John wasn’t supposed to be back for another two and a half hours. And if John was home early, that either meant something awful had happened, or he’d been fired again. Dean didn’t even bother to guess which one it was. He already knew.

The balloons of happiness had turned to stones in his stomach, weighing down his steps as he slowly made his way up the stairs toward his apartment. He thought he could smell the liquor from here, the thick stench already clogging his nostrils.

The truth was, Dean didn’t really mind his dad. He liked him. He didn’t know if he loved him, didn’t know if that word had ever been used between himself and his father, but he knew he didn’t hate him. Dean didn’t hate John Winchester. But sometimes he feared him. Sometimes he dreaded him.

John was a good father when he wasn’t drunk. He worked at his job and tried to keep the apartment clean. Sometimes he even told Dean he was grateful for his hard work. He never said he was proud, but Dean was smart enough—or desperate enough—to read between the lines.

But that was when he was sober. And in the days since Sammy left for a more stable life with Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen four years ago, Dean could count on two hands how many days his father had gone without drinking.

The by-now familiar stench of liquor and Alpha rage greeted him when he finally reached their apartment and got the courage to open the door. Dean thought for a fleeting, pathetic second about the warm, sweet scent of the detergent Castiel used on his laundry, the gentle way his hands had held Dean’s face today. It was a strange thing to think of when he was about to get his ass beaten by his dad, but Dean supposed his inner Omega was latching onto whatever comforting thoughts were at hand. For once, Dean didn’t blame it.

He tried to remember what had happened at Mystery Spot today in an effort to comfort himself as he quietly let himself into the apartment. Whatever his father had in store for him, it couldn’t be worse than being shot at by a crazy guy, right? Dean had had a brush with death today. He should feel like he could face anything.

He rounded the corner, though, and he saw his dad listing against the counter drunkenly, glaring furiously at a glass half-full of cheap whiskey, and Dean thought that maybe there were things worse than death.

“Boy?”

Dean flinched back a little on instinct, fake bravado and years of maturity be damned. “You’re home early, sir.”

“You’re… home early,” John slurred, frowning at Dean in confusion. He glanced at the clock on the microwave, which was an hour ahead but still showed that Dean was early anyway. It took the Alpha more than fifteen seconds to calculate when Dean usually got home and what time it was now, but eventually his eyebrows furrowed and the scent of Alpha anger thickened in the air. “Why’re y’home early?”

“My boss sent me home,” Dean said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t afraid of his father. “Something happened while I was working and he—he sent me home.”

John leaned forward, his arms bulging with muscle from working hard on construction twelve hours a day, six days a week. His hands were hard and tense, angry in the way they gripped the counter. “You got your pathetic ass fired?”

Dean was afraid of his father.

“N-No, sir, I just got sent home early. I’ll be working there again on Satur—”

“You missed a Goddamn shift? You’re missin’ two? We can’t take that, you worthless fuck,” John snarled. “How’re we gonna pay the bills? I get fired for some… some stupid pay cuts, and you get your pansy, worthless ass laid off for a couple’a shifts, and soon we’ll be out on the Goddamn fuckin’ street!”

Dean wanted to snap that his dad’s job hadn’t been supporting the bill payments anyway, that he hadn’t seen a single cent of support from him since he’d started that damn construction job. But he’d played this game for a long time, and he knew it was always better to keep his mouth shut.

Instead of arguing, Dean said, “It’s okay, Dad. I’ve already paid the bills for the month, so we have a whole—”

“It’s not okay, you incompetent, useless fuck!” John roared. He must have been deeper in the whiskey bottle than Dean realized. He forced himself not to take a step back, though he couldn’t hide the way he flinched at the words. Fuck, that stung. It cut deeper than familiar insults had any right to. Somehow, his father was still a master at finding the soft, vulnerable parts of Dean and ripping into them with razor claws and poisoned words. The burning ache in Dean’s chest was never easier to handle despite how many times he felt it.

“I can pick up another job,” Dean said desperately. John probably wouldn’t remember half the things they were talking about now when he finally got sober, so it didn’t matter what Dean said. “I can pick up more shifts at the Sandover building, I’m sure they’ve got other things for me to—”

“Cleaning up after people and fuckin’ servin’ food to ‘em like a Goddamn maid or something,” John snarled, cutting Dean off. His dark eyes were slitted and nasty, cold with hatred. “You really are a pathetic little knotsucker, aren’t you? You spend all this time cleaning up after the real workers, the ones who’re successful and respectable. You’re disgusting, you little fuck.”

Dean swallowed, his throat traitorously tight. Pain gripped his neck like a steel clamp, heating his eyes and making his pulse throb in his ears. He wouldn’t cry. He refused to fucking cry in front of his dad right now. “I’m just trying my best, sir,” he said. His voice was little more than a whisper.

“Your best is fucking pathetic,” John spat. “You’re a worthless whore, y’know that? You’d be better off sellin’ that fucking mouth of yours instead. If you’re already cleanin’ and servin’ like a little bitch, why not go all the way?”

Dean gulped down the horrible, ugly thing that had begun to try to claw its way out of his chest. There was no way John couldn’t see the tears in his eyes now, but through the blur of them, Dean thought he could see his father’s nasty smile. He was glad Dean was in pain. Maybe he wanted to see that awful, dark, hideous thing inside of his son come out.

“‘M goin’ to my room,” Dean croaked. It was pathetic, it was nothing but weakness and cowardice, but it was the only thing he could manage. His dad might have said something else in response, but Dean didn’t hear it. His blood was roaring too loudly in his ears.

It was a relief to get to his shitty little bedroom. John, thank God, hadn’t followed him. Apparently his whiskey was more interesting than tormenting his oldest son.

Dean collapsed on his mattress, his knees aching at the impact. He felt pathetic sitting on the edge of his stupid little bed, legs drawn up against his chest, boots rubbing against the ragged carpet. He longed for a thick, heavy blanket to bury himself in, but all he had was his tattered sheets. Dean tried anyway, tugging the fabric tight around his shoulders in a sad attempt to self-soothe.

Sitting like that, Dean closed his eyes and tried to think of something that would help soothe the ache in his chest. He needed to be distracted from the razor blades that had settled around his heart, cutting open his lungs and vital organs every time he breathed, every time his chest quaked with a suppressed sob.

His flailing brain latched onto the only comforting thing he could think of, which, depressingly, happened to be his interaction with Castiel earlier. Dean had no idea how fucked up he had to be to find comfort in a memory that was closely tied with a traumatic event like almost getting his head blown off by a lunatic, but that was what his mind came up with when he tried to think of something comforting.

Breathing through his nose, Dean focused on the memory of Castiel’s low, rumbling voice and the sensation of the Alpha’s hand on his shoulder. God, Dean thought he could still sense the phantom touch, even now. He unconsciously reached over and placed his hand on the imprint, a sorry replica of the warm, comforting weight of the Alpha.

Maybe Dean was needy, and maybe he was desperate, but he couldn’t deny that thinking of Castiel calmed him down. He remembered the gentle way the Alpha had soothed him immediately after the shooting, the comforting way the Alpha had taken control and assured him that he was safe. Maybe that was why Dean wasn’t scared about having almost died today, even though it was probably supposed to be a super traumatizing thing. He’d had Castiel to keep him safe.

Dean hugged his sheets tight around his shoulders and rocked back and forth a little, replaying Castiel’s calming words over and over again. What the Alpha had actually said grew fuzzier with each mental pass over the memory, but the soothing tone and intention remained the same. Dean tried to remember the sound of the Russian word Castiel had used when addressing him, but he couldn’t recall it.

He wished he could remember. For some reason, it had felt almost like an endearment.

Eventually, Dean managed to calm himself down. He didn’t want to think about how much the mere memories of his boss helped him feel better, so he put up thick mental walls to block off all thoughts about his peculiar self-soothing method. When he felt steady enough, Dean let the blanket fall from around his shoulders. His hands hurt from clenching so hard, so he massaged the tension from them as best he could. And when he was sure there was no sound coming from beyond his door, indicating that John had settled in with his bottles for the night, Dean climbed off his bed and silently crept over to his backpack.

He counted the money again, just to be sure he had the right amount. He put half the bills in the ceramic jar for Sammy, then tucked the rest of them at the bottom of his backpack with the coins, hidden underneath his change of clothes, apron, ID card for Sandover, blockers, and bottles of suppressants. Hopefully, that would deter his dad from finding his bus money and stealing it again.

With that all taken care of, Dean found that he was suddenly very tired. Though it was only late afternoon, the incidents of the day had exhausted him. He barely had the energy to tug off his boots before he crawled back onto his mattress and curled up, hoping to catch some sleep before he had to get up and make dinner. He figured he kind of deserved a nap after nearly dying today. He’d woken up early this morning, anyway.

So Dean closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, and if his mind was filled with fantasies of being held by a warm Alpha that smelled of woody cologne and fresh laundry, well… no one had to know.

Chapter Text

Dean ended up sleeping straight through dinner that night. It was a good thing his father was too busy getting hammered after having been fired, because the Alpha didn’t even have it in him to shout at his son for not making them food. Both Winchesters passed out around six in the evening and slept straight through the night.

Dean woke up early to the beeping of his alarm. He was groggy and disoriented when he got up to turn it off, having just woken from a series of strange dreams that featured him either running or hiding, some unknown hunter behind him and Castiel in front of him, encouraging him forward, toward the light.

Dean stood in his cold bedroom underneath the harsh glow of his ceiling light and tried to reckon the events of yesterday with reality. Shit, had a shooter really come into Mystery Spot to kill Castiel? What kind of weird underground mafia shit was that?

It was meant to be a joke, but the thought wasn’t even remotely funny. In fact, it sent a little chill down Dean’s spine that he didn’t care to decipher.

He talked to Sam about his job, sometimes, and he and his little brother laughed about the crazy people Dean worked with. They horsed around, and they told jokes about how Mystery Spot was really just a front for a mafia family or something. It was funny, since it couldn’t possibly be true. Even though Castiel and his brothers were Russian, and even though they had intricate tattoos, and even though Luke always came in with the very obvious print of a .45 at his back, and even though they always seemed super rich for a family that only owned a small burger chain, and even though…

Shit.

Dean shook his head, telling himself not to stereotype. It was a dick move to automatically assume anyone Russian was part of the mafia. And even after yesterday… Even after yesterday…

Yeah, nevermind. Dean wasn’t gonna think of that.

He roused himself enough to get his ass moving through his morning routine. He only had to work at Amara’s diner today, since he worked at Sandover once a week and wasn’t working at Mystery Spot at all tonight. Dean had no idea what he would do with all his free time. Maybe he’d look for another morning job to pick up the slack now that his father had been fired. It was exhausting to think of working three jobs every single day instead of just once a week, but Dean knew he couldn’t sustain them and his dad’s drinking addiction on just two jobs plus the extra cash from Sandover. He’d need another source of money.

Thinking of all that work was crushing, so Dean put it out of his mind. Instead, he focused on the good things, like how he got to ride the bus today instead of running to work, and how he got to call his little brother later. He felt optimistic as he dropped a couple bills into Ernie’s hand and sat down in his usual seat in the front of the bus.

“Glad to see ya here, Dean,” Ernie said as Dean sat down.

“I’m glad to be here, man,” Dean replied, chuckling a little. “Man, you’d never believe the day I had yesterday. Did you hear about the shooting at the burger place on the western side of town?”

There was no way Ernie hadn’t heard of it. That kind of shit was always front-page news, even in a big city like this. It wasn’t every day crazy people tried to shoot up a restaurant and got their brains splattered across the front windows.

But he saw Ernie’s frown in the large rear-view mirror of the bus, and then he wasn’t so sure. “There was a shooting?” the Beta asked, raising his eyebrows. “Here? In this city?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, frowning a little too, now. “You didn’t hear about it?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen nothin’ on the news, ‘cept all that stuff about the governor clearing out all the homeless people for when the president comes to visit on his campaign,” Ernie said. He snorted, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ pig politicians, the lot of ‘em.”

Dean sensed the end of the conversation and didn’t push. It was fucking weird that Ernie hadn’t heard of the shooting at Mystery Spot, but maybe he just hadn’t read the newspaper or something. He might have missed that on the news broadcast. Dean wrote the whole thing off as weird and decided not to focus on it. He had a full shift at the diner ahead of him.

The bus ride was blissfully fast. Dean watched the miles tick by and thought about how he’d run all that way yesterday, grateful that he didn’t have to do it today. If there was one good thing that had come out of the debacle the day before, it was the tip jar cash that Dean had been given.

He was in a good mood when he arrived at Amara’s diner. Not even the horrible attitude and tardiness of the other waiter on duty could bring him down. Dean ignored her glares and huffy noises and focused on getting through the shift. When he thought of calling Sam at the payphone downtown, even the rudest customers didn’t faze him. He couldn’t wait to hear his little brother’s voice again.

Dean practically floated out the door when his shift was over. There was a different bus driver that took him across town to where Mystery Spot was, so Dean only nodded to her when he got on. He figured he could take the same route, since the only phone he knew of was a few blocks away from the burger restaurant.

Instead of walking toward Mystery Spot once he got to his stop, Dean turned the other way and headed down the street. There were a lot of people on the sidewalk, all of them hurrying to get somewhere, none of them seeming to take notice of him. It was kind of nice. The myriad of different smells wasn’t awesome, especially since some people didn’t wear blockers and didn’t bother trying to suppress their scents. Overall, however, it was a pleasant walk.

Dean got to the phone booth and excitedly pulled out some coins. He hadn’t talked to Sam in over a month and a half. It was around two thirty in the afternoon, and he knew his brother got out of school early on Friday, so he was probably home doing something stupid and brainy like homework.

There was already a smile on Dean’s face as he dialed the number of his aunt and uncle’s house phone. He waited as it rang once, twice, three times, and then he heard the telltale clicking sound of the phone being picked up.

“Hello?” a young, familiar voice asked.

Dean was grinning like an idiot now. His cheeks were gonna be hurting by the end of this. “Heya, Sammy!” he greeted. “It’s your big brother. How are you?”

“Dean?” The excitement in Sam’s voice made Dean’s heart feel all melty and soft. He leaned up against the metal box of the phone booth and listened as his little brother yelled to their aunt that Dean had called. “Oh my God, this is perfect! Dean, I’m so glad you called today!”

“Yeah? What happened?” Dean asked.

“So, remember that science project we had? The one where we only had a set amount of materials, and we had to have a partner and everything? Well, my partner was this really pretty girl named Jess, and she’s super smart, so we worked really hard and…” And Sam was off. Dean listened to his little brother recount the process through which he and his not-so-secret crush had completely dominated the competition at their school’s science fair. “And get this, Dean! The mayor was there, and he wanted to display it at the town meeting next week! Isn’t that so cool?”

“That’s fucking awesome, kiddo!” Dean said. It felt like there was a balloon in his chest, swelling and threatening to burst his ribs open with pride. “Knew you could do it, man. Is Jess happy about this?”

“Oh yeah, and she and I are gonna go get ice cream later to celebrate!” Sam said. “She’s super nice, Dean. And super smart! I couldn’t have done it without her. And since we did the project at her house, her parents know me and they like me, so they invited me over to dinner next week. Aunt Ellen thought they wouldn’t let me go get ice cream with her ‘cause she’s an Omega and I’m an Alpha, but they were totally cool about it.”

“That’s awesome. You said she’s pretty, right?” Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows. Even though he couldn’t see his little brother, he could just tell he was rolling his eyes. “Glad to hear you made yourself a lady friend, Sammy. Proud of you.”

Sam huffed. “Whatever, we’re just friends.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam didn’t sound mad at all. Dean’s cheeks were aching from smiling so much, and his grin only lessened when he heard his brother’s next question. “So how are things going for you? How, uh… How’s John?”

Dean’s face fell, and he had to work to put a smile back on as he thought of how to answer that question. “Well, uh, work is good. We had a little incident at the burger place I work at yesterday, so I’m off until tomorrow. And Dad is, um… He’s good.” Dean’s throat tightened a little at the memory of the poisonous words John had spat at him the day before. Even the memory of them stung.

“What happened at the mafia burger place?” Sam asked, his tone light.

Dean huffed a chuckle, wondering briefly how much he should tell his little brother. On the one hand, he didn’t want to upset or scare him, but on the other… Well, Sam was sixteen now. And Dean had never made it a habit of lying to his little brother, save for when it had to do with their dad.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was listening, the Omega lowered his voice and said, “Well, this is kinda crazy. But yesterday, some guy came in and tried to shoot the owner.”

“Seriously? With a gun?” Sam asked, shock evident in his voice. He’d gone hushed, too.

“Yeah. Shot him in the chest and everything. But here’s the plot twist: the boss, Castiel? He had a fucking bulletproof vest on.”

“No way.”

“Yep. And he got up and shot the guy in the head. I think there were more in the back, but by the time I got out from under the table, there wasn’t any more fighting,” Dean said.

“That’s insane, Dean. That’s—Maybe our theory about them being in the mafia isn’t too far off,” Sam said, echoing Dean’s thoughts from earlier with eerie accuracy. He sounded like he was joking, but only a little bit.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean laughed. “It’s alright, though. I guess they figured everything out with the police and stuff. Self-defense, and all that. The story didn’t even make the news, apparently.” He chuckled, but it felt a little forced, and maybe it was. There were still too many weird things about the whole situation for it to be exactly funny.

Why had Castiel been wearing a bulletproof vest in the first place? Had he been expecting the attack? What had the cook done with the second body? Why hadn’t Ernie heard of the shooting, if it had been so recent and so local?

Dean probably wouldn’t ever know. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“So you’ve been good, then?” Sam was asking. “After the shooting, I mean? You slept okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Dean said. “I’m… God, I’m pretty unaffected, actually. It feels kinda like a weird dream.” Maybe that was a kind of trauma response. If so, it wasn’t all bad.

“How’ve you been sleeping in general?” Sam asked.

“Jesus, Sammy, you ain’t my mother,” Dean laughed. He prayed his brother couldn’t hear how strained it was over the line.

No, of course he hadn’t been sleeping well. He got home from work at nine every day and went to bed at midnight after making dinner and cleaning up after himself and his dad. He averaged five hours of sleep a night if he was lucky, and that sleep was usually plagued by nightmares. When he was awake, the stress of keeping his father happy and doing well at his jobs kept him from ever truly relaxing. He was fucking exhausted, but really, what was new?

Dean didn’t see a break from this life in his immediate future. He didn’t know how long he could go like this, running on empty, barely surviving day to day, but he knew he’d be doing it until he physically couldn’t anymore. There was no use complaining about his situation to his little brother. If it wasn’t going to change, and Sammy couldn’t do anything about it, why would he burden his brother with that information? Sam had high school and shit to think of. He didn’t need to be worrying about what his dumb, grunt older brother was doing thousands of miles away.

Sam tried to ask after his health again, this time through a thinly-veiled question about whether or not John was beating Dean anymore. Part of Dean, the stupid part, wanted to say that yes, of fucking course their dad was still beating him. It wasn’t like he’d magically become a saint overnight. And it wasn’t like Dean had somehow become less of a coward, either.

Dean found ways to deflect his little brother’s questions until the call began to run out. He told Sam he had to go, and Sam said he had to get ready for his ice cream date that wasn’t a date because they were just friends, Dean, come on. Dean said goodbye to his little brother and smiled even after he heard the sound of the phone hanging up. God, he loved that kid.

It made him so proud to think of how far Sammy had come, and how far he was gonna go. He was such a bright, sweet kid. And even though he was in his snotty teenager phase, he still made time to talk to his dumb older brother. Dean’s chest felt tight with pride.

He lingered at the phone booth, unsure of what to do. It was only mid afternoon, hours until he had to be home. He doubted his dad remembered that he was supposed to take the day off from working at Mystery Spot. If Dean went home right now, there was a good chance he’d get his ass kicked or get yelled at all over again.

Since that was the last thing Dean wanted, he decided to stall. He figured he could walk up to Mystery Spot to check how the cleaning was going, since he was kind of curious to know how they planned to get all that blood off anyway. And then after, maybe he could splurge on a coffee or something and find a cafe where he could chill for a while. He didn’t know what he’d do there, but anything was better than going home.

It was about five blocks uphill from the phone booth to the burger restaurant. Dean took it slow, trying to enjoy the sights of the city. There wasn’t much to savor, and the scents of his surroundings weren’t super easy to deal with even while on his suppressants, but it wasn’t too bad. Dean liked to look at the way the sun hit the curving metal of some of the fancier-looking skyscrapers.

He got to Mystery Spot and saw that it looked completely normal. Part of him had been expecting caution tape and lots of plastic coverings and stuff, but the restaurant looked as if nothing had ever happened. There were no traces of cleaning crews or the gore that had been spread across the front glass windows. The parking lot was empty, the OPEN sign turned off.

Dean might have turned around and left now that his curiosity had been satisfied, but there was one thing that was out of place. The doors to the restaurant were barred and locked, which Dean figured was normal, since no one was there. He’d never seen them like that, but he didn’t think much of it. The thing that made him stop and stare was the fact that the windows were shuttered completely.

In all his time working at the restaurant, Dean had of course noticed the shutters near the windows, but he’d never really registered that they could be used. It was a little like the color of the ceiling or the amount of chairs in the actual building. Dean saw it all the time, but when he really thought of it, he had to think for a second to remember that kind of detail.

The shutters were closed, though, and the windows were blocked off. Without really thinking, Dean walked across the empty parking lot to squint at them, wondering if he could see inside. He didn’t manage to get a glimpse of the darkened restaurant, but he was surprised to hear the low sound of voices. There were people inside the building.

Curiosity piqued, Dean walked around the back of the restaurant, wondering if the back door was open or something. He found five different black cars parked out back, all of them outfitted with the same heavy push bumper and tinted windows as the car that Aleksandr had driven Dean home in last night. Frowning, the Omega glanced at the back door. It was shut and presumably locked.

Was Castiel or any of his brothers here? It sort of made sense, Dean supposed. They were the owners of the place, so if they wanted to be here on an offday, they could. Besides, maybe they wanted to make sure the cleaning was finished or something. It was probably nothing.

Dean might have turned away and walked back to the bus stop. He might have completely missed the opportunity that changed his life. But it just so happened that a young man was creeping around the back of the building, having heard footsteps, and nearly smacked right into Dean when the Omega turned around to start heading back toward the rest of the city.

“Oh, shit!” Dean yelped, jumping back, his heart pounding. The kid—because he couldn’t have been more than a couple years younger than Dean—also jumped in surprise, his gray-blue eyes going wide. Dean laughed nervously, putting a hand over where his heart was jumping erratically. “Jesus, man, you scared me.”

It took him about two seconds to realize what the kid was wearing, what he was fucking holding. He had on the same sort of shell-like armor Dean had seen on Castiel yesterday, except this time, it was over his clothes instead of under. And he was holding a handgun that gleamed darkly in the sunlight from the clear sky above them, reminding Dean rather violently of yesterday as well.

If it took Dean two seconds to register the gun, it took the kid three seconds to recover from his surprise. Once he did, his acne-covered face morphed into a half-delighted, half-furious expression.

“Whoa, buddy, what—” Dean was cut off as the kid moved, fast and violent as a viper. Dean barely had any time to brace for impact before he was pistol-whipped so hard that he fell to the pavement, elbows and forearms scraping against the rough asphalt. A pained cry escaped his lips as the fiery agony of his left cheekbone became apparent, the molten feeling of it only growing by the second.

The kid shouted at him in Russian, and Dean would be lying if he said he was surprised. For some reason, it just made sense that he was getting beaten senseless by some scrappy little Russian kid outside Mystery Spot. Dean didn’t know why, but it did.

He wheezed as the kid kicked him hard in the chest, his body curling up instinctively to protect the soft parts of his torso from another strike. He covered his head with his arms, yelping as another kick landed and his shin throbbed in pain. There was something warm and wet covering the entire left side of his face. Blood pulsed from the gash on his cheekbone, coppery and salty in his mouth, the taste suffocating.

“Wait, please—!” Dean tried, yelping as the kid kept kicking him, shouting in Russian. “Please, I don’t—ah! I don’t have any money! Stop, I—”

His attacker managed to land a kick to his stomach, and all the wind was knocked out of Dean in a rush. He choked on nothing as his lungs spasmed, spitting blood out of his mouth. His vision was blurry with dizziness and pain-induced tears as he blinked desperately up at his tormentor, trying to plead for mercy with his eyes.

A rough hand gripped his hair, yanking his neck up at a painful angle. Dean suddenly found the kid’s face right up near his, sour breath and the scent of cologne clogging his nose. “Spy,” the kid hissed, his accent thick. “You spy.”

“N-No,” Dean whimpered, not even caring that he sounded like a weak little bitch. Fuck, he was scared. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it with every throb of his cheek. “Please, I’m not—I work here, I don’t—Please—”

With a snarl, the kid released his hair and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him up off the asphalt roughly. He wasn’t strong enough to fully lift Dean, though, so he ended up just tugging viciously on his arm. It took Dean almost getting his shoulder pulled out of socket to get the memo. He stumbled to stand up, the task not made easy by how violently his attacker was tugging at him.

Dean felt so dizzy when he finally stood up that he almost fell over again. His cheek throbbed in time with his pounding heart, agony pulsing through his entire skull. Fuck, he was gonna vomit. He was gonna vomit, and then he was gonna pass out, and the little shit yanking on his arm wouldn’t give a single flying fuck.

Dean didn’t even know where he was being dragged to until he smacked into the doorway that led into the back kitchen of Mystery Spot. For some reason, the kid was leading him inside, dragging him aggressively forward while spitting unintelligible Russian in a hateful tone. He slapped Dean hard across the left side of the face, drawing a pathetic cry from the Omega’s throat.

His legs buckled at the wave of agony that flooded through his skull, his skin heating to a thousand degrees. Dean’s ears were filled with cotton, his whole body completely numb and yet somehow on fire at the same time. He bent over and vomited, just like he’d thought he would. God, this was pain on a level that rivaled his dad’s worst beatings.

His tormentor kept pulling him forward, forcing him to keep his legs moving when all he wanted to do was collapse to the cold tiles of the kitchen. They passed the fryers, the grills, the food window where Dean collected orders and brought them out the customers. And then the kid was pushing through the door to the front of the restaurant, dragging Dean with him.

The scene that Dean found before him was so absurd that at first he thought it was a hallucination borne of the concussion that he’d surely been given when he’d been struck by the butt of the kid’s gun. The gash on his left cheek was swelling enough to begin obscuring his vision in his left eye, but not enough to block out the view of what was happening in the dining area.

The tables and chairs had been cleared away from the middle of the room, creating a large, open space. Only one chair remained, and in it, a man was bound with ropes and zip ties. His face was even bloodier than Dean’s was, and if Dean looked too closely, he could see the guy was missing a couple fingers. He was familiar, somehow, and it took Dean’s concussed brain way too long to figure out that it was the second gunman from the day before. The one he’d thought was dead, the one that had been carried off.

There were shadowy figures at the edge of the room, watching what was happening. And in the center, in front of the bound man…

Castiel was standing there, gun raised, the black metal glinting in the low light from the ceiling lamps above. His face was twisted in an expression Dean had never seen before, one that sent a chilling shiver down his spine. There was something dead about Castiel’s eyes, something dark and flat and cold. They looked like a shark’s. The only emotion Dean could see was hatred.

But as the kid who’d attacked him threw him forward, letting Dean stumble and fall to the floor near the edge of the clearing on the dining room floor, the Omega saw that flat, emotionless expression shatter with utter shock. As Dean lay panting on the tile floor, blood in his mouth, on his teeth, all over his face, he saw the way the Alpha’s arm lowered, his finger leaving the trigger.

“Dean?” he asked, voice soft with surprise.

Dean didn’t have the energy to answer. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. The most he could manage was a soft, pleading whine.

A few seconds later, the world slipped away.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck.”

If there was one thing Castiel had learned over the years, it was that there were different kinds of silences. There was the comfortable silence of simply sitting beside a comrade or a family member. There was the deafening silence of a house that had just been broken into, as if the structure knew what was about to happen and was holding its breath. There was the screaming silence right before the trap sprung and the predator leaped out of the tall grass. There was the horrible, heavy silence after a gunshot, when a life had just been taken.

And there was this silence, the one that was choking and tight, stretched taut as an instrument string. Painful for everyone except Castiel, who waited impatiently for someone to break it.

Finally, the new recruit, the young man who’d been on watch, the fucker with his hands stained with Dean’s blood… Finally, he said, “I captured this little slut trying to break into the building. I think he was trying to spy on us.”

Castiel looked at him flatly, deadening his eyes in that eerie way that he knew made even the bravest of men squirm. “What was he doing?” he asked.

“He was… He was lurking around the back,” the recruit replied. He was barely twenty, his mustache still fine and baby-soft. He looked as if the self-congratulating confidence he’d entered the room with was finally beginning to drain away. “He was trying to spy on us, Alpha Castiel.”

The prisoner in the chair shifted a little, giving a weak moan, and Castiel snapped his head toward Aleksandr. The blond Alpha was leaning against the wall near the front door of the restaurant, arms folded. When Castiel looked to him, he straightened to attention.

“Kill him,” Castiel ordered.

Aleksandr didn’t miss a beat. “Which one?” he asked. Castiel knew he wasn’t talking about Dean.

“The prisoner,” Castiel said. He turned back to the recruit, whose gray-blue eyes had gone slightly wide as he watched what Aleksandr was doing. Castiel heard the slide of a holster, the click of a safety, and the loud ping of a silenced shot. The ragged breathing of the prisoner a few feet in front of Castiel stuttered to a stop. Blood splattered on the floor.

There was blood on the tiles near Dean, too. It pooled quietly underneath his head, dark and silent as poison. Castiel felt nauseous looking at it. Something inside of him roared with unimaginable fury.

“Alpha—” the recruit began, seeing where Castiel was looking, the rage in his eyes.

“Silence,” Castiel snapped. The young man’s jaw shut with a clack. “What’s your name?”

He already knew it. He just wanted to hear the way the man’s voice trembled when he said, “Nikov Salysy, Alpha Castiel.”

“How long have you been with us?”

“F-Four weeks, Alpha Castiel.”

“Four weeks,” Castiel repeated, the ice in his voice sharpening, deadly like the icicles that accumulated on the building eaves in Moscow. When they got big enough and sharp enough, they could kill a man. “Four weeks. Plenty of time to learn our customs and rules, yes?”

There was that silence again. Ticking, ticking, the string tightening ever more until it snapped. “Y-Yes, Alpha Castiel.” The boy was smart to respond with respect, but apparently his intelligence only went so far, because he added, “I know our customs, Alpha.”

“Do you?” Castiel asked, the edges in his voice softening, becoming dangerously smooth. He wanted nothing more than to get this over with and attend to Dean, to make sure that the rise and fall of the Omega’s back wasn’t just his imagination, but he had to deal with this little rat first.

“Y-Yes.” The boy looked far less sure of himself than a second ago.

“If you know our customs,” Castiel said, words still silky soft, “then do you care to explain to me why you attacked and brutally beat an innocent civilian? An innocent Omega civilian?”

Nikov’s face was pale now, shiny with sweat underneath the lights of the ceiling. Good. He wasn’t stupid enough not to feel fear. “I-I… He was trying to—”

“Were you certain?” Castiel asked, the edge creeping into his tone again. “Were you completely certain?” He hadn’t really wanted a response. When he got none, he continued, that edge sharpening with every word he spoke. “You had the upper hand, didn’t you? You had the gun, the fighting experience, the height and weight advantage, the element of surprise. You far outmatched this boy in every way possible, and you beat him like a playground bully instead of using your authority to seek the truth.”

Nikov gulped. “I… I didn’t think of that.”

“You didn’t think of it,” Castiel mocked. He felt his face twist into a nasty, hateful sneer. “You’ll have plenty of time to think about it in a cell back at the Den.”

Nikov, the little brat, had the audacity to shake his head pleadingly. “No, Alpha, please, that wasn’t my intention—”

“Silence, if you want to keep your life,” Castiel snarled. “Go wait in the car. Aleksandr, Gadreel, go with him to make sure he behaves. Balthazar and Ivan, clean up this mess. I want it gone by tomorrow morning.”

Boots clopped on the ground as his men obeyed silently, the tension in the room still very much alive. Nikov had enough self-preservation to go toward the back parking lot without a fight. Aleksandr followed quietly behind him, stepping uneasily over the prone body of the Omega Nikov had dragged in and so unceremoniously thrown to the ground.

Castiel didn’t pay any mind to the two men cleaning up the corpse a few feet away as he strode across the room, stopping only when he could kneel beside the unconscious Omega on the floor.

There was an enormous bruise on his left cheekbone, the swollen area slashed through with an ugly gash. From the cut, blood spilled to the red-brown tiles beneath Dean’s head. Nikov had struck Dean with his gun, if Castiel was guessing correctly. The thought made his blood boil with rage.

Despite the fury pulsing hot through his veins, his hands were carefully gentle when he reached out to touch Dean’s forehead, feeling along the damp, bloody skin. Castiel was always careful around Dean. Cautious, gentle, as if one wrong move could ruin the kind, sweet innocence the Omega seemed to harbor in his golden heart.

Dean whimpered softly when Castiel stroked down his temple, across the bridge of his nose, his fingertips lightly grazing the edge of the bruising. Castiel’s heart clenched at the sound, contracting on itself like a collapsing lung. There wasn’t enough air in the room to sustain all that was needed to keep him breathing. He distantly realized that he’d clenched his fist so hard his palm was bleeding.

Dean’s whimper turned to a whine and then a cry of pain as Castiel worked his arms underneath his body and began to lift. The sounds ripped at Castiel’s heart, digging razor claws into soft spots that the Alpha hadn’t even known he still possessed. It frightened him, to know that those points of vulnerability were still there. That they could be cut open just from hearing the Omega in his arms in pain.

Castiel winced as he finished hefting Dean into his arms, the bruised area of his chest aching in protest. It was impossible to come away from getting shot point-blank without sustaining some injury, even while wearing a bulletproof vest. The bruising must have been worse than he’d thought, because Dean wasn’t all that heavy. Though Dean was relatively tall for an Omega, he was far too light for his frame, more than boyish youth could be blamed for. Castiel remembered the way Dean had devoured his burger and fries the day before, eyes lit up like it was the best thing he’d eaten in years, and his heart clenched yet again.

His inner Alpha was a traitorous being, calling for so many things that Castiel couldn’t ever see to fruition. It wanted him to hold Dean tight to his chest forever, to wrap the Omega in a blanket and stow him somewhere safe and warm, where the rest of the world couldn’t get him. It wanted Castiel to sit Dean on his lap and feed him sweet foods by hand, to rub his stomach and feel the way it was full, sated and never to feel hunger again. It wanted him to drag Dean into his den and never let him go.

Castiel couldn’t do any of that. If there was ever a world where that was possible, it would be the Heaven that he’d been barred from after he’d first killed a man when he was fourteen.

Dean seemed to shift in and out of consciousness as Castiel carried him through the back of the restaurant, toward where the cars were parked. He never did much more than whimper in pain, but Castiel had a feeling the Omega was at least partially aware of where he was. He kept nuzzling his nose into the fabric of Castiel’s now-bloodied dress shirt, as if he was searching out a scent that wasn’t there.

Castiel had to take him back to the Den. Anna, their doctor, would be able to see to his head injury and make sure he wasn’t in too much pain. And Castiel couldn’t deny that Dean was somewhat of a prisoner now, because there was no way he could just walk free after being privy to what had been happening at Mystery Spot tonight.

He knows, Castiel thought mournfully. He knows what we are. What I am.

When they’d first hired Dean, Mikhail had warned them all that the Omega couldn’t know what was happening behind the scenes, or they’d have to kill him. It was standard practice when it came to outsiders learning the true nature of their occupations, and at that point, Gabriel and Castiel had been too desperate to offer the quiet, starving Omega a job to care. But now the day of reckoning had come, and Castiel wasn’t ready to face it.

Aleksandr was waiting outside when Castiel emerged from the building. “He’s in the car,” he said, when he saw Castiel’s questioning glower. He nodded his head at the car farthest from the building, and through it, Castiel spotted the shadowy outline of Nikov in the passenger seat.

Aleksandr helped Castiel open the door to the back of another car, giving the Alpha space to carefully climb inside while trying not to jostle the Omega in his arms. Dean still whined quietly at the movement, but he quieted down when Castiel shushed him gently.

The front door opened, admitting Gadreel into the driver’s seat. The tall, stoic Alpha glanced at Castiel in the rearview mirror once, then proceeded to focus on getting the car started and peeling out of the parking lot, heading toward the Den. Castiel was grateful for his head of security, for the unspoken communication between them. He was already in a compromised position right now, and showing any more weakness might just serve to push him off the deep end.

Dean startled awake sometime six or seven minutes into the drive, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly, his head lolling against the cradle of Castiel’s arm. “Mr… Mr. Krushnic?” he slurred, his words blending together. “Misterrr Krushnic.”

“Shh,” Castiel soothed, unconsciously tilting the boy’s head more toward his chest. Though he was wearing scent blockers, he was sure there was some scent there that would calm the injured Omega. Dean seemed to recognize the smell of his cologne, at the very least.

“Uuhhh,” Dean moaned, closing his eyes. He nuzzled weakly against Castiel’s chest. “Don’ feel gooood.”

“Shhshh,” Castiel murmured again, fighting to keep his body relaxed so as not to frighten the Omega in his arms. “You’re alright, zaychik. You’re alright.” God, did he hope that was true. Only Anna would be able to tell. Castiel liked to think his knowledge of field medicine was enough that he could get a semi-accurate assessment of Dean’s health, but that didn’t mean he knew everything. The Omega’s brain could be bleeding right now, and he wouldn’t know.

That thought didn’t help Castiel’s tension in the slightest, and his muscles locked up accordingly. Dean, sensitive Omega that he was, whined quietly in response. Castiel shushed him again, forcing his body to relax, forcing his scent to become soothing despite the fact that it was smothered by chemical blockers.

The effort seemed to be worth it. Dean went limp in his arms, nose tucked up against the bloodstained fabric of Castiel’s shirt. Castiel wished he wasn’t wearing his bulletproof vest. He wished he could feel the heat of Dean’s skin against his ribcage.

The journey from Mystery Spot to the Den was twenty-two minutes, but it felt far longer and far shorter at the same time. Gadreel had to take them out of the city, toward the wealthier suburbs buried in the forested hills north of the mass of skyscrapers and factories. It was here that the buildings were spaced wider apart, that trees could grow large and green, obscuring neighbors from neighbors and giving the illusion of privacy.

The Den was a compound, a set of five buildings grouped in the middle of a twenty-five acre lot. Most of the Krushnic-branch bratva members lived in their own houses or estates nearby, but everyone came back to the Den to do business or to rest up if they were injured. Or, in Nikov’s case, to serve time before their punishment was decided and justice was dealt.

Castiel didn’t know what he was going to do with the little rat yet. Nikov was young and dedicated; it would be foolish to waste such potential, even if Castiel wanted nothing more than to cut him open and let him bleed dry. He would need to defer to his superiors for judgment on how to deal with Nikov. He didn’t trust himself to be fair.

That was for later, though, when Dean wasn’t bleeding out in his arms. Castiel sat up in his seat as the trees parted outside the car window, revealing the first of the sturdy buildings that made up the Den.

The infirmary was a separate building with two doors that a car could drive right up to, perfect for dragging a wounded compatriot straight to a bed to be assessed by doctors. Gadreel pulled up to one of the vehicle bays without even needing to be told, and once again, Castiel thanked a God he didn’t really believe in for his head of security.

Someone opened the door for the car, and Castiel shoved himself out, hardening his heart to Dean’s noises of pain. He couldn’t afford to be gentle right now. He needed to get Dean to Anna as quickly as possible.

His sister was reading a book when he burst into the infirmary. They hadn’t had any major injuries lately, so she didn’t have anyone to work on. The rows of beds were empty. Castiel was grateful for it as he carried Dean down the aisle, raising his voice to shout for his sister. “Anna! Anna, I need your help!”

Anna dropped her book with a soft thump and nearly tripped over herself to get around the desk, her blue eyes wide as she caught sight of the Omega in Castiel’s arms. “What is this?” she asked as she came to meet them. “Who is this?” She tied her fiery-red hair up in a ponytail as she walked, her movements quick and precise.

“Fix him,” Castiel snapped. “Fucking fix him.”

“God almighty, Castiel, this is a foreigner,” Anna exclaimed. She was already leading him over to the nearest hospital bed, her pale hands a flurry of movement as she yanked the sheets back to make room for the Omega in Castiel’s arms. “You brought a foreigner to our base.”

“I know that. I need you to fix him,” Castiel said. His voice was nearly unrecognizable, low and aggressive, ripping through the air like a snarl. If his sister was fazed, she didn’t show it.

“I need to know what’s wrong with him,” she said. Her voice had gone low and calm. It was good that she wasn’t asking any more questions about Dean’s identity. If she’d continued instead of treating the Omega, Castiel might have wanted to slap her.

“His head,” Castiel said, laying Dean down as gently as he could on the bed. “Someone pistol-whipped him and he has a head injury. I don’t know how bad it is, I didn’t have time to assess.” He could have, in the back of the car on the ride to the Den, but he’d been too panicked to think straight.

Later, he would have a separate meltdown about this whole situation. Later, he would pick apart and analyze every single thing that had made him so incompetent, so weak. Later, he would reprimand himself for letting a simple Omega, a simple civilian, drive him to a state of such uselessness.

I’m better than this, he thought to himself. I’m better than a panicky Alpha that spooks at the slightest sign of an Omega in distress. He ignored the fact that it wasn’t just that Dean was an Omega that had caused him to act like such a fool. Most of his men were Alphas too, so if that logic held true, they would have been affected as well.

They’d managed to keep their control just fine. It was Castiel that had acted as if the sky was falling.

Anna switched over to heavily-accented English as she began to pull gently at Dean’s eyelids, trying to see his pupils. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” she coaxed, tapping Dean on the cheek. “Open your eyes. I need to see.”

Dean probably wasn’t coherent enough to understand what she was saying, let alone obey. Anna managed to get his eyes open anyway, and she hummed approvingly as she flashed her penlight at his pupils.

“What is it?” Castiel asked as she jotted down some notes on a nearby clipboard. He craned to see what she was writing. “Is it bad?”

“Stop hovering, Castiel,” Anna chided gently. Her voice had taken on that low, soothing tone it always got when she was in doctor mode. She said it helped calm patients, and Castiel supposed it worked on him, too. “I need to know if he threw up. How long was he unconscious? Give me some details.”

“He kept drifting in and out of consciousness,” Castiel said. He tried to get his voice to that calm state that his sister had spoken with, but he couldn’t conceal the tension in his tone. “I think he threw up once, but not again.”

“That’s good,” Anna said. She began to fiddle with other instruments, taking measurements and readings, which she scribbled down on her clipboard. Dean seemed to have relaxed into the mattress, his body loose with the comfort of unconsciousness. That, at least, calmed the primal part of Castiel that had been aggravated by the sight of the Omega’s pain.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“Not terrible. I’ll need to monitor him to make sure he doesn’t begin seizing or having other symptoms, but I think he’ll be alright,” Anna said. “I’m going to clean his injuries, and then I’ll run a few more tests just to make sure he’s stable. You can’t stay here for that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re going to need to explain to Mikhail why you brought a foreigner to our base,” Anna said. She turned to look at Castiel with steady blue eyes, her face deadly serious. “Even concussed and injured, he could still pose a threat to everything our organization is built on. People saw you come in. They will want to know why you let a foreign Omega into our haven. Our brothers especially.”

Castiel exhaled, looking at Dean’s peaceful, bloodstained face. He wanted nothing more than to sit down at his bedside and watch over him, but Castiel was all too familiar with the feeling of denying himself what he wanted. Anna was right. He couldn’t let himself slip, couldn’t let this strange Omega be his downfall. He needed to distance himself from Dean. He’d already acted enough of a fool today; any more, and his men might begin to doubt him.

“Send me updates,” Castiel said, backing away from the bed. “If he gets worse, I want to be the first to know.”

Anna nodded her assent. “Good luck with Mikhail,” she said.

Castiel forced himself to turn away, forced himself to begin walking across the infirmary toward the main building. He forced himself not to think of Dean’s prone body, limp and lifeless on the ground. He forced himself not to think of the way the Omega had nuzzled into his shirt, seeking out warmth and the comfort of his faint scent. He forced himself to calm down, to settle into that cold, dark place in his mind where he could do anything, where he could commit murder without flinching. He was better than this. He would not allow himself to be swayed by a single foreign Omega.

When the Alpha exited the infirmary, he wasn’t Castiel, youngest brother of the Krushnic family, an idiot who’d developed a soft spot for an American Omega. He was Castiel, Angel of Death, executioner and enforcer of Mikhail Krushnic, feared by anyone who crossed his path. There was blood on his shirt and death in his eyes when he crossed the courtyard to the main building. Men and women, Alphas and Betas and Omegas alike, hurried out of his way. They looked away as he passed by, not wanting to be the one to catch his gaze, to suffer the violence that thrummed through him like lightning.

If Castiel knew his brother, he was sitting in his office waiting for a report on what Castiel had learned from the gunman he’d been interrogating at Mystery Spot. They’d decided to keep the man in the restaurant, not wanting to give him the opportunity to know where the Den was. The questioning had been fruitless and frustrating, and if it hadn’t been for Nikov and Dean, Castiel might be trudging up to his brother’s office to give a very boring report.

He entered the main building and stalked across the massive front room to the grand staircase that led to the second level. Down one hallway and then another, Castiel came to a stop at the door at the far end and raised his hand to knock five times.

“Alpha Mikhail,” he called through the door. “It’s Castiel.”

“Come in,” his brother’s voice replied.

Castiel opened the door and let himself inside. There was a massive window along the left wall that looked out on the forest behind the main building, the light from the overcast sky above illuminating Mikhail’s office. Castiel’s oldest brother was seated behind his massive desk, his hands covered in grease from the shotgun he was currently taking apart and cleaning.

“Alpha,” Castiel said respectfully, bowing his head. He could have foregone the greeting, but he believed that traditions should be kept, despite familial ties and brotherly closeness.

“Castiel,” Mikhail greeted in return. He nodded at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit. Did you finish the interrogation?”

“I did. I got as little as I thought I would,” Castiel said. He tried not to look uncomfortable as he faced his brother, watching the precise, efficient movements of his hands as he cleaned the gun. “Gabriel’s prediction was correct: they were both inexperienced. He broke relatively quickly, and he had little of import to share. He didn’t even know why he’d been given the mission.”

“Disappointing, but expected,” Mikhail said. He slid an oily cloth over part of the gun, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the task. “If that is not what is troubling you, then tell me what is. You’re tense, brother.” Of course he’d seen. Nothing got past Castiel’s oldest brother, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“There was a complication that had nothing to do with the gunman,” Castiel said, pushing the words out before he could think better of them. “I have a feeling you won’t be pleased.”

Mikhail hummed. “I’ll be the judge of that. What kind of complication?”

“I brought one of the newer recruits with me, a boy named Nikov,” Castiel said, focusing on keeping his voice slow and steady. “I put him on watch, because I wanted to give him experience. When I’d already finished interrogating the gunman, Nikov came in bearing a prisoner.”

“A prisoner?” Mikhail asked, raising his eyebrows. “A Knight of Hell?”

“No,” Castiel gritted out. “A civilian. He’d seen an Omega walking around near the restaurant and decided to attack him. After he beat him and gave him a head injury, he dragged him inside, in full view of our interrogation.”

“Why was there an Omega civilian near Mystery Spot?” Mikhail asked. His voice remained unchanged, but Castiel saw the slight way his body had tensed, the tightness in his brother’s elegant hands.

“It was Dean, our employee,” Castiel said. His brother put down the oil rag altogether. “He was coming by, presumably to check on the restaurant. He can be asked when he wakes up, and I’m sure he’ll say something similar. Either way, Nikov attacked him without provocation and dragged him into the building before we could kill the prisoner.”

“Did he see?” Mikhail asked, his gaze heavy, piercing.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. He hesitated, then said, “I brought him back here. I figured that even if he hadn’t been injured and in need of medical care, we would need to take him prisoner anyway. He knows about our front now, and it’s too dangerous to let him walk around free. So I brought him back to the Den with me. He’s with Anna right now, unconscious.”

Mikhail was silent for a while, his gaze drifting from Castiel to a spot on the wall behind him. Castiel could see the gears turning in his head, calculations and scenarios, moves and actions to be taken, variables to consider. He knew better than to interrupt his brother’s thinking process. Instead of trying to speak, Castiel leaned back in his chair and waited in silence.

The implications of what might happen to Dean now that he knew about their real occupations were terrifying. No one outside of the bratva worked at Mystery Spot except for Dean, partially to keep suspicions at bay and partially because the Omega had been convincing when he’d asked them for a job all those years ago. And while that dynamic had worked for a while—somehow Dean had managed to win over all the cooks on rotation within five months of his working at the restaurant—it was now becoming clear that it couldn’t have lasted forever.

Something would need to be done. And Castiel was terrified of what that thing would be.

Despite how he held himself, he wasn’t an emotionless robot. He just never felt so many emotions at once, and never so strongly. It disturbed him, how much he could feel when Dean was involved. It disturbed him enough that he’d tried to make himself cold and distant from the Omega, and even that hadn’t been enough to keep his heart from softening.

“How bad are Dean’s injuries?” Mikhail finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

“Not terrible, Anna said. That might change, but for now, he seems stable,” Castiel said.

“We will question him when he wakes. I will question him, or Lucifer. You aren’t allowed to see him again until I say so, is that understood?” Mikhail asked.

Castiel exhaled, something he hadn’t even known was inside of his ribcage sinking and deflating at his brother’s words. He should have expected that. “I understand.”

There was something soft in his brother’s eyes when Castiel found the courage to look at him. Mikhail rarely showed sympathy, but Castiel thought he could see flickers of it in his blue eyes. “You have a soft spot for Dean, Castiel. I’m sure there are few of us in the brotherhood who aren’t aware of that. It’s not a bad thing, brother. Look at me.” Castiel obeyed, jaw working slightly. Mikhail’s voice was almost gentle. “It’s not a bad thing. Lucifer has his wife. Gabriel has his various partners. There is no shame in feeling affection toward someone, especially an Omega like Dean. But you need to be aware of what that attraction means, and what it will do to you.”

Castiel dropped his gaze to Mikhail’s desk, nodding numbly. “Weakness.”

“Perhaps,” his brother said. “Perhaps it will make you stronger.”

He looked serious when Castiel snapped his gaze back up to his face. “How could anything involving the heart mean anything but weakness?” he asked.

“That’s for you to find out, Castiel,” Mikhail said. Castiel wanted to throttle him, just a little.

“So you’re not going to kill Dean?” Castiel asked, choosing to focus on the hopeful part of this situation. If his lead Alpha wasn’t condemning him for potentially having a soft spot for a foreign Omega, perhaps this was going to turn out better than he’d expected.

The look on his brother’s face promptly ruined that. “I never said that. If we question him and find that he really is a spy, no amount of budding feelings will justify allowing him to live. Even if he’s kept alive, he will need to be brought into the brotherhood in some way to ensure his loyalty and the keeping of our secrets. If he refuses a position with us…”

“We’ll need to kill him.”

“Yes.”

Castiel looked down, staring hard at the papers on Mikhail’s desk. Another new emotion was working its way through his gut, slithering around in his stomach like an oily snake. Guilt. He felt guilty for pulling Dean into this situation, for forcing him into a place where he had to decide between joining an organized crime syndicate or death. This was his fault. To some degree, this was his fault.

He might blame me, Castiel thought. He might hate me after this.

He didn’t know what to do with that. He figured he’d deal with it later, then wondered if he was making a habit of pushing aside his feelings to be dealt with when he was ready. It wasn’t a good habit to have. If you eat your feelings, they’ll grow inside of you until you explode, his mother used to tell him. She’d been dead seventeen years, but Castiel still remembered the way she’d poke his nose from where he’d cuddled up next to her on her sickbed, upset because his brothers had been teasing him.

He wondered, in the back of his mind, if she would have liked Dean.

“Okay,” Castiel said, looking at his brother as steadily as he could manage. “I understand, Alpha Mikhail.”

His brother nodded, that strange sympathy in his eyes again. “Go get some rest, Castiel. And remember my orders. If I hear of you going near Dean before I allow it, I’ll be forced to discipline you.”

Castiel’s throat was strangely dry when he swallowed. His legs felt untrustworthy when he stood. “I understand, Alpha Mikhail. I won’t disobey.”

“Good,” his leader replied. He nodded at the door. “You’re dismissed.”

Castiel turned around and left the office without looking back.

Chapter Text

When the Krushnic brothers came to America on their Pakhan’s orders, Mikhail, the oldest, was only twenty-one. Castiel, the youngest, was eight, small and still grieving his mother and father’s death three years before. In the years after he and his brothers moved to America, he learned to channel that grief into rage and fuel. He learned to become a cold, ruthless killer, the best enforcer the American-branch bratva had ever seen.

The beginning of the end came when Castiel was nineteen. The Krushnic branch had just moved from Eden, North Carolina, across the country to a place in Washington state. And on the fourth week of operating the new burger restaurant that they used as their organization front, a young, seventeen year-old Omega came through their doors looking for a job.

They weren’t hiring. Their staff was made entirely of members of the brotherhood, tattooed Russians who spoke bad English and not-so-discreetly carried guns in their back pockets as they flipped burgers on a grill. And then a young Omega with too-big green eyes and a small, hopeful smile had come in, and that had changed.

Castiel hadn’t been working the register that day. He’d been waiting tables, nodding and smiling politely with customers. They were all the same, he discovered. Older men who didn’t seem to notice him, teenagers who blushed or acted awkwardly when he spoke to them, elderly ladies that cooed over his accent and handsome face. The Americans were kind, and Castiel found that he liked most of them. He secretly enjoyed working at the restaurant.

On that day, the doors opened and allowed inside a young man about two years Castiel’s junior, his pretty face and gorgeous eyes not quite masking the fact that his leather jacket was a little too big on his shoulders, his cheeks sunken just slightly with the look of a boy who regularly didn’t get enough to eat.

He’d walked up to the register and shyly asked Luke if they were hiring. Castiel didn’t think he’d ever understand why, but his older brother didn’t immediately turn Dean away that day. Instead, he’d grunted for the Omega to wait there and had gone back to the office to talk to Mikhail. Curious, Castiel had slipped into the back of the restaurant too, wanting to know what his oldest brother would say.

Maybe it was the fact that Luke had recently gotten married, that his new mate had softened his heart a little, or maybe fate was simply whispering in his ear. Either way, he said something to Mikhail in that office that convinced the Alpha to come out and meet Dean, to be swayed by his kind heart and sweet smile. Castiel pretended to wipe down the counters and listened as Dean explained that he needed a job so he could help his little brother get through college in a few years.

“He’s gonna be a lawyer at Stanford,” Dean had explained, pride stark in his voice. “I gotta help any way I can, y’know? So I was just wondering if I could work here, sir, because it seems like a nice place and I know you guys are new around here. I’ve got a résumé and everything!” He’d proudly produced a list of jobs and hours worked that was more than Castiel had seen on some thirty year-olds, let alone a boy that was still eight months out from being considered a legal adult.

It took days of deliberation, but the stars aligned. Mikhail had told Dean to come back next week, and when the young Omega showed up perfectly on time the day he was expected, Castiel’s oldest brother hired him. Dean had worked at Mystery Spot ever since, a bright, kind-hearted young man who took the time to learn how to say “hello” and “how are you” to the cooks in the back, who learned the customers’ names, memorized their orders, and never complained or faltered when he was told to do something. The Omega quickly became a beloved part of the restaurant, and by extension, the brotherhood it covered for.

Castiel doubted anyone in the Den knew that Dean was here, right now. He trusted that Anna and his men wouldn’t say anything. Castiel didn’t know what the members of the bratva would think of Dean joining their fold, but he prayed they would be welcoming. He hoped they’d heard enough stories of his kindness from the men who doubled as cooks in Mystery Spot to be fond of him.

Most of the high-ranking officers in the organization had rooms in the Den itself, even if they had homes outside of the compound. Castiel almost never stayed at his actual apartment, which was a penthouse somewhere in the city. There were only three penthouse apartments in that particular skyscraper, so Gadreel lived across the hall from him. Of the two of them, the stoic security guard returned to the building almost four times as much as Castiel did.

The blue-eyed enforcer’s bedroom in the Den was much more frequently used. In fact, when he slipped inside after his meeting with Mikhail, he found a half-finished croissant on the desk from that morning. Castiel pushed it aside as he sat down, resting his head in his hands so he could think a little bit.

He wasn’t surprised by Mikhail’s decision on Dean’s fate, though he was surprised by how accepting his brother had been about his apparent soft spot for the Omega. Castiel supposed it made sense. Luke had his mate, after all. And Gabriel had his rotation of people that he liked to spend his nights with. Affection for others outside the bratva wasn’t foreign to the Krushnic brothers. Maybe it was just that somewhere along the way, Castiel had convinced himself that it wasn’t an option for him.

He thought of his penthouse apartment in the city, far too large and far too empty. He didn’t even try to deny that he avoided going to his personal home for precisely that reason. Here in the Den, there were other people, other scents and sounds. There was always something going on, always someone to observe or talk to. Castiel rarely spoke to anyone, but it was nice to know there was the option. At his penthouse, there was only cold loneliness and a too-big empty bed.

Castiel exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. He refused to follow the path in his mind that considered what it would be like if there were someone there, if that person happened to be a certain Omega…

A knock sounded on his door, startling him out of the sound mental reprimand he was giving himself. Castiel patted his hair down as he got up to answer. “Who is it?” he called as he made his way over.

“Gadreel, Alpha Castiel. I wanted to know if you’d reached a decision on how to deal with Nikov,” a familiar voice replied.

Castiel pulled the door open and found himself face-to-face with his head of security. “Is he in a cell?” Castiel asked.

The tall Alpha nodded. “He seems pretty remorseful, not that it matters. Are you going to deal with him yourself?”

Castiel’s first instinct was to say yes, because that was what his inner Alpha was roaring for. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to deal the sentence justly, and that wasn’t allowable. He may be known for brutality and mercilessness, but not unfairness. Despite how badly he wanted to stomp down to that cell and deal Dean’s injuries back on Nikov tenfold, he knew he couldn’t.

“I’ll ask Gabriel to decide the punishment, and then I’ll administer it,” Castiel decided, figuring that was an acceptable arrangement. “Do you know where he is?”

“Beta Gabriel? He’s in the dining area, I believe,” Gadreel said. “I can explain the situation and ask him for his judgment, if you’d like.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” Castiel said. “I’ll meet you outside the cells in ten minutes.”

His head of security nodded and went to do as Castiel had asked. Castiel retreated back into his room, grimacing down at his blood-stiffened shirt. He supposed he could use those ten minutes to get cleaned up. He was fairly sure he had some blood splatters on his face, too.

It was easy to mentally detach himself from his body as he went through the familiar routine of cleaning up after a kill. Castiel grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and peeled off his ruined clothes, wiping his skin clean with the cloth. Castiel wiped his face off, too, grimacing at the pink that stained the rag once he’d finished. When he was clean, he applied some more deodorant and cologne, put on a fresh shirt, and attempted once again to tame his hair.

In the daytime, the Den was less active, most of the men sleeping off whatever late-night missions they’d had. When Castiel stepped out of his room and began the journey to the prison in the basement level of the house, he saw almost no one. The mansion was relatively quiet, little movement to be heard through the walls and floors.

No one bothered Castiel as he walked down to the prison. Those he did pass silently gave him a wide berth. Castiel didn’t mind the treatment; he was used to it, and he preferred being left alone, anyway. He wasn’t good at conversations that didn’t involve threats, negotiation, or strategizing. It was one of the many faults of his that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fix.

Gadreel was waiting for him when he reached the rooms that had been repurposed as prison cells for bratva members who needed to be disciplined. When Castiel walked up to him, he nodded his head respectfully in greeting.

“What was Gabriel’s verdict?” Castiel asked.

“Beta Gabriel decided that Nikov should be placed on probation and beaten with his own pistol eight times, once for every injury the Omega sustained,” Gadreel reported. He hesitated for half a second, then asked, “Is that… satisfying to you, Alpha Castiel?”

It didn’t matter if it was, since Castiel’s superior had decided the punishment and delivering a different one would be an act of insubordination. Still, Castiel appreciated the consideration. For the record, he wasn’t satisfied with the sentence, but that was the reason he’d gone to someone else to decide on one. He would have chosen a punishment far too harsh for the crime.

“It doesn’t matter; what Gabriel decided is law. Thank you for your assistance, Gadreel. I’ll take it from here,” Castiel said.

There were no locks on the doors in the Den’s cells. Leaving before being allowed was like asking to be branded a traitor and cast out of the brotherhood. If ever there was a crime that made keeping the prisoner in an unlocked cell dangerous, they shouldn’t have been alive in the first place.

When Castiel opened the door to the cell that was little more than an unfinished room, he trusted that Nikov would be waiting for him obediently. The new recruit was indeed inside, seated against the back wall with his legs drawn up to his chest, fingertips stroking over his scrap of a mustache in some sort of nervous tic. His eyes snapped up as Castiel came in, a flicker of fear flashing through them as he saw who it was.

“Get up,” Castiel snapped.

Nikov scrambled to a standing position and walked hesitantly to the center of the cell. Castiel shut the door behind him, then began a slow circle around the young man, eyes catching every move he made. He saw the way Nikov had clenched his fists at his sides, the tension in his jaw, the way his whole body was trembling lightly. Those were the signs of instinctual fear, a rabbit’s response to knowing a wolf was nearby.

Good. At least the boy was smart enough to be afraid.

“Beta Gabriel decided your punishment,” Castiel said after many moments of tense, loaded silence. “Do you understand why you’re receiving it?”

“Yes, Alpha Castiel,” Nikov replied quietly.

“Speak up, boy,” Castiel snapped. “Tell me why.”

“For attacking a civilian unprovoked, Alpha,” Nikov said, raising his voice a little. “For… For beating an Omega.”

“That last,” Castiel said, coming to a stop in front of the young man. “That’s the most important. Your vigilance and quickness to act are markings of a gifted watcher. You didn’t know why the Omega was near our building, especially when such sensitive operations were going on. You were right to be suspicious.”

“Really?” Nikov asked, glancing up in surprise. He didn’t seem naive enough to think he was being let off the hook, but he still seemed shocked to hear praise for his actions.

“But,” Castiel said, watching the boy’s shoulders slump, “you went too far. You didn’t need to use force in the first place, and after you did, you continued to use it.” He gritted his teeth, remembering that disgusting self-satisfaction on the boy’s face when he’d thrown Dean to the ground. “Tell me the Omega fought back. Tell me he attempted to hurt you after you confronted him for lurking near the building.”

Nikov swallowed, the sound of it loud in the silence after Castiel’s demand.

“I—He didn’t, Alpha.”

“The Motherland has many faults,” Castiel said, his voice quiet, silky smooth like the movements of a panther before it struck. “It has many, many faults, but one thing it does not get wrong is how it treats its Omegas. You understand, don’t you?” Nikov gave a tiny, shaky nod. “They are God’s gift to us foolish, stupid Alphas and Betas. They are kindness and love personified. They are not to be abused or beaten. They are not to be mistreated. And in this brotherhood, unless an Omega is actively threatening your life or those of your comrades, you will not harm them.”

Nikov flinched. “I understand, Alpha. I… I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” Castiel said. “Give me your gun.”

Nikov flinched again, his boots backing up half a step. His eyes were wide when he looked at Castiel, full of pleading. “Alpha—”

“I’m not going to kill you, you foolish boy,” Castiel snapped, holding out an impatient hand. “Give me the gun right now, or I might change my mind.”

Nikov did as he was asked. The gun he handed Castiel was cold and heavy in his hand. Castiel unloaded it and tossed the magazine to the side, watching as Nikov flinched at the loud clattering noise in the small space of the cell. His inner Alpha roared at the sign of weakness, demanding blood.

The first strike of the pistol-butt to Nikov’s face was satisfying in ways that it shouldn’t have been. The boy cried out in agony and fell to the side, a hand coming up to protect his face, then falling as he remembered he was being punished. Castiel sneered at the sound, dark pleasure flashing through him like a bolt of lightning.

The next strike was just as satisfying as the first. Castiel hit Nikov’s shoulder this time, blood spraying as a sharper edge of the gun cut into Nikov’s skin. The boy was so pale that he reminded Castiel of a peach. Castiel wanted to smash him into a pulp with the heel of his boot.

He settled for drawing more cries of agony, wringing them free with perverse pleasure. His inner Alpha snarled in satisfaction at the salty scent of tears. Castiel’s ears were buzzing with the high that came from blood drawn and pain inflicted on someone who deserved it. Every time the Beta beneath him whimpered in fear or agony, Castiel remembered the cruel satisfaction on his face as he’d thrown Dean to the floor. The Alpha administered the punishment without flinching, his heart hardened to the blood and pain that he brought forth. The boy needed to learn. The Krushnic bratva was many things, but Omega-abusers was not one of them.

Castiel, for his part, was kinder than he should have been. He should have struck the boy across the face all eight times, should have given him a head injury to match Dean’s. He should have done it hard enough to leave a dent in the boy’s skull, a reminder. But his mind wasn’t really on the punishment; it was on Dean. It had been about two hours now since he’d last seen the Omega. Had he woken since then? Was he frightened by his new surroundings? Did he think Castiel had abandoned him?

Castiel finished Nikov’s punishment and told the boy he was free to leave whenever he wished, though he was on probation for the foreseeable future. He left the young recruit to deal with his injuries, hoping he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to seek medical help for them. Castiel hadn’t done much damage beyond surface level, and the pain was part of the penance.

Feeling strangely satisfied, blood splattered across his shirt again, Castiel stepped out of the cell and found another newer recruit waiting for him. Her eyes went wide as she spotted the blood on his clothes and hands, but she managed a stammering, “A-Alpha Castiel,” without too much trouble.

“What?” Castiel snapped. She was wearing the dark bodysuit of a hitman, though she didn’t have any weapons at her belt. A hitman-in-training, then.

“Alpha Mikhail sent me to tell you to meet him in the infirmary,” the young woman said, practically tripping over her own words. “He says it’s urgent, so you should go as soon as possible. H-His words, Alpha, not mine.”

Castiel’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. “Did he say anything else?” he asked, tone sharp with urgency. Had something gone wrong? Had Dean’s condition worsened? If Mikhail was already there, did that mean he had already issued the ultimatum to the Omega?

“No, Alpha, he just said to meet him there—”

Castiel didn’t hear the rest of what she had to say. He’d already brushed past her, walking as quickly as he dared toward the stairs that would lead him out of the prison level. He forced his pace to remain hurried, but lower than a run. He didn’t want to seem suspicious. Despite how badly he wanted to see Dean, he knew he needed to remain calm.

Castiel’s mind raced the entire journey to the infirmary. Anna had said she’d let him know if Dean’s condition had worsened. If the message was coming from Mikhail, did that mean Dean was fine? Or did that mean Mikhail had just gotten there first and had been the one to send the message to Castiel?

A million different scenarios had already passed through Castiel’s head by the time he burst through the infirmary doors. He strode across the space toward Dean’s bed, straining to see the Omega even from across the room.

Dean was… sitting up? He was awake. Anna was bent over near him, checking his vitals. Mikhail stood off to the side, hands clasped behind his back, looking to be deep in thought.

“Alpha Mikhail,” Castiel greeted as he arrived, forcing himself to look at his leader instead of at Dean, like he desperately wanted to. It was how the hierarchy worked, but it was nearly impossible to keep up when Castiel could feel Dean’s gaze burning into the side of his face. Was he frightened? Was he angry? Was he frightened and looking for comfort, was he angry at Castiel? Castiel had to force his hands to close into fists at his sides, a physical representation of the iron fist on his desires.

“Castiel,” Mikhail said. When he spoke, it was in accented English, likely for Dean’s benefit. “Dean has just finished recounting his version of events to me. It seems you were right in guessing that he didn’t provoke Nikov.”

Castiel exhaled, feeling something like a weight lift off of his chest at that knowledge. “Good. Did he tell you why he was there in the first place?” He swore he could physically feel Dean’s green eyes resting on him, heavy and impossible to ignore. It was a near-impossible struggle to keep his gaze on his brother, to force his face to remain neutral.

Mikhail nodded at Dean, a signal for the Omega to speak for himself. Only at that indication did Castiel finally allow himself to look at the young man in the infirmary bed. Dean looked small and frightened in the pale shirt and pants Anna must have changed him into. The bruise on his face was horribly swollen now, overtaking nearly his entire left eye.

“I was on that side of town anyway, Mr. Krushnic,” Dean explained. His voice was shaky, but Castiel could tell he was trying to be brave. “I swear, I only wanted to check on the restaurant. I was… I was curious to know if they’d managed to clean the blood up or not. And then I saw the cars, and I wanted to see them, and then… And then, um, Nikov showed up.”

Castiel figured it was a sincere story. He believed it, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think his decision-making wasn’t clouded by his soft spot for Dean. If Mikhail believed the Omega, however, Castiel knew he could be trusted.

“There is, of course, the complication of Dean’s knowledge of the true nature of Mystery Spot,” Mikhail said, his tone calm, his words factual. “I’ve already explained to him the decision he will have to make.”

Castiel observed Dean carefully, taking in the way his shoulders were curved inward, the way his gaze stayed fixed on the pale sheets of the bed he was sitting in. “I… I’m sorry, Mr. Krushnic, but I don’t… I still don’t understand what you want me to do,” he said, flicking nervous eyes up at Mikhail. “I-I mean, what would I do? If I… If I were to take the job offer?”

“Your role wouldn’t be too involved,” Mikhail said, and if Castiel didn’t know his brother better, he might have thought he was trying to be soothing. “You wouldn’t even need to leave the restaurant. You would only have to deliver special packages or messages to members of the brotherhood that come through and give you a special code word. Low risk.”

Dean nodded, looking as if that hadn’t comforted him at all. “Would, um… Would I have to get tattoos?” he asked.

Mikhail looked surprised by the question. “What makes you ask that?”

“Well, um, you and the other, uh, Mr.’s Krushnic have lots of ‘em. E-Everyone does,” Dean said. He glanced at Anna, whose pale skin bore several tattoos as well. “And, um… I dunno, I just thought I would have to.”

“Perhaps a small one,” Mikhail said, seeming thoughtful. “Just to show who you are protected by.”

Castiel wasn’t sure why, but the thought of putting a mark on Dean, the mark of his brotherhood, of his protection… For some reason, that sent a tingle of warmth through him.

“Okay,” Dean said, still looking unsure. He glanced at Castiel, almost as if he was seeking reassurance. Castiel didn’t know what the Omega saw in his face. Probably blankness.

“Your concussion should be alright in a few weeks,” Anna said, interrupting the brief silence that had descended upon their little group. “If you get some rest and sleep, you’ll feel fine soon. And for your abrasions, just make sure you keep them clean. Everything else should be alright.”

Dean gave her a small smile, and despite how awful he must have been feeling, it still seemed to give extra warmth to the room. “Thanks, ma’am.”

Anna laughed a little and patted his shoulder. “Just Anna, sweetheart.” She got up and began to put her things away, evidently uninterested in being a part of the conversation regarding Dean’s fate.

Mikhail seemed prepared for a response on that subject, and despite the patience in his tone, it was clear he was asking for an answer when he said, “So, Dean? Do you think you’re interested in a pay raise?”

The Omega blinked, glancing at Mikhail disbelievingly. “Wait. You’re gonna pay me more?”

Castiel’s brother frowned slightly. “Of course. You’re receiving extra duties, so it only makes sense for you to be compensated for them.”

Dean stared at the man somewhat blankly. “So you’re giving me a decision between death, or life with a job where I get paid more for delivering a couple letters every now and then?”

A pause. “That’s… remarkably simplified, but yes, I suppose,” Mikhail said.

Castiel was sure that only a man as sweet and lighthearted as Dean could have smiled at that moment. He seemed to be oblivious to the situation he was in, the dilemma he’d been given, but Castiel knew that wasn’t true. He’d just taken the problem as a whole and decided to see the bright side of it.

“Well, it’s not really much of a decision, is it?” Dean asked. He laughed a little, and the sound did something odd to the way Castiel’s lungs pulled in air. “I, uh… I accept your offer, Mr. Krushnic.”

And then Castiel’s brother did something that was so out of character, Castiel might have thought he was dreaming if he hadn’t known better. When he heard Dean’s response, Mikhail Krushnic smiled. Small, barely-there, but definitely present and definitely filled with something that looked dangerously close to fondness.

“Well then, Dean,” he said. “Welcome to the brotherhood.”

Chapter Text

Dean thought the Russians were gonna do something crazy and force him to stay at their base or something, but they let him go after the red-haired doctor—Anna, Dean was pretty sure she’d said—gave the okay.

A different person than Aleksandr drove Dean home. Dean had never seen her before, but she was another Omega and she smelled nice, like springtime flowers and fresh soil. She kept staring at him when she thought he wasn’t looking as he’d been directed into the back of the SUV, as if he couldn’t feel the weight of her dark gaze.

The car Dean was driven in had no windows in the backseat. He wasn’t able to see where they were going or where they’d come from. He guessed it was a safety precaution, in case he was a bad guy or something that would give away the location of their base. He supposed that was an understandable assumption. Dean wasn’t a bad guy, but he realized he’d have to prove that.

He’d never told the Omega driving the car where he lived, but she dropped him off at the same apartment that Aleksandr had the day before, so Dean figured they were keeping tabs on him. He thanked her when she stopped and unlocked the doors, letting him out. She didn’t say a word, but Dean thought she nodded before he shut the door and she drove away.

Outside, it was dusk. Dean had been at that compound for longer than he’d thought, because it had only been midafternoon when that kid had attacked him outside Mystery Spot. At least, Dean was pretty sure. His memory was kinda fuzzy. He wasn’t sure if that would get worse in the coming days or not, but Anna had assured him that his head injury wasn’t as bad as the bruise made it seem.

As Dean stared up at the shape his rundown apartment building cut against the twilight sky, he wondered what his father was doing. If Dean was guessing right, it was around eight o’clock in the evening, still too early for him to get home from Mystery Spot. His dad had been so drunk yesterday that he’d probably forgotten that Dean was supposed to have the day off today, so he would likely end up getting mad at Dean all over again.

Dean wasn’t excited about that, but Washington was being bitchy in the springtime, and it couldn’t have been warmer than forty degrees. Apparently the Russians had taken his clothes and burned them while he’d been unconscious, so he was only wearing the gray pants and short-sleeve shirt he’d been given in the infirmary. It was fucking freezing, and Dean knew he couldn’t stall outside for another hour.

Besides, his dad was bound to have questions anyway, considering Dean had a massive bruise the size of a fucking baseball on the left side of his face. That Nikov kid had hit him like a Goddamn wannabe Jackie Robinson. His dad was gonna be pissed.

Resigning himself to at least a verbal lashing, if not a full-on beating, Dean began the trek up the stairs to his floor. His face throbbed with the beat of his heart as he dragged himself up the flights of stairs. His chest hurt from being kicked so much, too. Overall, he felt pretty shitty, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to get beat up on any more. Dean didn’t even want to think about the state his inner Omega was in right now. It was ugly, that was all he wanted to acknowledge.

He got to the door and figured out he didn’t have his keys, because he didn’t have his Goddamn backpack. He had no idea if the Russians had it, or if they’d burned it along with his clothes. Fuck, he hoped not.

For some reason, the thought of losing everything he had in that backpack—his extra clothes, his blockers and suppressants, his Goddamn fucking bus money—made his eyes burn traitorously. It was just the cap on an overall shitty day, and Dean didn’t want to deal with it. Fighting the tightness in his throat, Dean bent down and searched out the spare key he knew was underneath the back left corner of the mat. It stuck a little in the lock, but with some jiggling, it fit.

Dean expected the scent of alcohol as soon as he entered the apartment, but he found it strangely quiet and still. Frowning, he locked the door behind him and inhaled, searching out his father’s scent. He found it, after some searching, but it smelled several hours old. The whole apartment smelled as if it hadn’t been occupied since that morning.

Dean didn’t dare call out for his dad, in case he was sleeping. He quietly went to check his dad’s bedroom and found that it was empty.

Acting on a hunch, Dean dug into the hall closet, searching for the duffel bag his dad took with him on trips. Just as he’d suspected, it was gone. His dad had taken off. Wherever he was, he probably wouldn’t be back for a few days at least.

Dean had no idea how he’d gotten the money, but he guessed his dad was off somewhere on a gambling trip. The thought shouldn’t have upset him so much, but as he walked quietly into the empty living room and saw the empty bottles scattered around and the stack of dirty dishes in the sink, Dean felt something inside of him sort of crack open.

His dad had left. He hadn’t even bothered to leave a Goddamn note. He’d just up and disappeared, leaving behind a mess to clean up and an empty apartment.

I could’a been gone for a week, Dean thought miserably. I could have been tortured by Russians or crazy psychopaths. They could be demanding a ransom or something, and Dad wouldn’t have even been here to get the note. Fucking hell.

Something in his chest was squeezing, clenched viciously tight by the emotion that was building in his ribcage. It was his heart, he was pretty sure, and it fucking ached. After the past few days he’d had, his heart felt like an overripe peach, bruised on the outside and too soft on the inside. All that pressure just smashed it flat, crushed it into one nasty, pulpy, pathetic mess.

Dean didn’t want to sit in the ratty recliner, which was the only place to sit in the living area. He didn’t want to be surrounded by empty bottles and the faded stench of cigarettes and frustrated, angry Alpha. So he dragged himself down the short hallway to his room, where he closed his door quietly and pulled off his boots and collapsed into bed and finally, finally felt the first of his tears slip free.

The tears were built up like a dam inside of him. Once he let a few go, the rest quickly began to break free. The first quiet sob Dean released felt so strangely good that he let out another one, and then soon he was full-on ugly crying like some girl who’d been dumped by her date on prom night.

Except he wasn’t a girl who’d been stood up. He was someone who’d gotten shot at yesterday and yelled at by his dad and then had the shit beat out of him and then had somehow joined the Russian mafia, all in the span of thirty-six hours. He was someone who’d come home from a pretty traumatic experience and found that the place he’d returned to wasn’t a home, not really. He was someone who’d been secretly scared out of his mind for the past God knew how long, and he’d just come back to find that the only “protector” he had in his life was fucking gone, off who-knew-where working himself deeper into debt.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Dean said aloud, sniffling pathetically. “F-Fuck, fuck.” His chest heaved with another sob, one that he felt from the very bottom of his lungs. God, everything fucking sucked.

He weakly wiped his face and grabbed his blanket, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. His Omega was crying for something else, something more, but Dean knew going to grab the blankets off his dad’s bed would likely only make the situation worse. His dad wasn’t a safe person, and he hadn’t been for a long time. Dean wanted something else, and he was too scared of what it was to think about it too much.

If his calculations were right, his heat was coming up in about two weeks, maybe a little more. The suppressants would do their jobs, just like they had since he’d first presented at sixteen. But even with most of the physical ailments of a heat kept at bay, Dean was still feeling the faint urges and desires of an Omega nearing heat, and right now all he wanted was an Alpha to cuddle him and make him feel safe.

He didn’t have any blankets to nest with, save for the ragged one he was wrapping tight around himself right now. His apartment wasn’t safe enough for a nest anyway. Dean had no idea where he would want to nest if he allowed himself to, but it wouldn’t be here. There were too many memories of old beatings and chronic fear etched into these walls.

Dean’s stomach rumbled a little, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since that snack he’d had at Amara’s diner more than seven hours ago. Dean cried harder, too tired and wrung out to deal with it. He wanted… He wanted…

He wanted things he couldn’t have.

He wanted an Alpha to cuddle him, to pet his hair and soothe his crying with a comforting rumble. He wanted a warm meal, not something half-cooked in the microwave. He wanted a real nest, somewhere he could curl up and feel safe in, somewhere that smelled of home and protection instead of old fear and faded Alpha rage. He wanted to hold his little brother in his arms, to smell the budding Alpha scent of him and tell him in-person that he was proud of him. He wanted to be somewhere where his loved ones were safe, where he was safe, where he didn’t need to worry about getting enough to eat and his physical safety and whether or not he was gonna get fired or pay the bills on time or get beaten by his dad.

He wanted things he couldn’t have.

And really, what made everything so pathetic was that the list of things Dean really wanted was so far out of his grasp that it would be laughable if it wasn’t so depressing. And the things that he would settle for were so pathetic and still so far out of reach, it was a wonder he could bear to go through his day to day life like he did.

Dean would settle for a father that actually gave even a fraction of a damn about him. He’d settle for six hours of sleep instead of five. He’d settle for an extra blanket that he could use to layer over himself instead of just one pathetic, tattered excuse for a sheet. He’d settle for the security of knowing that he would at least have a meal waiting for him at home, even if it was microwavable and made him feel sick to his stomach. He would settle for those things, but he didn’t know the first step toward getting them. He’d worked himself deep into a rut. In many ways, he was just like his father, digging himself deeper into dependence on certain things until one day, it would be fatal when those things got cut off. Only instead of alcohol, Dean was dependent on his jobs, on his employers’ goodwill.

The only bright spot in the storm Dean had worked himself up into was the promise of more pay at Mystery Spot. Dean had no idea how much he’d be getting, but anything more was better, right? And unless they were lying to him, the requirements of his new job didn’t sound too grueling or illegal. Dean really hoped he hadn’t been lied to.

Some stupid, naive part of him had trusted his employers when he’d accepted his newer position. Of course, he’d been up against becoming part of their mafia or death, so the choice had been pretty easy, but Dean couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that trusted Castiel and Mikhail not to lie to him about what he would have to do now that he’d joined their organization. That was the kind of idiocy that would get him killed, but that didn’t make it go away.

Thinking of his new job helped direct Dean’s thoughts away from how shitty he felt. Eventually, his tears stopped, leaving him feeling drained and tired. He got up and limped into the bathroom so he could take a half-hearted shower, wincing every time he moved wrong or the water hit one of his injuries.

Dean re-wrapped the scrapes on his forearms from when he’d hit the asphalt outside of Mystery Spot. He gritted his teeth, pain shooting through his whole body every time he moved his face the wrong way. The bruise on his cheek looked awful, and Dean was sure it would only get worse by morning. He prayed Amara wouldn’t get upset about it. He could imagine her kicking him out or something for looking like a thug.

Dean changed into his softest sweatpants and shirt, chucking the clothes he’d gotten from the compound in the corner of the room. He might have scented them first, unsure of what exactly he was searching for, but he only found the scent of his own blood and sadness.

When he was ready for bed, Dean cracked the window to air out the room a little and curled up stiffly in his bed, closing his tired eyes. The combination of the day he’d endured and the crying session he’d had earlier meant that he was nothing short of completely exhausted. It was easy for him to slip off into dreamless sleep almost immediately.

Dean was woken far too early by the beeping of his alarm. Groggy and still exhausted, he turned it off and slowly got ready for the day, every movement hindered by soreness. The kicks that kid had dealt to his body ached, and his face throbbed with agony when he so much as brushed it while taking off his shirt.

Luckily, the swelling had gone down a little on his cheek, so he could see out of it better. The bruising still looked horrific, but Dean tried to look on the bright side of things. He put a little concealer on the edges of it, trying to make it look less obvious, and he figured that would have to be enough.

Dean didn’t have his wallet or his backpack, but he dug some tip money out from the stash he’d made for emergencies, hoping he could find a spare apron in the back of Amara’s diner so she wouldn’t fine him for losing his other one. Dean left the apartment a little early to give himself time to make his way to the bus station, his body still sore and slow.

Ernie did a double-take when Dean climbed onto his bus, but he didn’t ask any probing questions. He just said, “Rough day yesterday?”

Dean exhaled. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

The bus driver shook his head and left him alone after that, which Dean was strangely thankful for. He figured in a city like this, Ernie saw a lot of weird shit. It was a little comforting to know he wasn’t super conspicuous.

The cooks in the diner barely looked at him when he slipped into the back. Dean found an old, musty apron in one of the bins in the storage room and put it on, grateful for his luck in finding it. When he walked out to the dining area to clock in, it was as if nothing had happened yesterday, save for his face.

And then his boss saw him.

“What in God’s name happened to you?” Amara demanded. Dean heard the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles of the diner floor before he saw her. He had to sort of swing his head around to the left to get a good look at her. His eye was still swollen and a little blurry.

“I, um… I got mugged,” Dean said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Nikov hadn’t wanted to kill him, but he certainly hadn’t seemed partial to dealing some damage.

“You look hideous,” Amara snapped. “I don’t want you waiting tables today. You can be in the back doing dishes and organizing to-go orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean muttered, turning to go to the back.

“And I’m docking your pay for you only working half your duties today!” Amara called after him.

That made Dean grit his teeth. He hadn’t been expecting sympathy from his boss, but he also hadn’t been expecting her to dock his pay for something he couldn’t control, like getting mugged. It wasn’t his fault he’d been attacked by a psycho Russian kid out for blood. Well, it had kind of been his fault, since he shouldn’t have been near Mystery Spot anyway, but still. Amara didn’t know that. For all she was aware of, he’d just gotten mugged and that was it.

Dean wasn’t going to argue, though. The docked pay sucked, but with his father’s alcohol consumption gone from the house for a few days and the promise of increased pay at his other job, it wasn’t nearly as devastating as it might have been even a couple days ago. And besides, he didn’t mind working in the back. Doing dishes was simple and easy. It was hard work, sure, but it was a lot better than dealing with some of the customers that frequented Amara’s cafe.

Dean made himself busy with the dishes and the to-go orders for the rest of the morning. Moving around heavy pots and pans was hell on his bruised torso and chest, but it wasn’t too bad. At least he didn’t have to try to navigate the dining area with one and a half eyes. That plus a tray full of food was a recipe for disaster.

It was Saturday morning, the diner’s busiest time of week. Dean was buried in tall stacks of dirty dishes until the end of his shift, when he finally managed to clear the counter next to him and load all the plates and trays into the massive, industrial dishwasher. Relieved to be finished, body aching with tiredness, Dean tugged his apron over his head and quietly snuck into the dining area to clock out at the register, keeping his head ducked so none of the lingering customers could see the massive bruise on his face.

Dean took the bus toward the edge of the city, where Mystery Spot was located. He felt strangely relieved as he walked through the parking lot toward the back doors of the restaurant. Of all three of the jobs that he worked, this one was his favorite.

Aleksandr was in the back, frying food as usual. He grunted and gave Dean a nod when he said hello. Dean got an identical greeting from the second cook, a man with tattoos of a wolf and something like a turtle on either side of his bald head. Neither of them said anything about the bruise, though Dean felt the bald cook’s eyes linger on it for longer than a few seconds.

Gabriel was in the front manning the register today, something Dean noted with no small amount of disappointment. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so disappointed, right up until Castiel emerged from the back office and Dean felt all those sour feelings burn off like fog underneath the morning sun. He tried not to let his excitement show as he quietly greeted the dark-haired Alpha. Castiel barely seemed to notice him until Dean said something.

“Dean-o, follow me to the back,” Gabriel said as Castiel took over at the register. “I’ve gotta show you the ropes with this new position of yours.”

Dean nodded, following the blond Beta to the back of the restaurant. He glanced over his shoulder at Castiel as he went, unsure what he was hoping to see, and found the Alpha completely engrossed in scribbling notes in the thick ledger that usually sat underneath the front desk. Right. Castiel didn’t even really know he existed.

Dean wasn’t sure why he had his hopes up. Maybe he’d gotten spoiled on all the interactions he’d had with the youngest Krushnic brother in the past few days. He’d been talked to, referred to by name, and even smiled at, and he’d somehow decided that made him special. Obviously, an Alpha like Castiel didn’t really care about Dean. If anything, he’d just been worried about having a civilian death on his hands or something. That would probably get kinda messy.

I ain’t a civilian anymore, though, Dean remembered. I’m… I’m a criminal?

He had no idea. He didn’t really want to think about it. It was easier to just follow Gabriel to the back office and listen to what he was saying. Dean’s brain wasn’t very good at thinking, anyway.

“All our code words are in Spanish,” the Beta said over his shoulder as he led the way into the office.

Dean blinked, following him in. “They are?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Yep. Betcha didn’t expect that one.” Gabriel shut the door behind Dean, then sat down at the desk and unlocked it with a key that he seemed to produce out of nowhere. He pulled the drawer out and reached inside, grabbing a stack of four envelopes, a small box that couldn’t have been larger than one that was used for containing shoes, and a cylindrical object wrapped in black cloth. “These are the things you’re expected to hand off today.”

Dean stared at the six items on the desk. “Okay. How, um… How am I supposed to know which one goes to who?”

“They’ll hand you a piece of paper with a code word on it,” Gabriel said. “The code word corresponds with these numbers. I’m assuming you can at least count to ten in Spanish?”

“Uh, yeah. I can do that,” Dean said, trying to remember all those Spanish classes he’d been forced to take in middle school. He was pretty sure he could do that.

“Perfect,” Gabriel said. “Now, you’re gonna imagine that the numbers zero through ten are written out on a paper, right? And you’re gonna reverse them, and that’s the code. So if someone gives you a cero, really they mean diez. Does that make sense?”

Dean stared at him. “Um… I think so? So if I get a message that says, uh, uno, they’re really asking for nine?”

“Nueve, yes. That’s our code,” Gabriel said. He sounded pretty proud of it, but…

“That’s kind of simple,” Dean said. Gabriel raised an eyebrow, and Dean hurried to explain, to correct himself. “I-I mean, it just seems kinda, uh, simple for—for the organization, that’s all. I don’t, um, I don’t mean to be offensive or anything.”

“You were expecting some code with… oh, God, what’s the English word for it?” Gabriel glowered grumpily at the wall, snapping his fingers, as if the sound would jog his memory. “The picture letters. The ones those Egyptian guys used.”

“Hieroglyphs?”

“Yeah. You were expecting that kind of a code?”

Dean hesitated. “I mean… Yeah, kinda.”

The Beta, to his surprise, gave an amused snort. “There’s a point where secrecy comes at the cost of efficiency, Dean-o. So far, no one knows about this code, let alone knows how to crack it. And I’ve just told you a secret, so if you tell anyone outside the bratva, we’ll have to kill you.” He gave Dean a cheery smile, then frowned. “Well, we’d probably have to torture you and then kill you. There’s repercussions for that kind of thing. Which reminds me! I need to teach you about our rules of respect.”

Dean gulped. “Yes, please.”

Gabriel rubbed his hands together, nodding. “Well, the first and most important one is that you always need to refer to your superiors—which is basically everyone right now—with their designation first. Alpha Castiel, Alpha Mikhail, Beta Anna, that kind of thing. You’re doubly protected right now, since you’re a foreigner and a certain someone will rip apart anyone that tries to hurt you, but try not to overstep, even if it’s accidental.”

Dean blinked. There was a lot to unpack there. “Wait, what do you mean, someone will rip apart anyone that—”

“Moving on,” Gabriel said, cutting Dean off cheerily. “All of our members know that you don’t speak Russian, so they won’t try to communicate with you in that way. Some of them speak English, anyway, so I assume it’ll be fine. We’ve had American members before, but usually they’re cops, so you’re kinda unconventional. Not to worry, though! As long as you do your job, you’ll be fine.”

Dean felt a little faint, and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his recent head injury. “No torturing or killing?”

“Nope! Just do your best. You’re a quick learner; you’ll get it soon,” Gabriel said. He didn’t seem worried, and if Dean hadn’t been so concerned for his own physical health, he might have been flattered by the amount of faith the Beta had in him.

As it stood, the task didn’t seem too challenging. Dean would need to remember the whole number-switching thing, but other than that, he was pretty sure he’d be alright.

He felt only somewhat anxious as he followed Gabriel out of the office, the items he was supposed to deliver waiting back on the desk for him to access when he needed to.

As he passed the food window, he heard a voice say, “Dean.”

Dean turned and found Aleksandr nudging a tray of food toward him. He blinked in surprise at the bacon cheeseburger and fries, wondering for half a second if he was supposed to deliver it. But no, the dining area was empty.

“Um…,” Dean said uncertainly, glancing at the Alpha questioningly.

“For you,” Aleksandr explained. “Alpha wants you to eat.”

Bewildered, Dean thanked him and took the tray of food. He remembered what Gabriel had said about referring to his superiors by their designations, and he realized that the only Alpha that outranked Aleksandr in this restaurant right now was Castiel. Had that been the Alpha the cook had been referring to? But why did he care whether Dean ate or not?

Even though he was confused, Dean wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He snuck out to the eating area with his tray of food and sat in the corner opposite the booth he’d been sitting in when the gunman had come in. Somehow, the padded upholstery of the booth had been replaced so that it looked as if it had never been ruptured by a bullet.

Gabriel and Castiel were conversing quietly in Russian near the register. Dean tucked into his burger, immensely grateful that he was being fed again. It felt strange to accept free food, but again, he wasn’t going to complain. The meal didn’t cost him anything, and it was delicious. He couldn’t ask for anything better.

He was in the middle of stuffing his face with fries when he sensed someone approaching. Dean glanced up and saw Castiel walking over to him, his booted feet eerily silent on the tiles of the dining area. Embarrassed, Dean wiped his mouth and hands before saying, “Hi, Mr. Krushnic. I-I mean, um, Alpha Krushnic. Alpha Mr. Krushnic?”

Fuck, he was gonna die. His first day on the job, and he was gonna get shot not even thirty minutes in.

Castiel, to his shock, didn’t get upset. In fact, there seemed to be something like amusement in the Alpha’s blue eyes as he said, “Just Castiel.”

Blushing furiously enough for there to be no hope of Castiel not noticing, Dean mumbled, “Sorry, Alpha Castiel.” The man’s first name felt strange on his tongue, but not bad strange. Just… unfamiliar.

Dean kinda liked it.

“I want to talk to you about your training,” Castiel said. He slid into the booth seat opposite Dean, surprising the Omega a little.

Dean had to physically restrain himself from doing something stupid like nudging his legs out to see if they could brush against Castiel’s under the table. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the Alpha being so close made his inner Omega go wild. “Um, my training? What do you mean, sir? Alpha? Shit.”

There was definitely amusement in Castiel’s voice as he said, “Just Alpha, Dean. It’s alright; you’re learning. And by your training, I mean physical training. I can assess from yesterday that you have little to no hand-to-hand combat skills?”

Well Jesus, when he said it like that, it made Dean sound like even more of a useless sack of shit than he already knew he was. Ducking his head to hide his ashamed blush, Dean muttered, “Um, yeah.”

He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault, but that would be lying. Throughout his life, he’d learned to curl up and take the punches as they came instead of fighting back. It was the easiest way to get through a beating, and it was a habit that had made a coward out of him. He’d never really thought of it until now, when it seemed so humiliating to talk about with someone like Castiel.

A weird part of Dean wished he were more impressive. He wished he knew jiu jitsu or some bullshit thing like that, so he didn’t seem like a complete waste of space. Right now, sitting over the empty tray of food he’d just devoured, Dean felt like less than nothing in front of the beautiful, deadly Alpha seated across from him.

Castiel wasn’t looking at him like he was nothing, though. There was something almost… soft, about his blue eyes. “That’s alright,” he said, sounding strangely gentle. “You can be taught. Have you ever fired a gun before?”

Dean blanched. “Um, yeah, but only at, like, a deer or a row of cans. Never, uh… Never…”

“Never at a person.”

“N-No.”

“Let us pray to God you won’t ever have to,” Castiel said. “I just wanted to know if you had experience with them. Oftentimes, people get a strange thought in their heads about guns. They think that they are bad, or dangerous, when they are little more than tools that can be very efficient in harming people when put in the right hands. I’m glad to know that you are more intelligent than that.”

Dean didn’t think he’d ever been called intelligent in his life. He was pretty sure the tips of his ears were about to quite literally catch on fire, right there in that stupid booth seat. “So, um, I… I have to know all this stuff? To be part of your group?”

“It would be preferred,” Castiel said. “I want you to know how to defend yourself.”

God, Dean’s face would not fucking cool down. He probably looked like a fucking cherry tomato. “Okay. And, um, the tattoo? Mr. Krush—Alpha Mikhail said that I would need to get one, maybe.”

“Yes, I was thinking about that,” Castiel said. “I believe the best thing for you to put on your body is our family crest, which is a set of angel’s wings. All the extra markings and rankings don’t need to be applied, since you are a fringe member, but it’s important that you still have a marking of ownership.”

An Alpha like Castiel should not have legally been allowed to say something like “marking of ownership” in that gravelly voice of his. Dean prayed that his little shiver wasn’t visible when he said, “Okay. Where should I get it?”

“We have our own tattoo artists,” Castiel assured him. He frowned at Dean, eyes roving over his upper body for a moment before coming to a stop somewhere on his left arm. “I think perhaps putting the mark on your left shoulder would be a good idea. Symbolic. That is where your people place their flag, is it not?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“We are your flag, too. Your cause that you give yourself to, but also your protectors,” Castiel said. He nodded to himself a little, as if confirming his own words. “Yes, that will be sufficient.”

It was surprisingly… not that bad. Dean had been expecting them to demand he get a tattoo across his forehead or something. Or one on his dick. He’d heard of those, too. Just having one on his shoulder would be easy, discreet. And if it was something simple like angel wings… He wouldn’t mind.

Dean thought about getting that tattoo even as he cleaned up after himself and started his shift. He wondered how large it would have to be, and what the design would look like. He couldn’t stop thinking of the way Castiel had said “ownership,” either, which was just his stupid brain being depraved. Dean wanted to smack himself whenever a randomly dirty thought crossed his mind about just how he’d let someone like Castiel lay ownership to him. Logically, it made sense, since he was a young Omega near heat and Castiel was a desirable Alpha in the nearby area. Still, it didn’t mean having gross thoughts about his superior was okay.

The restaurant was busy. Dean was so focused on keeping up with everything and managing his thoughts that he was completely unprepared for a young Asian Beta to hand over a piece of paper along with his credit card after he’d ordered a milkshake, the word siete scribbled on it.

Seven, Dean’s brain translated. Shit, he’d just received his first secret message.

He had to awkwardly stuff the milkshake in a plastic bag so that the envelope wouldn’t be seen as he handed it back to the Beta. The young man made no indication that anything had happened as he took his order from Dean, but Dean knew that their exchange had been deliberate. He tried not to let onto anything as he bid the Beta a good night and went about cleaning the countertop of oily marks and fingerprints.

The secret orders trickled in, two of them coming right after the other, the others more spaced out. By the last one, Dean had mastered the art of pretending like nothing was happening. He delivered the envelopes or little packages tucked away underneath neatly packed food in to-go boxes, always careful to keep it discreet and out of sight.

By the end of the night, Dean had delivered all of his little items successfully. He felt surprisingly relieved by the end of the shift, a weight he hadn’t even known he’d had on his shoulders lifting at the realization that his first night had been successful.

“Nice job, Dean-o,” Gabriel said, winking at him as he went to lock up the register. “Told you you’d be fine.”

Dean managed a weak smile for the Beta, silently relieved that he’d lived up to his expectations. Maybe he was going to keep his head after all.

He clocked out and finished wiping down everything for the night. As he was getting ready to leave, a familiar gravelly voice said, “Dean, come here.”

Dean turned and found Castiel beckoning him toward the office. Suddenly irrationally nervous, the Omega followed his employer into the back, wondering if he’d done something wrong. He was just about to ask if he was in trouble when Castiel ducked into the office and came back out holding his backpack.

“Oh,” Dean said, taking the bag from the Alpha, relief making his nose prickle. He tried not to be too obvious as he hugged it to his chest. “Thank you, I… I thought you might have burned it or something.”

“No, of course not,” Castiel said. He was looking at the backpack like it might have a secret to tell him or something. It took the Alpha a moment to say, “I put some cream in there for you. For your bruises. They looked… painful.”

Dean blinked, shocked. “Oh, wow. That’s… That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Alpha Castiel.” He didn’t know what surprised him more: the unexpected kind gesture, or the fact that the Alpha seemed so awkward about it. In all his time knowing him, Dean had never imagined Castiel as someone who could be awkward. It seemed the stoic, broody Alpha was human after all.

“Of course. Have a good night, Dean,” Castiel said, picking at his fingernails. It almost looked like a nervous tic. “Get some good rest.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Dean said. He said goodnight to the cooks, then to Gabriel, and then he left the restaurant. He felt oddly light as he walked toward the bus stop, some of his bodily aches from before forgotten. There was something strange about knowing that Castiel had noticed his bruises, that he’d taken the time to find a cream for them and put that in Dean’s bag. Dean didn’t really know what the feeling was, but it felt something like satisfaction. He didn’t think he really wanted to analyze it right now. Maybe later. Maybe never.

Despite his desire to push down the feelings he had for Castiel that were definitely not anything more than a stupid little hormone-induced crush, Dean still felt optimistic and happy as he made his way back to his apartment. He applied the bruise cream before he went to bed that night and was delighted to find that it had numbing tendencies.

Dean fell asleep that night feeling more comfortable than he had all week, his injuries barely noticeable, his body relaxed with the knowledge that his father was nowhere near. And when his mind as he drifted off was filled with thoughts of a handsome blue-eyed Alpha, he blamed it on his hormones and the fact that his heat was coming up in a week or two.

That was all it really was, after all.

Just some stupid hormones.

Chapter Text

Dean actually didn’t mind the new aspect of his job, despite the fact that it was probably ten kinds of illegal. He liked being useful. It was a simple task, too. All it took was some careful double-checking and some common sense, and Dean was fine. And the best part? He was now getting paid double what he got paid at Amara’s diner and Sandover combined.

The first time Castiel had handed him the paycheck, Dean had stared at it in disbelief. It had taken him way too long to finally manage a quiet, “Um, Alpha, this… This doesn’t seem right.”

“What doesn’t?” Castiel had asked, eyebrow raised.

Dean had been wary of doing anything that might come off as disrespectful, including questioning Castiel’s calculating skills, but the number on his check just seemed far too high. “I… I don’t think I’m supposed to get paid this much, Alpha. I don’t really do enough to earn such a big increase.” He’d laughed nervously, hoping to offset the very obvious way he was arguing with something Castiel had decided.

The logical part of him was screaming at him to shut up and take the Goddamn money. The other part of him, the one that tried to be a good person, just wanted to make sure he wasn’t cheating the only good employers he had.

But Castiel had fixed him with that strangely gentle look and said, “That’s the correct amount, Dean. Your services are valuable. More so than you know.”

Dean hadn’t known what to do with that, so he’d just done that stupid fish-mouth thing where his jaw opened and closed and no sound came out. And then a customer had come in and saved him, and that had been that.

So yeah, Dean was pretty happy with how much he was getting paid. It was enough that he dared to buy himself a new set of shoes, since the old ones had holes in the bottom that got his socks soaked when it rained. Dean put most of the money away in Sam’s jar or in his emergency stash, but it was still nice to know he could get himself something luxury, like a new pair of boots.

His dad hadn’t come back since the Saturday that he’d left, which meant he’d been gone for about four days now. Dean didn’t mind. He actually liked when his dad left, except for the fact that he was probably working himself deeper into debt. The apartment was peaceful, almost. Quiet.

On Thursday, a week after the shooting at Mystery Spot, Dean walked into the restaurant for his shift and found an unfamiliar Beta at the register. He’d never seen the other man before, but he looked like he couldn’t be more than a few years older. He had pale, spiky hair and a somewhat blank expression on his face. He didn’t even acknowledge Dean as the Omega clocked in.

“Ah, Dean, you’re here.” Dean turned and found Castiel standing behind him, wearing the tan trenchcoat he always wore when he went out. “This is Adam, he’ll be taking over for you tonight.”

Dean blinked, shocked. He looked at Castiel with some betrayal, and then eyed Adam with a new sense of hostility. “What do you mean? Am I fired or something?”

Castiel frowned at him, as if Dean had said something unintelligible. “Fired? Of course not.”

“Then… I don’t…” Dean trailed off, suddenly confused. Adam, the fucker, didn’t jump to clarify. He was too busy sorting the receipt copies into neat little stacks.

“You’re coming with me tonight,” Castiel said. Before Dean even had a chance to take that the wrong way, the Alpha clarified, “It’s time for you to get that tattoo, yes?”

Dean blinked. “Oh.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it. The sick feeling that had started in his gut quickly dispersed, replaced by a very different sick feeling altogether. Anxiety, probably. He had no idea why, but he was fucking nervous. He’d never gotten a tattoo before. And now he was gonna get one in front of Castiel of all people? What if he did something stupid, like pass out or vomit or something?

The Alpha must have seen his nervousness, because his eyes were soft when he gestured for Dean to follow him back toward the parking lot Dean had just come from. “It won’t hurt too badly, Dean. Besides, our Ash is very talented. He’ll know to be gentle.” He let Dean walk in front of him as they exited the building and headed toward some of the dark SUVs parked in the back. “He is an American, did you know? You’ll like him.”

“You have other Americans working for you?” Dean asked, remembering what Gabriel had said when he’d been training him the night before.

Castiel opened the back door of the car and held it for Dean, letting the Omega climb inside first. “Oh, yes. We do not discriminate by nationality when we hire our workers, especially if they have special talents, like Ash.”

Dean watched as the Alpha buckled his seatbelt and leaned forward, saying something in rapidfire Russian to the driver. Dean was pretty sure he’d seen the Alpha in the driver’s seat before. His name was odd, something like Gabriel, but definitely not that.

Dean waited until Castiel had finished giving directions and the car had started moving before timidly asking, “What are my special talents?”

Castiel glanced over at him, something like surprise in his blue eyes. He was quiet for a moment before he said, “You are a hard worker. You pay good attention to small details.” He hesitated, then added, “And you look far too pretty and innocent to be part of something like this, yes?” Amusement curved the Alpha’s lips, whether at his own joke or at the look of shock on Dean’s face, it was hard to tell.

There were probably a million smart things Dean could have said to that. There were a million things he could have said, period, and none of those included the other option of just staying quiet and taking the compliment. But he was a fucking idiot, and he somehow managed to find the worst response of all in about zero-point-two seconds.

“Wait, you think I’m pretty?”

The handsome Alpha next to him merely chuckled and looked away, muttering something in Russian before saying, “Very much so.”

It was like a flash bomb had gone off in Dean’s head, except the flash didn’t fade and the ringing noise in his ears remained. He honestly couldn’t tell if Castiel said anything after that. He was too busy staring blankly at the seat in front of him to notice.

Castiel… thought he was pretty. He thought he was pretty. Pretty and innocent. Dean wasn’t fucking innocent, not be any means, but he supposed that to a Russian mobster, he probably didn’t seem super scary. And it should have pissed him off, it should have made him feel fucking emasculated or something, but all it did was make the soft, small part of him that he always shoved to the back of his mind sort of melt into a puddle. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t even gonna make it to the damn tattoo parlor.

Thankfully, Castiel didn’t say anything else earth-shattering for the rest of the ride. When the driver pulled up in front of a tattoo parlor that looked about as normal as any Dean might have picked off the street, Castiel leaned forward and said, “Spasibo, Gadreel,” through the window that separated the front seat from the back. And then, like the world’s sexiest fucking Google Maps guy, he added, “We’ve arrived. Come, Dean.”

Dean mumbled a hopefully-understandable thanks to the driver, Gadreel. He hurried to follow Castiel out of the car and into the tattoo parlor, feeling a little like an idiot and a little like a duckling as he hustled to catch up to the Alpha. Castiel held the door for him and Dean hurried through, eyes barely catching on the turned-off OPEN sign in the window.

“Hey, dudes, we’re closed right now,” a voice said from inside the shop. Dean watched as a tattooed Beta with a frankly awesome mullet came out from a side room, his face fixed in an expression of slight disgruntlement.

That expression changed to surprise as Castiel walked in behind Dean, trenchcoat billowing like a fucking paid actor behind him. “Ash,” he greeted, nodding his head. “I’ve come to get a new recruit initiated.”

Ash blinked. “Um, okay. You didn’t make an appointment, man.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I don’t make ‘appointments.’” He used honest-to-God air quotes, and Dean would have found it funny if the words hadn’t been so strangely hot.

Ash shrugged. “Good point. Is this for the kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Dean mumbled grumpily, at the same time as Castiel grunted in confirmation.

“I’ll bet you’re not old enough to drink or smoke pot, at least legally,” Ash said. When Dean only glared at him—because yeah, okay, he was still six months out from being able to do that—the Beta snorted. “Still a kid to me. Come on over to one of the chairs, young Padawan. I guess I can fit something in before I leave for the day. This isn’t gonna take longer than a couple hours, is it?”

“No,” Castiel said. He casually put a hand on the small of Dean’s back to guide him toward one of the chairs that Ash had indicated, which was basically like the physical version of that flash bomb from earlier. Jesus Christ, Dean wasn’t gonna make it through tonight, and he was pretty sure the tattoo was gonna be the least of his worries. He could feel how warm Castiel’s hand was through the fabric of his shirt, how it spanned his lower back easily. Fuck.

Ash sat Dean down in one of the chairs and began talking about cleaning procedures and hygiene stuff. Dean barely listened, his attention focused on the fact that Castiel was pulling a plastic chair off the wall and dragging it over near where Dean was sitting. It would have made sense for the Alpha to go sit on the wall, or for him to leave altogether. Something in Dean’s stomach warmed up at the realization that the Alpha was going to sit near him instead.

It took Ash about fifteen minutes to set everything up, which he explained was because he’d finished with his last client of the day recently. Dean had decided that he liked the Beta. Any bad blood over being called a kid had immediately been rectified with the Star Wars reference. Ash was a man of culture, and Dean wasn’t going to hold any grudges.

“So what do you want?” Ash asked when he’d finally finished setting up. He wasn’t asking Dean.

“Alpha Mikhail and I finalized a design. We were thinking of this on his left arm, where his shoulder meets his bicep,” Castiel said. He held out a piece of paper to Ash. Dean couldn’t help craning his neck to see what was on it.

He was surprised when he saw the design, both because of how simple it was and how much he liked it. He wasn’t sure he ever would have gone for a set of angel wings himself, but maybe that was just because he wouldn’t have had the balls to admit he liked something like that. The angel wings Castiel had chosen for him weren’t super girly, either. There were sharp edges and strong lines as much as there were softened feathers and rounded edges. It was nice.

“D’you want this exact design?” Ash asked.

“You can choose to smooth out some of the mistakes as you see fit,” Castiel said. “Neither of us have the hand for drawing that you do. But as close to the original as possible, if you can.”

Ash didn’t ask any more questions. He got to work, the strangely manic energy of his personality burning off the second he put his tattoo gun to Dean’s skin. Or maybe it didn’t go away, maybe it just focused, like a laser. Dean had to admit it was kind of cool to watch the guy work.

He’d expected the tattoo to hurt like a bitch, but he was surprised by how little it actually stung. It felt like he was getting pricked a thousand different times, which he figured was literally the case. His body got used to it after a couple minutes, and then it was barely noticeable.

Dean found the whole experience strangely soothing, if he was being honest. It was warm in the tattoo parlor, and the combination of the buzzing of the tattoo gun and the faint sounds of rock music drifting from what must have been Ash’s office made for a very calm atmosphere. Castiel had taken out a phone and quietly tapping away at it, doing God only knew what, but sitting so close that if Dean moved his leg out and to the side a little, he could brush the Alpha’s knee.

The tattoo started to hurt when Ash went over it again to add what looked to be the finer details and some pale shading to the wings, but other than that, it wasn’t too bad. When he’d finished, he turned the tattoo gun off and smeared something like petroleum jelly over the area before wrapping it in clear plastic.

“Here’s a list of everything you’ve gotta do to take care of it,” Ash said, handing Dean a piece of cardstock with instructions printed on it. “If you’ve got any questions, don’t call the number at the bottom, ‘cause I’m too busy to answer. Alpha Krushnic, man, you gotta pay me a little extra this time. Or at least, like, make an appointment next time.”

“Thank you for your work today, Ash,” Castiel said, completely ignoring what the man had said. “Dean, are you ready?”

“Huh? Uh yeah, yeah, I’m ready.” Dean felt a little wobbly as he slid off the tattoo chair, but it wasn’t too bad. His shoulder kind of hurt now that the actual tattooing phase had passed, but the worst it felt like was a bad sunburn.

Dean said goodbye to Ash, who promptly reminded him never to come back again. Dean figured he would have to if Castiel wanted him to get another tattoo, and then he had a whole different thing to think about when he considered that scenario in his head. He knew he was technically wearing the bratva’s mark on his arm, but his brain really wanted to twist it so that it was Castiel’s mark, and Castiel’s alone.

Christ, Dean probably needed a therapist or a psychologist or something. Some sort of -ist. If he could afford one, at least.

Castiel said something in Russian to Gadreel as he and Dean climbed back into the car. Dean figured he should probably start learning Russian, listening to them converse. He had no idea where to start, but it was likely a good idea. He was pretty sure that being out of the loop like this would get old real fast.

“How is your arm feeling?” Castiel asked when they’d been sitting in the car for a couple minutes. He’d turned off his phone and slipped it into his trenchcoat again. Dean kind of liked the coat, even if it looked like a pretty silly thing for a mobster to be wearing. It was sort of dorky. It made Castiel look… human.

“It’s feeling fine,” Dean said, craning his neck to see the tattoo. “It’s kinda sore, but it’s good.”

“Good. Ash is talented; he knows how to be efficient without causing harm,” Castiel said. His gaze was fixed on Dean’s new tattoo, which was visible because Dean had pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt up to keep it uncovered. Something about the way he stared at the mark made heat tingle in the bottom of Dean’s stomach.

“Yeah, it was good. Am I, um… Am I gonna have to pay you guys back for it?” Dean asked. He’d been thinking of that while he’d been sitting on the chair. He’d heard that most tattoos were pretty expensive, and no amount of pay raises and extra shifts was gonna help him get the bills taken care of on time if he had to cover for a surprise payment of a couple hundred dollars or more.

Castiel looked confused at the very concept of Dean paying for the tattoo. “Of course not, Dean,” he said. “It wasn’t exactly your choice to get it. To make you pay for it would be foolishness.”

Dean nodded, trying to act casual, as if that hadn’t had him nearly nauseous with anxiety. “Okay, cool.”

Castiel didn’t seem to buy the act. Something in his blue eyes had softened, the ice inside of them not as sharp and cold. He was quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment, until he spoke and saved Dean from having to be the one to say something.

“Are you hungry, Dean?” the Alpha asked. “I realize I didn’t give you the chance to eat before we left. I apologize, I was hoping to catch Ash before he left for the day.”

Dean ducked his head, wondering if he should lie or not. He figured telling the truth was always gonna be best when it came to Castiel, especially since the Alpha seemed to be able to see right through his bullshit, so he admitted, “Yeah, I’m kinda hungry. But it’s okay, I’ll just eat when I get home.”

“I’m hungry,” Castiel said. He nodded at Dean’s window, which showed that they were pulling into the parking lot of a restaurant. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Dean blinked. Between the screaming in his head about how he’d be eating dinner with Castiel and the shouting from his inner Omega that this was good, this was exactly what he wanted, it was a miracle that he managed to get out a coherent, “Um, you… You want to eat dinner with me? Like, with me?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Who else would I be eating with?”

Dean probably could have given a lot of answers. An Alpha like Castiel—rich, powerful, and handsome to the point of physical pain—could have anyone he wanted. Supermodels, star athletes, celebrities, anyone who was very talented or very beautiful or very smart, or all three at once. And Dean was none of those things. He might have been attractive in a trashy, trailer-park Omega kind of way, but he certainly wasn’t worthy of eating dinner with someone like Castiel.

Then again, it wasn’t like this was a date.

He’s not attracted to you, you fucking self-centered dumbass, Dean thought to himself. He just wants to eat, and you’re the only one in the car, aside from the driver. It would be weird to just make you wait here. As if anyone like him would want to eat dinner with anything like you.

“Okay,” Dean said faintly, mustering his best smile. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“The chances of that are too miniscule to be deemed worthy of noting,” Castiel said, sounding as if he believed every word. “Come, now. I’m starving, and I’m sure it’s been too long since you ate your last meal.” And then he grabbed Dean’s wrist, since apparently he was determined to end Dean once and for all.

If Dean had thought the touches on his shoulder or on the small of his back were good, that was nothing compared to honest-to-God skin-on-skin contact. Castiel’s palm was just as warm as Dean had thought it would be, the surface of it rough but oddly satisfying as it scraped lightly against the soft, delicate skin on the inside of Dean’s wrist. Castiel’s grip was surprisingly gentle, light enough that Dean could break out of it if he pulled.

He didn’t dare do that. He was barely breathing as it was.

Castiel let go of his wrist when they got out of the car, his hand migrating to Dean’s lower back again. Dean was too thrilled about the continued touching to care much that the skin-to-skin contact had ceased. Though something inside of him sort of itched for it, craving it like an addict that had just been given a taste and nothing more, Dean was content to savor that little bit of touch he’d been given until next time.

If there even was a next time.

The restaurant Gadreel had stopped in front of was a small, surprisingly dingy sushi place sandwiched between a vape shop and a bank. When Castiel guided Dean inside, there was almost no one there, save for a young couple in the corner eating quietly.

There was a very short, very old Asian woman behind the register at the far end of the restaurant. Castiel walked over to her, a friendly smile Dean had never seen before gracing his face. “Hello, Mrs. Tsyoshi,” he greeted as they got close.

“Oh, is that Mr. Krushnic?” the woman asked, her head snapping up excitedly. She peered at them through her thick eyeglasses, her wrinkled face breaking out into a bright smile when she recognized Castiel. “Hello, hello! How are you?”

Dean was mesmerized by the kind smile on the Alpha’s face as he said, “I’m well, thank you. This is my—my friend, Dean. Dean, this is Mrs. Tsyoshi, the owner of the best sushi restaurant in all of the Pacific Northwest.”

Dean laughed a little and greeted her, too focused on Castiel’s smile to think much about how he’d hesitated before calling him a friend. Mrs. Tsyoshi cooed at him, her hands clapping together excitedly. “Oh, it’s so good to meet you, so good to meet you! Mr. Krushnic never brings friends, only his brothers. Such a handsome Omega.”

And yeah, there was no fucking way Dean was able to hide his blush at that. He ducked his head, laughing weakly, praying his face wasn’t as fiery red as it felt. Jesus Christ, his cheeks were hot enough to cook an egg on.

Mrs. Tsyoshi shooed them to Castiel’s “usual” table without taking their order. Dean figured Castiel usually got the same thing, and he was surprised to find that he trusted the Alpha’s taste. Besides, this seemed like the kind of hole-in-the-wall place that had amazing food no matter what was ordered.

“You must come in here a lot, Alpha Castiel,” Dean said as they sat down at a small four-top in the corner of the restaurant. “She seems to really like you.”

The lighting was low in the restaurant, but Dean could almost swear Castiel was blushing. “Mrs. Tsyoshi is a very kind woman,” he said. “My brothers and I have been coming here for nearly three years now. The food is incredible.”

Dean smiled, glancing around. “I’ll bet it is. I’m excited; I’ve never had sushi before.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to share that detail. It wasn’t like Castiel would care.

The Alpha seemed somewhat intrigued, however. “Never?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Well, I’ve had the shitty stuff that they sell in Walmart, but that’s not real sushi,” Dean said. He wrinkled his nose at the memory of getting food poisoning from one of those crappy Walmart meals. The food had smelled a couple days old, but it had been all he could afford at the time. He’d just been glad that Sammy hadn’t gotten sick too.

“I believe you’ll enjoy this more,” Castiel assured him.

Dean nodded, and they lapsed into silence. It was surprising how comfortable the quiet was. He’d expected it to be awkward, but it seemed all those years of Castiel not saying a word to him had made Dean used to it. He didn’t mind. He had a feeling the Alpha just needed to be silent sometimes, and that was fine. Dean was more than happy to let him simply sit and think.

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Tsyoshi emerged from the back of the restaurant carrying two trays. She set them down in front of Dean and Castiel, revealing plates loaded with colorful, delicious-looking sushi. Dean’s mouth quite literally watered at the very sight.

“I chose different rolls for you,” Mrs. Tsyoshi told him proudly. “Now you can share!” She produced two sets of chopsticks, patted Dean on the head fondly, then went back to the register.

Castiel was already cracking his wooden chopsticks apart, a hum of bliss escaping his lips as he chewed his first bite of sushi. At the sound, tingles ran down Dean’s spine that he tried to ignore as he grabbed his own little roll of sushi, popping it into his mouth before he even had a chance to register what he was eating.

Immediately, a rush of different flavors and textures exploded throughout his mouth. Dean groaned in delight at the taste, his eyes going wide as he chewed. Holy fucking shit, now he understood the hype about sushi. It was fucking amazing.

For long minutes, he and Castiel simply sat there eating, communicating their enjoyment through wordless sounds. They did share the sushi, just like Mrs. Tsyoshi had suggested, and Dean tried to ignore how strangely intimate that felt. Castiel probably saw it as nothing, which really, it was. They were just trying the various tastes of the different food they’d been given. It wasn’t like there was anything meaningful behind it.

Even then, Dean couldn’t ignore the small part of him that was fucking thrilled to be where he was right now. The Dean of a couple weeks ago would have probably passed out at the mere thought of eating dinner with Castiel. The Dean of right now still wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t dreaming.

When the sushi was almost gone and they’d both slowed down enough to breathe, Dean leaned back in his chair and said, “You and your brothers have amazing taste, Alpha Castiel.”

Castiel exhaled, looking immensely satisfied, and said, “Yes, that’s a statement I believe I must agree with. I’m assuming you enjoyed your meal?”

“God, it was incredible,” Dean said truthfully. “I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten anything as good as that.” That was also true. The only thing he could really think of that was on par with the sushi he’d just eaten was the food at Mystery Spot and the pies his mom used to make, back when he was a little kid.

Christ, it was a good thing this stuff was probably wildly expensive, or else he’d want to eat it every night.

Speaking of how expensive it was…

“Are you gonna want me to pay for half of this?” Dean asked, gesturing down at the empty trays in front of them. He reached into his pants, searching out his wallet, wondering if this was gonna be like the tattoo. Maybe not that bad, but he might have to run to work for the next week or so.

“Of course not,” Castiel said, making Dean’s hand freeze in its quest to find his credit card. The Alpha sounded almost offended that Dean had offered to pay. “I’ll take care of this, Dean. There’s no need.”

As it turned out, neither of them needed to pay, because Mrs. Tsyoshi demanded they let her feed them free of charge. Castiel tried to argue with her, and he fought valiantly, but it turned out that little old Asian women could be much more stubborn than even the most steadfast of Russian mobsters.

“You let me feed you. I won’t take your money,” Mrs. Tsyoshi said, pushing Castiel’s credit card back at him firmly for the final time. “I treat you, yes? You and your friend. You never bring friends.” She smiled at Dean again, looking so pleased with herself that Dean could see even Castiel wavering.

The Alpha finally acquiesced after trying to convince the old woman for a solid four and a half minutes. As she victoriously carried the empty trays back to the kitchen, Castiel slipped out of his chair and snuck what looked to be a wad of several hundred-dollar bills into the tip jar on the front desk. Grinning too much to be ashamed at how miniscule his contribution seemed next to that, Dean added a ten.

They both slipped out of the restaurant before Mrs. Tsyoshi could return and make them take the money back. Dean was still smiling even as they climbed into the car, his cheeks hurting with how much he’d been grinning in the past hour or so.

It was dark outside, and Dean was surprised to see that, according to the clock on the dashboard of the SUV, it was nearing nine in the evening. It didn’t feel like it had been several hours since he’d left Mystery Spot with Castiel, but apparently that was the case.

“Are we going back to the restaurant?” Dean asked as the car began to drive.

“No,” Castiel said. “I’m taking you home. We wouldn’t return in time for you to do anything before your shift ends.”

Dean nodded, feeling somewhat faint at the idea that he’d spent his entire shift with Castiel instead of working. It felt surreal. “Sorry I didn’t do anything today,” he said. “Guess I’ll see that on my paycheck at the end of the month.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would you see anything different on your paycheck?”

Dean frowned too, mirroring the Alpha’s expression. “Aren’t you gonna dock my pay for today? I didn’t do anything work-wise.” Amara did that all the time, except she calculated how much of his usual duties he was performing. Sometimes, when his father had beat him particularly hard, Dean wouldn’t be able to do the dishes or something. It usually meant getting paid a couple dollars less. Dean wasn’t sure if that was legal—probably not—but he was too dependent on that job to do something about it.

Castiel’s frown only grew deeper, though, as if he couldn’t comprehend what Dean was saying. “Of course I won’t dock your pay. You were with me the entire time. You were doing work outside of what you do for the restaurant.”

Dean blinked. “Oh.” He hadn’t thought of it that way.

“This won’t be the last time you’ll need to leave Mystery Spot during your shift, Dean,” Castiel said. “My brothers or I might choose to pull you out if we need you to assist us, or if it’s time for your combat training.”

Right. Because Dean was gonna learn how to fight. God, he’d forgotten all about that. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” He just needed to remember that his new job had different aspects to it than simply working at a restaurant, now. He was gonna have to do extra stuff, stuff that would require leaving Mystery Spot and going somewhere else. It was kind of a wild concept, but not one that was too hard to wrap his head around.

Dean was sort of quiet for the rest of the ride. When the car stopped in front of the apartment building across the street, he thanked Castiel for the dinner. The Alpha responded by wishing him a goodnight and saying that he’d see him tomorrow.

Dean watched the car drive off while rubbing the skin of his left wrist with his hand, remembering the gentle way Castiel had grabbed it when they were first going into the sushi restaurant.

There was a lot to unpack from the night he’d just had. Dean didn’t even know where to start when it came to Castiel touching his wrist or his back. His skin tingled at the mere memory, aching with the need to feel the Alpha’s touch on him again. Dean was pretty sure this was the happiest his inner Omega had ever been in the history of ever.

He was so lost in his thoughts as he climbed the stairs to his apartment that he didn’t notice the black muscle car parked in her usual spot, nor did he notice the fresh scent of whiskey and Alpha rage until it smacked him fully in the face as he entered his apartment. By then, it was too late.

“Where the fuck have you been?” John Winchester asked from the living area as Dean came through the door. He sounded very drunk and very angry.

“Dad?” Dean breathed, shock and fear spearing like ice through him, dissolving any lingering feelings of warmth he’d had from his time spent with Castiel. He crept into the living area to face his familial Alpha, eyes wide, mind blank with panic.

His dad’s face was red with drunkenness and anger. He staggered as he got up from his recliner, stumbling until he could lean against the wall near the door, blocking Dean’s only avenue of escape. Shit, Dean had been stupid to come fully into the room. Now, he had no way out except the window, and they were three Goddamn stories in the air. This is my fault, he thought, his heart sinking. He’s gonna beat the shit out of me, and it’s my fault for being fucking careless and stupid.

“What the hell is that on your face?” John demanded, squinting drunkenly at the bruise on Dean’s left cheek.

Dean just stood there, silent and frozen with fear. He had no idea how to respond. His heart was hammering in his chest like a frightened rabbit’s, but he felt it come to a thunderous halt when his father suddenly went very still.

He must have scented it.

“What the fuck is that on your face,” John Winchester snarled, “and why the fuck do you smell like an Alpha?”

Chapter Text

John must have gotten a new job. That, or he’d been mildly successful at the gambling tables and had the money to spare on a whole day of drinking. Either way, John was gone when Dean regained consciousness the morning after his father had returned from his trip.

Dean didn’t remember much from the night before. He knew he’d dragged himself to his room at some point. Though his father could be fucking brutal with his beatings, he didn’t have much stamina, especially after he was already drunk. That was the tradeoff: if he was sober, he was less likely to beat Dean, but he beat him harder. If he was drunk, he was infinitely more likely to get angry, but he ran out of energy after about fifteen minutes of kicking Dean around the apartment.

Dean was kind of glad that they lived in an apartment. For a long time after his mom had died, they’d lived in a house with stairs. That had been a fucking nightmare, and had resulted in more than half the bones Dean had broken in his lifetime. Here, in their crappy little two bedroom apartment, the worst John could do was throw Dean into the coffee table.

Still, Dean felt like absolute shit when he regained consciousness on his bedroom floor. He hadn’t had the energy to drag himself fully across the room to his mattress, so he’d passed out about four feet away from the door, curled up into as little of a ball as his battered body had been able to manage.

When he was fully awake and semi-oriented, Dean began the slow, painful process of pushing himself up off the floor. It felt like his arms and legs had taken the worst of the damage, since he’d spent a lot of his time curled up, trying to dodge drunkenly-aimed kicks from steel-toed boots. Bruises bloomed on Dean’s forearms and shins, purple and ugly against his skin.

The covering on his tattoo had been ripped off sometime during all the commotion. Dean’s first order of business was to drag himself to the bathroom and shakily do whatever he could to make sure he hadn’t ruined it. He read the instructions Ash had given him, relieved to find that he just needed to make sure the tattoo was clean. After doing what the paper told him and then hunting around the apartment for a few minutes, Dean found the leftover plastic that had come off his shoulder. He thanked God his dad had been too drunk to notice it.

Dean did what he could to clean up the mess John had made throwing him around last night. His body was so used to waking up at four in the morning that he was only about fifteen minutes off or so. Dean was grateful for his body’s internal clock, since being late to work at Amara’s was the last thing he needed to cap off a perfectly shitty twenty-four hours.

Not twenty-four hours, he corrected himself mentally. More like a shitty six hours. My day was fine until I got home.

He paused in his collection of the empty bottles on the carpet, warmth flooding through him at the memory of yesterday. Even with how battered his body was and how much work he’d have to get through today, the mere thought of the dinner he’d shared with Castiel last night was enough to make him smile.

The thought of getting to see the Alpha later was what eventually gave him the energy to dress himself for work. His backpack was thankfully intact, shoved into the corner of the living room where it must have been kicked last night. Dean thanked God for the small mercy of how uncoordinated his dad got when he was drunk or hungover. He probably hadn’t even noticed the stupid backpack either. His mind had been solely on kicking the crap out of Dean for “fucking around with an Alpha.”

Dean was glad his dad had just assumed what was happening and that he hadn’t asked him for the real story, because he didn’t know what he would have said. He was a horrific liar when it came to his familial Alpha. He didn’t know which was worse: getting beaten for lying, or getting beaten for saying that he’d just eaten dinner with his boss who also happened to be a Russian mobster.

The Impala was gone again when Dean limped down the stairs to get to the bus station. It was early in the morning, so he dad must have gotten a few hours of sleep and then blown off again to God knew where. Dean didn’t know where the man went anymore, honestly. He was a little frightened of knowing, actually.

He’d checked in the mirror before he left, and the only new bruise that was visible on his face was one on his jaw where his dad had socked him last night. Everything else was hidden under his clothes. The bruise from being pistol-whipped a week before was finally beginning to fade, the edges turning green-yellow as it healed. Amara had finally allowed him back in the front after six days of doing the dishes with docked pay, which Dean was happy for.

Well, kind of. Getting paid the normal amount again was nice. Everything else—the running around, the rude customers, the exhaustion, the facade of cheerfulness—everything else sucked. Especially today. Especially today.

Spring had finally decided to get on board with the whole “warming up” deal, so it was now high-sixties outside and painfully humid. Dean, in his black service pants and long-sleeved shirt to cover his bruises, was fucking miserable. The cooks in the back had an ancient fan to blow warm air at them, since the fryers and grill were about a thousand degrees, but all the other service staff had to suffer with stagnant, muggy air that smelled of miserable people and body odor.

To make matters worse, Amara decided that today was the day to have her annual “talk” with Dean. She called him into her office right after the morning rush, when everything had quieted down and the other waiter was more than capable of handling the dining room alone.

Dean trudged to her office, knowing he was gonna hate this conversation. At least the Alpha had a real fan in her personal space, which meant the tiny room was slightly cooler than the rest of the restaurant.

Amara turned the fan down so they could talk without having to raise their voices, then sat down in her desk chair and folded her neatly-manicured hands primly. Dean, in his stupid suffocating clothes and stupid black apron, felt like a bug that she’d just crushed with her newest pair of heels and was now examining.

“I’m sure you know why I called you in here,” Amara began, giving Dean a smile that reminded him of a snake.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said, trying his best not to sound annoyed.

She proceeded to summarize it anyway, since her favorite sound in the world was her own voice. “Well, I know that it’s springtime and people like you are going to be… ahem, incapacitated for a couple weeks. The rules, of course, demand that I give you your three weeks paid leave, after that act that passed and all that a couple decades ago. So I want to know when I’m going to need to start overloading everyone else’s schedules, since we’re going to be down an employee.”

She said it like Dean was doing this on purpose, making everyone work harder while he went on vacation or something. He knew, just from the only brief heat he’d had when he’d presented, that heat leave was anything but a vacation. If an Omega was lucky enough to have a bonded partner, it was still three weeks of exhaustion and sexual frenzy interspersed with weird urges, clinginess, and being in a constant state of over-emotional sensitivity. And Dean wasn’t bonded, nor was he exactly in the ideal environment for a heat—that being a place where he felt safe and had at least someone to remind him to eat or something.

But that was okay. Because he wasn’t gonna have a heat.

“You, uh… You don’t need to worry about that, ma’am,” Dean said, hoping his smile looked like less of a grimace than it felt. “I’m on suppressants. I’ll still be able to work. I’ve, uh, actually been in pre-heat for a little over a week now, so it doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.” He hated that he had to say this, to half-grovel to convince her that he was still able to work just as well as before. It was far easier and more profitable for her to hire another worker and fire Dean than actually let him have his three weeks. This whole conversation was a sham.

Amara’s face immediately brightened, like this was a surprise, like Dean hadn’t been on suppressants for almost five years in a row now. “Oh, how wonderful to hear! I’m glad, I really am.”

I’m sure you are, bitch. “Yeah,” Dean said flatly. “So, uh… Can I go back to work now?”

“Go ahead,” Amara said, shooing Dean out of her office. She seemed all too happy to get rid of him now that her obligatory “check-in” was completed. “And Dean? Remember to clean the refrigerators.”

Dean managed to respond affirmatively without sounding like he was clenching his teeth, which he was. He went to do as she’d asked, hating his boss a little as he stretched to clean the top part of the refrigerator doors, his battered body aching in protest. One of the cooks was watching him, making no move to help. It was almost like the fucker enjoyed seeing Dean wince and curse his way through scrubbing the fridge doors clean. Dean made sure to shoot the Beta a dirty look as he finished dumping the paper towels in the bin outside, his hands and uniform stinking of metal polisher.

It felt like his shift lasted forever. When Dean was finally able to clock out, his body was tired and all he wanted to do was sit down. It was a relief to get to the bus that would take him to the outer part of the city, toward Mystery Spot and toward Castiel.

As he traveled, Dean thought of last night and the amazing food he’d shared with the Alpha. Now that he thought of it, the whole situation had been a little weird. Not bad weird, just… not something a boss and employee might usually do. Especially the hand on the wrist part.

Of course, Castiel could have just been trying to direct Dean where he’d wanted him to go, and Dean was just a filthy pervert who also happened to be a touch-starved Omega near heat. Christ, he couldn’t trust anything that happened in his head these days.

Still, the sushi dinner had been unexpected. Dean tried not to read too much into it. He just looked forward to seeing Castiel again, in a way that even he couldn’t pass off as anything but a crush. A silly, stupid crush, but one that he’d developed all the same.

He actually felt pretty good when he got off the bus and started walking the short distance to the restaurant. That nice feeling lasted all the way up until he got into Mystery Spot, greeted the cooks, said hello to Gabriel, walked into the front of the building, and saw that Castiel wasn’t there.

It wasn’t unusual, of course, for the dark-haired Alpha to be gone. He was busy, and the four brothers usually cycled through, though Gabriel and Castiel definitely stayed at the restaurant more often. Dean didn’t know why, but he’d somehow sort of expected Castiel to be there. His heart felt like it had sunk all the way to his boots when he realized he wasn’t.

“He’s on a special trip,” Gabriel said, coming up behind Dean. He was chewing obnoxiously on a sticky piece of caramel candy.

Dean blinked. “Oh.” He knew they were both talking about Castiel; he was just shocked the older Krushnic brother had noticed what he was thinking. Shit, was he that easy to read?

Embarrassed and feeling slightly dejected, Dean set out to do his regular maintenance on the restaurant, cleaning counters and organizing straws and napkin holders. He went into the back and did what little dishes there were piled up in the sink, trying not to wince or limp as he moved. He wasn’t sure the cooks even noticed him, or if they gave a damn in the first place, but he still didn’t want to attract attention to himself. He kind of just wanted to mope around.

“Dean.”

Dean almost dropped what he was holding, which would have been bad, because it was one of the carving knives that he’d always thought was a little too big for chopping up tomatoes and lettuce. He turned and found one of the cooks standing beside him, having approached on feet that were frighteningly silent.

“Uh, hi,” Dean said, unsure of how to address the guy. He didn’t know his name, but he could tell from the build and the scent of chemical cologne that he was a Beta. “Do you need me to do something? I was just finishing these dishes.”

“I can do that,” the Beta said, nodding at the few trays and utensils Dean had left to do. “Go eat.”

Dean blinked. “Eat? What do you mean?”

The Beta frowned at him, bushy dark eyebrows furrowing down, looking a little like exotic caterpillars expressing their disappointment. “You eat here, yes? We made you food.” He paused, something like a smile twitching underneath his equally-as-bushy mustache, then patted Dean on the shoulder hard enough to nearly make the Omega drop the knife again. “Need to put meat on your bones. Skinny boy, going to blow away when the wind gets too strong.”

He took the knife from Dean, flipping it in his hands expertly so he could rinse it off and set it in the drying rack. When that was accomplished, he manually pushed Dean around and out of the sink area, meaty hands sitting hard and heavy on the Omega’s shoulders. The touch didn’t feel nearly as good as when it was Castiel, but it was still nice. Especially since the guy seemed genuinely interested in getting Dean to eat.

“Grigori, gentle,” Aleksandr scolded, slapping the Beta’s hands off of Dean when the cook had successfully manhandled him around the corner and in front of the food window, where a tray full of warm food was waiting. Aleksandr pushed it toward him. “For you, Dean. Go eat. Alpha Castiel would have our heads for not feeding you by now.”

Dean was shooed out into the dining room, food in his hands, feeling a little dazed but definitely warm inside. He wasn’t sure if it was the mention of Castiel, or if it was just the general kindness he’d just been shown by two men he hadn’t been sure even cared he existed up until this point, but it felt good. Grigori’s manhandling had hurt a little bit, but it hadn’t been that bad, and besides, the warmth from his hands still felt imprinted into Dean’s skin. Dean’s inner Omega was very happy, both with the touching and with the food he’d been given.

He ate quietly in the corner of the dining area, watching an Alpha and Omega couple sitting near the center of the room. The Omega was laughing as her Alpha’s glasses slipped down her nose every time she hiccupped, which seemed to come from the soda she was drinking. They both seemed very happy and very in love, and for a moment, Dean’s heart squeezed with simultaneous happiness and jealousy.

He looked away when it became too painful. It was just the hormones that were talking. He’d be fine after his heat.

The food was fucking amazing, as usual. Dean was starting to get spoiled on the regular dinners he was having at Mystery Spot. He’d need to start ordering salads or something, or he was gonna get fat.

When he finished his dinner, he brought the tray to the back. Grigori had finished the dishes for him, but Dean cleaned his own tray so he could feel useful. The two cooks were conversing in rapidfire Russian when he went through the kitchen, already reimmersed in whatever it was that they did when there wasn’t anyone to cook for.

It wasn’t a very busy night, so in between customers coming and going, Dean did other small maintenance things around the restaurant. He delivered both of his special envelopes about three hours into his shift, so there wasn’t anything exciting to do after that.

Or so Dean thought.

He was taking the trash out for Gabriel, wincing as he heaved the heavy bag over his head and into the massive dumpster out back, when he heard the unmistakable sound of tires squealing on the pavement. Dean turned around and saw two black cars come screeching into the parking lot, nearly colliding with a customer’s car as they swerved around the back of the restaurant to the relative privacy of the employee parking.

Dean hurried across the lot to the building where he stopped, eyes wide as one of the back doors was thrown open and a man came stumbling out. It wasn’t just any man, though. It was an Alpha, and a very familiar one, at that.

“Mr. Krushnic?” Dean asked, forgetting to call Castiel by his proper title in that moment. “What’s going—Shit, are you—Oh, fuck.”

There was blood on the Alpha’s white dress shirt, and it didn’t take long for Dean to realize that some of it was his. He took a dazed step forward to do something, whether it was to help or get a closer look, he wasn’t sure. But Castiel barely seemed to notice him as he turned and reached back into the car, only to pull out another man who looked to be unconscious.

“Dean,” Castiel rasped, seeming to stagger under the weight of the man he was holding. “Dean, he needs help.”

Dean took another step forward, hesitant and unsure, feeling completely useless. The other man was bleeding badly, copious amounts of crimson staining his clothes and Castiel’s. There was blood on Castiel’s face, but Dean couldn’t tell if it was his own or someone else’s.

“What do you need me to do?” Dean asked, uncertain. “I-I don’t… I don’t know CPR or anything, I can’t—”

Castiel swore in Russian, looking up at Dean with eyes that flashed with anger and no small amount of panic. One of his hands was clutched to the injured man’s side, presumably to staunch whatever bleeding was happening. “No, you fool! Go get Gabriel, damn it! Hurry!”

Feeling as if he’d been slapped, Dean turned and ran back into the restaurant. He could hear the sounds of other men coming out of the second car, some of them probably wounded as well. Dean prayed Gabriel would know what to do as he rushed straight through the kitchen and out into the front of Mystery Spot, his chest heaving with panic.

“Mr. Krushnic! Beta Gabriel, there’s—You’re needed in the back,” Dean said, praying he didn’t look like he’d just seen a ghost or something. Gabriel paused in his action of wiping down the milkshake machine, a few of the nearby customers raising their heads to stare at Dean.

“What—”

“It’s the other Mr. Krushnic,” Dean said, not daring to say Castiel’s name in front of all their customers, in case it might get the Alpha in trouble or something.

Thankfully, Gabriel seemed to understand. With barely more than a, “Stay here,” he turned and hurried into the back, shouting something in Russian at Aleksandr and Grigori. Dean desperately wanted to follow them, but he remembered Gabriel’s order and Castiel’s snapped command, and he knew he wasn’t needed.

Or wanted.

As Dean dazedly began to finish the job Gabriel had started on the milkshake machine, he reflected that the way he was feeling was fucking stupid. It was so fucking stupid. He didn’t even want to think about it, because there was a man dying out in the back parking lot, and all Dean’s stupid inner Omega could focus on was the way Castiel had cursed at him and called him a fool.

And it wasn’t like that wasn’t true. Dean was a Goddamn idiot. Of course Castiel wasn’t asking for help from him. Why would he ask for help from a stupid, blithering dumbass like Dean? Dean was barely more than a civilian, after all. He’d gotten a fancy tattoo and had become a glorified, illegal mailman, and all of a sudden he thought he was fucking special or something. He really was a fool.

All Dean could think as he numbly cleaned the front of the restaurant and mechanically interacted with customers was that he hoped his idiocy hadn’t gotten that man killed. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to live with himself if he realized that his few seconds of hesitation had cost the guy his life. He certainly wouldn’t be able to show his face here again.

What a fucking idiot. CPR isn’t how you treat a fucking gunshot wound anyway. God, Castiel probably thinks I’m such a dumbass. The thought made Dean’s heart feel like it was shriveling up, a colorful fall leaf that had passed its prime and become just another cracked, ugly dead thing on the ground.

It didn’t make it any better that he didn’t even know CPR. Dean had always thought of himself as someone who was relatively street-smart. He figured he had a leg up on most people because he knew his way around a gun and could be pretty handy with a knife if he needed to be. But all of that paled in comparison to the world of violence and proficiency in killing that Castiel lived in. Dean wasn’t impressing anyone with his “skills,” least of all the handsome Alpha he was crushing on like an idiot. Jesus Christ, there was so much wrong with this picture, from Dean’s idiotic attraction to a man that wasn’t and would never be anywhere close to his league to the fact that Dean was a soft, harmless housecat in a world full of lions.

The thought of how pathetic he was compared to Castiel and all of his friends actually made Dean’s eyes burn, because it swept away any stupid hopes Dean had allowed himself to harbor after last night. Why would an Alpha like Castiel want anything to do with someone weak and foolish like Dean? Dean really had no chance, and the realization of that made his inner Omega curl into a ball and wail.

There was commotion in the back of the restaurant, but Dean didn’t dare go back there, grateful that there weren’t any new customers. He cleaned up after the ones that left and made sure the dining area was spotless, eyes on the clock that slowly ticked toward his time to clock out. He wanted to get out of Mystery Spot before Castiel finished with whatever he was dealing with. He didn’t want to be around when the Alpha came into the front and yelled at him.

He probably would. He’d probably come out and scream about how fucking stupid Dean was, just like Dean’s dad did. Dean’s whole body trembled at the mere thought.

And he was being stupid and self-centered again, because Castiel was injured and instead of worrying about him, Dean was drowning in a pool of hurt and self-pity. God, he hated himself sometimes. He wanted to go into the back to check if Castiel was okay, but he didn’t want to get in the way. He’d already made enough of a fool of himself tonight. He’d leave whatever was happening back there to the professionals.

At some point, someone came in and ordered food, and Dean was forced to enter the back so he could grab the food for them when it was ready. He saw that the injured man had been taken away, and—when he peeked through the door to the parking lot—that the cars were parked normally again, as if nothing had happened. The door to the office was closed, and through it, Dean could hear several people shouting in Russian. He didn’t stick around to see if he could hear Castiel, though he desperately wanted to know if the Alpha was okay.

Aleksandr was nowhere to be seen. Grigori was the only one in the kitchen, and he looked so stressed that Dean didn’t dare talk to him. He just quietly took the food when it was ready and delivered it to the customers, trying to stay as unnoticeable as possible.

Thankfully, there were only about forty-five minutes left before he could clock out and go home. Dean spent every one of those minutes stress-cleaning the restaurant and mentally volleying between intense worry for Castiel and intense self-hatred.

Mostly, his thoughts were filled with a mix of both. His inner Omega and all its patheticness had taken center stage for the moment, and Dean was finding it very hard to wrangle the stupid thing back into the box he kept it in in the back of his mind. Usually, he shoved aside all the stupid urges and stupider desires his inner Omega communicated, since most of them were impractical and dumb. And impossible.

Right now, his inner Omega was very upset, crying for him to go find Castiel and make sure he was okay, to grovel on his knees for forgiveness and the Alpha’s approval. Dean felt almost sick with how stupid he felt, how ashamed he was. That moment in the parking lot was gonna torture him for a long time.

It seemed to take forever, but the time eventually came for Dean to clock out. He stayed to clean up the dining room and make sure the front of the restaurant was neat and ready for tomorrow. When he’d finished, he crept back into the back of the building to snatch his backpack so he could leave. Grigori was nowhere to be seen, but the kitchen was cleaned up, the fryers and grills turned off. The door to the office was still closed, to Dean’s immense relief. He couldn’t hear anyone else shouting, but as he tiptoed past it on his way out the door, he heard murmured voices.

Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, even though he couldn’t understand what was being said anyway, Dean hightailed it outta there. He didn’t want to be late for his bus, anyway. That was the excuse he gave himself when he practically ran from the building, ears burning at the thought of the door opening right as he left.

Dean’s usual chair on the bus was taken by a harried-looking student when he got there, so he curled up on the seat across from her, pointedly ignoring the way his body cried out in protest at the crunched-up position. He tried to focus his mind on something other than his shitty day, but it proved nearly impossible.

A thought came to him as the bus driver called out a stop that was coming up. Dean wasn’t usually one for impulsive decisions—alright, that was a lie, but this one was super impulsive—but he found himself getting up with some of the other passengers, including the student who’d been sitting in his seat. Instead of waiting for his stop, which was still a few miles away, Dean climbed off the bus downtown and found himself standing a few buildings down from the public library.

Before he could talk himself out of his stupidity, Dean began a brisk walk toward the library, his mind made up on what he was going to do. He slipped inside, nodded at the sleepy-looking Omega manning the front desk, and hurried all the way to the back, where a row of public-use computers had been set up.

This late at night, there were only two other people at the row of ten computers. Dean slid into the chair farthest from them and logged in with the public passcode before he could second-guess himself, waiting for the ancient fucking thing to boot up so he could open a browser.

Dean hesitated for a moment, cursor blinking in the blank search bar at the top of the page, before his fingers nervously typed out what he was looking for.

CPR classes near me.

Field medicine classes near me.

Cheap medical lessons.

There were a plethora of resources and results. Dean clicked on some, half-holding his breath, and read silently, his heart pounding in his ears.

Dean didn’t have anything to take notes on, but he found a nearby notepad and some free pens and snatched one, intent on writing down what he found. The librarian looked at him weird, probably because he was super pale and had bruises on his face. Dean ignored her, too intent on his mission to care what he looked like to some random lady he was probably never going to see again.

With his piece of notepaper and pen in hand, Dean walked back to his computer and sat down. Quietly praying that this wouldn’t be a disappointment or a failure, the Omega looked again at the search results, took a deep breath, and began to read.

Chapter Text

Also, here is a picture of how I imagine Dean looks in this fic. He's just a baby!

You may continue reading. XD

There was a lot to panic about, and for all his strengths, Gabriel had never been someone who was particularly good at keeping his cool. Castiel had to be strong for both of them as he explained the situation and the attack that had just occurred to the crew at Mystery Spot. By the time everything had been explained and everyone was on the same page, it was an hour past when the restaurant was supposed to close and Castiel was exhausted.

He was ashamed to admit that he remembered Dean only when he finally left the office, the bandaged knife wound on his arm stinging as he pulled the door open, allowing fresh air into the small space. He, Gabriel, Grigori, and Gadreel all piled out of the office. Aleksandr had driven to the Den with the injured men after performing as much field medical assistance as he could provide with his limited resources. It was enough to get the three men that had been injured to Anna alive, so long as nothing happened to them on the way. Castiel hadn’t received any messages proclaiming a massive accident or anything, so he had to believe that the injured men had made it and were being cared for by his sister.

The restaurant was quiet when they all left the office. Grigori and Gadreel headed into the parking lot to start the cars so they could all go home as quickly as possible. The night was far from over. Gabriel followed Castiel out to the front of the restaurant, intent on helping him clean it up.

When the two Krushnic brothers got to the front, however, they found everything already finished. The counters had been wiped down, the chairs had been put up, the floor had been swept, the cups and napkins organized, the doors locked, the machines powered down, the dishes cleaned and stacked in their places, everything put away neatly where it belonged.

Gabriel leaned against the counter and groaned in relief. “That Omega is a fucking Godsend.”

Castiel stared at all the work Dean must have done and felt sick with guilt as he recalled what had happened in the parking lot. “I yelled at him,” he remembered, closing his eyes in shame. Of all the things that had happened today, he was surprised to find that that had been what he regretted the most. “I cursed at him and called him a fool.”

“What? When?” Gabriel demanded, sounding almost offended, as if he was the one who’d been verbally abused for absolutely no reason.

Castiel exhaled, clenching his jaw at his own stupidity. Damn it, what had he been thinking? “It was in the parking lot when we first pulled in. Balthazar was bleeding out and Dean was standing outside. I yelled at him to find you. I-I was stressed, and I didn’t think about what I was saying. I was… needlessly rude, to say the least.”

“Christ, Cassie, seriously?” Gabriel asked, sounding more exasperated than he had a right to be. “So that was why the kid came in looking like someone had just stabbed him in the heart.”

Castiel’s own heart clenched at that thought. He’d hurt Dean. The Omega was probably long gone now, already at home, so it was too late to apologize tonight. He’d have to wait until tomorrow, and his inner Alpha was not having it.

Castiel’s nerves were still frayed from the attack. He’d gone to speak with the Knights under a flag of truce, intending to attempt to understand why they’d sent two inexperienced gunmen after him. Instead of getting answers, he received a knife to the arm that had very nearly been in his neck if he hadn’t dodged it. The Knights, damn them, had no respect for the old rules of peace and negotiation. They’d attacked under the pretense of getting revenge for the men Castiel had killed, which was a foolish excuse for more reasons than he cared to count.

The result was a gash in his arm, three badly injured men back at the base, the equivalent of a political disaster, a serious conversation with his brothers waiting for him back home, and the knowledge that in his rage and panic, he’d shouted at the last person who’d deserved to be reprimanded. God, today had been horrible.

All Castiel wanted to do was find Dean and apologize. He wanted to wrap his arms around the Omega’s too-slender shoulders and hold him close, pet his hair and murmur pleas for forgiveness. He would get on his knees if it meant Dean knowing that he was sorry. He’d do anything the Omega wanted if it meant being able to take back what he’d said.

The amount of things he would do to mend any falling out with Dean was slightly terrifying. Castiel didn’t want to think about it, about just how much the Omega had him at his mercy. He told himself that there was no use going down that path, since there wasn’t anything he could do to fix the situation right now. Dean was at home, and Castiel needed to return to the Den to sort through the mess he knew was waiting for him. His older brothers were likely going to want to know everything about what had happened today. If they chose, they could take the attack as an act of war.

“We need to go back to base,” Gabriel said, as if he’d been reading Castiel’s mind. “We have to give a report. And you need to get that cut looked at.”

The last thing Castiel cared about right now was the gash on his arm, but he was too tired to argue with his brother. He nodded and followed the Beta out to the parking lot, where their SUVs were the last cars in the lot, both of the engines running as Gadreel and Grigori waited to drive back to the Den.

Castiel climbed into the passenger seat with Gadreel, Gabriel doing the same with the other car. As they began to drive, Gadreel said, “If it’s within my abilities to ask, Alpha Castiel, are we at war with the Knights?”

Castiel exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know. That’s for Alpha Mikhail to decide,” he said. He paused, knowing how insufficient that answer was, then added, “Most likely. We’ve gone to war for less than two attempted assassinations in less than two weeks.”

The only sign of tension in Gadreel was the tightening of his jaw and his grip on the wheel. “We’ll need to teach Dean to fight,” he said.

Castiel wasn’t sure why he was so taken by surprise about the mention of the Omega, but he was. “Why is that?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“We can’t have any weak links. He should be able to defend himself,” Gadreel said. He seemed to remember, then, who he was talking to. “If you and Alpha Mikhail think so, of course. My apologies, I shouldn’t have stated my opinion as a fact.”

Castiel shook his head. “Less damage done when your opinion is correct, or at least agreed with,” he said.

Someone would have to teach Dean to fight. Castiel thought of the Omega being kicked around by Nikov, and his blood heated with rage. He didn’t want to imagine what that would look like if Nikov was replaced by an agent of the Knights of Hell, someone who wanted to do real damage. The thought made Castiel feel sick.

Yes, teaching the Omega to fight would be something he needed to take care of very soon. But first…

Castiel knew the situation was serious when he saw Mikhail waiting for him in the driveway of the Den, his hands clasped behind his back. To anyone looking on, the leader of the Krushnic bratva would look at ease and thoughtful. But Castiel saw the tension in his shoulders, in the angle his head was held, the rigid line of his jaw.

Gadreel pulled the car to a stop right in front of the Alpha leader, allowing Castiel to jump out. Mikhail gave Castiel a nod of acknowledgment as he hurried to his side. “How badly are you injured?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Castiel said. “Where’s Luke?”

“In the office. Where’s Gabriel?”

“Here.” Gabriel appeared with rare perfect timing, smoothing his golden hair into place. The men and women that were moving about the courtyard on their own business had slowed down a little to stare at three of their leaders gathered in one tense circle. Castiel could feel the weight of all the eyes on him like a leaden vest.

“Let’s go to the office,” Mikhail said, still the near-perfect picture of calm. “Lucifer is waiting there, and Anna. Are you injured, Gabriel?”

The Beta shook his head, and that seemed to satisfy their brother. He turned on his heel and led the way into the Den, parting a path through the small flow of people coming through the front doors.

Castiel knew how they looked, despite the relative calm Mikhail seemed to be attempting to exude. Their men weren’t stupid, and Castiel could see the apprehension in their eyes as they watched the trio pass. They knew something had happened. They knew something was going to happen. Castiel looked around him at the spacious room in the Den, and he suddenly wished Dean were here.

He would feel better knowing that all the members of their organization were under the same roof or close to it, especially with how aggressively their enemies were acting. His stomach churned at the thought of Dean, unarmed and unprepared, sleeping in his civilian apartment with no idea that they were essentially at war.

God, he needed to teach the Omega how to fight.

When he and his brothers finally reached Mikhail’s office, they found Luke pacing back and forth like a caged tiger inside. When the door opened and he saw them, he released a rather obscene string of curses and said, “It fucking took you long enough. Cassie, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, stress and exhaustion shortening his temper. He saw Anna hovering near the empty fireplace and growled. “I don’t need your assistance, sister. Thank you. You should be attending to the other men.”

“The other men are stable and don’t need my help right now,” Anna said, her tone somewhat sharp. “I can decide where to direct my attention on my own, Castiel, thank you. Let me see your arm.”

Chastised and unwilling to take his anger out on anyone else today, Castiel sat down on the edge of Mikhail’s desk and began to stiffly strip off his shirt, exposing the hastily-wrapped gash on his right bicep. Anna set a metal box of supplies down beside him and went to work as Mikhail began to mirror Luke’s pacing, his handsome face tight with tension.

“Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning,” he ordered.

Castiel proceeded to tell his brothers about how he and his group had arrived under the white flag of truce, only for that peace to be ripped apart within fifteen minutes of their arrival. “They almost didn’t try to conceal their intentions,” he said, teeth gritted both with the pain of Anna disinfecting his wound and the deep-seated rage that he felt toward the enemy organization. “I saw the strike coming from a mile away, which is perhaps why I’m still sitting here. They went for my jugular.”

“Fucking bastards,” Luke swore. “Those fucking pigs.”

“This is an act of war,” Mikhail murmured. “We can’t let this go unanswered.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Luke said, fists clenching and unclenching. “This is our chance to rid this fucking city of those dirty rats once and for all. We can weed them out for good.”

“War is never a good thing, Lucifer,” Mikhail snapped. “Chance for elimination or not, we’re still going to lose good men and women to this fight. The Knights are a powerful organization.”

“We need all of our people ready for battle,” Castiel dared to say. “The Knights aren’t above using dirty tricks, including going after Omega soldiers.”

Mikhail stopped pacing. His blue eyes felt too piercing, like they saw too much. “You’re talking about Dean.”

Castiel lifted his chin, telling himself that he might as well be confident about what he was proposing. “Yes.”

Anna tied off the bandage she’d been wrapping around his arm and quietly began to pack up her box of supplies. If she sensed what was coming, she didn’t let on. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure Mikhail wanted a fight, especially right now, and he had a feeling that the problem he’d brought up would be surprisingly well-received with his brother. Mikhail had a soft spot for Omegas, soldier or not.

“He can’t fight at all?” Mikhail asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not that I know of. He has experience with weapons, but only in hunting animals,” Castiel said.

“Then you’ll teach him what he needs to know,” Mikhail decided.

It was such a quick decision, such a precise echo of what Castiel had been hoping for, that for a moment he didn’t know what to say. Luke spoke before he had a chance to come up with a response. “What? You want Cassie training a new recruit? He’s our best enforcer, we need him in the field—”

“Castiel is perfectly capable of doing multiple things at once,” Mikhail cut in, his voice taking on a familiar edge. “Don’t question my decisions, Lucifer.”

“Mikhail—”

“That’s Alpha Mikhail to you.”

“You’re a pretentious fuck, Alpha. I want to bash your teeth in half the time I see you,” Luke snapped. It was a dangerous thing to say to the head of one of the most powerful Russian bratva branches in America. Luckily, Mikhail and Luke fighting was a regular occurrence. Castiel didn’t fear for his brother’s life, even as Mikhail’s eyes flared with blue fire.

“I could have your tongue cut out if I wanted to.”

“Save it, you asshole. We have bigger fish to fry.”

Castiel didn’t know whether to be frightened or grateful that the twins had deemed this matter more important than their near-daily argument about power and authority. On the one hand, it was nice to hear an end to their bickering. On the other, it was a true show of how big this problem was. A war with the Knights of Hell had been brewing for a long time, and now that it was finally here, it looked like it was going to be bloody.

The brothers talked about their strategies and what needed to happen. Mikhail was going to officially declare war in a day’s time, which meant they had twenty-four hours to begin preparation for increased fighting and special operations. That meant larger influxes of weapons and ammunition, and the specialized training of new recruits.

Castiel expected Mikhail to lump Dean in with the newer recruits that would need training, but Mikhail said the Omega’s training would be separate. “He’s not a real soldier,” he explained. “He just needs to know the basics of how to defend himself. I trust your judgment when it comes to that.”

Castiel couldn’t deny that part of him was excited about training Dean. He liked that option better than the one that involved a random stranger training the Omega. He wasn’t sure why, but that idea didn’t sit well with his inner Alpha, not that he cared much about its opinion. His inner Alpha was untrustworthy at best.

Strategizing lasted well into the night. Castiel was half-falling asleep by the time Mikhail finally adjourned the meeting, which was better than Gabriel, who’d dozed off half an hour before while sitting in Mikhail’s office chair. Castiel roused his older brother before dragging himself out of the room and toward his bedroom, his limbs leaden, his thoughts syrupy and slow.

Sleep for him was long but rather fitful. Castiel woke up after about eight hours of rest to find the sun beaming through the window he’d forgotten to cover. His head throbbed, whether from dehydration or just in general protest of how unrested he felt, he wasn’t sure.

It took Castiel a good four or five minutes to fully wake up. He snagged a cup of yogurt and granola from the breakfast hall, trying to remember what he had intended to do for the day. It took him four bites of his yogurt to recall the errand he’d been meaning to run, and the memory struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Immediately, the sleepiness that had clung to him since he’d woken dispersed. Castiel waited as long as his patience allowed to shovel down the rest of his yogurt before tossing the cup in the nearest garbage can and starting off toward the front doors of the house.

Outside the main building of the Den, the sky was overcast and threatening rain. Castiel strode across the lawn, past the building that had been constructed to act as the garage and toward the smaller building that had been originally intended as an actual four-car garage when the place had been built. It was a large, elegant brick building, sturdy enough to be used as storage for their less sensitive supplies.

Castiel nodded at the two young women that guarded the door of the building as he entered. They nodded back, one of them carrying a gleaming black shotgun in her hands.

Inside the storage, the stacks of boxes and crates made the space seem smaller and more intimate than it was. All the padding inside the boxes acted almost as soundproofing material, causing the air to seem still and lifeless. Castiel strode across the floor, boots tapping quietly in the large space. There were two large boxes at the far left side of the room, black and nondescript, their lids latched.

Castiel pried the clasp open on one and shoved the top to the side, looking down at the array of softly gleaming knives that awaited him. There were nine, all of them perfectly cared for and masterfully crafted. None were as specialized as the set that Castiel kept on his person at all times, but they were close. He needed to find two that would suit his needs.

Castiel located the smallest knife first, inspecting the cruelly-sharp blade. It was small, only around the length of a pencil. The handle was butter-soft, the blade sturdy and gleaming brightly in the artificial lights overhead.

This one would do. Castiel sheathed it and pocketed it, then looked for the second and last knife he needed.

The next one he chose was larger, about half the length of his forearm. Castiel found himself feeling almost nervous as he pocketed the wickedly-sharp blade, pleased with the selections he’d made, hoping they would be received well.

He spent the rest of the day with the knives in his pocket. He found some cloth and wrapped them up so their sheaths didn’t clank around or get jostled as he went about his business. By the time afternoon came around and he’d arrived at Mystery Spot to take over the shift from his brother Luke, he’d nearly forgotten about the weapons tucked away in the pocket of his trenchcoat. It was only when the doors opened and admitted a familiar smiling, green-eyed Omega that Castiel remembered the knives he’d tucked away in the back office.

He wanted to do something with them immediately, but there were two problems: one, Dean wasn’t smiling, and two, Castiel couldn’t see his green eyes. Well, he could, but not very well.

Nikov had struck Dean on the left side of his face, and the bruise had only just begun to go down a week and a half later. When Dean entered Mystery Spot, he had two black eyes, a fresh bruise swelling his right eye as well as his left.

Castiel stared at him as he walked in, hand frozen over the register. He couldn’t remember for the life of him what he’d been doing, and he didn’t care. His entire focus had zeroed in on Dean.

He was limping. He was fucking limping as he made his way up to the register to clock in, murmuring a quiet hello to Castiel without meeting his eyes. And that was when the Alpha remembered that he’d yelled at Dean yesterday. The icy feeling in his stomach condensed, forming a ball that felt like a small boulder inside of him, taking up space where his lungs might have expanded before.

It was times like this that Castiel wished he was normal. He wished he was a normal Alpha with normal social skills, wished he’d been raised by a normal family doing normal activities instead of bleeding his enemies dry when they dared to cross him and his brothers. Maybe if he’d been normal, he would have known what to say to Dean. Maybe if he’d been normal, he would have known how to apologize for being so stupid yesterday, for being so cruel.

Instead, all he did was stand there, watching numbly as Dean slipped away from him, taking the opportunity to apologize with him. He heard the Omega’s sweet, husky voice as he greeted the cooks in the back in accented Russian, listened as they greeted him back.

Castiel waited until he’d worked up the courage, and then he strode into the back to find Dean had already started on the dishes, ever the hard worker. “Dean,” he said, pausing when he wasn’t sure what else to say afterward.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up, squinting at him through both the bruises blackening his face. God, Castiel could barely see the green of his eyes. His stomach twisted with nausea. “D’you need my help, Alpha Castiel?”

“No, I… I need you to come into the office,” Castiel said, steeling himself, getting his inner Alpha under control.

Dean nodded, though Castiel didn’t miss the flash of worry on his battered face. There was another bruise on his jaw, dark and ugly. As he followed Castiel to the office, he looked as if he was doing his best to hide his limp. The thought of the Omega concealing his pain made Castiel feel sick all over again.

He felt almost relieved when he led the Omega into the office and closed the door behind him. The door was made of cheap wood, flimsy at best, but it still felt like Castiel was concealing Dean from anything that wanted to hurt him when he shut it and turned the lock. He gestured for Dean to sit down, eyes catching the way the Omega’s knees practically gave out when he collapsed into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Am I in trouble?” Dean asked as Castiel finished shutting the door and made his way to his own chair. The Omega’s voice was soft, the tremble of it only barely concealed. Castiel’s heart clenched at the realization that Dean thought he was in here to be shouted at.

This is my fault, Castiel thought. This is all my fault.

“Of course not, Dean,” he said, fighting to make his voice as soothing as possible. He saw the way the tension drained minutely out of the Omega’s shoulders, relief flickering across his battered face.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s good. I… I wanted to say that I’m sorry for yesterday, Alpha Castiel. I didn’t mean to be so useless. Is… Is that guy okay? He didn’t die, did he?”

He sounded so fucking worried. He sounded like knowing if Balthazar was alright was his only purpose in life, like his entire existence hung on the man’s wellbeing. For what felt like the millionth time since he’d first met him, Castiel was taken aback by the depth of Dean’s kindness and empathy.

“Balthazar is alright. There’s no reason for you to apologize, Dean,” Castiel said. “Actually, it’s me that should be apologizing. I was cruel without reason, yesterday. You didn’t deserve to be shouted at, especially when you were only trying to help. I was stressed, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Dean blinked at him, as if this was the first time he’d ever been apologized to, like it was some sort of novelty instead of something every human being deserved when they were wronged. “Oh,” he said, and somehow his voice was even smaller than before. “It’s okay, Mr. Krushnic. You didn’t say anything that I didn’t deserve.”

“No, Dean, that—” Castiel cut himself off, not because he should have, but because he didn’t know what to say.

Part of him was screaming that this was wrong, that he needed to do everything in his power to convince Dean that he wasn’t a fool, that he was the kindest, sweetest Omega Castiel had ever met. Part of him was roaring for him to fix this, to make Dean bright and happy again instead of small and scared like he was now. But an even larger part of him argued that this wasn’t his specialty, that if he tried to fix this, he might just end up saying something that made it worse.

You’re not a fool. You don’t deserve to be insulted or cursed at, Castiel thought.

Aloud, he awkwardly repeated, “You have no need to apologize for yesterday. I was at fault. I shouldn’t have shouted at you, so I am deeply sorry.”

Dean looked uncomfortable at the apology, same as before. “You were stressed, it’s fine.” He looked at Castiel with an expression that might have been intended to be earnest, or maybe even reassuring, but all Castiel could see were the bruises on his face.

“Dean,” he said before he could stop himself, “what happened to your face? Did you…?”

He didn’t know how to finish that question. He didn’t even really know how to start it. How could he even begin to wade through the tangled mire of the subject of Dean’s bruises? Castiel wasn’t a fool. He’d seen them on the Omega before. But professionalism and the desire to stay distanced from Dean had always held him back from asking. Until now.

Now, Dean’s face immediately hardened at the question. “It’s fine,” he said. “I had a disagreement with someone.”

“They hurt you.” Castiel forced himself not to think of someone punching Dean, laying their hands on him in a way meant to bring pain. Those thoughts would only lead to the destruction of his self-control. “Dean—”

“It’s nothing,” Dean said. His voice was sharp, perhaps sharper than Castiel had ever heard it. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Disrespect, some distant part of Castiel’s mind said. Castiel had beaten men for less than the tone Dean had just taken with him. But he knew even before the thought had run its course in his mind that he wouldn’t dream of punishing the Omega for it. In many ways more than his fringe status, Dean was different from a normal bratva member.

“Okay,” Castiel said, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “My apologies.”

Again, Dean seemed uncomfortable with those words, but a second later, he brightened like a wilting flower that had been given the water it was starving for. “I’m gonna sign up for CPR classes, Alpha Castiel,” he said. It was a blatantly obvious attempt to direct the conversation elsewhere, but Castiel allowed it. “And the place I’m gonna go to offers classes on other things too, so I’ll know what to do next time something happens.”

For a long time, Castiel had believed that he had no heart. When his parents had died, he’d felt so numb that he’d figured something had happened to his emotions, to his inner Alpha. It had taken a long time for him to re-learn how to feel things. And right now, looking at Dean’s bright, hopeful smile as he announced that he was going to take medical classes… Right now, Castiel thought he remembered what it was like to feel love.

Bad word. A bad word to use.

“You don’t have to take classes anywhere, Dean,” Castiel said, the gentleness of his tone surprising even himself. “Anna could probably teach you, if you wanted.”

Dean only brightened further. “Oh, that’s awesome! She’s the doctor-lady, right?”

Castiel looked at Dean, soft youth and shining beauty, even when his body was so bruised and battered, and he said, “Yes, she’s the ‘doctor-lady’. She’s my sister. And speaking of your lessons, I have something for you.”

He got up, walking over to where he’d hung his trenchcoat on the wall. He could feel Dean’s curious gaze following him, resting on his back like the soft weight of a feather. Castiel pulled the cloth-wrapped knives out of the pocket of his coat and brought them over to the desk, clearing a few papers away so he could lay the package down in front of Dean.

“What is it?” Dean asked curiously.

Castiel’s lips twitched into a small smile despite his best attempts to keep a straight, stony face. “Open it,” he said, instead of answering the question.

Dean hesitated, then obeyed. His fingers were a little shaky, and Castiel thought he could see bruises on the Omega’s wrists, mottled blue and purple peeking out from underneath the cuffs of the too-big leather jacket on the young man’s shoulders. But even the rage those injuries brought forth was subdued by the sweet way Dean’s eyes widened when he unwrapped the knives, his mouth falling open in a little “o”.

“Whoa,” he whispered, hesitantly picking up the small one. “This is super cool. These are… These are real.”

Castiel couldn’t help his small laugh. “Yes, they’re real. You can unsheath them, just be careful.” He watched as the Omega did just that, adorable delight and wonder shining in his green eyes as he turned the gleaming blades over cautiously in his hands. “They’re for you,” Castiel said, holding his breath without meaning to. “They’re gifts. For the beginning of your combat training.”

The look of joy and gratitude Dean fixed him with would forever be burned into his mind, a pleasant memory despite the intense bruising on Dean’s handsome face. He looked so happy in that moment, so overjoyed by the gift of two simple knives. Castiel’s heart, small and shriveled as it was, swelled until he was sure it would burst apart in his chest.

“These are for me?” Dean asked, wonder-filled gaze flicking from Castiel to the two knives resting against the dark cloth on the desk.

“Yes. I’ll show you where to put them,” Castiel promised. “I’ll show you how to use them, too. Alpha Mikhail thinks that your training should begin as soon as possible.”

“Are you gonna be training me?” Dean asked. He sounded so hopeful, like it was all he could ever want.

God, this is dangerous, Castiel thought to himself. I’m going to fall down this rabbithole and never emerge.

This is going to hurt when it’s over.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll be training you for the most part.”

Dean beamed at him, bright and sweet and full of so much joy Castiel could practically taste it, and he said, “That’s fucking awesome, Alpha Castiel. I can’t wait.”

Chapter Text

The woman Castiel was supposed to be negotiating with had been talking for the past fifteen minutes straight, and he hadn’t heard a single Goddamn word.

Thankfully, Mikhail was with him, which meant he didn’t need to know everything that was being said. It was a good thing, since every time he tried to focus on the situation at hand, his mind drifted off into thoughts about Dean and he got distracted all over again. His thoughts volleyed between two very different topics: the way Dean had looked at him when Castiel had given him those knives, and the battered state the Omega had been in yesterday.

The latter was, of course, more concerning, but Castiel’s inner Alpha couldn’t stop going back to the moment he’d told Dean the knives were for him. He’d looked so happy. He’d looked like Castiel had just given him two bars of pure gold instead of a couple well-crafted knives. Perhaps the Omega was more excited about the promise of more training, and the knives were a representation of that. Or perhaps—and this was what really got his inner Alpha excited, the traitorous fool—Dean was just excited because it was a gift from him.

Castiel’s inner Alpha was going crazy trying to come up with lists of different things he could bring to Dean. It didn’t really help that Castiel could theoretically access very many things. He could gift the Omega anything from another knife to a superyacht. His resources and spheres of influence extended very far and very wide. The possibilities were practically endless.

Castiel told himself he was so focused on what he could give Dean because he wanted to see the young man’s smile again, not because it satisfied some primal part of him that wanted to bring shiny things to the Omega to see if he liked them. Neither option was very good, but Castiel justified his urges with the lesser of the two evils. He was still heavily exasperated with his inner Alpha’s rather strong urges to give Dean something else. The instinctual side of his brain was rather annoying most of the time.

Threaded through fantasies of gifting Dean more items that he might like were memories of the bruises that had mottled the Omega’s face the day before. Castiel’s heart, swollen as it was with the thought of how happy Dean had been when he’d gotten his knives, clenched every time he remembered the injuries on the Omega’s face and body. He’d been limping, so there was no question that there were other parts of him that were hurt.

Thinking of someone harming Dean, of someone throwing him around and punching him and—Fuck, it made Castiel’s blood boil. He badly wanted to believe that the Omega had been in a fight like he’d said, but he couldn’t forget that he’d seen similar bruises on Dean throughout the years. He’d always hoped it was just from being clumsy, but he wasn’t a fool.

Castiel had seen the marks on some of their new recruits, young men and women with haunted eyes and a story of violent parents or mates, family found among the bratva instead of at home. He knew what abuse looked like.

He also knew it was complicated. Dean was almost twenty-one, and despite how sweet and gentle he was, he was also strong and independent, and there were clearly layers to the situation when it came to whomever was abusing him. That had been clear enough when he’d snapped at Castiel yesterday for asking after his bruises. If he hadn’t left whomever was hurting him by now, there was probably a reason.

Thinking of all that made Castiel feel sick. It made him feel sick to think of someone abusing Dean, and it made him sick to think of the options he had to deal with it. Why would you? a voice in his head demanded. He already said he doesn’t want you to talk about it. It’s not like you have a special connection with him. You’re an employer, a superior. A superior who is much higher in rank than him, too. Why the hell do you care?

Castiel wished he had an answer to that question. He wished the answer he did have wasn’t so damning.

“Castiel.”

Castiel blinked, feeling as if he’d been forcibly dragged back down to earth. He found Mikhail staring at him, one eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. He and the blond woman standing across the desk from them were waiting for an answer, evidently.

“Apologies, it was a long night,” Castiel said in accented English, giving the woman his best smile. “Could you repeat that?”

She seemed too terrified of his brother to really notice that he hadn’t been paying attention at all. “I said that I can’t fund your fight right now. I’ve already had a plethora of HR problems this past month, and there’s a lawsuit coming any day now. I can’t take any more media scrutiny, especially if they start saying I’m dealing with shady business like… Like you.”

Ah. Castiel understood what he was supposed to do now.

Slipping that dead, unsettling mask over his face, Castiel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Do you think we care about your silly problems? Perhaps you should have managed your people better. That is not a reason for us to withhold our demands for your support.”

The woman might have paled, but Castiel couldn’t see her skin under the thick layers of makeup she was wearing. She tugged one frazzled blond curl nervously, her gaze on him now instead of his brother. “Mr. Krushnic, the timing for us isn’t—”

“We do not care about your timing,” Castiel snapped, leaning forward with a glare. If Mikhail was amused by his display of intimidation, he didn’t show it. The head of the Krushnic bratva was completely stone-faced, his body as still as a predator lying in wait as he sat in one of the flimsy plastic chairs they’d been given.

The woman swallowed, the movement making her delicate throat flutter. “You’ve asked for an inordinate amount of money,” she dared to say, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It will be nearly impossible to excuse moving sixteen million dollars—”

“Tell me,” Castiel interrupted, leaning forward a little more. “You Americans like to talk about pricelessness, yes? About how certain things are worth more than what money can buy? Is love one of those things?”

The woman looked like she might piss herself. Her voice trembled when she said, “Y-Yes? Mr. Krushnic, I don’t—”

“Shh,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “Let me finish. If love is priceless, then your mate’s life should be worth anything, yes? We saved him from the jaws of death, Mrs. Morton. We did you a large favor. We were kind enough to let you defer payment until later. Until later, you remember? That favor was not free. Your mate’s life was not free. And now the time has come to give us what we are due.”

“Sixteen million—”

“Shut up,” Castiel snapped, Alpha growl underlining his words. “I told you to let me finish.” He let her close her mouth before continuing, annoyance flickering inside of him like electricity. “We have let you defer the payment for thirteen months. Now it’s time to give us our money. Sixteen million by next Friday, like Alpha Mikhail so nicely asked of you.” Mrs. Morton looked as if she wanted to say something, but apparently she wasn’t as dumb as she seemed. She closed her mouth at the last second, prompting a cold smile to creep across Castiel’s face. “My brother has very nice manners, Mrs. Morton. He asked very politely for our money. I won’t be so kind. Give us our money, or you’ll find your priceless love strung up from the rafters of that hideous flat you call a home.”

He was honestly hoping she would cry, but she held her composure more than he expected. Her eyes were still suspiciously shiny as she turned to look out the window of her office, her exhales shaky and loud in the silence left behind after Castiel finished speaking.

Castiel leaned back in his chair, knowing his job had been done. Mikhail gave him a single nod of gratitude, though that was the only break from character he allowed himself. Otherwise, Castiel’s brother was the picture of perfect poise and deadly stillness, one leg folded over one knee in a way that only a fool would mistake as casual. Castiel knew it wasn’t a coincidence that his suit jacket had fallen open just enough to reveal the weapon harness he wore underneath, two handguns neatly tucked in at his sides.

“Sixteen million,” Mrs. Morton said weakly, still looking out the window. “By next Friday? That isn’t nearly enough time—”

“We have outlined our demands quite clearly, and I believe my brother has already explained to you the consequences if those demands are not met,” Mikhail interrupted calmly. He stood up in a single smooth movement, prompting Castiel to do the same. “Have a good day, Mrs. Morton. We’ll see your money in our bank account by next Friday, or we’ll be seeing your husband instead.”

The two Krushnic brothers were silent as they left the office. Castiel kept an eye on the woman as they left, not that he thought she had the balls to draw on them in a crowded office building. Still, people did foolish things when they were desperate. It paid to be careful.

Outside the office, the same bubbly receptionist that had led them up to this floor was waiting. She bounced up to them as they emerged, completely oblivious to what had just happened inside. “Oh, that was quick. Did you gentlemen get what you needed?” she asked.

“We did,” Mikhail said, gracing her with a small, tight smile.

She beamed, completely unaware of the tension of violence thrumming through both men like lightning. “That’s wonderful! Also, I wanted to let you know that it’s company policy to provide our visitors with a selection of our best products, so here you go!”

Castiel blinked and found two paper bags being shoved into his arms, the scent of sugar reaching his nose. “What—”

“Thank you so much for coming to visit Morton Sweets,” the receptionist said, showing them to the elevator. “We hope you come back again very, very, very soon! Bye!”

She pushed the button that would take them down to the lobby, then waved energetically for as long as it took the doors to slowly close on the two men.

“Why do they force their employees to act like that?” Mikhail grumbled, switching from accented English to disgruntled Russian. “So inauthentic and unnerving. She acted like she had a gun to her head.”

“They call it customer service,” Castiel replied.

He peeked into the paper bags he’d been given, half expecting to see a ticking bomb inside or something. Of course, there was only colorful candy. Castiel held one out to his brother, but Mikhail shook his head. “You can give those to Gabriel. He’ll probably love them.”

Castiel hummed in agreement and retracted his hand, holding the paper bags awkwardly at his side as the elevator slowed to a stop and allowed them out onto the main floor of the massive candy company’s headquarters. Mikhail led the way across the space, cutting through crowds of people in suits going about their business, completely oblivious to the two armed men in their midst.

Mikhail waited until they were in the car outside before he brought it up.

“You were distracted,” Castiel’s brother said bluntly as they slid into the backseat of their waiting car. “It’s not like you. What were you thinking about?”

Castiel exhaled, knowing that lying to his brother would be a foolish and useless endeavor. Even then, he still hesitated for a long moment before finally admitting, “I gave Dean some knives yesterday. I thought he needed some to keep on his person when he was going about his daily activities. I also told him his training was going to begin soon.”

“Yes,” Mikhail said, neutral and patient. He knew there was more.

“I was… I was simply thinking of Dean’s physical health, that’s all. He wasn’t doing well yesterday,” Castiel said, looking out the tinted window in an attempt to avoid meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Yes, Grigori told me he was injured. Did he tell you what happened?”

“No. I… never asked.”

If Mikhail was surprised, he didn’t show it. There was a long moment of silence, and then he said, “That’s not the only thing that had your attention.”

“It’s nothing,” Castiel muttered.

“What was it?”

The younger Alpha exhaled, wishing his brother wasn’t so nosy. He didn’t want to talk about something he didn’t fully understand himself, and especially not with his oldest brother. Mikhail wouldn’t judge him, and Castiel knew that, but he still felt… almost ashamed.

“I kept thinking about Dean’s face when I gave him the knives,” he admitted, figuring he’d better get it over with. “He just… He seemed very happy.”

“And?”

“God’s sake, Mikhail, what more do you want?”

“You want to give him more,” Castiel’s brother said, hitting the problem dead in the center. “You want to bring him other things.”

“Whatever,” Castiel mumbled, feeling like a child being grilled about a school crush. He was twenty-two years old. He didn’t need to be questioned like this.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Castiel,” Mikhail said mildly. He sounded as if he was trying to hide his amusement. “Really, it’s normal to have courting urges—”

“I’m not courting him.”

“Really? Then explain to me what you are doing,” Mikhail challenged. Castiel fell silent, and his brother chuckled knowingly. “Castiel, once you admit your feelings to yourself, everything will be much easier for you. And for everyone else, because to be frank, it’s getting quite tiring to watch you deny your attraction to the Omega.”

“My apologies for inconveniencing you,” Castiel grumbled, glaring at everything as it passed through the window.

Mikhail must have sensed that he was genuinely unhappy, because the teasing had drained from his voice when he said, “In all seriousness, Castiel, Dean is a good choice. He’s a sweet Omega, and because I know you haven’t noticed yet, he does seem to like you.”

“He’s practically a civilian,” Castiel said. “He’s a weakness.”

Mikhail hummed, sounding strangely disappointed. “Whatever you say, brother.”

They were silent for the rest of the ride. When they returned to Mystery Spot, they found Gabriel idly cleaning the windows while a few customers ate in the dining area. The golden-haired Beta was ecstatic when Castiel handed him a bag of candy from their visit to Morton Sweets. No one but Mikhail noticed the second bag that Castiel stuffed into the inner pocket of his trenchcoat, face traitorously warm underneath the amused eye of his oldest brother.

Mikhail and Gabriel returned to the Den with the promise to send Luke to take over once Dean arrived. It was the first day of the Omega’s training.

Adam arrived a few minutes before Dean did, giving Castiel a respectful nod as he took up his place at the register. Castiel tried to busy himself while he waited for the Omega to arrive, not wanting to seem overly eager to anyone, including a low-level man like Adam.

Of course, all pretenses of being unaffected went out the window the second Dean showed up, beaming at the cooks in the back through a split lip that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Dean,” Castiel greeted when the Omega came up to clock in, doing his best to behave like a normal, level-headed human being.

“Hi, Alpha Castiel,” Dean replied, smiling at Castiel in that way that made the Alpha’s knees traitorously weak. The Omega caught sight of Adam and stopped, surprise flashing across his handsome face. “Oh, are we, uh… Are we going somewhere?”

“We have some errands to run,” Castiel replied calmly. He hesitated, remembering that Dean was limping, that he had a split lip today and possibly other injuries that Castiel hadn’t yet seen. “That is, of course, if you’re up for it. We can always postpone.”

Dean shook his head so fast, Castiel was concerned for his neck. “No, no, we can go!” the Omega said, looking almost desperate. “It’s okay, I’m ready. Do I need to do anything before we go?”

“No, you’re perfectly fine,” Castiel said, taken aback by how adamant Dean was about going. Perhaps he was simply excited to begin his training. “Come, Gadreel has the car ready for us.”

He touched the Omega without thinking, putting his hand to the small of Dean’s back to guide him around and back the way he’d come, through the kitchen and into the employee parking lot behind the building. The cooks waved as they left, and Dean sent them a happy little wave in return.

Castiel caught his small wince as he moved, and worry flashed through him. What if Dean was too injured to train? He didn’t want to hurt the Omega even more. Maybe he could make today’s lesson easier than he’d originally intended.

They climbed into the car that was idling at the curb. Castiel watched Dean’s movements carefully as the Omega clambered up into the raised backseat of the SUV, eyes sharp for any sign of stiffness or pain. Dean did a good job of hiding that he was hurting, but Castiel’s trained eyes still caught the Omega’s slower movements. Once again, he wondered what had happened. He almost dared to ask, but then he remembered how that had gone yesterday and decided against it. He wanted Dean’s first training session to get off to a good start.

It was only when they’d settled into the car and had begun traveling toward their destination that the Alpha remembered the candy in his coat.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into the interior of his trenchcoat. He closed his hand around the paper bag inside and tried to stamp down the ridiculous excitement that was bubbling from his inner Alpha. Damn thing.

Dean’s smile was warm and sweet when Castiel handed the bag to him. Castiel found himself holding his breath as the Omega peeked inside, his nose half-buried in the bag because of how close his face was to it.

Whatever tension Castiel had been holding immediately disappeared when he saw the enormous grin that split Dean’s face. “Is this candy?” he asked, green eyes shining where they could be seen past the bruises partially obscuring them. “Holy shit, it is. Thank you so much, Alpha Castiel! This is… This is awesome.” He peered at the bag, staring into it like there were precious gems or diamonds inside instead of some twisted sugar and chocolate. “I haven’t had candy in—in… I don’t even know how long. Thank you so much!”

Castiel was smiling hard enough for his cheeks to ache. It was a foreign feeling. “Of course. Alpha Mikhail and I went to Morton Sweets today to follow up on a favor we were owed, and they gave us some free samples. I thought you would like them.”

Dean was still beaming as he carefully reached a hand inside the bag. He pulled out what looked to be a red-and-green striped ribbon of hard candy and stared at it for a moment, gazing at the sweet like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. After a moment, the Omega tentatively held out the piece and asked, “Wanna share?”

Castiel, for the record, hadn’t had candy since he could remember either. The first taste of it, apple and cherry or some other strange combination, was like a shock to his tongue. Castiel sucked on it slowly, savoring the joy on Dean’s face more than the actual candy itself. His heart had been compressed into a little puddle in his chest, warm and melted like the neatly-wrapped chocolate inside the bag. As he watched the Omega lean through the window that divided the back of the car from the front so he could share a piece with Gadreel, he decided giving Dean candy was one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

The drive to their destination seemed far too short. When they arrived, Dean carefully stowed the candy in his ragged black backpack, tucking it gently into a hidden pocket on the outside so it wouldn’t be damaged. Castiel’s heart clenched at the care with which the Omega treated his gift, as if the paper sack of colored sugar was something genuinely precious to him.

Mikhail is right. I want to give him more, Castiel realized, feeling simultaneously dismayed and elated. I want to give him the world.

“What are we doing today?” Dean asked, bringing Castiel out of mental lists of all the things he thought the Omega would like, all the things that would be appropriate to gift him without seeming overly pushy.

“Do you have your knives with you?” Castiel asked, forcing himself to focus on what he was doing. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. Training Dean was more important than his inner Alpha’s foolish delusions.

“Yep! I wasn’t sure where to, um, hide the bigger one, but I put the small one in my boot,” Dean said proudly. “Are you gonna teach me how to use ‘em?”

Castiel nodded. He thanked Gadreel and led the way out of the car, stopping in front of the building they’d parked in front of. Dean came to stand beside him, looking curiously up at it.

To the outside eye, it looked like a random office building. There were an acceptable amount of cars parked out front, though there were very few people coming in and out. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing indicated that this was actually a training facility for one of the largest mafia organizations in North America. It was only as Castiel led the way inside and had to explain to an armed bouncer that Dean was with him that it became clear this wasn’t just some corporate office building.

“Whoa,” Castiel heard Dean murmur as they passed through wide halls with doors that looked into gun ranges, storage rooms, practice areas, and boxing rings. When he’d been younger, Castiel had spent all of his time here, training and fighting and honing his body into a weapon. Nowadays, he came back for the maintenance that was required to keep up his skills and not much more.

With how the Krushnic organization had grown, Castiel found himself doing less and less of the grunt work he’d had to do when he and his brothers had first established themselves in America. Instead of hunting men in the night, he found himself spending time at Mystery Spot, keeping vigil and trying not to get caught staring at Dean. It was a rather comical transition from the teenaged, hungry, angry Alpha he’d been, but Castiel didn’t think he minded it.

Castiel found a somewhat empty practice room and entered, dragging Dean with him. The two young men that had been sparring inside froze when Castiel entered, their eyes going wide as they recognized him. A single jerk of his head sent them scrambling to grab their belongings and leave the room, silent as mice.

“Take your knives out,” Castiel instructed Dean, who’d watched the two men go with wide eyes. He began to strip off his trench coat and outer suit jacket, freeing his arms up for more movement. Castiel rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, adjusting his gun harness a little so it sat more comfortably on his shoulders.

Dean was now staring at him, though his expression was considerably more dazed than when he’d been looking at the men who’d left earlier. “Uh…”

“Dean,” Castiel said, amusement and something like satisfaction flickering through him as he caught the way the Omega’s eyes lingered on his arms. “Dean, your knives.”

“Fuck, right. Shit, sorry, Alpha Castiel.” Dean scrambled to reach into his backpack for his weapons, ears turning an adorable pink. Castiel observed the way the flush worked down the back of Dean’s neck and disappeared into his shirt, and he wondered if it extended down to his chest. He wanted to see. He wanted to know if he could get that flush deeper, if he could make the Omega so flustered he wasn’t able to speak.

Christ, I’m never going to survive this. Castiel forced himself to look away as Dean began to pull off his leather jacket, focusing his attention on the dummies that had been pushed to the side of the room to create room for sparring. He dragged two out to the center of the space, setting them about ten feet away from each other.

When he turned back around, Dean had taken off his jacket and was wearing only his jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt. Castiel was taken aback by how much volume Dean’s leather jacket added to him; without it, his broad shoulders looked considerably smaller, his body lean and slender with the look of a fit young man who didn’t quite get enough to eat.

“Alpha Castiel?”

“…Yes?” Castiel blinked, realizing with a faint twist of heat that he was the one staring now. Feeling like an idiot, he forced his gaze away from Dean’s body to his face, where another light flush had worked its way onto the Omega’s face.

“I was just asking what we were doing,” Dean said, holding out the two knives he’d dutifully retrieved. “Are you gonna teach me to throw them or something?”

That brought Castiel back. He shook his head with a small smile, beckoning Dean closer to the dummies. “Despite what the movies show you, there isn’t much utility to throwing knives. Unless you’re very well-trained and are quite lucky, it’s foolish to let go of your weapon on the off chance that you might hit something vital enough to take down your attacker. You’re much better off with your knife in your hand.”

He guided Dean to put the larger knife down, figuring they could start with the basics. He needed to give Dean a solid foundation to build on, and they could go from there.

The first order of business, of course, was to teach the Omega how to hold the knife. Castiel tried to ignore the way his inner Alpha growled in approval as he carefully adjusted Dean’s grip, fingers brushing against the Omega’s warm skin, close enough to hear Dean’s soft breathing. He wondered if the heat in his gut showed on his face. He wondered if the light flush on Dean’s face was just an effect of the warmth in the room and the Omega’s nervousness, or if it was something else.

Castiel finished showing Dean how to hold his knife, and then he turned to the dummies. He started with basic anatomy, explaining the best places to hit his attacker, even if they were wearing a bulletproof vest that would hinder the effectiveness of a blade. Dean listened with rapt attention, his green eyes sharply intelligent as they watched every single one of Castiel’s movements.

When Castiel finished demonstrating a move, he waited for Dean to copy him. With the exception of a couple times when the motion contained several complicated steps, the Omega managed to follow him perfectly.

“Well done, Dean,” Castiel said when Dean perfected a particularly difficult motion.

He definitely wasn’t imagining the way the Omega’s ears and cheeks pinked this time, Dean’s head ducking slightly as he mumbled a thanks. The realization that Dean enjoyed being praised struck Castiel like a damn lightning bolt from the sky. Traitorous heat flashed through him, quick enough to color his own face.

Not now, he thought desperately to himself. Not now.

They moved on rather quickly. If Castiel had been intelligent—if he’d possessed any sort of self-preservation instinct—he would have left that information to rot somewhere in the back of his head. But he was a fool, and underneath the steely grip he had on his control, he was only an Alpha. A rather young Alpha just entering his prime, only just becoming acquainted with the mountain of urges and desires that came with it.

He couldn’t help himself when Dean next completed a complicated move, his blade slicing clean through the tattered clothes that the dummies had been dressed with years ago. “Good, Dean,” the Alpha praised. “You’re doing very well. Even better than I expected.”

That beautiful blush colored Dean’s cheeks again, his confident stance shifting slightly into one of shy insecurity. He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, gaze fixed on the floor. “Thanks, Alpha Castiel. You’re, um… You’re a good teacher.”

Castiel noted the deflection, storing the information away for later. “Let’s try those last three movements again,” he said. “You need to cement them into your memory.”

They did just that, practicing in perfect sync for hours. Castiel praised Dean as often as he dared, as often as he thought his heart and inner Alpha could handle it. Some part of him wanted to pin the Omega against the nearest wall and really tell him what he thought, but he knew how inappropriate that would be. He resigned himself to enjoying the blush that colored Dean’s cheeks without fail every time he was told he’d done well.

It was enough. For now, it was enough.

After a while, it became clear that Dean was exhausted. His movements got sloppier, and his hands began to shake. Castiel called off the rest of their practice, feeling a little guilty when he remembered that the Omega hadn’t eaten and that he was still injured. He made Gadreel stop for food when they left the facility, something primal inside of him settling as he watched Dean devour the food that he’d provided.

It was only after they’d dropped Dean off at his apartment, after Gadreel had driven Castiel back to the Den, after he’d showered and gotten ready for bed and laid down on his large, empty mattress, that Castiel allowed himself to think about today. It was only after he’d worked through some of the mental blocks in his mind that he was really able to think about how he felt about Dean, about the hours they’d spent training together.

And in the darkness, staring up at his ceiling in his cold, too-big bed, Castiel quietly admitted to himself that he was screwed.

Very, very screwed.

Chapter Text

Dean got back to his apartment after John fell asleep.

Thanking God for small miracles, Dean crept through the living area, picking his way through crumpled wrappers and empty bottles on the carpet by the light of the flickering TV. His dad was passed out on the recliner, head at an awkward angle, snores sounding over the audio of some random baseball game. Years ago, Dean might have woken him to spare him the pain of a sore neck in the morning. Now, he knew it wasn’t worth the punch that waking his dad would likely earn him.

Dean slipped into his room without interacting with his drunken father, silent as a mouse. When he’d shut the door behind himself and retreated to the relative safety of the mattress in the far corner of the room, he sat down and allowed himself to have a little mental meltdown about today.

He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, feeling a little lightheaded. The feelings swirling around in his chest weren’t bad in the slightest, but they were certainly a lot. Sorting through them was like taking an entire LEGO store, dumping all the contents together, and then being told to organize everything by color. Dean felt a little like he was drowning.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to survive his training session with Castiel. He’d mostly focused as hard as he could on doing the moves correctly, desperately trying not to focus on the thoughts that flew through his head every time the Alpha praised him in that rumbling voice.

Well done, Dean, he’d said, and fuck, that made Dean’s inner Omega purr like a Goddamn ‘60s car engine. Dean thought of Castiel saying that in a different setting, with those massive hands wrapped around his hips instead of the hilt of a knife, and he couldn’t even feel ashamed of how he felt about that.

Honestly, the novelty of feeling arousal was what kept the guilt and shame at bay. Dean had gone so long without feeling even the inklings of the sexual drive he’d possessed as a teenager that he didn’t even know what to do with himself. His lower gut felt tight and warm, his inner Omega suspiciously loose and relaxed. He wanted to… Fuck, he didn’t even know.

Every time Dean tried to think of something else, tried to tame the slow-building heat in his gut, all he could remember was the corded muscle of Castiel’s forearms and the sure efficiency of his strong hands. Jesus Christ, Dean swore he didn’t have a hand kink, he didn’t. It was just… very hard not to imagine Castiel’s hands on him, sliding up and down his body, holding his hips in place while he—

Christ, this was not helping.

Dean had the presence of mind to get up so he could open his window, hoping the fresh night air would filter through his room and get rid of any trace of Omega arousal that could be sensed through his scent-blockers. When he got up off his mattress and moved toward his window, though, he froze in surprise and, embarrassingly, slight amazement.

His ass was wet. Literally. Not as much as the stupid dollar-store romance novel cheesy-ass descriptions of an Omega slicking, but like… actually. Dean stood frozen in the center of his bedroom, eyes wide.

When he was fifteen, Dean had had sex for the first time with a pretty Beta girl from his high school after taking her out for ice cream. He’d spent the next three years of his life exploring, learning that other Omegas were nice, Betas were best, and Alphas… Alphas were a no. The two Alphas Dean had ever fucked had been rough and almost mean, as if causing Dean pain was meant to prove their strength and Alpha-ness. So yeah, Dean stayed far away from them. But he still had his various partners, and at one time, he’d even liked to call himself experienced.

But after he’d turned sixteen and Sam moved away, his sex life had started declining. And once he’d turned eighteen and graduated high school, he’d taken on three jobs and suddenly found no time for anything other than working, especially something frivolous like sex. Even if he’d had the time to go to a bar and pick someone up, he wouldn’t have had the energy to be a good partner. So Dean had eventually stopped having sex, and three years later, he was just now remembering what it felt like to be aroused.

He felt kind of like a dumbass, just standing there, but he couldn’t deny that he was surprised. It was a pathetic thing to be surprised about, but it felt strangely… good.

I’m still a real, functioning Omega, Dean thought to himself somewhat deliriously. Everything down there still works. I’ve just been too stressed or something.

He walked over and opened the window, then climbed back onto his mattress on the floor. Lying there in the dark, Dean cautiously summoned memories of Castiel’s tousled, sweat-damp hair, the gleam of the tanned skin that could be seen where he’d undone the top button of his shirt. He allowed himself to imagine what he would see if the Alpha took off his shirt altogether. Castiel would probably have tattoos there. Dean wondered what they looked like.

He thought of Castiel’s long, agile fingers, the tattoos that were inscribed there. Dean’s hole clenched embarrassingly at the thought of those fingers inside of him, just as nimble and efficient at bringing pleasure as they were at using weapons. Christ, the thought of the Alpha’s low, rumbling voice praising him in bed instead of in the training room made Dean’s cock stiffen so fast it ached. Groaning quietly in the darkness, Dean reached down and cautiously unbuttoned his jeans.

The release of painful pressure around his hardening dick felt good, almost as good as when he tentatively rubbed a hand over the growing bulge and felt a spark of pleasure run through him. Carefully, almost curiously, Dean bucked his hips up against his hand, rubbing his erection against it. It felt so good that he turned over and humped the mattress instead, eyes slipping closed at the pleasure that flooded through him.

He imagined that the mattress was Castiel’s thigh instead. Maybe the Alpha had pinned him against the wall of the training room, his leg shoved between Dean’s. Maybe he was holding him there, caging him with his strong arms, smelling of that woody cologne and the faint scent of gunpowder. Maybe he was ducking his head down to inhale Dean’s scent, murmuring filthy praises into his ear.

Dean whimpered quietly at the thought of being pinned against the wall by Castiel’s bulk, unable to move away. But he could move away if he really wanted to, because Castiel might be dangerous, but he wouldn’t hurt Dean like that. He’d make Dean take his pleasure, but he wouldn’t humiliate him for it, wouldn’t call him nasty names like “bitch” or “whore.”

You’re doing so well, Dean, the memory of Castiel’s voice praised, low and rough with exertion. And then, Good Omega. My good Omega.

Dean rutted into the mattress desperately, hole clenching. Without thinking, he reached back and slid a hand into the back of his unbuttoned jeans, seeking out the damp fabric of his boxers. He was slicking like crazy, the wetness allowing two of his fingers to slide right in. Dean had to shove his face into his pillow to muffle the noise that came out of him then, his body shuddering with pleasure.

The combination of the delicious friction on his dick, the clumsy but satisfying way his fingers filled his hole, and the memory of Castiel praising him in that rough, accented voice of his sent Dean over the edge. He came with a ragged gasp for the first time in years, his body trembling as ecstasy flooded through him like a tidal wave. His hole pulsed around his fingers, milking them like they would a knot, and Dean had to muffle his quiet whine into his pillow. In the midst of his pleasure, his inner Omega still longed for the real warmth and weight of an Alpha on top of him, inside of him. Only the scent of his own come and his own arousal filled his nose.

Panting a little, Dean tossed the blanket back and sat up, wincing as the fabric of his pants and boxers rubbed up against his now-oversensitive dick. His come felt hot and sticky inside his underwear, though it was rapidly cooling. Grimacing at the sensation, Dean got up to change into clean pants and boxers.

He felt a little ashamed of what he’d thought of to get himself off, but he was more amazed at the fact that he’d even been aroused in the first place to really feel much more than dazed wonder. When he’d cleaned himself up, gotten changed, and opened the window a little wider to air out the room, Dean climbed back into bed and stared at the ceiling.

He knew he should be scared of whatever this was, this attraction to what was essentially his boss. Castiel was a dangerous man, and even if he was kind to Dean, that didn’t stop him from being a deadly mobster. A criminal, actually. Dean had a massive crush on a criminal.

He threw an arm up over his eyes, not really wanting to think about it. He’d just had his first orgasm in a long time, and he was actually kind of tired. The last thing he wanted to consider, late at night with work in the morning, was the ethics of jerking off to the thought of having sex with a guy who’d killed someone in front of him.

Thankfully, Dean truly was exhausted. His body graced him with easy sleep, so much so that he didn’t even notice he’d drifted off until he woke up to the beeping of his alarm hours later.

The room was freezing, but it smelled of early morning air instead of aroused Omega. Dean shut the window with a shiver, then quietly got dressed for work. As he grabbed his backpack when he left the room, the crinkle of paper inside reminded him of the gift Castiel had given him yesterday.

Immediately, warmth flooded Dean’s body at the memory of the candy he’d shared with the Alpha in the back of the car. The thought made his whole body feel warm, from his toes to the tips of his ears. The only person more excited about the candy than him was his inner Omega. It was practically bouncing off the walls, filling his mind with the idea of Castiel taking a liking to him, of the Alpha courting him.

Dean decided that that was ridiculous as he walked to the bus stop that would take him to Amara’s diner. An Alpha like Castiel wouldn’t court him. He’d just been being nice, right?

Maybe so, but that didn’t stop Dean from enjoying the candy. He quietly, happily chewed on a couple caramels on the ride to Amara’s diner, the sweet taste of candy filling his chest with warmth.

That was another thing he hadn’t had in years. It seemed Castiel was reintroducing him to things he’d once enjoyed, even without meaning to.

Dean had to store the candy away when he got to the diner. His backpack wasn’t very large, so there were few pockets that Dean could store the bag away in safely. Some of the outer pockets were ripped, the fabric worn with the years Dean had used the backpack. It had once held his books for his freshman year of high school. Now, it held everything he needed for his jobs: his apron, his blockers, his suppressants, and now, his knives.

Dean was surprised to notice that he felt much safer with his knife in his boot and last night’s training under his belt. His added layers of self-protection knowledge made even the nasty, sleazy Alphas that came into Amara’s diner seem a little less threatening. Dean knew, logically, that he would probably get in big trouble if he stabbed someone, whether they’d attacked him first or not. But the assurance that he could, that he was able to defend himself if he needed to… That was something worth more than gold.

The shift at the diner seemed more tiring than normal, but that was probably because Dean was fatigued. He always got tired easier when his heat drew nearer. He was pretty sure he remembered something about Omegas’ bodies purposefully becoming weaker so they would be more inclined to stay in their nest, or some other bullshit from biology class in high school. Dean wished he could tell his body it was a lost fucking cause, since he had no nest and he wasn’t going to be going through heat anyway. Then again, he was pretty sure that—sentient as his inner Omega seemed sometimes—that kind of logic wouldn’t really be understood.

His shift seemed to drag on forever. When it was finally finished, Dean’s body was aching and tired. His ribs and torso still hurt from the beating he’d gotten a few days ago, and though he was healing, carrying trays full of food around all day made him feel like he’d been hit by a truck. It was hard to conceal his limp when he left the diner. To carry himself through the short walk that he had to the bus station, Dean fantasized about what it would feel like to finally sit down, whether in the bus seat or in a booth at Mystery Spot, it didn’t matter.

He sucked on some chocolate squares on the way over to the restaurant, savoring the sweet taste of them and ignoring the throbbing of various parts of his body. The chocolate made his inner Omega feel all warm and content. Usually, Dean didn’t give a damn about what his inner Omega thought or wanted, but he couldn’t deny that its satisfaction was soothing to him. It made him feel strangely settled.

It was interesting how that thought was only just coming to him, considering how logical the connection was. A happy inner Alpha or Omega made a happy individual. And Dean supposed he’d never realized that, since he’d been at odds with his inner self since he could remember.

Ever since he’d presented and he’d first heard that quiet voice in the back of his mind urging him to do certain things, he’d tried to shove it away. Usually, whatever his inner Omega wanted was bad in some way. It wanted him to arrange his blankets into a nest, to cuddle a pillow to his chest, to nuzzle into the neck of his partner after he’d had sex instead of getting up and getting dressed, to do anything in his power to make his familial Alpha happy with him even though Dean knew that wasn’t physically possible no matter how much he tried. So many of the things his inner Omega had demanded over the years had only brought him pain.

But sitting on the bus that day, sunlight coming through the window and warming him, Dean chewed quietly on his chocolate and realized that this wasn’t so bad. Maybe he and his inner self could agree on some things. Maybe he and his inner Omega could get along. They both certainly liked chocolate, especially when the person who’d given it to them was a certain strong, handsome, blue-eyed Alpha.

Despite the shitty way his body felt, Dean was happy as he got off the bus at his stop and started up the street to Mystery Spot. He didn’t even try to deny the fact that he was excited about seeing Castiel. Even though his whole body felt like one giant bruise, he would gladly go through a rigorous training session just to be close to the Alpha again.

The cooks in the back, Grigori and Aleksandr, greeted Dean in their typical gruff manner when he came in. He greeted them back, then went out to the front of the restaurant to see Adam at the register, quietly tallying ones and scribbling notes on a nearby notepad. When Dean came closer, Adam gave the Omega a curt nod and stepped out of the way, eyes never leaving his task.

Dean clocked in and looked around, trying not to be too obvious as he searched for Castiel. The restaurant dining room was empty save for a group of teenagers studying in the back, milkshakes at their elbows. Not to be discouraged, Dean turned and ventured into the back of the restaurant, looking to see if the office door was closed.

It was open. No one was inside.

Dean frowned. He was about to ask Grigori where the manager of the shift—whether it was Castiel or any of the other three Krushnic brothers—was when the burly Alpha slid a plate full of food into the window, right in front of Dean’s face.

“For you,” he grunted.

Dean blinked, mouth watering on instinct at the sight of the crispy, salty fries and the cheese melting down the side of the patty. “Um…” He had to fight to focus on the Alpha and not the food, his stomach rumbling in anticipation. “You… You guys realize you don’t have to feed me everyday, right? I have food at home, too.”

“We do,” Grigori argued, gesturing with a tomato juice-stained knife at the office. “Alpha says so.”

Dean prayed to God they couldn’t see the way his cheeks and ears had flushed. “Oh. Okay. But, um… You’ve gotta—Can you start feeding me salads? Please?” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck to give his hands something to do. “I’m gonna get fat with all these burgers you’re feeding me.”

“I don’t see any harm in that,” a familiar voice said. Dean found Castiel standing next to him, having approached on feet that were silent as moths’ wingbeats. When Dean met the Alpha’s eyes, he received a small, kind smile. “Go eat, zaychik. We’re leaving for training in ten minutes.”

There was definitely no way Grigori and Aleksandr couldn’t see the blush reddening Dean’s cheeks and ears. Feeling a bit idiotic and a bit like he was going to explode with warmth at the same time, Dean quietly took the food and headed out to the dining area, avoiding looking at Adam as he went. He sensed, right before he was about to sit down, the dark presence behind him. This time, when he spotted Castiel only a few feet away, it wasn’t a surprise.

The Alpha slid into the booth seat opposite Dean, which didn’t help the Omega’s blushing problem. He picked up a fry and ate it, suddenly very conscious of what he looked like when he ate.

Castiel, for some unknown reason, seemed perfectly fucking okay with just sitting there and staring at Dean. Eventually, Dean couldn’t handle the scrutiny and silence, so he asked, “What are we doing today? For training, I mean. More things with knives?”

Castiel watched him take a bite of his burger, his blue eyes piercing Dean like a Goddamn surgeon’s scalpel. He seemed completely unaware of how unsettling his stare was. “Yes,” he said, after a moment of thought. “There are still many things I should teach you, and we need to go over what I taught you last night.”

Dean thought of last night, specifically what had happened after he got home, and he nearly choked on a bite of his burger. Ducking his head to hopefully hide how red his traitorous face had turned, Dean hummed and nodded, hoping wordless agreement would suffice for an answer.

Thankfully, Castiel seemed satisfied with the conversation. Even better, he turned his head to observe the dining room instead of staring at Dean, which was nice, since it helped Dean feel less like he was going to have a heart attack. He was actually able to finish his food, save for a couple fries. When Dean got up to put his tray away, he saw that twenty-four minutes had passed, fourteen minutes after Castiel had said he’d wanted to leave.

“Ready?” the Alpha asked, that small, warm smile still fixed on his face when he looked at Dean.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Dean said. He felt a little guilty about making them late, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind.

The Alpha led Dean to a car that was quickly becoming familiar. Inside the back, he waited for Dean to buckle into his seat before reaching for a large bag sitting on the floor near his feet.

“This is for you,” Castiel told Dean, pulling something large and black out of the bag. Dean blinked in shock and took the item, his brain taking a second to catch up and even figure out what it was that he was holding.

It was… a backpack. A new backpack, one with sturdy fabric and that sort of shell on the outside that protected everything inside. Dean couldn’t even count how many pockets he saw, and he only realized he was staring when he heard Castiel shift awkwardly, as if he was uncomfortable. A quick glance at the Alpha revealed an almost worried light in his blue eyes, his gaze fixed on Dean’s face.

“This is amazing, Alpha Castiel,” Dean said, feeling a little dazed. “This… What… I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” Castiel asked. He’d looked relieved when Dean had said the backpack was amazing, but now his expression just changed to one of confusion.

“I just… I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” Dean said. He felt strangely small as he looked at the backpack, which he figured had probably been pretty expensive.

He wasn’t the kind of person who received gifts, let alone nice, expensive ones like this. Even if it was something simple like a backpack, Dean still felt like an imposter holding it in his hands. He was suddenly reminded of just how pathetic he was next to Castiel. The Alpha was probably worth more than a thousand Deans put together. Dean was fucking nothing next to him. And he’d had the gall to think, just for a second, that this was a gift that he deserved? A gift that might… mean something?

Courting gift, his inner Omega whispered. Dean decided right then and there that whatever bullshit he’d been thinking on the bus was exactly that: bullshit. Screw an understanding with his inner self. That guy could go fuck himself.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, tilting his head like a Goddamn little bird or something. Fuck, an Alpha that dangerous and that handsome had no business looking so… cute. “I’m sorry, Dean, I don’t understand what you mean by ‘deserving.’ You don’t need to ‘deserve’ a gift.” The fucking airquotes, if possible, were even more endearing than the head-tilt.

“Yeah, but…” Dean trailed off, trying to find the right words to voice what he was thinking. He was aware that he was being extremely fucking stupid right now, since he was essentially arguing with one of the most powerful men in the mafia and possibly this part of the country, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t tricked by his own worthlessness, and he’d be damned if he let someone else be. “I just… I don’t think… I don’t know, I’m sorry. I just…”

Castiel seemed to sense that he was floundering. “The backpack is bulletproof,” he explained. “It also has places where you can store weapons without making it obvious. I believe the Americans call it ‘tactical.’ Either way, I thought it would be better than the backpack you’re using now.” He paused, making a face that reminded Dean of when Sammy got sore throats as a kid and needed to swallow his saliva or his food. “Of course, if you don’t want it, you don’t need to accept it. I can always take it back to the distributor.”

“No!” Dean blurted, a direct echo of the shout his inner Omega seemed to emit. Hurrying to cover for the awkward response, Dean said, “I mean, I do want it, I-I think it’s really nice of you to… to get it for me. I just… I’m, um, I’m not… I don’t know.”

How the fuck was he supposed to explain that he wasn’t worth the money or effort? How the fuck was he supposed to explain that whether or not he wanted to, his inner Omega was seeing this as a courting gift, and it was starting to convince his rational mind, too? How the fuck was he supposed to explain that an Alpha like Castiel had no business courting an Omega like him, that doing so would be like trying to drive a gorgeous classic car through a mud pit and then down a pothole-filled road?

And how the fuck was he supposed to handle the way Castiel’s face sort of softened, as if he somehow knew exactly what Dean was thinking?

“If you truly want it, then keep it, Dean,” the Alpha said. And then he turned and faced the seat in front of him, as if to physically signal that his part in the conversation was over.

Dean stared at the black, sturdy backpack in his hands, wishing his brain would stop making everything so fucking complicated and awkward. He felt ashamed of himself. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he just act like a regular Goddamn person for once?

“Thank you, Alpha Castiel,” Dean said quietly after a long silence, shame twisting in his stomach. He added a quiet, “I’m sorry,” at the end, figuring it wouldn’t hurt. Saying sorry was always better than not saying it, in his experience. And this time, he really meant it.

He wished Castiel didn’t have to deal with his stupid bullshit. He wished he didn’t have feelings for the Alpha that clouded his vision. He wished his inner Omega would get with the program and realize that Castiel was just being nice, because there was no way an Alpha like him would ever court someone like Dean.

He wished for a lot of things, but since when did Dean ever get what he wanted?

When they got to the training facility, Dean tried to forget the incident he’d caused in the car. He left the backpack on the seat, choosing to bring his old one with him into the building. He missed the faint pained, saddened expression on Castiel’s face, the look of an Alpha who’d been rejected. There was no telling what might have happened if Dean had seen it.

He didn’t.

By the time they’d reached the same training room as the day before, both Dean and Castiel had managed to school themselves into their respective ideas of calmness, both locked up behind their mental fortresses once again.

“Show me the movements I taught you yesterday,” Castiel ordered when he and Dean had reached their training area. Dean had stripped off his leather jacket again, trying not to feel too naked without it. Castiel had taken off his tan trenchcoat and suit jacket like last time, and Dean was struggling not to salivate.

“Um, y-yeah, okay,” he said. He had to bite his tongue to get himself to focus. It was almost ridiculous how badly he wanted to glance at Castiel every few seconds just to catch the glimpses of skin that could be seen through the undone top button of his dress shirt. Christ, Dean probably needed to get laid or something. This was ridiculous.

Despite his distraction, he was able to complete the movements he’d learned the day before with minimal difficulty. On the more complicated ones, he had to slow down and think through his moves, but other than that, he aced it.

Castiel hummed in approval when he finished the last one. “Well done, Dean,” he said, his words tripping Dean’s heart up so it stumbled all over itself. “You’re a very quick learner. We won’t have to spend very long on reviewing.”

They didn’t, thankfully. When Castiel was teaching Dean new movements, the Omega was able to focus on those instead of on how sexy Castiel looked while teaching. Plus, doing the same jabbing and kicking and slicing over and over was exhausting, so Dean thought more about not passing out than he did about wanting to actually live the fantasy he’d had about being pinned against the wall from last night.

He’d been feeling fine on his way to and from Mystery Spot, but now that they were here and practicing, Dean remembered how much his body hurt. He was already fatigued thanks to his stupid biological cycle. The lack of adequate sleep and food made it hard for his body to heal from that beating he’d gotten a few days ago, too. He was tired by the time Castiel had finished teaching him just one new move.

During their other training session, they’d worked from four in the afternoon to nine at night. Dean didn’t think he was going to make it all five hours. He ended up lasting three before he grew sloppy enough for Castiel to notice that something was wrong.

The move Dean was trying to perfect was somewhat simple. It started with him being attacked from behind. He needed to stomp on his attacker’s foot, throw his head back into their nose, get his arm free, and stab them in the stomach or the liver. He kept fumbling the knife or not jamming it back hard enough. At some point, the constant jerking his head back made him somewhat dizzy. It was when he dropped the knife altogether that Castiel finally told him to stop.

“Dean, is everything alright?” the Alpha asked, a hint of concern in his gravelly voice. “Do you need another demonstration?”

Dean didn’t need another demonstration, but he did need a second to get his feet under him again, so to speak. He felt a little ashamed to be asking Castiel to show him again when he felt like the Alpha had just done it a moment ago, but he nodded. “Yeah, please. I, uh… I ain’t the best at this.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel said easily. “You’re simply struggling with this particular movement. I believe you’re missing the timing here.” He stepped up to the dummy, showing Dean the perfect way to complete the move. Dean watched him dizzily, fighting to breathe through whatever the fuck was going on with his head.

Unfortunately, the dizzy spell didn’t go away before Castiel was done. Dean had to step up to the dummy and pray he wasn’t wobbling too much, grateful that it was sturdy enough for him to partially lean against.

Slowly, hoping against hope that he didn’t look drunk or worse, Dean stomped down, threw his head back against the dummy’s rubbery face, fumbled for his knife, and missed the finishing jab completely.

“Fuck,” he hissed, turning to see that he’d sort of scraped the dummy’s side instead of stabbing a vital organ. He’d most definitely be dead by now.

On instinct, Dean turned to see what Castiel thought. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—approval, disappointment, anger, calm—but he was suddenly thrown back to shooting cans in his backyard with his father day-drinking next to him, turning to look at his familial Alpha for judgment every time he missed or hit a can.

Not close enough, John might say. That was fucking pathetic. Or, You need to hit it straight on, none of that clipping-the-side pussy bullshit. Jesus, Dean, you’re impossible.

Castiel didn’t strike Dean as the type to say that. But the way he’d narrowed his eyes in a sort of squint at the dummy made something in Dean’s chest give way, crumpling in on itself way too easily, like a piece of paper that had been crunched up and smoothed a thousand times only to be crushed yet again.

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted out, before the Alpha could say anything. He reached up, running a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, biting the hangnail he’d pulled on the ride over to the training facility. “I don’t know why I keep messin’ up. I’m sorry, Alpha Castiel, I’m just really bad at learning stuff. I’m sorry.”

He stepped back on instinct, away from the dummy and away from Castiel. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to give the Alpha space to demonstrate again or if he was trying to move out of striking range, but both were probably a good bet.

To his surprise, Castiel didn’t sound angry. In fact, the squint on his face had smoothed away, replaced by a slight wrinkling of his brows that looked like… confusion? Concern?

“There’s no need to apologize, Dean. You’ve done nothing wrong,” the Alpha said. He was looking at Dean closely now, his eyes piercing. “Are you feeling alright? You look pale. And you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, with about twice as much force as was needed. He immediately flinched, wishing he had better control of himself, of his fear. His inner Omega was quaking like a fucking coward, waiting for the first hints of Alpha rage to appear in the air.

There was no choking scent of Alpha rage, though. There was only the sudden scent of aged wood and spices, warm and strangely sweet. Dean blinked and suddenly found Castiel right in his space, his very large, very warm hands settling on Dean’s biceps, gripping his arms firmly to keep him steady.

Shit, had Dean been about to fall down? Maybe. Everything felt pretty woozy.

It didn’t matter, because a second later, Castiel was guiding Dean to sit down on the floor. His hands were incredibly gentle, soothing as they began to rub softly up and down Dean’s arms, rough palms scraping lightly against Dean’s bared skin. The contact was so good that Dean’s throat tightened. He prayed that the quiet whine he heard was in his imagination, not a sound that he actually made out loud.

His terrified inner Omega had peeked its head out of the ball it had curled up in, lured by the warmth of Castiel’s hands and the scent of him so close. Even wearing blockers and cologne, the Alpha smelled fucking incredible. Dean wanted to tip his head forward and nuzzle his face into his neck. For a single, terrifying second, he almost did.

Dean had closed his eyes at some point. When he blearily opened them again, he found Castiel right in front of his face, his eyes so big and so blue, full of a shocking amount of concern.

“Dean,” he was saying, accented voice low and urgent. “Dean, can you hear me? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

Dean swallowed, wishing his throat wasn’t so tight. There was no fucking way he was on the verge of tears, except that was pretty much the only explanation for the heat and pressure behind his eyes. He was really, actually sitting there on the floor in front of his boss and the object of his stupid affections, sweaty and pathetic and about to start crying like a baby because a couple touches to his arms felt nice.

He opened his mouth to say that he was fine, to laugh it off and maybe make a joke, because the only thing worse than getting killed for disrespect was starting to cry in front of a mob boss. But when he finally got his throat to work, all that came out was a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Some sort of noise emerged from Castiel’s chest right then, something between a growl and a soothing rumble. His hands stilled on Dean’s shoulders, one of his palms resting right over Dean’s tattoo. “I need to know what’s wrong, zaychik,” he said, his voice gentle. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“‘M not hurt,” Dean mumbled, almost wishing he was. If he was hurt—like really hurt, not just a little bruised from getting roughed up by his dad—then he’d probably have a good excuse for how he was acting right now. As it was, the only excuse he had was, “I’m just tired. ‘M sorry.”

Castiel murmured something under his breath in Russian, the words sounding distinctly like a curse. “You have nothing to apologize for, malysh. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? I would have stopped the training.”

Dean gulped. “Didn’t… Didn’t wanna disappoint you,” he admitted quietly.

He had to look away after that. He didn’t want to see Castiel’s expression, and he didn’t want the Alpha to see the pathetic tears in his eyes. He blinked furiously, hoping they would go away.

There was an awful silence after that. Dean bit his tongue furiously to keep any noise from escaping him, focusing all of his energy on regulating his breathing and keeping those stupid, pathetic tears at bay. All the emotions that he usually kept in a box in the back of his mind were beginning to overflow. With his heat only a week or so away, his hormones were making everything worse. He felt like rolled-over crap.

After what felt like an eternity, Castiel silently let go of Dean’s arms. The loss of touch made Dean’s inner Omega upset all over again, but he ignored it. He was too focused on not breaking down right then and there to think about anything else.

To his surprise, Castiel didn’t get up and leave right away. Instead, he walked silently over to the other side of the room, his black boots silent on the cement floor. He grabbed one of the dummies that was laying over there, one that was evidently meant for something other than standing upright and being stabbed, and dragged it back over near Dean.

Dean watched as Castiel knelt down beside him, the dummy next to them both. Quietly, the Alpha reached for Dean’s right wrist and grabbed it gently, directing it to a section of the dummy’s neck and pressing his fingertips there. “This is where the external jugular vein is,” he said, his voice low and steady. “It’s smaller than the internal jugular vein, which is here.”

Castiel moved Dean’s fingertips all around the various parts of the neck, quietly telling him what he was touching and how it was vulnerable. His accented voice was low and soothing, calming the little trembles out of Dean until he was able to sit there and breathe calmly and listen like a normal person.

It was nice to hear Castiel’s voice. He was gentle when he moved Dean’s hand from place to place, showing him the best entry points through the ribs to get to vital organs like the lungs, heart, and liver. Though the conversation topic was somewhat morbid, Dean found it soothing. He slowly calmed down from whatever edge he’d somehow found himself on, his heart rate slowing in his chest.

“There are other ways I can teach you that don’t require physical action,” Castiel said after he finished showing Dean all the different strike areas on the left side of the human body. He was still holding Dean’s wrist, his grip gentle. His blue eyes were kind when Dean finally worked up the courage to meet them. “Please tell me how you’re feeling in the future, Dean. I won’t be disappointed in you, I promise.”

They finished their lesson soon after that. As they drove home in surprisingly-comfortable silence, Dean wondered if this was how all mafia recruits were treated. He highly doubted it. Of course, he wasn’t all that sure that he was just a regular recruit. Something in him didn’t think that men like Castiel went out of their way to train and coddle any one member of the bratva.

But I ain’t special, Dean thought. For some reason, it sounded less convincing than the other times in his life that he’d thought it.

By the time he reached his apartment and bid a quiet goodnight to Castiel and Gadreel, he’d decided that he wasn’t exactly a normal recruit, but that it would be stupid of him to think he was on any sort of pedestal. He needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to try to earn Castiel’s approval just as much as he would if he were just some random person. There was absolutely no evidence that the Alpha thought of him as anything more than a soldier to train.

Well, kind of.

As Dean snuck past his drunken father for what felt like the millionth time in a row, as he got ready for bed and slipped into his room, as he held his new backpack in his arms in the darkness, he wondered if he was just being an idiot. He wished he could differentiate between what was real and what was just the product of his admittedly-low self-esteem.

Dean wouldn’t admit to anyone that he buried his nose in every part of the backpack he could, searching out any scent of woody, spicy cologne that might be lingering there. He wouldn’t admit that he whined sadly when he found only the smell of fabric and ballistic padding. He wouldn’t admit that he scented his clothes, too, inhaling all traces of Castiel that he could find.

And he would take to his grave the fact that when he curled up to go to sleep that night, it was with the bundle of clothes from the day and the backpack he’d been given held snugly in his arms, his mind and his inner Omega resting peacefully at last.

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.

Chapter Text

When Dean returned home after doing hand-to-hand combat training with Castiel, he found that his father had broken his tiny streak of being sober. To say he was surprised would be a lie. Dean had been expecting it too much to be truly disappointed. As he closed the door to his father’s bedroom, where John as passed out diagonally on his bed, he remembered the hundreds of times he’d done the same thing before.

There was something tired inside of him that had nothing to do with the long hours of physical training he’d had today. Dean’s very soul felt worn out when he cleared up the empty bottles on the tiny sticky table of their apartment where he and his dad had been eating dinner together only a short time ago. He finished cleaning up and leaned against the counter of the tiny kitchen, staring at the living area of the apartment for a long moment in silence. Everything about it felt oppressive, from the dark, peeling wallpaper to the stained, musty carpet to the moldy ceiling to the dirty, cracked windows. Everything about the place was old, worn-out, and depressing in a desperate, quiet sort of way. The whole space felt like the lungs of an old smoker, aged and tired from being misused and mistreated for so long.

Dean wondered, for a brief moment, how much of that applied to him.

His body ached from all the training he’d done with Castiel, so he walked tiredly over to the little table and sat down in the near-darkness of the apartment, looking blankly down the short hallway at the closed door of his dad’s bedroom.

He was glad Sammy had never lived here. He was glad his kid brother had left before he’d ever had to see the inside of a place like this. Even though the house their Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby owned was old and tired too, it had a sort of warm, well-loved feeling to it. The few times Dean had been there, he’d felt safe.

Dean remembered the day Sam left like it was yesterday.

He’d been sixteen, young but too aware of the problems of the adult world for his age. He’d been exhausted from working a job and going to school, and he’d been emotionally raw from getting told off in front of his entire history class for not completing his homework. His teacher hadn’t known that he left school and immediately went to work at a local mechanic’s shop. She’d just been frustrated that he had over fifty missing assignments.

Dean had been feeling unsteady from the humiliation of being shouted at in front of all his peers, so when his dad came in and yelled at him for not taking out the trash, for being a Goddamn fuck-up all the time, he’d been unable to help himself. He’d fucking burst into tears like a Goddamn pussy, and his dad had beaten him accordingly for it.

It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, except for some reason, Sam came home from his cross country practice early that day. And the little fucker had been so quiet when he’d come in, so stealthy that neither Dean nor John had noticed him until he was in the doorway of the kitchen, shocked because he was watching his dad strip the skin off his older brother’s back with a belt buckle.

And Dean had known that Sam would be an Alpha. Some part of him had always known. That day just solidified it in his mind, because when Sam saw John beating Dean, he didn’t get scared, he didn’t cry. He got angry. He grabbed the nearest thing—a bottle of olive oil, if Dean remembered right—and hit their dad over the head with it.

The whole thing had been horrifically traumatizing. Dean still had nightmares about it, dreams that made him wake up gasping. He still remembered the cry his little brother emitted when John shoved him against the corner of the kitchen counter, blood and olive oil soaking his shirt. He still remembered the desperate way he’d pushed Sam out of the house and locked the door before his dad could do anything more.

It had taken an hour or so for his dad to calm down enough to clean himself up and take the Impala to the nearest bar so he could drown himself in whatever guilt he felt for beating the shit out of his oldest son. Sam had shouted at Dean for what felt like an eternity, and then he’d cried himself to sleep in Dean’s lap, gangly arms wrapped around his neck.

Dean had called their Uncle Bobby that very night and shakily begged him to take Sam. He’d known this wasn’t going to be the last time Sam got engaged with their dad, and the thought of what would happen when Sam actually presented as an Alpha was terrifying. He wanted his brother to grow up feeling safe and loved. He wanted to give Sam more than he could provide.

Bobby and Ellen had tried to convince him to come live with them too, but Dean knew that John would try to go to the cops if both his sons left him. Besides, he couldn’t shake the pathetically loyal part of him that insisted that he stay with his dad. He knew he wouldn’t be able to cope with the guilt if he left his father, only to learn he’d died alone because there’d been no one there to help out.

So Dean had stayed. He’d sent Sam off to Sioux Falls to live with their aunt and uncle, and he’d stayed with his father. They’d left that house in Lawrence, Kansas, a little under a year later and moved here, to a shitty apartment in a city halfway across the country. Dean had finished high school to appease his own desire for achievement, but he hadn’t dared to go any further.

And now he was here. He didn’t know quite what to make of his current position, but he was surprised to realize that it didn’t seem as bad as even a few months ago. With his job at Mystery Spot, he was able to put more money than ever aside for his fund for Sam. His little brother was sixteen right now, only two years away from heading off to whatever brainiac college he was bound for. Dean didn’t know what he’d do with himself when he no longer had a purpose to keep working like a dog, but he’d long ago put that off until he really had to think about it.

Now, though, sitting and staring at his surroundings, he couldn’t help the quiet tug in his gut for more.

His inner Omega was tired. It was tired of constantly living in fear of being beaten by his familial Alpha, of not getting enough to eat, of having nowhere to nest and feel safe. Dean supposed it had always been tired, but now that he had somewhere that he felt like he could breathe, he found that the contrast was sharp and sickening.

Mystery Spot, a restaurant where he worked, felt safer than this place did. Castiel Krushnic, a mob boss who’d committed murder and worse, felt safer than his own father did.

Dean didn’t know how long he sat and stared at the apartment where he lived, but it was long enough for the sun to set behind the windows and for the room to get dark. Dean finally got up when he couldn’t see anymore and slipped into the shower, intending to wash off the sweat of the day.

He didn’t think he had enough energy to jerk off, but his body surprised him. Dean wasn’t sure where this newfound libido was coming from, but he actually liked it. He felt the stirrings of arousal in his gut as he stood in the tiny shower of the apartment bathroom and closed his eyes, figuring he should just give in to the dirty thoughts, just this once.

Dean leaned up against the wall, the tiles cool against his back, and he thought of today. He thought of being pinned to the ground underneath Castiel, the Alpha’s weight heavy and secure on top of him. Dean imagined lying on silky sheets instead of a worn out mat, imagined relaxing into the mattress of a soft bed and baring his neck for Castiel without anything holding him back.

Dean tilted his head in real life, whimpering softly as his knees wobbled. He wanted to kneel, so he did, awkwardly situating himself underneath the warm shower spray in the tiny space. His dick was rock hard, the precome leaking from the tip being washed away by the water from the showerhead. Dean wrapped a tentative hand around it and whined quietly, imagining that his touch was Castiel’s instead.

The Alpha’s hands were so large and so warm. Dean thought of them trailing down his body, leaving fire in their wake. He thought of one of Castiel’s hands wrapping around his cock, the Alpha’s voice rumbling as he praised Dean and told him he was beautiful.

Fuck, that was good. Dean was too aroused to feel ashamed for getting so turned on at the thought of being called pretty. He imagined Castiel’s rough, accented voice, reverent as he brought Dean pleasure. So beautiful, he might say. Such a good boy. Such a good Omega for me.

Dean whimpered and bit his lip, trying to keep his noises as quiet as possible. He stroked his dick as slowly as he could, trying to draw out the electric feeling for as long as he could. He was slicking enough that it would be trickling down his legs if it weren’t for the shower water. Ignoring the awkward angle and the way his knees ached from kneeling on the crappy plastic of the shower floor, Dean reached back and shoved his fingers inside of himself.

Two fingers hurt, and Dean winced at the feeling. He forced himself to go slower, to add one finger and then the other when his hole got used to the feeling. The feeling of being full, even if it was only a fraction of what he really wanted, was amazing. Dean had to suppress more noises as he slowly, curiously pumped his fingers in and out of himself, imagining that they were Castiel’s instead.

Dean had tipped his head so far to the side that he ended up leaning against the shower wall, his body curved languidly as he stroked his cock and plunged his fingers into his ass as far as he could. Pleasure pulsed through him in waves, warm and electric. Dean rocked tentatively into his own fingers, whimpering at the delicious feeling.

He wanted more. He wanted his hole to be stretched wider, but he could only manage two fingers before the angle got awkward and started to hurt instead of feeling good. Dean wished he had something thicker and heavier inside of him. He imagined Castiel’s cock, imagined the Alpha pushing into him, and he felt the coil in his stomach tighten.

The scent of aroused Omega was filling the small bathroom, potent because of how the water was washing away the blockers Dean always wore. He was getting drunk on the smell of sweet vanilla and baking bread, of sunshine and the scent of fresh spring air. He didn’t think he’d ever smelled so happy. He wondered what his scent would be like if it were intertwined with Castiel’s woody, spicy one.

Castiel would probably hold onto his hips with those big, warm hands of his. He’d murmur praises in that breathless, raspy voice, would maybe groan once he’d fully seated himself in Dean’s hole. You feel so good, Dean, Dean imagined him saying. Such a beautiful Omega. So tight and warm.

Dean whimpered again, stroking his cock faster. He imagined kneeling for Castiel like he was now, making himself small and obedient for the Alpha. He imagined nuzzling his face into the crook of Castiel’s knee, soft and quiet and good. He imagined Castiel stroking those long fingers through his hair, praising him for how well-behaved he was.

Proficient, the Alpha had said today. You’re a natural.

Good boy, Dean’s mental Castiel added. My good Omega.

Dean came with a breathless whine, his body rocking weakly between the two pleasurable sensations of his fingers in his ass and his hand on his own dick. He pulled his hands away when he grew too sensitive, leaning tiredly against the shower wall.

Once again, he was struck by the intense desire to nuzzle into someone’s arms and be held. It hurt that he was the only one here, ruined the nice afterglow of a good orgasm just a little. But the warm water of the shower helped, so it didn’t take long for Dean to slowly get up and finish his shower, legs still a little shaky from kneeling.

He felt a little guilty for wasting water when he eventually got out, but it wasn’t too bad. Dean dressed quietly in soft pants and a T-shirt, then crept out into the hall and into his bedroom.

The bruise cream Castiel had given to him was still hidden at the bottom of his new backpack, which had lots of new pockets. Dean had taken to hiding it when he was home, not wanting his dad to notice it. He dug out the cream and applied some on the bruises that lingered on his face in the dark, soothed by the numbing sensation of the salve. When he’d finished, Dean zipped up the backpack and climbed into bed with it, too tired to feel ashamed of how his body curled up around it like it was a pillow or a stuffed animal. He fell asleep with his nose nudged against the bulletproof shell, his arms wrapped tight and snug around the bag.

Dean woke up the next morning sore and a little more fatigued than usual. Luckily for him, Castiel gave him the day off from training that day. Instead of perfecting knife moves or escaping more theoretical attackers, Dean remained at Mystery Spot and helped deliver special packages.

It was a nice break for Dean to work at the restaurant. On a weeknight it wasn’t too busy, so he spent half his time there sitting on a stool in the back, listening to Aleksandr’s stories of being a pilot in the Russian Air Force and happily sucking on some of the candy that remained from the bag Castiel had given him.

Today, Luke was the manager instead of Castiel. Dean was a little disappointed, but he understood that the blue-eyed Alpha had business to attend to that didn’t have anything to do with Mystery Spot. It made sense that he had to leave every once in a while.

Dean returned home to find his father drunk but unfortunately still awake and coherent. Thankfully, he only grumbled a few insults at Dean when Dean made him tacos and retreated to his room, full after having eaten at Mystery Spot. It was a relatively peaceful evening.

The trouble came the next day. Dean had had a good run of calm, relatively uneventful shifts at Amara’s diner. That streak had to end sooner or later.

The shift started off normally, with Dean running the dining room as best he could while feeling like he was going to keel over if he moved too fast. His heat was only a week or so away now, and his body was not happy with the suppressants keeping most of his hormones and instincts at bay. He was relieved that he had a steady fund for his bus fare, because if he’d had to run to work again, he probably wouldn’t have made it.

So yeah, he was pretty tired that morning. A little out of it too, but not enough to come off as weird to the customers. In fact, Dean thought he was doing pretty well until he got attacked seemingly without warning.

The thing was, there were always signs. Dean knew what to look for. He was a relatively attractive Omega working in a seedier part of the city, so he was no stranger to groping hands and crude insults. He knew to watch out for an Alpha with that sort of look in their eyes, greedy and slimy and nasty. They all had a gaze that followed him around the dining room, even when they weren’t expecting something from him. A sort of curve to their lips, arrogant and egotistic, as if they were God’s gift to Omegas.

The fat, balding Alpha that grabbed Dean as he was leaving after taking his order had all of those warning signs, and Dean was too out of it to notice them. It was a surprise when the man’s hand snaked out and grabbed Dean’s wrist roughly, the touch twisted and wrong.

Caught by surprise, Dean tugged on instinct, attempting to free his arm. The Alpha’s grip tightened, almost painful. “Don’t leave just yet, sexy,” he crooned, grinning at Dean with teeth that were stained by coffee and tobacco.

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Let go of me,” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid making a scene. He didn’t need Amara docking his pay for “disturbing her customers” or something.

“Why don’t you sit down for a minute, talk to me?” the Alpha suggested, not seeming to hear him. He nodded at the empty booth opposite him, eyebrows raising suggestively.

“I’m working,” Dean gritted out, yanking his arm harder. The Alpha’s grip tightened even more, the scent of faint irritation reaching Dean’s nose. The smell made his inner Omega cower, but Dean refused to show that he was scared.

He knew what to do in this situation. Jerk his arm forward instead of back, twist while the Alpha’s grip was loose, then smash his knuckles into his nose. Once he was stunned, Dean could do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed to do to get away. Of course, that was if they were standing out on the street instead of in a diner where Dean worked. A diner where he could get the cops called on him for assaulting a customer.

Amara wouldn’t have his back if it came down to that. She might even lie to save face, paint Dean as the crazy one. He’d lose his job and possibly go to jail. He couldn’t attack this Alpha, as much as he wanted to.

“My name’s Zachariah, green eyes,” the Alpha said, grinning at Dean like he wasn’t practically cutting off circulation in his wrist. “Can you tell me what to call you? Need to know what to say in bed later.” He laughed at his own stupid, disgusting joke, winking at Dean.

Dean was honestly shocked at the man’s sheer fucking audacity. He tugged at the grip on his wrist uselessly, saying a little louder, “Let go of me. I need to get back to work.”

He was completely sure he’d raised his voice enough to be heard by the people nearby, but they didn’t do a Goddamn thing, the cowards. Dean glanced to the side desperately and saw another Omega drinking her coffee, staring very hard at her newspaper, as if the comic page would save her from the guilt of ignoring the situation that was happening only a few feet away. Dean wished he could shout at her to stop being a fucking coward, but he was too busy trying to think of a way out of this situation. Shit, the guy was gripping his wrist hard.

“I’m sure you don’t have to go right this second,” the guy, Zachariah, was saying. “Come on, just a couple minutes.”

Teeth gritted with rage, Dean lowered his voice to a furious whisper and hissed, “If you don’t let me go right now, I’m going to fucking break your nose and then stab you in the eye with your Goddamn fork. Let go of me, you fucking creep.”

Apparently, Zachariah only liked his Omegas when they appeared somewhat willing. Threatening to blind him with an eating utensil obviously didn’t fall into that category. Within a few seconds of Dean’s hissed threat, the Alpha released the crushing grip he had on the Omega’s wrist, lip curling with disgust. “You should be thanking me for giving you a chance. With an attitude like that, you wouldn’t attract even a sewer rat.”

“I’d rather fuck a sewer rat than spend five minutes talking to you,” Dean snapped.

He backed away quickly after that, knowing all too well how fast Alphas could turn violent. Every instinct he had was screaming for him not to turn his back on Zachariah, but he forced himself to do just that as he turned and walked toward the kitchen. Luckily, the man wasn’t stupid enough to attack an Omega in broad daylight in a crowded restaurant. Even if the patrons had looked the other way just now, Dean doubted they could have done so if the man had jumped on him.

He was immensely relieved when he found himself in the relative safety of the kitchen. Neither of the cooks glanced at him, even when he leaned against the wall, trying to wait out the dizzy spell that had suddenly struck him.

Dean felt shaky, inside and out. He clenched his hands into fists and fought to keep the little noises that wanted to escape his throat quiet. His inner Omega was still a trembling ball in the back of his mind, terrified and desperate for something to soothe him, to convince him he was safe. Dean knew automatically what would help him calm down, but he also knew it was literally impossible for him to go see Castiel right now. He still had four hours left in his shift here. He had four hours until he could see Castiel.

If he’s even there, Dean thought, and that very nearly made him lose it. He had to clench his hand into a fist and stuff it into his mouth, the pain of his teeth cutting into the skin of his knuckles helping to keep him grounded. If he focused on the coppery taste of his blood, on the rise and fall of his chest as he fought to keep his breathing steady, he could remain relatively under control.

It took around five whole minutes for Dean to calm down. When he’d managed it, he had a dining room full of customers to check on and deliver food to. He felt sick at the thought of seeing Zachariah again, but thankfully, the Alpha had decided to leave after being rejected.

Dean was shaky and a little off for the rest of his shift. He tried his best to act normally, but he could tell that his customer-service smile was missing the mark and that his hands were shaking too badly not to be noticed when he wrote down orders on his notepad.

When he was finally able to leave the diner, he did so as quickly as possible. Dean usually stayed to get some lunch, but there was no way he was spending any more time at Amara’s than he had to. He didn’t feel safe until he got on the bus, his whole body cold and shaky from the inside out.

Dean didn’t realize how badly he wanted to see Castiel until he got to Mystery Spot and found the Alpha seated in his office, sipping a cup of tea and frowning at a book of numbers. Dean actually felt a little sick with the relief that flooded through him when he saw Castiel. He had to sort of lean against the wall for a moment, that dizziness coming back just slightly.

“Dean?” he heard, and oh shit, he’d been caught.

Dean had been hoping his smile would be easier to fake now that he was in Mystery Spot, safe from creepy Alphas, but it still felt forced. “Hey, Alpha Castiel. Sorry, I was just… Um…”

Castiel frowned, setting his steaming cup of tea on the desk. “Are you alright, Dean? You look pale.”

Dean swallowed. “Uh huh.” It was a sorry excuse for a response, but it was all he could muster. He really wanted to sit down.

As if he could fucking read minds, Castiel stood up and gestured for Dean to come into the office. “Sit down, Dean. Is something wrong?” He sounded so concerned, as if Dean’s wellbeing was the most important thing ever or something.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay,” Dean said. He actually meant it as he sat down in the office, his breath leaving his lungs on a quiet, relieved exhale. The office smelled of lemon tea and the smell of old books, with a hint of that woody smell that belonged solely to Castiel.

Yeah, he was okay. He was okay now.

Castiel, unfortunately, didn’t look convinced. He walked around the desk and closed the door behind Dean, shutting them into the quiet space together. Then he walked over to the little teapot sitting off to the side and grabbed another porcelain cup, pouring some tea for Dean.

“My mother used to make lemon tea for me when I was sick or anxious,” Castiel said, taking a little bottle of honey and squirting some into the cup. “She used to brew it in this very pot. It’s always helped me feel better.”

He handed the cup to Dean, the porcelain almost as warm as his fingertips. Dean prayed the Alpha couldn’t see how his hands trembled when he took the cup. He took a shaky sip, something inside of him soothed by the warm, lemon-honey taste of the tea as it slid down his throat.

“My mom used to make tea, too,” Dean said, feeling some of the tension drain from his muscles as he took another sip of tea. The taste and heat of it calmed him, helped him relax into the chair he was sitting in. “She used to make pie, too. It was, like, my favorite thing ever.”

Castiel’s gaze was warm when he asked, “Do you still like pie?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head at the memory of how he’d devour the dessert when he’d still had the money and time to enjoy it. “Yeah, it’s my favorite food. My little brother likes to say that it’s not technically a food, but he also thinks a salad is a meal, so I don’t really listen.”

Castiel chuckled, the sound warming Dean down to his very bone marrow. “He’s got a point,” he said.

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grinned, feeling that familiar pride swell in his chest when he thought of Sammy. “He thinks he knows everything ‘cause he’s so damn smart. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Castiel chuckled again, and Dean was pretty sure he could get drunk on that sound. The Alpha seemed genuinely amused. The combination of the warmth of the office, Castiel’s presence, and the lemon tea was helping to calm Dean’s anxiety. His inner Omega was no longer in a state of intense distress. The panic attack that Dean had felt building was gone now.

Castiel poured him more tea when he got low. The sight of the Alpha carefully squeezing honey into Dean’s tea made his heart do funny flip-flops in his chest. When the Alpha handed him his cup back, he was quiet for a moment before he said, “I have something for you.”

Dean sipped his tea and smiled, hoping his face didn’t betray the sudden nervousness he felt. “Another knife?”

Castiel’s mouth quirked with amusement. “No,” he said. “It’s… a different kind of gift. You can choose not to take it, if you wish.”

Dean wanted to tell him that there was no fucking way he was gonna reject a gift from him, but he figured that was kind of inappropriate. Instead, he settled for asking, “Is it a surprise?”

Castiel opened the drawer of the desk, his hand hesitating above the contents. “I suppose, though you won’t have to wait long to find out what it is,” he said. “If you don’t like it, you don’t need to accept it.”

Dean frowned a little at that. It wasn’t like Castiel to repeat things. The laconic Alpha usually said stuff once and expected it to be remembered. What was the gift, if the Alpha felt the need to remind Dean twice that he didn’t need to take it?

He got his answer a moment later. Castiel reached into the drawer and pulled out a small white box, about the size of a beer coaster, but thicker. Dean took it from the Alpha curiously, wondering at the light weight of it. He pulled the lid off, very aware of Castiel’s gaze, which rested on him like a physical weight. Dean didn’t know what had the Alpha so anticipatory. He quietly pulled the little foam protective square out of the box to see what was underneath, and then he stopped.

He’d been expecting jewelry of some kind, because that was what the box implied. And indeed, lying on a simple piece of pale cardboard was a pair of bracelets that looked to be made of several pieces of black cords tied together. The design was simple and pleasant to look at.

Dean stared at them for a long time, his heart coming to a quiet standstill in his chest.

“They’re made of elephant hair,” Castiel said. There was a long pause, and then the Alpha said in a voice that was somewhat quieter, “I thought they would suit you.”

And yeah, okay, there was no fucking way Dean was misinterpreting this.

Holy shit.

He stared at the bracelets in the box, and he tried to let the information swirling around in his head sink in. Because he was pretty sure this was exactly what he thought it was, and he definitely didn’t want to fuck this up.

In the old days, back when people asked parents for their children’s hands in marriage and ankles were forbidden from seeing the light of day, it had been common practice for an Alpha intending to court an Omega to present their possible future mate with a collar. It was a way for the Omega to show that they were off-limits, under the protection and possession of the Alpha to whom the collar belonged. It was also a way for the Omega to indicate whether they wanted to be courted by that Alpha or not. If they accepted the collar, the courting could continue. If they didn’t, it was their way of showing they weren’t interested.

Obviously, that was an outdated practice. But even as the years passed and times changed, the tradition still remained. The traditional courting collar morphed into the modern form of a necklace, or a ring, or…

Or a bracelet.

“I apologize,” Castiel said, bringing Dean back to earth. “I understand now that this was inappropriate.” He leaned forward, reaching out toward the box, trying to take it away from Dean, trying to take it back—

“N-No! No, that’s not—It’s not…” Dean trailed off, clutching the box to his chest, staring at Castiel’s hand like it was a live snake that might attack at any moment. The Alpha seemed surprised, his body frozen in a half-leaning position over the desk.

“You… You do want it?” he asked. His voice was quiet, filled with a strange emotion that Dean was pretty sure was uncertainty.

Dean swallowed, looking down at the two bracelets sitting innocently in the box. He had to make sure. He had to make completely fucking sure he wasn’t taking this the wrong way, because if he was, he was never going to be able to show his face in this part of the country ever again.

“Is this… Does this… Um. Does this mean… what I think it does?” he asked, finally daring to look up from the box to Castiel’s face. The Alpha’s expression was completely neutral, to the point that Dean wondered if he was forcing it. The only indication of his nerves was the way he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“It means whatever you want it to mean.”

That was super vague and super not the answer Dean was looking for, but he understood that this was Castiel’s way of giving him an out. And also, he was pretty sure he’d just realized that the Alpha was as nervous as he was in this situation, if not more so. When he thought about it, that made sense. The guy was basically putting himself out there to be rejected.

And if they’d been two normal people, that would have made perfect sense. But they weren’t, and Dean was having a hard time keeping his cool. Because Castiel was a fucking all-powerful, dangerous, sexy mob boss, and Dean was… Dean. Dean was a broke, unintelligent, uninteresting Omega with few skills in life and even less of a sense of self-worth. His GED and give ‘em hell attitude meant fucking nothing next to Castiel and all that he possessed, all that he was. The comparison was fucking terrifying.

And there Castiel was. There he was. There Dean was. Sitting there, mug of tea going cold, holding what might have been the most precious thing he’d ever been given right there in his hands.

“But,” he said, and his voice cracked weakly, “why me?”

The flat, neutral expression on Castiel’s face was most definitely a mask, because it cracked in the next second. The way the Alpha’s face softened made Dean’s heart feel like it was made of paper mache, easy to rip and ready to crumple at the slightest sign of pressure. His throat felt traitorously tight.

Castiel reached out, then, but it wasn’t to take the box anymore. Instead, he took the bracelets out and gently pulled at Dean’s right wrist, a painfully gentle parody of the Alpha who’d grabbed him earlier. And then, with hands that were warm and soft and so, so kind, he pressed Dean’s fingers together so they would fit through the circle of the bracelets and slipped them onto Dean’s wrist.

“Because you’re good,” the Alpha said quietly, “and kind. Because you represent everything that I am not, but that I can be: empathetic, courageous, compassionate… human. Because you remind me that there is more to this life than killing and darkness, and because I believe if you give me the chance, I can show you just how much that means. How much you deserve.”

There was no air in the room. Dean’s lungs contracted on nothing, his paper-mache heart trembling under the pressure of Castiel’s words and their meanings. The Alpha’s hand felt so warm against the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, his fingertips gentle as they rested against Dean’s racing pulse.

It took Dean a long time to find his voice. When he finally did, it was cracked and weak, but at least it was there. “I don’t know about deserving,” he said, “but I’d be friggin’ stupid to reject an offer like this.”

“You would?” Castiel sounded genuinely surprised. His hand was still gripping Dean’s wrist gently, the touch warm and soft.

“Hell yeah, I would. It’s like somethin’ out of a fantasy,” Dean croaked. “It’s… It’s something I didn’t think I could even dream about, let alone hope for. Maybe you should pinch me or something. I think I might actually be dreaming.”

Castiel’s face split into a smile as he laughed, and the tension in the room broke. Dean found himself laughing weakly along with the Alpha, his eyes catching on the way Castiel’s nose and eyes crinkled. Shit, if he’d thought the Alpha’s chuckling was good, listening to him really laugh was like pure heroin. Dean wanted to bottle the sound and keep it with him, use the liquid sunshine sound of it to brighten his darkest days.

Castiel released Dean’s wrist, but not before squeezing it gently. “So you’re keeping the gift?” he asked, sounding almost… shy.

“Yeah,” Dean said, more of an exhale than a word. He drew his wrist into his chest, stroked his fingertips over the elephant-hair bracelets, the echoes of Castiel’s touch that were still imprinted into his skin. “Yeah, I’m keeping them. If that’s okay.”

It might have been a stupid thing to say, considering the fact that Castiel was the one who’d given him the damn things in the first place, but the Alpha’s voice was gentle when he said, “Of course it is, Dean. I’m honored that you’ve accepted.”

Dean wasn’t sure how that could possibly be true, but that didn’t stop him from blushing furiously. His inner Omega was on cloud nine, a puddle of melty goo in the back of his mind. The feeling of the bracelets around his wrist felt amazing in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. Dean twisted them around, just to feel the knots of the elephant hair rub against his skin.

“New jewelry, Omega Dean?” Aleksandr asked later, when Dean reached up to grab a tray of food from the window and his bracelets came into view. There was something glinting in the Alpha’s eyes, something like amusement, fondness.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, and he had a feeling both Aleksandr and the other cook on shift knew exactly what those bracelets were, what they meant. It made Dean feel warm and fuzzy inside, to know that there was a visual representation of Castiel on him at all times. As he turned to leave the kitchen, he heard the cooks explode into a rapidfire exchange in Russian, the word money making it in there quite a few times.

He felt dazed with happiness for the rest of his shift. Every time he interacted with customers, he thought of how his bracelets were visible, a claim on him. It didn’t mean anything to most of the customers, of course, but it meant something to Dean. It was fucking incredible what a couple pieces of elephant hair twined together could do to his spirit, to his heart.

Dean spent what felt like hours that night in bed, twisting his new bracelets around his wrist, reveling in the feeling of them on his skin. He nudged his nose against them, searching out the phantom traces of Castiel’s scent that he thought he could catch. He closed his eyes, tucked his arms close to his chest, and let himself get lost in fantasies about the future.

When Dean fell asleep that night, it was to the quiet, budding hope in his heart and the memory of Castiel’s laughter.

Chapter Text

Castiel couldn’t sleep, so he did what he had always done when he was troubled and couldn’t rest: he trained.

Gadreel had told him several times, as respectfully as his position required, that he expected Castiel to wake him up if it was the middle of the night and he wanted to go train somewhere. Castiel didn’t think he’d ever heeded that request, though he appreciated the sentiment. Gadreel was merely trying to do his job to protect one of the leaders of their organization, but what kind of a leader would Castiel be if he couldn’t protect himself?

He was alone when he grabbed the keys to one of the smaller, faster cars that were parked in the Den’s garage, his equipment bag slung over his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes blearily as he pulled out of the garage and started down the driveway that would take him off the mansion’s property and into the streets toward the city. In the darkness of the witching hour, there were only one or two other cars out on the road.

The training facility was almost deserted at this time of night, too. Most of the men were either out on missions or resting. Castiel felt like the only one when he nodded at the security guard and made his way inside, his feet guiding him to the training room he’d begun to think of as his and Dean’s.

Such a dangerous thing, that attachment. The thought of what he stood to lose because of it made him physically sick.

It wasn’t spontaneity that had prompted him to give Dean the courting bracelets today, so much as it was the desperation of an act that had been a long time coming.

Castiel’s will, in the end, was pathetic when it really mattered. He’d told himself that he could distance his desires from Dean, especially since he and the Omega were spending so much time training together. But that night when they’d been sparring, when Dean had admitted how he thought about his designation, when he’d been so soft and so vulnerable for Castiel…

Castiel hadn’t been able to help himself. He and Gadreel had sat in the darkness of an abandoned parking lot for a long time after dropping Dean off, the security guard allowing Castiel time to think. He hadn’t been able to get the faint scent of Dean’s arousal out of his mind, the big, open way the Omega had looked up at him from the floor. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the calm belief in Dean’s words as he spoke about himself like he was nothing but trash, as if that was something he’d accepted as truth a long time ago.

Castiel had told himself he wasn’t going to get attached, but he was only a man. He was only a lonely, tired Alpha underneath all his skills and strength, and he couldn’t fight off his instincts forever.

He wanted to hold Dean close to him, to sate the touch-starvation that he knew thrummed through the Omega’s very bones. He wanted to run his fingers through Dean’s soft hair and murmur praises to him, call him beautiful, tell him just how perfect he was. He wanted to cradle Dean’s lean, slender body in his arms and poke his stomach, listen to the Omega laugh while he quietly schemed up ways to keep feeding him so Dean never knew hunger again. He wanted to press kisses to every single freckle on Dean’s beautiful face, to memorize the beautiful pattern of each and every one of them. He wanted to smell Dean’s arousal again, to lick the slick from his hole and pleasure him until he couldn’t physically keep those beautiful noises locked up inside of him. He wanted to make the Omega’s beautiful body arch and writhe. He wanted to feel the tension flow out of Dean’s muscles like water when he pinned him down, because the Omega was so fucking obedient and Castiel knew, he knew because he’d held Dean on that mat and felt the way the Omega had gone limp on primal instinct. He wanted to cherish every molecule that made up Dean Winchester, because in all his years of life, Castiel had never known something so pure and bright. He wanted to teach Dean that his body’s instincts to nest and cuddle were natural, things to be enjoyed and indulged, not repressed. He wanted to love Dean Winchester. God, did he want.

The power of his desire was frightening to him. The speed at which the boy had burrowed into his heart was terrifying, the depth of Castiel’s affection for him even more so. There were few limits to what Castiel would do for Dean. Just that knowledge was enough to make his rational mind tremble with fear.

Castiel had spent most of his life pushing his inner Alpha away, uninterested in the foolish and sometimes dangerous things it wanted him to do. His primal side didn’t understand that the real world was far more complicated than urges and instincts. In almost every aspect of his life, he’d kept his rational mind calm and his inner Alpha under his iron control, unhappy but quiet.

Now, though, that had been reversed. His inner Alpha was extremely content for what felt like the first time in Castiel’s life, a purring ball in the back of his mind. It was happy that he’d finally expressed his interest in Dean, and it was happy that Castiel had laid a visual claim on the Omega. Of course, it would be completely fulfilled if Castiel mated the Omega immediately, but Castiel knew how impossible that was. For now, his inner Alpha would just have to make do with what he had.

And that was admittedly a lot, because Castiel was still feeling mildly panicked about his decision to officially court Dean, even hours later.

He bears my mark now, in more ways than one, he thought as he used his knives to slice apart dummies like they were made of smoke. He bears my mark, and he bears the curses that come with it. He’s going to have a target on his back, once my enemies eventually learn of this. They’re going to want to hurt him. They’re going to see him as a weak spot.

He is a weak spot.

If Castiel had been stronger, he wouldn’t have tried to court Dean. He might have killed him, as his grandfather and father had done to the things that held them back. Of course, Castiel wouldn’t be alive if both men hadn’t given in to their natural instincts to mate, but this somehow felt different. This was special. Dean was special. Castiel knew with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be able to survive it if Dean was hurt because of him.

The blade of Castiel’s knife rammed into the soft, vulnerable point of where the gap between the dummy’s ribs would be, if it had been a real person. He exhaled, his chest heaving with exertion, sweat burning his eyes. His limbs were tired, his lungs aching, but he couldn’t stop until all the noise was gone from his head.

The anxiety that came with deciding to court a potential mate wasn’t unusual. Castiel had taken enough biology classes in school to understand that Alphas naturally felt protective of the Omega or even Beta that they chose to possibly share their future with. Logically, he tried to reason that he was only feeling panicked because there were a lot of things about Dean’s situation that irked his inner Alpha.

In Castiel’s ideal world, Dean would be staying in the penthouse he owned in the city, or at least in a room in the Den. He’d seen the part of town Dean lived in from the times Gadreel had dropped the Omega off after training. The very thought of the dilapidated buildings, dirty streets, and dark alleys made Castiel’s inner Alpha growl unhappily.

Castiel also had his assumptions and suspicions about Dean’s father. He knew, of course, that Dean wasn’t in a romantic relationship with anyone, which was what he’d previously thought. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that the Omega was just clumsy, either, despite the explanations Dean regularly gave the cooks when they asked him about his bruises. That only left a couple options.

Castiel didn’t know much about Dean’s father, and for his own sanity, he hadn’t tried to look into him. He only knew the man’s name and designation: John Winchester, an Alpha. Everything else was a mystery, and Castiel knew that if he wanted to keep himself from doing something he might regret, it would probably need to stay that way.

Thinking about Dean being abused by his own father wasn’t helping the turmoil in Castiel’s mind, so he tried to think of something else. His body forced him to take a break after God only knew how long of training nonstop. As Castiel leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath before he passed out, he focused his thoughts on a lighter, happier topic.

Now that he’d officially communicated his intentions to Dean, he could court the Omega without fearing that the gifts he gave were inappropriate or wouldn’t be well-received. So far, his Alpha had snuck in a couple gifts that had technically fallen outside of the official courting window Castiel had just opened, but now, he could give Dean whatever he wanted.

So… what did he want to give to Dean?

Castiel had a lot of options. He would give the Omega anything if he could, and he had access to very many resources. If Dean wanted the crown of the King of England, Castiel would do his best to give it to him. He had a feeling, though, that riches and valuables weren’t things the Omega would like. At least, not as much as other items.

Castiel thought of how excited Dean had been when he’d gotten his candy. He thought of the way his eyes had lit up when he’d unwrapped the knives, green and gleaming with wonder and joy. Dean was endearingly pleased with simple things. Perhaps Castiel could continue with that trend; he didn’t want to overwhelm Dean with lavish gifts or—God forbid—make him think he was being bought.

So what would Dean like? Castiel tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, his body slowly calming as he sucked in air and ran through a list of things he could give his new intended.

There were traditional courting gifts, of course: flowers, nesting materials, clothing like hoodies or shirts that had his scent on them. Castiel was caught between not wanting to be boring and wanting to give Dean the courting he deserved, including the basic gifts that everyone deemed acceptable. What could he give on top of that?

It was a surprisingly calming train of thought to follow. By the time Castiel had sunk down to sit on the ground, wiping sweat from his eyes, he’d generated a small list of potential courting gifts in his head and succeeded in soothing the anxiety of his inner Alpha and rational mind.

Castiel sat on the floor of the training area until the sweat had dried on his back and his body was chilled by the air in the room. The tightness of his bulletproof vest was beginning to irritate him, so Castiel eventually peeled himself off the floor and quietly left the training facility.

He didn’t drive back to the Den. Instead, he drove about a mile east, toward where the skyscrapers grew tall and elegant, gleaming with golden lights as they reached for the low-lying clouds above.

The penthouse Castiel owned was in a building called Eden, a place that was made of steel and marble, famous for the Washington Senator, two famous singers, and wealthy CEO that lived there. Most people didn’t know that Eden was also the home of Castiel Krushnic, one of the most powerful men on this side of the Western Hemisphere. To most, he was simply an exceedingly-wealthy business owner who came from old money.

The doorman seemed surprised to see him. The staff knew the names of all the high-level residents of the building, but Castiel knew he was gone for long enough periods of time for them to notice. He merely nodded at the Beta at the door, flashing an unnecessary ID of residence as he passed through.

The only people out so late at night were exhausted partygoers headed to bed. Castiel was stuck in the elevator with two young men who stank of alcohol and fake, exaggerated Omega scent. Luckily, they were too tired to engage in conversation with him. They got off at the sixteenth floor, and then Castiel was alone for the rest of the ride to the top.

There were three penthouse apartments in the building, one large and the other two somewhat smaller, though still massive. Castiel had the one on the right, which looked out over a lake and was still much too big for a single Alpha despite it not being the largest. The space smelled unlived in and lonely when he let himself inside. He wasn’t sure when he’d last been home, but it must have been more than two weeks ago.

The lights turned on when Castiel pressed the button that controlled them. As the golden glow of high-up chandeliers illuminated the spacious rooms in front of him, he began to make his way through his quiet, empty home.

There was always something painful about being here. Years ago, when Castiel had first purchased it, he’d been excited about the prospect of turning it into a home. He’d seen the living area and small movie theater as a place where he could relax with his mate. He’d imagined cooking with his future partner in the kitchen, swimming with them in the pool, and sleeping with them in his massive bed. As the years had worn on and he’d grown less hopeful about life as a killer for the mafia, the hope that had once been imbued in these walls had become sharp and bitter, as painful as a rusty knife plunging into soft skin.

Castiel walked quietly through the empty space until he found himself in the master bedroom, his throat tight for reasons he didn’t quite want to acknowledge.

There was his walk-in closet, only half-filled with clothes, the other side barren. There was his too-big bed, the sheets cold and undisturbed, the only scent in the room a lemon sort of smell that came from when the maids came through every three or four days when he was absent. There was the nook in the wall, roughly the size of a queen bed itself, empty of the nest it had been intended to be filled with.

Castiel made his way over to the nesting area, his heart migrating from his chest to his throat, where it sat choking his airway like a vice. Quietly, the Alpha stared at the sunken-in area in his wall that had been designed specifically for an Omega to create a nest.

Would Dean like it here? Castiel wondered, allowing the thoughts to run through his head even though he knew they would only cause him pain. Would he make his nest in this little cove? Would he pile it high with all the blankets and pillows I’d buy him, bury himself in there when he was tired or simply looking to rest for a while? Would he feel safe here? Would all this be enough?

Right now, the nesting alcove was merely a thick, soft pad devoid of any decoration, even sheets. There was no dust because of the cleaning crew that took care of the place, but that didn’t stop it from seeming depressingly devoid of life.

Something in Castiel’s chest ached, sharp and painful, like a knife that had been jammed into a vulnerable part of his body and then twisted.

He wanted to bring Dean here. He wanted to show Dean this place, this little alcove in the wall. He wanted to tell him that he could make a nest here. He wanted to ask him, to beg him to make a nest here.

Please, make this your own. Please let me be your safety, your comfort, your place to rest. Please show me that the twisted heart I’ve offered is enough. Please, please turn this sad, empty apartment into a home.

It was absurd, the things his inner Alpha wanted. The things he wanted. He’d only just asked Dean for his permission to court him. All of this was ridiculous. Castiel couldn’t ever admit these things to Dean. At least, not without gaining the Omega’s trust first.

He already trusts me, Castiel amended mentally, thinking of the sweet, faithful way the Omega had looked up at him when they’d been training, even when Castiel had been in a position where he could have killed him easily. I just need to make sure I don’t lose that trust. I need to build on it, gather every ounce of it that I can. I need to prove that I’m worthy of all that I desire, that I’m worthy of Dean’s love.

Castiel eventually tugged himself away from the empty alcove in the wall near his bed. He dragged himself to the en suite bathroom and took a long hot shower. He jerked off because his body demanded it, thoughts of Dean’s lean, slender frame beneath him fueling the raging arousal in his gut. After he’d gotten clean, he dressed in sweatpants and climbed into his massive, empty bed for the first time in weeks.

It was nicer than the one in the Den in a lot of ways, but it was also worse in a lot of ways, too. Even though it was infinitely more comfortable, the extra space only served to remind him how lonely he was. The silky sheets felt cold no matter how long he curled up underneath them. The bed was a reflection of the rest of the apartment: barren and empty, an echo of the loneliness that took up all the space in Castiel’s tired, shriveled heart.

Despite all that, Castiel was still able to fall asleep relatively quickly. When he woke up, it was to something that he probably should have been expecting but was nonetheless surprised by.

Castiel’s phone, thank God, was in the equipment bag he’d brought home last night. He left his room for long enough to find it. After stumbling back to his bed and finding the name of his oldest brother in his contacts, he waited a solid four seconds before hearing Mikhail’s voice come through the speakers, tinny and just slightly concerned.

“Castiel? Gadreel told me you’d disappeared in the night. Where are you?”

“Home,” Castiel rasped, gritting his teeth at the roils of heat in his gut. “Rut. Can’t… Can’t come in for a couple days.” As an unmated Alpha who wasn’t currently bonded to anyone, his rut would only last four to five days at the maximum. It would be painful and uncomfortable, but that was about normal. He hadn’t been expecting it to hit so quickly, but maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was that time of year, and he had been feeling somewhat illogical last night.

He heard his older brother curse. “Of course. Lucifer and I have already had ours; I’d forgotten that yours was so late in the spring. Do you need anything, brother?”

Dean.

“No,” Castiel rasped. “I’m fine, I just… I’ll just be gone.” His body must have gone into rut in the early hours of the morning soon after he’d fallen asleep, because he could feel the first wave of it coming on fast. He really wanted to get off this damn phone call so he could rub his hard cock against the mattress until his instincts were satisfied. Fuck, did he even have any rut toys in his apartment? He had to. He didn’t think he was going to make it if he didn’t.

“Okay. Good luck, brother. Send me updates when you can,” Mikhail said, sounding as if he could guess at Castiel’s current urgency. He was thankfully quick in saying his goodbyes, and soon Castiel was left with the quiet of his apartment and the throbbing heat of his rut pulsing throughout his entire body.

As soon as the call was over, Castiel threw his phone to the side, not caring about where it landed. He was glad he hadn’t put on a shirt last night, because his inner body temperature felt like it had been turned up about forty degrees and his skin itched with need. The urge to satiate his rut crawled underneath his skin like a thousand insects, making Castiel want to grind his teeth into nothing.

He didn’t have time to check for rut toys in any of the closets where he might have found them. Castiel grabbed the nearest thing—a pillow, thankfully—and proceeded to grind against it, his sweatpants tenting obscenely as the first wave of his rut began to spike.

The soft give of the pillow wasn’t nearly satisfying enough, but it was all he had. Castiel tried to conjure up the fantasies his body was so obviously yearning for, imagining the tight, wet warmth of a willing Omega instead. He’d fucked Omegas to help satiate his rut before, so he had no problem calling up memories from the past.

Only this time, the body he imagined underneath him was larger than a small, petite female Omega. Broad shoulders, slim hips, the lean play of muscles underneath silky skin. A man. And not just any man.

Castiel’s hips worked harder as he imagined the sound Dean might make when he found his sweet spot. Fuck, he could imagine the broken-off little cry that would leave the Omega’s perfect lips. He might beg Castiel to fuck him harder, faster, his voice breathless. He might arch his back, his muscles relaxing just like they had when Castiel had pinned him to the mat in that Goddamn training room—

Castiel grunted as he came in his pants like a teenager during his first rut cycle. He’d orgasmed embarrassingly fast, but it was the first wave of his rut, and besides, it wasn’t like he actually had a partner to satisfy.

If he did, if it were Dean underneath him, in his bed, Castiel would have put off his own pleasure to satisfy the Omega first. He would have brought Dean to ecstasy with just his mouth and maybe a couple fingers, sucking the throbbing length of his cock, licking the slick from his hole before plunging his fingers in and filling him. If Dean were here—

He wasn’t.

Castiel exhaled, running a sweaty hand through his hair as he released the poor pillow he’d just attacked. His pants felt sticky and uncomfortable. The air in the room smelled solely of Alpha arousal and rut, nothing else. No happy, aroused, sated Omega. No answering scent of climax. It was Castiel, and Castiel alone.

The thought was sobering. Castiel dragged himself to the bathroom to quickly rinse himself off, then changed into a different pair of pants. While he could still think rationally, he went to his service phone and dialed the front desk.

When the receptionist, a beautiful but rather cold woman named Bela, answered, Castiel told her in as normal of a voice as he could that he wanted to remain undisturbed for the week. She was perfectly professional as she noted his request. The cause of Castiel’s desire for privacy was likely evident, but she made no mention of it as she asked him if he needed anything.

Castiel probably could have told her he was in rut, and it wouldn’t have been awkward. It was a natural process of the body, after all. He figured a place like this likely stocked rut and heat toys for their residents as well, if the emergency ever arose. Asking for that, however, felt simultaneously incredibly embarrassing and also a bit like a betrayal. Who Castiel was betraying, he had no idea. He hoped his voice wasn’t too choked when he politely declined and wished Bela a good rest of her day.

With that taken care of, Castiel went to his closet and began to dig around, searching out the rut toys he was fairly sure were in there. He expected to have a few hours of relief before the next wave of his rut overtook him, but it seemed his body had received a different set of instructions. After only about half an hour of digging through the boxes in his closet, Castiel found himself staggering over to the couch to satiate another sudden flash of intense arousal.

His rut was volatile in a way it hadn’t been since he’d been a hormonal teenager. Castiel shouted with simultaneous pleasure and frustration when he came for the second time, his body shaking a little with the effort of having two orgasms in the span of an hour and a half.

When he’d collapsed, panting, against the arm of his couch, Castiel looked up at his ceiling and cursed. There was no way in hell he was calling anyone to help him with his rut. His inner Alpha wouldn’t hear of it. He thought he might actually vomit if he so much as considered fucking a stranger, even if he was as desperate as this rut was making him.

No, calling someone for this wouldn’t work. Gadreel would have his hide anyway, since cycle partners were typically vetted weeks in advance to eliminate the possible security threat that might arise. Unless Castiel gave in to what his inner Alpha so desperately wanted, he was going to be alone for this rut.

He dug around desperately for those stupid toys, hoping against hope he’d find them every time he lifted the lid off a box and peered inside. He’d half-convinced himself that this cycle wasn’t going to be as bad as it was shaping up to be if he only had something to simulate an actual Omega. With a rut toy and his own imagination, maybe he could trick his inner Alpha into contentment.

Wrong.

Castiel did eventually find a box of rut toys, buried in the far back of his closet. By that time, he’d already suffered through two more waves of his cycle and was feeling a third coming on. He was too tired and too horny to consider putting the closet back together, so he left the mess in the hallway and staggered back to his den, clutching the box of toys to his chest like a lifeline.

The sight of the empty nesting alcove in his bedroom made something inside of him wail. Castiel stumbled over and ripped the soft, flowy curtains shut, concealing the emptiness inside. It didn’t help the fact that he knew there was nothing behind them, but at least the sight of the gaping hole in his wall wouldn’t gut him every time he caught sight of it.

Castiel didn’t have enough time to go back to the kitchen to grab snacks or anything. He didn’t even think he had food in his fridge. He was woefully unprepared for this, especially since this was shaping up to be a volatile cycle indeed.

After sating a sixth and seventh wave of arousal and need, Castiel collapsed into his bed and slept for a solid three or four hours. He woke up feeling like his body was cooking from the inside out, molten lava filling his core. He dragged himself to the shower, turned the water as cool as he dared, and fucked into the waterproof fleshlight he’d brought with him until the burning need in his gut had subsided slightly.

The ritual of getting off, resting as much as he could, and then satiating yet another wave of his rut continued until nightfall. Castiel dragged himself into the kitchen at some point to scrounge for food and the water that his aching head was so desperately demanding. He found a few packets of trail mix and dried fruit, so he brought those back to the bedroom with him, along with a cup of water. A bottle would have been preferable, but all he had was open glasses.

When he’d assembled his pitiful stash of rations, Castiel collapsed into bed and tiredly tried to ride out the rest of the daylight hours until his body dropped exhaustedly into sleep sometime at around ten at night.

With the curtains drawn in his room and the door closed, it was easy for day and night to blend together. Castiel was kept mostly aware of the time and date by his alarm clock. His body went through various periods of being awake and exhausted, awake and incredibly horny, and dead asleep.

At some point, Castiel’s instincts pulled him from his bed to the alcove in the wall, empty and cold though it was. Castiel dragged a blanket with him and curled up inside the space that should have held a nest, his chest aching painfully. When he woke up inside the nesting space hours later, disoriented and confused as to why he’d climbed inside, he found his cheeks wet with tears he didn’t remember shedding.

Castiel took a shower and refilled his water glasses when his body could manage it. He swore he didn’t remember ever having a rut so difficult before. It didn’t help that his phone was so close, that he was only a few button-taps away from calling his brothers and begging them to send Dean to him. God, what he wouldn’t give just to hear the Omega’s voice. He could probably orgasm just from hearing Dean talk.

It was during a moment of weakness that he found himself staring at his phone screen, hand trembling slightly with exhaustion and need. He could feel another wave of his rut creeping up on him, and some part of him felt sick at the thought of two or three more days like this. He wanted to sleep for twenty years. His very bones were weary.

As he stared at his phone screen, glowing in the dim darkness of his room, he saw a notification flash across the screen. It was his brother.

Mikhail: When you see this, Castiel, please respond. You told me you would send updates.

Castiel exhaled, his fingers shaking as he tapped out a response.

Castiel: Sorry, brother. I completely forgot. It’s bad, this time around.

He didn’t have the energy to wait for Mikhail’s response. He tossed the phone away so he couldn’t be tempted to ask his brother if he’d seen Dean, if he’d been to Mystery Spot to explain to the Omega why he wasn’t there.

It felt like hours or days later when Castiel heard the phone ringing. He was almost too tired to care about what it was, but he had never been one of the Alphas that was disrespectful to the staff in this building, and he wasn’t about to start now. He dragged himself out of his den, cringing a little at the late afternoon light that shone through the windows of his living area.

“Hello?” he rasped, wincing at the croaking quality of his voice when he answered.

“Mr. Krushnic, it’s Bela at the front desk,” Bela greeted. “There’s a man who came by with something for you. He said his name was Gabriel Krushnic, your brother. He was a short Beta, shoulder-length blond hair.”

“Yes, I know him,” Castiel said. He frowned, readjusting his sweaty grip on the phone. “He said he had something for me?”

“Yes. I had a staff member leave it outside your door,” Bela said. She hesitated, then asked, “Is that… alright, Mr. Krushnic?”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Castiel said. He was wary of a strange package being dropped off for him, but her description of Gabriel sounded right. “Thank you, Bela. I appreciate it.”

The receptionist hung up the phone with a polite goodbye. Castiel had the presence of mind to return to his bedroom for his gun, though he wasn’t sure what good it would do him if he ended up pulling a bomb into his apartment. Checking the chamber, the Alpha staggered tiredly to the door and opened it.

There was a short hallway that led from the elevators to the three penthouse suites in the building. Sitting outside his door was a small basket covered with a soft white cloth. Wary, Castiel nudged the cloth to the side with the nose of his gun, his instincts going wild for all of a second before he saw the note with Gabriel’s handwriting on it.

Relieved, Castiel grabbed the basket and took it into his apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him. He carried the package to the table and sat it down, frowning as he tugged the cloth off the top and read the note from his brother.

You’d better marry this kid someday, little bro. He’s a good one.

~ Gabe

Frowning even deeper, Castiel put the note aside and looked at what was inside the basket. There seemed to be several tupperware containers of food, portioned and labeled neatly. Castiel recognized a couple boxes of lemon tea, and a little bottle of organic honey that looked as if it had come from a supermarket. There was also a ziplock bag which seemed to contain some sort of fabric.

Castiel reached for the bag first and unzipped it, then nearly fell over. The scent of vanilla and baked goods, of fresh spring air and the warmth of sunshine, practically brought him to his knees.

Mouth and eyes watering slightly, Castiel unfolded the fabric and brought it to his face, inhaling deep lungfuls of the scent. In the back of his mind, he registered that this was a faded band shirt, the fabric softened and thinned with age and wear. As the shirt unfolded, a little piece of paper went fluttering to the countertop. Clumsily, Castiel scrabbled for it so he could read the second note.

I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, but your brother said this would help. If you don’t want it, you can put it back in the bag. Sorry if this was too bold. I made you some food in case you get hungry. And there’s tea, ‘cause you said that made you feel calmer. I hope that helps. See you in a couple days.

~ Dean

Everything about the note reminded Castiel of the green-eyed Omega he knew. From the careful, slightly-messy lettering, to the faint self-deprecating tone that could somehow be sensed in written word, to the kindness imbued in the very gesture itself, Castiel could feel Dean’s presence in the note he was holding. It made his heart clench painfully, made his knees wobble slightly. God, he needed to sit down.

Castiel stumbled over to the couch and set the basket down in front of him. He rummaged through the containers of food, suddenly starving, and growled in approval when he saw one labeled “mini meat pies.” There were five little pies inside, and Castiel ripped into them without even bothering to get up for a fork like a civilized person. He was painfully hungry, his inner Alpha drunk on the scent of the shirt in his left hand and the fact that his Omega had been so thoughtful to cook for him.

He cares for me, his inner Alpha rumbled contentedly. He’s competent and attentive. He smells like mate. Like home.

Castiel groaned around the first few bites of the little pies Dean had made him. Apparently Dean was an incredible cook, too.

The food was essential in the final days of his rut. Castiel made himself lemon tea when he had the energy, his body and mind soothed by the familiar taste and the knowledge that his Omega had gotten it for him. Castiel even kept the note, running his fingers over the penned letters of Dean’s name reverently in the half-darkness of his den.

The thing that helped the most, though, was the shirt. Even as the scent faded from days of being cuddled by an Alpha in rut, it still helped soothe something primal inside of Castiel. It wasn’t exactly what his inner Alpha wanted, but it was close enough. His rut eased to the point where it was bearable, no longer hours upon hours of torture and reprieve, torture and reprieve.

After five days of sweat and suffering, Castiel felt the last of his rut beginning to fade away. He exhaustedly dragged himself to the shower, cleaning himself as much as his tired body could allow. He would clean up the rest of his apartment—the wrappers, the empty glasses on his nightstand, the dishes in the kitchen, the mess in the hallway—when he woke up. For now, he was ready to sleep for a good twelve hours straight.

Castiel forced himself to collapse into his actual bed instead of in the empty alcove, where he’d sort of taken up unofficial residence during his rut. He stayed awake long enough to tug the sheets up to his shoulders before he buried his nose in the soft shirt pressed against his face by the pillow in his arms.

With the scent of his Omega in his lungs and the exhaustion of a rut successfully endured weighing heavily on him, Castiel closed his eyes and promptly fell fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Castiel took an extra day to rest and clean his apartment before going back to work. And yes, perhaps he was also hiding from his brothers and from Dean, but that wasn’t anything he was going to admit.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt ashamed, but he did. Maybe it was because he knew there was no way Gabriel hadn’t told Mikhail and Luke about the care package Dean had sent him, or maybe it was because he’d been so shamelessly needy when it came to using Dean’s shirt during his rut. Every time he thought of the way he’d fucked into a fleshlight while pressing the shirt to his face and moaning like a whore, he felt his whole face heat with shame.

There was no way his brothers and Dean could know what had happened during his rut, but it still felt like somehow, they might be able to tell. Still, Castiel wasn’t a coward and he wasn’t an idiot. He knew he couldn’t shirk his duties any longer than he had.

He made some calls on his way to the Den, checking and double-checking that everything had been running smoothly since he’d last made contact. He was assured that, save for a few border skirmishes that were barely severe enough to be notable, everything had been quiet and relatively peaceful.

Castiel checked in with Mikhail to see if his brother had any new assignments for him. He received three files containing information about three different targets and the order to make sure they were gone by next month. Throughout their entire interaction, Mikhail didn’t mention Dean once.

Castiel went back to his room in the Den and took a nap, then spent the rest of the afternoon going over the target information and planning his methods of attack. When he’d thoroughly gone through the info and had no more reason to stall at the Den, he finally cleaned himself up and called for Gadreel to accompany him to Mystery Spot.

“How are you feeling, Alpha Castiel?” the security guard asked as Castiel climbed into the car.

“Fine,” Castiel grunted. He hesitated, then admitted, “Tired.”

“Yes, cycles are always challenging when our instincts have recognized a potential mate,” Gadreel said casually.

Castiel hummed, pretending that his guard’s words hadn’t struck him like a blow to the chest. He had, of course, known that beforehand. It was just… It was different, hearing someone else say it out loud.

Thankfully, Gadreel had never been one for conversation. Castiel was fairly sure it would take a direct order to get the man to speak more than a few sentences at a time, and at the moment, he was grateful for that. The silence allowed him to gaze out the tinted window and think a little bit.

The basket in the seat beside him was filled with clean, empty tupperware containers and a shirt that had been washed twice with scent-neutralizing detergent. Castiel had even sealed it in a different bag in an attempt to keep his scent off of it. He didn’t know why, but he was wary of being too presumptuous when it came to Dean. He didn’t want to scare the Omega off by being too bold, even if it was by accident.

That, of course, only lasted as long as his inner Alpha allowed it.

Castiel didn’t even really register what he saw until it was too late and he was calling for Gadreel to stop the car. His head of security was one of the best agents of the bratva there was, so he didn’t even hesitate before executing the order. With a maneuver that was likely highly illegal, he crossed two lanes of traffic and wheeled sharply into a nearby parking lot, halting the car a mere twenty feet from when Castiel had asked him to stop.

“Is something wrong, Alpha?” Gadreel asked, turning to look at Castiel straight-on instead of in the rearview mirror.

“No, I—” Castiel cut himself off, suddenly highly embarrassed. “My apologies, Gadreel. I have no idea what came over me.”

Gadreel frowned. “Was there a reason you asked to stop?”

Castiel glanced out the window, hoping against hope that the embarrassed heat boiling under his skin couldn’t be seen in the dim interior of the car. “I…”

Gadreel looked out the window as well, his frown remaining for as long as it took him to spot the stand by the gas station that was selling fresh flowers. Almost immediately, the concerned expression on his face gave way to a look of carefully-concealed amusement. “I see. I can wait with the car if you need, Alpha.”

“No, I… I don’t know what I was thinking. That was highly unprofessional and irrational of me. I’m usually in better control of my instincts, this must be a product of my rut.” Castiel prayed it was. An explanation didn’t make him any less embarrassed, but he at least had to try to excuse the ridiculous spontaneity of the order he’d just given.

To Gadreel’s credit, he was doing a magnificent job of concealing his mirth. He sounded completely neutral when he said, “It would be a shame to simply leave without seeing what the stand has to offer, especially when we’re already here. We have twenty minutes until we need to be at Mystery Spot.”

Castiel exhaled, fixing his head of security with a glare that had little heat behind it. “You’re a manipulative bastard.”

“I assure you, Alpha Castiel, I have only your best interests in mind,” Gadreel said innocently.

Grumbling, Castiel opened the car door and shoved himself out before he could linger and make an even larger fool of himself. He thought he heard his head of security chuckle as he shut the door, but he soon dismissed it as his imagination. Gadreel had a much better sense of self-preservation than that.

Castiel tried not to glower as he stalked over to the large white tent set up near the side of the road, packed underneath with tables of gorgeous flowers in every color imaginable. The sign read that a bouquet was twenty to forty American dollars. Castiel shoved his hand into his pocket, pushing aside the knife he found there in favor of grabbing his wallet instead.

As he drew closer, an elderly Omega in a large sunhat approached, a smile on her wrinkled face. Her mate, an equally-as-wrinkly Beta standing off to the side, watched Castiel casually as his wife went up to talk to him.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted in a croaky voice. “Are you here for some flowers?”

“I—Yes, yes, I am,” Castiel said.

“What kind are you looking for?” the woman asked, smiling up at him. “Are they for you or for someone else?”

Castiel exhaled, feeling strangely embarrassed. Distantly, he found it amusing how much emotion he was showing in front of a stranger he’d never met. When conducting business, he usually kept an iron fist around the leash of his feelings and urges. Right now, all he felt was nervous and unsure.

“I… I don’t know what I’m looking for, if I’m being honest,” Castiel admitted. “The flowers are for someone else.”

The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling behind the wrinkles that obscured them. “A family member, or a special someone?” She sounded as if she already knew.

Castiel didn’t dare glance back at the car, where he knew Gadreel was watching him like a hawk. “I’m courting an Omega,” he managed, his voice slightly choked. “I want to get him something nice, but not too overwhelming.”

The old woman beamed at him, turning toward the tables of flowers. She hobbled over to them, beckoning with a wrinkled, spotted hand for him to follow. “I know just the thing,” she said. “A handsome Alpha like you must be courting a very pretty Omega, yes? And a man?” She chuckled merrily. “You’re very lucky. You’ll make very sturdy pups.”

Castiel’s face definitely colored then. It was an old wives’ tale that male Omegas birthed stronger, sturdier offspring, one that even the babushkas in Russia yammered about from time to time. Still, the thought of children with Dean was a little intense for the moment. He wasn’t sure his heart could handle it if he thought about it too deeply.

The woman seemed very pleased with how flustered she’d made him. She puttered around, collecting various flowers from the table, her mate looking on with fondness in his eyes. When she was pleased with what she’d gathered, she hobbled over to a table with pretty strips of ribbon and began to carefully arrange the flowers so she could bind them together.

“Tulips for the deep love you will share,” the woman said as she worked. “Peonies for the strength of your mate and your bond. Red for your passion, pink for your adoration, and white for the longevity of both. Here.” She handed him the finished bouquet, a stunning arrangement of flowers that Castiel took carefully.

“Thank you,” he said, handing her a wad of American twenties. “I don’t—I don’t think I’ll be able to remember what all of this means.”

The old woman chuckled and winked at him, pocketing the money with an expert flick of her wrinkled hand. “He’ll know, don’t you worry. Omegas always know. Now go to your mate, you don’t have time to wait around with an old crone like me.” She shooed him away, back toward where Gadreel was waiting in the car. “Good luck, young man.”

Castiel thanked her again, feeling a little dazed as he turned and walked back toward the car, bouquet of flowers in hand. He’d schooled his face by the time he made it to the backseat of the SUV, though he was sure Gadreel had seen him anyway. His head of security was kind enough not to say anything as he started the car and began to drive them toward Mystery Spot again. In the backseat, the sweet scent of fresh flowers filled the air.

It only took a few minutes for the doubts to begin invading Castiel’s mind. He sat there with his bouquet of flowers and worried that Dean wouldn’t like them. Maybe he would think they were too corny, or too cliche. Maybe they would come off as too forward. Castiel had no idea how he could be more forward than physically presenting Dean with the opening gift of a pair of bracelets, but his nerves refused to write that off as a possible outcome.

By the time Gadreel had pulled into the parking lot of Mystery Spot, Castiel was wondering if he should just dump the flowers in the dumpsters near the back of the restaurant. Internally, he reflected that this was a foolish thing to be nervous about. Shootouts, hostage situations, kidnappings, murder scenes, and dealing with the United States government failed to cause his anxiety to even spike—why was this such a point of concern for him?

Because I really care, a voice in Castiel’s mind whispered. Because if this doesn’t work out, death will be a mercy.

He was about fifteen minutes late, something Luke made sure to tell him when he entered the back office. They snapped at each other in Russian as Luke sorted through a stack of several ledgers, evidently looking for something. Castiel took off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door, snarling an insult at his older brother when Luke made a snarky comment about the basket he was holding.

“Alpha Luke, there’s a guy out front asking for you, he’s—Oh, Alpha Castiel, you’re back!”

Castiel’s irritation at his brother, previous anxiety, and general grumpiness immediately melted away. Mid-sentence, he cut himself off and turned to the doorway, where Dean was standing and smiling at him. “Hello, Dean,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Dean said, his cheeks pinking slightly.

“I’ll go talk to that guy, then,” Luke mumbled, slipping around Dean to get out of the office.

Castiel figured that was his cue. Forcing down his nerves and attempting to seem confident, he held out the basket toward Dean, saying, “Here, I wanted to give this back. Thank you for the gesture, it was… very kind.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but for Dean’s face to crumple was not it. “Oh, uh, sure,” the Omega said, his demeanor slipping from excited to crushed in the span of half a second. He took the basket, his eyes dropping from Castiel’s face to the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume or anything, Beta Gabriel just mentioned you were having a hard rut and I, um… I wanted to help. Sorry.”

Castiel blinked, feeling as if he’d been going down a staircase and had somehow missed a step. “What’s there to be sorry for, Dean? I deeply appreciated everything you gave me. Everything.”

Dean glanced up at him, confusion sketching across the hurt that had been painted on his face. “Wait, I thought—” He cut himself off, pulling the cloth of the basket back to reveal the clean, empty tupperware and the shirt in the bag. Castiel watched the tension physically melt out of his body. “Oh. Sorry, I thought… I thought you were just giving it back.”

Understanding hit Castiel like a frying pan. Dean had thought he was rejecting his offering. He’d thought Castiel wanted nothing to do with the food he’d cooked or the gifts he’d supplied.

“Dean, I enjoyed your cooking and your thoughtfulness,” Castiel said firmly, taking a step toward the Omega on instinct. “The tea was calming, and your food was delicious.” His inner Alpha was scrambling, desperate to assure his intended that he hadn’t wanted to reject his gifts.

Dean glanced up at him, green eyes sparkling behind thick, beautiful eyelashes. His voice was soft, shy, when he asked, “And, um… the shirt?”

Castiel exhaled, the hints of a purr underlying the sound. “Even more so.”

Dean huffed a soft laugh, ducking his head shyly. “Awesome. I was, um… I was nervous about that. I’m glad it helped.”

“It did,” Castiel promised him. He would have said more, but just then, the scent of flowers reached his nose and he remembered the gift he’d been meaning to give Dean. He handed the bouquet to the Omega, suddenly nervous all over again as he said, “Here, I thought you might like these. The… The woman who arranged them said they had different meanings, but I’m afraid I don’t remember what those meanings were.”

Any anxiety he’d been feeling before was promptly washed away by the sound of Dean’s laugh. God, what a gorgeous sound it was. In just the span of a trembling heartbeat, Dean’s laughter melted away all of Castiel’s darkness and power and sin, leaving him just a mortal man who was deeply, irreversibly in love.

Dean’s fingers were warm when he took the flowers from Castiel’s hand. He put them up to his nose and inhaled, those lovely eyelashes fluttering shut. “These are beautiful, Cas, even without all the fancy meanings. Thank you so much.”

Castiel was too dazed with Dean’s beauty and his inner Alpha’s contentment to notice his intended had given him a nickname. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, or even if he would have been able to manage anything at all, but just then Luke returned with a grim look on his face.

“I hate to break it up, lovebirds, but I need to talk to you, Castiel. My informant just contacted us,” he said.

And just like that, Castiel remembered who he was. Dean, too, seemed to remember their situation. His shoulders hardened, his face losing the sweet softness that had melted Castiel’s heart mere minutes ago. With a soft murmur of goodbye, he slipped out the office door and shut it behind him, leaving Castiel alone with his brother.

“Which informant?” Castiel asked, forcing himself to get back to the cold, calculated killer that he was when conducting business. Lives depended on his ability to be efficient and deadly. His brothers were counting on him to be at the top of his game.

“Crowley,” Luke said. He exhaled and collapsed into the office chair, looking tense. “He’s not the most reliable, but I have blackmail on him that would turn anyone honest as a schoolboy. He’s got news.”

“What kind of news?”

“The bad kind. Apparently, the Knights have a high-profile informant of their own, which means we have a leak. According to Crowley, there’s very little this person isn’t willing to tell the Prince brothers. Including the location of the Den and the importance of various members to our organization,” Luke said.

“Is there any indication of who this person might be?”

“None.”

Castiel cursed. The location of their base was a problem, but not as large of one as the individual importance of their members. The Den was a heavily-fortified compound filled with trained assassins and killers armed with knowledge of the surrounding land and enough firepower to take down a small kingdom. Individual operatives of the bratva, however, were much more vulnerable. If the Knights knew about the habits and weaknesses of people like Castiel’s brothers or even Castiel himself, there could be trouble.

The mental jump was so logical that Castiel wasn’t even surprised when the thought came to his mind. What about Dean? he wondered. What if they see Dean as a weakness? What if they use him against me?

Luke looked as if he could sense every single thought that was flying through Castiel’s head. “I have my suspects,” he said. “I’m sure you have yours. I’m going to wait until we can talk to Mikhail tonight. He’s still on that trip to Vegas, but he’ll be back before our shift here is done.”

It felt like madness to wait at all to share this sort of information with their leader, but Castiel knew Luke was right. Mikhail was currently meeting with a very important delegate from the bratva back in Moscow, receiving orders and recommendations on their next move from the Pakhan himself. Any interruption of that was risking serious punishment.

“Does Gabriel know?” Castiel asked his brother. “We should probably—”

He was cut off by an enormous crash, the sound muffled by the walls and the sound of the fryers, but still distinct. Both he and Luke tensed, his brother sliding out of the chair and into a standing position in a single fluid movement. “What the fuck is it now?” he snarled.

Castiel ripped the door open and stalked out of the office, just in time to see Grigori drag a man around the front counter of the restaurant and into the back, the swinging door revealing a small crowd of furious men outside.

“What the fuck is going on?” Castiel demanded, storming over to the cook. Grigori didn’t seem to hear him at first, too busy shouting at his captive in a mixed series of Russian and English curses. “Grigori! What the fuck are you doing?”

Castiel didn’t recognize the man Grigori so furiously threw to the ground. It looked to be a random civilian, an Alpha wearing a business suit with slicked-back hair that had been ruffled out of place by all the manhandling. He looked quite shocked to be on the floor, his nose bleeding profusely from where he’d been struck.

“This little fucking rat thought it would be funny to molest our employee,” Grigori snapped. As he spoke, the door to the front half of the restaurant opened, Aleksandr at the front of a trio of very angry-looking Alphas. Castiel recognized one of them as another bratva agent, a redhead woman named Anael. The other Alpha was a complete stranger, but he looked just as righteously angry as the other two.

“Grigori, that’s enough,” Luke snapped, grabbing the cook before he could land a hit on the man he’d thrown to the floor. In Russian, Castiel’s brother hissed, “I don’t care how angry you are; if you kill a civilian, that’s gonna take a lot of bribing to cover up.”

“He grabbed Dean,” Aleksandr snarled in heavily-accented English, leveling furious eyes on the businessman curled up on the floor. “He fucking did it twice.”

“It was a fucking joke! Jesus Christ, I wasn’t hurting anyone!” the businessman cried, finally daring to leave the cover of his arms over his face.

He found Castiel’s knee to his chest immediately after, forcing the breath from his lungs in one harsh whoosh. “You did what,” the Alpha demanded, voice flat and deadly, cold as the water of the northern seas.

“Cas, wait!” At that moment, very few things could have pulled Castiel away from his mission in causing the piece of slime underneath him as much pain as humanly possible. Dean’s voice, thankfully, was one of those things. At the Omega’s cry, Castiel’s head snapped up to see Dean come pushing through the trio of angry Alphas blocking the doorway to the kitchen, his green eyes wide. “It’s okay, Cas, it wasn’t that bad! You can’t hurt him, you’ll get in trouble!”

Fury washed through Castiel like a tidal wave. “What did you do?” he demanded of the Alpha beneath him. When the man only looked up at him with wide dark eyes, Castiel turned his gaze to Aleksandr. “What did he do?”

“He harassed the kid twice and would’a done it again if I hadn’t given ‘im what was comin’ to ‘im,” the unfamiliar Alpha said, glaring at the man underneath Castiel’s knee. He rubbed his knuckles against the leather of his biker jacket and glowered. “Fuckin’ piece of shit.”

“He just grabbed me a couple times, Cas, please,” Dean begged. Aleksandr had stretched a gentle arm across the Omega’s chest, keeping him from pushing through the door to stop Castiel from hurting the man on the floor. He looked genuinely panicked, his pretty face pale enough for his freckles to be seen from ten feet away.

“Everyone calm the fuck down,” Luke growled, taking charge with a hint of Alpha underlying his tone. “Aleksandr and Anael, take this man to the back and explain to him the rules of our establishment. Grigori, get back to your station. Dean, office. Castiel, you too. And I’ll accompany you back to your table, sir, if you’d allow me.”

Castiel was practically dragged off the man on the ground by his brother, allowing Aleksandr and Anael to grab him and lead him forcibly toward the back parking lot. The man went reluctantly, yelping something about assault as he went. The strange Alpha turned to Dean, putting a weathered hand on his shoulder. “You alright, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I—Thanks. Thank you,” Dean said, some of the color returning to his face. His gaze kept flicking back to Castiel.

The unfamiliar Alpha patted Dean on the shoulder, then went with Luke back into the dining area, where the few customers still remaining were attempting to crane their necks to see what was going on. As Grigori stomped back to his station at the grill, mumbling about fucking pig Alphas, Castiel reached out with a hand, gesturing for Dean to take it and follow him.

Dean’s hand was cool when he grasped Castiel’s, his fingers trembling slightly. Castiel tried not to grip too hard as he led the way into the back, his vision practically red with rage.

The only thing that could completely level the fury inside of him was the sight of Dean’s fear, which was exactly what Castiel saw when he slammed the door to the office and saw the Omega flinch like he’d been struck. In the span of a couple seconds, the molten rage in Castiel’s chest had melted away, leaving only soft concern and slight guilt.

“Dean, are you alright?” he asked, resisting the urge to just yank the Omega into his arms. God, did he want to, even though he couldn’t. He wouldn’t survive seeing Dean flinch back from his touch like he had at the sound of the door.

“I’m fine, Cas, it’s fine,” Dean said. He didn’t sound very convinced. “It wasn’t even that bad, I swear. He just grabbed my ass a couple times—”

“That is not okay,” Castiel snapped, forcing himself not to falter at the sight of Dean’s slight flinch. “No one should be allowed to touch you like that without your consent, Dean. How many times did it happen? I need you to tell me every single detail. Don’t leave anything out, understand?”

Dean nodded, looking as if he would love nothing more than to shrink into the floor and disappear. He wasn’t looking at Castiel, his gaze fixed on the floor instead. “I was just trying to give him some napkins, like he asked, and he grabbed me the first time. It was so quick I barely noticed, I swear. I didn’t say anything, and he didn’t say anything, and then when I gave him his food he d-did it again.”

“Then what?” Castiel asked, forcing his voice to remain level, forcing himself not to grab Dean and demand why he hadn’t said anything the first time.

“Then th-that guy out there, the biker dude with the c-cool motorcycle, he came up and punched the guy in the nose. The guy fell outta his chair, and then Grigori and Aleksandr came from the back and started yelling,” Dean said. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, his face pale again. “That redhead lady also showed up, I guess. I don’t really remember that well. It wasn’t that bad, Cas, I swear. Please, you can’t hurt him or kill him.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “I don’t understand why you’re defending him,” he ground out.

“Because, if you hurt him you’re gonna be in a whole bunch of trouble and then this’ll be an even bigger mess than it already is,” Dean said. He sounded like he was near tears, and Castiel was shocked to see dampness glistening in his bright green eyes. “C’mon, Cas, please, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Castiel had enough sense not to keep shouting. He refused to be the one, after all that had happened just now, to bring Dean to tears.

Instead of saying anything, he reached out and pulled Dean toward him, wrapping him in a tight hug that made something primal inside of him sort of settle with a sigh.

Dean exhaled, leaning near-desperately into the hold, his body going limp with relief in seconds. Castiel could feel the way tremors still ran through him every now and then. The Omega buried his face in Castiel’s chest, pressing close like he wanted to melt into the cavity of Castiel’s arms and never emerge. Castiel held him as tightly as he dared, wishing the exact same thing.

“This is not your fault,” he rumbled, pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to the top of Dean’s fluffy hair. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are not at fault for whatever happens, even if we murder that fucker in cold blood and string him up from the ceiling of his own home.”

“Cas—” Dean began, quiet but evidently looking to argue.

“No. You are not at fault,” Castiel repeated firmly. “Furthermore, it is a big deal. This is a safe space for any Omegas that come here, especially an employee and especially you. That kind of thing isn’t okay, Dean. If it were another Omega being assaulted, you would speak up, wouldn’t you?”

His precious, beautiful Omega nodded, as if that was the easiest question in the world. Castiel resisted the urge to demand how it was any different when it was him being assaulted. He kind of wanted to shake Dean a little bit, but he knew that was about the last thing he should do.

Instead of shaking Dean, he squeezed the Omega tighter against him, listening as Dean’s breath left his chest in a shaky inhale. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled, nudging his face into Castiel’s chest. Castiel could feel him inhaling, either on purpose or instinctually, searching out a comforting scent.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Castiel said quietly. He wished he wasn’t wearing scent-blockers. He wished Dean could smell the comforting pheromones his inner Alpha was attempting to push out in an effort to soothe away the last of the tension and fear he could still sense.

Dean was quiet for a long time, merely clutching Castiel. Eventually, he said, “They don’t ever care at the other place.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel questioned gently.

“Sometimes at the other diner I work at, customers grab me or say rude things,” Dean said. His voice was quiet, like he was telling a secret. “No one ever cares.”

“Your boss doesn’t do anything?” Castiel demanded, rage lighting him up from the inside again. He was suddenly glad he was wearing scent-blockers, actually. He didn’t want to scare Dean with the ferocity of his scent.

“No. She’s always in her office. It’s okay, it’s never that bad, it’s just… I was surprised by how mad everyone was,” Dean said. He sounded like he genuinely wasn’t aware of how beautiful and pure he was, how worthy of protection and care. Castiel’s heart clenched so painfully that it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes and tipped his head down, inhaling the sweet scent of Dean’s shampoo.

He hugged the Omega until Dean began to pull away, mumbling apologies again, like seeking comfort was something to be ashamed of. For the rest of his shift, Castiel stood out front in the dining area, manning the register and keeping one eye on Dean as he went from table to table, serving customers with a smile like nothing had ever happened.

Castiel wondered how someone as beautiful and kind as Dean could ever have been hurt so badly that he was genuinely unaware of his own worth. He wondered what kind of a monster could trick such a sweet Omega into believing he was nothing more than a nuisance and a bother. He wondered how someone could do that, and he wondered who had been responsible for it in the past, because he wanted to have a word with them.

He had a word with the businessman that night. Aleksandr and Anael had pulled the man’s name from him in the back parking lot, and a few hours after closing, Castiel paid Alpha Dick Roman a visit.

When he returned to the Den in the early hours of the morning with blood under his nails and the man’s screams ringing in his ears, he told his brothers that what he’d done had been a calculated move. He told them he’d managed to wring several million dollars out of the man and his rather successful company in return for his life. He told them he’d done it for the bratva, but even as he said it, Castiel knew it was all a lie.

Because when it came down to a gain for the brotherhood or revenge for Dean, Castiel would have chosen Dean every time. He would choose Dean every time.

No hesitation.

No questions asked.

Chapter Text

April turned to May with no sign of the sun. Dean was normally sick of the rain, but with his new boots to actually keep his feet dry and so many things to look forward to, even the dreariness of spring in Washington wasn’t too hard to stomach.

He had to get a glass cup from Mystery Spot so he could put his new flowers in it, since he didn’t have a vase. He also had to leave the flowers at the restaurant, sitting on the counter near the food window, because he didn’t have a safe place to put them at home. He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that his apartment wasn’t safe enough for flowers, but he tried not to think about it too much. He told himself that he liked when the flowers were at the restaurant, anyway. They made the place bright and pretty.

It was hard to leave them at the end of the day, but Dean comforted himself with the reminder that they’d be there tomorrow. He hugged his backpack on the bus ride home, trying not to think of the flowers sitting in the dark restaurant, all alone.

After the day he’d had, he was exhausted. His head still spun with memories of how furious Castiel had been at that Alpha that had grabbed him, the rage that had spun in his blue eyes. When he’d been kneeling on that Alpha, his eyes had been so dark they’d almost looked black. In that moment, Dean hadn’t doubted for a second that Castiel would have killed that guy. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t.

Dean still didn’t quite understand what had gotten everyone so upset, but he was smart enough not to question it. His only regret was that he’d just stood there like a damsel in distress, too shocked to do anything but stare as all the other people had defended him. He should have punched the guy or something. He supposed he’d just been too worried about causing a scene and making the Krushnic brothers angry.

He was exhausted when he finally got back to his apartment. His bus money was running low, so he knew he’d need to replace it with some of the cash he had stashed in his closet soon. He was getting paid tomorrow.

The apartment was surprisingly quiet when he got home. John was sitting on his recliner like usual, a half-full glass of Jim Beam at his elbow. When Dean came in, he glanced over but didn’t make a move to get up.

“Done with work?”

It was the most ridiculous question. It was almost ten in the evening, where else would Dean have been going? He was disgusted by the weak attempt at conversation, but he didn’t dare mouth off, so he just mumbled, “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna be gone for a couple’a days,” his dad said, which explained why he’d suddenly wanted to talk to Dean. “There’s a casino down near Tacoma that I’ve heard is givin’ the boys some luck. I’m gonna check it out.”

Dean didn’t even want to know where his dad had found the money to gamble. He was probably using his paycheck, using cash that would normally be delegated to buying alcohol for gambling instead.

“Okay,” Dean said.

“Quit fuckin’ mumbling, you Goddamn pussy,” John snapped. Apparently, he was looking for a fight before he left town. “Come over here, boy. You got somethin’ to say? Why’re you actin’ like a fucking little girl?”

Dean gulped. Fuck, he’d thought maybe the idea of a weekend of gambling had softened his dad, but apparently not. Praying his trembling hands couldn’t be seen, he stepped forward. “D’you want me to make dinner?” he asked, trying his damndest to keep his voice strong and steady.

John bared yellowed teeth at him. “Shut up. Don’t pretend like you’re makin’ dinner for me. If you wanna do your disgusting housewife act to satisfy your perverted instincts, do it when I’m gone, ya hear?”

Dean clenched his jaw. There was nothing he would rather do less than cook for his father, but he did it because he knew the only thing the old man had eaten was a sandwich and four men’s share of whiskey today. It wasn’t some sort of Omega housewife act, Jesus.

Maybe he was more triggered by the jab than usual because he remembered when he had cooked for someone else a few days ago. He remembered how he’d painstakingly measured the ingredients for the food and had chosen only the best-looking products to pack away in that stupid tupperware. The basket was sitting by the door, hopefully unnoticeable in the general mess of the apartment.

“So you don’t want dinner,” he said, a little more bite to his tone than usual.

John, of course, picked up on it right away. “Are you fuckin’ sassin’ me, boy?” he demanded. “Are you giving me lip? You think you’re so man now that you work three jobs, like that’s somethin’ to be proud of. If you had a career worth anything, you’d only have to work one.”

There was so much hypocrisy in that statement, it was unbelievable. Dean chose to focus on the rather surprising fact that his dad had even remembered that he worked three jobs at all. It seemed that for that particular conversation, John had been sober enough to remember.

“I’m tired, dad,” he dared to say. “I just wanna know if you want dinner or not.” He’d already eaten at Mystery Spot. All he wanted to do was take care of his dad and go to bed.

He grunted as a hand fisted in his jacket, yanking him down to one knee next to his dad’s recliner. Even drunk, his dad was still frighteningly strong. Years of construction work had made his hands hard and cruel. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” John snarled, his breath hot and stinking in Dean’s face. “I think I’ve been too soft on you, boy. Seems you’ve forgotten your place. ‘S okay. I’ll teach you a lesson that’ll last you ‘til I come back.”

During the following beating, Dean did his best to go to that distant, faraway place in his head where things hurt a little less and he could focus on the nice stuff instead. As his dad threw him into furniture, he thought of the warm strength of Castiel’s embrace. He remembered the firm pressure of the hug the Alpha had given him in the office earlier that day. God, it was a stupid thought, but Dean would deal with a thousand asshole Alphas if it meant he got a hug like that at the end of it. His skin still felt like it was tingling at the memory.

When his dad went to town on his face and Dean saw his blood on the dirty white tiles of the kitchen floor, he thought of the pretty colors of the flowers Castiel had given him. He hoped they were okay on their own in the restaurant. Tomorrow, he’d put them up in the dining room near the windows where they could get sunlight. It made him sad that they’d already been cut; they were going to die soon. Dean would be sad when that happened.

Dean curled up in a ball to protect the soft parts of his stomach from the stinging fury of John’s belt buckle, and he thought of the warm press of Castiel’s lips against the top of his head. Dean imagined the Alpha kissing him elsewhere, on his face and against the back of his neck. He thought of being held right now, of burrowing into the warm strength of Castiel’s chest and hiding from the agony of reality.

It felt like forever before his dad finally tired of beating him. With blood on his knuckles and sweat on his face, John stepped off his oldest son’s side and backed up, panting like he’d just run a mile as fast as he could. He wiped his face, smearing crimson on his cheek, then staggered over to the kitchen sink so he could rinse off the blood.

Dean saw his window of opportunity. Achingly slowly, he uncurled from his pitiful ball on the floor and half-stumbled, half-dragged himself across the room toward the hallway and safety. If he made it out of his dad’s sight before he recovered, there was a good chance John would just go back to drinking without bothering him.

It seemed someone up above was watching out for him, because Dean made it to the hallway and then to his room without being attacked. When he’d closed the door quietly behind him, stumbled across the room, and collapsed on top of his mattress, he finally allowed himself a sigh of quiet relief.

He truly was exhausted, and he would have loved nothing more than to just fall asleep right there. But Dean had been through this song and dance before, and he knew it was always better to catalog his injuries right after than to discover them the next morning.

Cautiously, he pulled himself off his mattress and grabbed a shirt from his dresser. He stuffed it into the bottom crack of his door so that when he turned on his bedroom light, the glow wouldn’t be too obvious from the hallway. Then, wincing and cursing quietly under his breath, Dean began to slowly peel off his shirt.

He’d been taking medical classes at the local walk-in clinic with a small group of other people for a while now. Most of the people in the classes were high schoolers looking to get a certification for some job or other, or first responders keeping up on their skills. Dean was generally left alone, and he was grateful for the knowledge he’d gained. He knew how to treat his own injuries a little better than he had before.

Dean remembered where he was supposed to press along his chest, searching for broken ribs. He found none, thankfully, though there were several sore spots that made his breath hiss through his teeth. His nose had been bleeding, but it wasn’t so bad now. The blood in his mouth had come from when he’d violently bitten his tongue. Everything else—the bruises, the aching knee from where he’d banged it when he’d fallen to the ground, the gashes from the belt buckle—everything else was typical and wouldn’t be anything to worry about.

John had focused on his face for a good minute or so, so there was no way the bruises wouldn’t be noticeable tomorrow, but Dean didn’t think he had a head injury or anything. There were some pretty dark marks on his biceps in the shape of handprints, so he’d have to wear long sleeves for a while, but other than that the visible areas of his skin were virtually unharmed. He was in pretty good shape compared to some of the days he’d had before.

Grateful for small mercies, Dean flinched his way through putting on another shirt, his body aching unhappily. He felt a little better when he laid down and turned off the light. He had to scoot far to the edge of the mattress so no springs dug into his newly-formed bruises, but once he’d tugged his blanket tight around his shoulders, he felt a little better.

It took about ten minutes of tossing and turning in the dark for Dean to finally admit defeat and drag himself across the room so he could grab his backpack. He’d thought after the first few times that he was finished using it as a Goddamn stuffed animal of some kind, but apparently not. The feeling of something relatively soft but solid being held against his chest was soothing, and the knowledge that Castiel had given it to him made it all the better.

Dean expected his exhaustion to carry him through a night of deep sleep, but apparently his body had other plans. He woke up around three in the morning feeling as if he’d been dumped into the middle of Death Valley at the height of summer, his blanket tangled around his legs and his forehead clammy with sweat. Dean sat up slowly, body aching like he’d been hit by a truck, and in the darkness of his room, he cursed quietly.

His heat had finally arrived.

The suppressants, while being somewhat effective and somewhat safe for him to use, weren’t the high-class expensive shit that celebrity Omegas used to keep them fit and chipper while filming movies or running businesses or whatever. These suppressants were the kind someone could get over the counter at a local drug store, as long as they were twenty-one or had a fake ID that was convincing enough.

The shitty quality meant that though Dean didn’t feel the kind of intense urges and sensations of an Omega in heat, he still didn’t feel great. His stomach was currently knotted like a Goddamn playground rope net, twisting around like his insides were trying to murder him slowly. His head pounded, the various cuts and bruises on his body throbbed, and he felt like even getting out of bed and into a standing position was gonna be a fight for his life.

He couldn’t go back to sleep, of course, because his body wasn’t nice to him like that. Instead, Dean just laid there in agony, his legs curled up toward his chest in an attempt to minimize the pain of his stomach. He kept his eyes closed against the glaring brightness of his alarm clock, wishing the itching, too-tight feeling of his skin would go away. His mind kept replaying the hug he’d had from Castiel yesterday in a weird, desperate sort of loop, as if the memory of one of the greatest moments of his life would make him feel better right now. That combined with the sensation of his bracelets on his wrist as he tugged them around and around in circles helped to keep him sane.

Laying there in the darkness, feeling the weight of the day ahead of him crushing the breath from his lungs, Dean tried to focus on the positives. He’d worked his three jobs yesterday, and he only went in to clean Sandover again on Monday, which meant he had a couple easier days of working. He also had plenty of bus money, so he wouldn’t have to worry about running to make it to work. He’d been in worse situations. He was gonna be fine.

His dad’s door was closed when he crept out of his room. Dean was grateful for it as he began to slowly get ready for the day. John wouldn’t leave for wherever he was going until he woke up, probably around early afternoon. The fact that he was in his room instead of passed out on the recliner in the living area was a small blessing.

Dean’s arms got tired when he brushed his hair more than a couple strokes at a time, so he had to take breaks. He hoped that with the help of the slightly-moldy orange he found in the back of the empty fridge, his fatigue would fade a little before he got to work. He cursed the fact that he hadn’t gone grocery shopping lately, but this was all he had for breakfast. It would have to do.

In the bathroom, Dean had to take an extra twenty minutes to cover up the bruises on his face and the exhausted shadows under his eyes. His dad never used the bottom cabinet, which allowed Dean to store the sparse makeup supplies that he had to keep himself looking presentable. Dean pulled out the concealer today, using it not only on his under-eyes and bruises, but also on the places he thought would make him look less deathly pale.

When he looked less like a corpse and more like a tired person, Dean put the makeup away, tucking it behind a couple extra rolls of toilet paper in case his dad did go snooping. He wasn’t sure what John would do if he found out his son was using makeup, even if it was just to cover the bruises he’d created, but Dean didn’t think he wanted to know.

He slipped out of his apartment a couple minutes later than usual. His entire body cried out in protest as he pushed himself to a light jog so he would make it to the bus on time. He could only manage to run in little increments of thirty feet or so, but he told himself it was better than having to run all the way to work.

He almost didn’t catch the bus, but he had a feeling Ernie had waited for him, which was nice. The bus driver glanced at him with something as close to concern as a grumpy old guy could achieve when Dean boarded and paid his fare, asking, “You good, kid?”

“Yeah, just tired,” Dean mumbled. He slid into his usual seat and released a soft groan of relief, his body relaxing exhaustedly into the crappy plastic. Jesus, he had no idea how he was going to get through today.

Just a few steps at a time, he reminded himself. If he thought of today as a whole fifteen hours, he was going to break down crying before he even made it three. If he only focused on one hour at a time, he could trick himself into getting through it.

Amara was in a crabby mood when he arrived at the diner, so Dean quietly clocked in and began to do dishes in the back, figuring he could hide in the kitchen until she went back to her office. Heaving around the heavy trays and pans was torture on his fatigued muscles, but it was better than getting yelled at and bursting into tears in front of his Alpha boss. The cooks in the back were too grumpy and tired to pay him any mind, as usual, so Dean was left on his own.

Dealing with customers was honestly the worst part of his day. Everything else—lifting heavy trays of food, bussing tables, running back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen—was practically enjoyable compared with Dean’s experiences with some of the patrons that frequented Amara’s diner. Most of the customers were either nice or indifferent to him, but there were a few that made his life a living hell. And with his emotions so volatile, the abuse from certain people was hard to deal with.

Before lunch even started, Dean had to pretend to go to the bathroom so he could release some of the ugly feelings that had been building in his chest all day. Locking himself in a dirty stall at the end of the row, Dean leaned up against the door and breathed through the tightness that had suddenly clamped like a vice around his lungs.

One of the women at one of his tables had snapped at him for accidentally forgetting her lemonade. Dean knew she hadn’t meant to be cruel, but her huffed impatience had cut right into that little part of him that wanted to please and make people happy. His inner Omega was a Goddamn mess, curled into a miserable heap in the back of his mind, pumping out waves of misery and depression. It was way too easy to squeeze his eyes shut and feel tears slip free. Christ, he had to get himself together.

Dean ended up timing himself with the crappy clock on the wall, allowing himself three minutes to get the tears out and get his breathing under control. Once three minutes had passed, he unlocked the stall door and dabbed at his eyes with water from the sink, grimacing as the paper towel came away with a smudge of makeup on it. He still looked fine, but the shadows under his eyes were starting to show. It would have to do.

Feeling somehow less stable than before, Dean exited the bathroom and attempted to quietly slip back into the flow of working. One of the other waiters, a snappy Omega named Meg, hissed at him for taking such a long break. The words didn’t sting so much, since she wasn’t an Alpha, but Dean still felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut. He mumbled a quiet apology and tried to work a little faster, not wanting to get yelled at by any of his coworkers again.

Thankfully, the breakfast rush was more intense than the lunch rush, so the last half of his shift was easier. Dean was actually able to catch his breath for a few minutes at a time between waiting for food to be ready. He leaned up against the wall next to the window, out of sight of the dining area, and focused his gaze on one thing so he wouldn’t feel so dizzy. His legs, impossibly, felt sore just from running around like he normally did. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere soft and warm, preferably with a pile of blankets he could bury himself in.

By the end of his shift, he was aching all over, his stomach clenching on nothing but the orange he’d had that morning. Dean was desperate enough that he stole one of the stale mini-loaves of bread that came with the greasy soup. It was something he could get fired for if he was caught by Amara, but no one saw.

The walk to the bus stop felt like forever. Dean’s face was clammy with sweat when he reached the top of a small hill. He was relieved when he sat down on the bench, his legs trembling as he stretched them out in an attempt to get the burning lactic acid to go away.

It was a cold day in May. Not rainy yet, but overcast and breezy. Dean shivered and pulled his jacket around himself tighter, teeth gritted against the chill. His inner Omega was fucking miserable, crying about how cold and tired and uncomfortable he was. Dean told it to shut up and stop whining, but there was far less heat behind his thoughts than usual.

The bus wasn’t as much of a relief as he’d thought it would be. Dean wolfed down his piece of bread and tried to bury his nose in the collar of his jacket so he wouldn’t have to smell all the various scents of the people riding with him. Unwashed bodies, stinking cologne, Alpha frustration or exhaustion, the choking perfume of the Beta woman seated across from him… By the time Dean got close to Mystery Spot, he felt like he was going to throw up the mini loaf of bread he’d just eaten.

Fresh air was a relief. Dean focused on the thought of a burger at Mystery Spot as he trekked to the restaurant, his shoulders hunched in and his arms wrapped around his bruised torso. The fact that a burger and some fries was the only thing keeping him moving at this point was kind of pathetic, but Dean would take what he could get. He imagined sitting down in one of the booth seats and resting his aching legs, and he forced himself to walk a little faster.

When he finally did get to the restaurant, it was gloriously warm inside. Dean stood for a second just inside the back door of the kitchen, breathing in the comforting scent of cooking food. When he finally got his legs moving again, he felt a little better.

Whatever good feelings had been building in his chest promptly vanished when he peeked into the office in the back and found Luke sitting behind the desk instead of Castiel, his focus directed at a glowing tablet. He looked up when Dean peered in. “Hey, Dean. Is everything alright?”

“Uh, hi, Alpha Luke. Yeah, everything’s okay,” Dean said. He tried not to crane his neck like an idiot, as if Castiel was somehow hiding underneath the desk. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Is, um… Is Cas h—I mean, is Alpha Castiel here?”

Luke put the tablet down, looking at Dean with his full attention. “No, he’s not. He had some work back at the Den to catch up on since he’s been gone the past few days. Are you sure everything’s good, kid? You look… pale.”

Dean prayed to God his disappointment didn’t show on his face. It was a herculean effort to nod and smile. His chest felt like someone had punched a hole straight through it. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

He ducked out of the office before Luke could ask any more questions or, God forbid, see the tears that were suddenly burning his eyes. Dean ducked past the cooks while they were distracted so he could slip into the bathroom. The bathrooms at Mystery Spot were a single room that could be locked, so Dean had more space to breathe and get himself under control.

Fuck the burgers. Fuck the burgers. He didn’t care about the food. He could go without food for weeks. The burgers hadn’t been what he was excited about when he’d been walking here. He’d been excited about seeing Castiel. And now that the Alpha wasn’t here, Dean felt like he was going to vomit.

He knew the floors in the bathroom were relatively clean. He was the one to mop them, after all. He slid down the wall to sit on the tile, his legs shaking even worse than before, and buried his face in his hands.

This was stupid, it was all so stupid, because he knew all the feelings swirling through him were just side-effects from his heat. But he felt like absolute shit, and he knew it wasn’t his imagination that was telling him it was worse than usual. He remembered what Gabriel had said about Castiel having a harder rut than before, and he figured this was the equivalent, just cramped down with suppressants. His body wanted the Alpha that was courting him.

Dean’s Omega may have been small and miserable before, but now it was full-on wailing. He had to curl his hand into a fist and bite it in an attempt to keep any sobs inside his chest from coming out. It felt as if someone had just bulldozed him with a battering ram to the heart. It felt tender and bruised, mere seconds away from ripping apart altogether.

He didn’t know, Dean told himself desperately. He didn’t know my heat would start. He didn’t abandon me. He has no obligation to be here even if I’m in heat. I told him I’m on suppressants, for God’s sake. I should be fine. I should be fine.

He wasn’t fine.

Dean had no clock in the bathroom, so he had no way of figuring out how long he’d been in there. He cut himself off as soon as he could, wiping aggressively at his eyes as he washed his hands and face, desperate for the tears to stop. The makeup didn’t even matter anymore, not that it lasted after he’d rinsed his face off. With nothing covering the shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his cheeks, he looked about as good as he felt.

Knowing there was no way he could hide the fact that he’d been crying, Dean slunk out of the bathroom and began to clean the front of the restaurant, not wanting to show his face in the back. Maybe, if he hoped hard enough and focused on doing his job, he’d somehow magically look presentable when Luke inevitably emerged from his office to come help at the front.

That naive thought lasted all of fifteen minutes before Dean heard footsteps behind him.

“Dean?” a voice asked. “Omega Dean?”

Dean turned and found Aleksandr standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his blond eyebrows furrowed with concern. Dean swallowed thickly and said, “Hey, sorry, did you need something? I was just, um… I was just cleanin’ this stuff.”

Aleksandr didn’t look any less concerned. If anything, his frown deepened. “Your food is ready,” he said. “You look very pale. When was the last time you ate?”

“On the bus,” Dean mumbled, which was true. He hadn’t exactly eaten a full-course meal, but he’d still eaten something. His near-empty stomach clenched at the thought of the food Aleksandr and Grigori had probably made. He followed the blond Alpha to the back willingly.

Sitting in the food window was a tray of fries and a bacon cheeseburger. The fries had sprinkles of parmesan cheese on them, the little shavings melting underneath the heat of the food lamp. Behind the window, Grigori was chopping cabbage and soaking it in sauce to make coleslaw.

He looked up when Aleksandr entered with Dean. His gaze traveled over Dean’s bruised, puffy face, then to his fellow cook with a frown. He said something in Russian, gesturing with his knife, and Aleksandr replied. Dean, figuring this wasn’t a conversation he was evidently supposed to be a part of, grabbed his food and slipped out toward the front.

He sat down in his usual booth in the corner, relieved when the weight was taken off his exhausted legs. A few minutes later, to his shock, Grigori appeared out of the kitchen and strode over to join him. As Dean watched with wide eyes, the Beta wedged himself in the booth seat across from him with a cheerful nod. “Good food?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said, caught between intense surprise and faint amusement. “Thanks, Beta Grigori. Your burgers are amazing.”

Grigori scoffed and flapped a hand. “You should try my blini. Now that is very good, very good.” He grinned at Dean underneath his mustache, then held up the knife he’d been using to chop cabbage. Dean blinked. “I’ll sit here with you, da? I can stab nasty Alphas if they come bother you.”

Dean had no idea what to say to that, so he laughed. Despite the fact that he was almost certain Grigori wasn’t joking, he felt something in his chest warm. His inner Omega was partially soothed by the presence of what it deemed a member of Castiel’s pack. For the moment, it was okay.

Having Grigori sit with him turned out to be really nice. The Beta didn’t talk very much, which was okay, because Dean was too tired to keep up a lively conversation. Grigori’s presence was comforting, though, and the knowledge that he was there to protect Dean sort of lulled the Omega into a state of partial relaxation. As he ate his fries and listened to Grigori tell a short story about how his daughter had won a dance competition last week, he felt himself relax more than he had all day.

Grigori stayed there for as long as it took Dean to finish his meal. The entire time, he sat there with his knife in his hands, flipping it calmly between his fingers. Some of the braver customers were staring at it, confusion plain on their faces. Dean wasn’t sure what they thought of the sight of him eating and Grigori sitting there with his knife, but the thought made him smile a little.

He felt better when he’d eaten and rested a little bit. Grigori took the tray from him and patted him on the shoulder, his hands much gentler than they usually were. The contact, even though it lasted less than a few seconds and was felt through several layers of clothing, still made something inside of Dean settle a little.

For some reason, the combination of the food and Grigori’s attention while he’d been eating gave Dean enough energy to get through the rest of his shift. His inner Omega was still devastated that Castiel wasn’t here, but it was soothed a tiny bit by how kindly Aleksandr and Grigori were treating him. It was actually kind of weird, how nice they were being. The two cooks weren’t ever cold to Dean, but they usually did their own thing and ignored him, save for when they needed something or when they’d made him food. But tonight, they were doing all sorts of things to coddle Dean.

He found the dishes done every time he went back to make sure they weren’t piling up. The napkins and trays were somehow stocked the entire night, and Dean wasn’t asked to retrieve something from storage once. In fact, when Dean was in the back retrieving an envelope to deliver to a customer out front, Aleksandr presented him with a small cup of vanilla ice cream he must have gotten from the freezer. Someone had clumsily added whipped cream and a messy array of perfectly-chopped strawberries, complete with a little metal spoon. Dean thanked the Alpha with a blush, wondering why they were both being so nice to him.

He got his answer near the end of the night, when he went into the back to clean up. He found all the dishes finished, the counters wiped down, the food completely put away, all of his usual chores completed before he’d even had a chance to begin them. Dean returned to the front with a bewildered look on his face, confused.

Luke was emptying the cash register, counting the money and stacking it into neat piles. He must have seen the look on Dean’s face, because he said, “They’re acting on Castiel’s orders, if you didn’t already know.”

Dean blinked, feeling a little electric shock run through him at the mere mention of the Alpha’s name. “What do you mean?” he said dumbly.

Luke’s long, pale fingers sorted the cash expertly, his gaze fixed on his task. “Grigori and Aleksandr,” he said. “They’re acting on Castiel’s orders. Mikhail didn’t want him leaving the Den today, but he wanted to make sure you were taken care of.” There was a small curve to his mouth, a slight uptilt to his lips that looked almost like a smile.

Dean stared at him for as long as he dared, trying to figure out if that smile was a joking one. It didn’t seem like it. Though he could have a cruel sense of humor sometimes, this didn’t seem like something Luke would lie about.

“Alpha Castiel ordered them… to be nice to me?” he asked, feeling like he was missing something. That didn’t sound right. Why would Castiel do that?

Luke snorted, neatly stacking bills and binding them with a rubber band. “If you hadn’t already noticed, kid, my brother is the protective type. He likes to know the people he cares about are happy. I’m sure one of the men told him you looked a little worn down, and he made sure they took care of you.”

There was… a lot to unpack there. Yes, Dean supposed he knew Castiel was protective. But protective of him? The thought, for some reason, had never occurred to him. It made him feel warm inside, to think about being someone worth protecting. Someone that Castiel deemed worthy of protecting.

The other thing that was currently making him blank out was the fact that Castiel’s own brother had just included him in the group of people the Alpha supposedly cared for. That made Dean feel even warmer. The heat in his heart expanded to his chest, turning his face and ears red. He ducked his head and was glad that Luke was still focused on the money, because he definitely didn’t want the blond Alpha to see him blushing so hard.

Dean thought about Luke’s words the entire bus ride home. He still felt like shit, especially since his body ached so badly after a long day on his feet, but he couldn’t deny that his inner Omega was happier knowing that Castiel had been doing what he could to make sure he was okay. If Luke was telling the truth—and maybe Dean was just desperate, but he really did believe the older Krushnic brother was being truthful—then Dean would be thinking about his words for a long time.

He got back to his apartment and was relieved to see that the Impala was gone from her parking space. He had no idea how long John would be gone. It depended on how long his money held out, most likely. Dean just hoped it would be for at least a couple days. If he was really, impossibly lucky, it would be for a whole week, long enough for the worst of the heat to pass. The only thing that made Dean’s heat cycle worse was when his dad was around.

The apartment was dark and still when he let himself in. Dean snuck around on instinct, too used to having to tiptoe past his sleeping father. He cleaned up, took a very slow, very exhausted shower, and was on his way to collapse into bed and fall asleep when he remembered that he needed to refill his bus fare. There was no way he was going to risk forgetting to do that, since that would mean walking to work.

Dean groaned softly as he knelt down next to his closet door, his hands searching out the little box with Sam’s jar and his personal stash of money. He winced as he lifted it, his chest and torso still sore from being kicked at the day before.

In the dark, Dean opened the lid and felt around the bottom of the box, searching for the cash he knew was stored in there. He frowned as his fingers touched bare cardboard. Concern began to bloom as he felt around the entire bottom of it, fingertips nudging against nothing but dusty cardboard and empty air. Heart beginning to pound, Dean reached for Sam’s jar and unscrewed the lid, shoving his hand inside.

His body might have been tired before, but he felt none of that fatigue as he jumped up and stumbled across the room to fumble for the light switch. His exhaustion had burned off underneath the waves of adrenaline pumping through him, sharp and sickening. He staggered back across the room and fell to the floor next to the box, just to stare at the contents with wide eyes. The light had done nothing but illuminate the horrible truth that his blind fingers had discovered.

Not a single penny was left. The money was gone.

Chapter Text

Dean woke up on the floor.

His whole body was in agony. The combination of the beating he’d had last night, heat fatigue, general exhaustion, and the ache that came with sleeping on the hard floor made it extremely painful when he went to sit up. His eyes were tacky with dried tears. Across the room, his alarm was going off, signaling that he needed to start getting ready for work. In front of him, his money box lay empty, Sam’s equally-as-empty jar held tightly to Dean’s chest.

All the money was gone. Years and years of hard work, years and years of saving, years and years of suffering and exhaustion and hopelessness driven forward only by the thought of helping to get his brilliant little brother through college, gone. The ceramic jar was large. As the amount of money had grown, Dean had begun needing to roll the bills into tight cylinders to make room for more. As of his last count a few months ago, he’d saved a little more than six thousand dollars.

Six thousand dollars, gone.

Six thousand dollars, stolen.

Dean was numb. There was a lack of feeling in his chest, a void. It would have been frightening if he didn’t feel like fucking Han Solo stuck in the carbonite, unable to move or speak or think.

I shouldn’t have kept the money here. I was just asking for him to find it. I just never thought he would go so far as to look through my stuff. In the light of day, it was clear that someone had rummaged through Dean’s closet with little care for being discreet. The pile of books and clothes Dean had layered over the box had been pushed aside in a messy heap, sad and pathetic on the closet floor. Somehow, his dad had found the box. He’d taken everything inside of it, and now he was likely gambling it away at some random casino.

There was something there, underneath the ice that had formed around Dean’s chest. Something like unbelievable hurt, something like quivering betrayal, something like red-hot rage. Heat and ice didn’t mix. Dean wondered how long until the frozen state of his feelings melted through.

He had to get up and go to work. He’d been sitting on the floor for about ten minutes now, and if he didn’t start hurrying, he might be late.

Late for what? he wondered. Late for the bus that I won’t have the cash to ride? Late for the job that I’ve worked for nothing? Dean had about fifteen cents in his backpack pocket. He had fifteen cents period. Fifteen cents, and nothing else.

Before, he might have considered different ways out of this. He could sell his backpack and go back to using the ratty old one, even if the thought of selling Castiel’s gift made his chest feel like caving in. He could look for more hours at Sandover, more days of the week. He could clean a different office building altogether.

Dean wasn’t going to do any of that. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to move again.

It felt like such a stupid thing to be so devastated about, but Dean was wrecked. Ruined. Rendered completely unable to function. Because whatever he’d been building in that jar for Sammy had been the culmination of years and years of hard work. It represented suffering and exhaustion and desperation and hopelessness and pain, all of it pushed aside to keep the dream of helping his little brother go to college afloat.

The jar was a pale sandy color. It had once held the sugar his mom had used to make her pies. Then, after the fire and her death, the sugar had run out and Dean had just kept the jar. Over the years, as he’d understood his purpose to protect his little brother, as Sam had begun expressing interest in being more than just a loser like their dad, Dean had begun to save money in the jar. Sammy, he’d written on it the day his brother had left with Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen. He’d written his brother’s name on the side in big black letters.

Had John seen it?

Had he cared?

It was shocking how desperate Dean was to believe that his dad hadn’t seen the name. Maybe he’d been drunk. Maybe the room had been dark. Maybe he’d just seen the jar and had taken the money inside without noticing the writing on the exterior. Maybe he’d just wanted to steal from his older son because his addiction was blinding him, because it was his addiction that was making him a bad person, it was his addiction making him do horrible, awful things. Maybe maybe maybe.

Maybe he saw it and didn’t care, a nasty, despicable voice in Dean’s head hissed. Maybe it’s time to accept what you know is true deep down. He doesn’t give a damn about you, and he doesn’t give a damn about Sammy. Your sacrifices for him were in vain, and now, so are the ones you made for Sam. Now you’re nothing.

There was a wail building inside of Dean, alongside the rage and hurt and betrayal. Dean was scared of what it would do when it emerged.

He had to go to work.

At this point, it was pure habit making Dean move. He got up and began to robotically get ready to work at the diner, his gaze flat and dead as he brushed his hair in the mirror. He’d done this hundreds of times over the years, every single Goddamn day except the holidays when the fucking places he worked were closed. Dean knew this routine. He was pretty sure if he didn’t, he never would have made it out of the apartment.

It was raining outside, because of fucking course it was. Dean wished he had a hood as he pulled his jacket tight around his shoulders. He didn’t have the energy to wipe his face as the raindrops began to slide down it and into his collar. He was going to look like a drowned rat by the time he made it to the diner. He didn’t care.

The bus was long gone. It wasn’t like Dean had the money to ride it anyway. He walked to the diner, because that was all he had the energy to do. It felt like his boots weighed a million pounds, every step a struggle. At least his feet were dry. At least his backpack was waterproof. At least, at least, at least.

He was thirty-four minutes late. Amara never had time to leave her office unless it was so busy that customers were leaving because they weren’t being served fast enough, but somehow she had enough time to wait for Dean to get there just so she could yank him into her office and shout at him for being irresponsible and lazy. If she noticed how he barely responded to her words, she didn’t say anything. She sent him out to do his job after fifteen minutes of threatening to fire him.

It was raining outside, and that meant the customers were grumpy. Amara’s parking lot was shitty, which made for puddles that turned into small lakes during Washington springtime. Businesspeople that had important jobs to do in their important tall buildings got upset when their stupid shoes got ruined by the fucking puddles. Usually Dean was annoyed when they bitched at him, because what could he do about it? Today, he barely responded to the irritated comments.

Dean honestly didn’t know how he made it through the morning. Years of customer service had helped him perfect his fake smile, so he was pretty sure the customers didn’t notice that he was a walking husk of a person. There was nothing alive inside of him. Just ice and dead things.

Then again, there was that faint heat lurking deep down, the burning rage that roiled deep in his gut. It grew a little when Dean noticed a group of frat boys in one corner of the restaurant staring at him, smirks twisting their lips and intentions obvious in their eyes. Dean counted one Beta out of the six of them. The rest were Alphas, and it was obvious what they were all thinking. Dean just silently thanked God that he didn’t have to deal with them.

Or he didn’t, until one of the waitresses clocked out for the morning, leaving Dean with half her tables. One of them, of course, included the group in the corner.

“Hey!” one of them called when Dean was taking orders from the booth next to them. “Hey, Omega!”

“Give me a second,” Dean said as politely as he could manage. “I’ll be right there.” He scribbled down the orders of the family in front of him, wishing they’d figured out what they wanted before they said they were ready to order.

The second he finished and informed them that their food would be out shortly, a different boy from the booth in the corner said, “Hey, waiter! C’mon, man.”

Dean ground his teeth together, tempted to just ignore them and go to the kitchen to deliver the order. He refrained, knowing it would only do more damage in the long run. Offering a tight smile to the family he’d just taken orders from, he excused himself and turned toward the booth of frat boys.

“We need some more coffee,” one of them said. His mouth seemed to be perpetually fixed into a self-satisfied, arrogant smirk. Dean kind of wanted to punch it off his face.

“Sure thing,” he said, instead. “Give me a second.”

He turned around and headed toward the kitchen, his little notepad clutched tight in his hand, the paper crinkling. Something was writhing deep inside of him, furious and hot and dark. His skin was itchy with more than just the usual desperation for a soft blanket or the warm brush of skin-on-skin. Dean wanted to punch something. He wanted to smash his fist into a brick wall and feel the way the stone tore at his skin and crushed his bones.

He delivered the order, numb as he grabbed the coffeepot from its holder and made his way back into the dining room. The last thing he wanted to do was give these assholes their coffee, but he’d dealt with worse during his time working here.

It was always worth something, though, a small part of him lamented. Now, I don’t even know what I’m doing this for.

Dean filled the frat boys’ coffee cups, grateful that they were too busy talking about the Omegas they’d fucked at a party the past weekend to harass him. It was only just as he was turning around that he heard one of them say, “Hey, can you get us some cream too?”

Teeth gritted, Dean didn’t even bother to acknowledge the guy as he made his way back toward the kitchen. He tried not to slam the coffeepot down, breathing deeply through his nose in an attempt to calm the itch under his skin. The numbness was still there in his chest, but Dean wasn’t so sure it was going to hold. He was scared of what would happen when the dam broke and all the feelings burst free.

When he delivered the cream, one of the Alphas nearest to the edge of the booth reached out and patted him on the ass like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Thanks for the cream, babe,” he said, winking.

Dean gritted his teeth, simultaneous anger and disgust flashing through him for a second. He remembered how fucking furious everyone at Mystery Spot had been when that asshole Alpha had touched him that one time.

“Fucking touch me again, and I’ll stake your hand to the table with a knife,” Dean snapped, nearly spilling cream on himself with how fast he retracted his hand.

Some of the guys laughed, like Dean was a cute little dog snarling harmlessly at them. The one Dean had threatened frowned. “Who the fuck taught you to talk like that? Christ, it must be that time of year,” he said, as if Dean was the one out of line instead of him.

They all laughed then, and Dean would have crushed the little pot of cream in his hands if it hadn’t been made of metal. “Go fuck yourself,” he snarled.

He turned away from the table, feeling sick. He hated that the numbness had come back only a few moments after that surge of rage, and he hated that the guy’s words had pissed him off so much. He just wanted to find somewhere quiet to sit down and be away from all these fucking people.

Dean thought he was going to be left in peace after that, but apparently the universe had other plans. He wasn’t even sure what to think when he finished delivering a table of food and found Amara waiting near the food window for him, her hands on her hips and her face twisted into an expression of fury.

“My office,” she snapped. “Now.”

The tone of an angry Alpha wasn’t enough to rouse Dean’s inner Omega, which had gone pretty much catatonic last night and had yet to revive itself. He followed Amara numbly out of the kitchen, through the dining area, and into the small hallway that led toward her office. In the corner, the booth of frat boys watched with smirks on their faces. Dean knew what had happened before he even got into the office.

“Ma’am—” Dean started, figuring he should at least try to defend himself even though he knew it wouldn’t work.

“Shut your mouth right now,” Amara snapped. She was furious, her dark eyes blazing with anger. It would have normally made Dean’s inner Omega flinch, but he felt a bit like he was floating above his body right now. Of fucking course he was gonna get chewed out by his boss today. It only made sense, after the absolutely shitty past twenty-four hours he’d been having. “Do you know what you’re here for?”

“No,” Dean said. He was pretty sure he did, but he wasn’t gonna steal her thunder.

“A very nice young man just informed me that you, an employee, threatened him with a knife,” Amara snarled. “You threatened one of my customers, and then you didn’t even apologize. Do you know what that could do to my business? I should fire you right now. I should strip your apron and make you walk out the front door right this second.”

Dean gritted his teeth. A very nice young man, huh? “He was groping m—”

“I don’t care what he was doing!” Amara snapped. “That is no excuse to threaten bodily harm to my customers. I’m still not quite sure what to do with you, Dean. You’re in very hot water right now.”

Dean figured she probably expected him to beg for his job. Maybe this was a fantasy of hers. Maybe if he begged, she would say he needed to do something to keep his place, and he’d end up having to eat her out or something. He’d certainly seen her give him the visual feel-up a few too many times.

He might have done it, too, if it had been just yesterday. Now, he felt like he’d lost almost everything and wasn’t too upset if he lost any more. What difference would it make? He literally had no reason to keep this job. All that he’d toiled for here had been stolen from him.

Amara must have gotten impatient for him to answer, because she said, “I can’t fire you in the middle of a shift. I need you here until the afternoon. But you’d better understand that you’re not getting paid for today. I also want you to go out and apologize to those gentlemen.”

A flicker of feeling came through the fog in Dean’s head, flashing once like lightning in a thundercloud. “I ain’t apologizing,” he said, incredulity sharp in his voice. “They fucking—”

“Do not use that language with me,” Amara barked. “You’re going to apologize sincerely, or you’re going to lose your job. I still don’t know if I’m going to keep you around, but you’d better be on your best behavior or you’ll be gone at the end of this shift, do you understand?”

Part of Dean wanted to argue. Part of him wanted to scream at her, to tell her what had happened and demand why she didn’t care. Another part of him wanted to just fucking leave before she could fire him. He felt sick with disgust.

But he was too exhausted to fight right now. Because as satisfying as it would be to watch Amara’s face as her best waiter walked out the door, Dean also had no idea what he’d do after that. This job meant stability right now. This job helped to keep him in the apartment. And if he was being honest, Dean felt too wrung out and ripped apart to gather the fire needed to get into an argument with his boss.

So he mumbled a quiet understanding and left her office, face burning with anger and shame. He walked out to the dining area and up to the booth of frat boys, all of them looking very proud of themselves as they saw him approach.

“Got somethin’ to say, Omega?” the one Dean had threatened asked. He looked so damn self-satisfied. He looked like a spoiled child on Christmas morning.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said flatly. At least the distance he felt from his body helped to push the apology from his throat easily. It was just words.

The boys laughed. Dean turned around and left before they could harass him any more, returning to the kitchen to find the food window filled with orders that needed to be delivered. He tried to focus on doing his job, desperately ignoring the rage that was boiling ever-hotter in his chest, burning away some of the fog of dissociation that had settled over him that morning. The laughter of those fucking frat guys rang in Dean’s ears like a fucked-up echo. He felt like he was going to grind his teeth down to nothing.

Dean had to lean against the wall for a moment when he got a break, his chest spasming a little as he tried to breathe through the ugly feelings that were building up inside of him. He felt nauseous. He needed to fucking sit down and fucking get away from people, or else he was going to scream.

A glance at the clock on the wall revealed that he only had an hour left before he could clock out and escape. Dean prayed that Castiel was at Mystery Spot today, unsure if he’d be able to handle it if the Alpha wasn’t. He didn’t know what he’d do, but the answer strayed closer to breaking down than punching a wall. He felt so fucking off-kilter that it was all he could do to think about Castiel and his lemon-honey tea to keep himself from fucking losing it right then and there.

Dean tipped his head back against the wall and tugged his bracelets around his wrist in methodical circles, grounding himself with the sensation of the knots of elephant hair rubbing against his skin. He was okay. He just had an hour left. He was gonna be fine.

That sentiment lasted until he had to go pick up the dirty plates from the corner booth. The frat boys had left him alone while he’d been serving the other customers, but Dean could practically taste trouble brewing as he made his way back over. Part of him wanted to beg the other waitress to switch tables with him, but he knew she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be worth the effort.

He got near, praying he could just grab the plates and go, but as he grabbed a dirty dish, one of the boys’ hands flashed out like a viper and caught his forearm.

Dean’s inner Omega was usually so desperate for touch, but right now the sensation of the stranger’s hand on his skin just felt sickening. Wrong. “Let go of me,” Dean said, keeping his voice low.

He got only laughter in response. There was satisfaction on these guys’ faces. They knew Dean wasn’t going to be protected by his boss now that they’d tested the waters, and with that information came the freedom to torment him however they wanted. Amara was only going to take it out on Dean if he tried to fight back.

“Hold on, not so fast,” the guy holding onto Dean crooned. One of his buddies elbowed him, laughing. “Come on, pretty. We didn’t mean any harm earlier. No hard feelings?”

“Let go of me,” Dean repeated, voice taut as an instrument string. He pulled at the boy’s grip, something like fear flashing through him as it tightened exponentially.

“Aww, look, Josh,” one of the boys on the other side of the booth said. “He’s got some cute bracelets. Think someone gave ‘em to him?”

Dean’s blood ran cold. He tried to yank his arm away, but the boys were too fast. One of them reached out and wrapped his horrible clammy hand around Dean’s wrist, yanking the bracelets over his hand roughly. “Look at this,” he laughed, dangling them in his fingers. “Good catch, Liam.”

“Fucking give them back,” Dean spat, jerking his arm out to try to grab the bracelets. The boy holding them laughed and held them away, near the wall on the far side of the booth. The rest of them laughed, the sound echoing in the sudden fog that had filled Dean’s mind again.

“Did someone give these to you, Omega?” the guy named Josh asked, squeezing Dean’s wrist hard enough for the feeling to start to leave Dean’s hand. “Some stupid Alpha trying to court you?”

“Maybe I’ll give ‘em back if you give me a little kiss,” the guy holding Dean’s bracelets said, laughing. “Come on, babe. Your Alpha doesn’t have to know.”

Helpless fury surged through Dean, prompting him to yank his wrist uselessly again, tears springing to his eyes before he could help himself. The ugly feelings were reaching their boiling point, rising like bile in his throat. He was scared that they were all going to come pouring out in something he couldn’t take back.

Desperately, he tried to breathe through the pain in his chest. His efforts only seemed to amuse the guys in the booth even more, because they started to laugh yet again. “Look at the bitch,” snorted the guy Dean had threatened earlier. “He’s fucking crying. Jesus Christ, I should record this.”

That last sentence was what tipped Dean over the edge. The humiliation and pain and rage came bearing down on him, crumpling any pathetic attempts he’d made to keep himself calm. In that moment, all the shit he’d been feeling just fucking expanded until there was nothing Dean could do but explode. The ice melted. The dam broke.

Dean snapped.

Josh was holding his right wrist, so Dean dropped the dirty plate in his left hand, grabbed a fork, and stabbed it directly into the soft flesh of Josh’s forearm. The Alpha dropped his arm with a shriek of agony, blood spurting forth around the tines of the buried utensil.

Without pause, Dean grabbed the nearest butter knife and stretched across the table, jamming it into the shoulder of the boy who’d been holding his bracelets with a single precise stroke. The scream of agony he emitted silenced the whole restaurant, just in time for Dean to punch the boy who’d said he was going to record everything square in the middle of his face.

“What the fuck!” one of the other boys screeched, eyes wide as Dean grabbed his friend’s hair and slammed his face down into his half-finished plate of French toast. “What the fuck!”

“Call 911!” someone else shouted. Dean didn’t fucking care. He dragged one of the boys out of the booth by his hair so he could reach the other one, his fingernails digging maliciously into every bit of vulnerable skin he could reach. Rage had whited out his vision and his hearing, choking his throat and causing his blood to roar. The ugly darkness poured out of him like a fucking waterfall, streaming like the blood of the wounds he’d just inflicted.

At some point, someone grabbed him from behind. Why the sudden good Samaritan hadn’t wanted to help him while he was being harassed, Dean had no idea, but he had no qualms about stomping on the bridge of the man’s foot so hard that he heard something crack.

It was almost soothing to Dean, the feeling of his knee ramming up into the guy’s crotch. A few of the frat boys had recovered and were brave enough to jump on him, bringing him to the floor of the restaurant with a thunderous crash. All around, people were screaming and shouting at each other, chairs screeching on the ground. Dean struggled like a fucking tiger caught in a trap, using every bit of knowledge his frantic brain remembered from Castiel’s training to fight his way free.

He actually managed to get out, but he was outnumbered and exhausted. His body was fatigued, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening, and there was only so long adrenaline could carry him. Eventually, a couple of the frat boys and customers managed to pin him down to the ground again, knees shoved roughly on top of his back and head. Dean struggled and roared, fury still thrashing through him, but felt his body growing weak as a result of his vain attempts to get free.

In the background of all the chaos, Dean heard someone bawling like a baby and someone screaming. He thought he could hear Amara’s voice shouting somewhere, but everything was too muddled. Adrenaline and anger made way for panic, which wrapped python-like bindings around his lungs and throat, restricting his breathing. All the scents of pain and anger and fear were causing his head to throb. His inner Omega, awoken from its temporary coma, was wailing in distress.

Dean didn’t know how long it took the cops to arrive, but it couldn’t have been too long. The majority of the panicked customers hadn’t even disappeared by the time the sound of sirens began to split the air. The ugly plaster walls of the diner flashed with red and blue, the sight making Dean’s vision swim with nausea.

The horrible pressure on his back and head was released as the police entered the restaurant, guns drawn. Miserably, Dean allowed himself to be pulled off the floor, his head ducking away from imagined blows as someone manhandled him out of the small crowd and through the wreckage of the restaurant. Someone was saying something, but it might as well have been in Russian, because Dean couldn’t understand a Goddamn word. His brain had sort of shut off, his consciousness doing that detaching thing where he floated above his body instead of in it.

“Can you tell me your name?” a voice asked, the words coming through clearer than before. They were outside now, the rain hitting Dean’s overheated face. Dean imagined the raindrops sizzling when they hit his skin. He felt like he was going to evaporate and float away.

“Dean,” he sniffled, his voice soft and cracked. He could barely hear himself over the roaring in his ears.

He was pushed roughly into the back of a cop car, his head bent down so it didn’t strike the roof. Dean flinched at the sound of the door thudding shut behind him, his vision blurry with tears. They felt molten hot as they slid down his face, burning like the shame that was writhing in his chest. Dean was going to vomit in the back of this car.

The sirens made his aching head hurt even more. His body throbbed with distant pain, the injuries from John’s beating aggravated by the fight in the restaurant. There was blood on his hands, under his fingernails. He was still wearing his fucking apron. His wrist was bare.

Somewhere, Dean had dropped his bracelets. That realization was what really made him break. He curled up on the seat of the cop car as it began to move, agony flooding through him like a wave. He clutched his bare right wrist and fought back a wail, teeth clenched against the horrible screaming that wanted to escape his chest.

As they pulled away from the restaurant, Dean closed his eyes and began to sob.

Chapter Text

They didn’t take Dean to a cell.

When he was brought to the station, he stayed in the car for a good fifteen minutes while the cops argued with someone outside. After he was finally let out, Dean was brought to an office in the station instead of a cell. His hands were still handcuffed, but he wasn’t behind bars. He was put in a chair and told to stay there, then locked inside while the officer who’d brought him in went to talk to someone.

Dean was pretty sure this wasn’t usually what happened, but he was too exhausted to care. He’d cried on the way over, and by the time they’d reached the station, he’d run out of tears. His whole body throbbed with pain and the echoes of severe emotional distress, but Dean barely noticed. He’d gone back to feeling numb, except this time, there wasn’t anything boiling under the surface. There was just hollow emptiness. Dean felt like a Halloween pumpkin, all his insides scraped out with a serrated spoon.

His mind half-heartedly tried to figure out what was about to happen to him, but he couldn’t honestly predict it. Maybe they’d lock him in jail. Maybe they’d call his dad and give him the option to be bailed out. God, Dean hoped not. He’d rather rot in a jail cell than be left to the mercy of his father.

Maybe John would bail him out with some of the money he’d stolen. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Dean felt sick at the mere thought. He stared at the beige wall across from him and wished he could shove his head through it.

Part of him was trying to figure out just how much trouble he was in. He was looking at a lot of assault charges, probably. Those guys might want to sue. Wouldn’t that be funny? Dean had fifteen cents. He had fifteen fucking cents.

There was no way he still had his job at Amara’s diner. He might lose the one he had at Mystery Spot if he didn’t get out of here soon, ‘cause he was gonna be late. Besides, it wasn’t like the bratva was gonna want to get close to him now. Wasn’t the whole point of being a criminal not getting caught?

Dean was going to vomit. He was so fucking alone right now. He was so fucking screwed.

The clock on the wall informed him that he had about thirty minutes before he was expected at Mystery Spot. Dean wondered what Castiel would think when he eventually had to tell him that he’d lost the fucking bracelets. He’d probably shoot Dean or something. It was probably a huge sign of disrespect to throw off a courting gift like that. The thought made Dean’s eyes burn with tears that he refused to shed.

He stared at the wall blankly for close to an hour, listening numbly to the noises of the station around him. The sound of a key in the lock of the door startled him out of his stupor, bringing his gaze around to watch as the door opened and a cop let himself in. He looked rather frazzled, his bald head gleaming with sweat in the fluorescent lights above. He locked the door behind him, then turned to look at Dean.

Dean expected something like hostility or disgust in his eyes, but the cop looked surprisingly kind. “Hey, kid,” he said, giving Dean a small, friendly smile. “I’m glad to see you’re still here.”

“Couldn’t’a gone anywhere,” Dean mumbled, shrinking down in his chair as the cop moved toward him and around the desk at the far side of the room. He sat down in the office chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t so sure. They didn’t want you in a cell, and some of us were a little worried you’d get out somehow. You fought like a wildcat, I hear,” the cop said. He didn’t sound judgmental, just like he was stating the facts. There might have even been a touch of admiration in his voice.

Dean shrank down in his chair even more, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. Various parts of his body were throbbing with pain, his ribs and torso especially. Besides, curling his arms around himself soothed the extreme state of stress his inner Omega had worked itself into.

The cop watched him calmly for a moment, seeming to think. The nametag on his chest said “Henriksen.”

“So, I’ve got some statements from witnesses in the restaurant and from your boss,” the cop, Henriksen, eventually said. “They all say somewhat of the same thing, but that’s typical of outsider reports. Do you think you can tell me your side of the story?”

Dean gritted his teeth, looking down and away from the cop’s kind dark eyes. He didn’t want any of that sympathetic shit. It probably wasn’t real, anyway. The guy just wanted to get information out of him. Maybe he was the good cop of the good-cop-bad-cop duo. Maybe someone else would come in after he left and yell at Dean.

Dean would rather stay quiet anyway. His insides felt frayed, including his throat and vocal cords. He just wanted to close his eyes and rest a little, but he knew that wasn’t going to be possible until they let him out of this office and into a cell.

It took a couple minutes for Henriksen to try again. He exhaled, leaning forward in his office chair, expression open and friendly. “Listen, kid. I’ve got a list of reports and an injury assessment from the guys involved with the whole incident. All of them point to a random, violent assault on seemingly innocent people, but I don’t think that’s true.” He paused, waiting for Dean’s gaze to tentatively flick up to meet his. “You seem like a nice kid. You don’t seem like someone who would randomly attack people, or at least, not without reason. I want to hear your side of the story, kiddo. I wanna know if we’re treating you fairly.”

Dean clenched his jaw, hating how weak those words made him feel. No one was fucking on his side, and he couldn’t forget that. This guy was his enemy, no matter how nice he was acting. He didn’t really care about Dean’s side of the story. He just wanted information.

Would it really hurt to tell him, though? What damage would it really do?

Dean was tired. He was so fucking tired.

“I had a bad day,” he croaked. His voice sounded like he’d whipped it bloody and dragged it across gravel for five miles straight.

Henriksen nodded understandingly. “Okay. And did something happen when you were working?”

Dean swallowed, remembering the laughter of the group of guys as they’d bullied him. He hated the way his eyes burned at the mere memory, the way his throat and lungs seemed to close up.

“They took my bracelets,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. His hand rubbed his bare right wrist, fingernails scraping skin that ached for the comforting press of his courting gift. “They took ‘em and made fun of me. And they… they s-said they were gonna record me. I… I got mad.”

“That’s totally understandable,” Henriksen said kindly. He gave Dean a friendly smile that seemed surprisingly genuine. “Can you tell me about your bracelets? How did they take them?”

“They grabbed me,” Dean croaked. “They grabbed my arm and took them from me.” The tears in his eyes slipped free, the emotion in his chest boiling over like a pot left neglected. Or like a dam of water that had been repressed for far too long. “My Alpha gave them to me. I-I… I want them back.”

Henriksen’s face softened with understanding. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, his brow furrowed. “Alright, kid. Okay, that’s… It’s okay. I understand now. Were those a courting gift?”

Dean gave a trembling nod, reaching up to scrub at his face harshly. God, he hated crying. His eyes felt hot and achy from how many tears he’d already shed today and last night.

Henriksen wrote down some more things, evidently noting what Dean had told him. His eyebrows were furrowed with concentration and something that Dean didn’t dare to believe was concern. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m gonna give you my phone, okay?” Henriksen said. “I think you should call your Alpha. Do you think that would make you feel better?”

Dean sniffled and nodded. Yeah, he would feel better. He knew Castiel was probably going to be mad at him, but right now he was so upset that even hearing the Alpha’s voice would help soothe him a little. “I don’t—” He cut himself off to clear his throat, scrubbing harshly at his face again. “I don’t know his phone number. I-I know where he works.”

“Okay,” the cop said kindly. “Alright, that’s fine. Is it okay if I talk to him too?”

Dean bit his lip. “Okay.”

Henriksen pulled out a cell phone and got out of his chair, making his way over to where Dean was sitting. Dean forced himself to sit up straight and uncurl from his defensive ball, his inner Omega calming slightly at the thought of calling Castiel. He prayed the Alpha wouldn’t shout at him over the phone. Dean didn’t know if the tattered shreds of his heart could take it.

Henriksen handed him the phone and Dean dialed the phone number of Mystery Spot. He put it on speaker, figuring the cop would appreciate that, then waited with shaky hands as the ringtone sounded.

“This is Mystery Spot Burgers, how can I help you today?” a familiar voice asked as soon as the phone picked up. Dean’s heart sank.

It was Gabriel.

“Um, hi, Beta Gabriel,” he managed, his voice just as shaky as his hands. He glanced up at Henriksen uncertainly, resisting the urge to curl up in a defensive ball again. “It’s, uh… It’s Dean.”

“Dean-o?” The relief in Gabriel’s voice was as shocking as it was clear. “Christ, kiddo, where are you? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry,” Dean said, wincing. He glanced up at Henriksen again, figuring he should just tell the truth. “I, uh… I got arrested. Can—Can I—Is Alpha Castiel there? The, um… The police officer wants to talk to him.”

Gabriel cursed in what was probably Russian, his voice muffled. “No, Cassie isn’t supposed to be here until later. Can I talk to the officer, kiddo?”

Dean wordlessly handed the phone to Henriksen. “This is Officer Victor Henriksen,” the cop said, nodding at Dean kindly. “I’m here at the station with Dean. You said his Alpha wasn’t there at the moment?”

“No, Alpha Castiel Krushnic isn’t here,” Gabriel said. There was something odd about his voice when he spoke. Dean blinked in surprise at the way Henriksen froze, his gaze fixed first on the far wall, and then on Dean.

“Castiel Krushnic?” the cop asked, his voice tight with a tension that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Yep.” Gabriel sounded chipper as ever. “How’s your wife, Henriksen? She’s due any day now, isn’t she? Last we saw you, she wasn’t even showing.”

Dean realized, with a rather intense jolt, that Gabriel knew Henriksen. That Henriksen knew Castiel. And that Gabriel wasn’t mentioning Henriksen’s wife just for pleasantries. If anything, it was the exact opposite.

“There’s no need for that,” Henriksen said, his voice tight. “One of your guys must’ve recognized him, ‘cause we were ordered to follow a different protocol with his arrest. No one’s hurt the kid. He’s sitting here with me in my office.” He hesitated, glancing at Dean, then said, “I thought it was weird that a civilian Omega knew how to take on half a diner of men with little to no effort. I didn’t think he’d be connected to you and your organization, Beta Gabriel.”

“Well, he is. And if anyone touches a hair on his head, they’re gonna be hung by their toes from the station gates,” Gabriel said. Both Dean and Henriksen flinched a little. “Thank you for talking to me, Henriksen. Someone will be along shortly to collect Dean. Can I speak to him again, please?”

Henriksen handed the phone over wordlessly. He didn’t look afraid of Dean, per say, but he seemed more wary than before.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dean said softly when he got the phone back. “He was bein’ nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just making sure that behavior continues,” Gabriel said. He exhaled, the sound crackling through the speakers. “Are you alright, kid? You can explain what happened when our guy comes to get you, but I just wanna know if you’re okay right now.”

“I’m okay,” Dean said. He felt a little like he was lying, but that was ridiculous. He was fine. He felt better, now that he knew Gabriel wasn’t mad at him. “Do I, um… Am I in trouble? I don’t have any money to pay bail—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabriel said. He sounded uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re not in trouble, kiddo. Like I said, you can explain it to our guy when he comes to pick you up. If anyone gives you trouble, Henriksen will help you out. Just hang in there, alright?”

Dean exhaled quietly, some of his anxiety soothed for the first time in what felt like ages. Relief stung his eyes, traitorous tears building up even though Dean refused to let them free. He was done crying today. Well, at least for now.

“Thanks, Beta Gabriel,” he said. “I’ll, um… I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright, kiddo. Call me again if you need something,” the Beta said kindly. Dean said his goodbyes, then heard the call end. He handed the phone back to Henriksen, murmuring a soft thanks.

The cop didn’t seem any less friendly, but he was definitely a little wary of Dean now. He took his phone back and sat down at his desk, mentioning something about a report. He began to type at his computer, the sound of the keys tapping lulling Dean into a slight spell of calm. His inner Omega, soothed by the sound of Gabriel’s voice and the promise of maybe seeing Castiel sometime soon, had relaxed from its intensely stressed-out state.

Dean curled up in the chair, bringing his tired legs up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around himself, closed his eyes, and tried to take deep breaths to keep himself steady. Despite his relative calm, he still felt frayed and shredded on the inside. Dean tried to focus on the fact that he was getting out of here, that this was a better situation than he’d been in a couple hours ago. At least he was sitting down. His fatigued body was grateful for that.

Dean had no idea how long he waited, but eventually Henriksen received a walkie-talkie call that requested his presence in the front of the station. The cop told Dean to wait there, then exited the room and left him alone. Dean noticed that he didn’t lock the door. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel like trying to escape, but at this point, he figured there wasn’t any reason to make this more complicated.

He’d just closed his eyes again, intent on resting a little more, when he heard the doorknob rattle. Dean’s eyes flew open just in time to catch the door flying inward, revealing a very familiar Alpha in a very familiar tan trenchcoat.

Dean sat up, heart in his throat as Castiel stormed into the room, his coat flapping behind him. For a wild half-second, Dean thought that Castiel was so angry he was going to hit him. But then he saw the softness in the Alpha’s blue eyes, the concern etched into his brow, and something inside of him broke open at the realization that Castiel wasn’t angry at all.

All of the tears that Dean had choked back previously suddenly rushed forth, pooling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. In a sound that was more of a sob than a word, Dean said, “Cas.”

“Malysh, sweetheart,” Castiel said, opening his arms as he came close. “It’s okay, zaychik. I’m here now, it’s okay.”

The Alpha knelt down right there, right in front of the chair Dean was curled up in, and the Omega was helpless to do anything but collapse against him. He slid out of the chair and onto the ground, half-sitting on Castiel’s lap, his chest heaving with sudden wracking sobs.

Castiel’s arms squeezed him tight, firm and strong and soothing. Through the layers of coat and suit and shirt, Dean could feel Castiel’s body heat soaking into him, filling the empty, jagged spaces in his chest with gentle warmth. Dean buried his face in the soft lapel of Castiel’s coat and sobbed, caught between wailing his sadness into the Alpha’s chest and inhaling as much of his calming scent as his lungs could manage.

“Oh, zaychik, shh, it’s alright,” Castiel soothed. His voice rumbled in his chest, deep and soothing. Dean nudged his nose weakly against it. “Shh, dorogoy, you’re okay. It’s okay now.”

Dean heaved a shaky sob, burying his face in Castiel’s chest. “‘M sorry,” he choked out, clenching trembling fingers in the fabric of the Alpha’s trenchcoat. “I’m s-so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just—I—I just—I couldn’t—”

“Shhh,” Castiel soothed, running a large, warm hand up and down Dean’s spine. “You have no need to apologize. You’re alright, malysh, it’s okay. You’re safe. Whatever happened, I will protect you. You’re safe with me.”

“They took them,” Dean sobbed, feeling as if all his emotion was trying to force its way out of his throat at once. He could barely breathe. “They took my bracelets. I l-lost them, Alpha, I’m sorry. I’m s-s-sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked. He pulled away a little, one large, warm hand coming up to cup Dean’s face gently. Dean leaned into the touch with a sob, trying to enjoy it while it lasted. Once Castiel figured out how badly Dean had fucked up, there would be no more gentle touches for him. He had to savor them while Castiel still thought he deserved them.

“I lost the bracelets,” Dean repeated, sniffling pathetically. He reached up to scrub harshly at his face, trying to bully his body into halting the seemingly-endless flow of his tears. “The g-guys in the diner were mean and they t-took them and I flipped out and I l-lost them and I c-came here and—and—” He cut off with a choked wheeze, the air catching in his throat. He cringed into himself, expecting Castiel to retract his arms at any moment, to push Dean away and shout at him.

The Alpha did the exact opposite. He drew Dean in closer, squeezing tight and firm. One of his arms had curved around Dean’s waist so he could pull the Omega tight against his chest. The other came up to cradle the back of Dean’s head, guiding the Omega’s face to the crook of his neck. The movement was more of an instinct than anything, since his blockers covered most of his scent, but the feeling of his face being pressed against Castiel’s warm skin soothed Dean all the same.

His hands ached with how hard he was clutching the Alpha’s trenchcoat. He knew, of course, that if Castiel decided to push him away there was no grip in the world that would salvage their closeness. But it was a nice illusion, to think that if he held on tight enough, he could keep the last good thing in his life from leaving.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean sobbed. “I didn’t wanna l-lose them. I don’t wanna lose you. I didn’t mean to, Alpha, please—”

“You’re not going to lose me, zaychik,” Castiel said, his voice low and rumbling. His throat vibrated against the bridge of Dean’s nose, the feeling strangely soothing. “I told you everything was going to be alright, didn’t I? It’s okay. I’m not angry with you, sweet one. You’re safe, you don’t need to worry.”

Dean didn’t quite believe him—he couldn’t, when his life so rarely granted him things as good as Castiel—but he couldn’t help the way he desperately clung onto those words. Those five words, I’m not angry with you, soothed the majority of his inner Omega’s distress. With a hiccupped sob, Dean curled into Castiel’s chest and resolved to stay there for as long as he was tolerated.

Somewhere else in the room, he heard a soft knock on the doorway. The door had never been closed after Castiel had burst in, so the view to the hallway was wide open.

Dean buried his face even deeper in Castiel’s neck, ashamed of how weak and pathetic he was acting. He didn’t want to be seen like this, but he didn’t know what to do. He heard someone say something in Russian, their words uncertain. When Castiel replied, his tone was so full of ire that Dean flinched a little, even though he knew it wasn’t directed at him. A moment later, the person retreated and the door snicked shut.

Whatever muscles in Castiel’s body had tensed relaxed again the moment the door closed. He went back to holding Dean, the two of them just breathing quietly together for many long moments. After a while, Dean felt the Alpha sort of pull away, prompting him to do the same.

Castiel looked at him carefully, his blue eyes scanning over Dean’s tearstained face. They lingered on his bruises, on the slight swelling of his nose, the small cut just under his left eyebrow from John’s ring.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, the calm in his voice tinged with a far-off sort of danger, “who did this?”

Dean swallowed, his throat traitorously tight. “Doesn’t matter,” he managed. Fuck, if he thought about his dad and what he’d done right now, he was gonna start crying all over again.

“It does.” Castiel’s blue eyes were intense, fierce, filled with the kind of lurking darkness that Dean had seen when he’d been kneeling on that Alpha’s chest a couple days ago. “Dean. Tell me who dared put their hands on you. I will destroy them.”

Tears burned like acid as they spilled from Dean’s eyes, his chest heaving with a sob he didn’t let out. “I can’t,” he said, praying Castiel wouldn’t get angry, praying he would understand. “Please, C-Cas, I can’t. I can’t tell you.” He believed Castiel when he said he would destroy the person who’d hurt him. He fucking believed him, and that was why he couldn’t have given up his father’s name even if there had been a gun to his head.

Somewhere, it seemed, underneath all the pain and betrayal and rage, there was still some battered, fragile loyalty lingering.

His Alpha’s voice was softer when he spoke again, but there was still insistence there, urgency. “Dean, please. I can protect you, malysh, you don’t need to be scared of—”

“N-No,” Dean sobbed, shaking his head. “No. I can’t. I c-can’t tell you.” And then, “Not yet.”

He looked at his Alpha and tried as best he could to plead for understanding with his eyes, praying Castiel would sense how close he was to fucking losing it all over again. Everything about his insides felt raw and abused, and Dean knew that one strong push in the wrong direction would send everything left holding him up crashing down.

For a moment, he almost thought Castiel would still ask. But after a beat of hesitation, in which Castiel pinned Dean with the most intense stare he’d received yet, the Alpha’s eyes softened and he hugged Dean back against him, murmuring a soft apology.

They stayed like that for a long time, long enough for Dean’s legs to get that prickling feeling that came with them falling asleep. Eventually, he felt Castiel shift again. “I want to take you out of this place,” the Alpha said after a time, his voice low and gentle once again. “I want to take you back to my home. Will you come with me? You’ll be safe there, I promise.”

Dean couldn’t think of anywhere in the world where he’d feel safer than the Alpha’s den. He exhaled shakily, something inside of him settling at the thought of being somewhere safe and surrounded by Castiel’s scent. “Okay,” he managed, his voice little more than a cracked whisper. “Don’t you—Shouldn’t I go to work, though? I think Beta Gabriel’s expecting me. He’ll probably need help with the dinner rush.”

He peeled back just in time to see Castiel’s face sort of crumple. “No, malysh, you’re not going to work tonight,” Castiel said gently. “Gabriel can handle himself just fine. He was the one that called me here, so he’s not expecting either of us to be at Mystery Spot. You’re very kind, though, to think of him.”

Relief flooded through Dean. He would have been more than willing to help Gabriel, but he couldn’t deny that he was glad to not have to. Now that Castiel was here and he was relaxing a little, he realized how awful he felt. Pain throbbed throughout his body like a sickening drumbeat, pounding in time to his heart. He was exhausted.

Dean pulled away from Castiel first, ashamed of how he’d been acting. His skin felt branded with the Alpha’s touch, a phantom pressure remaining even as Dean put distance between them, inches of empty space that he hated the moment they were created. He rubbed his face harshly, scrubbing dried tears from his cheeks, hating how hot and sticky and aching his eyes felt.

Castiel’s hand was warm and gentle when it circled around Dean’s wrist, halting his rough motions. A thumb wiped away the lingering dampness underneath Dean’s eyes, soft to the point of agony. The hold on Dean’s wrist was so soft, the touch of Castiel’s skin causing Dean’s to tingle. It was such a contrast, how Castiel was holding Dean, compared to the horrible tightness of those Alphas from the diner. Like sandpaper to silk.

“Come on, zaychik,” Castiel murmured. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean allowed himself to be helped up off the floor. His legs felt weak and pathetically shaky, like they’d fallen asleep and had yet to regain their previous strength. He was grateful for the steadying hand Castiel placed on his lower back, the Alpha standing close and protective beside him. After what seemed to be a moment of consideration, Castiel pulled off his trenchcoat and draped it over Dean’s shoulders, the coat warm and comfortingly heavy. It smelled of Castiel’s spicy cologne. Dean’s inner Omega purred.

Castiel guided him out of Henriksen’s office and into the hallway of the station. There were five burly men waiting outside. Dean recognized a couple, including Gadreel, the Alpha that always drove Castiel around. Gadreel gave him a friendly nod when he caught Dean looking at him. He crowded almost as close as Castiel on Dean’s other side, a seemingly protective gesture.

The group of bratva members walked close and uniform on all sides of Castiel and Dean, their hostility clear on their faces. Dean was pretty sure that no matter how nice the cops had been to him, the Russians weren’t exactly happy to be in a police station. There seemed to be no one on their way to a side door that led to the parking lot, but Dean thought he caught a couple people peeking out of doors farther down the hallways.

Outside, there were several big, dark cars parked in the parking lot. Castiel guided Dean toward one, Gadreel following close behind. As they climbed in, Dean was reminded of his backpack, which he usually had with him when they did this while heading to training.

“All my stuff is still at the diner,” he said as Castiel shut the door behind him, closing out the rain falling outside. He felt ashamed of how much of a bother he was being, but that backpack was important to him. It was another one of Castiel’s gifts to him, after all, and Dean would be damned if he lost two in one day.

“I’ll send my men to get it,” Castiel assured him, placing a large, warm hand on Dean’s knee. “We’ll get your bracelets back too, dorogoy. They’re somewhere, and it shouldn’t take long to find them.”

Dean nodded, looking down at the floor of the car so Castiel couldn’t see just how upset he was at the reminder that he’d lost them. Christ, he felt like shit. He felt like such a waste of time and energy right now, but he couldn’t help how fucking needy he felt. Jesus, Castiel probably couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

Even if Dean was being a nuisance, Castiel didn’t show any signs of irritation or annoyance. If anything, he seemed to feel the exact opposite. The Alpha kept one hand on Dean’s knee the entire ride, taking it off only when he needed to type something into his phone. Each time his touch left, it returned only a few minutes later. Dean focused on the warm weight of the Alpha’s hand, grounding himself with it as they headed into the city.

At first, Dean thought they were going to Mystery Spot after all, but then Gadreel took a turn a few miles before he was supposed to, taking them down a long street. The farther down the street they went, the larger and more elegant the buildings became. Dean figured he should have guessed that Castiel lived in the rich-people district. He was a mafia boss, after all.

The skyscraper the car eventually stopped in front of was as intimidating as it was beautiful. It was a little shorter than the other buildings surrounding it, but it still must have contained more than forty floors. Hundreds of feet of gleaming glass and shiny steel twisted elegantly to the sky, making Dean feel very small as Castiel opened the car door and led the way outside.

“You live here?” Dean asked, his voice softer than he’d intended as they stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. Maybe it was the building, maybe it was the large crowd of people around them, maybe it was the coat around his shoulders, or maybe it was all three, but Dean felt tiny.

“I do,” Castiel said. He reached out and tucked an arm around Dean’s shoulders, instantly eliminating the anxiety that had been festering in the Omega’s mind. The touch was more soothing than Dean wanted to think about. He had to actively keep himself from nudging into Castiel’s side as they walked, reasoning that he didn’t want to seem needy.

The interior of the building was quieter but no less intimidating. Castiel led Dean through a wide lobby that was tastefully decorated with furniture and art in shades of gold and brown. Accent pieces of twisting glass were set at various places around the room, some of them taller than Dean himself.

There was a pretty woman sitting behind the desk at the far end, but she and Castiel merely exchanged nods as the Alpha steered Dean toward a set of elevator doors set into the wall. Dean had been expecting an interrogation or something, or at least a dirty look. It was so very obvious that he didn’t fit in here. He felt like an ostrich in a room of peacocks, awkward and ugly and so painfully out of place.

It was a relief to step into the empty elevator. Castiel’s arm never left its place around Dean’s shoulders, and as the doors to the elevator closed, the Omega allowed himself to burrow a little closer. Castiel’s arm tightened accordingly.

No one got into the elevator on the ride up. Dean realized about halfway to the top that Castiel had hit the button for the penthouse level, and he had about twenty-two levels to have a whole new meltdown about that. It seemed to take no time at all before the elevator doors were gliding open silently, revealing a short hallway with one door at the end and two on the sides.

Castiel led the way to the door on the right. He produced a golden key seemingly out of nowhere and unlocked the door, a gentle hand guiding Dean inside before the Omega could hesitate about entering.

Dean suddenly found himself staring down a short hallway at a large, opulent living area. The space was beautiful, though it seemed strangely… quiet. That was all Dean could think of to describe it. Quiet and maybe a little empty. Like the space was too much, like someone had built this place and realized no amount of art or furniture could fill it.

“I’m not here often,” Castiel said, startling Dean a little. The Alpha’s mouth was set into a hard line of tension, as if he was upset or… nervous. “It’s perhaps not as homey as somewhere like the Den, but it’s… Well, it is what it is. A little too big for a bachelor Alpha.” He chuckled, the sound brittle.

Dean stepped forward, out of the little hallway and into the large space. “I like it,” he said, staring at the massive windows that looked out on the rainy city. “I’ll bet it’s real sunny when the clouds are gone. I bet the glass thingies light up the wall like a kaleidoscope.” He grinned at the pretty glass sculptures, imagining it. It was a beautiful scene.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Castiel admitted, coming up to stand by Dean. “I suppose I never notice when it’s sunny. I’m always here to eat or rest, that’s it.”

“That’s a shame,” Dean said before he could think better of it. “This place is really nice.”

Castiel was silent for long enough that Dean worried he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Just as he was about to open his mouth and apologize, the Alpha moved, gesturing toward a hallway that led off to the left. “Come, I can show you to your room.”

Dean followed quietly, the awe he felt at being in the Alpha’s space falling away as he began to wonder how long he was going to be allowed to stay. His dad was gone right now, but he would eventually come back and Dean didn’t know if he could look him in the eye after what he’d done. He was afraid of what he’d do. He was afraid of what he wouldn’t do.

Would he punch his dad in the face like he deserved? Or would he become the small, scared little kid he couldn’t seem to stop being around his father? Probably the latter, knowing himself. Dean had been at his breaking point with his father for a long time, but that didn’t make up for years of intimidation and abuse. He wasn’t sure if he could go back and live under the same roof as him.

So where would he go? Castiel wouldn’t want him to stay forever. The Alpha was just being kind now. He might give Dean a place at the Den, but from what Dean had gathered from the place, it was for the more involved members of the bratva. He wouldn’t fit in there, and he might not be welcomed, either. Besides, the bus didn’t go past the edges of the city. Dean would be screwed.

Screwed for what? a part of him wondered. I don’t have a job at Amara’s diner anymore, I’m sure of it. I don’t know about Sandover, and I might still be welcome at Mystery Spot, but I don’t know about those either. God, this is such a mess.

It felt like everything about his life had been turned upside-down in the past twenty-four hours. The anxiety about it all made Dean’s stomach feel like it was twisting itself into knots.

He tried to focus on what he was doing now, telling himself he could freak out later. He followed Castiel through his beautiful home, staring at oil paintings of forests and mountains. The Alpha came to a stop outside the door of a bedroom, his face still strangely tight with that almost-nervous look.

“You can stay here, if you’d like,” he said. “The bedrooms are all the same except the master, but you can switch to one of the others if you want to.”

“This one’s perfect,” Dean said, peering in with wide eyes. “It’s awesome, Cas. Thank you so much.”

The room was larger than the living area and kitchen in his apartment combined. The bed itself would have taken up half the bedroom he had back home. Dean stared at the fluffy pillows and sheets with a strange sort of twist in his stomach, wondering what it would feel like to burrow down between them and curl up into a ball. He had to work to tear his eyes away, his gaze roaming over the massive windows that looked out at the city.

“I’m sure you’ll want to get clean,” Castiel said, staying at the doorway even as Dean stepped hesitantly into the room.

“Yeah, please,” Dean said, hoping he wasn’t being too needy. He normally would have declined the generous offer, but he smelled like the police station and the diner, and he hated it. He wanted the scents off before he curled up in that bed. If he curled up in that bed. He still wasn’t sure how long he’d be staying.

He turned to ask Castiel that, figuring he should get it out of the way, but the Alpha was already turning and heading down the hall. Unsure of what to do, Dean followed him, pausing at the doorway to glance back at the large bed sitting invitingly in the middle of the far wall. He really wanted to sit on it. He really wanted to grab one of the pillows and hold it against his chest to feel how squishy it was. He really really wanted to stay, just for a little while.

Castiel seemed to be headed toward the door at the far end of the hall, so Dean hurried after him. He followed the Alpha into the master bedroom, pausing at the threshold when he realized what room they’d just entered.

This was, for all intents and purposes, the Alpha’s den. It smelled of the spicy cologne he used, fresh-cut wood and gunpowder and something earthy and soothing. Dean inhaled deep lungfuls of the scent, realizing in the back of his mind that this must be what Castiel smelled like when he wasn’t wearing blockers. His throat felt tight with the strange noise that wanted to escape.

The bed in the middle of the wall to the right was even bigger and more inviting than the one in the guest room, but that wasn’t what Dean was drawn to. His gaze focused on the odd little alcove in the wall to the right of the bed, his mind subconsciously recognizing it as a space meant for a nest.

Most houses and apartments had little spaces where Omegas could make their nests if they wanted. Even the crappy apartment Dean and John rented had a little space about the size of a broom closet meant for a couple blankets and a somewhat cramped nesting area. The space was used to store umbrellas and John’s muddy work boots, but the intention had been for something that even John’s disgusted sneers couldn’t erase.

This, though… This was not a broom closet.

There was a pad in the alcove the size of a queen mattress. It was simple and white, unadorned, but Dean’s mind could dream up all sorts of configurations of thick blankets and fluffy pillows. He stared at the smooth walls and the curtains set neatly on the edges, able to be pulled closed for privacy or increased intimacy. Dean stared at the space, eyes wide, and imagined climbing up into the nest and curling up to sleep after a long day. He imagined what it might be like to cuddle up against someone inside of it, to get drunk on the scent of content, sleepy Alpha, the space behind the curtains filling up with spice and aged wood—

It was only when Dean reached out to squish his hand tentatively against the soft pad that he realized he’d crossed the room and walked right up to the alcove, seemingly in a trance. He jerked his hand back from the mattress as if he’d been burned, shame and embarrassment flooding through him.

“Dean?”

Dean turned, face flaming red, and found Castiel watching him from the doorway of the en suite bathroom across the room, his blue eyes wide. The expression on the Alpha’s face wasn’t anything Dean could decipher, but the Omega could at least tell that Castiel didn’t look angry.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” Dean said, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get away from the alcove. “I ain’t tryin’ to intrude, I’m sorry, that was super rude of me. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel said. “You don’t need to apologize. Would you like to come take a bath now? I’ve gotten the water running.”

Face burning, Dean crossed the room, socks padding soft on the hardwood floor. He felt like a fucking idiot for being caught just now, for slipping up and letting his stupid inner Omega take hold of him. Christ, Castiel probably thought he was a weirdo. Dean was already overstepping just by being here. He needed to get himself under control before he did something that would get him kicked out into the rain.

Dean didn’t really register that Castiel had said something about a bath until he entered the bathroom and saw the massive tub being filled with water. It was about halfway full, hot water gushing from four different spouts. Castiel was standing off to the side, squinting at a bottle of bubbles like they held the secrets to the universe.

“You want me to take a bath?” Dean asked, his voice rising to a squeak without his permission.

Castiel blinked, looking up at him. “Yes. Is that not something you want?”

Dean stared at the massive tub, swallowing nervously. “I… I thought I was gonna take a shower.” A shower would be quick, easy. It would be the perfect thing to get him out of Castiel’s hair as quickly as possible.

The Alpha uncapped the bottle of bubble bath and began to drop a couple cupfuls into the rising bathwater. “A bath is good for relaxation as much as it is for getting clean,” he said.

Okay, that was true, but… “Just… It just seems like a luxury,” Dean said, which sounded lame because he didn’t have the courage to voice the second part. You shouldn’t be wasting those kinds of things on me.

Castiel seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. Somehow, he knew. His blue eyes were soft when he said, “Good. You’re going to have to get used to me spoiling you, zaychik. I’ll get you comfortable with being cared for if it’s the last thing I do.” He finished pouring the bubbles and set the bottle down, reaching over to turn off the taps of the tub. “I believe it’s ready now. I’ll leave to give you some privacy.”

And then he did, brushing past Dean on his way out the door, leaving the Omega to stare wide-eyed at the bubble-filled bathtub, the Alpha’s words ringing in his ears.

It took a couple minutes for Dean’s brain to come back online. When it did, he began to awkwardly strip his clothes off, his gaze flicking to the closed bathroom door every now and then. He was surprised by how safe he felt in Castiel’s presence. The thought that the Alpha might hurt him barely crossed his mind, and when it did, it was promptly dismissed.

When Dean had finished taking off his clothes and that fucking apron from the diner, he stared at the bathtub, shivering. It seemed dumb to just stand there naked, so he made himself step forward and carefully climb into the tub. He nearly slipped, his tired legs wobbling as he lowered himself down into the water.

Dean groaned quietly at the feeling of being immersed in hot water. He sank down until the mountains of bubbles were brushing the base of his neck, his body curled into a loose, aching ball in the water. Holy shit, that felt good. Dean hadn’t had a bath since he was a kid and his mom was still alive. His throat felt strangely tight when he thought of it.

A soft knock on the bathroom door startled him out of memories of the old blue shirt his mom had worn when she’d bathed him as a kid because she’d known she was going to get splashed. “Dean?” Castiel’s voice asked from behind the door. “Is it alright if I come in?”

Dean blinked, saying, “Uh, yeah, I’m in the bath already,” before his brain could catch up and realize that Castiel was about to be in the room with him. By the time he figured out he was going to be naked—covered in bubbles, but still—in the Alpha’s presence, it was already too late. The bathroom door clicked open and Castiel entered, carrying a stack of clothes.

The smile the Alpha gave him when he saw Dean in the bath made Dean’s hammering heart melt into a gooey puddle. Castiel looked so pleased, like this was the only thing he’d ever wanted. He set the stack of clothes on the counter, then crossed over to sit on the ledge that surrounded the deep-set tub. “How is it?” he asked. “Do you feel better?”

Dean exhaled, turning his gaze down to the bubbles shyly. “Yeah, way better. Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel hummed, sounding pleased. “Good.”

They sat quietly together for a while as Dean soaked and relaxed in the bath. At some point, Castiel stood and took off his suit jacket, unbuttoning a couple buttons on his dress shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his forearms. He looked incredible like that, his dark hair tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed and his handsome face shining golden in the lights above. There was a soft, kind smile on his face when he sat back down next to Dean.

Dean’s brain nearly short-circuited when he felt a hand come to rest on top of his head, fingers stroking gently through his hair. Castiel’s hand was soft, almost tentative, as if he expected Dean to pull away. Dean did the exact opposite, tipping his head into the touch before he could think better of it, chasing the delicious feeling of Castiel’s hand carding through his hair.

The Alpha got more confident after he did that. He petted through Dean’s hair with long, gentle strokes, his fingernails scratching at his scalp every so often. Dean’s eyes had slipped shut at some point, so when he suddenly found himself pressing up against the side of the bathtub because he’d leaned so far toward Castiel, he was momentarily surprised.

The first time a purr rumbled out of Dean’s throat, he actually jumped. He hadn’t been expecting it, which was probably stupid because it was a sound that he’d made. Once he heard it, though, there was no confusion as to what it was. He’d just fucking purred like one of those stereotypical fucking Omegas in the movies, all needy and wanton and pathetic.

Castiel must have felt the way Dean tensed, because he stopped carding his hand through his hair and just rested it on the top of his head. After a moment of taut silence, the Alpha murmured, “It’s alright, dorogoy. Did that feel good?” It took a long fucking time for Dean to manage a small nod. He was pretty sure his cheeks were flaming red right now. Castiel hummed at his answer, his hand smoothing through Dean’s hair. “It’s natural for you to make that noise when you’re pleased. I like to know that you feel good.” A pause, and then, “I’d like it if you purred for me again.”

The noise that made its way out of Dean’s throat just then was most certainly not a purr. It was quieter, thready and high-pitched, a soft whimper that he had no control over. He ducked his head in embarrassment, expecting Castiel to pull his hand away, but the Alpha merely began to pet him again as if nothing had happened.

For a while, Dean remained tense, fighting through the various thoughts in his head that screamed that he was an embarrassment. He clung to Castiel’s words like a lifeline, replaying them over and over in his head. I like to know that you feel good. I’d like it if you purred for me again.

It took a long time for Dean to relax enough for his throat to loosen, allowing more quiet purring noises to escape. The first couple sounds were rusty and broken-off, shy like the Omega who’d made them. Dean kept tensing, fighting an internal tug-of-war with his inner Omega. It was only when he heard a quiet, soothing rumble from Castiel’s chest that he began to purr in earnest, his throat vibrating with noises of contentment and happiness.

The combination of the hot bath, the gentle stroke of Castiel’s hand through his hair, and the comforting rumbling sound coming from the Alpha’s chest was enough to soothe the last of the tension from Dean’s body. He leaned tiredly against the side of the tub, resting his head on Castiel’s warm, strong thigh. After the day he’d had, he could feel sleep tugging at him, beckoning him into gentle nothingness. Despite how much Dean wanted to savor this moment, he was powerless to do anything to resist.

With a soft, content sigh that felt like it came from the very depths of his tired heart, the exhausted Omega fell fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Dean’s purrs eventually faded into soft little snores, the Omega’s nose nudging Castiel’s thigh a little in sleep. Castiel stared down at him in quiet awe, the rumbling in his chest only increasing as his inner Alpha’s pleasure and joy grew.

It amazed Castiel that Dean, someone who’d been through so much and had been hurt by so many of the people in his life, trusted him enough to fall asleep in the tub beside him. Dean was naked beneath those layers of bubbles, vulnerable physically as well as emotionally. And with all of that, he trusted Castiel so much that he felt safe enough to lay his head on Castiel’s thigh and drift off.

The sight of Dean resting beside him did something strange to Castiel’s heart, a part of him he’d thought to be shriveled and ruined long ago. It felt soft and delicate, fragile like a melting chocolate shape, like one touch could turn it to a puddle.

“I’m dangerous, dear one,” Castiel murmured quietly to the sleeping Dean. “Don’t you know? Don’t you fear me?”

The Omega didn’t respond. His puffing exhales warmed Castiel’s thigh, his hair soft and silken between Castiel’s fingers. His current state was proof enough of what he thought of Castiel. Somehow, even after the debacle with Dick Roman in Mystery Spot, even after learning who Castiel was and what he did, Dean still trusted him. Still saw him as someone safe, someone he could fall asleep beside when he was so vulnerable.

Castiel was darkness and sin. He was a killer with the blood of hundreds on his hands. And yet, with Dean sleeping soundly beside him, he almost believed he could be a good man. With the Omega resting quietly with his leg as a pillow, Castiel was merely a normal Alpha who wanted to give his intended the world.

Of course, good things couldn’t last forever. Castiel had business to attend to. He could feel the dark, simmering rage that had been building since he’d received Gabriel’s call earlier that afternoon sitting over this moment, hunched and crooked like a vulture on his shoulder. Castiel could be kind and he could be good for Dean, but he knew that sooner or later, the killer in him would need to come out.

He took his hand away from Dean’s hair and leaned down, simultaneously checking the temperature of the water and pressing a soft kiss to the top of the Omega’s head. The water was cooling. It was time to wake Dean from his little nap.

The sight of Dean blinking his eyes open and yawning, wide-eyed and disoriented from sleep, was one that Castiel tucked away in the deepest recesses of his heart. The Omega was sleepy but agreeable when Castiel gently explained that he needed to get clean so he could get some rest in a real bed.

Castiel retrieved the stack of clothes from the counter and brought them over to the edge of the tub, along with a fluffy towel. Then he left the room, giving Dean privacy to wash and dress.

Once he was out in his bedroom, Castiel pulled his phone out and dialed Luke’s number. The call picked up after two rings, the sound of his older brother’s voice coming through clean and crisp. “Cassie. Is the kid okay?”

“Dean is fine,” Castiel replied, glancing back at the bathroom door. “Have you found out what happened?”

Luke exhaled. “The diner was a mess. I pieced together what happened from Henriksen and his reports. Apparently, there was a group of shitheads in the corner of the diner that were harassing Dean. One of them grabbed him and took his bracelets from him, and he flipped his shit.” There was a pause, and Castiel’s brother chuckled. “The kid did a number on ‘em. You trained him well, Cassie. I’m impressed. The only thing that would have been better is if he’d managed to kill one.”

“You don’t want that for Dean. The guilt would eat him alive,” Castiel snapped, irritated. “What about the bracelets? Did you find them?”

“No, I didn’t stay long enough to look. I could send someone in later to get them and bring them to you,” Luke replied.

“Good,” Castiel said, relief washing through him. The vulture on his shoulder nudged him, always insistent, always present. Castiel gritted his teeth. “And the boys who were harassing Dean?”

There was a long pause. “I thought you were glad they weren’t killed.”

“I never said that. I said I’m glad Dean didn’t kill them,” Castiel said flatly. “So. What about them?”

Luke chuckled. “I was wondering if your new obsession had made you soft, Cassie. I guess I was wrong.”

“Luke. Did you find the boys, or not?”

“There were six,” Luke said. “As of this afternoon, they’ve been missing for three hours. They were supposed to return home from brunch at a local diner so they could get ready for a wedding. Their families are terribly distraught, but the police somehow can’t seem to get any leads on their location. They left the diner and just… disappeared.”

Castiel exhaled, the darkness inside of him settling, like a big cat coming to rest in the tall grass. Waiting. “Where are they?”

“Balthazar’s house. He was more than happy to set them up in his basement,” Luke said. “Are you going to be visiting soon?”

“Soon,” Castiel said. He glanced back at the closed bathroom door. “I still have some things to take care of. Make sure no one touches them, do you understand? Their blood is mine.”

“See you soon, Cassie.” The call ended.

Castiel pulled the phone away from his face and stared at the screen long enough for it to fade to black, the glow dying in the dim light of the bedroom. He breathed quietly through his nose and out his mouth, imagining himself exhaling rage from his body with every rise and fall of his chest. It was a breathing technique his mother had taught him for when he was feeling overwhelmed with emotion. He wondered what she would think of how he was using it now, of what he was imagining doing to those six boys who’d tormented Dean.

As if summoned by the thought, the door quietly clicked open behind Castiel. The Alpha turned around and watched as Dean emerged from the bathroom, nearly getting whiplash with how fast his inner Alpha went from snarling for blood to demanding cuddles.

Dean’s hair was spiky and soft, still damp from being washed. He looked small somehow, Castiel’s shirt hanging too big around his shoulders, exposing the golden shadow of one collarbone where the worn neckline had sort of slipped. The sweatpants were a little big too, looser around Dean’s lean body than Castiel’s muscular thighs. He looked impossibly beautiful, painted soft gold by the bathroom light behind him like a saint from the churches of Moscow.

“Hello, zaychik,” Castiel breathed, giving Dean a small smile. “Do you feel better?”

Dean looked shy, but he nodded. “Yeah, way better. Thanks, Cas. I—” He cut himself off, green eyes flicking once to Castiel’s bed, which was off to the side behind the Alpha. Dean’s throat bobbed, swallowing his words.

Somewhere, Castiel’s inner Alpha rumbled with want. For the first time in a while, Castiel agreed wholeheartedly.

“I need to shower,” Castiel said, moving forward, drawn closer to Dean like a planet to the Sun. “You can wait for me, if you’d like. If you’re too tired, of course, you should sleep, but…” He trailed off, taking the leap that he knew Dean didn’t have the confidence to even consider. “I would very much like to hold you when I’m done.”

When Dean was flustered, his face and ears turned the most adorable shade of red and his mouth opened and closed without any words to show for the effort. It was quite endearing.

Castiel went to his closet to grab a change of clothes, then gently nudged Dean out of the bathroom doorway so he could get past. If he ended up shifting the Omega more toward the bed than toward the exit, well… Perhaps he was just being hopeful. Castiel shut the door on Dean standing in the middle of his room with a wide-eyed look on his face, ears still a fiery red.

Castiel had never been the kind of person to take slow, hot showers, and that remained the same today. He was efficient and perfunctory as he cleaned himself off beneath water that was lukewarm at best. If anything, he rushed a little bit, some part of him unable to shake the idea that maybe if he made Dean wait long enough, the Omega would disappear.

When he was clean, Castiel got out of the shower and dried himself off. He’d retrieved a soft shirt and sweatpants for himself, knowing that Dean’s skin was likely going to be sensitive if he was in heat, even with the suppressants. After he’d dressed and toweled his hair dry, Castiel opened the bathroom door and peered into his bedroom.

It had been late in the afternoon when he’d returned to his apartment with Dean, and now, it was nearly nighttime. The thick cover of rainclouds made everything darker, softening the light in the bedroom. Through the dimness, Castiel could see a shape in the middle of his bed.

Heart in his throat, the Alpha crossed the room. Curled up in a ball in the center of his mattress was Dean, the covers pulled up to his chin, his nose buried in the collar of the soft T-shirt Castiel had given him. His eyes were closed and his slow, gentle breathing pattern told Castiel that he was asleep. Despite the tight ball he was curled into, he looked relaxed and peaceful.

Castiel was careful, so very careful, as he lifted the covers and climbed into bed beside Dean. The Omega, precious and trusting, didn’t wake. He didn’t even stir when Castiel dared to reach out and draw him back, an arm pulling his sleeping body against the Alpha’s chest. As he pressed Dean’s back against him, Castiel felt a shuddering breath leave his lungs.

Dean was warm and impossibly soft. When their bodies finally made contact, the Omega made a quiet noise of contentment and nudged backward, fitting himself against the curve of Castiel’s chest like he belonged there. And he did belong; their bodies fit together perfectly, every edge and curve made to slot against the other.

“My beautiful Omega,” Castiel murmured, Russian words soft in the dark. “My Dean.”

Dean wasn’t as deeply asleep as Castiel had imagined, because he shifted around for a little before getting comfortable. Castiel watched with faint amusement as the Omega slowly shifted in a circle until they were facing each other, Dean’s nose tucked up against Castiel’s scent gland, his breath soft and warm against Castiel’s skin. Something delicate inside of Castiel trembled when the Omega’s hand curled softly in the fabric of his shirt, fingers loose but lightly grasping.

There was a feeling building in Castiel’s chest, rising like a roar, an explosion of fire, a gentle burst of dandelion fluff released by the wind. It felt frighteningly warm and soft, nothing like the cold, sharp emotions that Castiel was used to on a daily basis. This feeling didn’t hail from the same birthplace as rage, as fury, as hatred and anger and murderous rage. This was something gentle, something meant to nurture instead of destroy. It felt like adoration, like devotion, like reverence.

It felt like love.

Castiel was scared of its power. He was scared of its intensity. It overwhelmed him like a wave, dragging him under waters he didn’t know how to swim in. He was terrified of what it meant, because something so soft and gentle couldn’t protect itself against the cruelty of the world. Rage and fury had hard edges, sturdy and strong. They could withstand life’s tortures. But this, this newfound reverence… this was something that could be lost. This was something that could be broken.

It was frightening to have something so precious. Exhilarating, but terrifying too.

Castiel held Dean close in the darkness and pressed soft, gentle kisses to his hair, his forehead, his closed eyelids, his temple, everywhere that could be reached. He tried not to think of how soft Dean felt against him, of how easily he could be hurt. Castiel thought of the men who ran the Knights of Hell, of the cruelty that ran like blood in their veins. It made him sick to think of them anywhere near Dean.

He wasn’t wanting for enemies. It frightened him, to think of any of them learning of the weakness he seemed to have cultivated without even knowing it. He held Dean tighter against him and wished he could keep the Omega safe in his den forever.

Dean’s scent-blockers had been washed off in the bath, so that same incredible scent that had gotten Castiel through his rut was now imprinting itself in his sheets. It mingled with his own, creating a symphony of happy Alpha and Omega that shouldn’t have been so intoxicating, but was. Castiel inhaled deep lungfuls of it, as much as he could without waking Dean with his movements. There was still a faint chemical tinge to Dean’s scent, the suppressants marring the sweet undertones, but the Omega’s scent was still the best Castiel had ever smelled.

Dean woke up on his own about half an hour later, stirring from his light sleep with a yawn and a sleepy nuzzle into Castiel’s neck. Castiel could feel the moment he realized where he was and what he was doing, because in the span of a few seconds, the Omega went from being loose and relaxed to practically thrumming with tension.

“Shhh,” Castiel soothed, running a hand up and down the lean expanse of Dean’s back. “It’s alright, dorogoy. You’re okay.”

Dean attempted to pull away, his movements halting and unsure. Castiel kept an experimental grip on him, not tight enough that he couldn’t pull away if he really wanted to, but enough to tell him that he was welcome where he was, that he was wanted there. Castiel’s assumptions about Dean’s true desires proved correct when the Omega melted back against him a second later.

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, his voice soft, raspy with sleep. “That… That word.”

“Which one?” Castiel asked. He wasn’t quite sure why he asked it. He knew what Dean was talking about. Maybe he just wanted to hear his language in his Omega’s mouth.

“The… The Russian one,” Dean said. Castiel could physically feel the Omega’s face heating against the skin of his neck. “I’m gonna pronounce it wrong.”

Castiel crooned softly, nuzzling his nose into Dean’s hair. “Give it a try,” he coaxed. “I want to hear it from you.”

Dean buried his face in Castiel’s neck. “Cas…”

“Come on, dorogoy,” Castiel said, his voice soft with simultaneous amusement and pleading. “I want to hear you say it.”

There was a brief silence, and then… “Dorogoy,” Dean repeated, stumbling adorably over the syllables. “What does it mean?”

Castiel hummed, pressing soft kisses to the top of Dean’s head as a reward. “It means ‘darling’,” he said. He waited for the embarrassed press of Dean’s face against his neck, then added, “You pronounced it very well, zaychik.”

It was a clear invitation. Dean grumbled quietly, as if he knew exactly what Castiel was doing. “What does that one mean?” he asked, sounding as if he knew what the answer would be. Castiel hid his smile in his Omega’s hair.

“Hmm?” he hummed innocently. “Which one?”

“Cas.”

“Come on, zaychik. Say it for me.”

“Why do you even wanna hear me mispronounce it?” Dean whined. “I probably sound like an idiot.”

Castiel shook his head, squeezing Dean close against his chest, relishing the softness of the Omega’s body against his. “My language on your tongue is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he said truthfully. “If I could record the sound and listen to it for the rest of my life, I would.”

Dean huffed. “You’re lying,” he grumbled. His face had heated again, reddened with endearing embarrassment.

“I’m not. And I won’t tell you what those words mean unless you repeat them for me.”

“Fine. What does… What does zaychik mean?” Dean sort of cringed after he said it, as if he could sense the way the syllables didn’t sound quite like Castiel’s, the awkward way the sounds flowed together. Castiel was fairly sure his heart was going to burst with joy.

“Zaychik,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Dean’s hair. “My little bunny.”

“It does not mean that!”

“It does.”

“You call me that all the time!”

“I do.”

“I’m not a bunny.” Dean was quite indignant, and it was very possibly the most endearing thing Castiel had ever seen. The Omega pulled his face out from where he’d been hiding against Castiel’s neck and glowered at him in the near-darkness of the room. “What does the other one mean? Malysh? I swear to God, if it’s got something to do with a bunny again…”

“Not bunny, no,” Castiel said. He hid his smile as he said, “I believe it roughly translates to ‘baby boy.’ Is that better than ‘little bunny’?”

Dean groaned and buried his face in Castiel’s chest. “No.”

Castiel chuckled, his heart feeling as if it was going to split at the seams with all the warmth it harbored inside of it. “Don’t be so grumpy, zaychik. I don’t mean to emasculate you. I simply adore you.”

Dean mumbled something, but his voice was so muffled that Castiel couldn’t hear what it was. He didn’t make the Omega repeat it. He didn’t want to push Dean too hard. They would work on Dean’s capacity for affection slowly.

For now, Castiel was content to simply hold the Omega close. It was soothing to run his hands up and down Dean’s back, to stroke light circles into his skin. It was only when Castiel tried to massage his back and neck, digging his thumbs into the muscle gently, that Dean flinched away from the touch.

Castiel froze. “Dean?”

“Sorry, it’s okay,” Dean said, nudging back into Castiel’s hands. “I didn’t mean to, I just… I’m just a little sore. That’s all.” He looked at Castiel, his green eyes shining with pleading in the darkness. “I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to.”

Castiel sat up, drawing his hands away. He used one to prop himself up on the bed and pulled the other against his stomach, as if he could harm Dean just by touching him. “Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice choked without his permission when he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, Cas, I’m fine, seriously,” Dean said. He sat up too, reaching for Castiel’s hand. Castiel felt, with a sinking heart, that the Omega’s fingers were trembling. “Please, I didn’t mean to do that. Please don’t leave.”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in and out three times. He shifted his hand, squeezing Dean’s shaking fingers. He felt the way the Omega relaxed at that, Dean’s body curving toward him in a subconscious plea for the touch that Castiel had so harshly yanked away from him.

The Alpha was careful, so achingly careful, when he drew Dean into his arms again. Dean was much less cautious. He pushed into Castiel’s chest like he was desperate for the closeness, burying his face in the juncture of the Alpha’s shoulder and neck. Castiel could feel his shuddering breaths against his skin. Feeling nauseous, he wrapped his arms around Dean and held him close as tightly as he dared.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said again, and Castiel just felt sicker.

“Don’t apologize, malysh. Please, please don’t apologize,” he murmured, holding Dean close. “I should have been more careful. You said you’re sore?” He remembered, with sickening clarity, the conversation they’d had at the police station. “What happened?”

Dean swallowed. Castiel could feel the way he went tense, the way he sort of burrowed deeper beneath the blankets and into Castiel, as if he needed to hide from whatever the answer to the Alpha’s question was. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, voice soft. “I didn’t mean to get all jumpy.”

“Dean, dorogoy, it doesn’t matter what you meant to do,” Castiel said as gently as possible. “You flinched, and I want to know why. Did I hurt you? Did I aggravate anything I shouldn’t have? Dean, malysh, please tell me what happened.”

“No, Cas, you didn’t hurt me. It’s fine,” Dean said. He sounded like he desperately didn’t want to talk about this, and as much as Castiel wanted his Omega to be as happy and healthy as possible, he knew that wasn’t an option right now.

“What is it, then? What happened?” Again, Castiel thought of the bruises on Dean’s face, the ginger way he moved. “Who hurt you?”

“Cas—”

“Dean, tell me.”

“I just… fell,” Dean said, and God, he wasn’t even trying to make his lie convincing. He sounded almost defeated when he added, “I’m clumsy, Cas, you know that.”

And all at once, everything clicked into place. I’m clumsy, Dean always said. I fell down the stairs. I ran into a door. I tripped over something on the way to work. I dropped a glass at the diner and cut myself on it. I’m clumsy.

“Your father,” Castiel said, his internal panic smoothing into sudden steely calm.

He should have known. He’d been hoping… God, what kind of a person did it make him to hope that his Omega had been hurt by one of the people from the diner? But there had to have been an explanation for the bruises, and a beating from a nameless stranger was far less devastating than one by Dean’s own familial Alpha.

It seemed, though, that Castiel’s instincts had been correct. And right then and there, he knew John Winchester was done for.

Dean flinched again, but this time, Castiel knew it wasn’t because of him. He held his Omega as tightly as he dared as Dean began to tremble a little, curling his fingers into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt in a heartbreaking imitation of earlier. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said thickly. “Don’t make me talk about it, Cas, please.”

“He hurt you. Again,” Castiel said, rage making him stupid. He knew he shouldn’t push Dean too far, that he should listen to what the Omega was saying, but he couldn’t help himself. All the fury from the many months before—when he’d seen Dean’s bruises and heard the Omega’s weak excuses—all of it was getting ready to explode.

Dean pushed away from him, forcing Castiel to release him. Though he’d put distance between them, the Omega’s grip on Castiel’s shirt remained. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, more fire in his tone.

“Dean, you can’t just pretend it’s not happening,” Castiel said, frustration flashing through him. Why did Dean insist on ignoring this problem? Why did he insist on acting as if his own health and safety didn’t matter?

“Pretend what’s not happening?” Dean demanded, poison entering his voice. “That my dad is beating me, a fuckin’ twenty year-old adult? That I let an old man kick me around and I don’t do a single Goddamn thing because I’m a fuckin’ coward? That I—That he—” Dean cut himself off, his voice getting thick, threatening to break under the weight of his rising emotion. “That he t-took everything I ever fucking worked for and I ain’t gonna do shit about it ‘cause I don’t even know the first thing about standin’ up for myself?”

Dean released his hold on Castiel’s shirt so he could bury his face in his hands and sob. Castiel let him, uncertain of what he could do to make this better. He was floundering, painfully unsure of what to do with himself. He felt like a useless fool, still wrapped up in his own rage, unable to think of anything he could do but simply let Dean cry.

For many long moments, he wrestled with himself. Should he comfort Dean? Give him space? Get up and grab his phone, call his brothers and demand that they send someone after John Winchester right now, right this minute? So many options, but so many consequences. Castiel was terrified of choosing one and shattering his chances of becoming worthy of Dean’s full trust.

His hand was gentle, unsure, when he eventually reached out to rest it on Dean’s shoulder. The Omega’s muscles twitched violently at the unexpected touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“My brother told me otherwise,” Castiel said quietly, unable to think of anything else to say.

Dean sniffled, wiping harshly at his face. Castiel desperately wanted to grab his wrists, to beg him to be gentle with himself, but he knew he needed to give Dean space.

“What do you mean?” the Omega asked after a moment, words choked.

“The diner,” Castiel said. “Luke told me you stood up for yourself perfectly fine against the boys harassing you earlier today. That doesn’t sound cowardly to me.”

Dean snorted, still scrubbing at his face every time a tear escaped his now-puffy eyes. Castiel had the thought to lean over to turn on the lamp, his inner Alpha aching to see Dean, to comfort him. Castiel restrained himself to a simple hand on the Omega’s shoulder again, light and easy to pull away from.

“That was just me bein’ stupid,” he mumbled. “Got myself arrested and fired and God only knows what else. I probably have a lawsuit waitin’ for me. Can’t pay shit, ‘cause all my money got stolen by my own dad.”

Dean would have no lawsuits pressed on him. Castiel and the Krushnic bratva had made sure of that. But he ignored reassuring the Omega of that in favor of addressing the more obvious, glaring issue. “Your father took your money?” he demanded.

Dean sniffled, not even bothering to wipe his face anymore, just hiding in his hands again. “I had a fuckin’ jar,” he said, his voice choked. “I had a jar with money in it for Sammy. And I was g-gonna—I was gonna use it to help him with college.” He heaved an exhale that sounded a little more like a sob. “I had so much in there, Cas. Not a lotta money, but it was still something.” Dean sobbed again, raw and aching. “It was everything to me.”

The pain in Dean’s voice ripped at Castiel’s insides. His inner Alpha was torn between wanting to comfort Dean and wanting to kill the man who’d hurt him so badly. But…

“Your father stole your brother’s college fund?” Castiel asked in disbelief. Disgust was bitter on his tongue.

“Yeah. All six thousand fuckin’ dollars of it,” Dean sniffled. “He’s off somewhere right now, fuckin’ gambling it away at some bullshit casino. I don’t know if he knew it was for Sammy. I don’t know if he cared. He—I—” Dean cut off with a sob, his shoulders crumpling with the force of his sorrow.

At this point, Castiel couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He carefully slid his hand from Dean’s shoulder to his back, circling his arm around the Omega gently. Dean fell into him like he’d been pushed, falling apart like a beautiful glass sculpture shoved to the floor. Castiel held him as firmly as he dared, not wanting to crush those precious shards into even smaller pieces.

“I’m sorry, malysh,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

And he was. Because even though he could replace that six thousand dollars a million times over, he couldn’t repair the damage that the action of stealing it had done. Castiel knew men could do awful, horrible things, but he was sometimes blindsided by the depth of their treachery. He’d been graced with an affectionate, if busy, father. And after his passing, Castiel’s older brothers had taken up the slack as role models of strength and courage. Castiel had never been wanting for familial support. For that, he knew he was lucky. He couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have a parental figure—a familial Alpha, the person meant to care for the pack, no less—do something of such a deep level of betrayal. He couldn’t imagine what Dean was feeling. All he could do was hold the Omega and pray that was enough to at least partially ease his pain.

That, and fantasize about what he could do to John Winchester to make him regret every ounce of agony he’d ever caused his son.

“I don’t wanna stay with him anymore,” Dean sniffled when his sobs had lessened and words were possible again. His voice was soft, raw. “I d-don’t wanna ever talk to him again. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You don’t have to. You never have to see him again if you don’t want to,” Castiel said fiercely.

Dean shuddered, pressing into him. “But… I don’t know where to go,” he said. His voice was so small. “I always thought I’d go to my aunt and uncle’s to be with my brother, but I don’t… I don’t wanna leave you.”

Castiel exhaled, pain gripping his lungs tight. “Dean, my darling, zaychik,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his Omega’s hair, “you can stay here with me. And if you don’t want to, if that’s uncomfortable or you’re not ready yet, or if you’re never ready, you can stay at the Den. You don’t have to stay here, I don’t want to force you or anything—God, of course I wouldn’t—”

“Cas,” Dean said, sounding faintly amused even through his tears. He sniffled and pressed against Castiel gently, tentatively. “It’s okay. I know you’re not forcing me. And I wanna stay with you, I really do, but I, um… I don’t wanna be a burden.” He cringed a little, peering around the lamplit bedroom. “I couldn’t even afford, like, a quarter of the rent for this place.”

Castiel scoffed, almost offended. “I wouldn’t make you pay rent,” he growled. “Your payment to me is allowing me the peace of mind of knowing that you’re safe.”

Dean blinked, looking up at him with wide, wide green eyes. “That’s ridiculous,” he said, indignant. “That’s—You’re lying. That’s ridiculous.”

“That is all I want,” Castiel assured him. “It’s all I could ever need from you, malysh. I just want you somewhere safe. Even if that place isn’t here, with me… As long as you’re comfortable and cared for, I’ll be content.”

“No, that—that doesn’t make sense,” Dean argued, sitting up a little, pulling away so he could look Castiel in the eyes. “You’re telling me you wanna let some homeless loser into your super swanky apartment for free? What are all your high-class buddies gonna think? I’m… I’m a fucking disgrace.” Dean looked around again, the small, frightened light in his eyes betraying how he really felt underneath that fiery opposition.

Castiel was relentlessly horrified with how easily Dean spoke of himself like he was less than dirt.

I’ll change that, he thought. I’ll change that, just like I’ll make sure he never goes hungry again. I’ll feed him good food and all the affection I can give, and I’ll condition him to see his own value even if it kills me.

“You are not a disgrace,” Castiel said fiercely. “You’re not a ‘homeless loser.’ I don’t know who my neighbors are, nor do I care, and I couldn’t give less of a fuck what they think of me. And even if they were to notice you, if they were to pull their attention away from their own lives long enough to care who is living with me, they would see a beautiful Omega generously gracing a grumpy, undeserving Alpha with his time and affections.” Castiel reached out, grabbing Dean’s chin firmly. “They would be jealous, and rightfully so. You are a blessing, zaychik. Not a loser, not a disgrace, and most certainly not a burden. I never want to hear you speak of yourself that way again.”

Dean’s face had steadily been turning redder and redder as Castiel spoke. When the Alpha finished, Dean started, “But—”

Castiel’s grip on his chin tightened ever so slightly as he pulled Dean in, bringing their noses a few inches apart. “Think very carefully about what you say next,” he warned, his voice soft and honey-smooth. “I care very deeply for you, malysh. I don’t let anyone speak badly about those I care about without doling out consequences.”

He could physically feel the little shiver that ran through the Omega at that. Another time, Castiel might have thought it was endearing, or possibly even hot. But he wasn’t thinking about sex right now; his mind was solely on driving this point home.

The effort seemed to be worth it. Though he still looked doubtful, Dean at least stopped trying to protest. He dipped his head and looked away. Castiel watched him, trying not to get distracted by the way the neckline of his shirt had slipped slightly to the side, revealing a stretch of golden skin.

It was dangerous, having such a beautiful Omega in his bed. Castiel could think of many, many things he wanted to do to him. He wanted to see Dean’s face when he fell apart. He wanted to feel the soft, loose warmth of his body after an orgasm had wrung him dry of spend and of energy. He wanted to know what the scent of the Omega’s arousal smelled like when it wasn’t covered by blockers, if his green eyes would darken with lust like Castiel had imagined them doing so often.

Dean turned back to look at him, and Castiel snapped himself out of his reverie. The sight of tear tracks on the Omega’s face, even dried, was sobering.

“I wanna stay here with you,” he said, quiet. “I hate my apartment. I hate how scared I get every time I go back there. I… I feel safe here. And I wanna be around you.” It seemed to take a lot for him to say that, and Castiel realized he’d been silent with awe for too long, because Dean sort of shrank into himself. “Is that… Is that okay?”

“Yes, zaychik,” Castiel breathed, forcing himself to focus. He reached out, daring to draw Dean into his arms to be held tightly against his chest. “Yes, dorogoy, yes. I want that very badly. I would love nothing more than to keep you here with me.”

His words drained the tension from Dean’s body, prompting the Omega to lean against him with a sigh. Castiel closed his eyes and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder, relishing the feeling of holding the Omega in his arms. For so long, he’d dreamed of it, had woken with his skin tingling, dreams of cradling Dean to his chest ringing fresh in his mind. Castiel didn’t know what he’d done to deserve being able to hold Dean close like this, but he made sure to relish every single second of it.

“I gotta get my stuff from my apartment,” Dean said, his voice soft in the lamplit bedroom. Outside the massive windows on the right side of the room, the city glowed. “Will you… Will you come with me? I don’t wanna go back by myself in case…” He trailed off. Castiel squeezed him tight.

“Of course, Dean,” he said. “Some of the men can come too, if you’ll allow them. Grigori and Aleksandr will be glad to know you’re not going to be living with your father anymore.”

Dean shifted, looking at Castiel questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Castiel hummed, rubbing gentle circles in Dean’s shoulders and back. He felt the way the tension melted from the muscles, the Omega sinking back into the touch.

“My men have witnessed you bruised and battered too many times to count,” he murmured. “They have expressed their rage to me every time, though they knew they couldn’t very well murder your father without deeply upsetting you. They will be more than happy to hear that you’re not living anywhere he can touch anymore. They care very deeply for you.”

Dean’s face tinged pink, embarrassment turning his eyes to the covers of the bed. “I didn’t know that,” he mumbled. “They don’t know me that well, all I do is say hi to them.” He acted like that was nothing, like choosing to go out of his way to learn how to say hello in Russian just for the cooks in the back was something that just anyone would do.

“They, too, find your accent endearing,” Castiel said, just to watch the way the pink on Dean’s face darkened to red.

Watching Dean sit there in his bed, wearing his clothes, reddened with embarrassment and mumbling grumpily about how he didn’t have an accent, how Castiel should stop laughing at him… it was impossible not to lean over and kiss him.

And Dean was so kissable, his lips plump and soft, warm where they were pressed against Castiel’s. Castiel would have pulled away, would have restricted himself to just one taste, but then Dean made a soft noise and lifted his hand from where it had been tangled in the blanket to tangle it in Castiel’s hair instead. Castiel grunted in approval as the Omega licked hungrily at his mouth, confident and demanding and unbelievably sexy until his mind seemed to catch up with him and he pulled back, breathless.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” Castiel said, pulling back to look at Dean’s wide eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said, and then he gave Castiel a shy smile.

And of all the things Castiel had felt today, the fury, the concern, the fear, the sadness, the complete rollercoaster of emotion and thoughts that had taken him from the Den this morning to where he was right now…

Of all the things Castiel had felt today, the little pang of love in his heart just then was his favorite.

Chapter Text

When Castiel woke up, he immediately froze, his body instinctively going still at the possibility of a threat. In the span of a second, he registered the unfamiliar weight on his chest, the soft sound of breathing, the impossibility of the scent that reached his nose.

He’d thought it was a dream.

Somehow, in the muddled half-sleep of waking, he’d remembered last night and thought it was a dream. How could anything so good be real? How could the answering of all of his prayers—Dean, safe with him; Dean, tucked into his arms—be anything but a cruel, beautiful fantasy?

But it wasn’t. Because Dean was currently curled up under the covers beside him, cradled in the curve of Castiel’s body, head on his chest, tracing light patterns into the fabric of his shirt with a fingertip.

“Cas?” he asked when the Alpha blinked his eyes open, his voice soft, whispered.

“Hello, dorogoy,” Castiel greeted. Dean’s head shifted on his chest, tilting up so the Omega could look at him. His eyes glinted green in the soft dawn light coming through the window. It struck Castiel again how gorgeous Dean was. He didn’t think he’d ever stop being amazed at the Omega’s beauty.

“I felt you get all tense. Are you okay?” Dean asked. He looked so soft, so concerned. Castiel’s heart felt like an overripe fruit, too sweet and too delicate, able to be bruised with a mere touch.

“I’m fine, zaychik,” he assured Dean. “I was just… In all honesty, I’m not used to waking beside someone else. It’s a nice change of pace.” He ran a hand up and down the long, warm stretch of Dean’s back, frowning a little as he felt the slight bumps of the Omega’s ribs, too close to the surface. Now that he had Dean with him, he’d make sure his Omega never went hungry again. Starting now. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? We never ate last night.”

Dean huffed, squirming a little under the sheets. “Yeah, I’m starving,” he admitted. “I, uh… I also gotta use the bathroom. Can I use that one?” He nudged his head at the en suite, the door cracked open from when Castiel had taken his shower last night.

“Of course,” Castiel said immediately. “This is your home too, now.”

He released Dean reluctantly when the Omega pulled away, allowing him to slip from the bed so he could make his way across the room to the bathroom. It felt wrong to let go, to voluntarily give up the sensation of Dean’s warmth against him. He had to bite his tongue as he watched Dean slide his legs out of bed and make to stand.

He made it about two feet from the bed before his knees seemed to suddenly give out, sending him to the ground with a dramatic thump and a rather indignant, “Ow!”

Castiel was up and out of the bed before he knew what he was doing. “Dean?” he asked, heart suddenly hammering. “What’s the matter? What—” He slid off the other side of the bed and onto the ground beside his Omega, eyes wide as he looked for an injury or an indication that Dean was sick. All he got was Dean’s wide, wide green eyes.

“I’m okay, Cas. I guess… I guess I’m just a little shakier than I thought,” he admitted, like that was normal. Even in heat, his fatigue shouldn’t have been so bad that he was collapsing. Castiel cursed himself inwardly for getting carried away last night, for not feeding Dean like he should have.

“Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” He couldn’t keep his hands off of Dean, touching all over, light and careful, but desperate too. He needed to know Dean was alright. It was a frenzy not unlike his rut, and the distantly rational part of Castiel’s brain was horrified.

“I’m fine, Cas. Just a little tired, ‘s all.” Dean gently squeezed one of Castiel’s hands, and then he was rising again, using the bed to haul himself up off the ground. Castiel stood with him, doing his best to help, and it was only when Dean gently pushed him away that he realized how much he was clinging. “Unless you wanna come with me to pee, you’re gonna have to wait here.”

Castiel pulled back, understanding that he needed to give Dean space. It wasn’t like he was going to follow him into the bathroom, anyway. Castiel forced himself to nod as Dean moved around him, shocked at how shaky he felt.

Why in God’s name was he so affected? Or, an even better question: what had happened to his self-control?

Castiel sat down on his bed and breathed quietly, trying to focus on something other than the swirling maelstrom of thoughts in his head. It was while he was sitting there that he discovered, to his simultaneous chagrin and disbelief, that his body had decided to physically express its contentment at the cuddling he and Dean had been doing earlier, and that even after the incident just now, his morning wood had yet to disappear.

Of all the times, he thought to himself, why now?

It wasn’t unusual, of course, but this morning it felt both especially obvious, the tent of his sweatpants nearly obscene. Castiel grabbed the edge of the sheets and drew it over his lap, though that was only a temporary fix to the problem. Before Castiel could really figure out what to do, he heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. The Alpha was sitting straight up on the edge of the bed, a rather guilty look on his face, when Dean emerged a few moments later. The Omega smiled as he walked back over and climbed up next to him, asking, “You good?”

“Yes, Dean, I—” Castiel cut himself off, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable, and he definitely didn’t want to make him think he was trying to instigate anything sexual. He was incredibly wary of doing anything intimate with Dean so soon after the Omega had agreed to live with him. He didn’t want Dean to think it was something like payment.

“Cas? Are you okay?” Dean asked. He sounded more serious now, touching concern softening his eyes. He looked at where Castiel’s hand was clutching the sheets over his lap, worry skating across his face.

“I’m fine, Dean. I’m just…” Castiel forced himself to just say it, his gaze remaining steadfastly fixed on Dean. “I very much enjoy sleeping next to you, and it seems my body has decided to… physically express that sentiment.”

Dean blinked, looking wide-eyed at Castiel. His cheeks slowly pinked as he processed the meaning of the Alpha’s words, his gaze flicking down to Castiel’s blanket-covered lap, then back up. “Oh. Damn, I… I’m flattered, Cas. Um. Do you, uh… D’you, um…”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, Dean,” Castiel soothed. “I’m just going to the bathroom, alright? You stay here and think about what you might like for breakfast.”

He managed to get out of bed and walk across the bedroom without indicating just how turned on he was. He hoped with the way he’d angled his body away from Dean that the Omega hadn’t seen how obscenely his erection was tenting his sweatpants. It was really rather embarrassing how affected he was. He was just glad Dean had found it flattering instead of frightening.

Castiel ended up running a washcloth under cool water and forcing his erection to go away, because it wasn’t going down on its own. The thought of Dean in his bed, soft and rosy pink with sleep, smelling like his sheets, like his den, was not helping.

By the time he’d successfully gotten his arousal under control and finished any business he needed to do in the bathroom, Dean was up and at the window, staring out at the city below. As he exited the bathroom, Castiel admired the gentle slope of his shoulders under the soft fabric of the shirt he’d been given, the lean length of his body. Even in the slightly too-big sweatpants he was wearing, the shape of the Omega’s bowlegs was visible. Castiel couldn’t help but imagine what those legs would feel like wrapped around his waist.

He really needed to think of something else, or his work in the bathroom would be for nothing.

“Have you decided what you’d like for breakfast?” Castiel asked, coming up to stand at Dean’s right shoulder, close enough to touch. He thought he could feel the slight way Dean trembled, so he stepped in a little closer, an offer for support. To his relief, Dean took it, leaning back against him a little.

The Omega hummed a little at his question, looking quite unsure of himself. “I didn’t really know what the options were,” he said. “I think a piece of fruit, maybe? Or a little bit of oatmeal, if you have it? Um… an egg? I really don’t care, Cas. I’ll eat anything.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a moment, trying to imagine him working fifteen hours a day on a breakfast that would starve a toddler. A piece of fruit, he’d said. An egg. Oatmeal sounded more promising, but Castiel could bet it had been eaten in such small servings that it provided just as much fuel as the previous two options.

“How about French toast?” he asked, gentle as he turned Dean from the window and took his face in his hands. “Pancakes, perhaps? Or maybe some eggs and protein? An omelet? The bar in the lobby has a delicious selection. You could get whatever you like.”

Dean looked at him with wide eyes, leaning into the palm of his right hand. His skin was flushed, furnace-warm against Castiel’s skin. Castiel gently stroked the pads of his thumbs against the bright spots on his Omega’s cheekbones, telling himself the fever was normal for an Omega in heat, calming the raging protectiveness and concern inside of him.

“Wow, um, okay,” Dean said after hearing his options, looking even more unsure than before. He thought for a moment, then asked, “Um… What’re you gonna get?”

Castiel hummed, dropping his hands and sliding an arm around Dean’s lower back instead. He used his hold to take a little more of Dean’s weight against him, chest warming when Dean leaned into him when prompted. “I was thinking of something incredibly unhealthy,” Castiel said, relishing the smile it drew from the Omega in his arms. “Something with a lot of sugar and syrup. They add powdered sugar to the French toast, down at the cafe in the lobby. And fruit.”

“That sounds good,” Dean mumbled shyly.

“Mmm. Would you like some? I can order two,” Castiel offered. He began to guide Dean through the bedroom, toward the hallway that would take them to the main living area. “When was the last time you had French toast? I must admit, it’s one of my favorite American breakfast creations.”

Dean shrugged. “Probably when I was a kid. I, um… I’ll have some, please. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, malysh,” Castiel said. He kissed the side of Dean’s head gently, loving the way the Omega pressed into his touch. “I need to go down to the lobby to order it. You can stay here, if you’d like. The coffee machine in the kitchen is rather complicated, but I’m sure you can figure it out. I would teach you, but it’s as much of a mystery to me as it likely is to you.”

Dean huffed a soft laugh. “Okay. How, um… How long’ll you be gone?” He looked at Castiel with a small smile, the expression not quite enough to cover the slight tension in the question, the fear that might have driven him to ask it.

“Only about twenty minutes, thirty at the maximum,” Castiel said seriously. “In my room, on my nightstand, I’ve left my phone. You can use it to call any one of my brothers, should you need to. My password—”

He cut himself off, realizing the situation he’d just accidentally put himself in. Dean was staring at him expectantly, and to Castiel’s horror, he felt his own face begin to flush red.

He had to say it. He’d already backed himself into a corner. He just needed to say it…

“My password is… your name. That… should be easy to remember.”

Dean’s eyes widened for a moment, staring at Castiel in surprise, and then he threw back his head and laughed. The embarrassment churning in Castiel’s gut was worth it, it was worth it, because Dean’s laugh was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever heard. Every time the sound reached his ears, he felt as if he were floating. And he was helpless to do anything but smile at his Omega as Dean leaned into him, wheezing with laughter.

“Cas,” he gasped, still laughing. “Cas, that should be illegal.”

“What should?” Castiel asked. “My password?”

That only made Dean laugh harder. It took him a second to stop, to catch his breath and wipe his eyes and look at Castiel like he was the only Alpha in the world, like he was the man that had hung the moon. “No, you,” he said, and good God, his smile was breathtaking. “It shouldn’t be allowed to be so scary and so damn cute too. You should be outlawed or somethin’.”

“I am in twenty-five countries, including this one,” Castiel offered, and then he glowered a little. “I am not ‘cute.’”

But Dean was laughing again, and as Castiel held him and listened to it, he silently decided that this was okay. For Dean, he could be “cute.” For Dean, he could be anything.

Castiel gave the Omega his phone and kissed him on the forehead, promising to be back with breakfast soon. He didn’t bother pulling on much more than a sweater to go downstairs, knowing half the people in the lobby would be wearing their pajamas anyway. As he stepped out of his apartment and went to get into the elevator that would take him down to the lobby, the door across the hall opened and admitted Gadreel.

Castiel’s head of security was already wearing his usual suit and tie. Castiel could bet he was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath. If he’d been less lazy, he might have done the same.

“Good morning, Alpha Castiel,” Gadreel said when they greeted each other and stepped into the elevator. “How is Omega Dean? Is he better?”

Castiel nodded, hiding his smile at the evident concern that Gadreel wasn’t even trying to hide. It pleased him that his men were so protective of Dean. The Omega was too charming not to care for. “Dean is doing much better, though his heat seems to be wearing him out. I’m picking up breakfast for us in the hopes of helping him feel better.”

Gadreel nodded. “And… I assume that means he’ll be staying? For a while?”

Castiel decided not to comment on the hopeful undertone in his head of security’s voice, mostly because he didn’t know what to do with it. “Dean will be living with me for the foreseeable future,” he said. He frowned a little. “You and the men can go to the diner to get his belongings, but he’ll need to come with us for whatever he needs from his old apartment. I don’t want to take him there while he’s still in heat. Even with suppressants, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Of course not.” Gadreel looked almost offended at the idea. “Omega Dean should rest. When he’s ready, I would be glad to assist. Would you like me to call some of the men to accompany us? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to provide their support.” He paused, glancing sideways at Castiel where he’d been facing the doors of the elevator. “I understand Omega Dean wasn’t in the most favorable environment before this.”

The doors of the elevator opened, admitting an elderly couple half-dressed in their pajamas on their way to get breakfast in the lobby. The two Alphas greeted them in English, then returned to conversing in Russian. “That would be a good idea, Gadreel,” Castiel said. “I believe you’ll find Grigori and Aleksandr to be more than willing to come along.”

There was a pause, in which his head of security seemed to contemplate his next words carefully.

“Forgive my… impudence, Alpha Castiel, but that might not be the wisest configuration,” Gadreel dared to say, wincing ever so slightly. “I don’t think either of them will be able to remain civil, should we encounter Omega Dean’s familial Alpha.”

“He isn’t in the area at the moment.” Castiel paused, thinking. “Send one of our trackers to find out where he is, actually. When he returns from wherever he is, I wish to deal with him myself. The kind of sins he’s committed cannot go unpunished.”

“You think yourself a messenger of Heaven, Alpha?” Gadreel asked, sounding faintly amused.

“Not of Heaven, Gadreel,” Castiel said. “Not of Heaven.”

The elevator doors opened again, revealing the bustling lobby of the building. Gadreel guarded Castiel’s back subtly as they stepped out, heading toward the row of little restaurants that served breakfast in the mornings and other meals throughout the day. Castiel went for the one that served French toast, glad to see that there wasn’t a large line. He wanted to get back to Dean as soon as possible.

Even though the Omega was on suppressants, Castiel could feel his inner Alpha reacting to the presence of his heat. He was more protective, less rational, quicker to act. Standing here right now, all he wanted was to go back up to his apartment and cuddle Dean in bed for the rest of the day. The only thing keeping him down here was the need to provide sustenance for his Omega, the memory of him collapsing that morning all too fresh in his mind.

He was polite but efficient when he ordered for them both, and then he stood off to the side to wait. Gadreel lurked in the crowd behind him, no doubt scanning for potential threats hiding among the groups of sleepy residents.

It took roughly ten minutes for the food to be ready. Castiel thanked the girl at the register, nodded at Gadreel, and made his way toward the elevator. He tried to keep his pace normal, unhurried, as if his very blood wasn’t boiling with the need to return to his apartment and the Omega within. He knew Dean could protect himself now, that he had training and a knife and his own sharp intelligence, but that didn’t stop his inner Alpha from snarling with the desire to get back to his Omega—his vulnerable Omega, who was in heat and who was feeling some of its effects, despite being on suppressants—as quickly as possible.

The elevator ride up seemed to take hours. When Castiel finally reached his floor, he’d crumpled the top of one of the takeout boxes with the force of his grip on it. His heart was practically pounding as he unlocked the door of his apartment and pushed his way inside, straining to listen over the sound of his own blood pulsing for any signs of life.

Everything was quiet.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Castiel stalked into his apartment, dropping the boxes of breakfast on the counter. He was just about to pull out his gun and begin searching the apartment for signs of a struggle when he heard a noise coming from the other room.

“Dean?” he dared to ask, moving toward the sound.

“Cas?” Castiel walked into the living area and saw Dean sitting on the couch, cheeks flushed pink with the slight fever that came with his heat, looking like some kind of gilded saint in the morning sunlight streaming through the window. He smiled when he saw Castiel. “Heya, Cas. Everything okay?”

Castiel exhaled, the sound of his pounding heartbeat fading from his ears. He walked around the couch to sit down beside his Omega, pulling his lean, slender body into his arms. “Everything’s fine, zaychik. My Alpha is more protective than usual,” he admitted. “It’s hard to leave you alone.”

Dean snuggled into him, going loose and relaxed in his hold. “Well, if it makes your Alpha feel any better, I’m fine. A little tired even though I ain’t done shit today ‘cept lay around, but fine.” He nuzzled at Castiel’s neck, searching out his scent glands, then mumbled. “I’m kinda hungry, though.”

“Right, of course,” Castiel remembered, practically throwing himself off the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot.” He hurried out of the room, listening to the sound of Dean’s laughter as he went.

They ate breakfast on the couch, curled into each other languidly. Dean was like a little furnace, his skin hot to the touch. He insisted upon getting as close to Castiel as he could, practically crawling into the Alpha’s lap when Castiel allowed him. Castiel was surprised by how settled his inner Alpha felt at all the contact. It seemed Dean wasn’t the only one who’d been a bit starved of touch.

With breakfast finished, Castiel cleaned up while Dean dragged himself back to the den. Castiel gave him a little privacy as he threw out the boxes and cleaned up his kitchen slightly, hoping to let Dean take care of any business he needed to. He’d never actually spent a heat with an Omega, and even though Dean was on suppressants and neither of them were going to be doing anything further than kissing, the very act of being around Dean during this time was still an intimate thing.

Heats were special times, or at least, that was what Castiel had been taught. Not only did it typically mean large amounts of sex and closeness, it also meant an Omega’s immense trust. Castiel’s father had taught him that Omegas were just as strong and capable as the other designations, but that during their heats, they became vulnerable and therefore needed to be cared for and protected. Perhaps it was somewhat out of date, considering the more traditionalist stance his father had taken on certain views, but Castiel still believed that if Dean had trusted him to be around during this time, that meant he would need to prove he deserved the privilege.

He gathered some snacks and bottles of water with him when he finally went to the den. He’d restocked his apartment after that disastrous rut, not wanting to get caught without supplies and food again. He was glad for the food now, because he didn’t want to have to leave Dean again for something as trivial as a grocery run.

Supplies in hand, Castiel made his way toward his bedroom, steps slowing as he came near the door. He peeked inside, expecting to see Dean on his bed or tucked under his covers, but the Omega wasn’t there.

Castiel turned to the right more on instinct than anything, and what he saw made his heart stutter to a standstill.

Dean had dragged the thick comforter off the big bed and taken it with him when he’d gone to sit in the alcove in the wall. He’d bundled himself in the dark blue fabric and curled up sleepily in the center of the thick, soft pad, his sweet, contented scent filling the room. From the doorway to the bedroom, Castiel could hear the soft sound of his purring. It made his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his chest.

“Dean,” he murmured, tentative, careful. This moment felt like a hollow, fragile ball of ice: breathtakingly beautiful, but able to be shattered by the slightest wrong touch. “Dean, dorogoy, I have some snacks. Would you… Would you like some more blankets? I have extra in my hall closet.”

Dean peered at him as Castiel came closer, his green eyes hazy with his heat. “More blankets?” he questioned sleepily.

“Yes, malysh. I can go get them for you,” Castiel offered. He set the little containers of snacks and bottles of water down on the floor beside the alcove, not daring to put anything in Dean’s nest that the Omega hadn’t explicitly allowed.

Dean blinked at him, seeming to weigh the options. “Just wanna cuddle,” he eventually decided. “More blankets later. C’mon, Cas, c’mere.” One of his arms emerged from the bundle of the comforter, reaching toward Castiel. The Alpha was helpless to do anything but allow himself to be tugged up into the nest next to his Omega, his heart feeling ready to burst in his chest.

Dean’s scent was subdued by the suppressants, a slight chemical tinge hanging onto the soft, sweet scent of vanilla and baked goods. It grated on something inside of Castiel, just a little, but it wasn’t any of his business if Dean took suppressants or not. The Omega was allowed to do what he liked. Castiel, of course, wanted nothing more than to create an environment where Dean felt safe enough that he didn’t need to take the pills, but he understood if Dean wanted to continue using them. He could keep his fantasies about Dean’s full, unsuppressed scent as just that: fantasies.

“Dorogoy,” Castiel said, sliding under the comforter when Dean tugged at him. The Omega’s grip was weak, his hands trembling a little with fatigue. Castiel pulled him into his arms, holding him close. “Dean, malysh, this is your choice, but I… I would feel better if you stayed here with me until your heat has passed. I realize you’re eager to retrieve your belongings, and I don’t fault you for that, but…”

“It’s okay, Cas, I get it,” Dean said. He’d laid his head on part of the comforter, as if his neck was too tired to hold it up. “I just… I don’t want my dad to come back. I need to go back so I can get some of that stuff, but I… I don’t wanna deal with him.”

“You won’t have to,” Castiel said firmly. “My men have eyes on him now anyway. They’ll tell me if he gets anywhere near this location. You don’t need to worry about him ever again, Dean. I don’t want you to concern yourself with that, and I don’t want you to let it keep you from resting here, like you deserve.”

Dean’s cheeks pinked, the Omega opting to hide his face in Castiel’s neck instead of looking at him. “Okay,” he said, his words muffled against Castiel’s skin. “Thanks, Cas. I… I really appreciate it. You’re doing so much for me, I don’t…” He trailed off, painfully unsure.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, malysh,” Castiel said honestly. He pressed a soft, sweet kiss to the tender skin behind Dean’s ear. “I should have done this a long time ago, anyway.”

They cuddled like that for most of the day. Dean seemed anxious about Castiel staying with him so much, repeating over and over again that Castiel should focus on “more important stuff,” which Castiel assumed to be his work with the bratva. He was happy to explain that there was nothing more important than his Omega. Even then, Dean only seemed appeased when Castiel brought his phone into the nest and dealt with some of his business from there. The relaxation allowed the Omega to drift off at Castiel’s side, nose pressed against the scent gland at his neck.

The next two days were spent in similar fashion. Castiel convinced Dean to allow himself some more blankets and pillows, and once he did, the Omega gleefully created a comfortable little nest in the alcove. Every time Castiel saw it after returning from a bathroom break or a trip to retrieve some more food, he felt his heart swell with joy.

His men brought Dean’s backpack and belongings from the diner sometime during the first day. Dean was overjoyed when Ishim handed him his lost bracelets. The look on the hardened, stony Alpha’s face when Dean spontaneously hugged him, thanking him profusely, was one that Castiel would laugh about for years to come. The softness in his men’s eyes when they looked at Dean made him feel a strange sort of way; somewhere along the line, the men that he deemed his pack had grown fond of his Omega, and it thrilled his inner Alpha to no end.

Dean seemed surprised by some of the urges he had during heat, which saddened Castiel a little. It hurt him to know that his Omega had never been in an environment where he felt safe enough to nest, to curl up with only some shorts on and the blankets thrown over him so he could sleep for hours at a time without interruption. Castiel learned, along with Dean, that the Omega enjoyed having something to cuddle, whether it was a pillow or the backpack Castiel had given him, which Dean sheepishly admitted he’d held more than a few times while sleeping. The sight of the Omega cuddling his bulletproof backpack to his chest did something odd to Castiel’s chest, something bittersweet. He vowed he’d get Dean a stuffed animal instead sometime soon.

Somewhere through the third day or so, Castiel discovered he could lull Dean into a state not unlike being drugged if he pulled off his shirt and increased the amount of surface area available for skin-on-skin contact. Castiel could get through an entire three-hour call with his brothers with Dean splayed almost drunkenly across his chest, purring quietly enough that he wasn’t heard through the phone.

The day Dean’s heat ended, Castiel woke up to the Omega tracing light fingers over the tattoos on his chest and collarbones, fingertips running along the eight points of the stars inked into his shoulders.

“How do you feel?” Castiel rasped. Dean no longer felt like a mini-furnace. The flush on his cheeks had faded away, leaving healthy, freckled golden skin.

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Dean said. He smiled at Castiel, then elaborated, “My heat’s done, if that’s what you’re askin’. I feel like I could get up and run a marathon.”

Castiel chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth. “How about breakfast instead? And then we can talk about going somewhere.”

Dean was still smiling, but Castiel saw the way the light in his eyes dimmed just slightly. They both knew that the time had come to go back to Dean’s apartment. They couldn’t wait any longer; John could return any day now. Castiel’s men said he was still at a motel in Tacoma, but that could change within a few short hours.

Castiel ate his breakfast, and while Dean showered the last of his heat off himself, he cleaned up his apartment. There wasn’t much to take care of, especially since he wouldn’t dream of attempting to clean any part of the nest, but it still gave him something to keep his mind off what they had to do today. When Dean emerged from the bathroom, clean and smelling of Castiel’s soap, of the Alpha scent that clung to the borrowed clothes he was wearing, it was clear the Omega was nervous too.

“Come on, zaychik,” Castiel murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Dean’s head. “Do you have your knives?” At Dean’s nod, he said, “Let’s go, then.”

The ride from Castiel’s building to Dean’s was silent. Dean didn’t seem incredibly scared in any way, but his face was drawn and pale. He kept staring out the window instead of looking Castiel in the eyes. The Alpha let him think, not wanting to be too pushy.

When they reached Dean’s street, Castiel got out of the car and began to lead the way toward the building Dean lived in, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. “I live across the street, actually,” Dean said.

Castiel blinked. “But you told Aleksandr you live here.” He nodded at the dilapidated apartment building before him. He couldn’t have forgotten where Dean lived, could he? He swore he’d had it correct in his head.

There was a small, secret smile on Dean’s face. “I, um… I might’ve lied to Alpha Aleksandr on that first day. I didn’t know you guys all that well yet, and I was kinda wary about you knowing where I actually lived.”

Castiel stared at him for a moment, surprised, before fondness swept in and took over. “Smart Omega,” Castiel hummed, resisting the urge to kiss Dean right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He had to be careful when they were in public. He couldn’t risk anyone unfriendly looking on and seeing their behavior. “Lead the way to your actual building, then, if you please.”

Dean turned and led the way across the street, to the equally-as-dilapidated apartment on the far side. Aleksandr and Grigori followed behind, murmuring quietly in Russian as they went. Castiel had been right in assuming they’d be more than happy to accompany him and Dean on this particular mission. He’d had to physically order Grigori to leave his semi-automatic rifle behind in the car.

The moldy stairs groaned under their weight as the four men made their way up to the top floor. Dean seemed nervous as he led the way to a door down the cramped hallway, even though Castiel had assured him that his father was nowhere near. It occurred to the Alpha for the first time, as Dean fished a key out of his backpack, that Dean might be worried about him and what he thought of the place.

Well. Castiel certainly had thoughts, but probably not the kind Dean was imagining.

The door creaked as the Omega opened it, allowing the four men behind him to follow him inside. Castiel was immediately struck by the scent of old cigarettes, stale alcohol, and the faded scent of Alpha rage. The faint scent of anger in the air grated on something deep inside him, raising his proverbial hackles. He couldn’t imagine how Dean could live in a situation like this, somewhere where the very air itself smelled like furious Alpha.

Behind him, he heard Grigori mutter in Russian, “Goddamn Alpha pig. I’ll fucking shoot each of his fingers off, one by one.”

All Castiel had to send him was a look to make him quiet down, though internally, he echoed the sentiment. This place made him feel uneasy, so he had no idea how awful it must be for Dean. For Dean, an Omega who’d been stuck living with his unpredictable, violent familial Alpha who smelled like he had a drinking problem. Good God.

Dean seemed to get stuck in the living area as they made it into the main part of the apartment, gaze resting on the ratty recliner set in front of the TV. He stopped where he stood, frozen. The only movement Castiel could see was the methodical way Dean tugged his bracelets in circles around his wrist, the knots of elephant hair rubbing against his skin in what must have been a soothing manner.

“Where is your room, malysh?” Castiel murmured softly, biting the inside of his cheek when the Omega flinched a little. “Perhaps we can start there.”

Dean nodded jerkily. “Uh huh, yeah, o-okay. It’s, uh… It’s this way.” Grigori and Aleksandr took up positions in the living area, Grigori by the door, Aleksandr by the window. Castiel nodded at them gratefully, then followed his Omega down a short hallway and into a cramped little room with a mattress on the floor.

Dean went over to the closet while Castiel looked around the space that his Omega had been living in for the past half a decade. He wasn’t surprised to find that he hated every inch. There were moldy spots all over the ceiling, dark and poisonous. The window was cracked and devoid of a lock, completely open to anyone who managed to reach it. The whole space smelled of old cigarettes, mold, and angry Alpha. It set Castiel’s nerves on edge.

Dean was rummaging around in the closet, and after a moment, he emerged with a medium-sized cardboard box. Inside, Castiel could see a variety of things, including a ceramic jar, a couple picture frames, and a chipped blue coffee mug. Written on the side of the—empty—ceramic jar was the name “Sammy” in big black letters.

“Just a couple more things, but this is most of it,” Dean said. He was staring at the contents of the box instead of looking at Castiel, his shoulders small and scared. He kept glancing toward the old mattress, where a ragged, faded blue blanket was folded with heart-wrenching, painstaking care at the foot.

“Do you want to bring that with you?” Castiel asked kindly, seeing where Dean was looking.

Dean took a step forward, toward him, as if simply being near would bring him comfort. “I dunno,” he said quietly. “I don’t… I don’t think so. I… I like the blankets you have. At—At your place.” He looked at Castiel with green eyes that looked big and impossibly trusting, luminous in the dim light coming through the covered window.

“That’s okay, malysh,” Castiel said soothingly, stepping forward to slip an arm around Dean. “If you like the blankets at our home better, then that’s okay. We can leave that one. Is there anything else you want in here?”

He felt the way Dean trembled at the words “our home.” He hoped it was a good thing, and he prayed the way Dean nudged his nose against the fabric of his suit jacket meant the Omega felt comforted.

“I’m just gonna grab my clothes,” Dean said, looking toward the beat-up dresser in the corner. “It’ll only take a second.”

“Of course, dorogoy,” Castiel said. “Take your time.”

He released his Omega, watching him for all of a second before a soft knock on the doorway tore his attention away. He turned to see Aleksandr standing there, looking into the room with a tight expression on his face. “Alpha, we just received word from Hester. Omega Dean’s father seems to have checked out of his motel and is on the road, heading toward this location.”

Castiel didn’t dare curse or indicate anything about how that information affected him. Mindful of Dean only a few yards away, Castiel stepped in toward Aleksandr and asked in low, whispered Russian, “How far is he?”

“By Hester’s estimations, about an hour and a half. Perhaps two, considering traffic on the way out of Tacoma,” the Alpha reported. He looked over Castiel’s shoulder, where Dean was tucking his clothes into the cardboard box with his other things. “Should we get Omega Dean out of here?”

“No, not yet. I don’t believe this will take much longer, and it wouldn’t do to stress him out more,” Castiel said. Both Alphas turned to look at Dean, who was carefully folding a couple hoodies and attempting to fit them on top of the other clothes.

“I can’t believe this,” Aleksandr said, his voice even lower than before. “I can’t believe any Alpha worth anything would let an Omega live in a place like this. Did you see the nesting space? Fucking work boots and tools, no sign of a resting place for Omega Dean. I can’t believe that pig would just let his filth stain the air like a fucking—”

“Back to your post,” Castiel ordered, cutting him off. It wouldn’t do to get worked up right now. That would only cause Dean unnecessary anxiety, if he noticed them talking. Aleksandr’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw working before he nodded stiffly. He left, and Castiel turned to find Dean shutting the last drawer of the dresser. Castiel softened his voice and his face as he asked, “Finished, my love?”

Dean blushed a little at the endearment, but to Castiel’s delight, he didn’t protest against it. “Yeah, I think I have everything in here. I’m gonna head to the kitchen for a sec’, and then I think I’ll be done.”

Castiel nodded and followed him out of the room, passing through the hallway again as he went. Dean paused in the bathroom to collect his toothbrush and hairbrush, pausing for a moment as he considered what seemed to be a makeup kit. Castiel wasn’t quite sure what it was for, but Dean seemed rather conflicted over it.

“I can always buy you more,” Castiel said gently, when the Omega stood there for longer than twenty seconds.

“It’s not, um… I don’t like wearing it. I mean, I got nothin’ against makeup, but, um… I used it for my bruises,” Dean explained. Castiel felt sick all over again.

“You’ll never have to use makeup for that again,” he said firmly, “but if you want it for other purposes, I would be more than happy to buy some for you. Are you going to take this with you?”

Dean seemed to think about it, and then he shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine.” With that, he turned off the light in the bathroom and led the way toward the living area.

“Hester says Omega Dean’s father is half an hour away,” Aleksandr said in Russian, when Castiel and Dean re-entered the main room. He was standing next to the window with a tablet, the glow of it lighting the scar under his jaw.

Dean glanced at Castiel questioningly as he went over to the small kitchen area, evidently curious about what Aleksandr had said. Castiel hesitated before translating, knowing that sparing Dean the stress wouldn’t be better in the long run. “Aleksandr received a report from one of our agents, Dean. She says that your father has left his motel in Tacoma and is headed home.”

Dean paled, going stiff and tense. “How far away is he?”

“Half an hour, or so Hester thinks,” Castiel said. “You don’t need to be frightened, malysh. We’ll be long gone before he arrives, and even if he were to suddenly appear, we wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

“I’m almost done,” Dean said, looking a little panicked now. He put his box on the counter and began to rummage through the cabinets on top of the fridge, bottles clinking as he did so. “I-I’m almost done. Just one more thing.”

Castiel watched as Dean began to draw bottle after bottle of liquor from the cabinet, cheap whiskey and spirits filling what little space on the counter there was. When Dean had pulled down nine bottles, only two of them more than half-full, he began to pop the lids off and dump the liquid inside down the drain.

Grigori and Aleksandr glanced at each other, then at Castiel. Castiel stayed silent, letting Dean do what he needed.

“He’s gonna drink when I’m gone,” Dean said. His voice was trembling. His hands, too. “I just… I just don’t want him to drink too much and have no one around to help. I know this ain’t gonna slow him down for long, but I-I figured I could at least try.”

“You are not responsible for your father’s health, zaychik,” Castiel said softly.

“I know,” Dean said shakily, “but the guilt is gonna eat me alive.”

He dumped the rest of the whiskey and spirits into the sink in silence. When he’d finished, he threw the empty bottles in the recycling, where they joined a plethora of others.

“Are you ready to go?” Castiel asked gently.

Dean gave a shaky nod. He was still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw that told Castiel he was trying to hide the worst of his emotions. “I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.”

Castiel pulled him in for a hug, not caring that Aleksandr and Grigori were watching. He held Dean there for a long moment, breathing in Dean’s sweet scent, telling himself that what he was about to do was for the best.

“Aleksandr, please escort Dean down to the car, then return here,” Castiel told his soldier, in English, so Dean understood. “Gadreel can take him home. I believe we three have some things to finish here.”

Dean went tense in his arms. “What d’you mean?” he asked, pulling out of Castiel’s hold. “What things to finish?”

Castiel’s voice was soft when he said, “I think you know.”

The tremble that had been in Dean’s hands and voice spread, taking over his body. He shook in Castiel’s hold, little shakes that the Alpha felt in the very foundations of his heart. Dean’s voice was whispered, barely a breath of air. “Don’t kill him. Please, Cas…”

“Why not?” Castiel asked, some part of him almost angry with Dean for being so forgiving, so blind to the agony that his father deserved. “Why wouldn’t I kill him? He’s hurt what’s mine, Dean. He tortured and mistreated the one thing that I hold dearest in this world. I cannot let that go, no matter your attachment to him.”

That was a lie. He would do anything for Dean. If Dean begged for his father’s life, Castiel wouldn’t be able to bring himself to kill the Alpha. That was why he’d waited so long to exact justice on John Winchester; he knew that if he’d done it before Dean was ready, it would have destroyed his Omega in ways that couldn’t be repaired.

“Please don’t kill him,” Dean said. Though his voice shook like the last autumn leaf in winter’s first storm, his eyes remained dry of tears. “Please. Just… Just don’t kill him.”

Castiel paused, listening. Understanding. He looked at Dean, looked at the way he trembled, and he wondered how much of that was from fear for his father, and how much of that was guilt for what he was condoning. Castiel wondered if Dean understood the extent to which Castiel could cause pain without taking a life.

He wondered if Dean knew that there were things worse than death.

“I won’t kill him,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

Dean swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. “Okay.”

Aleksandr stepped away from the wall, seeming to sense that it was time to go. “Omega Dean,” he said in gentle, accented English. “Come, tsarina. Alpha Gadreel can take you home.”

Dean looked at Castiel for another long moment, green eyes boring heavily into blue. And then he pulled away.

Castiel watched Dean as he allowed Aleksandr to herd him out the door, the Alpha insisting quietly on carrying his box for him. Castiel listened as the two men’s footsteps moved away, down the stairs, further until they were out of earshot. Castiel stared at the door, and he thought deeply about what he was about to do.

“Shall I call in the rest of the men, Alpha?” Grigori asked from the window.

“Yes,” Castiel said. He grabbed one of the chairs from the rickety dining table, pulling it to the center of the room. “Make sure they bring a gag. We wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

With that, the Alpha sat down and settled in to wait.

Chapter Text

As John clomped heavily up the stupid fucking stairs of the hovel he called a home, he prepared himself for the conversation he was going to have with his son.

Really, he should have been preparing himself the entire time he’d been gone, since it was the kind of thing that probably needed to be thought over, but he’d been a little distracted while he’d been in Tacoma. The money had been good, better than he’d had in years, and that blond Omega he’d picked up on the third day hadn’t been too bad either.

John didn’t really think he should have to explain himself, since he’d taken the money so he could better provide for the family, but Dean was a fucking pussy and would probably demand an explanation. He was a pansy in that way, God only knew where that had come from. John blamed the Omega in him, the weak little whore voice that no amount of beltings seemed to be able to silence. Maybe one day Dean would learn to be stronger than his bitch instincts.

For now, though, John would need to coddle the boy a little bit. He supposed maybe he felt a little guilty. Especially since he’d lost more than half the money before he’d gained any.

He’d actually had some luck at the slot machines, enough to earn him a couple hundred dollars. That hadn’t made up for the thousands he’d lost before that, but the important part was that he’d won a little bit. Hopefully, Dean wasn’t too dumb to understand that kind of logic. John would let the bitch pout for a little bit, if he was really torn up about the money. Dean would come around sooner or later.

John had to pause at the top of the stairs for a moment, catching his breath. A few days of sitting on his ass and eating greasy food had tired him out a little, made his body heavy and slow. He burped as he began to move toward his door, grimacing at the scent of sour breath and stale whiskey.

The door was unlocked, which was strange. John made a mental note to discipline Dean for that later. The stupid bitch couldn’t just go around leaving doors open and all just because he was throwing a hissy fit.

Grumbling under his breath, John shouldered the door open and let himself inside. Unfortunately, his instincts weren’t what they used to be, so it took him until he was practically inside the living room to realize that something was off.

The air smelled of a cacophony of scents. Gunpowder, metal, the air before a storm—Alphas.

John entered the main area of his apartment and stopped dead.

There was someone in his apartment. There was a man in his apartment. He was fucking sitting there in a Goddamn chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, gaze fixed intently on John. His eyes were very, very blue and very, very cold.

“John Winchester,” he said. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Who the fuck are you?” John demanded, proud of how strong his voice was for how badly he’d been startled. He suddenly felt rather stupid, standing there in his days-old jeans and stained shirt,his leather jacket the only really presentable part of him. The man sitting in the middle of his Goddamn house looked like some kind of Wall Street wannabe, with his crisp suit and perfect tie.

“My name is Castiel Krushnic,” the Alpha told him. His voice was low and gravelly, flat like the oppressive still of the air before a storm. “I’m sure that means little to you, but trust me when I say that you are very unfortunate to be meeting us tonight.”

Us.

It was then that John realized there were more people in his fucking apartment. There were two men standing in the shadows of the far wall, another man and a woman in the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom, one standing in the corner of the kitchen. When John turned to the door—just to look, just to check his surroundings, not because he was scared, he wasn’t—he found a pretty young woman with curly red hair standing there, looking at him with an expression of such disdain that John’s heart jumped a little in his chest.

“Who the fuck do you think you are,” he said, turning back to Krushnic, “thinking you can just break into my house? What the fuck is this?”

“This is retribution, John Winchester,” Krushnic said. His blue eyes flashed, dangerous. “This is justice.”

John scoffed, shrouding his uneasiness behind anger and bravado. “Justice for what?” he asked, looking the man up and down. Krushnic was wearing a harness under his suit jacket, a holster that likely had room for a gun, maybe even two.

Surrounded by armed unfriendlies, John’s mind registered. Unless Dean shows up and calls the police or something, I’m screwed.

“There is someone who works for us, for me,” Krushnic said. His eyes had gone flat and dead again, boring into John in a way the Alpha would never admit to being intimidated by. “He’s very precious to our organization.”

“Does it look like I give a shit?” John demanded. His mind was racing, struggling to figure out what this could possibly be about. “I haven’t done shit. I’m just a normal Alpha, I didn’t hurt no one.”

“Only that last is a lie,” Krushnic said. He hadn’t moved from his chair, but he somehow felt closer. “You haven’t done shit, that’s true. You’re a normal Alpha, perhaps, if by normal you mean an average, deadbeat, pathetic piece of trash.”

John’s face heated, his fists clenching with rage. “You watch your fuckin’ mouth. Who the fuck do you think you are, breaking into my house and having the Goddamn audacity to insult me? Who are you, aside from a pretentious little fucker who somehow thinks he’s a hotshot?”

“I’m a very powerful man, John Winchester,” Krushnic said, and despite all his bravado and bluster, John believed him immediately. “I’m a man powerful enough to bring six armed soldiers into your home. I’m a man powerful enough to be able to slaughter you and bury the evidence so your disappearance isn’t even a footnote. I’m a man powerful enough to hire three different snipers to train their attention on this one building, prepared at any moment for my signal.”

“You’re full of shit,” John snapped.

“Try it,” Krushnic challenged without missing a beat. “The first is evidently true. Why not figure out if the others are?”

“You’ve got a fuckin’ accent,” John said, squinting at the Alpha. “You’ve got fuckin’ tattoos. What are you, some kinda wannabe mafia lord?”

He expected more boasting, or perhaps some threats, but the Alpha merely chuckled. It was cold and completely devoid of anything but cruel amusement, and it sent chills down John’s spine. The Alpha said something in a low, sharp language—Russian, if John had ever heard it. Whatever he’d said, the shadowy people around the room found it funny. They all chuckled.

Keeping eye contact with him, Krushnic said in English, “It seems you aren’t as stupid as you look.”

There’s no fucking way this is real. He’s gotta be lying, John thought. Aloud, he asked, “What the hell does the Russian mafia want with me? If you’re even telling the truth.”

Krushnic frowned a little. “Perhaps my faith in your intelligence is misplaced. Did I not already tell you? You’ve harmed someone very, very precious to us. We are here for retribution.”

“I haven’t hurt anyone!” John cried, his voice cracking a little on the desperation that he was trying so hard to keep hidden. Krushnic’s eyes narrowed, a shark smelling blood in the water. “I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. I didn’t do anything.”

“You truly believe that,” Krushnic mused. His gaze slid from John to the woman behind him. “Gag him. It’s high time we begin this.”

John was too sluggish to react before the woman at the door was at his back, smelling of roses and gunpowder, the latter sharp enough to sting his nose. Alpha. Angry Alpha.

In the next second, John’s head was jerking back, something sturdy and thick shoved roughly between his teeth before he had time to react. He shouted around the leather bit that had been pushed into his mouth, jerking his head right before the strap was buckled behind his head and the woman stepped away, dodging his clumsy punch nimbly.

Before John could lunge at her, furious for whatever the fuck she’d just dared to put on him, he was grabbed by the arm and swung around by powerful hands. John expected to be released, so when he was instead thrown harshly into the wall of his apartment, he was stunned for a couple seconds. He didn’t even have time to recover before someone else had grabbed him by the hair and was dragging him backward, toward the center of the room.

John cried out as a kick made his chest feel like it was collapsing. He tried to lash out at whoever was attacking him, but it seemed like they were all suddenly descending upon him at once. He was being kicked from all sides, violent and brutal enough that John screamed into the gag that was shoved between his teeth.

A voice said something firmly in that fucking language again, and then the kicks immediately stopped. John blinked through involuntary tears at his attackers, struggling to regain his bearings.

He found Krushnic’s face swimming somewhere above him, still so fucking calm. “I want you to know that they will not kill you. They will not knock you unconscious. I want you to experience all of this. Every part. I want you to know how it feels.”

Those words struck something in John, a thread of something that felt like a word on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t quite grasp at it before he was being punched in the face hard enough to make his ears ring, a furious string of words jumbling through his ears, enraged Russian ringing around his throbbing skull.

“Pig,” a blond Alpha snarled, suddenly right in his face. “Fucking pig.”

John’s furious growl turned into a cry of agony as he was punched again, his nose crunching. Blood flowed warm and quick, salty as it cascaded over his upper lip and slipped past the leather gag in his mouth. He cried out as fists rained down on him, some with rings, some without. John had no idea what was going on and who was who, but the barrage of punches and kicks was as disorienting as it was painful.

He had no idea how long he was beaten, but when the agony finally stopped, both his eyes were swelling and his nose had been thoroughly crushed. It ached to breathe, to move. John cowered behind the meager protection his arms provided as someone reached for him, giving a cry as his hair was yanked so hard he swore it was ripping free of his skull.

He found his head pulled back at a painful angle, his gaze forced to fixate on that damn Krushnic’s face. “How does it feel?” the Alpha asked. His eyes were so flat, so dead. John swore the light from the ceiling lamp didn’t penetrate the Alpha’s irises. He was looking at a Goddamned demon from Hell.

Krushnic reached to unbuckle the gag and pull it out, yanking it from between John’s teeth roughly. Without missing a beat, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gleaming .45, the barrel inscribed with Cyrillic symbols that gleamed softly in the light.

“Please,” John begged, without really thinking. He had a feeling he was begging for his life, now, and that no amount of pleading would sway this monster that stood before him.

Krushnic sneered at him. “How Alpha are you now?” he asked, gripping John’s bloodied chin with rough, thick fingers, pressing the gun to his temple. John trembled at the cold feeling of metal. “Your precious Alpha-ness, your precious strength and courage, where is it? I see nothing but a hermit crab without a shell: weak, pale, pathetic.” Krushnic dug the gun into John’s temple, finger on the trigger, and the kneeling Alpha whimpered despite himself. “You’re nothing but a Goddamn coward. A bully who beats up on those who can’t fight back.”

Again, that string was plucked in John’s mind, an inkling of a clue. He had a feeling he knew what this was leading to, but the reality was so impossible, so hard to comprehend. How could…?

“How ‘bout you?” John slurred through the blood in his mouth, because he’d always been a thick-headed bastard at the heart of it all. “Beatin’ up on an unarmed man. How many’a you does it take to fight me, huh?”

Krushnic laughed cruelly. “Oh, we’re not looking for fairness, John Winchester. We’re here to teach a lesson.” He looked up at something behind John, his lips twisting into a cold smirk. “Which reminds me: it’s time for you to clean up a little around here. God only knows if you don’t contribute to the rent, the least you could do is keep the place neat.”

That twisted reality in his head became a little clearer, a little more possible. John pushed it away with a hawking spit of blood and phlegm, aiming for Krushnic’s dark combat boots. He missed, but the damage had been done.

Someone behind John snarled something in Russian and grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. John couldn’t help his moan of pain as he was jerked around, across the living area and toward the kitchen. For a single terrifying moment, he thought they were going for the knives. But the Russian stopped in front of the sink, and John stopped too.

“Do dishes,” the man holding him growled.

“What?” John demanded, unable to turn his head to look at the man gripping his arms in a bruising hold because his neck was so sore. “What are you—”

“Do as he says, or you’ll get a bullet for your defiance,” Krushnic snapped, holding up that beautiful .45, as if John had forgotten its existence. The Alpha fixed him with a cold, cruel gaze and said, “And don’t think you’ll get off with an easy death. I’ll shoot your knees out and let you bleed out slowly.”

John blanched, suddenly terrifyingly sure that the man was telling the truth. This guy was a Goddamn maniac, and so were all the other people he’d brought with him. John kept trying to think of what he could do to escape, to call 911 or something, but he kept coming up with nothing.

The man behind him hit the back of his head hard enough to jolt his whole body forward, splattering blood in the sink. “Do dishes!” he barked.

John looked at Krushnic, who’d settled back in his chair from before. He had his gun casually resting on his knee, but John knew the threat was there. All it would take was the bastard behind him dragging him out from behind the counter, and then John would be done for. His knees would be done for.

“Obey the order, John Winchester,” Krushnic said calmly.

It grated on everything that made up his internal self to obey the order of another Alpha, but John began to do the dishes. He reasoned to himself that he was fighting for his life right now, and that at least they weren’t asking him to do something worse. Doing the dishes was fucking weird to make him do, but he wasn’t going to complain.

It was weird to have all of them staring at him as he rinsed out glasses and washed plates. His movements were clumsy, and at some point, his ribs twinged so badly that he dropped a glass and watched as it shattered against the lip of an upturned bowl.

Krushnic chuckled at the blunder. “Out of practice, aren’t you?”

“Your maniac friends beat me up, so it’s a little hard to coordinate everything,” John snapped. He got a punch to the side for his trouble, the man behind him chuckling as he bent over and wheezed.

“Do dishes,” the fucker said again, and John just about turned around and socked him in the face.

He didn’t break any more glasses as he cleaned up the dishes, but he could feel Krushnic and all the others watching him intently. The attention made his face burn, made sick humiliation twist in his gut. He wasn’t some sort of Goddamn housewife, and he had no idea what this game they were playing was. He hated how he felt underneath all their gazes as he ran a rag over days-old dishes, scrubbing pitifully at food that was caked on and going moldy.

“That took a long time,” Krushnic commented when John put the last of the silverware in the dishwasher. “It still looks like shit. I think you’d better clean the counters now.” At John’s incredulous expression, Krushnic gestured at the filthy counters with his gun. “Go on. And make sure you get rid of all those alcohol bottles.”

“This is fucking insane,” John snapped, standing his ground. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Perhaps if you’d cleaned up after yourself when you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have to be doing this,” Krushnic said. There was a hint of sharpness to his voice now, deadly rocks waiting under the seemingly-calm surface of the sea. “Perhaps if you hadn’t left it all for your son to do, you wouldn’t be standing here.”

That string plucked again. The picture in his mind sharpened, becoming clear.

“Dean,” John realized, the name sticking in his mouth.

Krushnic leaned forward in his chair, blue eyes filled with cold fire. “I would advise you to be very, very, very careful with what your next words are, John Winchester. In fact, I would advise you to shut your idiotic mouth altogether and just start cleaning.”

John held his gaze for as long as he could, but he had to look away eventually. There was something wrong with that man, something that sent shivers down his spine. He heeded Krushnic’s advice and began to shakily clean off the counters, wincing his way through clearing off the bottles and debris that had built up.

Krushnic had basically just confirmed what he’d already been thinking, and the reality made him sick. Somehow, these fuckers were connected to Dean. John wasn’t sure how, and he wasn’t sure why they were here, but they knew he had a son and they knew that John wasn’t always the softest with him. It seemed they weren’t exactly happy about that.

“It’s disgusting, the state you’ve let this place go to,” Krushnic commented as John struggled to clean the counter, his voice returning to that soft, silky calm it had been before. “Not only does it speak of your incredibly low standards, but it also displays just how little you think of your family, the son that you’re supposed to protect.”

“He’s a fucking adult,” John couldn’t help but snap. “He can take care of himself.”

“Oh, he does. And he takes care of you. And he takes care of this apartment,” Krushnic said. “He works fifteen hours a day so he can support you and himself, and you can’t even be bothered to lift a finger to clean.”

“I work a lot too,” John snapped, though internally, he was wondering if what Krushnic said was true. Dean couldn’t work that much, could he? Three jobs… No. John had vague memories of the boy coming home late at night, but he was usually too drunk to tell when or where. The alcohol made his memory spotty.

“That’s no excuse,” Krushnic said. “That’s no excuse to allow your son—an Omega—to live in a situation like this. Bugs and vermin, rotting food and mold, alcohol all over every surface—this place is almost as disgusting as you are.”

John threw down the bottles he was holding into the recycling bag, furious but unable to think of a way he could retaliate without getting beaten again. If he made it out of this alive, he swore he was going to find this fucker on the streets and rip him apart with his bare hands.

It took John a while to clear the counter. His whole body ached with pain, and his nose only stopped bleeding after what felt like an eternity. He was going to need the hospital after this. He’d have to get Dean to drive him, when the bitch eventually came home. John glanced at the clock as he wiped down the counters with a rag, his heart sinking as he realized he still had four hours or so until Dean usually came back from work.

At least, he was pretty sure Dean came back at five. That was when most people returned from work. Again, he couldn’t really remember.

“All finished?” Krushnic asked, and he sounded so condescending that John could have punched him if there hadn’t been a maniac at his back and a gun in his face. “Good. Come on, now. Over here, I want you in the middle of the room.”

“Want me to clean the floor now?” John snapped, limping heavily as he made his way around the counter and into the living space once again.

Krushnic laughed. “No, no. I think you understand what it feels like to clean up for someone who’s just beaten you senseless. It’s time for another lesson now.” He waited until his man had shoved John forward, nearly making him fall to the ground. When John stood before him, Krushnic pointed his gun at the floor and said, “Kneel.”

“Fuck you,” John growled. No fucking way was he going to kneel for some fucking—

Krushnic flicked the safety on his gun, stowed it away in his holster, grabbed John’s arm, and twisted it at an unnatural angle, all in a series of smooth movements that left John’s aching head spinning. He gave a low cry as his arm was jerked painfully, his knees giving out before he even knew what was happening.

Krushnic looked down at him, on his knees, and he sneered. “Now take off your belt. Your arm doesn’t necessarily need to be in-socket for this next part, so I suggest you cooperate unless you want to be in even more pain than you already are.”

“Can’t take off my belt with you holdin’ my arm like that,” John panted, his brain scrambling. He could feel the wrongness of the position his arm was in, the pressure it exerted on his shoulder. He knew all it would take was one sharp movement, and his arm would dislocate.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Krushnic said dispassionately. “You have five seconds, so you’d better be quick about it.” As he spoke, he nodded at someone behind John. A few moments later, that Goddamned bit was being shoved back between John’s teeth, the strap biting at the sides of his mouth cruelly.

John reached down with his left hand to unbuckle his belt, which was quite the feat considering he was injured and one-handed. Krushnic put even more pressure on his arm as John fumbled, ripping a cry of agony from the kneeling Alpha’s throat.

It took longer than five seconds for John to get the belt out of his jeans, but eventually he did. Once he’d gotten it, he looked up at Krushnic with anger and pleading in his eyes, wondering what was next.

A burly blond Alpha took the belt from him, presenting it to Krushnic and saying something in Russian. It sounded like a question.

Krushnic released John’s arm and said, “No, you can do the honors, Aleksandr. I would rather watch.”

John winced as he rotated his sore shoulder, looking up just in time to see the blond Alpha say something else in Russian, nodding his head respectfully. He grabbed the tail-end of the belt and began to wrap it around his hand, in an action that was very, very familiar.

John barely had time to release a cry of rage before it became a cry of agony, the blond Alpha lashing out with the belt. It struck John buckle-end on the shoulder, leaving a path of burning agony in its wake. The Russian positioned himself behind John, belt in hand, and began to beat him thoroughly.

John screamed at the pain, attempting to crawl away. He was nudged back into position by the tip of one black boot, Krushnic watching with detached satisfaction as he was beaten like a slave or something. “I was going to use my belt,” he told John conversationally, like they were talking about the weather or something. “I figured this would be more fitting. How does it feel, John Winchester?”

He kept fucking asking that, like he didn’t know that it hurt like a motherfucker. John arched away from the pain of the belt coming down on his back, screaming at the force with which the Alpha was hitting him. Good God, he was going to break skin, even through the layers of clothes John was wearing.

Some of the lunatics at the edges of the room were laughing, and that was when John really began to understand the situation he was in. These people weren’t just hurting him, they were getting off on it. They liked to see him in pain. It was amusing to them, or something.

John curled into a ball in an attempt to get away from the agony of the belt, but the Alpha just kept going. The scent of pain and blood and gunpowder and anger was thick in the air, choking. The bit in John’s mouth made it impossible to breathe, so he felt like his lungs were expanding on nothing. Panic and agony chased through his body, careening his mind toward the edge of insanity.

I can’t do this, his brain screamed. I can’t take any more of this.

But apparently he could, because the agony continued for what felt like an eternity before it suddenly stopped. John’s ears rang with the pulsing of his own blood and the echoes of his own muffled screams. His face was wet with tears he didn’t remember shedding, and he swore his back had been stripped down to the bone.

“Get up, John Winchester,” he heard. When he didn’t do much more than quiver on the ground, the voice repeated, “Get up.”

John was kicked in the ribs, causing him to uncurl and roll to his side with a muffled cry. He looked up through a blur of tears to see Krushnic staring down at him, disdain sharp on his features.

“Please,” John tried to beg, though the gag muffled his voice nearly completely. “Please.”

Krushnic bared his teeth in disgust, kneeling down on the floor next to John’s head. “Do you understand now, John Winchester? Do you understand the agony that you caused, the suffering? Your son has endured all this and more, by your hand, for years.”

“No,” John sobbed around the gag, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what he was saying no to, but God, he didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know.

He didn’t want to face what he’d done. He didn’t want to face the consequences of it.

“Dean has stayed by your side faithfully, fearing for your health and your inability to care for yourself. Even when you tortured and beat him, even when you treated him like a slave, even when you stole his savings from him, he stayed with you,” Krushnic said. He gripped John’s hair tightly, yanking it just to cause pain. “Where’s the money, John? Do you have it? Or did you gamble it all away?”

John sobbed and squeezed his swollen, bruised eyes shut, unable to face the truth.

He had gambled it away, just like he’d gambled away the support and adoration his son had once held for him. Krushnic was right, Dean was more loyal than a dog. But even dogs had their breaking points, and it seemed Dean had found his.

Somewhere inside him, John realized that Dean wasn’t going to come home at five, or at any other time. Dean was gone. And John was left with this.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Krushnic said, prompting John to open his eyes and stare up at him pleadingly. “My love has a golden heart. He begged for your life even though you’ve made his a living hell. I don’t know where he finds his forgiveness, but perhaps God has touched his soul and the saints walk with him.” Krushnic bared his teeth at John’s tears, and he said, “But they do not walk with me, and I will not be so kind. There are things worse than death, John Winchester. Don’t you know?”

John whimpered and shook his head as much as he could, his scalp burning with the cruel grip Krushnic had on his hair. The man hummed, shifting a little, and John caught the scent of wood and spices underneath the smoky gunpowder rage of the Alpha’s scent.

He remembered a different night, a few weeks ago, when Dean had come home with that stupid bruise on his face and a sort of lightness to his step, smelling of sweet wood and spices. Smelling of an Alpha. John had beaten him for it, enraged that Dean thought he could whore himself out and not face consequences.

Now, John understood. Dean wasn’t whoring himself out to some random, average Joe. Somehow, John’s son had attracted the attention of a demon, or an angel, or something far, far worse.

“Every man and woman in this room has spent time in prison,” Krushnic said. “It’s a ritual of service for the bratva, in many ways. More of my men wait in prison, and just last night, they received word that a new inmate was coming soon. They’re very eager to meet you.”

As he spoke, he reached behind John’s head to unbuckle the gag again. When it was free, John gasped out, “You’re… You’re sendin’ me t’prison?”

“Yes, I believe letting you rot there is a fitting punishment,” Krushnic said. He grinned at John, baring sharp white teeth. “But we won’t let you go without giving you some parting gifts. You commented on my tattoos earlier. Do you know that they are a language all their own? They communicate my story, the trials and tribulations I have gone through to get here. Every member of the bratva has them. And now, so will you.”

“Tattoos?” John rasped, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. A man with a mullet was coming forward, holding something in his hands that John couldn’t quite see at this angle.

Krushnic chuckled darkly. “Oh, yes. We can communicate your life story, too. What do you think?” He jerked John’s hair painfully, saying, “You’re a deadbeat alcoholic. A failure of a familial Alpha. A child-abuser. An Omega-beater. Oh, and the most damning: an enemy of the Krushnic bratva.”

John’s eyes widened. “No,” he begged, his pain-addled brain registering what that meant. “No, please.”

“My men own those prisons, John Winchester,” Krushnic told him. The man off to the side was coming closer. “They own the guards, they own the inmates, and soon, they will own you. They’ll rip you apart like fucking sharks in the water. You won’t know a day of peace for the rest of your long, miserable life.” He laughed at John’s pleading cry, then looked up at the man with the mullet. “Ash, if you would do the honors.”

“Please,” John begged as the guy knelt down next to him, beginning to unbutton his bloodied shirt and jacket. He could see that the man was holding a tattoo gun now, shining in the harsh glow of the ceiling light. “Please, mercy.”

Krushnic released his hair and stood, wiping his hand off on his slacks like he’d just touched something unpleasant. “I’ll give you as much mercy as you showed your son, John Winchester.” He looked at someone else and said, “I believe we’ll need to gag him again.”

John screamed, and the tattoo gun began to buzz.

Chapter Text

Castiel came back late. Dean was sitting anxiously in the nest when he heard the door to the apartment open and close, the Alpha’s rough, gravelly voice calling out, “Dean? Where are you, my love?”

“Here, Cas!” Dean called back. It felt like every inch of him was buzzing with nervous energy, so he scrambled out of the nest and padded through the apartment to the front room, where Castiel was peeling off his coat and unlacing his boots. Dean stopped next to the couch and looked his Alpha over, searching for something, anything, that would tell him what Cas had been doing during the seven hours he’d been gone.

“Malysh,” Castiel said, when he’d finished taking everything off. He moved forward and pulled Dean into a hug that smelled of his cologne and the rain that was falling outside. “Are you alright, Dean? Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch,” Dean murmured. He hugged Castiel tightly. “Where were you? Why…?” He trailed off, unable to finish the question. Why were you gone for so long?

“After I finished with John, I paid that group of frat boys a visit,” Castiel said, stroking a gentle hand up and down Dean’s back. “I’m sorry I was out so late, dorogoy. I’ll have to get you a phone soon, so I can communicate with you.”

Dean exhaled, closing his eyes as he buried himself against his Alpha. His voice was muffled against Castiel’s shirt when he asked, “Did you kill them?”

“Who?”

Dean gulped. “Any of them. The frat boys. J-John.”

His Alpha exhaled, air rushing noisily from his lungs. The sound only served to heighten Dean’s—whatever the fuck was going on inside him. Anxiety. Anticipation. He didn’t know.

“I didn’t kill anyone today, but the boys won’t survive for much longer,” Castiel said. Dean shivered a little, and the Alpha ran a large, soothing hand up and down his spine, ending with one palm cupping the back of Dean’s neck. “Your father is alive, as you requested. You won’t have to worry about him again.”

Dean swallowed, almost too afraid to ask. “What… What did you do with him?”

Castiel hummed, beginning to move toward the kitchen, pulling Dean with him. “We gave him some new tattoos and sent him along to a prison. He won’t see freedom for the rest of his life.” He squeezed Dean a little, pausing in the archway that led into the dining area and kitchen. “Does that please you?”

“I ain’t opposed to it,” Dean admitted, relieved That was… way better than he’d been expecting. “Thanks for not killin’ him, Cas.”

Castiel hummed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I will always respect your wishes, zaychik. Now, how about dinner? It’s late, you should have eaten by now.”

He guided Dean into the kitchen, and then Dean’s attention was taken up by convincing Castiel to let him cook, even though the Alpha insisted that Dean should sit and let him take care of it. Dean focused for a while on making dinner, heating some tomato soup that had been in the fridge and quickly creating some rolls that could bake while they waited for the soup to warm. Castiel watched from the island as Dean bustled around the kitchen, his blue eyes warm.

“Don’t you wanna shower or something?” Dean asked as he stirred the soup. “This won’t be ready for another ten minutes or so. I could always set it on the back burner for a while.”

“I’ll shower after dinner,” Castiel said. “I needed to talk to you about something, actually.”

Dean turned away from the stove, unable to help the tendrils of anxiety that began to creep up his spine. “Yeah? About what?”

Castiel hummed, picking at his fingernails. “I received word from Mikhail today, who received word from the Pakhan in Russia. He wants us to put away this conflict with the Knights, and he wants us to do it the old-fashioned way. Which includes traveling to the Knights’ main seat of operation and negotiating a truce with them.”

Dean observed his Alpha carefully, taking in the methodical but nervous way he tore at his fingernails, shredding them to nothing. “You don’t like that.”

“I have my opinions, but the word is from the Pakhan, and so we will go,” Castiel said. “Mikhail wants me to accompany him, along with Luke. Gabriel will stay behind to make sure everything runs smoothly here. I would have liked to stay as well, but I am the Enforcer, and I am needed.”

Dean blinked, realizing what that would mean. Cas would be leaving. “Where are you going?” he asked, hoping his voice was normal enough to keep Castiel from worrying any more than he already was. His Alpha couldn’t be going all the way to Russia, right? That was so far away.

“I’m going to Chicago. We’re going to Chicago, if you’ll come with me,” Castiel said. He looked up, meeting Dean’s gaze. “I want to bring you with me. It might seem counterintuitive, bringing you to the lions’ den to protect you from them, but I cannot fathom leaving you behind for an untold amount of time while I’m across the country.”

“You want me to go to Chicago with you?” Dean asked, surprised. All the depressing thoughts of being alone in this large apartment, sleeping by himself in that massive bed, vanished.

“Only if you want,” Castiel said quickly. “I won’t make you go anywhere you don’t wish to. I simply didn’t want to leave you here, and I thought perhaps you wouldn’t want to be alone. Of course, if you wanted to stay, you would be more than welcome, I wasn’t trying to force you or anything—”

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean said, cutting off his Alpha’s nervous rambling, watching as Castiel ripped off a hangnail he’d created without so much as a grimace. The Alpha’s intense blue gaze was fixed entirely on him. “I don’t mind goin’ with you. It’d be fun to travel, I guess. Just, um… We’re gonna have to go on a plane, aren’t we?”

The Alpha frowned. “We need to leave the day after tomorrow, and I don’t see how we could get to Chicago any faster. Is that a problem? Would you rather I look into a train?”

Dean already knew a train probably wouldn’t do shit, unless they left right this second. He wasn’t about to let Cas make them late for whatever big meeting he was gonna have with the Knights, because he had a feeling the Alpha would do everything he could to make him comfortable, even if it meant arriving late. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m okay. I just, um… I’m not the greatest with planes,” Dean admitted. “I’ll be fine, though! What time are we leaving?”

“Dean, I’m sure I can find—”

“It’s fine, Cas. Seriously,” Dean said. “I’ll be okay. We’re, um… We’re gonna sit together, right?” He knew affording first class would be a stretch, even with the fact that he no longer had to pay rent—Jesus, he was still getting used to that—and the fact that he was still getting paid by Mystery Spot. He couldn’t imagine Castiel sitting in the cramped economy seats, so they were probably going to be apart.

The Alpha was looking at him like he’d grown two heads, though, and Dean figured that had been a dumb question. “Of course we’re sitting together, Dean. We’re taking one of the bratva’s jets, there aren’t many places to sit anyway. I promise, I’ll try to ease any flying anxieties that you have.”

Dean nodded, relief striking through him. He really didn’t want Castiel to inconvenience himself any more than he’d probably had to just by bringing Dean along. Dean would try not to be a burden, at the very least.

They ate their dinner in the dining area, seated at the end of the long table that was meant for ten people instead of just two. Castiel liked to hold Dean’s hand while they ate, and Dean discovered that he really enjoyed it. His inner Omega had reached levels of relaxation he hadn’t even known to be possible just from the sheer amount of physical contact that Castiel gave him on a daily basis.

After the first night Dean had come to the apartment and Castiel hadn’t been sure of what boundaries he needed, the guest bedroom hadn’t been mentioned again. Dean followed Castiel happily to the master bedroom after dinner, delighted at the little things he got to experience now, the easy comfortableness that his Alpha had developed around him. Castiel didn’t even hesitate before beginning to strip off his clothes, including his bulletproof armor. He trusted Dean with his soft underbelly, his body without its shell, his vulnerable self. It was an incredible honor.

Maybe it was because of that realization that Dean felt extra brave tonight.

“What do those mean?” the Omega dared to ask as they got to the bedroom, eyeing the tattoos that ran like murals across Castiel’s tanned skin. He’d wanted to know ever since he’d seen the first glimpse of them that day the shooters had come into Mystery Spot. Just now, he felt courageous enough to ask. At his question, his Alpha turned to see what he was looking at, hesitating only a moment before beckoning him closer.

“They tell my story, both as a warrior and as a person,” Castiel said. He reached for Dean’s hand, giving him a questioning look with his eyes before guiding Dean’s fingertips to skate across the tops of his bare shoulders at the Omega’s nod of consent. “This blade indicates that I’m an enforcer, a killer. The droplets of blood indicate the kills I’ve made for the sake of the bratva.”

Dean traced light fingertips along the strong lines of the knife set atop Castiel’s shoulders, fashioned to look as if it was going through his neck. He eyed the many tattooed blood drops, then the eight-pointed stars set at the dip of muscle between the Alpha’s shoulder and chest, near his collarbone. “What about these?”

“My authority,” Castiel said. There was an inkling of pride in his voice. “They mark me as a lieutenant of Mikhail, and by extension, of the Pakhan. These, too, denote my ranking.” He lifted his hands, showing Dean the little crowns inscribed in his knuckles. “These, for my time in prison.” He tapped the tattooed rings. “And the numbers are the birth dates of my mother and father. Someday soon, I will perhaps get your birthdate inscribed here too.”

Dean blushed, unsure what to say to that. His heart did a happy little flip-flop at the thought of being so important to Castiel that the date of his birth was tattooed onto his body.

“What about your back?” Dean asked, because that was the largest and most impressive of the tattoos on the Alpha’s body, and also because he needed to change the subject. “The wings?”

“Ah.” Castiel rolled his shoulders a little, as if remembering the large, dark wings that expanded from his shoulders to his lower back. “I got those after fighting off an assassination attempt meant for myself and Mikhail. I earned seven of my blood markings that day.” He reached up to run his fingers over the smattering of droplets on his collarbone, his gaze far-away. “When I was younger, I carried the death of my parents in my heart, in the form of rage and volatility. I was a deadly fighter, and my penchant for hunting down the filthiest of rats earned me the title of the Angel of Death. In my prime, I was an army of my own. After that day with the assassins, I decided to officially make that nickname part of my identity. We Russians are a theatrical group, at times.” He smiled at Dean, his eyes crinkling in that way the Omega loved.

Dean hummed at his explanation, resting his head lightly against Castiel’s collarbone, his temple pressed against the many little blood droplets. “I’m sure you were a badass, Cas. But whaddya mean, “in your prime”? Ain’t you in your prime right now?” Cas wasn’t much older than him. Twenty-two, twenty-three. If he was a normal American dude, he wouldn’t even be college-graduate-age.

Castiel chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “I am not in my prime now, no. These days, I spend more time doing paperwork and keeping the soldiers in line than hunting murderers and rapists. I sit at Mystery Spot and run numbers instead of eliminating targets. And I sleep through the morning with you in my arms instead of training at dawn.” He hummed, thoughtful. “This life is much better, I think. Fuller, in that I am not so empty and cold.”

Dean felt strangely proud of that. He knew that it wasn’t entirely because of him, but some of Castiel’s new behaviors had to stem from their growing bond, right?

“I’m glad you’re happier now,” he said. The city was wide and awake behind them, visible through the darkened window, but this moment felt strangely intimate. Despite the fact that Dean should have felt displayed for all the world to see, he couldn’t help but think they were the only two people in the world in this moment.

“I am too, zaychik,” Castiel said. He inhaled, his back expanding under Dean’s hold, strong and firm with muscle. Dean closed his eyes as Castiel’s head settled on top of his, heart swelling at the small, gentle gesture. He felt like a starving man being fed for the first time in weeks with this kind of closeness, contact. He’d forgotten what it was like to just hold someone for the sake of it.

“How long are we gonna be in Chicago?” Dean eventually asked, after they’d stood there together for a while. “Are any of the guys comin’ with us?”

“Gadreel will be accompanying us, but Aleksandr and Grigori are staying behind,” Castiel said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be there. Hopefully only a few days, at most. I’ll advise you on what to pack tomorrow. For tonight, let’s get washed up and get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

It took Dean until Castiel was pulling away to start heading toward the bathroom before he could gather all the courage needed to ask, “D’you, um… D’you wanna shower together?”

Castiel sort of froze halfway to the walk-in closet, which was pretty comical when Dean could still see the tattoos on his back indicating that he was a feared killer. The easiest way to make a scary mob boss panic was to mention sex, it seemed.

“Dean, I don’t want you to think you need to offer physical intimacy if you don’t want to,” the Alpha said carefully. He sounded like he was walking through a field of landmines, like he was terrified of stepping wrong and blowing everything sky-high.

That was sweet. And maybe just a tad annoying. “I can assure you, Cas, that ain’t what this is,” Dean said. “And before you try to doubt me, I’d like to remind you that I’m an adult who is fully capable of knowing when I want to have sex. And you standin’ there without your shirt is makin’ me very sure of that fact.”

Castiel turned to look at him fully, and Dean was delighted to see that his cheeks were a little pink. “I see. So… you wish to engage in sexual activity in the shower?”

Well, for a Russian mobster, Castiel sure was a prude about this shit.

“Yes, Cas, I wanna ‘engage in sexual activity in the shower’,” Dean said. He dared to step forward, to grab Castiel’s hand and tug the Alpha toward the bathroom. “Unless you really don’t want to, I suggest you quit actin’ like you don’t wanna toss me over the nearest surface and fuck me into next Tuesday.”

Castiel made a choked noise, nearly running into the doorframe as they entered the bathroom. “Dean!” he said, sounding scandalized.

Dean turned, raising an eyebrow. His Alpha’s face was red. “What? Not like it ain’t true.”

Castiel cleared his throat, taking several deep breaths. “Perhaps that is… correct, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it. You deserve a far better first time than being bent over a counter.” He looked offended at the mere thought.

Dean snorted, hoping the annoyed sound would cover for the way his eyes dropped, fixing on the tile of the bathroom instead of the intense blue of Castiel’s eyes. “Not like I’m a virgin or nothin’,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to make it such a big deal. ‘Sides, we could fuck in the shower instead of over the counter, right?”

Castiel hummed and reached out, his hands very large and very warm as they cupped Dean’s chin, bringing the Omega’s gaze up off the floor. “I know you aren’t a virgin, Dean. I meant your first time with me. And yes, it’s still special,” he said gently. “I won’t… have intercourse with you anywhere but our bed the first time, and I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet. But there are plenty of other things we can do in the shower if you’d like.”

Dean wasn’t as aggravated by that as he could have been, probably because Castiel had offered an alternative, and also because the Alpha had made it sound like both of them weren’t ready to take that next step. If it had just sounded like Dean’s fault, he might have pushed the subject. As it was, he was content to let the subject drop, disappearing into the cloud of simmering tension that was rising in the air like steam.

Dean had only kissed Castiel once before, that first night after the debacle in the diner. That kiss had been gentle and sweet, exploratory and inviting. It had been them tentatively learning each other for the first time, with the promise of more to come.

This time, the kiss had a sort of familiarity to it. Dean’s lips parted for Castiel on instinct, allowing the Alpha into his mouth. He moaned into the kiss as Castiel dragged him against his chest, hands scrabbling for a hold on the Alpha’s arms. Castiel was strong and impossibly warm, his skin silky soft against Dean’s hands.

When they were forced to part for air, Dean clumsily yanked his shirt off, desperate for the feel of Castiel’s body against his. They’d cuddled like this during his heat, and it had been better than the orgasms he’d been able to wring out of himself in the bathroom afterward when the Alpha was asleep. There was something electric about the contact between their bodies, something that bypassed Dean’s mind and went to his very soul.

“Zaychik,” Castiel rumbled, kissing down his bared neck, “you smell incredible.”

“You too,” Dean said breathlessly, fumbling with the button on his jeans. Castiel’s arousal sharpened the spice in his scent, made the woody undertones richer and even more inviting than usual. The spice seemed to mix with Dean’s vanilla and baked goods scent, creating a dizzying combination that made Dean’s boxers damp just standing there.

Castiel dragged Dean over to the shower, kissing him while attempting to reach past the glass door so he could turn on the water. The heated atmosphere broke a little when Dean laughed at Castiel’s frustrated grunt, the Alpha nearly falling into the shower with the awkward way he had to lean for the knob. The kiss started right up again as soon as the water was running, clothes falling to the floor in a heap.

Dean had no idea how he got naked, or how he managed to get his socks and boxers off, but he was completely bare when he finally stepped into the steaming shower, Castiel right behind him. The Alpha smelled absolutely fucking incredible, and that smell only got better as his faded blockers washed completely off underneath the water.

The tile was cool against Dean’s back as Castiel shoved him up against it, his whole body thrumming with restrained power. “I can smell you,” Castiel growled, something low and almost inhuman about his voice. He looked at Dean with such intensity that Dean almost looked away. “I can smell your slick. Let me—Please, Dean, let me pleasure you.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat once, twice. His tongue felt too swollen to form words, so he merely gave a single nod. There was power in the way he gave his consent, power in the way he allowed Castiel to pull him in close and snake a hand behind his back, thick fingers making a slow, sensual slide to Dean’s hole.

Dean tensed just slightly when he felt the pressure of his Alpha’s fingers, but then he remembered the many times he’d wished for this, fantasized about this, and he relaxed. Castiel’s fingers tore a moan from his throat as one one slipped inside of him, the way eased by the water around them and the copious amount of slick he was leaking.

It was true that Dean had had sex before—sex with Alphas, even—but he’d never felt like this. No other Alpha’s scent had made him feel so dizzy with simultaneous lust and affection. No other Alpha had held him so gently, had touched him in a way that felt exploratory instead of demanding, giving instead of taking.

Castiel took his time mapping Dean’s body, swallowing the Omega’s moans with deep kisses as he did so. As the warm water beat down around them, the Alpha sought out the different parts of Dean that made him writhe with pleasure, with ecstasy. Dean gasped when Castiel found his prostate, his hips bucking forward on instinct. When his cock brushed against Castiel’s hipbone, he gave a whimpering moan.

“Yes, zaychik, do that,” Castiel murmured, his voice little more than a low rasp. His cock was swollen with arousal as well, but he made no move to do anything about it. “Go on, malysh. Take your pleasure.”

He pressed closer to Dean, crowding him against the wall. Dean arched his back to make room for Castiel’s arm, crying out as the Alpha rubbed against his prostate again with two thick fingers. Castiel slid a thigh between his legs, murmuring praise and encouragement as Dean bucked his hips desperately, rubbing his cock up against the offered thigh.

“C-Cas,” Dean gasped, looking at his Alpha with wide eyes. There was water in his mouth, some of it getting in his left eye, but he didn’t care. His Alpha looked so beautiful and so aroused, his blue eyes practically predatory as he looked at Dean.

“You are so gorgeous, dorogoy,” Castiel said, leaning down to press a soft, reverent kiss against the corner of Dean’s parted lips. “My beautiful Omega. Go on, my love. Make yourself come on my fingers.”

Dean probably should have been embarrassed about how fast he’d gone from zero to ready to burst, but he was too wrapped up in pleasure to care. The last time he’d had time to jerk off, it had been during his heat, and it had been to a fantasy that was incredibly close to this one.

Castiel helped him with frequent strokes against his prostate, though he gave Dean the freedom to seek his pleasure on his own as well. Dean rocked between the sensations of thick fingers in his ass and the thigh to rub his cock against, moaning gutturally as he did. He tipped his head back against the slate shower tile, his moans turning to whimpers when Castiel latched his lips onto his throat. The Alpha’s mouth was hot as he nibbled along Dean’s jaw, nuzzling at his scent gland with a low, predatory rumble of approval.

Dean’s orgasm was building inside of him, pushing him closer to the edge of ecstasy. He sped up a little, whimpering at the lack of range he had. He tried to rub against Castiel’s thigh a little more, crying out as the Alpha’s fingers suddenly pushed firmly against his prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure zinging through him.

Castiel nibbled down the side of his neck to his mating gland, just the hint of teeth against soft, vulnerable skin, and that was it. Dean came with a cry, grasping the Alpha’s arms tightly as his legs trembled with the force of his orgasm. Castiel used the hand that wasn’t buried inside of Dean to wrap around his lower back, supporting him as he went limp with pleasure.

Dean gasped against Castiel’s chest, the skin slick with the warm water still pouring down around them. The shower space smelled dizzyingly of Alpha and Omega arousal, now mixed with the scent of Omega release. The sheer intensity of Dean’s own contentment and pleasure practically made his nose sting. When he eventually pulled back to look at Castiel, the Alpha looked almost drunk.

Castiel said something in Russian, his words low and reverent, his blue eyes dark with arousal. Dean laughed fondly, blinking water out of his eyes. “Can’t understand you, Alpha,” he said. He looked down, at where Castiel’s erection was still very much present. “C’mon, let’s take care of you.”

Castiel grunted as Dean wrapped a hand around his erection, one hand coming up to grab Dean’s wrist. Dean froze, terrified that he’d ruined everything for a moment, but then he looked up and saw that Castiel’s drunken, aroused expression hadn’t changed.

“Can we try something?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “You can say no if you’d like, zaychik. I wouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“What d’you wanna try, Cas?” Dean asked gently, smiling reassuringly at the Alpha.

“I want to… I want to fuck your thighs,” Castiel said. He looked hesitant, almost like he was worried Dean would shame him for the desire. It certainly hadn’t been what Dean was expecting, but he wasn’t about to knock something he hadn’t tried before.

Besides, it sounded kinda hot.

“Okay,” Dean said, grinning at Castiel. “How d’you wanna do that?”

Castiel exhaled, looking as if he was trying to keep himself contained. “We’ll need… This will work.” He reached out and grabbed a bottle of conditioner, which Dean figured was gonna be the makeshift lube.

“How do you want me?” he asked. The way Castiel’s eyes darkened at that question made his stomach do a happy little flip-flop.

“Turn around, malysh,” the Alpha said, looking at Dean like he wanted to eat him alive.

Dean turned around obediently, pressing his front up against the tile of the shower. The floor was made of some kind of smooth pebble rock, so his feet didn’t slip like they might have in a normal shower. As Castiel crowded in close behind him, cock hard and throbbing, Dean silently figured that was a good thing.

Castiel’s hands on his body directed him to part his legs a little, then move them back together once the Alpha’s cock was between them. Dean experimented with tensing his legs, grinning a little at Castiel’s groan of pleasure. The conditioner he’d slicked onto his cock made the glide of it smooth and easy.

“You smell amazing,” Castiel rasped as he began to slowly fuck in and out of the tight clench of Dean’s thighs. “Good God, Dean, you smell incredible. I never thought I could have this. I never… Not in all my wildest dreams…” He groaned something in Russian as he sped up a little, hands gripping Dean’s hips firmly. Dean held onto the wall and enjoyed the ride, focusing his attention on clenching his thighs in ways that made Castiel moan loud enough to echo in the small space.

For a while, Castiel set up a steady rhythm, panting out praises and curses in mixed English and Russian. At some point, his thrusts began to get more erratic, faster and tinged with the desperation of an Alpha close to climax.

“Just like that, Alpha,” Dean encouraged, reaching back to brush a hand along Castiel’s thick, muscled thigh, searching out any point of contact he could reach. He recalled a dive into the internet he’d done weeks ago, a word that he’d tried over and over again until it sounded like the automated voice online. Without really thinking, Dean said, “Come on, vozlyublennyy.”

The pronunciation was botched, and Dean knew it. It probably sounded like another word entirely, but Castiel came with a shout, his grip turning impressively tight around Dean’s hips. Alpha arousal flared in the air, mixing with the scent of come and the citrus of the conditioner. Since neither of them were in heat or rut, Castiel’s knot didn’t swell, but his cock did stay trapped between Dean’s thighs for many long moments as he came down from the high of his orgasm.

“My God,” the Alpha gasped eventually, nosing along Dean’s neck and shoulder, where his scent glands were pumping out happy and safe and love. “My God, Dean. You are perfection. Perfection in every way, dorogoy.”

His accent was thicker, whether because he was distracted or because he was too tired to care about shaping his words like an American. Dean liked it. He leaned back, nuzzling against Castiel’s collarbone. “You too, Cas. That was amazing. Best orgasm ever.”

Castiel huffed a laugh and kissed his scent gland, holding him close for many long moments. Eventually, the water began to cool, which felt like heaven against their overheated skin, but wouldn’t be too nice when it turned completely cold. Dean and Castiel used the shower as it was actually meant to be used, and by the time they both stumbled out smelling of shampoo and lingering arousal, they were both exhausted.

“Do you know what that word means?” Castiel asked as he and Dean climbed into bed, Dean wearing a pair of the Alpha’s sweatpants. He had sweatpants of his own, but he liked wearing Castiel’s clothes. The Alpha didn’t seem to mind.

“Um, I’m pretty sure the website said it meant ‘beloved’ or something,” Dean said. He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed now that it wasn’t in the heat of the moment. “I’m surprised you even understood what I was sayin’. My pronunciation sucks.”

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel said reverently. “It’s my favorite thing, Dean.” He pulled Dean close under the covers, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re correct, the meaning is closest to ‘beloved.’ I am… shockingly pleased by your decision to learn it. Do you know any other words?”

Dean shrugged shyly, glad it was too dark for Castiel to see him blushing. “Uh… da is yes. And spasibo is thank you.” He hesitated, thinking of the many classes he’d been taking when he could, the lessons he’d received from the cooks or Gadreel when they could steal a moment. After a moment of thought, he lied, “That’s about it.”

Someday, he’d be close to fluent. And when that day came, he’d surprise Cas.

For now, his Alpha chuckled and kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose. “Perfect. It’s perfect,” he said. He sounded too pleased for Dean to feel guilty about his little fib.

Their conversation died down as they both began to give into the welcome calling of sleep. Dean buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of content, happy Alpha. As he slowly slipped off into unconsciousness, he reflected that yeah, Castiel’s assessment was pretty damn accurate.

Perfect indeed.

Chapter Text

Castiel had a whole backpack of things meant solely for calming Dean down on the flight to Chicago, and that was almost funny enough for Dean to forget his anxiety about flying in the first place.

He peeked through it when they were still at the airport, his heart softening with every item he found. Castiel had a couple Western movies tucked away, as well as a Vonnegut book, a set of headphones for listening to music and blocking out outside sounds, a blanket that felt like it was weighted, and even a small pie from a local bakery that had been tucked neatly into a plastic container.

Half that stuff wouldn’t have made it through a normal TSA line, but the Krushnic brothers didn’t fly commercial and they didn’t play by normal people’s rules. Dean should have expected the jet, honestly, but he was still surprised when he found himself following Castiel through the airport and out onto a runway, where a sleek private jet was waiting for them.

As they boarded the plane, Dean saw Gadreel emerge from the cockpit. “You can fly planes too?” he asked, astonished.

He’d never seen Gadreel smile before, but there seemed to be a tilt of amusement to the security guard’s lips when he said, “Yes, Omega Dean. The Alphas Krushnic would trust no one else to fly their jet.”

“What else can you do?” Dean asked, looking at the Alpha wonderingly. “Can you pilot a submarine or something?”

There was definitely amusement on Gadreel’s face as he said, “No, tsarina, that is out of my range of skills. I can, however, operate a train and a bus. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“That’s cool,” Dean said honestly. He could drive a car, sure, but that was where his ability to operate stuff ended. He couldn’t imagine being able to drive a car, a train, an airplane, and a bus.

Gadreel tipped his head toward the rest of the cabin, his blue eyes twinkling fondly. “Go on now, tsarina. Alpha Castiel is waiting for you, I believe.”

He was right. Castiel was seated behind a curtained divider at the back of the plane, frowning at the screen of his laptop. Mikhail was sitting in the middle area of the jet, also on his laptop. Luke, sprawled across one of the couches opposite the oldest Krushnic, noisily rummaged through his backpack while muttering in disgruntled Russian.

“Where were you?” Castiel asked curiously as Dean slid past his two brothers and into the seat opposite him, his back to the divider that provided a little privacy from the rest of the plane.

“I was talkin’ to Alpha Gadreel. I didn’t know he could fly a plane, it was cool!” Dean said. He paused, remembering what he’d been wondering, and asked, “What, uh… What does tsarina mean?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Alpha Gadreel called me that twice. And a couple days ago, back when we were at my old apartment, Alpha Aleksandr called me that too,” Dean said. He fidgeted with his bracelets, suddenly nervous. “Is it, like… a bad thing?”

Castiel closed his laptop lid, leaning forward to take Dean’s hands. “No, no, it’s not a bad thing. It’s…” He trailed off, a strange sort of light filling his eyes. “It’s a sign of respect. Do you know what a tsar is?”

Dean frowned. “Uh, I think so. It’s, like, a Russian king, right?”

“Close. An emperor. A tsar was the male version of that, but whenever there was an empress, she was called the tsarina.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hands gently. “Historically, if the emperor happened to be an Omega, they were called the tsarina as well.”

Dean blinked. “Oh.” He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. It made his cheeks heat a little, to know that Castiel’s men had been calling him that, but not in a bad way. His Alpha squeezed his hands again, his lips twisted with something like satisfaction. Dean was glad that Castiel, at least, was happy with the nickname he seemed to have acquired.

The engines of the jet, which had been humming lowly in the background up until then, suddenly flared to life. Dean jumped practically a mile in the air at the sound, half-jolting out of his seat and toward Castiel. The Alpha’s eyes widened as he lunged to catch Dean, his hands jumping from Dean’s hands to his upper arms. “Dean?”

“Shit, sorry, shit,” Dean gasped, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it at the base of his throat. He pushed shakily forward, clutching onto Castiel as the engines only got louder. “Fuck, are we—are we taking off?”

“In a couple minutes,” Castiel said. “Dean, you’re shaking.” He sounded distressed. Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to help, since he was shaking. His heart was pounding a mile a minute in his chest, his whole body overtaken with the sudden adrenaline that came with fight or flight.

Castiel was sort of half-kneeling on the floor with Dean, both of them squished between the two seats they’d been sitting in a couple minutes before. Dean pressed against Castiel on instinct more than anything, his terrified inner Omega deciding the safest place to be would be in his Alpha’s arms. Castiel welcomed him easily, holding him close while Dean buried his face against his neck and whispered, “Sorry, I just… God, I hate planes.”

“It’s okay, zaychik,” Castiel soothed, running a hand up and down Dean’s back gently. “It’s okay. How about you listen to some music? Would that help?” He was already reaching with one arm for his backpack, the same one Dean had been rummaging through earlier.

Dean nodded, trying to quell his terrified trembling. He felt like he was gonna throw up. He thanked God for the scent-blockers he’d put on this morning, because if they hadn’t been there, he would probably be filling up the whole plane with the smell of terrified Omega.

Castiel kept one arm around him, even as he fumbled with his phone in an attempt to plug the headphones in. When he’d gotten them situated, he lifted them over Dean’s head and settled them around the Omega’s ears, giving him a small, reassuring smile before flicking a switch that made everything fuzzy and distant. The noise-canceling didn’t quite get rid of the rumble of the jet, but when Castiel handed Dean his phone and let him choose a Metallica song from his Spotify, the music helped to cover up the last of the engine sounds.

Dean exhaled a shaky breath, mouthing a thank-you to his Alpha. Once they were on the ground in Chicago, Dean knew he’d probably beat himself up for acting like such a Goddamn pussy. Right now, though, with the threat of takeoff imminent, it was all Dean could do to hold his lunch.

“King Nothing” played while Castiel gently coaxed Dean up off the floor and into the chair he’d been sitting in. Though the plush leather seat was large, it wasn’t big enough for two grown men, so Dean ended up halfway in Castiel’s lap. The Alpha bundled him against his chest, draping his discarded coat around Dean’s body so he had a shield of warmth and Alpha-scent wrapped around him. Dean buried his nose in Castiel’s neck, too frightened to care that he looked like a wimp.

It took until the first song was done and another had begun for the jet to finally begin to move. When Dean felt the first jolt of Gadreel taxiing the jet out to the runway, he was ashamed to say that he grabbed Castiel’s arm hard enough for the Alpha to wince. Castiel was saying something, probably a bunch of soothing sweet-nothings, but Dean couldn’t hear him. The Alpha grabbed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile, holding him tightly when the jet turned and Dean tensed yet again.

He could tell takeoff was coming, and it terrified him. His heart was beating so fast that his breathing had sped up to accommodate, his body acting like he was about to run a marathon or something. Even the low vibration of Castiel’s chest, which Dean figured was the Alpha trying to calm him down, didn’t help. Dean was literally a couple seconds away from tossing his cookies, and they hadn’t even made it to the taking-off part of this whole thing.

The engines really got going once Gadreel presumably made it out to the runway. Dean could feel the vibrations as much as he could hear the background hum, which was low but still noticeable through his headphones. He held onto his Alpha tightly as he felt the plane begin to speed up, the pull of it gentle but terrifying.

The feeling of lifting off the runway was so miniscule that Dean didn’t sense it until he noticed the tilt of the plane ascending into the sky. He gritted his teeth around the terrified whimpers that wanted to escape him and buried his face in Castiel’s neck, trying not to think of the wings ripping off or the engine exploding or some other crazy shit. Despite knowing how planes worked, Dean couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the air wasn’t enough to hold them up. Would they just go crashing to the ground in one big, fiery heap?

Castiel was reaching into the backpack again, straining a little to reach it. Dean watched as his Alpha pulled out the weighted blanket and unfolded it, draping it over him. He curled into Castiel’s chest, still terrified, and pressed a shaky little kiss against the Alpha’s collarbone as a thank-you. Castiel squeezed him gently.

The combination of the heavy blanket, the trenchcoat that smelled like Castiel, and the firm, warm press of the Alpha himself against Dean’s side all contributed to the slow, steady lowering of the Omega’s heartbeat. Dean had actually almost gotten his breathing under control when the jet hit its first bout of turbulence. Unfortunately for Dean, after that, his heartbeat and breathing sped right back up again.

Castiel looked at him with something like suppressed alarm as Dean tried to suck in enough air to fill his lungs. His brain conjured terrifying thoughts of the cabin losing air somehow, of all of them just suffocating in the clouds or something. That didn’t fucking help at all, and Dean just ended up breathing faster, trying to suck in more and more air at once. He knew, distantly, that he was having a panic attack, and he tried valiantly to calm himself down. But as another round of turbulence made the privacy curtains in their little section of the airplane wobble, Dean realized he was about four seconds away from passing out or throwing up. Or both.

A sudden hand on the back of his neck made him freeze. Castiel had grabbed his nape, the sensitive part at the base of his skull. It sent off a barrage of different instincts, some of them telling Dean to panic, some telling him to give into the touch. Before Dean could react, the Alpha squeezed, and then Dean’s body was suddenly going limp.

He relaxed against Castiel’s side, his inner Omega going from panicked and terrified to submissive in about three seconds flat. Dean’s head lolled against Castiel’s collarbone, baring the soft, vulnerable part of his neck for the Alpha. Castiel simply held the base of his neck tightly, the pressure relieving something inside of Dean.

A different kind of haze settled over his brain, this one far less panicked and scared. There was still fear in the back of his mind, but it was muted and distant. His thoughts were overtaken by the need to stay still and be good, to be as close to his Alpha as possible. Without even really meaning to, Dean’s throat and chest started to vibrate with quiet, relieved little purrs.

Turbulence struck the jet again, causing them to shake violently up and down, but Dean merely gave a little whimper. Castiel’s hand remained at the base of his neck, squeezing that primal area that immediately made Dean want to lay down and submit. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, the last of the tension leaving his body.

The music and humming sound of white noise faded as Castiel pulled one of the headphones off of Dean’s ears. Only the sound of the jet engine could be heard, along with murmured voices from the rest of the cabin. “I want you to be able to hear me,” the Alpha said. “I’m sorry for doing this, malysh, but you were going to make yourself pass out. Do you feel better now? I need a verbal confirmation.”

Dean exhaled. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. His body felt very, very heavy all of a sudden.

“Okay, that’s good. I’m going to keep holding you like this until you go to sleep, alright, zaychik? I just want you to be able to relax,” Castiel said. He still sounded kinda worried.

“Hmm,” Dean answered, hoping to soothe his Alpha’s concern. “Mmhmm.”

His Alpha’s voice lowered, becoming softer and gentler. “You’re being a very good boy, Dean. Good Omega.” The praise sent a warm shiver down Dean’s spine. His Alpha kept talking. “I’m proud of how you’re handling this, and I’m amazed at how responsive you are. Let me take care of you now, okay, malysh? You don’t need to be afraid or worried. Just relax and listen to your instincts. Submit, dorogoy.” Dean obeyed without even thinking, melting against his Alpha’s body. “Good boy, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Just try to sleep, okay? We can talk after we land.”

Dean mumbled something, though even he was unsure of what he’d been trying to say. He ended up just producing a slurred, “Casss…”

His Alpha tucked him close, the trenchcoat and weighted blanket creating a warm cocoon around Dean. “It’s okay, zaychik,” he said gently. “Sleep now.”

Who was Dean to disobey a direct order? With a last snuffling murmur, Dean fell into dreamless sleep.

The flight to Chicago took four hours. During all four of those, Dean slept deeply. Even when Castiel’s hand eased off the submission point at the back of his neck, the Omega continued to snore softly. He was only woken by the slight jolt of the landing, his easy, deep breathing stuttering a little as his mind came back online.

Dean blinked awake still curled tightly against Castiel, his brain disoriented and somewhat confused. He looked at Castiel for answers and found the Alpha uncapping a plastic water bottle, which he held to his Omega’s lips. “Here, zaychik. Drink some of this.”

Dean drank obediently, pausing about halfway through the bottle to sit up and blink around in mild confusion. “Where are we? Did we land already?”

“Yes, we landed a couple minutes ago,” Castiel said. He stroked a gentle hand up and down Dean’s back. “How are you feeling? You were asleep for a long time.”

“The whole flight,” Dean realized. He blinked at Castiel, frowning slightly. “What did you do to me? I was out like a Goddamn light.”

He was surprised to see something like worry on Castiel’s face. Uncertainty. “I’m afraid I manipulated the submission point on the back of your neck without your consent. I’m sorry, malysh. I was attempting to help calm you down, but I understand if you’re angry with me. It was incredibly rude—”

“Wait, that’s what that was?” Dean asked, cutting off Castiel’s mournful rambling. “Are you sure? You just grabbed my neck or something?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I’m sure you’re aware of what that does to Omegas.”

“Yeah, ‘course, it just… It never really happened to me,” Dean said. He frowned, remembering. “I, uh… I had some Alpha partners, back in high school, and they tried to do that a couple times. It always kinda hurt instead of feeling good. Instead of feeling like that.” He remembered the hazy state of relaxation and calm he’d suddenly fallen into, the delicious pressure at the back of his neck. Was that what it was supposed to feel like?

“It’s incredibly rude for anyone to touch an Omega there without their consent, and if the Omega isn’t open to being vulnerable and… and submissive, it doesn’t always work like it should,” Castiel said. He looked at Dean with something close to awe. “I was… I wasn’t sure it would work, to be quite honest. I’m honored that you trust me deeply enough to fall into that kind of headspace.”

“I still can’t believe it even worked,” Dean said. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, marveling at the weird shit his body could do. Christ, maybe he was a normal Omega after all. “Also, Cas, I ain’t mad at you. Thanks for keepin’ me from doing something dumb like passing out.”

Castiel frowned and kissed his temple. “That wasn’t ‘dumb,’ you were terrified out of your mind. It was a perfectly reasonable reaction, though not a beneficial one. I don’t want to hear you being unkind to yourself, Dean.” He pressed the water to Dean’s lips again. “Here. We’ll have to wait a while to disembark, so after you drink this, you can have some of the pie that I brought with me.”

Dean perked up excitedly, chugging the water and watching out of one eye as his Alpha drew the pie container out of his backpack. Castiel had even brought a fork and some napkins, which made simultaneous amusement and fondness swirl through Dean. He thanked Castiel excitedly as the Alpha handed him the pie, earning him a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

Dean rested against the Alpha as the plane moved slowly. The movement wasn’t as scary as when they’d been about to take off. Dean pressed close to Castiel, grateful for how much he’d helped. That had been the most pleasant plane ride Dean had ever experienced.

He finished about a quarter of the pie before he felt full. Dean helped Castiel fold up the blanket and stuff, sheepishly handing the Alpha his coat back. As they were cleaning up, Mikhail came into the back, knocking on the side of the divider as he did so.

“The cars are ready to take us to our lodgings. We’ll go immediately to get settled in,” the oldest Krushnic said. He spoke in accented English, likely so Dean could understand.

Castiel frowned. “What about the welcome envoy? Don’t we have to meet with them?”

Mikhail’s mouth tightened into a firm line. “The Knights haven’t deigned to send one. We’ll be meeting them tomorrow for the first time.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, fury crossing like a thundercloud over his face. He muttered a string of Russian words and curses, gritting out, “That’s against the proper etiquette. The disrespect…” He trailed off, hands flexing angrily. Dean stared between the two brothers with no small amount of unease.

“We already know the Knights don’t play by the rules,” Mikhail said, giving Castiel a meaningful look. His blue gaze slid to Dean, and he added, “Stick close. We’re in enemy territory now.”

There were two armored cars waiting for them to disembark. Gadreel slid into one, and an Omega Dean hadn’t seen before got into the driver’s seat of a second one. Castiel herded him into the second car, exchanging a nod and a couple of Russian words with Gadreel before he climbed into the other car. The Omega in the driver’s seat glanced at them both in the rearview mirror as they climbed in. When Dean caught her eye, she gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“It will take long time to get to hotel, Alpha Castiel,” one of the other men said in thickly-accented English as they climbed into the back. When the door finally slid shut, there were three other Alphas that Dean hadn’t seen before seated on the bench across from him and Castiel. “Many cars in the streets. Much time to get to hotel.”

“Yes, we anticipated the traffic being bad,” Castiel said. He looked unhappy about that. “Stay on alert. I already dislike this.”

Dean forced himself not to curl into the Alpha’s side as the car started toward the city, though his inner Omega wanted him to. He could handle being uneasy without needing constant reassurance, for God’s sake. Besides, he wasn’t about to look weak in front of Castiel’s men.

The ride to the hotel was tense and silent. The Alpha who’d talked about traffic being bad was right; it took them nearly an hour and a half to get from the airport to their hotel in downtown Chicago. Once they’d reached the towering building of glass and steel, they slid into a line of extravagant-looking cars as they waited for an opening, the black, heavily-armored SUVs looking pretty out of place next to all the gleaming luxury sports cars.

When they’d unloaded the luggage, Castiel had a brief exchange with Luke, in which he seemed rather exasperated. Luke had a somewhat mischievous look in his eyes, so Dean wondered what they’d been talking about. He didn’t have time to ask before he suddenly heard someone clearing their throat beside him, tearing his attention away.

“Uh, hi,” Dean managed, smiling awkwardly at the Alpha standing next to him. It was one of the ones from the car ride, a burly guy with thinning blond hair and a crooked nose that spoke of several bad breaks in the past.

“Hi,” the Alpha replied. He held out his hands, evidently wanting Dean to give him something.

Mildly panicked, Dean looked down at the luggage he was holding and the backpack slung around his shoulders. What could the guy possibly be asking for? “Um…”

The Alpha said something in cheerful Russian—too fast for Dean to catch—and then he tapped his luggage, indicating that he wanted it. Unsure of what this was all about but wary of accidentally being disrespectful, Dean handed him the duffel bag. The Alpha grinned, showing two crooked rows of yellowed teeth, and said something else that Dean didn’t understand.

The Krushnics and Dean all entered the lobby and the elevators in one tight-knit huddle. Wariness made the line of Castiel’s shoulders tense and hard. Dean stuck close to him as they stood in the elevator on the way up to their room, mentally trying to project feelings of calm, as if that could help ease the tension that crackled through his Alpha like lightning.

When the elevator stopped, they all got out. Some of the men began to disperse to different rooms down the hallway, but Castiel stopped Dean at one labeled 505. “This is ours, I believe,” he said.

The guy who’d taken Dean’s bag suddenly appeared at his side and held it out, grinning at him. Dean took it, confused for all of a second before understanding struck him like a lightning bolt. “Oh, you were… Thanks, man.” He hesitated, then added, “Um… Spasibo.”

The Alpha’s face lit up and he laughed in delight, nodding happily. He said something to Castiel, bowing his head several times respectfully, then waved at Dean again and headed off toward whatever room he’d been assigned.

When Dean turned to look at Castiel, he found most of the tension and darkness from his face gone, replaced by a soft fondness. “Come on, dorogoy,” Castiel said, opening the door with the electronic key. “Let’s get inside before you charm the men into procuring a litter so they can carry you around wherever you want to go.”

Dean followed Castiel into the room, face red and hot. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“I know, malysh,” Castiel said, laughing gently at Dean’s flushed face. “They’re very fond of you, though. Don’t be surprised if they attempt to treat you similarly in the future.”

Dean didn’t think he would survive that, since he wasn’t exactly someone who was supposed to be treated like royalty. He had a feeling Castiel wouldn’t like if he said that, though, so he stayed quiet and observed their room instead. “Is this, uh… Is this ours?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He sounded slightly grumpy. “Luke and Mikhail decided—without consulting me, of course—that they were going to put us in a room together with only one bed.” He glared at the giant, plush-looking king bed, then turned to look at Dean with a little more uncertainty. “If you don’t like these accommodations, of course, I can get you a separate room. Don’t be bothered by my brothers’ foolishness, they don’t know as much as they like to think they do.”

Dean glanced at the bed, wondering how he could say that this was everything he’d been hoping for without sounding weird. “I mean… We sleep in your bed back home, right? So, uh, unless you don’t wanna—”

“I want to,” Castiel said quickly.

They both stared at each other, awkwardly waiting for the other to speak, fidgeting in the sudden painful silence that descended. Dean was delighted to see Castiel’s cheeks had gone more than a little pink.

“Okay, then,” the Omega eventually said, hiding his smile. “Guess we’re keepin’ the room.”

Chapter Text

The meeting with the Knights of Hell went about as badly as Castiel expected.

He woke up early, unable to sleep, thoughts swirling like a tornado in his head. After several hours of sitting with a sleeping Dean, stroking his hair and the soft skin of his back, the Omega roused and they had breakfast in their room. When he’d stalled long enough, Castiel kissed his Omega goodbye and left him with his laptop and the full range of Netflix, hoping that would be enough to keep him from getting bored in the hours while everyone was away.

The building the Knights wanted to meet in was tall and imposing, towering over most of the nearby skyscrapers. Gadreel and the other men were held back at the door, leaving Mikhail, Luke, and Castiel to take the elevator to the top alone. The entire time they stood in the enclosed space with four enemy agents, Castiel swore he could taste lightning in the air.

They got to the top of the building, and then they were stopped again.

“Only Mikhail,” one of the men said, nodding at the oldest Krushnic. He didn’t even use Mikhail’s title, and Castiel could see the clench of Luke’s fists out of the corner of his eye.

“Why?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

The soldier shrugged. “Alpha Azazel says. And what Alpha wants, Alpha gets, so you boys can wait outside.” He bared his teeth in a nasty imitation of a grin, the expression goading, anticipatory. He wanted one of them to snap. He wanted to have a reason to pull out one of those gleaming dark guns at his waist and draw blood.

“Stay,” was all Mikhail said to Luke and Castiel, casting them a look that said, Obey me. And because he was older, because he had more authority, because they trusted him and they knew that the odds were stacked against them, Luke and Castiel stayed.

Mikhail disappeared into a meeting room with a frosted glass pane. Through it, the other two Krushnics could see only silhouettes against what must have been a large window.

“Fucking assholes,” Luke muttered, not seeming to care about the two soldiers that had remained outside to watch them.

“Calm yourself,” Castiel reminded him. Of all the Krushnic bratva members that had come today, Luke was the least predictable. Mikhail had already asked Castiel in private to keep an eye on their brother. It wouldn’t do to draw blood in the middle of this place, the Knights’ seat of power. They would never make it back to Washington alive.

Castiel expected to stand outside for hours, but it was barely twenty minutes before the door opened again, revealing an enraged Mikhail. There was fury on his face and tension crackling through him, thunder in his voice when he snapped, “Lucifer, Castiel, we’re going.”

“What the hell?” Luke demanded. The enemy soldiers snickered behind them as the two younger Krushnics followed their brother back toward the elevator, hurrying to keep up with his quick, purposeful strides. Tension hardened the slope of Mikhail’s shoulders, the line of his jaw. He was truly enraged, if he was even showing signs of emotion. The realization made Castiel feel sick to his stomach.

What could the Knights have possibly said in that meeting room that had angered his brother so much? Just what exactly was the Krushnic bratva facing?

Mikhail refused to speak a word until they’d returned to their hotel. No one dared to ask him for answers. Even Luke, who was usually so indifferent to the rules of etiquette surrounding Mikhail’s position as their leader, stayed quiet. That in itself was cause for unease.

Instead of going to their rooms in the hotel, Mikhail dragged them to where one of their cars was parked. When he, Luke, and Castiel had loaded into the back of the quiet SUV, the oldest Krushnic finally spoke. “They’re bastards, the lot of them. They want war. They want bloodshed. They know they have just as much chance of winning a war with us as we do, but they don’t care. They want to see the streets run red.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked. “What did they say?”

Mikhail’s eyes seemed to glow in the parking garage lights coming through the car window. “I should have known. They were aggressive and antagonistic before we even entered the negotiation room. And when I sat down to the table with them, they made such absurd demands that I knew peace had never even been a consideration for them.”

“What did they ask for?” Luke asked.

“Supply routes,” Mikhail seethed. “Warehouses full of resources. Stocks and bonds, shares in those tech companies we invested in years ago, ties with the gunsmiths and ammunition makers in Texas… They acted like they’d already won a war. Their confidence in whatever informant they have inside of our ranks is impressive. Enough to be concerning.”

“What about compensation for their assassination attempts?” Luke pressed.

Mikhail chuckled bitterly. “Compensation needs honor to fulfill, and the Knights have none. They laughed in my face when I even mentioned it. I was barely allowed to speak. Their disrespect knows no bounds.”

“This is a fucking outrage,” Luke hissed, clenching his fists. He glanced out the car window, as if he could see all the way back through the city to where the Knights were probably laughing. “They didn’t even unarm us. We could call another meeting, storm in and blow those fuckers’ faces off—”

“Lucifer, stop,” Mikhail snapped. “We’re not going to do that. We’re going to stay calm and collected, and we’re going to meet with them again once we’ve strategized a little more. There must be something they want. Something other than what they demanded.”

“That, or a pressure point we can exploit,” Castiel said.

Mikhail nodded. “We need to keep our composure. They want us to do something rash like that, Lucifer. We have to remain level-headed. Remember what Father used to say.”

Luke growled and rolled his shoulders, grumbling furiously under his breath about how their dead father’s words could do little for them now. He backed down, though, his hand falling away from the gun at his hip, some of the tension melting from his body.

Castiel looked back at Mikhail, and he almost missed the truly haunted look that flashed through his brother’s eyes. “We cannot give them what they asked for. It would be an offense of the highest regard,” he said. His words sounded hollow. “We’ll have to figure something else out. For now, we can strategize and regroup.”

They ended up coming up with very little in the hours they sat in the back of that cold, quiet car. When Castiel finally returned to the hotel room, he was exhausted. He found Dean curled up in bed with a Western movie playing, looking soft and welcoming in boxers and a dress shirt he must have stolen from Castiel’s suitcase.

“Hello, dorogoy,” Castiel said when he entered, shutting the door behind him. His shoulders slumped with relief at the knowledge that he was in a relatively safe place again, Dean’s scent calming his nerves and his inner Alpha.

“Cas! You look awful,” Dean said, sitting up and pulling an earbud out. He paused his movie, clambering out of bed so he could hug Castiel tightly. “Is everything okay? Did anything bad happen?”

“Aside from the Knights refusing to cooperate? No, nothing bad happened,” Castiel said. He hugged Dean back, tension draining from his muscles at the firmness of his Omega’s embrace. He buried his nose in Dean’s hair, inhaling his sweet scent. Every bit of hopelessness and worry from before sort of faded away, pushed to the back of his mind to be dealt with at a later time.

“They didn’t wanna negotiate?” Dean asked, pulling away enough so he could look at Castiel with big, concerned green eyes. “What does that mean for us?”

Us. Despite everything, Castiel’s heart warmed at the knowledge that Dean considered himself part of the bratva. It was his family, as the men had tried so hard to show him. He was welcome here, and Castiel was overjoyed that he acknowledged it.

“We’re going to talk to them again tomorrow night,” Castiel said. “You don’t need to worry, malysh. Mikhail will figure things out. He and Luke may be thickheaded with each other sometimes, but they are master strategizers.” He hoped, at least. He had faith in his brothers, but he knew there were limits to even their greatness.

Dean hummed quietly, resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder. His scent had changed a little, becoming softer, soothing. Castiel realized with a start that his Omega was trying to comfort him, and the knowledge made his chest feel warm.

Between hurried strategy meetings whispered in Mikhail’s room across the hall, Castiel sat in bed with Dean and watched movies. He didn’t entirely understand the premise of all of them, but it wasn’t like he was watching the screen much anyway. Dean’s laugh and Dean’s smile were far more interesting than anything a movie could have shown Castiel.

That night, he lay in bed with Dean wrapped like a warm, cuddly octopus around him, his gaze fixed on the skyline that was visible through the window. Castiel had buried his nose in Dean’s hair so he could inhale his scent, hoping to calm his inner Alpha into allowing him rest.

Everything about their current situation was grating on him. They were deep in enemy territory, and there was a good chance they were being watched right now. Castiel had no doubt the Knights were aware of Dean’s existence, despite the Omega staying in the hotel room all day. It made Castiel’s hair stand on end to think of the Knights knowing about Dean. Their evident aggression and unwillingness to cooperate didn’t make anything better.

Sleep wasn’t even a thought in Castiel’s head. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the clock ticked later and later, turning toward midnight slowly. At about half an hour past one, Dean stirred and stretched, moving out of Castiel’s arms and the bed so he could pad across the room toward the bathroom.

Castiel stayed still as the Omega came back, hoping not to disturb him, but his scent must have given him away. Dean climbed back into bed, sliding into Castiel’s embrace, and asked sleepily, “You slept at all yet?”

“No,” Castiel admitted. “Don’t worry about it, zaychik. Get some rest.”

He expected Dean to do exactly that, but the Omega did the opposite. “Nah, I’m kinda awake now too. What’re you thinkin’ about?” In the faint glow coming through the window, his green eyes looked luminous. The softness with which he gazed at Castiel felt surreal. The Alpha had never imagined himself as someone who could deserve that kind of emotion directed at him.

“Just our current situation,” he said, pulling Dean close, guiding the Omega’s head to lay on his chest. It was hard to function with Dean looking at him like that. Hard to remember what he was worried about, yes, but also hard to remember that he needed to remain on his guard, even when cuddling in bed with his lover.

“Mmm, that sucks,” Dean said, one fingertip tracing the small, neat block of text on Castiel’s ribcage that listed the birthdates and names of his brothers and sister. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, zaychik, don’t worry about me,” Castiel said. He glanced at the clock and sighed. “I might go for a walk. I don’t want to keep you up with my shuffling around, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while yet.” Maybe not at all. Sitting here, staring out the window at the city, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep again.

“You can’t go on a walk all by yourself,” Dean said, his head jerking up so he could look at Castiel incredulously.

Castiel felt his lips quirk into a small smile. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, malysh. I may not look it, but I’m more than able to take on several men at once should I need to. I haven’t gotten too soft since my glory days.”

Dean shook his head, sitting up a little. “No, that’s dumb. We’re literally in the heart of enemy territory or whatever. If you’re gonna go anywhere, at least take someone with you.”

“Gadreel is asleep,” Castiel said. “It would be cruel to wake him—”

“Not Gadreel, you dummy,” Dean said, poking Castiel and rolling his eyes. “I meant me. I ain’t exactly the picture of a perfect bodyguard, but I’m at least good for sendin’ up a distress signal if something happens. Alpha Luke gave me a phone with a special button on it and everything.”

It should have made Castiel even more uneasy to think of taking Dean anywhere in the city, but it actually sounded… nice. For one, it was nearly two in the morning, and the likelihood of anyone being up—even the Knights of Hell—was very low. For another, the Krushnic bratva was still not one to be messed with. Despite how arrogant and aggressive the Knights had been, Castiel knew it would be very foolish of them to try to attack two people so precious to the Krushnics if they wanted any chance of getting anything that they’d demanded from Mikhail.

Even with that reasoning, he still surprised himself when he said, “Alright. I don’t know of many places that will be open at this time of night, but perhaps we can just take a walk through the city.”

Dean beamed at him. “‘Kay. I’ll grab my shoes.”

It took them about ten minutes to get dressed and leave the hotel room. Everything was silent, save for the buzz of the lights overhead. It was eerie how quiet a building full of people could get. Dean’s footsteps padded beside him as they made their way through the still hallway, headed for the elevator.

The lobby of the building wasn’t much more populated, though Castiel spotted two half-drunk Beta women sitting in chairs in the waiting area, chattering quietly about something. He put a hand on the small of Dean’s back as they walked through the automatic doors of the hotel, scanning the street as they stepped out into the city.

“I never liked cities much, but this one ain’t so bad,” Dean commented as they set off down the sidewalk, moving at an easy pace through the sparse nighttime crowd. Almost everyone looked either drunk or tired.

“You don’t like cities?” Castiel asked, curious. “What about the one we live in?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t like not bein’ able to see the sky, y’know? You walk outside and it looks like daylight ‘cause of all the lights, but it’s not real. When I was a kid, we lived in Kansas, and there’s plenty of sky there. I kinda miss it sometimes.”

Castiel hummed, moving around Dean so he could be between the Omega and the street, cars rushing by on his right side. “Where would you live, if you could? Back to Kansas?”

Dean frowned. “I never really thought about it. I guess I always imagined someday I’d go to my Uncle Bobby’s house, or maybe down to California with Sammy when he eventually gets into Stanford.” He looked up at a great, shining billboard, the red and blue neon lights playing in his soft golden-brown hair. “I like Washington. It’s pretty there. Just not in the city, I guess.”

“I’ve never particularly liked cities either,” Castiel admitted. “They’re quite hectic. I would much rather live somewhere quiet and peaceful.”

Dean snorted. “You and me both.”

The walking was helping, to Castiel’s surprise. Maybe it was just that he was spending time with Dean, but he felt calmer and less on edge. His inner Alpha had stopped its endless pacing and was cooing adoringly at the Omega walking beside him, warm and wide-eyed as he stared around the city.

“Oh, look,” Castiel said as they rounded a corner and came into view of a line of shops. “That market is open. Perhaps they’ll have some coffee.”

Dean brightened. “Yeah, stuff that doesn’t taste like dirt. The place we’re stayin’ at is super high-end, but hotel coffee is hotel coffee.”

They walked together into the market, which was a brightly-lit contrast to its darkened, closed neighbors. There was a sleepy-looking old man stocking packets of chocolate candy at the register when they walked in, one of the probably twenty other people in the small store. Castiel made a beeline for the coffee aisle, Dean following behind with an amused smile on his face.

“You can go look around, if you’d like,” Castiel said, staring at the wall of organic options in front of him. “This could take a minute.”

Dean laughed. “Okay. I’m gonna see if they have any pie.”

Castiel hummed, already half-focused on weighing the differences between the various flavors displayed. He really didn’t need incredibly fancy coffee, though he couldn’t deny that he appreciated higher quality. Dean was correct in saying that hotel coffee tasted like dirt.

It took him a fair five minutes to decide on which coffee to get. He knew he would be sharing with his brothers at some point, so he had to consider their tastes as well. Once he’d decided on something acceptable, he grabbed a couple bags and turned to look for Dean, who’d disappeared somewhere in the other aisles.

Castiel wasn’t agitated by his absence, but he was certainly eager to have the Omega in his line of sight again. Wary of the sleepy strangers around him and aware of the weight of his guns under his coat, Castiel strode purposefully through the aisles, looking for a familiar green-eyed Omega. He got to the baked goods section, where the pie probably would have been, and saw no sign of him.

Before Castiel could even begin to panic, he strode around the last aisle and spotted Dean at the end of it, staring at a display set up against the wall. As Castiel moved closer, he saw the sign advertising the merchandise.

Cashmere and Omega-silk blend of fabric specially imported from Peru! Perfect for nesting spaces and around the home.

Dean didn’t seem to notice him as he walked up, his steps quiet on the linoleum floor. Castiel watched the Omega curiously, taking in the near-glazed look in his eyes as he stared down at the blankets, the reverent way he was stroking his fingertips across the fabric. As Castiel observed him, Dean’s tongue peeked out from between his lips, his expression adorably focused.

“Do you like them?” Castiel asked.

Dean jumped a little, turning to look at Castiel with wide eyes. The Alpha noted that Dean had grabbed the blanket tightly instead of releasing it, even when he’d been startled. “Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess. I-I mean, they’re really soft. I’ve never felt anythin’ like this before.” He chuckled and returned to petting the fabric, running his fingers across it.

Castiel hummed, taking in the wide variety of colors. Dean was petting a blanket the color of stormclouds, but there were all shades of the rainbow. “Do you see a color you like?” the Alpha asked.

Dean was back to staring at the blanket as if in a sort of trance, stroking his fingertips all over it. “Huh?”

“A blanket, zaychik,” Castiel said gently, amused. “Do you see one you like?”

“This one is nice,” Dean said absent-mindedly. “Reminds me of the ocean when it’s all gray out.”

Castiel dug his hand through the other folded blankets so he could get it underneath the one Dean was touching. He lifted the blanket with a smooth movement, surprised at its sturdy weight, then pressed it into Dean’s arms. The Omega blinked at him, but before he could ask, Castiel said, “Come on, let’s check out. We should get back to the hotel soon if we’re going to at least attempt to get some sleep.”

“Wait—” Dean tried, but Castiel was already guiding him away from the blanket display, toward the front of the store. Despite the obvious protest Dean was attempting to mount against keeping the blanket, he was clutching it tightly to his chest, squeezing it against himself seemingly without even realizing he was doing it.

Amused at the obvious indication of Dean’s true feelings, Castiel guided the Omega toward the front and roused the sleepy cashier by setting the coffee bags down on the counter with a thump. He had to work to gently extricate the blanket from Dean’s grasp, but he got it free and soon laid it down on the counter as well. The cashier sleepily scanned the items, put them in a bag while Castiel paid, then managed a tired farewell as the Alpha and Omega left the store.

Once they were outside, Castiel turned to Dean and asked, “Do you want to hold it?”

Dean looked down and away, cheeks flushing brightly. “No. I can’t believe you…” He trailed off, looking as if he was biting his tongue. The red of his cheekbones glowed beautifully in the lights of the city around them. “Thank you, Cas. You didn’t have to get it for me, I wasn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Just… thank you.”

“Of course, malysh. I thought you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to allow me to court you,” Castiel said, wrapping a light, friendly arm around Dean’s waist. “It’s my job to spoil you. If anything, I’ve been falling behind in that department. I’ve allowed myself to become focused on less important things.”

Dean grumbled, the flush still high on his cheeks. “That ain’t—Cas, I don’t expect you t’just buy me stuff.”

“I know, my love. I do it purely for the joy of the act. That, and seeing your beautiful blush.”

“I don’t—Oh, for God’s sake.”

Castiel chuckled, deciding to leave the teasing for another day. There was only so much one person could take, and he didn’t want to ruin anything. Not when this moment felt so perfect. As they walked through the city, Castiel’s arm around Dean’s waist, the Omega leaning just slightly into him, Castiel could almost believe he was a normal Alpha with his potential mate by his side and a whole future ahead of him. It was startling how easy that reality was to imagine.

They got within a few buildings of the hotel before Castiel made the mistake of looking at Dean. And really, it was only a mistake because he was forced to stop their walk toward the hotel, too overcome with sudden awe to keep his feet moving toward their destination.

Dean glanced at him in surprise, seeming to wonder why they’d stopped. “You okay, Cas?” he asked.

His eyes were so beautiful. So big and green, illuminated by the golden city lights above them. They looked at Castiel with so much softness, more concern and care than Castiel had ever imagined seeing from someone outside of his family. The soul in them, brilliant and shining, took the Alpha’s breath away.

“You’re so beautiful,” Castiel murmured without really thinking, taking in his Omega’s gorgeous, ethereal face. Dean’s pretty eyes widened and his lips parted, surprise overtaking him like an ocean wave. His cheeks were pinked with the chill of the night air, making the freckles smattered across them stand out. He had such adorable freckles. Castiel wanted to count them, to press kisses wherever he could.

“Cas?” Dean asked again, but his voice was softer now, hushed. He looked a little unsure of himself, but he didn’t seem frightened. He looked… trusting. As if he truly believed nothing bad would happen in this moment, even if he was uncertain of what exactly was going on.

“I very badly want to kiss you,” Castiel said slowly, looking down at Dean’s parted lips, tracing their outline with his eyes. It would be so easy to do it, to simply tilt his head in and create that badly-desired point of contact between their bodies. He needed only to lean in a few inches to taste Dean on his lips, on his tongue. His inner Alpha craved the closeness, whining for him to pull Dean in, to feel the way the Omega melted against him, warm and soft. God, it was more enticing than anything else Castiel had ever wanted.

“You should,” Dean said, breathless and whispered, like a secret.

Castiel looked at him, at his beautiful eyes and gorgeous face and sweet, gentle soul. He said, “I shouldn’t.”

He forced himself to pull back a little, to put some distance between them. It seemed like a good idea until he saw the flash of hurt on Dean’s face, the way the Omega looked down at the ground instead of at him. “Oh.”

“No, malysh, that’s not—” Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand without thinking, squeezing it. “I just meant that I shouldn’t do it now. We’re out in the open. I’m already putting you at risk just by being seen with you.” He waited for Dean to drag his eyes up from the ground to look at him, giving the Omega a small, warm smile. “I would still very much like to kiss you. And I think I’m going to, once we get back to our hotel room.”

Dean’s green eyes were bright once again, a soft tilt to his lips as he said, “Well, we better hurry and get up there, then.”

That statement shouldn’t have been arousing, but a curl of heat tightened in Castiel’s gut all the same. Maybe it was the words, or maybe it was the sparkle in Dean’s eyes. Either way, Castiel grabbed the Omega’s wrist and hurriedly began to lead him toward the hotel, all of his focus centering on looking as outwardly calm as possible.

It was nearing three a.m. by the time he and Dean returned to their hotel room. Castiel set the bag with the coffee and Dean’s blanket carefully down by the door, grabbed the lapels of Dean’s leather jacket, and pushed the Omega up against the wall.

Dean groaned and melted against him immediately, going soft and submissive without even an ounce of hesitation. Arousal spiked through Castiel’s groin and he muffled his answering moan by kissing Dean firmly, making up for the time he’d been forced to wait with eagerness and intensity. Dean’s body was so warm, the heat soaking through his clothes and into Castiel’s skin. Castiel wanted to feel that heat at its source.

He pulled back just enough to tug at Dean’s jacket, pushed the Omega’s shoulders into the wall even as he tugged the coat off. Dean groaned and tried to help while simultaneously continuing to kiss Castiel, the result clumsy and satisfyingly sloppy.

“No, not tonight,” Castiel panted as Dean reached for his shirt, going to pull it over his head. Words were difficult to conjure, most of the blood from Castiel’s brain now traveling further south. “I told you I’d fuck you for the first time in our bed, and I meant it.”

Dean outright whined. “Cas, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not, and it’s true,” Castiel said. He kissed Dean’s lips, his jaw, the vulnerable hollow of his throat. “There are many different alternatives, my love. I, for one, would very much like to perform fellatio on you.”

Dean groaned, but it sounded more exasperated than aroused. He tipped his head back, his skull hitting the golden wallpaper with a soft thunk. “Cas, you can’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“That… That word. Jesus. Fellatio, or whatever. Just say you wanna give me a blowjob.” Dean had closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the ceiling, but when he registered his own words, his eyes opened and he looked at Castiel in surprise. “Wait. You wanna blow me?”

Castiel grinned. “Very much so.”

Dean blinked. “Oh.” He looked unsure, which Castiel probably should have expected. Some of the more traditional Alphas didn’t think performing sexual acts solely meant to bring an Omega pleasure—including blowjobs—were worth any time. Castiel was of a different mindset, and he was very, very interested in seeing Dean fall apart.

“Come, dorogoy.” Castiel pulled Dean away from the wall, guiding him toward the bed, where the covers were still rumpled from earlier. Castiel pushed his Omega gently down onto the bed, tugging at the hem of the black track pants he was wearing questioningly.

“You want me to blow you first?” Dean asked, sounding a little breathless as he looked up at Castiel with big, wide green eyes. The lights of the city from the window to their left played like fireflies across his freckled skin.

“No, malysh,” Castiel said gently. “I’m going to make you feel good first.”

He pulled Dean’s pants down once he’d gotten permission, the Omega helping to get them off by kicking his feet a little. When his erection was covered only by the soft gray boxers he was wearing, Castiel paused. In this space, with the whole world around them sleeping, it felt like he could take forever learning Dean’s body. He wanted to take his time.

Castiel bent his head to press a kiss to Dean’s hipbone, the defined shape of it shadowed in the half-light of the room. He followed the trail with his lips until he came to Dean’s boxers. The Omega’s legs shook with fine tremors as he shifted slightly, parting his legs in silent invitation. Castiel spared a glance up at him to smile, and then he pressed a soft kiss to his fabric-covered erection.

Dean gasped, barely a wisp of air in the quiet. “Cas.”

Castiel hummed, pleased, and slid his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s boxers. He could smell his arousal, soft and sweet in the air. The fertile scent of slick ripened as Castiel slowly began to pull down Dean’s underwear, exposing his hardened cock to the cool air of the room.

Dean’s cock was pretty, flushed red and weeping precome at the tip, nestled in a small thatch of golden-brown pubic hair. Castiel nuzzled gently at the length of it, smiling a secret grin to himself at Dean’s choked gasp of pleasure. The scent of slick in the air only got richer, heady and dizzying, causing Castiel’s own erection to strain in his pants. He ignored it for the time being, focused on drawing more soft sounds out of Dean’s throat instead.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean whispered when Castiel pressed a kiss to the hot, silky underside of his cock. It was warm and throbbing under his lips, smelling of musk and heat and Dean. Castiel’s tongue flicked out, tasting the throbbing underside, and he felt something settle heavy and warm in his chest at the choked-off sound his Omega made. “Cas, please. C’mon.”

“Patience, my love,” Castiel murmured, marveling at how Dean twitched even at the sensation of his breath ghosting over his cock. God, he was so sensitive. It was absolutely delicious.

The taste of Dean’s skin was divine. Castiel chose to direct his attentions elsewhere for the moment, pressing kisses and small laves of his tongue to Dean’s hipbones, his inner thighs. When he nudged farther down the crease of Dean’s legs, the Omega bent his knees and brought his feet closer to his body, opening his legs so Castiel could have more access. The scent of slick only grew, and Castiel couldn’t help the satisfied growl that rumbled out of his chest.

Dean was slicking enough that when Castiel reached the soft, intimate part of his inner thighs, he could lick it off the Omega’s skin. The whimper that left Dean’s throat was soft and strangled, his legs trembling around Castiel’s head as the Alpha kissed closer to his hole. He reached under Dean’s hips to help him tilt upward a little, giving him the access he’d been looking for. Castiel nuzzled at Dean’s soft inner thighs and reveled in the heady scent of his arousal, the tension that shook through him like the fine tremors of a feather in the wind.

“Please,” Dean begged, soft and sweet, his low, smooth voice turned husky by arousal.

Castiel dipped his tongue into Dean’s hole, sucking at the slick that he found there, and he delighted at the cry of pleasure it ripped from his Omega’s throat. He kept going, licking deeper and more insistently, thrilled when one of Dean’s hands tangled in his hair desperately. The sounds he was making, high-pitched and pleading, turned Castiel’s heart to mush in his chest. He would gladly do this for the rest of his life.

Dean started writhing at some point, his legs pressing in around Castiel’s head. When Castiel had licked all the slick he could from his hole, he rose up on his knees between Dean’s thighs, wiping excess slick from his nose and around his mouth. Dean looked up at him with wide green eyes darkened by arousal, whimpering softly.

“Please, Cas, Alpha,” he begged. The word, which was a title Castiel was referred to with almost every day, sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. Something about the soft, desperate raspiness in Dean’s voice made his cock throb with furious arousal.

“Hush, my love, malysh. I’ll take care of you,” Castiel soothed, leaning up to press a soft kiss to Dean’s shoulder. The Omega looked divine spread out against the sheets, one hand grasping the blankets as hard as he could, the other clasped pleadingly at Castiel’s hip.

There was a line between teasing and cruelty, and Castiel intended not to cross it. When he bent down to Dean’s cock again, he took the head into his mouth, sucking gently on the tip as the Omega threw his head back and gasped. It delighted Castiel that he could bring Dean such pleasure with such small, simple acts. The Omega was so sensitive that he could move his tongue just a little and have Dean practically thrashing against the mattress.

Castiel did exactly that, swirling his tongue gently around the head of Dean’s cock. As the Omega whined and jerked beneath him, hands clenching the sheets tightly, Castiel bobbed his head a little to slowly, slowly begin taking more of Dean’s cock into his mouth. He kept going at a steady, crawling pace until Dean’s cockhead was bumping against the back of his throat. The Omega whined breathlessly at the expert flick of Castiel’s tongue against the sensitive underside of his cock, his thighs trembling around the Alpha’s shoulders.

So beautiful, Castiel would have told him if he’d been able to. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever had the honor to behold.

Dean was so wound up that it didn’t take much longer than a couple minutes to bring him to the edge of ecstasy. Castiel was slow but thorough as he worked the Omega toward orgasm, using his hand to stroke teasingly over Dean’s hole and pump the base of his cock as he sucked on the head, his hand lubricated with the slick Dean was producing. The scent of Omega arousal and pleasure rose in the air, making Castiel practically dizzy with need and desire. He hummed encouragingly around Dean’s cock as the Omega got closer to the edge, Dean’s body drawing up tense beneath him, his thighs shaking as they clenched against Castiel’s shoulders.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, breathless and soft. “Cas, Cas, I’m—Ah, I’m close, please—”

Castiel hummed gently and took him as deeply into his mouth as he could, using all the tricks Dean’s body had taught him to wring pleasure from his Omega. Dean came with a choked-off cry of ecstasy, his body going taut as orgasm flooded through him in a wave. Castiel sucked him gently through it, pulling off carefully when Dean’s legs began to tremble with pained overstimulation.

“You’re so beautiful,” Castiel rasped when he could speak, his voice ragged. “Such a good Omega.”

Dean exhaled, melting into a puddle on the bed. His hand remained on Castiel’s hip, clutching weakly at him, and Castiel understood the silent request. He laid down carefully next to Dean’s slack body, wrapping an arm around his torso gently. The hand Dean had been clawing at the sheets with settled on his wrist, squeezing a little.

“Holy shit,” Dean said when he could speak again. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“You taught me,” Castiel said. He turned to look at Dean, smiling at the blissed-out expression on the Omega’s face. “I simply listened to what your body was telling me. You’re incredibly responsive, it wasn’t hard to discern what you found pleasurable.”

Dean huffed, his cheeks tinting an even darker pink than they already were. “Well, whatever you were doin’, it felt amazing. I’ve only had a couple’a blowjobs before, but fuck, that was easily the best one.”

Castiel hummed, feeling very, very pleased with himself. “Good.”

They laid there for as long as it took Dean’s breathing to slow to normal. He sat up then, smiling down at Castiel and poking the Alpha in the arm. “Your turn. I wanna return the favor.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you think you’re going to do?”

Dean laughed a little, his eyes so beautiful and so bright. “I’m gonna show you a few tricks of my own, see what your body can tell me. Sound like a plan, Alpha?”

Castiel chuckled, sitting up so he could press a soft, loving kiss to his Omega’s lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

Castiel and Dean were woken at around nine o’clock the next morning by a banging on the door. Castiel startled awake before Dean did, half-sitting up in bed, his arm still wrapped around his Omega.

“What?” he grumpily called out.

“Get up, Cassie,” Luke’s voice said through the door, terse Russian that sounded all too urgent for this time of morning. “A message from the Knights just came. You’re gonna want to see it.”

“Fuck,” Castiel swore.

“What’s he saying?” Dean mumbled. He was blinking at Castiel sleepily from where he was buried half-underneath the covers.

“Something from the Knights just arrived, apparently,” Castiel said, rubbing at his eyes to banish the lingering exhaustion. He was tired from only having a few hours of sleep, but he’d definitely operated on worse. “I’m assuming it’s a letter or something. Whatever it is, I need to deal with it.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead and began to get up. “You can go back to sleep, zaychik. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Do I have to stay in the room all day again?” Dean asked.

Castiel winced, feeling guilty about that. Their outing last night had made a certain amount of sense, since it had been at an hour when most people weren’t up. Still, the Krushnics were operating under the assumption that the Knights already knew about Dean, so it would be fairly cruel to ask him to stay cooped up in the hotel room the whole stay in Chicago.

“Take two guards with you whenever you leave,” Castiel said seriously. “Gadreel will be with me, but I’ll see if I can leave Ivan and Yuri at the hotel to keep you safe if you decide to go out. Yuri is the one who helped you with your luggage the other day, do you remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said. “He’s nice. Does, um… Does Ivan speak English?”

“Yes. Take them with you if you go anywhere. And Dean?” Dean stopped getting out of bed, gaze landing on Castiel expectantly. “Bring your knives.”

Castiel made him promise he would be safe, and then they both got dressed. Dean watched as Castiel strapped on his bulletproof shell, his knife sheaths, and his gun harness. He was quiet as Castiel slung his suit jacket over everything and grabbed his coat from the door. When Castiel came close to give him another kiss on the forehead goodbye, Dean said, “You be careful too, Cas. ‘M serious.”

“Of course, malysh,” Castiel promised. “For you, anything.”

He added the last part purely so he could see the beauty of Dean’s blush. The Omega grumbled about him being a “fucking sap” even as he nuzzled into his chest, clinging for as long as he thought he was allowed.

When Castiel parted from Dean and stepped outside his hotel room, he pushed the soft, vulnerable part of himself back into its shell, underneath layers of protection and sharp edges and danger. That side of him could only come out around Dean, in the relative safety of their room or his apartment. Everywhere else, Castiel needed to be the Angel of Death. Even here. Especially here.

“What happened?” he asked as Luke pulled the door to Mikhail’s room open, allowing him in. Their older brother was sitting on the edge of his bed with several pieces of paper in his hands, speaking in rapidfire Russian into a phone. His entire room was pristine, the bed looking as if it hadn’t even been slept in.

“The Knights sent us a letter this morning. They’ve outlined their demands as well as the rules of negotiation going forward,” Luke said. He didn’t look happy.

Mikhail finished whatever he was saying into the phone with a snap, then tossed the device to the side with a huff. He looked mildly irritated, which for Mikhail meant something was very, very wrong. “What did they demand?” Castiel asked, straining to see the documents lying on his brother’s lap.

“Almost everything I told you about yesterday,” Mikhail said, handing Castiel one of the papers. “They’ve also decided to restrict our negotiating party to just one person. Me.”

“They already did that.”

“Mikey means he’d be the only one allowed in the building,” Luke said. “The rest of us would have to wait outside.”

Castiel’s eyes widened with outrage. “What? That’s—”

“Unsafe? Untrustworthy? The stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever heard of? Yeah, we’ve been through that,” Luke said. “The only problem is, we’re pretty sure all our calls are being monitored, so we can’t talk to Pakhan. And sending a letter would take fucking weeks, not to mention that security risk. The only other option is to send someone to go speak to him in person.”

“He might demand that we continue negotiating anyway,” Mikhail said. “He doesn’t understand that times have changed, that our adversaries operate under another set of rules than we’re used to. This is America, not Moscow. Things are different here.” He exhaled, frustrated.

Just the fact that his brother was even suggesting the Pakhan was wrong was a testament to how distressed he was. Castiel and Luke shared a glance. “What are we going to do?” Castiel asked.

“We’re going to draft a list of demands of our own,” Mikhail said, some of his stress melting away in the face of his determination. “We’re negotiating a trade, not a tribute. Even if I’m the only one in there, I won’t let myself be bullied into making a bad deal.”

“What do we do?” Luke asked, beating Castiel to the question. “Are we just gonna have to sit around here while you go in there alone?”

“You and some of the men can accompany me to the building. I assume if you hear trouble, you can at least raise enough of your own to make it worth our while,” Mikhail said grimly. “Castiel, there’s really no point in you being there anymore, unless you wish to stand outside for hours on end. Besides, we might need to spread our important chess pieces out, if you know what I mean.”

“What would you rather have me do?” Castiel asked. It made his skin itch to think of leaving his brothers here when their enemies were so dangerous and so unpredictable.

“Take Dean out to see the city. Try to have a better time than we will, because I can already tell this won’t be enjoyable,” Mikhail said. “They’re already aware of Dean’s presence, so there’s no need to keep him in his room anymore.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You know that for sure?”

Mikhail grimaced. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I just do.”

“Mikhail—”

“Castiel. Leave it.”

Castiel closed his mouth at the direct order, jaw flexing with irritation. Luke shot him a sympathetic glance, both of them all too familiar with their brother’s tendency to refuse information. “Very well, Alpha,” Castiel managed, looking away so his brother couldn’t see the frustration in his eyes. “As you wish it, so it shall be.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mikhail muttered. He gestured at the door of the room, exasperated, stress hardening the edge in his voice. “Go. We’ll stay in touch with you throughout the day. If there’s an update, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Castiel bowed his head in understanding and said his goodbyes. He felt slightly disgruntled at being dismissed so quickly, but he understood there wasn’t much Mikhail could do about this situation. His older brother was stuck between a rock and a hard place, trapped between the Knights’ brazen arrogance and the Pakhan’s stubbornness. There was little Mikhail could do for now. There was little Castiel could do, save for obey orders.

He returned to the hotel room only ten minutes after he’d left it, startling Dean, who was in the middle of brushing his teeth. He was wearing yet another of Castiel’s dress shirts, this one slung on over the band shirt he was wearing. He sort of froze where he was standing when he heard the door open, toothbrush in his mouth, toothpaste on his face, staring at Castiel through the reflection of the mirror with wide green eyes.

Castiel looked at him, and he softened. “Hello, zaychik,” he greeted, closing the door behind him. “Apparently, my presence isn’t required at the moment. I’ve been sent to the sidelines for now, so to speak.”

Dean unfroze, bending to spit the toothpaste in his mouth into the sink. He rinsed and dried his face, then turned to look at Castiel straight-on instead of in the mirror. “Shit, really? What was the big emergency, then?”

“The Knights have updated their demands, and that includes Mikhail going to negotiate alone,” Castiel said. He met Dean in the middle of the room, pulling him into his arms on instinct. It felt like something had turned on inside of Castiel’s chest, a sort of magnetic pull that drew him and Dean together whenever they were in the same room. Any space between him and the Omega felt strange, unwelcome. Everything settled into its perfect place when he could feel the warmth of Dean’s body-heat soaking into his skin.

“What’re you gonna do now?” Dean asked, laying his head on Castiel’s collarbone.

“I believe today, I’m going to take my beautiful Omega out to see the city,” Castiel murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Dean’s fluffy hair. “I’m going to spend all day with him and spoil him thoroughly.”

He could feel the warmth of Dean’s blush against his skin. “Sounds like a lucky Omega.”

Castiel chuckled. “So does that mean you’re interested?”

“Nah, I’m just gonna stay in this room all day and stare at the walls. Can’t think of how what you have planned could possibly be any fun,” Dean said. He laughed at the finger Castiel poked in his side, bright and happy. Castiel squeezed him tight and growled playfully about his sarcasm, thinking to himself that at least he got to spend time with Dean. This was a far better alternative to negotiating with a bunch of arrogant murderers.

The day turned out to be perfect, though Castiel was on edge the whole time. Gadreel insisted on accompanying them as they made their way through the city. They stopped in a market, though it was too crowded for Castiel to be exactly comfortable. He stuck close to Dean’s side, gaze always scanning the crowd for someone who looked particularly suspicious.

Castiel hadn’t thought it would be possible for him to have fun in the heart of his enemy’s territory, but he was powerless to resist Dean’s joyous optimism. As the day wore on, he became less and less aware of his surroundings as his focus zeroed in on his Omega, his trust falling on Gadreel to keep guard.

It might have been foolish, but nothing bad became of it. Dean and Castiel returned to the hotel that afternoon unscathed. Castiel found that his brothers were still gone, their floor of the hotel empty. He was forced to complete some work that needed to be finished before tomorrow, since Gabriel couldn’t be asked to do everything while they were away. As he ran through numbers and the quantities of materials they’d received a few days ago, he listened to Dean convince Gadreel to play a game of cards, which the Omega promptly won several times.

Castiel had his suspicions about Gadreel’s level of effort. The twist of amusement and fondness to his head of security’s mouth whenever Dean gave a cry of victory was telling of how much he really cared for the outcome of the game they were playing.

The rest of the day passed peacefully. Mikhail and Luke didn’t return until late in the night, even later than when Castiel and Dean went to bed after swimming in the pool. The next morning, when Castiel went to meet with them in Mikhail’s room for the second time, he was met with grim faces and an even more concerning report.

“When I went to talk to them yesterday, they were fully open about the spy they’ve managed to plant in our ranks,” Mikhail said, his gaze moving from Luke, then to Castiel. “One could even say they were proud of it. There’s little the Knights seem to care about hiding, which concerns me, because it makes it all the harder to spot what they are withholding. This whole thing is a mess.”

“Have they made any new demands?” Castiel asked. The slump of his brother’s normally ramrod-straight shoulders was almost more concerning than the news he’d just shared. This situation, it seemed, was more dire than they’d all expected.

“No new demands. Just the old ones, reiterated with more force.” Mikhail glanced at Castiel, the smallest flick of his eyes, and Castiel couldn’t help but think that he looked almost guilty. “They’ve told me that if they don’t get what they want soon, they’re going to take it.”

“Does our strength mean nothing to them?” Luke demanded furiously. “This is an equal negotiation! This is a trade! A transaction! This is not a tribute. We haven’t lost anything to them, and if they decide to go to war with us, it will be them groveling at our feet! We’re not some small upstart gang wanting to get a slice of the action.”

“I’m well aware,” Mikhail said, and he sounded tired. “I’m beginning to think nothing but a blatant show of the force we’re threatening will be able to convince them.”

“Fine,” Luke said, far too easily. “They need to be put in their place.”

“War with the Knights, especially declared while in the heart of their territory, would not be advisable,” Castiel counseled, cautious of the furious tension in Luke’s shoulders and the exhausted defeat in Mikhail’s. “Is there any way Luke and I could accompany you into the meeting room, Mikhail? Perhaps instead of asking for permission, we simply do as we wish. That in itself is a show of force. A show of strength.”

It was a logical alternative to Luke’s proposal of all-out war. Castiel expected Mikhail to nod, to frown in that way he did when he was thinking through something very thoroughly, but his older brother merely hung his head. Castiel had never seen him so visibly exhausted and stressed before. To say that the sight before him was unnerving was an understatement.

It disturbed Castiel to see his brother so defeated. Mikhail had always been a tireless leader to him, as the head of their branch of the bratva and as the oldest of the siblings. He was the one who never faltered, the one who always had a plan or was encouraging someone to come up with one, the one who knew what to do. Perhaps it was unfair to expect that much of him all the time, but Castiel couldn’t help something that had been part of his world since he was just a young, unpresented boy.

Selfishly, he thought of himself. Or, rather, of his Omega. Dean wasn’t safe here, that much was clear, though Castiel had initially thought his Omega would be safest as long as he was nearby. It was becoming evident, however, that he would be better off back in Washington than in Chicago. Castiel had been slightly logical but mostly selfish when he’d brought Dean here. He’d wanted to keep him in sight, yes, but he also couldn’t stomach the idea of being away from his Omega. Now, the thought of Dean being hurt in the crossfire of whatever storm was brewing in Chicago was enough to make him change his mind.

Maybe Dean could stay with Gabriel back in Washington. Castiel could send some of the men back with him, to keep him safe. He wanted to get the Omega out of the city before things could reach a boiling point, as they so obviously were close to doing.

“They’ll call another meeting this afternoon,” Luke said, bringing Castiel’s thoughts back down to earth. “Maybe we can refuse the summons. We aren’t loyal dogs just waiting to be called. And with more time to strategize, maybe we’ll be more prepared for what comes next.”

“Perhaps,” Mikhail said. He didn’t sound very optimistic.

“Where’s the harm in waiting?” Luke asked, slight irritation coloring his tone. “We can either go to the meeting or stay, Mikhail, there isn’t really another option. We’ve tried the first one a couple times, and it’s done absolutely fuck-all for us. So why not change it up?”

“They’re getting impatient,” Mikhail said, rubbing his eyes. “They told me they would start taking what they wanted by force if we made them wait any longer. Whether or not they actually mean what they say, this is still a dangerous situation.” He raised his head tiredly, his blue eyes finding Castiel’s. “Too dangerous for your mate. It’s better for him to be back in Washington. There was logic in bringing him here, but the reasoning behind that has long since soured.”

“I was thinking along similar lines,” Castiel admitted, deciding to ignore Mikhail’s particular choice in title when referring to Dean. “How early would you allow him to return?”

“As soon as possible,” Mikhail said. The decision to send Dean away seemed to spur some energy in him, chasing away the dark clouds of exhaustion that had gathered on his brow. He straightened a little, the line of his shoulders smoothing. He raised his voice and called toward the door, “Nikov!”

A few seconds passed, and then the door opened. A young man poked his head in, his face vaguely familiar. Castiel remembered him from months ago, when he’d beaten Dean after mistakenly assuming he was a spy. The boy’s gaze remained firmly on Mikhail as he said, “Yes, Alpha?”

“Get Gadreel,” Mikhail ordered.

Nikov disappeared, gone only for a few seconds before he returned with Gadreel in tow. Mikhail flapped a hand to dismiss the young man, leaving just Gadreel and the three Krushnic brothers in the room.

“How can I be of service, Alphas Krushnic?” Gadreel asked, dipping his head respectfully.

“I think it’s best for Dean to return to Washington,” Mikhail said. “Castiel must stay here to assist with strategizing, but I want you to escort Dean to the airport that we came in through. I’ll send a group of men with you…”

Castiel tuned his brother out and strode across the room, figuring he should tell Dean about the change in plans. Dread was cold in his stomach at the mere thought of needing to be separated from Dean, tempered only by the knowledge that it was best for his safety. He held that with him as he slipped out of Mikhail’s hotel room and crossed the hall to his own, knowing he’d have to maintain his composure when he broke the news to Dean; his Omega wouldn’t be pleased.

Inside their room, Dean was in the shower, the bathroom door shut. Castiel sat down on the bed to wait, running his fingers through his hair. He’d long ago shredded his fingernails to nothing, so he had little more than the stubs of hangnails to pick at. Running the pads of his fingertips over the smooth crescents of his nail beds, Castiel listened to the sound of water in the bathroom and waited for Dean to emerge.

The room was only a little messy, filled with signs that two people had been living there for a few days. Rumpled bedsheets, luggage open near the foot of the bed, a shower towel slung over the armchair in the corner to dry. Castiel’s gaze landed on the thick gray blanket he’d bought Dean the night before and he felt his heart twinge with pain. He’d have to make sure Dean packed it when he left.

After about three minutes of Castiel waiting, he heard the shower water shut off. He grabbed a tissue from the bedside table so he could dab at the little bloody marks he’d left when he’d been picking at his nails, balling it up and tossing it in a trash bin just as the door opened and Dean padded into the bedroom.

“Hey, Cas. You’re back already? What happened?” Dean asked, rubbing at his hair with his towel. When it was damp and spiky, he looked like some kind of hedgehog. It made affection surge through Castiel’s heart despite the message he’d come to deliver.

“My brothers and I discussed our current situation,” Castiel said, opening his arms in invitation as his Omega padded across the room toward him. “The Knights are continuing their trend of unpredictable and provocative behavior.”

Dean clambered onto the bed, settling himself between Castiel’s legs so he could lean against the Alpha’s chest. He was warm and slightly damp beneath his fresh shirt and pants. “So they’re still bein’ dicks? Are you gonna finally get to talk to them, or does Alpha Mikhail still gotta go alone?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, offset only by the sweet contentment of Dean’s scent. “Nothing with the Knights is certain, for now, although I’m afraid I have some bad news from our end.”

“Bad news?” Dean frowned a little. “Is everyone okay?”

Castiel squeezed him reassuringly. “Yes, malysh, there’s just been a change of plans that I need to talk to you about. That’s the real reason I came back so soon.”

“Yeah?” Dean sat up a little, tilting his head up to look at Castiel. His scent was still easy and calm, but Castiel could see something like concern in his green eyes.

“After this morning, my brothers and I have had to reevaluate some things. And Mikhail—all three of us, actually—believe that it’s time for you to return to Washington. You’ll be safer with Gabriel back home than with the rest of us here.” Dean’s scent began to sour a little, and Castiel closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, zaychik. I knew you weren’t going to be thrilled with this decision.”

“If it’s too dangerous for me, ain’t it too dangerous for you?” Dean asked. The new heaviness to his scent was something like concern, something like fear. Not for himself, Castiel realized with a pang. For his Alpha. For the bratva that he now called family. “Why can’t we all go back? This can’t be a good situation for anyone.”

“It’s not,” Castiel admitted, “but we are all trained killers. Perhaps Mikhail and I will try to convince Luke to return to Washington as well, seeing as he’s the second in line for power if Mikhail is gone, but I doubt he will be easily swayed.”

“You could go home instead.”

Castiel kissed the top of Dean’s head lightly. “I cannot. I am the Enforcer. For now, my presence is essential here.” Though he was lower on the hierarchy than his two older brothers, his name and record still carried weight. As long as he was here, Mikhail looked strong and supported by his organization, and that was proving to be necessary when dealing with the Knights.

“When do I have to go?” Dean asked, his voice small. He didn’t sound happy, but to Castiel’s surprise, there seemed to be no sign of an argument. He’d been anticipating having to convince his Omega that this was best, but he should have known that Dean was smarter than that. Dean knew when to trust him and when to speak his mind, and apparently he could sense that this was a situation where it was in his best interest to listen to his Alpha.

“Mikhail thinks you should leave as soon as possible,” Castiel said. “I’m sure he already has a plan. I need to ask him.” God, it seemed like there was so much to do and so little time. He wished he could have hours more to say goodbye, but he knew he needed to keep this short. He’d be seeing Dean again soon, anyway.

“Guess I should start packing, then,” Dean said. He pulled away from Castiel, glancing around the room. “I think I can get everything sorted out. You wanna go talk to Alpha Mikhail?”

“Good idea. I’ll see you in a moment.” Castiel kissed his Omega on the forehead, then got up to go back to his brother’s room across the hall.

Their floor of the hotel was a quiet flurry of activity, men moving back and forth through the hallway from room to room. They parted to let Castiel pass, though each of them seemed to have something to do to keep them busy. Castiel figured they could tell that this trip was coming to an end. They’d all courted the idea of this ending violently before they’d even come—it would have been foolish to assume it couldn’t end that way—but it was a different thing to be confronted with the very real possibility of bloodshed. Castiel supposed most of the men, including himself, had been secretly hoping that this would go well.

Luke was missing from Mikhail’s room when Castiel entered, but Gadreel and Ishim were there. When Castiel came in, his brother beckoned him over to the desk where he’d laid out a map.

“You’re going to take the long way out of the city to get to this address,” Mikhail was telling Gadreel. “There will only be one car, so there’s no need to coordinate any fancy maneuvers, but I want this to be as discreet and normal as possible. We don’t want the Knights getting any ideas.”

“Will it be just Gadreel and Dean?” Castiel asked.

“I’m sending a small team to travel with Dean,” Mikhail said. “Ivan, Yuri, Natalya, some of the others. Yuri and Natalya can accompany Dean back to Washington, but I want Gadreel to return after he’s finished dropping him off.”

“And he’ll be doing that at the airport we came through when we arrived?” Castiel asked, craning his neck to see the address.

“A train station, actually,” Mikhail said, blue eyes flicking up to meet Castiel’s. “I changed the mode of travel. Just to remain unpredictable.”

Castiel flashed his brother a grateful look, knowing full well that being unpredictable wasn’t the only reason Mikhail had chosen to send Dean home by train. He felt much better about this whole thing, knowing that his Omega wouldn’t be panicking by himself the whole flight home. He was sure Dean would appreciate that too.

They planned out the logistics of the mission, which Mikhail anticipated would only take two hours. When everything had been laid out down to the seating arrangement of the people going, Mikhail told Castiel to go say goodbye to Dean while he gathered the men. With a heavy heart, the younger Alpha obeyed.

Dean had cleaned up the room while he’d packed, making everything neat and tidy. He was seated on the bed when Castiel returned, flipping his knife slowly but precisely through his fingers. Castiel remembered some of the men doing something similar the other day, and he wondered if they’d taught Dean how to do it.

“Time to go, dorogoy,” he said when Dean looked up. “Are you ready?”

Dean stopped flipping the knife and tucked it back into his boot. “Yeah, I think I got everything,” he replied. He stood, grabbing his backpack and suitcase. Castiel stepped in and kissed him gently but firmly on the lips, pulling back after a long moment to rest their foreheads together. Dean’s voice was soft when he said, “I’ll see you soon, Alpha.”

“I’ll see you soon, malysh,” Castiel said. I love you, he suddenly wanted to add. The words felt like fledgling birds on his tongue, so close to flight but so vulnerable to falling.

The window of opportunity passed in an instant. Castiel kissed Dean goodbye one more time, then took his luggage and led him out to the hallway, where Gadreel and six other people were waiting. Castiel’s inner Alpha, furious already with this turn of events, howled when he squeezed his beloved’s hand and let him go so he could follow the group down to the lobby.

“I will look after him,” Gadreel promised in murmured Russian as he and Castiel clasped forearms in goodbye. “You will be reunited again soon, I’m sure of it.”

“Safe travels, Gadreel,” Castiel said, his voice carefully clipped and controlled. He forced himself to turn away before he could see the elevator doors closing on his Omega.

The hotel room was too quiet and still without Dean’s energetic presence to fill it. Castiel sat on the bed and stared at his single suitcase with the clothes still peeking over the edges, loneliness a vice around his lungs. He was struck by how isolated he felt, by how crushing the idea of Dean being thousands of miles away from him was.

Years ago, he would have seen this as a good thing. He would have used this time to reflect, to scheme, to plan. He would have been glad to be by himself. Now, all he wanted was to hold his Omega in his arms again.

Castiel’s listless gaze caught on something on the desk in the corner of the room, a paper bag. Heart in his throat, he got up and crossed the room so he could peer into it, his inner Alpha whining pitifully when he saw what was inside.

Dean had left his blanket behind. He rejected my courting gift, Castiel’s Alpha immediately wanted him to think, but he knew that wasn’t true. The Omega had probably just forgotten it. Castiel would have to take it with him and return it when he got back to Washington. When he got back to his Omega.

Soon, he told himself, reaching in to run his fingertips over the soft fabric, lifting it to his nose to see if he could catch a hint of sunshine and apples. Soon.

The whole time, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t a lie.

~>>>~

All his life, Gadreel had known to trust his instincts.

He’d served the bratva since he was a boy, the same as his father and his grandfather before him. Gadreel’s was a service that was lifelong, something that extended beyond the bounds of the mortal soul.

In those years that he’d served the brotherhood, his instincts had never led him wrong. They’d saved his life on many a dangerous mission. And right now, they were screaming at him that something was wrong.

Ivan was humming a nursery rhyme tune in the seat beside him. The armored vehicle hummed beneath them as Gadreel drove. They’d left the chaotic tangle of the city and its suburbs behind about fifteen minutes ago. The tall skyscrapers and rows of houses had fallen away in favor of miles and miles of rolling green and brown farmland.

Ivan stopped as he reached the end of the umpteenth cycle of whatever song he’d been humming. He was sprawled leisurely in the passenger seat of the truck, his gaze on the endless American farmland they were passing by. “You need to calm down,” he said.

“I am calm,” Gadreel ground out.

“You’re not. You’re acting like you magically got a stick up your ass since we heard about the change of plans,” Ivan said. His tone was casual. Dangerously so, if he’d been speaking to anyone of Gadreel’s rank, save for Gadreel himself. He and Ivan had served the brotherhood for nearly half their lives now. They were closer to brothers than friends.

“I don’t like when plans change,” Gadreel said tersely. “I don’t like when I’m not the one to receive the order.”

Ivan snorted. “You’re fine. Alpha Castiel sent it to me because he knew you’d be driving. I’m the second on this mission, anyway; it makes sense. Seriously, it’s just a different location, Omega Dean is still getting to wherever he needs to go.” He leaned his head against the reinforced window with a thunk. “Do you need me to read off the message again? Would that stop your bellyaching?”

“No,” Gadreel said, irritated. “I know what it says.”

The message had been simple, after all. They’d received it about half an hour after they’d left the center of Chicago. Ivan’s phone had lit up with a notification from Alpha Castiel, telling them there had been a change of plans. The destination had changed, a safety precaution. Now, instead of going to a train station, Gadreel was driving them… somewhere.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

As much as he knew silence was often the best way to maintain a facade of composure, Gadreel couldn’t help the need to ask, “Where are we going?”

“You want me to read the address?”

“I know the address,” Gadreel said, stress clipping his words short. “What is it? Another train station?”

Ivan snorted. “Fuck if I know. Let me check, hold on.” He fiddled with his phone, muttering something about womanly anxiety. Gadreel drove the truck over the crest of a small hill. He tried to ignore the itching beneath his skin, like little ants crawling. It seemed like forever before Ivan said, “It’s an airport. I suppose we should have expected that.”

Gadreel frowned. An airport.

Just then, the window that separated the back of the truck from the cabin slid open, revealing Nikov’s face in the rearview mirror. “How close are we?” the Beta asked, rubbing his nose. “I need to piss.”

Ivan sat up, half-turning in his seat so he could address the younger man. “I think we’re pretty much there.”

“Have you lost your sense of direction? We’re nowhere near our destination,” Gadreel said, though it was a little too late. Nikov had already retracted his head and slid the little window shut. Irritated, Gadreel glanced at the GPS. “We’re still half an hour away.”

“He wouldn’t’ve known that if you hadn’t said it,” Ivan said, rolling his eyes. “I like to fuck with him, Gad. C’mon.” He chuckled at his own attempt at a prank. “Would’a liked to hear his bitching when he realized we couldn’t board the plane so he could piss. We gotta turn right back around once we drop off the Omega, that traffic put us behind schedule.”

The plane. The itching under Gadreel’s skin had intensified, electric now. “You said Alpha Castiel authorized this change of plans?”

“I dunno. The message came from him,” Ivan said. “D’you really want me to read it again? I can fucking—”

“Why would he suddenly want to send his Omega home on a plane?” Gadreel interrupted, irritated that his friend wasn’t understanding. “Omega Dean is terrified of planes. Alpha Castiel wouldn’t do that.”

“Sure he would. If it’s between the Knights and a little phobia of flying, there’s a pretty clear option.”

“No. He wouldn’t do that.” Gadreel gripped the steering wheel and clenched his jaw. There was lightning crackling under his skin. Everything about this mission that irked him, everything that didn’t add up, all came to the forefront of his mind. He had the thought to reach down, to press the button on his radio that would send an automatic SOS to Alpha Castiel’s. “There’s something wrong. Ivan—”

Click.

Gadreel went still.

“You’re far too smart for your own good.”

There were words in the English language that Gadreel still didn’t understand, even after immersing himself in the culture for decades. “Betrayal” he knew. “Traitor”, too. But “blindside” was challenging, the objective meaning of the two words never quite connecting in his brain.

He knew, now. He knew what it meant.

Gadreel might have begged his brother not to do this. He might have pleaded with him to think through what he was doing. But all he could think was that they’d been set up. That his promise to Alpha Castiel was going to be broken.

I will look after him, he’d said of Omega Dean. A lie.

His SOS would reach Alpha Castiel too late. By the time the enforcer received his message and sent men out to the location where it had originated from, everything would already be over.

The car jerked when Gadreel tried to reach across the cabin to grab Ivan. The gun Ivan had pointed at him wasn’t silenced, so it was impossibly loud when it went off. Gadreel’s shout was lost in the ringing echo, pain ripping up his arm and whiting out his hearing. The bullet that had been meant for his head went pinging to the side, smashing a crack into the reinforced window of the driver’s door. Cool air whistled through the chunks of glass that rattled free.

More explosions sounded from the back, gunfire, distant through the roaring in Gadreel’s ears. One, two, three.

No!

“Ivan!” Gadreel bellowed, enraged. He couldn’t hear himself. He couldn’t hear anything. He had a brief sense that the car was careening off course. He needed to stop it. He needed to kill Ivan. He needed to get to Dean.

A telephone pole, massive and sturdy and immovable, loomed through the windshield. Grappling with Ivan, Gadreel could only slam his foot on the brakes at the last second. Impact ripped him apart.

Everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Dean’s head was an explosion of pain.

He exhaled through a throat that felt as if it had been shredded by a thousand pieces of glass, his breath catching at the sheer amount of agony that welled up at even the smallest movement. When he scrunched his face up to grimace at the pain of his body, a whole new burst of it flared through him because of his face.

Jesus. What the hell had happened?

Dean was ashamed to admit that his first thought was that he’d been beaten by John. It took him several seconds to even get his heavy eyelids open, his eyelashes stuck together with some strange substance that crusted like dried tears or sweat. Even as he stared up at a gray, swaying ceiling that most definitely didn’t belong to his bedroom, it took a while for his brain to realize that he couldn’t possibly be waking up from a beating.

First of all, his dad was in jail. Secondly, even beatings from his father had never hurt quite so bad as this. At least, not in Dean’s living memory. He’d thought he’d developed a sort of tolerance to pain after so many years of being subjected to it, but apparently he’d been wrong.

The sound of something rattling next to him had him freezing. He’d already given himself away by opening his eyes and making noise, and his brain was still too sluggish to process that betraying his conscious state might be a foolish move. He’d already turned his head toward the rattling sound before he could realize that maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea, his blurry gaze falling on the Alpha seated a few feet away.

It was a guy with a chestnut-colored beard and similarly-colored eyes. He couldn’t have been more than forty, and he looked as if he’d just finished crawling through a coal mine. The Alpha grinned at Dean when he saw him looking, baring teeth that were too white and straight to be real. They looked so absurdly out of place in his grimy, sweaty face that for a moment, Dean was distracted from the memories that were slowly trickling into his scattered mind.

The interior of a car, the windows tinted, countryside rushing by… the feeling of something being off, something being wrong, something tickling at the back of his mind…

Movement, sharp and quick, like sharks just below the surface of the water.

A cry, the swerve of the car, blood on the leather seats… gunshots, ear-piercingly loud in the small space… his head ringing…

A familiar face.

“Nikov,” Dean rasped, voice barely more than a wisp of sound. More in his mind than anything, he added, That fucker.

“How nice of you to join us, Omega,” the guard with the super white teeth said, which Dean had pretty much expected, because that was a classic bad guy line. And he’d already decided, in the two minutes he’d been conscious, that whoever this guy was, he wasn’t an ally. The way he was looking at Dean, like he wanted to see his limbs ripped from his body one by one, was unsettling to say the least.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean slurred, trying to lift his head. His skull felt like it weighed about as much as a bowling ball, and something in his neck pinged painfully when he tried to move. In his mind, he was desperately trying to download information into his still-sluggish brain. Moving space, maybe a car or something? The guy’s speaking English, but that could mean anything. No accent.

That was what struck Dean the most. He’d grown used to hearing Russian accents from nearly everyone he spent a good amount of time with. This guy had none, which meant he probably wasn’t with the mafia.

Not with the Krushnic mafia, anyway.

Shit.

The guard didn’t answer his question about his identity. He merely laughed, an ugly, stupid-sounding sort of snort-noise that would have been funny if this had been any other situation. Dean figured he wasn’t gonna get anything useful if he kept asking, especially since he couldn’t think of much more than that one question. Instead of continuing the enlightening conversation, he turned his focus to his surroundings.

He was laid out on the grimy floor of what seemed to be a truck of some kind, light coming from the single bulb that swayed just outside the bars partitioning his section of the trailer from Mr. White Teeth’s. Whatever vehicle they were in, it was obviously meant for this kind of thing, because the set of iron bars between where he was laying and where Mr. White Teeth was seated on a comfy-looking bench looked sturdy as hell. Dean couldn’t see any kind of door or way to get from where he was to the barred area, save for if he somehow got through the back of the truck.

Going off of the automatic rifle sitting in Mr. White Teeth’s lap, that wasn’t gonna be happening anytime soon.

Dean’s whole body felt weak and shaky, so it took him a second to actually sit up and process the situation. When he’d finally managed to get himself upright, he saw for the first time that he wasn’t alone in his side of the truck.

There was a crumpled form against the wall near Dean’s feet. He recognized the broad shoulders and faint ozone scent as Gadreel, though the Alpha looked to be unconscious. Dean spotted the slick-dark gleam of blood on his coat and felt his stomach turn. He remembered the cry from the front of the vehicle and cringed.

“Gadreel?” Dean rasped, shifting forward on the metal floor of the truck. “Alpha Gadreel? Are you okay?”

When he tried to lean forward again, the truck jolted, as if it had just run over a particularly nasty pothole. Dean was thrown to the side, a grunt of pain leaving his throat at the pure agony that sang in response from the various parts of his body. Mr. White Teeth, the fucker, laughed at him.

Gadreel stirred slightly, the movement causing relief to flood sickeningly sharp through Dean’s whole body. He could see now that Gadreel’s chest was moving, albeit shallowly. The gleam of blood on his jacket was dark and plentiful, the coppery scent of it worryingly fresh.

Cursing, Dean scooted himself the rest of the way over, reaching out to grab Gadreel’s shoulder so he could try to turn him over. “Alpha Gadreel. Alpha Gadreel, wake up, please. C’mon man, this ain’t the kinda situation you’re gonna wanna sit out on.” As he spoke, he turned the Alpha over onto his back as best he could, trying to get a good look at where the blood was coming from.

He got to Gadreel’s left arm, and he grimaced. That was not good.

It looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat to the Alpha’s forearm. Dean couldn’t see any bone, but there was a lot of blood. Gadreel’s face was pale and sweaty, his eyes moving rapidly underneath the thin cover of his eyelids. Cursing again, Dean turned to look at Mr. White Teeth, who was watching him with something like glee on his stupid face.

“He’s bleeding out. He needs medical attention,” Dean said. His voice, still raspy from whatever the fuck had happened in that car after everything had gone to shit, broke halfway through his sentence.

Mr. White Teeth grinned at him. “His arm was shot.”

“Yeah, motherfucker, I can see that. He needs help.”

“No help back here,” Mr. White Teeth said, shrugging cheerfully. At Dean’s dismayed expression, he made an overly-exaggerated, mocking sad face. “Don’t cry, Omega. Your friend might survive until we get to the facility. We have a very good doctor there, he’ll take good care of both of you.” He grinned, then immediately broke into a fit of snort-laughing, evidently very pleased with his own joke.

“Fuck you,” Dean snapped, his frustration not enough to mask the panic that was beginning to well inside him. He looked back at Gadreel’s wound, biting hard on his inner cheek.

Fuck. He was so fucking out of his depth. He had no fucking idea what to do. Well, kind of. He had a temporary solution, but it probably wasn’t nearly as good as what someone with actual skills could come up with. Still, Gadreel needed all the help he could get right now, so Dean was gonna do what he could.

Mr. White Teeth gave a hoot of excitement as Dean peeled off his jacket. Dean glared at him, disgusted, then tried to focus on what he was about to do. He was wearing a shirt and a flannel under his jacket, so he pulled off his flannel and grabbed the edge, ripping at it in one big jerk. The sound of the fabric tearing was odd in the small space of the back of the truck. Dean’s ears were still ringing from the shots in the other car earlier.

He tore several long strips of fabric from the bottom of the shirt, then grabbed Gadreel’s injured arm. Trying desperately to recall what he’d learned in those medical classes about injuries like this that he’d taken forever ago, Dean began to wrap the fabric tightly around Gadreel’s lower arm, praying it wouldn’t damage any fractures or breaks his arm might have sustained. He used most of his flannel, then lifted Gadreel’s arm up in an attempt to minimize the amount of blood flowing to the area. When that was finished, Dean sat back and hoped against hope that the makeshift bandages would be enough to help Gadreel survive until they’d reached wherever they were going.

Dean didn’t like the sound of whatever doctor Mr. White Teeth had been talking about, but at this point, he’d take anything. When he’d taken care of Gadreel’s arm as best he could, he began to search the Alpha’s body for any other injuries that needed to be addressed. He found none, save for a large welt above Gadreel’s temple that was bleeding pretty heavily. Remembering that head wounds bled a lot, Dean ripped another strip of fabric from the base of his shirt and used it to bind the wound, hoping that would be enough.

Once he’d taken care of the person who seemed to be his only other ally in this situation, Dean took stock of his own injuries. He seemed to have a gash on his left cheek that was still bleeding, though the flow was sluggish at best. His whole body ached like he’d been thrown against a wall by an angry gorilla. His head was pounding, his ears were ringing, and his throat felt as if it had been sliced to ribbons. Overall, though, he was alive.

What the hell had happened?

Dean sat against the wall next to Gadreel’s head, trying to monitor the Alpha’s breathing while he dug through his memory, searching for an explanation for their current situation. He remembered the car and Nikov, but everything felt fuzzy after that. Gadreel had been driving, and someone else had been in the front seat. That person must have fucked them over too, since Gadreel wouldn’t betray the Krushnics. Right?

Dean closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees, his skull throbbing. He tried to list the things he knew for sure, knowing he needed to start somewhere, or he’d just give himself an even worse headache.

One, he and Gadreel were in a bad situation right now.

Two, they’d been set up.

Three, Nikov was a traitor.

Nikov was a traitor.

Dean cursed, recalling blurry memories of the back of the car. He’d been sitting in between Yuri and Nikov, with three other people seated on the other bench across from them. The shout had gone up from the front—had that been Gadreel?—and before any of them had been able to react, Nikov had pulled out his gun and shot both men and the woman across from them without a second of hesitation.

Yuri had pushed Dean hard, shouting for him to get down. Dean’s seatbelt had kept him from sliding to the floor, preventing Nikov and Yuri from getting a clear shot at each other. And then… And then…

The car must have crashed. That was the only logical explanation. Gadreel had been driving, and if he’d been attacked like his injuries implied, it made sense that they’d crashed. But where? They’d been in the countryside, heading toward a small, less-frequented air strip. Where had they ended up? And where were they headed now?

Thinking of the true gravity of this situation—the fact that they could be anywhere—was crushing. Dean had to force himself to focus on something else, because there was no fucking way he was gonna break down in front of the fucker sitting a few feet away behind the bars. He cursed himself for only applying a thin layer of blockers before he’d left, thinking he’d have time to put on more later. Jesus, he was so screwed.

Dean knew without even having to check that he’d been disarmed. His boots were gone, so the knife he kept hidden in there was too. Someone had taken his socks, too, leaving him with just his bare feet. That would make running, if he even got the chance, very difficult.

His flannel was being used for makeshift bandages, and Dean felt weird being in a bloodied shirt in front of the bastard seated outside the bars, so he slung his jacket on and tried to scent the collar without being too obvious. He couldn’t catch anything more than the old smell of smoke and cold outdoor air, the scent of the Alpha that had hugged him hours ago long faded.

Dean gritted his teeth and reached into the cuff of his right sleeve, relieved when he felt the bracelets still wrapped around his wrist. He tugged them around in circles for a while, calm seeping through him with every drag of the elephant hair knots on his skin. Though Castiel wasn’t there physically, the courting gift he’d given Dean made him feel like he was less alone. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe the warm, comforting presence of his Alpha was right next to him.

When he’d sufficiently worked himself off whatever ledge he’d been on since he’d woken, he pulled the bracelets off and tucked them into a discreet pocket in his jeans. He needed to hide them because if anyone saw them and took them away from him, he might just break into pieces.

The drone of the truck’s engine filled the silence as Dean sat with Gadreel, checking the Alpha’s breathing and pulse every now and then. He tried to pick up on everything he could within the windowless back of the car, but there was little information he could gather. There were no windows. The road beneath the wheels seemed to alternate between smooth highway and rough, rumbling offroad. Wherever they were headed could be just as much in a big town as it could be in the middle of nowhere.

There was, of course, the other problem of where they were right now. Dean knew it was illogical to assume they were in Russia somehow, but he couldn’t help but feel like anything was possible. How’s Cas gonna find us if we’re in Mexico or something? Dean wondered. Are they even gonna look for us?

Of course they would. Castiel wouldn’t just leave him to the mercy of whoever had been smart enough to kidnap them. Castiel wouldn’t just leave him. Them. They’d both be fine.

They just needed to survive this.

Dean was lulled into a half-asleep doze by the constant sound of the engine and the relative monotony of the ride. His arm began to get tired from holding up Gadreel’s, but he tried to switch hands and keep doing it, in case the Alpha was still bleeding heavily enough for that to be necessary. He didn’t seem to have bled through the flannel-bandages Dean had made, which was good. Dean prayed that the good fortune would last until they reached wherever they were going so Gadreel could get medical help.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he suddenly became aware of a change in pace, the unmistakable feeling of the truck slowing to a stop. He immediately sat up, awake and alert, gaze falling on Mr. White Teeth.

The armed guard was humming some cheerful little tune, looking for all the world as if they were on the way to a restaurant for lunch or some bullshit. When the truck finally stopped, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got up, taking his rifle with him as he opened the door and got out. Dean tried to get a glimpse of the world outside while the door was open, but he could only glean that the lighting was dim.

The door slammed shut, and then everything was quiet.

“Dean.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice right next to his knee, raspy and weak. Gadreel was blinking at him, eyes squinted against the dingy white light that illuminated the back of the truck. Dean leaned over so his face made a shadow, hoping that would make it easier for the Alpha to see. “Hey, Alpha Gadreel. How’re you feeling?”

Gadreel grunted. “Have we been rescued?”

Dean gulped, glancing at their dismal surroundings. “Um, no. We’re in the back of a truck.” As if Gadreel couldn’t guess, he added, “An enemy truck.”

Gadreel’s eyelids slipped closed and he cursed in Russian, low and fast. “I should have trusted my instincts sooner,” he murmured. “I thought the sudden change in orders was strange. I tried to stop them, but… I’m so sorry, Omega Dean. This was all my fault.”

“Hey, hey, no. It ain’t your fault,” Dean said. Outside the truck, he heard voices. Glancing at the locked door behind them, he lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “It was Nikov and his friend. Do you remember who attacked you in the front?”

Gadreel groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ivan. It was Ivan. I don’t know what happened, just that he pulled a gun on me—”

“Shh,” Dean hissed, the voices suddenly much closer. “Play dead, they don’t know you’re conscious.”

A moment later, a rattling sounded on the locked door behind them. The voices were loud. The sound of Russian was almost a comfort, even though Dean couldn’t understand it when it was muffled through the thick wall of metal. He didn’t have to wait long for the words to become clearer, however, because suddenly the doors were opening and Dean had a full view of where they were stopped.

A cornfield.

A fucking cornfield.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered.

“Still there! What good puppies,” someone crowed. A chorus of jeers went up from the group of five or so men and women crowded outside the trailer. In the dimness of what Dean realized was nighttime, it was nearly impossible to see their faces.

Dean heard a click, and then the blinding glare of a flashlight was searing his eyes, causing him to cringe and squint on instinct. More jeers went up at his reaction, someone else saying, “You were right, Dagon. The bitch is a pretty one. No wonder Krushnic’s so infatuated.”

“Lips like that, it almost don’t matter how he is in the sack.”

“Bet that’s real good too, Ramiel.”

“Fuck you,” Dean snapped, trying to squint through the blinding glare of the flashlight to see the people who’d been holding him captive. The guy holding the flashlight was none other than Mr. White Teeth himself, standing beside an assortment of men and women with identical nasty sneers on their faces. The array of different accents, from the American South to Russian to something that sounded French, was dizzying.

“The bitch has a mouth on him,” a short, petite woman remarked, her dark eyes narrowing. She couldn’t have been a few inches over five feet, but Dean could smell the steely Alpha scent rolling off of her.

“That won’t do,” another woman said, and when Dean squinted at her, she gave him a nasty smirk. She was blond and coldly beautiful, in the way a poisonous sea snake could be described. From the way everyone’s gaze immediately turned to her, Dean got the sense she was in charge. She looked at Mr. White Teeth and said, “Go on, Abraxas. Show him what kind of good behavior Alpha Alastair is going to expect.”

“Yes, Omega Lilith,” Mr. White Teeth responded.

“Abraxas,” Dean said, just as the man in question reached a grimy hand toward him, “what the fuck kinda name—”

He cut off with a cry as he was jerked forward and heaved out of the back of the truck, his body crumpling into an undignified heap in the dust of whatever backcountry road they’d stopped on. Before he could even try to get the wind back into his lungs, a forceful kick to his side sent him sprawling, grit and dirt coating his tongue as he gasped instinctively for air.

The next kick was harder, but Dean was prepared for it. It landed more on his shoulder than his side, sending a flash of agony through him but allowing him to regain control of his breathing. Spitting dirt from his mouth, Dean withstood one more brutal kick before trying to push himself up and toward someone, intending to knock them down and get away.

He should have gone for Lilith, or whatever her name was. He should have fucking gone for her, instead of the burly older dude standing next to her, but he couldn’t help his slight hesitation at last second. She was an Omega, and Dean might have been raised by an old-school asshole, but he’d learned from birth that hitting women—especially female Omegas—was wrong.

That, of course, didn’t really apply when he’d been kidnapped by an enemy mafia. Before Dean could really run that logic through his head, he was already crashing into the burly dude, then getting thrown backward like he weighed nothing.

He was shoved to the dirt once again, another kick to his side ripping a cry of pain from his throat. Through the pulsing of his heartbeat in his ears, he heard Gadreel’s voice, raspy but strong, shouting something in Russian.

The next kick, aimed for Dean’s head or shoulder or something, glanced off his bicep instead. The angle was bad, so it didn’t really hurt all that much, and the shout of surprise and rage from above him was enough for Dean to break from the protective cover of his arms to see what was going on. His eyes promptly widened as he saw Gadreel, up and apparently mobile, drag Abraxas to the ground, spitting something in enraged Russian.

“That’s enough!” Lilith’s voice seemed to cut through all the sudden commotion, sharp like the blade of a knife.

One of the men grabbed Dean’s arm and dragged him up to a standing position, shoving him back against the truck with the blunt end of a gun pressed to the pulse point of his throat. The edge of the trailer dug into Dean’s lower back, his nose suddenly filled with the grease-and-gasoline scent of the Alpha holding him. Gadreel’s breath wheezed worryingly as he was shoved up next to Dean, a gun held to his temple.

“Lilith,” Gadreel hissed. His eyes were slitted with recognition and disgust. The wound on his temple was flowing freely, the bandage Dean had wrapped around it earlier gone in the brief scuffle he’d had with Abraxos.

“Gadreel, a pleasure to see you once again. I must say, I was a little disappointed you didn’t die in the accident like all the others,” Lilith said. Her eyes flicked to Dean, amused. “Shooting the driver wasn’t our best laid-out plan, I’ll admit, but it worked out in the end. Torturing you will be just as fun as hearing Krushnic’s anguish over your death.”

“Fuck you,” Dean snapped, gritting his teeth as the guy holding him took hold of his hair and yanked hard.

“Let him go,” Gadreel said, his voice strained. “He’s worth nothing to you. He knows nothing.”

Lilith laughed, high and cruel. “You really think we’re just going to let Krushnic’s most prized possession go waltzing out our front door? Even if he doesn’t have anything interesting to say—and I doubt very much that that’s true—hearing his screams will be plenty worth the trouble it took to get him here.” She grinned nastily at Dean. “Besides, once your precious Alpha hears what happened, he’ll be so desperate to get you back that he’ll do anything. We have him by the throat.”

No. No, that wasn’t true. Dean wasn’t worth all that the Krushnics owned. They wouldn’t allow one man to bring down their whole operation. That would be dumb, not to mention suicidal.

He refrained from saying that. Let Lilith and the other fuckers think he was valuable, he would be more than happy to take blows for the Krushnics. They’d find out soon enough that he was worthless, but he hoped that would give Castiel and his brothers enough time to come up with an action plan.

He and Gadreel were thrown back into the holding cell in the armored truck, their captors filing back into the front cab. A new person took Abraxas’s place, an older guy with an honest-to-God book and a handgun. Even though he looked more like a librarian than a member of an organized crime syndicate, Dean didn’t like his chances of reaching through the bars for the gun at his hip.

The truck started up again without much delay. Dean leaned up against the wall with Gadreel, groaning as the rattling of the vehicle disturbed the headache that was slowly pulsing behind his temple.

“This is a disaster,” Gadreel mumbled, almost to himself, his low voice getting lost in the sound of the engine. “I’ve failed enormously.”

“You haven’t failed,” Dean said. “We’re still alive, right? We’re gonna make it outta this, Alpha Gadreel. I dunno how, but we will.”

Gadreel looked at him, glazed eyes focusing on the gash that ran across his left cheek. “I’ve failed you, and I’ve failed Alpha Castiel. Death would be better than this disgrace.”

“You aren’t a disgrace, and you ain’t gonna die,” Dean said firmly, fighting back the twinge of panic inside of him. “C’mon, it’s gonna be fine. Just get some rest, ‘kay? I’ll wake you if anything interesting happens.”

Gadreel seemed to already be doing that, so it was only a few minutes before he was asleep. When Dean was sure he was unconscious, he reached out and put a hand against the Alpha’s forehead, checking his temperature. Thankfully, if he had a fever, it was mild, but that didn’t mean one couldn’t start soon.

Concerned, Dean sat back and stared at the wall of the truck as they rattled along whatever cornfield road they were driving down. He was only half-awake when they suddenly switched to a smooth road, and his eyelids felt extremely heavy when they returned to a bumpy road.

Dean was nearly asleep when he felt the truck slow down. Unlike before, they didn’t immediately stop all the way, but the change in speed had Dean awake and alert in a matter of seconds. He sat up and glanced at Gadreel, contemplating waking him as he felt the truck slow to a crawl, then a stop.

“Alpha Gadreel,” Dean hissed, making an executive decision as the librarian-dude with the book and the gun began unbuckling his seatbelt. “Alpha Gadreel, we’re stopped.” Gadreel remained unconscious. “Alpha Gadreel! Alpha Gadreel, things are about to get messy, c’mon. Wake up. Wake—”

Before he could wake the Alpha, the doors of the back of the truck opened, revealing the same assortment of people as before. Abraxas grinned at Dean. “Your friend’s asleep, good. Want to join him?”

Dean blinked, watching as the man raised his rifle. “Huh?”

“Too late,” Abraxas said. He winked. “The doctor will see you now.”

A moment later, the butt-end of his rifle was colliding with Dean’s temple, and a moment after that, the Omega was dead to the world.

Chapter Text

When Dean woke up again, his head still hurt like a motherfucker. This time, he was cold.

When he tried to open his eyes, he found a searingly bright light beaming down on him, the glare of it sending a flash of agony jolting through his skull. Dean squeezed his eyelids shut with a groan, his throat aching and raspy, same as before. The taste of dirt was still on his tongue, mixing with the copper of where he’d bitten his cheek bloody while being beaten on the roadside.

Fuck. The road. The truck. Gadreel.

Dean tried to turn his head, but he found that he couldn’t. Something was keeping his head stuck. Grunting slightly, he tried to jerk against the strange pressure on his forehead, panic flashing through him as he tried to reach for his face and realized his hands were trapped.

“Now, now, settle down,” a nasally voice chided from somewhere to his right. “No need to get so feisty. You know you’re not getting out of that.”

Dean exhaled and tried to open his eyes again, squinting against the painfully bright light to see who had spoken. Through the scrunched-up window of his eyelids, he saw a tall, gaunt Alpha standing at a table, an array of sharp-looking objects set out in front of him. The guy was wearing a flannel that hung off his limbs, questionable stains marring the faded blue fabric. He looked a little like some farmer’s scarecrow had just decided to get off his post and take a walk, and not in a good way.

“Who th’fuck—” Dean rasped, cutting off as his throat seized. Pain lanced through his throat and ribs as his body convulsed against the chains that kept him bound to whatever surface he was laying on, memories of the beating from earlier flashing through his mind.

“Easy, pretty,” the Alpha said, giving Dean a rather nasty grin. “We’re only just getting started, it wouldn’t do to get worked up so soon. My name’s Alastair, if you didn’t know. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Despite the bright light, Dean’s eyes widened. Alastair. He knew that name. Now that he thought about it, he knew that face.

Oh fuck. This was not good. Not good at all.

Back when they’d first started training together, Castiel had told Dean about the Knights of Hell. As the main rivals of the Krushnic bratva, they were enemy number one for most of the operatives, including Castiel himself. He’d shown Dean files of the three brothers that ran the whole thing, and Dean remembered scanning the pages of the folders and shuddering.

Alastair looked just like he had in the grainy pictures the Krushnics had taken of him. His body seemed to be put together wrong underneath his clothes, like someone had stuck limbs where they weren’t quite supposed to go. Though he was tall and long-limbed, he looked anything but awkward. The Alpha moved with the kind of smooth grace that Dean had come to associate with a predator.

He came toward Dean now, moving closer to the circle of light the big lamp above the Omega made. His gray eyes reflected none of the glare, the light in them strangely flat. Dean prayed the shudder that ran down his spine wasn’t visible as he glared defiantly up at the Alpha.

Alastair grinned down at him, showing rows of crooked teeth. “Such a pretty Omega,” he crooned. One long, cold finger reached out, gliding lightly from Dean’s right temple to his jaw. “It’s a shame I don’t get to have as much fun with you as I’d like. My brothers seem to think you’re worth more when you’re in one piece.” He shrugged, looking genuinely disappointed. “Ah, well. I still have plenty of nice things we can do together.”

Dean couldn’t contain his shiver of fear and disgust then. He bared his teeth in an attempt to cover the shudder, hissing a choked, “Fuck you, you demon son of a bitch.”

Alastair laughed as he turned toward the table where all those instruments were laid out. “Oh, I do so love when they’re feisty.”

Despite his facade of bravado and fury, Dean kept quiet as the Alpha cut his shirt off his body with a gleaming knife. He resolved to keep his mouth shut firmly from now until this was over, because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he said something that could be used against the Krushnics.

No matter what he does, I ain’t gonna say shit, Dean told himself as Alastair raised the first of his wickedly-sharp blades. I’d rather die a slow, painful death than let Cas and everyone else down.

He braced himself as the torture began, expecting a barrage of questions about what he knew about the Krushnics. Admittedly, he didn’t have much information about the actual organization itself, but he knew way too much about the four brothers who ran it. He didn’t want to risk saying anything he thought was harmless that might end up harming the bratva, anyway. It was better to just stay silent when Alastair questioned him.

Only he didn’t. The Alpha didn’t ask him shit. He chuckled when Dean couldn’t help the pained noises that escaped him, and he encouraged him to scream, but he didn’t ask anything about what Dean knew. Dean stayed focused even as the skin of his torso was sliced open, wary of this being some kind of psychological tactic that was meant to catch him off guard.

“I don’t see a bite anywhere,” Alastair commented conversationally as he traced a burning path across Dean’s ribs, his knife blade heart-stoppingly close to the soft, vulnerable parts of Dean’s stomach. “Does your Alpha tell you he loves you despite his lack of commitment? You know what they say about those types.” He grinned nastily down at Dean, circling a knobby finger around the tender skin where a mating bite was supposed to go.

Dean tried not to tremble with the fear pulsing through his veins, praying he could hide how terrified he was if he just kept glaring at Alastair. There were a billion awful things the Alpha could do to him right now, and he didn’t want to think of a single Goddamn one. He had no idea why the Alpha hadn’t done much more than cut him up a little, but the anticipation was terrifying.

The first cut that Dean really felt was somewhere on the sensitive skin of his stomach. His breath hissed out through his teeth as pain lanced up his side, the warm feeling of blood on his skin feeling alien and wrong.

“Oops,” Alastair hummed, sounding completely unconcerned. “Can’t cut you too deep. As much as I love the sight of your pretty red blood, you’re no use to us dead.”

With that, he set about trying to find all the ways he could make Dean scream without doing permanent, irreversible damage.

Unfortunately for the Omega, there were a lot of ways. And Alastair was a very skilled torturer. As every horrible minute passed, Dean grew more and more suspicious that the Alpha was just playing with him, hurting him simply for the joy of it. He didn’t ask about the Krushnics once, didn’t even mention them, save to taunt Dean about Castiel. He delighted in the tears that tracked down the sides of Dean’s face as he cut apart the tattoo on the Omega’s shoulder, the thing that marked Dean as part of the Krushnics, as part of the first pack he’d ever really belonged to.

“Too bad they only cared to give you such an easily-destructible sign of belonging,” Alastair hummed, his horrible nasally voice filled with sickeningly-sweet false sympathy. “Seems you’re not worth anything more permanent yet. Nor will you ever be, once I’m done with you.”

He traced the blade of his knife against the soft, tender skin of Dean’s neck, the tip scratching against where an Alpha’s teeth would penetrate for a claiming bite. Dean went still on the table on pure instinct, heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest, every single sense focused on that one spot.

Please, he thought desperately, a tiny sob forcing its way out of his throat. Please, please, please, please—

Alastair dragged the knife tip away with a chuckle. “Later, pretty,” he promised. Dean closed his eyes and let the building tears fall silently.

By the time the guards came to pull Dean off the table and drag him away, most of the earlier cuts had scabbed over, and his head was throbbing with blood loss and dehydration. Dean’s tears had dried a while ago, whether because his body didn’t have the water to spare or because he’d gone away to a distant place in his head, he wasn’t sure. It was hard to focus on reality as the guards tugged him out from underneath that bright light, the whole world dim and shadowed.

Alastair called after him as he was dragged away, saying he would see him soon. Dean fought the urge to gag, his head spinning as he stumbled to keep up with the pace the guards set.

Dean’s brain was fuzzy, his perception swinging in and out of focus. He registered that they were walking down a carpeted hallway with lots of doors on either side, and he would have thought they were in some kind of hotel if he hadn’t seen the wide-open space they passed, complete with cubicles and sheet-covered chairs. They were in an office building of some kind. An abandoned one, if the empty rooms and covered furniture was anything to go by.

We could be anywhere in the world, Dean thought faintly. Cas is never gonna find me.

His eyes burned as the guards led him to what looked like an empty office, the space small and barren, the carpeted floor rough against his cuts as he was thrown inside. The door slammed shut, the bang of it making his head throb. Through the little slats of glass on either side of it, Dean could see the guards taking up posts.

He dragged himself to the back corner farthest from the door, his limbs shaking with effort. His whole body felt like one big, aching bruise. His cuts stung as he curled up into a little ball on the floor, the air in the room chill against his bared torso. Dean closed his eyes as he lay there, wondering where Gadreel was. Was he dead? Had he received medical help? Was he being tortured too?

Dean didn’t know what he’d do if he learned that he was all alone in this, all by himself with the Knights of Hell. He assumed, since there hadn’t been any other trucks and Gadreel had been the only one with him, that the other men had died. Yuri must have been killed in the crash. Dean’s memory was fuzzy, but he swore he remembered the Alpha unbuckling his seatbelt so he could try to get at Nikov. His chest ached with grief.

Was Nikov alive? Dean sure fucking hoped not. His grief mixed with rage, fury directed at the two traitors that had betrayed the Krushnics and gotten them into this whole mess.

Dean had no way of telling how much time had passed since the car crash. The sky outside the half-boarded-up windows was low and dark, but that could have meant dawn or the middle of the night. Dean didn’t know how long he’d been out in the multiple times he’d been unconscious, he didn’t know how long they’d been driving, and he had no idea how long he’d been with Alastair. It could have been two hours since the crash or two days.

All the uncertainty was crushing, far more terrifying than even the nastiest promises Alastair could make. Dean dreaded going to see the gray-eyed Alpha again. He dreaded the eventual interrogation that he knew was coming. His time with Alastair just now might have been purely for the Alpha’s pleasure, but he knew the business part wouldn’t be too far away.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean reached a trembling hand down to his jeans, where he dug bloodied fingers into the little hidden pocket there. He grabbed the bracelets his questing fingers found, relief cascading through him as he slipped them both onto his wrist and began to tug them in a circle, the knots of elephant hair scraping soothingly against his skin.

Whatever happens, however long it takes for someone to come rescue us, I’ll stay strong. I ain’t gonna betray Cas and everyone else, Dean thought to himself. He breathed in the dusty office air and imagined he could smell the spicy, woody scent of his Alpha.

Dean must have drifted off to sleep, because when he next opened his eyes, he was absolutely freezing and the lights had turned on. The sky outside was still dark, which meant too much time couldn’t have passed since he’d passed out. Outside the office door, the guards were talking.

Dean strained his ears to listen, reluctantly pulling his bracelets off his wrist and tucking them back into their secret pocket. He dared to sit up a little and scoot along the wall toward the door, his blood loud in his ears as he tried to listen to what the guards were saying.

Russian.

Building… no men… don’t know… don’t know… stupid… fucking pigs…

Dean recognized those words. He remembered them from listening to the men in the kitchen, from the online classes he’d taken, from the secretive lessons he’d had from Gadreel. I wanna surprise Alpha, Dean remembered telling Gadreel all those months ago, delighted at the smile on the Alpha’s face. Will you teach me?

He closed his eyes against the pain that memory dragged up and listened more.

Dangerous… Krushnic, anywhere… no men here… no help… only us… stupid… building… nothing…

Dean wished he could have used this knowledge to surprise his Alpha instead of to glean knowledge from guards that were keeping him captive. He prayed he’d still someday get a chance to surprise Castiel with his knowledge of Russian. For now, though, he needed to listen.

Don’t know… two days… only us…

And then, a pause.

A new voice sounded, this one much louder than the whispered mutterings of the guards. A greeting, complete with several swear words that Dean only half-remembered the meanings of.

He jolted when he heard the sound of metal-on-metal, a key in the lock of the door. He didn’t even think to play dead before he was sitting up, meeting the eyes of the young man who let himself into the prison-cell-slash-abandoned-office. Almost immediately, Dean was glad he was upright, because it gave him the opportunity to glare at Nikov as he entered.

“Hello, bitch,” Nikov said in his thick accent. “Good sleep?”

“Fuck you and your stupid fucking rat face,” Dean snapped, realizing with no small amount of glee that Nikov had bruises on said face. He’d been affected by the crash, even though he hadn’t been killed.

“I have this,” Nikov said, holding up what looked to be a handkerchief, “for your nasty mouth. Don’t bite, or I’ll break you.”

Dean snarled at him as he came close, half-tempted to kick out and attack. His hands were still bound, but his legs were free. With the way Nikov was approaching him, easy and unconcerned, he could take the Beta’s legs out from under him and send him sprawling.

But it was because Nikov was approaching him like that that made Dean stay still and docile. Apparently, the Beta didn’t deem him dangerous enough to be viewed with caution or wariness. Dean could bet he seemed like the weak, pathetic Omega he’d been when they’d last seen each other. He needed to keep his cards close to his chest when it came to how much he’d learned from Castiel’s training, and if that meant delaying his revenge, then so be it.

He growled as Nikov shoved the cloth into his mouth, tying it painfully tight behind his head. The gag tasted of dirty fabric and the dust Dean couldn’t seem to escape from. He bared his teeth through it as Nikov grabbed his arms, yanking him up to a standing position.

“I always wonder why Castiel would keep such a useless Omega around,” Nikov commented, shaking Dean a little when Dean made a weak attempt to kick back at him. “Why would Castiel choose Omega over good soldier? Now I know. Omegas are only good for one thing, yes?” He laughed nastily, kicking at the back of Dean’s legs. “Walk, bitch.”

Dean stumbled forward, toward the still-open door of the office. He nearly tripped over the threshold as Nikov shoved him, the guards on either side giving low chuckles as he yelped at the pain that lanced through him with all the sudden movement.

One of them asked Nikov something, but all Dean could get was when. Nikov answered, but his words were too fast for Dean to catch. He was shoved forward again, down the hall of the office building, headed God only knew where.

Once they were away from the guards, Nikov didn’t talk as much, except to spit insults at Dean or to tell him to walk faster. In the windows of the empty offices they passed, Dean saw the Beta glancing around furtively. He wondered if he was supposed to be out of his office-cell, or if what Nikov was doing wasn’t exactly allowed.

They made it to a stairwell, and then Nikov forced Dean to go up. For long minutes, they moved up flight after flight of stairs, only Dean’s wheezing breaths and the sound of Nikov’s boots on the metal to keep them company. Dean wondered where they were going for all of ten minutes before they reached the top, stopping in front of a door that said, Roof Access.

Nikov shoved Dean toward the door, causing the Omega to hiss in pain. The Beta chuckled as he reached around to fumble the handle, seeming to delight in Dean’s discomfort.

“I was so loyal at the start,” he said as he pulled the clanging metal door open, allowing a rush of chill night air into the dank stairwell. “So loyal. Bratva is home, bratva is chance for more. But I beat up stupid Omega, wrong person, and I get in trouble. Suddenly, I am bad guy. Suddenly, I am marked for death.”

He shoved Dean through the doorway hard, rage behind the movement. Dean grunted as he tripped over his own bare feet and landed shoulder-first on the rough surface of the roof, the breath leaving his lungs with a wheeze.

He twisted on the ground, trying to see Nikov, trying to keep his attacker in sight. The Beta stood over him with a nasty grin on his face, an expression that didn’t match the cold fury in his eyes. This was a man who wanted revenge.

“You are pretty, but that is all,” Nikov sneered. “You are worth far less than I could bring to Krushnics. Than I could have brought. I am not loyal to them anymore. Knights offered better, and now I’m here.”

“Fuck you,” Dean tried to say, but it came out muffled.

Nikov seemed to understand, though. He grinned, his eyes as dark as the gaps between the stars above them. “That is idea.”

Dean didn’t understand—didn’t want to understand—until Nikov began to unbuckle his belt. And then he knew.

When he lashed out for the first time, it was completely on instinct. His foot connected with Nikov’s knee straight on, colliding with the joint with a dull crack. Nikov’s shriek of absolute agony spurred Dean into motion, causing him to kick the Beta again, sending him to the ground.

Heart pounding, Dean scrabbled over onto his stomach, dragging himself to Nikov’s side so he could get his arms around his head. Nikov was still blinded by the pain of his kicked-in knee, so he didn’t react to what Dean was doing until the Omega had pulled the gun out of his waistband and tossed it to the side.

A gun would be too loud for this job, something that barely registered in Dean’s adrenaline-clouded mind. He kicked a leg over both of Nikov’s, pinning them, then wrapped an arm under the Beta’s neck and squeezed.

The awful scent of cologne and fake Beta-scent clogged Dean’s nose. His ears were filled with the sound of his pounding heartbeat, his limbs charged with supernatural strength lent to him by adrenaline and pure fear. He held Nikov tight to himself as the Beta struggled against his hold, keeping his arm tight against Nikov’s throat as he counted silently in his head, lips moving feverishly to mouth the numbers.

“No,” Nikov rasped, sounding for the barest moment like the young man that he actually was instead of a hate-filled enemy soldier. Dean almost, almost let him go. “N-No…”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and held on tighter, feeling the way the fight and strength drained out of Nikov’s body, the Beta slowly, slowly going limp in his arms. Even when Nikov had gone completely still, Dean still held onto him, his own chest heaving a little with the sobs that were forcing their way from his throat.

He was crying. Why was he crying? The tears felt strange on his face, hot in contrast to his cool skin, the cold night air. Nikov’s body was warm, but Dean knew that soon the life-heat would drain. He held on still, though he’d lost count of the seconds a long time ago, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting…

Dean didn’t know how long it was until he finally released Nikov’s body, but it was enough for the Beta’s face to have turned blue-purple. He let go of the corpse with a low, choking sob, forcing himself to feel for a pulse. When he found none, he kicked himself away, ending up with his back to the closed door of the roof.

Nikov lay lifeless on the roof before him. His belt was still unbuckled, his hateful eyes staring sightlessly at the night sky.

“Oh God,” Dean rasped to himself, scrubbing his hands harshly on his jeans. “Oh God, oh God, Jesus fuck.”

He’d just killed a man. He’d just killed someone.

If he was going to get out of here, he might need to do it again.

Shaking so badly his teeth were chattering, Dean crawled forward to Nikov’s side. It disgusted him to even be near the corpse of the man he’d just killed, but Dean needed Nikov’s supplies. His keys, to unlock the handcuffs still locked around his wrists. His jacket, to cover his bare, vulnerable torso. His knife, just in case. His gun, which Dean strapped to his waistband. His boots, which he pulled over his bleeding feet.

Dean finally pushed himself away from the half-undressed corpse after he’d finished taking what he needed, feeling sick for robbing Nikov of his clothes as well as his life. The boots were a little too big, and the jacket was loose around his shoulders, but it was better than being bare and exposed. Running his fingertips over the shell-like material of the jacket and the cool metal of the gun at his hip, Dean walked to the edge of the roof and contemplated the jump he had before him.

There was no fire escape that reached the roof he was currently standing on. The nearest platform was nearly fifteen feet below the edge, and Dean didn’t trust the rickety, rusty-looking metal. That left the lower level of the roof. The office building was built like two tall rectangles stacked next to each other, one about twenty feet lower than the other. Since Dean didn’t think he could go back through the staircase without meeting one of the guards from earlier, he figured the lower roof and the fire escape that accessed it was his way out.

Twenty feet was a long way to go. Dean ended up returning to Nikov and stripping him of his pants and shirt, tying the two pieces of clothing together to form a short sort of rope. It wasn’t much, but it was better than jumping twenty feet unaided.

Heart pounding, hands clammy with anxiety, Dean tied the end of his makeshift rope to a weird-looking piece of metal pipe that was sticking out from the edge of the roof, praying it would be sturdy enough to hold his weight. He’d never been happier to be just on the wrong side of skinny. If he was gonna survive this, he’d have to be light and lucky.

Testing the strength of the rope tentatively, Dean prepared to lower himself as much as he could from the edge of the rope. When he’d convinced himself he wasn’t going to go tumbling to the lower part of the roof, Dean gave one last look at Nikov’s corpse and silently prayed karma wasn’t gonna be so quick to catch him.

Lodging his lower lip between his teeth, Dean swung his legs out over the side of the roof, one hand on the rope, one on the edge. He slowly let more and more of his weight hang on the clothes, breath hissing from his lungs as he slowly, slowly began to lower himself. The metal groaned, and Dean’s heart rate spiked, but nothing happened and he kept going. At this point, there was nothing he could do but continue with his plan.

Of all the things Dean expected to give out, the clothes themselves weren’t it. He’d been anticipating the piece of metal snapping, or the knot of the fabric loosening, but not the pants actually ripping under his weight. He was halfway down his makeshift rope when he heard the seams popping aggressively, and then he felt the fabric give way in his hands.

With a choked shout, Dean’s grip slipped, and suddenly, he was falling through empty air.

The moment of suspended freefall felt like it took forever. When Dean’s feet met the concrete of the roof below him, his left ankle rolled with a low pop, sending fiery agony flashing up his entire leg. Dean collapsed to the roof with a weak cry, crumpling into a heap as the force of his fall vibrated through him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. His fucking leg. Fuck, fucking shit. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. His leg was on fire. His whole foot had come off, that was the only explanation for the amount of agony coursing through him right now.

Dean gave a wheezing cry as he slowly uncurled, blinking through hot tears at his left ankle, which was covered by his stolen shoes. He swore he was bleeding out, that the whole boot was filling with blood, but when he pushed shaky fingers past the top, he found nothing but dry leather.

This was not good.

Dean glanced around the rooftop, trying to calm his breathing down. The night air was gloriously cool against his overheated face, the breeze swaying the stupid ripped-clothes rope gently in the wind. Cursing softly, Dean looked from the rope to his ankle to the fire escape that he most definitely needed to get to. He had to hurry. He had to get the fuck out of here before someone noticed Nikov was gone and came looking for both of them.

Sucking in hitching, whimpering inhales, Dean reached shaky fingers into the pockets of his jeans and grabbed his bracelets, unable to think of anything else that could help at the moment. They were comfortingly cool in his hands. He sobbed a little and pressed them up to his nose, searching desperately for a scent that wasn’t there. “Alpha…,” Dean whimpered without meaning to, imagining Castiel’s kind blue eyes in his mind’s eye. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to see his Alpha right now. Fuck.

I’ve gotta get to him, Dean thought desperately, nuzzling his cheek gently against the bracelets in his hand. I’ve gotta get back to him. Even if it means draggin’ myself, I ain’t gonna die here. I’ve gotta get back to Cas.

He allowed himself to be weak for a few moments longer, nuzzling the bracelets and thinking of the comforting rumble of his Alpha’s voice. When he couldn’t ignore the impending search party and the throbbing pain of his ankle any longer, Dean slipped the bracelets onto his wrist and clenched his jaw, preparing himself to stand. He was gonna get out of here. He was gonna get back to his Alpha, or he was gonna die trying.

His first attempt to stand was a failure. He went down to his knees with a choked-off shout that he forced down, terrified of being heard by someone below. It took several long minutes before he was able to get up and try again. His whole body was overtaken by shivering trembles, like he’d been stuck in the middle of Antarctica or something. Dean distantly figured he’d gone into a sort of shock, but he told himself that if he just kept going, he could outrun the panic that was building inside of him. He just needed to keep going. Forward, forward, forward.

By the time Dean made it to the fire escape, he was sweating and panting, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He felt a little like he was gonna vomit, but he was also proud of himself. He’d managed to fall into a kind of lurching pattern, one that allowed him to hobble forward without falling over every other step. Once he reached the fire escape, he was able to use the rusty railings to ease his way further.

He had four stories to descend. Dean peered over the edge as he went down, keeping an eye out for any guards. Surprisingly, he didn’t see any, though he probably should have expected that. He remembered listening into the conversation the guards outside his cell had been having, about there being no men. This didn’t seem like the Knights’ main base of operations. It was probably temporary, meant to hide them from the Krushnics. A hastily set-up spot that was poorly defended. Not for the first time, Dean wondered where the fuck they were.

The building itself was in an abandoned lot, wheat and grass spread out for miles around. Dean had seen the smear of a town on the horizon when he’d been standing on the taller roof. Now, he mostly he just saw a couple other office buildings and some big parking lots. Everything looked abandoned, in the few seconds he spared to look at it.

The fire escape rattled as Dean descended, and he passed more than a few windows, but he reached the ground undetected. When he’d finally touched his boots to the concrete, he felt like crying. Freedom was right there, spread out all around him in the form of a wide-open field.

He could start walking right now. He could get to that town, find a phone, and call Castiel. If he was lucky, he could steal a car and get far away before they even noticed he was gone.

But Gadreel.

Dean turned and looked at the building, searching out an exterior door that he could get into. Nikov hadn’t had any keys with him other than the ones to the roof and to Dean’s handcuffs, but he’d had a knife and a gun, and Dean figured he could use that if he really needed to. He limped over to the nearest door, a faded maintenance sticker telling him where he was.

I can’t leave without Alpha Gadreel, Dean thought, glancing back over his shoulder at the open fields just a few yards away. I’ve gotta go get him, and then we can escape together.

With a nod of determination, Dean unsheathed the knife and used the sturdy hilt to smash the rusting lock of the maintenance door, shattering it with two sharp blows. Glancing around one last time to make sure no one had seen him, Dean grabbed the handle and heaved the door open, a gust of musty air hitting him in the face.

Gadreel, here I come, Dean thought to himself. With a last glance at his potential freedom, Dean faced the darkness beyond the door and stepped inside. In between one second and the next, he was gone.

Chapter Text

The hallway outside the maintenance room was silent and empty. Dean poked his head out tentatively, and when he saw the coast was clear, he darted out to the nearest door down the hall and slipped inside.

Dean made a game of that, going from room to room, praying each time that he wouldn’t be letting himself into a room full of enemies. Twice, he had to stay right behind a door, listening as a group of guards passed in the hallway outside. Nikov’s stolen gun was cool and heavy in his hand, a reminder of what he might have to do if he had no other choice.

He had no idea where Gadreel actually was, so when he found himself in a break room of sorts, he stopped for a moment. His ankle was throbbing a low, sickening beat, pain pulsing through him in time with his heart. He needed to hurry if he wanted to make it out of here before the adrenaline wore off.

How am I gonna find Gadreel in this big-ass building? Dean wondered, biting down on the panic that wanted to rise at the mere thought. His luck would only hold out so long, and at some point, he knew someone would spot him. He needed to get to Gadreel before then.

His options for finding the Alpha were limited. It wasn’t like he could just waltz up and ask someone where their prisoner was. He could keep looking, but that was probably a bad idea.

Well. Maybe.

Dean tried to remember how many flights of stairs he and Nikov had gone up. Had it been five? Six? Ten? He was pretty sure there were only ten or so levels in this building, so he had to have been on the first or second floor originally. He cursed himself for not looking out the windows while Nikov had been leading him toward the stairwell. Had they been on ground level? And more importantly: would he find Gadreel on the same floor he’d been kept?

Just then, Dean heard footsteps in the hallway outside. He froze behind his door, straining to listen. There were no voices, which was unusual. Every pair of guards that had passed so far had been talking or complaining about something or other, sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian. Hearing nothing but footsteps was strange.

Dean dared to peer through the slat of glass next to the window and saw that there was only one person coming down the hallway. It was a young woman, her blond hair tied back in a bun, her focus completely absorbed in whatever was pinned to the clipboard she was holding.

Seeing his chance, Dean waited until she was right outside, opened the door, and grabbed her. Before she could do much more than yelp in surprise, Dean yanked her back into the room and kicked the door shut.

“What the—”

“Shut up if you wanna keep your life,” Dean snapped, lowering his voice into a growl. He channeled his inner Castiel, trying to think of what his Alpha might do in this kind of situation. “Don’t struggle, or I’ll shoot you in the gut and let you die slowly.”

That felt a little excessive, but whatever. It got the job done. The girl in his arms froze, her pulse rabbit-quick against Dean’s hand.

Slowly, he reached down and pulled the gun out of her waistband, tossing it onto a table nearby. With Nikov’s handgun still pressed to her temple and her hands pinned by his against her chest, he felt relatively in-control.

“Who are you?” the girl whispered, not quite able to hide the way her voice trembled.

“Someone who ain’t got a lot to lose,” Dean replied. He dug the gun into her temple a little, praying she couldn’t feel how his fingers shook ever so slightly. “Where are the prisoners? The Omega and the Alpha?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only worked here two da-ah! Please, I don’t know!” the girl cried, Dean snarling and shaking her a little.

“Where is he?” he demanded, imagining an Alpha edge to his tone. “You’ve got about five seconds, I swear to God—”

“One of the offices!” his captive yelped. She’d bent to the left to escape the pressure of the gun at her temple, though she wasn’t able to go very far. Dean dug the weapon further against her skull, praying it would be enough. “O-One of the offices, that’s where the Omega is.”

“And the Alpha? Don’t give me a bullshit answer.”

“H-He’s in one of the storage rooms, I remember the men talking about it. Alpha Alastair was gon-gonna interrogate him today, he said not to go near there until after he did it. Please, that’s all I know.”

Dean could have demanded she tell him which storage room, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t get an actual answer. His captive was shaking like a leaf against him, and he spared a moment to thank God for how easy she’d been to terrorize. He wasn’t sure if that made him a bad person, but now was not the time for considering that. He needed to get to Gadreel and get the hell outta Dodge before someone found Nikov’s body.

Before he could think too hard about it, Dean raised the gun and smashed the grip against the girl’s temple, knocking her unconscious. She went limp in his arms, her sudden dead weight surprising him a little. His muscles shook as he slowly lowered them both to the ground, his left ankle screaming when he put pressure on it.

Feeling nauseous, Dean stripped the girl’s jacket off and used Nikov’s knife to cut it to pieces. He gagged her, then tied some fabric tightly around her hands, creating mitts of a sort that would be a pain to break out of. Finally, he used the handcuffs at her side to chain her ankle to a nearby table, all of which he prayed would be good enough to keep her for a while.

“Sorry,” Dean said apologetically to his captive as he finished tying her up. She was just beginning to regain consciousness as he pocketed her gun and crept toward the door, the hinges creaking slightly as he slipped through.

Dean glanced up and down the passage, determining that the coast was clear. Heart pounding, he began to to make his way back the way he’d come, wondering where the fuck the storage rooms were. This building reminded him of Sandover, and he knew the Sandover storage rooms were on the first floor, near the maintenance closets. Praying this place was laid out roughly the same way, Dean hurried through the halls toward the door where he’d first come in.

He nearly got caught as he rounded a corner. He saw two men coming from the opposite direction and just barely had time to throw himself into a nearby abandoned office before they were passing, both of them too engrossed in something on a glowing tablet to pay him any mind. Heart beating a sickening combination of terror, relief, and screaming adrenaline, Dean waited until they rounded the far corner before slipping out of his hiding place.

In the end, Dean found Gadreel by spotting the guards posted outside his storage area. Throughout his entire heart-pounding trip through the building, he hadn’t seen any stationary guards outside a door. When Dean peered around the corner of a hallway and saw two armed men chatting quietly in the passage beyond, he figured he’d reached his target.

This was the part he’d been dreading.

Dean straightened against the wall he’d been leaning on, trying to breathe deeply. His chest felt like it had a metal band around it, keeping his lungs from expanding to their full capacity. Bitterness coated his tongue, bile or something from his imagination, he wasn’t sure. In his hand, the gun felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

If I don’t kill them, they’re gonna kill me, Dean thought to himself. Any second now, someone’s gonna find Nikov’s body and they’re gonna start looking for me. I’ve gotta set off the alarm on my own terms. And I’ve gotta get to Alpha Gadreel before Alastair hurts him or someone else kills him.

It was easier to think about it in the context of saving Gadreel. Easy enough that Dean could forget the bitterness in his mouth, the agony in his leg, the heaviness in his heart. Easy enough that he could step out from around the corner, raise his gun, and fire.

BANG!

Fucking Christ, the gun was loud. The explosion echoed in the small space, powerful enough that Dean’s ears rang hollowly. The scream of the second guard—the one he hadn’t hit, the one who was still alive, the one without his brains splattered against the wall—was tinny and distant. As he turned wide-eyed to see the corpse of his friend hit the floor, Dean aimed and fired again.

One. Two.

Down.

The wall was a mess, the ceiling—God, the ceiling—dripping with blood and things Dean didn’t want to think about. He relished the pain that screamed up his leg as he quickly hobbled down the hallway, gunsmoke stinging his nose. The pain kept him grounded. The pain kept the fog of panic and shock at bay a little longer.

The guard—the first one, the one that had died before he’d even known what was happening—had a ring of keys on his belt. Dean grabbed them with shaking fingers that felt too thick and too clumsy. He resolutely kept his eyes on the metal keys instead of on the gorey mess just a few feet farther up the guy’s body. With bile burning his throat, Dean straightened and began shoving keys into the lock of the door, trying to find the right one.

Breathing through his mouth was impossible, because he was still holding back the urge to vomit. Breathing through his nose choked him with the coppery tang of blood. Dean’s fingers shook so badly that it was nearly impossible to get the keys in the lock. Thankfully, there were only four. The third one worked, and the door opened when he turned the handle.

Inside, Gadreel sat against the far wall, wary eyes fixed on the door. When it swung open and revealed Dean, he leaped to his feet.

“Omega Dean?” Dean’s ears were ringing, but he knew what those words looked like, what they would sound like if he could still hear. Relief was sickening, choking.

“Gadreel,” Dean said, and it was more of a sob than a word. “We gotta—we gotta—I’ve got—we h-have—I—We gotta go!”

Gadreel strode across the cramped, empty storage area he’d been trapped in, face painted with simultaneous concern and amazement. He looked Dean up and down, his gaze landing on the bodies at the Omega’s feet, the blood pooling on the concrete. The Alpha muttered something that looked a lot like “Christ almighty,” then asked louder, “Do you have an extra weapon?”

Dean wordlessly grabbed the gun he’d stolen from the blond girl he’d interrogated and handed it to Gadreel. The Alpha looked a little better than when Dean had last seen him, his face less pale and sweaty. His arm was covered in a makeshift bandage that looked as if it had been crafted of part of his own shirt. When he stepped out into the hallway, his movements were sure and steady.

“They’re gonna come get us,” Dean said, almost positive that he was talking too loud. His ears were still ringing, too loud, too loud.

“I know. Come, we need to move quickly.” Gadreel stepped back the way Dean had come, toward the doors that would lead them to the outside, to potential freedom. Dean strained to hear if people were coming, but his ears were still filled with high-pitched ringing.

He took a step after Gadreel as the Alpha began a brisk pace down the hall, then cried out as his ankle protested so violently he nearly collapsed. “Alpha Gadreel, I c-can’t—My ankle. I’m gonna…” Dean took a gulping breath. “I’m gonna get us killed.”

“No.” Gadreel turned and stalked back toward him, face set with determination. “No, you’re not. I won’t fail us again. Get on my back, tsarina. I’ll carry you.” He turned around to let Dean clamber onto his back, his arms looping under the Omega’s knees to hold him securely. “You’ll have to shoot if we see anyone. Just lay down cover fire, yes?”

“Ok-kay,” Dean stammered. He didn’t know when he’d started crying again, but his face was wet when he buried it in Gadreel’s collar. The scent of ozone and lemongrass was soothing, reminding him of Castiel’s apartment, of the myriad of scents that were layered in the air of Mystery Spot.

He was okay. He was okay now. They just had to make it out of here alive.

Gadreel’s arm must have been in agony, but he didn’t complain once as he set off at a near-jog, hurrying through the halls. Dean kept hold of Nikov’s gun as they moved, always glancing behind and in front of them as they rounded corners and moved through passages. With every turn, he swore they were going to run into a whole squadron of armed guards. They met no one, though he could hear occasional pounding footsteps in the floors above them.

As they passed a wide space filled with cubicles and covered furniture, Dean saw several men making their way toward them. He raised the gun and fired randomly at them, the bullets shattering the windows above the enemy guards and sending them diving for cover. Gadreel continued moving as if nothing had happened, though his pace quickened slightly.

Dean didn’t know where they were going until Gadreel got to the front lobby. Dean shot the doors as they got close, shattering the bar and lock that were keeping them closed. Behind him, he heard men shouting, so he fired a couple times behind as a sort of desperate warning.

Gadreel shoved them bodily through the double doors at the front of the building, ripping a cry of agony from Dean’s throat as his ankle was bashed up against the wood. The pain mixed with the ringing in his head, nearly causing him to pass out as they made it out of the building and into the cool night air.

Gadreel cut across the wide parking lot, evidently with a plan in mind. Dean, still focused on not passing out from the pure inferno that was his left ankle, raised his gun and fired again at the building, hoping to deter any pursuers from following them outside.

His ears were still not working all the way, so he felt Gadreel talk more than he heard the words. A moment later, he was being set gently down onto the ground, the Alpha shooting the window of the armored car they’d stopped beside so he could reach in and unlock it.

Dean stood there shivering and trying to keep watch through the sudden two halves that his vision had decided to split into, squinting hard at the building for any enemy guards. He thought he saw movement at the far end of the parking lot, near the back half of the abandoned building, but the sound of the car engine starting up distracted him. Gadreel, who’d probably taken less than a minute to hotwire the damn thing, grabbed Dean’s arm.

“In, in, tsarina, they’re coming. You drive, I can shoot.” He pushed Dean toward the driver’s seat, then hurried around to the other side. As Dean heaved himself up to get in, he heard the sound of a gun being fired off in the distance, then the pinging noise of the bullet hitting a nearby car. Gadreel swung himself up into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and shouted, “Go!”

Dean stomped on the gas, the car lurching forward with a grating screech of tires. If Dean had been driving the Impala, he would have cringed. As it was, he didn’t care about tire treads or suspension or the state of the brakes as he ripped out of the parking space and veered right, heading for one of the few roads that would take them to the open prairie.

Bullets pinged off the armored surface of the car. One hit the windshield, though a massive spiderweb crack was all that appeared. Gadreel had rolled down the sunroof and was half-standing so he could shoot out of it, the sound of his gun going off making Dean’s head throb.

It was only when they’d hit the dirt road that led them away from the buildings that the gunfire stopped and Gadreel sat down in the seat. He closed the sunroof, saying something Dean couldn’t hear.

“My ears are fucked,” he said apologetically, praying the Alpha could understand him. “What’re you trying to say?”

Gadreel ended up finding a pen and a piece of paper in a random interior compartment of the car. He scribbled a note to Dean, the Omega glancing at it as he navigated them toward the road he’d spotted up ahead.

They’ll chase us in cars, Gadreel had written. We can’t stop.

Dean nodded grimly when he’d finished reading. That had been what he was afraid of.

The car’s gas tank was nearly full, which was a good thing. Dean wasn’t sure how well the Knights could track them, but he knew they’d have to travel as fast as they could for as long as they could if they even wanted a chance of making it out of this encounter alive. He still had no idea where they were, but as he saw the smear of a town on the horizon begin to take shape, he figured they were about to find out.

Dean didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he read the name of the town sign as they blew past it, but he’d been braced for the worst. Something in a foreign language, maybe. Somewhere across the world, or at least across the country.

Lytton, Iowa, was… not what he’d been anticipating.

“I know where we are,” Dean murmured suddenly, half to himself. In his mind, he traced mental maps, the kind that he’d used to help his father navigate, back when he and Sammy were really little. “I know where we are!”

He knew where they were, and, more importantly, he knew where they could go.

Dean didn’t know the exact route, but he had a general sense of direction. Once they got on the highway, he felt a little better about where they were going. Gadreel seemed to trust him, because he didn’t ask if he had a plan. Both of them glanced at the mirrors every other second, searching for any signs of pursuers.

The possibility of being chased kept Dean’s adrenaline up, though he could feel the fog of shock and pain beginning to creep in. His ankle was now practically numb with agony. Dean was pretty sure it had swelled up so much that his boot would need to be cut off somehow. The thought of that—of dealing with all their injuries—was too much to bear.

There was so much to do. Dean wanted nothing more than to just see Castiel right now, but he knew there were a lot of things that had to happen before he could see his Alpha again. He drove with one hand and tugged at his bracelets with the other, trying to keep himself grounded as he navigated the deserted highway toward safety.

The clock on the dashboard said it was nearly two a.m., though surprisingly, the date showed that it had only been fifteen or so hours since they’d first left the hotel on their way home. It seemed not as much time had passed as Dean had thought.

There was almost no one out on the roads, so Dean pushed the speed limit as much as he dared, knowing they couldn’t afford to get pulled over right now. He tried not to think of what might happen if they were caught by the Knights again. Death was the best possibility, in all honesty.

“Your arm,” Dean eventually said, an hour or so after they’d started driving, his ears no longer ringing as badly. “Did you get it fixed?”

“They gave me a needle and thread and had me stitch it up myself,” Gadreel said. “I believe it’s infected, though that’s something that can be addressed once we’ve gotten to safety. Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, glancing at the gas gauge. “Hopefully this car can get us there.” They might still have to steal one. This was a pretty conspicuous vehicle.

“I still cannot believe we made it out alive,” Gadreel said, almost to himself. “You truly are a marvel.”

Despite how shitty he felt, Dean still blushed at the compliment. “I did what I had to. You were great, too. Thanks for carryin’ me and everything.”

“Of course. I owe you my life.” Gadreel settled back into the seat, staring out the front windshield. “If we survive past the next twenty-four hours, I will be forever in your debt.”

“Nah, that ain’t necessary,” Dean said, his face heating even more. He prayed the glow of the dashboard wouldn’t reveal how red his cheeks no doubt were.

“You could have run,” Gadreel said, turning to look at Dean intensely. “You could have fled and likely had a far easier time escaping. But you came back for me, and that is something that I will spend the rest of my days repaying. My gratitude knows no bounds, tsarina.”

“Aw, man,” Dean muttered. “You saved me too. We’re even.”

The Alpha hummed, but Dean could tell he didn’t quite agree. He figured they could have this conversation again when they weren’t being hunted by bloodthirsty killers.

Those pursuers never made themselves known, however. As the time wore on and the scenery around them grew more familiar to Dean, he glanced in the rearview and saw nothing but empty road behind them. Gadreel seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him. “They don’t seem to be chasing us.”

“Maybe they thought we’d go somewhere else?” Dean said.

“Perhaps. We’re going in the opposite direction of Chicago, so that’s certainly a possibility,” Gadreel said. He looked at Dean seriously, his pale face gleaming a little with sweat in the glow of the dashboard. “Where are we going? You seem to have a plan.”

Dean swallowed. “I do. I’m hopin’ it works out.” As he spoke, his eyes caught on the sign of the town they were preparing to enter. Welcome to Sioux Falls! flashed by in a blur of white letters.

Singer’s Auto was a shitty lot near the edge of town, complete with rows of rusted crap cars, most of them being used for parts. The last time Dean had been here nearly five years ago, it was in the Impala with his crying little brother in the passenger seat, his own broken nose and bruised eye already swelling from the beating he’d just taken.

“What is this?” Gadreel asked as Dean drove into the lot, parking the car out of sight among the rusted, warped junk.

“Safety,” Dean said, opening the door of the car, allowing a gust of cool early morning air into the cabin. “C’mon. You’re gonna have to help me walk again.”

He expected Gadreel to let him lean against him, but the Alpha scooped him up off his feet like he weighed nothing. Though Dean could see the strain it put on Gadreel’s injured arm, the Alpha didn’t even flinch as he began to carry Dean toward the porch of the large house nearby.

Dean was set down gently next to the door. He stayed leaning against Gadreel even as he reached for the doorbell, pressing it long and hard. He closed his eyes against the pain throbbing from various parts of his body, praying his uncle and aunt were home. His heart was pounding in his chest again, something like adrenaline and anxiety pumping through his veins. He was pretty sure if his heart rate sped up any more, he’d pass out.

They waited in silence for a good long while. Dean was about to reach for the doorbell again when he caught the sound of footsteps, heard distantly through the ringing in his ears. Gadreel went tense beside him, one hand drifting down to where his stolen gun was strapped to his belt.

“Don’t,” Dean warned. “If he sees that, he might just shoot us before he recognizes me.”

“Shoot us?” Gadreel demanded. “I thought you said this was safe.”

“It is.”

“How—”

Just then, the door was yanked open, a gleaming shotgun barrel shoved right into Dean’s face. He yelped in surprise, leaning into Gadreel on instinct. “Uncle Bobby, wait! Wait, it’s me! It’s Dean.”

There was a very brief pause, in which Dean truly wasn’t sure if he was about to be shot or not, and then the porch light flicked on. Dean and Gadreel blinked against it, both of them simultaneously getting a very unwanted view of Robert Singer in his pajamas.

“Dean? What the hell’re you doin’ here, boy?” a voice he would have recognized anywhere demanded. And then, so familiar Dean could have cried, “You look like shit.”

Dean made a noise that was half-laugh and half-sob. “Hey, Uncle Bobby,” he said. “We need your help.”

His uncle’s dark eyes were wary as they took in the two of them, glittering in that suspicious way of his from underneath his trucker’s cap. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“This is Alpha Gadreel, he’s a friend.” Dean looked at his uncle meaningfully. “He saved my life, Bobby. Please, can we come inside? We’re, um… We’re kinda in trouble with some bad people.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, looked them up and down one more time, then jerked his head behind him. “Get on in here, then. Ellen, it’s just Dean.”

He moved aside, allowing Dean and Gadreel to limp inside. Ellen was standing in the passageway with a shotgun of her own, though hers was pointed at the floor. When she saw Dean, she stiffened like she’d been electrocuted. “Dean—”

“DEAN!?”

Dean had all of a second to brace himself before the teenager that had been lurking at the top of the stairs came careening down, cannonballing into him at full force. He stumbled against Gadreel, who growled at the attacker, “Careful, pup.”

“Sammy,” Dean breathed.

His baby brother had grown since he’d last seen him. He was tall now, almost as tall as Dean, though with the way his head had ducked to Dean’s neck, he still seemed shorter. His hair was longer, curling at the back of his neck, smelling of young Alpha and family and home. Dean closed his eyes and buried his nose there, tears springing free before he could stop them.

Jesus Christ. He was home.

“Who are you?” he heard Ellen ask Gadreel.

“I’m a friend of Omega Dean’s. He’s saved my life,” Gadreel said. He was still warm and supportive next to Dean, keeping him upright under the weight of Sam’s hug. Dean’s leg was a throbbing mess of agony, but that was a distant thing. All that mattered was the young Alpha in his arms.

“You smell like blood and gunpowder,” Sam said, his words muffled by Dean’s stolen jacket.

“We just escaped being held captive by an enemy mafia,” Dean replied, laughing shakily at how absurd that sounded.

The sound of his three family members saying, “What?” at the same time was one of the best things he’d ever heard. Dean was lightheaded with the relief and joy of it all.

“There’s a lot to explain,” he said, loosening his grip just slightly on Sammy so he could look at Bobby. “I’ll tell you everything, I swear. But first, I need to use your phone.”

Chapter Text

Castiel spoke his first word in hours when he heard Mikhail say that it was probably best for him to stay behind for the final meeting they were holding with the Knights.

“No.”

Mikhail turned from where he’d been speaking to Luke and one of the men, seeming almost surprised to see Castiel there, as if he’d forgotten he was present. To be fair, Castiel had been seated silently in the corner of the room ever since they’d received word from the rescue team that the car had crashed and Gadreel, Nikov, and Dean’s bodies were missing from the wreckage. Castiel hadn’t made a sound throughout the entire emergency meeting Mikhail had called, nor during the fervent strategy session he’d had with Luke afterward. He’d stayed silent even when a messenger had arrived at the hotel in the early hours of the morning to announce that the Knights of Hell wanted to meet with the Krushnics again.

But he spoke up now. Because he wasn’t going to sit around the hotel and do nothing. Not now. Not after what had happened.

“Castiel, you’re not going,” Mikhail said.

Castiel stood, a jerky, robotic movement. Everything about his body felt distant and detached. “I’m going,” he said flatly. He looked his oldest brother in the eyes straight-on, uncaring of the blatant disrespect in his words.

He wished Mikhail would shout at him. He wished his brother would threaten him with punishment for daring to even question an obvious order. He wished he would do anything but look at him with sympathy—with pity—in his eyes. “Castiel, please. I beg you to see past your emotions. You’re in no fit state to speak to the Knights.”

Past what emotions? Everything inside of Castiel was hollow, empty, gone. No emotion there, no color, no light. His light had been stolen from him.

He wanted him back.

“I’m going,” he said flatly, taking a step forward, as if he could prove that he was still a functioning human being. “You need everyone there with you, Mikhail. It’s dangerous if you go alone.”

“He’s got a point,” Luke murmured.

“Then I’ll take one of the men,” Mikhail said, his tone firm.

“They can’t be trusted,” Castiel spat, more venom than he’d ever heard coloring his words. Apparently, there was something inside him after all.

Mikhail stared at him, the still expression on his face more than enough to convey how shocked he was. Luke was looking at Castiel like he might explode at any second, standing on the balls of his feet in case he had to get out of the line of fire.

“You’re not going,” Mikhail said.

Castiel pulled out his gun. “Try to stop me,” he said lowly. “I fucking dare. You.”

“Put the gun away.”

“I’m going.”

“You’re going to do something incredibly stupid that will get us all killed.” Mikhail tightened his jaw, his gaze fixed firmly on Castiel’s face, his eyes not once moving to the gun that his brother pointed straight at his head. “You’re unstable right now, Castiel. I know you’re upset, you have every right to be—”

“Stop pitying me!” Castiel roared, rage trembling in every single syllable. “I am perfectly in control. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I will get my Omega back, and I will do it through any means necessary. I will fucking destroy any obstacles in my path, including you, brother. Don’t fucking test me.”

“Mikhail,” Luke said, “let him come.”

“Lucifer—”

“Love is strength, don’t you always say that? Look at him, Mikhail. He’ll tear the world down if that’s what it takes. Fucking let him come, or I’ll stay too, and you’ll go alone.”

Mikhail finally looked away from Castiel, turning to glare at Luke. “You’re a Goddamn traitor.”

“I’m the only fucking sane person here at the moment, it seems. Fucking let him come with us, or I’ll have to clean your brains off the floor when we get back from rescuing the kid,” Luke snapped.

Mikhail could be as stubborn as any of them when he wanted to be, but he was also reasonable and knew when he’d been beaten. He looked between both of them, frustration wrinkling his brow, and Castiel sensed his defeat before he even said anything.

“Fine,” Mikhail said. “You’re going.”

Castiel put the gun away. He was still wearing his clothes from earlier, from when he’d hugged Dean goodbye and promised to see him back home soon. When he pulled the shirt off to strap on a heavy-duty bulletproof vest, he swore he caught the scent of apples and sunshine.

Undershirt. Bulletproof vest. Armor shell. Shirt. Gun harness. Jacket. Coat.

Castiel strapped his weapons onto his body and said his prayers to the saints, to God, to whatever else might be listening. He murmured an apology to the spirit of his mother, asking her to look away for what he was about to do next. Of his father, he merely requested strength.

Mikhail and Luke were waiting for him when he emerged from his room, both of them looking equally as heavily-armed. Behind them, the men had gathered, all of them grim-faced and silent. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look any of them in the eye. He wouldn’t be able to do that without wondering about their loyalty.

Someone betrayed us, he thought. Someone took Dean from me. Their inside spy had finally made a decisive move, and it had been nearly enough to bring them to their knees.

Nearly.

Everything was cleared from the rooms in the hotel and packed into the cars they’d been using since they’d come here. They wouldn’t be returning. Mikhail drove the car that would take them to the building where the meeting was taking place. The sight of his brother in the driver’s seat only served to remind Castiel that Gadreel was gone and the rest of the men dead, save for Dean and Nikov. He could at least comfort himself with the fact that his Omega wasn’t alone.

That was, of course, if Nikov and Gadreel weren’t the traitors. The mere thought of that kind of betrayal made Castiel feel nauseous.

It was nearing two in the morning when they stopped at the skyscraper where the Knights had made their base. The six men and three Krushnic brothers were silent as they got out of their cars, headed for the lobby like all the times before.

There were two Knights men waiting for them, the only people in the deserted lobby. “Only Mikhail,” one of them said as everyone came in.

“They’re coming, or none of us are,” Mikhail said, nodding his head at Luke and Castiel. “The rest will stay down here.”

The two Knights glanced at each other, seeming to deliberate, and then they nodded. Castiel should have felt relieved that they weren’t putting up a fight, but the guns at his belt were heavy and his fingers felt as if they’d been struck with lightning, energy making them twitchy and dangerous.

He could feel the Knights’ eyes on him as they flanked the Krushnics on their way to the elevator. Castiel’s face was a stone mask, betraying none of his emotion, none of his rage. Inside, he felt the red-hot fury roiling underneath a chill sheet of calm, a storm building just under the surface. The sensation was familiar. Castiel remembered it from his early days in the bratva, when he’d been driven by anger and by the desire to avenge his parents.

The ride to the top of the building was tense, the air crackling with pure energy. Luke rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands folded in a display of false-calm in front of him. In his suit, he looked like he might be going to a big business meeting, but Castiel saw the slight shadow under his arms, the bulkiness to his waist. Both his brothers were heavily armed. The knowledge should have comforted him, but it didn’t even make a dent in the shell of cool steel that seemed to have encased him in the past few hours.

The elevator reached the top with a ding. When it opened, the Krushnics moved.

In a way, the formation was familiar. Mikhail in the front, Castiel to his left, Luke to his right. Luke wore nothing over his suit jacket, but Mikhail had a dark overcoat not unlike Castiel’s tan trenchcoat. He looked like the perfect gentleman, but there was nothing polite about the way he grabbed the handle of the meeting room door and shoved it open without a knock to announce their presence.

Inside the room, four people sat at the end of a long table, two more standing at the wall behind them. Castel recognized Azazel, Asmodeus, Abaddon, and another unnamed lieutenant at the table. The two behind them were lower-level members acting as guards.

Lilith was gone. Alastair, too.

Castiel’s jaw tightened against the bile that threatened to rise at the thought of Alastair Prince getting his hands on Dean. The records they had of the man’s deeds, the marks on the bodies that sometimes returned to them… The man was a master of pain, and if he wasn’t here, there were only a few other places he could be.

“Hello, Mikhail. Luke and Castiel, we weren’t expecting you,” Azazel said. He grinned at Castiel, yellow-green eyes flashing in the bright lights above. Through the large wall of windows to their right, the nighttime skyline could be seen.

“Where’s the Omega?” Mikhail demanded.

Azazel’s grin only widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t fucking play coy, you pig-faced bastard,” Luke snapped, Russian words ripping through the air. “Tell us where Dean is.”

“I haven’t received word from my brother in a while,” Azazel said, his eyes zeroing in on Castiel’s face. Though he was fluent in Russian, his words had a slight accent to them, a tiny lilt that betrayed his American heritage. Castiel fucking hated it. “He’s likely busy with your precious Dean right now. Don’t worry, Castiel, there won’t be any permanent damage. We don’t break toys we intend to return.”

Castiel held the man’s gaze steadily, his own eyes blank, flat. He was careful to keep his emotions locked deep inside himself, though he could feel them shoving against the icy calm surface he’d constructed. Where is he? he wanted to scream. Where are you keeping him?

He stayed silent.

“So you want to negotiate a trade,” Mikhail said. “You took an innocent Omega so you could force a trade.”

“You were dragging your feet about giving us what you know should be ours,” Azazel said, spreading his hands in false apology. Castiel remembered the long list of demands the Knights had given them the first day they’d come here. “We figured we could help you make the decision by applying a little pressure. As I said, the Omega won’t be hurt too badly as long as you cooperate.”

“I suggest you do so quickly,” Asmodeus added, giving them a nasty grin. “Alastair tends to get impatient.”

“What about Gadreel and Nikov?” Luke demanded.

Azazel looked surprised. “The Alpha is extra, so he’ll cost extra. As for the Beta… I think you already know about him.”

“That little bitch,” Luke muttered.

Castiel didn’t react. Azazel was right, he’d already guessed. It didn’t matter to him who had betrayed them, anyway. He’d root them out and make them suffer, but only after Dean was safe. When Dean and Gadreel had been returned to them, he would be able to focus on other things. Right now, he merely stared at Azazel’s face, at Asmodeus’s, only a few feet away. One, two.

Easy. Everything was so easy, when he no longer had anything to lose.

“So, shall we get to negotiating?” Azazel asked, gesturing at the free chairs in front of the three Krushnics. “Take off your coats, Mikhail and Castiel. Stay a while, why don’t you?”

He was so smug. So fucking sure of himself, sure of his position in this situation. He and his idiotic brother might as well have propped their feet up on the table and stretched their arms behind their heads for how arrogant they seemed. They thought they had the Krushnics by the throat. They thought that Castiel’s love for his Omega would make him weak—that because of Dean, he would be willing to just give in and let them have whatever they wanted.

They were wrong. Castiel finally understood what Mikhail meant when he said that love was power; it was his love for his parents that had made him a killer, and it was his love for Dean that would end this war with the Knights before it had even begun.

“No,” Castiel rasped, the first thing he’d said since they’d left the hotel room. “We won’t be staying.” The words were rough, flat, sharpened at the edges like fine blades.

“No?” Azazel asked, eyes glinting. “I don’t think you have much choice in this situation—”

Castiel pulled out his gun and shot him.

Ever since they’d been children, the four Krushnic brothers had been frighteningly in sync. Whether they were playing pranks on their parents or stealing from the school kitchen, where there was one Krushnic, there were three others not far away. Gabriel was back home, of course, but Castiel didn’t doubt that if he’d been here, he wouldn’t have missed a beat.

In perfect unison, Luke and Mikhail pulled out their weapons and fired, once, twice, four times. Before the guards at the wall even had a chance to raise their rifles all the way, there were bullets in their skulls. The Prince brothers’ lieutenants slumped over at the table where they were seated, their blood painting the ceiling and walls behind them red.

The door burst open, the two guards from earlier shoving their way in. Luke swiveled and shot both of them, barely flinching. As the corpses fell to the floor, Castiel looked to his two brothers and asked, “You’re with me?”

“Always, Castiel,” Mikhail said. He reached up and wiped a smear of blood off his forehead from when he’d shot Asmodeus a few feet in front of him, the only sign that he’d killed anyone at all. Every part of him was the calm, collected older brother that Castiel remembered. His blue eyes were cool and completely serious.

Castiel’s throat was traitorously tight. “We’re likely going to die,” he rasped out.

Luke grinned, reaching into his pocket to grab a packet of foam ear-protectors. “Let’s get to the fun part then.”

They took the rifles the guards had been carrying. Castiel slipped the earbuds into his ringing ears, hoping the meager protection would leave him with hearing by the end of this. With his stolen rifle slung over his blood-spattered shirt, he nodded at his brothers and made his way toward the exit.

This time, as they stepped out into the hall, Castiel was in front. His older brothers flanked him as they moved toward the stairwell, the three of them moving with deadly synchrony. Castiel’s coat flapped behind him as he shoved the door to the stairs open and led the way through, beginning the long descent to the bottom of the building.

Mikhail had pulled out his phone and was speaking to the men in the lobby, low, terse Russian echoing with their footsteps as they pounded down the stairs. “The Prince brothers are dead,” Castiel heard Mikhail say, the words muffled through his ear protection. “Prepare yourselves for a violent response.”

Below them, one of the doors slammed open, shouting voices in a mixture of English and Russian ringing through the stairwell. Castiel and Luke aimed over the railing as Mikhail continued barking orders into his phone, the two younger Krushnics opening fire on the men below. The explosion of the shots made Castiel’s head ache. Even with the little foam protectors in his ears, his skull still rang with the sound of the shots in the echoing stairwell.

They all ducked back as a barrage of gunfire answered them, bullets pinging the stairs and walls above them. There was no way people on the street couldn’t hear the commotion, and Castiel distantly thought that this was going to make national news. He hoped they all could be out and gone before the news arrived on the scene.

The three Krushnics made their way down the stairs slowly, killing the two groups of Knights they met during their descent. They heard more footsteps above them, but if they stayed pinned close to the wall, they could remain protected by the layers and layers of metal stairs above them. The entire journey through the skyscraper, Castiel felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

When they finally reached the bottom, Mikhail shouted through the door that they were coming. Even with the warning, a stray shot whizzed past Castiel’s right ear when the door opened, prompting Luke to shout, “Fucking watch it!”

“Alphas Krushnic?” Balthazar half-straightened from where he was kneeling behind what looked to be a barricade of chairs, tables, and other lobby furniture. The men were all crouched behind the front desk, the doors to the rest of the building blocked shut by more stacked furniture. Only the door to the stairwell, the elevators, and the front doors to the street were uncovered.

“We’re here,” Mikhail said. “There’s more behind us. We’re going to need to get out through a back way. I guarantee they’ll have access to the main street blocked off. Is there anywhere else we can go?”

“There’s a hallway that leads through the storage rooms to a back parking lot for employees where we’re parked, I saw it when we were studying the blueprints,” a young Omega piped up. Her bright eyes were fixed on the blood splattered on the lapels of Castiel’s tan coat, but her voice was steady.

“They’ll anticipate that,” Mikhail said. “There’s a lot more of them than there are of us.”

“They’re trying to keep us penned into a building with a lot of exits. They can’t throw their whole fighting force into defending one,” Castiel pointed out. “We can handle whatever is blocking the storage hallway. We might need a distraction to aid us, though.”

Mikhail nodded. Luke grinned. “Let’s spice things up, then.”

He strode over to a plastic case on the wall and elbowed it, shattering the brittle material. Castiel only had time to read the white PULL DOWN letters before his brother was yanking on the handle, setting off the fire alarm with an unholy screech. As the sound of the alarm began to echo through the building, the Krushnics and their men moved from behind the blockade to one of the doors that would take them to the rest of the building.

“What will be behind here?” Mikhail shouted at the Omega over the sound of the alarm. “Where do we go?”

She looked a little faint at being addressed by the head of the bratva, but she said, “I can show you. We need to go straight until we reach the T, and then we go left. There’s a long hallway that will let us out the back.”

They cleared the furniture blocking the door, and then they moved through. Castiel remained at the front, his coat flapping at his calves as the group of them hurried through the hallway. The building was laid out exactly as the young Omega had told them it would be. Their path might have been perfect had they not rounded the corner of the T and found a whole group of Knights waiting for them in the passage beyond.

Those at the back of the group leaped behind the safety of the corner they’d just come around. Those at the front had to dive for cover, Castiel included. He was lucky enough to have a small table that he could flip over to use as cover, the vase and the doily on top of it going flying as he sent it crashing to the ground to avoid the bullets that began flying past his face. The woman to his left hadn’t been so lucky, and she was dead before she hit the ground.

The Knights didn’t have much cover of their own, so once the Krushnics got over their initial surprise, they were able to retaliate effectively. Bodies hit the carpet as guns fired on both sides. Someone had given Luke a shotgun, which was devastating in such close quarters. When Castiel broke cover to fire off a few shots, a bullet whizzed past his head so close that it nicked his right ear. He fell back behind the safety of the table he was crouched behind, clapping a hand to his ear with a grunt of pain.

“Cassie, were you hit?” Luke was already half-standing in the hallway anyway, but as the firing ceased from their opposition, he stepped fully into view. When Castiel stood from his place behind the overturned table, he saw that all the Knights lay dead or dying. Of their own, only the first woman was dead.

“My ear,” Castiel said, taking his hand away and grimacing at the blood that stained his palm and fingers. “I’m fine. We need to go now, while the way is clear.” The alarm was still screeching around them, nearly muffling the sounds of footsteps overhead and in the other hallways. Their time to move was running out.

Mikhail led the way down the hall this time, his strides long and purposeful. When a random dark-suited figure appeared at the far end, he raised his gun and fired twice, sending the man to the ground. No one else came from the stairwell at the end of the passage after that. They passed it and exited the building without being assaulted again.

Outside, the early morning air was shockingly quiet compared to the chaos of the interior of the building. Castiel’s ears rang as he tried to listen to Mikhail’s orders, though he didn’t pull his ear-protection out yet. They would be shooting more, he was sure of it.

“This is gonna be a hell of a news story,” Luke commented as the Krushnics hurried across the empty back parking lot toward the sidewalk that would take them to their parked cars. “Our fixers are gonna have a fucking aneurysm.”

A door banged open behind them, signaling that their opposition had arrived. A few of the men shot behind them in an attempt to lay some feeble cover fire, but most of them continued running toward the cars, their only avenue of escape.

“Drive east,” Mikhail barked as they reached the trucks. “Don’t head home, just go straight east. We’ll regroup when we’re out of the city.”

He and Castiel climbed into the lead car, Luke swinging himself into the one in the back. The rest of them dispersed between the three trucks, intent on getting away before one of the Knights could get close enough to shoot one of the tires. Castiel had no doubt they would try to set up snipers at the edges of the city, hoping to keep them from leaving. At this hour of the morning, it was a blessing that there was little traffic and few people on the streets. Their escape would be much quicker.

Blood from his ear was soaking his collar. Castiel stared at it in one of the side mirrors of the car as Mikhail took off down the street, frowning at the bleeding wound on the outer shell. The bullet must have nicked part of it. He’d have to get it bandaged.

“They’ll try to pursue,” Mikhail said. “They know the city better. It’s important that we don’t split up, because that will make us easier to capture. We have to remain together.”

In the back, one of the men relayed the information over a radio. Castiel scanned the rooftops and sidewalks as Mikhail drove, searching for any sign of danger. There was a helicopter circling overhead at the building they’d just left, the dot of it in the sky becoming smaller and smaller as they drove away. Castiel had no doubt the civilians had been woken and the police had been roused by the commotion in the building. He prayed they could all get away before the authorities got involved and things became messy.

“They might set up blockades near the building that will make it hard for the Knights to navigate,” one of the men in the back said as they watched cop cars whiz by on the other side of the street, headed in the opposite direction.

“That sounds too much like luck for how life has been treating us lately,” Mikhail grumbled. “Let’s hope that the death of most of their senior officers scrambles their attempts to raise an opposing force. The Knights have never been the most orderly organization.”

That, at the very least, was true. The Knights were infamous for their many squabbles and infighting for power, something that had worked to the advantage of the Krushnic bratva many a time. Castiel prayed that would be the case today, his knuckles white on the gun in his lap.

“Where are we going once we get outside the city?” he asked, bracing as Mikhail took a particularly hard turn at a red light.

“There’s a small airport nearby. Not the one we landed when we flew here, a different one. If Balthazar followed his orders correctly, there will be a plane waiting for us,” Mikhail said. His face was grim. “If we can’t catch that plane, I don’t know if we’ll make it to sunset.”

“And if we do?”

“Then we’ll be free to return home and regroup,” Mikhail said. He tore his eyes from the road long enough to give Castiel a firm look. “We will organize ourselves and then we will look for Dean.”

“Mikhail—”

“No. I won’t hear any arguments on this. We need to be strategic; there’s been enough spontaneous actions today.”

Castiel would have argued more, but there were men in the backseat that were well within earshot. He wasn’t about to question his brother’s authority again in front of them. Besides, he couldn’t deny that he’d been expecting that answer. It made his inner Alpha roar with fury, but it was the best he could get right now.

He sat back in the car seat and tried not to think of Alastair hurting Dean, carving him open with those disgusting knives of his. Alastair was a master of pain, of suffering. Castiel shuddered to think of what he could do to his Omega. He hoped against hope that the commotion in Chicago would distract the Knights from whatever they were doing with Dean and Gadreel.

At some point, two armored vans appeared behind the third car in their little trio, presumably bearing Knights of Hell. Luke communicated over the radio that the threat was being dealt with, and after four loud shots were heard from behind them, they received word that the vans had been taken out by the wheels.

“Those were the only two?” Mikhail asked over the radio.

“Yep. That’s all they can muster right now, I think. Those assholes were riding on pure arrogance. I don’t think they anticipated us taking out two of their leaders and a whole bunch of senior officers,” Luke said, echoing what Castiel and Mikhail had been talking about before.

No one dared to voice the hope that had just begun to glimmer in the distance, though it grew stronger the farther they got from the heart of the city. Mikhail was forced to slow down as they reached the residential area and the streets became more crowded as the sun rose, but the slower speed didn’t matter. No one came to try to stop them.

When they reached the small airport Mikhail had been talking about, Castiel almost expected to see the Knights waiting for them. His heart pounded as they rolled off the main road, heading straight for a small private jet that was idling on the tarmac. At any moment, it seemed bullets would begin whizzing through the air, but nothing happened.

His phone started ringing as they came to a stop near the plane, but Castiel ignored it. He held onto his gun as he swung himself out of the car, doing a quick headcount of the men that had made it from the building to the airport. Everyone was present, light glittering in their eyes despite the grimness to their faces. Castiel knew that when this was all said and done, it would be a story told many times over. They’d never dared to think of going straight into enemy territory, cutting the head off the snake, and getting out alive. Right now, it just about seemed possible.

His phone rang again, so Castiel pulled it out and checked the ID. It was a random number, though this was the second time it had called. Mildly irritated, Castiel tucked the phone back into his pocket, contemplating powering it off until they were safely in the air.

“Balthazar can fly us home,” Mikhail reported, coming down the steps of the jet to reach the small group of men on the runway. “His flying license isn’t exactly legal, but if it really comes down to that, we can figure it out. Come on, we need to get out of here before the Knights catch up.”

Castiel was last on the plane, waiting as the men made sure the cars were emptied and everything was secure. When they’d all boarded the plane, he allowed himself to exhale a little.

In his pocket, his phone went off again.

Growling, Castiel pulled it out and answered without even thinking, deciding he was going to give whatever salesman was on the other end a lesson in Russian curses. “What?” he snarled as the line picked up.

And then, like he was being spoken to by an angel, he heard, “Cas?”

Castiel had to grab the back of the nearest airplane seat to steady himself, his stomach feeling as if it had dropped all the way to his boots in the span of a second, his legs suddenly far too weak to keep him upright. “Dean?”

Mikhail, who’d been coming back down the aisle of the plane to tell him something, froze. He stared at Castiel, who stared at a mark on the floor, trying to keep himself steady.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s voice was so familiar, husky and sweet, not a trace of anxiety to be found. “Um, I’m not dead. Surprise!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Castiel murmured, taking a page from Luke’s book of curses for a moment. “The Knights, are they—Alastair…” He kept waiting for the voice on the other end to change, to hear someone threatening to hurt his Omega if he didn’t comply with their demands right now.

But Dean just laughed a little, and God, that sound could bring Castiel to his knees. “Oh, um, yeah. I didn’t know if you knew that we were alive or not. But we escaped! Gadreel and I are here, we got out together. You should’a seen us, Cas, we were like—”

“Where is ‘here,’ zaychik?” Castiel asked. Though his heart was pounding so hard he swore it was going to emerge from his throat at any second, though he felt like screaming with all the adrenaline and terror and hope flooding through his veins, he knew he could only ever be gentle with Dean. Always gentle.

“We’re at my uncle’s house. They held us in some kinda office building-thingy, but we got out and we drove to my uncle’s place. I figured I should call you so you didn’t do anything drastic.”

Castiel glanced down at himself, his suit and coat splattered with dead men’s blood. “Too late, my love,” he said, fond despite the urgency and desperate hope still mixing inside of him. “Where is your uncle? Were you followed? You could be in danger—”

“We weren’t followed, it’s okay,” Dean said quickly. “And if we were… um, my uncle’s kind of a prepper, so he’s got lots’a guns and stuff. And bear traps. We’ll be okay for now. Where are you? Are you still in Chicago?”

Castiel wanted to ask him a million questions. He wanted to ask if he was safe, if he’d been hurt, if he was feeling alright. He wanted to know what those bastards had done. He wanted to know if Gadreel was alright, and the exact details of where they’d been held, and how the hell they’d escaped…

But he needed to know the most important thing. “Where is your uncle’s house, malysh? You cannot be too far from here.” If Dean had had time to stage an escape in only twenty-four hours, he couldn’t possibly be in another country.

“We’re in Sioux Falls, South Dakota,” Dean said. “I can text you the address. Are you in a car or something? I can hear an engine in the background.”

Castiel met Mikhail’s eyes. The urgency had drained from his brother’s body when he’d seen Castiel relax, though the question in his eyes remained. Holding his brother’s gaze, Castiel said, “I’m on a plane, zaychik. I’ll come to you soon, alright? Please stay where you are. And if something happens, call me. Please.”

“Okay, Cas,” Dean said. He exhaled. “It’s really good to hear your voice again.”

Castiel softened. “You as well, dorogoy. I will see you soon, da? Stay safe.”

“Okay. Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, my love.” Castiel gripped his phone tightly as he heard the line click off, trying to ignore the way his heart rate spiked in his chest. To Mikhail, he said weakly, “Dean is alive, as is Gadreel. Somehow, the two of them escaped.”

“They escaped?” Mikhail’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Where are they?”

“Sioux Falls, South Dakota. How far is that from here?” Castiel asked. He silently prayed Mikhail would sense the second question underlying those words, that he wouldn’t go along with his previous plan of fleeing to Washington. Please, he’s so close. He’s so close.

“I’ll ask the pilot,” Mikhail said. His tone was almost gentle as he said, “Sit, Castiel. This will take a few hours, at the least. I promise you’ll see your Omega before the day is out.”

Castiel exhaled in relief. That was all he’d needed to know. “Thank you, brother,” he said. His words were choked by the hope that had been cresting like a tidal wave inside of him. He didn’t dare allow any more of it to materialize.

Mikhail squeezed him firmly on the shoulder, and then he went back down the aisle to the cockpit, where Luke and Balthazar were no doubt waiting for the order to take off. Castiel forced himself to relax into his seat, his gaze drifting out the window to the tarmac.

Hold on, Dean, he thought, listening as the sound of the engine changed, becoming stronger. We’ll be reunited soon.

Beneath him, the jet rumbled as the engines began to roar. As they rolled forward and began to move toward takeoff, Castiel prayed with all his might that those words would come true.

Chapter Text

The nearest airport to Singer’s Auto was fifteen minutes away, made twenty by the mid-afternoon traffic. The entire drive, Castiel felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

He took in the details of the property passively once they reached it, collecting information as he’d trained himself to do throughout many years. No other way in or out than the front gate, many stacks of old cars that could be used as cover, the house located on a slight hill that would provide just enough advantage to be dangerous… The information meant next to nothing to him. His entire being was focused on getting to Dean.

His legs felt numb as he jumped out of the car before it had even parked and made his way up the gravel path toward the house. He could vaguely hear Mikhail and Luke conversing in hushed Russian behind him, but that was so far out of his mind that he barely perceived it. His entire focus had zeroed in on the faded blue house before him, his inner Alpha poised like it was going to attack at any second. Waiting. Waiting.

Castiel climbed the steps of the porch. He knocked on the door once, twice, three times. He stood back and waited. He held his breath. After what felt like a small eternity, footsteps sounded inside the house. Castiel strained to hear them, trying to recognize the cadence, the weight.

It wasn’t Dean. Something inside of him trembled.

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice demanded from the other side once the footsteps had reached the door.

“My name is Castiel Krushnic,” Castiel replied, the English feeling strange after so long in a different language, save for his phone call with Dean. His voice was far steadier than he felt. It was flat but controlled as he said, “I’m here for Dean Winchester and a man named Gadreel.”

There was a long pause, and then the door was cracked open with a creaking groan. Through the gap that had just been created, Castiel could see a short, grizzled Beta glaring at him. “Yer the Alpha my boy’s been talkin’ about?” he asked, every word loaded with wary distrust.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed knowing immediately who the Beta was referring to. All of the thoughts in his head—the anxieties that screamed that this was about as close to “meeting the family” as he was going to get—silenced in the face of his desire to see his Omega. Without meaning to, he voiced that. “I need to see him.”

The man—Robert Singer, he must have been—looked him up and down. Castiel had peeled off his trench coat on the drive over, since it had gotten the worst of the bloodstains. Singer’s eyes were sharp, though, and he caught the blood on Castiel’s collar, the bandage on his ear, the slight bulk of his suit jacket. Dangerously, he said, “You’re not fuckin’ comin’ in here with them weapons, boy.”

“I’ll take them off,” Castiel replied weakly, already reaching for his harness. “I just need to see him, please.” Though he despised the idea of entering a new place without his weapons, he would gladly subject himself to that risk if he got to see his Omega as quickly and painlessly as possible.

“On the porch,” Singer told him. “Slow, now.”

Castiel kept his movements deliberate and open as he peeled off his suit jacket and took off his gun harness. He added his wrist sheaths to the small pile of weapons on the wooden floorboards at his feet, praying Singer couldn’t see the way his fingers trembled. As he disarmed himself, he inhaled the dew-heavy morning air, searching for any hint of a familiar scent.

When he’d taken all his weapons off, Singer gave him a once-over and a single, decisive nod. Castiel practically shoved him aside in his desperation to get into the house, not even fazed by the shotgun the man had been pointing at him throughout their entire interaction.

Inside, the house smelled of apples and woodsmoke, lily flowers and motor oil. Castiel didn’t try to hide the way he was desperately scenting the air, uncaring of what Singer thought of him. He closed his eyes as he tried to parse through the embedded scents of the three people who evidently lived here. Underneath the embedded scents, just barely detectable, was one that Castiel could have found in a crowd of a million, sweet vanilla and something like baking bread, fresh spring air and the warmth of summer sunshine.

Dean.

“He’s upstairs resting,” Singer said behind him as Castiel stood in the entry hall, inhaling the various scents of the house. His eyes, when Castiel turned back to meet them, were still wary and distrustful. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to just shove the old man out of the way and go see his Omega, but he knew that wouldn’t be advisable. For one, he didn’t entirely trust that the man wouldn’t shoot him, and for another, he was currently looking at his future father-in-law. He needed to play the game right now, especially since Singer seemed so inclined to dislike him.

“May I see him?” he asked, struggling to peel the impatience and desperation from his tone, leaving just the humble pleading.

Singer’s eyes narrowed. “And why the hell should I let you?” he demanded. He seemed like he’d been waiting for the opportunity to snap at Castiel. “My boy comes in at four in the mornin’, covered in blood and barely able t’stand, and he says it’s ‘cause of some mafia bullshit that I can’t even believe I’m hearin’! And then, when my wife’s patchin’ him up, what does she find but some courting bracelets on his wrist from an Alpha different than the one he came in with!”

Castiel didn’t hide his wince. If he wanted to see Dean now, he needed to show Singer that he cared, that he was human. The Angel of Death was not going to be effective in this situation. He needed to demonstrate that he could be trusted. “Yes. The courting bracelet is from me.”

Singer’s eyes narrowed maliciously. “Oh, I know. What kinda fool Alpha are you, lettin’ your intended Omega go off and get kidnapped by some… some enemy mafia or some bullshit? And what the fuck did you do to my boy, exposin’ him to people like you in the first place? Huh?”

He was angry. Of course he was. For a moment, Castiel spared a thought to how the Beta before him might be feeling. The young man who was practically his son had come to him critically injured and claiming that he’d been hurt by an enemy mafia, the kind of thing that most Americans merely saw in movies and nothing else. Of course Singer was upset. Of course he hated Castiel.

Everything—all of the anger that had been building in return, the answering jibe about letting Dean be torn apart by his father when surely Singer could have done something—all of it fell away. Castiel’s shoulders sagged, and his chin dipped.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, shame surging like acid inside of him. “This is my fault. It’s my fault he was hurt, that he was in that situation at all. I swear, sir, if I could have kept him from experiencing that I would have.” To his horror, he felt emotion choking his throat. Unable to hide it in his voice, he said, “I would give anything for Dean to be happy and safe, Mr. Singer. You have no reason to believe me, but please know that it’s true. I will regret the actions that led to his kidnapping until the day I die.”

Singer stared at him with narrowed eyes. Impossibly, his gaze felt more piercing than even Mikhail’s, like he saw every part of Castiel even without the Alpha’s permission. Castiel prayed that whatever the man was seeing was good enough, at the very least, for him to be allowed to see Dean.

It felt like forever that they stood there, observing each other. The threat of tears slowly receded, Castiel’s emotions calming slightly as he forced them back under control. He’d almost gotten himself fully back to normal when Singer finally said, somewhat softer than before, “He’s real fond of you. Talks ‘bout you a lot, even in his sleep. Unless he’s talkin’ about a different Cas.”

And just like that, the tears were back. “No, that’s me,” Castiel said quietly, managing a watery smile at the thought. “He’s not… He’s not upset with me?” If Dean was talking about him, that meant he couldn’t be too angry, right?

At his question, Singer softened. “No. Dean ain’t the kinda boy to hold grudges, and I don’t think he could ever hold a grudge against you. He adores you. And I think whatever happened to him recently rattled him, ‘cause all he was askin’ for was to see you. Which is why I guess I gotta let you up, since Dean would want that.”

Relief was so fierce that it nearly made Castiel nauseous. “Thank you,” he said, praying he didn’t sound too much like he was groveling. “Thank you.”

Singer harrumphed. “I’ll let you see him, boy, but the second you start keepin’ him from his sleep and healing, I’m bootin’ yer ass back outta there, ya hear me?” he threatened. It felt more obligatory than real, like he was just saying it to keep up appearances, but Castiel still nodded solemnly.

“Please do,” he said. The more people looking out for Dean’s health, the better.

He made to move past Singer so he could get to the staircase, but before he could get more than a few steps away, the man’s hand came out and grabbed his arm. It took every ounce of Castiel’s willpower not to whip his arm away and smack the Beta for daring to touch him.

“Don’t think we’re done talkin’, you and me,” Singer warned him. “We still got a lot to discuss.”

Castiel had been expecting that. “Of course,” he said.

Singer harrumphed again. “His room’s upstairs and to the left. Don’t wake him.”

Castiel nodded and moved away, heading up the stairs like he’d been directed. It felt like every molecule of his body was still now, the vibrating anxiety from before honed into a single beam of pure focus. Everything that made up Castiel was dead-set on finding his Omega, and he’d tear apart the whole world if that was what it took to get to him. He was so close now, so close. He was fairly sure he would have walked past the Pakhan himself, had the man been standing in the small hallway at the top of the stairs. All that mattered now was Dean.

Even if Singer hadn’t told him which room Dean’s was, Castiel would have been able to tell. He could sense Dean’s scent in the air. There seemed to be an actual force drawing him toward the door farthest to the left, a magnetic pull that Castiel could feel in his chest, in his heart.

He reached the last doorway on the left, and with his breath choked in his lungs, he quietly grasped the knob, turned it, and opened the door.

As the door creaked open quietly, a low growl started from inside the room, almost inhuman at first. Castiel froze, his instincts recognizing the presence of another Alpha before his rational brain could catch up. He was only a millisecond away from becoming enraged and protective of the Omega he could scent from inside the room, but then he realized that he knew the sound of that growl.

“… Gadreel?”

The growling stopped immediately. Hesitantly, Castiel pushed the door open wider, peering around it into the room. The scene before him made his heart clench with such warmth that it almost hurt.

Dean was lying on a narrow double bed, curled up in a half-moon arc underneath layers of blankets, his beautiful face cast in peaceful slumber. At his bedside, an air mattress had been set up for Gadreel, who sat guarding Dean while he slept. Castiel’s head of security looked exhausted, but his spine was straight and strong and his eyes were as alert as ever. Even as Castiel poked his head around the door, Gadreel’s muscles remained tense, ready to defend Dean at a moment’s notice.

“Gadreel,” Castiel said, hoping the relief didn’t make his voice as weak as he felt. “My dearest friend.”

“Alpha Castiel?” Gadreel looked shocked to see him, his battered face lightening as Castiel stepped carefully into the room. Gadreel began to stiffly attempt to get up off the air mattress, at which Castiel shook his head.

“Don’t get up, it’s alright,” he said in a whisper, his voice softened so he didn’t wake the sleeping Omega. “How long have you been here? You look terrible.” His eyes caught on the bandages wrapped so thickly around Gadreel’s left arm that it looked like a club. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Gadreel grimaced, glancing down at his arm, then back and up, at where Dean slept quietly on the bed above him. “The Knights are exactly the bastards I remember them to be,” he said. “Ivan shot my arm in the car; that’s the reason we crashed. I’m only minorly injured, other than that.”

Castiel moved around him quietly, stepping with painstaking care so his boots made as little noise on the carpeted floor as possible. He came around to the other side of Dean’s bed and sat oh-so-carefully on the edge of it. In a voice that was more choked than he would have liked to admit, he asked, “And Dean?”

Dean’s face was battered and bruised, purple mottling his cheekbones and forehead. His left foot stuck out from the bundle of blankets wrapped around him, covered from toes to mid-calf in a thick brace. Castiel wanted badly to check if there were more injuries, worse ones, but he knew doing so would wake Dean up. His Omega needed rest so he could heal. When he woke up, they could talk about what happened and Castiel could maybe, maybe see Dean’s lovely smile again.

Gadreel exhaled wearily. “Alastair hurt him,” he said heavily. Electricity zinged through Castiel’s gut, sharp and painful. “I don’t know how—he’s refused to tell me—but the fucker got his hands on him. And his ankle… He told me he jumped off a roof, but I have no idea how he could have done that. We haven’t exchanged stories yet.” His gaze was soft with simultaneous affection and guilt as he looked at Dean’s sleeping face, which was turned toward him.

Gentle, Castiel reached out and trailed featherlight fingertips over his Omega’s cheekbones, tracing puffy bruises. “You were separated?”

“After the car crashed and we were transported to the Knights’ makeshift base, they split us. If I could have stayed with Omega Dean, I swear to you I would have, but I was unconscious,” Gadreel said. His voice was heavy with regret.

“How did you get out?” Castiel asked, looking to his head of security. “How did you find him?”

Gadreel’s mouth, impossibly, twisted into a small, fond smile. “I didn’t. He found me.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose. They both looked at Dean’s sleeping face, the Omega completely unaware of the hushed conversation happening over him. As Castiel began to draw his fingertips away, Dean made a quiet murmuring noise in his sleep and turned his head a little, chasing the touch.

“He found you?” Castiel echoed, cupping Dean’s face gently, reverently, his heart trembling as the Omega nuzzled a little into his palm. “What do you mean?”

Gadreel shook his head, looking at Dean with such wonder and adoration that Castiel would have been worried, had he not known how loyal Gadreel was. “He escaped somehow. I don’t know how he got away, but he made it out and then came back in for me. He came back to break me out.” The Alpha’s smile was half-adoring, half-ashamed. “I will forever be in his debt. He was the sole reason we made it out of there. I was a liability, if anything.”

“How did you both escape?” Castiel asked.

“Omega Dean killed the guards outside my cell. We fought our way out of the building and stole one of the cars the Knights had around the compound,” Gadreel said. “He drove us here. He said we’d be safe until you and the others arrived, and I suppose he was right.”

“Incredible,” Castiel murmured, stroking a gentle thumb over Dean’s bruised cheekbone. Dean’s marvelousness knew no bounds, apparently. He knew the Omega would try to downplay his accomplishments when he eventually woke and Castiel got his side of the story. He was glad he had Gadreel’s account.

“Your ear is bandaged,” Gadreel said after a moment. “I assume there was violence in Chicago?”

“We couldn’t allow either of your kidnappings to go unpunished,” Castiel said mildly. He gently ran his thumb down the straight slope of Dean’s nose, reverence in his touch. “Azazel and Asmodeus are dead.”

“What?” Gadreel’s voice was a tad too loud, the increase in volume driven by his shock. Castiel sent him a warning look, prompting the Alpha to duck his head in apology and say in a quieter tone, “You killed them?”

“What did you expect us to do?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gadreel was staring at him. “You killed the leaders of the Knights of Hell in the heart of their own territory.”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“How did you make it out alive? How many casualties were there?”

“One.” Castiel’s heart twinged with regret at the reminder of their loss. “Ulyana. The rest of us are reasonably whole and alive.”

Gadreel still seemed shocked, maybe more so than Castiel had ever seen him. “The Angel of Death,” he murmured, almost to himself. “God above. So that’s the reason they didn’t chase us; they were likely scrambled by the chaos in Chicago.”

“Most likely,” Castiel agreed. “I’m glad to hear our attack was timed well, even if it was unintentional. Do you know what became of Alastair? Was Lilith there?”

“I don’t know where either of them ended up, but it’s likely that they’re back in Chicago now,” Gadreel said. His face darkened. “Lilith was definitely there. She and her underlings beat Dean on the roadside on our way to the temporary base. Fucking pigs.”

Silently, Castiel added to the mental tally he’d started in his head ever since he’d first received Gadreel’s SOS. “We’ll find them,” he said, his voice too calm for how much rage was swirling around in his gut. “For now, though, I believe we’ll need to return to Washington as quickly as possible. We need to regroup and plan our strategy for taking down the last of the Knights. They’re critically weakened, but they’ll still need to be rooted out.”

Gadreel nodded. “Yes, of course. But I imagine that will happen after some of the more essential items at hand are dealt with, yes?” He looked meaningfully at Dean, who was stirring slightly. Castiel might have beaten him for his insolence if he’d been anyone else, but as it was, his Omega was waking and he had better things to be doing than disciplining his head of security for telling him what his priorities should be.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Gadreel was wrong.

As Dean shifted a little, his eyelashes fluttering, Gadreel quietly eased himself up off the air mattress. He shook his head at Castiel’s halfhearted protests, murmuring for him to tell Dean hello before he began to hobble out of the room. Castiel watched Gadreel go until the door shut behind him, profound gratitude flooding through him for the men he was lucky enough to find at his side.

“Cas?”

And just like that, the Alpha’s focus zeroed into a single point. His gaze snapped from the door to his Omega, a rumbling cooing noise leaving his throat before he could stop his inner Alpha. “Dean,” Castiel murmured, softening immediately. “Malysh. How are you feeling?”

Dean blinked sleepily at him, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. “You’re… here?” he questioned, sounding confused. “But I thought… When’d you get here?”

“Not long ago,” Castiel said, cupping Dean’s cheek with a gentle hand. The large size of his hand compared to Dean’s face and the way the Omega nuzzled into the palm of it did something strange to his stomach.

“I thought I was gonna stay awake to wait for you to show up,” Dean said, still frowning. “I guess… guess I fell asleep. Sorry, Alpha.”

Castiel shushed him. “You needed the rest,” he said. Repeating his unanswered question from earlier, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Dean’s green eyes, still a little hazy with sleep, had zeroed in on the bandage on Castiel’s right ear. “Fine. What happened t’your ear?” He struggled to work an arm from the bundle of blankets he was wrapped up in, wincing as he moved. Before Castiel could lay a hand on his chest to calm him, the Omega got his arm free and reached up to shakily brush his fingertips against the bandages covering the nick on Castiel’s ear.

“It’s fine, dorogoy,” Castiel said soothingly, reaching up and catching Dean’s wrist in a gentle hand. “It’s just a little cut. You’re worse off than me.” He thumbed carefully over the bandages wrapped around what seemed to be a cut on Dean’s forearm, heart-stoppingly close to the soft, vulnerable skin that covered the veins in Dean’s wrist.

“‘M fine,” Dean said, looking as if he could sense the thoughts that were beginning to spill into Castiel’s mind. “‘M fine, Alpha, it’s okay. I’m just…” His voice seemed to choke, and he took a second to swallow. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

Castiel smiled gently at his beloved Omega, praying the emotion welling in his chest wouldn’t take the form of tears. “I’m relieved to see you as well, zaychik. You have no idea how worried I was.” He stopped before his voice could betray the tightness in his throat, his mind flashing back to the horrible emptiness inside him when he’d first received Gadreel’s SOS. God, he’d felt like a dead man walking. Now that he thought about it, he’d only really come back to life when he’d heard Dean’s voice on that phone call.

“Feel like I’m dreamin’ right now,” Dean said, almost more to himself than to Castiel. He twisted his wrist in Castiel’s grip, sliding his hand down so they could tangle their fingers together. “I feel like I’m gonna wake up and be back in that cell or somethin’.”

“No,” Castiel said firmly. “You’re here, with me. You’re safe. The Knights will never get their hands on you again, even if I have to be with you every moment of every day. I’ll be dead before they hurt you again.” He thought of the list of names in his head, the ever-present vulture on his shoulder. Silently, he pushed it away. Not now, he thought. Later.

There were tears welling in Dean’s eyes now, his gaze a little clearer, a little less hazy with sleep. His scent turned horribly sad as he said, “I thought I was n-never gonna s-see you again. I—God, Cas, I killed someone. I k-killed three people. I-I-I f-fuckin’—I—”

“Shhh, Omega,” Castiel soothed, leaning down to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “It’s okay. I know. I know it’s overwhelming, but you need to breathe. Think of something else. Anything else.”

He knew what it was like to wake up after killing someone for the first time. It felt like the moment that life was taken, the world changed. Nothing was ever the same. It was terrifying. At times, when he’d been young, the depth of his desire to go back and change what he’d done had frightened him so badly that it had been hard to get out of bed.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, diamond tears slipping down his temples. His jaw was clenched so hard that Castiel thought it might break at any second. He was about to say something to try to distract his Omega, but then Dean blurted out shakily, “I wanna go to the beach.”

Castiel blinked. “What?”

“The beach,” Dean said. “I wanna go, when we get back. I’ve never been. And I think—I th-think it would be fun.”

Right. Distraction.

“Which beach?” Castiel asked. “The Bahamas? The Maldives? Madagascar?” He would take Dean anywhere he wanted to go. He’d take him to Antarctica, if his Omega truly desired it.

But Dean just gave a small, wet laugh, his green eyes filled with adoration when he opened them and looked at Castiel. “Nah, just the Washington coast. We could go f-for like, a week. Have you ever been?”

“A few times,” Castiel said. He didn’t add that it had been to hunt monsters in their summer beach homes, or to do deals with men who could only come ashore for a few hours because they were dead if they were caught on U.S. soil. “You really want to go?”

Dean gulped, some more tears escaping when he squeezed his eyes shut. “Y-Yeah—Cas, please, can you just talk? I can’t think, I don’t wanna think—I j-just wanna hear your voice.”

“Shh, okay, yes, I can talk,” Castiel soothed. He leaned down to kiss Dean’s forehead again, pulling his legs onto the bed so he could lay down beside his Omega. “I think that’s a delightful idea. We could go in the summer, when it’s a little warmer than usual. And I’ll take you swimming in the surf, even though the water will be freezing, because afterward we can cuddle on a towel on the hot sand.” He put his arm carefully around Dean’s torso, drawing his Omega close. “I’ll bring pre-made food, so I don’t have anything to burn and you don’t have to cook. At night, we can take firewood out to the sand and build a fire on the beach. We could cook those strange chocolate and marshmallow things that you Americans are so fond of.”

Dean’s laugh was shaky, but warm. His sweet scent had turned soft with affection, no longer sour with anxiety and guilt. “They’re called s’mores, Cas.”

Castiel smiled into Dean’s soft hair. He’d known the term, but feigned ignorance was a small price to pay for his love’s smile. “Yes, those. We could eat them under the stars, and I could kiss you and kiss you and kiss you and no one would be around to see. And then afterward, we could return to whichever beach house we’ll be renting, and I can make love to you until the sun rises.”

Dean shifted a little, curling stiffly onto his side so he could tuck his nose up against Castiel’s throat. “That sounds nice,” he said, his breath warm against Castiel’s skin. “I would burn in the sun. Get all freckly and everything.”

Castiel knew that wouldn’t happen, because if he wasn’t forcing Dean to reapply sunscreen every other second, then Gadreel or one of the guards he’d bring with them probably would. But he said, “I love your freckles.”

“Nah, it’s weird when I’m in the sun too much,” Dean said, huffing a small laugh. “They just appear all over the place. Like chickenpox or something.”

“I dislike that analogy,” Castiel said, frowning. “I think they’re beautiful. Like constellations on your skin.”

“Christ, you’re a sap,” Dean muttered. Castiel smiled, secretly delighted at the soft heat he could sense in Dean’s cheeks, his face. His Omega’s voice no longer sounded strained and choked, his scent completely devoid of the sour guilt from earlier. For now, he was successfully distracted.

With his Omega sufficiently calm and content, Castiel’s inner Alpha could focus on the next most pressing thing, which was figuring out how badly Dean was hurt. Castiel’s fingers itched with the need to pull back the covers and look over every inch of Dean’s body for injuries, even though he knew it could very well upset his Omega all over again. He needed to know.

“My love,” Castiel said carefully, running gentle fingers through the silky strands of Dean’s hair, “I’m concerned about your physical state. May I… May I see some of your injuries? I just want to make sure you’re alright.” If Dean showed signs of panicking again, he would put off his investigation until a later time, but for now the need to make sure Dean was okay burned like fire under his skin.

Thankfully, Dean didn’t seem panicked as he tipped his head up a little, looking at Castiel with soft affection. “I’m okay, Cas,” he promised. “Just some bruises and cuts. Oh, and my ankle. But that’s not as bad as it looks.”

“My instincts are telling me to check, just in case,” Castiel said weakly, praying he could blame it on his inner Alpha and call that a good enough explanation.

Thankfully, Dean was as altruistic as he was understanding. He nodded agreeably, tugging out of Castiel’s grip a little so he could start to push the blankets back. “It’s okay, Alpha. I, um… I’m not gonna be able to take my shirt off, but I don’t think it’ll be that big of a deal. Ellen went a little overboard on the bandages, so it looks worse than it actually is.”

You keep saying that, Castiel wanted to tell him. I don’t believe you.

Instead, he helped Dean push the blankets down and kissed his Omega gently on the forehead, just because he could. Then he grabbed the hem of the band shirt Dean was wearing and moved it up, biting hard on his inner cheek at what he saw.

“Overboard” might have been a good term to use to describe how Dean’s torso had been bandaged, if it hadn’t been for the blotches of crimson bleeding through in more places than Castiel could count. The bandages wrapped all the way up to Dean’s chest, covering what looked to be more slashes. Castiel ran his fingertips gently over one that bled too close to the vulnerable cage of Dean’s heart, far too close.

“The blood’s just from the stitches,” Dean mumbled, as if he could sense Castiel’s growing horror. “It’s… It’s not that bad.” His green eyes were painfully earnest when Castiel finally tore his gaze away from the horror scene on his Omega’s torso. Dean almost sounded desperate when he said, “It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

Castiel clenched his teeth down as tightly as he could, fighting to keep the sob that had been building inside of him from coming out. He didn’t think he’d cried in years, maybe not since he’d made his very first kill as a teenager, but he couldn’t help the tears that broke free from his eyes now.

Sorrow was bitter, choking, cloying. It closed his throat, punched the breath from his lungs, made the whole world feel airless and small. Castiel couldn’t stop the little wheezing noise he emitted, the sound of a sob that had been ripped to shreds by all the jagged edges inside of him.

Distantly, he was aware that Dean’s scent had gone sharp with alarm. “Alpha?” he asked, sounding concerned. “Alpha, it’s okay. It’s not even that bad, I’m serious. It’s okay, you don’t need to be worried, I’m sorry. It’s fine, I’m fine—”

He cut himself off when Castiel shook his head vigorously, fighting past the traitorous tears that were keeping his voice from working. “No,” he managed to rasp. “No, malysh, it’s not. It’s not okay.” He bowed down, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of him with the desperation of a dying man. “You’re allowed to be in pain, dorogoy. You’re allowed to be hurt. You don’t need to apologize for being injured.”

“But…” Dean’s voice sounded small now. “You’re upset.”

Castiel bit his tongue hard enough to taste copper, fighting past the ball of raw emotion that had stuck in his throat. “You have no control over that,” he told Dean quietly. “You don’t need to feel guilty. I… I just…”

He couldn’t say. He couldn’t articulate what he was feeling. All he could do was cry, and breathe, and pray that he wasn’t making everything exponentially worse by letting his foolish emotions free.

A shaky hand settled on the back of Castiel’s head, Dean’s fingers filled with minute trembles. He petted Castiel like the Alpha had done to him so many times before, his movements tentative at first, then more confident. As if that wasn’t enough to break Castiel completely, Dean’s chest started to rumble a little with a quiet purr—a soft, barely-audible vibration meant solely to comfort his crying Alpha.

After that, Castiel couldn’t have stopped the flood of his emotions if he’d been trying with all the force of his will. He gave into it when he realized he couldn’t fight it, curling around Dean as gently as he could, sobbing his grief and guilt out onto his Omega’s shoulder. He cried for the fresh blood that had stained his hands in these past few hours, he cried for the good men and women who now lay dead, he cried for all the fury and rage and bone-deep terror he’d experienced ever since Dean had been taken, but mostly, he cried for how deeply he had failed his Omega.

Castiel could never take back what Dean had experienced in the past few days. He could never take away Dean’s pain or terror, nor the memories he would be forced to bear for the rest of his life. It was a crushing thing to realize.

He didn’t know how long he cried into Dean’s shoulder, but his Omega held him through it without saying a word to interrupt him. His chest vibrated with quiet, soothing purrs throughout, his hand gentle in Castiel’s hair. There was no judgment in his actions, no condemnation. Just quiet support and undeniable love.

Castiel had thought that he hadn’t cried in years because he’d been unable to, but God, what if it was just that he hadn’t found the right person to entrust his heart to? Everything that he had: his strengths, his vices, his desires, but his weaknesses and fears too?

But now he’d found that person. And the thought was as freeing as it was petrifying.

“I love you,” he breathed into the soft curve of Dean’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified but determined. “I love you. I-I should have told you back in Chicago. I should have told you that first night you slept in my bed.” He exhaled, trying to steady the wild beating of his heart. When he raised his head, he found Dean’s green eyes fixed on him, brilliant and bright. “I was scared to tell you, but I was also foolish. I thought I could have forever with you, forever to work out my feelings, but it turns out the easiest way to recognize love is to have it taken away. And I will never let that happen again, just as I’ll tell you I love you every day for the rest of our lives.” He paused, focusing all of his willpower on holding Dean’s gaze. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

Dean’s eyes were slightly widened, something like disbelief and shock painted on his face. For a brief moment, he was silent. In that tiny heartbeat of time, Castiel prepared the last remnants of his heart to be broken irreparably.

But then Dean’s face softened, and Castiel remembered the reverence that only Dean could look at him with, more adoration and love than he’d ever thought himself capable of deserving. “‘Course I’ll ‘have you,’ you big dramatic Alpha. I don’t wear courting bracelets from just anyone, do I?”

A small, joyful laugh burst from Castiel’s chest. He reached out to circle his hand around Dean’s wrist, feeling the press of the courting bracelets under his palm. God, was he glad Dean still had them. He could have gotten new ones, of course—he would buy Dean any kind of jewelry he wanted, if it had come to that—but he was glad the original evidence of his claim still remained. It settled something deep in the core of him, making his inner Alpha rumble with contentment.

I’m going to mate you, Castiel thought, nuzzling his forehead against Dean’s. I’ll take you home and mate you, and then I’ll make sure we’re never separated again. I will love you for the rest of my existence in this life, and in all those that follow after.

He wanted to ask Dean about his miraculous escape, about his decision to go back to get Gadreel instead of calling for reinforcements, about everything that had happened between the time they’d hugged goodbye and the time he’d picked up the call on that plane. But he could tell that their interaction had exhausted Dean’s limited energy, and he knew the time for swapping stories could be saved for later.

For now, Castiel merely toed off his shoes, pulled off his suit jacket, and slipped under the covers of the bed so he could feel the warmth of Dean’s body when he held him close. Dean nuzzled into his neck with a happy murmur, his eyes already drooping closed. With Castiel wrapped protectively around him, it only took a few minutes before he was fast asleep.

Time passed; the light coming through the curtains on the far side of the room slowly got stronger as the morning turned to afternoon. Castiel had been cuddling his sleeping Omega for a long time when the doorknob rattled a little, jerking the Alpha out of his contemplative thoughts about the future. He was tense and ready to attack in the span of a split second, his body already halfway shielding Dean’s sleeping form as the door to the room creaked open, revealing Robert Singer standing in the hallway. At the sight of the closest man Dean had to a father, Castiel relaxed, but only halfway.

“He asleep?” the grizzled Beta asked, his voice barely low enough to be considered a whisper.

Resisting the urge to snap at the man for his volume, Castiel looked at Dean’s sleeping face and said, “For now.”

“He’s been sleepin’ a lot,” Singer said. “He’ll probably be out for a couple hours more.”

Castiel eyed him suspiciously. “Yes.”

Singer opened the door a little wider and made a beckoning gesture toward the hallway. “I’ll send Ellen in to check on him,” he said, zero suggestion in his tone. “I think it’s high time you and I had our talk.”

Chapter Text

Dean’s dreams were strange and confusing. In one, he ran through Castiel’s apartment looking for his Alpha, opening the bedroom door and somehow finding himself in the back kitchen of Mystery Spot, Nikov standing at the grill with a knife red with blood that Dean somehow knew was Castiel’s. In another, Dean was running through a cornfield, the stalks waving high and imposing on all sides, the mud sucking at his boots, terror in his heart because he was being chased by something horrible, something awful… In the last dream, the one that finally woke him up, he was laying strapped to Alastair’s table once again, the man’s knife digging into the soft part of his neck and shoulder where an Alpha’s teeth would go to seal a mating bond, ruining Dean forever—

He woke up with a start, his body instinctively going still as he tried to process his surroundings. For many long moments, he laid there with his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest, his lungs aching with the slow, steady breaths he forced himself to take.

For several minutes, his situation didn’t match his dreams, and that was disorienting. He was warm and comfortable—if a little sore—instead of cold and in pain. He was covered by something heavy, but when he wiggled his limbs a little, he found that he wasn’t shackled or bound to anything. And when he inhaled…

When he inhaled, instead of breathing in the scent of blood and fear, he caught the woody, spicy scent of his Alpha. That more than anything else calmed Dean down. Wherever Cas was, he was safe. As long as Cas was around, everything was okay. Breathing deeply, a small smile touching his lips, Dean reached out with a stiff, aching arm to search for the warmth of Castiel against him.

He found nothing. Just cold, empty sheets.

Dean’s eyelids felt sticky with the tears he’d shed earlier, when he’d been talking with Castiel. That could have been hours or days ago, he wasn’t sure. When he blinked his eyes open, he found the room dim with shadows. The bed beside him was empty. Tucked around him beneath the covers was Castiel’s dark suit jacket, the collar smelling delightfully of his Alpha.

Dean pressed his nose against it as he attempted to sit up, breathing in the spicy, aged-wood scent as he worked through the screaming agony in his muscles. His whole body felt sore and cut to pieces, like he’d been thrown in a meat grinder.

It was surprisingly hard to stay upright, once Dean got there. His core muscles were weak, trembling with the effort of keeping him still. He grimaced and pulled up the hem of the old shirt he’d gotten from Sam, revealing the spots of crimson where some of the gashes on his torso had bled through the bandages.

He felt cold, now that he wasn’t covered by blankets. He was cold, and the room was very empty. It almost felt like another dream.

What if I’m still dreaming? he thought with no small amount of horror. What if this is just a hallucination or something? What if I wake up in the cell again, and I realize that everything was fake?

Panic was familiar to him by now, bubbling acidly in his stomach. Biting his lip, Dean craned his neck to look around, as if he could spot some detail about the dim room that he hadn’t noticed before.

He wanted his Alpha.

Dean debated calling out for Castiel, wrestling with his desperation to see him and his dignity. His pride said that calling for Castiel from the bedroom like a flimsy maiden would be just another nail in his coffin of pathetic actions made in the last few days. But he really, really wanted to see Cas, and it was getting to the point where he didn’t really give a damn what anyone thought of him.

Still, Castiel could be anywhere in the house. And there was everyone else—Bobby, Ellen, Sammy, and Gadreel—to think about.

Eventually, Dean made up his mind. The room was cold when he shoved the covers back, a groan leaving his throat as his aching body shivered in response to the sudden drop of temperature. God, everything ached. He wished someone could wave a magic wand and just make everything stop hurting all at once.

Before Dean could push off the bed to see if his ankle would support him or not, he heard a sound behind him. Startled, he turned and watched as the door opened quietly, revealing someone who looked so close to Castiel that for a moment Dean almost called out for him.

Mikhail smiled apologetically at Dean as he entered, as if he’d known what the Omega was thinking. “Dean,” he greeted, stepping into the room carefully. He was holding something in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

Dean swallowed, bringing his legs back up on the bed guiltily, feeling a little like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Um, I’m feeling better. D’you know where Cas is?”

Mikhail winced as he closed the door behind himself, glancing back at it as if he could see through the wood. “I believe he’s receiving what is called ‘the shovel talk’ from your uncle,” he said. Dean noticed, with a flash of affection and amusement, that Mikhail used air-quotes just like Castiel.

“So, um… Is he not gonna be here for a while?” Dean asked, praying he wasn’t coming off as too needy. While he normally would have felt bad or even worried for whatever poor sap was getting the shovel talk from Bobby, he found that he wasn’t too concerned for Cas.

“No, I’m sorry,” Mikhail said apologetically. He moved toward Dean, holding out the thing in his hands. “I brought this for you in hopes of mitigating any feelings of distress your inner Omega might feel when apart from my brother. One of the men found a laundromat nearby and washed it of any… unsavory substances.”

Dean blinked as the older Alpha set the item on the bed carefully. It took a second for him to realize what it was, but once he reached out and grabbed the bundle of tan fabric, he realized it was Castiel’s trenchcoat. “Thanks, Alpha Mikhail,” Dean said, a little breathless as he unfolded the coat and inhaled the rich scent of his Alpha, which seemed like it was embedded in every fiber. As Dean pressed it to his face, he blinked in surprise. “It’s… warm.”

“I must admit, I’m not sure where the men found the warming packets,” Mikhail said, his gaze carefully fixed on the coat Dean was turning over reverently in his hands. They both watched as several handwarmers—the kind that were shaken to activate—fell out of the pockets of the coat. Looking almost amused, Mikhail said, “They wanted you to be comfortable.”

Warmth, more from the gesture of placing handwarmers in the pockets than from the actual things themselves, flooded through Dean. He grinned as he slung the coat over his shoulders, his movements stiff with pain that he barely noticed, his nose filled with the warm scent of his Alpha. “Thanks, Alpha Mikhail. And tell the men thank-you, too.”

“Of course,” Mikhail said. Though he smiled as Dean pulled the coat over his shoulders, his blue gaze seemed a little sad. “I wanted to speak with you, Dean, if you were feeling up to it. If you’re too tired, of course, it can wait.”

“No, I’m good,” Dean said, concern sparking in his chest. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, of course, everything is fine,” Mikhail said, looking at Dean with steady, reassuring blue eyes. “I just… I would like to apologize to you.”

Dean blinked, shocked. Of all the things he’d expected the head Alpha of the Krushnic bratva to say, that was… not it.

“Oh,” he said, unsure. “Um… For what?”

Mikhail sighed and settled himself on the edge of the bed, near Dean’s feet. He looked significantly less stressed than the last time Dean had seen him, but he definitely still looked tired. Though his hair was perfectly in place and his suit looked completely normal—save for a few bloodstains that Dean could just barely pick out on the dark sleeves—there were shadows under the lead Alpha’s eyes, a kind of weariness that was communicated solely in the lines around his mouth and forehead.

“When I initially went to speak with the Knights,” Mikhail began, “they were very demanding and arrogant. I’m not sure if you know, but factions of various organizations have wars with each other all the time, and the reason we went to Chicago was to try to head off a war before it began.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, familiar guilt bubbling up in his gut. Because of his dumb ass, the Krushnic bratva had just been sucked into a conflict that they’d been doing their damndest to prevent.

“There is absolutely no need for you to apologize,” Mikhail said firmly. “I’m the one at fault. I was the one who suggested that Castiel bring you with us, because in all honesty, I didn’t trust that the spy wouldn’t try to make a move while you were separated from my brother.” He paused, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles of his left hand. “There were… selfish motivations, as well. Castiel is the happiest he’s been in years when you’re around.” He looked at Dean with eyes that were simultaneously apologetic and grateful. “I wanted to continue seeing my brother happy. I wanted to show him the contrast between his life as my enforcer, and the life he could have with you. But in the process, I endangered you—and him, by extension—in ways I did not foresee. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

Dean had no idea what to make of the part about Castiel being happy with him. He could feel his face pinking, even as he said, “You couldn’t’ve known the Knights would try to kidnap me when they did. And you tried to send me back when things got crazy. You did your best, Alpha Mikhail.”

It seemed like sound advice to him, but Mikhail grimaced a little. “There’s one more detail that I forgot to share with you. That I chose not to share with you, when I most certainly should have.” He sighed, his hands and fingers going still. “When I went to see the Knights for the first time, they gave me a long list of demands. It was unheard of to see such arrogance, seeing as the brewing war hadn’t even begun, and they most certainly had no reason to be so confident in their victory if it had. They acted as if they were negotiating a tribute, not a trade, and some of the items on their list were outrageous.”

Dean frowned. “What would you guys even give each other? Guns and stuff?”

Mikhail looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon. “Yes, perhaps. Contacts, territory, ammunition. But Dean…” He looked at Dean with careful blue eyes that were so similar to Castiel’s, but somehow so different. “They asked for you, too.”

Dean stared at him, uncomprehending. The most he could manage was a weak, “What d’you mean?”

Mikhail grimaced. “They wanted me to turn you over to them. I don’t know why—I don’t want to know why, and I would advise you not to dwell on it. But they wanted you as part of their demands, and I refused. The day they told me in no uncertain terms that they were going to start taking what they wanted by force, I knew I needed to get you out. But it was already too late. I should have sent you away the moment I heard. Or perhaps I should have made you stay, locked you and my brother in a room until we could all get to safety together.” Mikhail sighed, rubbing a hand up and down his face. “I most definitely should have told you, and I should have told my brother. He is understandably angry with me.”

Dean frowned a little at that, disagreement surfacing through the fog that seemed to have settled over his insides. “Why’s he mad at you? You did what you thought was right.” He looked at the oldest Krushnic, hoping he seemed reassuring. “You didn’t know who the traitor was, Alpha Mikhail. There were a lotta things out of your control. It ain’t entirely your fault.” He shrugged. “Hell, maybe I should’ve stabbed Nikov or something in the back of the car. Lots’a ‘what if’s and nothing to really do about ‘em. They’re not really worth dwelling on now.”

Mikhail looked at him for a long moment, his blue eyes and stony face unreadable. For a second, Dean worried that he’d said the wrong thing, that somehow he’d overstepped or offended the head Alpha in some way. But then Mikhail’s face and eyes softened, and Dean saw something like real, true affection there. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate your wisdom.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the blankets, his cheeks heating. “Nah, it ain’t wisdom. Just, um… I dunno. Words.”

Mikhail chuckled a little. “Wise words, then.”

The Alpha rose off the bed, looking a little stiff. Dean wondered if Mikhail had had any rest lately, if any of them had. They were probably used to it, but still, some part of him itched to find Cas and force him to take a nap or something. Knowing his Alpha, he was probably running around on two hours of sleep without even noticing.

Mikhail walked to the head of the bed and bent over to press his lips to Dean’s forehead in a familial, affectionate gesture. “I’ll send my brother in here if I see him,” he said as he pulled away, squeezing Dean’s shoulder gently. “Until then, try to rest.”

“Da, Alpha,” Dean said without thinking, his mind catching on all the responses he’d heard from the men over the past few years.

Mikhail chuckled and patted Dean’s shoulder gently, then turned to leave. Dean watched him go with Castiel’s coat snuggled around his shoulders, wondering to himself how he’d gone from having no one but his dad to having a huge family of people who would quite literally kill someone for him. He thought about it as he laid back down and tried to get some more sleep. The thoughts ended up keeping him from rest. He was still staring at the ceiling, wondering just how many agents in the bratva knew who he was, when the door opened again.

This time, there was a very familiar mop of hair poking through the crack. “Dean?” Sammy’s voice hissed. “You awake?”

“Yeah, I’m awake.” Dean began the slow, laborious effort to sit up again, needing to see his little brother. Sam nudged into the room, carrying a tray with some food and—to Dean’s relief—a glass of water on it.

As he kicked the door shut behind himself and turned on the light in the dimming room, Dean’s little brother said, “Your boyfriend’s kind of a dick.”

Dean laughed a little, both at the grumpy expression on his brother’s face and the idea of Sammy and Cas being so snippy toward each other now, when Dean just knew they were gonna be good friends in the future. “What’d you do to piss him off?” he asked as Sam put the tray on the bedside table.

“I didn’t do anything!” Sammy exclaimed. “Why’re you taking his side?”

“I’m not takin’ his side, Sammy,” Dean said, reaching out with a shaky arm to smack his brother on the shoulder. “I’m just asking. Cas can be a little grumpy when he’s worried. It’s an Alpha thing, I’m sure.” He raised an eyebrow, hoping Sam at least considered the parallels between his own behavior and Castiel’s.

His little brother, too smart not to think of that, grumbled. “Whatever. He yelled at me when I was gonna take you some food. He’s a jerk.”

“Why’d he yell at you?”

“He said he wanted to check it or something.” Sam snorted disgustedly. “As if I would poison you or something. Jeez. It’s not like I’m some mafia spy or anything.”

Dean laughed again. His ribs ached when he did, but he decided it was a good thing. It reminded him that he was alive, that he was still able to feel feelings like amusement and joy. “Of course he did. He’s an overprotective bastard, that’s for sure. But I love him.”

Dean’s little brother had never been anything but sharp, and any hope Dean had had of him missing the meaning behind those last words was dashed as soon as Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You do?” he asked. Seemingly despite his desire to remain grumpy, Sammy’s face softened. “Shit, Dean, that’s… That’s big. Um. Way bigger than I thought it would be. You guys really…?”

“I guess so,” Dean said. He hoped the wonder and amazement in his voice didn’t sound as obvious as it felt. “I, um…” He laughed a little, saying the thought as it came to his mind. “I think we’re gonna mate soon. I… I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked Bobby for his permission before we left.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. “So you’re gonna leave, then? Go back to Washington?” He hesitated, then added, “I heard about John. That blond guy Luke told me.”

Surprise momentarily distracted Dean. “You guys talked?”

“Yeah.” Sam shrugged. “He’s nice. He wanted to tell me that your boyfriend didn’t mean anything personal, that he just cares about you a lot.” Grudgingly, Sam said, “I guess I believe him. He does seem to really care about you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his chest warming. “Yeah, I guess he does.”

He looked at his little brother then, and he saw the uncertainty in his hazel eyes, the missing gaps in the story. He suddenly felt a little guilty for “taking Cas’s side”. Of course Sam felt hostile toward Cas, especially since he didn’t know him. His older brother had finally just come back into his life—barged in, really—and he’d brought a prickly, dangerous stranger with him that was claiming he cared about Dean too. It made sense Sam was distrusting and wary.

“Why don’t you sit down and share that with me?” Dean offered, slipping into the big-brother mode that he remembered so well. God, it was familiar. Like putting on an old coat, the shoulders and sleeves molded perfectly to fit him. “We got some things to talk about, yeah? How’s Jess?”

That got his brother going, and soon, he and Dean were talking about life just as easily as they had before everything had gone to shit and they’d had to part ways. It reminded Dean of the nights when he’d driven Sammy home from cross country practice in the winter, the world all dark around them, only Baby and the music and Sam’s voice as he regaled the events of the day. A period of peace and happiness, between the raging hell of school and home when John was drunk.

I missed him, Dean thought as he and Sammy talked. God, did I miss him.

He was still thinking that when Ellen came up to tell Sam to let Dean sleep for the night. Dean kissed her and said hello, though they’d had their reunion earlier when she’d patched up his cuts and demanded an explanation. Ellen took the empty tray and turned off the light after she left, but Dean remained sitting up in bed, waiting.

It was late when the door opened for the last time, admitting the shadow of a very familiar person. Dean felt his heart stutter happily in his chest as he straightened a little, saying, “Cas?”

“Malysh,” he heard, his Alpha’s voice full of tired adoration. “Hello, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you when you woke. I was meeting your father.”

Dean wondered at the flash of warmth he felt when Castiel used that term, when he thought of what his Alpha talking to Bobby entailed. He pulled the sheets aside to make room for Cas to lay down as the Alpha came close, waiting patiently as the Alpha tugged off his undershirt and toed off his shoes. “He wasn’t too mean to you, right?”

“He was as aggressive and protective as I would have expected the father of Dean Winchester to be,” Castiel said, sliding into the bed beside Dean. “I’m glad he was that way. He suffers no fools, and I know that if I’m not deemed worthy of you, then the Alpha that is will be someone you truly deserve.”

“What?” Dean nuzzled into Castiel’s warm chest, delighting at all the bare skin he had access to. He used the contact to steady himself as he considered what his Alpha had just said. “You mean he didn’t like you?”

Castiel was quiet for a long moment, his face invisible in the dark room. “I’m not sure,” he eventually said. He sounded incredibly perplexed. “I’m shocked to say that Robert Singer has a better poker face than Mikhail. I couldn’t read him.”

Dean laughed at that. Of course. The only man who could out-stoic Castiel Krushnic was Bobby Singer himself. That made perfect sense. “I think he likes you,” Dean said as he snuggled into his Alpha’s arms. “He hasn’t shot you yet, so I think he likes you.”

“Mmm, he threatened to.” Castiel slipped gentle, questing hands beneath the hem of Dean’s shirt, his touch light and careful as he ran up the warm, bandaged expanse of the Omega’s back. “I suppose I don’t have a good gauge for whom he likes and whom he does not. Your brother doesn’t seem very fond of me.”

Dean snorted. “They’re all just protective, Cas. They’ll get used to you.” He kissed his Alpha’s collarbone in the dark, hoping to change the subject to distract Castiel from his brooding. “How’s Gadreel? Did you see him?” The air mattress next to his bed had been moved, so Dean assumed Gadreel was no longer trying to play guard dog. He was glad. The Alpha needed rest, and that meant not being on alert every second of the night.

“Yes, I did. Anna tended to his arm, though your aunt did a fine job. You were smart not to go to a hospital after you came here, that might have been messy had the police been called if anyone recognized Gadreel,” Castiel said. He kissed Dean’s hair, gentle pressure in the darkness. “I’m very proud of how you handled yourself throughout this whole ordeal, Dean. I couldn’t have done better myself. You’ve showed incredible courage and cunning.”

Dean’s face heated, blood rushing in his ears as it flooded to his cheeks. “Nah, I just… I just did what you taught me.”

Castiel hummed. “I disagree; I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Much of what you did was your choice and your character, zaychik. I just gave you basic information.” His hands found a patch of unbandaged skin between Dean’s shoulderblades and began to stroke lightly, tracing gentle patterns. “Your decision to go back for Gadreel has certainly created quite a few waves. The men have taken to calling you the Righteous Man.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Dean muttered, hiding his burning face in Castiel’s chest. “That’s ridiculous.”

His Alpha hummed, evidently amused. “I don’t think you have a say in the matter, dorogoy. A soldier cannot choose his nickname, or I would have left mine behind me long ago.”

“At least you’re actually an angel of death,” Dean grumbled, thinking of Castiel’s rampage through the Knights’ headquarters.

His Alpha hummed again, this time in disapproval. “Are you not also righteous?”

Dean remained silent.

Castiel’s thumbs worked gently at the soft skin between his shoulder blades, his fingertips running up against the edges of the bandages that were wrapped around Dean’s torso. Dean tried to focus on that touch as he ignored the evident anticipation from his Alpha, the expectation of a response.

Eventually, Castiel seemed to realize that Dean’s silence was an answer in itself. He said, quietly, “Someday, my dear Omega, I will convince you of your own worth.” His lips found Dean’s forehead in the dark. “I believe it is a quest that will last my lifetime, but I won’t rest until I achieve it.”

“Quit sayin’ stuff like that,” Dean said, batting at Castiel’s arm gently. He hoped the Alpha couldn’t feel how hot his face had gotten. “Go to sleep.”

“I’ll tell you such things until you believe them,” Castiel said. He was quiet for a moment, and then he kissed Dean again, this time on the lips. “Goodnight, Dean. Sleep, I’ll watch over you.”

Dean wanted to tell him that that was ridiculous, that he needed sleep too, but his eyelids were so heavy that it took all his focus not to let them drop closed quite yet. He managed a tired, “Goodnight, Alpha,” before he nuzzled his face into Castiel’s warm chest and gave into the heaviness that seemed to have overtaken his whole body. He wished he could have stayed up, that he could have continued their conversation, but the day had been taxing and he could tell his body still needed to recover. It didn’t take long for him to slip into a dreamless sleep.

It was surprising how much Castiel’s mere presence could calm his subconscious. Dean slept through the night without a single nightmare, and when he slowly blinked awake the next morning, he felt more refreshed and energized than he had in a long time.

Dean heard the low murmur of voices and frowned a little, listening as he struggled to get his eyes open and keep them that way. Castiel’s voice he recognized, as well as the warm press of him against his left side. The second voice took a second to come to his mind, but once he had the name, he was absolutely sure of himself.

Gadreel was speaking in Russian, his voice so soft that Dean could barely hear him. He strained to pick out words, struggling to catch their meanings. “Knights… hiding… a while. Not sure… don’t know.” Gadreel’s voice was too low and his words were too soft for Dean’s newbie ears to catch everything.

Then, Castiel said in a voice loud enough that it was obviously meant for him instead of Gadreel, “Good morning, baby boy. How are you feeling?”

Half-awake, Dean didn’t even register that the Alpha was speaking Russian, or that he technically wasn’t supposed to understand. “Good,” he mumbled back, stumbling over the syllables of his words just a little. “Tired. Hurts.”

Castiel’s chuckle vibrated the bridge of his nose, which was pressed to the Alpha’s side. “My little bunny has been keeping secrets, hasn’t he?” he questioned in affectionate Russian, the words just slow enough for Dean to understand. Switching back to English, the Alpha asked, “When were you going to tell me, dorogoy, hmm?”

Dean peeled his eyes open and raised his head to glare at Gadreel, betrayed. “You’re a traitor,” he grumbled. “You weren’t s’posed to tell him.”

Gadreel looked genuinely upset, as if he hadn’t caught the lack of seriousness in Dean’s voice. “My apologies, tsarina. Alpha Mikhail demanded that I debrief with every detail I could, and that included the parts you confided in me about translating what the guards outside your cell were saying. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said, sitting up with a wince. Good God, he was sore. “It was gonna come out eventually. Sorry, Cas. I wanted to surprise you when I was fluent, but I guess you know now.”

His Alpha hummed, stroking a gentle hand up and down his back. “It’s still a delightful surprise, malysh. And now I can help you become fluent, yes?”

Dean smiled at him hopefully. “Sure.” He glanced at Gadreel, who was watching them with fondness in his eyes, and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation. D’you need me to leave or something?” That was probably a dumb question, since Dean wasn’t really sure he could leave with his ankle all fucked, but it didn’t really matter. Both Alphas looked positively ill at the idea.

“No, there’s no need for you to get up,” Gadreel said quickly.

“We were merely considering what the Knights’ next move might be,” Castiel said. “It’s not really a conversation we should be having without Mikhail and Luke, but when we eventually meet with them, you’re more than welcome to be there, zaychik. I believe you’ve earned the bratva’s highest trust after these past few days, at the very least.”

Dean frowned. “I don’t really have much to contribute.” The whisperings he’d heard from the guards outside his cell hadn’t been substantial enough to really mean anything—even with how little he knew about the bratva, he knew that.

Gadreel shook his head. “You’re the only one of either of us to have seen Alastair,” he said. “You could—”

“No,” Castiel said sharply. “He’s not discussing that if he doesn’t want to.”

Gadreel grimaced. “Alpha Mikhail said—”

“Alpha Mikhail’s judgment isn’t perfect, is it?” Castiel interrupted frostily. “Dean won’t talk about Alastair if doesn’t want to.”

Gadreel looked pained. Castiel looked irritated. Dean rolled his eyes. “Have you ever thought of actually asking Dean what he wants?” he asked Castiel, reaching out to poke his Alpha gently in the side. “I get laid up in bed once and you’re already makin’ decisions for me.”

His Alpha, at the very least, had the sense to look ashamed. “That wasn’t my intention, dorogoy, I just wanted to—”

“I know, I know,” Dean said, waving him off. He sat up stiffly, doing his best to hide his wince at the movement, and kissed Castiel on the cheek. “You just wanna make sure I’m safe and happy and whatever. I promise I can talk about Alastair without freaking out. I’ll tell you if anything changes.” That’s not the part that makes me wanna puke my guts up, was what he didn’t say. An image of a blood-splattered hallway, pieces of brain sliding down the wall, came to mind. He shook it away before the nausea could come back to him.

Castiel didn’t seem to have missed his moment of hesitation despite how quick and insignificant it had been. He looked concerned as he said, “Dean, it’s really not essential. I don’t even know why Mikhail is insisting upon a description, it’s not like we can’t track him down without it.”

“Can’t you be killed or something for questioning Alpha Mikhail?” Dean asked, poking Castiel in the side again. Gadreel’s mouth twitched just the barest amount, the only indication of how he was feeling. When Dean met the security guard’s eyes, the Alpha looked away before Dean’s gaze could make him smile any more.

“No,” Castiel grumbled. If he hadn’t been half-holding Dean, Dean thought he would have crossed his arms petulantly. “I’m his brother. He wouldn’t kill me. Besides, he’s trying to earn my forgiveness right now. I can do whatever I want.”

One of the things Dean most adored about his Alpha was the absolute lack of maturity he had sometimes, the childish pout that only he could seem to conjure in words alone. Dean managed to keep his amusement hidden well enough. Gadreel, who had to press his lips together rather conspicuously to keep a straight face, was not so successful.

“I’ll do whatever Alpha Mikhail needs me to do, ‘cause I ain’t above his authority,” Dean reasoned before Castiel could snap at Gadreel for laughing. “When’re they meeting, anyway? Is everyone here?”

“The men have set up various camps around the perimeter of the property,” Castiel said. “Your aunt and uncle graciously provided tents and other such accommodations for them. They’re acting as guards for now. The important personnel—myself, my brothers, Gadreel, and Ishim—are all here. We can hold our strategy meetings whenever we need.” He glowered. “Whenever Mikhail, in all his apparent wisdom, decides it should be so.”

Gadreel winced. Dean rolled his eyes. “Great. I’m assuming the dining room table is as good a place as any to hold a strategy meeting? Or do we have to go to a secure location?”

“As long as your family isn’t within earshot, there’s no need to go anywhere,” Castiel said.

“I was under the assumption that we would be meeting in this room,” Gadreel said. He was looking at Castiel carefully. “So Omega Dean doesn’t have to get up.”

“Hell no!” Dean exclaimed, before Castiel could respond. “I ain’t doin’ this while I’m lying in bed like some kind of invalid. I can walk, I just need some help.”

Castiel looked as if he was actually going to be sick at the idea. “You’re not walking.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

“Dean—”

“I’m not stayin’ in here,” Dean said. Maybe he would have been more conscious of the lack of respect he was showing someone who outranked him by a mile, but he was hungry from not eating breakfast and sore from the last few days, which made him grumpy. He had a feeling Castiel wasn’t going to have him whipped for snapping at him, either.

“I’ll carry you, then,” Castiel said, sounding as if he was doing his best to maintain a thin veneer of patience. He looked at Dean flatly, every ounce of his expression saying, I’m not backing down.

Whatever. Dean was a Winchester; they were stubborn as hell. “I ain’t letting you carry me like some princess either,” he snapped. “I’m walking. You can help, if you really can’t stand the idea of me exerting myself. But I’m walking.”

Castiel looked at him with those piercing blue eyes for a long moment, as if he could convince Dean to back down just by looking at him. A few weeks ago, maybe he could have. As it was, Dean merely tipped his chin up and raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. Argue with me, Alpha. I dare you.

The tense moment was broken when Gadreel rose from his seat at the end of the bed. He reached out, patted Castiel on the shoulder, and said, “I believe you’ve met your match in willpower, Alpha Castiel.” He cast Dean a small, affectionate glance. “I’ll go rally the men.”

As the head of security made his way toward the door, Dean leaned over and kissed his Alpha on the cheek. “I know you’re tryin’ to help, Cas, but I’m fine. Seriously.” He took in the grimace on Castiel’s face, almost as if he was in pain, and he softened. “You don’t gotta keep feeling guilty, okay? Just focus on what’s happening now.”

Castiel exhaled, looking at Dean with such softness that the air in the room seemed to disappear. “I know, malysh. I’m trying. Just… please don’t hurt yourself. You don’t need to prove anything.” He winced. “Also, I need to show your father that I can be a good Alpha to you. And that means making sure you get healthier as quickly as possible.”

Dean snorted. “Bobby already likes you, Cas. If he hasn’t shot you yet, and especially if he’s acknowledged that you’re my Alpha, it means you’re on his good side.”

Castiel frowned. “He has a strange way of displaying said ‘good side.’”

Dean laughed at that, unable to help himself. “Truer words have never been spoken,” he said. “Now I think we should get up so no one has to wait on us. Help me?”

Castiel ended up half-carrying him anyway, especially with the stairs. Dean tried to keep his noises of pain to a minimum even though moving hurt, since he’d basically bullied Castiel into letting him out of bed. When they’d reached the first floor, Dean found Sammy lingering in the living room, eyeing Castiel with the kind of petulant dislike that only a teenage Alpha could muster.

Right. Time to end this shit here and now.

“Cas, wait,” Dean said, stopping his Alpha from trying to help him into the dining area. “I want you to meet my little brother. Sammy, get your ass over here. I never got to introduce you two.”

“We’ve already been introduced,” Sam grumbled as he made his way over. He was alternating between glowering at Castiel and glowering at the floor. When he got close enough, he glowered at Dean too.

“Cas, this is my snot-nosed little brother, Sammy,” Dean said, turning to Castiel. The Alpha’s face looked carefully neutral, as if he was trying to keep himself from giving away his emotions. “Sammy, this is my Alpha, Castiel.”

Sammy narrowed his eyes at Castiel. “That doesn’t sound like a Russian name.”

“I was named after an angel, actually,” Castiel said. His voice, too, was carefully neutral. It took Dean a solid couple seconds to realize that his Alpha wasn’t mad or unhappy, he was nervous. He supposed, when he thought of the position Castiel was in, that it made sense. If Sam—someone who was obviously important to Dean—ended up disliking him, there would be problems.

The second Dean saw the way Sam brightened, however, he figured his Alpha never should have been nervous in the first place. “Oh, an angel? Like… The angel of Thursday?” He frowned, a “Sammy-thinking-face” if Dean had ever seen one. “Doesn’t that mean, like, the shield of God or something? Or there’s the other version, Cassiel, which means wrath of God.”

Castiel looked surprised. “Very few people even recognize the name,” he said. “Impressive.”

Sam grinned, and Dean knew any trace of hostility he’d harbored toward Castiel was instantly gone. “I had a fixation on that kinda stuff when I was younger,” he said, sounding as if he was trying very hard not to boast. “Does that mean your brothers are named after angels, too? Is there a Raphael? Or a Gabriel? Why did your parents decide to name you after angels? Oh, is Luke actually named—”

“Oookay, we’re gonna go to a little strategy meeting now,” Dean said, stopping Sam before he could really get going. “You and Cas can have a geek-out session later, yeah?” He patted Castiel on the shoulder, a silent signal that they could go to the dining room now. “Sammy, maybe you could break out that book about mafia tattoos you have somewhere and see if it’s accurate.”

Sammy, if possible, brightened even more. “Yeah!”

Dean grinned at him, both he and Castiel watching as the young Alpha turned and hurried up the stairs they’d just come down, evidently going to search his massive library for the book in question. When he was out of sight, Dean nudged his Alpha and they began moving toward the murmur of conversation in the dining room.

“I would really rather not explain to your brother the tattoos that mark my kill count,” Castiel said weakly.

Dean laughed. “He’s not gonna care, trust me,” he said. “If anything, he’ll think it’s cool. He’s all about that kinda shit, Cas. You two’ll get on like a house on fire.”

Castiel frowned deeply. “That phrase is rather concerning.”

“It’s just a figure of speech, Alpha,” Dean said affectionately.

They entered the dining room to find Mikhail, Luke, Ishim, and Gadreel gathered around the table, Luke and Ishim engaged in a rather heated conversation about something Dean couldn’t understand. They were speaking in Russian that was too fast for him to comprehend.

Castiel helped Dean sit down in one of the chairs. Gadreel, who’d been holding a throw pillow from the couch like he’d been waiting for the opportunity, set it on a chair and pushed it close so Dean could rest his ankle on it. Dean thanked him quietly, trying not to feel too uncomfortable about all the attention he was receiving. Castiel remained standing behind him, his hands resting on the back of his chair.

“I’ve already recommended that your aunt and uncle remain out of earshot for this conversation, brief as it will be,” Mikhail told Dean as he sat down. “We don’t want them endangered by the information, though I doubt the Knights will ever learn of their existence.”

“They can’t track you here?” Dean asked. He’d been a little worried about that—had he endangered his family by choosing to come here when he’d escaped?

“It’s doubtful,” Luke said, seeming to have finished his argument with Ishim. “The Knights are scrambled in Chicago. They’ve gone completely silent. With most of their senior officers dead, there’s an option for a grab for power; they’ll be overtaken by in-fighting for weeks, if not years. Which is why now is a good time to finish them off.”

“With all due respect, Alpha Luke, I believe we’ll be more successful if we wait,” Ishim said tightly. It sounded as if this had been what they were arguing about. “If we attack now, we’ll be in the heart of their territory, where they’re strongest. We were successful once; it won’t happen again. They’ve withdrawn for a reason.”

Mikhail, who looked contemplative, held up a hand before Luke could reply. “Both points are worth contemplating, but I don’t think now is the time to decide. It’s tempting to make a move now, but we need to take a second to regroup and strategize thoughtfully or we risk suffering unneeded losses. A few days of delay won’t make much of a difference, and I believe it’s imperative that we return to our center of strength.”

Luke looked as if he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he conceded, “Gabriel would probably appreciate that. He’s not happy that he’s missed out on so much.”

“A bored Gabriel is mildly dangerous,” Mikhail said, nodding. “I’ve decided that we’ll return home as soon as possible, and I won’t be hearing any arguments against that decision unless it’s a matter of life or death. Ishim, I trust you’ve secured a method of transportation since we last talked?”

“We’ll be driving home,” Ishim said, dipping his head respectfully to Mikhail. “It will be slower, but safer.”

“Good,” Mikhail said. “We’ll leave behind a few men to keep Dean’s family safe, just in case. I don’t think there’s any need for them to move anywhere, or to worry, for that matter, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Is that alright, Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “It sounds good to me, but have you talked to Bobby about it? He might have some thoughts.”

“I’ve discussed it with your uncle,” Mikhail replied, nodding. “He agreed to the plan. He wanted to make sure that you would be safe, especially since you aren’t staying here.” He hesitated, glancing up at Castiel, then down at Dean again. “Unless you are.”

Dean had guessed this conversation was coming. He could understand why the others might be wondering if he was going back to Washington with them, since Bobby, Ellen, and Sam were his only family and they’d only just been reunited after a long period of being apart. But if he was being honest, he hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. He’d just assumed he was going back to Washington, no questions about it.

Maybe he should have felt a little guilty about that. Sammy deserved more than just a passing thought. Dean was definitely going to miss him, but he didn’t think leaving now would mean never seeing his little brother again. He was in a different position than before, when he’d barely had the money to ride the bus. Now, he could bet Castiel would take him anywhere he wanted to go if he asked nicely, especially if he wanted to see Sammy and his aunt and uncle. The whole world felt so open now, so full of possibility.

“I’m coming with you,” Dean said. “When are we leaving?”

“Late tonight,” Ishim replied. “We’ll leave under cover of darkness.”

“For now, no strategizing, no scheming, just rest,” Mikhail told everyone. “Remain alert, of course, but there’s no need to plot the downfall of the Knights today. That can wait a few days, at the very least. Come to me if there’s a problem. Until then, lay low. Understood?”

“Da, Alpha,” everyone around the table replied.

Mikhail shooed them all off to their respective posts and duties. Dean expected Castiel to start trying to force him back up the stairs and into bed again, but his Alpha said rather coldly, “What was the point of a strategy meeting if there was no strategy?”

“Gadreel was the one who called us together,” Mikhail pointed out.

“He was initiating a gathering that you’d previously professed a need for,” Castiel replied sharply. “You didn’t consult anyone before deciding we’d be leaving.”

Mikhail raised an eyebrow. “I am still the head of this organization, Castiel. I make the decisions.”

Castiel’s silence, somehow, seemed sharper than any words he could have spoken. Just look at how well that went last time, he seemed to be saying. Dean couldn’t see him, since his Alpha was standing directly behind him, but he could imagine the frosty glare on his face. Behind Mikhail’s near-identical blue stare, Dean thought he could see a minute flash of hurt.

“Cas?” he asked, turning in his chair. “You wanna see if Ellen has some breakfast? I’m kinda hungry.”

Castiel held Mikhail’s gaze for a moment longer, then turned to look down at Dean, his eyes exponentially softer. “Sure, dorogoy.”

As Dean allowed his Alpha to help him stand up, he sent Mikhail a sympathetic glance. Even though he wanted to, he wasn’t going to force Castiel to forgive his brother; that wasn’t his decision to make. At this point, he just wanted to help alleviate some of the tension between the brothers. Castiel would eventually get over his anger at Mikhail, most likely around the same time he got over his anger at himself. For now, Dean was just gonna have to distract him when he needed it.

Ellen was indeed in the kitchen, scrambling eggs in a bowl while bacon sizzled in a pan. As Castiel helped Dean sit down in one of the chairs next to the high counter, she called over her shoulder, “I could use some help in here, if you want something to keep you busy.”

Castiel and Dean shared a glance, Dean raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Are you… talking to me?” Castiel asked, turning to Dean’s aunt uncertainly.

She looked up from what she was doing, wearing an expression that reminded Dean where Sammy got his bitchfaces from. “I wasn’t talking to the boy with the broken leg, was I?”

Castiel swallowed. “Of course not, my apologies. I just… erm. I’m not… good at cooking.”

“Best way to get better is to practice,” Ellen said briskly. “Go on and get on the stove. The bacon needs flipping.” As Castiel moved into the kitchen and approached the stove like it was a live snake, she leaned out behind him and shot Dean a small wink. Dean hid his smile by pretending to be interested in the various flyers meant for Sam stacked on the counter from different robotics programs.

Amazingly, Castiel didn’t burn the bacon. Dean was pretty sure he’d never seen his big, scary, dangerous Alpha blush before, but he definitely did when Ellen patted him on the back and thanked him for helping with breakfast. Dean kissed him on the cheek and made sure to layer on the flattery about the bacon as they ate, hoping to coax more embarrassed pink to his Alpha’s face.

There was something about seeing his Alpha in a domestic setting that made his inner Omega squirm with happiness. He put the feeling aside, not in an attempt to shove it down, just to leave it until he could examine it better later. There was something to be said about seeing Castiel so happy and at ease, devoid of the lightning tension that seemed to fill him when he was “on the job.”

I wanted to continue seeing my brother happy, Mikhail had said when he’d been explaining his decision to bring Dean with them to Chicago. I wanted to show him the contrast between his life as my enforcer, and the life he could have with you.

Dean thought of the conversation he’d had with Castiel before, about going to the beach purely for the fun of it. Maybe there was validity to those hopes for the future, to that dream.

Maybe there was indeed.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Dean insisted on helping Ellen by drying the dishes from his place at the counter. Castiel had some things to oversee regarding the security of their trip back to Washington, so he kissed Dean goodbye once he’d helped gather the dishes from where everyone had been eating around the house. Ellen was gracious enough to wait until the Alpha had left the room before raising an eyebrow at Dean, a silent invitation for him to start talking.

“He’s really good to me,” Dean started, figuring he should just dive in; they both knew what Ellen was waiting to hear about, anyway. “He’s real sweet and chivalrous and all that bullshit, Ellen. I know you and Bobby ain’t too impressed with him right now, but I swear he treats me right.”

Ellen snorted, shaking her head as she scrubbed a pan in the sink. “Oh, I can see that. Anyone could see that, what with the way he looks at you. I’m more worried about his occupation. And about how on God’s green earth you managed to meet him in the first place.”

Dean grimaced. “He and his brothers own Mystery Spot, the burger place I work at.”

Ellen raised an eyebrow. “And I’m assuming that’s a front for his less legal activities?”

“Um… Yes?” Dean winced. “It’s a legit burger place, though! The milkshakes are really good. And the burgers are too, ‘course. Kinda expensive, but it’s okay, ‘cause the food is gourmet and they use all this organic stuff, it’s really high-quality and—”

“Dean,” Ellen said flatly, incredibly unimpressed. When he offered her a wide grin, she rolled her eyes and asked, “How did you find out? I’m assuming they tried to hide it from you.”

“Yeah, they did. I, um…” Dean trailed off, realizing that any way he told this story would not make it sound good. “I guess… Well, y’know the guys who kidnapped me? They sent an assassin in to kill Cas a while ago, and I was in the restaurant when the guy came in to shoot him. I wasn’t hurt! I just… I was there. And, um… And then later, I showed up at the restaurant again, and some kid beat me up ‘cause he thought I was a spy, and then they took me to their secret base ‘cause they felt bad, and, um… Shit.”

Well, there may have been no good way to tell the story, but he’d probably just found the worst. Christ.

Ellen was shaking her head as she scrubbed the bacon pan vigorously. “I’m sure there were plenty of fool choices made on your end too, weren’t there?”

“Yeah.”

“Your daddy was probably too wrapped up in his own bullshit to notice.”

“Yeah.”

“And you just decided not to tell me or Bobby?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’re lucky you’ve got an Alpha willin’ to burn the world down for you—and probably within the means to do it, too,” Ellen said. She shook her head. “Bobby talked to your Alpha a little while ago, and I listened in ‘s best I could. He seems like the logical type, which is good. Sounds like one of you has to be.”

Dean winced, figuring he deserved that. “Sorry, Ellen. I didn’t wanna get you all wrapped up in it. I know you’d worry.” And yell at me, like you’re doing now, he mentally grumbled.

“You think I’d’ve worried more back then than I did when you came staggering through my door half-dead and covered in blood?” Ellen demanded.

“I didn’t think that would happen!” Dean defended himself.

“If it does again, I’ll gut your Alpha myself,” Ellen threatened, brandishing a gleaming chef’s knife at him, water streaming off the sharpened edge.

“It won’t,” Dean said seriously. “Cas would kill himself before you ever got to him, trust me.”

Ellen snorted. “You’re lucky I believe that. You’re lucky he’s so damn in love with you, or Bobby never would’ve let him through the door.”

It made Dean feel strange when he heard other people talking about how Castiel felt about him—warm and floaty, a little bit like he’d inhaled a lungful of laughing gas. He focused on wiping a metal mixing bowl clean, hoping to hide the heat that had risen to his cheeks. “I’m real lucky to have him.”

“Lucky, hmph,” Ellen said. “It’s about time you had someone treat you like you deserve. Too bad it’s a mafia prince.”

Dean snorted. “What, did you want me to mate a doctor or something, Ellen?”

She set a dripping wooden spoon in front of him and said, “You can’t get kidnapped by an enemy hospital if you marry a doctor, now can you?”

“He would have saved me if I hadn’t saved myself,” Dean said. Quieter, he added, “He’s done it before. He gave me somewhere to go when I couldn’t… When Dad…” He trailed off, knowing John was a touchy subject with his aunt and uncle. Hell, his dad’s name was hard for him to bring up. He tried not to think of him, most days. He’d been pretty preoccupied lately, but now that he wasn’t in danger of being killed or tortured within an inch of his life, the other thoughts had room to filter back in.

“I heard about that,” Ellen said. She’d softened a little, her voice and eyes going gentler. “I’m sorry that happened, Dean. I… I know it’s not an excuse—there’ll never be any excuses that can make up for what Bobby and I didn’t do for you—but we didn’t know it had gotten that bad. Bobby told me what your Alpha did. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I don’t know if I would’ve left if it wasn’t for him,” Dean said truthfully. It was a hard thing to say, the words bitter on his tongue, but he needed to give Castiel the credit he was due. He needed Ellen to understand. “He didn’t just give me a place to go, Ellen. He gave me contrast. He showed me that my situation was shitty, shittier than I’d realized. If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know if I could’a made myself leave. And he made sure Da—John didn’t come after me.”

Ellen listened with her lips pursed into a thin line, sorrow written into the wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes. “I’m glad for that, Dean,” she said softly, sincerely. “I’m sorry we weren’t there.”

“I didn’t make it easy for you,” Dean admitted. “I deflected. I lied. I didn’t want you to know.” He still didn’t really understand why he’d refused all their attempts to help. Maybe he’d been ashamed. Maybe he’d still been holding out hope that his dad would change. Maybe it was a combination of the two, or something else entirely.

I should talk to someone about this shit. A professional, Dean thought randomly. Almost immediately, his brain rebutted, But therapy is expensive. And then, I don’t really have to worry about money anymore, though.

Shit, he was still getting used to that.

What kind of things could he do without having to worry about money? He could buy nice ingredients to cook with, get used to cooking gourmet meals again instead of beans and rice out of a can. He could just buy himself new boots if they wore out instead of having to save for weeks to get a cheap pair, suffering cold, wet feet in the meantime. He didn’t have to live in paralyzing fear of being seriously injured in a freak accident, since he could probably pay the hospital bill now. He…

He could go back to school.

The thought was heavy, not because it was depressing, but because it just… sat there. It weighed on the rest of his thoughts throughout the rest of the morning, keeping him from being able to make lively conversation with Gabriel when Luke passed by with the phone, saying he was making his rounds, allowing Gabe to check in with everyone. Dean ended up sitting in bed for a while, pretending he was taking a nap so Castiel would stop nagging at him, staring at the ceiling as he thought about what going back to school would mean.

He wasn’t dumb enough to think that he needed a degree for anything, nor that having a degree was worth anything these days anyway. If he was being honest, he wasn’t exactly looking for a new job after spending what felt like half his life working nearly every hour of every day. He’d be happy if he never had to get up at four in the morning ever again, thanks very much.

But he couldn’t help the part of him that wondered about getting a college degree because he wanted to. Because now he could. He’d put his whole life on hold to take care of his dad and make sure Sammy could have a future. But now both things were more or less taken care of, and he could finally focus on himself. On what he wanted. And some part of him—the perfectionist part, the part that always strove for more, the part that wanted to achieve something just to see if he could—wanted to give college a try.

It was a scary thought. Dean wondered what Castiel would think. Would he think it was a waste of money, if Dean was gonna get a degree with no plans to do anything with it? What was he even going to major in? What if Castiel thought it was stupid? What would Dean do then?

The thought scared him. He ended up dragging himself out of bed with the hopes of distracting himself by interacting with one of the many people in the house. After breakfast one of the members of the bratva had handed him a pair of crutches she seemed to have procured out of nowhere. Dean didn’t doubt a group of them had gone off and gotten them somewhere, though he was a little worried about how they’d done it. He was grateful for the crutches, since it meant he could move around on his own without his Alpha breathing down his neck.

He got out of his room and out into the hallway before he stopped, hearing the sound of two familiar voices nearby.

“…they vibrate their bodies to warm up the hive when it isn’t to their liking, and when it’s too warm, they flap their wings to cool it off,” a familiar rumbly, accented voice said. “Isn’t that incredible?”

“That’s super cool! I have another book on wild honeybees somewhere, but the only ones on domesticated bees are at the local library, and I’m not allowed to check those out for more than two weeks at a time,” came Sam’s voice in response. “How did you learn so much about bees?”

“They’re a fascination of mine,” Castiel said. He sounded very fond. “I learned about them from my family gardener when I was young, and I’ve been in awe ever since. They’re unbelievably industrious.”

“Yeah! And get this, did you know…”

Dean smiled and began to slowly hobble down the stairs, keeping his movements as quiet as possible so he didn’t disturb the geek-out session happening a few rooms away. He could imagine his Alpha sitting on Sam’s bed facing his little brother, frowning with that adorably serious face he had when he was very interested in something, reading a book about bee facts with Sam.

They’re gonna be best friends in the future, Dean thought as he slowly made his way down the stairs. He was glad for the connection between his brother and his Alpha. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d been forced to choose between the two of them.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he hadn’t made it more than two feet before an older guy and a young woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere, both of them wearing dark jackets with the angel-wing emblem of the Krushnic bratva.

“Hello, Omega Dean,” the woman greeted, giving Dean a little wave. Her eyes were wide and excited as she looked at him. Dean got the distinct sense she thought he was cool but also cute, kind of like someone looking at a Disney character at Disneyland. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that feeling.

“Um, hi,” he said, giving her an answering wave that was made awkward by his crutches. “Do you, um… D’you need something? Are you warm enough outside in your tents?”

The man poked the woman, muttering something in Russian. She responded, glancing back at Dean every now and then, then turned to him and smiled. “We’re perfectly fine, thank you. We wanted to ask if you would like to come sit with us and talk.”

Dean blinked. “Talk?”

The man poked the woman again, saying something else. She listened, then relayed, “Yes, talk. Boris wanted to clarify that it was, erm… What is the word? Telling stories. We want to hear your story.” She beamed at him.

Despite her heavy accent, Dean got the sense she was the translator of the two. He looked between them and their twin earnest expressions, feeling a little uncomfortable. “My story? What d’you mean by that? I don’t exactly have the coolest story—have you talked to Alpha Gadreel?”

“Yes, yes, but we want to hear you,” the woman said. “We heard him, it was very exciting. But he said you would have a good story.”

Dean hesitated. He knew they wouldn’t mock him or anything, but he really didn’t feel like he had the most exciting story to tell. He didn’t want to sit down and bore them with a recounting of his cowardly sneaking around in the office building. He hadn’t exactly been John McClane in there. But he also understood that they just wanted to hear his side of things, and he figured there wasn’t any harm in giving them what they wanted.

“Okay,” Dean conceded, much to the delight of the two bratva members. “And then maybe you guys can tell me what you were doing in Chicago, yeah?”

“Yes, yes,” the woman said, nodding. “We can trade. Come, we’re sitting in the eating room.”

They led Dean into the dining room, where the large oak table had been converted into a kind of community space. There were chairs from all over the house pulled up to the table, a combination of water glasses, food plates, gun-cleaning materials, and maps of urban Chicago spread out on the surface. A large group of men and women—maybe seven or eight—was gathered around at the moment, speaking in friendly, boisterous Russian. When Dean and the two others arrived, they all cried out in greeting.

Dean was gently pushed into a chair near the head of the table, someone providing another chair for his ankle. As he sat down and got his bearings, Ishim leaned in from the archway that led to the kitchen and said, “We’re all very eager to hear your recounting of what happened in Lytton, Omega Dean. Would you mind entertaining us?”

Dean laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sure, I don’t mind, but I don’t know how entertaining it’ll be,” he said. “I guess, um…” Everyone around the table was listening to him now that he’d started talking, and no one seemed keen on telling him to stop. Resigning himself to telling the story with as much excitement as he thought it deserved, Dean began, “Well, I woke up after the crash in the back of this truck. Alpha Gadreel was with me, but he was hurt, and the Knight of Hell dude in the back with us wasn’t being very helpful…”

He went through the story, pausing to allow Ishim or the young woman—Anika, Dean learned her name was—to translate for those who weren’t fluent in English. The bratva members were far more interactive than he’d anticipated, murmuring in admiration as he recounted treating Gadreel’s injuries as best he could, snarling in disgust when he told them about the Knights beating him up on the side of the road, and crowing with excitement when he recalled Gadreel coming to his rescue. They all listened with rapt attention as he told them about Alastair, some of them looking at him with something close to awe. It made Dean deeply uncomfortable, but it also made something inside of him feel warm. He wasn’t used to being the center of so much positive attention, nor was he used to being looked at with such admiration.

“I wasn’t really able to understand what the guards were saying, but I got enough to know that we were in a pretty isolated place with not a lot of Knights,” Dean said when he got to the part after Alastair. “It didn’t really matter, since Nikov showed up soon—”

He was cut off by a chorus of shouts and groans of disgust, his crowd of listeners loudly displaying their distaste for the newest character in Dean’s story. The Alpha nearest to him, a buff dude with tattoos of skulls and knives all over his face and neck, bared his teeth in anger. It scared Dean a little, even though the reaction was mostly instinctive—he knew he wasn’t really in danger.

“The bastard didn’t die in the crash?” someone demanded.

“What did he want?” someone else asked.

“Shut up and let him tell us,” Ishim snapped. To Dean, he asked, “What did Nikov do?”

Dean winced. “He got me out of the cell, actually.” He hesitated, then added, “He was a real bastard about it. He kept kicking me and, um… calling me names. He was mad ‘cause he felt like he was treated unfairly with the Krushnics.”

“He was little fucking rat!” someone said from the back. More people had gathered in the room while Dean had been telling the story, so now there were twelve or thirteen bratva members listening. They all laughed at the comment.

“He got what he deserved,” Anika said, frowning. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“He couldn’t beat Omega and be friends,” another woman snapped, sounding offended at the mere thought. She muttered a particularly filthy curse in Russian that brought a small smile to Dean’s face.

“He got what he deserved,” Ishim said, nodding at Anika. “Though it’s unfortunate his inability to handle the consequences for his actions ended in so much pain for everyone, especially tsarina. What did he do afterward, Omega Dean? Where was he taking you?”

Dean told them about Nikov taking him to the roof, hesitating before recounting how he’d kicked Nikov’s knee in and choked him out. The amount of excitement he got when he recounted that part surprised him; the group of listeners cheered like someone had scored the winning touchdown in a double-overtime football game.

The excited reactions he received gave him a little more confidence, enough that he started to enjoy telling the rest of the story. Though he still felt like everyone was overreacting to make him feel better, he couldn’t deny that it was working; he felt like a real hero when he recounted how he’d gone back for Gadreel instead of running away.

They’re genuinely excited, Dean thought as he looked out at the crowd of eager listeners, everyone facing him and listening with rapt attention, no sound in the room but his voice and the hushed murmur of the translators. They honestly think I’m cool. They think I’m someone worth listening to.

He finished his story with the moment he called Castiel. His listeners all looked supremely satisfied, a few patting him on the back as a way of showing thanks.

“Maybe one of you could tell me what went down in Chicago?” Dean suggested. He’d already heard the story, but he didn’t doubt it would be entertaining hearing it from someone around the table.

Before anyone could take him up on his suggestion, however, footsteps sounded behind him and everyone in the room straightened. Some of the laughter and talk died away, though the smiles didn’t disappear. Dean looked up as a familiar hand came to rest on the center of his upper back, already knowing who he’d see.

“Entertaining everyone with your stories, zaychik?” Castiel asked, smiling at Dean fondly. “I wondered when that would happen.”

Dean blushed a little, looking at his lap. “They asked me.”

“It was very interesting, Alpha Castiel,” Anika said earnestly, beaming at Dean’s Alpha. “He’s good at telling stories. And very brave.” Several others nodded in agreement.

Dean’s embarrassment felt magnified by about a thousand now that Castiel was standing behind him. He was grateful when his Alpha said, “Perhaps the storytelling can continue on the way home. For now, we need to begin gathering ourselves in preparation for returning to Washington. Make sure to clean up, too. We want to be good guests, yes?”

“Da, Alpha,” everyone replied. A great shuffling started as everyone began to rise, off to do what they needed to make sure Castiel’s will was carried out.

Dean made to get up too, but Castiel’s hand pressed gently on his shoulder, keeping him in his seat. “You should be resting,” Dean’s Alpha admonished gently.

“I tried taking a nap earlier,” Dean grumbled, hating the idea of having to stay in bed any longer than he already had. “I got bored.”

“Did you end up getting any rest?” Castiel asked.

“I tried.”

“But did you?” God damn it. Castiel was doing his raised-eyebrow thing, the one that made Dean’s inner Omega roll over and show its belly.

“…No,” he admitted.

His Alpha hummed, bending down to press a kiss to the top of his hair. “I understand you’re restless, my love, but you need to let yourself heal. If I forgo forcing you to rest, will you at least promise not to move around too much? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been moving up and down the stairs without someone to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Dean grumbled. Castiel hummed disapprovingly into his hair, prompting him to grind out a reluctant, “Fine. I’ll sit on the couch and shoot the shit with Sammy or something. But I ain’t takin’ a nap.”

“Fine,” Castiel said. “You’ll sleep in the car tonight.”

Dean knew he could only argue with his Alpha so much. He allowed Castiel to help him to the couch, ignoring the part of him that was thrilled with how close his Alpha was, how much he was showing that he cared. When was the last time someone had worried so much about his wellbeing that they’d gotten on his nerves? Not since Sammy had left. It felt like a novelty, one Dean couldn’t be entirely bitter about.

He did end up sitting on the couch for most of the afternoon and early evening, talking to Sam. He’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to his little brother, how nicely conversation flowed between them. Sam seemed like he knew the punchline to the jokes Dean told before he even got there, like he could read Dean’s mind. It was a great feeling, one that Dean had missed. One that he would miss, once he left.

I wish I didn’t have to live so far from him, he thought as he looked at his brother. He was able to contact Sam easier than ever now—he could call him whenever, could set up a fancy video-chat thingy, could even get on a plane to visit him—but he couldn’t deny that some part of him was disappointed to be losing the sibling he felt like he’d only just regained.

The thought remained in the back of his mind as everyone prepared to go, the activity around the house becoming fairly busy as dinnertime approached. Ellen served up some delicious hamburgers with a side of baked piroshki, a side dish that two of the bratva members contributed in the hopes of helping Ellen feed so many people.

Despite how grumpy she usually was, Dean’s aunt seemed pretty fond of the Krushnics. Dean supposed it made sense, since it seemed all the men were trying their absolute hardest to charm her—a few even toeing the line of flirting, though only when Bobby was out of sight. They bought Ellen flowers and did the dishes for her, one even fixing the loose leg of a dining chair with a hammer and some screws.

“Your friends are nice,” Sam told Castiel when one of the women presented him with a book on the wildlife that lived in Russia’s northern tundras, something she seemed to have found in a store nearby that she claimed was accurate and interesting.

Castiel snorted. “I would hope so. You and your family have been incredibly kind by taking us all in.” He made a face at Ellen’s flowers and added, “Some of them might have also been charmed by your aunt’s cooking. They’re easily swayed by good food.”

Dean found it all highly amusing. He was fairly sure Ellen did too, though she pretended not to notice. Bobby grumbled and stomped around until Gadreel got him talking about the classic cars he worked on, and then he didn’t shut up until they were practically out the door, the cars they were taking back to Washington packed and ready to go.

Ishim had called in a few favors, so there were four dark, armored SUVs waiting outside the junkyard when it was finally time to go. Dean had been avoiding thinking about what leaving would mean, but the time eventually came for him to say goodbye to his family. Sam hugged him for a long time, his arms shaking with how hard he was squeezing. Dean hugged him back just as tightly, his eyes closed so the dampness in them couldn’t be seen.

“I’ll see you again soon, kiddo,” he promised. “Call me whenever you want, ‘kay? Tell me how that spring dance goes with Jess.”

“Okay,” Sam said quietly. “Be safe, Dean.”

“I will.” Dean kissed his little brother on the top of the head, breathing in the Alpha scent of him. “Love you, buddy.”

He said goodbye to Ellen and Bobby, Bobby’s voice gruff with emotion as he told Dean to be safe and to call him if he needed someone to kick his Alpha’s ass. Dean agreed with a wet laugh, though he knew Bobby was only joking.

Castiel insisted on carrying Dean to one of the cars, since he was worried the grassy yard would be too uneven for Dean’s crutches. Dean conceded mostly because he knew Castiel just wanted to help, and also because he felt like he’d gotten away with enough today. It wasn’t like it was a hardship to be carried around by a strong, muscular Alpha, either.

As Castiel lifted Dean easily into his arms and turned to take him toward the cars, Bobby called after them, “Boy?”

Castiel stopped, turning so they could face the front porch of the house where Dean’s family stood. Dean thought Bobby had been calling him, but when he faced his uncle, he found the Beta’s eyes on his Alpha instead.

“Yes, Mr. Singer?” Castiel asked.

Bobby’s eyes shone. He seemed to be working himself up to threaten Castiel, but when he spoke, his words were unexpectedly soft. “Take care of my kid, you understand?” he demanded, his voice gruff.

Castiel squeezed Dean gently against his chest. “I will.”

Bobby nodded, his eyes suspiciously shiny. He waved his hand at the cars lined up behind them, waiting. “Go on, then. Get outta here. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

Castiel turned and continued carrying Dean to the car. Dean waved to Sam over his Alpha’s shoulder, smiling through the tears that slipped down his cheeks. He wiped them away as they got to the car, hiding any evidence he’d been sad by the time Castiel helped him into the back of one of the SUVs.

Inside, Boris and two other men sat against the wall, a thick sheet of darkened glass separating them from the front, where Gadreel would be driving. He’d claimed that though his arm was still injured, he was still capable of driving, and Castiel hadn’t argued. Dean had a sneaking feeling his Alpha didn’t trust anyone else to drive, so he wasn’t surprised.

Castiel climbed into the back with Dean, sliding in along the bench facing the three men across from them. Just as he was about to close the door, someone ran up to the car and called through the opening in Russian, a questioning lilt to their words.

Castiel paused, the door half-open. He responded, Dean only catching the familiar sounds of words he’d heard before, not their meanings. A moment later, the person retreated, allowing Castiel to close the door and Gadreel to start the engine.

“He was wishing us a safe journey and asking that we call them when we get back to Washington,” Castiel explained when Dean shot him a questioning look.

Dean nodded in understanding. There were four or five men staying back with his family to make sure the Knights didn’t give them any trouble in the time it took the Krushnics to orchestrate a plan of taking down what remained of the enemy bratva. Dean had been told it was enough to safely get Bobby, Ellen, and Sam out of the state—and maybe even out of the country, if need be—but not enough to fight off an entire attack force should the Knights decide to send one.

He tried to cling to the idea that the Knights likely didn’t even know his family existed as they began to drive away. Even with that, he couldn’t help his little inkling of worry. He prayed Mikhail and the other Krushnics would work quickly to eliminate the Knights. Selfishly, he thought he’d feel a lot safer when that happened.

They had nearly an entire twenty-four-hour drive ahead of them, perhaps a little less if the drivers switched out and drove fast when they could. Dean was excited at the thought of returning to Washington, so much so that he thought he would have a hard time getting to sleep. It wasn’t long, however, before his head was snapping up from dozing off and his eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

“Lay down on the bench, zaychik,” Castiel murmured to him over the drone of the car engine. Across the way, two of the three men were asleep, Boris’s eyes in the process of drooping closed.

“Aren’t you gonna be uncomfortable?” Dean asked, his words slurring together with exhaustion. If he laid down, Castiel would have no one to lean up against, like the guys across from them were doing.

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel promised him. “I’ll sleep when you wake up; I’m wide awake now, anyway. Get some rest, my love. I’ll wake you if I need to.”

Part of Dean wanted to protest, to force his Alpha to get some rest too, but he couldn’t fight his exhaustion and he didn’t have the energy to argue. He mumbled something sleepy that could have been a disagreement or an acquiescence, then adjusted his seatbelt so he could spread out on the open bench next to him and lay down.

Castiel’s thigh made a very firm, very warm, very comfortable pillow. Dean’s head felt incredibly heavy, and the moment his Alpha laid his hand in his hair and began to gently stroke it, Dean had no chance.

Between one quiet moment and the next, he was sound asleep.

Chapter Text

Dean woke up stiff and sore the next morning, his ankle throbbing for no apparent reason other than to torture him. He didn’t dare complain about how he felt, though; Castiel was in a mood this morning, and Dean didn’t want to give him one more thing to be worried and upset about.

Because that was what Castiel was: worried. Dean could tell he was anxious to be back in Washington, safe behind friendly lines. They’d left their temporary safe house, and now they were caught between shelters, like a hermit crab changing shells and momentarily exposing its soft, vulnerable body. Dean could feel the anxiety in the car. Unfortunately, it wasn’t helped by Castiel’s mood.

The Alpha snapped at everyone, barking a death threat at the younger of the three men—who Dean learned was named Alfie—before the poor guy had even been awake for more than five minutes. The three men on the opposite side of the car all sort of sat quietly after Castiel threatened to rip Alfie’s throat out for talking too loud, their postures straight and their bodies conspicuously still.

Dean, who took the opportunity to sway close to Castiel when the car hit a particularly large bump in the road, deduced the problem after only a breath of his Alpha’s scent.

“Headache, Alpha?” he murmured sympathetically. He took a chance and leaned over to nuzzle Castiel’s shoulder gently, purring just loud enough to be heard over the engine of the car.

Thankfully, his actions seemed to relax Castiel instead of angering him. The Alpha tipped his head toward his Omega and exhaled, some of the tension draining from his body as he closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Did you sleep bad?” Dean asked, shifting closer on the bench so they could be pressed together from shoulders to knees.

“I got as much rest as I could,” Castiel said shortly, which was to say, not much.

“You’ll have to sleep a lot when we get home,” Dean decided, already thinking of how he was gonna shove his Alpha into their nest and cuddle him for hours. “We’ll be there soon. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Castiel said, but his voice was tight. “I just don’t like being in a confined space for so long.”

“Well, I gotta pee, so I guess we should ask Gadreel for a break, huh?” Dean said.

Dean didn’t actually have to pee. He didn’t pass up the chance to empty his bladder when they reached the next gas station, but he was more interested in giving Castiel a chance to pace around outside in the wind and sun for a little while as everyone else went to the bathroom and stocked up on water and snacks. By the time the three cars had been loaded full of passengers and they were ready to get on the road again, Castiel was much more relaxed.

When Dean returned from going pee and got back into the car, he found a small pile of snacks and candy on his seat. He glanced surprisedly at the men across from him, but they were all conveniently looking away, wearing innocent expressions on their faces. Dean understood the gesture when Castiel climbed back into the car and knocked his knee good-naturedly against Alfie’s, a silent apology for the snapping earlier. He supposed he deserved some credit for helping to calm the Alpha down.

The ride for the next few hours was pleasant. Castiel called Mikhail in the car ahead of them and they laid out plans for the meeting they would hold once they got back to Washington and could have Gabriel’s input. While he talked, Alfie, Boris, and Vlad taught Dean some phrases in Russian, most of them inappropriate. They all laughed delightedly every time he managed to get a saying right, Alfie giggling like a schoolboy as Boris gave Dean scenarios and asked him how he would respond to them.

Talk died as the trip wore on and everyone grew bored. At their next stop, Boris switched with Gadreel to drive, allowing Castiel’s head of security to climb into the back of the SUV and get some rest. If Castiel was on edge about the sudden shift in who was in control of the vehicle, he did his best to hide it.

So it went for hours, the three cars making stops when the drivers needed to switch and everyone needed to eat and stretch their legs. Dean could sense the anxiety in everyone, the desire to get back to Washington where they were safest and strongest. Even Mikhail, who was usually the least obvious when he was feeling anything less than serene calm, had lines between his eyebrows and shadows under his eyes that indicated he was eager to get home.

Dean, for his part, was more than ready to be back in Washington. Sleeping in the car sucked, both because his body was still incredibly sore and because it felt like every time he closed his eyes, the nightmares were there to catch him. Thankfully, he’d slept so deeply before that his dreams hadn’t been frightening enough to wake him, but he was worried that if he took a nap now, he’d have a screaming nightmare and disturb everyone in the back of the vehicle.

He woke up from a light doze around sundown, just as they were passing the state border between Idaho and Washington. Dean rubbed the juncture of his neck and left shoulder uncomfortably, willing away the memories of the prickle of Alastair’s knife over the area. The threat behind the action—the implication that Alastair could so easily carve away at the place where an Alpha would lay their claim—left Dean feeling nauseous and jumpy. He longed for his nest, for the thick, protective barrier of blankets and pillows in the alcove at Castiel’s apartment.

“Everything alright, malysh?” his Alpha asked from beside him. When Dean turned to look at him, he saw concern furrowing Castiel’s brow, his Alpha’s eyes too keen to miss the rather sudden way he’d woken up from his nap.

“I’m fine,” Dean said, praying the dim lighting in the back of the car would hide any pale pallor of his face. “Just ready to be home, ‘s all.” There’s nothing wrong with me, he wanted to tell his Alpha. He didn’t break me. I’m perfectly fine.

He wasn’t sure if he was convincing Castiel of that, or himself.

They got into their home city near midnight. Everyone was exhausted. Dean felt a little guilty as Castiel asked Gadreel to drop them off at Eden instead of the Den; he knew the only reason his Alpha was asking for them to be dropped off somewhere else was because of him. Dean wouldn’t have complained if they’d gone to the Den, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of his nest in the penthouse was a much more appealing one.

Dean’s underarms and back ached as he used his crutches to hobble from the car to the inside of the apartment building after saying a tired goodbye to everyone in the car. Castiel looked pained as Dean slowly made his way toward the elevator at his side, but they both knew Dean wasn’t going to let himself be carried.

There was another Alpha and Omega pair when they got into the elevator, though Dean’s nose told him the two were likely siblings. He tucked himself as close to Castiel’s side as his crutches would allow, too tired to manage much more than a cordial greeting when they entered the elevator. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.

The siblings got off at a random floor, and then Castiel and Dean were alone for the rest of the ride up. As soon as the doors closed behind the strangers, Castiel leaned over and asked, “May I carry you once we reach the apartment?”

“No,” Dean grumbled. “I can walk twenty yards to the bedroom, Cas.”

“I don’t want you to,” his Alpha said, sounding pained. “I want to carry you. Please. There won’t be anyone around, dorogoy; there’s no need to be ashamed when you need help.”

“I don’t need help,” Dean said, glaring half-heartedly at his Alpha. “You’re the one whose instincts are all over the place ‘cause you can’t stand watching me struggle a little.” He paused, considering what he’d said, some part of him weakened by the longing on his Alpha’s face. “Would it really make you feel better if I let you?”

Castiel’s reply was immediate. “Yes.”

Dean didn’t want to hear any-fucking-one say he didn’t love his Alpha. “Fine,” he said tiredly. “But only when we get in the apartment.”

Later, when he wasn’t so worn out and exhausted, he’d probably find it endearing and sweet that Castiel was so devoted to his comfort. Right now, he just found it a tad uncomfortable. Dean wasn’t used to anyone being so focused on his health and happiness. It was still hard to get used to people doing things for him and not expecting anything in return. He was accustomed to just sucking it up when he was tired or in pain; it felt just a little like admitting to being defeated when he asked for help.

Still, Dean couldn’t deny that he felt relieved when he could pull the stupid crutches out from under his aching arms and allow Castiel to pick him up as soon as they got over the threshold of their apartment. Dean buried his nose in Castiel’s neck shamelessly, scenting his Alpha as Castiel carried him through the apartment toward their bedroom. The space smelled stale after they’d spent so long in Chicago, and Dean didn’t like it. He felt better when he was inhaling the scent of Castiel straight from the source.

“I’ve imagined doing this many times,” Castiel said as they reached their bedroom, his voice soft in the thick darkness of the room.

“Doin’ what?” Dean asked, tired but genuinely curious.

“Carrying you over the threshold of our home and into our bedroom,” his Alpha said, because he was a fucking sap. “I think I would be happy if I could do it for the rest of my life. I just wish this time, I wasn’t doing it because you’re injured.”

Dean pressed a sleepy kiss to his Alpha’s neck. “You can be my big, strong Alpha any day, Cas. If it really makes you that happy, I’ll let you do that every time.”

Castiel chuckled quietly, setting him down gently in the nest. The scents in the alcove were stale, but things got a little better when Castiel helped Dean take of his boots, toed off his own shoes, climbed into the nesting space, and pulled the curtains closed so their scents were shut in.

Dean burrowed into the blankets as much as his stiff, sore body would allow. Castiel felt around in the dark until he’d located a pillow Dean’s leg could rest on, and then he burrowed down right next to him and pulled his Omega against his chest. Dean exhaled with contentment, pushing his nose up against Castiel’s throat, fully prepared to sleep for eighteen hours straight.

If only things were that easy.

~>>>~

Dean was back in that hallway without windows, the doors embedded in the walls continuing down and down and down forever. There was blood and brain matter dripping from the ceiling. There was no end to the passage. There was no way out.

His legs didn’t work. He’d fallen to the ground and his legs didn’t work and there were people coming for him. He knew. He could hear their footsteps overhead, pounding like the hammer nailing his coffin shut. The vibrations of his pursuers’ feet felt as if they rattled his very skull.

The hallway was splattered with blood. Two dead bodies lay on the ground, lifeless and twisted. Dean’s hands, shaking as they were, were stained crimson. He stared at the bodies, unable to look away even as the footsteps seemed to pound closer, his heart beating out of his throat.

What would happen when the footsteps found him? They would drag him away, back to that cold room with the table and the light and the bindings and the Alpha with the knife and the knife and the knife and the—

Dean couldn’t even remember why he was there in that hallway. He needed to do something, needed to see someone, needed to get out before the footsteps found him. But he couldn’t leave. He was bound to the floor by the weight of his body, by the thing he still needed to do, by the blood on his hands, by the guilt that pinned him to the ground.

He knew, somehow, that he would never escape. He’d never escape that bloody mess before him, the horrible thing he’d done with the weapon lying a few feet away, glinting darkly in the stark lights like a death sentence. Dean would never outrun the guilt crushing him like the world crushed Atlas, he would never be able to get up again.

The footsteps were still coming.

Dean tried to scream, but all he could do was stare silently in horror at his bloody hands, at the bloody hallway, at the bloody corpses. He swore he recognized the shape of the farthest one, the one who’d had time to fear for his life before Dean had shot him. Yuri. Somehow it was Yuri, and he was dead and it was all Dean’s fault.

Dean tried to scream again. His throat was raw though he made no sound, his body throbbing with pain though he couldn’t move. He felt sick kneeling there, staring at the carnage he’d created, waiting for his fate to drag him to the depths of hell.

A demon would be waiting for him there. A demon with a knife that would cut him to pieces, that would ruin him, that would steal his love and his allegiance and his strength and his will and his mind—

“Dean!”

… Dean knew that voice.

The footsteps pounded louder and louder above him, crushing his skull from the inside out. Dean tried to put his hands to his ears, tried to block out the sound, but his hands were sticky with blood and the feeling made his stomach convulse with nausea, made him feel like his whole world was tipping upside down, like he was falling through the ground to find himself on that table with the lights and the leather cuffs and the knife gleaming above him—

“Dean!”

That was his angel, his angel was calling him, he could hear him, he knew that voice, he knew that voice…

Dean sat up with a choked sob, nearly smashing his forehead into Castiel’s nose as he did so. For a wild moment, his panicked brain didn’t recognize a single thing around him, not the golden glow of the lamp, nor the frightened blue eyes of his Alpha, nor the nesting alcove filled with pillows and blankets and one particular pillow that was crimson red, soaked with blood—

Dean vomited.

He emptied his stomach all over himself and the blankets and Castiel, terror-turned-nausea winning over. His body convulsed once, twice, and then he finished with a choking wheeze, tears and horror already welling up inside him to follow what he’d just violently expelled.

For a single, gasping moment, Dean just stared at Castiel in disbelief and terror, sucking in little hitching breaths. Silently, looking more than a little afraid, his Alpha whispered, “Dean?”

And there it was, that was it.

The floodgates shattered, and the tears flowed forth.

“Shit, shit, fuck,” Dean heard as he started to sob. “Baby, no, don’t cry. It’s okay, malysh, you’re okay. God damn it—Dorogoy, my love, please, you need to calm down.”

He was pulled forward, his face pressed into a warm, familiar neck, Castiel’s stubble scratching his eyelids as he closed his eyes and cried. He couldn’t seem to get control of his own breathing, his heartbeat feeling as if it was skipping away from him, his stomach still tender and volatile even though he’d just emptied it all over himself. And oh God, he’d just puked, he’d just puked all over the nest—

“C-Cas,” he sobbed, unable to say anything else, unable to voice his desperate need in any other way. “Cas, A-Alpha…” Help me, please make it better, he wanted to beg. I’m scared, please, please help me.

“Shh, sweetheart,” his Alpha soothed, rubbing big, warm hands up and down his back. “You’re okay. It’s okay, honey, it was just a dream. You’re okay.”

It wasn’t just a dream, though. It had felt so real. And to some degree, it was. Dean’s hands were stained with dead men’s blood, invisible though it was. The corpses he’d seen were real. The death he’d caused was real. The fact that Yuri and all those others in that car were dead… that was all real.

His shirt felt disgusting, wet and sticking to him with cooling vomit. Dean pushed himself away from Castiel as best he could, his hands shaking so badly it was hard to even flatten them against his Alpha’s chest. Castiel resisted at first, holding him close with a concerned rumble, but Dean pushed insistently enough that eventually he was released.

He forgot about his damn ankle. He tried to put weight on it as he slid out of the nest, intent on getting his shirt off and getting some space so he could breathe without the lingering scent of his terror and the bile he’d just expelled clogging his nose. But as soon as he slid to the floor of the bedroom, pain shot up his leg and he collapsed to the ground with a cry.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was strung taut with concern. Dean blinked through involuntary tears to see his Alpha scrambling out of the nest to get to him, nearly falling on his face as he got his leg stuck in one of the blankets. He’d taken his vomit-soaked shirt off, leaving him bare-chested.

Dean struggled to do the same, feeling like he would be able to breathe if he only got his fucking shirt off. His hands shook so badly that it was nearly impossible to even get a grip on the fabric, but he managed it eventually. He took off his sleep shirt as quickly as he could, shivering with disgust at the feeling of it peeling away from his skin.

Castiel was now kneeling down in front of him, looking him up and down with wide, concerned blue eyes. Dean wrapped his arms around himself in self-conscious humiliation, feeling like a pathetic idiot for what he’d just done.

“Dean,” his Alpha said, taking his face into his large, warm hands. “Dean, sweetheart, can you hear me? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Dean choked out, curling into himself in an attempt to shield the soft parts of his torso, where the cuts that still remained throbbed a little, as if to remind him they were still there. “F-Fine, ‘m fine.”

“Good God, you’re shaking,” Castiel muttered, more to himself than to Dean. He leaned forward on his knees, wrapping his arms around Dean’s body as best he could with the awkward angle of them on the floor. “You’re okay, zaychik, it’s alright. It’s okay now.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, feeling sick to his stomach for a different reason now. “I’m so sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to make a mess—”

“No, no, baby, it’s okay,” his Alpha soothed, nuzzling their foreheads together in a seemingly instinctual move to comfort Dean. “You were scared out of your mind, you had no control over what you were doing. Are you alright? Do you feel okay?” He made a low, soothing Alpha rumble deep in his chest, the sound not quite enough to cover the obvious concern in his spicy, woody scent.

“I feel okay,” Dean said, which was about ten percent true. “I need to take a shower. I feel fucking disgusting.” He cringed at the thought of what had been staining the shirt he’d been wearing only moments before.

“You can’t shower, dorogoy,” Castiel said, and yeah, fuck, Dean had forgotten about his stupid fucking ankle brace. “I’ll run you a bath, alright? That way you can relax.”

“Ain’t no way I’m sitting in a bath like a Goddamn princess,” Dean snapped, embarrassment sharpening his words. He cringed almost immediately after, guilt flooding through him. Castiel was just trying to help. He didn’t deserve to be yelled at.

Of course Castiel didn’t get mad. His Alpha was nothing but gentle understanding. “If you sit in a bath, I’ll be able to hold you,” he pointed out, rubbing his big, warm hands up and down Dean’s bare back. “We could relax together in the hot water.”

Dean exhaled, fighting the urge to give in. “I don’t need you to coddle me,” he ground out, half-wanting to push away from Castiel’s hold. Why would his Alpha be comforting him? Didn’t he see the blood on his hands? Dean deserved this fear and pain; it was his penance for all the awful things he’d done trying to escape.

“I want to,” Castiel said, not a hint of joking in his voice. Dean thought he could almost pick up a tinge of pleading. “Come on, dorogoy. Just let me take care of you, please.” As he spoke, he slipped his arms from around Dean’s body to Dean’s arms, his weight shifting back so he could help Dean stand up.

Dean found that it was easier to let his Alpha do what he wanted if he just stayed silent. If he said nothing, he could accept Castiel’s help without feeling guilty for it, could get what his inner Omega secretly craved without making the rest of him feel like a piece of shit. So he was silent as his Alpha helped him up off the floor and half-carried him to the bathroom. He was silent as Castiel sat him down on the edge of the massive bath and began to run the water. He was silent as Castiel grabbed the bath towel he usually used and draped it over his shoulders, enveloping him in the cedar scent of his Alpha’s shampoo. Castiel kissed him on the forehead and went back into the room to clean up, leaving Dean sitting beside the filling tub, the room filled with the noise of rushing water.

Dean sat on the wide edge of the bathtub and stared at the clear, bubbling water as it rushed from the spout, thinking about his dream. His logical brain wanted to say that he’d killed those three men—Nikov and the two guards—out of self-defense. He’d been in a life-or-death situation. It had been him or them. More than him, actually—Castiel’s life and the lives of the other bratva members had been on the line too, to some degree. On paper, that all made sense.

The emotional part of him, the ugly, nasty part that whispered that he was worth less than the vomit he’d just ruined the nest with, didn’t agree. Had his life really been worth three others? Nikov might have been a piece of shit, but what about those two guards? What if they’d been someone else’s Alpha or Beta, someone else’s everything? What if they’d had kids, or a parent to take care of, or a little sibling waiting for them to come home?

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, guilt a sharp knife in his gut. God, what had he done?

He almost didn’t sense Castiel when he returned, his feet silent on the tile floor of the bathroom, the water masking the sound of him moving. Dean sort of just felt him more than anything, felt the strong, quiet presence near him. He opened his eyes and tried to rub his tears away before his Alpha could see them, ashamed of how weak he was acting.

Castiel caught his wrists in his hands, pulling them away from where Dean was trying to roughly scrub the evidence of his emotion away. “I know you’re having a hard time now, malysh,” he said, his voice gentle. “Can you tell me what’s going through your head?”

For many long moments, Dean couldn’t respond. He fucking hated crying, since it made his voice all tight and choked. He didn’t want to answer Castiel’s question when he could barely speak. But eventually, as his Alpha reached over to check the water and began to strip off his sweatpants, Dean knew he had to just suck it up and talk.

“I feel guilty,” he rasped, waving Castiel off as his Alpha tried to help him take his own pants off. Dean barely even thought before he pulled his sleep pants and boxers down, leaving him naked and shivering on the side of the tub.

“I thought so,” Castiel said, taking the towel from around Dean’s shoulders and folding it into a sort of cushion that Dean could rest his injured ankle on. “The first kill is always difficult to handle. I’m sorry you have to go through it, sweetheart.”

“I just…” Dean choked a little, grinding his teeth together at the tears that wanted to burst out of him. “I just wish I could’a done it differently.”

“I understand,” Castiel said, looking at Dean with big, kind blue eyes. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. And you need to know that what’s done is done. You can’t go back and change what you did, no matter how badly you want to.”

Dean sniffled as his Alpha began to help him up and into the bath, holding him as he balanced precariously on one foot. “But—”

“You can’t,” Castiel said, a little firmer now, even though he was nothing but gentle as he slowly lowered Dean into the water. “Do you know how many times I’ve killed men for half the justification that you had? You killed in self-defense, Dean. I’ve killed for retribution. To set an example. To give a warning. Sometimes, it just felt like I was killing for sport.” He looked so beautiful in the light of the bathroom when Dean looked up at him from the embrace of the hot water. Beautiful and terribly sad. “Some nights I still second-guess my intentions. But no amount of guilt or shame is going to bring those men back. They’re dead, hopefully somewhere that’s kinder than this world has ever been.”

Dean was silent as Castiel climbed into the bath behind him, big and warm and solid, comforting. He only spoke when the sloshing of the water had died down and they’d both settled into each other, Dean’s back to Castiel’s front. “I still feel like shit.”

“I know, zaychik, and you’re going to for a while,” Castiel said, nuzzling the soft spot behind Dean’s ear. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that, and I’m sorry I can’t take your pain away, but it’s true. If you’d like, I can introduce you to Pamela. She’s a trusted fringe member of the bratva, and she’s helped me and the other men many times.”

“Pamela?” Dean asked.

“Yes. A therapist.”

Oh. Shit, yeah. Dean hadn’t even thought that scary bratva guys would need a therapist to get over the awful things they did, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. They were all human, weren’t they? Even someone like Ishim or Gadreel, someone stoic and ruthless, probably had moments like this all the time.

It was, surprisingly, a comforting thought. When Dean thought that he wasn’t the only one who’d been through this kind of thing before, he felt better. He wasn’t being extra-weak, nor was he broken, nor had he done something inexplicably awful that even a host of killers and con-men would condemn him for. If he was looking at it through Castiel’s point of view—and he felt like that was a pretty reliable thing to look through—he’d been defending himself.

That didn’t make it okay, but it made it a little easier to stomach.

“Are you able to talk about your dream?” Castiel asked, rubbing his hands gently up and down Dean’s sides under the water. “You seemed frightened of something. Were you simply remembering?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, fighting off a shiver at the memory of being trapped in that hallway, the threat of Alastair and his knife looming over him. Here, in the bright lights of the bathroom, wrapped up in hot water and his Alpha’s arms, it was a little less frightening. But the memory of the terror remained.

Castiel held him for as long as the water remained hot. When it started becoming merely lukewarm, they began the irritating and tiring process of trying to wash without getting Dean’s brace wet. Castiel ended up wrapping it with a towel to make sure it wasn’t dampened when Dean had to rinse off the soap he’d lathered on his upper leg. It worked out in the end.

Despite how upset he’d been before, Dean was sleepy when he and Castiel pulled on new sleep clothes and exited the bathroom. Castiel murmured an apology about not being able to clean the nest entirely—it still smelled faintly of vomit, and Dean would need to find replacement pillows and blankets tomorrow—but Dean merely shook his head and dragged his Alpha toward the large bed in the center of the room.

They’d only just settled down after crawling into bed, both laying on their sides facing each other, when Castiel said, “Will you mate me?”

Dean, already halfway to the land of sleep, had to struggle back up to consciousness to process that. “What?” he asked, unsure if he’d heard his Alpha correctly.

There was a pause. Even though it was too dark to see Castiel’s face, Dean could tell his Alpha was nervous. “I asked if you would mate me. If you would allow me the honor of being your Alpha for the rest of your life.”

The timing was so absurd that Dean had to laugh. Castiel immediately tensed, probably expecting rejection, so Dean nuzzled his throat in reassurance. “I thought that was a given, Alpha. Of course I’ll mate you. You didn’t even have to ask.”

At his words, the tension began to drain from his Alpha in minute increments. “Of course I was going to ask. I wanted to do it in a grand ceremony,” Castiel admitted. “I wanted to take you to dinner, and then perhaps buy you some pie, and then I wanted to take you somewhere beautiful and ask you while you were distracted but happy. But that was before, and now that I know how fast things can go wrong, I find myself eager to just be connected.”

“I don’t need a big ceremony,” Dean said, smiling a little at the thought. Of course Cas had been planning that. “This is perfect.”

And it was. Being here, being in Castiel’s arms, this was enough. He didn’t need a grand gesture to prove that Castiel loved him, that he wanted to be with him. The fact that he was here, lying in the Alpha’s bed, mere inches away from his exposed throat and unarmored body, was evidence enough that Castiel was serious about wanting to mate for life.

“I asked your father, before we left,” Castiel said, confirming what Dean had suspected before. “He was… surprisingly accepting of it. But he said he wasn’t going to make your decisions for you, and that I should ask you myself. Of course, I wasn’t going to assume—I’m not that kind of Alpha, I wouldn’t think of you as some sort of property that your familial Alpha could give away—”

“Cas, Cas, stop,” Dean said, grinning despite himself. “I know that. And I’m glad you asked. The answer is still yes.”

“You want to mate?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Really?”

“Yes, Cas. I think there’s some stuff to talk about and plan, but I kind of just assumed that was where this was going,” Dean said. “It’s not like I could just leave you for a random, average, asshole doctor or something.”

Castiel said, with some disdain, “A doctor?”

“Ellen said something when we were in Sioux Falls. Don’t worry about it.”

“… A doctor.”

“Forget about the doctors,” Dean laughed. “The point is, I’ll mate you.” Dean was unable to stop the smile that spread across his face then. He couldn’t help the joy that bubbled up inside him at the thought of finally being connected to Castiel like that. In all his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined himself in a position like this one, and it felt like the sweetest fantasy come true.

“Okay,” Castiel said. He exhaled, and all the hardness and tension seemed to disappear from his body. “Alright.”

Affection swelled in Dean’s chest, purer than anything else he’d ever felt. He kissed Castiel’s throat and closed his eyes in the darkness, relaxing into the soft mattress. “I’m goin’ to sleep Alpha. We can do all the planning and logistical bullshit that I know you wanna go over tomorrow, ‘kay?”

Adoration softened Castiel’s tone as he replied, “Okay, my love. Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

I know you will, Dean might have said if he hadn’t been practically unconscious already. The most he could manage was a slurred, “I love you.”

He drifted off to sleep knowing that that was enough.

Chapter Text

When he was young, Castiel used to think that peeling himself out of a warm bed to train in a frigid gym at dawn was one of the more difficult things he did in a day. Now, he was older, wiser, and absolutely certain that it was a thousand times harder when the warm bed contained a clingy, sleepy Omega as well.

It was late morning when Castiel had to get up to go to the strategy meeting at the Den. He woke up to the beeping of his alarm, which was quickly silenced with a disgruntled slap. In the dimness of the light coming through the top of the blackout curtains, he slowly pulled himself from the last clinging cobwebs of sleep. Dean was a warm, familiar weight beside him, the Omega’s arm slung across his chest, his face pressed into Castiel’s right shoulder.

Castiel was initially grateful that the alarm hadn’t woken Dean, but he soon learned he was wrong when he made his first attempt to get up. Dean, it seemed, was just awake enough to be aware of what was going on around him, and he wasn’t pleased with the idea of his Alpha leaving him. He tightened his grip around Castiel’s chest when the Alpha made to sit up, making a sleepy grumbling noise.

“Good morning, my love,” Castiel murmured, leaning over to kiss Dean’s hair. He tried to sit up again, but was met with the same resistance. With a small, affectionate smile, he said, “I need to get up so I can attend Mikhail’s strategy meeting. You can stay here, if you’d like.” He would prefer it if Dean slept more, if he was being honest. Dean had had a difficult time with his nightmare last night, and he still needed to heal. Sleep was the best thing for him right now.

“No,” Dean grumbled, tightening his hold on Castiel. “Stay.”

“I would like nothing more than to lay with you in bed all day,” Castiel told him truthfully. “My duty demands that I get up, though. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow morning.”

His Omega made an unintelligible grumbling noise and didn’t loosen his grip. Biting back a smile, Castiel stroked his arm softly with his thumb, trying to dislodge Dean as gently as possible. He pressed kisses to his Omega’s hair and to the parts of his face that weren’t hidden in the blankets, murmuring sweet nothings in a mix of English and Russian. Eventually, Dean loosened his grip just the barest amount, a sign he was giving in to the inevitable. Kissing him in thanks and affection, Castiel slipped free of his Omega’s hold and climbed out of bed to get ready for the day.

Dean was asleep when Castiel finished getting dressed. Castiel expected him to stay that way, but his Omega surprised him by wandering out into the dining area while Castiel was attempting to quietly make himself breakfast.

“Bratva leaders eat Cheerios?” Dean asked, blinking sleepily at the bowl of cereal Castiel was eating.

Castiel set his spoon down with a rather disgruntled clink, grumbling, “No. I wasn’t willing to risk burning eggs and setting off the fire alarm. It would have woken you.”

“I can make you eggs,” Dean offered, already hobbling around Castiel to the fridge. Castiel wanted to protest, wanted to tell his Omega that it should be the other way around, but his protests died on his tongue as he observed just how easily Dean moved through his kitchen. There was something to be said about the comfort and familiarity with which his love moved about his home. It filled previously-unknown parts of him with joy.

“Are you not going back to sleep?” Castiel asked as Dean pulled out two different pans and began to warm both of them.

“There’s no point. I lost my personal heater,” Dean said. He started cracking eggs and fiddling with bacon, doing things that Castiel wouldn’t have known to do in a million years. He could grasp the process of making eggs and making bacon, but not at the same time. When Dean pulled out a cutting board and some bell peppers, he was completely lost.

“Would you like to come with me to the Den?” Castiel asked, watching as Dean neatly chopped the peppers into cubes and flipped the bacon.

“Sure,” Dean said. “Don’t know what I’d do, but I guess I could come up with something while you and everyone else are in that big meeting.”

It was no chore to travel to the Den to attend to the demands of his job, but Castiel couldn’t deny that it was better to do so with his Omega. Even though Dean wasn’t going to be allowed in the real strategy meeting—Mikhail had gotten his account of events back in Sioux Falls and didn’t want to make him recount it again—it would still be nice to have him there.

Dean ended up making gourmet omelets, which were as delicious as they looked. After breakfast, he went to get ready as Castiel brushed his teeth and called Gadreel, coordinating when they would go to the Den. When Dean was ready and Castiel had everything he needed, they left the apartment.

Gadreel greeted them in the hallway, moving to walk behind them as they headed for the elevator. His arm was bound with a brace and some bandages now, but it was hidden nicely under his jacket. He seemed a lot healthier after a night of good sleep, and he and Dean conversed easily in Russian on the way down to the first floor.

Outside, a car was already waiting to take them to the Den. Castiel held the door for Dean as the Omega climbed into the backseat. As he closed it, he felt Gadreel’s presence come up on his right side.

“The gift you requested has been secured,” he said, pressing their bodies together as he passed. When they separated, Castiel had a small, cool object in his right hand.

“Gadreel,” Castiel said, before his head of security could round the car to the driver’s seat. “Is everything… in order?”

“Yes. We had a specialist come in and make sure. It’s as good as new,” Gadreel replied.

Satisfied, Castiel rounded the car to the other side and climbed in next to Dean. He tucked the object into his pocket carefully, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple to cover the action. His Omega blushed and ducked his head, sufficiently distracted.

The ride to the Den was pleasant. Castiel took a call with one of the men asking about when to set a meeting time with a particular arms dealer from Romania. As they conversed, Castiel’s hand rested on Dean’s leg. His Omega was doing something on the phone one of the men had given him during their trip to Chicago, frowning in concentration that Castiel noted he should ask about later.

When they arrived at the compound on the edge of the city, Gadreel guided Dean to the mess hall with the intention of introducing him to some more of the people who worked for the organization, giving Castiel a nod of acknowledgment as he left, a silent promise that he would make sure Dean was safe. Castiel was left to go up the stairs to the meeting, dread already building in his stomach.

War was never a good thing to negotiate. With the slaughter of bad men came the promise of good men dying too, and Castiel hated that. He hated feeling like an old war general sending young men and women out to die while he sat back and observed pawns moving across the map. He hated feeling like a puppeteer moving people into place without regard for the humanity of every single agent he put in the path of danger.

When he reached Mikhail’s office, Luke and Gabriel were already there. Castiel shut and locked the door behind him. The fireplace was on, but the windows and curtains were closed and everything was shadowed in the room. His brothers looked suitably grim.

“Took you long enough,” Luke grumbled as he walked in.

“You’ve been hoping for me to have a reason to sleep in for years,” Castiel snapped. “I don’t want to hear you start complaining now.”

“Enough,” Mikhail said before Luke could reply and they could get into it. “We have business to attend to.”

There was a map of the United States set out on the massive wooden desk. There weren’t mini pawns on it, like Castiel had been imagining earlier, but there were various colored pens that represented the factions of the bratva spread across the country. That was bad enough.

“I got off the phone with the mayor of Chicago a few hours ago,” Gabriel said. “He’s content letting the media think it was some infighting between some of the bigger gangs in the area. And he’s agreed to keep the heat off us for as long as we need to go in and root out the rest of the Knights.”

“And that all means we’re returning to Chicago?” Castiel asked, eyebrows drawing in.

“We’re not,” Mikhail said, shaking his head. “There are several ways we can take this, but the four of us won’t be stepping foot in that city. The Pakhan has ordered it so.”

Luke snorted. “His fantastic judgment would be incredibly effective if it wasn’t so delayed.”

Mikhail gave their brother a sharp look. “He did what he thought was best. He wants us to use auxiliary forces to take care of this problem now. Which leaves us with two things we need to take care of: the Knights remaining in Chicago, and Lilith and Alastair.”

There were many different variables to discuss, and the four of them went over them at length. Mikhail scribbled down the notes he would give the Pakhan later on a piece of paper barely bigger than his palm. When Castiel caught sight of it as his brother tucked it into his pocket, he saw a mixture of English, Russian, and what little French Mikhail could probably remember from their classes as boys. He guessed it was written in code, not that anyone would ever gain possession of it before Mikhail called the Pakhan and then inevitably burned it.

“When we find Alastair, he’s coming back here,” Castiel said as they neared the end of their meeting. “I don’t care if we need to hire the military to fly a C-130 into Whidbey, he’s coming here. I’ll turn his damned knives back onto him if it’s the last thing I do.”

“We’ll arrange what we can,” Mikhail promised, which wasn’t much of a promise at all. His brother knew that, if his placating look was anything to go by. Castiel decided not to argue after a moment of debate, knowing his brother would try his hardest to make sure he got the vengeance he desired.

It was hard to forgive Mikhail after what he’d done in Chicago, but Castiel had gone over it in his head a million times, and he knew that at the end of the day, Mikhail had wanted what was best for him and for Dean. Mikhail loved Dean as much as any of them did. He’d been doing his best, and sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Still, it was difficult. Castiel had to force himself to soften his jaw and the line of his shoulders when he stayed back after Gabriel and Luke left, leaving him alone with his oldest brother. He reminded himself of Dean’s desire that they forgive each other.

“Was there something you needed, brother?” Mikhail asked, crossing the room to his liquor cabinet. Some men chose to display their wealth in gold and jewels, or in things like cars and planes, but Mikhail Krushnic had a taste for liquor that was expensive enough to make most millionaires wince. The sixteen or so bottles in his cabinet were worth enough to purchase a house in Beverly Hills. He poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses now, the amber liquid sparkling in the light of the fire on the western wall.

“I wanted to tell you that Dean and I are going to be mated soon,” Castiel said. He hesitated, watching his brother freeze slightly, then added, “That is, if that pleases you.”

He may be angry at his brother still, but even he wasn’t going to ignore centuries-old tradition. He had too much respect for Mikhail. He needed the blessing of his familial Alpha before mating Dean, not that he thought Mikhail would reject it.

As he expected, there was happiness softening the lines of Mikhail’s face when he turned to face Castiel. “That’s delightful news, brother,” he said, crossing the room with the glasses of whiskey in hand. “When was this decided?”

“Last night,” Castiel said. “It was rather… spontaneous. I would have liked to ask him with a little more fanfare, but, well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to convey his desperate need to be as connected to Dean as possible.

“I understand,” Mikhail said, his gaze soft. “Longevity is a hard thing to contemplate when dealing with trauma. It feels as if even tomorrow is uncertain.”

Castiel exhaled. “Yes. That’s… That’s exactly how it feels.” He reached up and scrubbed at his face, taking a sip of whiskey to distract himself. “There are things I’d like to be done before pushing something as big as a mating on Dean—taking him to therapy, for one, and perhaps discussing whether or not he wants to stay in the city in the long-term—but I need it to be done.”

Mikhail set his glass down on the desk and reached out, placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and looking at him with kind, proud eyes. For a moment, Castiel was struck by how much Mikhail looked like their father. The two of them, with their dark hair and blue eyes, had always looked like their father, while fair-haired Gabriel and Luke looked like their mother. With the glow of the fire and the dim lighting of the room, it was almost as if Castiel was four again, his father praising him for his good behavior while he was gone on his long trips.

“I’m pleased with this news,” Mikhail said, every word genuine. “I’m pleased you’ve chosen Dean; I couldn’t think of a better Omega. I’m happy for you, brother. This is everything I’ve wanted for you for a very long time.”

Castiel’s throat was tight. He had to take a moment before he could reveal the other part of what he’d wanted to tell his brother. “I’m considering retiring.”

Silence. Mikhail’s eyebrows rose, but the rest of his face remained the same. “You are?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He fought the urge to take a step back, keeping his spine straight and strong. “I think Gadreel would make a fantastic replacement as your Enforcer. I think it’s time for me to take a step back from my hands-on duties.” He hesitated, feeling a little as if he was trying to explain himself. “I would be happy to remain an advisor to you, of course. If you wanted it, that is. And the Pakhan would have to authorize all this, I know. But it was just something I was thinking.”

“You could never join the world as a normal person,” Mikhail said carefully. His face was still unreadable. “You would need to remain a ghost even after you left, or else go to a different country.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “I’m not looking to get a nine-to-five and work my way up a corporate ladder. I simply want to set down some of the duties I’ve had for a while. After Alastair, I want to be finished with killing.”

A light had started in Mikhail’s eyes, a sparkle that gleamed when he turned to look toward the fire. His hand left Castiel’s shoulder and he took a sip of whiskey. He looked pensive.

It was a while before Mikhail eventually said, “I consider one of my biggest failures in life to be my inability to protect you. I suppose one of the reasons I liked Dean so much when he first came into Mystery Spot was because he reminded me of myself. Of the person I wanted to be.” Mikhail shook his head a little, a small, rueful smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “Dean was working hard to give his little brother the world, and when I was younger, all I wanted was to do the same. I wanted to protect you and Gabriel and Lucifer from this life. I failed miserably.”

Mikhail exhaled heavily, setting his liquor on the desk. Castiel, unsure of what to say, remained silent.

For many long moments, they stood in silence, the fire crackling and popping in the grate. When Mikhail eventually turned to look at Castiel, his eyes shone.

“I want you to leave, Castiel,” he said. The intensity in his voice was as startling as the rarely-seen tears in his eyes. “I want you to go somewhere peaceful with your mate and raise a family of beautiful pups. I want you to have the life you could have had, if I’d been a better big brother.”

“You were,” Castiel said quietly. As he spoke, he realized the truth of his words. “You did your best. You couldn’t have controlled all the factors that drove us here.”

“We’ll never know,” Mikhail said, looking away as he raised a hand to dash away whatever moisture had escaped his shining eyes. “It’s done. I’m getting old now, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s no use wasting the present lamenting the past. Right now, I can be grateful that you’re getting out of this life.” He gave Castiel a weak smile. “You have my blessing, if that’s what you needed. I promise to explain it to the Pakhan as quickly as I can to make sure you have nothing keeping you tied here.”

“Thank you, Mikhail,” Castiel said, the breath feeling as if it could finally leave his lungs now that he’d said his piece and received the response he’d been hoping for. “Thank you, brother.”

He and Mikhail embraced, and when Castiel pulled away, he swore he caught the soft undertone of a proud Alpha rumble from his brother. “Go see your mate, now. I’m sure he’s been waiting very patiently while we talked,” Mikhail said.

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice. He was almost to the door of the office when he remembered the thing he’d been meaning to say for a while now, the thought that had been triggered by Mikhail’s comment about getting old. “Mikhail, do you remember Adam?”

Mikhail, who’d just gone back to observing their strategy map, looked up in surprise. “Adam?” he asked, frowning a little. “The Beta at the register at Mystery Spot?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“You should speak to him sometime.”

Mikhail sipped his liquor, looking thoughtful. “I’m fairly sure he has no idea I exist,” he said. “Outside of the job, of course.”

“He does,” Castiel said, thinking of all the things the cooks gossiped about in the kitchen. He wasn’t an eavesdropper in any sense, but with the door to the back office open, he sometimes couldn’t help but catch snippets of their conversations. And apparently, Adam took the term “moon eyes” to a whole new level when Mikhail was around.

Mikhail didn’t seem to understand what Castiel was getting at, but he seemed agreeable. “Alright,” he said, sounding just a little suspicious. “I’ll talk to him the next time I see him.”

Satisfied, Castiel bid his brother goodbye and exited the office, content to know he’d done his best to set his brother up. If he needed another push—and he very likely would—in the future, Castiel would try again, but for now, light pressure was all that was needed.

Castiel left the office feeling far lighter than when he’d entered. He practically flew down the stairs on his way to the first floor, and he nearly scared a newer recruit to death by appearing out of nowhere and asking if they’d seen his Omega anywhere. He was shakily directed to the garage, which he probably should have guessed.

In the garage, Dean, Gadreel, and a mechanic named Sasha were conversing near the sleek shape of a 1932 Cadillac. Gadreel was translating for Sasha, who was speaking very quickly and very excitedly to Dean, waving her arms around as she did so.

“Alpha,” she greeted Castiel when she saw him, dipping her head respectfully. “Your Omega has good taste, very good taste. I like him.”

“He does,” Castiel agreed, amused. He switched to English to speak to Dean, smiling at his Omega adoringly. “I was wondering how long it would take you to find the garage. Are you pleased with what you see here?” He nodded at the Cadillac. “That one is a favorite of Luke’s. I’m sure he’d let you drive it if you asked nicely.”

Dean looked a little dazed at the thought. “I don’t know,” he said. “I would be too scared of scratching it to enjoy the experience, I think. But I like it here. I thought there would only be the armored cars, but you guys have an awesome collection.”

“You can come around anytime,” Sasha told him in jovial Russian after Gadreel told her what Dean had said. “I would be happy to show you anything you wanted to see.” She grinned and looked between Dean and Gadreel as Castiel’s head of security translated.

“Perhaps another time,” Castiel said, resting a hand on Dean’s upper back gently. He glanced at the crutches leaned up against the chair the Omega was sitting in. “I think it’s time for us to return to the city for some dinner and perhaps a nap. Dean, my dear, have you eaten lunch?”

“Yeah, I had something called borscht, it was really good,” Dean said. Castiel hummed approvingly as he helped his Omega to his feet, handing him his crutches once he was balancing on his good leg.

“Goodbye, Omega Dean,” Sasha said, standing as well. “I hope to see you soon.”

“Bye, Sasha,” Dean said, waving at his new friend. “It was nice to meet you.”

Castiel nodded at Sasha gratefully, then slid a hand down to Dean’s lower back and began to guide him toward the door that would take them outside. Gadreel stayed behind to exchange a few words with Sasha, then hurried to catch up with them. “You were a fool to have brought Omega Dean here, Alpha Castiel,” he grumbled as they pushed their way outside and into the summer sunlight. “He spent all afternoon charming everyone, and now I doubt they’ll let you rest until you bring him back. Sasha certainly won’t, and I’m fairly sure Victoria was intent on kidnapping him.”

“Victoria was nice,” Dean commented as they headed to the car. To Castiel, he added, “She kept pinching my cheeks.”

“She does that,” Castiel said, unable to hold back a small smile at the thought. Despite the instinctive possessiveness that rose up at the thought of his Omega interacting with so many people—some of them inevitably other Alphas—he was glad to hear that Dean got along so well with everyone. It was unsurprising, of course, but still pleasing.

On the ride home, Dean tucked himself up against Castiel and dozed on his shoulder, looking radiant in the sunlight streaming through the car window. Castiel nosed gently at his Omega’s temple, inhaling his sweet scent and thinking of how lucky he was, how incredibly blessed he was to be in this current position right now.

They got back to Eden, and instead of having Gadreel drop them off in front of the building, Castiel directed his head of security to keep driving to the garage where the car was usually parked. As Dean roused from his little nap and stared curiously at the carpark they were driving into, Castiel pressed a hand to his suit jacket and felt at the lump sitting in one pocket.

“I have a surprise for you,” he told Dean. “Consider it my mating gift to you, though I would be happy to get you anything you want, should you desire it.”

“Mating gift?” Dean asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Castiel reached into his pocket for the object sitting inside, trying not to feel nervous as he pulled it out and pressed it into Dean’s palm. “It should have been yours already,” he said, “but Gadreel and some of the other men did the work needed to make sure it belonged to you officially.” As he spoke, Gadreel pulled into their parking spot, right next to a sleek dark car that Castiel had only ever seen once, parked outside Dean’s apartment building.

Dean stared down at the keys Castiel had just pressed into his hand, his eyes wide, his mouth open just slightly. Castiel watched him anxiously, suddenly terrified he’d done the wrong thing.

Did Dean not like it? Was he upset somehow? Had Castiel unwittingly trampled on a trauma trigger without even knowing it? Had he just ruined something before it had even begun? What if he’d spoiled his chance to mate Dean by giving him the wrong mating gift? What if—

“Holy shit,” Dean said. His voice was weak. “Holy shit. I thought—I thought she was gonna be lost. I thought I wasn’t ever gonna get to—Cas, did you really…? Is she—Holy shit, she’s right there!”

Castiel watched with relief as indescribable joy lit up Dean’s features when he saw the Impala parked beside the car they were sitting in. The Omega was clutching the keys in his hand so hard that Castiel feared they would break somehow.

“You’re… pleased?” Castiel asked, unable to keep himself from checking.

Dean turned shining eyes to him and asked, “Can we go for a drive?”

It was hard to simply leave Gadreel at Eden, but Castiel had a feeling this moment was something he would want to share just with his Omega. He checked his guns and nodded at his head of security through the passenger window of the Chevrolet Impala, telling himself that nothing was going to go wrong if they left Gadreel behind for a few hours. When he was confident he had his weapons and his phone in case anything did happen, he turned to his Omega, who was practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement.

“Whenever you’re ready, zaychik,” Castiel said.

With a grin that he probably wasn’t even aware of, Dean pulled out of the parking spot with a rumbling growl of the engine. Castiel discreetly gripped the car door as they pulled out of the parking garage, mentally telling himself that everything would be fine. The Knights wouldn’t suddenly come out of nowhere. Dean wouldn’t crash the car. Everything was going to be fine.

And really, it was extremely difficult to remain anxious when Dean was glowing with happiness like he was. Castiel found his nerves melting away in the face of his Omega’s joy, which was written across every inch of his beautiful face.

“I haven’t done this in forever,” Dean said, practically bouncing up and down with joy even as they stopped at a red light. “I forgot how smooth she is. I forgot how fucking awesome this is. Holy shit, this is amazing.”

Castiel didn’t know where they were driving, but he had a feeling Dean was heading to the edge of the city, where there was less traffic and more open space. The Impala rumbled lowly beneath them, a true beauty of a vehicle. Despite his excitement, Dean was a better driver than Castiel had been anticipating. He started to really enjoy the ride after he got used to the lack of extra security guards and the realization that it was just the two of them on the road.

“How long have you owned this car?” Castiel asked. He knew that technically, Dean had only owned the car for a few days, but he had faith his Omega would understand what he was asking.

“My family’s had Baby forever,” Dean said, his grin softening a little. “Da—John bought her when Mom had just figured out she was pregnant with me. She’s been with us ever since.”

“She’s a beautiful car,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, running his hands reverently over the steering wheel. “Yeah, she is.”

They drove in silence for a while. Outside the windows, the massive skyscrapers fell away, leaving trees and houses. Dean was still driving, evidently unconcerned about where they were going, so Castiel didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to question his Omega.

It was a while before Dean slowed down. The city had fallen behind them about ten minutes ago, leaving them driving through tree-covered countryside that slowly disappeared from view as the sun went down and everything got dark. Dean started to slow the car when they reached a wide open space, the shoulder of the road large enough to comfortably park the car without being close to the minimal traffic passing by.

“You wanna drive?” Dean asked, turning to look at Castiel. There was a sparkle of light in his eyes, something beautiful that lit up in the glow of the headlights.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked, trying to tamp down the strange anxiety that surged up at the thought of driving Dean’s beloved car.

Dean’s scent, which filled the car, turned warm with amusement and joy. “Yeah, I’m sure. I think you’d look hot behind the wheel.”

Castiel couldn’t deny his Omega that. Only a few minutes later, he was sitting behind the wheel of Dean’s Impala, wiping the sweat on his palms off on his pants. Dean slung himself into the passenger seat with a bright grin. Swallowing past his dry throat, Castiel rolled up his shirt sleeves and attempted to calm himself. He’d done far more dangerous, nerve-wracking things than driving a car, even an old, expensive one.

It was just… This was Dean’s car. And if Castiel crashed it, or scratched it, or even smudged the paint just a little…

“Cas, just drive,” Dean laughed. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

And Castiel trusted him in return. So he obeyed.

He checked carefully for any traffic before pulling back onto the road, his grip white-knuckled on the wheel. He kept an eye out for anything that might randomly jump out of the forest, a deer or a raccoon or even a squirrel. He wasn’t going to take any risks.

Dean seemed to sense his tension, because he began to talk easily about various stories from his childhood with Sam, all of them involving some shenanigan they’d gotten up to or other. His scent was soft and calming, evidently meant to ease Castiel’s anxiety. Castiel was fairly sure if his Omega hadn’t been talking, he’d be purring. The thought helped to calm him, enough that about five minutes into the drive, he’d relaxed his death grip on the wheel.

They turned around at some point, since they were getting farther and farther away from the city. Dean still let Castiel drive, apparently happy to sit in the passenger seat and talk. Castiel, for his part, relaxed as he drove longer. Now that the sun was down and the hour was late, there were few people on the backroads, so he was less worried about somehow getting in a crash and wrecking the car.

“Cas,” Dean said about ten minutes after they turned around and started heading back to the city. “I think you should pull over.”

Castiel frowned, taking his eyes away from the road for just long enough to glance at Dean in confusion. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Just pull over. Please.”

Mildly disturbed, Castiel slowed the car down and drove off the road, parking the Impala about twenty yards off the shoulder in a field that looked as if it wasn’t being used this season. When the car was stopped, Castiel turned to Dean. “What’s the matter?”

“Turn off the car.”

“Dean—” Castiel turned off the Impala. He’d just begun to feel the beginnings of real concern when he inhaled and caught the faint sweetness to Dean’s scent, the unmistakable hint of an aroused Omega. A second later, Dean shifted across the bench seat to press up against him, nose buried against his neck.

“D’you know how hot you look driving this car?” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s neck. “Fuck, ‘s so hot. You got your sleeves all rolled up and everything. Christ, ‘s not fair.”

“I wasn’t aware that was an attractive thing to do,” Castiel said, even as he turned toward his Omega and nudged his head down to get a kiss on the lips. He certainly wasn’t complaining. In the confined space of the car, the scent of Dean’s arousal was heady, waking his inner Alpha up like a lightning bolt.

In the back of his mind, his logical thoughts were complaining about how unsafe this was, how an empty field was the last place they should be doing this. For once, Castiel pushed the logic aside and tried to enjoy the experience of having a warm, pliant Omega pressed up against him smelling of sweet contentment and cinnamon arousal.

It was a little awkward to adjust in the confined space. They were both grown men, and when Castiel tried to sit up so he wasn’t pressed against the door, he banged his elbow against the steering wheel. Dean smacked his head on the roof as he tried to sit up to give his Alpha some room, ending with them both laughing a little as they tried to find a more comfortable position.

Castiel ended up sitting sideways on the bench again, his left leg in the footwell and his right leg stretched out in front of him. Dean straddled his lap, warm and soft and beautifully needy, perfect as Castiel wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him in close.

This time, when Castiel went to adjust, he ended up pulling Dean against him and brushing their erections against each other. They both moaned at the same time, the sounds mingling together in the steamy air. The lights of the Impala had turned off, leaving the interior in darkness. It felt intimate and impossibly close as Castiel pulled Dean tight against him, pressing their torsos together like he was trying to meld them into one.

“Your shirt,” Dean panted between the sloppy, heated kisses they were sharing. “Gotta… Gotta get your shirt off. Wanna feel you.” His fingers were fumbling as they felt at Castiel’s chest, searching out the buttons on his dress shirt.

Castiel tried to help him, but that just made the confusion worse in the darkness, so he settled for slipping his hands underneath the hem of Dean’s T-shirt and running his fingertips over the hot, silky skin he found there. As Dean got his shirt unbuttoned and pushed it off his shoulders, pressing kisses to his collarbone and upper chest, Castiel ran the backs of his fingers over the soft part of Dean’s stomach, relishing the slight padding he found there.

“My beautiful Omega,” he murmured. Dean sort of froze, stopping his fumbling movements for a moment. Castiel reached up with one hand to find his Omega’s face, pressing gentle kisses to his lips and cheeks. “Do you want to be mine, Dean?”

Dean’s exhale was soft, ghosting across Castiel’s face in the dark. For a moment, the only sound was their panting breathing and the chorus of crickets in the grass of the field they’d parked in.

“Yes,” Dean said quietly. “I want that more than anything, Cas.”

“And will you let me mate you? Tonight?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s laugh puffed across Castiel’s face, his Omega’s scent turning soft with amusement. “I’m gonna need some help gettin’ these jeans off, though. I would’a thought ahead if I’d known we were gonna do this, but I wore tight pants, and it’s gonna be a bitch to get ‘em off with my brace.”

Castiel laughed too, unable to help himself. “We should figure that out now before we get back into it,” he said. “I can’t promise I won’t rip your clothes if I get impatient.”

He hadn’t meant it to be anything more than joking, but the cinnamon in Dean’s scent sharpened, arousal prickling at Castiel’s nose. His cock throbbed in his pants in response, and he resolved to do less talking and more undressing. Luckily, it seemed like Dean was on board.

They fumbled to get their clothes off. Castiel cursed when he figured out he had to take off his shoes before he could get his slacks off his body, which made Dean laugh in delight and amusement. Castiel hid his smile in the darkness as he unlaced his shoes, silently wondering how he could be lucky enough to get to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

When they’d both managed to get naked, Castiel pulled Dean against him and kissed him breathless, savoring every little noise he could drag from his Omega when he flicked his tongue a certain way. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he wrapped an arm around Dean’s back and began to slowly lower him down to lay on the bench seat. It was still cramped—one of Dean’s legs ended up bent on the seat while the other rested in the footwell, and Castiel had to position himself similarly so he could fit between his Omega’s legs—but they made it work. Soon, Dean was laying back against the leather seat, panting softly in the dark as Castiel bent over him, his gums already prickling at the thought of giving Dean a claiming bite.

“C’mon, Alpha,” Dean said breathlessly, encouragingly. “Fuck me.”

Castiel braced one hand on the leather seat next to Dean’s head, bending down to capture his Omega’s lips in a passionate kiss as he reached down with his other hand to press against his Omega’s hole. There’d been a small worry in the back of his head about lube, about not wanting to hurt Dean, but that thought went flying out the window when he felt how wet Dean was for him. Castiel groaned into his Omega’s mouth as he dipped his fingertips into the slick mess between Dean’s legs, sucking down the hitched breath he got for it.

“So wet for me,” Castiel said, kissing down Dean’s jaw to suck on the warm, silky skin of his throat. “Such a good Omega. You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you, zaychik?”

“Yeah, yes,” Dean panted, gasping as Castiel sank the tips of two fingers into his hole teasingly. “Yes, yes, gonna be good for you. Please, Alpha, please fuck me. ‘M ready for you.”

“Just a moment, sweetheart,” Castiel said, nuzzling soothingly at his Omega’s throat. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He knew this wasn’t Dean’s first time having anal sex, but he’d rather die than cause his Omega any excessive discomfort. He knew it would still be somewhat uncomfortable if Dean hadn’t had sex in a while, but he didn’t want it to be anywhere close to unbearable.

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders as Castiel sank his fingers into his hole, giving a long, low moan. Castiel smiled at the sounds, his inner Alpha purring at the thought of satisfying his Omega. Good. Dean deserved to be pleasured.

“Cas, Cas—” Dean gasped when Castiel twisted his fingers inside him, stroking his inner walls. “Fuck, God, Alpha, shit. Shit. Feels—Feels so good.”

“My good Omega,” Castiel crooned, stretching Dean gently around his fingers. “My good boy. Tell me if it hurts, alright, dorogoy? I don’t want to hurt you. We can go slower if you need.”

“No, no,” Dean panted, curling the leg he had on the bench over Castiel’s waist. “Wanna go faster. Want you to fuck me, Alpha, c’mon. I’m ready.”

Castiel didn’t doubt that, and his throbbing cock was inclined to agree with Dean’s desire to hurry everything up, but he still took another minute or two to make absolutely sure. When he found Dean’s prostate, he made sure to pay special attention to it, relishing the rigid tension that filled his Omega whenever he touched it just right. By the end of it, Dean was practically in tears, begging Castiel to fuck him with every panting breath he took.

Castiel was mildly ashamed to say that he had to take a second after pulling his fingers out of Dean to compose himself. He didn’t want to slide himself inside and then immediately pop a knot like a teenager; that would be incredibly embarrassing, not to mention entirely unsatisfying for Dean. He busied himself with kissing his Omega deeply and lubing his cock with slick, making sure the slide would be easy and painless.

“I’m gonna go off suppressants,” Dean panted as Castiel pulled away, getting ready to line himself up to push in. “I’m gonna go off suppressants for my next heat, and then you and I can make a bunch of cute, blue-eyed pups, ‘kay?”

Castiel huffed a laugh despite the moment, a tendril of warmth flickering through him at the thought of raising a family with Dean. “I would be delighted to try for pups with you,” he said, pressing the tip of his cock to Dean’s slick hole. “I’ll take great pleasure in breeding you full.”

“Yeah,” Dean said breathlessly. “Yeah, that’s exactly what—ohhh, shit!”

Castiel pushed inside him in one long, slow stroke. Dean tensed up beneath him, his breath hissing out of his lungs. Castiel vigilantly checked for the scent of pain or blood in the air, but there was nothing but Dean’s sweet, cinnamon arousal and his own spice-and-wood scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he bottomed out, hoping the strain wasn’t too obvious in his voice. Dean was impossibly tight and hot around him. “Is—Are you in pain?”

“No,” Dean said, the sound more of a moan than a word. The leg wrapped around Castiel’s waist bent, urging the Alpha forward. “Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

Castiel wasn’t one to deny his Omega anything.

He started off slow, pulling out and then fucking back in firmly. When Dean only urged him on, Castiel began to speed up, deepening and lengthening his thrusts, listening to the intensity of Dean’s moans and doing what made his Omega cry out the loudest. He found an angle that made Dean’s breath hitch and stuck to it, snapping his hips firmly enough to rock the whole car.

It was still a little awkward to have sex on the Impala’s bench instead of in a bed, but Castiel found that he liked the closeness, the intimacy of the space. The lack of room meant that he had to bend close to Dean, both of them breathing the same air as they gasped in the darkness.

Castiel’s gums were prickling more insistently now, his instincts demanding that he mate the beautiful, willing Omega beneath him. He could barely keep himself from gripping Dean’s hips hard enough to leave dark bruises, his inner Alpha demanding he keep Dean close even though the last thing he wanted to do was hurt his Omega.

“Cas, C-Cas,” Dean panted, scrabbling at Castiel’s back. “Cas, ‘m gonna come, gonna—gonna—”

“Come for me,” Castiel rasped, ramping up the intensity as much as he could, feeling the way Dean’s body tensed beneath him like a spring about to snap. “Come for me, my beautiful Omega.”

Dean’s cry of ecstasy rang in Castiel’s ears as his Omega arched off the bench, coming with a gasping shout. His body tensed around Castiel in a way that made the Alpha’s vision temporarily blank out. When he came back to himself, he was fucking his knot into Dean’s hole, bending down so he could sink his fangs into the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder.

When Dean’s blood hit Castiel’s tongue, the pleasure of his orgasm reached a whole new level. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept away in the tide of it, keeping his fangs clamped tight in the soft flesh of Dean’s shoulder. It was many moments before Castiel came back to himself enough to release the bite he had in Dean’s flesh, his fangs sinking back into their hiding place now that their primary function had been fulfilled. Castiel didn’t miss the slight hitch in Dean’s breath as his teeth left the punctures he’d just made. He made a comforting rumbling noise and licked at the bloody wounds as best he could, trying to soothe away the majority of his Omega’s pain.

“Ouch,” Dean mumbled, but then he laughed. “That was awesome.”

“It doesn’t hurt too badly, does it?” Castiel asked anxiously, feeling guilty as he nuzzled at the fresh claiming bite. “I didn’t mean to get carried away, Dean, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Cas. It doesn’t hurt that bad, promise,” Dean said. To Castiel’s shock, he believed him. He could… He could feel that Dean was telling the truth, could feel the soft contentment that was radiating through the new bond between his inner Alpha and Dean’s inner Omega. Dean wasn’t lying. Any pain he felt was overshadowed by the other good things he was feeling, leaving him happy and content.

Sitting up was awkward since they were still tied together. Since this was only a claiming knot, meant to keep the newly-bonded pair together for a little while, it wouldn’t last as long as a knot during a mating cycle might. Castiel was grateful, since every instinct inside him was now screaming for him to take care of his new mate. He needed to get Dean some food and water, and clean the claiming bite, and make sure that his ankle hadn’t been jostled during all the commotion, and also get them back to the nest, where they would be safe and not exposed—

“Quit worrying, Alpha,” Dean said, knocking their foreheads together gently. “I can smell you thinking.”

“You cannot,” Castiel grumbled. He gave one last soothing lick to the claiming bite, making sure it wasn’t still bleeding, then began the awkward process of attempting to find his clothes. He managed to get his shirt back on his shoulders and help Dean get his own shirt back on, but there wasn’t much else they could manage after that. Dean started to shiver with cold, so Castiel grabbed his coat from the footwell and tucked it around his new mate, then settled in with Dean straddling his lap to wait out his knot.

“I love you,” Dean said in the darkness, resting his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I get to have you forever.”

“I love you too. You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking that same thing,” Castiel replied, wrapping his arms around his Omega. “I’m incredibly honored to have you as my mate.” He held himself back from saying anything else, worried Dean would hear the emotion in his voice. This was enough.

Soon, Castiel’s knot went down, and they began the somewhat unpleasant process of untangling from each other. Dean complained about being sticky as they awkwardly got redressed, and Castiel reminded him that if they’d mated in a bed like he’d originally wanted to, they wouldn’t be in this position. Dean smacked him playfully with his shoe and told him to move over, because he wanted to drive the rest of the way home. The entire drive back to the city, Castiel had trouble tearing his eyes away from the beautiful Omega he’d just claimed as his own.

When they got back to the penthouse, Castiel tugged Dean into the shower and forced him to sit through a careful inspection of his new claiming bite. Afterward, they ate leftovers on the couch, pressed close together underneath the heavy gray blanket Dean had bought in Chicago.

“I wanna go back to school,” Dean said abruptly as Castiel put a forkful of risotto and chicken into his mouth, apropos of nothing. “Is that, um… D’you think that’s something you’d be okay with?”

Castiel blinked, taking time to chew and swallow his food. “Of course,” he said when he was ready. “If that’s something you truly want, Dean, I would be happy to support you in that endeavor. What would you study? Where would you go?”

“I could just go to a local college,” Dean said, shrugging. “I just… I dunno, I wanna go to college. I always did when I was a kid, and I kinda still wanna do it now. I never got the chance. I guess I’d study something to do with cars. Bobby’s got a garage in Sioux Falls, and I used to work there in the summers when John sent Sammy and I down there. I liked it.”

Castiel hummed. “The Krushnic bratva is involved in the auto business, as I’m sure you know. If you’d like, I could connect you with some people. Sasha would certainly be delighted.”

“I could work with old cars?” Dean asked, turning to Castiel. “I wouldn’t have to do any actual bratva stuff, right?”

“Of course not,” Castiel soothed. I wouldn’t allow it, he didn’t add. “You could most definitely work with old cars. Whatever you were interested in, I’m sure I could find someone who can help you get the work you want, even if it’s in a company that has no ties with the Krushnics. Whatever you want.”

Dean’s green eyes were sparkling in that way Castiel loved, the one that made him feel like he was the Alpha who’d hung the moon and all the stars. “That sounds amazing, Cas,” Dean said, beaming. “Thanks for… for understanding. And for bein’ so supportive.”

“Of course, my love.” Castiel leaned over to press a kiss to Dean’s temple. “Is that what you were looking at on your phone earlier, while we were going to the Den?”

Dean looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Castiel to notice. “Yeah. I wasn’t, uh… I wasn’t sure if you’d be too happy about the idea, but I figured you wouldn’t blow your top or anything, so I went for it. I was lookin’ at campuses nearby and stuff.”

“I’m glad you decided to bring it up,” Castiel said. “I want you to pursue things you desire, Dean. Should it be going back to school, or starting a business, or getting a job, or whatever else it is you wish for, I want you to do what you need to get there. And I want you to know that I’ll support you in whatever it is.”

Their bond was pulsing with warmth and love. Dean laid his head on Castiel’s shoulder and they ate in comfortable silence, pressed together underneath the heavy softness of the blanket. When Castiel had finished his food, he set his plate aside and turned to press his nose to the top of Dean’s hair. It was still slightly damp from their earlier shower, smelling of shampoo and Omega sweetness and Dean’s unique scent, soft and happy.

I get to make sure he smells happy and content for the rest of his life, Castiel thought, still unable to comprehend how lucky he’d gotten. Somehow, someone above deemed me worthy of a blessing like Dean.

He had no idea what he could have possibly done to deserve something like that, but he was going to cherish his miracle of a mate until he took his last breath. He nuzzled Dean’s temple affectionately in pure joy, delighting in the quiet purr it earned him.

I love you, Dean Winchester, Castiel thought, trying to project as much adoration as he could through their new bond. I love you, and I’ll never let you go. That, I can most certainly promise.

Chapter Text

A year and a half later…

It was freezing outside, cold enough for the snow to come in big flurries of white and stick everywhere it landed, even the black asphalt of the road. Dean passed a community transit bus as he drove home, grateful that he didn’t have to be on it, or worse, walking in the storm. He’d taken a few minutes to let Baby’s heaters start working before he’d left the garage, so he was nice and toasty in the car.

It was only about a fifteen minute drive from the place he worked to the house he shared with his Alpha, but it felt like an eternity today. Dean had been distracted all afternoon, the nasty weather triggering his instincts to burrow into something soft and warm and take a long nap.

He was grateful when he could finally pull into the large garage attached to his house. He parked next to a familiar dark, armored car and got out, eager to take a hot shower and see about that nesting thing. His stomach rumbled with hunger; lunch had been about six hours ago, and he was starving.

“Dorogoy!” a familiar voice called as he stepped through the door. “Are you home?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean called back, not even noticing that he’d responded in Russian. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He toed off his boots and hung up his thick jacket. The house was large enough that he had to go out of his way to find his Alpha instead of just heading up the stairs to shower like he’d said, but he wanted to see his mate. It had been a long day, and half the daydream of nesting somewhere soft and warm had included his Alpha cuddling him too.

“Hello, my love,” Castiel greeted when Dean entered the living area. He was seated on the plush couch wearing nothing but sweatpants and a soft shirt, and he looked amazing. Dean obeyed without hesitation when his Alpha beckoned him forward, pulling him gently down and onto the couch.

“Cas,” Dean laughed as he was tugged into his mate’s lap. “I probably smell all greasy and stuff. I had time to wash my hands at the garage, but I need to shower before I’m clean.”

His Alpha hummed, wrapping strong arms around his waist and pulling him in with a content rumble. Dean laughed as Castiel’s stubble tickled his neck, his Alpha scenting him languidly. “You smell like a happy Omega,” he said. “You smell like sunshine and baking apple pie. Delectable.” He nuzzled Dean’s jaw, pressing sweet kisses to the column of his throat. “Is it cold out there?”

“Yeah, and it’s snowing a shit-ton,” Dean said. “I think there’s gonna be more than originally forecasted.”

“Of course. I don’t know why the foolish weathermen even have jobs.” Castiel pulled back, turning to look out the large windows that covered one wall of their living room. The view was pretty spectacular; snow all over the low rolling mountains, and a wide stretch of forest and plains covered in the stuff. It turned out the saying about America was true; the landscape could be beautiful pretty much anywhere, even in South Dakota.

“I’m gonna make a nest,” Dean told his Alpha, wiggling a little in the hopes of getting free so he could take that damn shower. “I was wanting to do it earlier, when I was at the garage. Somethin’ about the snow and stuff makes me want to get cozy. I was thinkin’ of building it right here, so we can look at the Christmas tree.”

“That’s a good idea,” Castiel said, squeezing Dean a little. He looked so adoring when he gazed up at Dean, it took his breath away a little bit. “Will this be a nest where exciting things can happen, or just one for cuddling?”

Dean snorted, smacking Castiel on the shoulder. “Just for cuddling, you horndog. We already have the one upstairs for that stuff. It’s got the waterproof thingy over the mattress, remember?”

Castiel hummed. “Ah, yes, I remember. But we don’t need a ‘waterproof thingy’ to dictate when and where I fuck you,” he said. He pulled Dean in close, resting his chin against the Omega’s chest, pinning him with a hopeful look. “Wouldn’t it be delightful to conceive our pup in front of the tree? All the pretty lights, and the snow outside…”

“Yeah, and the huge windows,” Dean said, shaking his head. “No thank you.”

Castiel frowned, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d say his Alpha was pouting. “We have no neighbors.”

“I don’t care, it’s weird,” Dean said. “I don’t want some Goddamn birds watching me go ass-up for you.”

“I think it’s quite endearing when you present for me,” Castiel said. “Besides, all the birds have gone south for the winter. It’s not like they would care, anyway.” He nuzzled his head against Dean’s chest even as he spoke, a way to tell his Omega that he was only joking. “Fine, no sex in front of the tree. But sex later.”

“Yeah, sex later.”

“And I get to hand-feed you cookies.”

“What—no, Cas, not that again!” Despite his mild indignance, Dean blushed at the thought. They’d done a whole baking spree a couple days ago, getting all their Christmas cookie-baking out of the way in one fell swoop. Afterward, Castiel had pinned Dean on the couch and fed him bits of cookies by hand, both of them getting more and more into it the more frosting Dean licked from Castiel’s fingers. It had ended with them nearly breaking the couch. Dean was still kind of sore, even now. No way were they doing that again.

But his Alpha’s eyes had already darkened slightly, and he already had that mischievous gleam in them that Dean knew to watch out for. He wasn’t fooled in the slightest by the sudden pleading look his Alpha threw him as he said, “I told myself when I first started courting you that I wouldn’t let you go hungry ever again. I’m just keeping my promise to myself, Dean.”

“Bullshit,” Dean grumbled. “You can’t use that against me. We both know it’s just ‘cause you have some weird caretaking kink.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do! You get off on… on making me happy, or something.” Dean looked away at that, wishing the golden glow of the Christmas tree behind him could cover up the impressive flush he probably had in his cheeks. Even after a few years, it was still hard to come to terms with the idea of someone literally enjoying making him happy.

His Alpha softened, squeezing him a little. “Fine. Perhaps I enjoy that. But can you blame me? You’re radiant when you’re happy.” He smiled, nuzzling at Dean’s throat again. His voice lowered to a dirty whisper as he added, “Besides, you get a burnt-cinnamon sort of smell when you orgasm. It’s delicious.”

“For God’s sake,” Dean laughed. “If you really can’t contain yourself, you can come in the shower with me. We just restocked the lube in there, I think.”

“Hmm, that’s a good idea,” Castiel mused. “I’ll fuck you senseless in the shower, help you make the nest, cuddle you, and then feed you. I like this plan. And then perhaps afterward, we can watch the finale of our show.”

“Okay, but we can’t go to bed too late,” Dean reminded his Alpha. “Mikhail and Adam are coming in tomorrow, remember?” This was their last real night to themselves before the craziness of the holidays set in. The Krushnic brothers were each coming to visit for a few days in the week leading up to Christmas, though on the actual day, Dean and Castiel were getting in a car and driving an hour east to Bobby and Ellen’s. Their schedule would be pretty packed up until then.

His Alpha hummed in understanding and suddenly shifted, scaring the crap out of Dean. He grabbed Castiel’s shoulders in a panic as his Alpha suddenly slid off the couch and stood up, now holding him under his ass, a rather smug look on his face. “To the shower?”

Dean couldn’t smack Castiel for scaring him so badly, not when he was so fucking cute. And really, his inner Omega wasn’t complaining about his big, strong mate being able to pick him up without batting an eyelash. No sir-ee. No complaining.

“Yeah, the shower,” Dean said. He leaned down and kissed his Alpha on the lips. “And if you’re quick, we can see about that pup.”

Castiel didn’t have to be told twice. He practically bolted from the room, whisking Dean away and leaving nothing behind but a soft gust of air and the sound of the Omega’s delighted, joyful laughter in his wake.

The End.