22. Highest Foe You'll Ever Grace

Chapter Track: Icarus – Bastille

Highest Foe You’ll Ever Grace

Dean spends the morning gathering his thoughts. He muddles through his typical early routine: collecting Mary from her crib to feed and change her, tucking her in the sling so that he has both hands free to start a pot of coffee for Sam and Cas, and flipping on the TV while he waits for his lazy-ass alphas to wake up.

Mary gazes up at him through curious eyes, eyes that don’t quite look like Dean’s. She shakes her fists at him and he can’t help but smile, even with the anxiety thrumming through his veins. Before he can tell anybody else about the crap that he’s been through, the shit that he’s seen and the pain that he’s felt, he needs to tell Cas. And he needs to tell Sam. They deserve to hear his story before anybody else does, and they deserve to know the shitstorm that’s about to hit.

Sam emerges from his room before Cas does. He narrows his eyes at Dean when he spots him on the couch and says, “Do you think you two could at least try to be quiet? Would that kill you?”

Dean lifts his brows and says, “Maybe. Maybe the whole world’s gotta know how nice Cas’ knot is.”

Sam crinkles his nose and protests, “Dean, ew.”

“I made coffee,” Dean replies, as a sort of peace offering, something to calm Sam down before Dean opens the can of worms containing everything that he’s been trying to hide and put behind him. Part of him wants to keep it that way, to keep his lips zipped and the past stowed safely behind him. He doesn’t have to go back. He knows that Cas and Sam won’t force him.

And maybe that makes some of the difference – nobody is forcing him to speak about what he’s been through. They want him to, but they’re not going to squeeze it out of Dean if he doesn’t want to discuss it. But the thing is – he needs to talk about it. He can’t just shut up and forget about it, because there are people stuck back there, people that he’s known for years. There are omegas that need his help and he can’t just let them rot out of some kind of stupid self-indulgence.

Dean would love to be selfish and forget it all.

But he won’t be.

“What’s on your mind?”

Dean glances up and sees Sam rounding the couch with mug in hand. He sets it on the coffee table and stirs it with his spoon, clouds of creamer filling out to the outside rim. Dean doesn’t realize that he’s staring until he jerks his attention up and sees Sam gazing at him. The look is intense, brows drawn, a frown deep on his face.

“What?” Dean says irritably.

“You’re acting really weird,” Sam responds, “Is this about the interview? Because you can tell me no, Dean. I swear, dude, if you don’t want me to say anything, then I –”

“It’s not that,” Dean jumps to say, “Well, it’s kind of that. It’s…”

Just then, the door to the master bedroom swings open and Cas pads out, looking rumpled and reeking of sex, even though he’s thrown a clean set of pajamas on. He glances from Sam to Dean and back again before he cocks his head and asks, “Is everything all right?”

Dean gives a halfhearted shrug that ends in jostling Mary, who makes a gurgle of protest from the sling. Sam and Cas both stare at him, all alpha and concern and protectiveness. It makes the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end.

“Somebody pour me some scotch,” Dean finally says.

Cas treads to the kitchen and takes down a bottle, something mostly untouched and an inviting golden-brown.

“Whoa, are you sure that’s wise?” Sam asks, and sends a sharp look at Dean and Mary, “Aren’t you breastfeeding?”

“As long as Dean doesn’t overindulge, there’s nothing wrong with a drink,” Castiel replies, “Restricting caffeine is more important than restricting alcohol. And I think we might allow Dean some space on this.”

Dean accepts the glass of scotch from Cas’ grip and stares into the liquid. He tips back a swallow, eyes shuttering closed at the familiar burn of liquor flowing down in his throat, and warmth pooling underneath his collarbone and in his belly. He inhales a deep breath and drums his fingers on the arm of the couch before he works up the stones to look at his mate and his brother again.

“Sammy,” he says, “You can’t do that interview.”

“That’s fine,” Sam says, “I told you that. You’re more important than some interview.”

“Let me finish,” Dean snips, and holds up a hand. Sam backs down, and Dean goes on, “You can’t do that interview, because…’cause I’ve gotta do something. About what happened to me. There are – there are other omegas still there, and. And. A-And we’ve got to get them out. I’ve been so fucking stupid and so selfish and there are people back there that need me. I got out and I just left them.”

Dean glances down at Mary. He’s afraid to tell them everything, scared shitless of filling in the gaps between what he’s already revealed to Sam and Cas – but more than he’s afraid for himself, he’s afraid for Mary. Dean doesn’t give a crap about himself. It was never about him. Leaving Alastair’s wasn’t about him. It was all about her, his pup, his Mary Grace. If Dean is in danger, that’s fine. But he doesn’t want Mary in the line of fire.

But Dean swallows his fear with a mouthful of whiskey.

He starts at the beginning, speaking in quiet, hard words and clipped sentences. He knows that Cas and Sam have heard some of this but he doesn’t bother skipping over any hairy detail, not the needle in his arm or his bleeding ass when he came to behind bars. The glass of whiskey drains without even a quarter of the bullshit tale being told, but Dean doesn’t dare go for another drink, just lets his hands shake and the shame burn on his face.

“There was this kid,” Dean says, and thumbs along the rim of his empty whiskey glass, “named Kevin. He was just a fucking pup, and he risked his hide to bust me outta there. Clawed the shit outta some meathead’s face and gave me just enough time to book it. Never ran so hard in my life. I was okay with being there after a while. I was the boss’s favorite. Sometimes I thought he even liked me, and that was more than I could say for dad, you know? But uh, Mary made it different. Overheard a couple a’ the guys saying that Alastair was gonna kill her, and I couldn’t let him.”

“Oh, Dean,” Sam breathes.

“I never even told Kevin my name,” Dean says, and shakes his head. He smears his hands over his eyes and goes on, “He didn’t even know who the fuck I was and he helped me anyway. He’s still back there. If he’s even alive anymore. S’my fault.”

“No,” Cas says, voice firm. A thread of alpha command hardens the word, and remains as he repeats, “No. None of this was your fault, Dean.”

“All of it was my fault, little alpha,” Dean says. His voice cracks on the pet name little alpha, and God, he feels so fucking selfish. While there are omegas taking so many knots that they bleed, omegas getting chased down and whipped, Dean is here with an alpha all his own, one that loves him and takes care of Dean and the pup.

“I don’t want you to talk like that,” Castiel replies, “Stop. You were abducted. What happened to you is the fault of a sick man and a faulty system.”

“And a shitty family,” Sam murmurs.

“Sammy,” Dean starts.

But Sam just shakes his head and replies, “I have to make a call. I’ll be back.”

Dean watches his brother’s back retreat, hair yet uncombed and half-drunk coffee left behind on the coffee table. That’s exactly how this whole crapfest feels: like a cold cup of coffee. It’s bitter, but there’s no pleasant warmth or touch of ice to back it up, just lukewarm, disappointed liquid to choke on and sputter up.

“Do you think he thinks it’s my fault?” Dean asks. The words come out hoarse and used, the way he’d sound after an alpha paid to knot his mouth. His tongue feels heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth, but when he tries to swallow to fix it, he just feels worse.

“Oh, no,” Castiel says. He moves from his place on the armchair and to the couch, where he gathers Dean into his arms and holds him close. Dean doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve the strong arms holding him together, doesn’t deserve to press his nose into the collar of Cas’ t-shirt and scent the place where sweat has gathered.

“Dean,” Cas says, and tips Dean’s chin up with his hand. The urge to lower his eyes pricks Dean’s skin like hundreds of tiny needles, but when he tries, Cas shakes his head and keeps Dean’s chin level. He presses a kiss against Dean’s forehead and says, “Sam does not place the blame on you. I do not place the blame on you. I’m…horrified at what has happened, but I would never blame you. I’m just so relieved that you made it out alive, and that you and Mary are alive and safe.”

At the mention of her name, Dean lowers his gaze to the pup nestled against him. She still watches him. Dean reaches into the sling and pets a hand over her soft, light-colored hair. He’s happy that she’s safe, too. His sweet pup deserves everything in the world.

But Kevin and the other omegas deserve everything in the world, too. If nothing else, they deserve a fighting chance – and they can’t do that without Dean’s help.

Dean shifts and presses his lips against Castiel’s. Cas kisses back. It’s sweet and tender, everything that Dean wants and nothing that he deserves.

“Ahem.”

Dean breaks away from Cas and sees Sam standing a safe distance away from the couch, hair now combed and a somber expression on his face.

“I canceled my flight,” he says, “and the interview. But Dean, we have to tell everything you just told us to the police as soon as possible. The sooner that we get them involved, the sooner we can help your friends.”

They weren’t really his friends, but Dean doesn’t bother making the correction. He’s tense and clammy at the prospect of relating the whole sordid suckfest to another person right away, especially a complete stranger, but he knows that Sam is right. This isn’t just about him. This is about every omega trapped under Alastair’s thumb. He can’t let them suffer because he can’t keep it together for a couple hours.

“Okay,” Dean says.

Cas looks surprised, and asks, “Are you sure?”

“Of course he’s sure,” Sam says, “There are lives at stake.”

“Yes, well, I’m worried about two lives in particular,” Castiel says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over the sling, where Mary’s head rests.

“I’m sure,” Dean says. He catches Cas’ hand in his and squeezes his fingers, “I just have to…uh. Get dressed, and stuff.”

In truth, Dean needs a breather more than anything. He undoes the sling and passes Mary off to Castiel, and relocates to the bathroom. He showers to rid himself of the smells of last night, and redresses in some of Cas’ jeans and a black band t-shirt. Once he brushes he teeth, Dean feels a little like he can face this crap. He doesn’t reek like sex and liquor, so at least he smells credible, right?

Dean cuddles Mary to his chest as he waits for Cas and Sam to be ready. Scenting the soft crop of hair on her tiny head gives him an edge of readiness. Hell, this isn’t even just about bailing out the other omegas. This is about caring for his own, and looking after Mary. He has a duty to his family to take care of them, and sitting on his ass isn’t going to cut it.

Right?

Right.

X

In the police station parking lot, Dean almost considers turning back. Being at the wheel of his baby gave him courage, but only as long as her wheels rolled along the road. Now that she’s stationary, reality seeps in all over again. He shoots a look over at Castiel in the passenger seat.

Cas rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder and says, “You don’t have to do it.”

Dean sighs.

“Yes, I do.”

They climb out of the car, but before they file into the police station, Dean takes Mary from Sam’s grip and presses her tight against him.

The station is plain on the inside. The lobby smells like lemon floor polish and paper, and the walls are painted a dated butter yellow. At the end of the narrow room is a window reinforced with bullet proof glass and, a round speaker in the middle. Behind that window sits a bored-looking, familiar face.

“Dean!” Jo exclaims, face brightening, but only for a moment. She frowns and says, “What’s wrong? I’m guessing that you didn’t just come here to visit me.”

Dean shakes his head. He glances back at where Sam and Cas stand behind him. Neither of them make a move to speak for Dean, and maybe that’s for the best. This isn’t their battle. This is his battle. He inhales and explains, “I guess…I need to talk to somebody.”

“About a crime?” Jo ventures, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Well, no. Kind of. I don’t know what to call it but it’s kind of time sensitive. I think. I don’t know. Um. Seven – I guess almost eight – years ago, I was…drugged by this guy,” – Jo opens her mouth to say something, but Dean stops her with a lift of his hand – “Before you say anything, I know, um. Omega rapes. Are practically unsolvable. Especially since that amount of time has passed. But it’s not just that. He took me to this place, and…”

Dean’s voice dies in his throat.

“And what?” Jo urges, “What, Dean? God, we need you to fill out a report. I’m so, so sorry.”

Dean licks his lip and lowers his eyes. He fingers the hem of his t-shirt with his free hand and then lifts his eyes to meet Jo’s, just before he pulls the fabric up. He only peels enough of the t-shirt away so that Jo can see a cluster of ugly scars. He drops the cotton back down and mutters, “Anyway, that’s what happened if you didn’t let them do what they wanted. I managed to bail ‘round six months ago. For Mary, y’know. What?”

Jo’s gaze remains fixed on where Dean’s scars lay under the t-shirt. He shifts uncomfortably and says, “Stop it. I’m already screwed up enough over the damn scars as is.”

“It’s not that,” Jo jumps to say, sympathy filling her features, “It’s that we’ve seen scars like that before. On a body. A John Doe. I’m gonna need to bring you upstairs to Vic. Here, go through the door to your right, and I’ll get you some visitors’ passes.”

They loop around to the other side of the desk through the indicated door, and this time there’s no glass between them and Jo. Jo takes down plastic passes strung over tacks on a corkboard and passes them three before she says to the other cop in the space, “Rufus, I’m gonna take them up to see Victor. I’ll be back down a few.”

Rufus answers this with a mere, “Hm.”

In the elevator, Dean finds himself wishing for another dose of whiskey, but instead just hugging his daughter closer. He’s got to do this, and hey, the police station isn’t nearly as creepy as the ones on TV, so that’s something, right? The level that Jo takes them to looks like a regular office space with cubicles and paperwork-covered desks. The only difference is that the people parked in rolling chairs are in navy blue police officer uniforms.

Jo leads them straight through all of the cubes and to an office with a door. She raps twice and then opens it to a serious-faced beta officer bent over a manila folder of paperwork covered in cramped, neat letters written in ballpoint pen. He looks up when the door swings ajar and says, “Harvelle. This better be important.”

“It is, sir,” she replies, and ushers Dean forward. The officer cocks a brow and Jo says, “This is Dean. Dean, show Victor what you showed me.”

Dean swallows the ugly wash of self-loathing he feels at the idea of showing his scars again and does as instructed. Victor’s eyes go wide at the sight, and he says, “Well, shit, kid,” and stands up. He closes cover of the folder on his desk and says, “Come with me. You two,” he points between Sam and Cas, “I don’t know if you’re witnesses or moral support but you’re gonna sit tight here while I take your friend back for questioning.”

“Questioning?” Sam says, at the same time as Cas growls out, “He is my mate.”

“All right, all right,” Victor says, “You cut the alpha shit with me, you hear? You’re in my office, and in my office, nobody got time for alpha shit. Dean, leave the pup with your mate, please.”

“But –”

“Now.”

Dean bites his lip and flicks his gaze to Mary. He presses a kiss on top of her head and murmurs, “Be good for omega daddy, ‘kay, sweetheart?” and passes her to Cas’ arms.

Now Dean doesn’t even have his daughter to comfort him. He’s got nothing but his own scarred-up, sorry hide, and he knows from experience that his skin ain’t that thick. Everyone thinks they’re made of stronger stuff until a whip cracks down on their backs, and he’s got a feeling that Victor can give a hell of a beating. When they enter a room for questioning, Dean sits down and wraps his arms around himself.

“You cold?” Victor asks. The commanding voice from a handful of seconds before has vanished, instead replaced with something softer. He offers, “I could get you some coffee, or maybe some cocoa?”

“I’m okay,” Dean says.

“I’m gonna ask you to sit tight for a few,” Victor says, “I need to pull some files.”

Dean doesn’t want to be left in this tiny, fluorescent hellhole with his own thoughts, but that’s exactly what happens. It takes everything in him to keep his breathing in order, to throw logic into the whirring cogs of panic in his mind. Thing is, it’s hard to think of the good stuff, of Mary and Cas and Sam and home, when he knows he’s going to relive the bad shit, and he’s gonna have to do it over and over and over again.

But shit, somebody has to do it. Most omegas don’t bother to report the crimes committed against them. The small crap – the microaggressions, the fuckers that say crude shit to you when you walk by them, your buddies making an omega joke and telling you lighten the fuck up like that joke ain’t your life – that flies. Because sometimes you have to let it fly. Sometimes it happens so much that it’s too much effort to bother to fight back.

The big stuff, that’s the same way, but on a scale far worse than some drunk dude asking you if you’re needy for his knot. You got cops that don’t believe you got hurt, you got alphas crowing that omegas are a bunch of attention-seeking liars, and you got folks telling you that you’re lucky somebody wanted your ugly ass enough to stick their knot in it.

All at once Dean thinks, shit. If this Victor guy is one of those cops, the kind that blame you for the shit that was done to you, then what’s he gonna do? How’s he gonna help Kevin? Holy shit, what if the body that they found belongs to Kevin?

Fuck.

Victor returns to the room with more manila folders in his hands and sits down across from Dean. He frowns and asks, “You all right? You smell pretty spooked.”

“Honestly?” Dean says, “I am the furthest fuckin’ thing from okay right now, but I gotta do this.”

Victor awards this an assessing look and then opens one of the folders. He explains, “We found an omega’s body a couple months ago dumped in the woods, marked up real bad just like you. As of now, he’s still a John Doe. I’m gonna need you to look at a picture and tell me if you can place him, okay?”

Nausea swamps Dean’s gut as Victor plucks a photograph from the folder and slides it across the table. Immediately, Dean grimaces. The guy’s mostly rotted, been exposed to the elements for God only knows how long. But still, there’s no doubt who the omega is.

“His name’s Gordon,” Dean says, and hands the picture back.

“Gordon,” Victor says, “Gordon got a last name?”

“I’m sure he does, but hell if I know it,” Dean says, “None of the others knew my name. We didn’t like to talk a lot.”

“The others?” echoes Victor, “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that.”

So Dean does. He tells Victor about it all the same way that he told Cas and Sammy this morning. He tells Victor about meeting Alastair in Colorado Springs and taking a needle, about waking up locked up, bleeding and hurting. He tells Victor about The Chair and the chasing playroom and he even tells Victor about Kevin.

“I don’t wanna talk about this crap, man,” Dean says, and stares down at where his hands are folded in his lap, “but I got to. At least for Kevin. Kid didn’t do shit to deserve being there.”

To this, Victor says, “Dean, I need you to look at me.”

Dean does.

“You didn’t do anything to deserve it either, do you understand me?” Victor says, “We have been chasing after Alastair Locke for some time. Man’s been busted before but he just keeps slipping through our fingers. I knew he was bad news, but I had no idea it went this far. I just need to ask one more favor of you, Dean.”

Victor pauses, lifts his brows.

Dean clenches his fists and says, “Yeah?”

“I need you to try and show us where this brothel is.”

“On…a map?”

“Could you find it on a map?”

“Probably not,” Dean mutters.

“Can you lead me and a few other officers to the location?”

Dean gnaws on his cracked and bleeding lips and thinks. When he bailed out of there, it was dark. The sun had set and it was raining, and he didn’t have a flying freaking clue what way to run, so he just ran. A lot of it is a blur of panic and pain, but he remembers thinking things, remembers a weird, lightning-struck tree and the dilapidated ruins of somebody’s log cabin where he ducked to catch his breath.

“My, um. My mate might have to take us partway,” Dean says.

Victor makes a face and asks, “Why’s that?”

“He was the one that found me,” Dean quietly answers.

“Huh,” Victor remarks, “Let’s get him, Winchester.”

Dean shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and nods, following after Victor back down the hall and to his office. As soon as Cas and Sam see them, they stand. Dean reaches out for Mary and Castiel hands her to him. Without an ounce of shame, Dean buries his nose against Mary’s head and breathes in deep. Everything may be fucked up, but his pup is healthy and smells sweet and perfect.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks.

“Dean has agreed to take us to the compound where he was held,” Victor says, and turns his attention to Castiel, “He says that you can help us get to a ballpark area and he’ll guide from there.”

“I can do that,” Cas nods.

The following minutes are a blur of motion, of cops suiting up and readying at Victor’s orders. Protests aside, Jo presses a styrofoam cup of cocoa into Dean's hands while phone calls are made and warrants obtained. Dean entrusts the keys to the Impala in Castiel’s hands so that he can lead the convoy to the stretch of road where he found Dean that first night, naked and bleeding and freezing his ass off. Instead of taking the front seat, Dean ducks into the back, so he can sit with Mary. His heart beats wildly in his chest and Mary starts to cry when they peel out of the parking lot with a trail of cop cars flashing lights behind them. He pets his hand over her hair to soothe her, but she can smell something off on her omega dad.

At first, it’s just like a drive up from town and back to the house. Dean doesn’t usually pay attention to the trees whipping by, just enjoys the music and the ride. But a little over twenty minutes into their journey, Cas slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Dean remembers.

The road looks different in daylight, much less like the muddy horror movie it was all those months ago. The trees out here all look the same, slender, white-bark aspens and crooked firs, but Dean can at least walk along the road and retrace his steps.

“Stay with Mary,” Dean says, when Cas starts to climb out of the car.

“But Dean,” Cas protests.

“Stay with our pup,” Dean commands, “She’s not going anywhere near that place. You have to protect her.”

“They said they’d leave an officer –”

“Cas, stay with the damn pup,” Dean says.

Something in Cas seems to crumble, and he concedes, “Okay.”

“All right, kid,” Victor says, when Dean steps out of the Impala and into the brisk October air, “Let’s do this.”

It feels weird to have a tail of cops trailing after him as Dean walks along the dirt road, past clumps and clumps of trees that all look like each other. How long did he walk along the side of the road? It hadn’t been long, had it? Maybe five, ten minutes? He knows there’s a smaller, more secluded road that leads directly to Alastair’s joint, but Dean would bet a pretty penny that it’s wired up nice and tight. Better to go through the woods, like he did when he ran.

A glimmer of something in the dirt gives Dean pause. He stops.

It’s an old, smashed up bottle. Something with blue glass. He ducks down and picks a piece out of the dirt.

He cut his foot on this. The blood from the incident is long washed away by rain and the elements, but he’s sure of it. Dean was too pumped full of adrenaline to care. His brain registered that he was hurt, but it was only an echo.

Dean climbs back to his feet and cocks his head to the trees and says, “This way.”

“You sure?” Victor asks.

“Positive.”

Dried-out pine needles and gravel crunch under Dean’s boots as he leads them through the trees. Most of it doesn’t look familiar. It was all too dark, too quick to take anything in. He didn’t have anything on his mind but getting away, and he sure as hell never thought that he’d be coming back on purpose. But here he is. Maybe he’s a sucker, but he’s a sucker trying to do something right for goddamn once.

The cabin.

“Fuck,” Dean lets slip.

“What?” Victor asks, “What is it?”

“I hid here to catch my breath,” he says, and points at the square of sagging, rotting logs, “The joint is just a little further up northeast from here, right up the hill. I’ll bet my left nut he’s got cameras, so only chance you got is if you keep off the beaten path.”

“Right,” Victor says, “Thank you, Dean. That’s all I needed. You go back to your mate and pup, and I’ll handle it from here.”

Dean has never been more relieved to hear a sentence in his life.

X

Dean makes Cas wait. He doesn’t want to linger at home and hear about Kevin in the news; he has to know that he’s safe now. Kevin is the whole friggin’ reason that Mary and Dean are both alive, and he knows that should mean a hell of a lot to Cas. It sure as fuck means a lot to Dean. Looking at Mary in his arms...Christ, she's his whole world. He's never felt the kind of thing that he feels when he looks at his pup, and he thinks that feeling is the feeling that changed everything for the better.

Trouble is, waiting is the worst part. The world is eerily quiet, like their surroundings know that something big is on the cusp of occurring, something beyond soft winds rustling patches of trees and the dregs of summer’s mountain wildflowers clinging to life. Dean holds onto Mary the entire time. He feeds her once, and whether it’s to soothe Mary to soothe himself, he can’t say.

But he waits. He waits with Sam and with Cas.

In the rearview mirror, Dean watches a whole bunch of emergency vehicles kick up dust. They drive without sirens on, fire trucks and ambulances and a whole slew of police cars, definitely more than the small county police force.

“Dean,” Sam says, and he points out the window.

In the sky, black splotches grow and grow – helicopters.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, “Do we really warrant this kind of attention?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam says, “This is huge. Fuck.” He opens the door and climbs out, and Dean can’t help but follow, clutching Mary close to him. They watch the helicopters edge closer and closer until they’re directly overhead, low enough to kick up wind and dirt and send Mary into another crying fit. Dean reaches down and covers her eyes with his hand, hushing her.

Behind him, he feels Cas edge near, feels the warmth of his body and the touch of his fingers to Dean’s waist.

Even if the mountains weren’t empty and echoing, the explosion of noise would be unmistakable. From up the hill, Dean hears BANG pop pop pop pop, watches SWAT officers leak from the helicopters like water droplets from a faucet and drop past the points of fir trees and disappear.

The first responders and paramedics swing into motion, opening up ambulances. It’s chaos, and Dean thinks that he hears Cas yell over the helicopters’ racket that they should leave, but he can’t. He won’t leave without knowing how Kevin is. He won’t leave without knowing what the hell kind of mess that he left behind.

Dean doesn’t see Kevin first.

His heart leaps into his throat, thumping out of control. Dean takes a step back as a cloud of officers emerges down the road and careens back into Cas’ chest. Cas steadies him with a hand, but the touch and the scent of his alpha does nothing to calm the panicpanicpanicpanic and runrunrunrun that speed through Dean’s brain.

Alastair, though he is handcuffed and surrounded by an entourage of body-armored police officers, turns his head calmly. His gaze falls directly on Dean. Dean expects a shout, a curse, a threat – anything.

Instead, Alastair’s lips stretch into an ugly smile, and he waves.

“Oh my God,” Sam says, “That’s him, isn’t it? That fucker. I’m going to kill him for what he did to you, I fucking swear, Dean.”

At Dean’s back, a long, vicious growl tears out of Castiel.

More officers file down the hill, many with Alastair’s men in tow. There’s shouting and chaos and paramedics scattering like ants to rush to the scene. The people emerge in waves – cops, criminals…and then the omegas. Paramedics carry them in stretchers rather than attempt to roll gurneys on the uneven ground.

Dean runs forward without thinking, Mary in his arms.

“Dean!” he hears Cas shout, but he doesn’t turn back.

Dean scans the stretchers, sees familiar faces and faces that he doesn’t recognize at all. Skinny, filthy bleeding omegas, dozens of them, seize the scent in the air. It reeks of terror. It reeks of heat. It reeks of blood.

Overhead, more helicopters join the others. The new ones look like news teams.

That’s when, at the end of the caravan of emergency vehicles, Dean sees him – sees Kevin, small and pale. He bolts for the ambulance with Mary tight in his arms, dodging people like bullets. They’re loading him into an ambulance, hooking an oxygen mask around his head, closing the doors –

“Wait!”

“Are you family?” one of the paramedics asks, a stocky beta woman with her brown hair tied back into a bun. Beside her, Kevin looks so frail. He smells like blood and like fear, and he isn’t awake.

“Technically –”

“Sorry, son,” she says. The doors close, the sirens and lights spring to life, and the ambulance jets down the road.

Only a moment later, Cas manages to catch up with him. Breathing heavily, he demands, “Dean, what were you thinking? You could have been hurt. Mary could have been hurt.”

“That was Kevin,” Dean says back, “We gotta follow them. Where would they take him? What’s the nearest hospital?”

“Heart of the Rockies Regional,” Cas answers without hesitation, “I’ll drive.”

Dean kisses Cas on the cheek in thanks, and they jog back to the Impala together. Dean loads Mary into her seat and ignores every question Sam asks. He doesn’t have time to answer questions. He’s just got to know that Kevin is okay. That’s all he wants. Kid did something amazing for Dean, somebody he didn’t really even know. He needs to be alive. Needs to.

Cas starts the car, but he waits to each ambulance and fire truck to head out before him. Dean wants to argue, but he doesn’t, just holds his daughter’s tiny hand and sits in stony, anxious silence before the Impala rumbles down the road and follows the string of red and blue.

It doesn’t take long to reach the hospital, but it takes too long. By the time that Dean, Sam and Castiel pile out of the car with Mary in tow, reporters have swamped the front of the hospital. When they spot them running inside, they leap to action.

“What’s your relation to this case?”

“Are you family of one of the victims?”

Dean turns and aims a glare at the nearest reporter.

“No,” he says, “I’m one of them.”

The barrage of questions avalanches in at this declaration.

“Can you explain what you mean?”

“Are you implying that you were one of the omegas at the compound?”

Castiel growls and shouts, “Stand back! He’s been through enough.” He makes a swat for the nearest reporter, and many of them scatter, most of them betas and omegas unwilling to stand in the path of an alpha coming to the defense of his mate.

But some persist.

“How long were you trapped at the compound?”

“Do you know the other victims?”

Finally, a growl of his own rips out of him, and Dean yells, “Leave me the hell alone! I’m trying to see my friend.”