7. Cheap Wrappings of Lies

Chapter Track: Israel – Siouxsie & the Banshees

Cheap Wrappings of Lies

Castiel’s head pounds and his stomach rolls around inside him like a marble when he wakes. The mélange of scents that greets him brings him comfort, though – sweet, pregnant omega…Dean, freshly laundered sheets…but mostly Dean. He rolls onto his side and gathers Dean into his arms without thinking, pulling him in close so that he can scent all along him, from his neck (Good God, how he’d love to bite that neck) to against his collarbone, down to his pregnancy-sensitive nipples and then to the pup. He snuffles in the sweet scent, intoxicated and satisfied, so happy that he doesn’t realize that this isn’t the typical interaction that he and Dean allow between one another.

“Mornin’ to you too,” Dean murmurs.

“Sorry,” Castiel grunts, and starts to pull away.

Dean, however, pulls Castiel back and presses into him. He’s scenting him back, pressing his nose against Cas’ skin and breathing it in. He rubs his back and asks, “You okay?” in that gruff, soft-spoken way that Castiel has become accustomed to hear from the omega.

Sometimes, he thinks that Dean once was loud.

He’d like to help Dean be loud again.

“Lightheaded,” he at last answers. He doesn’t add what else he’s thinking, which is your smell makes me feel better. That is a sentiment shared only between mates, and while Dean may be playing the role of his mate for this week, Castiel knows well enough not to blend reality and the show that he’s putting on for his family.

Lord, but the smell of pregnant omega is powerful. Having Dean’s scent all over him makes him feel strong. He didn’t know he could get drunk on the aroma of omega like other alphas always seem to. No one but Dean has made him feel that way, the need to roll around in the sheets and fuck somebody into oblivion merely because they smell so delightful.

“Let’s order up breakfast,” Castiel mumbles into Dean’s hair. They could use a little luxury in between the torture that is enduring wedding events with Castiel’s family. Lilith’s family seems no better than the Novak clan, which is hardly surprising. If she’s entering into an arranged marriage, never speaking unless spoke to, eyes always demurely lowered at the ground, she is, as his mother would say, "a trained omega," bred into wealth and good behavior. Castiel knows she likely has never had another option but obedience.

If Dean was truly his mate, he’d never want a mate like that. He wants a mate that is also his equal, quirks of their bodies aside.

At that dangerous train of thought, Castiel makes himself roll out of the bed, away from Dean and that stupid scent. His headache immediately pounds back into him, and Castiel tips back a couple aspirin from the bottle that he packed in his suitcase before he tosses Dean’s vitamin bottle at him and reaches for the phone to dial for room service.

A shower and a change of fresh clothes later, Castiel greets the room service attendant with a dose of cash and a generous tip. They could eat at the little table that their suite affords them, but he instead opts to bring the tray of food back to bed, where Dean sits against his pillows with Castiel’s laptop settled in his lap.

When Castiel peers around to see what’s on the computer monitor, he sees Dean focused on an intense game of online Tetris, and laughs a little. He places the tray on an undisturbed part of the bed and lifts the lids of the silver dishes it is laden with, revealing scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, bowls of fresh fruit, and slices of French toast complete with powdered sugar and a little pitcher of syrup on the side. Dean drowns his toast in syrup and eats heartily, with renewed vigor and sloppiness much more like himself than the show of neatness that he put on during last night’s dinner.

Last night.

Castiel doesn’t remember very much after about his third or fourth glasses of wine, but little flashes of the night flood his mind like sunspots, of handing Dean money for some reason, and then of Dean looking panicked…

Before he can help himself, a growl bubbles up from his throat.

“Whoa there,” Dean says.

Castiel coughs and scratches his hand through his shower-damp hair, “I apologize. Dean, what happened last night? I recall that you were upset.”

Dean frowns and swallows a bite of egg. He complains, “Can’t I eat my breakfast first?”

Castiel nods. A hint of discomfort rolls off of Dean via scent, but his tense body says the most. He doesn’t want to discuss what occurred, but likely will if Castiel asks him to explain. Castiel dislikes the idea of forcing Dean out of information that he is uncomfortable giving, so he instead opts to prompt an information exchange.

“You may have gathered I’m estranged from my family for the most part,” Castiel says, “I believe my invitation to this whole nonsense affair is due only to my mother’s effort to save face. I made quite a stir not very long ago and the social pages had a field day. My involvement in omega rights is what prompted the revocation of my medical license. Over the years I snuck domestic abuse victims, almost entirely omegas, out of the hospital and to my apartment until they could get on their feet. That’s why I have omega toys and medical supplies on hand. The hospital found out after a particularly aggressive alpha infiltrated the omega ward with a gun in search of his mate.”

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“Oh, his mate was long gone by then,” Castiel says, and reaches for the cup of coffee that he ordered for his own meal. He mixes in cream from the stainless steel pot on the tray and takes a sip. The coffee is very, very good. If nothing else can be said for the trip, he can give his compliments to the coffee. And perhaps be content in that Dean allowed Castiel to groom him yesterday. He rolls his shoulders back and explains, “I worked with omega advocates to relocate abused omegas in shelters and safe houses, and that particular alpha’s mate was three states over by the time he had a shotgun in my face.”

Dean stares and doesn’t say anything, just keeps eating. Castiel swirls his coffee and drinks a little more before he continues, “Anyway, there was an internal investigation of the hospital staff after that, and I was unfortunately found out. They gave me the boot, I moved from Denver to Buena Vista, and it is as you see it now.”

Dean has finished his breakfast, but he still doesn’t speak right away. He watches Castiel with careful eyes and then says, “I think if my mom was alive, things might’ve been different.”

Castiel reaches over and starts to stroke his fingers through Dean’s bedhead before he realizes what he’s doing. Dean doesn’t bristle like he did in the hotel lobby, just leans into it. Small as the acceptance of Castiel’s grooming is, it makes him soar inside. Dean lets Castiel arrange his hair into something neater than the nest he woke with and continues, “My mom, she was alpha, dad was beta. She carried me, which I know is weird, but I guess after some fertility treatment she caught, you know? Part of the whole thing was that my dad had this huge alpha complex, like he was so pissed that he was a beta. Mated himself to a beautiful alpha, figured they’d have some strong alpha kids. Everything pointed to me being an alpha. I’ve always been tall, always loved food, always been loud…got my first heat at fourteen, and it was all over. After that, I was just an embarrassment.”

“What about your brother?” Castiel finds himself asking. This morning has been an interesting test of his ability to control his curiosities and desires, and thus far he seems to have failed preventing himself from stupidity in each of those categories.

“Sammy,” Dean sighs, “Dunno. He was just a kid. Sometimes he said shit…I mean, I guess if you worked with omegas, you’ve heard the stories. The first time it happened was on my seventeenth birthday. I knew my heat was comin’ in a couple of days but I went out anyway. Guess the guy could smell it on me, ‘cause he knotted me in alley and – and you know, the usual shit. Called me his little bitch. Told me to stop struggling, stop pretending I didn’t want his knot. As soon as he was finished up I grabbed a morning after pill from the pharmacy, took the first half and went home. Sammy laughed when he smelled alpha on me and grumbled about how much I slept around. I couldn’t tell him what happened. Doubt he’d believe me anyway.”

Sam Winchester.

Dean’s brother is named Sam Winchester? That means –

The young prodigy lawyer that’s been making such a brouhaha all across the nation is Dean’s brother. Sam Winchester already has won a landmark case in California for omega rights, one that likely will escalate to the Supreme Court. He established that in California it is not lawful for an omega’s rapist to sue for custody of any pup born of what they did.

Castiel had had a celebratory drink when he read the article that the case had been won in favor of the omega. Omega rights activists worldwide celebrated. It meant a step closer to equality, and even the smallest step makes him giddy.

Perhaps he shouldn’t tell Dean just yet.

“He was only thirteen,” Dean says, “It’s hard to be angry at him. I dunno. I’m not angry as much as I’m scared shitless that if he found out about all the crap I’ve been through now he’d just laugh and say the same shit, talk about how many alphas I had and what a slut I am. Or whatever.”

A crushing feeling of sadness snaps over Castiel’s heart like a bear trap and wrecks him underneath his ribs. He keeps his hand in Dean’s hair, keeps grooming, because it’s the only way he knows how to show that he’s so sorry, so sad for the demons in Dean’s head. The demons that he wishes he could pull away but can’t.

“I doubt…anything feels okay right now,” Castiel slowly says, “But I believe you, and whatever happened, know that none of it was your fault.”

“Cas, I appreciate that, but the crap that I did –”

“You did what you had to do to survive, Dean,” Castiel cuts in, “and that is all you could do.”

Silence falls between them, thick and uncomfortable in the wake of Dean’s confessions. Feeling grooming between them no longer appropriate, Castiel removes his hand from Dean’s hair and lets it fall back to his coffee cup. When he drinks, the liquid is lukewarm and difficult to swallow. He sets it back onto the tray and stands with the empty plates, placing them on their coffee table for easy access for the maid service.

“Hey, Cas?” he hears.

Dean’s voice is timid again, rough with emotion.

Castiel pokes his head around the partition between the living room and the suite’s bedroom.

“Um,” Dean starts, “About why I was freaked. Last night.”

He pauses and lets those few words fester between them, until Castiel urges, “Yes?”

“Your…Lucifer,” Dean fidgets with his hands in his lap, refusing to look Castiel in the eye. All over again he’s that timid, terrified omega that Castiel found walking along the side of the road in the rain. He swallows and quietly says to his knees, “he was talking to me after dinner. He, um. He knew the guy. That kept me…locked up. My pimp. I guess. I don’t know. Lucifer knew me.”

Anger, thick and white hot, splashes over Castiel and burns his skin, bringing blood and boils to the surface. A low, furious growl rumbles in the back of his throat and his fists clench. Lucifer. Lucifer threatened Dean.

He is going to rip his throat out. On impulse, Castiel reaches for his coffee mug and hurls it across the suite, where it smashes against a generic panting and shatters into a million pieces, splashing coffee over the artwork and the beach-toned wall.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says automatically, and starts inching back away from Castiel.

“Don’t be,” Castiel says, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“What?”

You’re my mate, he thinks. Nobody threatens my mate.

Protectprotectprotectprotect.

His mate and his pup. Ties of brotherhood be damned, Castiel will split Lucifer’s skull in half and drink wine from it. Furiously, he stalks toward the suite door. Dean is hot on his trail, follows him out the door and toward the back stairs, which will be much more efficient in getting Castiel down to the bar, where Lucifer is undoubtedly enjoying a cocktail.

It will be his last cocktail.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims.

The sounds and scent of his omega in distress is enough to rip him from his rage. He glances behind him and sees Dean padding behind him in his pajamas and bare feet, stomach stretching the front of his t-shirt. Castiel pops a kink out of his neck and explains, “Dean. It’s my job to protect you –”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean demands in a whisper, “We’re not mates, not for real. You don’t have to protect anybody. I just thought you should know that your brother is a grade-A douchebag.”

They’re causing a scene.

Like a bird shot out of the sky, Dean sends Castiel crashing back into reality with a bang. A sweat breaks on his forehead and he feels sick to his stomach. It’s the rejection, he knows it is. Because despite Castiel’s brain knowing better than to call Dean and Dean’s pup his own, his body thinks that they are his. They inhabit a space together, sleep in the same bed, share the same food. Castiel provides for Dean and cares for him and his idiot alpha head thinks that means that he’s claimed ownership over him. He acted on instinct alone, something that he didn’t know he was capable of doing. He’s always been able to think things through.

“Shit,” Castiel says, and sways on his feet. Swiftly, he makes his way past Dean and back toward the suite, whose door is ajar. He scrambles to the bathroom and vomits up his coffee and breakfast into the toilet, groaning.

He smells Dean before he sees him, and the scent has him hurling again. His omega rejected him. Shit, shit, shit.

“So sorry,” Castiel moans.

“Dude, what the hell just happened?” Dean asks.

Has Dean honestly not once seen this? Castiel groans and runs a hand back through his hair. He smells like sweat and sick, and he can tell it’s making Dean’s stomach turn just like his.

“Sorry,” Castiel repeats.

“Look, I get the alpha posturing shit. Been there, done that,” Dean says, “Is this ‘cause you’re hungover?”

“No,” Castiel answers. On shaking legs he stands. He reaches for a hand towel and wets it under the sink, running the cool terrycloth over his face to wipe away sweat and the film of bile on his chin. He fumbles with the tiny mouthwash sample bottle and swishes back the entire thing, spitting an aqua-colored combination of mint and vomit into the sink. He watches it swirl down the drain when he runs the faucet, and sighs.

“It is unfortunately a condition,” Castiel says. He’d rather not own up to his humiliating fate, but it would be unfair to Dean to be dishonest. So he continues, “I assume you’ve heard of false pregnancy? It is a condition some omegas suffer.”

Dean nods.

“This is – related,” Castiel says, “It’s. A false mating.”

“A what now?”

“A false mating,” Castiel says, and braces himself against the mirror. He watches Dean’s reflection react to that. Instead of the immediate disgust he expects, Dean’s brows sweep together and his face forms into something much more like confusion.

“Wait,” Dean says, “Let me get this straight. Your body thinks we’re mated?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, “Unfortunately. I apologize.”

“Oh,” is about all that Dean can manage, “And you’re all fucked up like you’re my actual alpha and I just sent you packing.”

“Yes.”

“Shit, dude,” Dean says, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll work past it,” Castiel says, and tries to crack a reassuring smile at Dean. He’s never attempted to work past a false mating before, and as he’s told Dean, psychology was never his forte – he was never the doctor that helped people get through a case of pseudoamoris.

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean catches Castiel when he sways a little and says, “No. It’s cool. I can go along.”

“That is so unhealthy, Dean, I cannot begin to tell you what a terrible idea that is,” Castiel replies.

“Look, buddy, we don’t have time to find you a therapist in fucking Malibu for whatever the shit your body’s decided to do, so we’re just gonna have to make do,” Dean says, and steps forward. His fingers twitch in midair for a half-second before he drops them to Castiel’s hair and runs them through.

Ah, God. Grooming.

Castiel lets out a whimper before he can cut the noise off, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, you totally want my nuts,” Dean says, a smirk plastered across his face, “S’okay. I can play along for a while.”

Castiel watches as Dean licks his lips to wet them. His heart pumps blood faster than it ever has before outside of exercise as his omega swings just a little closer. Just another inch and…

Dean kisses him.

God, it’s the sweetest thing that he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Castiel cups Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him back stroking along the inside of his delicious mouth with tongue, wanting to feel this mouth all over his body, licking a mating mark, or stretched wide by a knot as he comes down Dean’s pretty throat.

Shit shit shit.

Ah well, too late now. He has an erection the size of a skyscraper inside his pants, and he can’t be damned to care.

When the perfect, wonderful aroma omega slick fills the air around them, Castiel lets out a groan and tears their bodies apart. He holds Dean away from him at an arm’s length and says, “Good God, Dean. I. Thank you. That was lovely. We should not take this any further. I am very much losing control over myself at the moment.”

“If you say so,” Dean says, and cocks his head, “You kiss like a pro, though. Good work, dude.” He slaps Cas on the shoulder and laughs, and Cas manages to get out a soft chuckle at that. The toll the rejection took on his body starts to retreat, replaced gradually by the comfort of mate.

“So, um,” Dean coughs, “What does this deal mean for the pup?”

“Just that my body is convinced it’s mine,” Castiel sighs.

Dean whistles, “No wonder you went so alpha-fucked so fast. Your instincts are whacked out thinking your brother threatened your family? That sucks. Hey, if it helps, go ahead and yell at him or something. Just…don’t kill him. It’s probably taboo to kill somebody at your brother’s wedding. But uh, that’s just a guess there.”

Castiel genuinely laughs then, alpha in him comforted by the thought of getting in his brother’s face and defending what’s his.

Mineminemineminemine.

Castiel huffs out a long, tired exhale, and he rests one hand on the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him forward just enough to press a gentle kiss to the center of his forehead.

“Time to get ready.”

“Super,” Dean bites out, “I’m sure today will be a hoot.”

It will, if nothing else, be a story to tell.

X

The afternoon’s festivities include two exciting but separate events: Michael’s bachelor party, and Lilith’s bachelorette party. Castiel is to attend that bachelor function downstairs in the same room that last night’s dinner was held in, while Dean is to accompany Lilith’s bridesmaid entourage and the other omegas out on the town.

Both of them are miserable at the prospect.

“Cas, no offense, but that Lilith broad is fucking terrifying and I wanna come back from this shindig alive, thank you very much,” Dean says, and frowns at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Both events are casual dress, and so Dean’s opted for clothes that bring him comfort – his sturdy jeans, a t-shirt, and the leather jacket.

“You look good,” Castiel says.

Dean huffs and shakes his head. He replies, “You think you’re mated to me. That means you’re supposed to think I look good.”

“I thought you looked good before this problem arose.”

Dean eyes Castiel crotch and then jokes, “Well, something arose, that’s for sure.”

“Dean,” Castiel warns.

Dean just laughs to himself. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he does that, and it makes Castiel turn to butter on the inside. He wants to kiss the lines at the corners of Dean’s eyes, kiss each freckle that the days out on the hammock have granted Dean’s face, and finish at his lips, tasting him until –

“Careful there, alpha,” Dean says, and pats his arm, “Might be weird if you show up to a thing with a bunch of other alphas with a huge, honkin’ knot all up in your undies.”

“A fair point,” Castiel agrees, and ducks out of the bathroom to scent the upholstery and rid himself of the Dean scent that’s all over his skin.

Reluctantly they part ways in the lobby, where sweet-faced, well-bred omegas loop around Lilith in a quiet, unassuming circle, all decked out in mostly pastels and floral prints. Dean shoots a look of terror back at Castiel, and Castiel returns this with an awkward thumbs up. Dean does look out of place among the other omegas – mostly women, though two men in sweater vests loiter among them – but Castiel wouldn’t have it any other way. If his omega (not his omega, another part of his brain echoes) fit in with Michael’s bride, he would feel intensely uncomfortable.

Michael, his soon-to-be-mate, and her friends represent a part of Castiel's past that he thought he left behind long ago. He doesn't delude himself into believing that the airs the omegas put on are their true personalities. They're trained into being mating material for wealthy alphas. Archaic, but a practice of the rich and of his family nonetheless. Logically, Castiel knows that each of these omegas has something different under their pressed-and-pretty wrappings, but he doesn't know that Dean knows that.

Despite the close proximity that he and Dean coexist within, Castiel knows little of him and even littler of Dean's past. The impression remains that Dean never grew up being taught what Lilith was taught, or what her wedding party was taught. 

Castiel doesn’t turn his back until the tour bus meant to carry the omegas arrives at the front of the Inn, and he sees Dean climb on after the parade of pastels. He doesn't know if he feels more sorry for Dean or for the other omegas.

When he enters the room, it is much changed from the previous night. Only a few tables are set out in the center of the hall, and the prevalent scents in the air are alpha (a mere undertone of beta following that), Cuban cigars, and well-aged scotch. At least the scotch will agree with him. As he walks in, he picks Gabriel and Balthazar sticking together against the posh, elite set of friends that Michael has invited to his wedding party. Castiel makes his way to them, but is intercepted by Michael.

“Hello, Castiel,” he says.

“Hello,” Castiel replies.

Michael smiles, “It’s wonderful to see you after all this time.”

“Is it?” Castiel asks.

“Of course,” Michael replies, though there’s something off in the toothy grin of his as he leans forward and pulls Castiel into what must be the world’s least relaxed embrace. Castiel clears his throat and gives a ginger, stilted pat to Michael’s shoulder before Michael releases him. His brother continues speaking as Castiel tries to edge away to his least disagreeable relatives, “Your omega is...quite the interesting choice.”

“My mate is, indeed, interesting,” Castiel mumbles. He would like to avoid an altercation with Michael at all costs.

“I hope you didn’t pick up some other alpha’s stray,” Michael remarks, “You certainly smell mated, but knowing your history…”

“If you insult my mate or my pup again, I will hit you,” Castiel says.

Michael chuckles, “Of course. Just – see that your toy behaves for the rest of the party, hm?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, and only because he hopes it will get his overbearing elder brother out of his hair.

“Good man,” Michael says, and claps Castiel’s shoulder before he crosses the room to speak to some other alpha that Castiel vaguely recognizes as a college acquaintance.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and joins Gabriel and Balthazar, where he requests two fingers of scotch from one of the beta wait staff. He just needs something to tide him over, to get him through this hell of an evening.

“What’d Michael want?” asks Gabriel.

“Oh, the typical,” Castiel says, and accepts his alcohol a moment later, tipping back enough expensive scotch for warmth to bloom in his chest, “He was making judgments on my mate, just like the rest of you.”

Gabriel cocks a brow and Balthazar barks out a laugh. Balthazar says, “Oh, Cassie. Your mate is the talk of the entire wedding. Michael and Lilith are likely just upset that you’ve stolen their thunder with a giant, leather-jacket-wearing, pup-carrying omega under your arm. I was certainly diverted. Anyhow, gentlemen, I see some canapés in the corner calling my name. Wish me luck in that I will not be trapped in conversation with any of Michael’s buffoons, hm?”

“A safe journey to you, soldier,” Gabriel says, and salutes. Castiel rolls his eyes.

As soon as Balthazar is out of earshot, Gabriel asks under his breath, “Dude, kid, you really do smell mated. What’s the deal? You and Dean actually tie the knot? If you know I mean.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel says, “Could you be appropriate for the space of five minutes? Would that kill you?”

“I’m not sure,” Gabriel answers, “But I don’t want to take the chance, you know? Knot knot knot knot knot.”

Charming.

Gabe stretches his arms above his head and then says, “I’m for real here, though. You smell like mate city.”

“I’m suffering from pseudoamoris,” Castiel mutters.

Gabriel clears his throat and says, “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to explain that to me without the doc-talk.”

“False mating.”

“Oh, you sorry son of a bitch,” Gabriel says, and then laughs. He doubles over and slaps his knee, letting out a long guffaw before he rolls back up to his full height and pats Castiel’s shoulder. He says, “Man, that’s rough, buddy. Good fuckin’ luck with that.”

“I appreciate your sarcastic tone, Gabriel. It fills me with joy.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Gabriel replies, “Ah, shit. Luci’s coming this way. Gotta piss, and you’re on your own.”

Castiel discreetly brandishes his middle finger as Gabriel skips away toward the restrooms and he’s cornered by Lucifer.

“Castiel,” Lucifer says, and holds his arms open for a hug.

Castiel downs the rest of his scotch and says, “Lucifer, do you truly expect me to embrace an alpha that threatened my mate and my pup?”

Lucifer’s arms drop down slowly. He folds them over his chest and hums, “Interesting.”

“Interesting, what?”

“You are aware of your little mate’s history, or aren’t you?” Lucifer asks, “You know he’s a whore. How many alphas have bent over your omega whore and fucked him. How much seed they’ve pumped into his slutty little body. I don’t doubt he’s at it as we speak. You think he’s the kind of pervert that fucks other omegas?”

Castiel sets the crystal scotch glass aside on the nearest table. He won’t punch Lucifer and nor will he kill him, no matter how strong the temptation to do so, because Dean asked him not to. Instead, he creeps as close as he can to his brother and pulls him up by the collar of his t-shirt. He snarls into Lucifer’s face and says, “You listen to me, Lucifer, and you listen well. If I ever hear you speak of my mate like that again and I will bring you to my home. I will release you into the woods just to hunt you down and shoot you, and after I clean your bones and cook your meat in my kitchen, I will turn you into taxidermy just so I can set fire to your skin. Do you understand me?”

Lucifer doesn’t so much as blink, but the scent of caution and anger leaks out of him. Even if Lucifer is in full control of his body, his aroma betrays him.

“That is dark, Castiel,” Lucifer just says.

Castiel growls into Lucifer’s ear, “That is not what I asked you.”

“Yes, yes. I understand you,” Lucifer says, “Will you put me down? Your scent is killing me here.”

“Good,” Castiel snaps, but releases Lucifer anyway.

He prays that Dean’s night fares better than his.

X

Dean returns sullen and exhausted. He reports that he spent most of Lilith’s bachelorette party with his mouth shut, but only for Castiel’s sake. If Dean was his real mate, he’d take him to bed to show him just how grateful that show of generous self-control made him, preferably with both of them naked and tangled together.

Instead, Castiel draws Dean in with a hand on the back of his neck again, and kisses his temple. They order in dessert from the hotel kitchen – blueberry pie – and watch trash television until the end of the night, huddled close with scents mingling. Dean falls asleep on the suite’s couch and when it comes time for bed, Castiel ends up heaving Dean into his arms and tucking him under the covers. After he brushes his teeth and washes his face, he joins Dean, cuddled up as close to his omega as he feels he has consent to be.

They rest well that night, Dean going nightmare-free and Castiel roping his arms around Dean at some point during their sleep. When they wake they scent each other and curl up like the day before, though this time they make an appearance at the breakfast area downstairs, well-groomed and looking nice to save a little face for Castiel’s sake.

The rest proves needed later that evening, when they’re subject to the rehearsal dinner, and Dean can’t sit next to Castiel, because as Michael’s brother he’s an automatic part of the wedding party. He knows it puts Dean on edge and tries to send him looks of reassurance between Naomi maneuvering them all from place to place, barking out orders like a drill sergeant.

If Castiel needed convincing to avoid a formal wedding ceremony (he didn’t), this would have been it.

Again, were Dean his mate, he’d have fucked him into the mattress after they return from the dinner. Instead, they decide to do as they did the night previous, ordering in pie and relaxing in front of the flat screen television. But before they go to bed that night, Dean lets Castiel hold his hands against his belly to feel the pup kick.

He goes to sleep content.

To their relief, the wedding schedule allows for a day of rest between the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony itself. Castiel and Dean take the opportunity to explore the town on their own. Castiel insists upon some shopping, since Malibu contains a far more extensive selection of shopping venues than tiny Buena Vista, and Dean’s wardrobe begs some beefing up.

Despite his initial resistance, Dean appears to enjoy himself. He finds t-shirts emblazoned with the logos of his favorite bands in some alternative store and brings out at least a dozen, all of which Castiel purchases, because he seldom sees Dean so happy and the man deserves a damn reprieve from the bullshit that is Castiel’s family. At the same store Dean holds out a tiny piece of clothing at Castiel with a please on his lips.

It is a newborn-size onesie with the Batman logo across the front.

And how in heaven’s name is Castiel supposed to say no to that?

They break for lunch at a sandwich place, where Dean eats to his fill before they visit the beach, since the wedding won’t take place there.

“I’ve never seen the ocean ‘til now,” Dean says, when they step through the sand. Dean refuses to remove his hiking boots even when Castiel said he would get sand in them. Castiel, meanwhile, has his sandals in one hand and the cuffs of his jeans rolled up so that he can step in the water without getting the denim wet.

“Really?” Castiel says.

“Grew up in Kansas,” Dean shrugs, “Never enough money for a vacation, you know? Wait, I guess you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“How you ever turned out to be such a non-shithead when everyone is in your family is a bag of dicks, I do not understand,” Dean says.

Castiel chuckles, “There are a lot of us. Somebody had to be the black sheep.”

“Guess so,” Dean says, “I mean, hey. There’s only me and Sammy, and I’m a black sheep too.”

“Birds of a feather, I suppose.”

“Sheep of a wool?” suggests Dean.

Castiel laughs again.

When they return to the Malibu Beach Inn, the sun has disappeared over the horizon. They dodge family members from both sides of the wedding party, opting to be recluses, and hole themselves up in the suite. They order in room service and watch a movie on demand on the TV. It’s one of the loveliest nights that Castiel has ever had with his family involved.

X

The morning of the wedding is chaos. Dean and Castiel wisely choose to slip away for breakfast in town while everyone else is up in arms about where this goes or where that person is, and where did the centerpieces go? Castiel wants no part of that, thank you very much. So they enjoy pastries together before they brave the maelstrom of the nuptials.

Once returned to the Malibu Beach Inn, Castiel is whisked off and shucked into his suit while Dean retreats to the suite to iron his things and dress for the ceremony on his own. It makes Castiel antsy, for which Gabriel teases him mercilessly, but he trusts Dean will be fine. Dean has been through much worse than this wedding, he tells himself. Much, much worse.

The air that surrounds Michael and the rest of them as groomsmen is almost grim, teetering on a stifling precipice of duty that already makes Castiel wish for the pre-reception cocktails, so he doesn’t have to think about how stupid all of this is. Still, he pastes on his best smile for his family’s behalf, and also because he doesn’t want to suffer any sort of angry interaction with his dragon of a mother.

When at last the ceremony begins, Castiel is starving and freezing his ass off in the air conditioned space outside of the hall, where the wedding is taking place.

Castiel is paired with one of the male omegas in Lilith’s bridesmaid entourage. He looks disappointed to be paired with one of the groomsmen that smells mated, and Castiel feels a little sorry for him, if only because he’s disillusioned. They enter the hall as practiced, to the soft roll of a vaguely familiar piano tune in place of a wedding march.

Michael stands at the alter beside a nervous-looking pastor, hair handsomely combed back on his head, but no smile on his face as any other groom might have. At the front, the groomsmen and bridesmaids split and stand on either side.

Lilith is admittedly a vision. She, like Michael, has the look of duty written on her face, but she does look everything that an alpha would want their omega to be. Petite and blonde and big-eyed, she carries a bouquet of gently colored flowers. When she reaches the alter, the pastor begins to speak.

Oh, Christ.

The man has no idea how to speak. Castiel knew the ceremony would be heavily Christian, as both his and Lilith’s families have strong roots in the religion. The least they could have done would be to find a pastor with any speaking ability whatsoever, but no. No, they chose a man that drones on and on about God and the role of a wedded and mated omega and alpha and blah, blah, blah.

Castiel finds himself searching the crowd for Dean, and eventually locates him near the back, squished between old beta biddies that he thinks may be distant aunts of his, but is not certain.

Dean catches his eye and makes an ugly face, sticking his tongue out at Castiel and pushing up his nose so it looks like a snout.

Castiel snorts. He almost makes a face back, but Lucifer elbows him, and he clears his throat, straightens his back, and tries to listen to the pastor and the vows.

Instead, he just watches Dean make more faces from his seat.