33. The Battlefield is Everywhere

Chapter Track: Fight With Tools - Flobots

The Battlefield is Everywhere

(By dudewheresmypie on tumblr)

“Ha,” Dean huffs, “Figures.”

Castiel doesn’t like the air of calm that Dean has in light of what he’s just said. Dean’s face is on a trained neutral setting, void of any sign of emotion, anything for Cas to get a read on – not that Castiel is particularly skilled in that area in the first place. He thinks about reaching out to bring Dean into an embrace, but feels as though Dean might flinch away from the touch.

“It doesn’t mean that he’s free forever, necessarily,” Castiel says, “Bela says that if she has the resources that she will be pursuing a retrial.”

“I’m not going through a second trial,” Dean deadpans, voice flat and dead.

“But –”

“I’m not putting our family through that again,” Dean snaps, “I’d rather just let the sick fuck go free than put you and Mary and Sammy through that whole freaking dog and pony show again. You think I didn’t see you when I was up there? Sammy cried. Hell, you cried.”

“Your brother and I being moved by the horror of what you have been through does not negate our willingness to stand by your side –”

“No,” Dean interrupts, “Stop. Drop it, Cas. It’s not happening.”

Castiel watches helplessly as Dean passes Mary to his grip and then marches past them and to the front door, which he pries open and slams shut behind him. The silence that he leaves in his wake feels like frost creeping from Cas’ toes upward, making his limbs heavy and his tongue useless and his mind slow.

Mary casts Castiel a bewildered, wide-eyed look and grabs at his ear, babbling, “Mamamama.”

“Ah, little one,” Castiel says, and holds her close to him, nosing at the soft thatch of hair on her head. He rubs her back and she rests her head against his shoulder, forehead pressed up against his neck. She sticks her fist in her mouth and Castiel reaches to remove it.

“You’ll wreck your teeth if you keep doing that,” Castiel advises her, “Let’s find one of your pacifiers, hm?”

Cas walks Mary to the nursery and stoops to collect one of her pacifiers from the cabinet beneath the changing table, offering it against her tiny mouth. Mary eyes him for a moment before she takes it, but catches on quickly enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees movement from the nursery window and treads across the room to look. Out on the hammock, Dean is on his back with his hands folded over his stomach, rocking back and forth, a distant, pensive look on his face so clear that Castiel can see it even from the window.

How peculiar that Castiel used to watch a quiet, pregnant Dean resting on the hammock, and now, while he is no longer pregnant, he is quiet again. The weight of Mary against him reminds him just how long that he and Dean have existed as an entity together – when they met, Dean’s pregnancy was fewer months along than Mary is old now. The night that Castiel pulled over to usher a sopping-wet, naked omega into the passenger seat of his Prius took place only days under a year ago.

That year ago, Castiel submitted to the thought of life alone. He’d dreamed of pups before his life in Denver was whisked away from him. Truth be told, Castiel seldom met people in Denver, rarely dated. Being a surgeon at a high-volume hospital swallowed up most of his time and what little he had left he dedicated to helping omegas in need, a dangerous pastime deeply intertwined with his job.

He had sex, sometimes. Castiel never did when an omega was staying with him, only when he was alone. None of his bedmates clicked. Some smelled better than others, but in the end, it wasn’t right. He had to wonder at the truth of one’s mate smelling best…and here he is now, comfortable in a home as he has never been comfortable before. Because here, with Dean and Mary, does smell right. He feels safe, which perhaps an alpha shouldn’t desire feeling – but then, he’s never been quite a within-the-lines kind of alpha, has he?

“Agah?” Mary articulates, pronouncing the nonsense like a question.

“Omega daddy is okay,” Castiel says, “I think. And if he isn’t, we’ll help him be okay.”

Only then does Castiel notice the droop to Mary’s eyelids and the sleepy heave of her breathing as she sucks on her pacifier. He pets his palm over the back of her head and says, “Of course. You must be exhausted. It’s been a long day for everybody, pups included.”

 He rocks her back and forth, pacing the perimeter of the nursery before he lets out a low note, “When I find myself in times of trouble, mother – no, wait – baby Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom: let it be…let it be…”

Castiel sings through the song, stumbling a little over the verses as he tries not to smell terribly upset and jerk Mary from her sleep. He cradles her, humming and stroking over her soft hair with the pads of his fingers. Her eyes fall closed just as he sings, “And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on in me. Shine on until tomorrow; let it be.”

He ends the lullaby prematurely and lowers sleeping Mary into her crib, wrapping her up in a blanket and placing her bear closer beside her before he eases up. Castiel spares a last glance at her tiny form snuggled up in her cozy crib, little fists thrown up over her head.

“I love you, little one,” Castiel murmurs, and turns to leave the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind him.

Dean doesn’t return to the house for another half hour, and when he does, he’s chilled straight to the bone. April weather is fair during the day, but the temperature drops at night and leaves the need for blankets and one’s mate’s body heat clinging to them. Castiel doesn’t even realize that Dean has returned until a pair of arms slips around his waist from behind as he lifts a plate from the kitchen sink to transfer to the dishwasher. Dean’s hand grips his wrist and the other pulls the plate out of his clutch, sticking it back into the pile of dirty dishes below.

“Your hands are freezing,” Castiel remarks.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles to the back of Cas’ neck, and then peppers light kisses over the skin there before he asks, “Where’s the pup?”

“Out like a light,” Castiel says, “I sang to her and replaced ‘mother’ with ‘baby’ in Let It Be. You would have been very impressed, had you been there.”

“I’m sure,” Dean dryly responds, “Hey, I’m kinda hungry. We have anything sitting around?”

“I can make some quesadillas,” suggests Castiel.

“Nah, man,” Dean says, “I don’t want you to expend the effort.”

“You’re my mate and I will expend effort wheresoever I please,” Castiel tartly replies, “Now sit down. I’m going to make you a quesadilla and you are going to enjoy it.”

Dean chuckles and lifts his hands up in defeat. He says, “All right, all right, if you insist.”

“I do insist.”

So Castiel grates cheese and arranges it with onions and jalapeños in the fold of a tortilla, cranking up the stove. The quesadilla only takes a few minutes to cook through on both sides, and the pleased look when Dean bites into it makes the small amount of effort expended entirely worth it – a sentiment that he shares with Dean, who only rolls his eyes and calls him you big alpha sap again.

They forgo the planned showing of Battlestar Galactica, weary to the bone and too tired to so much as press buttons on the DVD remote. They bumble through the steps of their nightly routine, changing into sleep clothes, brushing teeth and washing faces before they clamber into bed and fuse to each other’s sides underneath the covers.

Despite his exhaustion, Castiel’s mind whirs on a loop of Alastair’s freedom, however temporary it may be. He fears for Dean’s safety, both physical and mental, and it makes his insides squirm like a pit of snakes.

“Cas, for fuck’s sake,” Dean says, voice sleep-heavy, “I can’t fall asleep when you smell so upset. What the hell is going on?”

Castiel exhales and replies, “It’s just – Alastair –”

“Really? Just leave it, Cas. It’s done,” Dean says. On that word, Dean pushes himself out of Castiel’s arms and onto his side of the bed, back to Cas. It feels wrong, and Castiel feels wrong, but he tries to close his eyes and make himself sleep anyway.

X

The mood of the household shifts into a heavy melancholy, in sync with the sky clouding over and rain fizzing over the quilt of mountain landscape, bathing everything in gray. When the news of the mistrial reaches Kevin, he sequesters himself in his bedroom again, and Castiel places his meals outside of his door like Dean used to when Kevin first arrived.

Mary senses the change and reacts no differently than her fathers or uncle Kevin, and fusses on a loop for hours on end, hardly sleeping and not comforted even by her bear or teething toys.

Castiel’s family reacts to the mistrial as expected: they leave. Balthazar offers sympathies and Anna hugs Castiel goodbye and instructs him to keep texting her pictures of Mary, saying that they’re the highlights of her days. Gabriel, too, leaves, although with the promise of a swift return in a week or so, along with his belongings. The prospect of Gabriel occupying the pull-out bed while he apartment hunts for a place in Denver agitates Dean even more, shifting Dean’s moroseness into irritability.

It takes days for Dean to discuss Alastair aloud again, and he only does so briefly to inform Castiel that Bela called again.

“She says the retrial can’t happen for a while, I guess,” Dean says flatly, and wraps his arms around himself despite the space heater on full blast only a few feet away, “Something about biased jurors or something. I dunno.”

On the day that the bout of rain at last lets up, Castiel takes the sun as a sign. He spends his early morning comforting his fussing pup and sipping coffee while Dean snores away for at least another couple of hours. Something about his hopeful attitude quiets Mary, and she sits well-behaved in Castiel’s lap as he browses through Yelp reviews for restaurants in Salida.

An outing will do them good, and trying something new will be even better.

“You know, the saying is that the way to an alpha’s heart is through their stomach, but I personally feel that the sentiment applies much more to omega daddy,” Castiel informs his daughter as he clicks through to the review page of a pizza place. Mary responds by waving her teething toy at Castiel and then promptly dropping it on the floor. Cas scoots the desk chair back to retrieve it and places it in Mary’s lap before he returns to scanning webpages.

“This one sounds nice,” Castiel relays to Mary, “It says ‘Excellent microbrews and delicious wood-fired pizza.’ That sounds right up omega dad’s alley, don’t you think? Perhaps Uncle Kevin might be up for pizza, too. Why don’t we ask him?”

Cas hoists Mary up and with the movement her half-frozen teething ring falls – again – to the floor. Castiel stoops to gather it and says, “I’m told that when I give this back to you that you are learning object permanence.”

Mary swats at his face.

Cas descends the stairs and knocks at Kevin’s bedroom door.

“Who is it?” his voice calls from the other side, faint.

“Castiel and Mary,” Cas replies.

As if in agreement, Mary says, “Awah.”

A shuffle of movement later, and Kevin opens his door just a sliver. Castiel says, “It’s sunny again and I thought perhaps it might be nice to visit town and get food. There’s a pizza place in Salida –”

“Pizza?” Kevin interrupts.

“Yes,” Castiel says, “The reviewers seem fond of the ‘delicious wood-fired pizza.”

“That sounds amazing,” Kevin says, and the door creaks open all the way. A brief smile flits to his face when he sees Mary, though her method of greeting is dropping her toy yet again. Kevin collects it this time, and places it back in her clutch.

“All right, what’s with the family meeting in the hallway?”

Cas swings around and sees Dean in the frame of their own bedroom door, hair sticking out on one side. It makes him smile.

“I was just discussing with Kevin that since the weather is nice and we all need cheering up that we should get some pizza,” Castiel says.

Dean licks his lips and gives Castiel an intense, studious look. It’s the kind of look that one has on their face before they utter a definitive no, so Cas jumps to add, “I thought we might invite Sam and Amelia.”

At that, Dean’s expression changes. They haven’t seen Sam in some time. A half-smile flickers on his face and he grabs at the back of his neck as he says, “All right…sure. I don’t wanna be pizza Scrooge.”

Dean calls Sam to extend the invitation, and from the half of the conversation that Castiel hears while he pretends not to eavesdrop suggests that Sam is relieved to hear from his brother, and even more relieved that Dean wants to get out of the house. Dean repeats several times for Sam not to worry, and Sam must assure Dean that they’ll have a good time, because Dean replies, “Yeah, it’ll be great.”

They agree to meet at five thirty at Amicas Pizza & Microbrewery, and while Kevin and Castiel are cheerful at the prospect, Dean seems still unsure. Cas kisses him and hopes that the affection will do something to help. The results are unclear.

When early evening comes around, Castiel dresses Mary in a pair of miniscule jeans over a onesie that reads Awesome Like Daddy. Dean likes it because the onesie does not specify a particular daddy, and Castiel likes it because Dean’s okay with her spilling sauce onto it.

By the time that they arrive (pulling into the lot right up against the curb just as another car is backing out, with Dean’s subsequent, “Ha! Fuck yeah.”), Sam and Amelia are already waiting just outside of the restaurant. Sam grins when he sees them, and immediately says, “Give me my niece.”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean laughs, “Way to make a guy feel loved,” but passes Mary over anyway.

Sam blows a raspberry at her, and Mary responds by breaking into hysterical giggles.

“Hey, you guys go in ahead,” Dean says, after a beat, “Wanna talk to Cas about something.”

Sam gives Dean a look but says, “Okay. Don’t take too long. I’m starving.”

“You’ll survive, you big baby,” Dean quips back, and Sam shifts Mary to the crook of his left arm so that he can brandish the middle finger on his right hand.

As soon as the rest of the party disappears inside Amicas, Cas asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” Dean replies. He leans over, pressing his nose to Castiel’s cheek, and then brushes his lips across the same space of skin before he says, “Thanks, little alpha.”

“I am not sure what I did, but you’re welcome,” Castiel responds.

They procure a large, accommodating table, where Sam already has requested a high chair and deposited Mary in it. He makes faces at her as Castiel finds his seat and scoots in to look at his menu while Dean uses the restroom. Sam drapes an arm across the back of Amelia’s chair, and she sends him a fond look before ordering a beer from their waitress.

The pizza is a revelation. Castiel silently thanks the internet for being correct, and basks in the warmth of the table, not only the physical from the hot-from-the-oven pizzas, but the warmth beyond that – the warmth in the way that Dean’s eyes crease at the corner when he smiles or laughs, or the concentrated expression Mary gives the small piece of melted cheese that Dean put in her palm.

Apparently, Mary takes the cheese as an invitation to smear grease and sauce all over her face, instead of its intended purpose.

The heaviness of the past few days seems to evaporate, and in its wake are jokes and good beer and the best company on this side of the Rockies. Even with bellies full, the dinner wouldn’t be complete without a round of dessert, which proves possibly better than the meal itself, although Dean says that they should try eating at Amicas again just to be sure. Castiel shares peanut butter mousse with Dean and dips the tip of his finger in when it’s almost gone, pressing it against Mary’s mouth.

Mary looks at Castiel as though she has seen God, and it seems cruel not to let her help finish the remains of the mousse.

“Christ, I feel like I’m about to explode,” Dean says happily, when the plates are cleared and the bill is returned with both Sam and Castiel’s credit cards (following a battle over which of them would be paying, Dean yanked the cards out of their hands, passed them to the waitress, and told her to split it before anyone could argue).

“I think I should use the restroom before we leave,” Castiel says as he tucks his credit card back into his wallet.

“Me too,” Sam says, at the same time that Kevin replies, “Same here.”

“Ehhh,” Dean says, “I’m gonna go out to the car to feed-feed Mary. I’d do it in the omega bathroom, but the joint smells like beans. Do they even serve beans here?”

Castiel shrugs and applies a kiss to Dean’s temple as they stand. He says, “Meet you in a few.”

XXX

Dean wipes what grease he can off of Mary’s face with the bottom edge of his t-shirt before he hefts her up into his arms and tells her, “We’ll just give you a bath tomorrow,” when she’s greasy even after his efforts.

He and Mary walk out with Amelia. She looks…kinda happier than she did when they first met, and the realization makes Dean feel weird – because Sammy looks a little brighter too, and he thinks that they might have done that to each other.

“So,” Dean says, when they pass through the restaurant doors, “You and Sam seem, uh. Good.”

Amelia laughs a little and nods, “We are. You know, I never – I guess, I just didn’t think I’d ever feel good again after my mate died. But surprise, I guess I do feel good. It’s weird. But it’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Just don’t bust him up, ‘cause then I’ll have to break your nose or whatever.”

Amelia elbows him in the side and says, “Very funny. You go feed your pup before she starves to death. I’m gonna wait for the guys right here.”

Dean shakes his head and parts to round the corner of the building. He pauses to lift Mary up above his head and spin her around for some laughs before he brings her back down. This thing that Cas did – the pizza and the beer and the family – it was real nice, real good. He’s spent the days since the mistrial vacillating between feeling hollow and feeling afraid, and he can’t decide which of those was worse.

But this – this helped. The hollowness is filled with a deep sense of contentment and like five slices of pizza and some beer, and the fear feels less important. Dean knows now that his focus should be elsewhere, be on Mary and Cas and building more shit in the garage instead of lying around in bed and robotically watching episodes of Battlestar Galactica (which was only making him feel ever-crappier when he wasn’t enjoying them as much).

Dean hums Ramble On and fishes in the pocket of his jeans for his car keys.

Just as the tips of his fingers hit cool metal, he smells something strange.

Dean looks to Mary, scents the air, and frowns. The smell is metallic, sharp, and drenched in designer alpha cologne. His heart skips a beat and he looks up.

There, against the Impala, his baby, is Alastair.

This can’t be real.

Automatically, Dean pulls his hand from his pocket and curls his arm protectively around Mary, an action that only seems to pique Alastair’s interest instead of deter it. He cocks his head, leaning casually against the side of the car and smiles directly at Mary.

“So, this is the little bastard pup.”

“Don’t call her that,” snaps Dean, “She has an alpha father.”

This is bad. This is extremely fucking insane mega-bad. Every parental instinct in his body is telling him to protect his pup, his own well-being be damned. Protectprotectprotect pumps through Dean's body in a way that it never has before, thick and rich and torn between flight and bloodthrist.

“Ah, yes. Your mate. That’s so…quaint. Strange is the alpha that chooses damaged goods.”

“I’m not damaged!” Dean barks, “Okay, fuck. I am. But I’m not goods, you asshole. I’m a damaged fucking human being, and just because I’m an omega doesn’t make me some kind of merchandise. My worth isn’t friggin’ based on my lips or my eyelashes or my ass or whatever crazy-ass, messed-up alphas get off on. I’m worth something because I’m me.”

Alastair laughs, and the sound spears right to Dean’s core. That laughter is the same laughter that he heard in the beginning, when he tried to fight. It’s the same laughter he heard when some alpha left him broken and bleeding in a heap somewhere, right before Alastair told him, you should try harder next time.

“Your activist alpha really has done a number on you,” he remarks, “I wonder what he’d think if he saw the way that you went belly-up to please me, the way you’d present at the snap of my fingers. It was a pity to lose you, you know. A real shame you had to leave for, well. That.” he flicks his eyes to Mary, who makes a soft noise.

Dean takes a step back and says, “You fucking touch her and you’re dead. I will rip your fucking balls out and feed them to you.”

“In that case, you would have learned from the best,” Alastair jests.

Before Dean can snap back, there’s a whoosh of movement and a thunderous growl, something so deep and angry that it would terrify him if he didn’t know who the growl belonged to.

“Cas –”

Castiel bolts in front of Dean and tackles Alastair. Their bodies collapse, tangled, into the empty parking space alongside the Impala. Castiel slams Alastair’s head back on the tarmac and his skull connects with a crack only instants before Cas slams his fist into Alastair’s face.

“You son of a bitch,” he shouts, voice echoing in the space of the lot, “Don’t you fucking threaten my mate, and don’t you lay a goddamn finger on my pup.”

“Oh, she’s your pup now –”

Castiel sends his fist up into Alastair’s jaw. He bites out, “The law won’t deal with you? Fine. Then I will. You caused my mate more pain than anybody should see in a hundred lifetimes and I swear I will make you feel every last thing that he did.”

Mary begins to sob, rattled by the states of her fathers. Dean clutches her closer to him and stumbles back, watching Cas typical iron grasp on his self-control shatter into a billion pieces in the name of protecting his family. It's an alpha instinct, they say, but as Dean watches Alastair and Cas tangled on the tarmac, he feels a prickle up against his neck - raw, powerful need to defend. That is his mate, and Alastair insulted his pup, against his car. This is beyond a past between them. It's personal.

“Holy crap.”

Dean turns and sees Sam and Amelia, and Kevin, who hides behind Amelia’s shoulder, good eye wide with terror. It’s terror that Dean hasn’t seen since he and Kevin were locked up together, since they watched each other being yanked from their mattresses to take whatever was dealt to them and since they watched each other being tossed back behind bars like garbage.

Behind him, Cas makes a strangled noise. Dean shifts again and sees Cas on the ground and Alastair kneeling beside him, blood running from his nose and forehead. Dean’s lungs seize when Alastair surges to grab at Cas – only a second growl rumbles along and in a blink Sam throws Alastair off of Castiel. Something in Alastair’s body breaks, but Dean can’t see past his brother to figure out what it is.

Alastair laughs. It’s a blood-garbled, ugly noise.

And then Dean feels it.

He feels fury. He doesn’t feel empty or scared, but enraged. His whole body feels like it’s filled with lightning, hot and snapping through him in jagged, splitting cracks. He turns to Amelia and Kevin and says –

“Take her someplace safe.”

– and deposits Mary into Kevin’s arms before he steps forward, off of the curb and into the parking space with three furious, growling, spitting alphas.

“Cas, Sammy,” Dean says, “Back off.”

Both of them stop immediately. Sam sports a split lip and Castiel looks like he’ll have a hell of a shiner on him tomorrow, but neither of them is in the broken shape that Alastair is in. He sits crumpled and laughing at Dean’s boots, blood pouring from his head, slithering over his neck and soaking into the ground.

“My little protégé,” Alastair grins, his white teeth bright red with blood, “I came here to thank you. I never did get a chance at the trial – ugly business, you know – but thank you. Your ass raked in tens of thousands – no, hundreds of thousands of dollars and my God, you were beautiful at the end. So willing, so broken –”

Dean surges forward and hauls Alastair up by the red-soaked collar of his shirt, yanking him so hard that that they stumble together an entire one hundred and eighty degrees, Dean facing his brother and his mate. He throws Alastair’s head against the curb, and again there is a crack, a crunch.

Dean rests his boot on Alastair’s skull.

Alastair just chuckles, “A bitch like you couldn’t hurt me.”

Everything goes white as manic, volatile feeling flows like liquid lava in his veins.

He lifts his foot, and he stomps down. Dean stomps down on Alastair’s head as hard as he can, pouring every ounce of fear, of pain, of hatred – every last terror that he felt – into the power of his leg. At the contact, Alastair’s bones make a brittle, wet splintering noise.

“Well, this bitch just did,” he says.

The lump of blood and bone at Dean’s feet makes him sway on his feet. Sam steps forward to steady him with a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Cas ducks down and takes Alastair’s wrist in hand, as though his state isn’t obvious from the fucking brain on Dean’s shoe.

“He has no pulse,” Castiel states, uselessly.

Dean sets his jaw and says, “Good.”

It takes several minutes for Dean to come down from the soaring adrenaline. When the inferno of energy starts to ebb, he sees that they aren’t alone. A crowd has formed around them, people with hands to their mouths or phones out, recording it all. Anxiety washes over him in waves. What did he do? He feels sick to his stomach and weak in the legs and goddamnit, he isn't supposed to be this pathetic. He was protecting his family, protecting himself.

When red and blue light flashes in Dean’s vision, he thinks he’s hallucinating. It’s only when he sees Jo rushing toward him that it strikes him – he just killed a man. He killed Alastair Locke, and he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing. He shivers and curls into himself, wrapping his arms around his body. He barely registers Cas standing at his side.

“Dean, what happened?” Jo asks, “God, are you okay?”

“He was on my freaking car,” Dean says, “He called my pup a bastard. He told me I was damaged goods, except he’s the fucking one that damaged me for seven years and nobody wanted to do a goddamn thing about –”

“Dean, Dean,” She says, stopping him with a hand on his chest, “It’s okay. Well, no, it's kind of not. But we'll make it okay.”

Dean watches as Victor appears from behind Jo and surveys the mess of blood and flesh dead against the curb. Victor remarks, “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What?” Dean manages.

“He threatened your pup, didn’t he?” Victor says, lifting a single brow at Dean.

“…Yeah,” Dean says.

Victor turns his attention to Cas and says, “And he threatened your mate, right?”

“Yes, he did, because nobody in this goddamn county does their job and I am absolutely –”

“Cas, baby,” Dean says softly.

Castiel cuts off.

“Seems to me like you two were well within your rights,” Victor goes on, “Truth be told, I don’t think anybody gives a damn. I should probably still write you a ticket, but I’ll note what happened and have a word with the ADA. And I'll wanna ask you a couple questions now, but we'll get your statements tomorrow.”

“That’s it?” Dean says. He's shaking as he tucks himself against Castiel, leaning into his warmth. His head starts to swim, and he only barely registers Victor's words as he speaks.

Victor shrugs, “You know, I like abiding the law. I follow it to the letter. But the thing is, sometimes folks slip between the cracks, folks that’re usually old, white alphas stirrin’ up trouble ‘cause they’re scared that the world ain’t the same as it was in 1956. Those alphas piss me off. This one – I don’t know that I have the words to describe this one. The system’s supposed to work, but I’m not stupid. It didn’t work for you. Doesn’t work for a lot of folks, because the damn thing’s tilted on its axis. From preliminary scenting of the area, we think that Alastair's been following you.”

"He - what?" A deep, reverberating growl rumbles low in Castiel's chest.

"Easy there, alpha," Victor says, "I have a couple of guys following the scent trail back. They said they'd call me if anything stands out, and they haven't called yet. Could just be that he saw your car and thought he'd antagonize you, but your scents and his scent follow the same path almost exactly. We'll let you know what we find. In any case, I think this is gonna turn out to be a classic pup protection case. Can you describe what happened?"

"I smelled Dean when I was in the restroom," Castiel says, "he was afraid and on the defense so I just - ran to him. I didn't think. I just attacked. Sam followed me and I didn't...I didn't...I couldn't think. It was like..."

"A haze?" suggests Victor.

"Yes," Castiel says.

"That's not surprising," he replies, "A lot of alphas report feeling clouded and focused only on the threat to their family. What about you, Dean? You can be brief. We'll get your official statements on paper tomorrow."

Dean doesn't register the question until Castiel says, "Dean?"

"Uh," he says, "I was gonna take Mary out the car to feed her, and Alastair was right there. I-I don't know. Son of a bitch had his eyes on Mary and I, uh. I froze up. I'm kinda dazed." The words feel heavy as they roll off his tongue and his muscles feel like he just ran a marathon. Even surrounded by Cas' scent and body heat he feels wrong, like he's a damn action figure in Barbie's Dreamhouse, like he doesn't match. Like nothing matches.

"All right," Victor says, "That's good enough for now. I'll be in touch."

“What about our clothes?” Castiel asks, “Aren’t they evidence?”

“I think we’ve pretty much covered what happened here,” Victor says, “This one slithered out of our grip and right into the wolf’s mouth.”

After that, everything starts to blur and blend and twist together. Dean knows that Cas wraps his arm around his shoulders, and that he pulls Dean against him and kisses his head, and he knows somewhere along the line they acquired a blanket from a firefighter. Victor hands Cas a slip of yellow paper, and Dean hands Cas the keys to the Impala. Sam touches his hand to Dean's shoulder and says that he'll be there if Dean needs it. Dean tells him to go home.

He snaps back to reality like a rubber band in the Impala. They’re not in town anymore, but on the dirt road that crawls through the mountains to their home. God, home. That’s just what Dean needs. He thinks that he’s probably tired, but instead of weariness he feels a buzz of energy. His brain stutters and doesn't seem to work right, doesn't register that he should be exhausted, or maybe guilty, or maybe relieved. Dean is none of those things.

He doesn't know what he is.

“Fuck,” he states.

“Yes,” agrees Castiel.

When Cas pulls up to their house, they have to wake Kevin, who’s fallen asleep against Mary’s seat, and extract Mary where she has fallen asleep in the seat, worn out from the chaos. Dean carries her inside and tucks her directly into her crib, swaddled in blankets.

Castiel waits for him just outside the door.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Dean says.

“Hm,” Cas says, “We should shower.”

So they end up under the spray of the shower nozzle, washing until the water runs from pink to clear and they no longer reek so heavily of anger and gore and alpha. Instead of toweling dry, Dean backs Cas against the bed, wet and slippery and naked, and climbs on top of him. They kiss like that, up against one another in a heated mass of limbs, tongues pressing together, teeth nipping and moans falling out from their lips.

But when Dean moves back to grasp Cas’ erection and sink back on it, Cas says, “Wait,” and stops Dean with a palm to the shoulder.

“What?”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you. I’ve been meaning to for a while, now.”

“Well, shoot.”

“I wondered if you would fuck me,” Castiel says, plainly.

He can’t mean – but he does, doesn’t he? Dean’s brows sweep together and he tries to collect himself, managing only an ineloquent, “You want me inside you.” It comes out as a statement instead of the question that he intends it to be.

“Yes.”

“You sure? I’ve never done that with an alpha – only other omegas –”

“Shh,” Castiel says. He scoots back on the mattress and pulls open the drawer on his nightstand. He throws something at Dean and Dean catches it, one-handed.

A bottle of synthetic slick.

Dean glances from the bottle to Cas, and from there, they’re through with questions. Cas isn’t a creature of impulse as alphas are portrayed to be – he’s methodical and thoughtful and level-headed, and he wouldn’t suggest something like this if he hadn’t thought all the way through it.

“I’ve had another alpha do this,” Castiel whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “You have to coat your fingers – and don’t be stingy – and you have to open me up. I don’t ease open like you.”

Cas smiles at that, and Dean smiles back. He pops open the cap of the synthetic slick and pours it out over his hand. It smells a little odd, sweet, but rubbery. Dean puts it out of his mind as he edges up toward Cas, who licks his lips and spreads his legs apart. Cas doesn’t actually look that different than an omega at first glance, just that he doesn’t have slick leaking over his ass and thighs like Dean has right now. Dean reaches to brush his fingers over Cas’ hole, the ring of puckered, pink muscle, and Cas lets out a groan.

Dean presses in a single finger up to the first knuckle, and Cas complains, “I’m not that delicate, Dean.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Dean says, and pushes the rest of his finger inside Castiel. In slow, unpracticed strokes, Dean works his finger in and out. But then, he brushes against something that makes Cas arch right off the mattress and let out a gasp, and he realizes –

“Hey, I thought that was an omega thing,” he says.

“No,” Cas snarks back, “The prostate is universal across males.”

“Man, if I had known that earlier, I woulda done this ages ago,” Dean says, and presses into it again.

Castiel whimpers. That’s when Dean starts to pick up on the rhythm of things, strumming his fingers inside Cas, working him open one digit at a time until he looks like he could take Dean inside him with ease.

But when Dean bites his tongue and moves up to mount him, Cas says, “Slick your cock.”

Dean makes a face and replies, “Bossy fuckin’ alpha,” although it’s in good humor. He reaches for the bottle and makes himself as slippery as he thinks he’ll need to be, careful not to be stingy, as Cas warned. Then, at last, Dean cups his hands under Cas’ knees and pushes them apart, spread wide enough for Dean to wedge into the space between them. He grips his cock in his hand and Cas’ thigh with his other.

When he starts to press in, Cas lets out an inhuman whine. He begs, “Please.”

There is something so sexy about this, about an alpha spread out and slicked up and flushed with need, ready to take Dean into him – this is the actual nexus of sexy, everything that every debauched dream should feature. When Dean finally presses in to the hilt, Castiel throws his head back against the pillows.

“Yes,” he says, “Yes, good. More, please.”

“That is the politest request to be fucked that I have ever heard.”

Cas levels narrowed eyes at Dean and says, “Damn it, Dean, will you move your omega ass and fuck me already?”

Dean laughs, loud and lust-drunk, and says, “Yes, sir.”

He draws out of Cas and then thrusts back in, picking up an old beat that his body hasn’t quite forgotten. Having Cas tight around him has Dean’s head spinning, his limbs melting into butter and his breath coming quick and heavy. He wants more, and starts driving into Cas at a faster pace, taking him harder, rougher.

Cas is lost to it. He’s groaning and pleading and clawing at the sheets, lifting his hips to meet each roll of Dean’s hips.

Dean watches in fascination as he sees Cas’ knot swell against his belly, almost purple with the need for release. He should – yeah, he should touch it. Dean reaches between them and grips Cas’ cock, an action that earns him a keening sound and an immediate, desperate thrust of Cas’ erection into his fist.

Dean thinks he might be smiling as he fucks into Cas and works his hand over Cas’ knot and up to the head of his cock, thumbing along the tip.

Something about that must work, because Cas spears himself onto Dean like a man possessed and then comes fucking fireworks all over his abdomen. Jesus Christ, how do teenage alphas ever clean up after jerking off? Because that is a lot of –

“Oh, shit,” Dean says, and he goes marvelously limp in Cas’ arms as he comes inside his alpha. He pulls Cas into a bruising kiss, which Cas takes as an invitation to coil his arms around Dean and press their tongues together as Dean softens inside him.

It’s weird how easily they pull apart. If Cas hadn’t asked Dean to do this, they’d probably end up falling asleep tied together, too beat to stay up until Cas’ knot goes down. Cas curls his arm around Dean and brings him in to kiss his forehead, nuzzling lazily before he says, “I liked that very much.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, “We should do it again sometime.”

The weight of sleep starts to cloud Dean’s head as he pants against Cas’ side. Vaguely, he’s aware of his own voice mumbling, “Love you.”

And Cas’ voice saying back, “I love you, too.”