Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1765627.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Dean
      Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester_&_Sam_Winchester, Castiel/Sam
      Winchester, Alastair/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Castiel, Alastair_(Supernatural), Jo
      Harvelle, Ellen_Harvelle, Ash_(Supernatural), Ruby_(Supernatural),
      Gabriel_(Supernatural), Bobby_Singer, Garth_Fitzgerald_IV, Lucifer_
      (Supernatural), Lilith_(Supernatural), Azazel_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Omega_Dean_Winchester, Alpha_Sam_Winchester,
      Protective_Sam_Winchester, Hurt_Dean_Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional
      Hurt/Comfort, Underage_Sex, Abuse, Beta_Castiel, Protective_Older
      Brothers, Big_Brother_Sam_Winchester, Pack_Dynamics, Alternate_Universe_-
      Werewolf, Werewolf_Sam_Winchester, Werewolf_Castiel, Pet_Names, Beta
      Wanted, Implied_Mpreg, Fluff_and_Angst, Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Heavy
      Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-10 Updated: 2015-08-31 Chapters: 16/? Words: 91340
****** Don't You Quit On Me... ******
by J3_(CaseMatthews)
Summary
     While less than five percent of the world's population is made up of
     Omegas, most people regard them as precious; to be protected and
     cared for at all cost. But not Alastair. And if anyone knows that,
     it's Dean.
     Dean was taken from them when he was just four years old and Sam's
     been looking for him for the last twelve years - building a pack,
     finding a mate to make his Beta. Sam knows what taking on an Omega
     means and he knows perfectly well that Dean's his brother...but what
     can he do? He needs Dean by his side and if this is the only way, so
     be it. But Dean's head's all messed up, he doesn't remember his old
     life, he doesn't remember Sam...should Sam tell him? Should Dean
     know, after everything he's been forced to live through, that his own
     Alpha is his own big brother?
Notes
     Title from the song: Brothers by Penny and Sparrow
     For the lore in this fic, check out http://archiveofourown.org/works/
     2486036 for the lore.
     For a cliff-notes version: Alphas are the rulers of both their packs
     and the rest of the world - Omega's are rare and have a need to mate
     with them. Gammas make up the rest of the population and become
     Beta's to the Alpha if they mate to one. Before children mature,
     they're called pups.
     If any of this is confusing, please let me know, otherwise, enjoy!!
     WARNING! I am a sadistic, awful person...continue...
     Fanart!!!! by Ccalamity4 on deviantart :) I love her.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Praise Our Saviour *****
It’s the pain that finally hauls Dean into consciousness.
Like…like daggers, carving into his skeleton and ripping the damn flesh
straight from his bones. And that relentless pounding inside his head that
seems to have eased some in the last fortnight or so must have taken out a
personal agenda against him, ‘cause it’s sure as hell coming back full damn
force. So harshly, in fact, that when he flickers tired eyes open the kitchen
around him is little more than a silvery, spotlessly clean blur.
And fuck, his ribs hurt. As in, they freaking kill. And at least a fair couple
must be broken, maybe more if the bare notion didn’t make Dean’s stomach roil.
Christ they’re so frigging annoying and painful as all hell to heal. Typical.
Master’ll be mad, there’s no doubt about that. He hates when Dean’s like this,
useless and pathetic—but God, Dean hates it too; he hates disappointing Master
and he hates his natural self-protection instincts kicking in when all it means
is more pain. He’s not allowed instincts, Master told him so, but whenever
Dean’s pain gets this bad, he can’t help it. His body just betrays him and when
he curls up like a puppy from Master’s hands and Master’s toys, the thunderous
humiliation just makes it worse. But it hurts and somehow when he shrivels into
a useless little ball, it makes it hurt less. It shouldn’t, but it does.
Christ, it always does.
According to the glow from the small skylight above him, illuminating the crisp
grey floor into a soft, orange flush it’s morning outside. Dean blinks his eyes
against the intrusion and pulls himself up with soft little pants (not loud
enough to be heard, of course) to prop his broken body up against a cabinet’s
door. He pauses and waits patiently for his body to get used to the movement
before attempting anything more. Well, it still hurts. At least this way he
won’t be caught off guard when someone comes to call on him.
He hopes Master’s in a good mood. Yesterday he was...okay, so yesterday morning
he was. Dean had lounged over his lap for the first few hours of the day,
nuzzled into his alpha’s warmth and scent like his inner wolf always begs him
to. Master even let him have some leftover yogurt from his breakfast tray, so
that was nice. And, like it always is, Dean had to be the one to ruin it.
Honestly he hadn’t meant it—he never does—but he should know better after all
these years than to be so ignorantly obtuse. Four stupid, pathetic, ignorant
little words ruined the result of a very promising day and Dean will be feeling
them for weeks to come: “Can I go outside?” He’d been across the floor in a
savage little heap in less than two seconds flat.
Master hadn't been happy; Dean could tell by the vicious little jabs of his
fists into Dean’s ribs, the cuts marring Dean’s cheek and Dean’s thighs and
Dean’s stomach, the burns ripping along his back. Frankly, it’s a miracle he
managed to sleep at all last night, though then again, he probably just passed
out from the pain. Maybe if he’s good, Master might let him sit on his lap
again. Maybe if he’s really good, Master might rub that sticky stuff onto his
burns like last week when Dean dropped his coffee cup. It’s to stop infection
and Master’s hands are harsh, but at least that way they’re close.
The door swings open and Ruby shoves her head through with a ready sneer,
“Alastair's waiting for you in the front sitting room.” She turns quickly with
a disgusted set to her nose and scoffs out, “Fuck knows why,” before making her
flourished leave.
“Ruby…” Dean tries, because he honestly doesn’t think he can get up and she
helped him last time, balanced him to Master’s bedroom during his heat, but
she’s already gone, the two-way door swinging happily behind her. Crap.
So Dean just grits his teeth like a good little omega and crawls over onto his
bashed up knees, bracing himself flat on his fists. Deep breath in, deep breath
out—turns round, grapples at the countertop until he can balance decently onto
his haunches and hauls himself up, up, up until he’s half standing, half
panting but relatively steady on his own two feet. Good enough, he thinks, and
when he straightens up little by little until he’s sucking in one heady breath
after another, lets go of the wall standing steady, he allows himself a
minuscule sigh of achievement. Now comes the tricky part.
He’s already late, he knows that. The house is big and Dean’s not exactly quick
on his feet very often these days, though he moves as fast as his body will
physically let him. It’s not very fast. Master will be mad.
Ten minutes. That’s how long it takes him to trail all the way from his ex-
kitchen bedroom to Alastair’s morning suite on the other side of the house and
that is nine minutes too many. Although actually, it’s kinda quick considering
some of his earlier crawling missions.
Every single step is like a giant hot poker stabbing him straight through the
middle and igniting what’s left of his uninjured flesh, like some wolf pawing
at his ribs with their claws out, snagging along every broken bone. He’s sure
they’re broken. One at least, probably the whole lot of the rest just bruised,
but freaking badly. Ribs are a total bitch to heal…
It’s only when Dean knocks politely at the door with discoloured knuckles that
he smells the second alpha. Fuck. So not only is he monumentally late, he’s
also just embarrassed Master in front of his visitor’s. Dean should probably
saver this pain; it can only get worse here on out.
“Come in,” Master calls, and Dean twists the doorknob with an aggravated hiss
before straightening both his features and posture and stepping lightly into
the room, his eyes boring obediently into the scarlet carpet.
“This is him?” a stranger’s voice says, the second alpha. He has a nice voice,
warm and soft, but that’s only because he’s an alpha and Dean’s craving alpha
right now, he needs it, more than the air he breaths. He needs his Master.
Master clicks his fingers and Dean knows what to do. His eyes lift slightly,
just to get a feel for where everyone's positioned—three people, and when Dean
sniffs the air as subtly as he can, he scents a beta, though not one he
recognises—and he spots his Master sat in his old leather armchair, opposite
the intruders on the couch. He shuffles over as delicately as he can.
“He looks unwell,” Beta says and Dean flinches. Well, that’s gonna be another
tally on Dean’s pain chart, isn’t it?
Master clucks deep in his throat at the same second Dean lowers slowly down to
his side, landing with a silent huff on his knees. He snuffles his nose into
Masters bent knee because he’s an idiot and the Alpha scent smells so good.
He’ll be punished for that too, he’s sure, but Dean needs the comfort and
there’s not much more the Alpha can do that he hasn’t already.
“He’s alive,” Master hums out, unfolding his knees until Dean’s cheek is
uplifted and the Omega has to just shuffle in further to accommodate the shift
in movement. At least he hasn’t kicked Dean off yet, so that’s a bonus. Dean
inhales while he still can.
“Yes…” the Beta says tentatively, quietly, and Master lets out an incredulous
chuckle.
“Oh, calm down, for God's sake. He's an omega. They’re whores, little one. They
need to be treated like such or they’ll just grow unruly and we can’t have
that, not these days. Dean here’s just a little temperamental. He needs
reminding of his place more often than the others I've...acquired.” And Dean’s
sorry about that, he really is. He knows Master likes him but he knows he’s a
huge disappointment to Master when he has to be ‘reminded’ of his place and
punished because sometimes it hurts Master too. So Dean lifts one trembling,
apologetic hand to paw at Masters shin to show his sorrow, whining low in his
throat and letting himself tremble with a wet keen—he doesn’t mean to be so
stupid, he just forgets. Master laughs and scratches a hand through Dean’s
hair; Dean has to stop himself from all out keening and leaping onto Master’s
lap. The touch is perfect all by itself, though, so he manages.
“See?” Master prompts. “I implore you to find another Omega in this state as
compliant as my little Dean, here.” Dean prims under the praise. The hand
tightens, “Even if he was late.” Damn.
“I don’t think he meant to be, it must be hard for him to move quickly in his
current state…”
“You’re a Zeta, are you not?” Master interrupts, his hand stilling altogether
in Dean’s hair. Dean nearly growls, deciding he’s definitely not a big fan of
this mouthy Beta.
Heat of embarrassment fills the air, for once not from Dean. The Beta coughs,
“I am, yes.”
“Well then, maybe you should stop talking so much and start listening to your
Alpha, little one. Or maybe your Alpha should start reigning in control of his
pack…”
The other Alpha voice chuckles lightly and shuffling sounds from the opposite
sofa. “Now, Alastair, you know that’s not how we do things. Castiel’s just a
little spirited, is all. Perfect for me. How about we move on to discussing
business now, hmm?” Very nice voice indeed.
“Quite,” Master hums, resuming his movements. Dean can feel the slight smile
shift onto his face. “As you can see, Dean’s a very good little boy,” if Dean
had feathers, they’d be ruffling, “and I can assure you he will not come
cheap.” Dean stills.Cheap? Cheap for what? Master’s never pawned him off
before, he’s never made Dean bend over for a stranger…this is a new punishment,
isn’t it? Dean’s being punished for everything and this is so much worse than
the beatings and the burning, so much more painful, being rejected, his Alpha
not wanting him…fuck. “Are you sure you can afford him, Alpha?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Alastair, we’ve been saving up,” he says, his
soft voice taking on a mocking quality, sarcastic. Dean's betraying mind
decides that he likes this one, too. “How much are we talking?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alastair, look at the state of him. You wouldn’t buy a
professionally trained omega for that price, it’s thieving…”
“Like I said, a high price. That’s the only deal on the table here, boys, take
it or leave it.” Master feels soft and Dean doesn’t want to leave, he doesn’t
want to be sold for any price…
“Thirty thousand.” No thousand.
“Forty-nine.” Nonononononono.
“Forty.” Dean crawls a look up at his Master.
“Forty-five, and I will go down no further. He is worth double that—if you want
him so badly then that will have to do.”
There’s silence for a few seconds, Dean peering up with wide eyes at Master’s
stony face, emotionless and cold and… “Deal.” No. No, he won’t go, he will not
leave Master, he can’t leave his Alpha, his body won’t like it, his body will
hurt and ache and –
But Master’s standing up and pushing Dean out of the way, walking sternly
forward and shaking the other Alpha's hand, shaking on Dean’s destiny. Dean
shoves himself to his feet as quickly as he can, ignoring the thud of raw pain,
disregarding his sloppiness, just needing to get to his Alpha before this is
all real and Dean really has to leave...
“Master,” he hisses, his throat raw. He steps up next to him, scrapping like a
pup at his pale shirt and snuffles his nose into the fabric there—maybe he can
convince Master he’s worth it—maybe he really pissed Master off and now he
doesn’t even want a dirty, pitiful little omega around to ruin everything
anymore. But Dean can be better, “Please, Alpha, please don’t make me leave, I-
”
The hand connecting with Dean’s cheek is a surprise and he goes down like a
lead balloon, his whole body jarring painfully until he can’t help the sob and
hiss of pain, can’t help crying out when the leather sole of Master's shoe
rests stubbornly at his throat. His eyes don’t focus no matter how much he
wants them to, Master’s face is just a blur miles above him and his weight is
monstrous against Dean’s breathing. At least he doesn’t hurt so much anymore…
“You get the fuck off of him—”
“You pathetic little fuck. Have I not taught you anything, Omega-scum, have you
not listened to a word I’ve ever said? You mean nothing to me, you understand?
Nothing.”
The rejection…it’s physical. Dean didn’t know before, he didn’t know it would
hurt so much but this pain…it overtakes any bodily infliction he’s ever
undergone, it shoves that out the window and buries itself deep inside his
chest. It hurts. It hurts a lot. And he’s crying because of it and that never
happens.
When the foot leaves his throat, Dean doesn’t even notice. His alpha doesn’t
want him, nothing else matters.
“That was spiteful,” the second Alpha hisses above Dean’s head. It doesn’t
matter and Dean just turns onto his side and sobs into his arms—or he would if
only they'd lift that far, “Why would you purposely harm him like that?”
Master laughs…Master. Not Master though, is it, Dean, Master doesn’t want you,
Master doesn’t care—a sob racks Dean’s whole body and he can’t breathe.
“He’s leaving the pack, the rejection had to happen sooner or later, didn’t
it?”
“It didn’t have to be like this. You’re a barbaric piece of shit, you know
that?”Don’t talk like that to Master…
Another laugh, a foot nudging at Dean’s head. “No, Winchester,” he spits the
name, “I’m an alpha. What the hell are you?”
“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Alpha snarls, the foot moves off. “He’s mine
now, you have not fucking right to touch him!”
Dean curls up closer to a nearby heat at the yelling. Everything hurts so bad—a
hand, soft and yielding, makes contact with his forehead, brushes away the
overgrown strands, a breath blows onto his flushing skin. Dean shuffles in
closer and long fingers take a strong hold of his own. More yelling, more
shouting, the sound of something smashing and Dean keens and whines at the back
of his throat, moves away from the noise and into the heat. Beta. The Beta, the
one disrespecting Master… another sob racks through painfully, juddering Dean’s
bruises.
A soft, cool breath is blown onto Dean’s skin, followed swiftly by even softer
lips, cool and damp and comforting, “Hello there, little pup. Hush, little one,
you’re okay, Dean, you’re okay.” Dean whimpers gently and bows into the needed
touch. It’s not Alpha but it’s similar, nowhere near as perfect as Master, but
it’s still warmth and it’s good, better than nothing.
“Hurts,” Dean gulps, hoping, maybe praying that this Beta might help him, might
take the pain away if he’s good enough, if he follows the rules. Another crash,
Dean moans. “Please,” he tries, gripping as tightly as he can to the offered
hand, “Please stop…hurting.”
“Shh, Omega, everything’s fine, it’ll all be over soon, I promise you, little
one, you’ll be okay soon, hush now,” the hand stills and the silence that
follows is deafening. Dean coils closer.
“Get…get out of my house!” Master’s voice, Master’s voice cold and weak,
bitter. It hurts.
“My fucking pleasure,” Alpha two says, another bang and then there’re hands
moving along Dean, more hands, huge hands, strong hands, stroking Dean’s sides
softly and curving up underneath his body, “Shh, Dean, it’s okay, sweetheart,
everything’s okay, little one, come on now...”
Dean curls off the Alpha scent because…it feels wrong, somehow, and despite all
of this agony it’s not the one he needs it’s not Master but it is Alpha
and…fuck, Dean doesn’t even know. It could be his own mother’s hands on him and
he’d still pull away for his real pack leader.
“I’m picking you up now, Omega, okay?” and he is because Dean’s being lifted,
the solid weight beneath him moving and adding more pressure onto other points,
painful points and Dean whines out from the hurt. But he’s lifted to a nice,
warm, tanned neck and his body snuffles its nose straight in there, inhaling
the purely alpha scent and just acknowledging it for what it really is, for the
alpha and not the stranger and dammit it's better than nothing. It’s good and
Dean lets himself drop into the arms gripping him; one between his shoulder
blades, the other supporting beneath his backside, he feels safe and secure but
he doesn’t know why. This isn’t home…this isn’t Master.
His eyes slide closed of their own accord.
                                    =*=Ω=*=
“You did well, angel,” Sam praises, dipping his nose down into his mates
perfectly tousled, raven-hued hair. Cas preens beneath it and ducks his head to
Sam’s neck, opposite the Omega currently breathing warmth onto Sam’s sensitive
skin, his breath heavy in slumber and soft and perfect. Sam missed this more
than he can ever…it’s impossible to express, honestly. But Dean’s back and he’s
alive and he’s home and Sam isn’t quite sure he knows what to do with that
knowledge yet. But it’s certainly good to have it.
“Are you pleased, Alpha?” Castiel mumbles, nuzzling in deeper.
Sam smiles. “I’m very pleased. I’m very,” he barks out a disbelieving laugh,
“fucking pleased. Twelve years searching, angel, and we found him. And he’s
alive...” He ducks down and presses a heavy kiss to his mate’s perfect lips,
earning a happy laugh. When they split off, Sam frowns and looks down at the
thing in his arms. “He’s alive. But he’s not living.”
“He will be with us, Sam,” Castiel assures, moving in closer. “He’ll be happy
and he’ll be himself again, you’ll see. It won’t take long and you’ll have your
brother back just like he should be, I promise you. Alpha?” Sam looks down into
those stunning eyes. “You understand that, don’t you?”
Sam smiles sweetly and bends a soft kiss into the jet coloured nest again,
holding there and waiting in that wonderful home scent before lifting off and
catching those eyes again. “It’s been a long time, Cas. He’s been in that
place,” Cas flinches at the growl so Sam rests his chin on top of his mates
head, “for a very long time, baby. We’ll just have to play it as it comes, I
guess.” Cas nods and sighs into Sam’s chest. “We can’t tell him just yet,
though. He needs to get back into his mind again, heal physically and mentally
before we even consider him knowing. At this point it’s probably too much to
handle.” Cas nods again. Sam looks up at the front seat, Ellen’s sturdy shape
illuminated by the mid-morning sun, strong and steady and home. The wolf in him
smiles and he releases one hand from his slumbering brother to place it on her
shoulder. She turns slightly and eyes him in the rear-view mirror.
“Sam?” she asks.
“Will you let the others know? No one is to tell Dean or hint to Dean of our
situation until I say otherwise and if they do, they’ll see me. In fact, no one
is allowed entry into his room at any time without either me, you, Cas or Jo,
alright?” Ellen nods. “Good. Thank you, Ellen.”
The beta smiles in the mirror before she lifts up in the seat and her eyes
trail to Dean’s seraph-like face, marred and painful looking. The smile turns
to a grin and she winks at Sam. “Kid grew fast, didn't 'e, Sammy?”
Sam huffs a laugh and offers the woman a lopsided smile. “Yeah, he did. Damn, I
still remember him in diapers, what the hell happened?”
“Those eyeballs haven’t changed though. Thinking back, we probably should’ve
guessed he’d turn out omega; peepers like that come around once in a lifetime,
should’ve known he’d grow into ‘em.”
“That’s probably true, actually,” Sam laughs, looking down at the incapacitated
sixteen year old in his arms. “Then again, look at Cas and he’s all beta.” Said
beta shuffles closer.
“Yeah, but Cas is a freaky anomaly,” Ellen says and they laugh—uneasy and
troubled but real and much needed.
“Thank you, Ellen,” Castiel says smoothly, smiling. “I appreciate the
sentiment.”
When they finally arrive back at the house, it’s long gone an eighteen hour
drive. Of course Alastair lived in the next three fucking states over, probably
just to piss Sam off, the piece of fucking shit he is.
Looking back now, he’s actually very fucking fortunate Sam didn’t kill him. He
was going to; he was seconds from keeping his fingers wrapped around that
stupid, murderous throat when he heard Dean whimper (from the pain that asshole
dished out to him) and he knew he couldn’t do it. Not that he couldn’t, because
oh, he so fucking could, he just realised in that miraculous split second that
if he waged war on a decent sized pack that Dean could very easily end up back
with him. Dean wouldn’t resist, Alastair was his Alpha after all, and Sam sure
as hell can’t watch that happen. So he dropped the bastard and went back to his
mate. It’s also a miracle Sam didn’t completely lose it and shift; then they
would be in deep shit. Shifting on someone else’s pack land is like signing
your own death certificate and Sam isn’t willing to do that. Sam has a baby
brother to save.
“Up you come, little one, come on, kiddo,” Sam coos, following Cas from the car
with an unconsciously whining Dean coiled into his arms. “Nearly there, Dean,
we’re nearly home baby boy, you’re nearly safe, pup, come on now.”
Jo meets them at the door and grins, her eyes flitting from Dean’s face to
Sam’s and back again. Sam smiles back with the same childish, disbelieving
giddiness. “Fuck, he got pretty.”
Sam snorts a laugh and Jo flinches down from the hand her mother swipes over
the top of her head. “Joanna Beth, you do not use language like that under this
roof, do you understand me?”
“Sorry, mom,” the beta rolls her eyes and looks nine again, annoyed with Ellen
calling her in for dinner from playing outside with baby Dean and Sam. She
grins up at Sam again. “The rooms done and dusted, me and Ash were in there all
morning. How is he?”
Sam sighs and lays a kiss to the top of her head, revelling basely in the bow
of obedience she allows him. He lets her lead all four of them up the two
flights of stairs to Dean’s new room. “Rejected.”
Jo pauses. “Seriously? I thought that only happened with time away from the
Alpha, not like, two seconds.”
“The bastard screamed in his face that he didn’t want him and backhanded him to
the floor. I’m pretty sure if you want to reject an omega that’s how you do
it.”
“Shit,” Jo breathes before looking quickly around for her mother. “He’s in
pretty rough shape, huh?”
Sam nods and sighs again. “We knew that going in, kiddo. But...he was begging
for the guy, y’know? I just never really imagined Dean would be like that…”
“It’s not him, Sam, not really,” Castiel soothes, rubbing a hand along Sam’s
strained triceps. “He’s been pulled this way and that, he doesn’t know what’s
right or wrong anymore, but he’ll pull through. He’s a Winchester, isn’t he?”
Sam’s gonna kiss his mate with every fibre in his being the second his
brother’s down and safe and cared for, the second Sam knows Dean’s okay, he’s
gonna knot his Beta. He needs to do something with all this extra adrenaline,
after all. Mm, maybe they can shift...
“Gross, Sam, I can smell you,” Jo hisses, wafting a hand over her nose. Sam
lets out a hefty laugh and nudges her forward with his booted toe, winking over
to Cas’ flushed face. Yep, they’ll go to bed and Sam will knot him so good,
he’s such a perfect boy, so beautiful and loving and even though he knows what
taking on an Omega entails, he’s perfectly willing to do it anyway. Yeah, he
fucking deserves a knot right now.
The room’s perfect and Sam lets Dean down into the plush bed as gently as he
can manage, minding the pain-hot-spots and pulling the sheets up to his prefect
little chin.
“I’ll keep you safe, little brother,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to the
Omega's forehead. “I’ll make everything better, baby, I promise you. I love
you, Dean.”
                                    =*=Ω=*=
When Dean wakes up, he’s not in pain and that freaks him out more than
anything. His eyes snap open but they feel heavy and he has to force them to
stay there, his breathing quickens and he’s covered by something heavy, pushing
him down and holding him docile…
“Woah, woah, hey kiddo,” and then there’s hands, two gentle hands holding Dean
down into…the mattress? What the hell? “Calm down, Dean, you’re okay, just calm
down, shh.”
Yeah, it’s a mattress. And he’s drowning under a thick, white duvet, tucked up
right to his chin, holding him in, holding him down—Dean shoves it off and sure
enough, there’s the pain again. Fuck, dammit, that hurts and he yowls out like
some baby wolf-pup at the harshness of it all biting into his very core.
“Well, duh, dude, you can’t move yet, obviously,” the voice says, female,
gamma, and the same hands tuck his throbbing legs back under the thing, though
she lets his arms stay above the comforter. Dean just hisses pitifully and
curls deeper into himself, bending his back slightly and lowering his chin. He
doesn’t sleep like this; so open and relaxed, it’s dangerous, it leaves his
torso open to anything and he doesn’t like that. Even on the rare occasions
Master ever lets him sleep in the big-bed with him after they knotted, he
would—
Master. Shit.
Dean’s sorry when he pukes up all over the soft white down, but honestly, he
can’t help it. The gamma swears and backs up, runs away to get the new Alpha so
he can reprimand Dean for being a disgusting animal right off the bat, let the
rules be set in place from the start so Dean doesn’t get confused—but Dean
won’t get confused, he’s good at following orders; sure, his mangled face
disagrees, but he really is, he just gets lost or too relaxed or his body
betrays him, just like now and—
“Hey, hey, little one, calm down,” more hands, more restraints, more pressure.
A Beta, though, familiar? “Hush, Omega, you’re okay.” Yes, familiar. From that
night with Master and the new Alpha—this time when Dean throws up there’s a
basin there, yellow plastic right underneath his mouth, another hand holding
his head up and to the side. “There you go, pup, there you go. Let it all out,
Dean, it’s okay, you’re okay, come on, sweetheart, you're doing great.”
It’s not okay. None of this; not one tiny single little thing is ‘okay’. Master
doesn’t want Dean, Master said he hates Dean and Master sold him to another
pack, Master doesn’t care. And that, that pinprick of knowledge is all that
matters anymore. No Alpha, no pack, no life, no nothing, Dean’s just gonna die
alone and rot and cry forever more like the pathetic little thing he is, like
Master always says he is… “Alpha…” Dean cries in mourning.
“I know, Dean, I know you need your alpha, I know it hurts, come on now, little
one—let it up, shshsh,” and fuck everything, Dean empty’s the very depths of
his scrawny stomach until he’s just dry heaving into the bowl, shucking up
everything that’s ever come into contact with his body. It just adds to the
pain and the humiliation but Dean doesn’t care because it doesn’t matter.
“Shit,” the word’s murmured into his hair. “Jo? Get Sam here for me, will you?
I just…I think he just needs Alpha right now, I don’t think it really matters
who it is. Tell him he’s not listening, alright?”
The Gamma leaves and her scent follows with her, leaving behind puke and
pathetic Omega and bitter Beta, taut with something akin to (but obviously not)
worry and trepidation. Dean rocks back onto the bed and shivers, his body
convulsing around the movement and one hand finds his hair, the other strokes
the back of his own trembling hand. “Hush little pup, hush now, precious pup,
everything’s okay,” Itdoesn’tmatteritdoesn’tmatteritdoesn’tmattter…
“Angel?”
Alpha. “Alpha?” Dean keens, snapping his eyes wide again and rolling them
towards the scent, his body drifting of its own accordance to the giant
striding towards him, the long hair resting on the top of the perfect column of
tanned neck… “Alpha, please,” and that’s a whine.
“Aw, baby boy, come here,” Alphas says, two gigantic hands moving to Dean’s
armpits and tugging him up, hauling him closer to that body, the Alpha body,
the smell, the Alpha…until he’s pulled back away again and lets out a high-
pitched whine. Dean’s practically kneeling on the edge of the bed, held up
gently by those hands like a toddler being surveyed, turning him this way and
that with a furrowed brow. Dean huffs and shuffles as close as the vice-hands
will let him. And then he’s on the bed again, laid down until his head connects
with something suspiciously lap-like and more hands hold him down, more fucking
hands telling him what to do and he growls before he can help it—before
freezing on the spot and shaking because he just growled at an Alpha. Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” he breaths, looking nowhere with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m...I'm
really s-sorry, please, I…”
Hand at his temple, thumb on his cheek—“No omega, don’t be sorry, you didn’t
mean it, it’s okay, shh, you’re okay. We’re just getting you out of those
clothes, alright? We’ll get you in a bath later, if that’s what you want, hmm?
A nice warm bath with your Alpha. Is that alright, little one?”
“...Yes,” Dean whispers because that was a direct question and he’s supposed to
answer those, though he’s not sure he wants to. The alpha part sounds good
though…
Hands at his waist. Pulling down his bloodied jeans, tugging off the slim
boxers Master likes him wearing—he waits for the nausea but it doesn’t come.
Instead there’s just Alpha touching him and Alpha stroking him and that does
actually matter. It feels good. He’s lifted slightly, until someone tries to
lift his arms and his body does that stupid annoying thing where it tries to
control what he does, so he cries out and drags them back down, back towards
his throbbing ribs.
“Why the hell didn’t we do this yesterday?” his Alpha sighs, reaching over for
something in a drawer by the bed. When huge, silver glinting scissors come into
view, Dean bucks, but only because his body warns him to. He shoves against the
Beta at his back, and when that doesn’t work he just shoves straight into him,
burying into the available warmth for stupidly expected protection.
His body wants to beg but for the first time in too goddamn long, he manages to
keep a handle on that stupid instinct. He just trembles and hurts and hopes
Alpha doesn’t want to scar him too badly or too deep like Master always does.
“Jesus,” Alpha hisses behind Dean, Dean just huddles closer to the Beta. He’s
pulled comfortingly tight. “Uh…Dean? Sweetheart, I’m…I’m not gonna hurt you,
okay? No one here’s gonna hurt you, I promise, Dean, I promise you that,
alright?”
Is that a direct question? Dean’s not sure, but by the time his mind’s worked
it out, his body’s being turned back around to face the Alpha and he’s just
gonna have to trust the words are true. He still shivers when the scissors come
closer, when they touch his stomach and leave a cold trail all up his torso as
they slice through the shirt. They move to the sleeves, both sides until the
flimsy fabric is peeled clean off and discarded somewhere Dean can’t see. He
wants to cover up his delicately naked body, curl inwards in shame at its
thousands of blemishes but he isn’t to deny his Alpha anything. That would be
bad, and Dean’s already been too bad now, once more and he’ll probably hurt
again, feel the lick of Alpha’s belt or the sharp sting of those scissors in
his skin. He doesn’t really know if his body will survive that.
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Alphas says, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he might
say Alpha sounds…sad? Moved, upset? Did Dean do that? He hadn’t meant to, he
doesn’t remember doing anything to make his Alpha so somber.
So Dean just curls up because Alpha’s eyes are piercing into Dean’s body and
whispers a tentative, “I’m sorry,” back. His Alpha smiles sadly and sniffs.
“Don’t be sorry for anything, Dean. This, absolutely none of this, is your
fault…you understand me, baby?” He moves closer and his hands go beneath Dean’s
arms again, hauling him up and to him until Dean can curl himself around the
Alpha’s torso, stick his nose into the collar of his shirt and inhale
everything there is to inhale. The relief—the palpable relief—is almost too
much, almost nauseating with how freaking good it feels and Dean thrusts
himself as physically close to the warm body as he can. It feels really good.
“There we go, sweetheart, there you go, you’re okay, baby, everything’s okay,
come on now… Angel, will you run the bath for me, please?”
“Of course,” his Beta says, Dean absently hears him shift from the bed and
glide across the room, open a door and disappear inside of it. Water running, a
hand halting the flow for a second, then the door shutting and muting most of
it out altogether.
They’re moving a little while later, Alpha moves across the room slowly,
shifting Dean to slump on his hip, his arms stuck to his sides but his hands
burying themselves in the Alpha’s plaid shirt. He snuffles his nose as deep as
he can get it, running it all along the perfectly bronzed stretch of skin, up
into the long hair at the nape of his neck. “Is that better, beautiful?”
Dean hums and nods, adding a, “Yes, Alpha,” in case he’s like Master and thinks
it’s not an answer unless it’s heard. The Alpha rocks him against his hip,
soothing and rhythmic until Dean just melts slightly in comfort, lets his whole
body just relax against the wall of muscle and skin and Alpha, so perfect…
It’s only when the beta calls out, “Sam?” from behind the bathroom door that
Dean realises he was almost sleeping; residing in that dream-like place between
conscious and unconscious, nestled still beside his Alpha.
He blinks up blearily at the man, meeting stunning hazel eyes of blue and green
and brown in a fleeting second before Dean remembers himself and lowers his
gaze like he’s supposed to. He hums in apology, but those arms just hug him
tighter.
“You can look at me whenever you want to, Dean. Especially into my eyes.”
But Dean doesn’t. Dean wouldn’t; Omegas aren’t high enough in society to give
anyone eye contact, let alone his own Alpha. One time, a few years ago now,
Dean had travelled with Master on a business trip with the rest of his pack and
Dean had been kneeling by his side in another packs home – he’d looked and
smiled passingly at the Omega there and they’d both been punished together on
the wooden coffee table. Dean still feels really bad about that…
“Dean?”
Oh. They’re in the bathroom now, Alpha’s holding Dean just above the water and
Dean didn’t even notice they’d moved at all. He climbs gently down, clutching
at a rolled up sleeve for balance until his feet land solidly in the water and
the Alpha lowers him further, keeping a hold of Dean until he’s curled up with
the water to his sternum, his knees to his chin. The water’s warm, stinging
even, forcing Dean to notice every single cut scarring his body, every burn
still tender and every welt still raised—he flinches before he can control it
and flinches again when he realises what he just did.
“Is it sore, sweetheart?” Alpha asks, kneeling at Dean’s side so they’re simple
inches apart and Dean can lean towards him if he wants to—and he definitely
does—so he shuffles as close as he can to the porcelain and rests his head on
an offered palm. He breathes along the wrist.
Dean remembers to answer, so he whispers, “It’s...nice. Thank you,” which for
some reason makes Alpha smile.
“Good, I’m pleased. Dean, is it okay if Castiel gets in with you? He can hold
you, if you’d like, keep you warm.”
Dean peers up at the Beta just in time to catch the fleeting, suspicious eyed
glance he gives the Alpha before his eyes turn to Dean and Dean throws his own
down at the bubbles around him. “Yes,” he whispers, answering the question just
like Master taught him to.
He watches in his peripheral vision as the Beta slowly strips—first his pale
blue button up, revealing a firm stretch of tanned flesh, muscles moving gently
with his motions, tensed upper-arms—then he quickly unbuttons his jeans, pushes
them to his ankles and steps out of them, peeling off his black socks with
balanced elegance. His eyes hover momentarily to Sam, he raises his eyebrows a
tiny fraction and he pulls down the navy blue boxer-briefs to reveal a well-
endowed member laying flaccid between his thighs. Dean shuffles forward when he
moves to step into the bath, settling down behind Dean and pulling him closer,
tucking him against the beta’s body. Dean’s tense—not because it doesn’t feel
wonderful, because it does—but because next to ‘Castiel’…Dean looks like trash;
broken and ruined trash and the beta’s absolutely perfect. A wet hand strokes
over his hair.
“Are you alright, little one?” the Beta asks, tugging Dean in even tighter,
urging him down to relax against the proffered chest and Dean goes because this
is Alpha’s mate and Dean should obey him. He leans his head back for good
measure, letting it hit the strong shoulder, and nuzzles into his neck.
He answers instinctively, “Yes.”
“Good. You’re doing so well, little pup, you know that? So well and we’re very
glad you’re here, Dean, away from that place and safe forever now, safe here
with us.” Lips press with the hand, the other moves in front of Dean to clutch
up a flannel and wet it in the water, press it to Dean’s scarred and ruined
chest. “Tell me if it hurts, sweetheart,” is whispered into his ear.
Alpha seems to have found a stool during all of this and he’s sat down on it
now, leaning forward with a warm smile Dean wants to lean into forever. His
hand moves back to Dean’s head and he threads it through the strands, soothes
them down from the wetness the Beta left behind.
“Do you know how precious you are, baby?” Alpha asks, his voice taking on a
faraway quality, drifting with his eyes over Dean’s marred flesh. Dean ducks
down, he doesn’t want to answer but he has to…
“I don’t…” he tries, because he’s not really, is he? He’s rare, sure, but
Omegas are just stains on the earth’s surface, people do them great favours
taking them in, that’s what Master always says. He was being good, selfless
taking Dean into his pack because no one else wanted him and Dean would end up
on the streets without him. “I’m an omega…” he says.
Alpha chuckles and Dean can feel the rapid breath of a silent laugh on his neck
from the Beta, his hand clutches tighter to Dean’s stomach. “I know you are,
little pup, that’s why you’re so special.” His voice darkens. “What did your
‘Master’ tell you?”
“Sam,” Castiel warns softly and the Alpha actually softens, as if he actually
paid attention to his Beta…this place is weird.
Dean answers. “He was kind to take me in, no one else wanted me. Omegas are
just things people have to deal with because we’re just here... Right?” he
frowns, unsure of punishment.
The Alpha lets out a soft snarl, his eyes lifting with an oddly helpless
quality to the Beta behind Dean. “No, Dean. That isn’t right.” He darts forward
then and Dean jumps, he takes a hold of Dean’s head in both his hands and looks
deeply, fiercely into Dean’s eyes until he has no choice but to take notice and
meet them head on. It’s like looking at the sun, but Dean does it anyway
because it’s obviously what Alpha wants him to do, even is his heart beats like
it's trying to break straight from his chest. “One day, Dean, I’ll make you see
how precious you are. I’ll show you just what you mean to me, what you mean to
my pack. I’ll make you see what omegas really are if it’s the last thing I do.”
Dean’s released then, maybe not quite a moment too soon, but then the Alpha
stands, closes his eyes in mourning and turns on the spot to walk out of the
room. Dean reaches out a hand after him but that hurts so he reigns it back in,
allows the Beta to hold onto it for him and keep washing the sodden flannel
gently over his broken skin.
“He cares about you a lot, Dean," he mutters into Dean's hair. "He just wants
you safe and it’s hard for him to see you in so much pain. But he’ll be back,
little pup, don’t worry. Would you like me to stay with you when you go back to
bed?” Dean hisses at one particular welt along his thigh and turns his head
back into the warm neck.
“Yes, please,” he mutters into the skin. “He—he doesn’t know me.”
Castiel kisses his temple. “He knows you well enough, little one. You’re his
pack now; it’s in his blood to take care of you, and especially as an Omega.
You’ll learn, sweetheart, you will.”
Dean nods because he’s not sure what else to do and waits for the Beta to
finish on his skin.
“Let’s get you up and dry, shall we?” the beta says, all but hefting Dean’s
weight into standing all by himself. He wraps a towel around Dean, rubs it
along his arms gently before donning one of his own and leading the way out of
the bathroom.
Dean wonders idly how old this beta is. Younger than Alpha, definitely, older
than Dean…early to mid-twenties, maybe?
Dean eyes the bed with envious eyes, especially when he has to practically toe
forwards if he wants to make it there at all, and the Beta keeps up perfectly
with his excruciating pace. He drops his towel on the floor, takes Dean’s and
drops that too and he pulls back the sheets (now suddenly clean, Dean sees,
when did that happen?) before stepping back for Dean to climb in. He does so
with a more than relieved sigh of content.
“Is it okay?” the Beta asks and Dean nods before he knows what he’s nodding to,
but when the Beta climbs in beside him and their slick skin touches again, Dean
crowds in and sticks his nose in the Betas neck, nuzzles there until he drifts
slightly, until nothing else matters but the bed, the Beta and Dean’s smile.
“Good night, little Dean.”
Dean smiles wider in his dazed state. “Good night, Castiel.”
***** Hey Jude *****
Chapter Notes
     I enjoyed this, I'm not gonna lie...
     As always, I'm an awful human being - enjoy!
Dean’s pretty sure he only bothers opening his eyes because he smells food. But
not just food; not like a waft from the next door kitchen’s when he’s called in
for Master, not like Master’s dinner taunting him from up at the table.
This…this is food. And it’s close and warm and damn does it smell good.
And when he does open his eyes, he’d enjoy nothing more than to slam them shut
again but he doesn’t because his stomach doesn’t want him to. Pesky body
instincts. With his eyes blaringly open, everything just comes swarming back in
one huge wave and shrinking beneath the soft, awesomely white duvet sounds
pretty good. Obviously, he doesn’t. He simply blinks around dazedly, taking in
the white walls, the white carpet, randomly appointed plotted plants and a
giant TV plonked right there in front of him, mounted on one pearl-hued wall.
The windows are nice though, he sees, huge and revealed, showing off the either
early or late day sunshine, over to his left. And without even having to turn
his head, he knows there’s one door leading to the bathroom over in the wall at
his right and another one leading to a corridor opposite that. The bath was
nice; Dean’s pretty sure the thing could fit at least three people and it was
warm, comforting, soothing and he can distinctly remember the floor being
decorated in white and black squares because it was such a cliché…
“Hey, you’re awake,” says a voice, pulling Dean from his mind and dragging him
out into the real world again. He hasn’t quite decided if it’s somewhere he
wants to stay yet. Then again, when he looks over to the Gamma—the one from
last night, long blonde hair and big brown eyes—he discovers she’s holding a
bowl of something steaming and suspiciously good smelling and he decides he
might as well give it a go. He watches when she smiles. “Hungry, huh? Here, sit
up and you can have as much as you want.”
He does. Or, at the very least, he tries. As it turns out, he’s still achy and
he’s still naked and levelling his hands down on the soft mattress to haul his
knackered body up takes more from him than it probably should. In the end, the
Gamma just smiles and puts the bowl down—Dean follows it like a hawk with his
eyes—and lifts Dean’s head to stack pillows beneath it. It’s slightly less
comfortable and his head’s at a weird angle but at least this way he’s less
likely to choke and he shouldn’t complain, even in his own head. He’s getting
food, he should be on the floor. He won’t bring that up either; if she’s happy
to give him food in bed, who the hell is he to complain? And if it leads to
punishment, so be it. Food is food and right now, Dean needs food. And water.
Water sounds good.
“So, how d’you feel today?” the Gamma asks, grabbing the bowl again and all too
slowly stirring a spoon into its contents, drifting the beautiful scent right
up to Dean’s nose…
“Good,” he says, answering the question. “Thank you.” He notices idly how rough
his voice is but he doesn’t pay attention. Foodfoodfoodfoodfood –
“I’m glad to hear it. You look better, that’s for sure,” and then the spoon
touches Dean’s lips, empties itself into his mouth and holy fuck that’s good.
He moans—he doesn’t mean to but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t help it if he
tried. The beta laughs. “That good, huh? Well, my mom’ll be pleased to hear
it.” She’s pretty when she smiles and absolutely radiant when she lifts another
spoonful closer, pouring the yellow liquid through his lips. There’s meat in it
(bacon? Damn) but other than that, Dean has no clue what the hell it is beyond
absolutely awesome.
He wolf’s it down in probably under a minute, cranes his head to the nightstand
in hope of a secret stash of crackers or something, but the Gamma just laughs
again and pats a hand on his arm. Dean mewls at the empty wood.
“Sorry, kiddo, liquids only,” she says. Huh. They didn’t agree to that. “Hey,
don’t look at me like that, it was Mom’s idea, I’m just the messenger. You want
some water?” Dean’s brain’s still pissy about the liquids thing, but his throat
and mouth are dry and water sounds good, so he nods. The Gamma lets him drink
half a glassful before pulling away and Dean tries to go with it, but a hand
halts his chest. He peers up awkwardly into her hazel eyes.
“P-please?” he asks, unsure because he really needs a drink and he doesn’t want
to ask, he really doesn’t, but he needs water…like now. He averts his eyes when
she sighs, shrinks back up for the impending strike.
“Sorry, buddy. But you have too much too soon, it’s gonna make you ill…crap,
one more sip, then,” and Dean offers an apologetic smile when she lets him have
more.
She doesn’t hit him. She doesn’t even smell angry, just that sweet, almost
salady scent, fresh like a brisk spring morning. It’s nice. And that calm smell
stays whilst she pets through Dean’s hair, offering up tiny sips of that water
every five minutes or so in between random tidbits of conversation that Dean
thinks he’s supposed to understand but doesn’t.
“…and they finished the whole freaking series with the mother dying. Bullshit,
if you ask me, but Charlie says it was ‘an artistic decision’ or whatever—I
just think they got lazy.”
Dean has absolutely no idea who Ted or Tracy or Charlie are and he feels like
he should but he really doesn’t. Somewhere along the line, he figures she’s
talking about a TV show, though she never really explained, but it’s okay
because Dean likes it when she talks. It’s distracting. And she seems to be
enjoying herself so he would never interrupt her, she smells too good.
“Joanna Beth, you’re gonna bore the poor kid to an early grave,” and Dean jumps
pretty much out of his skin.
He hadn’t even noticed the door opening and that never happens, he’s always on
guard, Master and his pack made sure of it—so when he peers timidly over to an
older, pretty woman standing in the doorway, he mentally punches himself. He
needs to stay on his toes if he doesn’t want to get hurt again.
“Ellen? What’s wrong with his face?” a little girl whispers, peeking out
timidly from behind the woman’s legs, clutching tightly to the denim there,
ducking back sharply when she notices Dean’s gaze. What is wrong with his face?
“Hush, Tyler, you little squirt,” the woman says, swatting the little girl
lightly with the dishtowel in her hand, though she doesn’t seem angry. She’s
still smiling. Smiling at Dean. “There’s nothing wrong with his face, handsome
thing it is. Sweetheart, will you go make sure Ben’s behaving himself? You know
how he gets with the dough…” And then Tyler’s off, darting away in a streak of
green and pink.
Ellen walks into the room and sits on the bed beside Dean, perched almost side-
saddle, next to Jo. Jo and Ellen. Dean wonders what he should address them as.
“Good morning, Dean,” she greets, offering another smile. Jo’s hand leaves
Dean’s hair in favour of collecting up the dirty dishes on the nightstand and a
stab of guilt hits Dean’s chest that he doesn’t help her. He shouldn’t still be
in bed, but he probably can’t get up anyway, so he stays there. “How do you
feel?”
Dean wishes he’d stop being asked that. The woman scoots closer when Jo gets up
from her chair and leaves with the bundle in her arms and a wink, takes her
vacated place. Dean misses the touch already.
“I feel okay,” he says, because that’s the truth. He feels better than he did,
put it that way.
“You sure, kiddo? You still smell kinda worked up.”
That’s because he’s in the middle of some strange pack without his Alpha,
without any Alpha and he’s beginning to miss his blanket back home. He even
misses Master’s carpet, the nice rich red one in his study Dean was shoved to
on his last day there, when Master said he didn’t want Dean…
“Hey, hey, hey,” she says and a hand finds a safe place on the crown of his
head again, petting at his hair. He shuffles into it because touch is nice and
he misses it. Speaking of, were did Castiel go; the Beta with the black hair
and the blue eyes and the ocean’s scent, Alpha’s own scent swaddling him,
holding Dean in the bath…where's Alpha? “Don’t cry, little guy, you’re okay.” A
thumb brushes Dean’s cheek and only when the liquid is spread does he realise
he was actually crying. Dammit. He’s had enough of that since yesterday…or
whenever it was. Since the bathtub. He definitely misses the bathtub and
Castiel’s skin against his and Alpha’s warm hand on his face. He grumbles. He’d
appreciate Alpha right about now.
“Sorry,” Dean offers, blinking away the tears and rubbing a quick hand over the
ones to already have escaped. It hurts and he wonders if whatever blemishes
mark his skin was what the kid was on about.
Ellen chuckles and she sounds like Jo when she does. “Don’t apologise,
sweetheart. After what you’ve been through, I think a few tears are warranted,
don’t you?”
…What he’s been through? The rejection, does she mean? Well yeah, sure, the
rejection had sucked but Dean knows omegas go through them all the time, Master
had always warned Dean before they visited with someone that if he misbehaved
he would reject Dean. Whenever masters grow tired of their omegas, they just
get rid of them, it’s not uncommon. Dean feels like he should be over it by
now, at least.
But Dean doesn’t say anything. He just draws in her scent, slightly darker than
Jo’s but still nice and similar, and tilts his head for better petting access.
Alpha’s huge hand still felt better, though.
“You’re a good little thing, aren’t you? God knows what that bastard was
thinking, rejecting you like that.” So it is the rejection. “Why he even kept
an Omega in the first place if he was just gonna treat you like his own
personal slave is beyond me…”
Dean gets the distinct feeling she’s not addressing him, not really. Her voice
is taking on another quality, far away as if she’s just thinking out loud.
Azazel used to do that years ago when Dean was the perfect size to fit on his
lap, all the time he would talk at Dean about one thing or another, usually
business. Dean never understood it, he just liked the warmth.
She smells sad, all of a sudden, her hand stills in Dean’s hair and her pretty
face takes on a reminiscent quality as a frown, her brow knitting together.
Dean peers up, but he’s not sure what he should do.
“I’m sorry this happened, Dean, I really am. Jesus, you didn’t deserve any of
this, you were just a kid—you are just a kid,” he voice is taught and Dean’s
caught with a horrible fear that she might cry, so instinctively he pushes in
closer, tugging his body behind him as his arms do all the work, crawling until
he’s just close enough and he can reach over and rest his head at her neck.
She’s close enough to the bed that he doesn’t worry he’s going to just topple
off, so he scents her, nuzzling near her shoulder length hair.
She stalls and Dean grows a sick churning in his stomach that she’s going to be
mad at his assumptions and he starts to pull away because obviously, this is a
new pack, they won’t like the same things as his old one, they might not like
Dean’s forcing…
But then her hand starts up again and she draws him even closer, until he’s
almost half off the bed with his hands balancing themselves on her shoulders.
And when she lays a soft kiss to his cheek, he takes the probably stupid
initiative to clamber off the bed altogether and curl up as tight as he can
over her lap, steady in a somewhat wide armchair. Her arms are tight and
wonderful around him and he shuffles in closer. She smells softer now, as
though her tears have gone and he puffs up slightly in pride that he was the
one to do that.
“Good boy,” she murmurs into his ear, both hands rubbing soothing patterns over
his back.
In too late a second, he realises he is still, in fact, butt naked and
completely bare to her gaze, every mark on his skin is open to the world, every
bruise on his back is bare to her fingers, but she’s gentle and careful and it
doesn’t hurt once. So Dean stays exactly where he is. He wonders casually if
this pack is like the one over in Nevada where Master used to habitually take
him when he was little more than a pup, where all the Omegas were allowed to
wear were their collars, but that was it. Dean wasn’t a big fan of that place,
but Master used to like it so he never dared to say anything bad. Dean wonders
if this Alpha will make him wear a collar all the time or just out of the house
and on special occasions like Master did. Dean hopes not—the collars are itchy
as hell.
When Ellen starts singing to him, his ears prick up.
“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better. Remember to
let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better,” her voice is
low and murmured against Dean’s ear, the breath warm and damp but the words…he
recognises them. They’re familiar and painful but Dean doesn’t remember and he
wishes he did and he’s burrowing himself deeper into her hold with a tight mewl
before he can help it and she continues on anyway, “Shh, sweetheart, you’re
okay. Hey Jude, don’t be afraid, you were made to go out and get her. The
minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better.”
It’s good and bad all in one go because Dean feels nice, warm and cared for in
an unfamiliar way but the words…he knows them. It’s a memory and it’s right
there but it doesn’t want to be found and that hurts most of all. He knows for
a hundred percent fact that it wasn’t from Master and he wasn’t allowed music
back at the home…it’s from before that. Before he was an omega, before Master
bought him and gave him a real home, before he taught him how to provide. Back
when he was a pup and the only thing he ever had to care about was what
coloured crayon would look less stupid as a skin tone. And before he knows it,
he’s crying again.
Ellen just shushes softly at him once more, pets through his hair, bounces him
up higher on her lap and he snuggles closer but she stops singing and that’s
somehow worse.
“Please,” he tries, keeping a tight control on his stupid, betraying voice,
“Please don’t stop.”
She keeps going for a few more minutes, rocking Dean like Alpha had, back and
forth in a comforting rhythm and after a while, Dean’s eyes drift and he sniffs
before scrubbing over his face again and hiding back in her neck. He feels like
a pup; being sung lullaby’s and snuggling into his mom’s lap but this isn’t his
mom and he’s sixteen years old, for Christ’s sake. Then again, he was worse
with Castiel and Alpha, so this should be some kind of relief. Still. He
shouldn’t be so weak, not in a new place. He’s already the Omega and they
already have kids here, if Tyler’s any proof, and he’s not a child, he’s
perfectly capable taking care of himself. He did a perfectly adequate job with
Master; even if all he ever wanted was Master’s warmth beside him or Master’s
knot in heat—hell, out of heat, as long as Master was close. But Dean dealt
with it when Master ignored him or leant him periodically to Azazel. He was
never this freaking clingy and he most definitely shouldn’t be now. What the
hell happened to good first impressions?
“Feel better, sweetheart?” Ellen asks, rucking one hand up beneath Dean’s thigh
in a secure hold and stroking the other over his clean hair. His hair’s clean,
his body’s clean but he’s never felt dirtier, more betraying. He suddenly hates
himself with every fibre of his being and he crawls from the bitter sweet
comfort, away from the nice lady and curls up by himself under the covers. He
doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of it and if Master doesn’t want
him, no one else should—look at him, for Christ’s sake. He looks like a
punching bag in a professional gym, he looks wrong on the pristine sheets,
wrong beside Jo and her nice clothes, wrong with Ellen’s sweet touches.
He just wants Master, is that too much to ask?
“Aw, no, Dean,” she says, a hand reaching out for him, for his ruined arm. Dean
pulls it away but feels instantly bad about it; if she wants to touch him, it’s
not his place to decide. So he puts it back within her reach and closes his
eyes against the world. He doesn’t want to deal with it today. “Sweetie, what’s
the matter? Dean, will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Dammit.
“I don’t deserve it,” he mutters, forcing the words out because he’s supposed
to. “I shouldn’t enjoy this; enjoy you because I’m betraying Master and he
would be mad at me. I look horrible and I’m dirty.”
He lists off the things that swim his head but the song part he leaves out.
That’s his and if no-one knows it’s in his brain then he can’t get punished for
it so it’s staying completely put in his mind’s darkest corners.
Ellen’s hand reaches for him again and he tries not to flinch but he does. He’s
still stroked though. “You’re not dirty, Dean,” she whispers, her thumb running
like silk over an old green bruise. “And you deserve…a hell of a lot more than
you’ve been dealt, I can tell you that. And your Master,” she dips lower to
catch his eyes, (and she's the first not to use the term as though it's
disgusting and an embarrassment and Dean's pathetically pleased for that), “he
doesn’t deserve you, not the other way around, sweetie, he's the one that
rejected you, remember?”
Of course Dean remembers. It’s still swimming around his skull in a relentless,
taunting chant.
“Because I did something wrong…” Dean tries, blinking his thoughts through.
“No you didn’t, Dean,” she says, her voice full of a strong finality Dean can’t
ever remember feeling. “You’ve been nothing but perfect to that asshole, don’t
you forget that ever, do you hear me? He’s the one in the wrong, Dean, not you.
Never you, little pup, never you.”
“Ellen?” The voice is deep but the smell is better and Dean jolts his eyes over
to the newcomer with more happiness than he knows he should ever be feeling,
but he can’t help it. He misses the skin.
Castiel walks into the room with a smile and a plate, another tall glass but
it’s filled with a purple liquid, sticking to the sides. Dean’s stomach growls.
“Cas,” Ellen greets, taking the things from him and setting them down on the
nightstand again. Dean hopes foolishly that the food is for him. “How is
everything?”
Castiel sighs and he just stands there, mere metres from Dean and he wants to
reach out, pull the Beta with the Better scent closer, but he’s blazingly
obviously not in that horrible phase of rejection anymore so he stops himself
without that excuse. He doesn’t halt his wide eyed gaze, though.
“Good so far, I think. I hear Tyler got a glimpse of Dean here,” he says and
those crystal eyes lower to Dean’s pitiful form and Dean looks away.
“Mm,” Ellen hums, lowering a hand to Dean’s own, linking their fingers. “She
wasn’t very complimentary, though, I think she might have offended him.” When
Dean looks up, her eyes are playful and a soft smile dances at her mouth, she
winks when he blinks dazedly.
“Well, you must have made a good enough impression, she won’t stop talking
about you. I say talking. I mean bragging.”
Apparently this is funny, because Ellen laughs and drops Dean’s fingers,
looping her arms over Castiel’s shoulders and squeezing. Dean doesn’t
understand and that too familiar feeling is starting to get on his nerves. So,
like the child he’s pretending not to be, he turns his back on the scene, yanks
the duvet to his shoulders and buries his face in the darkness. He’s gonna get
punished, but so what? It can’t be any worse than Master.
A weight lowers to the mattress for a few seconds and Dean feels the spring-
like scent move closer before a pair of soft lips meet with the back of his
skull, “I’ll be back later Dean,” a hand smooth’s over the spot when the lips
leave and the weight moves from the bed altogether, Dean lets out a subtle
sigh. “I’ll send Jo with dinner, Cas.”
Ellen leaves in a few light footsteps, the door opens but she doesn’t shut it.
There’s silence for a few long seconds and Dean stays tensely right where he
is, but apparently so does Castiel. Then there’s a sigh.
“I have food for you Dean, but you can’t have it under the covers. Would you
like to come out? I have a smoothie as well and I’m willing to share.”
Damn him. 
The smell’s hitting again and it smells good, sweet, maybe even slightly better
than the soup so his body drags him above the covers without Dean’s explicit
say so. This time, he manages to haul himself into sitting, folding his legs
and waiting patiently with his hands in his lap, his eyes boring into them, for
the plate or the food, even the smoothie. But Castiel just watches him with a
small smile and before long, reaches a hand to caress Dean’s temple.
“I’m very glad we have you, do you know that? Everyone’s asking about you, they
can’t wait to meet the new Omega.”
And if that doesn’t make Dean feel sick, he’s not sure what would.
Castiel laughs kindly. “You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart. They’re all
very glad you’re here, too.”
Yeah, Dean’s heard about those kinds of packs before. Dean heard Master joke
about them to Azazel one night; about how good Dean would look trussed up to
the banister, his ‘tight little hole on display and just aching to be used’.
They’ve visited some too—a year or so ago, Master even took a turn with the
house omega, tied to a post-type thing and gagged, used every day by the pack
and any visitors. Dean hated going there. He hated watching Master with someone
else and he hated the idea that that someone could be him, trussed up and used
like some kind of animal by anyone who found interest. He doesn’t want that to
happen here…
But Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s squirming and he just keeps smiling,
runs his hand lower until his thumb can reach Dean’s bottom lip and stroke it
like a feather. Dean mewls before he can stop himself. Castiel drops his hand
and chuckles.
“I suppose you’ll be going into heat soon,” he says, fiddling with something on
the plate beside them before climbing onto the bed too, sitting cross legged
across from Dean with the platter a solid ground in between them. “New pack and
all.”
Dean wonders how he feels about that. On one hand, that probably means touching
because the alpha of the pack has to knot him for everything to be official and
Dean feels pretty okay with that. On the other, that just means everything’s
totally Real and he’s officially a member of this new pack, Master will be
nothing but a memory. Dean’ll miss him, he thinks. Plus, he'll actually be a
member of this stranger pack.
“Here,” Castiel says and Dean looks up, his eyes narrowing in on the raspberry
being held up to his lips. He blinks at the solid food and looks round it at
Cas with what he hopes are questioning eyes. “You don’t like raspberries?” the
beta asks and begins lowering it, but Dean shakes his head desperately and
sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. No, he loves raspberries, very much and he
shouldn't be questioning orders, just eat the damn thing. But it’s gone. He
whines. “Dean, will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Dean huffs and eyes the beta from beneath his lashes. “She…she said I shouldn’t
be eating solid foods.”
Castiel looks amused for a split second before he forces it away with a kind
smile. “Jo?” Dean nods. “Well, we did decide soup and broth would be better for
your stomach right now, but she said you looked so heartbroken when that was
all there was that we decided you deserved something more substantial. Will you
eat the raspberry?” Dean nods vigorously. “Good pup.”
It tastes good. As in, really freaking totally awesome and Dean practically
croons for another one. This time, though, it’s a strawberry and it’s even
better. Holy fuck.
“Dean?” Cas says and Dean looks up with a wide eyed gaze. He tilts his head to
the side as an offer to go on. Castiel smiles. “I’m just letting you know,
you’re free to ask me anything. I promise you now, whatever you say, you will
not be judged or harmed in any way, alright? I understand this must all be
confusing to you, and I’m an open book. Ask me anything, I’ll answer as best I
can.”
That seems reasonable. Dean can’t find any loopholes in the promise; he could,
of course, just be lying, but something in those eyes and that fresh sea scent
feel true and honest and the first question comes out in its shy whisper before
Dean can even decide what it is.
“Why did you take me away from my pack?”
He regrets it when the Beta looks down and sighs, fingering the blackberry in
his hand. Dean regrets it completely when the idea that he can’t have any more
comes up and he whines deep in his throat, hopefully portraying his own sorrow.
But Castiel looks up with a pained expression and he pops the wonderful thing
into Dean’s mouth.
“I understand that that’s how it seems, Dean. Actually, I suppose that’s
exactly what it is." He offers a tight smile. "But that pack…Dean, they weren’t
nice people. Your master abused you and hurt you because he has a warped idea
of how an Omega should really be treated. We needed you to be safe, and that
meant taking you away. I’m sorry it was from your home, Dean. But you really
are better off here.”
Dean tries another one.
“Why do you care what happens to me?”
Castiel smiles this time. “Because you belong with us. You’re our family now,
that’s how we work, we look out for our own.”
“But you didn’t know me before. Why did you pick me up from Master?”
It falters. Another strawberry and a sweet slice of cheese. “Because you were
being hurt and we didn’t like that. So we made a deal with Alastair and now
here you are.”
This time it’s whispered again, “Why me?”
Castiel offers a grin and a grape, which is possibly the best so far. “Why not
you?”
Huh. “What should I call you?”
“Call me Castiel. Call Ellen, Ellen and call Jo, Jo. Everyone has their own
name, Dean, that’s usually what they’re addressed by. That’s what it’s for,
after all.”
“What about Alpha?”
“Sam or Alpha, whichever, he doesn’t mind either. Although, if you want in his
good books, I’d try Sam in general and Alpha when you want something.” The Beta
winks.
“Okay,” Dean says. “And you're…”
“Go on, Dean.”
Dean gulps. “You're, uh…Alpha's mate?”
Castiel smiles. “I am, yes. For about five years now, but we’ve known each
other for much longer.”
"But you're not related," Master had called him a zeta. The Beta shakes his
head. “How old are you?”
“I’m twenty six, Sam’s twenty nine. Jo’s twenty, if you were wondering and
Tyler’s six.” He looks beautiful when he grins, Dean decides.
“How did you meet Alpha then?”
A deep breath is drawn and Castiel pops a slice of cheese into his own mouth,
chewing lightly before swallowing and handing Dean one of his own. “My brother
and I, Gabriel—whom I’m sure you’ll meet later on—belonged to another pack when
we were growing up. The Alpha of that pack was not a kind man and he…” Castiel
watches Dean with careful eyes and his scent seems to darken an inch before he
sighs and continues. “He hurt us. Not just Gabriel and I, but the rest of the
pack as well. Sam was still good friends with Gabriel from school despite that
being years ago, and the second he caught wind of it, he took us in. We were
the first outsiders he ever welcomed, but we weren’t the last. Our alpha’s a
good man. The best I’ve ever known, actually.”
Dean gulps and nods quietly. Makes sense, him helping Dean now. Apparently
that’s just what he does.
“What did he do to you?” Dean whispers, but it’s only after he says it that he
realises that it’s plain fucking rude and if Cas wants to keep it private then
he should be able to.
But Castiel chuckles, even if it is a note darker than before. “Well, I did say
anything. He never hit me, but Gabriel still has the scars. I was worth more
than that, apparently. He did enjoy watching others with me but I assume he got
angry one night and decided I was enjoying it too much," he laughs bitterly. "I
don't actually remember. All I know is I woke up one day and Gabriel was crying
over me because he didn't expect me to wake up. And then the pain came.
Apparently it's very possible to pass out from pain and not remember it.
Castration without anesthetic hurts, by the way."
Jesus Christ. That fucking sucks, Dean had no idea.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, though he knows how weak that is. Dean can’t even
imagine how scary that must have been, being swapped around like that and then
waking up and a part of you is missing. And Cas isn’t even an Omega… “But you
were a Gamma.”
“It’s fine, Dean. Ironically, Lucifer held his Omega in an extremely high
position; he wouldn’t dream about harming Lilith. We were far more disposable.”
Huh. “Is…is that why Alpha wanted an omega? So he can have his own children?”
Dean knows he shouldn’t be angry about that; he’s used to being used as such,
but for that? He’s not sure what to think.
“It may be part of the reason, I don’t know,” Cas says, his brow narrowing
slightly in contemplation. “But I can tell you with absolute certainty, it’s
not the main one. Sam wants you as part of this pack because he loves you like
family and he wants you to be here. It doesn’t matter whether you bare his pups
or not, he wants you. I promise.”
Dean nods sadly because something awful inside of him disagrees and it’s hard
not to listen.
“He’s right, Dean,” comes a familiar voice and Dean’s deep, base Omega churns
into existence inside of him – alphaalphaalphaalpha…
Sam enters to the room and shuts the door behind him as gently as he can,
offering the two figures on the bed a dimpled smile…did he have dimples before?
Something like that, Dean should have noticed. He looks adorable with
them—which is dumb because he knows this Alpha’s ruthless, he cut down Alastair
like he was nothing.
He sits on the end of the bed, kicks his shoes off onto the floor and
manoeuvres himself up the mattress to lie fully along it, his gigantic frame
almost reaching both sides. He’s very close and Dean’s just stunned into
stillness. He looks over at Cas wide-eyed, who simply smiles back, rolls his
eyes and lets himself poll over and land face down on Alpha’s thigh. He scents
at the denim.
Well, Dean feels like a third wheel.
“How do you feel, Dean?” Alpha asks, reaching a hand out and stroking the
knuckles in a feather-soft touch against Dean’s ribs, all the way down to his
bare hip bone. He’s sensitive from the bruises and scarring, but it feels good
nonetheless. He wants to nuzzle in, too.
“Okay,” Dean answers quietly, pretty sure he’s given a different reply to every
one of those questions, but he’s too busy eyeing Castiel with a dumb jealousy
to care.
“I’m pleased, you look better. I’m assuming the needs gone, then?” No. Dean
still wants to bury himself inside his alpha’s skin, but it’s not burning like
before so he just looks down.
“Mostly.”
“Oh, well, mostly’s not good enough.” He grins again and Dean finds it unusual
how light-hearted he is now, so unlike back in the bathroom when he got mad and
walked out. But maybe this is Sam and that was Alpha. Dean likes both,
especially when the hand touching him flattens out somewhat (it’s freaking
huge) and nudges along the other side of his ribs, urging him down to lay
beside him. Dean crawls out from the sheets altogether because he’s been given
an inch and he’s taking a mile, shoves himself flat against Alpha’s side and
sticks his nose right into his neck. And inhales. Like yoga.
“Mm, that’s better,” Sam sighs, laying his head back against the pillows and
wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders, hauling him up tighter. By now, Cas is
between Sam’s legs, the Alpha’s thighs bracketing his waist and Castiel’s head
is laid happily against his now bare stomach, his hands pushing up Sam’s plaid
shirt and tee for better access. Dean understands that; skin is always better
than fabric. He’s pathetically jealous.
“Definitely,” Castiel hums his agreement, nudging his nose rhythmically over
Sam’s navel, his lips dropping to it every now and then. “How’s the baking
going?”
Sam vibrates in a laugh and Dean keens silently in the back of his throat over
how good this feels. “Ben’s taken over again, obviously. Kid’s gonna be a
gourmet chef by the time Bobby’s done with him, I swear. He’s good though, so I
can’t complain.” Sam’s back arches in a stretch and Dean takes the opportunity
to pile in closer. Sam’s arm accommodates.
“Definitely,” Cas grins, propping his chin against the seriously toned muscle,
smiling up with soulful eyes at the Alpha. His hands make intricate patterns
over Sam’s ribs.
“So, how’s our Dean doing?” He asks Cas, his hand jolting Dean towards him
softly, twice until Dean just takes it upon himself to balance his head on
Sam’s peck. It’s very nice. Very sturdy. And, yeah, he whines, whatever.
“He’s doing very well,” Cas smiles at him, releasing one of his hands from
Sam’s body and moving it to Dean’s, stroking calmly along his bare backside. It
feels surprisingly nice and he moves into it. “I snuck up some real food when
Ellen wasn’t looking, don’t tell her. I think Dean liked it.”
He did and Dean nods, mewling like a pup and closing his eyes for a second,
rubbing his ear over Sam’s shirt, growling lowly when he hits a pocket button.
He looks down and huffs at the thing. Sam laughs.
“Hey, what’d my shirt ever do to you?” he says, lifting his arm up and away,
uplifting Dean when he sits up. Dean’s pretty sure he’s mistaken the good-
natured hint to his voice when he does that and he whines an apology, but
seconds later Sam’s back down and tucking him in closer. With his shirt off.
Oh, yes.
Christ, he smells even better without the offending fabric, if that’s even
possible. And he feels every part as good as Cas did beside him, naked, now
only if he could take the jeans off, everything would be completely perfect.
Like the forest in rain, Dean thinks, inhaling deeper, thrusting his entire
body closer without any inhibitions because this is his alpha and of all
things, he’s allowed to do this. Hopefully. So far, he’s been allowed, so
Dean’ll just keep going until he’s told otherwise. Master’d be furious if he
thought that way with him, but this isn’t Master. This is Sam, and Sam’s nice.
“Much better,” Castiel hums, nuzzling deep with Dean, his hand roaming and
taking ownership of every inch of his left ass-cheek, all the way to half way
down his thigh. Dean hitches it closer to get more contact, and if that means
it’s looping over Sam’s own, then so be it.
“You feel good, Dean,” Sam mutters in his hair, brushing his lips through the
strands. “So good, you know that? I can’t wait until I can look at your face
without seeing him all over it.”
Dean blushes. He would change it if he could, take away every mark on his body,
but he can’t and he’s left looking like a thriller video reject. He pushes in
deeper to hide his darkening face —hell, just to hide his face.
“Don’t be ashamed of it, Dean, it’s not your fault,” Cas says, massaging his
fingers deeply into Dean’s flesh, neatly avoiding any blemishes. “We just don’t
like seeing you hurt, that’s all.”
“Of course,” Sam agrees, kissing the top of his head loudly. “You could be
headless and we’d still think you were perfect.”
Weirdly, that does make him feel even slightly better. He still hides though,
even if it mostly is just to keep on scenting, but they don’t need to know
that.
“Do you feel like you’re coming into heat yet, Dean?” Sam asks.
“I don’t think so,” Dean replies, moving his hips what he hopes is
inconspicuously back and forward, into Sam’s hip and back to Castiel’s hand.
Honestly, he can’t decide which one’s best.
“That’s okay, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’ll make it good for you, I
promise.” We? As in him and Cas? Or him and the rest of the pack? “Would you
like a bath before dinner, Dean?” That would be nice… Dean nods against his
chest. “That’s good beautiful, that’s good. You promise me you’ll always tell
me the truth, little pup? Even if you don’t want to or you think I don’t want
to hear it, do you promise you’ll never lie?”
“Y-yes, Alpha,” Dean answers. He has to, doesn’t he?
“Good boy. God, Dean, you’re such a good boy, you know that? You’re so fucking
beautiful and perfect and we’re all so excited that you’re here with us. You
belong here Dean, I hope you understand that.”
Dean doesn’t reply, but he gets up when he’s urged to and he clings tightly to
Sam when Sam lifts him up bridal style, places his hands flatly to Sam’s
stomach and sides, keeps them there until he’s told to get down in the
bathroom. He doesn’t want to, but he does. The tiles are cold and he flinches
when his warmed feet have to touch them, but then he’s distracted when Sam
pulls down his jeans…and his boxer briefs. Apparently, he’s just huge
everywhere.
“Come here, baby,” Sam says, sitting down on the toilet seat and patting his
bare lap for Dean. Dean goes like a fish to water. Sam halts him with his warm
hands on Dean’s hips, huge and strong and fuck so good and Sam’s eyes rake over
his body, the hazel orbs roaming over every mark, but he doesn’t look
disgusted, he just looks somewhat amazed.
“Alpha?” Dean tries, aiming for his attention again. When he gets it, the Alpha
smiles and tugs Dean up, drawing him in so close, Dean has to actually straddle
Sam’s lap to sit on it and now they’re both closer than they’ve ever been and
it feels better than it ever has before. Dean pants and wails quietly as he
grinds himself closer.
Their chests are mashed as one when Sam says, “Angel? Where are you going?”
“I’m giving you two some well-deserved time,” Castiel says, Dean can hear the
smile in his voice. He likes Cas, Dean decides, even if he does feel guilty for
clinging on like a limpet to his naked mate, even though it’s not Dean’s fault,
he can’t help it. Either way, that can’t be fun to see.
“Cas…”
“Alpha, I’m not mad, don’t be stupid. You haven’t had any time alone with him
yet, I think it’s about time you did. Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll come back with
dinner. I love you, Alpha.”
“I love you, angel,” Sam says and he reaches up for Cas’ kiss, it’s short and
when they pull away, Dean’s given one of his own on the back of his head, two
more hands meet Sam’s at his sides, sliding down to Dean’s backside and back up
again.
“I’ll see you soon, Dean,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.
It’s strangely terrifying, being left alone with his new alpha. That point is
kind of mute when he nuzzles in deeper for comfort, though, so he lets it go.
“Does this feel good, Dean?” Sam asks, his hands dipping to his cheeks, nudging
at the crevice there. Dean arches into it.
“Yes, Alpha. It feels…it feels really good.”
A small laugh is huffed into Dean’s ear. “That’s good, little one, I’m pleased.
It would be unfortunate for both parties if it didn’t, wouldn’t it?” Dean nods,
though he’s not sure why, it just feels like the right thing to do. It makes
Alpha happy though, so who cares?
When the bath is full and warm to Alpha’s satisfaction, he gets in first and
lowers Dean down onto his lap, a similar position to before with Castiel, but
this time, Dean’s literally on top of Sam. He manoeuvres himself until he’s sat
sideways and he can slide his ass until it’s on the porcelain, his back against
the tub’s side and his legs rested over Sam’s. This way he can reach Sam’s neck
easier—he sticks his nose in and scents.
“You’re a smart pup, aren’t you, baby?” Dean just mewls and laps at the skin,
hoping he’s not going too far. Sam moans softly beneath it, so he guesses he’s
okay. “Will you tell me something Dean? Anything at all about yourself, what
you like doing, where you like going? I want to know everything about you, my
beautiful Omega.”
Dean thinks for a second. Huh. What does he like?
“I…I’m not sure,” he answers honestly, ducking closer when he feels his cheeks
deepen in colour. “Um…yogurt? I think. Master used to let me have some at
breakfast if I was good. And strawberries and grapes.”
Sam huffs a laugh in his hair. “What about raspberries?”
“They’re nice too,” Dean supplies quickly, hoping he didn’t offend. “Just…not
as nice.”
“Aah, I understand,” Sam says, amused. Dean’s not sure why, but he likes it
anyway. “Do you like to read, Dean?”
“Yes,” Dean says, though he hasn’t had much practice. He was only allowed in
the library to read if Master was busy, if Dean had been seriously good and if
Ruby was in a generous mood. They didn’t happen at the same time very often.
“But I’m not very good.”
“That’s okay, you can practice. Maybe when you’re feeling better I can take you
down to the library, read to you. Would you like that?”
Dean nods and answers, “Very much so,” because he would. He’d like it very much
indeed.
“Good, I’d like it too. What else do you like?”
“I’m not sure…”
“You can tell me, sweetheart, you don’t have to hide it. Tell me anything.”
“I…I like…um…” He really should answer, but to tell the truth, he honestly
doesn’t know. Sure, he likes touching, but that’s Omega instinct, it’s a given.
He likes being knotted, but again, Omega stuff. He’s never really been allowed
to have much else. Maybe another angle… “I don’t like collars.”
Well, that was a dumb thing to say. Fucking idiot…
“Collars? Did Alastair make you wear a collar?” Sam’s voice is tough and hard
and he doesn’t like it but he can’t move.
“He was nice though, he only made me wear it if visitors came or if we went
anywhere. When…” Too late now Dean, just ask. He still flinches when he does.
“When do I have to wear one here?”
When Sam’s scent sharpens and his hand halts it’s movements along Dean’s thigh,
Dean wants to move—he wants to get away because his body’s sore and he really
doesn’t want to be hit again, he doesn’t want more marks, but he can’t. So he
nuzzles deeper and offers a low whine from the base of his throat, scents
soothingly along Sam’s jawline.
“I’m sorry, Alpha,” he keens, moving and shuffling until he can straddle Sam’s
lap, move as close as he can, more slick skin against slick skin, he runs his
fingers deftly over Sam’s hard muscles, flexing beneath his touch. “It’s not my
place to ask, I know, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me, I’ll make it better, I
won’t ask any more questions, I promise, please…”
Sam’s hands move to cup Dean’s cheeks and he squints his eyes shut, waiting for
the inevitable pain…when it doesn’t come, he opens his eyes to Sam’s soft gaze
and immediately looks down.
“Sorry…” he starts, Sam moves his head up until he has to look at him properly.
“What did I say about looking at me?”
“…That I can?” Dean tries, because he had, hadn’t he? The other night, he’d
said Dean can look into his eyes if he wanted.
“Exactly. Don’t shy away from me, Dean.” Dean looks up into those orbs and he
has to force himself to stay there. Nearly ten years of no eye contact, it’s
hard to force it. “And as for the collar,” Dean flinches away but the hands
keep him there. “You’re not an animal, Dean, you won’t be wearing a collar. You
will be dressed like a normal human being because you are, you will wear shoes
but you will not wear a collar and you will eat at the table right beside me…on
a chair. Anything else?”
“…Do I have to wear a plug?”
And Dean really does scamper out at Sam’s reaction this time.
***** I Can't Make You Love Me *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Sam waits for the Omega to fall asleep before he bothers to move him from the
tub. And it’s long minutes later; of Sam watching with adoring eyes as his baby
brother tries to keep his open, sandy lashes brushing lower and heavier at his
blushed cheeks with every blink, his lips licked slick every twenty seconds by
a perfectly pink tongue and the grip of slender little fingers at Sam’s hips
loosening until finally—with one concluding, mewled out yawn—the kid loses
consciousness and he just goes to breathing a warm rhythm onto Sam’s chest.
Christ, he’s perfect. Sam turns him as gently as he can until he’s sat across
his thighs, just like he was a while ago, before scooping his hands securely
beneath the slack body and hauling him up and out of the now cool water,
keeping him tight and perfect to his chest. The boy barely moves but to stay
impossibly close; dipping his nose to the closest crevice he can, snuggling
deeper in Sam’s grip and purring under his breath either at the sense of
security or the scent of Alpha, Sam’s not sure. Either way, the calm and peace
radiating from his Omega’s pores is more than he’s gotten in the last four
days, and he revels silently in that fact.
Sam doesn’t take him straight to the bed—though he knows he should given his
own clothe-less state. Instead he rocks the teenager softly in his arms,
walking the room, lulling him with sweet hushes and whispered words into his
ear, stroking a thumb calmly over a naked thigh. He feels absolutely perfect
against him, their skin still slick, their breaths matched in perfect unison.
Sam could stay here forever.
It’s not the first time he’s bathed Dean.
Back when Sam was about his age and Dean was nothing but a chubby little baby,
Mom would ask Sam with tired eyes to wash Dean, play with him for a while in
the water, entertain him. Mom was just beginning to get weak on her feet and
Dad was away a lot with overtime at work, so the only reason Sam agreed
begrudgingly was because he knew even then how bad his mother was getting. He
didn’t want to make the stress worse.
Baby Dean was annoying and Sam would never admit it, but he loved the kid the
second he laid eyes on him. The second their mom came back from the hospital,
already starting to look a little worse for wear—the second Sam caught glimpse
of the spit blowing monstrosity snuggled in her arms, he was caught and held
for the next sixteen years.
Dean was a well behaved little rugrat. Sam played with him for hours on end in
the shallow water, flicking the baby with splashes until he was howling with
laughter, until he starting shivering and Sam had to get him out. But he never
complained. He just scented his big brother, gripped Sam’s hair in his tiny
fists like a vice and squawked happily when he got to sleep in Sam’s bed so as
not to wake their mother. Sam never minded, not really. He pretended he did to
anyone who asked, Jo or Bobby, but in truth, he revelled the nights Dean got to
stay. He always adored protecting and having a real live life held right in his
hands for hours was like catnip to him.
Total shocker when he presented as an alpha then.
By that time, Dean was a nightmare (perfect) toddler and the second he smelt
alpha on his big brother he chose every night was bath and Sam’s-room night and
every waking moment Sam was in the same vicinity it was Sam snuggle time. And
Sam was too young, he’d barely presented so he just figured Dean didn’t
understand what he was doing; he just liked the smell and the touch, he did
what he enjoyed as most infants do. Now, Sam would probably be able to suss the
kid as an Omega. He should have done back then, but he didn’t. Maybe then he
wouldn't have lost his baby brother.
It was a school day—Mom was still dead, Dad was still home drinking and Sam was
dropping his backpack in the hall, heading for his homework and living,
breathing, snuggling security blanket. He’d made it into his bedroom, expected
a napping toddler sprawled out on his bed like always but there was no sign of
Dean, no scent. He looked everywhere in his room, everywhere in every room, but
there was no Dean. There was a drunk father, however, so Sam regretfully went
up to him.
“Where’s Dean?” he’d asked, polite as anything because he knew how his father
got with the whole Alpha thing. Their family was a lone one; they didn’t belong
to any pack because they hated the idea of being ruled—imagine how well that
went when Sam presented to his widower of an asshole father.
The old drunken Gamma had just glanced up, glared for a second, chugged down a
mouthful of warm whiskey and narrowed his gaze back down to the riveting
football game currently muted on their crappy TV.
“You know, you should watch your mouth with me, boy,” he growled, and it was
just about then that Sam really began to worry.
“Dad. Where is he?” He didn’t thread Alpha into his voice, not yet. Not until
he knew for certain.
“Don’t know why you’re surprised.” His father sniffed. “Not like you were
raising him and I sure as hell couldn’t, not by myself. Maybe if you’d stepped
up as big bad Alpha, your pup of a brother wouldn’t be halfway out of the state
right now.”
Sam had left his life behind on that day with one bag of belongings, a piece of
shit father scarred up on the living room floor, no pack, no family and a house
torn to shreds from his own claws. And the only thing he’ll ever regret is
going to school that day.
Ellen, Bobby and Jo were the first people to join with him, the first people to
give him a family and a pack and a home. And Sam, the seventeen year old boy,
was their first alpha. And he still couldn’t be more grateful.
Sam blinks off the memories, coughs threateningly at a growing tear and gazes
down at his blood, at the thing that started this all and helped him build
everything he has now. Dean inspired every single inch of Sam’s life and he
doesn’t even know it. He probably won’t for a long time yet but when he does,
Sam will make sure it’s good. Sam will make sure his brother is loved and
cherished and cared for, for the remainder of his waking days, sans Sam or not.
Sam will make him laugh again.
He puts his baby brother down on the bed, above the sheets, and goes back to
the bathroom for his pants, slides them on, then dons his t-shirt from the
bedroom. Dean’s curled himself up in that time, clinging to his own limbs in a
perfect little ball, still in perfect slumber and Sam watches him with amused,
surreal-widened eyes for long, happy seconds. It doesn’t feel real but Jesus
fuck does it feel right.
Sam sits behind him like he used to all those years ago, tugs the unconscious
thing closer and warmer, minding the marred, naked flesh beneath his hands.
Dean does the rest of the work and clambers up properly into his lap, shoving
his nose straight into Sam’s throat and inhaling so loudly, it’s a miracle he
doesn’t wake himself. Sam lets out a chuckle and wraps his arms around his baby
boy.
“You’re so perfect, sweetheart,” he says, tugging lightly until the thing’s a
tight ball on his thighs, content and somehow relaxed. “I love you, baby. I
loved you back then and I love you even more now, Dean, I swear to God. I love
you more than anything in this world.” Except maybe Cas. He’s probably on par
with Cas.
“Alpha?”
Sam looks up slowly to the short figure in the doorway, unsettled to have his
gaze torn from his love, but he softens somewhat when the stance of Ben swims
steadily into focus. He offers the recently matured Gamma a smile.
“Ben. You okay?” he asks.
Ben smiles back but keeps hovering, his fingers dancing awkwardly over the
wooden doorframe, his eyes darting around the room, consciously avoiding the
naked Omega. Sam flicks an eyebrow high onto his forehead.
“Did you want something, kiddo?”
Ben starts and pins his eyes to Sam. “Oh, right, yeah…actually, Ellen asked me
to come and tell you that your dinner’s in the oven. It’s ready and everything,
she’s just keeping it warm.”
Sam nods and subconsciously pulls Dean tighter.
“Thanks for letting me know. Did you make it?”
Another smile. “I helped. I’m not very good with fish yet.”
“You’ll get better, kiddo. Pretty soon you’ll be taking Bobby’s job.”
The kid Gamma scoffs and widens his eyes comically large, hopping slightly into
the room. “Don’t let him hear you say that, I’ll never be allowed back in the
kitchen.”
Sam laughs. “You’re right, lips sealed. Will you just grab Jo or Cas, ask ‘em
to come watch him,” he nods to the lithe body in his arms. “I don’t really
wanna leave him alone, just in case.”
“I can watch him, if you want. I mean I’m sure he’ll stay asleep until his
dinner’s ready, and by then Jo will be here. It’s only got about twenty minutes
left.”
Sam smiles shortly at the kid. “You sure? He might be kinda freaked out when he
first wakes up, if you’re okay with that.” Ben rolls his eyes, scoffs and nods.
“Alright, alright, jeese. I keep forgetting you’re all grown up now. You picked
your pension plan out yet, Gamma?” The thirteen year old rolls his eyes again,
but he’s smiling. Sam hums in amusement and makes his careful way out from
under Dean, setting him back on the mattress and tucking the white sheets
around him. “Okay, old man, if he does wake up, calm him down if you have to
and tell him to stay here, then go get Cas or Jo. Cool?”
Ben nods. “How should I calm him down?”
“Just tell him he’s okay, should be fine. I’ll see you later, okay?” Ben nods
when Sam’s standing next to him and the alpha smiles before dropping an
extravagant kiss to the kid’s head. He chuckles when Ben grimaces. “You’re a
good guy, you know that?”
“Go and eat.” Sam goes with one last look at a heavily sighing, adorable-as-
all-hell Dean.
The kitchen’s just about empty now from its usual buzzing throng at dinner
time, just Ellen stirring a pan, Jo perched with some magazine on one of the
countertops and Bobby playing a hand clapping game with a giggling Maggie with
a face on like he’s being tortured. Sam laughs heartily and claps him on the
back. He ruffles Maggie’s hair, taps Jo’s swinging shin and places a soft kiss
to the top of Ellen’s head.
“Smells good,” he says, walking to the oven and removing the hot plate. “For
Dean?”
“Sure is. You think he likes pumpkin?” Ellen says.
“Does anyone?” Jo sings, hopping down and sitting across from Sam at one of the
other stools, grinning back at her scowling mother.
“Girl, you’re lucky you ain’t the one this is for ‘cause you wouldn’t be
gettin’ any. How’s the food Sam?” Ellen turns from the two pots on the stove
and leans back against it, eyeing up the two characters before her.
“Perfect,” Sam says, grinning through his mouthful. “Thank you.”
Jo grimaces. “You know you’re an Alpha wolf, right? I mean, you’re literally
made to eat meat, what the hell are you playing around with that crap for?”
“This is meat,” he supplies, pinning another chunk with his fork. “I am eating
meat.”
“No, that’s Omega food. You should go up and give it to Dean.” Sam rolls his
eyes and grins.
“Well, I like salmon. I’m sure Dean does too.”
“Ah, yes, the infamous Dean. How is the prodigal brother holding up?” Sam turns
to the voice behind him with an irritated expression barely hiding his
amusement and relief—he’s off the chair and said salmon is ignored in favour of
his friend back and alive and safe. He drags Gabriel into a hug.
“Good to see you’re alive. What, they don’t have phones out in the middle of
the Rocky’s?” Sam says, releasing him but not fully, still holding a hand to
his Gamma’s shoulder.
“Ha ha,” he smirks dully, rolling his eyes.
“Gaby!” is suddenly squawked and Gabe is pulled from Sam’s grasp as the kid
flings herself into his arms, crawling like an animal up his body until she can
tuck her head securely in his neck. Gabriel strokes a hand over her curled up
blonde hair and grimaces exaggeratingly over to Sam, who just grins and offers
a thumbs up back. It’s not like he’s gonna buy the whole ‘I can’t be dealing
with clingy children’ act the beta’s apparently inherited. Anyone in their
right mind can see how much he dotes on his little niece.
“Howdy, Mag’s,” he says, moving away from Sam and hitching Maggie over to his
hip with a laboured huff. “Jeese, kiddo, you’re getting way too old for this,
you know that? You’re gonna brake Uncle Gabe, yes you are!” he blows a
raspberry into the nine-year old's shoulder, earning himself a high-pitched
giggle until Sam can distinctly hear a groan from Bobby’s direction. Sam goes
back to the salmon with a happy smile. “So, you missed me, huh? Bet Cas was
boring you half to death, wasn’t he? Admit it, kiddo, I’m your favourite,
aren’t I?”
Maggie grins and beams at the attention she’s been denied for the last three
weeks, wrapping her legs solidly around her uncle’s waist. “Cas reads to me,
he’s not so bad. How was your trip?”
“Boring.” Gabriel gasps suddenly and looks around in exaggerated suspicion
before moving to Maggie’s ear with a stage whisper, “Hey, you met the newbie
yet? You ever even seen an Omega before?”
Sam rolls his eyes and Maggie opens her mouth wide to play along. “Ellie in my
class says her pack’s got an Omega, but she never gets to see it.” She bounces,
suddenly filling the room with her excitement. “Do I get to meet it? Aw,
please, Gabe, please let me meet it! Sam, can I meet it?”
“Not an ‘it’, kiddo,” Sam sighs in good humour, moving to deposit his dirty
plate in the sink. “Dean’s very much a ‘he’.” He notes Gabe’s smirk and Ellen’s
eye roll, but he’s too busy revelling in his own joke to do much about it. He
turns back to Maggie, matching Gabe’s earlier ‘suspicious’ eyes. “I dunno,
sweetheart, you sure you’re up for it? You’ll have to be a real big girl for
Dean, ‘cause he’s not doing too well right now. You think you can do that for
him?”
She nods vigorously.
“Well, alright then. Why don’t you go up there now? Ben’s with him, he’s
sleeping—just make sure you don’t wake him up, okay? Then you can help Jo give
him dinner, how ‘bout that?”
Sam suddenly finds himself attached solidly to a nine year old pup, nuzzling
into his shirt. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ha, Ellie’s not gonna believe
this!”
And then she’s gone.
God, is it possible to love his pack any more?
                                    =*=Ω=*=
Dean wakes up to an incessant prodding in his side and he turns over to face
it, opening his eyes wearily. Three boys are stood by the bed, all younger than
him—the one poking him ceasing when he notices Dean’s gaze, but he doesn’t back
off. Dean frowns, confused.
“Thomas…Sam said he should stay asleep,” one of them says tentatively, the
smallest—dark hair, kind eyes—clearly avoiding Dean’s wide eyed gaze. “Tom…”
“Shut up, Ben, god. He’s an Omega—they don’t need as much sleep as us, they
don’t do anything. Quit being so boring, will you?” It’s the one at the front
that says that, the one with his hand still too close to Dean, with hair
sweeping over his forehead and small, brown eyes. He narrows them down at Dean.
“Why the hell are you looking at me, bitch?” he says, Dean jolts his head to
his chest, scampering to sit up in obedience.
“Thomas, seriously,” Ben says, moving forwards slightly, angling closer. He's
the only Gamma of the three, he's matured, he should just tell them...“Sam’s
gonna be really mad, we’re not supposed to do that, we’re supposed to be good-”
“Jesus, Ben, do you even have your own thoughts? Grow the fuck up already,
thought you were supposed to be the mature one?” and Ben shuts up. Thomas steps
back too, though he doesn’t stop staring down his nose at Dean. “Gross, he’s
naked.” He laughs along with the third boy, Dean flinches. “Get on the floor.”
Dean goes, though it’s slow and for the first time since Master’s, he’s scared
he’s gonna be hit for that. In general, they don’t seem to be fussed by Dean’s
speed of doing things, in fact they all appear worried for his health, urging
him to go at his own pace. Not Thomas, apparently. Pain flares and thuds when
he lands obediently on his knees, the stance suddenly foreign. He ducks his
head.
“Why’s he naked?” the third boy asks, prodding Dean’s knee with the toe of his
trainer.
“Why would he need clothes?” Thomas asks casually, standing right in front of
Dean with his arms folded across his chest and his legs shoulder width apart,
just like Ruby used to when she caught him steeling food… “Alpha’s just gonna
fuck him anyway, they’d just get in the way.”
“Oh,” third boy says, his voice unsure and uneven. “He looks hurt.”
“That’s just ‘cause he’s an idiot and he can’t follow rules. It’s not his fault
really, Omega’s are too thick to realise when they should, so they need to be
punished otherwise they’ll just do it again.” Thomas’ voice is matter-of-fact,
as though he knows everything there is to know about him. He’s wrong though,
and Dean doesn’t like him. He’s smart enough to know that. “Samandriel used to
look worse than this all the time.”
“I bet Alpha won’t hit him, he’s too nice,” the third boy’s voice is softer
now, more like his timid scent and he backs off slowly, stepping away from
Dean.
“Then Alpha doesn’t know how to keep an omega. And it’s just ‘cause it’s his
broth-”
“Thomas! Shut up, you’re not supposed to say that!” Ben says, stepping swiftly
into Dean’s view. “Get out, you’re not supposed to be in here anyway.”
“And you are? How come me and Elliot don’t get to see him and you do?” Thomas’
scent drifts into harsh territory and it looms like a thick fog over Dean’s
head, reminding him repeatedly how much of a fucking idiot he is, getting
comfortable… “What, you think Sam likes you better just because your a Gamma
now? Don’t be stupid, Ben, Sam doesn’t care.”
“You’re wrong anyway. Sam cares about all of us, and I was supposed to make
sure he was okay, not wake him up. Just leave, Thomas, and I won’t tell Sam.”
Thomas scoffs. “I don’t care if you tell Sam. Good, go tell him—let him know he
has no idea how to keep an Omega while you’re at it. It shouldn’t be sleeping
in a bed.” Dean knows that. Dean’s always known that, ever since he presented
as an Omega, he’s known how worthless he is in society, he knows how useless he
is. Thomas is right though. Dean’s just gotten too comfortable. He mewls his
apology and Thomas scoffs again. “See? I told you, that’s what he’s made for,
that’s what Omega’s do. You’re just a slutty little pet, aren’t you?”
Dean pauses and a hand grips at his hair, yanking his head back on his neck and
it’s hard to keep his gaze far enough down to miss out the harsh brown eyes.
They’re not kind like Jo’s… Dean nods as much as he can in the grip. His head’s
released roughly.
“Disobedient little shit. My alpha would have a field day with you…”
“Tom, what are you doing?” comes a voice, soft and feminine, young and pup-
like, similar to the other two. Dean has to hold himself rock still to keep
from peaking around three pairs of legs at its source in the doorway.
Ben steps right in front of Dean until Thomas has to step back a few paces,
glaring. “Maggie, go and get Jo, will you? Or Cas or someone-”
“God, just shut up Ben!” Thomas yells, and he heaves every single inch of his
body weight into his arms, thrusting them to Ben’s chest until he’s falling,
tumbling closer and closer until he connects solidly into Dean, tripping over
him, kneeing him swiftly and unintentionally in the face, his feet tripping
over his hands. Dean wails as quietly as he can at the shift of pain, suddenly
sharp and intense at those specific points, the jolt he makes jarring his
abused chest and he pushes himself to the side, leaning up against the bed and
hugging his limbs tighter because his body’s doing that stupid thing again…
“Shit,” Ben hisses above him, climbing up and off, moving away—light, hurried
footsteps move from the room and travel in the distance. “Dean?”
“Jeese, he’s really pathetic, isn’t he?” Thomas says, amused. Dean feels him
move closer, though he’s eyes are pinned shut. “Aw, did the little boy stand on
your pinkies? Diddum’s.”
“Please…” he gasps, turning into the sheets, crunching up tighter. He shouldn’t
have gotten relaxed, it was stupid—“I’m sorry, please don’t…”
“It’s disgusting, isn’t it? If I was an alpha, I’d just lock my omega up and
use it when I wanted. I’d definitely keep it gagged, though.”
“Well, thank fuck you’re not,” another male Gamma voice, older, humoured. And
Dean can smell Jo…all the way up until soft, familiar hands grapple at him,
clutch softly at his arms and body to haul Dean with very little help from him
back onto the bed. Dean doesn’t know what he should do…
“You can’t tell me what to do…”
“Well, actually I can, you little shit. But as far as I know, Gammaa’s don’t
have any power over Omegas,” Thomas goes to speak but halts, “especially not in
this pack. I’m sure Sam will be just thrilled to hear about your little
encounter with his beloved.”
Thomas grumbles, “Sam doesn’t scare me…”
The other beta scoffs. “No? Wow, you are a big boy, aren’t you…oh, that’s
right. You haven’t seen Sam shift yet, have you?” He whistles lowly. “I think
you’ll change your mind then, don’t you, Magpie?”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a coward,” the same little girl says, her voice full of
too much vehemence for such a young kid…
“Dean? Hey, you okay, buddy?” Dean opens his eyes to greet Jo, those big brown
orbs more comforting than he should ever have let them be. “Ben. What the hell
happened?”
Ben moves close to the bed, away from the man with the girl’s hand in his, from
Thomas facing him off and Elliot stood red faced beside him. The rooms a
concoction of scents and emotions, and it’s making Dean’s head spin.
“Tom pushed me and I stood on him,” Ben says, peering closer. “Is he okay?”
“He will be,” Jo growls, Dean backs off, trembling and flinching. “Why the hell
was Thomas in his room?”
“He just came in—I would have gone to get someone, but I didn’t want to leave
him alone with Dean.” His voice is timid.
“Right,” Jo huffs and climbs onto the bed, pulling Dean to scent alongside her,
stroking a perfect hand through his hair. Dean keens into the wonderful touch,
all but tiptoeing in closer but he doesn’t unwind his body in the slightest,
just accommodates with the ball that is his limbs. “Better, cutey?” she says.
Dean nods into her hip.
Fucking pathetic little shit, they were all right, he's wrong, a disgrace...
By the time he tunes back into the conversation of Thomas and the older guy,
Tom’s apparently holding back tears and Maggie’s all but grinning. Dean averts
his gaze again when Thomas stamps out with a silently sobbing Elliot at his
tail and the man turns his sights on Dean and Jo. Dean gulps as he steps
forward. He feels Maggie drop onto the foot of the bed and crawl up Dean’s
other side, pressing her small, pup body in close to his back, nuzzling her
cold nose at the base of his neck. Dean mewls despite himself, despite his
wide-eyed surprise.
“Are you okay, omega?” the girl asks, following the path of Dean’s arm all the
way down to his hand where it’s buried at his stomach. He lets their fingers
link because he knows he should.
He nods out an almost silent, “Yes,” angry at himself for, once again,
forgetting everything he knows and seeking out stupid comfort. But he doesn’t
pull away. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to hurt the kid’s
feelings, but even he knows that’s not the truth.
“So, this is Dean, huh?” the man says, and Dean opens his eyes to see him move
in closer and drape an arm over Ben’s shoulders to rest there casually. The
Omega blinks, confused.
Jo pats his hair, “Dean, Gabriel, Gabe, Dean.” Dean ducks down again.
“It’s a pleasure, top-of-Dean’s-head, how do you do?” Maggie chuckles at the
words behind Dean, into his neck. Gabriel sighs when Dean freezes, but
otherwise doesn’t react. “Okay, okay, he’s not ready for jokes yet I get it,
quit giving me the evils,” Jo deflates in exasperation and shakes her head.
“And hey, what d’you know, the Thomas kid is a psycho.”
“Told you so. But no one believed me did they, nope, you all just said ‘give
him some time, he’s had it rough, he's still a pup’, but I knew,” Jo sings, her
voice in jest but something in it screams truth and Dean snuggles in closer as
reward. He agrees. “Even Dean knew, didn’tcha, Dean?” Dean doesn’t respond
beyond purring slightly.
It’s only really now, once everything’s calmed down and the scents have
dissipated into something manageable that Dean begins to smell food. And it
smells good.
But when his stomach rumbles against both his and Maggie’s hand, he ducks
again, pressing his face solidly into Jo’s hip bone, just above the jeans,
breathing in the tiny stretch of skin allowed to him there from the brake of
tops to pants. He reddens when Maggie giggles.
“I think Dean’s hungry,” she says, stroking her other hand with Jo’s in his
hair. “Can I help feed him?”
Dean feels like a pet dog.
“You can help him drink, if you want. If that’s okay with you, kiddo?” Dean
nods when he realises Jo’s asking him. Maggie grips him in a full out hug.
“Thank you, Omega,” she says to his cheek, kissing at the bruised skin sweetly
and without distaste.
Then Jo’s getting up, moving softly away and Dean moves to follow her with a
despondent keen, already reaching out a hand before he catches Gabriel’s eye
and draws it swiftly back in. Gabriel, Castiel’s brother? Either way, he should
display more resilience in the presence of so many people. He lets Maggie
cuddle into him though, but just because he doesn’t want her to be upset with
him or whatever. He rolls his eyes at his own ignorant reasoning.
“Hang on, Dean-o, gimme a sec,” Jo says absently, grappling with something
before reaching over him with a glass of water to hand to Maggie. She scuffles
back to her place on the bed with a plate of something in her hands that’s
orange on top of rice and it looks weird but it smells delicious, so he
shuffles himself back to sitting beside her and moves away slightly, giving her
room to feed him. Maggie lifts the glass to his lip and he drinks what she lets
him.
“You, uh…you don’t have to feed me,” Dean tries, even as he starts, he can
sense everything wrong with what he’s about to say—they shouldn’t be feeding
him at all, he’s done nothing to deserve it, he shouldn’t say anything if
they’re willing to anyway… “I can do it myself if you want.” He sighs at his
own dumb words.
“Sure, if you think your ribs can handle it. Apparently, they aren’t very
pleased with you at the moment.” Dean thinks about it as he looks up at Jo, but
then he sighs and glances shyly through his lashes at Gabriel and Ben, still
stood watching. He doesn’t want to make an exhibition out of it. Jo smiles.
“You heard the man, shove off.” Dean balks. He didn’t say that, that's not what
he meant, it’s not… “Calm down, kiddo, I know you didn’t mean that,” Jo
whispers in his ear and Dean pushes his head to her neck.
Gabriel huffs. “Well, I see how it is. Come on, Benjamin, I think we can see
where we’re not wanted. Nice to meet you, Dean-o, see you around, huh?” Dean
nods softly at the grinning Gamma.
“My names not even Benjamin…” and then they’re gone.
“Are you feeling hurt, Omega?” Maggie asks, crawling up closer, onto her knees.
“Did he hurt you?”
Dean looks up into gigantic blue eyes that strikingly remind him of Castiel,
calm and soft, forgiving and worried. But not pitying. Never pitying.
“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, gripping at the gaze.
Dean looks down when he feels small fingers nudge at his own, gliding like
feathers over the scabbed up skin of his knuckles, skating towards his abused,
trampled on fingers. She never applies more pressure than a minute touch and it
never hurts for a second, but for some reason, Dean feels everything like an
electric pulse tracing through him. She’s an unusual little thing.
“Does this hurt?” she whispers, capturing his eyes again.
Dean shakes his head and gulps. “Not…not right now. But sometimes.”
Maggie nods knowingly. “Where does it hurt most?”
“I…” he blinks and thinks logically, sorting out the different pains. “My ribs.
But it’s not so bad right now…”
Feather-like fingers trace to his torso, skirting over the bare flesh, letting
up completely when they move across angry bruises. Dean doesn’t stop gazing
into those deep ocean eyes…how are they so alike, it’s crazy…
“Can I ask you how it happened? The bruises on your ribs, I mean…” Those eyes
dance guiltily up at Jo but then they’re back again, crinkling with a smile.
“You don’t have to tell me or anything.”
Dean shouldn’t. It’s not a tale fit for a little girl, but she asked him to and
he should obey. He gulps and offers the PG-13 version. “I dropped my alpha’s
coffee and it went all over his carpet. So he…um, he…” He can’t say it,
apparently. He frowns at himself. He threw me down the stairs, is what he
should say, but the words just don’t come out.
“You probably wouldn’t want to know anyway, sweetie,” comes a voice and much to
Dean’s relief the girl’s worried frown lifts to a grin and she swings her gaze
over to the door.
“Cas!” she says, bouncing lightly where she sits. “Sam said I could come meet
the Omega, come sit down, you can’t tell me off ‘cause Alpha said I could do
it…”
Cas laughs like sleigh bells and moves into the room, coming to sit at the foot
of the bed. “It’s okay, Mag’s, I wasn’t going to tell you off. What have you
been talking about?”
Dean likes him being close but he loves him being closer. He wants to mewl for
him, but he keeps it in check because that would be ungrateful and Jo’s the one
with the food.
“He was telling me where it hurt and-”
“Guys, I’m all for nice little pow-wow’s but Dean here’s got dinner to eat and
it’s seconds away from being disgustingly cold, so…” Jo waves a fork around.
“I apologise, Jo,” Castiel says, lifting his hands in a placating gesture,
smiling and winking over at Dean. “Carry on.” He’s wearing a dark shirt today,
almost black but mostly blue and his jeans are dark too, black boots at the
bottom where he’s propped one leg onto the mattress. Even in such dark attire,
he’s still so bright and vibrant and beautiful; even with that nest of black
hair atop his head, those eyes pierce desperately from his tanned features and
stroke Dean into calmness. Less than a week, and he’s already feeling calm from
a pair of fucking eyes…
“Dean?” Jo says, lifting a forkful of something to Dean’s mouth, waiting for it
to open, to feed him. Dean doesn’t mind Cas being here; so far in this room
everyone’s hand fed him something, even if one was just water. Dean allows
entry and coos happily at the rich taste dancing his tongue. He reaches for
another.
Between about every five spoonful’s, Maggie glares over at Jo and holds the
glass in the way, obscuring the food’s path to Dean’s mouth so he can have a
drink of water. Everyone smiles lightly at her.
About two thirds of the way into the plate, Dean feels his stomach tighten and
the progressive heaviness building inside becomes too much and he doesn’t want
another bite. His body turns his head disobediently when the fork comes again.
Everyone stares.
“Sorry…” he says, glancing at all the wide faces. “I just…I can’t eat…” Selfish
little shit he is, can’t eat. They’re feeding him, now he’s asking them to
stop…but he’ll be sick. Eat and puke or refuse and probably never be fed again.
Both have decent punishments…
“You’re full?” Jo says, glancing warily to Cas and back again. Dean nods with
burning cheeks and a disgruntled scowl at himself. Idiotidiotidiot. Great, now
he wants to cry…
“You sure, Dean?” Cas says, scooting closer, reaching over Jo and softly
touching his foot beneath the sheet. Dean frowns sadly over to him and nods.
“It wasn’t that large a helping, Dean, are you sure you feel okay?” Dean nods
again but the beta doesn’t seem satiated. His hand just moves up. “It’s not a
problem if you are just full, Dean, and I want you to tell me the truth. Is
there another reason you’re not eating?”
Dean feels himself start to tremble and he’s not entirely sure why. He just
shrinks as small as he can where he’s sitting and gulps, looking up through
slightly damp lashes at the ocean-scented Gamma.
“I’m…I’m full,” he says, his voice weak. Pussy. “Sorry, I just…”
“No, no, it’s okay, Dean, that’s fine, sweetheart, as long as that’s all it is.
You would tell me if it was something else, wouldn’t you?” Dean nods eagerly.
“Okay, pup, that’s okay," Castiel smiles in reassurance as Jo puts the empty
plate and glass over on the nightstand, returning her now free hand to Dean’s
scalp. “Your stomach needs time to grow again after so little sustenance. Would
you like anything else, Dean? Honestly?”
Dean shakes his head in truth, but mostly because he doesn’t let himself think
on it.
“That’s fine, good boy. Are you tired, little pup?” Dean nods begrudgingly.
“That’s okay, sweetheart, that’s great. I hear your nap was interrupted at any
case.” His voice darkens a fraction towards the last part and Dean bows into
the fingers on his hair, the small hands softly running the length of his arm.
“Yeah, Gabe made him cry!” Maggie squawks, suddenly all cheerful again. “It was
awesome!”
Cas rolls his eyes, but it’s in good humour. “I’m sure your uncle did.”
Uncle. And Gabriel is Cas’ brother, so he must be Maggie’s uncle too…she has to
be. It’s either that or her father but…no. Cas is Alpha's Beta and obviously
they can't have kids. Plus Maggie called him Cas, so he can’t be her father.
Dean huffs an unreasonable sigh of relief at his own logistics. It just makes
everything a hell of a lot easier if the Alpha he’s going to mate with and his
Beta don’t have kids of their own. It’s selfish. Right…Cas said he couldn’t
have children, didn’t he? Well, now Dean feels guilty.
Jo laughs. “You okay there, chuckles?” she says, gently poking Dean’s head.
“That’s some party you got going on there,” she keeps prodding at his skull,
presumably meaning his brain. Dean shrinks.
“Maggie, sweetie, will you help Jo take these down for us, please? Say
goodnight to Dean.” Cas waves softly in his direction.
Maggie nods and crawls closer. “Night, Omega-Dean,” she says, dropping her lips
softly to his own, pressing them there for bare seconds before drawing off and
patting his shoulder lightly. “Sleep tight. I hope you don’t hurt anymore.” And
then she’s off, moving round the bed to grab the empty glass and head for the
door.
“What, don’t I get one?” Cas says, smiling, obscuring her path with an
outstretched hand. The little pup beams and leaps into her uncle’s arms,
nestling her head to the crook of his neck and scenting heavily along it,
wrapping her own arms around his neck. Castiel lays a loud kiss to her cheek.
“Night, Uncle Cas,” she says, stepping down and away.
“Night, Dean-o,” Jo says, mockingly placing a wet kiss to Dean’s cheek with a
ruffle of his hair and a wink, before moving over to Cas and opening her arms
wide. “Goodnight, sweet Castiel,” she drawls jokingly, drawing him into a huge
hug that he just rolls his eyes at and then pats quickly at her back, returning
her smile when she pulls away.
“Goodnight, Jo. Maggie, I’ll see you before school tomorrow, okay?” Maggie nods
from the door. “Alright. Goodnight, sweet girl.”
And then they leave. Dean looks up to Cas with expectancy he shouldn’t have,
but to hell with it. He wants someone to nuzzle, otherwise he can’t fall
asleep, especially in a new place and especially with the Alpha pull beginning
to blaze in his chest again. He remembers all too well when he used to travel
with Master—he’d be so tired he wouldn’t react properly or he’d forget
something important and Master wouldn’t, Master would remember with clear
clarity and so would Master’s fist; in and on him.
Cas is moving then, lifting up from the mattress and dragging the dark shirt up
and over his head, revealing the familiar stretch of perfect skin and muscle,
two pert…a tattoo. Did he always have a tattoo? Dean doesn’t remember one from
the bath, he probably would have—but the pentagram design looks decently faded,
it can’t be recent. He was probably just too raptured by the flesh holding it…
Cas sees him looking at the thing half way through removing his boots. “It’s
the Winchester pack symbol. A lot of us have either a tattoo or jewellery of
some kind displaying it. Would you like one?” Dean notes the grin, so he
doesn’t worry too much. “You're a part of this pack now, maybe you’d like a
necklace. Or a cuff, or something?”
Dean shrugs because he doesn’t know how to answer. Cas smiles again, tugging
down his pants. Right, no balls—was being deadly serious then. Jesus. “That’s
alright, sweetheart. Think on it, though, let me know. Maybe it can be your
Christmas present.” Figure of speech. Omegas aren’t involved in Christmas, not
since they fucked so much up in the bible. Dean doesn’t mind, though, he’s used
to it by now. He can’t say the same for his nine year old self though.
Cas lifts up the corner of the duvet and shuffles himself in, moving closer and
tighter until he’s all but consuming Dean’s back, wrapping himself tightly to
the skin and tugging him like a teddy bear to his perfect, inked chest. Dean
mewls outright in the pleasure of it all.
“Are you tired now, little pup? Or would you like to talk for a little while?”
The sun’s not even nearly down yet, and although it’s summer, it’s still pretty
early to be sleeping. Plus, Dean likes the sound of Cas’ gravelly voice.
“Can we talk? Please.”
Cas smiles against his neck. “Of course, sweetheart. Would you like to ask me
some more questions?” Dean nods. “Go on then.”
Right. Now he needs a question. “What’s it like? Um, shifting, I mean.”
Cas sighs a warm breath along his skin, hooks a leg over Dean. “Huh. I don’t
know how to explain it, really. It’s kind of like…a tingling, maybe? It doesn’t
hurt or anything, it’s just a tingling and then a huge pressure for a split
second and then it is. It’s good to just shift and be free for a while, I enjoy
the running, though I know people aren’t fans. I think it’s the whole four
legged thing that puts them off.”
Dean hums. “I think I’d enjoy it, if I could.” Another thing omegas are useless
for. They can’t even freaking shift.
Castiel smiles again. “I think you’d be a beautiful little wolf. I’m told I’m
quite ominous in my other form, actually. I’m not big—not like Alpha, but the
black fur is a turn off. I tend to scare pups.”
Dean huffs a tiny, stupid, laugh like noise before clamping a stopper on it,
embarrassed. Cas pulls him close again. “Don’t ever stop laughing, Dean," he
whispers, just for them. "Don’t hold back, sweetheart.” The humour’s gone now,
anyway.
“Is Maggie your niece?”
“Mhmm. Mine and Gabriel’s sister, Anna, died before she could leave the pack,
but Sam managed to save Maggie before she grew too old and started learning
their ways. She’s been with us a while now.”
Dean nods. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Don’t be, Dean, it’s not your fault.” He sighs. “Things like that just happen,
I guess.” He pauses and his breath is held for long seconds as he thinks
something through, before saying tentatively, “Have you ever lost anyone,
Dean?”
Dean frowns and thinks. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think maybe that’s the
reason I was put into the home in the first place, because my first family all
died…” Castiel stiffens, but blows a cool breath to Dean’s neck to continue.
“And at the home people came and went all the time, I don’t remember anyone
dying, though. I just…I don’t think so, I mean.”
“If you don’t mind my asking…” Dean urges him to go on. “How did you come about
being at Alastair’s?”
Dean sniffs absently. “He took me from the home when I went into heat at seven
because they couldn’t keep omegas there. It wasn’t fair on everyone else; I was
lucky Master bought me, otherwise I’d have been chucked to the streets.”
Castiel sucks in a huge sigh and lets it out in a cool line to Dean’s throat.
“And that's what he told you?” Dean nods. “Can I tell you something, Dean? I
don’t want to upset you, I’m just telling you the truth, I promise.” Another
nod. “They wouldn’t have chucked you to the street, little one. The vast
majority of care homes around the US would have held you comfortably until they
could find you a good home, you would have been top of the list. Your Master
procured you because he had money, nothing more. They want you safe, you were
just unlucky. Do you believe me, sweetheart?”
Dean sighs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. Every Omega he’s ever met
before have either been collared or chained up like a pet, used and abused
because they were worth nothing. They are worth nothing. Dean can’t imagine
their Master’s would have gotten away with such treatment if they were
considered so precious. It doesn’t make sense to Dean.
Hands massage his full stomach. “That’s alright, little one. But I promise you
will. You’ll see the truth, beautiful pup, don’t you worry.” The gentle fingers
roam all over the front of his torso, tracing lightly at his ribs, scratching
blunt nails over his chest and stomach. Cas moves to talk into his ear and his
hand pauses along his just-slightly extended belly. “I like to feel you full,
baby. It lets me know you’re not starving or harmed or in pain. I like to know
you’ve had too much food and not too little.” Dean croons happily. “I love how
perfect you are.” Soft, damp lips meet his cheek, trailing his neck, his
shoulder. Dean purrs. “I love you.”
He doesn’t even know you…But Dean punches that thought square in the face and
rocks back deeper in Cas’ hold, deeper to his perfect body.
“Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep tight.”
“Goodnight, Castiel.” And he drifts to sleep like a feather, swaying gently in
the prefect hold of the air.
Chapter End Notes
     Just so everyone knows, Thomas will definitely be reprimanded in some
     way for being a jackass. The reason he is that way is because he's
     been brought up like it - they had an omega in his previous pack and
     they treated him horribly, so he believes that's how they should
     always be treated, the it is a view by few people even if Dean
     doesn't know that yet.
***** Brother Under The Sun *****
Chapter Notes
     Chapter track is officially Brother Under The Sun by Bryan Adams, ugh
     it's perfect :)...or would be, you know, if they were horses.
When Dean finally wakes up, it’s to shouting.
His eyes slam open on instinct—Castiel’s gone and the room’s completely empty,
the bed cold and distant, and the angry growls, whimpers and shouts wheedling
menacingly through the walls has Dean sitting to attention like a soldier on
parade. He’s stock still as he cranes to hear the words, but they’re muffled
through the bricks and wood and he can’t make out anything.
They’re furious, he can tell that much. A loud, deep voice overpowers every
other sound, drowning it out like a deadly siren Dean would be cowering under
if it was directed at him. A shriller voice is an undercurrent, either younger
or just higher in pitch, shouting back in between, crying maybe—but the loud
bass just washes over it again, and it shuts up. After an even longer while in
between, the only calm voice in the equation pipes up, tender and controlled,
almost hushing the harsh voice beneath it, until the growls come and it too
becomes silent.
Dean would huddle; burrow himself in the safe, warm sheets and hide until the
shouting goes away, until Castiel or Alpha or Ellen or Jo comes up, laughs
about a silly argument someone else had, strokes him, coaxing him, sings to him
or feeds him.
But Dean’s stock still and he doesn’t hide. He wants to, his brain’s telling
him that he seriously should if he doesn’t want to get hurt, but his body’s
taking over again, keeping him upright and facing the open door. Because
somewhere, some buried, terrified part of him knows that the furious, deep
voice is alpha and the calming drone is Castiel. And he would bet anything on
the sobbing emitting through the walls is from none other than the pup, the one
that hurt him and teased him.
Dean should let Alpha and Castiel handle this, he absolutely knows that, but
his body’s fighting with the idea that he should just leave them to it. He
knows the ignorance getting involved would display, the pitiful, useless side
he would show to possibly the whole pack, but he physically can’t help it and
he’s crawling from the bed before he can really decide.
He goes silently, tiptoeing naked across the room, letting the noise lead him
towards the door to cross paths with Castiel’s still discarded shirt. Dean
pauses for a second to pick it up, but he shimmies into it on his way to the
door. He’s buttoning it by the time he crosses the threshold with a shaky
breath, stubborn with his footsteps as he crosses the line of gold alone the
doorway, cold on his still sore feet. If he let himself really feel it, his
whole body is sore, some of it utterly painful, but getting to his angry Alpha
and frustrated Beta is the only thing Dean cares about. So he pushes on.
He roams this floor for a little while, navigating until he finds the stairs to
the left of his room, behind another wall and he floats down them as slowly as
he can allow himself, the shouts growing louder and louder in volume—angered,
worried, cutthroat scents digging into his nose. He huffs silently to himself
but forces his aching body down, descending them one at a time until
finally—with the undwindling argument only bare metres away—he reaches the
last, cream carpeted step.
Dean sucks in one giant breath before inching closer and closer, taking minutes
to steady himself and his trembling frame with his hands running the length of
the champagne coloured wall. He walks past a few doors, he looks into what must
be a huge dining room, but he doesn’t pay much attention because by now he can
see the crowd of Gammas. Every single one with their backs to him, all
strangers, but luckily they’re scattered loosely near Dean and when he gets
close enough he can see his Alpha clearly. He stops dead in his tracks when he
does.
The over-six foot man is physically fuming, his scent a heavy, foreboding cloud
over all their heads, pushing and terrifying, Dean’s learned instincts urging
him to kneel on the floor where his Alpha can see him and bare his throat for
Sam, whine and whimper until he’s got attention and Sam can get his
frustrations out on him.
But he doesn’t do that.
Instead, he walks in closer, close enough to get a broader scope and see
Castiel tugging at Alpha’s arm, Thomas stood even more shakily than Dean,
facing off the enraged beast—his hands are clenched though, his eyes are
narrowed, swimming in tears that he doesn’t let shed, but they’re dark,
violent. He snaps something at Sam and before Dean can register much else, the
boy’s shifting into a dark grey wolf, growling on his haunches until Dean and
everyone else gasps in horror at the threat.
He can’t do that, even Dean knows. Challenging an Alpha like that, especially
in his own pack home is just…not done. No one ever dared with Master, they’d be
dead before their paws hit the ground and Master would have every right to do
it, he’s protecting his own…
Dean watches with baited breath as Sam takes in the challenge, almost recoiling
at the bare cheek of the threat, hissing in raw anger before Castiel’s fast
paced, calming words just completely roll over him and he pushes his mate off
in favour of growling in perfect imagery of his wolf at the stupid little boy,
still just a pup, there’s nothing he could do against an alpha wolf, it’s
ludicrous…
And the second Sam shifts into an unnaturally huge, chestnut coloured beast,
the second a howl rips its way from his throat and surprised, scared hisses
erupt the circle of onlookers, Dean stumbles closer through the thick haze of
fear and trips into the inside circle, turning every gaze but the one he needs
most –
“Alpha,” he says, just loud enough for the heavy wolf’s head to turn, his ears
to prick up and the growl to lift from his lips—he takes on an almost curious
expression, even in his were form. Dean almost balks at the outright ignorance
of all he’s ever been taught by his Master, the total disobedience, but
something seems to click inside of him for willingly obeying his body for once.
And when Alpha keens and paws lightly at the ground in a worried gesture, Dean
offers a tiny nod through his horror, hoping it means more than his fearful
scent. He toes closer to the beast, now just basely scared of the sheer size of
Sam; the head that reaches Dean’s sternum, the paws bigger than his own hands.
His legs shake as he advances, conscious of the attention but ignoring it best
he can to get to his Alpha, the scent stronger in his wolf form, Dean’s inner
being rolling over and displaying its belly for the chance to just get closer.
Dean drops to the floor when a black shape leaps towards him from Sam’s side,
landing heavily on his knees and staying as close to the ground as he can get,
his voice leaving him in heavy keens, his eyes watering with tears he shouldn’t
let out. But the black wolf charges straight over him in the air; Dean hears a
high-pitched whine, a growl and a body hit another to his back, but he doesn’t
dare open his eyes to look. He’s bitterly aware of prying eyes now, he
understands that was Castiel and he knows he involved himself where he
shouldn’t, he’s going to be killed for this stupididiot he should have just
stayed where he was, back where he was supposed to be…
Dean hears heavy claws hit the hardwood floor beside his head of a wolf in a
trot, a long snout nudge at his ribs and he hisses at the sharp pain, but
doesn’t move. The chestnut wolf moves on quickly though, Dean doesn’t look, he
hears whimpers, snarling and angry scuffling which continues for a few minutes
before one final, pained yelp sounds and the movement halts, leaving behind a
dark silence.
A howl, long and loud in the grand hall of the house takes over everything and
Dean can hear shifting around him, shredded clothes hitting the floor as wolves
drop to their four legs. They all join in until it drops to a growl, vibrating
the whole room until Dean’s heart beats double, both echoing tightly in his
ears as they expel the threat altogether, moving dangerously forward until more
claws sound, moving next to and then past Dean. One wolf snaps viciously at its
ankles and it yelps, running faster and faster until Dean glances up quickly to
see Thomas break through the wolf sized door in the actual front door, panting
as he goes.
Dean doesn’t hide his face to the wolves again because he knows he’s in danger,
he should be ripped limb from limb for his disobedience by all of them—so he
clambers awkwardly to sit on his knees, his hands still balanced on the dark
oak beneath him, and he tilts his head to show off his neck, letting the dark
shirt drop to reveal a sharp shoulder, keening obediently in the back of his
throat to show his compliance.
He waits for the first attack.
The growling’s stopped by now, but they’re all staring, standing in the same
defence. He whines louder in pitiful hope for mercy, maybe from Alpha or
Castiel—the glimpse he got of the pale Jo and dark furred Ellen. When no one
moves but to fidget on their paws, Dean knows he’s in real danger. So he ducks
lower, the noise coming from higher in his throat, like a pup sorry for
stealing a cookie—but it’s not good enough because he just caused a wolf to be
excluded from the pack.
He deserves whatever they’re going to give him.
And it’s only a few, long minutes later, once the first, petrified tear hits
the space between his thighs, just in front of his hand, does he hear the
movement of a wolf walking from behind.
He bows forward instead, presenting the back of his neck as an offering. When
the wet muzzle comes into contact with his flesh, Dean whines, feels his face
crumple in agonizing fear—when the tongue licks at the spot behind his ear, he
sobs. It snuffles into his hair, standing it up in disarray, circling until a
coat of sleek black fur comes into view and piercing blue eyes are positioned
right in front of Dean’s, cocked in a strange display of curiosity.
Dean knows Castiel’s seconds away from ripping his face off, but the beta
doesn’t look threatening in his stance, he doesn’t smell like he wants to kill.
And when he licks a long, wet stripe up Dean’s face, something in Dean gives
slightly.
The next sob that racks his tender body is one more of suspicious relief other
than anything else. Castiel shoves his nose quickly into Dean’s collar,
snuffling loudly at the fabric along his throat, leaving damp huffs of breath
over the skin until it tickles and Dean has to pull away slightly. But he
buries his hands in Castiel’s thick mane and shoves his own clammy face into
it. Castiel whines deep in his throat, satiated.
Dean jumps out of his skin when another whine sounds, from behind him this
time, echoing out of Alpha’s huge body, worry and anger and resentment all
chocked into one, desperate keen. Dean doesn’t turn around but he huffs back.
Claws click the floor until Dean can feel thick breath ruffle his hair over the
top of his head, the Alpha huge above him. Dean’s heart races like a jackrabbit
again and he leans tighter into Castiel, pulling the Beta wolf as close to him
as he can, ducking beneath his head.
Alpha huffs loudly at that, Dean tenses his shoulders but the wolf ducks in
anyway and nuzzles almost harshly in desperation at Dean’s neck, down the back
of his collar, over Castiel’s own muzzle and along Dean’s jawline. He yips
directly in Dean’s ear and sits up right behind him, his whole furry chest
pressed tight to Dean’s back, his paws between Deans’ splayed feet and flank on
the ground. Dean sighs back at him.
Dean jolts again when someone in the crowd howls—even though it is relatively
quiet—and both Castiel and Sam press in impossibly tight, huffing at any bare
skin they can find up until Sam actually nips in agitation at Castiel’s
borrowed shirt collar. Dean turns his face slightly to let a wet nose poke at
him, a long pink tongue lick lightly at his cheek.
Dean ducks again when Castiel joins in the now chorus of howls, clutching him
tighter and nuzzling into the black mane at his throat, leaning his body into
the vibrating chest of the alpha behind him, finally joining in, lifting his
head to the ceiling with the others. It’s loud and still kind of scary, but
it’s not threatening, not anymore. It seems kind of warm and nice, protective,
even. Then again, Dean can’t really use that word; he’s never felt it before,
he can’t be sure what it really feels like. But either way, he does feel nice.
He doesn’t know why they’re all being nice after his foolish actions, but he
won’t complain. He’ll never complain.
They stop after a few more minutes, the last being Alpha, carrying the haunting
tune for about ten seconds more in what Dean might assume as thanks, before
cutting it off and standing up, backing his body away from Dean, but keeping
his head to him. Castiel does the same, nipping his jaws at Dean’s shirt
sleeve, tugging it up in clear code to stand up for him, Sam’s sheathed teeth
at his collar.
Dean goes slowly with two strong snouts balancing him up, both keening when he
hisses at a twinge in his side. When he’s fully stood, the black wolf nudges at
one outstretched hand, licking at it and nudging his head in an opposite
direction to the one Dean first came in, bucking and trotting on the spot to
show the way. Dean moves when the huge head of a chestnut coloured, alpha wolf
connects gently with the middle of his spine and urges him forward, almost
patting gently at Dean’s back.
It’s a slow walk; Dean’s worried about the line of wolves in the way, but each
and every one moves obediently out of their path and Dean ducks his head as
thanks, biting his lip, unsure. They make it past them safely, until one of the
smaller, lighter brown wolves at the end seems to grab Sam’s attention and he
growls at it, his hackles rising as he snarls his muzzle up.
The smaller wolf whines and lowers his belly to the ground, his eyes to the
floor until Sam seems to satiate and huff at him, moving on and ignoring the
Gammaa wolf. Dean scents him as subtly as he can, the smell he recognises,
but…Ben. This is all because of Dean, then, Alpha’s anger, Thomas’ expulsion.
He knew that really, but Ben didn’t do anything, Ben tried to help him, it
wasn’t his fault…but then again, Thomas didn’t do anything wrong either. Maybe
this isn’t because of Dean at all, maybe this is something else
entirely—something he shouldn’t have stuck his nose into. The thought makes him
blush, until Sam’s large head butts at his hand again, nuzzles slightly under
his shirt. When Dean looks down at him, his brow’s narrowed as much as it can
be as a wolf, he huffs and shakes his head until Dean winces and nods too,
understanding.
The wolves lead him to a huge wall made of glass, looking out onto a lush, park
sized garden, apple trees dotted in a neat procession, a kid’s playing ground
in one corner. He opens a sliding door obediently and steps out when they urge
him to, the sweet, summer sun warming him instantly, until they move off the
patio stones and hit the grass and Dean whines without his own consent. Sam
butts at him again and Castiel nudges his hand, licking at the tender, bruised
fingers.
It’s only once they’ve moved over to a particularly large tree, nestled
themselves into a very satisfying bundle of limbs on the candy-like ground,
does Dean notice the others. Throngs of wolves, the whole pack, maybe, disperse
from the glass doors and come to sit down near them, all as close as they can
get, all facing them with ruler straight spines. Dean ducks his head to
Castiel’s back to hide his face, his cheeks heating beneath the attention, but
Sam keens and paws at his thigh, licking at the bare skin there.
Dean’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do, but when he moves back up
because he guesses that’s what Sam wants of him, there’s a wolf stood there
with eerily familiar eyes and a golden coat, like an overgrown dog. He yips at
Dean, his tail wagging playfully, brushing his fur and the grass in its wake.
Apparently he’s waiting for something, Dean just doesn’t know what.
Right now, he’d like a person to talk to. He doesn’t understand and it’s
frustrating. He looks down to Sam.
The Alpha’s peering up at him with a cocked head, until he seems to decide
something and he nudges at the laying Castiel, nipping softly at his legs.
Castiel peers up and tilts his head back, before they both apparently agree and
move in to Dean.
Sam takes the hem of Dean’s shirt in his jaws, tugging it up his tender body
until it halts somewhere along his neck; Dean tries to help as much as he can,
but his arms ache and when he moves like that, his ribs freaking kill, so he
just goes slack when Castiel joins in. Between the two of them - one at the
collar, the other tugging over the head - the shirt’s removed from Dean’s body
and tucked neatly over his bare crotch. The two lay down beside him again,
flanking him, but Dean stays upright. He looks back to the golden wolf.
Gabriel – the scent hits him – moves forward, panting playfully, lowering the
front half of his body to the floor, play dodging as though Dean’s going to
throw him a ball and play fetch. Sam huffs at him, so Gabriel bounds forward in
the end to lick a long, soggy stripe from Dean’s collar bone to his hairline,
sticking the dark sandy hair upright which Dean can’t plaster down again. He
nips Castiel on his way past.
Jo (Dean recognises the change) advances next, trotting up primly and sticking
her sharp snout into Dean’s throat, scenting along it before giving his jaw a
quick lick and moving off.
After a few more unknown wolves, Dean figures this is an initiation ceremony of
some kind—the wolves having to scent along his throat for some reason or
another. For trust, maybe? They’re close enough to kill, but they don’t, maybe
they’re showing him that they won’t. Maybe they’re just trying to comfort him
or comfort Alpha, draw his trust, too.
Dean doesn’t know but it’s not bad so he doesn’t think too much of it.
Throughout most of the wolves, both Sam and Cas remain unchanged, almost bored
beside him. But when Ben steps forward, his tail caught timidly between his
legs, his head lowered, his body dropped, Sam lifts his head from his paws and
stares him down. Dean can feel him rumble in a growl and Castiel lifts too,
nudging comfortingly at Dean with one eye close to his mate.
After a second of growling, Ben steps closer, inching his way towards Dean’s
throat until he nuzzles there for a quick second, stepping back for Sam again
and lowering his head. Sam huffs and the Gamma steps to him, tilting their
heads together without a reaction from Sam until the Alpha almost sighs before
butting his muzzle to Ben’s and licking along his eyes. Ben trots away with his
tail up in the air, his scent lighter than before.
But when the next wolf steps closer, young like Ben, paler fur—Sam actually
stands and vibrates with anger, his head lowered threateningly and his whole
snout lifted in a snarl. Dean flinches away from the anger and into Cas’
offered neck, burying his face there, waiting for Sam to seriously cool off
before going back to him. It doesn’t take the omega long to figure out that the
pup lying on the floor, keening for forgiveness is Elliot. So this is about
Dean? Christ, this is too much for one measly morning.
They growl and cry for a few more seconds, some kind of wolf communication Dean
couldn’t understand passing between them until Sam yelps harshly and Elliot
stands again, leaning into Dean’s arched neck when he offers it, licking
smoothly at the skin there. He walks away with his body close to the ground,
his tail along his stomach.
By the end of about thirty wolves’ altogether, Dean’s left with his hair all
over the place and a seriously sticky collarbone, neck and cheek. Maggie
(apparently skipping school for the day) licks a soft stripe over his ribs at
one point, her tongue soft and warm along the broken skin, her paws in his lap
for the reach. Dean pets under her muzzle in thanks and offers her a short
smile.
They run for a while, some of them, the pups playing tag or catch or some other
game, some of the elders just lying and relaxing in the grass. Ellen, Jo,
Gabriel, Ben and another, older wolf Dean doesn’t recognise are the only ones
that stay close, within inches of the three’s lying form. Dean lays down at
Castiel’s chest like he always does back in the bed, Sam stretched out along
his front. Dean’s hand has apparently taken to stroking shortly across his
ribs, stroking out the feather soft fur there, earning himself a warning yip
when he goes the wrong way.
The sun’s high in the sky and Dean’s pretty sure Alpha’s asleep when he
mutters, “I’m sorry I interrupted.”
Sam’s clearly not asleep because he’s upright instantly, his face inches from
Dean’s and he huffs out there, licking neatly at Dean’s cheek. He looks over to
Castiel, whose head is up—Dean can feel the stretch along his chest—they both
have a silent conversation again before the fur along Dean’s back turns to
naked skin and paws near his head shift into hands pulling him closer, tighter
against his bare chest. He pulls the shirt over both their naked hips, but the
nose in Dean’s neck is perfectly similar. He shuffles into the grip of Castiel,
happy to have someone to talk to again.
“Why are you sorry, little one?” he asks, his deep voice genuinely inquisitive.
He strokes along Sam’s snout and earns a quick lick, before the Alpha rolls
over fully and stares straight into Dean’s eyes, baring his stomach. Dean
instantly pats along the stretch of fur.
The omega sighs silently. “I shouldn’t have left the room, it wasn’t my place
to, I’m sorry for…interrupting. I made you exile him, didn’t I?”
Castiel breathes a cool breath along the top of Dean’s spine. Sam butts him
playfully. “We would have preferred you staying upstairs, of course,” Dean
sinks his face into Sam’s fur, but Castiel pulls him back. “But, only because
we wanted you completely out of harm’s way. You know why we expelled him?” Dean
gulps and shakes his head. “He was leaping for you. Sam was preoccupied tending
to you, and the boy thought he saw a decent opportunity, he saw red and he
tried to hurt you. I got there first, obviously, but we didn’t want you there
for that reason exactly. You could have been seriously harmed.”
Dean’s cheeks brighten in colour and he ducks again, burrowing in the nearest
patch of fur he can find, hiding silent, embarrassed tears. “I’m sorry,” he
whispers.
Castiel chuckles along his neck. “We’re grateful, sweetheart, not angry, don’t
worry. You stopped Sam from doing something he would live to regret and we
ended up working on legal grounds only.” Sam huffs at Castiel as if to say ‘I
wouldn’t regret a thing’, but Castiel smiles and taps him smartly on the nose.
The Alpha rolls back over. “It was bitter sweet luck that you came down,
beautiful.”
Sam flips again, turning his whole body until he’s adjacent with Dean’s
stomach, lying like a frog with his tail wagging playfully in the air as he
licks little kitten stripes along the bruised up skin. Dean closes his eyes and
sighs in easy comfort.
“Dean?” Castiel asks.
“Mm?” Dean replies, bowing into the pleasure of it all.
“Why did you come downstairs?”
Oh. Dean pauses again and Sam nudges ever so gently against his hipbone,
nuzzling at the smooth expanse of pale skin—one of the few still left on his
body. Dean pets his muzzle in retaliation, happy to sooth his Alpha for once.
“I woke up and heard shouting.” He sucks in a deep breath.Tell the truth,
right? “I…I’m not sure. I didn’t like hearing you both upset and I just thought
that I...it was stupid.” Sam’s nose at his bellybutton urges him on. “I wanted
to help if I could. And—I don’t like you upset, I didn’t even really choose to
do it, my body just kind of…went. Without me telling it to. Master would be mad
if I ever listened to my instincts like that, he always said—”
Dean stops himself when he feels the two bodies tense against him and he pushes
back into a human Castiel’s comfort and strokes over Sam’s smooth nose. Both
nuzzle up to him.
“You can go on, if you’d like, little one, if you want to tell us. We don’t
mind, beautiful, it’s okay,” Castiel assures, but Dean doesn’t.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he mutters, shivering when Sam’s tongue
flicks gently over his ribs, chasing away any and every mark there is. It feels
too good to be true, yet it’s happening right before him.
“You’re very brave, you know that?” Castiel says after a second, lifting an arm
for Dean to lean on and a hand to stroke through his hair, pushing it back into
some kind of array. Dean doesn’t respond beyond ducking down further, until
Castiel catches him and pulls him in closer. “I’m sure you don’t see it,
sweetheart, you don’t see a lot of wonderful things about yourself. But I’m
being honest with you now; you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.
Right up there with Sam here.” He strokes Sam’s thick mane.
Sam bucks gently in response.
“I like going outside,” Dean says randomly, rolling his eyes and ducking his
face in humiliation when the words are out.
But then Sam licks a long stripe over his chest and Castiel hums into his hair,
he doesn’t feel so dumb, more like he’s being rewarded.
“We like it too,” Castiel says into his scalp. “Now that you’re up and about,
we can do this more often, what do you say?” Dean nods eagerly. “Good boy,
baby. You wanna ask some questions for a little while?” Dean nods again.
“Perfect, go ahead, sweetheart.”
Dean sorts out the order in his mind before starting with, “Why did they do
that? The licking thing?”
Castiel smiles against the tiny hairs at his neck and eventually huffs a laugh
in his mouth’s place. “Well, we should have figured you wouldn’t have done that
in your previous pack.” Dean’s tugged in tighter, a wolf tongue moves to his
neck. “It’s to show Alpha that they accept you as his Omega—and, actually, to
gain your trust. See, you’re letting them to your weakest point and they don’t
hurt you from it. It’s gaining trust on both ends. Sam can trust them with you,
you can trust them. It’s an old tradition, going back millennia, I think.”
Dean frowns at the whole‘Omega needing to trust’ thing, but he doesn’t bother
saying anything. He’s figured their views on Omegas by now, anyway, he
shouldn’t have to bring it all up yet again…
“You don’t understand that, do you?” Castiel says, humour in his deep voice.
Dean regretfully shakes his head. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I know you will
at some point, don’t worry. Question?”
“Uh…why did everyone shift? When Thomas ran out, why did you all turn?”
“To show it was a whole pack decision, to cast him out. He didn’t have much of
a choice, after that, what with thirty two wolves after him.”
Dean frowns. “Why was everyone after him?”
“Because he was going to hurt you. Because he already had hurt you…we don’t
tolerate that in our pack, especially with an Omega. You mean a lot to us Dean,
you need to understand. We work together and we help our members in need, and
you’re a member in need. It’s just how we work.”
Dean nods slowly. He asks quietly, “Why is everyone still shifted?”
“It’s a sign of respect, to their Alpha. And Sam’s still shifted to show
respect back, otherwise he’d be curled up talking to you as well.” Sam nudges
at both of them in response.
“How come you’re allowed to?” He regrets it quickly, but Cas laughs and he
doesn’t feel bad.
“Sam allowed me to. You needed someone to talk to, he let me. It’s a simple as
that, little one, we all want the best for you. You deserve it.”
It’s silent after that, but it’s not awkward, more like companionable—the soft
June wind drifting over them like a blanket and with Sam’s relentless lapping
at his stomach and Castiel’s lips at his throat, his hand in his hair, Dean
drifts neatly in and out of sleep, every thought swimming his head calm and
soothing, leaving behind any nightmares from before.
It’s maybe hours later that Jo emerges from the house; fully clothed and human
again, approaching the apple tree with three sets of clothes in her arms. She
hands them to Castiel, strokes a kind hand over Dean’s hair and walks back
inside, shepherding a whole group of wolves with her.
Castiel sits up first, balancing Dean with him, donning a light blue t shirt
over his head and shimmying a pair of boxer-briefs up his legs with a fine
finesse where he’s kneeling, before standing and shunning on the jeans. He
moves to dress Dean next, but Sam growls lowly at him in warning, until Cas
chuckles and backs off with his hands up in a placating gesture, a small smile
on his mouth.
Sam laps at his thigh in gratitude and Dean sits there, wide eyed and confused
all the way up until the last wolf waddles lazily back into the house and Sam
shifts back to his usual giant frame with a wonderfully dimpled grin before
diving on Dean and wrapping him up in his thick limbs, skin against perfect
skin.
Dean sighs at the contact and smiles too, his face mushed against one perfect
shoulder.
“God, I’ve needed to do that for hours,” Sam hisses into his hair, one hand
accompanying it, the other lifting Dean shortly to straddle his lap. Dean can’t
wait until he’s healed enough to hold on properly…
Dean huffs slightly, lifting his head so he can nuzzle up as well, match Sam’s
powerful scenting over him, his hands darting over Dean’s body as if checking
he is really here.
“Mm,” he hums, pulling Dean in tighter. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby. I love
you, Dean, you beautiful thing, I love you so fucking much it hurts, you know
that? Christ pup, you’re gonna kill me...”
Dean frowns and gulps because he’s definitely not gonna kill him, he just…
“And Jo’s gonna kill you if you don’t get some clothes on, Romeo,” Castiel
chuckles, nudging at Sam’s back with a bare foot. Sam smiles too and moves off,
his eyes tracking Dean’s face, making sure it’s all where it should be. “I’m
sure you can continue this inside.”
Sam grins up at him from his knees on the floor, those dimples so close to
Dean’s eyes, he actually can’t stop himself from moving his lips to one perfect
indent, scenting along Sam’s face. He freezes when Sam does, poised and
prepared to leap off in apology, but then Sam’s yanking him close again and
everything’s okay. “Aw, baby, don’t do that to me now,” he whines, cranking up
Dean’s confusion.
Castiel pulls Dean off then, leaving a huffing Alpha crouched on the floor,
looking up with dazed eyes as Dean stands above him. He watches as Castiel
dresses him, helps him step into oversized boxers and pyjama pants that swim
his feet. He only moves to his own clothes once Dean’s completely dressed and
even then, the second he can’t watch him when the t-shirt goes over his head
looks like too much, and he smiles again when he sees that’s Dean’s still right
there.
Dean’s lifted in full arms when they’re all ready to leave and go, Castiel
holding Sam’s waist as they walk through the house again, Dean burying his face
back in Sam’s neck.
They walk for about a minute through the house, up one small flight of stairs,
before Castiel opens a door and they enter a room, Sam lets Dean down into a
plush leather armchair in the middle of it. And when Dean looks around at the
mass stacks of books lining the shelves coating every wall, he feels like he’s
in a public library. He smiles around at them all, dazed. Castiel sits beside
him in another armchair and Dean smiles at him, pleased to have him close,
before setting his sights back on Alpha and hoping he’s allowed to sit on his
lap…
But Alpha doesn’t sit anywhere, he just stands and watches, hands in his jean
pockets. Dean frowns up at him shortly before remembering his place and turning
away. Two soft hands move to separate sides of his face; Castiel’s stroking his
hair and Sam’s caressing his cheek until he looks back up.
“I’ll be back in a few hours or so, sweetheart, you’re okay. Cas can read to
you, if you’d like, maybe help you read? Don’t give me those pup eyes, little
one,” he says, smiling, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I won’t be
too long.”
A kiss is pressed to his forehead, one on Castiel’s lips before the Alpha takes
his leave, his scent floating with him. But Dean curls up and inhales along the
tee shirt he dons, breathing in the scent of Sam and Cas and that’s all the
more awesome. He blinks up at Castiel.
“Would you like to move to the couch, sweetheart?” he offers, nodding its way.
“Then you can lay along my lap, if you want, I could read you a story?”
Dean blinks again and nods, already hopping up and travelling over, Cas hot on
his tail. They pause because Cas does so Dean does, he watches the beta with
wide, wondering eyes.
“What would you like to read, little pup?” Dean shrugs, unsure. Castiel frowns
in contemplation. “How about we start at Harry Potter? Amazing series, and
we’ve got seven of them to get through. Maybe later we can watch the movies. Is
that alright?”
Dean nods. He’s heard shortly of Harry Potter before, mostly back at the home,
years and years ago - but other than that, the thing’s a total mystery to him.
He settles against Castiel once the book’s retrieved though, his head nuzzled
deeply into his lap, Castiel’s hand buried in his hair. And he listens to
attention when Castiel reads.
They’re on chapter four by the time Dean’s stomach rumbles and Castiel jumps,
all but slamming the book down on a nearby table and leaping from the sofa,
uplifting Dean entirely. He grunts at the force and stares with wide eyes up at
the Beta, confused and shocked, his scent laced with it. Cas kneels shortly and
kisses the top of his head, stroking him in placation before lifting back up
and walking away.
“I’ll grab your lunch, sweetheart, and breakfast. You should have told me you
were hungry, little one, I don’t like to see you hungry. Stay here for a few
minutes, I won’t be long,” the last words are spoken out of the door and on the
final one, the whole thing slams shut and Dean’s left all on his own.
He lies back to the couch and scents where Castiel was sitting, all the way up
until the leather overpowers it again so he just stuffs his head down the front
of his tee.
He feels good. Remarkably good for such a shattering morning – everything feels
cleaner somehow, like Dean doesn’t need to worry so much anymore, like the
display of trust seems to be holding and he doesn’t need to be terrified of
everyone any longer. He feels safe with Alpha and with Castiel. Even Jo and
Ellen, Maggie the little girl, play their parts in keeping Dean sane here,
soothing even his mind into a full sense of security…
Dean bolts upright when he feels the first tingle.
Nononono…
He clutches at his stomach as though it’ll make any sort of difference, he
groans down at himself—at his body for ruining a good thing while it’s going,
for God’s sake.
Dean stands when the first, small wave makes itself known, a flush of slick
running to the crevice of his thighs, an actual flush staining his skin. He
can’t stay here, he knows that, he needs to go find someone, Castiel or Alpha,
so long as he’s not stuck in here when the first real flash hits him…
But Castiel told him to stay put…
Dean’s already at the door by the time that little memory resurfaces, he’s
already out of it and navigating more corridors before he reasons that Castiel
couldn’t possibly have included the chance of him going into heat with that
meaning to stay where he is, so really, Dean’s free to find what he needs.
The litany of alphaalphaalphaalpha has started up in his mind again, similar to
the rejection but not as painful—more unadulterated want rather than stinging
need. He still needs to get to Alpha though, even Castiel before it gets worse.
He passes the small staircase, a few unfamiliar faces there turn and gawp at
him, but he doesn’t pay attention, he’s just travelling for the hall again,
hoping to get some basis for the kitchen, where Castiel said he was getting
Dean’s lunch…
It turns out the scent of Alpha is easier to find than Beta in a house full of
Gamma’s, so Dean just lets his body navigate, through another maze of
corridor’s, the scent growing and growing until finally he arrives at a door,
closed and professional looking, Dean can smell more people in there, people
Alpha might be embarrassed in front of, like Master used to be when Dean went
to him for help in his heat, when he could barely walk from the need.
Dean’s knocking on the door before he can think about it and opening it with
the “Come in!” without deciding he would.
Five people and Alpha.
It’s an office, Dean can tell so far, a huge, vintage desk on the other side,
Alpha sat behind it and—Dean doesn’t see much besides his alpha, his vision
just zooms into the relief he can already feel, another layer of slick and he
grimaces, his hand white where it’s still on the doorknob.
“Dean? Sweetheart, you okay?” Sam can’t smell him yet then.
Dean steps in closer, the scent drawing him in, his head held down in some
semblance of an apology when he says, “Alpha…please,” he pants, clutching
desperately at his t-shirt, “I, um…I need you. Please.”
The scent apparently hits him then, because he goes ramrod straight, his eyes
glazing slightly before he shakes it off and dodges out from behind the desk,
moving smoothly over to Dean and clutching him up in a strong grip, he calls a,
“Rain check,” over his shoulder at the other Gammas before walking to the
corridor, slamming the door behind him and burying his nose in Dean’s throat.
“Okay, baby boy. Let’s go find Cas, huh?”
And Dean nods, rutting his crotch as surreptitiously as he can along one sharp
hipbone, whining desperately into his Alpha’s neck. Sam’s hand moves to balance
him properly by coming up to hold him beneath Dean’s backside—Dean moves back
into that touch as well, he tightens his legs around Alpha’s slim waist and
nuzzles deeper, needing more…
“Hush, sweetheart, you’re okay, we’ll make it good soon, baby, don’t worry,
shshsh,” he soothes, his other hand stroking over Dean’s hair. Dean’s panting
now, gulping against his Alpha, his body convulsing in an uneven rhythm –
moving back against the hand near his aching hole, rocking forward into the
pressure at his throbbing dick. It’s not enough…fuck, it’s not enough.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” he pants into Sam’s perfect throat, nuzzling his face
into the collar obscuring Dean’s access. He clutches at the fabric along Sam’s
ribs, fisting up in his fingers and rocking, forwards and backwards, picking up
the rhythm. “Alpha…” he whines.
“Alright, Omega, it’s okay, little one, you’re okay, come on now, baby, hush,
sweetheart.” Dean doesn’t look up from Alpha’s shirt but Sam stops straight,
pulls Dean up further before saying, “Cas. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s in heat,”
to which Dean responds with a muffled wail until they’re moving again.
Another hand strokes along Dean’s side, one clutches at Dean’s own taut hand,
Castiel’s fresh scent makes itself known beside Alpha and that just makes it
worse… Until Alpha’s all but running up a flight of stairs, fast-walking a
little further and finally placing Dean gently down on a bed, letting him go
and stepping back. Dean growls at the lack of touch but when he looks up
Alpha’s shirt is being shredded and a golden stretch of skin is perfectly
exposed to the daylight; jeans drop instantly to the floor along with his
boxers and Dean reaches dazedly out for him – for the perfect column of pure
Alpha.
“Shh, baby,” Alpha says, moving back to the bed. He peels the pyjama pants from
Dean’s legs, discards away with them somewhere Dean doesn’t care enough to look
– between him and Castiel, the tee’s removed and thrown as well. And when Alpha
sinks to clutch his entire, perfectly bare body in line with Dean, he’s nearly
dying. He whines.
Alpha kisses everywhere; starting at Dean’s forehead, moving further and
further down to his lips, pressing a quick peck there before sinking lower –
down over his chest in a straight line through the middle, over his fluttering
stomach muscles, lower to the bare skirting of his cock, nuzzling gently at the
hairless skin there before licking a stripe straight up the shaft. Dean rocks
up, his shoulder blades pressing aggravatingly into the grey duvet of a strange
bed, his hips leaving it all together until Alpha has to pin them down with two
gentle hands, his thumb stroking along the sharp lift of bone as he sucks the
whole thing down to the base.
Dean’s wail rocks even in his own ears, his hands fist roughly at the sheets
and he feels like he’s losing all control until finally, blessedly, Castiel
makes another appearance, his clothes discarded too – he scoots up behind Dean
and pulls him to lay between his legs, his head turned to scent along a
perfectly bare stomach.
Dean ruts down now instead, needing pressure at his leaking hole, needing more
than this perfect encasing over his still seriously throbbing cock. “Alpha…” he
pants out in between keens. “Please, Sam…please, I need it, please…”
Castiel strokes over his hair to keep it off his sweaty forehead, the other
hand dancing gently over his whole chest, pushing past both erect nipples until
Dean arches into the touch, choking out slightly at the twinge in his side at
the harsh motion. A thumb runs down the side of his face and pushes at an
escaped tear, but its Alpha Dean needs to move – this isn’t doing anything, his
hole is still stupidly empty…
But when Sam trails a hand down Dean’s side in a feather-light touch, when it
moves to under his splayed, bent up legs and presses one finger along the slick
opening - Dean’s panting increases. Ten fold.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he whines, when the tip pushes in and the rest of it follows,
down to the last knuckle. Dean rocks into it, needing more pressure.
“Shh, sweetheart, there you go,” Sam says, looking up at him when he releases
Dean’s dick. He trails further down to lick along his balls, releasing his
finger to place both hands at Dean’s flank and tilt him up, higher for better
access and before Dean can even react, a perfect, sharp tongue is pressed
straight into his hole, teasing and probing at the slick walls.
Dean sobs and rocks into him, thumbs pull him wider open and it feels so
fucking good – he reclines back into Cas, his hands finding their way to the
beta’s knees to just hold on for dear life, a handle to grip as he rocks as
hard as his battered body will let him; up until it’s just not enough.
“Please fuck me,” he whispers, his voice taut in his own ears. “Please, Alpha,
please knot me…”
He knows, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn’t be
asking and that this is Alpha’s decision, but his body doesn’t care. His body
lights up like lightening when Sam pulls out, disappointed yet hopeful all at
the same time as he watches the freaking huge cock bob before him, so close yet
seriously nowhere near close enough. Dean reaches out for him and gets a soft
hand instead.
“We’ll get there, baby, hang on,” he says, actuallymoving away to crawl next to
Castiel, sit beside him against the headboard. Dean lifts up and turns over,
watching from low to the bed, waiting desperately for the all clear to leap on
his alpha – a low rumble of need vibrating from his throat. He rest his chin
minutely on Cas’ thigh, waiting, waiting, waiting…
Sam pats his thigh. “Come on then,” he says, smiling. Dean clambers haphazardly
over Castiel’s legs, climbing up Sam’s until he can straddle his hips, position
himself just above his Alpha’s own eager cock, waiting for Sam to make that
move. He doesn’t like this – the whole waiting thing. He just needs a knot
inside of him now, he doesn’t have time to play around, he needs his alpha. He
balances his hands low on Sam’s stomach, peers meaningfully into those multi-
coloured eyes, narrowing them until Sam just does it already…
“Alpha,” Dean says, his voice low in an almost warning though he aims it as a
suggestion. Sam just smiles up at him though, showing off those dimples and
perfect white teeth, his hands finally coming to Dean’s hips to hold him
steady, his thumbs once again over the clear bone. “Please.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam says, grinning. Dean catches Castiel from the corner of his
eye, crawling up closer, pressing his body along the length of Sam’s and along
Dean’s bent leg. He kisses along Alpha’s neck at the precise same second Dean
has a cock buried swiftly in his ass, already balls deep. He hisses at the
quick intrusion, but his mouth’s open in ecstasy - he ruts down into it the
second Sam stills and he keens once his breath returns back to him.
“You alright, little one?” Castiel asks, turning his burning eyes up at Dean’s
flushed face. Dean nods quickly, grinding lower at the feeling of fullness, the
perfect sense of accomplishment as the rod buried inside of him starts rubbing
– not thrusting – just seemingly getting Dean used to the feeling again. Right
now Dean doesn’t mind, but if his Alpha doesn’t pick up the pace soon, he very
much will. He’s already burning for the knot.
“Fuck,” Sam hisses, his own, perfect face contorted in pleasure. “Now this…this
feels better. Holy crap, baby, you feel like fucking fire, Jesus.”
Dean blinks down at him and waits, first for the movement then for the knot,
but Sam seems to be taking his time to revel in the pure sensation. Well, he
can do that tomorrow when everything’s not quite so life or death and when Dean
doesn’t feel like he’s going to drop of the end of the earth if he doesn’t have
his relief. He whimpers and grinds again, moving his hand back to grip at Sam’s
- prying it off to hold onto the long fingers. He leans forward onto the other,
pressing at Sam’s firm chest.
“Fuck me,” he whispers, leaning closer to Sam’s cheek. “Please, Alpha, please
knot me. I need you.”
Apparently that does the trick and then some because Sam’s thrusting up then,
burrowing deeper than before into Dean, his hands gripping like vices along his
bare skin, probably leaving bruises, but it’s not like that’s something new.
Besides, he needs this Alpha’s mark somewhere on him – his new Alpha, his new
mate. He sighs out a jagged sound as the echoes of wet slaps fill the room,
tilts his hips for better access until he hits that spot and Dean cries out
again. Alpha aims for it like a piston, his motions harsh but exactly what Dean
needs right now. Every single poker-accurate, coma-inducing hit he gets at the
little bundle of nerves inside of him feels like an angel pushing him closer
and closer to the edge, urging him over it until with one powerful push, Dean
keens, Sam grips and he’s coming like a madman, rutting crazily, creamy ropes
of come painting Sam’s chest and stomach, reaching even to his neck.
Dean sinks low against him, moving in time for Sam as he gets closer, riding
him as the knot starts to form, inching further and further up until, with a
hard thrust, he’s buried it deep inside him. His motions are shorter now but no
less inducing, Dean can feel his dick already fill again with interest, the
heat’s head making itself known. Sam needs to come, that’s what it is. Sam
needs to completely fill him up with his warm seed and keep him perfect and
full, plug it all inside him.
Hips stutter and Sam’s breath catches in his throat but it’s only when
Castiel’s mouth connects with his own that he shoves Dean down, throws his hips
up and shoots his load straight into Dean’s belly, filling him perfectly and
Dean sighs, finally relaxing against him, somewhat satiated through the
monstrous heat. Sam’s hands stroke his sides, his chest heaves beneath Dean’s
worn fingers and everything’s just perfect when Castiel’s hand joins Sam’s.
Sam pulls him in to kiss thoroughly then, his tongue (still tasting like a
salty Dean) dipping quickly between his lips, pulling out a happy moan.
They’re all three smiling when they pull off.
“Better, baby?” Sam asks, massaging over his scalp.
Dean grins lazily, blinking down at Sam. “Definitely,” he says, mewling when
Cas runs his hand over Dean’s cheek, inching too close to the strained rim,
trapped over Sam’s knot.
Dean wriggles somewhat, practically milking the thing inside him to complete
release, earning from Sam a hitched groan. He scowls playfully at Dean when he
opens his eyes.
“Well, welcome to the pack, beautiful,” Castiel says, feathering his hand along
Dean’s thigh. Dean smiles over at him, slightly shyer now the toxins seem to
have worn off for the time being. Dean’s immensely grateful with how perfect
Castiel’s being over all of this – he just watched his mate willingly fuck
another person and now he’s smiling and smelling all happy about it. Dean moves
out to hold his hand, hopefully portraying his pleasure.
Cas smiles at him. “You hungry, little one? I know you didn’t have breakfast.”
He glares slightly over at Sam. “Or lunch. And we were interrupted when I went
to grab you food.” Dean ducks quickly, but nods anyway. He knows it’s bad to go
without food and water in a heat, what with his body losing so much liquid.
He’s surprised, though, when Castiel grins up at him and leans over the bed,
retrieving a plate Dean didn’t notice was there.
It’s toast; cut up in neat little squares, smothered in peanut butter and jelly
– Dean’s belly rumbles and he opens his mouth gleefully when Cas offers him a
piece. He moans at the pleasure, ignoring how good the whole thing feels with
the knot and the food and the company as much as he can to just focus on
eating. Master was never this nice, even on a good day.
When he’s finished, Sam leans forward and kisses at the corner of his mouth,
catching crumbs of bread and a small smudge of jam.
“Do you feel good, baby?” he asks absently.
Dean doesn’t even consider his response when he says, “Better than I ever have
before.”
***** Blame It On Me *****
Heats with Master were never enjoyable affairs.
Once Dean finally managed to crawl his way to Master’s bedroom—normally in the
middle of the night—he had to sit and wait outside the door for his Master to
wake, he had to kneel mere metres from his Master’s scent with his hands firmly
on his knees for any kind of say so to touch himself or even to buck up the
courage and ask his Master. And it was only ever on the second day of a heat,
when Dean’s clothes had been officially sweat through and he was trembling
violently like a madman outside his door that Master ever let him in.
He’d walk past him sometimes. Dean would be curled against the wall with four
fingers up his ass and an iron grip around his dick, mewling the second he
smelt that hypnotic scent shift on the other side of the wood and Master would
appear, look down at Dean in blatant disgust, and just walk off. He’d leave
Dean there, just outside the perimeter of his Alpha’s pure scent, dying from
the blatant, unadulterated need that wouldn’t leave without Alpha’s help and
not come back until he was sure Dean was incoherent with it. Until he was sure
Dean would make a mistake and that he could punish him even more.
But that was only when Dean was bad.
When Dean was good, sometimes Master would make it good. One heat, years and
years ago, when Dean was still really just getting used to them, Master woke up
just for him and called him into bed. He knotted Dean between the sheets even
before that first real kick had set in, before Dean could lose sight of how he
should be behaving and he didn’t make any mistakes, he just nuzzled at Master
and slept beside him in the bed, the whole way through it.
Dean used to think that was the best heat of his life, but now he knows he was
wrong.
Because heat with Sam and Cas? Is fucking awesome in comparison.
They don’t punish him. They don’t make him wait or force him to kneel on the
floor whilst they finish with themselves, and they don’t look at him as if he’s
the Bane of their existence. They hold him and they cherish him, whisper in his
ear that he’s safe and wanted and loved and no one will ever hurt him again,
not while he’s wrapped in Sam’s arms.
Dean’s not exactly naïve enough to believe them quite yet, obviously—he’s bound
to fuck up somewhere along the line and earn himself more pain—but the way they
keep saying it, it’s as though they really do mean it. As though they really
give two shits about what happens to him. It’s scary but amazing at the same
time and Dean’s never felt like that before. It’s nice. It’s good.
So, by the beginning of the sixth day, when Dean feels the edge start to take
its leave, he’s almost reluctant. Until he shifts and his ass complains at him
for the hundredth time that week, and then he’s relieved all over again. He
just nuzzles into Castiel’s throat and lets him scent Dean out.
“Ah,” Cas hums, pulling at his waist and looping his leg over Dean’s. “It’s
letting up. I bet that’s a relief, huh?”
Dean nods. Yeah, it really is. Sure, he’ll miss the closeness he was awarded,
the scent swaddling the room in pure perfection, Alpha and Cas two amazing
entities beside him in the bed and the knowledge that he was safe between them,
but really…heats suck. And in the end, they always do, no matter who they’re
spent with.
“I think Alpha might be a little disappointed,” Castiel says, but Dean can feel
the smirk pressed to his forehead so he doesn’t bother getting worried. He just
mouths at the mark Alpha left (from that time they were fucking on day two,
when they thought Dean was asleep from exhaustion at the foot of the bed) at
Cas’s clavicle, enhancing the purple bruise against his tanned skin. Cas has
procured a decent little collection of love bites (that’s what Sam called them
when Dean looked on, confused) over the last week or so because apparently
Alpha has a thing. A thing that will only be introduced to Dean once he’s all
better. He doesn’t mind too much.
A few minutes later and the shower shuts off, a pause of a few seconds and then
Alpha’s waltzing through the door in the aura of thick steam surrounding him,
naked and dripping but towelling his hair into a wonderful disarray. Dean
smiles up at him from over Cas’ shoulder and welcomes the dimpled reply.
Sam pauses and sniffs at the air a few metres from the bed, tilting his nose
into the space and inhaling. He narrows a gaze down at Dean, who shrinks lower
and hides against Cas’s shoulder. Alpha just huffs a laugh.
“Bet you’re pleased about that,” he says half-heartedly, dropping the towel
altogether and climbing to sit up on the bed. He leans over and rests his
forearms on Cas’s hip, peering over them up at Dean.
“And so he should be,” Cas yawns, tugging Dean in closer and nuzzling at the
top of his head. “I can’t imagine getting fucked every hour for five days
straight is anything to get excited about. It must be a relief.”
Dean smiles were his face is smushed against a stubbly stretch of jawbone. Cas
understands.
“Point taken,” Sam grins, reaching over a hand to palm at Dean’s bare waist.
“You feeling okay, baby?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, lifting one arm from between the mattress and Cas’s hip
where he wedged it hours ago to reach back for Sam’s fingers and hold onto
them. Alpha purrs at him and Dean fucking revels in the display. He’s happy, so
happy and he never wants this to end—ever.
“We should go for a shower, little one,” Cas advices and both Dean and Alpha
grumble at the suggestion, shifting their positions in protest and a dazed hope
to convince the Beta. Nevertheless, Cas just chuckles a laugh at them both
before being the first to lift off to a litany of soft growls and tug Dean up
with him. Dean only goes because he’s being told to, otherwise he’d happily
have stayed in bed beside them both for the rest of the millennium. Damn Cas
and his latent Gamma need to be clean.
Dean doesn’t hide his skulking motions though, and Sam doesn’t hide his laugh
at him, or the hand that grips tighter to pull him back, or the soft lips
nudging at his own. Nope. No shower today. Dean’s staying with Sam.
“No,” Cas chastises, pulling insistently at Dean’s hand with both of his. “Sam.
We had a deal.”
Deals are dumb.
And they only made the stupid thing because the first—and last—time they all
tried to shower together, Dean had ended up sprawled haphazardly across the
shower’s floor, curled up around two sets of feet against the pain wheedling
it’s way across his side. They’d carried him to the bed to the rhythm of Dean’s
panting, even though he did insist he was fine, they didn’t have to lug him
about themselves. And this morning Sam had suggested a shower, presumably just
as gung-ho about sharing as Dean was, but Cas stepped in with a resounding no,
that Dean didn’t need any more injuries and neither did the rest of them. So
they’d tossed a coin and Sam had gone in first, alone, Cas was to help Dean.
Well, two showers in less than ten minutes can’t be a bad thing, can it?
“But he smells so good,” Sam whines against Dean’s mouth, sitting up and
wrapping his arms around his waist, holding Dean tight to the space between his
thighs. He moves to Dean’s jaw joint and mouths at it, earning a tight whine.
“You both do. Just come back to bed and then I can smell awesome again, too.”
Dean can practically sense Cas rolling his eyes and he smiles, clenching the
hands still wrapped around his. Alpha’s head is now beside his, facing Cas
straight on and Dean would bet money on the expression he’s giving; a childish
grin beaming with dimples, cunning eyes narrowed and suggesting as they pin his
mate down.
It’s funny how much you can learn about two people in the space of a hundred
and twenty hours straight with them.
But Castiel ultimately just huffs and tugs Dean towards him—Alpha lets him go
because he knows Dean wouldn’t be able to deal with the two different orders
and they learnt that the hard way (“Come here, Dean,” “No, you should go back
to sleep, you’ve barely had any. Go back to sleep, Dean, it’s okay,” “He
doesn’t need more sleep if he’s awake, does he? Come here, baby,” “Sam, don’t
be ridiculous, he needs rest,” “He’s had enough, he needs me,” “Dean, rest,”
“Come here,” “Dean? Hey, hey, pup, it’s okay, you’re okay.”) So yeah. They
don’t do that anymore.
“You smell decent. Dean and I need to smell decent before we go downstairs
again otherwise Ellen might murder us. So,” it’s a warning and Sam lets Dean
go. “Thank you. We won’t be long.”
So Dean trails obediently behind him for the bathroom.
It is a quick shower, like Cas had promised—with Dean washing himself as best
he can whilst Cas sorts himself out, before he steps in when Dean can’t
physically do any more. He’s gentle (of course he is, he’s Cas) and before Dean
knows it, he’s leaning against the toned column of beta perfection and purring
into Castiel’s hairline, completely drenched from the spray. Cas accommodates
him like he has for the last however long he’s been here and washes Dean’s back
for him, dipping down gently to clean out his sore hole. In the end,
ironically, Dean doesn’t want to leave the shower.
Especially if that means going downstairs.
Back out in the main room, damp and foggy, Sam’s dressed for the day in jeans,
a t-shirt, and another blue-plaid cowboy shirt, just donning his boots. He
glances up at them both and smiles, before standing and rooting around in some
draws off to the side of the room, opposite the bed.
Cas deposits Dean on the down comforter with a wet kiss to his forehead before
he finds his own clothes in the wardrobe and busies himself dressing in them
too.
They’re fascinating to watch, somehow. All they’re doing is finding clothes to
wear and putting them on, but it’s such a practiced routine and it’s flawless
and…nauseating to watch.
It reminds Dean that he doesn’t fit into their routine and that he shouldn’t.
He’s the omega, he’s the little anomaly for them all and he’s the one that
shouldn’t (doesn’t) belong. It’s not a great feeling to be reminded off after
the last few days and he suddenly feels embarrassed—that he was so comfortable
around them and he allowed himself to feel protected and loved and cared for,
convinced himself it could last. But it can’t because he’s an abomination.
Because he’s just an Omega.
By the time Sam returns to help him dress, Dean doesn’t look him in the eye,
too deep in his funk to offer more than a twitch. Even when Sam rests a huge
hand at his cheek, he doesn’t bother acknowledging it—he just ducks his gaze
back to where it should be and leaves it at that. Like he’s supposed to,
without the excuse of a heat.
Sam looks at him in confusion and worry, but then Cas sidles up and pulls Dean
into standing and Sam apparently forgets it and just gets him dressed.
Once he’s finally prepared for the day—dressed in joggers that barely fit and
an oversized shirt that smells like Alpha, standing beside the always-
immaculate pair in jeans and fitted shirts—he clings to Castiel because at
least he’s not making the assumption that Alpha wants him anywhere near. Cas is
only a Beta. No one mentions it, which he’s grateful for. At least they don’t
try to carry him.
They pass Dean’s room (theguestroom, it doesn’t belong to you) which surprises
him. He didn’t know Alpha’s room was just across the landing, he didn’t realise
they would both have been so close when Dean needed them before the heat. Not
that he’d have done anything about it. It’s not his place.
“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks casually, apparently not noticing Dean’s
discomfort and just asking because he’s nice. Dean nods against his shoulder
and presses closer.
“I’m fine.”
They descend the same stairs Dean did when he came to them with Thomas, Alpha
leading the way with him and Cas taking up the rear. Everything smells duller
now, at the end of his heat—Alpha’s scent wafting in a compelling sense in
front of him, but it’s not overwhelming anymore, which pleases Dean, at least.
Now he has control over himself again, which can only be a good thing. It was
with Master, at any rate.
The main hall’s empty by the time they enter it, just swarmed with thirty-two
different scents of both human and wolf combined, all but painting the walls.
Dean’s heart picks up when they move further forward, towards a room that
sounds busy and full and not particularly welcoming to a clingy Omega that
probably still reeks of sex. But he follows Alpha in because that’s what’s
expected of him and besides, Cas’s hand’s pretty unrelenting wrapped around his
waist.
The kitchen’s not actually as busy as Dean was terrified of—and he notices Jo,
Ellen, and Maggie before they notice him, either sat on a counter reading a
magazine, cooking at a stove, or playing with what looks like an advanced
Gameboy (other kids used to have them back at the home). Others swim into focus
before his distinct scent hits the air or before they notice Alpha in the
room—an older man who looks familiar but Dean’s not sure why, stirring
something in what looks like a croc-pot; Elliot apparently sulking in one
corner, arms folded over his chest in protest; and a scrawny looking guy
reading a How To For Dummies book that Dean can’t see the purpose of. And if he
all but shoves himself into Castiel’s grip, then so be it.
Right. Great. Fantastic.
Maggie notices them first. She beams and offers a bright, “Omega!” for the
others to follow onto, and they do—all in one excruciating swivel of heads that
leads to six pairs of eyes all staring and gawping, awesome…
Elliot’s the first to move—up from his seat in the corner and fast walking to a
door leading outside, old fashioned with two sections, one at the top and one
at the bottom—
“Elliot,” Alpha snaps, his voice a deep growl that Dean shies away from, even
when he steps back slightly and flanks Dean’s other side. Dean peers loosely up
at him from under his lashes, taking in the stormy expression and forcing the
panic rising in his chest to fuck off because it’s not aimed at him. It doesn’t
help much. “Is there something you’d like to say?”
Elliot’s frozen by the door, presumably pinned beneath Alpha’s wrath, and Dean
can totally understand that one. He just gawps over at them, his gaze flicking
every now and then to Dean, which Dean avoids meeting like the plague. He knows
what the pup thinks of him…
“To Dean,” Sam prompts.
Dean looks back up at him, surprised. What does Elliot have to say to him?
The younger boy gulps visibly before looking sharply over to Dean, eyes wet and
narrowed.
“I’m sorry,” he hisses, before storming from the old farm door and disappearing
outside.
Alpha jolts forward slightly as though he’s headed on going after him, but
Castiel’s hand removes itself from his trouser pocket and grabs Sam’s forearm,
holding him steady, closer to Dean. Who, in turn, steps back and very much
shies away, shoving his head into the back of Castiel’s neck and denying the
fact that he’s stood here, in front of everyone, with a pissed off Alpha fuming
on his right. Cas tugs him closer, almost subconsciously.
“Leave him, Sam,” he says, lowering his fingers until they can lace through
Alpha’s own. “He’s sorry, I really think he is. You know what Thomas was like
with them…”
“Yeah? Well that’s not an excuse,” Sam snaps, jolting his hand from Cas’s grip
to run it jaggedly through his hair.
Every single scent in the room has turned deeper, lower, clogging the space
with a bitterness that cuts Dean to the bone until he tenses completely and
pulls gently from Castiel’s grip to palm at his own skull. He’s scared. Alpha’s
furious. The room smells like everyone’s about to shift and go crazy and he
can’t, he won’t have an escape route and he’ll be left in the open to defend
himself like before, but this time they’ll do it, they’ll end him and be done
with it, just finish him off like they should have done ages ago…
Dean doesn’t realise he can’t breathe until Cas’ hands are on him again and
he’s being guided gently from the room. “Don’t do something stupid, Sam,” he
warns, before shutting the door behind them.
Dean gawps up, confused, before Cas pushes him against a nearby wall out in the
main hall and crowds him, taking his space and pushing limb to limb, leaving
nothing but cream paint and tall, muscular Beta for Dean to inhale and it’s
almost too much, after everything and everyone, Dean can’t even breathe or
think straight, and Christ, he’s so goddamn pathetic it’s hilarious…
“Dean,” Cas clips harshly, guiding a hand to his head (to bash it against the
wall like Master did, like when you behaved like this back home).
Dean can’t breathe. He actually can’t breathe.
“Dean, calm down,” Cas says, the hand drifting down to his neck to just end him
quickly and avoid the bloodshed—he pulls Dean’s head in until he’s face to face
with a marked up throat; so he’ll suffocate him and isn’t that poetic. “Just
breathe, Dean, breathe, it’s okay.”
And Dean does because he’s asked to, though he doesn’t see much point if this
is where it all ends. He can’t do this.
Cas smells good, if that’s any consolation to dying. He smells like the ocean
in summer and Dean can’t remember how he knows what that smells like, and he
can’t remember how he knows that song Ellen had sung, he can’t remember how he
knows Alpha and this…it’s too much. Dean just can’t anymore.
“Dean, I’m asking you to just scent me, can you do that? Don’t think about
anything, little one, just breathe in and out for me, that’s it. In and out,
pup, that’s good.”
Dean was doing that in the first place, but he does his best to obey. Every
lungful he takes in feels like the seaside and sand and sun cream all over his
face, someone buying him ice-cream and painting some on his nose—
Dean rips away from Castiel with a screamed, “No!” before he knows what he’s
doing. Before he knows that he pushed Cas away, he pushed a Beta and if he
wasn’t going to die minutes ago, he is now. He’s never acted like this before,
he doesn’t know how he’ll be punished only he does and he knows it won’t be
good, Alpha will kill him for hurting his mate or he’ll be ripped apart by the
pack and mauled and he’ll go to hell like every Omega before him, fuck, what
the hell’s wrong with him…
“Dean?”
And that’s Alpha.
Dean’s on the floor before he can decide what he’s doing, curled into a ball
with his head in his arms and sobbing into Alpha’s shirt, drenching the sleeves
until he can feel it prickling against his forearms. He can smell Sam on him,
around him, and it’s a scent he knows, one ingrained in him from the very
start, before Master, before the home and how the hell is that even possible,
he never knew the man existed, this can’t be happening, how is this happening—
“Dean, stop it, little one, you’re okay,” Castiel says, the Beta he just
attacked for no reason, the one that’s been so good to him and smells like home
and family and Alpha.
What’s wrong with Dean? Something’s wrong with him…
And when the hand—soft, warm, huge and so familiar after the last five
days—connects gently with his shoulder, Dean’s up and gone, though where he has
no idea.
His ribs hurt—fuck, do they—but Dean doesn’t have a choice in that, so he
ignores his pains. He ignores everything and just focuses on something he can
control, he runs, until he’s up the stairs, in the guest bedroom, then the
guest bathroom and burying himself inside the small space between the sink and
the start of the cabinets, trembling and clutching himself. This can’t be
happening—it isn’t, he’ll just wake up back on his blanket on that day, and
Master will be mad at him for being late but no other alpha will be in the
room, Master will just ignore him and kick him off until he’s learnt his lesson
and he can eat some of Master’s dinner. He won’t have memories of good heats
with Sam and Cas and he won’t have that song drumming his head or memories of
something that’s never happened to him when he smells the ocean because he
won’t smell the ocean. Master would never take him there, so he won’t have to
worry. Ha. Everything’s gonna be fine.
Only it’s not. Because the next time Dean opens his eyes he can see the
bath—the same one he crawled into with Cas on his first conscious night, the
same one he and Alpha shared when he promised Dean would never have to wear a
collar with him and when he got so angry that time Dean asked about a plug.
He’s been in this house for less than two weeks and it’s already eating him
alive. It’s already screwing him from the inside out and Dean just can’t…he
can’t.
Dean counts five minutes before he smells Ellen’s scent in the doorway. He
ignores it and waits for the strike that he knows will come.
Only it doesn’t.
Dean can’t do this. He needs normality and structure and this? This is about as
backwards as it can get.
Ellen sits on the toilet seat and waits, watching him. Dean can see her if he
just tilts backwards slightly, peering around the back of the old-fashioned
sink to where she sits, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and
watching him. He blinks up at her, through his eyelashes and waits.
And waits.
“I’m waiting for you here, kiddo,” she finally sighs, moving back until she can
cross both her legs and arms and stare at him pointedly, eyebrow quirked. Dean
doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do here, not with them, so he takes back
Master-instinct and crawls out of his hiding space to kneel before her, his
head bowed.
He offers a tight mewl when she doesn’t react.
He is. He’s like some useless little puppy; he’s sixteen, not a kid.
“You wanna clue me in, honey?” she prompts, shifting forwards slightly until
she can get her hand buried in Dean’s hair and comb it over his scalp. It takes
control over every muscle in Dean’s body to stop from flinching away, but he
manages it. Amazingly.
“No,” he says, knowing full well he’s being a little shit and he’d be murdered
back at Master’s but he’s already on Death Row. Who cares what he does now?
But Ellen just smiles kindly and keeps stroking, conning his hair into
submission until it’s all off his face.
A few minutes later and Ellen says, “They’re not mad at you, sweetheart.”
Dean huffs. Right. Even he’s not gonna buy that one, he knows what he did, he
knows how badly he’ll be punished when they come for him because nothing in the
world could make him go to them, not now. He knows, okay?
And then Ellen’s standing and walking away, leaving Dean to wallow until he
dies…except she doesn’t leave, she walks further into the bathroom, until she’s
level with the bath and she can slide down it’s wall, sitting with her knees up
on the floor. Dean watches on until she smiles over at him and flicks her head,
indicating her request.
So Dean sits next to her because he should. But he doesn’t scent her or nuzzle
her or anything else because he’s more resilient than that now. He can be grown
up about this. He’s accepted his fate. He just burrows his face into his raised
knees and waits there; for something new to happen.
A few more minutes of breathing and scent mingling crawls by before Ellen
shifts again, before an arm loops its way around Dean’s back and holds onto him
in a sturdy grip. Dean doesn’t move but Ellen pulls him in, resting her lips
over his still damp hair.
“It’s okay, Dean,” she murmers. “What you did…it’s okay. You don’t need to be
angry about it or embarrassed or scared. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.
Sam’s sorry he got upset with Elliot in front of you and Cas isn’t mad that you
pushed him. Everyone’s fine Dean, no harm done. Okay?”
Of course it’s not okay. Whether they’re going to punish him or not (of course
they are, that’s how these things work, it’s not negotiable) Dean still
disobeyed in front of Cas and Alpha and everyone that wanted to see it, he’s a
disgrace. He doesn’t deserve regret or forgiveness like Ellen claims, he
deserves punishment. And only with it can he get over it. As he said; it’s non-
negotiable.
“I mean they’re climbing up the walls with worry for you, but that’s all,
baby,” she smiles into his hair. “They wanted to come up themselves, but I
didn’t want them overwhelming you right now. You need to cool off first, and I
get that. So do they, really, they just freak out quicker. They’ll be fine
again if you come downstairs with me.” Dean freezes and shakes his head,
silently begging her not to force him. She just tugs him closer. “Aren’t you
hungry, Dean? You haven’t eaten anything since your heat and you know that’s
not a good idea. Come on down to the kitchen with me and I’ll whip you
something up, huh? Anything you want. You just need to come with me.”
Well if anything ever sounded ominous, that would be it. But Dean doesn’t have
a choice, does he? If she asks him to (makes him) come downstairs with her, he
doesn’t get a say-so. He’s to obey, previous disobedience or not, he always had
to with Master and he’ll have to here. Huh. Maybe that’s a parallel he can
cling to, when everything else fucks up like it did just now. This is all way
too confusing.
But Ellen’s still talking, convincing him when in the end he’ll have no choice
anyway. “Maggie’s worried too, you know. She wants to teach you how to play
Mario Kart on her Nintendo-whatever-DS-thingy, and trust me, that is a rare
thing,” she chuckles. “And Jo’s dying to introduce you to her girlfriend,
Charlie. And she wants your opinion on that TV show she was on about, the one
with the mother? They all want to meet you and know you Dean, no more Thomas’s
or Elliot’s I swear. And, you know, I think you and Ben could be friends. Would
you like that Dean? A real friend? Someone your own age who isn’t greying
around the temples, huh?”
She nudges Dean for an answer, so he just nods and whispers out, “Yeah,”
because it’s easier.
“Good. Come on then, kiddo, let’s go put your mates outta their misery.”
And then she’s pulling Dean up and he’s standing, at least as tall as her but
so much smaller in comparison. He’s trembling when she takes his hand in hers
but he stills slightly when she brings it to her mouth to kiss. He wilts and
follows where she leads him, skulking behind like a kicked mutt.
The walk downstairs is shorter than Dean remembers and by the time he reappears
in the main hall, Sam, Cas, Maggie, Jo and Gabriel have all accumulated, like,
the whole pack to swarm the room and watch him walk down and towards them. Not
the whole pack. About twelve people stand altogether behind their Alpha,
watching with rapt attention as Dean finally starts toeing towards them with
his head to his bare feet. This is hell. Christ.
“Baby,” Alpha all but snarls, darting to Dean until he’s scooped up in a
mammoth hug and lifted clean off the floor in the grip, hefted to rest lightly
against one strong shoulder when Sam supports beneath his backside to have his
legs splay around two narrow hips. “You’re okay, pup, good boy,” he hums, his
breath lighting Dean’s hair. “God, baby, you’re okay, you’re okay.”
Oh yeah, he’s awesome.
But Dean gets the distinct feeling that this isn’t not for his benefit, so he
just nuzzles Sam’s hair and lets him have it. Whatever the hell he considers it
to be.
"I'm sorry," Dean mumbles. "I'm sorry, Alpha."
***** I Will Hold On *****
Dean spends the next few hours coiled into Sam’s arms; his little brother’s
head ducked carefully and efficiently into his throat. And if he’s not
flinching or avoiding Castiel like the plague, then he’s blinking into Sam’s
skin and apparently ignoring the fact that he’s sat in the middle of their
currently deserted living room.
He should take Dean back upstairs and he would. But he and Castiel had made a
deal in the third day of the kid’s heat that just about the second he came
around from it, they’d start integrating him into the pack. He spent five days
straight with them, he learnt them – but he needs to learn the pack, too, he
needs their scent around him. So Sam dragged him into the living room (a
communal sized thing with old couch’s and armchairs stuffed into every crevice
that isn’t taken by a beanbag), flopped into the armchair and tugged Dean to
curl around him like the sloth he’s been for the last hundred and seventy
minutes or so.
Sam’s pathetically okay with this particular scenario (disregarding Dean’s
occasional waft of fear and Castiel’s gulps and grimaces at being ignored)
because at least this way he has a decent excuse for Dean to be so close. And
if Elliot even steps one toe into this room, he will not know what fucking hits
him…
Dean stirs and Sam shushes absently into his hair, stroking a hand down a
jagged row of ribs.
Little fucking shit, storming out like that, as though somehow Sam’s the one
being unreasonable. Yeah, right, well Sam’s not the one that kicked and teased
an abused and bloody sixteen-year-old kid, is he? And if Elliot had a brother,
Sam wouldn’t storm into his room and make him feel like the shit he’s convinced
he is, because he’s not a little asshole—
“Alpha?” Dean murmurs, his lips wet and delicate at Sam’s throat.
Sam hushes him down again. “S’ok, baby, I’m not mad at you.”
A pause for another second and Sam tries to force the anger down into his
gullet for later ranting, when Dean steps in with a whispered, timid, “Elliot?”
So Sam sighs and watches as his brothers hair (he needs a trim) blows in its
breeze. “Yeah. Yeah I guess so. But you don’t have to worry, Dean, he’s not
coming anywhere near you until he can learn that being a sheep isn’t a decent
way to go about living.”
And there it is again, that niggle at the back of Sam’s head—the one that’s
about to progress into screams and shouts that he’s doing this wrong, he’s
screwing his baby brother up more and he’s letting the same crap happen in this
pack too, his own fucking pack, the place where Dean is supposed to feel safe
and cared for. The place where he’s supposed to be safe and loved, not trampled
on and taunted by idiot little boys.
“It’s okay,” Dean tries, an eager edge to his voice that has Sam’s hackles
rising in defence, “I’m kinda used to it.”
Niggleniggleniggle…
Sam sighs before fitting his hands beneath Dean’s arms and hauling him upright,
until their faces are bare inches apart and those emerald gems don't have much
of a choice but to grimace up at him. “Dean…baby, look. That’s not what this
pack—what my pack is about. We don’t want you to be used to abuse, Dean. You
deserve the world and more, little one, and whether idiot little beta’s know it
or not, you will get that in this pack. I promise you that. Okay?”
The skin (delicate, like a baby bird) around Dean’s eyes crinkles with his
apparent confusion (and disbelief, but Sam doesn’t want to acknowledge that),
but he nods anyway—as though by now Sam can’t read his tells like an open
freaking book.
“Hey, baby,” Sam murmurs, taking Dean’s bruised hand—Ben did that, for fuck’s
sake—to his mouth and mumbling the words into the sore flesh. “I know you don’t
believe me. It’s okay, I understand why. But Dean…you can trust me. We can give
it as long as you need, but at some point, you’ll figure that out. You can
trust me, Dean. I’m your alpha now—I’m here for you, little one.”
And Sam’s perfect baby brother nods again, this time with a smoother brow and a
clearer clarity, so Sam figures that’s some sort of progress.
Another twenty or so minutes go by and Dean doesn’t so much as cough. He’s
tucked his face securely back to Sam’s clavicle and nuzzled there shortly
before settling again. Sam continues his soft efforts of stroking along Dean’s
spine, his other hand a careful path over Dean’s thigh—his inner wolf and Alpha
balking at the ridges of scars that disrupt his movement, even evident through
thick, too-big jogging pants. It makes him physically fume, but every stopper
he can muster goes on keeping his scent neutral. He owes his Omega that much at
least.
A knock on the door sounds at about the four-hour mark and Dean jolts like a
wolf just howled right up in his ear. He stiffens, his muscles tightening
around a waft of caution emitting from his pours, and Sam desperately wants to
tell the interrupter to back the fuck off. He doesn’t, obviously. He’s still an
alpha and he wouldn’t (can’t, he can’t) do that to his pack members. He still
has duties.
Still, when Dean’s skin turns to trembling beneath his hands, he wants nothing
more than to bury them both under twenty duvets for the next millennium.
Instead, he calls, “Come in.”
Maggie pops her head through the door. Her face is bright red like it usually
is after games with Uncle Gabe, her hair in short pigtails on top of her head
(Castiel clearly distracting her from the shit happening amidst the pack) and a
grin that Sam might possibly describe as manic as she peers over at them both.
Sam smiles at her.
“Hey, Mag’s. You okay?”
Dean looks up at that. His movements are still choppy and he hasn’t behaved so
utterly timid since he first came here (Christ, what did Sam do?) but he offers
Maggie a timid lifted-lip in acknowledgement. Sam pats his thigh in reward.
“Mm-hum,” Maggie replies cheerfully, hopping further through the door. “Gabriel
told me to come and check on you because you’re least likely to bite my head
off,” she grins, “and I wanted to see Dean.”
Sam huffs out an incredulous little laugh and lifts his brow humorously to
Dean. He just peers back through sand-dipped eyelashes, confused.
“Man’s got a point,” Sam smiles back. “Come on in, kiddo, you can keep us
company.”
Dean does actually move at that—lifting off of Sam for short seconds, removing
one leg from around Sam’s hip and replacing it next to the other, until he’s
sat across Sam’s lap with his ass and feet on the armchair’s cushion. Maggie
drops heavily into the beanbag opposite them. Sam kisses Dean’s crown.
“Are you okay, Dean?” she asks, all humour gone and replaced with a seriousness
she could only have learnt from Castiel. It makes Sam miss him.
Dean shuffles uncomfortably at the question the same way he did when Cas asked
it hours ago, or when Sam asked why he’s acting so strange, or when Ellen
nodded knowingly at him back in the hall. It makes Sam pull him in tighter with
both arms a solid tether around Dean’s waist. He nuzzles at his brother’s hair
and wishes for the billionth time that things had turned out differently.
Dean nods, after a second. He offers the pup a smile in the next, creasing
minutely in on himself with renewed shyness.
Sam gets he got mad, but seriously? What the hell happened to his brother?
“Are you sure? You smell weird,” she says, lowering her brow in a concerned,
disbelieving fashion.
“Mag’s,” Sam warns lowly and the kid backs off, smiling again.
“But really nice!” Nice save and Sam has to smile if just for the swift change
in context. “I’ve never smelt an Omega before but I bet they don’t smell as
good as you do.”
Sam smiles and shakes his head at her. Sneaky little shit.
“Uh…” Dean starts, smiling unsurely. “Thanks.”
“S’cool,” she grins.
They sit like that for a few minutes, Dean’s eyes drifting for the first time
since they plonked down into the room, taking in the floor to ceiling windows
across from them, the mounds of places to sit, the corner of gaming crap and
the stupidly huge TV, the fireplace behind them and the pale, blue-grey
coloured walls adorned with the kids’ drawings. Maggie just grins at them and
Sam smirks back at her, raising his brow in a gesture that means ‘am I doing
okay?’ and she nods back with a knowing, close-eyed ‘it appears so’. They grin
at each other.
“A-Alpha?”
Sam snarls—a vicious noise from deep in his throat, bubbling up from all the
fear and pain and anger at losing his brother, recovering the corpse that he’s
devolved into only to bring him safely home and have him attacked in his own
pack. It erupts in that one growl and vibrates through him, his gaze landing
with ‘you fucking bastard’ eyes at Elliot in the doorway.
Dean jolts at the word, freezes at Sam’s growl and yanks against Sam’s grip at
his scent. But he doesn’t let Dean go, he just gathers his baby up into his
arms like a toddler he used to be all those centuries ago and sucks in his
scent—fear (burning and immediate), disbelieve, sorrow, pain—before barking at
Elliot again, who’s stupid enough to still be in the room.
“Get. The hell. Away from him,” Sam hisses, his voice vibrating with a rage he
at least has the control to keep that lid on and stop the shift nagging at him
behind his skin.
Dean struggles in his grip, his breaths turning panicked, and raw and wet,
hands grappling at Sam’s own as he fights his way out, away from Sam and
protection and safety, and into the path of dangerdangerdanger…
“Alpha,” Maggie this time, not a threat. “Sam, Dean’s scared, please stop it…”
“I’m sorry, Alpha, please,” Elliot says, toeing closer, wanting to hurt Sam’s
omega… “I’m sorry I hurt Dean and woke him up and didn’t do what you said,
okay? Sam?”
‘Dean’s scared’ ‘Dean’s scared ‘Dean’s scared’…
Sam looks down at the shivering lump in his arms and balks. Fuck.
He did that. He made Dean that way, afraid of him and terrified, resorting to
safety instincts that bastard drummed into him from years of manipulation and
abuse. Sam lets him go quicker than he can gasp in horror and the boy goes
tumbling from his grip straight into the thick blue carpet.
Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with them?
Sam leaps to his feet when Dean makes a trembling little ball at his base,
vibrating and sobbing into the carpet, tiny, desperate pleas making their way
through wet lips because he thinks Sam’s gonna hurt him…his own big brother,
fuck.
Maggie crowds him gently and tugs him to her, swaddling him with her small
body. “S’okay, omega,” she assures into his ear, “Alpha won’t hurt you. Alpha
loves you. Alpha’s just scared for you, but it’s okay. I know he’ll keep you
safe, omega, I promise I do.”
“Elliot, get out.” Sam snaps quietly, not even looking towards the door. “And
you don’t come back until I speak with you, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” And the door closes behind him.
Sam ducks slowly to the pair’s height, palms offered and timid because he’s
perfectly aware of his brother’s bewildered, panicked gaze pinned to him
beneath the arm of Sam’s borrowed shirt. And when Dean lifts slightly to bare
his throat, trembling and flushed, Sam slumps into sitting and rests his
forearms on his knees.
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “You deserve
more than this, baby, you really do. I’m not gonna hurt you, Dean, it’s okay.
It’s okay, little one, I’m sorry.”
Maggie spends a few minutes combing Dean’s hair in her position over him,
smelling his shoulder, and giving him a wrist to scent at like she does every
Thursday night with baby Jemma. He rolls over though, then rolls forward until
he’s sitting, breathing in her scent with an innocently confused expression as
she kneels over his lap. She leans in, slowly, like she’s gonna startle a wild
animal, before wrapping her arms around his neck and offering her throat up for
a decent scenting. Dean accepts and holds her back, hands timid and unsure on
her tartan dress.
Maggie glares at Sam over one tense shoulder and strokes at Dean’s back.
There’s something suspiciously Godfather-like about the motion that has Sam
smiling slightly, before shaking his head slowly in self-sacrifice. God, he’s
getting brother lessons from a nine-year-old girl. That’s not normal, surely?
“Alpha’s sorry, Omega. It’s okay to go back to him now.”
Dean stiffens again, his body tensing up from the tone Maggie had just coaxed
him gently into and he follows her slightly as she starts lifting up, before
remembering himself and jolting back down. He turns his head slightly, using
his other senses to see Sam before he actually sees him, lifting just a few
more inches until those green eyes lock with hazel and Sam smiles shyly.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he greets, tilting his head. “Will you come sit with me
again?”
Dean pauses and thinks it through, cogs whirring almost painfully in his brain
for long seconds before he just nods again and clambers slowly forwards. Sam
embraces him with wide arms and tugs him in for purchase, safe and warm and
close.
Dean mumbles something into his shoulder.
“What was that, pup?” Sam nudges.
“M’sorry,” he whispers again and Sam’s heart breaks all fucking over for the
hundredth time that day.
“No, Dean,” he says quickly. “No, you hear me? That was completely my fault,
okay? You had nothing to do with that, I shouldn’t have gotten mad again, I
should have freaking realised after this morning that it was goddam stu-
…anyway, baby, just… Don’t apologise for something that isn’t your fault and
never was, okay? Dean?”
And Dean, always the appeaser, just nods.
*
Castiel comes to bring them lunch a little after that, once Maggie’s gone off
because Alfie said he’d play with her after Doctor Who, once they’ve moved onto
a two seat couch so they could spread out a bit and once Sam had taken Dean for
a bathroom break to wait outside the door for him.
Dean ducks for the eleventh time that day and buries his face into Sam’s shirt
collar like before, nudging until his nose is buried beneath the fabric. Cas
just places the sandwiches (a burger for Dean, he couldn’t get enough in heat
mode) down on the coffee table in front of them and offers Sam a sad little ‘I
don’t get what I’ve done wrong’ look that makes him want to drag the Beta to
his side and scent him like no tomorrow. But he doesn’t because for some reason
or other, Dean won’t want that. So Sam just shrugs with a sad little frown and
nods because he’ll find out what’s going on.
Cas just smiles sadly and glances down at the now ball-like Dean, before taking
a hasty leave.
Sam has every intention to get to the bottom of this ignoring-Castiel thing
once they’ve both been fed but like always, Dean has a way of evading
expectation.
“Sorry,” he whispers in a strained voice, blinking over to the door and back up
at Sam. “I’m sorry, alpha, I just, I don’t…I’m not…mmm,” he finishes in a
whine, having practically climbed Sam’s body until he’s eye level with him,
kneeling up slightly and clutching Sam’s collar, lip caught between his teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam soothes, stroking a hand down his face. “It’s alright,
little one, he’s just worried, is all. Is there a reason you don’t want to talk
to him?”
And Dean flushes like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his lip
worried between his teeth like he’s about to gnaw it clean off if Sam doesn’t
do something. Sam kisses it gently instead and lowers a hand to Dean’s
backside, rubbing the soft flesh and waiting for the relaxed keen he learned
four days ago that particular act would earn him. He hushes at Dean’s hair.
“You don’t have to answer me, little one, we just wanted to know if he’s done
something. He’s my mate, Dean; it’s just hard for—”
“I pushed him,” Dean gapes, his face more open than Sam’s seen it for days. “I
hurt him, I…he was so nice to me and I hurt him. I don’t deserve anything
anymore.” He glances at the burger. “I’m not hungry.” And slouches into the
back couch cushion.
Melodramatic thing he is.
Sam sighs and leans over him, breathing soft huffs against Dean’s neck (not in
the same way as before, the way that got Dean wriggling like a madman against
his knot) lining his fingers up with the backs of Dean’s.
“You didn’t eat breakfast either, Dean. Don’t start that please, I won’t have
you hurt yourself.”
Mumbled words again, Sam doesn’t catch them, “What, Dean?”
The omega lifts from the couch and turns slightly, until their noses are almost
touching and Sam can practically taste Dean.
“I don’t belong here.”
And if that isn’t a punch straight in the gut, then Sam doesn’t know what is.
“What?” he asks, begs, his voice smaller than any Alpha’s ever should be.
Dean recoils, but keeps going. “You have a mate. You have…you have a system and
I’m ruining that for you, I don’t belong in it. You have a healthy pack; I
don’t understand why you’d ruin it with a filthy omega. You…you told me to tell
the truth, Alpha. You don’t even—you don’t even punish me when I hurt your mate
and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here, I don’t have a purpose or
anything, I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand…”
Sam doesn’t hold him when he cries, not this time. Instead he asks, “What do
you want me to do, Dean? You want me to take you back to…to that bastard? He
hurt you Dean, I would never do that.”
Dean sniffs and kneels, head bowed on the sofa, but he twitches towards the
floor. “I’m confused, Alpha,” he whispers into his chest, “I don’t know what
I’m supposed to do, please…”
“Whatever you want!” Sam exclaims, hands up in the air. “That’s the point,
Dean, baby, that’s the goddamn point. You’re not some glorified pet, Dean;
you’re a human being, for Christ’s sake, and you should be treated like one.
You should act like one. Look at yourself, you have burn scars all over you,
you can’t even lift your arms because of your ribs… Only because he treated you
like crap and not because you did anything deserving of that. No one in this
pack deserves that, especially not you.”
“Alpha…” his voice trembles, wet. “I’m not worth this. I don’t understand, I
can’t be what you want me to be, please…”
“I want you to be you, Dean, it’s not hard. You just have to be yourself and
not some doll Alastair shaped to do his bidding.”
And when those oak-leaf hued eyes peek up again, there’s so much sorrow and
exhaustion and need, that Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Dean gulps wetly. “I’ve never been allowed.”
Fuck. Fuck that, because he is allowed here and he’ll be helped here and
treated right and loved and saved because Sam can do this. He scoops him into a
tight, promising hug. “You are here, baby. Fuck, Dean, I’ll help you, okay?
I’ll make sure you’re safe, baby, I promise, you’ll be safe finding yourself
here, little one. I won’t punish you when you make mistakes, Dean. I won’t
punish you when you shout at me for being a bitch or for telling Cas he’s a
weirdo little geek. You’re a good kid, Dean. A good kid and you’re gonna grow
up to be a confident young omega by my side, I’ll teach you. I promise you.
Trust me, little pup.”
Dean cries. Wet, desperate keens and sobs, tears soaking through Sam’s shirts
as they tug tighter together in a helpless little knot of perfect limbs,
holding for purchase until Sam’s eyes fill too and nothing else matters in this
world outside of Dean’s reluctantly believing scent, his hands clawing
frantically into Sam’s sides. This…this is heaven. Right here, on some shabby
old couch Lisa brought from her old apartment, with Dean coiled up at Sam’s
throat…this is what heaven’s made of.
Minutes, hours, centuries pass, before his little life looks up and says,
“Bitch, huh?”
And then Sam’s guffawing, and isn’t that kinda crazy.
=*=*=*=
Things feel pretty different after Alpha and Dean actually talk. Dean’s pretty
sure it was one of the most terrifying processes of his entire omega life, but
now that’s it’s over with—and how effed up is this—he actually feels relieved.
Lucid, even, happy with how things are. More confident. One little chat and
shit lifts from his chest that’s been resting there for the last two weeks and
Dean’s never felt more relieved in his life.
He was sure Sam was gonna flip his shit, but honestly, that was kinda the plan.
Sam should have punished him, told him he belonged here whether he fucking
liked it or not, but—like he’s been doing since that first encounter—Alpha
avoided Dean’s expectation like it was his job to.
Dean apologises officially to Cas (with his mouth wet against that awesome
throat), his hands under his pale blue shirt to palm at a warm back, and Sam
had rolled his eyes, but smirked to let Dean know he wasn’t serious. It’s
goddamn crazy…but it’s good. Dean likes it, at least, which is odd in itself.
Dean spends the rest of the day sat in the kitchen—still pretending he doesn’t
exist because there’s not exactly a quick cure-all for hating attention—but
it’s not horrendous. The others ignore him for the most part, excusing the odd
hair brushed with soft fingers or a quick kiss to the top of the head, on the
mouth where Gabriel’s concerned, but most of the time they don’t even seem to
notice they do it. Dean looks over at Alpha with wide eyes that hopefully
portray confusion, but Alpha just sways up behind him on the high-stool—still
at least a head taller, the mammoth—and droops his arms down over Dean’s chest,
breath warm in his ear.
“We’re learning, remember? This is what a real life is like for an Omega. Love.
Acceptance. You smell like home incarnated now, Dean, and everyone wants a part
of that. They want to take care of their home. It’s okay.”
It’s kinda creepy, actually, but no-one’s tried anything weird, so Dean guesses
it’s okay.
Until Elliot comes in. Shit.
Dean’s seriously getting tired of this crap right now.
“Alpha,” Dean tries warningly, softly, peering up at him with pleading eyes to
fuck, please, don’t get angry again, I feel good, you feel like home.
But Sam doesn’t flip out like before. He doesn’t growl or smell like he’s about
to shift right there in the kitchen anymore, he just nods his head in their
direction as calm as you like and straightens when Elliot starts their way. Ben
behind him. Huh.
“Elliot,” Sam starts, pinning him to the tiles with strong, alpha eyes, no fury
anymore, though Dean suspects it wasn’t for Elliot anyway, not really.
“Something you wanna say?”
Elliot gulps in a breath and looks right at Dean. “I’m sorry. For waking you up
and then hurting you and letting Tom do it too. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do it
again, I promise.” His pale eyes move up to Alpha beneath long blonde bangs,
hopeful and expectant. Alpha must nod or something, because then Elliot’s
looking back at Dean with an almost smile, almost shy, and Dean looks up to
Alpha, brow raised. Sam nods with a smirk and Dean looks back.
“Uh,” he tries, glancing over to an encouragingly smiling Castiel, stood over
beside Gabriel and the cooker. “It’s okay, I guess. You didn’t…you didn’t
really touch me, so…it’s fine.” Dean tries to smile but he’s pretty sure it
doesn’t work.
Elliot grins then, toothy and wide, before stepping back slightly for Ben to
come forward, a timid little look on his face. Despite everything, Dean didn’t
forget what Ellen had said, about the two being friends once this had all
bottled down—sure, when she said it he’d disregarded it because he was sure he
was about to be ripped to shreds by a brand new alpha, but now…now he feels
good. And he’d like a friend, to be honest. He hasn’t had one anywhere near his
age since he was seven because those other omegas don’t count…
“Alpha,” Ben starts, looking up at Sam. “I’m sorry.” He sounds mature, serious.
“You told me to look after him and I didn’t and I’m sorry I let Thomas into his
room. And Dean I’m sorry I landed on you.” He exhales, like he’d been
rehearsing and he’s just glad to get it done and out. Dean smiles shortly at
him.
“It’s alright, Ben, I understand what you did, and it’s okay. I’m sorry for
behaving so rashly,” Sam says, his voice full of the same finality Ben’s was
seconds before. They both smile warmly at each other and Dean expects they go
back some. Ben looks to Dean.
“Thanks,” Dean whispers, wishing no one else had to hear this, let alone the
whole kitchen, “for sticking up for me. I—uh…yeah, just…thanks.”
Ben blinks, as though that’s not what he was expecting to hear in the
slightest, his scent laced with the sweet kind of surprised people get on
birthday’s, just less…showy. He smiles up at Dean on the stool and Sam squeezes
Dean’s shoulder, leaning into him until Dean’s back is pressed to Sam’s firm,
perfect front.
“Hey, you wanna come play with us outside?” Elliot says suddenly, hopping
forward next to Ben. He looks up at Alpha eagerly. “We were gonna shift and
race out in the woods behind the garden…”
He trails off at Dean’s scent—taught and weird, annoyed for the thousandth time
that he can’t fit in with the rest of the kids.
“I, uh…I can’t shift. Sorry,” he says, bowing subconsciously back into Sam’s
peck. He looks away at the droop of Elliot’s mouth; Ben’s cocked head as though
he’d only just remembered how useless omegas were from biology lessons at
school.
An awkward air plummets the kitchen and Dean squirms, before jolting in
practiced surprise at Sam’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly tight
at the taut muscle. “Another day, I’m sure Dean would like to go outside with
you,” Alpha says, his other hand weaving over Dean’s waist. “But for now, I
think Dean needs to recover a little better. Thank you for the offer, though.”
And the boys just nod, wait a few seconds, then all but dart from the room,
pushing and shoving at one another with high pitched shrieks, already slipping
out of their jackets in their haste to shift. Dean can hear their catcalls all
the way down the hall and he’s jealous. He never got to be that as a kid—not
just the shifting thing, though that dip put a stopper on it—but at their age,
he was sat at his Master’s lap like a good little omega should be. He never got
to screech and run around.
Sam’s mouth makes room for itself at the dip in Dean’s throat, just below his
collar.
“You really wanna go outside, baby?” he asks, and Dean can all but feel the
frown at Alpha’s brow. So he shakes his head and offers a smile.
“No. I’m fine, just uh…I dunno. Nothing, I guess,” he finishes lamely,
glimpsing over to Castiel and his brother—stood close enough to scent, their
hips touching gently where they’re leant against the stove and smiling widely
together. Dean wonders sometimes what it would be like to have a brother. He
bets he’d be an awesome big one.
“Hey,” Sam prompts, Dean awards his gaze. “You can go outside you know,
whenever you want to. I’m not stopping you, Dean; I just don’t want you getting
sick or hurt on me right now. Or ever, actually, but…I want you next to me
while you're still learning. Where I can keep an eye on you.”
Dean smiles up at him: genuine and caring and it feels strange on his face but
Alpha’s happy so he doesn’t care all the much. He ducks into Sam’s throat and
stays there for as long as he’s allowed, until Garth—the skinny dude with the
How To For Dummy’s book (Dean found out it was for Jailbreaking, which is
slightly worrying)—toddles in with Bobby (the gruff older man from before) at
his tail and Sam goes over to speak with them. Dean sits awkwardly and waits
for something to happen.
“Dean!”
Dean jolts his head up quicker than he’d planned and has to wait for his eyes
to dim again before Jo comes into view. She trots over to him and delves her
hands into his hair, pushing the strands into complacency and Dean’s starting
to think it’s a family trait. Still, her wrist’s right there and he scents it.
“Up and about again, huh?” She grins, holding his head up to hers. “Well, good
for you, handsome.”
He smiles at her optimistic, pretty face. He likes Jo, he realises, slightly
belatedly—and not the way he liked Azazel or Ruby or any other members of
Alpha’s pack—but willingly, with trust and everything. It’s a good feeling,
friendship. Dean missed it.
Dean spends the rest of the night in the kitchen, which seems to be the social
hub of the house, and Dean can get that—his bedroom/ex-kitchen had been next to
Master’s new kitchens and sometimes Dean was allowed to sit in there, if Master
had guests around that didn't want him near their own Omega's or he was out
with most of the pack with him and it was always so busy. It’s nice, to be
honest. Everyone’s nice to him in here.
Three days later—of Dean comfortable in his skin for the first time since he
can remember, sleeping between Alpha and Castiel and lying in because Cas has a
while off work and Alpha has to go down to his office—is when Lucifer turns up
and offers his price.
***** They Say The Worst Is Over *****
“Is it David?” Maggie asks, lifting one finger to hover over one of the last
remaining tabs in front of her, staring at Dean gleefully because she
undoubtedly already knows she’s won.
Dean grins despite his 'loss'. “Yeah.” He flips over the card and shows her.
“Yes!” She caws, pumping both fists into the air and waving them in the little
happy dance she seems to have perfected over the last three times she’s beaten
him. He wonders if there's some knack to Guess Who he hasn't caught onto yet.
He doesn't think so. Guess, right?
“Congratulations,” Dean smiles instead, flipping all his tabs up again and
shuffling for a fourth card of the games they’ve played, rifling to find a good
one he hasn’t already used.
“Ugh, I don’t wanna play it again. No fun if I keep winning,” Maggie says—that
glint in her eye reminding Dean he doesn’t actually have to fear punishment
from her, the nine year old pup—and she flops back to the carpet in childish
drama. He can appreciate that and he ducks his head, smiling shortly. “What
else d’you wanna do?” she asks from one eye.
Dean shrugs as he watches her from his own perch on a beanbag, and silently
deems her reaction as to whether or not that’s something he’s allowed to
do—he’s been doing it with a lot of the others recently. So far nothing but
calm leniency or weird looking smirks. Sam usually just kisses him with that
cute (ha, Alpha's cute) dimpled grin, and Castiel pats his hair down with more
reserve or scents up at him. Both's fine. Great, actually. Awesome. Perfect.
“You wanna watch something? Alfie said he recorded Doctor Who for you because
there’s a planet on it run by Omega’s.”
Alfie (the recorder in question) is a pup just older than Maggie, with stark
red hair and dark green eyes—a quiet, determined demeanour about him. The first
time they’d met was two days ago when Castiel had taken Dean to the library to
pick up Harry Potter (they've made it to the second already) and take it
upstairs with them (Dean said he didn’t mind tagging along, but really he just
didn’t want to be left alone). Alfie had been perched haphazardly on one of the
top banisters reading some kind of horror book (Stephen King), and he’d only
bothered looking down because he’d smelt Dean. When he did actual toddle over
to investiage, he’d just moved his gaze silently from Castiel's ass rooting to
find Harry Potter again to Dean, who was stood inches from him, blinking
unsurely. In the end, the boy had just presented him with a wrapped lolly-pop
produced from nowhere and been on his way, not a word spoken. Dean likes him,
he’s pretty sure.
Since that particular encounter, Dean’s met two more pups of the pack—Julia: a
blonde, loud girl not much younger than Dean, and Timmy: Julia’s complete polar
opposite and even younger than Maggie. Julia had simply sniffed at him in
passing through the kitchen, before donning this gigantic, terrifying grin and
offering bullishly to show him the bedrooms upstairs. Sam had swiftly but
forcefully declined for him (thank God) and Dean had spent the following hour
curled against his lap in his office. Awesome day, by the way. Timmy was one
hundred percent less intimidating—since all he did was scent at Dean, widen his
eyes to saucers and leg it straight into the living room without even one word
passed between them. Cas had reasoned he’s a just timid pup but Dean figures it
must have something to do with his scent. Not entirely sure what could cause
that reaction, but oh well, right?
Dean blinks back down to Maggie’s eager little face and remembers her offer.
“Sure,” he says.
“Great,” she grins back, leaping into standing to abandon the Guess Who box
altogether, before grabbing at Dean’s sleeve and dragging him to unsteady feet
too. She pulls him over to the other side of the living room—where the
ridiculously sized TV sits atop the wall—and sits him down on the second giant
sized beanbag of the day. Plonking down next to him, she fiddles with some
remote or another—hell if Dean knows. Alastair never used to like him watching
TV back There, used to say it was just gonna upset him because all the stuff
worth watching is totally against omega’s, so yeah, Dean had never really
bothered with it. And he’s only watched pre-recorded shows or 'DVDs' here twice
with Maggie and Cas, which he figures must be because they don’t want him
seeing stuff either. Figures. They’re good at protecting him like that.
The starting tune and background is just filling the otherwise abandoned living
room when Ellen and Jo walk in, looking somewhat more flustered than their
usual awesome selves. Dean sinks down lower in instinct and eyes them,
destracted, over the top of his chair.
“Dean, baby, come sit with me, will you?” Ellen prompts, dropping herself to an
overstuffed armchair Dean had curled in with Sam a few days ago—he practically
claws from his seat to leg it over to her waiting, expanded arms, all but
shoving himself into the welcoming space. He scents at her throat and huffs
regretfully at the bitter edge burrowing itself into his sinuses. He blinks up
at her, worried. “S’okay, honey,” she soothes, tracing his hairline with two
soft fingertips. “Just an unwelcome visitor, is all.”
Oh. Wait, what?
Dean’s totally positive he hasn’t a clue what the hell’s going down on the
other side of the door—but if it really is an 'unwelcome visitor', then that
means Alpha has to deal with it. That means he’s gonna be just as flustered if
not more than Ellen and Jo and that means Cas will be too and they’ll smell
weird like before and shift, maybe, get sad or angry and…oh God.
Dean practically leaps against the hold around his middle when the bark of a
shout (not just any voice though, Sam’s) sounds from just outside the door, a
litany of raised words Dean guesses are directed at this seriously Unwelcome
Visitor. Ellen holds him back though and hushes into his hair, stroking it
calmly back from his face and nudging her palm along his still healing side…but
she’s not calm…she’s still all weird smelling and her breathing’s not steady or
rhythmic like it usually is so something shit must seriously be going on just
bare metres away from their room. It raises Dean’s hackles like no tomorrow and
he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all…
“Hey, Mags, what you watching?” Jo’s voice—distant, back where he used to be
sat with Maggie—but not normal either, like Ellen’s. Dean needs to know what’s
happening. Why he’s being kept in here if Alpha and Cas…shit. What if it’s
Master, come back for him? Coming to take him back to his pack and wouldn’t
that just be freaking typical, Dean’s been spending the last few weeks or so
needing his Master for familiarity and the second he gets comfortable again, up
he pops. Typical. Fucking typical.
Dean doesn’t realise he’s trembling until Ellen lifts him upright again and
manoeuvres his limbs until their straddling her lap, and his nose is nudging
just beneath the collar of her open shirt. “It’s okay, honey, Sam’s not gonna
let him anywhere near you, I promise. Shh, sweetheart, s’okay.”
Dean sobs a bewildered breath into her shoulder because whoever the fuck it is
is here for him. And yeah, sure, Sam said he’s teaching Dean and taking care of
him, but so was Master and he let Dean go just like that, there’s no telling
whether this Alpha might do the same, Dean doesn’t know, he doesn’t know him
that well and with a decent enough price, who knows, in the next few days, Dean
might be one of those omega’s tied to the banister and fucked by everyone who
walks by…
“Hey, hey,” Ellen coaxes, lifting his head by one firm hand at the back of his
neck and peering forcefully into his swimming eyes. He sniffs as he forces his
own gaze to stay on hers. They get annoyed here if he drops it to the floor
like Master wanted and Dean can’t change rules so quickly again, he doesn’t
have the capacity to learn more so soon… “None of that, pup, come on now, baby,
shh.”
“What’s going on?” Maggie’s voice sounds from too far away, quiet and too timid
for the bolshie little kid. Dean sobs another breath because if Maggie’s
freaked then there’s definitely something to freak about and Dean doesn’t want
her like that. Hell, Ellen and Jo are, there must be some reason to be…
“Nothing, kiddo, everything’s cool,” Jo offers to soothe no-one in particular
because it doesn’t work on anyone; every single breath Dean pushes out against
Ellen seems to ramp up her own panic and Maggie’s quieter than Dean’s ever
heard her, she must be freaking out Jo…
What the fuck is going on?
Maggie whimpers and muffles some of it against what Dean’s gonna guess is Jo
when another wave of shouts pushes itself through the gaps in the doors.
“L-Lucifer?” Maggie asks.
Lucifer? Dean knows that name and it’s ringing alarm bells.
“...Yeah, kiddo, I’m sorry. But Sammy’s not about to let him anywhere near you,
okay? Everything’s fine, Maglet, they’re going great, I promise.”
“Lucifer?” Dean whispers, peering closer to Ellen. She tucks him in to
accommodate.
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
“But…” Dean pauses and feels out the cogs whirring haphazardly inside his head.
Wait…Crap! “But…but Cas!” Dean hisses so Maggie can’t hear, raising his arms
because he can do that now, they’ve healed well enough, and clutching onto the
shirt at Ellen’s shoulders. He urges her to understand and eyes her
meaningfully, nudging against her because it’s not safe for him out there with
his old Alpha who raped him and pawned him out and cut bits off…
Ellen sighs and strokes his hair, “I know, baby, hush, I know. But Sam’s gonna
protect him with everything he has, trust me. It’s Lucifer in the wrong Pack
land, kiddo, he has every right to end him if he has to.” Dean peers over at
the door, unconvinced, so she sighs again and pushes a soft kiss to the corner
of his mouth. “If he even looks at Cas the wrong way, Sam will kill him, you
understand that, right? Like Thomas, baby, he’s not gonna stand for anyone
hurting his pack. Actually, I’m guessing he’s just waiting for an excuse to rip
that bastards head off.” She smiles warmly. “Nothing to worry about, honey,
it’s okay.”
Doesn’t really consolidate all that much if you ask Dean, because whether or
not Lucifer tries anything, Cas is still gonna get hurt. He’s only ever
mentioned the Alpha to Dean twice since he’s been here and each time he’s
gulped or nuzzled into Dean because he’s been angry or scared or vengeful and
Dean doesn’t like him being any of those things. He wants to be there for his
Beta. He needs to be there.
“S’he here for Dean?” Maggie says, quietly, but sure as hell not quietly
enough.
Dean darts his gaze to a close-eyed, exasperated Ellen and gawps at her.
“Shh, kiddo,” Jo consolidates but their silence and hastiness is answer enough.
Dean’s not stupid. He knows now. Oh God. “Sam’s gonna figure it all out.”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…
“Why does he want me?” Dean begs, crawling closer and clutching his hands like
a vice at Ellen wherever he can fit them, sticking his face at the joint
between shoulder and neck in a pointless protest because he doesn’t want to
leave.
Doesn’t mean he won’t be made to though. Oh god.
“Hey, you listen here,” Ellen says firmly, clutching Dean back. “Sam’s not
gonna let that happen, you hear? He’s gonna take care of you, baby, I promise.”
“Hey, Dean?” Jo calls from her place wound beneath Maggie. Dean peers around
Ellen’s throat to eye her timidly. She smiles. “Alpha’s not letting you go for
anything, little guy. You’re good. Trust me.”
And it’s right about then that the door to the living room opens and Dean’s
pretty sure he’s about to faint when the scent of a foreign Pack drifts
through. He doesn’t look. He can’t.
“Get out,” Ellen snaps, Dean coils closer like a dying snake.
The stranger clicks her tongue. “No can do, lady,” she says, her voice closer
than it should be. “Gonna need that omega now, so if you don’t mind…”
No. Please, God, no, Dean doesn’t want to leave, please…
“Fuck you,” Jo hisses.
“Guys, just…” Gabriel? That’s Gabriel. “Just do it, okay?”
He sounds serious, Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard the man sound serious
before. He wouldn’t go against Alpha, he’s so close to him, that must mean
Sam’s condoning this, shit, please no.
Dean looks widely over at him and notices that stern expression first, the
slight smile he offers Dean when he puts out his hand in invitation, flicking
his fingers for Dean to conform. He looks sad.
The Gamma beside him—smaller with long, dark, wavy hair, a leather jacket and a
smirk—flicks her eyebrows up at him and motions with her hand that he’s
undoubtedly supposed to go with them. He doesn’t want to go with them. He does
anyway.
Ellen tries to hold on to him when he crawls slowly from her lap, fitting
fingers into the waistband of his joggers until Dean has to lick at her
slightly to be released. The others stay silent from behind him but Dean can
hear Maggie’s breathing and he can smell Jo’s anger. But they must understand
too. Because if this is coming from Gabriel, then it’s coming from Alpha and
they’d never go against him.
Dean avoids the stranger with as wide a birth as he can get away with, crowding
over to Gabriel with his eyes to the floor and he tucks himself beneath the
waiting hand. The Gamma kisses the crown of his head and leads him out the
door. Dean says a silent goodbye to the room. He’ll probably never see it
again. He just hopes Lucifer will let him say goodbye to the others.
“Ah, here he is,” comes a voice when they’re out of the room—slimy and fucking
hideous, but Dean doesn’t have a choice because it’s Alpha so he still needs
it. “Come, Omega, stand here for us. Good boy.”
Dean glances up slightly and balks at the sight he’s managed to mingle himself
into for the second goddamn time. A blonde man—Lucifer—is motioning to the
centre of two semi-circles, one formed from his own pack and the other of
Alpha’s. Sam and Cas are stood in the bend of one, opposite Lucifer, but Dean
tries not to look at them. He doesn’t want to see their faces. Instead, he
leaves Gabriel and follows his directions to stand where he’s been told, his
hands clasped in front of him and his eyes on his socked feet, shadowed against
the pale oak wood flooring.
“My, my,” Lucifer says, circling closer. “What a stunning specimen. I
understand why you cheated us now, Sammy.”
Alpha growls low in his throat and Dean flinches away from it. Lucifer toes
close enough to stroke a hand over his head and he tuts at Sam, palming his
fingers through Dean’s hair. Get off.
“Calm down, Little Alpha, you’re scaring our poor boy.”
“You get your fucking hands away from him, you understand me?” Alpha snarls
out, his voice echoing the hallway. “Don’t you fucking touch him, you bastard.”
…What? Why is he getting mad about another Alpha touching him if he’s just led
Dean straight into Lucifer’s grasp…God, Dean’s so confused. But a tinge of hope
makes itself known in his chest none the less.
“Oh, Sammy,” Lucifer sighs in mock exasperation. He flexes his hand and Dean
hisses through his teeth as it grips onto his hair, yanking it at the roots.
“You don’t get to call those shots anymore.”
“He’s mine. I swear to God, you bastard, he’s mine,” Sam growls.
“Mm,” Lucifer hums, releasing Dean. Instead, he moves back slightly until
he’sright there, tilting a finger beneath Dean’s chin and raising his head. He
smiles when he matches Dean’s eyes, icy blue on olive green. “Pretty, pretty,”
he says, grinning. “Now Dean, I know you’re a good boy, yes?” Dean nods his
head slowly when there’s a pause for him to do so. “Good. So I want you to do
exactly as you’re told, okay?” Another small, unwilling nod. “Perfect.” He
steps back and Dean can breathe again. “Now. Take off your clothes.”
Dean’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna throw up all over Lucifer and they’ll all
punish him for being that animal like before, useless and disgusting and even
Sam won’t want anything to do with him.
Dean doesn’t dare look back at him.
“You sick fuck, fuck you!” Alpha shouts and Dean ducks again, flinches and he’d
be on the floor except he’s been told to listen and stand and this is another
Alpha so Dean has to comply.
“Hush, Sam. Dean. Clothes. Now.”
And dammit, Dean does.
His shirt slips off first because Cas (oh, Cas, please) only bothered fastening
a few buttons that morning (they’d been kinda busy) and it’s huge and Alpha’s
so it falls to the floor in under two seconds. Dean doesn’t pause before he
steps out of the sweat-pants. He doesn’t dare. But he flicks them to the side,
too.
Lucifer whistles at him and Dean can feel the flush make its way through his
whole body. Bare again. Maybe he’ll have to get used to it if this is something
Lucifer likes.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says to his pack and they snigger all in one go. Dean
starts to tremble as everything files in. Another rejection soon. Fuck, no.
“I’ll kill you,” and his voice is like a glacier; cold and deadly.
“Oh, quiet, you melodramatic thing. I’m simply proving a point.” Lucifer comes
close again and this time Dean does flinch. He trails a hand over Dean’s
collarbone and laces it over his shoulder, down one shoulder blade. “He’s
yours, is he?” he asks, Sam just growls. “Well then, pray tell. Where’s your
mark?” He traces is fingers down to the back of one thigh and rests it there
for a second, trailing over the long healed scar. “I count Alastair’s,” he
says. Dean remembers that. He’d been eight at the time and Alastair said he did
it there so that every time Dean sat on his ass, he would feel it. And feel it
he did. “But no Sammy’s.”
“Look at him,” Sam growls. “He’s still injured from weeks ago; I wasn’t about
to hurt him anymore than I had to. But I mated him. Which means he belongs to
me.”
“Oh, you mated him now?” Lucifer’s hand doesn’t leave Dean’s thigh and it’s
like ice. “A few minutes ago, you paid for him.”
“Both, you fuck. He’s mine.”
“See now, Sammy. I know that you know that this,” he gestures to Dean, smiling,
“isn’t how omega trading goes. You don’t buy one. You apply.”
“I couldn’t give two flying fucks. Dean is mine and you will get your hand off
of him.” Lucifer complies, which surprises Dean. Not that he isn’t grateful,
because he is.
“But you know that, don’t you?” Lucifer backs off and Dean turns to Sam now,
pleading and begging with his eyes. “That’s why I’m not puppy meat on your nice
oak floor isn’t it? You know he doesn’t really belong to you. Sure, you offered
Alastair a healthy price, but that doesn’t mean much when you attack him on his
own land, does it?”
“He hurt Dean,” Sam supplies, chin up. Castiel offers Dean a tight smile. “I
had every right to defend my own.”
“Ugh,” Lucifer growls, throwing his hands in the air. “Get it into your thick
skull, you fucking idiot!” He edges towards Sam. “He wasn’t yours to defend.”
“I’m warning you now,” Sam starts, his voice vibrating in a growing snarl.
“Oh, calm down, little one,” Lucifer grins. Is he crazy? He must be crazy.
“I’ll pay you back, everything you let go on him. Perfectly fair price,
considering I’m buying used goods here. And I know how much you love purchasing
things that don’t belong to you, Mr Big Bad Businessman.”
And then…something in Dean snaps. Something pitiful and locked away from days
with Master but it comes bursting now, as he falls to his knees, it explodes
from him and he starts sobbing.
“Please, Alpha, Master, please,” he begs, crawling up to Sam and pawing at his
jeans. “I’ll be better,” he offers, “I promise, I’ll be what you want, I swear,
please just give me another chance and I’ll be everything you want, okay? I’ll-
I’ll,” Dean wracks his brain, “I’ll fuck you, okay? Whenever you want, I’ll
stay in your bed f-for when you want me and I…I’ll stay with you, okay?
Whenever you want me, I’ll be there. And I-I’ll make you happy, okay? You and
Cas and anyone you—”
“Hush, Dean,” someone says, pulling him gently from Alpha’s leg, like he’s a
china plate about to break under their hands. But they’re pulling him away from
his chance to redeem himself and he should fight them but he can’t because
Castiel belongs to Alpha and he should be showing respect and Cas is good to
him and he needs Alpha to know he’ll be docile…he lets Cas pull him away but
his eyes don’t leave Sam. “Calm down, little one, it’s alright.”
It’s not. It’s not alright.
It’s not alright when his new Master walks away from him. It’s not alright when
Lucifer grins up at him, and it’s not alright when Alpha punches him. Nothing’s
going to be alright again.
“…is one major flaw in your little plan, Lucifer,” Alpha’s saying, grabbing
Lucifer’s collar and hauling him close. Dean hides his head when the room fills
with offensive and defensive growls. Please don’t shift, please don’t shift.
“You…” Lucifer spits something to the floor and it hits wetly near Dean’s feet.
“You took something from me. You took several something’s from me. I’m simply
returning the favour.”
“Not good enough. Now I’m warning you—fairly—that if you don’t remove both
yourself and your pathetic excuse for a Pack from my land, I will end every
single one of you. And rest assured, there will be no witnesses left to defend
the massacre. Am I understood?”
“Perfectly,” Lucifer hisses. Dean peeks up just enough to watch the wink he
gives Dean’s Master through an already swelling eye. “I’ll be back to discuss
specifics.”
Definitely crazy.
Master bolts out a hand and wraps it around Lucifer’s throat, halting him in
his escape. “No. You will never set foot on this land again, or I swear to God,
Lucifer, I’ll make it slow. You’ll beg for death.”
Yup, Dean’s crying again. But he needs to stop because he needs to be good for
this Master and Alpha, he will be good because he promised he would be. He has
to be because Lucifer’s crazy and Dean doesn’t want to be with him.
He curls back into Castiel when the foreign pack starts filing out. There’s
kids in it, kids younger than Maggie. Cas said he has an Omega, right? Lilith?
Where’s she? And why the hell does he want Dean if he’s already got one? (So he
can pawn you off to other packs and still keep a nice one to himself.)
Dean’s finding it slightly difficult to breathe right now.
“Dean? Baby, come here.”
Dean scrambles like a wild thing to obey, gawping around until he finds Master
stood bare metres away and he half crawls half runs over there, dropping to his
knees inches from Alpha’s toes and trembling at the need.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Master soothes from all the way up there. Standing.
Alpha. “He’s gone. He’s not touching you.”
“Thank you,” Dean sobs, inching just that little bit closer until he’s
breathing against Alpha’s denim clad leg that smells like home and pack. “I’ll
be real good, okay? Thank you, Master, th-thank you, I’ll do exactly what I’m
told and I-I’ll wear a collar if you want, Alpha, I’ll be really, really good
for you, I—”
“Jesus, Dean,” he’s done something wrong, he’s messed up already, oh god, oh
god…
“Please,” he mewls, ducking closer, “I’m sorry, please, just…”
“No, Dean, don’t do this again, please baby, come on,” and then Alpha’s here
and he’s pulling Dean to him and offering his scent like Dean’s actually done
something to deserve it. What the hell… “You remember, little one, huh? You
remember when we were talking the other day and I told you not to be this,
right? You’re not my pet, baby, and I’m not your Master. You’re safe, little
pup, you’re so safe here and no-one can take you away from me, okay? I won’t
let them.”
Dean stiffens. He…he does remember. He remembers Alpha telling him not to act
like this wet blanket creature so he’s done something wrong again, he’s fucked
up for the final time and now he’ll be punished, “I’m s-sorry.”
“And we don’t apologise, do we? Not for something we haven’t done wrong, baby,
you’ve done nothing wrong, I just need you to remember, okay? I need you to
remember how you were before this and how happy everyone is with you now, so
happy that you’re better baby, come on, Dean, please.”
“You’re not some glorified pet, Dean; you’re a human being, for Christ’s sake,
and you should be treated like one. You should act like one.”
Oh.
Yeah.
Shit.
Dean curls tighter against the grip and nudges upwards, aiming for Alpha’s
(Sam, it’s Sam now, not Master) throat. He breathes in the flesh there wetly
and feels himself lose control of the shaking.
“What’s wrong with me?” he whispers to no-one in particular. “What…what’s wrong
with me?”
Alpha answers anyway. “Nothing,” he says firmly, pulling Dean closer and
sturdier. “You hearing me, Dean? There is nothing wrong with you. It’s this
fucked up little world we live in, okay? You’re not property, Dean, I didn’t
mean that, alright? But you are—most definitely—mine. And people are going to
have to start seeing that.”
Yeah. Dean hopes they do.
“M’naked,” Dean mutters after a few seconds of his feet scampering along the
ground, still clothed in Ben’s old socks and slipping when he tries for grip.
“Can I…” Should he ask? (You’re testing remember, so test it.) “Can I put the
clothes back on, please?”
Sam smiles like he has been doing and presses a kiss to Dean’s nose. “Of
course, baby, you don’t need to ask. Angel?”
Angel? Cas. Poor Castiel who’s old Alpha came back and must of freaked him out,
Dean should go check.
He lifts from a kneeling Alpha slowly, tentatively, testing the water, but Sam
doesn’t move to stop him, just watches him go with that small smile he has when
he watches Dean do most things. So Dean eyes Cas a few yards away, collecting
Dean’s clothes and he goes to him quickly, wrapping himself around the warm
beta.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Nuzzling at that neck. “He was…he was your old Alpha.
Are you okay?”
Castiel drops the clothes.
“Yes, Dean,” and his voice is wet, there’s a dampness in Dean’s hair—shit. He’s
crying. He made his Beta cry, crap, crap… “Thank you. I’m okay.”
They’re quiet for a few minutes as they hug—not even Alpha progresses near them
and for those short moments it’s really good. Nice. Perfect.
“How are you?” Castiel asks, right after clearing his throat and wiping his
eyes dry on the sleeve of his dark shirt. Dean mouths at one still damp cheek
and nods.
“Okay,” he mumbles against the salty flesh. He’s just moving onto the next one
when he senses Alpha coming up beside them.
“You can go,” he says quietly, and Dean stills. Who can go? Dean doesn’t want
to go, please, don’t…
But then other footsteps sound and Alpha thanks them—when Dean looks…it’s the
whole pack. Dispersing around them after watching Dean lose it and Castiel
crying and it’s like before, Christ, they’re never gonna see him as anything
older than ten after this shit.
Dean ducks back to where he belongs and laps back at Castiel, clearing off the
evidence. They at least owe Castiel respect. He’s smiling when Dean lets off.
“Seriously though,” someone else says and Dean flinches into Alpha when he
registers it as Gabriel. “You okay, baby brother?”
Castiel turns squarely to the last member of the retreated Pack. “Yes, Gabriel.
I’m fine. You?”
Gabriel huffs and claps both hands on Castiel’s shoulders, too high to be
entirely platonic. Castiel threads his hands through his brothers fingers and
rests his cheek against Gabriel’s.
“Takes more than that bastard to rattle your big bro, kiddo,” he says, kissing
Castiel gently. The beta melts into him and Dean melts into Sam. It’s good,
this thing. Dean needs it and he loves it.
“You wanna go put Mag’s and Ellen and Jo at peace, baby?” Sam mutters into his
hair.
Dean nods quickly when he remembers the fear from the little girl and Ellen’s
resistance to letting him go. He wonders idly if his scent still lingers with
his own capitulation. He hopes not.
“Dean!” Maggie squeals and legs it at them both the first whiff she gets,
entangling herself around both Dean and Alpha. Dean kisses the top of her head.
“Well thank fuck,” Ellen breathes from beside Jo, lifting herself and standing
as Alpha moves into the room with Dean in tow, Maggie off of them again and
launching herself at Cas and Gabriel—tears springing in her eyes as she sobs
for them, burrowing against t-shirts and jeans, hands flying to grip tightly at
family. Dean watches them fondly as he's pulled along.
“Yee of little faith,” Alpha supplies, accepting Ellen’s hug.
Dean blinks when she whacks his arm. “Ow!” Alpha growls lightly, rubbing at the
flesh and glaring. Dean nuzzles at his shoulder.
“Heard him leave ages ago, what, you couldn’t send word that Dean wasn’t
actually stuffed in the trunk?”
Dean goes to her because she still smells that weird way and he offers his
throat because Sam said he smells like home. Looks like she could do with that
right about now. He doesn’t complain when Jo joins in.
“Hey, Alpha?” Gabriel calls from across the room when the four are one big pile
of scenting and limbs on the carpet and Jo’s thigh is seriously comfortable
under his ear. Sam lifts a shaggy head blearily at the small family huddled by
the door; Castiel wrapped around Gabriel and Maggie wrapped around Cas. Dean
smiles for them. They need that. He gets it. “I’m stealing your Beta. You got a
problem with that?”
“S’long as you bring him back before dinner, go ahead,” Sam smiles against
Dean’s nipple where he apparently seems to have latched himself. Not
complaining, definitely not complaining.
Dean doesn’t bother watching them manoeuvre themselves out the door. They’re
probably just going round to Gabriel and Maggie’s room anyway, and Dean knows
where that is. Maggie showed him a day or two ago when she promised the bed she
shares with her Uncle is definitely more comfortable to scent on than anything
in the living room. Gabriel hadn’t been mad when he’d found them—just went to
fetch Cas and the pair had joined in. Awesome, by the way.
“Why is Dean naked?” Jo asks through a yawn, reaching down and stroking his
hair.
Sam huffs a laugh. “Guess we forgot to get you dressed again, huh?” he kisses
the nub beneath his lips. Dean shivers. “Gotta say though, this has its
appeal.”
“I swear to God,” Ellen grumbles from beside Jo, “You don’t pack that shit in,
I’m leaving.”
And Dean can’t help but laugh.
***** Home is wherever I'm with you... *****
Chapter Summary
     Aaw, love after me being so evil!! Enjoy!!!
     And seriously, this is a ridiculously early update, but I had to
     write it and I couldn't keep it from you lovely people :)
“Yeah, yes, right there Angel, right there, come on,” Sam pants, rutting his
hips back against Cas’ hand and moaning wantonly at the sensation, head thrown
back. Dean just watches from across the mattress—legs wide to accommodate Cas’
ventures—completely bewildered. This. Is. Amazing.
“Can you take another?” Cas asks, smiling loosely down at their Alpha like he
fucking owns him and Dean’s not entirely certain he doesn’t. He crooks his
fingers and hits that universal spot inside Sam that makes him buck against it,
heels scampering against the sheets to drive himself closer. Dean whines lowly
and keeps watching, rapt.
“Can take,” Alpha starts shakily, huffing out a laugh, “anything you bring,
Beta.”
Cas laughs.
Dean’s legs spread wider when Cas comes near him again, offering a leaking hole
for the Beta to steal from and he does—only this time it’s with his mouth and
Dean bucks up into the sensation of soft lips sucking at his hole and vibrating
through it in a moan, spiking pleasure points and he suddenly wishes Alpha
wasn’t the focus of this little demonstration, no matter how pleasing watching
him like this is.
He mewls again, louder, when Castiel lifts off and deposits the warmed slick
against Alpha’s furled little hole, stretched around two off his fingers. They
all moan when he pushes a third one in.
Cas kisses Sam with the remainder of the slick and they’re grinning when they
lift off, licking their lips and eyeing each other and Dean’s cock jerks again
because they like the taste of him in each other’s mouths and he wants to come.
“Taste so good, baby,” Sam pants, closing his eyes and not offering a thing.
“So fucking good.”
Dean keens against the back of his throat and shuffles his empty hole against
the completely ruined comforter because Cas didn’t say anything about not being
able to do that. His hands are fisted like bricks where they grip the sheets
beside him and it’s so hard not touching, so hard, Christ, so hard.
“Please,” he gawps, crawling just an inch to get that little bit closer to the
pair from his designated spot, shuffling like a pup that knows it’s done wrong.
“Cas…”
“No, sweetheart.” Cas turns and grins, eyes blown wide in untouched ecstasy.
His fingers don’t stop moving inside their Alpha and Dean’s amazed how Sam’s
let himself come so undone in front of him. “Not yet, but we’re nearly ready.
Just a few more minutes, love.”
“No,” Sam pants, rocking Cas deeper. “Ready now, Angel, ready for him now.”
Yesyesyesyesyes…
They eye each other and Dean shrinks himself lower than his Beta, showing him
his Mark on the stretch just above his right nipple and flaunting it, using it
against him. Cas grins and beckons for him to come closer—Dean scampers to
obey, the sheets kicked beneath him—and Castiel mouths at the scab, pushing his
tongue against the wound and Dean wails with it, moving his grip to Cas’ tensed
up thigh.
“Jesus Christ, Dean baby, come on,” Sam pants, watching them with slanted eyes,
he makes a grab for Dean but Cas slaps him away.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chastises, pulling his fingers free and running them up the
inseam of Sam’s thighs. “No.”
“Fuck, come on, please,” Alpha begs (an Alpha’s begging, what the hell) and
Dean nearly comes right then and there watching that tiny hole flutter at him,
gripping on thin air. Dean understands. He hates being empty straight after a
handful of fingers, it’s an awful feeling. Sam needs Dean. Dean needs to help
his Alpha.
“What do you think, pup?” Cas teases, floating his thumb over the winking
muscle. “Is our little Alpha ready?”
Sam growls at the words and bucks up but never pushes like Dean knows he could,
he doesn’t order them to hurry up and do something in his Alpha voice. He just
squirms there and waits for Cas to make the call and Dean’s giddy at the
prospect.
“Yeah,” Dean nods impatiently without that knowledge Cas is asking for, toeing
closer still. “Cas…”
“Mm,” the Beta considers, pushing the tip of his finger in. “Maybe we could
make it to four?”
“I won’t fuck you for a month if you don’t get Dean’s dick inside of me right
now, I swear to God.”
Gonna come, gonna come…
Cas laughs breathlessly and retrieves the tip, brushing off the slick against
the spoiled sheets. “Baby,” he mocks.
“Tease,” Sam replies.
“Please,” Dean begs, rutting off against the sheets and needing that friction
against his leaking opening.
“Alright, alright,” Cas laughs, moving away from Alpha but tugging him up by
the wrists at the same time. He moans, but goes willingly. “I can take a hint.”
He positions Sam—Dean still crouched needily in the middle of the mattress—on
the very edge of the bed and pushes him down until he’s lying back, ass hanging
off the side. Cas pushes his thighs open and moves aside, leaving the V of
those thighs devastatingly empty. Dean looks on, hypnotised, and jolts forwards
when Cas smiles over at him and nods his head.
“Right here, beautiful,” he says, motioning for Dean to stand between his
Alpha, bracketed by strong thighs. “There we go, so good,” and Cas’ voice is
right there next to him, whispered and wet against the shell of Dean’s ear. He
pushes up against Dean’s slick hole and Dean’s hips buck forwards, against air.
The Beta’s hands are all over him, stroking up and down the length of barely
healed ribs and palming his way down a fluttering stomach, past his straining
dick and down into the slick under.
Dean mewls when his cock is painted in his own excretions, dropping his head
back against one perfect pec. Feels good and messy and wet and holy crap.
“S’okay, baby,” Sam says from the mattress, eyes clamped on the two of them.
“It’s gonna be so good, Dean, love you.”
“Love you,” Dean agrees, smiling dazedly down at him. First time he’s ever said
it but it doesn’t feel nearly as important right now when Cas is rubbing a
thumb over the head of his throbbing cock all wet with his own liquid. Alpha
looks stunned though, so Dean keeps one wary eye on him anyway.
“Good boy, sweetheart,” Cas smiles against him, his own cock a smooth line
tracing the parting of his cheeks, rubbing and coaxing against Dean’s hole.
“God, always so wet for us, aren’t you? So perfect.”
Dean nods in agreement and tilts his ass until Cas’ cock sticks against the
edge, caught, so close to sinking in. But he pulls away and keeps stroking,
earning a tight chitter from Dean’s throat.
“Not yet, baby,” he says. “Soon. Promise.”
And then his hand leaves Dean’s glistening cock and disappears behind both of
them—still stroking a line down Dean’s stomach so he doesn’t complain too
bad—and when it comes back, it’s slicker than before, covered in it even. Not
from Dean…oh.
Oh, God.
Cas strokes his glowing palm against Sam’s empty hole and lets his own slick
wet it, pushing some in with the tip of his thumb until Sam’s filled up with it
and Dean’s gonna push in with both himself and the Beta’s synthetic slick
smoothing his way. He won’t last long. He gets that.
“Holy fuck,” Sam hisses once he’s closer back to himself and no longer gawping
up at Dean like he’s just grown two heads, staring down towards his ass as both
sets of liquid are pushed in. Dean wants so bad to touch himself but Cas said
no and he wouldn’t want to ruin the handy work, oh God…
“We ready, beautiful?” Cas asks, returning to his place behind Dean.
“Yes, please, please—”
“Shh, it’s okay,” he strokes Dean, palming at the smooth skin beneath Dean’s
useless little balls. “We’ll go slow for Sam, alright? We don’t want to hurt
our Alpha, do we?”
Dean shakes his head, frowning. No, of course not, he would never…could he hurt
him? Shit.
“You won’t baby, don’t worry,” Alpha reassures, smiling loosely, eyes wide in
lust.
Dean nods and Cas smiles against his throat, whispering in his ear words meant
only for them but they both know Alpha can hear. “Our Alpha’s so good, isn’t
he?” Dean nods, eyes on Sam’s. “So strong for us, but we need to take care of
him sometimes too, don’t we, Dean?” Another nod and Sam loses eye contact,
moaning and rolling his head back. “We’ll do that now. You can fuck him Dean,
and he’ll be so good for you, I promise. He loves it, sweetheart, just as much
as you do. We’ll make it so good for him, won’t we?”
“Yes,” Dean vows, reaching out a hand and stroking it along Sam’s knee.
“Good boy. Slowly, Dean, remember.” Cas takes Dean’s cock in hand again and
urges him forwards, nudging the base of his spine with the tip of his dick. He
can feel Sam’s heat from his glistening hole, open and ready for him, willing
like an Omega and filled to the brim with Omega slick. It’s makes Dean’s head
go dizzy.
Cas takes the base and Dean’s not sure who moans the loudest when his head
touches the ring of that perfect hole, him or Sam. Like fucking lava pushing
into it, nothing like Cas because he spread when he let Dean fuck him in heat,
he evolved as a Beta and he got slick for him and opened up until the slide was
just slick and utterly perfect. This…this is like a white hot, wonderful clamp
around Dean’s cock and it’s almost too much but not enough because he’s not
moving yet, not really.
And when Sam’s breath flutters and Dean pushes in in shock, he almost balks
against the denial of Cas’s instructions and pulls himself out. Cas is there
though and he barely makes it an inch out of that heat.
“Sorry,” he says instantly, gripping Sam’s thigh in balance for an anchor.
“Sorry.”
Sam breathes before he chokes out, “S’okay, Dean, don’t worry about it. Need
more than an Omega cock to hurt me bad so you’re fine, baby. S’good, okay? Real
good.”
So Dean pushes back in, slower this time. He can’t move yet—rut in and out like
Alpha does inside him—because if he does that’s game over, done and dusted and
he really doesn’t want to come yet. He could, he supposes, he’d probably still
be hard considering how turned on he is right now, but this pressure, he knows,
will be too much against his sensitive dick. So this is a onetime deal right
now and he wants his Alpha to feel good.
“Move when you’re ready, baby,” Cas whispers deep in his ear.
Right. Deep breathes, okay? You can do this for Alpha and Cas, you know you
can. You will.
He pulls out gently to begin with, breath caught harshly in his throat but then
Cas’ hand moves to his nipple and pinches it just how he likes and bam, he’s
balls-deep inside his Alpha and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come inside him right
there.
The second attempt at a rhythm isn’t much better because there’s suddenly three
fingers in his ass and a knuckle at his prostate and he wails loud enough, he’s
pretty sure, for Ellen to hear in the kitchen.
Third times a charm.
He’s pulsing in and out of Sam’s hotness, in out in out and Cas is bucking
fingers inside him but God, it’s only from practice both with Alastair and here
that he doesn’t come like that.
Sam’s got his ankles on Dean’s shoulders by the time Cas whispers in his ear,
“Want me to fuck you now?” And Dean nods like he’s being offered water in the
desert.
Dean pauses his ruts and Cas goes slow, pushing in with his hands to himself so
a panting Dean doesn’t fucking explode straight into Alpha’s asshole.
“You’re in control, Dean. You move for us.”
Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch…
He moves slowly into the slicked channel laid out for him and Cas slips further
out. He pulls out of Sam until only his head remains inside and Cas is buried
to the ball-less hilt in his own channel.
Three more of that rhythm and he’s coming collapsed against Sammy, panting as
he fills the Alpha up with his clear Omega come but making him even slicker and
moaning in pleasure. He pulls out, crowds against Sam on the bed, and watches,
dazedly, as Cas finishes the job.
Dean’s apparently not done though, because he’s on Sam the second he’s back to
himself, hole positioned over a swelling cock and rutting down, until the
knot’s inside, Sam’s staring slack jawed up at him and coming troves inside
Dean’s ass. Dean comes again and licks the strings from Sam’s chest. Cas comes
with a finger up his own ass and his cock in a convulsing Alpha hole, so when
all three collapse back on the bed, they smell sated. Very sated.
Dean’s attached to his Alpha for thirty minutes after that, but they don’t go
downstairs. Round two, right?
                                       *
“You need a haircut,” Sam says, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair and
tugging a little, earning a small yelp against his collar. Dean nuzzles against
him where he’s sat, spread-eagled over his Alpha, scenting at his throat.
“You like holding on,” he replies cheekily, quietly, lifting slightly to watch
that shocked little smile worm it’s way onto Sam’s face. He grins up at him.
Alpha barks a laugh and Dean tucks himself happily against one clavicle, having
pushed the shirt grumpily out of the way to reveal the stretch of taut skin.
Ugh, so perfect.
“God, I love when you say things like that. Should always be a mouthy little
shit, you know that? God, I love you.”
Dean pauses before his mind shrugs and he agrees, speaking it plainly against
Alpha flesh. “I love you, too.”
“Really?” Alpha asks after a second, lifting Dean off slightly and eyeing him
up. Dean frowns. “Do you mean that, Dean?”
“Of course I do,” he replies, shuffling in tighter and pushing closer.
Sam sighs. “Baby, look, there’s something you should know—”
“How goes Omega boy?”
And they both look over to a grinning Gabriel waltzing through Sam’s office
doors, saluting where they’re sat on the pointlessly uncomfortable couch. Sam
is Dean’s cushion, though, so it’s okay.
Dean smiles at him.
“He’s fine,” Dean replies, tucking the side of his face against Sam’s chest so
he can still watch the Gamma advancing, still smile shyly at the brandish grin
aimed at him.
“Ooh, talking today, huh? I like,” he says, stopping metres from the couch with
his hands slung into his pockets. “Very nice.”
“Mm,” Sam agrees, chest rumbling beneath Dean all warm-like, apparently
forgetting what he was about to say. “Dean’s in a brilliant mood, aren’t you,
baby?”
Dean just claws closer, shrugs and smiles behind him at Gabriel.
“Well, it’s a shame to miss out on this then,” he says, perching his ass
against the edge of Sam’s desk. Dean turns his head the other way so he can
watch him closely, level the jeans and khaki jacket, wonder minutely why he
smells like Castiel’s Beta if the man was so busy making plans to go back to
work. Dean doesn’t want him to, but he promised Cas he’d wait by the door for
when he returns home anyway, take his coat and let him scent at him. Cas had
warned he’ll smell like foreign Pack when he gets back because he’s a surgeon
and he has to help everyone who needs it, but Dean promised he wouldn’t care.
As long as he never stopped smelling like Cas, Dean’s fine.
“What?” Dean asks quietly, blinking over at him.
“Gonna have to steal your Alpha for a bit, Dean-o. We’ve got errands to run,
don’t we, Sammy?”
Dean frowns up at Sam. What errands and does he really have to do them now?
Sam sighs down at him. “Won’t be too long, baby. Mag’s is watching TV with
Alfie, you wanna go join them? I think Jo’s in the kitchen if you want to talk
to her.”
“Oh,” Dean says. “Where are you going?” Nosy, nosy, nosy, shouldn’t ask that,
don’t interrupt…
But Alpha just smiles down at him and smells all happy about it. “Into town for
a bit. Get you some clothes of your own, some other crap. Couple of hours,
tops.”
“Oh,” Dean says again. And then, because apparently he is a little mouthy shit,
“Can I come?”
And Alpha just gapes, staring at him slack jawed. Dean back tracks quickly,
scuttling from being huddled against Sam’s chest to sitting back straddling his
lap and looking down, demurely, only because Sam gets annoyed if he runs away
from him to cower on the floor. He plays with his fingers and says, “Sorry, I
didn’t mean it, it’s fine. I’ll go talk to Jo then, wait for you here. I could
help make you dinner, maybe, Bobby says…”
“No, no,” Alpha soothes, tugging Dean by a firm hand at the scruff of his neck,
pulling him to lay once more over his perfect torso.
Dean’s been doing that a lot recently—talking, he means. He’s figured, after a
few trials, it gets him out of things he doesn’t want to be in, like Julia’s
invitation to spend the night in the treehouse. Sometimes, though, Alpha
doesn’t seem to like it, which turns out to be all kinds of confusing. “I’d
love you to come. God, Dean, it would be amazing to get you out of the house,
it’s just…I wanna make sure you’re completely ready for it before we do
anything hasty. You sure you wanna go outside like that?”
“Course he does,” Gabriel answers for him, suddenly a weight over to Dean’s
left, hands palming against his back. His words are in Dean’s ear, “You do,
don’t you Dean?”
Dean peeks up at Alpha and smiles at the little scowl he gives Gabriel, rolling
his eyes because ‘don’t put things in his mouth, you don’t know he wants to
spend the night with you’. Dean had, though, and it happened to be awesome, so
he doesn’t exactly mind Gabriel’s input. Besides. He’s funny.
“Can I come?” Dean asks tentatively, words muffled slightly against Sam’s
throat. “I don’t have to, but…Alastair never really let me unless I had a
colla-…” we don’t talk about that, shut up. “Um. Yeah. Can I come?”
Sam’s shooting him that little look he gives whenever Dean brings up his old
life (reason number twenty-seven never to do it), and presses a chaste kiss to
Dean’s nose when he looks up at the Alpha. He’s smiling in the next second
though, so Dean doesn’t bother panicking.
“Awesome,” he says, grinning up at Gabriel. Gabe’s lips meet the back of Dean’s
neck and they’re wet and it tickles so Dean flinches away, laughing. Sam bats
at him, still smiling, “Shoo and tell Cas, will you? He’s gonna be pissed if he
misses this.”
“Can do, sir,” he says, saluting again. “I’ll go get the car ready.”
                                    =*=Ω=*=
It takes just over an hour for them to park up comfortably in Boulder and by
then Dean’s just starting to get fidgety, fingers clenching and unclenching
against Sam’s denim clad thigh. Sam motions for the others—Gabe driving up
front and Cas beside him in the passenger seat—to wait a minute before
scampering out of car and into the fresh air. They nod at him in the rear-view
mirror.
“Hey, baby,” Sam coaxes, nudging Dean gently in the ribs. He squirms and smiles
but it doesn’t reach his emerald eyes. “You okay?”
“Mmm,” Dean hums, eyes darting outside the window and following with hawk like
precision as a woman walks past, pushing a buggy and scowling at a young pup
holding onto it. He moves to the other cars with a wide gaze before finally
taking the silent hint and inching them up to Sam’s. He flinches, then
remembers and keeps them there, right where they are. Sam grins in reward and
palms at his hair. Charlie says she’ll cut it when they get back, once she’s
finished fucking Jo into the mattress and that wasn’t really something Sam had
needed to hear, but she seems nice enough anyway. Dean thinks she’s ‘cool’ at
least, so there’s that, right?
“Dean, we don’t have to do this, it’s okay. Cas can drive you home and pick us
up in a couple hours, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Everything’s fine.”
“What?” Dean says slowly, distractedly. “No, no, I…I wanna do this. Can I? I
mean…i-if you want me home, I don’t mind…”
Sam halts him once his brain’s managed to push aside Dean calling his land
‘home’ for later celebration, and grips the fidgety hand in his to bring it to
his lips. “You can does this, sweetheart, of course you can. I know you can.”
Dean grins and Sam’s heart melts into a puddle in his chest. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” he whispers—then with more finality, eyes determined on Sam’s: “Yeah.
Ready.”
“Alrighty then,” Gabe says, climbing from the car. “Let’s get this show on the
road, huh?”
Dean nods distractedly to no-one in particular and follows close to Sam when he
leaves too, clutching like a bug to the hem of Sam’s jacket. Cas meets them and
holds Dean, pulling him into the Beta’s grip like that’s all that matters and
Sam sighs easy, content to let him go.
The stares start once they’ve escaped the confines of the parking garage, but
Sam’s not sure if Dean’s noticed them yet. Doesn’t stop him from looping an arm
over his Beta with Dean a warm (is he trembling? Crap) entity between them—or
Gabriel’s tilted brow and subtle snarl (so Dean doesn’t get worried about it)
at anyone who gets that tiny step too close. It’s the camera phone pointed at
them by one chubby teenager that does it though, and Gabriel’s barking at her
like their Jack Russell guard dog. Dean flinches at the reaction, but the
girl’s scarlet faced and hurrying away before Dean can notice much of her, so
Sam distracts him with a kiss to his crown and that’s just about that. Sam
shares a look with his Beta but no-one else tries anything so stupid.
Dean notices when the muttering starts. Once stray comment “Holy shit, that’s
an omega,” floats towards them and Dean jolts at it, turning towards the Gamma
couple timidly before whipping his gaze away and shoving his face against Sam’s
shirt.
Enough of a chance with Dean not witnessing it for Sam to give some glares of
his own out and every single victim either drops their gaze or cowers away, so
that works out well.
“Uh!” the shop assistant gushes when they all walk into the shop (higher end
and tailored if they need it, supposed to have a sophisticated workforce, but
apparently…), covering her mouth exaggeratedly with her hands when she gets a
load of the four of them, a very definitely trembling yet defiant Dean all but
curled inside Sam’s jacket. “So cute! Oh my God, come in, come in, please, make
yourselves comfortable!”
Yeah, sure, no fucking way, they’re leaving—but then the girl’s supervisor
snaps at her, nods apologetically to Sam, and they’re being led calmly deeper
into the room. Dean looks like he’s about ready to drill into the ground, but
he follows too. Stubborn little toddler he is.
“I apologise on behalf of Becky,” the manager says—nametag spelling Alice.
“She’s…” the girl gets a glare and smiles sheepishly, “new.”
“It’s fine,” Sam says, back straight and gaze direct, unforgiving. His thumb
rubs against Dean’s shoulder to will the thing not to take it the wrong way,
but he doesn’t anyway. He’s just blinking up at Alice—apparently satisfied the
posh little backroom to the store’s empty enough to be even slightly
comfortable in it. “I’m sure Dean could have done without it, but…”
Alice goes red-faced and Sam almost feels guilty about that—almost—but not
quite when he catches Becky leering again, Dean’s eyes fixed wide on her. He
tugs his boy’s head away and flashes teeth at the girl, who scuttles back where
she came from with an indignant yelp. Alice raises her hands.
“We’ll give you a discount, Alpha,” she offers quickly, beckoning to another
assistant who trots over instantly, hands clutched before her, eyes down. The
air smells tense but Sam can’t worry about that right now, he needs Dean
comfortable.
Christ, Omega’s aren’t that rare, get a grip.
“Don’t get many Omega’s around here, do you?” Gabriel asks from his perch on
one red leather chair, sprawled comfortably in it. Dean eyes him from around
the edge of Sam’s jacket.
Alice smiles. “How’d you guess? Last one we had in here must’ve been fifty and
balding and that was a year ago. Boulder’s not exactly a small town, but it’s
not an Omega hub either. We apologise.”
Sam deflates somewhat at that, offering a fairly reluctant smile. Alice returns
it in troves, before motioning to Dean in Ben’s old jeans (too short around the
leg and loose around the hips) and Cas’ old Thin Lizzy tee shirt. She doesn’t
say anything without Dean’s eyes on her, just raises her brows at Sam
expectantly with an open and reassuring offer.
“Dean needs a new wardrobe,” he says simply.
Alice nods. “Perfect. Where shall we start?”
Dean spends the next twenty minutes in Gabe’s lap laughing against his throat
at whatever the Gamma’s telling him, and somewhere around the ten minute marker
actually lifting his head to offer opinion on Cas and Sam’s choices in clothes.
Sam just keeps pointing out staple items he’s sure Dean will wear when he’s
curled up on the couch with Maggie and Alfie—simple t-shirts, jeans, boxers and
socks—but Cas actually offers thought out items.
In the end Dean very literally has a brand spanking new wardrobe so they don’t
have to come back again anytime soon—four pairs of jeans in all different
weights and shades, though they stick to the basic blue; t-shirts in troves,
whether long sleeve or short; shirts to slip over the top in case he’s cold or
wants a change; two jackets, a wool-lined coat, gloves and a hat for the winter
when he can’t just shift to keep warm in the Colorado snow; three packets of
boxer-brief underwear; two packets of socks; some woolly sweaters earning
Dean’s first sneer of the day; two pairs of cotton pyjamas; a pair of navy
converse sneakers and a pair of leather, lace up boots.
The moment Alice had asked him if he’d try them all on had inspired a shocked
enough expression marring that perfect little face that Cas had almost
immediately stepped in to defend him and Sam had preened under the defence.
Dean let the woman measure him, though, Gabriel’s nose against his, so they’re
pretty sure everything fits. Sam had to all but force the boots onto his feet
and wheel him around the shop to check their fit, but Dean had gone all soft
and pliant after so he wasn’t too bothered.
“No,” Dean hisses once they’re at the till, suddenly wide eyed and gaping from
shivering in the presence of the few other shoppers trying very hard not to
stare at them. He grabs at Sam’s hand. “Too much.”
Oh. Oh, God, so perfect.
“Baby, it’s fine,” Sam reasons, pulling it back and offering Alice his card. “I
can afford it.”
“But it…you can’t pay that for me. I don’t need this much, please, I can—”
This isn’t surprising, not really. Considering the state his clothes were in on
that first day, knelt beside Alastair, the Alpha must not have been very eager
to spend money on clothing him. Or at least when he did dress Dean in finery to
show him off in front of others, he would have punished Dean for it.
That just manages to make Sam all that more eager.
“Dean, sweetheart, I want to do this. It’s okay, little pup, don’t worry about
it. Hush, sweetheart, it’s good,” Sam soothes, stroking a hand over his hair
distractedly as he codes in his pin.
Cas and Gabe share a side of Dean’s hair and smile at each other over the
top—and Sam is not gonna make it through the end of this day without melting
all over the streets.
Dean’s dressed—stunningly, Sam might add—in a khaki green t-shirt when they’re
finished, coated in a black military style jacket, pale coloured jeans and his
brand new boots. He’s grinning when Gabriel offers to take the bags back to the
car and meet them in the bank, keeps looking down at the boots and blinking at
them, this perfect little grin lighting his features and keeping a wonderful
glow alight in his eyes.
He seems lighter after that too, simply holding Castiel’s hand now, rather than
shrinking at every stray stare offered his way. When he does notice them,
though, he just glances up at either his Alpha or his Beta, waiting for a
reassuring smile and hand squeeze or the odd kiss before smiling and glancing
back at the floor again, content.
Dean’s distracted by Gabriel in the bank and Sam watches where they’re stood by
the door garnering looks Sam snarls at every two seconds, but Gabriel does a
good job in distracting Dean. They finish quickly and the Omega hugs against
Sam—but not in the dependant, traumatised way like before. They walk through
the streets and Dean looks openly at things he finds interesting, smiles
sheepishly when eager pups wave their attention his way. He touches things in
the kids store and helps them choose presents for Maggie’s upcoming birthday.
He eats every single inch of his taco at Taco Bell and he mouths against Cas’
throat when they wait in line for anything. He’s perfect and Sam loves him.
“What’s that?” Dean asks, pointing at a stray waffle iron lying neglected by
itself in the homeware store—where Cas got a text from Ellen to retrieve a new
toaster because one of their good ones has bust.
Sam pulls him close and kisses his hair, rewarding him for his question. “It’s
a waffle iron, you can cook waffles in it.”
“Oh,” he whispers, still looking stumped. “What’re waffles?”
Sam and Cas laughs guiltily down at him, offering kisses when he smiles
unsurely, but Gabriel shakes his head in disappointment and shoves the thing
into the cart.
“You and me?” he says, pointing at them respectively. “No longer friends until
you’ve eaten a waffle and liked it, capisce?”
And Sam doesn’t even have to reassure Dean that Gabriel’s being an idiot
because he’s at the Gamma’s throat in seconds, coaxing him around from the
stubborn set to his face when he gets a well-aimed whiff of pure omega, Dean’s
smiling when he lifts off. Sam pulls him away and snogs him, right there in the
store because his brother—his Dean—is so fucking perfect, he can’t believe his
goddamn luck.
Gabriel claps them and Cas strokes over Dean’s shoulder.
“Excuse me?” comes a voice, and all three of them are spinning and hiding Dean
from view, quick, like snakes, on the defensive. They soften somewhat when a
frail old lady—a Beta, by the smell of it, though her mate seems long since
dead—makes herself known in their vision, white haired and smiling. Sam pulls
Cas closer when he stiffens and scents him subtly, offering knowledge that
Sam’s not going anywhere and reinstating himself that Cas isn’t either. Gabe
hugs himself around Dean’s back, so Sam knows he’s safe.
“Hello,” Sam greets, smiling.
“Hello,” she replies, holding out a tiny little hand that Sam takes in his,
gigantic against the bird-boned one in his grip. “I’m sorry, I know how grumpy
Alpha’s can get about things like this. Eliot was always so touchy about
people…” She turns away for a second, pale eyes turning wistful. “I just wanted
to tell you…you’re doing wonderfully. We had an Omega for a time—timid little
thing but stunning, a little like yours I imagine,” she smiles back at Dean who
steps just an inch closer, offering one of his own. Gabriel holds onto his
hand. “Eliot was never very patient with him, kept making him do things he
wasn’t ready to do but he’d do it anyway, you know? Always tried to keep his
Daddy happy, poor little thing. You related?”
Sam freezes. If he tells her no, he’d be lying in front of Dean and he could
use that against him later, he doesn’t want to do that to him and he’s sure as
hell not admitting their relation right now, Jesus…
Dean takes the choice away from him when he shakes his head, though, and Sam’s
not sure what to feel about that.
“Ah,” she says, nodding. “Eliot never wanted an Omega, but we always did, by
God. And when Edna’s little boy presented we couldn’t have been happier,” Sam’s
enraptured but edgy all the same, ensuring she’s sane enough not to do anything
with the determined gaze she’s aiming at Dean. “Alex was a dream, I’m telling
you. Pure white hair from the second he was born and these eyes…he always
wanted to be good. Used to stop himself, you know, in heats when his Daddy came
home late from work, didn’t like disturbing him and Eliot would let him do
that, let him rot in his own need. Poor little thing. Always at his Alpha’s
feet so eager and willing, but Eliot saw it as weakness when we saw it as
beauty. He learnt quickly to mourn what was lost when Alex fell ill though.
Knew to miss when he died.”
Dean keens for her and shifts closer, dropping Gabriel’s hand and lifting it to
her.
“Always so beautiful, Alexander,” she whispers, reaching one narrow hand to
Dean and tracing it along his own. He lets her—complies even when he’s pulled
in and scented, hugged into frail arms, he goes willingly, keening rhythmically
all the way. She soothes him with hushes, stroking along his back. “He did love
you, pearl, always will. He misses you. Go to him, Alex, it’s alright, little
lamb, he loves you. Good pet, hush now, good pet. Shh.”
Sam leaves them for a few moments, lets the old woman have her handle on
things, lets her enjoy her Omega for as long as he really can, before he calls
softly, “Dean?” when half the shop stop to watch them. “Sweetheart, it’s time
to go.”
Dean obeys, but of course he does. He plies himself gently from the lady’s
grip, holding her hands in his when they’re far enough apart to smile at one
another, offering his throat one last time as a parting, before he moves slowly
back to Sam’s grasp. Sam holds him gently and soothes a finger down his spine.
“What’s your name?” he asks the old lady quietly from Sam’s hold, soothingly
and instinctual.
“Evaline, little lamb. Evaline Ness.”
Dean nods. “I’ll come to see you?” he offers, peering up timidly at Sam. He
nods with a surprised smile. Dean nods back. “I’ll come to see you. If you want
me to.”
“Always, Alex, your welcome,” Evaline says, smiling gently. “Eliot will want to
see you again. He still owes you that fishing trip.”
Dean smiles. “Yeah. Sure.”
And when Evaline turns to Sam, he nods loosely at her with a smile, offering
his hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Ness.”
“You do well by him,” she states, motioning to Dean. “Poor thing needs it.”
Dean hides against Sam’s chest. “I will. I promise.”
Evaline moves closer then, reaching out a hand and patting it against Cas’
cheek. “You keep him in check. Make sure.”
Cas nods silently, still drugged by the scent of loss on the woman.
And back in the car forty minutes later, Gabe driving, Sam centre back with
both his mates beside him, he’s scented to oblivion beneath home and love. He
scents them back.
Home. That’s what this is.
“Home.”
***** I Will Always Return *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm nice...and then mean again. Sorry.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It’s six forty-five exactly when Cas walks back through the front door.
Dean’s on him in that second, arms enveloping him like a tree trunk and nose
buried so freaking close in Cas’ collar, he wonders idly if it’s possibly to
return. Christ, he hopes not.
Cas was right. He does smell like foreign pack, like blood deep down in his
scent; like despair near his shoulder but it’s beneath his coat, beneath his
jacket and stained on his t-shirt; he smells like processed food and clinical
air freshener; he smells sad. But not a lingering scent, not like the Gamma who
cried despair onto his shoulder—like a base scent mixed into the ocean Cas
always carries around him.
Dean lifts his nose slightly to get himself a better view and yeah, he can see
it now. Cas is sad. Beneath that smile (it’s real, he’s happy to see Dean and
that’s wonderful, it really is) lies his own brand of despair deep down, and it
makes Dean ache basely.
He runs his thumb over the soft, delicate skin beneath Cas’ azure eye, ever so
gently that the smile dissipates some and the sadness comes through. Dean licks
at him and then presses their cheeks together.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
Cas’ hands are entities of themselves when they make their smooth paths over
Dean’s spine, strong and warm points of Home and Belonging that Dean pushes
himself closer and spreads his whole length against Castiel’s.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” he says, and it makes Dean’s chest ache that he’s
trying to soothe Dean now.
“You can tell me, Cas, I’ll listen. You smell sad.”
Cas chuckles and his breath is warm against Dean’s ear. “You’re always so
attentive, aren’t you? Our perfect little Omega.” He sighs and his body sags,
but Dean just waits for him to carry on, offering him space (not physically, of
course, Alpha might just need a crow bar to pry them apart) to think things
through. “I tried to save her, baby,” he says finally, and Dean hauls him
closer. “Christ, Dean, I tried so goddamn hard, but she…” his voice chokes and
Dean starts them walking, slow, tentative steps until Cas just follows his
lead, clinging on. “I couldn’t do it. She was breathing, and her heart was
beating right in front of me and then she just…stopped. Stopped existing. Right
there on my table and it was my job, my job to save her, but I couldn’t do it.”
Dean doesn’t bother knocking when they get to Alpha’s office, and they’re
greeted with a snappy, “For God’s sake, knock—” before Alpha registers who it
is and stops talking altogether. Dean coaxes Cas closer, further into the room
before he deposits him on the couch (Sam needs a new one, this is ridiculous)
and curls into a ball at his side.
“Angel?” Alpha says, moving closer himself. “Christ, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Ah, I’m fine,” Cas says, huffing out a humourless laugh. He pets along Dean’s
back. “Bad day at the office, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.” Dean watches
in chastisement as he looks up at Sam and smiles, reaching out a hand for their
Alpha to join them on the couch. Sam pauses before he does, taking in Dean’s
frown before sitting and making Cas the heart of their puddle, hauling them
both in with one long, muscled arm. “I’m fine, honestly.”
“Why?” Sam asks, breathing in the small hairs at Cas’ temple. “What happened?”
Cas sucks in a breath. “Downfalls of the job. It’s bound to happen, right?”
“Oh,” Sam realises. “Angel, I’m so sorry. Man, that’s one crappy first day
back, huh?”
Cas chuckles again and offers his throat, a clear invitation for Alpha to have
his merry way with the tanned stretch of skin—Sam smiles knowingly before
ducking in there and mouthing at it. “Not a good one, no.”
“Sorry,” Dean offers, coiling closer. “That you had a bad day, I mean.”
“It’s okay, baby, it’s not your fault.” He sighs again. “Cons of the job,” he
nods, reiterating his words.
“Yeah,” Dean nods eagerly, hoping for the Beta to catch it and hold. “Not your
fault at all then, right?”
But Cas just smiles down at him (this one doesn’t reach his eyes and it makes
Dean’s stomach tighten) and Sam nuzzles right underneath his jaw line, making
these distracting little humming noises and trailing his hand up and under Cas’
tee—Dean watches raptly as the giant hand’s outline moves further and further
up, until it clenches somewhat near Cas’ chest and the Beta hisses, tilting his
torso up.
“We can distract you?” Sam offers, voice muffled from the press of flesh.
Cas chuckles breathlessly, “I’m gross, Sam, I need a shower.” He eyes Dean
then, gaze hooded. “Although you’re both very welcome to join me.”
Ha, awesome! They’re sharing a shower again, perfect, let’s do that…
“Someone’s eager,” Sam grins, looking up to where Dean now stands, hopping from
one foot to the next as he urges them to hurry the hell up and come have
smoking hot shower sex. Seriously, how they’re not all running to the nearest
bathroom is a freaking miracle to Dean.
“Come on,” Dean urges, reaching out for one of Cas’ hands and tugging him into
standing (gently, so it’s only a suggestion, obviously) and widening his eyes
suggestively. “We’ll make Cas feel good, right? Please?”
It’s slow going (how? holy crap, Dean’s running) but they finally tumble into
their bathroom, clothes shoved off and deposited out near the bed on the floor,
and all lurch into the shower—Cas flicking it into life.
It’s cold for a few seconds but none of them register it—Sam’s tongue is down
Cas’ throat and Cas has a finger up Dean’s hole so yeah, a little chill’s not
doing them any harm. It heats up quickly though, and then Sam’s soaping Cas up,
massaging it everywhere and following it with his lips (which must taste awful
and Cas and Dean laugh at him) tongue lapping out to trace his very intrigued
nubs.
“Shit!” Cas hisses, jerking out from Dean’s touch (tongue actually, which was,
until recently, buried a decent way up Cas’ ass) and shivering when his half-
hard cock (ha, not anymore it’s not) ploughs straight into Sam’s thigh.
Dean chuckles against one round ass cheek, mouthing at the sour flesh that
tastes absolutely nothing like it’s coconut scent, and spreads the mounds apart
to let the water run down and disrupt the healthy flow of Beta slick. He tries
again, and this time Cas just moans, arching his chest into Sam’s ministrations
and pushing back against Dean’s teeth as they nibble around the puckered flesh.
Dean starts palming himself, but Sam kicks him off, eyeing him giddily. Dean
whines, but he’s not too bothered. He can guess what Sam’s planning.
“Come on, Angel,” Sam says, manoeuvring him and urging Dean up. “Fuck Dean for
me, will you? He keeps trying to touch that Omega cock of his, but we can make
him come a better way, can’t we?”
“Oh fuck, yes,” Cas growls, manhandling Dean with soft hands until he’s
pressed, flat out, against one chilled tiled wall, legs spread and slick in
abundance as Cas pushes swiftly in, bottoming out like that. Dean wails through
the spray of water, rutting back against the rough sensations and humping at
the wall like an animal, huffing out horny little breaths. His nipples are on
the cold tile and he rubs them there, pushing and arching at all the
sensations—Cas and Alpha’s hands both on him as Alpha pushes into Cas, shoving
swiftly back and forth and every single one of them are humping something, hips
thrusting up into whatever space they can find and moaning and whining and
keening at the fucking awesomeness of it all.
Cas’ hand weaves round and finds his balls, urging that special whine Dean
usually only awards that particular offer, moving up to tiptoes with his throat
vibrating in a wondering little chipper of noise. “Yes, please, Cas, please,
yes, yes, yes,” he pants, rutting back and forth.
“Good boy, come on, sweetheart, there we go, Dean, come on,” Cas gasps, moving
in unison to Alpha, whose hands are now balanced on the wall beside Dean’s
head, in perfect distance, so Dean moves on out there and licks along one
perfect wrist. Alpha offers his thumb and Dean suckles on that sucker like it’s
feeding him.
“Fuck, baby, good boy,” Alpha hums, humour in his suddenly rough voice, out of
breath and he cups Dean’s chin towards him, facing away from the wall. “Fuck,
angel, so fucking tight, Christ, there we go, come on, ugh.”
Cas comes first. It’s the warm liquid spilling deep in Dean’s passage that
gives him away though, because not for one second does he pause his thrusts,
rutting in and out of Dean like it’s a freaking Olympic sport. Gold medals all
round, Jesus.
Then Alpha, one hand a vice at the base of his dick to halt the angry knot
there, face wide in ecstasy when Dean turns to watch him, eyes closed and brows
in his hairline, mouth agar. He looks beautiful like that, always does, and it
takes everything inside Dean to pause the wondering hand inching towards his
throbbing, begging cock.
Cas turns him back to the wall in seconds and his fingers (four? shit, four, oh
God) plunge straight in and knead there, knuckles seeking out his prostate for
further exploration.
Dean fucking howls when he finds it, the pounding rhythm lifting him to his
toes on the slippy flooring, hands flailing blindly to seek out Sam, get a grip
on him and taste him or just fucking touch him, anything from his Alpha, he
needs, he needs, please…
“Alpha, Sam, Sammy, please,” he whines, fingers clutching the second they land
on flesh to drag his mate in, tug him closer, God, God, God, God…
He doesn’t sob when Alpha latches on to his own mating bite (on the right side
of his throat, perfect) and suckles there, but Christ, it’s a very near thing.
He does, definitely, pull him closer and offer Cas’ to coax as well—and he
moves his palm over the barely healed scar, massaging the flesh and teasing it
with soft fingertips.
Dean comes—all over the tiles if the wall—when Cas’ tongue muscles it’s way
between his fingers. He collapses into Sam instantly, not unusual in itself and
Sam just chuckles at him, tugging him close—but when Dean opens his eyes and
there’s suddenly three Sam’s, he figures something’s gone weird somewhere.
And yeah, crap…he feels sick. Nauseous and horrible like…
“Dean?”
But he’s out of the shower in one second and bowing over the toilet in the next
because, God, he’s not puking on his mates.
It’s disgusting, it really is. He heaves (hasn’t since that first night of
consciousness with Cas and Jo) and empties his stomach into the toilet bowl—the
waffles Gabriel made them all that morning (not with eggs, fucking gross) and
the dinner Alpha all but forced down his stomach when he wanted to wait for
Cas—all of it spilling away from him in one, foul smelling swoop.
Oh, crap…
“…let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay, good boy,” Cas says, the second Dean
tunes back into him and listens to the words assured into the back of his hair.
“Hush, baby.”
“Dean? Kiddo, you back with us?” Sam says, his voice full of concern and his
face twisted in it too when Dean peers up to look.
Dean’s stomach drops again, not from the threat of puking, but by the looks on
his mates faces. He arrows his gaze to the floor when they turn him back around
and mop up his chin, and tries to stamp out the trembling.
“Sorry,” he whispers, staying stock still when Cas opens his palms for him,
leaving the space between them empty and offering it for Dean to push into.
“Don’t be sorry, pup, it’s okay,” Sam sighs, closing his eyes and smelling all
fresh from relief, but Dean doesn’t try to look at him either. He complies when
Cas tugs him in instead, ignoring Dean’s tenseness and tucking him close
anyway. Dean scents him because he wants to be sick again when he smells the
fucking toilet.
He scowls over at it and Alpha laughs before flushing.
“You okay, handsome?” he asks.
Dean nods slowly, lazily, and finally lets himself relax against Cas’ chest.
(not gonna hurt you, not gonna hurt you, s’okay, s’okay, s’okay…)
“Still weird from this morning, huh, pup?” Sam says, moving behind both of them
and tucking them close. “I’m sorry, Dean. Should’ve taken it easy, I guess.”
“Why?” Cas asks, nuzzling at Dean’s hairline. “What was wrong this morning?”
“Headache,” Dean offers, turning right round and pushing his face against Cas’
damp chest and clicking on that the shower’s still going.
“And back pains,” Alpha insists, weaving his gigantic fingers through Dean’s.
“You didn’t want to get up, either.”
“Just tired,” Dean says.
Cas doesn’t say anything for another few seconds, but his body turns to a brick
beneath Dean’s forehead. Dean doesn’t move and just hopes Cas either waits to
punish him for something (dude, he won’t do that) or quickly gets over his
thoughts and tucks Dean closer.
“Dean,” he says instead, soothingly, “is there anything else? Be honest baby,
it’s okay. Anything weird you’ve been feeling recently.”
Dean rolls his eyes beneath his lids, but thinks on it anyway, mumbling out,
“Dizzy sometimes and my belly hurt yesterday for a bit, but it wasn’t bad.
Why?”
“And…and you didn’t want those eggs this morning, did you?” Cas says, his voice
tilting in something as his hands speed up their quest through Dean’s hair.
“They were off,” Dean insists, clutching weakly to his stomach because he does
not want to be remained about that right now, jeese.
“Holy fuck,” Cas breathes.
“What?” Dean and Sam say in unison, both turning to peer up at Cas’ wide eyed,
open-curved mouth gaze and as they watch, he turns and grins down at Dean.
“No, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, words taut through the stretch
of his lips. He barks out a laugh, Dean flinches, and he jolts into standing to
leave Dean falling back against Sam on the floor. “Just…get dressed for me?
Ellen’s coming up in a minute, I won’t be long.”
“Cas?” Sam calls, but the Beta’s already gone.
Dean’s frowning narrowly up at Sam and asking silently why the hell Cas was
grinning and smelling all happy right after Dean just let him know for sure
he’s sick.
Alpha just shrugs (helpful) and they both climb to standing (Dean’s heaved up
in strong arms) and quickly get dressed—well Sam does. Dean waits on the bed
after his orders and raises his arms or stands up as Alpha slips him into his
clothes gently, his lips trailing softly against every patch of skin his
perfect fingers touch.
Alpha’s shirt (the scent, so perfect) and his own new boxers from their little
excursion into town. Sammy tucks him against his chest when he sits crossed
legged on the edge of the bed, and Dean burrows into him, legs hanging over.
“Okay, baby?” he asks, voice soft against Dean’s ear.
“Yes, Alpha,” he replies, and smiles shortly at the huff of pride his Alpha
awards him.
He feels okay now. He feels great, actually, but he’s pretty sure round two is
off the table and buried in the back yard somewhere: hell, especially if
Ellen’s on her way up. They didn’t even want to fuck him when he got a paper
cut out in the library two days ago, for fuck’s sake, just lapped at his hole
and nipples until he finally (fucking finally) came in Sam’s waiting mouth. He
did get to come though, so whatever, right? Besides, it’s his Alpha’s legal
responsibility what happens with him, so Dean can’t exactly blame Sam for being
so careful.
“Hey, puppy,” comes a voice, and both Sam and Dean glance up to watch Ellen
appearing with Cas through the door—wearing the same giddy, weirdly immature
grin as he still is. Dean frowns at them slightly, but nods in greeting as he
shrinks back into Alpha.
He’s really not understanding why him being sick is such a gleeful thing. Maybe
he missed something, and…maybe they want him sick? Shit.
Alpha seems concerned still though, so Dean keeps himself plastered to him.
“Little confused, huh?” she says, moving closer and reaching out a hand to
stroke over his flank. Dean shrugs and Cas kisses him. Confused? Yeah.
Definitely.
“We’ll explain in a second, baby,” Cas says, his words making themselves at
home (where they should be) in Dean’s damp hair.
Ellen holds something up for Sam to see—a white stick, apparently, with a blue
tip on one end and a little circle in the centre, writing that says Clearblue
clearly in its front—and Dean lifts an eyebrow at it and bends back to Alpha,
expecting him to offer the same reaction as Dean, turning away or scoffing.
He doesn’t though. He goes rigid like Cas did and his scent gets clogged with
something—trepidation, excitement, fear?—and he instantly pulls against Dean’s
middle.
“Holy fuck,” he breathes—Dean frowns up at his pup-like expression. “You sure?”
“That’s what this is for, kiddo,” Ellen says, and she’s smiling down at him now
too.
Okay. What the fuck is happening?
“Christ…yeah I guess it matches right? I mean he’s been feeling crappy and…holy
fuck.” Sam barks out a happy laugh and Dean’s…Dean’s what? Confused? Goes
without saying much. Slightly terrified? Yeah, maybe. Anxious enough to puke up
again? Yup.
“What?” he asks quietly, gaze flitting from one to the next (none of them
looking at him). He’s almost embarrassed by how small his voice sounds, but
he’s been completely naked in front of his whole pack twice now, so his
humiliation gage is officially huge.
They all glance down in unison and stare then, as though they’re taking him in
for the first time. Dean curls lower and Alpha’s the first to crack.
“Hey, hey,” he soothes, moving up and letting Dean stand, hands in his. “Don’t
worry, sweetheart, we’ll take care of you, you’re absolutely fine, baby,” he
says, around his grin. Jesus. “I’ll explain in a few minutes, kiddo, but it’s
best to be sure, yeah?” He nods in encouragement until Dean does too,
completely, one hundred percent confused. “Good boy,” he gushes, and takes the
ominous stick thing from Ellen, handing it blue part down to Dean. He takes it
timidly. “Now I need you to pee on this, okay?”
Right. They’ve all gone crazy, that’s what it is, they’ve all gone mad.
Perfect. Awesome.
“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas laughs giddily, nudging him back to the bathroom again.
“Trust us, alright? Just pee on the blue bit and come straight back out, okay?
We’ll be right here, baby, don’t worry.”
Dean goes—reluctantly, seriously—when all three of them usher him to, hands
flapping and smiles wide.
Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe Dean’s gonna pee on the blue bit, go back out, and
they’re all gonna laugh at him for being so gullible and stupid for believing
something so dumb. Dean’s definitely gonna cry if that happens (if he hasn’t
started already, and that’s humiliating) and he wonders idly what their
reaction will be.
He doesn’t like not knowing, and pulling down his boxers and taking aim at the
thing, he’s seriously agreeing with his own logic. Not knowing? Sucks. Totally.
“You should’ve told him,” Ellen says, her voice muffled through the wooden
door. Dean pauses his flow and cranes to listen.
“We need to know the result before we know his reaction. Christ, he’s probably
gonna be terrified either way, it’s just best to do it after he’s done the
peeing.” Sam sounds strung out there, but still super animated about the whole
thing. He sounds like he’s smiling.
Wait…terrified? What the hell’s happening to him to make him terrified? 
“So, you just had one of these lying around?” Sam asks, just after Dean’s
finished with himself and he’s tucking back in.
“I got it for Lisa months ago, she never used it. False alarm though, luckily.”
Dean has to suck a few breaths into his lungs before he can buck up the courage
to step back out there.
Sam’s on him first like an excitable puppy, trotting over and guiding him to
sit delicately on the end of the bed—perching next to him and huddling Dean
close. Cas takes his other side and Ellen watches them all, one arm across her
chest and the other balanced on that one with the hand to her lips. She smiles
when Dean looks at her.
“Three minutes?” Sam asks Ellen.
“That’s what it says.”
“Don’t understand,” Dean whispers.
Don’t understand why you’re all so happy when you think I’m gonna be terrified.
Don’t understand why you’re not telling me.
Don’t understand, don’t understand, don’t understand…
“Dean?” Sam says, pulling out to stare widely at Dean’s crumpling face and
rushing both thumbs over his wetted cheeks. Christ, he wasn’t supposed to cry,
dammit… “Oh, God, sweetheart, don’t cry, baby, it’s nothing to be worried
about. Shh, pup, come on,” Dean’s sucking on Sam’s scent in under a second.
“Calm, sweetheart, you’re doing so well, just another couple of minutes, hush
baby.”
“You, you,” Dean tries, choking on his own words and the air entering and
leaving him. “You s-said I’d be…terrified.” And yeah, he fucking sobs it.
Jesus, he just needs to know.
“Fuck, baby,” Sam says, reaching down and kissing him. “I don’t know how you’re
gonna react, but we just need to know for certain, alright?”
Cas takes the Thing from him, fingers dancing over his skin.
“Dean, honey, it’s okay,” and Dean looks up through sodden lashes at Ellen,
who’s smiling sadly at him now, eyebrows raised hopefully. “Nothing to worry
about, beautiful.”
How do they know, if they don’t know how Dean’s gonna react, huh? Dean might
just…die, then how are they gonna feel? Humph.
“…Alpha.” And that’s Cas. Dean doesn’t bother looking at him. Just gonna lie
anyway.
“Fuck. Holy…” Alpha replies—and then in the next second, Dean’s up in the
goddamn air and yipping at the change in altitude because Sam’s lifting him
high, dropping him down to his chest and snogging the sobs right out of him.
He’s still grinning like a weirdo, so it’s not much of a snog, but he’s
genuinely ecstatic, which Dean should be happy about—he would be, honest, if he
weren’t so terrified about himself.
In another selfish act, he’s wrapped himself—still in the air, for God’s
sake—around Alpha’s throat and he absolutely refuses to leave. Point blank.
Refuses.
“Dean,” Cas says, and from where Alpha’s grinning down at Ellen (she’s patting
Dean’s butt), Dean can see the Beta’s happy face easily, see the stick he’s
holding up for Dean to see.
It says…it says Pregnant 3+.
It says…Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Holy…fuck.
Dean’s squirming from his Alpha’s arm holding him up, pushing from the grip
until he drops heftily to the floor on his bare feet and stares up at his
Sammy’s face, mouth agar and breath leaving him like thundering wild horses
and, fuck, it’s a miracle he’s still breathing at all, he definitely doesn’t
feel like he should be, he should be…he should be wailing on the floor in a
cutthroat panic; he should be kissing Alpha with everything he has because this
is Alpha inside him, Alpha gave him the greatest gift; he should be running
into the woods and hiding to…to…fuck.
Holy fuck.
“Hey, handsome,” Sam says soothingly, softly. He inches a hand Dean’s way and
runs it though his Omega’s hair, earning a swift twitch at the contact (Alpha’s
inside you, he’s inside you) until Dean just gives up the ghost and mewls his
way into Sam’s shirt, clutching at the hem. “We’re gonna have a pup, baby.
You’re gonna be a daddy.”
Dean’s gonna puke again. But…he’s not. This isn’t as bad as the ideas whirring
his head (something along the lines of poison and eating a human sacrifice)
and…Dean can handle this. He has Alpha and Beta and…and he has a pack. Uncle
Gabe, right? Daddy…he’ll be a daddy.
But he doesn’t know what he’s doing and Alpha says his parents died and Castiel
says his parents left when he was young, so how are any of them gonna raise a…a
pup of their own?
Ellen. Ellen has a kid, she has Jo.
And Cas is already like a father to Maggie, he knows what he’s doing, right?
And Alpha…well he’s an Alpha, for God’s sake. He’s practically father to his
whole entire Pack, he can handle one little pup with Dean’s eyes and his nose,
surely?
And Dean, well…Dean likes baby Jemma. She likes him as well, likes scenting him
when she’s screaming and sometimes that’s the only thing that’ll calm her down,
Dean on her blanket and scent marking it and nuzzling into her—he can feed her,
too, he can make her laugh and squeal in delight. Besides, Dean was made for
this, right? Physically, obviously, but mentally, too. He’s good at taking care
of people, he can do this.
He can.
Right?
(don’t have a choice, look how happy Alpha is, it’s his pup too and Cas’, they
choose, you don’t)
Yeah. Right. Dean’s not sure he minds, though.
“Hey, baby, hey,” Sam says, right there, right in Dean’s face and he’s holding
Dean as though he’s holding him standing, holding him upright and still as
though Dean’s about to freak out and run or freak out and faint. “It’s alright,
Dean, we can handle this together. Look, baby, if it’s…if it’s really something
you don’t need right now, you can…you can lose it, if you want. I won’t blame
you, sweetheart. I won’t blame you.”
And God, Dean wants to cry all over again at the look on Alpha’s face—screwed
up like ridding Dean of this is like losing his own Pack and does he really
think Dean could ever do that to him? Never. Dean would never hurt his Alpha
like that.
Dean offers a smile—wispy and tired, but real—and reaches his arms up in demand
(asking, asking for permission) to be lifted again, balanced on Alpha’s hip.
Sam goes one better though, and Dean’s wrapping his legs around his waist and
locking his arms around his neck in under two seconds.
“No,” Dean says into his mating mark—once he’s nudged the shirt out of the way
and scented his way to just below Alpha’s clavicle. “Want it. Want you, Alpha,
want you happy, and Cas and…I want it. Please.” It’s added as an afterthought,
but then Cas is damp with his face pressed to Dean’s shoulder blade, so it’s
okay.
“Celebration!” Ellen calls, her own voice sounding wet, but then footsteps
sound and she’s fast-walking down the hall. “I’ll make you pie, honey, anything
you want!”
Dean grins against Alpha. Sounds good. Really good.
“You’ll be the best father in the world, Dean,” Cas says, coaxing Dean down
from Sam (Dean only goes with the offer of another scent) and tucking him
close, pulling Alpha in too. “The best Omega.”
“You too,” he says to Cas, grinning up at him. “And Sam. We-we’ll be a family,
right? A real family?”
The Pack’s his family, of course, but Dean trusts they know what he means.
Dean’s never had one, not really. Now…now he has a chance.
“The best family, baby,” Alpha promises seriously. “A real family.”
They go downstairs some minutes later—once Dean’s stopped crying from his
second round and he’s got some clothes on his legs beside boxers, once Cas can
tug his hands away from Dean’s stomach for two seconds put together, and once
Alpha’s ceased his kissing.
Everything halts, though, when Dean hears the shouting. Never good. Oh God,
Lucifer’s back and he’s gonna take Dean away, take him from his pup…or Master,
it’s Master’s pup, and, and he wants them both back—
When an echoing “Dean!” comes shouting through the house though, it’s not a
voice he recognises. And that’s slightly scarier.
Alpha’s off like a rocket in a second, growl ripped from his throat as he tears
down the rest of the stairs and bursts into the hallway—Dean runs after with
his hand clenched tight in Cas’, both scents fogged in fear and both hearts
beating like jack rabbits, fuckfuckfuckfuck…
It was good. Ellen was making him pie.
“Get the hell away from my pack, now!”
Dean’s…Dean’s never seen him so angry. He didn’t think that was possible, but
this…Oh God. This is furry. This is…indescribable.
“Don’t you try to order me, boy, fuck you,” and it’s a man that says it—gruff
and shorter than Sammy (SammySammySammy) but not short by any stretch. He has a
beard, greying around the edges, and Dean can smell the whiskey on him from
here, but he smells…familiar. The same kind of way Sammy did when he first
tucked Dean into safety.
He smells Rogue. Gamma, but no pack, wrongwrongwrong. Dean can’t imagine how
terrible a life like that must be.
And why the hell is he talking to Sam like that?
Dean pauses with Cas on the stairs when the Beta stalls suddenly and holds Dean
back with an arm. He’s not going to help Alpha, but someone should—Dean can
stay put if Cas wants him to, but someone should be with Alpha. Dean’s carrying
and Sam needs to be the daddy, he needs protection to make sure he’s there…
Gabriel. Thank god, he’s there and he’s helping, he’s beside Alpha,
goodgoodgood…
“I’m warning you, John, I will kill you. You’re drunk. If you don’t leave, I
will end you. Trust me.”
“Back the fuck up.” Gabriel’s good, he’s defending, good.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, boy? I’m your goddamn father, you
show me some respect.”
Father? But…but Alpha said his dad was dead, he said he was gone and… Dean
looks up at Cas and nudges for his attention. But the Beta ignores him.
Purposely. Oh.
…what’s going on?
“Get. Out. Now.”
Sam’s eyes are flashing and…he’s gonna shift again. Dean hasn’t had to see it
since Elliot and, Christ, he doesn’t want to now. Not in anger, not like this.
Please, Sam, please…
“Don’t you Alpha me, boy,” the Gamma—John—says, pointing a drunken-shaking
finger at Sam. “I have a right to see my son.”
Doesn’t look like he wants to from here. Sam definitely doesn’t want him, he
really should just go before Alpha kills him and stains the tiling on a very,
very good night. Cas was in a bad way when he came in and then—somehow—Dean
managed to make it better and it was gonna be so good when Alpha told everyone,
it should be good…
It won’t be now. After this, everything will be wrong.
“You’re the one that lost him!” Alpha screams at the man, hunching lower like
he’s this close and Dean’s shaking against Cas. “You have no right!”
“You get out of my way, boy,” out of his way? He’s here to see him, isn’t he?
Sam doesn’t…doesn’t have a brother, right? He would have told Dean, right?
“He’s my son.”
“You have no idea,” and Sam’s nearly crying now, his voice so taut with emotion
that Cas has to tut at Dean and physically hold him back, cradling him to a
strong, pale blue coated chest. “No fucking idea what he had to go through. You
nearly killed him, do you get that? He was…he was gone, you bastard. And I
found him, I made him again. You owe him nothing. Fuck you. Leave.”
…who?
Sam wouldn’t…he wouldn’t, right?
Alpha doesn’t lie to Dean, he said so himself. Dean’s obviously got this
totally wrong.
And when Cas starts moving him, holding a numb Dean to his chest with soft
little chitters to his hair as they climb a few steps slowly, John sees them.
And he…he starts moving near them, starts towards them and Cas wants to run
then, Dean can feel the urgency in his bones, but Dean doesn’t. Dean doesn’t
move.
“Dean…” John says, growling behind him when Sam does the same to him. “Son.”
He knows Dean’s name, he knows Dean.
How? He shouldn’t, they didn’t mention it and Sam wouldn’t…couldn’t…
No, Dean doesn’t have a father—neither does Sam but he’s here and this is Sam’s
dad, right?
No. No.
Sam lied? Sam said he wouldn’t…
Sam shifts, but Dean…Dean’s not really paying much attention. He’s numb—frozen
like he’s run his finger under the cold tap for too long, numb and wrong and
hurt. Cas is saying something to him, but he can’t hear.
Son, son, son—that’s the litany in his head, that’s the threat. Cas is safety
and, at this point, nothing but background noise.
John shifts too—chestnut, like Sam, nowhere near as huge but so much more
terrifying—and he turns to fight the Alpha and Dean can relax, of course he
can, Sam’s a monster, he can defend Dean. Gabriel’s shifted too but the rest of
the pack is nowhere to be seen…Bobby’s there actually. Standing off to the
side. Ellen too, and Jo, but they’re not moving. Their gazes flit from John
circling Sam to Dean and…
Sam’s yelping. Limping. Dean didn’t…he didn’t register it but somehow he’s
injured from John and the chestnut wolf, the smaller, scary one…he’s headed for
Dean.
Sam’shurtSam’shurtSam’shurt…
Cas shifts too. He runs to defend Dean (from your father, your own father) but
John knocks him aside too, moving up the stairs like a demon.
Dean can’t move. Cas is yelping high-pitched slumping against the wall and
Gabe’s licking him in a growl, Dean’s frozen, eyes wide on this Gamma and
Alpha’s growling down below them on the floor, desperate to move but he
can’t…he’s injured. Cas is injured.
Dean turns and runs when the jaws snap at him—turns and jolts up one measly
little step before the jaws descend and push themselves into the bone of Dean’s
ankle.
He screams. He kicks and dislodges and John growls before scampering closer and
Dean stands, he stands on his bloody foot and it’s gone. Right from under him,
it’s gone and then he is too.
Past Cas, past Gabriel—wisps of vision as he tumbles past them in red and pain,
hits his head on the banister, lands in a heap at the foot of them all. He
can’t feel his ankle anymore, so that’s good.
And if he turns his head just an inch, Alpha’s there and Dean can see him, see
Sam and he smiles at his mate.
And when the blackness descends, Dean can’t feel anything.
That’s good, right?
Chapter End Notes
     Let me know if anything's confusing :)
***** It runs in the family... *****
Chapter Notes
     Soooo this is pretty much all back-story (it's my own personal non-
     kink kink :D) as Sam fills Dean in on what he's missed. Enjoy!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean remembers everything when his eyes flutter open.
Everything. Everything pours back in like vicious  talons, clawing their way
back into his memory and sticking in there on spikes. Dug into his brain. Held
there. Marring. Ruining.
His ankle’s still throbbing bitterly where he can see it, out from beneath a
covering of old Star Wars sheets (the rest of him is cocooned in the things)
and propped up on a mountain of pillows. It’s wrapped in white gauze from toes
to lower-shin and if Dean tries to shift it, zip-lines of pain move from the
tips of his toes all the way to his knee and he offers a keen of discomfort
into the room. He hasn’t hurt like this in a long time. It’s making things
worse.
Worse.
Alpha lied to him. Blatantly lied to his face and let him believe, let him stew
in the knowledge of a family who cared nothing for him, parents who dropped him
like that. But Sam didn’t come for him until Dean was broken. Until he was a
broken in pony rotting in the stables of a vicious Master. He bartered with
Alastair. He negotiated the price of Dean (hepaidfor you) as though if the
Alpha had denied the price, he would have offered it up as a bad day and left
Dean there for further breakage. He left Dean to a home that shoved him in the
corner come Christmas and made him watch the other kids laughing with the
presents and showing of at him. A home that sold him to an Alpha with every
knowledge in the world about what he wanted with a pup of an Omega like Dean
was. Alpha’s Dean’s brother and he left him there whilst he built a pack for
himself and mated with a Beta and bought a mansion in the middle of the forest.
Get a job. Get rich. Mate with a Beta. Build a thirty-strong pack. Save your
baby brother, but only if you feel like it. Dean was knotted at seven. He
couldn’t even get wet yet, and Sam was mated and happy with a pack. Dean slept
in the old kitchen. Sam bought a house.
(You have no right to be angry about that, little boy, Alpha still saved you
from him, still took you in when no-one else would. He still put a pup in your
ruined belly and bit you for a mate, he’s never hurt you. He’s given you a real
pack. He’s given you a family)
But Dean’s hurting now. Dean hurt with Elliot (Sam banished him, he did that
for you) and Dean hurt when Ellen sang to him. He’s heard it before, hasn’t he?
Back before the home, back when…back when he was Dean, Sam Winchester’s baby
brother. Before the knots tore him apart or the heats shoved him from his own
brain. Before kids laughed at him for being so obedient. Is if the Sister
wouldn’t beat him with a switch if the Omega boy so much as mewled without her
permission. Before, before, before.
Why didn’t Sam just tell him? Why didn’t he tell Dean the second he woke up in
that bed, the second Dean curled himself into the new Alpha’s arms? Why didn’t
Castiel? Or Gabriel? Or Jo, or Ellen, or Bobby? Because they all knew. Dean
knows they did.
And now Dean’s hurting like nothing’s ever hurt him before. His ankle throbs,
of course (he’s sprained it playing chase with Master plenty of times, back
when he thought it was only an innocent game) but it’s deeper than that, the
pain. It’s bone deep. Terminal. Agony.
He’s probably lost the pup. The whole length of his being is aching in bruises
and bumps from his tumble down the stairs, his head feels smashed open like a
watermelon. He doesn’t dare touch it. He’s not so brave.
He’s lost his Alpha’s pup, his brother’s. Everything was good and in the space
of, what, five minutes? Every went wrong; so very wrong and Dean wouldn’t be
surprised if he were left barren after the fall. He wouldn’t be surprised if he
could never walk again (you can feel the pain in your ankle, you’re fine). No
Alpha, brother or not, would want a crippled, barren omega. No one.
“Dean?” comes a voice, basely familiar in a desperate gasp of recognition, and
Dean turns his head towards his Beta. Castiel’s staring at him. He lowers his
backside to perch against the edge of Dean’s bed (Gabriel’s bed; not sure why)
and soft hands move to stroke, carefully, against the edges of Dean’s cheeks.
They’re probably avoiding bruises. Dean doesn’t want to imagine what he looks
like right now. “How do you feel?”
“You knew,” he says instead. His voice is croaked from disuse, but by the way
Castiel’s eyes lower to his sternum, they pack the punch Dean implied.
Cas’ chest—donned in a fresh pale blue shirt—heaves in a sigh, and his hands
pull back to himself, back to rest stoically on his lap. He flicks his gaze up
again. “I did. Sam was going to tell you, in his own time. When the timing was
right.”
“Never gonna be right,” Dean says, turning his gaze to the window opposite
them, laced and weaved with patterns of the rain. “He wasn’t gonna tell me.”
“He was, sweetheart, I promise.” Hands hover in the air for a second, before
seemingly relenting and simply tucking the sheets beneath Dean’s chin. “It
would have been too…rocking for you if we told you straight away. We just
decided you’d be more comfortable in a pack environment before you knew
his…secret. I’m sorry Dean.”
Dean shakes his head, feeling tears edging, “Needed family,” he insists.
“Needed…a brother. Anything.” He sighs again, and closes his eyes. “I felt
wrong, you know. I knew…I knew, in the back of my head, that this…this was
familiar. Ellen sang me a song and I knew it. Why I pushed you that time, it
just. It felt wrong, knowing something I didn’t get. I recognised your scent
but I’ve never been to the sea before. I didn’t understand and I…I didn’t like
it.”
The Beta scent edges into something warm with guilt, tightens as the hands at
Dean’s chest rise and deposit themselves against the pillow beside each of
Dean’s ears. He draws them in and caresses Dean, offering that seaside scent
from his wrists. Dean mewls in the paper-thin grip.
“I knew you as a pup, you know,” he says, his voice light with a smile but
stuck by tears behind it. His thumb moves over Dean’s temple. “Our families
were friends, even back then. You were well behaved, whenever Sam asked
something of you. I don’t think you ever really glanced at your father to be
honest, your brother was a lot more interesting. And when he presented…” Dean
glances back at him, to the face marred by silent tears and twisted into a
smile, “you couldn’t leave him be for a second. Maybe we should have guessed
your gender. Sam blames himself for that, you know.” The Beta sniffs. “Not
knowing. I personally don’t think it would have made much of a difference. Your
father is a stubborn man and Sam was a barely presented pup—even if he was an
Alpha. It’s not his fault Dean. He tried, alright? He really did.”
Dean blinks up at the Beta above him, turning into one perfectly scented wrist
and sucking the air there into his nose. Like the seaside. Like ice-cream and
sand and sun cream and…family.
He presses his lips to the delicate skin there and rests. “Have I ever been to
the sea?” he asks, letting the hand smooth over him.
Cas strokes him gently. “Yes,” he offers, voice smiling. “Sam would talk to me
about that, when I had nightmares. He’d hold me in his arms and soothe me. He’s
good at that, isn’t he?” he asks, and Dean nods dazedly. “He’d keep me safe in
his bed and tell me he’d never let Lucifer near again. And he’d tell me about
you. This was before anything became of us, but I knew what it wouldn’t be
entirely platonic for long. He’s the one that got me to talk again, talking
about you. He’d ask if I remembered when you got locked in the bathroom and
didn’t make a peep the whole time. Just grinned and held your arms up to Sam.
He’d tell me you loved going to the sea. You loved ice cream. Paddling in
shallow pools.” His voice grows weary and Dean burrows closer, offering his
throat, but Castiel just palms it, smoothing along the stretch of skin. “He
loved you, little one. He loved you more than anything, I can promise you
that.”
Dean gulps. “Why did I…how?”
Castiel shakes his head when Dean looks again and his scent emits the same
twist as the one curving up his features. All of a sudden Dean remembers he was
hurt. Enough to be out of the action, at least, and Dean knows he’d never be
that willingly. Gabriel was worried about him.
“He never abandoned you, Dean, I promise. But…that’s not my story to tell,
little one. When he’s well enough to return, he’ll tell you everything. More
than I can right now.”
“Are you badly hurt?” Dean asks, rising one hand and making it meet with the
Beta’s wrist. His torso aches, but it’s bearable. No broken ribs at least.
“Is…is Alpha hurt?”
When he’s well enough to return…what does that mean?
Castiel shakes his head and lowers his lips to Dean’s knuckles. “I’m alright,
Dean. John caught me during the shift but…no, I’m fine. Alpha wasn’t paying
attention and John took his chance whilst he could. He’ll be right as rain in a
few days, I promise. He’ll be fine. You both will.”
Dean frowns at that, peering over at the bowed Beta attached to his hand. In a
few days? How badly was Alpha hurt, he should be healed by now, he should be
here explaining…Dean frowns deeper when he registers.
“What about the pup?” he croaks, fluttering his free hand to the smooth skin of
his belly and palming across it. Besides the ache, he feels no different—maybe
if he were a little further along and he smelt of pregnancy, they’d know more.
Then again, he’d be stretched by the pup and it would’ve been doomed to even
more danger.
Castiel’s not looking at him.
“Cas?” Dean prompts, retrieving his hand. “Cas, the pup. Please, Cas.”
“Dean…” he says, gripping back at the hand and reclaiming it for his own,
pressing his lips against each individual finger. “Hush, little pup. We can’t
know for sure right now—you haven’t bled, so that’s a good sign. You’re early
on. There’s still a good chance it’s safe in there, but…” his eyes are glassy
when they meet Dean’s again and he can feel his own features crumble at the
notion. “I won’t give you false hope, sweetheart. In all likelihood, it’s
damaged from the fall or gone altogether. We’ll know soon though, I promise.
We’ll take you to a hospital. Get it checked out. Hush, baby, it’s alright. We
can try again, can’t we? Keep you locked up in bed and away from angry Beta’s,
hmm? Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”
Not okay. This is a gift from Alpha. A gift from both of them and Dean’s ruined
it for everyone, the whole entire pack. Just because he couldn’t run fast
enough or he couldn’t keep his footing or face his fears and help his family.
The family he once had tucked safely inside his belly (you don’t know it’s
gone, calm down) and he couldn’t even protect that. What use is he now? Barren.
Worthless. Even his own brother won’t want him.
“You’re mother used to sing that song to you,” Castiel says instead, pushing
Dean’s tears away with his thumbs. “The one Ellen sang? It’s by The Beatles.”
Dean nods in tired recognition. Gabriel had forced him to listen months ago to
an album, though Dean can’t remember hearing Ellen’s song. Or his mother’s.
Then again, Dean can’t remember her. “She’d sing it to you every night before
you went to sleep. You loved it. I’m sorry it was hard for you, Dean. I’m sorry
you can’t remember, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We had no right, and I
apologise.”
“What happened to her?” Dean chokes, turning his head back to Cas’ hand. “My
mom.”
Castiel sighs, “She passed, before you were forced away. Cancer.”
Dean nods. “Oh. Did you know her?”
The Beta’s lips curl into an exhausted smile and he huffs out a reminiscent
laugh against the skin of Dean’s cheek. “I did. I was very lucky to.” He sighs
once more. “Mary Winchester was probably the best woman I’ve ever known. She
seemed to just…know how unhappy I was in my own pack—both Gabriel and I—and
we’d be visiting their house more than we did our own. Gabriel would be with
Sam, in his room. I used to help her feed you.” He smiles, wispily. “I remember
you enjoyed pulling at my hair.”
Dean offers a timid smile with a wet sniff, his lips still quivering.
“You were a very eager little thing. Everyone who met you fell in love
instantly. Heh. Maybe we should have guessed your gender after all. You loved
sleeping in your brother’s bed, every night you could get away with it you’d
sneak into the covers and curl against him. He complained, but he loved it. He
loved you.”
“Still do,” comes a bitingly familiar voice, and when Dean’s gaze whips up,
Sam’s stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against it and looking absolutely
knackered. Dean’s Omega wars with the notion of needing his Alpha back in bed
and safe, and wanting him as close as he can get. In the end his chittering
throat makes his mind up for him, and Sam’s smiling as he limps his way into
the room. Castiel leaps up and offers his shoulder with a well-intentioned
scowl.
“What happened to bed rest?” Castiel demands, allowing him access to the
antique armchair when he drags it over to the head of the bed. Sam drops into
it with a huffed out laugh, and rubs at his head.
“Doctor’s orders, I know. But I’m awake, and I decided it would be a waste if I
couldn’t even come and see,” he eyes Dean sadly, “my baby brother.”
The tears come again, but Dean’s not crying. He’s unsure if they’re happy that
his Alpha seems to be alright, if not slightly pale—or saddened that he’d been
lied to for so long; depressed at the notion of losing the most important thing
Alpha’s ever bestowed him. Sam reaches a hand to Dean’s cheek and wipes the
salted drops away with one strong, callused thumb.
“Will you give us a few, angel?” he asks, not even offering Castiel a glance.
Dean watches though, and he sees the wisp of a smile float across the Beta’s
face, the slow nod he gives before turning and limping slightly over to the
door. He closes it gently behind.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says. He can’t seem to look Sam in the eye when the words
leave, doesn’t really want to try. “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost your pup.”
Sam tsk’s him, offering calming, “Shshshsh,” noises as his thumb picks up
speed. He edges it to the puffed lines of Dean’s lips. “Cas says he’s not even
sure if we’ve lost anything, precious-baby. We don’t know for sure yet.
Besides, Dean,” he says, cupping Dean’s chin in his palm and tilting, until
Dean’s eyes have no choice but to meet with kind (knew they were familiar, he
knew it) hazel eyes, “We can always try for another, and another,” he smiles
dolefully. “If that’s something you still want with me.”
It strikes Dean for the hundredth time since John called him his ‘son’, that
Sam—the Alpha, his Alpha, the bravest and most perfect man Dean’s ever even
met—is his own brother. Months of ignorance. Months of not knowing, kept in the
dark like every pitiful little Omega out there because he’s too weak to handle
that kind of knowledge.
“I’m sorry, baby brother,” Sam whispers, leaning down and pressing dry lips to
the just-slightly revealed meat of Dean’s shoulder. He mouths there as he
speaks, breath damp. “I’m so sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I let them take
you. I’m sorry you had to grow up in that place. I’m sorry your first Alpha was
a psychopath. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, and I’m sorry I couldn’t find
you quicker.”
Dean has questions. Looping through his head about everything Sam’s just said
and he wants to ask them, he will. But the first words that escape his lips to
his newly discovered brother are, “You negotiated a price for me. You said
Alastair’s price for me was too much, even a ‘trained Omega’ wouldn’t cost as
much as I did. You were gonna leave me.”
Sam’s face crumples when the tears fall down it, but Dean can’t force himself
to care. That knowledge; that memory, it’s been swirling his brain since the
very second this Alpha knotted him, since he realised he was wanted here—but he
managed, after the love they offered to him, to ignore it as best he could. He
proved them wrong, right? He showed his Alpha he was worth the price of a
‘professional’ and he damn well proved his worth. But now…now it’s back full
force and punching it’s way to the forefront of Dean’s denials.
His brother’s voice is rough when he says, “Fuck, Dean. I didn’t even…I didn’t
register that you’d even hear that, I wouldn’t have…” he shoves a hasty hand
through his hair and sits back up, though one hand still clutches at Dean’s
like a lifeline. “I had to. Jesus, baby, I would’ve paid double that crap,
triple if it meant having you back with me. You even know how hard it was to
watch you stumble into that room—” he sobs out a devastated little sound and
Dean’s lips curl at the sound of it. He frowns up at Alpha, gaze soft at his
words. “I wanted nothing more than to just…just have you in my arms, finally.
But Alastair would have never given you to me if he suspected anything more
than an attempt at boosting my pack status. If he’d known you were my brother,
he’d have knotted you in front of me and laughed in my face. Denying his price
is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, but…I did anything I could to get
you back. It was the only way I knew I could have you, without limitations. I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry you had to hear it, baby.”
Dean gulps around his next question, but he’s not putting limitations on
himself either. He needs to know. “Did you always know I was there? With
Alastair?”
Sam sighs and averts his gaze. “I couldn’t find you in the home, John made sure
of it. You were Dean Smith, weren’t you?” Dean nods, only just realising. He’s
not Smith. He’s a Winchester. “And as soon as you were sold to Alastair, it did
take me a while again, long enough for me to build a pack willing enough to
hunt for connections. An Alpha friend of mine, Benny—he heard Alastair had
taken on a new Omega, a pup-boy by the name of Dean. I didn’t allow myself to
hope, but…I became friendly with him, once my pack numbers were up to scratch.
A young Alpha with twenty-five strong, it was all but unheard of. The first
time I saw you again, it was just a glimpse, like a mirage, but I knew. You
were outside. You seemed so happy, running around. I almost gave up then,
baby,” he says, stroking through Dean’s hair sadly. “I didn’t want to take you
away from a place that brought you comfort, not if the rejection would give you
so much pain. I suppose it was lucky I never relented, though. You could still
be there.”
“Thank you,” Dean says hastily. He peers up at his brother (you’re lucky, Dean)
through wide eyes and offers his honesty, his insistence that no matter what,
he is grateful. Dean knows Sam’s story is logical; any other Alpha could have
taken on the same idea, bought Dean for a simple power boost and keep him
locked up forever. So, at the very least, he knows he owes Sam that.
“Don’t thank me, Dean,” he says, though his voice is somewhat lighter for it.
“I should have gotten you out sooner. I shouldn’t have let you simmer in so
much agony.”
But Dean just shakes his head, eager for the next question. “Why did I have to
leave in the first place?”
Sam scowls again, and Dean almost regrets it. Not quite though. “Our mom
passed. John, our father,” he spits, “was a drunken bastard. After I presented,
he couldn’t handle having his own son at a higher rank than him in his own
house, and he fucking showed it. I never reacted, you hated me upset. You’d
cry,” a small smile lights his features, before he sighs and continues. “I came
home one day from school and I couldn’t find you; you weren’t in my bed like
usual. I asked him about it, and he told me I couldn’t bring you up anyway.
He’d called social services in whilst I was in school and they took you away
from the house and kept you. They allowed your name changed. They believed I
was…” he growls beneath his breath and his hackles rise, “touching you. As
though I’d even consider…you were four. They made sure I couldn’t find you and
that was that. I left the house that day, scarred our father and made a pack of
Ellen, Bobby and Jo. But…I only did that because of you, Dean. Because I knew
an Alpha with a pack would have more power than a Rogue one. You inspired
everything, Dean. You helped me build what we have right now.”
Dean flinches. “Then you mated with Cas?”
And Sam darkens again. Apparently tired of that, Dean looks at Sam and then
pointedly at the stretch of bare bed beside him, nodding shyly with his head
until the Alpha seems to understand with a smile, and manoeuvres himself around
it, carefully avoiding Dean’s ankle. He curls up to Dean’s side and scents at
his throat. Dean strokes along his forearm.
“I stayed in high school,” he says. “Stayed friends with both Gabe and Cas. But
a few years after that, my pack bought a house just outside of Boulder, and we
lost touch.” He offers a sigh and it’s both wet and comforting against the
length of Dean’s neck. “Gabriel showed up at the front door one night, drenched
in blood and half beaten to death. He begged for my help. Told me Castiel had
been mutilated and that was the last straw, they couldn’t live in a pack that
could be so…savage. They’d have bruises, back in school. There was nothing I
could do, we barely thought anything of it and…I should have done something
then. I shouldn’t have let it get to that stage.” Dean pulls him closer, and he
rests his head lightly to Dean’s sternum. “I stormed the pack and took them.
Bobby had to carry Cas. Gabriel took Maggie, and I had Lucifer in my jaws, but
I didn’t kill him, I wouldn’t have dared risk losing the pack for that bastard.
Same reason I didn’t rip Alastair limb from limb.
“Castiel wouldn’t talk, you know. He’d curl against himself and ignore everyone
but Gabriel, he wouldn’t even look at me.” Sam shakes his head. “I took him to
bed, after a month. All but dragged him there, but he stopped panicking once I
tucked him in fully clothed and shoved his nose against my neck. I talked to
him about you, about our mom. I asked him if he remembered. The first words he
said to me were, “I bet Dean’s so handsome now”. He slept in my bed after that.
We mated not long afterwards, but it took a lot out of him to reveal himself to
me like he was. He couldn’t stop shaking the first time we tried anything
beyond kissing, but the first time he got slick with Betan instinct, we both
knew and he finally let me do it. Wouldn’t stop touching me, poor thing.”
Dean purrs in his throat and lets his Alpha feel it against the top of his
head, like a peace offering. He won’t forget this, he’s sure. But for right
now, he’s content.
“Are you okay?” he asks, stroking a soft hand through Sam’s hair. “You were
hurt.”
His brother huffs a laugh. “I’m tougher than I look, little brother.” Wow.
That…that felt good. Dean’s purr turns audible and he shuffles against Sam,
curling closer without uplifting his ankle. “Like that, huh?” he teases. “Call
you that forever, baby. My perfect baby brother.”
Dean swats him on the arm. “Cas said you should be in bed.”
“I’m in bed.”
“This isn’t the same thing…big…brother?” A risk, but neither are in the
position for punishment right now, and Sam appears to have earned quite a lot
of his trust in the span of however long Dean’s been out. Ironically. After
such a huge lie. But Sam’s also never been quite so truthful in one sitting
before, and it’s refreshing.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, rocking closer. “You call me that the next time
we’re trying for a pup, alright?” And Dean laughs despite the bitter reminder.
His brother sobers quickly though, and Dean’s suddenly being stared at and
boxed in by a very large Alpha. He’s frowning, but it’s light. Dean mewls for
him and he offers a chaste kiss; a bare press of lips, but it helps. “What do
you remember, beautiful? From John, what do you remember?”
Dean sucks a lip into his mouth (revelling in the taste of his Alpha and
brother both) before plucking it out and admitting, “Everything? I remember
coming down the stairs and he was there, and you shifted. He came up towards
me, and Cas tried to shift but he hurt him, and then he bit my ankle and I fell
down the stairs. I remember looking at you. Then I woke up here.”
Sam’s brow’s knot together and he looks away, thoughtful. “That’s everything?”
Dean nods, but Sam doesn’t reply to it, just peers down at him as though he’s
utterly pained. Dean presses, “What? What happened after?”
The Alpha sighs. “Nothing, baby, it’s…” but at Dean’s saddened frown, he
relents and shakes his head. “I killed him.” He looks up at Dean in guilt, but
he’s not entirely sure why. That’s okay, right? John gave him up to a house
full of nuns that caned him for having opinions, he hurt Sam and Cas tons of
times over the years. Maybe he deserved to die. “He was bent over you when it
happened,” he says, and his voice is whispered as though they’re sharing one
big secret. Dean nods his understanding and Sam goes on with a sigh. “He was
scenting at you, nudging you with his nose and you were fucking whining, ‘cause
he was moving your head around and you were hurting and, fucking hell, Dean, I
warned him to stop.” He sounds too flustered, Dean doesn’t like it. “He
wouldn’t. He didn’t for a second, just growled at me, so I…I got behind him. I
bit his neck open, it was pretty instant. He…he bled all over you, Dean. Landed
on you. I dragged him off, but you were awake already and it was too late.”
Dean was awake? “I don’t remember that.”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “Don’t suppose you do. You asked me not to hurt you; begged
me not to make you bleed like that—I mean half of it didn’t make sense, but I
got the jist. I’m sorry, sweetheart, that you had to see that. I just want you
to know that I’ll never hurt you like that, okay? If that’s something you
really think…I need you to know I won’t do it. I’ll never hurt you again, you
understand me?”
Dean nods. And for the first time since Sam’s asked him, he really, truly means
it.
                                    =*=Ω=*=
Once Dean’s better, they take a trip to Castiel’s hospital and everyone—what
Dean’s sure is the whole entire workforce—fusses over him. He curls against
Alpha’s side for the most part, his heart beating like wild horses inside his
chest from the anticipation of what knowledge he’ll soon earn, and to be fair,
he must reek of Omegan distress. He must be stinking out the entire maternity
ward with the crap.
Cas takes him to a Beta woman called Doctor Pamela, who’s Alpha also works at
the hospital as a surgeon like Cas, but she’s not in today. Doctor Pamela works
with pregnancy’s all the time and she’s nice to him; not patronizing like the
rest. Dean finds he likes her.
“Don’t let this worry you too much there, Dean-o,” she says, manoeuvring the
wand inside of him and earning herself an embarrassing little twitch from his
end. He shifts against it, unsure. Doesn’t hurt, exactly, but he’s not all that
eager to have something so foreign and clinical so deep up inside of him. Alpha
offers a chuckle though, and Cas hand tightens against his knee, so Dean forces
a shuddering breath out to relax. Pamela smiles at him. “This doesn’t mean you
can’t get pregnant again. By all means, try again the second you get home, if
that makes you feel better,” and she winks and the others laugh, but Dean
cringes back against himself.
His voice is crooked when he asks, “So…it’s gone then? The pup’s gone?”
Pamela offers a kind smile and shifts the probe inside of him. “Now I didn’t
say that. We’ll just wait and see, okay? Alright, here we go…” she says,
repositioning herself so she can glance back at the screen currently showing
grey nothingness that probably means something to her. “Here’s the uterus,” she
says. Dean’s heart skips a beat and he wonders idly whether his grip on Alpha’s
hand is hurting him; if it is, he doesn’t react. Just presses a kiss to the
side of Dean’s forehead. “Just a little bit here…huh,” she says, grinning.
“Looks like there’s something still in there.” Dean’ heart thunders beneath his
chest and even he can smell the stench of his own scent. A little grey peanut
thing slowly comes into his own view on the screen, and Dean’s unsure if he’s
ever wanted (needed) something to be true so much in his life before.
“That’s it?” Alpha asks, and Dean hides his face in the crook of his perfect
neck because he doesn’t want to see this. They’ll have to cut it out if it’s
dead. His cheek slides against Sam’s skin from his tears, but Sam just pats him
through.
“That’s it. Hey Dean,” she says, and Dean only glances up at her when Castiel
pats his thigh. She’s smiling still, but that doesn’t mean anything. She was
smiling before. “Wanna see something really cool?” she points at the screen.
“See this little flicker right here?” he nods, his heart in his throat. Sam
strokes his thumb against the back of his hand. “That’s the heartbeat of your
pup, kiddo. Few months along, but it sure seems fine to me. You’re a skinny
thing, but you’ve got enough padding to keep that pup safe. Maybe you’re just
too stubborn to let it go.”
But Dean’s not really listening.
His pup’s on the screen. That little flicker, that’s it’s heartbeat. That’s
Dean’s uterus and it’s doing its job and it's done it well, thank you very
much. Dean…Dean did that. Dean and Alpha, and Cas definitely helped.
And then Dean can’t breathe from the crushing weight of an Alpha hug, but
breathing's overrated anyway.
And a week later, he’s reeking of pregnancy so you know what? Dean’s happy.
Yeah. Dean’s real happy.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay so:
     1. I was thinking about doing a one-off chapter about Sam and Cas
     getting together? Something anyone's interested in? Maybe another one
     about some of Dean's past?
     2. I was also thinking about doing a fic really similar to this
     (better written I hope) but with Dean pregnant from Alastair and Sam
     can't claim him with another Alpha's pup in his belly, so he has to
     stay in the same house as his pregnant Omegan brother until he can.
     3. I admit, I'm a comment whore. I love them. Ask questions, tell me
     something that's wrong. Lay it on me.
     4. I know I've been asking for betas and I reeeaaaally do want one.
     But I don't have the patience to wait for someone to proof-read the
     fic because I'm ridiculously impatient and I want it posted. So I can
     get comments. Yup. A dirty, two dollar whore.
      
     fixed the whole barren thing finally :) thanks for pointing it out
***** Come Find Me *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean, by the way, smells fucking amazing padded up from pregnancy. Like…like
ten times his usual perfect scent and Sam swears, it’s buried itself into every
single crevice of his entire Pack land and exploded sweetness. Fuck, he smells
good. Perfect. Right.
Like family.
And oddly, he’s not been terrible about the whole estranged-brother-lying
thing. Sure, if anyone brings it up or Sam calls him ‘brother’ in the odd
incident of lust or bliss, he’ll duck his head just slightly and lose eye
contact for just a little while; enough so it usually takes jokes from Gabriel
or a few fingers buried between his cheeks for the carefree happiness he’s also
adopted to pop right back.  He talks more, too, now—makes jokes about silly
little things that Sam’s sure he only makes because he thinks he won’t be
offending anyone. Sam laughs at all of them because he’s suddenly the funniest
little Omega on the whole face of the entire planet and Sam has never loved
anything the way he loves his life right now. And Christ, he does. He loves it.
“You smell happy,” Cas says from beneath one flung out arm, and Sam turns to
him to smile at those gigantic, azure peepers blinking up at him. Sam grins
giddily and tugs him closer.
“I am happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, actually,” he says.
The ball of pregnancy beside them shuffles beneath the mounds of quilts (Dean
gets quiet when he’s cold, and he’s freaking always cold nowadays) and a stray
purr vibrates from beneath them. Sam huffs out a laugh.
“Yes,” Cas says, reaching a few stray fingers to release Dean’s beautiful face
from its confines of winter sheets. He snuffles against it, but stays sleeping.
“Me too. I’m glad the pup came about with everything so…calm. As much as we’d
have enjoyed it, I don’t think it would’ve been good for the boy to have gotten
pregnant during his first heat. He’d almost have definitely lost it anyway.”
Sam’s Alpha growls deep inside of him at the reminder of what almost was
(Dean’s still fucking limping and Sam’s foot still feels like shit some days)
but he contains it before it can disrupt the air. Cas feels limp beneath him.
Sam doesn’t want to feel that tell-tale tensing of his muscles at an angry
Alpha. Not like…not like when Lucifer came back.
Sam hadn’t seen his Beta in a state like that since that first moment of
lucidity when he carried Cas to the couch in his old Pack-home. When those blue
eyes snapped open and he scented an Alpha, felt the pain between his legs again
and couldn’t see Gabriel behind Sam. He’d tried to calm the then Gamma, but…he
wasn’t ready back then. He wasn’t ready for a long time.
“I’m fine now, Sam,” comes that deepened voice beneath him, and Sam glances
back to the Beta. He’s blinking up at him and Sam huffs out a laugh.
“How the hell did you know that’s what I was thinking?” he asks.
One slender little finger moves to Sam’s forehead then, and rubs itself along
the crease between Sam’s brows. Cas smiles up at him, lips tilting knowingly.
“You always get this little nick right here whenever you’re worrying about me.
That was one of the first thing I noticed, you know. One of the things that
made me trust you again.”
They’re talking about this then? Huh. Haven’t really spoken much of anything on
the subject since it happened and when Cas came back to the main bedroom that
night after Lucifer, he’d curled himself around Dean, knackered, and trembled
his way to sleeping. Dean’d blinked up sadly at Sam before he went too, and
then in the morning, nothing else was said. Cas had kissed him silly and
offered breakfast and apparently that had been that. Dean had one of his quiet
days and had sought out Ellen before anything else had happened, but he didn’t
want to discuss either. Sam had just…left it. (Well, left it as much as keeping
every tab possible on the bastard that shoved his mates that way could be. As
much as planning every possible alternative outcome from that day that ended
with every single smug member of his pack dead on his floor—when he didn’t have
to halt the attack he wasn’t willing to risk with his own pack. Sam’s getting
to the end of his straw. The next person that threatens…he’s killing. John
learned that the hard way. The others soon will)
“Am I really so obvious?” he asks his Beta.
“Mhmm,” he hums lazily in reply, and Sam’s mouth barks out a laugh before he
silences it quickly and glances over to a still snoozing pup.
Cas laughs at him.
“You always were, once your guard was down.” They’re really discussing this
then, huh? Wow, breakthrough. “We don’t have to talk about this, Alpha,” Cas
says (Sam’s not easy to read, Cas is a mind reader). “I know you’re not eager
to.”
“No,” Sam says instantly. “Angel, I want you to talk about it. We haven’t
spoken a word since everything…happened. I heard you talking to Dean and that
was the most you’ve ever said on the subject, as far as I know. I want to know
you’re okay.”
Cas nuzzles in deeper and presses his nose to Dean’s mating bite hovering just
above Sam’s left nipple. “I’m okay. You know I’m okay. It’s just that…god, I
don’t know, Sam. I’m happy, you know that too. Maggie asked me about it the
other day, and I swear to God, I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be
doing. It just…it just went wrong like that and…I had to ask her to give me a
moment. She asked if she should get Gabe, and I told her no, that I’d be fine
in a minute. I think I scared her.”
Sam tugs him closer. “You can’t expect things like that to never happen,
sweetheart,” he soothes, softening the thread of Alpha he allows into his
words. Cas’ spine trembles beneath Sam’s hand. “You went through shit no man
should ever have to even consider, and look what you made out of it, huh?
You’re a surgeon, baby. You’re smarter than anyone in this Pack and we couldn’t
have gotten Dean back if it weren’t for you, angel. I owe you everything.”
Castiel mewls as Sam tucks him tighter beneath his arm, closer to his ribs and
he presses a kiss to the mop of black hair. “What did Mag’s ask?”
Cas freezes again, but Sam coaxes him out of it. He sucks in a giant breath and
breathes it against Sam’s nipple, making it peek. “She wanted to know why
Lucifer hurt me so badly; why he hit Gabriel and Anna and cared so much for
everyone else. She asked me if he purposely made him angry all the time.”
“Shh, angel, it’s okay,” Sam breathes, turning slightly to pull Cas securely
and tightly against his chest. “She’s still so young, Cas, she still has a lot
to learn. You’ve still got things to tell her once she’s old enough, right?
She’ll understand better then, angel, I promise. Don’t let yourself get worked
up over it, please. She’s still a pup.”
Cas backs off, just that little inch. “You don’t think I know that? Alpha…” he
huffs out again when Sam mouths at his throat. “She has questions now. I don’t
think I can answer them.”
“Does Gabriel know?” Sam asks.
Cas shrugs tiredly.
“I’ll tell him, okay baby? He’ll talk to her, you know he will—I’m sure he can
make it lighter than it should be, for a ten year old girl. It’s gonna be
fine.”
“I don’t want her to know what they did to me,” Cas says, voice timid and
forced. Sam’s Alpha keens for him. “She shouldn’t know what Alphas are capable
of in their own pack, I don’t want those ideas in her head right now. She
shouldn’t know that…what I am, Sam. I don’t want my niece to know that about
me.”
“Hey, angel, it’s okay,” Sam says. “Gabe knows what he’s doing doesn’t he? He
knows you better than anyone, baby, he knows what you don’t want everyone
knowing. It’s okay.”
“Hey there, little pup,” Cas says randomly. Sam frowns…wait, what? Did he miss
something, or… “how long have you been up?”
Sam rolls over to his back with a ready smile once he clicks on, and sure
enough, big emerald eyes are staring up at the from their cocoon of sheets;
slim little fingers are flexing in the blankets. He starts shuffling away, and
Sam frowns again.
“Sorry,” he says hastily, voice damp. Sam reaches tentatively over for him as
he edges closer and closer to the edge of the bed and further from the mess of
Alpha and Beta. He smells scared, all of a sudden. It’s permeating the room.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
It’s Cas that catches him before he can go crashing to the floor; leaning over
Sam (elbow in his ribs) and grabbing a quick hand to Dean’s bicep to keep him
stationary on the bed. The Omega mewls sadly and his cheeks start glistening in
the early, Sunday morning light, but Cas makes no pause as he crawls completely
over the top of Sam and tugs Dean to his chest.
“I’m s-sorry,” he stumbles out, his trembling frame vibrating enough to blur
even through Cas’ edges. Omegas don’t like being startled. Christ, especially
Dean. “I should have told you I was awake, I—”
“Hush, puppy,” Sam says, swooping them both into his arms and squeezing. “It’s
okay. No harm done, little one.”
“You already know everything that’s happened to me, Dean,” Cas says smoothly.
“I wouldn’t keep anything from you.”
Dean blinks up at both of them, gaze flitting from Sam to Cas and back again.
“You told me,” he says, voice quiet. “When…when we were talking, right at the
start, you told me what Lucifer did to you, right?” Cas nods. “Why?” Dean asks.
“You…you don’t like people knowing but you told me and you didn’t even know me
at all, you didn’t have to. Why d’you tell me?”
Cas’ voice comes out in a huffed laugh to begin with, as he pulls Dean’s still
shivering frame to him, and he calms swiftly with, “You didn’t notice when we
were in the bath, did you?” and it takes a second, but Dean finally nods in
agreement. Cas sighs. “You were going to find out later, and you asked me what
Lucifer had done. And you,” he says, pressing his mouth to the corner of Dean’s
and earning an uneven sigh of content, “were always,” he kisses Dean’s lips,
“you. I’d tell you everything, baby.”
“Love you,” Dean says lazily, arching himself into the ministrations.
“Love…love everything ‘bout you, Cas, ‘kay? Want you.”
They don’t go downstairs to start the day until Dean’s been licked out
thoroughly, Sam knots Cas into a trembling little ball, and Sam comes himself
three times.
Aaaaand he’s happy again. Look at that?
 
Seven years ago…
Sam answers the door with a smile on his face, still sticking his tongue out at
Jo when the familiar figure swims into view.
“…Gabriel?” he says, incredulous. They haven’t seen each other in…fuck, years,
what the hell is he doing here now? At, like, eleven o’clock on a Sunday
night—he sure as hell never made the effort to visit before.
“Sam? Fuck, man, I need your help, okay? He…he cut Cas, Sammy, he fucking
mutilated him, and Anna’s…Anna’s dead, Sam, you need to fucking help him,
please, I’m fucking begging you here, we need another Alpha, Cas needs yo—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam hastens, holding his hands up to halt the babbling
Gamma, before tentatively reaching out to get a good grip on his shoulders. The
body jerks beneath his fingers, but the second Sam gets his wrist beneath his
nose, Gabe’s relaxing against him, heaving out a giant breath. Sam tugs him in,
offering the slight gap of shirt to his clavicle. “Gabe?” the Gamma nods
jerkily. “I need you to tell me what’s happened, okay, man? Shshsh,” he says
quickly, once breathes start coming too fast again. “Hey, it’s okay, Gabe, it’s
fine, you’re safe here. Hush, buddy, it’s good. Just tell me what’s going on,
and I can help, huh? Calm down for a sec, and tell me what’s happening.”
Sam’s not entirely sure he wants to know, after Gabriel’s little panicked
admission. Sam’s heart has all but stopped beneath his calming pretence and
with the blood Sam can now smell bitterly beneath his friends jacket…this is
not going to be good.
‘he cut Cas—’
‘mutilated him—’
‘Anna’s dead—’
“They’ve hurt him,” Gabriel mumbles, caught between an Alpha’s scent of calming
and peace. It’s a knack he’s been perfecting quite recently, actually. Whenever
Jo’s up to a decent scenting on the living room floor. “Didn’t think he’d wake
up, Sammy, they hurt him so bad. Used to let them fuck him, you know. He used
to beat me to the floor whenever it happened—you remember all those times I was
off school?” he asks suddenly, and Sam nods against him, bewildered. He strokes
a consoling palm through the honey hued hair and allows the foreign Gamma’s
fingers to dig into his jacket. “’Cause I couldn’t move,” he laughs
humourlessly. “Cas was all shy, wasn’t he?” Sam waits a beat, thoughts
churning, before he nods in agreement. “’Cause he’d just been knotted dry.
Couldn’t even sit down, d’you know that? Luci still made him go to school,
still shoved him in the backseat of the car.” Oh God, Sam remembers that; a
wincing, timid little Castiel whenever he waved hello (worse after the change,
wasn’t it? Wouldn’t even glance at you anymore), whenever Gabriel was off
skiving with his Alpha. Fuck, Gabe used to say they were going on hikes.
(Yeah, and come back with yellowing bruises, you ignorant bastard)
“Jesus fuck,” Sam hisses, tightening his grip on the Gamma. “I didn’t…I didn’t
know, Gabe.”
He chuckles again and it makes Sam want to punch something—lower this trembling
being in his arms to the floor and punch something ‘till his fists bleed. “No
one did, don’t worry about it, gigantor. S’what he wanted.”
His head snaps up, suddenly, and dislodges Sam’s hand. Eyes widen as they
dilate away from Sam’s ministrations and he frowns, shoving away.
“Gabe, hey,” Sam says, stubbornly moving to follow the scent his body’s been
designed for, that distress calling for him like a beacon, but Gabriel steps
back again and Sam gets the idea.
“Sammy, fuck, wait.” He holds a hand out and Sam pauses. Gabe sucks in a
breath. “You need to come and help Cas, okay? Sam, please, he’s still bleeding,
he’s still fucking—”
“Gabriel,” Sam snaps out this time, Alpha voice clear. They don’t…they clearly
don’t have time for this if Cas is that badly hurt— “You need to tell me what’s
happened.”
Gabriel’s eyes are like piercing amber when they bore into Sam’s. “They hurt
him, Sam,” he says slowly. “Like a dog. They cut him into pieces like an unruly
animal.” Holy…fuck. “Buy him. Please. You buy him away from Lucifer, I’ll pay
you everything I have, okay? You have to save him. You have to.”
“Bobby!” Sam calls back into the house, and when he looks back, Jo’s stood
right where she was, just five minutes ago, looking about as pale as a ghost.
Sam smiles at the pallid, traumatised looking face, but she doesn’t react. But
fuck, Sam doesn’t have time for this right now, he’ll calm her when he gets
back—once he has big-blue-eyed Castiel in his arms, he’ll drag them all to the
carpet and he’ll scent them, no restrictions. Gabriel too.
Bobby rounds the corner, flustered. “What?” he demands. He pauses when Gabriel
comes into view, though, his eyes narrow as he takes in their scents. “What’s
happened?”
“Get the truck,” Sam says, darting a kiss to Jo’s cheek. “Jo, sweetheart, go
grab Ash for me, will you? And Ellen? Go, baby, it’s okay.”
“What’s happened to Cas?” she asks instead, voice smaller than Sam’s ever
heard, and he only just manages to hold in a really fucking frustrated growl.
“Jo,” he says, words sticky with Alpha. “Go.”
She goes.
In the truck, Gabriel lets Sam scent him, but he puts his foot down when Sam
suggests the other way around. “Can’t, just…get Castiel, okay?”
Ellen flanks his other side and strokes along his hand, palming at the scabbed
fingers. Bobby drives, Ash rides shotgun—the whole truck reeks of fear and
bitterness, Gabriel’s scent of congealed blood and Sam can’t help the pump of
guilt darting through his veins. He saw them, when they were so off back at
school. He was there, when Cas couldn’t look him in the eyes after that first
whiff of newly Alphaic Sam, that offer of fear and the sliver of neck he
gave—Jesus, Sam just thought he was behaving like so many of the others,
offering obedience once they remembered he had (Dean, fuckfuckfuck) no siblings
to Beta with. No, it wasn’t. Cas was fucking terrified of him.
Oh god, timid little Cas with the big blue eyes and ridiculously untamed hair;
who loved baby Dean, Sam thinks, more than John ever did, even when Mary was
alive. And the Cas who fought away his fears and offered his scent along with
Gabe and Jo and Ellen and Bobby when Sam’s baby brother was ripped right out
from under him, his future Beta—gone. Cas…fucking castrated by some psychopath
Alpha Gabriel never let Sam meet. Always some excuse or another.
Sam should have paid more attention. He should have saved them before all this
shit could happen.
“Here,” Gabriel says suddenly, his voice vibrating his throat where Sam’s
currently stuck his nose. He looks up, out of the window at the Beta’s words,
though.
It’s a Pack House, that much is for sure. Enough to fit twenty, thirty easy
enough, and Lucifer’s not young. He’s been at this a hell of a lot longer than
Sam has. Sam has three backups. Lucifer has a pack.
Gabriel doesn’t knock when he walks in. He’s trembling though, and it takes
everything Sam has inside not to tug the Gamma back to his chest and make him
smell like Winchester pack, and not this shit Sam’s scenting—Lucifer’s pack and
that sweet underlying of young Omega, freshly mated. Yeah, Sam remembers
Lilith. Fucking bitch.
It strikes Sam oddly that no matter how long he’s known the Novak family, he’s
never been inside their Pack House before. He’s never even seen it, actually.
Not odd, maybe. Meticulous.
By the time all five of them reach Castiel (little Cas, poor Cas) and Gabriel’s
bedroom…they smell it. That…reek of blood and fear and fucking agony—the scent
wafting off in destroying troves and there’s panting coming from the other side
of the door. Gabriel swings in, panting, and Sam follows.
It’s not…it’s not good.
“Cas?” Gabe says instantly, drifting over to the bed. “Hey, brother, you okay
there, huh?”
The black haired boy is trembling, which is the first thing Sam’s brain allows
him to register. He’s out flat on the bed, body lifting slightly with the force
of his shivers, hips twitching against air…the blood’s the next. Too much of
it. Staining crappy cheap sheets in pints, leaking like anything through the
front of his boxers, covering his hands, messed into his hair. He’s…he’ dying.
He must be.
“Holy crap,” Ellen hisses from Sam’s side, and Sam can hear Ash shuffling on
his feet.
“G-Gabriel?” comes a weak, timid little voice, and suddenly those notorious big
blue eyes come into view, floating in his skull as he aims a gaze at his
brother. It takes a few minutes, but he makes it, pinning Gabe down with that
one look and a handful of soft fingers clawing up for him. Gabriel takes them
in his own and holds them to his cheek, scenting him.
“Yeah, s’me baby brother, I’m back buddy, s’okay,” Gabriel chants, rocking back
and forth slightly, taking Castiel with him.
“Who’s this?” and Sam’s gaze darts up to another Gamma, one he didn’t even
notice in the room before, not with Cas laying…where he is. Female, this one.
Dark hair, skin stained in blood, harrowed expression. Sam doesn’t recognise
her.
“The Alpha,” Gabe replies offhandedly. He’s stroking his brother’s hair and
Castiel is trembling beneath him, throat offering these broken little mewls.
“Get Lucifer, Meg. Need to get Cas out of here.”
The brunette leaves past them with a glare, but Sam’s not paying attention.
He’s already walking closer. “Gabe,” he starts, but the Gamma pays him no mind.
Ellen’s soft hand halts him from moving closer to the pair, and as much as
Sam’s Alpha wants to snarl at her for it, he does understand the sibling’s need
for their comfort. Better than most maybe, having lost his own.
The room reeks of blood and fear; clogged with it even. Echoes of Castiel’s
noises beat their way into the air and his ragged breaths offer Sam more fuel
for a fire he didn’t even know about before now. But…he’ll save little Cas.
He’ll fucking do it if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
“Twenty thousand for them both,” comes a voice, and Sam is growling then
because that slimy fucking bastard is behind them. He swings round with the
anger vibrating inside of him and snarls. Lucifer just smiles. “I knocked some
off, considering, you know.” He holds his hand up to mock whisper and Castiel
starts mewling in earnest behind them and Sam will kill him— “They’re not all
quite there. The little skank’s not making me much of a profit now anyway. At
least the short one served well as stress relief, but I fear he won’t be much
fun anymore.” He pouts. “On second thoughts, ten thousand. I just want rid of
them.”
“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?” Sam growls. “Why the fuck would you do
that to a kid? Your own fucking pack.”
Lucifer laughs at him, and turns, “Not here for boring insults, Sammy. Take
them and go, I won’t offer again. I expect the money in my account by morning
or I’ll be back and I’ll be taking your pack with me, understood? Yes? Good.
Now. Off you go, little dog.”
For a moment, Sam wonders if he’d just imagined that whole thing; whether that
really was Lucifer, and maybe he takes his time watching the empty doorway;
because after a second, Gabriel’s calling for him and Castiel’s sobbing
raggedly into the air.
Sam carries him to the car. He cradles him to the hospital. He doesn’t sleep
until Castiel opens his eyes with the IV in him, stable, and screams at him.
Sam doesn’t leave though. Not for a good while yet.
 
To be continued...
Chapter End Notes
     Yeah, so I'm getting kinda bored with this, just 'cause the writing's
     pretty shit and the story-line sucks ass. I'll still probably
     continue anyway. Would you rather me re-write it? Maybe with Dean
     pregnant when Sam finds him? I've been trying to write that for ages,
     but inspiration refuses to strike, I guess. Or would you prefer I
     focus on other stories? Let me know :)
***** Cas and Sammy *****
Chapter Notes
     Just a lil' tale of Cas n' Sammy :) you don't have to read it, but
     it's there if you want
They take Cas home (back to Sam’s Pack Land, the Novaks’ as well now, thank
God) after two weeks of them all stewing unhappily in the too-clean depths of
the hospital. He’s in a wheelchair—a sight which dregs wonderful images of
Lucifer’s throat nestled tight between Sam’s jaws into the forefront of his
mind—hunched against one arm of it and ignoring Sam’s low voice as he shows the
Gamma the lower floors of his home. Gabriel’s right there beside them both, hip
to hip with Sam, one hand nestled in Cas’ messed up hair and the other helping
Sam to steer the thing. He arrows it outside after Castiel mewls out this
yawn—one that practically begs for Sam to claim him, fucking needs but Sam
doesn’t dare—and presses his dried lips to Sam’s cheek as a quick, temporary
farewell as he toes down the break and sits next to his brother on a stone
bench just beside the French-window. Sam pats a hand against Cas’ trembling
wrist and tries not to cringe when the Gamma jerks it away, yipping slightly,
startled. He zips his gaze to Gabriel and keeps it there, exuding terror. Sam
apologises quickly and skitters away.
Ellen meets him in the foyer and pulls his head down to her throat, vibrating
it in a kind chuckle.
“Don’t blame him, Sammy,” she soothes, carding her fingers through his hair. He
keens out a sigh and rests quickly, narrowing them towards a love-seat perched
just inside of the door and lowering them against it, wrapped up in each
other’s arms. Sam huffs at a stray strand of her hair. “It’ll take him some
time.”
“I’m nothing like him, though,” he points out stubbornly. “He’s acting as
though I’ll hurt him like Lucifer did, and I’d never—”
“Hey,” Ellen soothes, pulling his face up again to eye it critically. She’s
still soft though, which makes Sam smile. “You know that. I know that. But that
boy has been through things neither of us can even begin to imagine, he’s bound
to have reservations relating to you. Relating to all of us. He needs trust,
Sam. He needs stability.”
Yes, well. Sam gives him two more weeks.
Two more weeks, as it turns out, of violently avoided gazes, stuttered replies
to Gabriel’s words when they’re in the presence of the rest of the pack,
trembling limbs when he’s finally deemed well enough to escape the wheelchair.
He doesn’t eat near them. He doesn’t sleep near them. And fuck, the ache of
residing in an unfamiliar pack for so long, not letting his new Alpha
officially initiate him…it must be torture. In his weakened state, it must be
absolute agony, but the boy shows no signs of relenting. He barely even glances
up when Sam’s in the room.
Two weeks, and Sam goes to Gabriel.
“I’ve tried telling him, Sammy,” he says softly, his words damp with cherryade
against Sam’s clavicle (his Alpha hardwired for giving attention to his newest
official recruit, ignoring Cas scared and in need is hurting him too). Sam
opens his legs wider to accommodate the Gamma. Gabriel slips closer with a
contented sigh. “Trust me, I want him comfortable too—I get the toll this is
taking on both of you, but…he won’t listen to me. I can’t exactly force him
after everything, can I?”
Sam huffs a breath against the top of his Gamma’s hair and revels in the drift
it gives the honey coloured strands. “It needs to happen, Gabe. Whether he
wants it or not is entirely different from need. He can’t live like this. Not
so soon after. I have to do something.”
Gabriel lifts up at that and peers down at him, his hands clutching at stretch
of cotton where they rest against Sam’s chest, and he frowns, unsurely. “What
are you gonna do?”
Sam sighs once more, “I was thinking of taking him to my bed—” Gabriel scoffs
as he lifts off, but Sam grabs a hand resting on his own pec and holds him
still. “No, listen,” he says quickly. “I’m not about to touch him, alright?
Jesus. I’ll tuck him in, get him around my scent, alright? Fully clothed, I
won’t even touch him. All at once, right? Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”
Gabriel wrestles the rest of the way out and continues his scowling now he’s
inches above his alpha, sorting his own shirt out where they’re reclined on the
couch. Cas asleep just a floor above them locked in Gabriel’s new room.
They’ll have to move soon. Once Sam’s pack gets bigger than seven.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think this wound needs a Band-Aid, Sammy. He’s my kid
brother, surely he deserves more than some piece of fabric analogy, for God’s
sake—”
Sam halts him with his mouth against the Gamma’s wrist, sucking in the scent.
“Hush, Gabe. Let me try it? He’s not letting me do the gentle thing, and he
needs a pack, now more than ever. I’ll get you up the second he panics more
than I can deal with alright? If he does. You can come join us after a little
while.”
Gabriel just stares and Sam offers his lips. “I’ll give you an hour, then I’m
coming in, alright? And damn straight he’ll panic, you’re dragging him to your
bed, for fuck’s sake…Sam, I don’t think you should do this to him—what if he—?”
“I know what he can take, Gabriel,” Sam soothes. “I can take care of him for
you, I will.”
It takes a while. But Gabriel does relent.
 
Cas is in the living room watching Friends with Jo when Sam comes for him. Two
hours before dinner—Cas just went to the toilet, he just had a snack after
Ellen insisted and he’s just spent all morning in bed with Gabriel. Sam’s timed
this perfectly. No interruptions.
He freezes, his back goes taut and his neck arches when he scent’s Sam behind
him in the doorway. Tries to make himself smaller, Sam guesses. It makes him
ill to consider that being something he’s had to perfect over time, to try and
award himself a night off from…rape. Fuck.
“Cas,” Sam tries soothingly, smiling gently when he gains the Gamma’s
attentions. The man blinks sadly up at him from where he stares over his
shoulder, and Sam winks gently as he holds out a hand. Cas just stares at it
for a second, before embarrassment and fear hit the air and he zips his gaze
back to the TV as some sort of distraction. Sam bets he had to do that as a kid
too. Poor fucking thing. “Will you come with me please?”
Nothing. Bar heavier breathing, off course, panting breaths; his shoulder’s
hunch higher as his torso lowers, but he doesn’t speak or glance Sam’s way. So
Sam steps closer.
“Cas…I won’t hurt you. I’m not gonna do anything to you, I promise.”
But he just shrinks lower, offering a tight mewl into the air until Jo just
blinks sadly at the both of them and stands, leaving through the way Sam came
in. The living room’s empty now. Castiel whines louder.
Sam moves closer.
“Please,” he chokes out once the Alpha’s close enough to touch; to hurt—he
scrambles to his feet and stands there panting, staring up at Sam as though
he’s utterly resigned to the idea already but disgusted and terrified all the
same. Sam resents being watched like that, but he doesn’t blame his Gamma. His
Gamma. Soon, now. Very soon.
He thrashes against the grip when Sam forces it; wrestles his Alphaic strength
with all he has, whining and sobbing out these pathetic little mewls that has
Sam’s instincts crying for him as well. He gets one hand around the boys head,
tilting it to his throat and holding it there; and the other at the base of his
spine as some kind of hold. He keeps pushing, but he’s not going anywhere.
“Get off of me!” he screams, voice taut and high in a declaration of his
anguish, and he rocks against the hold quicker, swifter instead of using force.
Works just as well, in that it doesn’t. But Sam needs him. He needs his Gamma
sated, and this is the only way. “Please, don’t do this, Sam, please don’t
touch me!”
Sam slips his eyes closed happily at the sound of his own name; the first time
he’s heard it in four years finally erupting from this nineteen year-old’s
mouth, screaming though it is, it still counts. He hugs Castiel closer.
“Hush, pup, hush, I won’t hurt you, I won’t touch you like that, sweetheart, I
promise you, hush, sshhh,” Sam soothes rhythmically, only aiming his Gamma up
the stairs once he’s calmed some, once the thrashes aren’t quite so
violent—he’s still panting and wailing though. Sam personally doesn’t care who
hears (they all know and agree with the plan anyway) but he thought he’d save
the Gamma some embarrassment; not that he has anything to be embarrassed for,
but Sam wants to alleviate the stress as much as he can. Everyone’s in the
kitchen now, anyway.
He tucks Castiel into his sheets (freshly pulled out) and sits beside him on
the bed, ensuring he doesn’t gain his daring escape, though apparently he
doesn’t need to. Castiel lies there with gigantic blue eyes and pants his sower
and mistrust. He stares up at Sam and that’s it. The bed’s practically
vibrating with the force of his entire body trembling, and Sam reaches out
(slowly) to organise the sheets by his boy’s head, tucking up them to his
shoulders. Castiel’s throat offers a taut mewl, he flinches, but otherwise
stays precisely where he is. Sam smiles for him.
“There we go, Cas, not so bad, right?” he says, taking his hands back to
himself to at least offer the Gamma some semblance of privacy. But he just
slithers his eyes closed, rising his chest enough that the blankets cocooning
him rise with it, shifting around his body as he sucks in the deepest, most
heartfelt breath Sam has ever seen. He yearns to touch again, but holds on to
his instincts. He can’t scare Cas now. Not more after this.
He lays down as slowly as he’s able, inches separating him from the sheets
bulged with Cas’s slim form beneath them, far enough away to be untouching but
close enough to offer his scent, should Castiel choose to have it.
He sighs deeply, and turns his head to peer at the Gamma.
“Does it still hurt you?” he asks quietly.
It’s still for long moments after Sam’s inquiry. The only sound continues to be
his own lighter breathes, and the deep, heavy ones belonging to Castiel, but
after some time two slivers of oceanic blue pop from beneath a tanned face once
he’s turned his head, and he nods slowly.
Sam nods his reply with a saddened smile. “I’m sorry to hear that, Cas. I
really am.”
Cas shakes his head again, tauter this time, more controlled and harsh, and Sam
can get the picture. He smiles his understanding and Cas goes back to eyes
closed.
“You remember Dean?” he says suddenly. Castiel’s gaze whips to him again, and
Sam keeps on smiling, despite the bittersweet memory for him. Cas nods gently,
eyes scanning what Sam hopes is a sincere face. “He was stunning, wasn’t he?
How old d’you think he’ll be now, nine, ten?” Sam chuckles beneath his breath.
“I bet he’s a little demon, don’t you? Curious little thing he was.” Sam
settles deeper on the bed and turns to face the Gamma, tucking a hand beneath
his own head for a lever to see closer to Castiel’s own gaze, unrelenting now,
rapt with attention. “You remember,” Sam starts, settling, “you remember when
we all went to the beach, right?” Sam barks out a laugh. “Damn, that kid could
eat ice cream, couldn’t he? John got so angry, but one look at that cherub
face, and even he couldn’t hold much of a grudge.”
Cas’ ghost of a smile is worth the pain of the memories.
 
They do that every day after that. Sometimes Cas is willing—two weeks after the
initial, he’s at the door before Sam can even remember, stepping back and
waiting for his entry into his Alpha’s bed. Sometimes Sam has to carry him
(from the pain or the reluctance, he’s unsure) but the Gamma never puts up much
of a fight again. Sam’s pleased. He didn’t like his Gamma unhappy.
They talk about Dean, mostly. School, students they remember, Mary, but mostly
Dean. His love of the beach and carousels and ice cream, paddling, sun
cream—his weird intolerance for complaining despite Sam and John’s arguments,
his time spent in Sam’s bed (they neatly avoid the subject of Sam’s maturing
though, he senses Castiel’s not a fan) his temporary loss from them and then
his love once found again. Well. Sam talks. Castiel smiles.
 
Seven weeks later—Cas sleeping in his bed, resting on Sam’s bare chest once
comfortable enough and scenting him whenever the chance arises—Castiel offers
his opinion and opens his mouth.
It’s morning. Sam’s yawning his way awake, Cas is purring off to the side and
out of the blue, the Gamma simply says, “I bet Dean’s so handsome now,” and
that’s that.
 
The first time Sam kisses him is the first time Cas willingly leaves the house.
They’re at the park with Maggie (Gabriel’s excursion from Lucifer’s house, a
bundle of just-chubby blonde-toddler joy) and Gabe’s about twenty yards away
pushing her on the swings. Kid’s stare at Sam as they run past. Parent’s and
mates wink when they scent him ‘unmated’, stinking on their own of rouge. Cas
bristles from beneath Sam’s arm. And Sam just…tugs him up and kisses him.
Castiel freezes, which isn’t unexpected, and Sam practically leaps away from
him in his own remorseful horror.
“Fuck, Cas,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…well, I
did mean, but I wouldn’t ever assume that you’d…fuck, man, I’m sorry, okay?
Just…forget it ever happened?”
Cas is wide-eyed for a moment, long tanned fingers hovering to his lips for a
second as he peers up at Sam, before he nods his head and blushes the deepest
red Sam’s ever witnessed, ducking his gaze again.
He sleeps with Gabriel that night. For the first time in months.
 
The second time they kiss, Castiel’s playing with a shifted Maggie (Cas still
hasn’t since ‘the incident’ and Sam hasn’t brought it up) and Sam’s outside
with Bobby fixing up the Impala for a while—Mag’s ends up kicking the ball over
to them, Cas runs to fetch it, Sam holds it out for him, and Cas presses
softened lips onto his. They both blush this time, but it’s Cas who practically
runs away.
He still comes back that night, though. So Sam’s not too bothered.
 
They lose count of kisses, really, once the first few are out of the way.
Kissing oddly turns to snogging, snogging turns to making out with Cas
straddling Sam, and making out turns to one-sided hand jobs because Castiel
doesn’t like being touched. Sam fingers him, though, once he’s allowed. Cas
doesn’t come, but he says he doesn’t mind.
 
The first time Sam smells it, his dick is half way down Castiel’s throat.
Both pairs of eyes in the room zip wide in surprise, and Cas pops his lips from
Sam and stares up at him, transfixed. Sam grins dopily, like a child at
Christmas, and timidly manoeuvres his Gamma to turn just slightly (worried that
he’ll spook or run), enough for him to reach inside Cas’s ever present boxer’s
and come back with two glistening, wonderfully scented fingers.
He thinks Castiel might panic. Blue eyes shift wide and unsurely between the
fingers and Sam’s gaze, and he looks about ready to bolt…but his mewls loosely
and bucks his hips when Sam sucks the two digits down and moans around them.
His and Castiel’s relationship…it wasn’t planned. Nothing was expected, and it
happened how it happened, both of them having spoken on the odd occasion and
understood that. And maybe because of that…Sam never really considered them
mating. They’ve never discussed a transition for Castiel, they’ve
never…considered it, really. Which is maybe why they’re both surprised now.
“Alpha…” Cas says testily. “We don’t have to,” he scoffs, self-deprecating like
he usually does, and palms a quick hand through his hair. “We haven’t even
knotted yet, you can’t mate with someone…”
Sam shushes him like he always does, with a soft few fingers to his even softer
lips, and rolls his eyes at the daft little thing. “Our body’s obviously want
it,” he says, dipping down to root for some more. It must feel strange,
suddenly producing this slick so randomly. Must feel nice though. At least for
the Gamma (Beta,they should just mate, quickly) he likes the feel of the lube
when Sam uses too much. “I know I do.” He tilts his lips forward, offering them
in a line against Castiel’s beautiful long neck. “Let me knot you,” he mumbles
against the flesh. “Please? Love every part of you, baby, want all of you. Love
you, Cas.”
Castiel squirms, long, slim fingers reaching to grip at Sam, anywhere they can
fit. “You don’t want me, Sam, seriously. I’m…I’m damaged in ways you don’t
deserve in a mate, you need a real one. I don’t even smell like a Gamma
anymore.”
Sam almost guffaws his glee, tucking his fingers more strongly down his mates
shorts. “Then smell like my Beta, angel. Fuck, my perfect Beta, I want you so
bad, Cas, want you as my mate, want all of you, please.”
It doesn’t take long. Cas can’t stop clinging to him, his trembling frame light
in Sam’s arms as he reveals more of himself to his Alpha than he ever has
before. He whines when Sam fucks into him. He groans first in pain, then in
euphoria as Sam knots him, and he laughs so perfectly when Gabriel presents
them with a crude happy-mating cake, that Sam wonders if he could ever be
happier.
Maybe.
Dean?
***** Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow *****
Chapter Notes
     Merry early Christmas, peeps!
     Yay happy chapter!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It starts snowing on one stupidly freezing Thursday evening, and Alpha full on
yelps when Dean charges straight out of the bed. He flicks a quick apology back
at the still grumbling lump of muscle; but still barely pays his brother (whoa,
whoa, whoa) any attention. Castiel is laughing at Dean’s reaction, but again,
not important.
Important thing now…it’s snowing. Like, full on, chunks of bright white totally
blurring Dean’s vision and how the hell didn’t he notice this crap before?
Definitely been at it for a while, the clearing outside Sam’s window to the
slight gap of the forest where the pups always play is covered in the stuff,
and Dean plants his nose against the chilled window, hands beside his head, and
hisses when his protruding belly touches the frozen glass—but who the hell
cares, right?
It’s snowing.
Sammy might let him go outside.
He might even get to play in it.
Ha!
“It’s snowing,” he informs them all because, dude. It’s snowing.
Holy crap, is it. Jesus.
He hears the mattress behind him creak a little as it’s two dozy occupants
shift their combined weights away from the warmth of their sheets (he’s not
even sorry)—Dean could probably re-enact the soppy little glances they give
each other even though he doesn’t actually see them. Always doing that when
Dean does…stuff like this. But never actually this because he’s never seen snow
before! And holy crap, it’s awesome.
Dean barely starts when the hands—warm, and that’s always nice—thread
themselves around his sides and link together at his stomach, pushing his tee
from the onslaught of freezing-ness that is the window where he was trapped,
and cocooning him in a wonderful Alpha’s warmth. Dean purrs…quietly. ‘Cause
actually, let’s not get in the habit of purring, yeah? Like a cat? Sam gets
weird when Dean halts it, but he doesn’t get mad, and Dean smiles smugly when
that happens. He can do things, annoying things, and Alpha doesn’t hit him for
them. His brother. Definitely has it’s perks.
Cas manoeuvres his chin to rest at Dean’s shoulder (Dean’s growing, by the way,
he’s inching closer to the Beta’s height and that’s all kinds of weird) and Sam
plonks his own on his Omega’s free one, and Dean full out grins, eyeing himself
in their reflection.
They look…awesome.
Yeah, Dean purrs. Whatever.
“Like the snow, beautiful?” Sam asks, and Dean frees his trapped arms from
beneath his Alpha’s and loops his hands over the mammoth ones currently
caressing their slowly growing pup. His pushes his belly closer and mewls.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes, watching his words fog up the glass. He rests his
forehead where the dampness is and breathes out again, just revelling for a
second in the complete contrast of temperatures; Sam and Cas like furnaces at
his spine and side, perfect hands touching him and holding him, reminding—and
the sharp sting of ice pressing down against his head. He retracts with a hiss
and grins again, yipping his pleasure for his mates to bear witness. He doesn’t
care, right now. His head’s just a fog of awesomeness.
Which is why, he thinks, he says, “Can I go outside?”
Four little words.
Sam hesitates and Castiel lifts his head and Dean’s stomach shrivels at the
notion, the bare-faced reminder of…of pain, whenever those words slipped his
mouth and Alastair wasn’t in the exact right mood and then…well, Dean never
remembers exactly what happens when it does. Only the aftermath: lying
twitching at the foot of the stairs or screaming from the force of a knot in
his dry hole, Alastair’s hands beating into his rung out flesh and burning him
for staining his nice, laundered rug. He remembers how stupid that one, measly
little question was and he remembers the pain it always brought him. So he
breaks away now. He goes back to the bed in quick, choppy steps and he buries
himself beneath the covers, ensuring his hair is in suitable disarray and the
smile marring his face is as innocent as he can manage.
Only he knows his mates will feel the pound of his heart from where they’re now
stood empty handed. He knows they’ll scent him out; spot the flaw of his fake
little smirk like that.
He still does it though. To avoid the risk.
“Never mind,” he says somewhat breathlessly, sitting up again and busying his
hands with wrapping his hips in the comforter. He palms his Bump as a tiny
little, subtle reminder for them that he’s carrying their child, he
shouldn’t…he shouldn’t be hurt now for risk of hurting their pup and he peers
up at them knowingly. “Bed’s warmer, right?”
Alpha’s wearing The Sad Smile. Oh God…Dean hates that one.
Castiel’s zipping his gaze from Dean to Alpha and back again, before he adopts
his own little raised-brow look (like poor little Dean) and toes first towards
the bed.
Dean’s toes curl and he loses eye contact again.
Did he do something weird? Weird like…like kneeling next to Alpha that time he
lost himself for a minute and panicked—or like when Bobby asked for help on the
Impala (holy shit, by the way, ha!) and he’d scuttled over to Sam with a ready
“yes, sir!”. But Dean doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore except in rare
instances when he’s…reminded, but he doesn’t think he’s done it now…has he?
Maybe the going outside thing, maybe he’s not expected to ask about things like
that or, uh—
Sam’s closer than Dean figured when the bed dips in his weight, and he startles
when a softened thumb smoothes over the still present fake-smile. Dean wipes it
off instantly. He glances up again and Castiel is stood behind him, hands on
Sam’s shoulder. Oh, great. An intervention.
“You doing okay there, kiddo?” Sam asks with that humour he’s taken to
threading into his words, ever since Dean’s hormones starting letting him get
pissy (dangerdangerdanger) with the relentless step-ins whenever he
accidentally reverts back to old ways. Like a tiny chuckle actually shields
‘em. ‘Bout as useful as Dean’s fake bravado is, really.
Dean’s getting bolshier in his pregnancy. Every now and then he snaps as he
realises it, and nuzzles against his Alpha and Beta in some twisted hope that
they don’t blame the baseDean for them. They haven’t so far. Dean doesn’t want
to risk either his life or his pup’s. Safer to pretend. Safer to remedy.
“Fine,” Dean says, offering cheer in reply and at Sam’s dip of a smile, he
clicks that Dean’s matching his fakeness smile for smile. Still makes him
flinch though, lose the smile and dip his gaze to the festively red sheets
surrounding them. Dean doesn’t like them but he’d never say.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. He scoots closer and takes Dean’s entire face in one big
hand, offering his wrist for Dean to scent. He inhales the woodsy scent happily
and willingly. Always settles something beneath himself. Sam knows that. Dean
loves him. “Know you hate it when I do that.”
“S’okay,” Dean replies, not entirely sure what for, though. Alpha likes when he
does. “Sorry for, uh…that.”
What? Exactly. Dean has no idea what he did that time. He was just being
careful, it wasn’t like he went all Perfect Omega on their asses, he was being
tentative. Slow. He has a pup to protect, they could at least give him that.
Ugh. Dean’s tired.
Sam huffs out a chuckle again, and at least Dean knows this one’s even slightly
real. Better than being just for his sake.
“Nah,” he says softly, tilting Dean’s chin so their eyes can meet. See? Dean
can pay attention to rules. Sam hates when Dean looks to the floor. Dean can
totally meet his eyes. He’s fine. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. You can always
ask to go outside, baby, just go if you want to. Wrap up, though. You get a
cold, I’m blaming your ass for it.” Dean smiles again, offering a humoured huff
of his own. He’s pulled to his brother’s shoulder. “Not gonna hurt you for
that, little brother. Not gonna hurt you or our pup for anything. Take care of
you,” he says, his lips to Dean’s ear, “take care of all of us. Raise our pup
just right, beautiful. Promise.”
Yeah. ‘kay.
Dean yips again, in gladdened surprise, mostly, when Cas returns (Dean had no
idea he’d left, he feels kinda bad about that) from the closet carrying three
puffer-coats and three pairs of boots. One woolly hat though, and Dean nearly
growls when Sam laughs and plonks it over his head.
“Shut up, you’re the pregnant one,” he says snarkily and following the jolt of
bitter surprise, Dean finds himself grinning again, standing, slipping into the
coat and wrestling his way into Castiel’s grip as a petty, joke-punishment to
Sammy. He even sticks his tongue out and laughs when Sam does too.
They’re quiet on their excursion down the Christmas coated stairs (ugh)—even
though when they arrive there each holding their own respective pair of boots,
the echo of the TV (Doctor Who, three guesses who’s in there) bounces from the
double doors of the living room as they wander the main hall; they can hear the
clinking of glasses from the kitchen and snorted laughter from Jo and Charlie
when they skate the door of the dining room. Not entirely sure what they’re
doing in there, but Dean doesn’t question it.
They gain on the French doors after a little while (marked, now, with Christmas
stickers Maggie made him help with), and Sam holds Dean back a step as Cas
moves to open them.
Dean mewls as Sam tucks his coat on properly—zips it to his chin, lowers to his
knees and holds Dean upright as he steps into his boots, he pulls the hood over
Dean’s head and tugs the hat down properly, so it covers his ears. He puts
Dean’s hand in his pocket, holding his frail one in his own gargantuan, and
they follow Cas onto the porch.
Cas takes Dean’s other hand and puts it in his pocket, too. They huddle close.
It’s freezing out here and really, there’s no denying that. There’s also no
denying that the bitter chill, the whip of the wind is turning Dean’s torso
into a tuning fork, but he decides after a little while that this is totally
worth it. It’s beautiful out there, and for the billionth time in his last
sixteen years, Dean resents the fact that he can’t shift. The idea that he’s
unable…halted from such a thing just as another excuse for his pack and Alpha
to need to take care of his human ass is sickening and Dean hates it. As if he
needed more things to hate as an Omega, they shove ‘inability to shift and keep
warm with fur’ to the list. Typical.
Alpha nuzzles against his short slip of bared throat, right beneath his chin,
and Dean scents the damp forest, citrus whiff he’s awarded of his brother’s
too-long hair, and squeezes Cas’s hand still perfectly wound around his own.
It’s cold. It’s damp. The mush of snow is being pushed into Dean’s face and the
pup’s deciding now is a good time to rest on Dean’s bladder, but…this is
perfect.
And Dean purrs.
                                    ❄--Ω--❄
It’s Maggie who wakes them up on Christmas morning. Having spent the previous
night just slightly tipsy (unlike Sam, who is hilarious when he’s drunk) on a
drink called Bloody Mary—Dean only had one and he saw the tiny amount of vodka
Ellen had given him in it—Dean is really not exactly eager to be getting up and
going anywhere; he knows his mates most certainly aren’t. Especially just about
five hours after they called it quits and actually went to bed. Three and a
half after they actually got some sleep.
Either way, though, the bundle of blonde pup still zooms her way straight into
the bedroom with her hands in the air and Gabriel chuckling darkly a few paces
behind her; and yeah, Dean knows he’s not the only one groaning. It’s still
dark.
Dean fucking hates Christmas.
It’s Gabriel, annoyingly, who tugs him out of bed. He’s perfectly content
staying exactly where he is while the rest of them go open presents and pass
hugs or scents or whatever it is people do on Christmas morning, he seriously
doesn’t know why he can’t just stay in bed rather than be subjected to awkward
smiles at people from the corner when no-one actually wants him there anyway.
People don’t include Omega’s in Christmas, okay? Dean gets it. The hyper-
religious nuns got it—used to make him perch in the corner and watch the other
kids unwrap their presents as a reminder of ‘his gender’s’ faults in the bible.
Alastair never really celebrated. And no matter how awesome this new pack might
be, they’ll still bow to this huge custom. If nuns follow it, then Alpha’s
going to. Dean can’t exactly resent them for that. Much.
So Dean’s dragged downstairs by his brother. Well. Dean clings to Sam’s bicep
as they wander downstairs on Maggie’s insistence—because if Dean has to deal
with this, maybe if he butters Sammy up, he’ll let Dean stick by him as he
opens his own presents. Maybe he won’t pat Dean down into a beanbag in the
corner and wave at him every now and then and show off his new…watch, or
whatever it is Cas gives him. Maybe Dean won’t be banished this year. Here’s
hoping, right?
Cas kisses him twice before they even make it out of the room; after that,
though, he’s off upfront with a squealing Maggie and touchy-feely Gabe. It
makes Dean wonder if their Christmas’ weren’t all that awesome either. At least
they get them?
He’s saving an armchair for Dean and Sam when they make it into the living
room; Dean’s hands tucked beneath his Alpha’s hoodie and his face mushed
against the flesh of his arm—but the room’s not packed like Dean expected, so
he extracts himself just a little. Not his grip, though. He doesn’t want to
give Sam any ideas.
“There you go, handsome,” Sammy says, once he’s tucked himself down into the
couch and Dean’s had just about five seconds of panic as Sam let him go for a
bit. He pats his hands to his jogger-covered thighs though, and Dean huffs out
a timid sigh of relief. He offers his Alpha a grateful smile.
“Thanks,” he says, snuggling in. “Can I, uh…” he starts, before regretting it
for a second, gaining Alpha and Cas’ helpful gaze in unison, and realising he
doesn’t have much of a choice to hold off now. Again. He should really stop
doing this, shouldn’t he? From now on, think, then say. Idiot. He huffs at
himself before burying back against Sam’s throat, sucking in the scent there
(he can recognise himself just a little, and isn’t that fucking crazy?) for a
second before saying, when he can feel Sam coil as if to pull him back again,
“Can I stay here? Please?”
Sam pulls him back anyway. Eyes him with the raised-brow-slack-lips look, until
Dean glances down at the secretly smiling Cas just for somewhere else to put
his attention. Maggie. Grinning Maggie in Gabe’s lap on the floor, that’s safe.
They’re not looking at him.
“Baby boy,” Sam sighs, repositioning him until his backside is beside Sam’s on
the overstuffed thing, and his legs are only just looped over his Alpha’s. He’s
facing the rest of the room—the couch’s organised in a circle so there’s a huge
space of Christmas bags and sacks and stuff piled in the middle—and he couldn’t
be less happy about that fact. At least adjacent to Sam he could hide. Now he
can’t, can he?
(Selfish, Dean, better than the dusty corner over there isn’t it? Shut up)
Right. Yeah. This is better.
“Where else would you be?”
…oh. Huh?
The rest of the pack files in, after that, led by a string of bounding kids
that squeal at the mounds of presents, wave at Sam in his goddamn throne and
plonk themselves in a neat little array in couches, armchairs, beanbags and one
of them, Lisa, is on a kitchen stool. Ben’s tugging excitedly at her PJ pants.
Dean figures somewhere that there’s a system going on here that the whole pack
must have gotten the hang of over the years, a tradition that Dean, once again,
doesn’t fit into. The kids open their things first, including Maggie, and the
whole room is filled with shouts and squeals of excitement as wrapping paper is
ripped to shreds and mystery shapes are uncovered, clothes are worn on top of
pyjamas and noises of different toys fill the air. Dean smiles for Maggie when
she shows off her new blue dress that Cas picked out, grinning for the sake of
his mate and feeling the fabric when Maggie urges him to—and he laughs for
Gabriel when Maggie unveils a book called Burn After Writing that she has to
fill in and stuff that actually looks pretty cool.
None of that, though, really quells the familiar feeling bubbling in his
stomach. Inching up his spine and shoving itself into his head. Doesn’t stop
his scent from shifting just slightly beneath the onslaught of joy from
everyone else, and it doesn’t stop the look he gains from Alpha which he
purposely ignores. No one else notices though, even Cas where he’s sat on the
floor with Mags Gabriel, so neither of them make a deal out of it. Which is
cool, by him. Totally.
Still. Dean’s body flinches a little when the adults get their turn and Sam
actually puts his own presents to balance on Dean’s lapas he opens them. It’s
not…it’s not betrayal. Dean’s expecting it, it can’t be betrayal if he knew
perfectly well that this was happening. This is more like…oh, fuck, he doesn’t
know, does he? It just doesn’t feel good. It makes him feel like the piece of
shit he was the last sixteen years, makes him feel like the Omega’s in the
bible are actually him incarnated and he deserves to be punished for them and
taunted like he was, whipped in stocks like they were.
But hey. Dean smiles at the key finder and watch (huh, he was right) Cas got
Sam, and the something called ‘Nookii’ erotic adult board game for Omega mated
pairs Gabriel got, even laughs when Maggie asks what it is. And Dean grins at
the Keep Calm I’m A Surgeon flask Maggie gives Cas and the bookrest lamp Sammy
gifts him. He smiles when people wave at him. He smiles and says “I’d love to
later, please,” when Ben offers to let him play with his brand new remote
control helicopter, and he looks suitably creeped out at Alfie’s radio control
tarantula. He does everything excepted of him, and if no-one scents him, he
thinks he does it pretty darn well. He’s not fooling Alpha, but he wouldn’t do
that anyway.
So, to placate them both, he ducks his head to Sammy’s neck. He breathes his
alpha in and he keens when Sam rubs his pyjama donned thigh. He soothes out,
and he makes himself happy again, coaxing his scent into something more calming
for his Alpha to ingest on a good Christmas day, and he makes himself be in the
moment. He ignores what he doesn’t have and he focuses on what he does.
Compared to last year? He has nothing to complain about. Hell, this is the best
present he thinks he’s ever gotten, of course it is, look where he is. He’s
pregnant. He has two perfect mates who would never hurt him and he has a pretty
freaking awesome pack. He doesn’t need Christmas presents to feel wanted again.
He just needs…this. And this will do him.
He convinces himself so far on this that when Maggie calls his name, he’s
totally reluctant to look up. The illusion (illusion? Dude you’re so lucky, get
over yourself) smells and feels like his alpha right now and he doesn’t really
want the reminder. Alpha pats him on the ass, though, so he complies after a
little while—blinking down at Maggie…or not. Maggie’s moved. Dean scans for her
for a second, mewling quietly that he can’t just be left alone, when he spots
her right in the centre of the make-do loop of Gamma’s. She waves at him for a
second, and he waves back absently with the flick of a few fingers when he
realises Alpha’s not the only one to offer Dean their attention. The whole damn
pack is just…gawping. Smiling knowingly.
…uh…
Dean hitches closer to Sam.
“Dean,” Maggie says again, voice exasperated. Dean blinks at her and frowns
timidly. He…he hasn’t done anything. What the hell? “Look.”
She’s holding up the top of a sack similar to some others, only it’s packed
full and definitely bigger and Dean didn’t notice it before. It’s the only one
still in the centre of the room. Right. Well. Is it hers? Why does Dean need to
kno—
Dean twitches in Sam’s arms.
Cas pops up at his side and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair.
Sam…Sam stands up. Manoeuvres Dean forcedly on the armchair until he’s sat down
properly, right up to the back of it so his feet dangle off the end. Dean
heaves them up and shrinks as much as he can as the room falls terrifyingly
silent and Sam walks towards Maggie with a grin Dean can almost see through the
back of his head. He nudges the pup playfully out of the way. He grabs the sack
and physically heaves it in his grip and carries it with an amused frown over
to Dean and Cas and the armchair.
Written in bright white on the side, just above a red-faced Santa…is the word
DEAN.
Dean must look like an imbecile, gawping up at Sam like he is, but right now
that’s really not the point. Cas has one of Dean’s hands clutched between two
of his and he keeps kissing it—Maggie has come to sit beside her uncles again
and she’s peering up at them—Gabriel is grinning like a madman—Sam is raising
his eyebrows like he doesn’t know what to do now—…and the whole entire pack is
watching them. Watching Dean.
Well, the hell if he knows what to do.
“Uh…” he says dumbly, glancing round at them all and noting Ellen wiping a tear
from her eye with the hem of her dressing gown, Jo elbowing her in the ribs
when she catches Dean’s eye. Bobby winks at him. Dean blinks. Again. Glances
down at the sack. Back up at Sam. “…Alpha?”
And the man laughs.
He shifts the…thing until it’s resting on the edge of the armchair (Dean’s
feet, in turn, curl closer to his body) and he comes up and sits in the padded
arm, tugging Dean’s head until it’s nestled against his ribs.
“Your first proper Christmas, little one,” he says. His voice and scent both
are laced in happiness. It makes Dean purr despite himself. “Need to make up
for lost time, huh? Twelve years. Everyone chipped in.”
Dean gawps. Again. Sam’s hair borders his perfect face like no other time when
he’s looking down at Dean like this, smiling soothingly, and Dean cannot get
enough of this angle or his brother’s eyes.
He’s reluctant to ask the golden question—like this is all just some cruel
prank and Dean will ask it and they’ll piss themselves laughing at him and the
sack will just be full of bibles or something…but he asks it anyway. Quietly.
Timidly. “This is…this is for me?”
Cas’s huff of a laugh ruffles his hair, and he turns back to the Beta,
excepting the kiss and nuzzling his cheek against the tan one offered. His hips
shift. “Every single one, pup,” he replies. Dean keens for him, surprising even
himself. “There’s even a few more upstairs.”
And Dean asks, “Why?”
Sam rubs a palm down his chest, ruching up his zipped hoodie. Feels fucking
good though. Feels safe and enclosed and he presses his hands to the Alpha’s to
invoke more force, maybe a second appendage to join the first and Dean presses
his face into the forearm right before his eyes.
Then something clicks and he flushes, snapping his gaze up and looking guiltily
up at the Alpha, then over at Cas.
“But I didn’t get you anything.”
And everyone laughs at that.
*
Dean doesn’t open all of them. He feels weird; wrong, somehow, like he’s
showing off and he doesn’t want that. Sam helps him open a few of them when
Dean struggles, peeling some sticky tape here or ripping some paper there. Dean
feels seriously awkward under the scrutiny of everyone, so he fumbles
sometimes, but Cas picks up the slack.
He opens one of Sam’s first—it seems fitting. First Christmas present in twelve
years, it should be his brother’s.
He goes for one timidly, practically buried against Sam’s side as he reaches,
still seriously disbelieving on the whole thing, and he yips like some pup when
Sam quickly tells him, “Wait, not that one!”, starts trembling and tears start
rolling until Sam has to pause everything for a second and get him back under
control with a collective, chuckled out “Aww,” from their audience. He stands
Dean up, sits down, and pulls him onto his lap. Dean buries against him and
notes that he laughs sadly at Dean’s still pathetic, shaking little frame. He
places a present into Dean’s hands and mutters out a quick, “I’m sorry,
sweetheart,” into his hair.
Said present, once Dean apparently bucks up enough courage to actually pay it
any attention, is long and flat in his grip. For one agonisingly brutal split
second, Dean thinks it’s a book and his heart skips and he jolts back into
Sam—but then he gets over himself and actually looks at it. Feels it better.
Not a book, too thin. Much to wide and long as well, and there’s a dip from the
outside in the middle.
Sam helps him open this one because his fingers don’t seem to be working
properly.
It’s a picture frame, Dean deduces, with a black felt back from where it lays
face down, about fifteen inches wide and twenty long. He turns it over in his
hands, ever so carefully and Sammy helps him until it’s upright, and when Dean
drops it, Sam catches it.
Dean…well. Dean doesn’t really know, actually.
He has a Christmas present. He has Christmas presents, actually, and it’s not a
tease and Alpha wasn’t tricking him. In fact…this is amazing. This is perfect.
Sam startles when Dean dives on him, and he flinches when Dean’s knee drives
into his thigh, but he’s laughing and hugging him back and humming for him to
soothe and Dean’s keening. He’s sobbing silently. He’s…fuck. He’s just awesome.
There’s four little boxes nestled in the dark wood. One of them pictures a
blonde lady in a long blue dress, holding the hand of a young, dark haired boy
about Maggie’s age and clutching a grinning toddler in her other arm, smiling
happily for the camera as her hair flicks over her face. They’re by the sea,
Dean can tell, bordered by the white foam and deep blue of the ocean behind
them stood on the wooden platform of a pier. They’re so happy.
Dean clings tighter to Sam and yips sadly for him.
The second holds four little boys on a couch, and Dean can tell they don’t know
they’re being photographed. One is barely three, as far as he can tell, but the
others are at least teenagers. He can spot Cas’s black hair and his giant yawn,
which the real one chuckles at. He can make out Sammy grinning up at the
youngest one, playing with his toes until he looks like he’s squawking with
glee, and Dean can spot Gabriel stretching arms above his head. A weirdly young
Jo’s in the background at what looks like a dining room table. That’s…that’s
Dean’s old life. That’s what he used to have, a family, a big brother.
And, fuck, he has it again.
He purrs against Sam’s collar and nuzzles beneath it. Cas sneaks a hand up his
hoodie.
The third is Sam and Castiel and there’s no doubt about that. They’re stood in
front of the house, this one, and they’re holding something up to the camera
and grinning, arms around one another.
Dean turns to Cas and mouths his “thank you.”
The fourth is him. A…now aged him. He has no idea when it was taken, and he
doesn’t remember anyone actually doing said taking, but he recognises the
place. And he recognises Cas’s body enveloping his from behind, those hands
resting against the barely there bulge of his stomach where they rest against
the oak tree just outside—Sam’s gigantic wolf body keeping them both warm in
the October chill, draped over their laps. Dean’s sleeping, so that’s probably
why he had no idea this existed, and Cas is smirking irritably up at the taker
with eyes he only ever offers to Gabriel, so that gives Dean some idea of the
photographer, and Sam looks about in the middle of a yawn or a howl, whichever
one.
Dean presses a “Thank you,” against his brother’s neck and definitely plans on
staying here the rest of the day.
Christ, especially with all the sniffling he can hear going on behind him,
you’d think someone had died. He is so not turning round.
“Hey, handsome, it’s okay,” Sam soothes, palming his back and thigh. Dean
wriggles against him, yipping quietly in some petty little rhythm. He says
quietly, “You wanna open a few more? Then we can have lunch, yeah? Go back
upstairs for a little while and you can open the rest out the way of everyone.
Sound good?”
Yeah. The last bit sounds good—read: awesome—but all in all…Dean’s not entirely
eager to turn back around for anything. Not for weird, wet gazes or…or another
chorus of aawwww’s thank you very much, he just wants Sammy and Cas and maybe
Gabe and Maggie if they play their cards right and he wants their scents. Sure,
the pack smells like heaven when Dean’s normal, but right now, he needs his
brother. He doesn’t need the scrutiny.
“Two more, baby. Mags’s and Ben’s, huh? Then, hey, when Ellen and the others
are making lunch, you, me and Cas can go open your presents from us, what d’you
think?”
Ugh. Dean hates the attention and he frowns that shy displeasure up at Sam when
he’s willing enough to glance his way, but by the hopeful, expectant raise to
the Alpha’s eyebrows, Dean sighs and shuffles his way round. He doesn’t catch
anyone’s eye. He doesn’t so much as glance at Maggie; just stares down
awkwardly at his hands and nestles his back against Sam’s firm chest.
“Here y’go, Omega,” Maggie says happily, thrusting a poorly wrapped, squidgy
present into Dean’s hands and looking up at him from her knees, resting her
hands on his knees. He blinks down. “S’for the puppy. You should probably keep
it in bed with you so it smells right when the pup comes out.”
Dean manages this one by himself, offering Maggie his small smiles as he tears
the wrapping off and Cas takes it away from him.
It’s a stuffed toy.
Made of possibly the softest fabric known to man; Dean peers closer, and
notices it’s…ha, it’s a wolf. Dark furred like Sam and about the same size as
Cas said the pup will be when it arrives, but with floppy legs that make it
permanently lying down, and a soft nose that pushes in when Dean touches it.
It’s…actually completely awesome, once Dean thinks on it, and he leans down to
Mag’s and meets her check with his own, scent marking the other until they lift
off and Dean grins.
The wolf-teddy stays in his lap to start the whole scent thing as he opens
Ben’s present that Lisa winks as her helping with it.
S’for the pup too.
It’s handmade, Dean can tell. A silver bucket with ‘Pregnant Omega Survival
Kit’ written crazily neatly on the side, and a green ribbon keeping it all in
place. Dean snoops around in it for a second, and surprises himself by laughing
when he comes across the whole pack of Reese’s he finds at the bottom; there’s
fluffy socks and snacks (awesome and Dean grins) and vitamins like the ones
Dean takes on Cas’ watch every morning before he goes to work, and there’s
maternity tee’s wrapped up tight in ribbon, tons of stuff that Dean’s gonna be
exploring the second he gets the chance, and he grins for Lisa and Ben, and
carries the bucket and the bear and the photo frame with him when Sam leads
them all upstairs.
The frame goes to the nightstand.
The bear goes to the pillows, right in the middle where Dean sleeps.
The bucket goes to the floor, but Dean’s gaze keeps flicking to it in
anticipation, and he’s pretty giddy to pick through all the random stuff. They
obviously put tons of thought into it. It makes Dean smile.
Gabriel, Maggie, Jo and Ellen follow them upstairs (“Bobby can put the turkey
in, jeese”), and all seven squeeze to fit on the bed around Dean’s Sack Of
Presents.
Dean sits in Castiel’s lap and Sam sits almost behind him, so they don’t take
up too much space. Sam still helps him unwrap if he needs it.
Gabriel gets him a vintage style record player with The Beatles and a band
called Led Zeppelin records. His card says he’ll take Dean to the music store
and he can pick out three more, if he wants. He also says Dean gets time on his
laptop to decide which music he likes so it’s not a total waste. Dean grins at
him and laughs. Cas puts the card on the nightstand.
Ellen and Jo, ironically, get him an iPod stuffed full of like, a thousand
songs, but Dean assures Gabriel he likes the sound of a record player, too. He
crawls to Ellen’s lap after that, but she’s next to Sam and Cas, so it’s not
too far. Plus, hey, Jo strokes his hair.
Cas gets him a Kindle and he has to explain that Dean can read loads of books
on there, wherever he wants to, sort of like an iPod does with music.
Dean…totally doesn’t cry, but Cas pulls him back anyway. “We can read them
together, yeah?” Dean nods.
The present Sam stopped Dean from opening downstairs is a pack of Doctor Who
bookmarks, and he soothes him by saying, “Your first Christmas present in over
a decade, baby. I didn’t want it to be something as dumb as a pack of
bookmarks.” Only Dean tells him they’re not dumb, and Sam kisses him.
They…they say they all got him the guitar. The starter kit as well, and the
‘Plectrum Punch’ with it. So he can make his own picks when he’s bored, and
Dean doesn’t-cry again and Cas cuddles him for little reason other than, to
Dean, feeling awesome.
This…this all must have cost tons.
“You didn’t have to…” and Dean’s about to say ‘spend so much’ but really, they
didn’t have to do it. “You didn’t have to do this. I mean…I was fine with—”
But Sam growls so Dean shuts up. He says thank you.
Bobby got him a starter toolbox when they meander back to the kitchen so Dean
can help them make some of it (he owes them something, jeese) and he says it’s
so Dean doesn’t have to keep nicking his tools when Dean helps him out on the
Impala. He hugs Dean, though, so he figures the man’s not serious.
 
It’s only later—lunch eaten and most people (bar the shifted pups playing out
in the snow) napping, Sam and Cas bordering Dean in their bed—that they offer
Dean his final gift.
It’s smaller than the others; like two boxes on top of one another when Dean
feels them, and even when he struggles with the tape, Sam doesn’t help him. He
glares at the Alpha, but he laughs.
It is two boxes, one only slightly smaller, but noticeably so. Black, similar
in shape to the one Ben got for Lisa holding that heart pendant, and stuck by a
tiny piece of tape when Dean tries to open the first one.
It takes a second, but when Dean does…okay, this time he does cry. Whatever.
It’s the pack symbol—the pentagram inside the sun, the one both Cas and Alpha
have tattooed on their chests, only it’s on a silver cuff bracelet, and it’s
carved into the metal. Dean keens over it and holds it out for one of them to
put it on him.
Sam does.
“You belong with us, baby brother,” Sam murmurs into his ear. “You’re a
Winchester. You’re part of the pack now, and no-one can take that away.”
“Love you,” Dean whines against his Alpha’s shoulder when he turns into it,
rutting his body until he can straddle those thick thighs and rub his bare
chest against Alpha’s tee. “Wanna stay with you and Cas and…and the pack,” he
mewls again. “Wanna be here forever.”
“Promise,” Cas mutters into his hair.
“Promise, baby brother. Never let you go.”
Chapter End Notes
     Also also also, thank you sooooooooo much to everyone who's taken
     time out to comment, read and kudos. You guys are why I write what I
     do so eternal thank yous to everyone!!!!!!
      ***out of the series now but no changes otherwise, fyi :D
     Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!
***** What A Way To Make A Living *****
Chapter Notes
     Mostly a filler chapter, but I hope you like it anyway :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
…To be entirely fair, it’s not all surprising that Dean’s weird about Sam going
in to work for the first time since he’s joined them. In fact, Sam’s been
expecting it since Gabriel brought it up a few weeks previous—before Christmas
and New Year’s (Dean is hilarious when he’s tipsy and depressing as hell when
he’s drunk) and honestly, he’s been trying his damned hardest to put it all
off; if not avoid it completely.
Working at home isn’t Dean’s issue either. The precious little thing either
hangs around the kitchens with Ellen; if it’s snowing there’s no doubt he’s
outside; you could always find him in the living room with Maggie and maybe the
guitar (good God, it’s almost a regret) or he’s silent with the Kindle or the
iPod; could be outside mucking it up with Bobby and the Impala. Maybe in Gabe’s
room with his laptop and the volume up blazing. Sometimes he even crawls all
timid and stunning-like into the office when Sam’s alone and busy on a phone
call or emailing a ‘special-client’ and what not. And he’ll either slink into
the “stupid hard couch” as he likes to call it or—if he’s feeling particularly
lucky—he’ll skulk on over and kneel at Sam’s feet. Stare up at him with these
gigantic emerald eyes and blink like a little doe for attention and grin
suspiciously once he finally gets it. Phone calls don’t last long when the kid
does that. Neither do Sam’s jeans, but it’s hardly a hardship.
So, yes. The first time Sam waves goodbye to his little dove out of the window
of the Impala, all dopey and lucid from lack of sleep—Sam completely believes
he leaves a part of himself on that porch beneath Ellen’s hands all waving and
frowning like he’s utterly convinced his mate won’t return.
It all turns out to be a useless mission anyway, because there is no way he can
get work done when he can just imagine how weird Dean’s inevitably being back
at the house and why the hell haven’t they gotten him a phone yet? Kid needs
one. Just so he can text Sam or call him when it feels wrong. That’s what he
says, when things go ass-up—“I’m…fine, Sam, promise. Just feels kinda…wrong.”
Poor little shit.
They look at him strangely in the meeting when his attention keeps drifting.
Gabriel jabs a few too many elbows into his ribs when Gammas call for his
attention and he doesn’t answer. But none of that matters, really, when Dean’s
at home and he could be completely freaking out for all Sam knows. No Cas to
coil into because he’s at the hospital already working hard and no Alpha to
mewl for when things get rough because he’s over an hour away and stinking of
Denver. Ugh. Fuck it—this clearly isn’t working.
“Ava, will you come in here for a second, please?” Sam calls into the phone at
his desk and he’s already up and packing away his briefcase when the tiny Gamma
knocks on the office door. He growls her admittance.
“Yes, Mr Winchester?” she drawls mockingly once the ridiculously large wooden
door is open, cocking a hip and raising an expectant brow at his quickly
retreating form. No time for this, Sam thinks, shoving a few more papers and Mr
Crowley’s casefile on the USB stick to zip it into his inside coat pocket.
Important, sure, but nowhere near as important as his baby pregnant brother
back home.
“I’m heading home for the day,” he says irritably, throwing his coat over his
shoulders. “Tell Gabriel I’ll contact him from there, will you?”
Ava’s eyes roll, Sam’s sure of it, but he doesn’t look at her away from his
current task of locking all his drawers down. “Don’t tell me, Mr Big Bag Alpha.
Omega troubles? Did he prick his finger?”
They don’t know here what Dean’s been through. They know Sam hasn’t shown his
face in the building in too many months and they know he gets his work done
well enough at home and they know he’s recently procured a young omega and that
they’re currently pregnant. Mostly just because he apparently reeks of it. But
they don’t know Dean’s past; the things he’s had to live through and deal with.
They don’t know quite the extent Sam will go to in protecting his young
charge—the family members he will kill. So Sam doesn’t snap his irritation at
Ava’s implication, because he knows a lot of Omega’s will call for their
Alpha’s if they got a pricked finger—Ava’s pack’s Balthazar included—and that
Bela would in no doubt be at the man’s side and soothing his curls in her lap
and coaxing him to showing her the sting on his flesh. Because a lot of Omega’s
are like that. But two weeks ago Dean burnt his wrist working on the impala and
Bobby didn’t even know about it. Sam didn’t until he saw it that night and Dean
barely even knew it was there, so…The kid’s tough. Ava just doesn’t know that.
He glares anyway. “He didn’t prick his finger, Ava, no. But I should get back
to him. He’s…” Sam lifts up, runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “he’s
pregnant. I shouldn’t have left him in the damn first place, he’ll think I’ve
abandoned him or something. Just tell Gabriel I’m going home.”
Sam does see her roll her eyes then, but it doesn’t make any difference. He’s
already moving from behind the desk.
“Line two, Mr Alpha,” she says disinterestedly. She walks back to her desk.
“Trust me,” closing the door.
For God’s sake…Sam doesn’t have time for anyone on line two—if they want him,
they can just as easily reach him at home. In two hours when he gets there and
Dean’s comfortably in his lap.
But he takes the phone up anyway and he answers the call.
“Hello?” he says, and though he doesn’t mean his voice to be so abrupt, he
doesn’t exactly curb it.
“Sorry,” comes the instant, timid reply, and Sam’s blood runs cold. Baby…
“Shouldn’t have called you at work, m’sorry—” shuffling sounds with the static
as Sam guesses the phone’s passed on to someone else—he can hear a muffled
voice beyond them but it’s a strain. Then he hears Dean again, “He sounds
mad…because he’s at work, I guess…no, it’s nothing, I shouldn’t have…Ellen,
please don’t make me, I…”
“Get back on that phone, you hear me?” and there is no way that isn’t Ellen.
Part of Sam wants to smile; part of him wants to shout at her for being so
blunt with Dean and not doing exactly what he’s asked.
“He doesn’t want me…”
Fuck, Dean, yes he does.
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Dean, talk to him, he probably just didn’t know who it
was.”
She’s right, Sam had no idea it was his little omega on the other end,
otherwise he’d be gushing right about now; soothing him. Gentling him even if
he can’t touch that flushed skin and palm his full little belly. He’s
panicking, Sam can tell. He needs his mate.
“Dean…” but he’s interrupted.
“No…I’ll see him when he, uh,” a stuttered little breath, “when he gets home.”
Oh God. He thinks Sam’s going to hurt him, doesn’t he? He expects Sam to punish
him. Oh God.
“Dean.” Again, no one listens.
“Don’t do that, sweetheart, come on. He’s not angry with you, Dean, just talk
to him.”
“Don’t want to.”
“Dean.”
“Little one, please just speak to him—”
“Oh for God’s sake—Ellen,” Sam calls finally, sighing to himself and lifting
until he’s stood straight, one hand in his hair and the other gripping the
phone to his ear. Finally someone must pay him some attention because silence
falls across the line and the shuffling sounds again until finally Ellen’s
voice echoes on with,
“No, you’re staying right here…Sam. You got a problem?” Dean whines in the
background and Sam melts. “Hush, kiddo, it’s fine.”
“Put me on speaker,” Sam says instantly. He waits while she does and it takes
far too long.
“Okay, you’re on loud.”
Good. Baby, come on. “Dean, baby, I didn’t know that was you. I’m not angry at
anyone, and I’m certainly not anything but pleased to hear that you called for
me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“See? Everything’s fine.” The phone makes a muted thudding sound, like she’s
patting her leg in a familiar gesture, before more shuffling echoes and Sam
hazards a guess that Dean’s now in her lap.
“Hey, Sam,” comes a muffled, resigned little voice, and Sam wonders whether his
face is mushed against Ellen’s shoulder or her neck. Maybe right at the crook,
he seems to favour that particular spot.
“Hi, handsome,” Sam replies, grinning so it shows in his voice. Omegas can tell
that kind of thing; especially his astute little Dean. “You doing okay?”
A heavy sigh sounds and Sam runs a hand over his mouth, offering a tight
chuckle in reply. “Yeah. We…we thought you might be on lunch break? Ellen said
it would be okay, but I’m sorry if we interrupted.”
“No, baby, you didn’t. And hey, you know what? I was just headed back,
actually. If I hang up in a second and call you back on my cell, we can talk
the whole time I’m in the car, yeah? Is that okay, sweetheart?”
“Oh. Have you finished for the day?” Dean asks, voice tilted with a suspicious
little hope until Ellen ruins it all with,
“No he damn well hasn’t, what the hell are you coming back for? Dean’s fine
here. Everything’s just fine and Cas said he’ll be back before dinner so at
least Dean has one mate.”
“Ellen—”
“Hush, kiddo, it’s okay. Sam’s staying at work because that’s where he needs to
be and you’re gonna go find Bobby and ask if he’d like some help working on
that truck of his next door. Okay? Right, Sam?” –talking to him like that, he
doesn’t need orders, he’s not a slave anymore, fucking—
Except Ellen also isn’t Alastair, so Dean’s safe with her. She knows. Probably
more than Sam at this point, so everything’s fine and Dean isn’t freaking as
far as Sam can tell.
Everything’s fine.
“It’s not a problem if I come home, I—”
“Except for that meeting, you mean?” comes Ava’s voice through the open
doorway, louder than you’d expect from a five foot Gamma, but loud enough for
Ellen—and therefor Dean—to have heard. Dammit.
“You’ve got a meeting?” Dean squawks.
Sam sighs into the phone and glares at the only edge of Ava’s desk he can see
from where he is. “Nothing I can’t get out of.”
“No,” Dean says instantly, voice coated in that hectic quality as Sam would
imagine he lifts from Ellen to get closer to the phone, “No, you can’t do that.
I mean, uh…” Right. He thinks he just ordered his Alpha to do something,
doesn’t he? Poor little mite, Sam’s not angry… “Sorry,” he whispers anyway.
“It’s just that you don’t have to do that for my sake, if that is why
you’re…doing it.” He ends lowly and Sam needs to be in the car and on the road
and just that much closer to his boy for this to go anywhere good, his baby
needs him.
Sam hears Ellen sigh distantly but he’s already got the phone tucked beneath
his ear and his briefcase in his hand.
“Dean, baby, go wait for me in the kitchen, would you? Jo’s gonna be back
soon—maybe we could go for a walk through the forest? Good boy. Go get dressed
for me then,” she pauses as he scrambles up and away, pressing a loud kiss to
whatever body part happens to be closest to her face before offering the phone
closer to Dean so he can say to his Alpha,
“Bye Sammy. Love you.”
And Sam loses every inch of Alpha toughness he has left and practically
vibrates a, “Love you too, little one. Remember you’re okay, yeah? I’m gonna be
back soon and then we can go up to bed if you’d like.”
“’kay. Bye.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
And Sam listens to him scamper away, just imagining his little socked feet on
the carpet and those hands fluttering like they’ve taken to doing across his
stretch of belly—his lashes resting softly against flushed cheeks when Jo
presses her fingers into Dean’s scalp and pulls him to her side.
Christ, he’s almost seventeen, isn’t he? Doesn’t look it, not really. Not by
Gamma standards anyway. Sam wonders if he even knows when his birthday is;
whether he’s celebrated it even slightly since he was nothing but a pup.
Probably not. Well, his seventeenth will be the best birthday he’ll ever
celebrate, that’s for sure. Until his eighteenth when…when they’ll have their
own little pup to share it all with. Dean could be pregnant with the next one…
“Sam?” and those thoughts zip straight from his head and land right back to
Ellen; he clears his throat. Not the time, Sam, seriously. He mumbles his
assent. “You know that’s not the whole story, right?”
Sam blinks. “What, Dean?”
Sam can feel her rolling her eyes. “Yes, Dean. We didn’t decide to call you on
a whim…the kid had a little, uh, panic.” She huffs out a sigh. “I found him
behind the sink again, up in the spare room. Thing was damn near shaking—but
Sammy, there’s no point leaving work, alright? He’s heard your voice now, just
don’t let your stuff suffer. He’s fine.”
He’s fine, is he? If he’s fine, he wouldn’t…fuck, he hasn’t gone behind that
sink in weeks and he only ever does when he’s forced into an episode as Cas
calls it, if he’s not entirely sure of the rule divide between Alastair and
Sam. But Sam wasn’t there, was he? Sam couldn’t hold him and scent him and
gentle him like he usually would and he wasn’t there when his mate needed him.
He doesn’t care, not right now. He’s coming home.
“He freaked out, didn’t he?” Sam demands, resting his forehead in his hand and
perching back against the edge of his desk. “How did you get him back?”
“We got him in a bath. The kids are back at school, otherwise I might have
asked Mag’s to come distract him, but the bath did the trick just fine. We used
the spare room. Didn’t want him really losing it in yours, you know?”
“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “I know.” Missing Sam and then being shoved straight into
his scent head first…not good. Dean really must have thought he was being
abandoned otherwise he wouldn’t have panicked to that extent, he wouldn’t have
needed Ellen to soothe him instead. Sam needs to get home now. “Look, Ellen,
answer me truthfully here, okay? Would he be better off with me there or not?”
There’s a bitter pause for a second there, but it’s all Sam needs to stand
again and grab all his stuff.
Ellen sighs. “Course he’s better with his big brother, but he needs to learn
that you can’t be there every second of every day, and maybe he’s gonna have to
learn that the hard way. Look, Sam, I want to see him trembling and hiding out
behind a damn sink about as much as you do, but he needs to learn. Otherwise
what’s the point?”
Sam halts for two seconds, but then shakes his head and growls loosely—hanging
up for a second as he wrestles with his cell to find Ellen’s number and calls
her back as he strides toward the elevator and glares at Ava to say, meetings,
rearrange.
“It’s too soon,” Sam says once he hears the line click into place. “I mean if
he’s still having panic attacks every month, and freaking out if I leave the
house, he clearly can’t handle it. I can’t just leave him to it; not pregnant.
His hormones are everywhere anyway, he must be fucking lost, right?”
“He’s been with us for five months, Sam. He hasn’t spent one day without
knowing exactly where you are or Cas or at least one of us. Maybe he needs a
stability that isn’t, you know, a mate.”
“He’s pregnant. It’s fucking with him.”
Sam stands alone in the elevator, but he expects the two previous occupants got
out the second they smelt a bitter tinge to his already intimidating Alpha
scent.
“I’m sure it is.” She sighs for the billionth time. “He’s coming back now,
just…think about it, okay? Maybe he does still need you, I don’t know.”
“It’s hard for any Omega to be without their Alpha, we know that much from
those freaking books before we got Dean back. It must be twice as hard for
someone with Dean’s abusive background. I mean remember Cas? He couldn’t take
two steps from Gabriel without freaking out, and then he barely dealt with
being without me. He was a Gamma. Dean’s built for an Alpha. He needs me.”
“Yeah, Sam, I know. But you still need to work, yeah? You’ve got a law firm to
run,” and for the first time, Sam chuckles.
“Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind. Listen, Ellen, I’ll be about an hour, yeah? If
you’re walking, come meet me in the car, and I’ll drive you back to the house.
With Dean.”
“Course with Dean. I’ll see you soon, then. Be careful.”
“Always am. See you in an hour.”
“Alright. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you too.”
                                    =*=Ω=*=
It’s totally Dean who spots the Impala; he’s pretty sure he’d recognise that
glint anywhere and considering how long he’s spent staring at it that’s really
not surprising.
Though as awesome as spotting the car is…it’s what’s inside that makes Dean’s
heart pulse like some jackrabbit on a rollercoaster. No one else can be in
there, right, Dean watched Sammy drive it away this morning, it’s obviously
him. God, Dean hopes it’s him. It is, right? Must be. Please.
“Thank fuck, we can get a lift back,” Jo says from Dean’s left and that’s it,
definitely, that means it’s Sammy and he’s come back for Dean, he didn’t leave
him or abandon him and Ellen was right—
Dean doesn’t realise he’s running until Ellen calls his name and the word
sounds so far away. Doesn’t make him stop though, obviously. ‘Cause…‘cause
Sam’s back and he didn’t leave him and that was always going to swarm Dean’s
head no matter what Ellen told him and promised because Mast-Alastair used to
do that sometimes; lock Dean up in an unscented room and just leave him for
sometimes weeks at a time and Dean would be a writhing mess by the time he was
allowed his Alpha again but Sam didn’t do that, he came back!
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean’s chanting, thrusting the words over and over in
his head and repeating them and reminding himself that his brother, his own
flesh and blood came back. He still wants Dean. He still wants him.
And he almost, almost, lets out a pathetic little sob when Sam comes into view
as the car pulls up alongside the stupidly long driveway and the giant of an
Alpha gets out and opens his arms wide and grins like he’s even happy to see
Dean too and fuck—
Nothing in this world feels better than being wrapped in the arms of his big
brother. And scenting the crap out of him and drying his tears on his expensive
suit jacket. His hands on Dean’s back and his hair nudging his head when Dean
nuzzles against him and just everything because he wants Dean too.
“Good boy, there’s my good boy, shh,” he’s saying, and Dean’s rocking into him,
clawing huge handfuls of Alpha scented jacket into his grip and sobbing to his
heart’s content into his mate’s neck and just being where they’re supposed to
be. “Too soon, sweetheart? Yeah, I know, it’s okay, little one, it’s okay. Know
you don’t want to panic and it’s never your fault. Know you hate it, and that’s
alright, little guy, you’re safe with me and I’ll never leave you, I promise,
I’ll never leave. Gonna be with me forever, yeah?”
Dean nods limply, his lip still trembling and his eyes still watering when Sam
leans back slightly and fits a thumb beneath Dean’s chin to level his gaze with
his own. He sniffs his own displeasure at the scrutiny, scowling down at Sam’s
chest before he simply jolts away nuzzles back into the safety of his Alpha.
Sam doesn’t hit him. Sam’s the good guy.
“Sorry, Alpha,” he mumbles tiredly. He can’t think of anything else to say.
“Sorry.”
“Sshhh, nothing to apologise for, it’s okay. Such a good boy, it’s okay.”
“Dammit,” comes another voice, and Dean turns slightly to get  better view at a
slightly-panting Ellen just behind him and a bent-in-double Jo trying to catch
her breath. Dean guesses he’s out of breath too, but…it didn’t seem to matter
until he was in his brother’s arms. His brother’s. Dean snuggles closer and
turns back to the chest. This is where he belongs.
“Please tell me we get a lift back to the house. We do, right? Fucking fed up
of walking on two legs, I swear,” and Dean shuffles around a little when Sam
offers his Gamma a faint chuckle and Dean whines lowly when his hands move to
his hair and that space between his shoulder blades.
“Yeah, get in. Dean? Hey, beautiful, you okay now?” he’s pulled off again, but
it’s not so bad. It’s only his face that’s losing contact with Sammy, the rest
of him is still pressed close and tight and perfect. …Still. He’s giving That
Look—same one he always gets when Dean freaks or talks about things Sam doesn’t
want to hear or…or jumps at the dumbest of things. That’s not good. Never good.
So Dean—after a seriously hard decision—Dean pulls away with a small smile
(pretty sure it’s actually a grimace) and trots back to the passenger side door
where he always sits if Sam and Cas take him for a ride. He clambers on in and
cuddles against Sam’s side with his legs in the Alpha’s lap once he returns to
the driver’s seat. He shoves his face against Sam’s throat.
And he relaxes. And he breathes.
Because Sam hasn’t left him.
…this time.
                                       *
The next time Dean rides in the car with Sam…they’re driving further than Dean
can ever remember going with his brother. He’s never been to Denver—never heard
of it before Sam said he worked there and Cas showed it to him on a map. But
Dean guesses new places are good if Sam’s there with him, right? Right. Sam
doesn’t let Dean get hurt if he can help it and Dean trusts him. He trusts his
Alpha more than anything.
“…because I can give Gabriel time off to drop you back home to Ellen you know,
it wouldn’t be a problem. If you feel like things get too much.”
Dean sighs for the billionth time and nuzzles deeper against Sam’s throat,
licking slightly against the salted skin gifted to him in a very attractive
charcoal grey suit. And a blue tie that Cas picked out and Dean likes because
it reminds him of their Beta.
“I know,” he assures again. “But you’ll be in your office, right?” he waits for
Sam’s assuring nod before ducking lower and nipping at his Alpha’s smooth chin.
“And Gabe said he can, uh,” it still feels weird, like he’s just assuming Gabe
will come take care of him, “can come keep me company when you’ve got the
meeting, right?” Sam huffs while he nods and Dean slinks closer still, melding
his hands into the opening of the jacket and pressing them against the warm,
crystal white shirt. “So I’ll be fine. You know, Sam…you didn’t have to do
this. I’d have been fine back home; last time was just…a one off.”
Bullshit. It was not and they both know it; both know that Dean is very likely
to freak out just as bad as he did three days ago and need his Alpha naked
against him to scent and Cas keeping them glued as one perfect unit. Needed him
for two days after. Dean’s body doesn’t seem to like complying with his head.
Keeps telling him he needs to freak, when Dean knows he wouldn’t leave him, let
alone his whole pack. Dean knows he’s safe, it’s just…hard sometimes.
“I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought they’d make you feel wrong,” Dean’s
wrong, like freaking-the-fuck-out wrong.  He knows what Sam means. “But the
people on my floor are pretty used to it. As I said, Bela brings Balthazar in
every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Maybe you could talk with him for a while?
Humph. Yeah, sure.
Dean’s never liked talking with other Omega’s…especially after
they’d…especially after Master used them like he didn’t even exist. But it’s
different now. Dean knows it wasn’t their fault.
 
Balthazar…well, he’s not how exactly how Dean might have expected him to be,
put it that way.
He’s blonde, like Sam said back in the car, and he has blue eyes and he’s all
the way from England, but that’s about the end of what Dean was expecting. All
the Omega’s he’s ever met were…timid. Young. Broken little things.
Balthazar…well, he’s not any.
“Well, would you look at that,” he says instantly, combing on over with his
Alpha in tow (a terrifying woman called Bela) and pushing a quick hand through
Dean’s hair to tilt his head back with, exposing his throat. Dean gulps. He
doesn’t move. “Nice job, Winchester. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“He’s my brother, jackass,” Sam says and that sentence—minus the jackass—will
never not be one of Dean’s all-time favourites. “Hands off.” And he slaps the
other Omega’s hand away. Dean curls into him and ignores the subtle stares of
this floors receptionists and assistants. No one else except the top lawyers
who hide away in their offices (Sam promised), so it’s not terrible. Dean can
totally deal.
Balthazar, at a guess, is in his late twenty’s. He’s looking at Dean like he’s
meat, and by the smell of him, he’s father to at least two pups. Maybe more.
It’s funny though, because neither of them look like they’d be parents. Maybe
Bela just likes him fat from the strain because she’s barren herself. That’s
sad. She’s staring.
“The boy’s terrified,” she says distantly, smirking down at him. She waltzes on
over and presses her own hands against the nape of her Omega, pushing the
entire length of her designer-clad body against his until he’s all but drooping
to her and whining low in his throat at the ministrations. Sam tucks closer.
Dean’s confused. “Let him be, cub. You obviously frighten him.”
“Hell, I think anyone would be frightened of that ugly mug,” comes a familiar
voice, and Dean’s Omega perks immediately from the weird Alpha display before
him as he turns and grins at the familiar Gamma striding from the clutches of
the elevator. “Dean has something called taste, Bela, maybe you should try it
sometime.”
Bela rolls her eyes when Dean glances at her over Gabe’s shoulder when he’s
wrapped in a tight hug; but she doesn’t say anything even though she has every
right to a foreign Gamma. Dean’s pleased. Gabriel’s blunt, but he doesn’t
deserve Alpha wrath. Not anymore. Never, really, but never again at least.
She walks away with a quick wink from Balthazar but no one speaks.
Sam scowls at Gabriel.
“What?” he says, picking up one of Dean’s hands and playing around with his
fingers until Dean’s grinning unsurely at him. “She’s a freak. He’s a dick. I
was just letting the know.”
“She’s an Alpha, dumbass and also your boss. Don’t mess around with her.”
“Relax, Alpha-boy, we’ve got this whole love hate thing going on, it’s cool.
But,” he says suddenly, tugging Dean harder so they delve into Sam’s office
quicker, “More importantly, we have an Omega in our midst. Who should
definitely come down to my lowly level and show himself off to the poor little
Gamma’s who don’t have sexy little things like you lighting up their day, huh?”
Dean smiles, but they both know that’s never going to happen.
Sam sends him off with a fond shake of the head and he settles himself into the
huge roller chair behind his more modern desk—bigger than the vintage wooden
one he has back home. Dean could sit on the couch; curl up on the floor at his
Alpha’s feet like a real good Omega.
But he doesn’t do any of that. Because Sam has an arm out to him and he’s
flicking his fingers as a get moving to Dean.
And Dean spends the next three hours straddling his Alpha’s lap. Nuzzling into
his neck. And getting his spine rubbed at like an overgrown cat while his
brother goes about all his important work before his meeting.
Which is amazing, by the way.
And Dean feels…well, Dean feels good.
Chapter End Notes
     Fem!dom Balthazar/Bela, oh yeah!
***** It's my birthday I can cry if I want to *****
Chapter Notes
     Hurrah! Finally, DYQOM is back, bitches.
     Needs some editing once I'm not knackered, so enjoy!!!
Dean wakes up on the morning of his birthday in one seriously foul mood, and
Sam doesn’t think he’s ever been more ecstatic over a grouchy seventeen year
old before. Seventeen. Jesus fuck, his baby’s growing up, huh?
“I really don’t think I want to,” Dean mumbles (his version of pissy) after the
third time of Castiel nudging him ‘awake’, crawling atop the slumbering body
and blowing into his ear. They both laugh almost feverishly at their stunning,
plump little prize, and Sam’s back at Dean’s throat like a junky to fucking
heroin. Dean is his drug.
“Is that your polite way of saying fuck off?” Castiel asks sweetly, massaging
those long, talented fingers into the muscles of Dean’s back, right along the
soft curve of his spine, where the pup’s probably giving him trouble. He whines
slightly, shifts, before big green eyes peer up once more beneath the halo of
overgrown, sandy blond hair and he blinks up at them both and squints. Sam
decides he’s probably figuring out whether nodding and saying yes would warrant
punishment—or whether if he apologised and cowed they’d scold him for reverting
back to old ways, for not trusting them to take a joke. Sam can practically
hear those cogs cranking ‘round on overtime.
He decides to take pity, smiling fondly and brushing soft strands from a
flushed forehead. “Definitely,” he agrees with Cas. Dean frowns.
“Unfortunately, baby, no can do. I’m off work, Cas has the day off, and we are
starting January twenty-fourth on a strong note. So. Waffles. Up.”
“Uggghhh,” Dean whines. “I’m tired. You’re the one that kept me up all damn
night, have some mercy.”
“You can sleep tonight,” Sam whines back. Warm fingers weave out from beneath
the sheets and clumsily push him away. That perfect body stretches. “Come on,
kiddo, you know we wouldn’t ask you if we didn’t have a decent reason.”
Dean scowls up at him, batting a hand back at Castiel’s teasing fingers. “What
reason?”
“You need more than the promise of Alpha and I?” Castiel asks. His grin is
utterly infectious. “How rude.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Can I,” he pauses to sit himself up ever so slowly and
yawn, long arms stretching above his head, pale belly bared beneath his
oversized Star Wars t shirt (online order, curtesy of Charlie), “Can I sleep
downstairs?”
Castiel chuckles hotly into his throat. “You can sleep in my lap, pup.”
“Fine, then,” Dean grumbles. “But I wan’ syrup, okay? The maple and the…”
another back breaking yawn, “…and the strawberry kind. And orange juice. Puppy
wants orange juice, don’tcha?” he asks, and rubs a hand over the swell of
stomach in question. Sam’s heart drops into his boots at the fucking adoration
glowing inside his brother’s tired eyes, the love and heart ache pulsing inside
one small, beautiful human being. He mirrors it, eyes on Dean. When Sam chances
a quick glance at his Beta, the man is looking back at him just the same, a
face gleaming with look at this fucking stunning creature, how the hell are we
so damn lucky?
Dean doesn’t notice them—if he does he doesn’t mention it—just stumbles his way
from the bed and to the bathroom, pyjama pants low on slender hips. Sam watches
the sliver of ass revealed when he pushes them down slightly to piss, the red
spots of the odd hickey and finger bruise. Two perfect pale globes of flesh
that just…hold the fucking universe, Sam swears. This isn’t fucking normal,
right? To feel this devoted to another human being—and Christ, Sam goddamn
loves Cas, loves everything about him, but Dean? Dean’s something else
entirely. Dean’s an entire planet.
“It’s normal, Sam, don’t worry,” Cas says, long fingered hands making their way
around Sam’s waist.
Sam glances up at him, knelt on the bed. “What’s normal?”
Castiel smiles that Cheshire cat grin he seems to have adopted in the more
recent months, mimicking Dean in a stretch that draws Sam’s gaze to the dark
arrow of hair leading south, down below the low waist of his PJ pants. When he
glances back up the Beta is still smirking.
“Feeling that way towards him,” he says. Fucking damn mindreading Betas. “Like
he’s literally everything to you? It’s perfectly normal to feel like that
towards your Omega, as long as you embrace it, unlike Alastair. Hell, he’s
blood. He’s designed to reside deep within your heart, Alpha, I promise. It’s
nature.”
“You’re one cryptic, romantic son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” Sam asks that
little bastard, earning himself a perfectly satisfying squeal of gleeful
surprise when he wrestles his mate to the mattress, wrangles his head between
Sam’s thighs and squeezes like they’re damn children. Castiel is lost in guffaw
of laughter, hands clawing at Sam’s back and Dean emerges from the bathroom—
Sam kind of expects him to be scared of the playful exchange between mates, but
the pregnant little beast…rolls his eyes.
“I thought we were having breakfast?” then he grimaces in utter disgust.
“You’re not gonna spit on him again, right? ‘Cause that was really gross.”
Castiel erupts once more, losing his breath on the exhale, and Sam stares
across at their boy with eyes that must rival diamonds at this point, they’re
shining with some much adoration. Dean folds his arms over an extended belly
and cocks an eyebrow. Sam grins at him.
“Trust me, Dean,” Cas pants, still clawing. “If even a tiny loogie comes into
contact with my body, I will be withholding myself from your brother for at
least a month. Now, Sam. Let me up, please.”
Sam relents, after a parting head rub on already perpetually fucked hair.
Climbs off his mate with a chaste kiss once they’re close enough, a whispered,
“I fucking love you, angel,” into dark hair, in case their perfect Beta didn’t
already know.
Castiel relents for him and smiles, tucks into the crevice of Sam’s arm and
replies, “I know, Alpha. I ‘fucking love you’, too.”
“Come ‘ere, grumpy,” Sam calls jovially to his huffing Omega, pulling him into
his other side and smacking a giant, loving kiss atop his sweet little head,
revelling basely when the weight of his perfect two mates fold into his side
simultaneously. Dean clutches a hand into the fabric of Sam sleep shirt
(Gandhi, Soldier of Peace) and nuzzles closer when Castiel’s fingers join his
own, thumb rubbing circles into his skin. Sam can feel the purr rumbling in his
baby’s chest. Fuck.
The walk downstairs proves to be more difficult wrapped up with three than Sam
maybe first imagined, but they manage to make it to the hall just in time for—
“SURPRISE!!!”
Dean instantly crowds into the space between Sam and Cas, nudging himself
between them and coiling into Sam’s ribs with Castiel plastered to his back,
whining low in his throat, panting, and shit, that’s not the plan.
“Hey, pup, surprise,” Sam tries lowly, letting Cas attempt at prying the boy
off them both, at least enough to turn around and see the none-threat himself.
Sam lifts his shoulder to in turn lift Dean’s head but the boy’s having none of
it, whipping his face back into Sam’s peck and sticking there, keening into the
soft fabric of the tee. Shit. “Dean, sweetheart, it’s alright. Shit, baby, I’m
sorry that scared you, maybe wasn’t such a good idea, huh? Dean? Baby, no-one’s
here to hurt you, it’s just the pack. You can do the pack, right?”
“Dean-o?” Gabriel calls from their gathering of silly string, party hats, party
poppers and banners. He’s wearing a hat himself, tilted slightly atop his
morning bedhead and wearing a sloppy grin, silly string can limp in his hand.
Sam smiles for him in a sudden surge of affection. “Just us, man, you wanna
witness this glory?”
Dean twitches. Releases one of Castiel’s wrists after a second or so, then the
other. He’s scowling lowly by the time his face re-emerges, eyes narrowed up at
Sam’s sheepish smile, before he turns slowly but steadily—pushed back to Sam’s
chest—and takes in the sight before them.
The entire hall has been transformed into a birthday extravaganza; banners
littering what must be every other inch of the place, bunting and games on the
walls. Every member of the pack is here, in their PJ’s, wearing hats and
feather boas and holding flags and party poppers. They’re still grinning,
though their eager scent has been tainted with something low and unsure now as
Dean takes them in.
Gabriel winks.                                             
“I don’t…” Dean sighs and turns back to Sam. “I don’t understand.”
“Surprise, sweetheart,” Sam whispers, taking his Omega’s head into his hands
and offering a soft kiss on plump lips. “Happy Birthday.”
“Happy Birthday!” comes another chorus, but Dean doesn’t even flinch this time.
He’s staring at Sam with wide eyes and a lowered brow, mouth fluttering open
and closed as he seems to think on what to say. Sam pushes hair from his
forehead and nuzzles up against his chilly nose.
“But, I…I don’t…” Dean flusters, turning back within the confines of Sam’s
grasp and taking in the room once more, glancing around them. He sinks into
Sam’s grip, tugging Castiel closer by the hem of his tee. “It’s too much,” he
murmurs.
Cas lines kisses up the side of his throat, scenting that perfect aroma of
Omega. Pregnant Omega. “You earned every single inch, little one. Please just
enjoy it.”
“But I…” he protests, a small growl leaving his pulsing throat as he nuzzles
that sweet inch closer. “I haven’t done anything. Please, it’s…”
“Hey, no, no, no, no, baby, you don’t dare feel guilty for this,” Elle says
like a woman in silver, floating over and taking Dean from Sam’s chest, tucking
him into her own. She accommodates the bump like a champ. “Pup, you really
think we’d have gone to this much effort if we didn’t want to, huh? If we
didn’t know for a hundred per cent fact that you’re worth every inch of bunting
around this place?”
Dean peers up at her from beside her breasts, blinking widely at the woman he
finds so intimidating—like a mom, though, he’d drunkenly confessed—tucked up
close. He mewls softly before ducking closer and resting his head atop one,
nuzzling into her shirt.
“Huh?” she insists.
Dean shrugs.
“’Xactly. Now you go join your mates and your pack in the dining room, and
we’ll be out with birthday boy’s breakfast,” Dean flinches, inching closer.
Ellen accommodates widely. “Good boy,” she whispers and Sam just loves her like
nothing else when Dean all but withers into her grasp. “Go on then.” She pushes
him towards the dining room just slightly, leaving him dazed by himself for a
few seconds before Cas makes a grab for him and tucks him close, and Sam folds
his arms, lifts and eyebrow and grins at his Gamma. Ellen winks and taps a
fingers to her nose, the little shit. “And get this boy a party hat, huh?”
                                       *
Dean spends breakfast in an almost permanent state of surprise.
He eats first, tucked up as close as he can get on the wooden bench to
Sam—lifting his fork and actually eating the contents of the waffles (Sam
coated them in both maple and strawberry syrup) once at least three other
people had plates in front of them. Sam coaxes most of the meal into his mouth,
past tightly sealed lips if attention was somehow drawn over to him, talking
about the snow and how lucky they are that it’s a nice, thick day outside to
play in, roll around in. Dean nods and smiles when Maggie mimics the motions of
making a snow wolf, how everyone laughs when she nearly falls from the bench.
Dean even offers a hesitant chuckle for Gabe, stories of birthdays past—before
they were Pack, so Dean doesn’t feel excluded, thank God—when Cas ate a whole
cake to himself and the harrowing tale of the aftermath.
The knock comes at the front door like an air raid siren. Somehow, everyone
seems to know that the news it carries isn’t something they’d like to be a part
of—conversation falling sharply silent and hesitant chuckles sounding from the
length of the room. Sam stands as Alpha, smiling at his pack with raised brows
before dropping his napkin and clambering away from the table. He drifts
fingers along Dean’s jaw as he departs, smiling at the wide eyed gaze he’s
offered.
And somehow, Sam knows in his heart of hearts that opening this door…is bad. Is
wrong. Alpha instinct has him crazy for it, almost to the point of growling
when he twists the knob and pulls it open, bracing himself for the heavy gust
of late January air.
Something screams inside of him when he notices the blue of the uniform. The
guns in holsters, the harrowed glances he’s shot. The men in suits.
Someone lifts a badge to him but it doesn’t matter. Fuck.
“Alpha Winchester?” a woman says, decked in pantsuit and smelling like
loneliness. It takes everything inside Sam’s lawyer mind to hold back the
bloodthirsty growl of defence. Standing in his office, confronted about John
Winchester was one thing. His own pack, trespassing on his land and stinking of
lone-wolf…fuck them all.
“This isn’t a good time,” he says, voice clipped. “Please leave.”
He moves to slam the door, lock them all out, but a burly man steps forward
with a hand outstretched, a foot in the way of the threshold. Sam snarls at
him.
“I understand turning up on pack land is an…unwise endeavour,” the woman says.
How the hell would she know? “But I’m afraid this can’t wait. We are here to
tell you, Mr Winchester, that the Omega currently within your possession, a Mr
Dean Smith, is wanted by the Federal Institution of Omega Affairs.” Blood stops
cold within Sam’s veins and pure rage sweeps through him like a flood. “It has
recently come to our attention that the boy no longer resides with his last
known legal guardian—Mr Alastair Grey—and has come into the custody of his
brother. Some years ago now, a law was made banning him from the
interaction—let alone a mating—between yourself and the boy due to charges
informed of inappropriate relations with a minor. A toddler,” she spits in
disgust. “As of now, Dean Winchester is to be in our care and a trial will be
held within the next few months pertaining his living situation. Here are the
papers, Alpha,” she says, brandishing a manila folder into his chest. “I’m sure
as a lawyer you’ll find everything in order. Now. We are here to take Dean.”
“S-Sammy?”
Jesus fuck. This isn’t…that fucking charge was a fluke, he basically dismantled
it when he inherited the children into his pack, every step he made was one
hundred per cent legal, his pack, his mate, his Omega…
You don’t buy Omegas…
Jesus Christ, they’re going to take Dean.
Not without a fucking fight they won’t. Not when…when his baby is pregnant.
When his baby is so perfect and snarky and soft and beautiful and everything
Sam ever could have hoped for him to be. He fucking won’t, he won’t let them
take him.
“He’s my mate. You can’t just drag him from his home, he’s fragile right now.
He’s…he’s pregnant, for fuck’s sake, you can’t do this to him, do you know how
dangerous that is, huh?”
“My, you do act fast don’t you Mr Winchester? None the less, sir, the boy
belongs to us now. Retrieve him or we will.”
“Sammy!”
Oh God, baby. He’s trembling, when Sam turns around. Half the pack metres
behind him, Castiel inches from his shoulder, Gabriel beside him. His cheeks
are tear stained, his mouth is open in pants, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Baby boy…” Sam breathes, needed to touch, to hold the thing falling apart
before him, needing him safe. Close. Home.
They can’t fucking take him.
“Omega, you will come with us now,” the skank says. Sam growls at her, eyes
flashing teeth elongating. No sooner does she gasp in petulant shock is Sam
across the room and curling himself around his Omega.
“Sweetheart, I won’t let them take you, alright?” he says in between the gulps
of panic in his boy, the shivers racking his tender body. Sam squeezes him
tight. “You’re mine, you understand? You’re my brother and I will always keep
you safe from harm, I promise, baby. God, I promise.”
“Why do they…Sammy, A-Alpha, why do they want m-me?” he sobs, letting himself
fall into Sam’s arms, drop his solid weight against Sam’s chest and heave
there, bawling his eyes out and sucking in breathes like they’re running away
from him. Shit. Wrongwrongwrongwrong…
“They’re not having you,” Sam growls. “You’re mine. Fucking mi—”
There’s a sharp prick in the back of Sam’s neck then, gasps of shock and anger,
screams as the rest of the world descends into darkness around him, fingers
gripping to him and cries igniting the air…
“Sammy! Sam please, Alpha! No, get, get off me, get the hell off me, please,
please don’t, I—”
“Get your fucking hands away from him, don’t you fucking dare! Dean! Stay
awake, little one, come on.”
“Alpha…please…”
Sam doesn’t…he can’t….he can’t get to his baby…he can’t…
He can’t even move.
And then everything’s just…black.
***** But I'm Not The Only One *****
Chapter Notes
     Once again, we're back and apologizing for the tardiness of the
     updates. Enjoy!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean wakes up spluttering, gasping, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, he can’t—
“Alright, omega, that’s enough now, come on,” comes a voice but it’s a stranger
and Dean can’t do this right now, not without his Alpha, without something
solid, he needs…
Sammy. He needs Sammy.
His eyes fling open into the resulting brightness as some kind of pitiful
desperation, a false yellow glow that stings, and a white ceiling, and,
and…nothing familiar. Nothing. It’s all strange scents and sounds and colours
and nothing is right anymore; is this rejection again, was he just rejected?
“Omega.”
But Sam—Alpha—he wouldn’t do that though, would he? Not…not now. Dean’s still
pregnant, he’s still carrying a pup for his Alpha, a living, breathing
embodiment of the man inside of himself, and Alpha can spend hours just
pressing kisses onto it’s bump, stroking fingers and whispering words. Sam
wants the pup. At least Dean knows that. For sure. Absolutely.
…Right?
Yes. Christ, if Dean can be sure of anything, it’s Sam’s love for this hand-
sized thing inside of him. If the vitamins and smoothies and back rubs and foot
massages are anything to go by, the man would kill for it.
So it’s not the pup.
What other reason would Sam have for wanting rid of him? Anything Dean can
think of results in him losing the pup, and the Alpha wouldn’t want that,
so…what is it? What did Dean do?
“You’re behaving very immaturely, Dean, I hope you know that.”
Come on, think, Dean, think.
Okay so what…what if it isn’t something Dean’s done? What if it’s an external
force, ripping them apart?
Alastair…doesn’t want Dean. So he’s out.
John, his father, he’s dead, Castiel and Sam and everyone else told him so.
It’s not John.
But what about…maybe Cas? Christ, Dean would never, not ever think so, but…Dean
did just swoop on in and all out shove him out of Alpha’s spotlight. He just,
just waltzed on into their lives and took up precedence with his scars and his
nightmares and now with his pup, Alpha’s pup, Castiel’s mate’s pup…what if he’s
just pissed? Maybe he wants Dean gone, out of the picture, wants him dead—
Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!
Fuck, Dean feels physically nauseas even thinking of such an accusation,
something so callus and dirty. Selfish fuck he is, what, doesn’t have Alpha all
to himself so he’s shoving it off onto his Beta? Christ. What a bastard.
“Alright, well, if that’s how we must act.”
Not Castiel.
Then who?
Who the hell wants him that bad?
But before he can even start another train of thought, Dean’s spluttering out
another staggered breath when he’s dragged forward by one clawed hand and
another open palm suddenly comes into a sharp, stinging contact with his ass,
nearly fucking knocks him off the bed he’s now kneeling on—and he slaps his own
hand down to his throbbing rear end, mouth agape and, and…no. Not again.
Please.
“There. Now I have your attention,” comes the perpetrator, shaking out her
hands of painted red nails and slender fingers. Dean gapes up at her
face—smiling with raised brows, she’s casually pissed. She just hit him.
Christ. Who the hell even is she?
“What…” Dean starts, but cuts himself gradually off as the rest of the stark
room comes into his field of attention.
Bright whites—walls and floors and the other bed—a bunk bed—a few feet away,
the sheets he’s sitting on, the chair the lady must have dragged over from
beside the stained white door. The windows are ajar, but they’re lined in mesh.
The windows are bared. The door’s locked.
Sam’s never going to find him.
Jesus fucking Christ, he needs Ellen.
“What’s going on?” Dean asks instead, voice unsteady, coarse, unsure. They
drugged him, and now they’ve locked him up. What the hell do they want?
“Finally paying attention?” she asks, lowering one brow so the other stays
perched in question. Dean offers a tentative nod, fingers still rubbing at his
heated cheek. “Good. We could have had this conversation much sooner if you
hadn’t decided that ignorance was an appropriate behavioural choice. As it
stands, I think you might even be making yourself late for dinner. Mores the
pity, hmm?”
She’s…British, Dean thinks, though he’s never been great on deciphering
accents. She sounds like the Queen, and Alpha would always watch her speech on
Christmas with Dean still in the sitting room corner listening in, so he feels
like he kinda knows.
Okay. So what does a British lady with sharp fingernails, a red smile and too-
heavy eye makeup want with Dean? To…to sell him again? He doesn’t want that. He
doesn’t want that at all.
Not again.
“Well, Dean, you seem to have found yourself a spot in Colorado’s Shelter for
Omega’s; the second cleanest in the whole of the US, funnily enough,” she
grins, folds her hands in her lap. As though she hadn’t just informed him that
he’s back in a home. There goes Christmas. “Now, all I know of your little
situation at the moment is the strict basics, and honestly, Omega, I couldn’t
find myself any less caring of it.” She smiles but it’s fake. “All I need to
know, you’ve got two packs fighting tooth and nail over who gets to take you
in, while every single one of my Omega’s here are struggling for even a basic
foster home, so. Don’t expect a great amount of sympathy from anyone. Alright?”
Dean nods shakenly.
“Good. I’m here to tell you the basics, give you your clothes, let you know
that if you find yourself needing anything, myself and the other carers will be
in the office; you’ll know it when you see it. But I’m also going to let you
know that we won’t be particularly sympathetic with your slightest whim,
alright? Life or death situation, otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”
God, he’s back in hell. He was so close. He had a family again.
“Oh, for the lord’s sake, grow up. You’re what, twenty?”
“No, I,” Dean gulps, “I’m seventeen. T-today.”
The lady sniffs (she’s pack-less, she doesn’t understand) and averts her eyes
to stare at the ceiling for a second, before shoving them back down onto him,
no less terrifying. No less blaming. She doesn’t know what Alastair was like.
“More than old enough, then. I expect you to take care of yourself. And for
God’s sake, stop sniffling, anyone would think you were homeless.” He’s not
crying. At least, it’s not tears, he’s, he’s…he wants his Alpha.
“I don’t…understand,” Dean hisses instead, and his fingers curling roughly into
the blankets beneath him, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted low, unassuming,
old habit. Then again, old habit would be staying silent and docile, so Sam’s
leaking into him yet.
“Jesus…” the lady says, and she’s scooting her chair forward, Dean can hear
her. A chilly hand comes into contact with his own and he fucking flinches
away. Not supposed to be cold. Ellen’s always warm. Always kind. “I’m not
speaking to you while you’re still crying. Alright? Calm down and I’ll see if
there’s anything I can explain, because let me tell you, this is all you’re
getting of me right now. So—Stop crying.”
Dean nods because that’s what he does, he follows orders, even those made by
rogue wolves, he nods and he obeys. He can be good, even in this place. He can
avoid any more slaps. Or he can take them, he can do that too, if that’s what’s
required of him right now. He can be good, it’s just…it’s been a while since
he’s felt that sort of thing, he’s been softened but now…they don’t want him,
right? So he’ll…he’ll be good. He’ll be real good.
“There we go. That’s good. Now, what do you want to know?”
Dean shakes his head clear for a scant second, before peeling his eyes back
open and glancing up at the woman. “You…you said that two packs…that two packs
want me…what does that mean?”
Those groomed brows narrow again, and Dean’s jolting his gaze back to himself;
eye contact’s no good that’s fine, that’s okay, he can—
“You’re packs,” she says intensely, leaning forward in her chair. “Winchester
and…the other one, what was it…Christ, um…”
Two packs. Dean just thought she meant…he doesn’t know, but not two packs,
right? Winchester and no-one, he doesn’t even know any other packs.
“Grey, that was it,” she smiles, she’s smiling when Dean stares blatantly back
up at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. She doesn’t mean that. She’s wrong.
“Alastair Grey or something, I’m sure. Right? Dean?”
“A-Alastair…wants me?”
He doesn’t. Sam said, he promised, he wouldn’t let the man anywhere near Dean
ever again, that’s what he said, he promised that, they all did…two packs.
Oh, God, no.
“No.” Dean can’t breathe. “No, no, no…I don’t want to go back to him, please…”
he’s scrambling now, scrambling for a grip onto the scary woman because he
needs scent and warmth but it’s not right, not Ellen or Jo or Lisa with her
dark hair and mischievous smile. This isn’t real. Not real.
“Oof,” she huffs, maintaining his weight all the same, balancing him onto her
lap. “Dean—”
“He doesn’t want me,” Dean tries, offering his belly into the warm space beside
her own slim one, nuzzling closer into a safe space even though she hits, she
doesn’t like him. “He rejected me, he hated me, that whole time…he doesn’t want
anything to do with me, please, please don’t make me go back there.”
Now he’s crying. Now he’s sobbing into the collar of her starch white shirt,
like everything else, crisp and clean—the second cleanest in all the US—and
it’s not right.
He wants the green woods. The white snow, but with tracks of brown and green
from grass stains and mud. He wants Castiel’s blue eyes; the green and brown
and hazel of Sam’s own; Gabriel’s amber ones. He wants the cream walls of their
bedroom. He wants his pack.
His pack.
His.
Fuck!
The door swings open then, blurs enter Dean’s vision where his chin is hooked
over the lady’s shoulder, swimming in his wetted vision. They’re moving closer,
but Dean can’t see them properly, not really. Nothing matters anyway. Go on.
Drug him again.
Drug him every day for the rest of his life if he never has to go back there,
never has to subject this little thing growing inside of him to those monsters
that ripped into him with their weapons and their dicks. This little thing
who’s growing on him because it belongs to his Alpha and Dean can give him
that, can go through anything to give him something so solid, so stationary,
something he wants so bad.
…He’d do anything. Give the pup over…go back to Alastair if that’s what it
takes.
He thinks he could do that.
“He’s alright,” the lady soothes, and she’s stroking him now, she’s dragging
long nails down his back and it’s making him shiver. “Let’s just take him to
the office; Al? Can you grab him please?”
No. No one’s grabbing him, not ever again, no, no—
“It’s alright Dean, okay? Al’s just taking you to the office and then he’s
going to set you back down in my lap and you’re going to tell me why you don’t
want to go back to Alastair Grey so badly, alright?”
“I’ll go,” Dean tells her, because someone should know, because he’s decided.
“The pup will go back to Sammy and I’ll go to Alastair, right? Is that…is that
okay?”
He’s picked up, manoeuvred into a man’s grip, tall and broad but nothing like
Sammy. Nothing like his Alpha. Old Alpha. Fleeting memory. Precious. Please.
“We’ll see, love,” she says, hand on his back still, following close as they
walk. “Let’s just get you settled.”
“What happened?” asks the man beneath him, the one holding Dean to him, hands
wide and long fingered but they’re not Sammy’s he wants Sammy.
“Sam,” Dean pants, squirming in the other rogue’s grip, clawing, dragging
himself higher, to a shoulder, pinching and pulling at the man’s shirt, needs
to get away, run, run back to Sammy, to his pack, Castiel, Gabriel, Ellen, Jo,
Maggie, Bobby, Lisa, Ben, all of them, every single one, he needs, needs—
“Alpha!”
“Shit,” the man, Al, grunts, and his hands are all over again, dragging Dean
back to his chest, the stranger, the foreigner, the wrong scent, Dean needs his
Alpha, needs, needs, needs, please, just…just let him go back. “Damn squirrely
thing…would you hold still, please? Jesus.”
“Get…get off me!” Dean cries, sobbing, because this is so wrong. “Please,
please, just let me…let me go home, I need him, I need him, please!”
“Alright, love, that’s enough, hmm?” the lady’s back and Dean’s lowered down to
her height again, sat where she is in another chair, scents are wrong, no more
whitewhitewhitewhite but colours and drawings and, and windows with blinds and
blue skies…not right. Wrong. “You’ll have to settle before we move on, Omega,
let’s remember that, yes? That’s enough crying for now.”
“Let me go home, please,” Dean’s leaking onto her, tears, snot, saliva, like a
fucking animal. “Just let me go back to him and I’ll be good.”
“I know, love, I know you would be; but you’ll need to calm down before that
can happen, alright?”
“I can’t do this by myself,” Dean tells her, because he knows that’s true. He
can’t look after his own damn self, let alone adding a defenceless pup into the
equation. “I need him. Need them.”
“Hush, Dean, come on.”
“Can’t do it, can’t, he—he’ll kill me this time. Kill me, gut me…kill his pup.
My Alpha’s pup, he’ll…he’ll kill it, make me see it, kill it, please, please, I
can’t, he’ll kill—”
And then Dean’s head is jarred upright in all of one second, shoved up his neck
until he can hear the bones creak, held steady between two cool palms—“Enough.
Alright? Enough.”
Yes. Of course, Dean can follow rules. He can obey.
“Good. There’s a good boy.”
Dean is. Dean’s good.
“Let’s settle for a second, shall we? You get yourself comfortable and then we
can all breathe and just have a little chat. How does that sound?”
She hits, Dean can’t forget that. So Dean will obey and he will be good because
this lady…he can’t get a read on her. She’s…she’s odd. Not like Sam’s odd
though. He’d never hit, never get angry enough to hurt. Smells like pack. Like
home. Family. Brother.
Dean shifts a little because she told him to get comfortable; it’s not an
armchair like the one Ellen usually sits with him in, nor Alpha’s huge roller
chairs in both his office’s, but Dean still manages to move until he’s curled
himself tight, right into a ball, head tucked beneath her chin. Her hands hold
him steady and he stills, nuzzles and whines to offer up his position, ask if
she finds it suitable. She doesn’t hit him, so…she must.
“There we go. Now, sweetheart, I need you to tell me about Alpha Grey. Can you
do that?” she asks, lifting one hand from his ribs to wave, it looks like, at
Al in the doorway—pointing one long nail at a pad of paper on the long desk
beside her. He collects it along with a red pen, then leans back where he was
in the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other. Dean blinks up at him, glares,
and rubs one of his own hands across his belly. Wards him off, with his wide
shoulders and big hands and cropped blonde hair. Wrong. All wrong.
“Dean? Go on, love, it’s alright.”
“He…he lives in Nevada,” Dean offers, voice quiet and rasping. Everything’s
wrong. “And he has thirty-two—no, no, he has thirty-one wolves in his pack. He,
um, he doesn’t—”
“No, babe, she means ‘why are you so shit scared of him?’” Al says shortly and
Dean snaps his gaze over to him, eyes wide, heart thundering at the rogue’s
words.
He shouldn’t tell people about Alastair, he’s not allowed, especially to
strangers, these people he doesn’t know, can’t believe or trust or understand.
He’s not supposed to.
So he shakes his head.
Because he can’t.
“You can tell us, love, it’s alright,” the lady says, jostling him higher on
her lap. Dean’s throat lets out a startled yelp, but that’s about it. That’s
his reply. He can’t.
“Nah, he ain’t telling us nothing, Joyce, I wouldn’t bother,” Al says, sniffing
and running a finger over his nose. “Loyal sons of bitches don’t know what’s
good for ‘em.”
And Al doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
“Christ,” Joyce hisses beneath her breath. “Well, it’s his first night. Huh?
Maybe you just need to get a bit more settled.”
…No. No, Dean doesn’t need to be settled for a thing, okay? Dean…Dean needs to
go home, needs to curl up with his mates and needs them to understand that he
can’t settle back down and he won’t yet for a few days, before the threat’s
left his system. They’d understand, though. They’d know. Because they’re good
like that. They’re his. He’s theirs.
“So how about a little information trade, sweetie?” Joyce asks. “You ask me
some questions and I’ll answer anything I’m allowed to—and next time you feel
up to it, you come to me and you tell me, okay?”
…no, she said…she said he’s not supposed to go to her for anything, life or
death, she said. She can’t just…just change the rules. That’s not fair.
“Aw, jeese, Paige, you pull that posturing crap on him? No wonder he’s so damn
freaked, look at him—dammit, girl, d’you spank him?” Al asks, and now
Dean’s…Dean’s really confused.
“Oh, shut up, Al, like you weren’t thinking the same thing. This damn…sprite
comes waltzing on in here with two packs fighting over him when we’ve got burn
victims who’ve been here for years. Sorry if I didn’t have a great amount of
sympathy.”
“Jesus,” Al sighs. Rubs a large hand over his face. “You obviously didn’t read
much of his report then, did ya?”
“Obviously not,” Joyce growls.
Al turns his eyes down to Dean then, head tilted in a soft little way that
almost reminds Dean of Cas, his Castiel, his mate, his…his everything. God,
Dean…he won’t go on without them. He just…he won’t.
“Your big brother molested you when you were still learning to walk, ain’t that
right, Dean-o?” Al says, and he looks…he looks fucking sympathetic. Like he’s
sorry that Sam would actually…
Fuck, no.
“That’s not true,” Dean growls, fucking snarling, and now he’s posturing
because fuck this guy, acting like he knows. He doesn’t know anything. “Sam
never touched me. Fuck off.”
Shit. Bad move, bad move.
“Hey,” Joyce snaps, jerking the hands holding him steady, making his head
wobble violently on his shoulders. “Enough.”
And then something in Dean just…snaps.
“Don’t touch me,” he snarls, lips curling back to reveal white teeth; he yanks
himself out of her red-clawed grip, shoves himself into standing. “You don’t
know…you’re not my Alpha. You’re nothing to me. Screw you. Screw both of you,”
Dean growls. His hands flutter over his round stomach, fingers trembling,
but…Jesus Christ, he already has a pack, someone he will willingly obey, and
someone who doesn’t demand that of him. Who celebrates when he offers
difference. These fuckers aren’t included. “I want my pack.”
Joyce is slow in standing; spares a few seconds to stare up at where he’s stood
with an incredulous expression before pushing herself onto her feet to eye him
from about the same height, maybe an inch or so lower. But that means nothing
when her hand moves to grip at the nape of his neck. Squeezes at his spine.
Lowers him to the floor, spitting and squirming.
It means fuck all when the needle is stuck in his bicep. When the world turns a
pitch black.
                                       *
When Dean reawakens he’s back in the white room, though this time there’s no
yellow light. Just a dull grey, almost, shadowed in from the barred windows.
Dean doesn’t care though. In fact, he’s finding it very difficult to care about
much of anything right now.
“You shouldn’t piss Joyce off, you know,” comes a voice, but Dean doesn’t
bother looking over. Like he gives a shit. “I mean, she’s cool and everything,
but you get on her bad side,” the new voice blows a whistle through his teeth,
“not fun. So what d’you do, huh? Spit out her brownies?”
“I didn’t obey,” Dean spits. Don’t ask him why. Why he’s answering, why he’s
engaging in conversation. But right now, he’s pissed, and he’s scared, and he’s
lonely. He wants his pack. He just…he wants his family. And apparently venting
frustration is a decent way to quench that. Well. Or not.
“Huh,” the boy says. He pauses for a scant second before shuffling sounds and
he speaks again. “I bet you’re one of those ‘new age’ Omegas, am I right?” Dean
can hear him grin. “Yeah, I know your type. Bet you were raised by some hippie
folks out in…in Kansas, yeah? Ones without a pack, didn’t agree with the
politics of it…and I bet the second you presented they wanted to hitch you to
the nearest  Alpha they could find, but you…oh no, you had different plans
entirely. You don’t obey. God forbid you act like those pitiful saps your folks
are always on about, the ones that snivel after their Alphas like they’re
hiding candy in their pockets. You ran, didn’t you? Did some illegal shit,
earned enough money to score some of those scent-blocker injections, and lived
life as a rogue. Right? I’m so right, aren’t I?”
“…I was born in Kansas,” Dean replies, slipping his eyes back open from when
he’d shut them at the mention of the state. “But that’s it.”
“Booyah!” the boy shouts, pumping a fist into the air, from what Dean bothers
to see from his peripheral vision.
He’s an omega, Dean can scent him. The room stinks of it—both his own scent,
but more than that—a sickly sweet concoction of more than one, even more than
two, but that might simply be because this boy was allowed outside; maybe he’s
just carrying the scent. Dean, on the other hand, has been drugged and carried
into the office, which was what, five seconds away? Not much of an outing. This
one smells like stranger.
“Callum,” comes a second voice, and this time Dean does glance over, if only to
confirm he isn’t going mad. “Joyce said specifically not to stress him out. I
don’t think you’re helping.”
The bunk bed—Dean remembers noticing it earlier—is occupied, Callum, a dark
haired boy with his fist still in the air is on the bottom bunk, light skin
barely illuminated in the darkening sky, but the top bunk…the second Omega’s
reading, one of those torches you stick on your book pages illuminating his own
pale skin where he’s leaning near the edge, fair hair and…scars. Burn scars.
Creeping into his hair line, they cover one eye in mottled pinks and purples,
big, round eyes that look an almost alarmingly pale shade of…green? Dean
thinks. He’s…he’s actually sort of stunning, and the scars…they don’t take that
away.
“What?” Callum glares at the mattress above him, poking at it with his fingers.
“I’m joking. New guy knows I’m joking. Lighten up, Scotty, she ain’t here.”
The blonde boy—Scotty?—lifts one non-existent brow, before dropping his head
entirely down until only the back is visible to Dean and he can apparently
glare directly at Callum. “And you don’t think she’d find out if she really
wanted to…How long have you been here again?”
Callum aims a decidedly pitiful kick at the mattress through the white painted
bars, poking his toes through. Scotty just lifts himself back up with an eye
roll and positions back, returning to his book and settling down into an
abundance of pillows, bordering him on all sides.
“So, no scent-blockers, new guy,” Callum says, regaining Dean’s attention.
“What is your story?”
Dean…sighs. Exaggeratedly. And it’s not as if he doesn’t want this boy
knowing—although he’s not a boy, he must be at least eighteen—but…Dean’s been
here for a total of, what, a couple hours? Or at least he’s spent even less
than that conscious, and the notion of giving up even an inch of himself to
this place, even to fellow Omega’s…well, it feels like defeat. He doesn’t want
to give up. Not yet.
“Okay, okay, not up for show and tell, I get it, what-ev’s, right?” Callum
says, slotting his fingers into the bars. “How ‘bout a name? Mine’s Callum.
This stunning specimen is Scotty.”
“Scott,” Scott echoes. “And shut up, Callum. Or maybe I’ll tell Millie exactly
where her Mamma’s blanket wound up, huh?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. Try me.”
“Do you…” No. No, Dean’s not engaging, he’s not.
“Wait, Scott…Scotty, I think he’s trying to speak…”
Prick. Fuck off then.
“Shut up, Callum. Dean, what’d you wanna ask? You can. I don’t mind.” Scott’s
book has been set down now, back onto the covers so it lightens his face once
more, offers the soft looking scars into a glow. He’s young, younger than
Dean—thirteen? His hair flicks into soft curls at his nape and temples, big,
bashful eyes bordered beneath short bangs, a soft little nose…he’s, like, the
perfect Omega. Small, unassuming, adorable. And the scars, they just make him
more interesting, more innocent, somehow, more…real. Dean likes him. He’s
decided.
“D’you have an Alpha?” he asks the boy, because he suddenly really wants to
know.
Soft pink lips pout slightly, and he turns his gaze low, down to the linoleum
flooring. Dean feels a sudden spike of guilt for bringing it up.
“Yeah,” he offers softly. “But she’s back in Japan right now; there’s this
whole thing going off involving her Dad, and…it’s a, uh, a long story. But she
says she’ll be back soon, you know? Only a couple more months.”
“Yeah,” Callum drawls, rolling his eyes over at Dean and making a cuckoo sign
with his finger beside his temple. Dean frowns. “And my old Ma’s just
sleepin’.”
“Why d’you have to be such a jerk, Callum?” Scott whispers, brow narrowed in at
the centre. He’s huddling into himself, like he needs to keep warm, and Dean
has an urge to offer that for him, stroke his hair, murmur soothing notions
into his pink little ear…
…Jesus. Why?
“So, Dean,” Callum says, feet back in the bars. He’s like a damn monkey. “How
long’s the bun been in the oven?”
His hand floats to said ‘bun’ momentarily, fluttering over his t-shirt—they
must have changed him into it, for fuck’s sake, he did not give permission,
Jesus—and he glances down at its stretch.
“My Beta says about eighteen weeks, give or take.” Maybe more. Depends if Dean
caught in his heat or out of it, afterwards, when Sam was still so gentle and
kind and perfect, always perfect, he was—is—
“You had a Beta too? The hell happened?” Callum asks, all peeked interest and
stilled limbs.
Well. He can stay disappointed because Dean isn’t in the mood. He’ll never be
in the mood. So he just shrugs.
“How come you didn’t go with her?” Dean asks instead shifting back to the boy
above them. He runs a pale hand through his hair and the fingers are burnt on
his skin their too.
“Immigration stuff, that’s what she says,” he offers, dropping back to his
pillows. He sighs. “I haven’t seen her in months. Not since Halloween…it’s an
anniversary, so she came back, you know, so we could spend it together. She
booked a hotel room and we went to Six Flags together.” He’s grinning and he’s
adorable. “She’s cool like that.”
“I-I can’t imagine living without my Alpha…” Dean says, grimacing once more for
bringing him up again.
“It’s…it’s really hard, sometimes,” Scott murmurs. “She sends clothes and stuff
that smells like her every week, but…it’s nothing like the real thing, you
know? She has this hair, this really long, thick hair, and…I miss her hair. And
her fingers. She’s really talented on the piano.”
“Yeah?” Dean  breathes.
“Yeah, I bet that’s all she does with them,” Callum snarks.
“Shut up, Callum.”
“So what about you?” Dean asks, glaring over at him. “Where’s your Alpha?”
“My Alpha?” Callum echoes, reclining back onto his folded up arms. “He’s in
prison. Twelve counts of murder in the first degree. Three counts of attempted
murder. Rape. Domestic violence, harassment, prostitution. He was my cousin.
Tried to kill me. You wanna see the scars?”
“No,” Dean replies instantly, snapping his eyes shut. “No, thanks.”
Fuck. So what, Callum’s cousin went crazy, killed his pack, tried to kill
Callum and, what, got caught? Cold feet? Shit. Dean’s life suddenly doesn’t
feel so crappy.
“Well, now you have to tell us,” Callum teases, shifting onto his side for a
better view. “Come on, just the short version. Only fair, preggers, come on.”
“You really don’t have to, Dean,” Scott says in that soft voice of his, slowly
going back to his book.
“I don’t,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t have a damn choice,
really. “I don’t mind. Uh…before I presented, my dad got rid of me to a group
home—it was cause my brother had just turned out to be an Alpha and he was
pissed, I guess. So…yeah, I grew up with these nuns who were pretty shitty, and
then this Alpha bought me when I presented, and raised me—till a few months
back my brother came and found me again and now…or I was…I would be living with
him. The pup’s his. And now my old Alpha wants me back and he’s saying Sam’s
not allowed me because of these lies my dad told about him abusing me when I
was a kid, and if he gets me back, he’s gonna kill the pup, and then he’s gonna
kill me. But…whatever. I guess.”
“Well, shit,” Callum chuckles.
Yeah. Shit.
Chapter End Notes
     If you guys are confused with anything, drop by, let me know, and
     I'll answer as best I can :)
     Also, if any of you have read my other story This Unfamiliar Road, I
     was wondering if you noticed a constant from this chapter to the
     latest of that one? Wanna know if anyone saw it...or him ;O
End Notes
     Pleeeaaase comment if you enjoyed!!
     And follow me on tumblr at casematthews.tumblr.com for fic related
     posts or one-life-should-be-enough.tumblr.com for other shizz.
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