Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2039007.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/Other(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Zachariah_(Supernatural), Alfie_(Supernatural),
      Kevin_Tran, Rachel_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Alien_Biology, Alien_Gender/Sexuality, Mind_Control_Aftermath_&_Recovery,
      Mpreg, Alien_Abduction, Non-Consensual_Body_Modification, Homophobia,
      Child_Abuse, Horror, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Alpha/Beta/Omega
      Dynamics, Medical_Trauma, Anal_Sex, Rimming, Graphic_Alien_Birth
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-28 Updated: 2015-04-26 Chapters: 14/? Words: 13228
****** Imprint ******
by All_the_damned_vampires
Summary
     On an alien ship, Dean Winchester awakes to find everything he knows
     and loves gone. Waiting in grief for everything he knows to once
     again be swept away, he bonds with a fellow prisoner.
Notes
     So this is a different take on the Alpha/Beta/Omega trope. The alien
     race has three genders, the Alpha and Beta provide seed and egg,
     which is placed inside the Omega. Omegas of this race birth three
     batches of triplets, expiring after the third batch. Humans who have
     been genetically altered to be Omegas do not expire after giving
     birth the third time. Both Alien Omegas and Human Omegas imprint on
     their Alpha and Beta partners; it is a match for life.
***** Castiel *****
The peeling wood screen door slapped against the back porch wall and he was out
the door and off like a shot. He ran through the mowed grass, green smell
rising up to his nose from the crush of his bare feet, and into the cornfield.
Behind him he could hear his father shouting, “Castiel Novak, you get back here
young man” and dishes being swept to the floor, breaking china cracking like
gunshots. He rubbed his red swollen cheek as he ran and hoped his mother
wouldn’t get more of the same.
Through the cornfield and the woods, down to the creek, that was his plan. Soak
his bare itchy feet in the cold of the swimming hole and wait for the sun to
come up, head back to the house in time for church and hope that his father
would feel too much guilt to take a swing at him on the Lord’s day.
Castiel paused, panting, before he had made it half way through the cornfield.
Sweat dripped down his back and if his father had been sober enough to take
chase, he would have found him easily enough by his wheezing breath. Cas popped
out his inhaler and took a puff, lungs aching. He had never been able to run
very far or very fast. Of course, that was part of the problem.
There were tests, it seemed, that one had to pass to call oneself a man. Cas
had failed every one of them in his father’s eyes. Too thin and weak, too
uncoordinated. Not interested in sports, too interested in school. Willing to
help his mother in the kitchen. Friendly sympathetic smiles for the girls,
outright avoidance of the boys. Bullied and chased and stuffed in trash cans.
Cas had been trying to dodge labels like “sissy” and “homo” but they clung to
him like the spitballs hurled at the back of his head. It was in his walk and
the way he stood and the way he talked. There was no hiding from it.
In the beginning, when he began to become aware of his difference, he had tried
to hid, tried to change, tried to please his unsatisfied father. He had choked
and wheezed through Little League games and fumbled his way through Boy Scouts,
hating the dirt and the sweat and how glaringly he didn’t fit. Now he didn’t
try; it only exaggerated how he was. His visible free time was spent reading
the Bible; his father thoroughly befuddled, disapproving of Castiel’s passivity
yet unable to come up with an argument condemning reading the Bible. It had
been working; Cas had carried it like a shield to school, joined the Bible
study group on campus, read while eating lunch in a sympathetic teacher’s room,
huddled behind it while his family was watching television. The words felt like
they were printing themselves on his heart.
Cas trudged off into the corn, dirt powdering up around his bare feet. Tonight
his father had accused him of staring at Tommy Jones, the oldest Jones boy just
back from his first year of college. Castiel and his family had been walking
out of the market and there was Tommy, shirt off, pedaling his bike with no
hands through the street, waving at people he knew, big toothpaste-commercial
grin on his handsome face. He was beautiful, shoulders damp with sweat, blond
hair making a little halo in the light of the afternoon sun.
When Castiel’s father had struck his face, called him names, Cas had been
confused, then indignant. The minute he had seen Tommy, he had ducked his head,
turned to his mother and asked her whether they would make the potatoes or the
rice, hitched the grocery bags up higher in his arms. He had not looked. He had
been conscientiously not looking, not after that first quick glance when the
sight of Tommy had been a shot to his gut, his blood warming, heat rising up to
warm his cheeks. He had been trying so hard not to do anything, and he hated
being called out as if he had been devouring Tommy with his eyes instead of
staring at the sidewalk. The more he tried to be different, the more he tried
to be normal, the more glaringly obvious it seemed. They didn’t talk about it.
They didn’t use the word. But Cas knew.
Last summer, when he was fifteen, his friend Alfie had been sent away to camp.
Castiel and Alfie had bonded over their mutual hatred of sports, the shared
bullying, the fact that they both knew and couldn’t get away from the truth.
Alfie was soft spoken and funny, he loved science fiction novels and studying
and drawing insects. But Alfie had disappeared and soon after his parents had
come by to talk to Castiel’s parents. He had been banished to his room, but sat
on the stairs, clenching the bannister with sweaty palms and listening to the
whispered conversation, Alfie’s mother sobbing, Alfie’s father spinning out
words like “treatment” and “conversion therapy” to buzz around Castiel’s head
like angry bees.
Alfie had come back in three months. His longer hair was cut military short,
his shirt clean and tucked in, his eyes bleak and dead. He had come over to
Castiel’s to visit briefly, pressing his notebook of drawings into Cas’ hands.
Then a week later he had swallowed his father’s handgun.   Castiel hadn’t been
allowed to attend his funeral.
There seemed to be no exit in sight, Castiel thought as he pushed through the
corn, wiping angry tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure what was going to
happen, but he just couldn’t help but continue to fail these tiny tests, these
measures of his manhood. Would his father kick him out? Would he be packed off
to camp? He had promised himself that he wouldn’t choose Alfie’s route, that he
wouldn’t let them win. Different or dead, and he couldn’t make himself
different. All he could do was continue to try to hide.
After a moment, he noticed the eerie quiet, the nighttime fauna gone mute and
still. Not a breeze rustled the cornfield, and Castiel felt smothered in the
hot maze of stalks. Then a bright light engulfed him, the beam a spotlight in
the dark, and he heard a mechanical humming.
He had time to think, UFOs, and what a cliché alien abduction, and then his
vision whited out and he knew no more.
***** Dean *****
There is a moment, when you first wake up, when everything is neutral. You
don’t feel the aches and pains of your body, the joy or agony of your mental
state. It’s like the reset button has been pressed on your life, there is
nothing but awareness of consciousness. And then slowly the reality of the body
and mind begin to trickle in.
When Dean opened his eyes, he initially registered no sensation, no emotion.
His eyes blinked in the low white light, his breath eased in and out. Then it
all crashed in, and he was swept away.
Grief. Unrelenting agonizing grief. He had lost them, they were gone. He was
alone. Tears trickled down his cheeks, his throat clenched with sobs. Never
before had he felt his crippling wave of painful emotion. He swept his hands up
to wipe away the moisture and tasted salt with his fingertips.
Tasted salt. He paused and blinked open his eyes. Yes, he could indeed taste
the saline of his tears, his fingers registering the flavor as his tongue
would. He brought his hands before his face, took in the tiny bumps ridging his
fingers. Remembered using his hands to touch, to taste and feel at the same
time. He took in the blue tracery on the back of his hands. It would illuminate
in the darkness.
He was laying on a slick foam mattress, cradling his naked body. He hadn’t worn
clothes in a long time. His abdomen felt heavy, swollen, and a glance down
confirmed that it was round and full, the skin taut and traced with more blue
pathways. Between his legs, out of sight, he felt damp and aching, strange
muscles clenching on emptiness.
The door to the room swished open and Dean’s heart clenched for a moment, but
the figure entering was not a beloved one. He choked again on a sob as he was
reminded all over again of his loss. He looked up at the creature entering the
room, tall and broad, face and torso vaguely human in shape but the limbs
decidedly more sea creature than man. The being eased into the room supported
by many blue tinged tentacles. The forehead bulged out grotesquely from the
humanoid face and Dean felt a buzzing pressure in his ears as the creature
spoke.
“You are awake, now.”
“Yes. How are you speaking English? How can I understand you?” He knew this
face, he had met this being before. All he had heard then was a series of
clicks and squeaks.
“I’m not speaking your language. You are hearing your language. We added a
neuro chip for language translation.”
“They’re dead, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” the creature sighed, easing closer, “Poisoned. As far as assassination
attempts go, it was effective.”
Dean’s eyes welled with tears, and he turned his face away, sobbing into the
mattress. The wave of grief rose and rose and then his whole body shuddered as
a tentacle slid onto his shoulder, stroking. It felt wrong. He jerked away and
it withdrew.
“You were lucky to have survived. Most omegas go into shock with the death of
one or both of their partners. You were in a coma for days.”
Dean turned his face towards the alien. “What is an omega?”
“What we made you. As best we could. The third gender of our species.”
Dean took in his changed body. He ran a trembling hand over his belly. “What is
this?”
“What you were made for. To carry our young. Your alpha and beta have created
life inside you. Three eggs, waiting to emerge.”
Dean shuddered, remembering. Oh, how he remembered. Before, he had existed in a
haze of bliss, his only thought of his two alien lovers, how they made him
feel. He would twist and turn amid a glide of tentacles, tasting and touching
their flesh as best he could with his hands, small and limited compared to his
partners. Long sinous limbs would ease his legs apart and then slide up inside
him, two appendages bending and flexing and swelling together, sending his mind
spiraling into pleasure, his voice raw with moans and gasps.
He blushed and looked away, looked down at himself. He should be horrified, he
knew, but all he felt was a sense of accomplishment. He had done his job. He
had given them what they wanted. And renewed grief; they were dead, he would
never feel their pride.
“My name is Dean. Dean Winchester.”
The creature shrugged. “Your name was not important. They called you ‘pet.’”
“I…I have a father. A brother. My brother is Sam.” Intellectually, he knew,
that he loved his brother fiercely. That he idolized his father. But
emotionally it wasn’t there. I have a father, a brother. It was the same as
saying, I have a shirt, I have a pair of socks. He felt nothing for them.
“What did you do to me?” Dean asked.
“You can ask the medical officer when she arrives,” the creature answered,
“That’s why we gave you the chip. Most pets never receive one. It’s
unnecessary.”
And Dean remembered, he remembered the clicks and squeaks, the stroke of a limb
over his hair, as he curled on the floor, eager to please.
“My name is Zakuhr Ry-Eh, “the creature said, “I am your custodian. Your owners
were good friends of mine, I will miss them. With their death, you and the rest
of their valuable property will be returned to their family. The family will
decide what to with you. I will accompany you and assist in your handling.”
Dean turned away again. He should be shouting with outrage, he should be trying
to escape, he thought. Instead, he curled into himself, clutched at his
pregnant belly, and began to sob in grief again.
“Don’t worry. I know this hurts, but it won’t last long. After the birth you
will be assigned new partners, and you will imprint again successfully. You
will never feel this pain again.”
Zak swept from the room, and the doors whooshed shut behind him.
***** Cas *****
Chapter Notes
     The scene between Alfie and Cas was directly inspired by this Kids in
     the Hall sketch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tZar4wRP40
He was floating.
Must of made it to the swimming hole, Cas thought drowsily, eyes closed and
body undulating slowly. In the summer months he would swim out to the middle
and float on his back, sun beating a pattern of red behind his eyelids, and
just exist. In the water, his uncoordinated limbs ceased their flailing and
every move became streamlined, eloquent. Once he had thought he might try out
for the school swim team, but when he had shown up to tryouts in his cutoff
shorts, embarrassed of his skinny body and bony chest, the teasing and scrutiny
had been too much. It was a shame; he loved to swim. It might have been the one
athletic skill at which he could have excelled.

Cas went to turn over to swim back to shore and found that he couldn’t, his
wrists and ankles seemed tethered. His arms and legs felt heavy, numb. He tried
to open his eyes and as he cranked them open into slits with great effort, his
hazy environment took shape. The water was too clear and cool to be pond water,
and it stung his eyes slightly. He tried to push to the surface to breathe and
found himself dragged back down, his body held immobile. Panicking for air, he
held his breath, and realized then he had been breathing all along. Something
slick and soft was cupped around his mouth, providing oxygen.

All around him he heard clicks and squeaks, like a pod of excitable dolphins on
a National Geographic special. He could feel the sounds vibrating through the
water, pulsing off his bare skin. Hovering above him, a decidedly inhuman face
appeared behind glass, distorted by the water. He tried to scream.

Alien autopsy, his mind gibbered away in panic, anal probes and vivisection,
and he remembered every creepy sci fi program Alfie had made him sit through,
Alfie on the edge of his seat in anticipation, Cas game but scoffing at the
ridiculous premise:

“I’ll admit there is a high possibility of intelligent life on other planets,”
Cas muttered as Alfie shushed him, but why would they abduct redneck truck
drivers to sodomize?”
“Don’t say sodomize,” Alfie said impatiently, eyes glued on the small TV in his
bedroom, “And what could you really learn from probing someone’s butt anyway?”
“Well, if they have prostate cancer, or polyps—“
“Cas, it doesn’t matter. It’s just because most guys are afraid of something
going in their butt. Now hush and watch!”
“I’m just saying, why wouldn’t they abduct a more attractive victim? Like Brad
Pitt?”
“Because Brad Pitt doesn’t make a habit of driving down country roads alone in
a pickup, “Alfie glanced toward the open bedroom door, his face tightening, “My
parents are home. Now if you’re going to yap can you do it loudly and make it
be about Pam Anderson’s breasts so I can ignore you and watch the show?”
Something thumped against the side of the glass, curling wormlike in Castiel’s
field of vision and he jerked out of his reverie and tried to scream again.

The clicking intensified, pain shot like lightening through Cas’ body and he
vomited bile into his face mask. Then he mercifully blacked out.
***** Dean *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean is not a linguist. Kev does not understand globalization. Of
     course aliens have ipads.
Chapter Notes
     The gender pronouns may get a bit tricky here and my apologies if
     they are inadequate. I assigned he/she based on gender in the show,
     even though A/B/O aliens would probably necessitate different gender
     designations, and I am aware that there are other pronouns available
     other than just he/she. Also, Dean and Cas are sometimes derogatorily
     called "it." This has less to do with gender and more to do with
     status.
     Some day someone will come up with something awesome for alpha, beta
     and omega pronouns. But that day won't be today and that person won't
     be me.
He was getting used to his new routine. The grief now came in waves, peaking at
times so that he sobbed and wailed, curled around his belly, then dipping into
a trough of agonizing depression and numbness. He rode the highest peaks,
unashamed of his misery, and was grateful for the numbness, the break in his
sorrow.
Dean used the numb times to remind himself of who he had been. That his name
was Dean Michael Winchester, that he was sixteen—no, now seventeen years old,
that his father was John and his brother was Sam. That he had liked classic
rock and classic cars. And that until recently, the most exotic thing he had
ever done sexually was let Rhonda Hurley put some panties on him.
He would have liked to feel something other than sadness, but it didn’t seem
possible. The medical officer’s assistant, a young beta named Kev-Ahn, had been
helpful in providing information about his condition. Apparently, he would
grieve until he expelled the eggs, and then his hormones would reset his
emotions, readying his body for a new and successful pair bonding, as regular
as clockwork.
Kev had given Dean a sheet of smooth plastic, a television of sorts Dean
supposed. He need only speak a word or phrase and the sheet would show him
images and narrate the words that matched the pictures on the screen. It was
entertaining enough, Dean supposed, and he was using it to familiarize himself
with the alien’s culture, something to keep him busy and pass the time before
he was able to stop worrying about anything and be artificially happy again.
In the middle of the night, he often awoke from dreams of his old life with his
alpha and beta. He would gasp, covered with sweat, the place between his legs
throbbing, arousal raging through his body. The need was as bad as the grief
and sometimes Kev would come in, wipe away the sweat while being mindful not to
touch Dean’s skin directly with his own more rubbery flesh, and talk to him
about small things, about the daily life on the ship and his job in sick bay.
Dean would listen for a while and then curl away, and Kev would leave. He had
never felt so alone.
In the artificial morning, the lights would come on slowly and Dean would
stretch awake, forlorn on the big warm mattress. He missed the slick cool
bodies of his alpha and beta, limbs entwined with his own, stroking and
gripping his flesh, preparing him for morning lovemaking. He would eat, a pouch
of food that had the flavor and consistency of vanilla yogurt, then bath by
himself in his saltwater bath, remembering a time he had been squished into a
larger bath with two other bodies, soft appendages rubbing cleanser into his
skin and whisking water away from his eyes, gentle care and clicking voices and
love, it must have been love, of course it wasn’t love, it was biology, and not
even a biology of his own. Dean would try to tell himself, over and over,
stubborn tears dripping down his chin, that he had been taken, altered,
assaulted. But he could only smile bitterly as he remembered one soft memory
after another, and then he would cry harder.
The worst part of his day was when Kev would arrive to escort him to the sick
bay. Kev was small and chatty, a dark purple color that Dean was beginning to
associate with youth, and while Dean was grateful for the distraction of
conversation the presence of other aliens just made his loneliness worse. He
had already remarked on the fact that touch made his skin crawl; apparently he
could only comfortably handle contact from his alpha and beta and they were
dead. Kev was careful, so careful not to touch him more than necessary, but the
alpha medical officer Rae-Tchel was not and the examinations had an abrasive
quality to them, although they were not painful. On the first day Kev had
thoughtfully provided a long tunic of soft white fabric and Dean wore it during
his examinations, the soft cloth as comforting as sandpaper, but infinitely
preferable to strangers’ arms and instruments against his unguarded skin. The
aliens themselves wore only belts with little pouches on them, and Dean might
have laughed at the idea of an entire species clothed in Batman-style utility
belts if he had been able.
The other reason Dean disliked his medical examinations was that there was
another human in sick bay. In one corner of the room was a large glass tank and
inside Dean could see the shape of a young man, lean with toasty tan colored
skin and dark hair, floating inside. Sometimes other medical personnel would be
standing over the tank working, sometimes the boy inside would jerk and kick,
sometimes the alarms on his tank would go off and Dean tried very hard to avert
his eyes, to pretend that something very awful wasn’t happening just a few feet
away. The aliens kept their voices down, but Dean caught very disturbing
snatches of conversation, mentions of breathing troubles, of resistance to
anesthesia and allergic reaction and panic attacks and it all looked incredibly
painful and frightening. It was clear that the boy in the tank was awake and in
pain and afraid. Dean himself had no memory of his own experience.
Today the alarms had gone off again as soon as Dean had lain down on the
examination table, so he stared fixedly at the ceiling as Rae-Tchel hurried off
to direct the activity around the tank, leaving Kev holding the viewing
instrument over Dean’s stomach, charting his readings. The view screen showed
the three eggs, safe in their soft fluid sacs, pulsing happily inside Dean, but
he had seen it all before and pretending he was somewhere else took priority at
the moment.
“Everything looks fine, “Kev said soothingly, his forehead pulsing with his
exhalations. But the smooth eggplant colored skin around his large dark eyes
crinkled with worry. He kept darting glances toward the tank. “How are you
feeling?”
“Same as I ever was,” Dean said, gritting his teeth, because there was
screaming coming from the tank, he could hear it, muffled by the glass and
water.
“Hey,” Kev said, a tentacle darting to caress Dean’s shoulder, then just as
quickly moving away at Dean’s flinch, “Don’t worry about that.”
“Don’t worry about the torture going on right next to me, got it,” Dean said
sarcastically. Feeling concern for another being was not a nice change from
feeling anguish and loss.
“Your concern should be you,” Kev said firmly, then flinched and ruined the
effect.
“I don’t get it, “Dean said, “I thought you guys were these powerful all-
knowing aliens with your fancy spaceships and your high tech gadgets; can’t you
knock the kid out or something?”
The skin around Kev’s eyes smoothed in his version of a smile. “You know, this
is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”
“So, why can’t you help him?”
“He’s seems to be allergic to several of the sedatives we’ve tried—“
“Kev-Ahn!” Rae-Tchel snapped as she hurried back over to Dean’s table, “It
doesn’t need to know any of that. Status report!”
Kev handed over the screen and Rae-Tchel skimmed the results, a tentacle rising
to swipe stressfully at her bulbous head. “Everything looks good. Excellent.
Won’t be long now. Internal exam?”
“Not yet, “Kev said and Dean grimaced as Rae-Tchel eased Dean’s legs apart and
gently but impersonally probed a tentacle up inside his channel.
In this, Dean was almost tempted to ask Kev to get the viewing screen and show
him exact what was going on down there. He had fumbled his way around below his
belly in private, reassured to feel what definitely seemed to be his dick and
balls, but he didn’t have the best reach at this stage in his pregnancy.
Besides, he was a bit terrified of what he might find. He knew it was an
opening, soft and smooth and wet and hungry. He could feel himself pulsing with
need around Rae-Tchel’s tentacle, even though her touch was making his skin
crawl. There was a device she used to get readings sometimes, all smooth slick
metal, and when she inserted it Dean couldn’t help but wish she’d just move it
in and out in a regular motion. His hips would rise and it would take
everything Dean had not to hump the device, he was not going to perform like a
dog in heat in front of his alien doctor.
Rae-Tchel removed her tentacle and Dean shuddered in relief. He watched her
clean the viscous liquid off her appendage with a soft cloth (and what was that
stuff oozing out of him, anyway?) and then hurry back to the tank.
“So,” Dean said, as he drew his tunic back down and sat up, “Can’t you just let
him out of the tank?”
“Human omegas usually aren’t aware during transit, he will have questions.”
“Why don’t you talk to him, then?”
“No neuro chip. Pets never have them. Well, almost never. And we can’t do
another surgical procedure on him; he’s had a bad reaction to our anesthesia.”
“Rough,” Dean murmured, then yawned. He was sleepy and depressed. He could feel
his sadness mounting again, a peak of woe. In a short while it would be nearly
unbearable. He wanted to go back to his room and bathe and rest before he
started sobbing again. He wanted to be alone before the loneliness got to be
too much.
Kev paused, his dark eyes searching Dean’s face. “You could talk to him.”
Dean sat up abruptly. “No.”
“You’re worried about him. This could be a way you could help.”
“How do you know we even speak the same language? He could be from anywhere on
Earth. We have like, a lot of languages. Like probably at least a hundred. You
probably abducted some poor Russian dude who doesn’t know a word of English.”
“Not true, “Kev’s forehead bulged in triumph, “He was taken from nearly the
same geographic region on Earth as you were.”
Dean eased himself gingerly off the table, holding his belly. His gaze drifted
over to the tank. He could see the boy’s hands clenching and unclenching into
tight painful fists.
“Let me think about it, “Dean said, heading toward the door.
What could he possibly say? Hi stranger, don’t panic, aliens have abducted you
and carved you into a new creature, a pet to fuck, and also dude, you’re gonna
have babies. But you won’t care about that, you’ll be happy, so happy, and
everyone you ever cared about before will drift away like smoke on the wind.
This couldn’t possibly go well.
***** Cas *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas is awake in the tank. Graphic depiction of torture.
Chapter Notes
     I'm taking a break from this to play with the prompts at SPN
     Masquerade for a while.
     Also, I had difficulty crafting this chapter. I'm not sure if the
     flashbacks and the canon-reversal symbolism really work. Part of the
     problem may be that I skipped ahead, wrote a funny first time sex
     scene for Dean and Cas, punched my own shoulder with glee a la
     Anthony Michael Hall, then remembered that I had SEVERAL chapters to
     go before I could get my two crazy kids to trust each other enough to
     hop in the sack for some alien-modified sexing. So then I had to go
     back and write this.
     Critique is always welcome. Thanks.
His mother was standing at the sink, hunched over washing the breakfast dishes.
Castiel stood in the doorway and watched her, in the harsh morning light he
could see the lines bracketing her mouth, the wispy gray creeping into her
hair. She held her shoulders tightly, her whole body clenched in preparation
for a strike. He knew from pictures that they looked a lot alike: same
triangular slope of a nose, same wide mouth. But she seemed to disappear inside
herself after a night of Father’s heavy drinking; features pinched and
shrinking in on themselves.
“Don’t you ever worry?” she said abruptly, and Cas jumped. She was staring out
the window, dishwater dripping down her elbows.
“Worry about what?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.
“Your soul,” she said, and Cas felt his stomach swoop with nerves.
“I’m not doing anything,” he protested, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes
were black and large and swallowing up her face.
“You will,” she said.
And Castiel jerked awake. He was still in the tank.
After a while Castiel had decided: this was hell. Hell was not a medieval
painting, it was not fire and brimstone, and it was not a snake in the garden.
Hell was a cool tank of water, probing tentacles and endless pain. Hell was
feeling like you were drowning, but never actually sucking in water. Hell was
being held down and being cut into.
Cas drifted for the moment, flexing his hands in his restraints. He had
panicked, the attack lasting for several minutes. After a time, he had felt
something rushing into his veins and he had calmed abruptly, although he could
feel his heart racing too fast, blood thumping like a drum in his ears. He had
wrenched his neck and it was throbbing. His abdomen was sore and tender, like
he’d taken one too many fists to the gut. His hands felt raw and abraded. The
air mask was tight and irritating on his face and he wanted it off, off, off.
He wanted to suck in water. He wanted it to be over.
He wasn’t sure what the worst thing he had experienced was. Was it the hours
alone in the tank, floating under the pressure of the water, alone and
panicking? Was it the tentacles reaching in to adjust and turn him, to stroke
his flesh, to wield sharp devices and cut into his skin? Was it the haze of
chemicals being injected into him through a series of tubes, making his heart
race and his throat swell closed and his lungs stutter?
In the between times, he escaped into his memories, twisted as they were. He
wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or hallucinating but they made for a nice change
of scene from reality, and at least that was something.
Cas felt nausea rise and he mentally prepared himself for what was to come.
Quick and painful, he vomited, stomach muscles cramping. He held the acid in
his mouth, then choked it back down, his throat, nose and mouth burning. The
first few times he had vomited into the breathing mask, then promptly aspirated
the mess. Several suctioning tubes down his throat had given him incentive not
to make that mistake again.
There was an almost carbonated tingling in his arm, like soda rushing in his
veins, and he gratefully felt his nausea subside. Floating, he opened his eyes
and took in the hazy images of his colorful captors. From his vantage point
they had all the delicate undulating beauty of a bed of sea anemones, until
they got closer. Maybe he could just close his eyes and pretend he was swimming
in an ocean he had seen once on TV, and this was a coral reef…
Alfie plopped down next to him and sighed. “Nice view.”
It was. Cas had found the space months ago; this section of the school roof was
easily accessible by climbing onto the maintenance shed; looking down it was
much easier to avoid the relentless harassment that came in shoves and punches
when moving through the mass of student bodies. Also, he had the voyeuristic
pleasure of observing his peers without their knowledge.
“Looks like trouble in paradise to your left.”
Cas peered over the edge at the couple arguing furiously below them. “Oh, those
two. They break up every lunch period. She sobs in the bathroom, and he goes
over to that tree and punches it. They’ll be back together again before final
period. It’s either true love or true idiocy.”
Alfie laughed and Cas turned to smile at him. Alfie kicked his feet idly, and
pulled a sandwich out of his backpack.
“Up here they don’t look so tough,” Alfie said, “They seem so small and human.”
Cas swallowed back tears. “I’ve never felt so small and human. Alfie, I’m
scared.”
But Alfie continued to kick and smile. “Like bugs down there. Almost feel I
could pick them up and mount them under glass, like butterflies.” He turned to
Cas, his eyes growing bigger and blacker until they dominated his face, “Wonder
how they’d like being held down for once.”
Cas jerked awake. Still in the tank. Still in hell. Something lithe and spongy
and purple wavered in his peripheral vision and he realized there were two
tentacles moving about his head, touching his ears, pressing inside.
He felt the panic building, building, building, his face scalding hot and his
throat clenching in terror. His breathe stuttered in and out, and he screamed,
screamed, his throat aching and ruined, back arching and fists reaching for
space, any space at all. Let me out, let me out, and the claustrophobic effect
of the tank was ten times worse than any locker or closet he’d been shoved in,
any time he’d been held down or pushed down, struggling to get up under a much
larger body.
“Hey. Hey in there. Can you hear me?”
Castiel jerked as a rough voice resounded in his ear, the sound artificial and
overly loud after so much silence. He struggled against the restraints, eyes
darting around, looking for the source.
“Relax your left hand if you can hear me.” And Castiel’s fingers shot out in a
straight stiff line, sore from being clenched so hard.
“Good. Try to calm down. Listen to my voice.”
Where are you, Castiel wanted to scream, where are you? He thrashed in the
tank, churning water.
“Look to your left.” And Cas did and breathed.
Standing near the glass, fuzzy and vague, was a person. A real, human-shaped
person, painted in shades of gold and brown, clothed in white.
An angel, Cas thought, and wondered just how much oxygen deprivation his brain
had been subjected to.
“My name is Dean,” the angel said, “I’m here to help you.”
***** Dean *****
Chapter Summary
     Snow White and Scheherazade walk into an alien experiment...
Floating under glass, hair in an inky halo around his pale face, the boy looked
like a character in a fairy tale. Snow White maybe, thought Dean, waiting to be
awakened by a tentacle-d prince or two. Although the boy wasn’t sleeping, not
most of the time. His eyes would slit open, they would move slowly from side to
side, sometimes they would bulge with panic as the alarms klaxoned. That was
happening less and less, for which Dean was grateful. Just talking into the
device that piped sound into the boy’s ears calmed him down most of the time.
If this was a fairy tale, then Dean was Scheherazade.
And Dean was getting better at talking this kid down off his metaphorical
ledge. Not considered by many in his old life as a particularly loquacious
person, Dean had initially wracked his brain for something to say to a person
who couldn’t answer back. Bubble boy, as Dean had begun to think of him,
couldn’t hold up his end of the conversation or even off any sort of non-verbal
feedback, so what the hell could Dean say to him?
Talking about the current situation was out. Dean was trying to keep the kid
calm and a few colorful stories about being the breeding bitch in a tentacle
orgy didn’t seem the thing for a recent alien abductee. Dean had thought he
might tell some of his spicier stories about some of the girls he’d hooked up
with—Bubble Boy was a red-blooded American boy after all—but he hesitated for
two reasons. First, the kid’s penis was right there, bobbing about in the water
like a disinterested sea creature and Dean had little desire to see it hard and
tapping against the glass like it wanted out. It seemed a bit coercive and the
poor sonofabitch in the tank had been through enough. And secondly he found
himself disquieted even thinking about his old sex life. There had been girls,
new and exciting and what he had chosen for himself and then there was his old
alpha and beta and their tangled embrace. He had come so far from what he’d
known and what he now craved in the darkest hours of the night was so strange,
so alien. Putting the two together in his head made him queasy.
So he told the kid stories about his brother. Stories about Sammy. About
dressing up like superheroes together, about riding him on the handlebars of
his bike, long trips in the back of Dad’s car, candy bars bought and savored
from the liquor store. About how Sam had put his foot down in sixth grade,
demanded a permanent home and a stable life and how Dad had listened, miracle
of miracles. He told Bubble Boy about how much Sam loved soccer, what a geek he
was about doing his homework, how he had a big heart but a short temper.
The stories about Sam hurt because they didn’t hurt. He didn’t miss Sam at all.
The affection and exasperation, the love and the regret, none of it was
present. It was like Dean was reciting the plot of a sitcom, about a loveable
snot-nosed kid with an awesome heroic-sounding older brother. Like a laugh
track, Dean chuckled in all the right places, but it was hollow. And it was
working. Dean started to speak and the kid in the tank calmed down and
listened.
“He is doing better,” said a voice behind him and Kev glided to his side, large
dark eyes fixed on the tank, devices clasped in multiple appendages taking
readings.
“Might be doing better if you let him out,” Dean muttered, moving away from the
speaking device. It was an old argument.
“He’s out of danger now,” Kev replied, “His omega transformation is fairly
complete. We’ve reduced his drug regiment to only a mild sedative. His panic
attacks have abated as well.”
Panic attacks. Dean wondered if Bubble Boy was claustrophobic. That would suck
major, and Dean had already carefully convinced himself that he was not on a
space craft, zipping through the void, a thousand times more nerve wracking
than a plane ride. The lack of windows helped.
Kev’s bulbous eyes searched Dean’s face. “You worry about him still.”
“Yeah, I do,” Dean laughed bitterly, “Worrying about him and weeping like leaky
faucet seem to be all that I can do.”
“It’s normal to feel worried about another living being,” Kev said, “You two
are so alike in your circumstances.”
Dean frowned. “How can I worry about him when I can’t even worry about my own
dad and brother? They’ve got to be going nuts looking for me. And it’s like I
just don’t care. But I care about him. And Kev, I even kinda care about you.
You’re the only ‘friend’ I have here, other than Mr. Comatose in there.”
“The bonding process with an Alpha and a Beta, the way that an omega imprints
on its partners, severs any previous bonds. The memories remain, but the
emotions associated with those previous connections are forever dissolved.”
Kevin sighed. “Myself and this human are new associations, new attachments.”
Dean turned to look at Kev. “Wait, so I can connect with others? Not just my…my
aliens.”
Kev hesitated. “Yes.”
“If I saw them again, would I remember that I love my dad? My brother?”
“No,” Kev said firmly, “You can never get those feelings back. But if…if you
saw them again, you could create new feelings, new memories. Like what you have
created here. With him. With me.”
Dean swallowed hard. Talking to the boy in the tank and talking to Kev was
chipping away at the loneliness. He was now spending much more time in sick
bay, was able to tolerate more contact with others. But he had no illusions
about what was coming his way. A brand new artificially joyful life with brand
new alien captors. It wasn’t like he could commandeer the ship and steer it
back to Earth. He couldn’t be the hero. He couldn’t save this boy and he
couldn’t save himself. And most of the time, he didn’t even want to.
“But,” Kev said abruptly, “It’s better not to think of such things. Soon you
will imprint anew and all this pain, all these experiences, will disappear like
a bad dream.”
Dean turned to Kev, reached out and gingerly grasped a pebbled tentacle. He
swallowed hard. “Let him out.”
“I…I can’t—“
“Are you afraid of anything? Are you, Kev?”
Kev’s normally deep purple color stippled with lavender. “I…I dislike sharp
things. Things that could…amputate one of my limbs. There was an accident,
several cycles ago…”
“Then let him out,” Dean insisted. “He’s drowning in there. He’s afraid. It’s
not like either of us can get away. Hell, I don’t even really want to. Let him
out.”
Kev’s eyes darted wildly around on their stalks, “If Rae-Tchel knew what we…”
“Which button?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I watched you. I did it, and you couldn’t stop me until it was too late. Which
button to open the tank?”
Kev’s round eyes narrowed. One appendage drifted down toward a control panel.
Delicately traced a sequence of lighted knobs.
“Okay, now scram, Kev. I got this.”
Dean waited until Kev had glided a fair distance away, then took a deep breath.
He was no hero, not now and maybe not ever, unless it was in the mind of his
kid brother, light years away from where he stood now and what he had become.
He pushed the sequence of buttons.
Alarms blared and shrieked at once. Sections of the paneling on the tank tank
hissed steam, and folded back, revealing tubes that began to drain fluid onto
the floor. The top of the tank slid back, and suddenly the kid was free of his
restraints, hands feebly pulling at the mask on his face, the tubes in his arms
churning water in his anxiety.
“What have you done?!”
Dean didn’t look to see who was shouting at him. He just smiled, small, sad and
satisfied.
He reached his hand down, grasped the boy’s arm, and pulled him from the water.
***** Cas *****
There had been chaos and noise and now there was quiet order and calm. Cas was
sitting, sitting, in a plain white room, not floating underwater, not vomiting
and screaming, just sitting. It was glorious.
When Cas had been freed from the tank there had been the requisite screaming,
trumpeting honks from the tentacle monsters, churning water and blaring alarms.
But after days and days of torture in the tank it all seemed a bit
anticlimactic.
Cas assumed he should have leapt from the tank, fists raised in vengeance,
grabbed a scalpel and sliced his way through the aliens like some B-movie
action hero. Perhaps a less muscular Kurt Russell, sans mullet. But his muscles
had been spaghetti-noodle weak and instead he had clung to the only other human
in the room, knees wobbling, and waited for the excitement to die down.
Now he had been consigned to some unknown room, clad in a truly ugly white
dress-thingy, to wait for…something. He knew not what. Standing across from
him, dressed similarly, posture stiff and unfriendly, was his angel, that rough
voiced savior he had come to know as Dean. Looking over at his companion, Cas
had only one thought:
Fuck Brad Pitt.
The young man standing before him was gorgeous. He had big long lashed green
eyes in a fine boned face and a soft pink mouth. His hair was tawny brown and
thick, reaching almost to his shoulders. Cas deliriously wondered if there had
been some intergalactic memo, no more toothless yokels on the abduction list,
only hot underwear models from now on.
Well, not an underwear model, actually. Dean had a bit of a gut to be honest,
and Castiel wondered what kind of alien beer he had been drinking to get that
way. The heavenly robes he had seemed to be wearing now on closer inspection
appeared to be the lovechild of a hospital gown and a muumuu. Beneath the hem,
Dean’s legs curved charmingly outward in a bow that when combined with his soft
drawl screamed cowboy. His skin was smooth and pale and freckled but his neck
and arms were traced with pale blue swirls, like a bad tattoo only partially
faded with a laser.
Cas floundered, wondering how you made conversation with a hot guy in an ugly
dress that just seemed to want to be away from you. Somebody that you thought
you knew, when you really didn’t know them at all.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean glanced at him, then looked away.
“My name is Castiel.”
“Weird name,” Dean responded. Cas smiled.
“My mother is very religious. She believes in angels, loves to read about them.
She named me after the angel of Thursday.”
“You got a nickname?”
Castiel frowned. “Alfie…he called me Cas.”
“That your boyfriend?”
Cas blushed and stammered. “My best friend. What…what makes you think I like
boys?”
“The way you’re staring at me,” Dean answered, apparently not at all upset at
being on an alien craft discussing Cas’ sexuality. “If I was a chick I’d be
clutching my sweater tight and giving you the evil eye.”
“I apologize for staring,” Cas said uncomfortably but Dean grinned, his face
suddenly young and carefree.
“It’s okay. I know I’m kind of adorable.” And Cas smiled too when he realized
Dean was teasing him.
“So…what will they do with us? With me?”
Dean’s smile faded and he rubbed his gut, turned his face away. A single tear
trickled down his cheek and Cas tilted his head in confusion. Yes, they were
alien abductees and yes, they were far from home, but Dean didn’t seem to be
handling this well. Which was weird, because he had obviously had more time to
get used to the strangeness of their situation.
“Dunno. Normally when they abduct people they wake up in their new…home. With
alien owners. Sort of.   I don’t think many humans get to see the behind-the-
scenes part of their experience.”
Dean’s face contorted and without warning tears began to stream down his face,
his mouth working helplessly. Castiel stared at him, because first of all he
was astonishingly pretty when he cried and secondly because it was so odd; was
Dean a figment of his fevered imagination? Cute, funny guy, undeniably sexy,
dressed like an obese shut-in, sobbing like a baby? Cas wasn’t sure his mind
could have conjured up such a creation.
“It’s…it’s going to be okay,” Cas ventured, not sure he was providing much
comfort. Dean nodded, wiped at his face.
“It will be,” Dean answered, tears still flowing, and Cas wanted to know what
he meant by that, when suddenly the door to the room whooshed open and Cas was
scrambling to hide behind Dean. A small dark purple alien stood in the doorway,
making a series of warbling sounds and squeaky clicks, like a distressed
dolphin.
“Hiya Kev,” Dean greeted the alien.
“You can…understand them?” Cas said wonderingly, peeking out from behind Dean’s
shoulder. The alien warbled again and Cas had to admit there was something…cute
about his big black eyes and bright purple color.
“Neuro chip, or so Kev says,” Dean answered, tapping his temple. “They put
something up here and now we can talk with each other.”
“What…what’s he saying?” Cas asked and Dean frowned. Listened. Smirked.
“He’s says we’re in big trouble for springing you. Kev’s on suspension from
sick bay for his part in the whole thing. Which is great, ‘cause we can catch
up on that show we’ve been watching on my plastic thing, maybe play some more
alien poker.”
Kev squeaked and Cas wasn’t sure but it sounded indignant.
“I would like to have some questions answered,” Cas said, “Before we start
goofing off with our alien captor.”
Dean turned toward him, grassy green eyes still tear bright, face solemn.
“Okay, Cas. What do you want to know?”
***** Dean *****
Chapter Notes
     Kev's speak is in italics around Cas, because only Dean is able to
     understand the alien's speech.
“So, alien pets huh?” Cas said, “They don’t already have some version of a dog
or cat?”
This kid, Dean thought irritably, this kid had no idea. Out of the tank he was
awkward and formal, his bright blue eyes huge in his face, his head cocked to
the side like a dog trying to understand human speech. He looked like the kind
of effete nerd that would just get pummeled by the other kids, and Dean felt
guilty thinking that. Back in high school he’d never been one to join in with
the bullies, had been known to fish a few kids out of the trash cans they’d
been stuffed in, but this kid. Dean couldn’t say what it was about him that was
digging under his skin.
Maybe it was the responsibility. Dean had hauled him out the tank, now he felt
responsible for him. He’d saved him, but he couldn’t save him. And now they had
to have a very awkward conversation about alien birds and bees. Dean felt
overwhelmingly depressed by the whole thing.
Nothing to be done for it. No use crying. And Dean had already gotten one hell
of a look from Cas when he had started bawling before, thinking about his dead
alien masters. No way Cas could know Dean wasn’t normally such a crybaby.
Kev had begun to lay out his playing cards, taken from a pouch in his belt, and
Dean had given Cas a quick rundown of the rules. There was no way he was having
this conversation without the distraction of a fast-paced game and some smack
talk.
“You know, those alien utility belts make me think of Batman,” Cas had said and
Dean laughed. He had already tried to explain Batman to Kev. It was nice to
have someone around who understood human pop culture references.
Dean fingered the shiny octagon plastic pieces in his hand, frowned. Kev was
excellent at this game, but Dean was catching on. Cas was fumbling with the
awkwardly-shaped cards, looking perpetually clueless. The problem was the cards
were meant for someone with at least four appendages, three for holding each
set of cards and one for drawing and discarding. Dean made do by holding two
sets in one hand, and discarding with his teeth. Cas had given up on holding
the cards, had them flipped face up where both Dean and Kev could see them, but
since he couldn’t remember which alien symbol stood for which number, and he
kept asking for clarification, it wasn’t as if he was seriously playing anyway.
“I just think it’s a lot of effort to kidnap a human and then change them,” Cas
said, still stuck on the idea of human pets, and Dean was still reticent to lay
the whole truth on him.
“Dammit!” Cas had been juggling a set of cards as he had been mulling things
over and they slipped from his fingers, spraying all over the table.
Dean laughed. It felt good to laugh. He opened up the hand that held the two
sets, showing Cas how the small nubs on his fingers helped the cards adhere.
Cas frowned. “My hands don’t do that.”
“Let me see.” Dean reached out, took Cas’ hand. It was warm and dry and it felt
good to be in contact with someone else, to touch. He hesitated a bit, getting
used to a sensation that was not unlike licking Cas’ skin, taste-smell-touching
the flesh, but the only ridges on Cas’ hands were the faint raised whorls of
his fingerprints.
Dean turned to Kev. “He doesn’t have them.”
No,the alien said, we didn’t continue the modification. He will still imprint
successfully without them.
“What is it?” Cas asked, and Dean wished he wasn’t the only one who could
explain, that he could pass this burden to someone else.
“No…sensors…on your hands. Guess they didn’t want to risk adding them with your
medical problems. Kev says they aren’t necessary anyway.”
But they were necessary, Dean thought to himself. He had a sudden sensory
memory: his hands gliding over a tentacle, muscular and strong, entwined around
his neck and throat. Feeling the kiss of tiny suckers, marking his skin with
little pink bites. His hands tasting and feeling, cool salt and pebbled flesh,
as he brought his mouth to the tentacle tip and gently nibbled and licked.
A cough and Dean’s eyes fluttered back open and he flushed. Cas was staring at
him, eyes huge, and Kev was shifting uncomfortably, mottled that paler color
that meant discomfort. Dean could feel that place between his legs throbbing,
wet and empty.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and then a wave of grief washed over him. He ducked his
head, wiped at his eyes.
Do you need us to go? Kev asked gently, We can give you time to yourself.
“I’m fine,” Dean said, scrubbing his cheeks. “Let’s play.”
It was an awkward recovery, but Cas’ fumbling and cursing made it easier for
Dean to hide what he was feeling. Explaining the rules over and over again
until, newbie or not, Dean was ready to strangle Cas for his ineptitude, also
helped.
“That’s a seven.”
“Oh. And this symbol?”
“That is ALSO a seven, dummy.”
“Dean,” Cas put a hand on his arm, face serious. “Tell me.”
You are avoiding the issue, Kev said, somehow already on Cas’ side, the
traitor. Tell him.
“Sex,” blurted Dean, annoyed. “They want to use your body to make alien babies.
There. Happy?”
Cas looked at Dean. Threw his head back and laughed.
Dean was arrested at the sight. Sure, Cas was a good-looking kid, when still.
But put him in motion and he came off as just plain goofy. His wide grin, gums
pink and visible, was so ridiculous and yet somehow endearing.
“Be serious, Dean.”
“I am serious.”
Cas stopped laughing. Sobered. His eyes darted down to Dean’s stomach.
Dean palmed the basketball sized lump under his shift. “Got three cooking in
here. Is that serious enough for you?”
Face pale, Cas said nothing.
“So now you know. This is the truth. This is what’s going to happen to you.
We’re stuck on an alien space ship and you’re gonna be a mommy. How are you
handling the honesty?”
“Um,” Cas ventured timidly, “Is…is it like a half human and half alien baby?
What does it look like? Does it have hands or tentacles? Hands and tentacles?
Hands on the ends of tentacles?”
Kev made a rumbling honking sound, one that Dean had already identified as
laughter, startling Cas.
“They’re not my kids,” Dean said, smiling a bit in spite of himself, “They are
aliens. They look like aliens. They just happen to be using my body as an
incubator.”
I can show him the scan, Kev said, pulling a folded bit of plastic from one of
his pouches, there are images he can browse.
“What’s that?” Cas asked, watching Kev unfold the slick bit of plastic.
“Alien TV,” supplied Dean, “Only you can watch whatever you tell it you want.
Pretty neat.”
Together, they watched the images Kev selected. Dean kept forgetting that Cas
couldn’t understand the voice-overs, and would repeat what was said only when
prompted. But Cas seemed satisfied with the explanation. Although Dean couldn’t
help but admit he was miffed that Cas didn’t seem a bit more freaked out. He
was handling the whole thing like it was some kind of weird science experiment,
rather than his own life. Asking questions and saying “oh, how interesting”
when he should have been running around the room shrieking.
“So, how do they get them out?” Cas asked and Dean wanted to smack that calm
curious look off his face.
“Bring up a birth video,” Dean commanded the plastic device.
Dean, that is unwise, Kev said.
“Omega human birth video,” Dean ordered, then turned away from the screen so he
could watch Cas’ face.
Turned away before he could admit he was too chicken to watch it himself.
As groans and gasps and wet gushing sounds filled the small room, Cas’ eyes got
bigger and bigger. His hands darted up to his mouth, trembling.
“Like what you see?” Dean asked.
Cas bent over, pale and trembling, and threw up.
That was unkind, Kev said.
But Dean shrugged.
The truth was a bitch.
***** Cas *****
Dean was a jerk.
Cas wiped at his mouth, still trembling. Kev had begun quietly cleaning the
mess on the floor, his large inhuman eyes suddenly the friendliest sight in the
room. It was strange, Cas pondered, as his trembles of shock became trembles of
anger, that he was light years away from his high school and he still ended up
getting bullied, being made a fool.
“You’re an asshole,” Cas spit at him, “Why don’t you just admit you’re
scared?   You think you’re tough making someone else feel terrified because you
don’t want to face the truth?”
Dean turned away, mouth twisted. Castiel stared at the stiff line of his
shoulders, his curved neck. Suddenly understood. And felt ashamed.
After all, he wasn’t the one who was going to have to go through that. At
least, not yet.
Kev turned to Dean and spoke to him, shrill chirps and whistles, as Dean nodded
and sniffled. Then Kev was gliding out the door, leaving the two of them alone.
“Dean, I apologize,” Castiel said helplessly.
Dean shrugged.   Hauled himself up onto the bed with a grunt of effort, turned
on his side, hand supporting the bulk around his middle. Turned his back to
Cas.
“Do…do you want to talk?”
“Going to sleep, Cas,” Dean said, his voice bland. He reached out and dimmed
the lights. In the twilight dimness of the room, the blue swirls on his skin
gave off a slight cobalt glow. Cas held out his own arms, watched the curly
pattern of small dots on his skin illuminate like stars in the night sky. Like
the galaxy printed upon their skin.
“Where…can I sleep too?”
The only response was Dean scooting over. Leaving a section of mattress for
Cas. Cas clambered up on the bed, leaving a good foot of distance between
himself and Dean. Dean’s shoulders were still and uncomfortable. Occasionally,
he would gasp softly on an exhalation of breath and Castiel realized that Dean
was still crying.
“I…I didn’t mean to upset you so much,” Cas said, mystified.
Dean snorted. Turned over and wiped at his face, green eyes dark and shimmering
in the darkened room.
“It’s not you. Or anything you said. Hell, I deserved to be told off. I wanted
to freak you out. You’re too calm, man.”
“I’ve had plenty of time to panic,” Cas replied. “And if I haven’t hurt you,
why are you still crying?”
“Alien hormones, apparently,” Dean said. “You see, most omegas, that’s us and
the alien ones too, die when they lose their partners. I’m feeling the loss, I
guess. Maybe sort of like P.M.S.”
Castiel snickered, then covered his mouth with his hand.
“Thanks a lot,” Dean said, but he was smiling. “Go run and get me some
chocolate and a heating pad, why don’t you?”
“Is there chocolate here?” Cas asked, interested.
“Nope,” Dean groused. “No chocolate, no coffee, no French fries. Just gobs of
that yogurt goo.”
“Hamburgers?”
“None.”
“That’s terrible,” Cas said and they smiled at each other in understanding.
Whatever might be done to their bodies and minds, they could laugh about the
least of their problems.
Dean shifted, yawned. He pillowed his cheek under one hand, lashes fluttering
down on one smooth freckled cheek. Cas felt his breath catch in his throat. He
swallowed hard, the sound audible.
Dean opened his eyes. For a minute, there was something sad and awkward in his
gaze, and then he was rolling over, taking Cas’ hand and pulling him close.
“Um.”
“Shut up,” Dean said mildly, “You’re the only person I can touch. It’s nice. Do
you mind?”
“N-no.”
“Good,” Dean said, spooning back into Cas’ arms, “Then let’s never speak of it
again.”
Castiel settled in against Dean’s back. His arm was draped over Dean’s middle,
hand resting under the curve of Dean’s belly. It was nice. He palmed the
weighty bulge of alien babies. Under his hand, he felt the slight undulations
of the small life forms, like the quiet waves caused by a pebble thrown into
still pond water. He felt Dean’s shoulders relax, all the tension within him
released in a soft sigh.
“Dean.”
“Not talking about it, remember?”
“I know. Just, how are we going to get out of this?”
“We don’t,” Dean said grimly, “There’s nothing to be done.”
“But—“
“Please Cas, just sleep. I’m not saving anybody. I can’t even save myself.”
They lay quietly for a moment. Then Cas said, “Would you tell me a story? One
of those stories about that boy you made up?”
Dean stiffened. “Sam. Sammy. Those were stories about my brother.”
“The stories were real? Sam is real?”
“Of course,” Dean said, offended. “What did you think?”
“I thought you were just making up stories. I mean, some of the things he did
were pretty cool. But you didn’t sound…emotional when you talked about him. I
thought it was just a story.”
Dean said, “There were just stories. Let it go, Cas.”
“Do you think they’re looking for you? I wonder if my mom is. Of course my dad
probably doesn’t care at all—“
“Shut up, Cas!” Dean shouted. He threw off Cas’ arm, scooting away on the
mattress.
Cas watched Dean’s shoulders shake, head tilted to the side, perplexed. He had
quite enjoyed the adventures of Sam and Dean, brothers and friends. Dean’s
voice had been his savior, the stories his only peace. But Dean had never
sounded wistful, or sad or angry, when he had been spinning his yarns. His
voice had always been calm and remote, never emotional and tender.
“They stole him from me,” Dean said numbly. “That’s what they do. They make it
so you can’t remember. Not who you loved. Not why you loved them. They just
take it. I’m sorry.”
Castiel shivered, feeling cold all over. To lose his mother. To lose the memory
of Alfie. It was unthinkable. To know them only as an intellectual thought, the
measurements of their shapes, their roles in his life like a list in a filing
cabinet. To lose all the loving moments, the affection and the arguments. It
was a horror.
He looked at Dean. To lose Dean. The gratitude, the confusion. The caring and
the annoyance. This short rapport, building in his heart to something more,
against his will. Would he see Dean again after he was bonded with an alien and
see the green eyes, the curves of his face, and not feel the catch in his
throat? Catalogue his beauty like an unimportant thing to file away in his
mind.
“C’mere,” Dean said and pulled and Castiel let himself be pulled. Let himself
be needed. He settled against Dean’s back, placed his hand back on its spot on
Dean’s belly, where it was already starting to feel at home.
“Sleep,” Castiel said and Dean sighed and settled. Dean had saved him from the
tank. Cas would save him from the rest. He would save them both.
If only he knew how.
***** Dean *****
Chapter Summary
     Short chapter is short.
Dean lay awake. Cas was a warm weight at his back, Cas’ arm snug and reassuring
under his middle. It was hard to admit, how much he needed this. The only other
person in his world.
To imprint, again. To lose Cas.
It was unthinkable.
***** Cas *****
In the dream, Castiel was walking down Main Street.
He looked up, and Dean was riding his bike down the middle of the street, hazy
in the warm summer heat. He was wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, his hair
strangely short and spiky, skin flawless and tanned.
“Heya, Cas,” Dean said as he pedaled to a halt, one hip cocked too balance the
bike.
“Hi, Cas,” came a voice. A skinny boy in an oversized flannel was peering over
Dean’s shoulder, sloe eyes and wide smile, balancing on the back pegs of the
bike. This must be Sam. This was Dean’s brother.
“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said smiling.
“Wanna come down to the reservoir? Sammy and me are going swimming,” said Dean,
as if they lived in the same town, as if they did this every day. As if anyone
as beautiful as Dean had ever talked to Castiel. As if they were friends.
“Sure,” Cas said, and set down the bag of groceries in his arms. His mom was
not in sight, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Sammy, hop on my handle bars,” Dean said and Sam obligingly hopped off the
back pegs, came around and patted Cas’ shoulder, levered himself up in front,
skinny legs pointed straight out.
“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said, sun behind his head, white smile and beads of sweat
glinting on his face.
Castiel circled around the bike. Clambered up on the pegs. Dean’s shirt was
riding up, showing a smooth expanse of lower back. His neck was bent, short
cropped hair bright in the sun. Cas bent, placed a gentle kiss on the back of
Dean’s neck, taking in his salty taste and smell. Everyone on Main Street was
watching, Cas could feel their eyes, but in this moment nothing had mattered
less. He brushed his nose against Dean’s neck.
“Cas,” Dean sighed.
Castiel jerked awake.
He was pressed firmly against Dean’s back, nose buried in Dean’s neck. His dick
was hard, his stomach clenching with need. Sometime in the night Dean had laced
their fingers together, was pressing Cas’ arm firmly around his swollen belly.
Dean’s ass was pressed as close to his length as it could get, minute movements
rubbing them together. The back of Dean’s shift was damp.
Cas flushed, feeling guilty about molesting Dean in his sleep. Dean, who had
shown vulnerability and a need for comfort, but that didn’t mean interest or
attraction. Although Dean was pressing back and into him, Dean was the one
clenching his hand…
Cas began to edge back. Felt Dean tighten his grip, tug gently to pull Cas in
even closer. Cas’ nose brushed against the back of Dean’s neck, tickled by the
long golden strands of Dean’s hair.
“Cas,” Dean sighed.
“Dean,” Cas ventured, “Dean are you awake.”
Castiel knew the minute Dean awoke and realized where he was and who he was
with. If it was possible to see invisible walls come up, that’s what Cas was
seeing. Dean’s whole body tensed and even though they were pressed close
together there was suddenly a great divide, a chasm between them.
“Morning,” Dean said gruffly.
“Good morning, Dean.”
“So what to do today,” Dean said, sitting up and stretching, putting some space
between them, “Sit around on our asses, stare at the walls, oh wait, we can sit
around on our asses—“
“I think we should watch the birth video,” Castiel said abruptly. Dean could
avoid and deflect, but it wasn’t Cas’ way. He had always been blunt, even to
the point of awkwardness. He wasn’t going to pretend all of this wasn’t
happening.
“Jeez, Cas, what a way to wake someone up,” Dean said breezily, although his
shoulders were up and twitchy, “No coffee, no breakfast, just a tentacle baby
popping out of a man-vagina.”
“You’re scared,” Cas countered, “Scared of something you can’t get away from.
We can face it together. You’re not alone anymore.”
“Pass.”
“Or we can talk about how we woke up,” Cas said, “About how you moaned my name
in your sleep.”
Dean narrowed his big green eyes and it took everything in Cas not to flinch
back. A fist in the face didn’t seem far off.
“Fine,” Dean said abruptly, “But I’m gonna take a leak and eat some grub. Maybe
take a bath. The video can wait.”
He levered his bulk up, heading off for the bathing area. Castiel sighed. Trust
seemed a long way off.
***** Dean *****
Hypocrite, Dean chastised himself, as he moved away from Cas.  He could
seemingly deal with being the human meat in a tentacle-rape sandwich, but not
with his increasingly tender feelings for Cas.  In his mind, liking a boy was
somehow worse that everything that had happened to him?  Ridiculous.
It’s not like Dean had never looked at a guy, he had.  There was nothing wrong
with it.  But he didn’t have a lot of positive associations with the things
guys did together, based on his rather limited yet unpleasant experience.  And
there were always girls, giggly and fragrant and close at hand.
It’s not like Cas was even thatgood looking.
But it was more than wanting to touch.  It was wanting to confide in Castiel,
to share his thoughts with him.  To be a team against all odds.  To explore the
unique and profound bond, growing between them moment by moment.
Not just attraction.  But love.
Dean flinched at the sappiness of his thoughts.  He could almost hear his
father, John, barking in his ear, discouraging any soft feeling.  Encouraging
him to be tougher, harder.  Like his mother, Dean had a sunny disposition and a
sensitive heart, and either one seemed a weakness when seen through John’s eyes
John.  Sir.
Dean sat up straighter.  He probed his memories surrounding his father. 
Proud.  Dedicated.  Wounded yet still fighting.  Strict and harsh but
ultimately caring.
It was still there.
The emotion was gone.  Dean felt no love for his father.  But he could still
feel everything his father had wanted for him, every way that his father had
shaped him into the person he was today.
Mind whirling frantically, Dean focused on the memories of his brother.  The
fights they’d had, the secret nods and gestures they’d developed after long
hours in the car.  How Dean wanted to protect Sam and be his hero.
How that behavior had bled over into his concern for Cas.
Even stripped from Dean’s heart, the aliens hadn’t been able to strip his
father and brother from his mind.  The foundation was there.  If the three of
them ever met again…
A wave of grief rose up suddenly and Dean struggled to push it down, wanting to
hold on to the tiny shards of his former life he’d found buried within him.
As the tears rose up Dean forced himself to think about his family, even as he
shook with artificial grief.
***** Cas *****
Cas watched Dean lower himself into the bath water with a soft grunt.  He was
content to turn his back to Cas and pretend Cas wasn’t there, and Cas could
appreciate the attempt at space, at privacy, in this place where nothing
belonged to them.
Dean’s shoulders hitched once, twice, and Cas knew that his strange new friend
was crying again.  But the emotion was fake, chemical, and Dean didn’t want to
be crying.  It struck Cas as yet another violation.  Not even their emotions
were their own.
For Cas, the modifications to his body were unwelcome, but he surprised himself
in how well he was coping.  Perhaps it was the considerable ways his body—human
and unaltered—had let him down in the past.  The wheezing from the asthma, his
skinny legs and arms burning as he ran around the track in gym.  Always picked
last for a game.  Or the way others were so easily able to manipulate his own
body to punish him: his head slammed in a locker, the sophomoric amusement a
bully seemed to feel when he made Cas punch himself.  His own father and the
ever present belt.  No, Cas had never felt in command of his own form.
Looking over at Dean, strong and agile even in pregnancy, Cas doubted it had
been the same for him.  He looked like the good-looking kid everyone wanted to
know, first up to bat and always hitting home runs.  Growing into his body with
none of the awkward ugliness of puberty, one brilliant smile and all the girls
were in love.  A boy like Cas would never stood a chance against that smile.
Cas frowned when he realized that he’d only ever seen Dean smile in his dream.
“Okay,” Dean said and Cas lifted his head, watched his friend approach,
toweling water off his smooth skin.
Dean seemed oblivious to his own nudity.  Cas understood this had something to
do with the fact that human omega pets did not wear clothes.  It was probably
awful for Cas to be gawking at a guy in the final stages of alien pregnancy,
but he couldn’t help himself.
Dean was goddamn glorious.
“Eyes are up here,” Dean said and Cas guiltily snapped his gaze to Dean’s face,
visions of pale freckled skin and perky pink nipples still dancing behind his
retinas.  But Dean was smiling a bit, his eyes still red from crying, but
twinkling with mirth all the same.
“Sorry.”
“I’m irresistible.”
“I said I was sorry!”
Dean laughed and shrugged into a clean tunic, white cloth covering every
beautiful inch, like a fine piece of furniture draped in a dust cloth.  He
climbed back up on the bed and patted the space beside him.
“Grab the plastic thingie.  Turn it on.  Let’s get this over with.”
***** Dean *****
Chapter Notes
     Sexy times in this chapter, heads up.
“That was gross.”
“Oh…my…God.”
“Seriously, I may never eat again.”
The video was about as bad as Dean had expected.  In it, a dark skinned boy,
stomach distended, had sweated and grunted through labor, his two alien masters
beside him, trilling and cooling.  Although in pain, there was a grin on the
boy’s face, the manic look of a cult member who’s just drank the Kool-Aid. 
Even in pain, his body not his own, the boy was loving every moment of
captivity, thanks to alien pheromones.
All of a sudden, like his ass was blowing a bubble, a whitish membrane had
appeared between the boy’s legs.  Inside, three tiny aliens squirmed, clearly
visible through the transparent membrane.  The “bubble” grew in size, bigger
and bigger, as the boy moans and thrashed, his hair stroked by alien
tentacles.  Then  there was a splash and the “bubble” ruptured, spilling the
three aliens messily into a waiting container.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Dean mumbled.  He wouldn’t have his aliens
there to take care of him, not like that boy.  He wouldn’t have a hazy of good
feeling making it all bearable either.
It was hard also to admit that while the video was disgusting it also turned
him on a bit.
“You can,” Cas said, smiling encouragingly, although his face was a bit green.
“I’ll be there with you.”
Dean smiled back but his mind was on other things.
“It’s just…” To hell with it. Dean shifted, his belly full and unwieldy, “I
can’t see past this beach ball.  I couldn’t tell from the video. What does it
look like?” He pulled his knees up, spreading his legs, “Does it look like a
girl’s…thing?”
Cas gave him a withering look, “I’m a homosexual, Dean.  What makes you think I
know what a vagina looks like?”
“Jeez, who talks like that?  Then check and see if it still looks like an
asshole!”
“What makes you think I am familiar with the anatomy of an anus—“
“C’mon, man.  Help me out.”
Cas tilted his head, bending to peer between Dean’s legs.  It shouldn’t have
been sexy, not after what they just watched.  But Cas could feel his face
becoming warm.
“Does my junk look okay?  I know that’s still there.”
Cas nodded, then remembered Dean couldn’t see him from his reclining position.
“Looks like mine, I guess.  Penis and scrotum appear to be intact.”
“Thanks for that, Mr. Roboto.  What about…what about the other thing?”
Cas pushed Dean’s legs wider. “It looks like…looks like a little mouth I
guess.  Like a mouth puckering up for a soft kiss.”  It was a supple round
whirl of flesh, pink and glistening.  Cas had the irrational urge to press his
lips and tongue to it.
“You want to kiss it?!”
Cas jerked his head up, face flushing guiltily.  Had he said that out loud?
“Yes, you said it out loud.  Hard to miss you saying you want to tongue my
alien-designed baby chute.”
“I’m sorry Dean, “Cas shifted uncomfortably, “I didn’t mean to—“
“You can, though,” Dean said, his eyes fixed on some spot in the distance,
cheeks reddening, “I mean, if you want.  Now that we know it doesn’t look like
the Pit of Sarlaac.”
Cas chuckled, “No visible spikes, I promise.”  He wanted to.  Dean wanted him
to.  And he couldn’t deny that while the video was disgusting, it was also kind
of hot. Cas leaned in.
Castiel pressed his mouth gently to Dean’s orifice.  It was plush and spongy,
much like a human mouth.  He stuck out his tongue gingerly, lapping at the
flesh.  It gave elastically under his tongue, a little rill of fluid pulsing
out of the opening.  Dean groaned.
“Tastes salty,” Cas murmured.
“What did you expect it to taste like?” Dean asked, craning his neck.
“Sweet, I guess.”
“Nothing that comes out of the human body tastes sweet, Cas.”
“I’ve heard if you drink pineapple juice—“
“Blood tastes like copper.  Tears taste like salt.  Cum tastes like bleach. 
Nothing tastes sweet.  Now are you gonna keep going or what?”
“How do you know what semen tastes like?”
“Jeez, Cas, just lick, will you!?”
Cas applied himself to Dean’s opening.  He mouthed around the orifice, nibbling
at the ring of muscle.  His tongue lapped at the outer ring, then pushed in to
the cavity itself.  It gave easily, pliantly, allowing his tongue to slip in
and the gently gripping.  Dean panted and moaned, shifting restlessly above. 
His cock, flushed with blood and traced with bioluminescent pigment, bobbed
above Cas’ head.
“Dean, do you want me to—“
“I can get it, “Dean puffed, hands fumbling below his belly, “I can—“
“Let me,” Cas said firmly, pushing Dean’s hands away and gripping Dean’s cock
firmly.  His hand moved in a smooth long stroke, up from the base to the very
tip, then sliding back down.  He paused to coat his fingers in Dean’s slippery
fluids, then stroked quicker, his hand a slick warm glove around Dean.
“Oh God, Cas…”
Cas stroked him faster and faster, his tongue pumping in and out of Dean’s
hole.  Dean tensed, shouted, and his opening clenched snug around Castiel’s
tongue, the relaxed, letting out a gush of liquid that coated Castiel’s cheeks
and chin.
Cas moved out from between Dean’s legs, letting them fall lax on the mattress. 
He climbed up to lay beside Dean, wiping his face with his tunic.  Dean’s eyes
fluttered open.  He looked relaxed and happy, a look Cas had never seen on
Dean’s face before.  Dean took in Castiel’s wet chin, and then chuckled.
“Ugh, gross, dude.  I basically just squirted on your face like a girl.”
“I didn’t mind,” Cas said, aroused and embarrassed, shifting his erection. 
Dean reached over and grasped  Castiel’s dick.
“Dean, you don’t have to…”
“Cas, I’m not gonna leave you hanging.  That’s a dick move and if there’s
anything I know how to do it’s be good in the sack.  Do you want to put it in?”
“Dean, you’ve made it quite clear about your feelings—“
“I know Cas, I know, “Dean said soberly, eyes searching Cas’ face, “I was
wrong.  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
Cas smiled sadly, reaching up to push a lock of Dean’s hair away from Dean’s
eyes.
“And anyway,” Dean blushed and shifted, “Tongue wasn’t long enough.  Kinda
wanted something deeper, you know.”
 
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