Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thursday evening, November 5, 1998

“Angel! Angel! What do you think for this one, eh? Fuck, marry, or kill?”

There was a boy on the couch between Sergei and Boris, hunching down into himself, trying his best to be anywhere else. Sergei’s beefy hand gripped the boy’s chin, showing his face to Castiel through the haze of smoke in the dim room.

The room smelled of fear, grief, and lust, with the scent of diminishing aggression burning the back of Castiel’s throat. 

“Who is he?” Castiel moved into the room, keeping his eyes on the boy. His face was tear streaked, blood dripping from a busted lip. He wasn’t dressed for the season, wearing a bloody white tank top and black sweat pants. His feet were bare.

“Winchester could not pay what he owed, but we found this hiding in the bathroom when we were done with him.” Sergei leered at the boy, moving his hand to shove the boy's face back against the couch. “He talks little, but his skin is so very soft.”

“Winchester,” Castiel mused. He couldn't place the name, must not have been important. “He still alive?”

“Nyet,” Sergei shrugged. “I got tired of his bitching. His bitch, odnako-”

The men laughed.

The air was full of too many scents, too much smoke, for Castiel to identify the smell of the boy, but an omega, that was interesting. Male omegas were rare.

“This is his whore?”

“Nyet, his kid.” Sergei picked up the boy’s hand, tracing the bones idly with his thumb. The kid tried to pull his hand back, but the grip just tightened. “I think he has another, but we ne find him.”

“Yasna.” Castiel eyed the boy. He looked like an older teen, handsome. Large for an omega, but with good proportions and something about the eyes drew Castiel in. Very pretty. “Fuck, marry, kill?”

The men laughed again. There were three men, sprawled over couches and chairs in the den of Maxim’s house, TV blaring sports that no one was watching. He could smell the borscht and pickles they’d eaten, the dishes still piled on the coffee tables and floor. They hadn’t been here when Castiel arrived, so they’d been here less than an hour.

Castiel had been in Maxim’s office speaking to him about a missing shipment but this was certainly an interesting addition to the evening.

“Da! Pietr never able convince anyone to marry him, so maybe this his chance,” Boris sneered. Pietr was a very unpleasant older man who had tastes Castiel carefully avoided thinking about. “Or we need to chose who fucks him first. Be shame to skip straight to killing, but,” Boris shrugged.

“Did he fight?”

Sergei snorted. “After what he heard? He came with us like obedient child.”

“Yasna,” Castiel said again, thoughtfully. A witness must be silenced, but a male omega this pretty, it would be a shame to kill him. “Malchik, come here to me.”

The men hooted, Boris and Sergei shoving the boy off the couch and towards Castiel. The boy caught himself before he fell and froze, eyes meeting Castiel’s carefully before walking the few steps it took to stand in front of him, never breaking eye contact.

Castiel gripped his chin, turning his face side to side to inspect him. He thumbed open his lips, checking his teeth. He looked good. Healthy.

“Does he have any connections?”

“Nyet. He is mechanic. Does not know why this is happen.”

Castiel gripped the side of the boy’s neck, pulling him close and scenting him. Fear was the overlaying smell, and grief, but he smelled good. Under the sour fear and grief, the scent was warm, slightly herbal, with a gentle lovely musk; healthy, fertile omega.

“Shirt off.”

The boy closed his eyes at this and took a deep breath before complying. His body was nice; smooth skin, lightly muscled, a trail of hair leading from his navel to his pants.

“Turn.”

His back was strong as well. Spine straight, hips slim, perfect ass. His legs were bowed slightly.

“Dress,” Castiel said, nodding firmly as the boy rushed to redress “He is mine. Dobryy vecher, gentlemen, and remember what gossip will bring you.”

He took the boy by the arm and pulled him out of the room, a mix of amusement and disappointment in the men’s calls behind them.

The boy made no comment, and ducked quickly into the back seat of Castiel's light blue Honda Accord, likely eager to get out of the cold rain. They were in what locals called a “false fall” - the temperatures suddenly fluctuating - in the 50s today, in the 80s a few days ago and likely soon again - and it wasn't a time to be barefoot outside.

Castiel closed the door and walked around the car, climbing in the driver's seat. He glanced back at the boy curled up against the back door.

“I do not plan to hurt you if you do not do anything stupid.”

The boy didn’t react.

“What is your name?”

He hesitated, but eventually replied. “Dean Winchester.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Do you understand the situation? You have no hope, no leverage, nothing except my good will keeping you unharmed.”

The boy nodded and they didn't speak again. When they arrived at his house, Castiel took off his shoes at the door, exchanging them for slippers and silently offering some to the boy, which he put on without fuss.

Castiel led him to the living room, sat the boy on the couch, Castiel sat on the chair to the right of him.

“Well, boy, you heard the options. Fuck, marry, kill: what are you good for?”

“I am not playing your sick game.” The boy glared, fists clenching. 

“Khrabryy mal'chik.” Castiel lit a cigarette and leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs. Castiel took a drag and waved his hand dismissively. “It would be waste to kill you. I could certainly fuck you, you are pretty enough, and then I have Boris pick you up after to do whatever. You are witness. Your life is forfeit."

The boy curled into himself tighter, breath catching in his throat.

“But.” Castiel paused, taking another drag off his cigarette and ashed into the green glass ashtray on the side table. “My brothers, they are nagging me - get wife, have some pups, neh neh neh. It exhausts me. The women they throw to me are useless bitches - they want my money, they want my power.” He grimaces. “You? You are no one. You have nothing. I marry you, they shut the fuck up and I can get back to my work without fuss. You would not be hard to please and what would you do anyway?”

He shrugs. The boy stares at him, pale.

“Why wouldn't I just choose death with options like those?”

“You could, sure. But I am not so bad. You will get your needs met, have your life, whatever. Just do what I say, do not embarrass me, do not do anything stupid. I ne see problem. I am certainly better option than what your father could have gotten you.”

“Yeah? Who are you? What would-”

“No,” Castiel stubs out his cigarette in the ash tray. “This is not time for your questions. I gave you options. I had a long day. You are witness. Either I am shooting you, or I am biting you. Right now.”

Scared green eyes met firm blue for a long moment.

The boy gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and tilted his head to offer his neck.

Chapter Text

Thursday night, November 5, 1998

The bite hurt less than he'd expected. 

There was pressure - it took a lot of force to break skin, sharp canines or not, but the pain was quickly blocked by a hormonal cascade that had Dean feeling high as a fucking kite.

The alpha really meant it when he said he was tired. He'd unceremoniously pulled Dean close, bit into his mating gland, gently licked it until it stopped bleeding, then made him a sandwich. 

It felt surreal, standing in a stranger’s kitchen freshly bitten while that stranger - his new mate - casually put together two open faced cheese and kielbasa sandwiches. They ate together quietly, each with a glass of water from the fridge water dispenser.

He’d been led upstairs to a lovely bedroom with a queen sized bed, a built-in desk, his own bathroom, and French doors leading out to a balcony. 

He curled up under the heavy green quilt, pulling a pillow to his chest and sobbed. For his father; for Sammy who was going to come home from his friend's tomorrow to an empty house; for himself. 

He was mated now; a one sided bond with a terrifying stranger. One sided bonds were hard on the omega - they had a dependency on their alpha and a biological drive to see the bond completed. It made them clingy and submissive, things Dean had never been.

But the claim would keep him alive and safe from the others.

While the alpha seemed cold, he had saved Dean. He hadn't been kind, but he hadn't hurt him. 

Hadn't forced him. 

Dean was safe, fed, and warm instead of brutalized and murdered.

“Just focus on that,” Dean muttered to himself. “Get through tonight and then tomorrow will sort itself out. Hopefully we can go by the house and get my stuff, maybe Sammy. Call Bobby. It'll be okay.”

Friday morning, November 6, 1998

He woke up with a bitch of a headache, and heaved himself up, staggering to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower felt amazing and he stood under it for far longer than he'd ever dared at home. 

As he dried off, he took a look around his new room, now that he had the ability to process. The walls had dark green wainscotting and above that, dark green wallpaper with large flowers. The bed was brass, and the pile of pillows had floral covers that matched the walls. 

He had a soft green rug by the side of the bed so that he could put his feet down on the floor without it being cold right away. The floor was a light wood, polished and smooth.

He had a small high window above the bed showing tree tops and blue sky. Out the french doors, he had a small balcony with cozy wicker chairs. He could see more trees and more blue sky. 

A lovely day he hadn’t expected to live to see.

He couldn't stand to put on his dirty clothes again. They smelled like last night - like aggressive alphas, fear, cabbage, and cigarettes. There weren’t any clothes in the closet, so he made himself a toga from his sheet and tried the door, finding it unlocked.

He made his way out of his room, through the loft area with couches and an upright piano, down the stairs to the kitchen, following the sounds of the alpha talking.

The scent of the home was unexpected. There were the food smells - cucumber, sour milk, tea. A pungent, earthy scent. Something like bourbon. The emotional layers were calmer than he expected. Dean had been around rough sorts before, and that's what he thought he’d find here. This house smelled calm. Dean’s room hadn’t been used in awhile, but it was restful. The main floor smelled pleasant, like the people who visited - and there had been a lot of visitors - were relaxed and comfortable. There were some hints of anxiety, but they were a splash in the wash of emotion, not a steady presence. 

This alpha lived alone, but had a full social life with people he enjoyed, who enjoyed him. They felt safe here with him, and came together with comfort and happiness.

It was a stark difference from the house Dean had been taken to the night before. That house was chaotic in its scents - like a family lived there, but the many visitors brought enormous swings of emotion - aggression, terror, grief, lust. Dean had expected something similar here.

He was grateful not to find it.

The kitchen was very nice, Dean decided as he cautiously entered. Light oak cabinets, light stone countertops, the walls a bright pretty green. The alpha was sitting at the round glass kitchen table speaking Russian to someone on a cordless phone, obviously having already eaten based on the crumb covered plate in front of him and his non-steaming coffee cup. He nodded in greeting when he noticed Dean.

Dean took that as permission to explore. 

The upper cabinets between the fridge and sink had glasses, the ones to the right of the sink had plates and bowls. Silverware in the drawer next to the fridge. Cooking utensils in the drawers next to the cooktop on the island. Pots and pans in the low cabinets on the island. There was even a walk-in pantry.

Dean opened the fridge and poked around. There were basic things - eggs, milk, cheese, grape jelly - but also many bottles and jars he couldn’t identify. The stove was a fancy cooktop in the middle of the large island. He found a nonstick pan in a drawer to the side of it and started it heating while he pulled out ingredients. There was half a fancy loaf of bread on the counter by the fridge so he quietly began frying two eggs for an egg sandwich.

He found a wooden bread knife in a drawer by the stove and sliced two slices from the bread and buttered them with butter from the butter dish on the counter - real butter, not margarine - before setting them on a plate by the cooktop.

The alpha was still on his call, so Dean kept his back towards him for some kind of privacy. When the eggs were done, he scooped them up on the spatula, put one slice of bread butter side down in the pan, added a slice of Havarti cheese on it, folded the eggs to fit on the bread, topped them with another slice cheese so that both sides would be glued to the bread, and then topped it with the other piece of bread. He fried both sides to a perfect golden brown before plating with a grin.

He put his sandwich on the island and went to find the mugs to get himself some coffee. There was a small space between the cabinets containing the microwave and ovens with a coffee pot, mugs, and a weird copper dispenser with a teapot on top, intricately painted red with gold patterns. 

Dean picked up the coffee pot, turning and gesturing to the alpha with the pot in an offer of a refill. The alpha wasn’t looking, though, so Dean put it back down and sat down across from him at the table to quietly eat his breakfast.

It felt weird, being here, sitting next to someone speaking a language he couldn’t understand, who wasn’t acknowledging him aside from that first gesture. He couldn’t tell how the call was going. He thought the alpha sounded irritated, but he kept his face blank and tone consistent, so it was hard to judge.

He was handsome, though, the alpha. Dean hadn’t noticed last night, really, too many other things were more important. He looked to be in his 30s, with tired blue eyes and wild dark hair. His jaw was strong and his lips chapped and pink. He looked fit and strong, black suit jacket showing the width of his shoulders. He had tattoos on his hands, which Dean hadn’t seen on many people before. Didn’t seem to match the vibe of the suit. 

He smelled sharp, but not aggressive. 

When Dean was finished eating, he gathered his and the alpha’s dishes and washed them in the sink, putting them in the drainer.

“-Mal’chik. Mal’chik. Omega!”

 Dean turned around. “Yes?”

“Come here, I need to check your bite.”

Dean stood beside the alpha, taking the chance to look at him up close in the bright kitchen light. Such blue eyes, and his mouth was lush. 

“That looks fine,” the alpha interrupted his thoughts, voice deep, rich, and sharply accented. Dean really liked his voice. “Balthazar will come soon. Do what he says, he is bringing paperwork and such. I work long hours, you will be handling your own schedule unless I tell you otherwise.”

“Alright,” Dean said slowly. “I have a job. I’m missing work today, they’ll be worried.”

The alpha grunted and got up, taking Dean by the elbow and leading him through the dining and living rooms and down a short hall to a richly decorated dark blue bedroom. His scent was heavy in this room, like a forest after rain. Dean couldn’t scent anyone else in here; he slept alone. “As I said, you have your life, I have mine. As long as you do not fuck around or otherwise embarrass me, it is not my business. You try to cause trouble about your father and a broken mating will be the least of your troubles.”

Dean shuddered. Broken matings could kill you.

“So I can keep my job? And my friends?”

“Of course you can.” The alpha waved a hand, handing Dean a pair of jeans, a belt, socks, and a blue button up shirt from his closet. “What else would you do with your time? I do not need you sitting home all day waiting for me, that is ridiculous. Just do not go talking about things that not need talked about.” Dean nodded frantically. “Things you need to know: I have cleaning service that comes weekly, but clean up after yourself; they are here to clean, not to pick up after us. The grocery list is on fridge, add whatever you need. I get groceries picked up by housekeepers, but if you want that to change because you are picky, let me know. Also-”

The phone rang, and he picked up another cordless phone from beside his bed, but didn’t push the button to answer. “I have to take this. Balthazar will be here soon. He is about my age, looks like a judgmental asshole. Just do what he says. I am home late.”

He answered the phone with stern Russian, gestured for Dean to leave the room, and closed the door behind him when he did.

“Well. Okay then.”

Dean went to the living room to dress, no need to go upstairs.

He liked this room, too. He liked all the rooms in this house. He had lived his life in shitty motel rooms and cheap housing, the rich colors and patterns here felt decadent. The living room was busy with beautiful robin’s egg blue walls, pictures in fancy frames taking up most of the space. The furniture looked comfortable, the different patterns working together and there were lots of plants. There was a big TV, a fancy stereo, a bar - a real bar, with a sink and everything. Next to the bar was an altar with beautiful pictures of Jesus and some Saints, with candles, fancy hanging lamps, books, and other things Dean didn’t understand.

The clothes were too big, the belt was definitely needed, but when he tucked the shirt in and carefully rolled the sleeves of the shirt to his elbows, he looked decent enough.

He folded up the sheet neatly and put it on the coffee table. He’d take it upstairs later.

He curled up on the couch to wait for Balthazar.

Chapter Text

Friday morning, November 6, 1998

Dean had just gotten to the crescendo of his daydream wherein John showed up with Sam, the bite healed without scarring, and they drove off into the sunset when the doorbell rang. 

He thought about ignoring it, but he didn't want to risk the consequences, whatever they might be. 

He dragged himself off the couch and to the front door. 

Balthazar did, in fact, look like a judgmental asshole. He was a beta, his scent light, but he smelled like leather, rich and smokey, with a sour edge. Dean just stared at him silently. Balthazar stared back briefly, looking disappointed.

“Well,” Balthazar huffed. “I suppose you are an Omega, at least. Come along then, kid, I am very busy.” He smacked Dean in the chest with a manila envelope. “There is a pen in there. You can start filling these out in the car in case you have any questions, but I expect you can at least read and write so I do not see why you would.”

Balthazar turned and walked down the path curving left from the front door to the area in front of the garage and opened the back door of a silver Honda Accord, holding it open and gesturing for Dean to climb in. 

Dean climbed in quickly, wishing once again that he had shoes. And a jacket. It was colder today than yesterday.

“I am to take you to retrieve your things. Address?” Balthazar asked, turning on the car. His accent was the same as Dean’s alpha, but it didn’t soothe Dean the same way.

The car smelled sharp. Impatient. There had been a lot of riders in the car, some regularly enough to have their smell settle in deep. No fear, though. It felt uncomfortable, but not dangerous.

Dean told him the address and gave directions as he opened the envelope. The papers were straight forward. Application for marriage license, mating consent, change of address form for the post office. He filled them out easily enough, at least the parts he knew, returned the forms to the envelope and put it in the front seat. 

A 45 minute drive later, they pulled up at Dean's house. It was in the middle of a short street laid out like a trailer park with shitty white sided houses lined up in two rows, cement all around - no grass or trees. The houses were all the same inside as well with wood paneled walls and cheap linoleum floors, no carpet.

“Lovely,” Balthazar sighed, before getting out to open Dean's door. “Gather your things then. Though I am not sure why you bother. Nothing from here could possibly be worth taking.”

From his expression, Dean knew that he was included in that sentiment. 

Balthazar’s pager beeped and he checked it before gesturing impatiently towards the house. “Well? Do you need me to hold your hand? You know what you need to do, and I have other things to get to now. Be sure to get your birth certificate and Social Security Card.”

And then he spun around, climbed back in his car and left, leaving Dean alone.

“Huh.”

He didn't have his key but the door was unlocked when he tried it. Not a great sign, he hoped they hadn’t been robbed.

He pulled off his dirty socks as soon as he got inside, folding them and putting them on the coffee table. Wet socks were so unpleasant.

The house was quiet and clean, no sign of the violence and death that had destroyed his family yesterday. Even the air had been sanitized of all scents; it was eerie. Dean went to John's room and found that his clothes were missing, like John had left on a trip instead of in the trunk of a car. 

Probably his own car, since the Impala was also missing.

Don’t think about it.

Dean was grateful everything was cleaned up. Sam's last images of their dad would like be the gruff goodbye yesterday morning as Sam left with friends. 

Dean's last images of John Winchester were not so pleasant. There was no way for him to convince himself that John had just driven away on his own.

His and Sam's room was untouched. Twin mattresses on opposite sides of the room, posters tacked on the walls, sheet hanging neatly over the window, Dean's blanket shoved down the way he left it in his panic last night when John ran in and told him to hide in the bathroom and not come out no matter what he heard.

Dean pushed away those thoughts. He got dressed in his own clothes before going to the fridge for Sam's friend Kevin's number. He curled up on the couch to call on their plain off-white phone. He twirled the spiral cord around his finger nervously after dialing.

It rang twice and Kevin's mom answered. Dean politely asked to speak with Sam 

“Dean? Everything okay?”

“Sammy. You're okay.” Dean relaxed, closing his eyes. “I'm so glad you're there.” 

“Of course I'm here. What's going on, Dean?”

“A lot,” Dean said, as steadily as he could. “You're going to need to stay with Bobby. Dad's gone, and I.. I'm getting married, I got the bite last night. I'm just at home getting my things.”

There was silence. 

“Married?”

“Yes. I.. I chose it. He saved me from a bad situation. It'll be okay. I'll still go to work, see you at Bobby's; I'll still have my life. Just. You know. Married.”

“Right,” Sam answered carefully. “And dad.. is gone. So I'll stay with Bobby.”

“Yes.” Dean cleared his throat. “He finally took that trip to see mom. I almost went with him, but I got lucky and I didn't want to leave you. So.”

“So you're getting married.” Sam’s voice was tight, and Dean could hear the effort it took for him to keep it steady. Sam might be 15, but he was so fucking smart. He knew not to freak out around Mrs. Tran - that woman never missed anything and wouldn't let it go.

“Yeah,” Dean managed, clearing his throat. “I'm getting married.”

“Dean-”

“Look,” Dean interrupted. “It's going to be okay. I need to call Bobby and pack up my shit and we'll meet up soon. I'm not really sure about timing, but I'll keep you posted. My schedule is my own, he said, so it'll be okay, Sammy. You'll see.”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you, too, Sammy,” Dean nodded. ”It'll be okay. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, Dean.”

They were silent for several moments, Dean clutching the phone far too tightly, before he nodded again and hung up.

His dad was gone. 

His dad was gone and Dean wasn't doing anything about it. He wasn't even reporting it. 

Did that make him complicit? 

Kind of.

But what good would it do? Those men knew what they were doing. And they obviously had a group they belonged to. One his alpha was a part of. His alpha who was so secure in Dean's compliance that Dean was here, at his house, alone. 

That told Dean enough. Reporting would do more harm than good. Even if Dean faced no repercussions for reporting, it could possibly end with his alpha locked up. With the bite tying them together, that would be very bad for Dean.

So. 

John left by his own power. Dean had no idea where he went. Dean met the alpha and they decided to marry. Why? 

Would anyone care why? 

Bobby, like Sam, he'd get the truth. Right? Would Bobby fight it? 

There was nothing to fight. Dean already had the bite. He'd filled out those papers. It was done.

And it would be fine.

He picked up the phone and dialed Bobby’s shop. 

It went to the answering machine. 

Thank fuck. 

“Hey Bobby, it's Dean. Big night last night. Dad’s gone, and I got mated. Please take care of Sam. I'll hopefully see you tomorrow for work, gotta work out transportation, dad took the car. I can't.. please just.  See you soon.”

Dean hung up and busied himself packing. They never had much. They’d finally settled into this house last winter, but when you spent most of your time staying in shitty motels, you didn’t tend to accumulate possessions and he hadn’t had the money for or the interest in breaking that habit. 

He had his clothes, his toothbrush, a few books. He left the posters; they wouldn’t fit at the alpha’s fancy house.

He decided to take the family pictures from dad’s room. They were still in the top drawer of the dresser. He'd go through them with Sam to divide them up when they met up.

That done, he realized he was stuck. 

The Impala was gone. 

He had no way to get ahold of the alpha.

He had no idea where the alpha lived - last night it was dark and he was far too overwhelmed to notice, and today he was busy with paperwork on the drive - and no money for a taxi even if he did.

“Fuck.”

But the alpha had to have a plan about it, right? The alpha's man dropped him off. They were the ones that cleaned up the murder and took the car. They had to know he was stuck here. 

With a shrug, he put his duffle by the door, made himself a box of macaroni and cheese for lunch, and sat down to watch TV on their lumpy plaid couch while he waited for someone to fetch him.

Chapter Text

Friday evening, November 6, 1998

He jerked awake when a door slammed, sitting up and looking around in a panic until he saw the alpha glaring at him.

“Why are you here?” demanded the alpha, gesturing with both arms to the side. “You were to get your things. I had long day, I did not expect to come home to empty house and have to guess where you might have holed up.”

Dean frowned, standing, dreading the pain he knew was coming. “What do you mean? Balthazar brought me here. You knew where I was.”

“Did you think you were staying here? You are mine, you live with me,” the alpha said, looking at Dean like he was an idiot.

“Yes, I figured,” Dean said, nodding. “But whoever cleaned up the pieces of dad, also took his car. Hard to drive without a car.”

“Taxis exist.”

“Sure, for people who have money to pay for them. And for people who know their address. I don't. And I don't have any way of contacting you. So I waited.”

The alpha frowned at that and then nodded, pulling a small box out of his pocket, holding it out to Dean. “Speaking of pieces of your dad.”

Dean scurried backwards. “That had better not be a piece of my dad, what the fuck?”

The alpha paused, tilting his head to the side. “No, of course not. But he had ring. I realize you lost your father and obviously there cannot be a funeral-”

“You took all his things. His room was stripped.”

“Da. It is easier when they seem to leave on their own volition.” 

“Oh.” He took the box from the alpha and opened it. It was dad’s ring and it was clean. Dean closed the box and shoved it in his pocket. It wouldn’t fit him; Dad’s fingers were bigger than Dean’s. He’d get a chain for it and he could wear it as a necklace maybe. “Thank you.”

The alpha nodded and gestured at Dean's duffle. “This is all you are bringing?”

“Yeah. Bobby will come later and clear out the rest. I need to get to work tomorrow, though and I don't have a car.”

The alpha picked up the duffle and headed out of the house. “I have one you can use. Come, I am ready to be home.”

Dean stuffed his feet into his boots quickly and hurried after him.

After tossing Dean's bag into the back seat of the car, the alpha held the front passenger door open for Dean.

The drive was silent but Dean's mind was racing.

He didn't get hit even though he’d had it coming. 

The alpha expected him to have been at his house. He had to search for and fetch Dean. 

And Dean didn't get hit. 

The alpha had listened to his excuses and accepted them.

He had brought John's ring.

Dean couldn't believe it. 

He looked over at his alpha, watching him in the flashes of light from the street lights. The car was full of the alpha’s scent and Dean found his mind relaxing, started feeling a little foggy but peaceful.

A handsome alpha; one who saved him, who kept him safe; who listened to him and didn't hurt him. 

Dean smiled and settled against the door, watching the night pass by. 

How did he get so lucky?

Saturday morning, November 7, 1998

“Alright, boy, tell me about this alpha of yours,” Bobby demanded. As soon as Dean walked into the shop, Bobby had hauled him back to the office, closing the door.

Dean sat at the chair facing the desk, breathing in Bobby’s old book scent with the oil and grease overlay of the shop. This room always felt safe.

“He is not nice, but I think he's… nice?” Dean licked his lips nervously. “They were gonna… and he just walked in, checked me over, and said I was his. He took me away from them, and he didn't hurt me. It's pretty blurry, but I'm sure I mouthed off and he just.. let me. He bit me after I said he could, but he wasn't rough. He made me a sandwich and gave me water before he sent me to my room - I have my own room, Bobby, with a bathroom and a fucking balcony and it's really nice. He checked my bite in the morning after breakfast. He made sure I got Dad's ring. I wasn't where he expected me to be last night, I was stuck at our house, and he.. he came and got me, listened to what I said, took me home, fed me, and left me alone to sleep again. I think.. I think he's a good guy.”

Bobby pondered that for a few minutes. 

“You were with the group of men who took you from your house?”

“Yes.”

“And they were going to..?”

“Rape and murder me.” Dean didn't see any point in softening that.

Bobby closed his eyes briefly. 

“And John?”

“He’s…” Dean looked away and shook his head. He couldn’t say it.

Bobby nodded and took a deep breath.

“Right. And your alpha just.. took you away from them.”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged and nodded. “I wasn't paying attention to him at first, but he came in, they talked, he had me take off my shirt and show him my back. And then he took me to his house. He said.. he said I could decide. Fuck, marry, kill. The guys had been playing that game when he got there. And he said he wasn't so bad, and he needed to get married and didn't like who they were pushing on him. So. I said okay, and he bit me.”

“And you're free to work, and drive yourself?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shrugging with wide eyes. “He says I'm in charge of my own schedule, can keep my friends, all of it.”

“Huh.” Bobby lifted his hat, scrubbed his hair with one hand and put his hat back.

“Yup.”

“He's gotta be someone important to be able to claim you like that. Someone with balls to just assume you'll go along with it freely like this. What's his name?”

Dean blinked at him. 

Bobby looked expectant.

“I, uh. I don't know.”

Bobby huffed. “Idjit.”

Chapter Text

Saturday afternoon, November 7, 1998

Work was normal. Dean lost himself in the monotony of basic car maintenance and the same rock music he'd been listening to his entire life. He was able to settle in mentally, and pretend nothing new was happening until Bobby passed him a note with an address just before it was time to go home.

“Some guy named Balthazar called and said you're to meet them at this address at 9. Club Moskva, downtown.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, frowning. “I know where that is. It's 21 and over, though.”

“Yeah, I mentioned that, he said it didn't matter.”

“Right,” Dean said again. “I don't.. What do people wear in clubs?”

Bobby snorted “Do I look like some kind of party girl to you, boy? Do you have anything nicer than what you came here in?”

“Not really,” Dean ran his hand through his hair. “A shower would probably be good, but I don't want to- I can't embarrass him, Bobby.’

“Can you ask?”

“I- maybe. He left his work number and the home number and our address on a piece of paper with $20. Here, you should copy them down, actually. I'll try calling his work.”

Dean went to the front desk phone and dialed the number, chewing on his thumb nail nervously. 

“Club Moskva,” answered a man with a strong Russian accent on the second ring. There was music in the background.

“Oh!” The alpha worked at the club? “I.. um. Is there-  what's the dress code, please?”

“For you, malen'kaya myshka?” the man purred. “Slacks or nice jeans - no stains, no holes. A nice shirt, no t-shirts, da? Make yourself pretty for us.”

“Right,” Dean manages, blushing. “Thank you.”

The man laughed darkly and hung up. 

Bobby laughed. “What did they say that has that look on your face?”

“Nothing!” Dean said, looking away. “I gotta change before I can go there, it's fancy. I can't embarrass him. That's one of his rules.”

Bobby paused. “What other rules are there?”

“Nothing much,” Dean shrugged, heading back to the break room to wash up and get out of his coveralls. “No cheating, do what he says, don't embarrass him. Nothing unreasonable.”

Bobby nodded. “Right. Well, you get home, get yourself dolled up for your alpha. And take care, Dean. These aren't our type of people. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open.”

“Yessir.”

Saturday evening, November 7, 1998

Dean didn’t have a pair of jeans without holes or stains.

He didn’t have a shirt that wasn’t a t-shirt or a flannel. 

He decided to wear the clothes he’d borrowed from the alpha. He hadn’t gotten them dirty and they passed the smell test. He buttoned the shirt up and tucked it in. He still kept the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

With his dad’s leather jacket, his leather bracelets, his necklace from Sammy, and his hair neatly brushed, he thought he looked decent enough. He spent a few minutes scrubbing his boots with a wet washcloth trying to make them look a little less worn.

On the drive, he continued to kick himself for not learning the name of the alpha who had bitten him. Who forgot shit like that? He was going to show up at this club and then what? He was 19. He couldn’t get in with his ID, and the only name he had was Balthazar, who didn’t seem like he’d appreciate being called on for identifying purposes.

He didn’t need to worry, though, because after he’d parked his little grey Camry in the club’s parking lot, he found Balthazar in a group of men outside the club smoking and flirting with a group of women. Dean was glad he’d gone home to change. He still looked plain compared with the men in their silk and satin shirts - tucked in and unbuttoned enough to show necklaces and chest hair - but it was the closest he could have gotten given what he had available. The men all sounded Russian, but most of the women sounded American.

Dean hesitated nearby, not wanting to interrupt, or interact at all, really, but he needed help getting where he was expected to be. The club looked nice enough. It was brick, painted black, with a lot of windows covered by blinds. There were a couple of bouncers at the door, but no line.

Another man, a handsome older alpha - black, with short hair and a short neatly trimmed beard - saw Dean first and smirked, nudging Balthazar. “You lost, malyshka?”

Dean was surprised that he had a Russian accent but then rolled his eyes at himself internally; of course all Russians weren’t white.

Balthazar rolled his eyes when he spotted Dean, looking entirely too put upon. “Hello, omega. I suppose you need my help once again?”

Dean looked down and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“There is no rush, though, is there, malyshka?” The first man asked, walking closer to Dean. He smelled nice, like pipe tobacco, unthreatening. “You want inside? You could come in with me, I take good care of you.”

“Michael,” Balthazar sighed. “On omega nechego brata.”

Suddenly the entire group, men and women who hadn’t been paying Dean any attention, was staring at him. The Russian sounded enough like omega and brat for Dean to guess what was said and he grimaced, nodding. Balthazar really didn’t like him.

Balthazar turned and called, “Sergey, etot omega prinadlezhit bossu. Vpusti yego.” Then he nodded to Dean. “Go upstairs to the loft, you will see him.”

“Right,” Dean nodded. “Thanks.”

He wanted to get away quickly, he did not like the feel of the stares, they were way too intense and didn’t feel welcoming at all.

He nodded politely at the bouncers as he passed and then he was inside. The music was quieter than he’d expected in a club; there, but at a volume that allowed for conversation. It’d likely get louder later when people were dancing. It was early, so the club wasn’t very busy and the smoke in the air was light. Several groups of people were chatting in the booths around the edges of the room, and there were a few people at the bar. It was a nice club - clean, dark, modern, with bright blue lighting as decoration around the edges and behind the bar.

Dean hadn’t been to a lot of bars, and never to a club, but he thought this one smelled okay. The general impression was excitement, sweat, lust, and the dizzy confusion of drunkenness. Nothing that raised any alarms.

The stairs were to the left of the dance space and they were a nice addition to the look, with glass panels showing swirling blue lights under the banisters. They led to a loft overlooking the rest of the space.

At the top of the stairs was a smaller bar and a lounge area with leather sofas where a small group of people sprawled out chatting. There was a low table in front of the sofas with several platters - one with vegetables, one with bread and different spreads, one with small cakes and cookies.

Dean’s alpha was at the end of an empty sofa, legs crossed, a half full tumbler in the hand on his knee, a cigarette in the hand laying across the back of the sofa. He looked up and noticed Dean, gesturing with the fingers holding the cigarette for Dean to join him.

Dean felt everyone’s eyes on him as he quietly moved across the room. He wasn’t sure where he should sit so he paused in front of the alpha, and smiled as best as he could manage. “Hey, alpha.”

The alpha nodded, moved the cigarette to his mouth, and used his free arm to gently tug Dean’s hand, bringing him to sit on the couch against the alpha’s side. “Hello, omega. They want to meet you.”

Dean nodded but opted to lean against the alpha instead of trying to interact with anyone else. Something settled as he breathed in his alpha’s scent, a buzzing under his skin he hadn’t noticed through all his anxiety. The alpha smelled relaxed tonight, the scent bringing to mind a forest clearing under a bright star filled sky, water dripping from the pine needles after a spring rain.

He felt the alpha chuckle. “Need your alpha, little one?”

Dean just nodded, closing his eyes and nuzzling in close when the alpha’s arm moved from the sofa back to wrap around his shoulders.

“Aw, he’s sweet,” purred a woman with a Scottish accent.

“Young, though,” a man said, accent similar but softer than his alpha’s. “Where did you find him, the arcade?”

The alpha set down his drink on a side table and nudged Dean's chin up with a finger and winked when their eyes met. “I find him in bakery. I was craving something sweet.”

Dean blushed and everyone laughed. The alpha kissed his forehead. “Milyy, this is my brother Gabriel Karlovich Novak.” He indicated the beta man who had spoken before. “His wife Rowena Davidovna Novak.” He indicated a tiny beta woman with bright red hair and perfect makeup.

Dean nodded to them.

“And this,” the alpha said, squeezing his shoulder. “Is my mate: Dean Ivanovich.”

Dean frowned. Ivanovich?

Gabriel and Rowena started to respond but Balthazar and Michael interrupted them, calling for drinks and speaking in Russian at Dean’s alpha, grabbing his attention.

The alpha said something back in Russian before turning to Dean again. “And these are my other brothers - Michael and Balthazar Karlovich Novak.”

“Your brothers?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. Why hadn’t they said Balthazar was his brother when they met that first day?

“Half,” the alpha shrugged. “We all have same father.”

“I hate to interrupt family introductions, but we have complication,” Michael said, before switching to Russian.

Dean accepted a Pepsi from the waitress when she brought drinks to everyone and settled into his role as arm rest for the evening, not even trying to follow along with the conversation.

Chapter Text

Saturday night, November 7, 1998

The loud music - he was correct about the volume raising when more people were at the club - was starting to make his head hurt, and the crowd made it difficult for him to get back upstairs after his trip to the bathroom. He’d nearly made it when a group of women stopped him from going further. 

He recognized some of them from outside the club, the women who had been flirting with Balthazar’s group, but there were a few others.

“Hello, little bunny,” sneered a beautiful beta woman with an English accent, brown hair and a very short red dress. She was beta, her scent was faint, but Dean was pretty sure he caught roses, bitter with displeasure. “What are you doing down here all on your lonesome?”

Oh, it was going to be like this, was it? Luckily Bobby’s warning to be careful popped into his head, so he answered with a raised eyebrow instead of mouthing off like he usually would.

“You should be careful off on your own,” added a Russian alpha woman with a smokey voice, a heart shaped face and curly brown hair. Her scent was hard to describe, but it was very nice; sensual. “Little fish in a tank with sharks.”

The first woman tilted Dean’s chin up with her finger, looking him over. “I can almost see it,” she mused. “If I ignore everything but this pretty, pretty face.”

The blonde omega woman beside her snickered as Dean turned his head, pulling away from the finger.

“All these years, all these women, and he settles for a little boy,” the British lady continued.

Dean grinned. Oh, that had to hurt. It’s not like Dean had wanted him, but it wasn’t often that Dean got something someone else wanted, and the feeling wasn’t bad.

“He’ll be tired of you soon enough.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve stumbled into a position you won’t be able to handle, and you will fail.”

There was a sudden movement as Dean’s alpha came up behind the woman and gripped her by her hair, tilting her head back. “Hello, Bella.”

“Angel,” she purred, scent blooming out in pleasure. The alpha didn’t react to it in any way, scent and expression calm.

“I see you have met Dean,” the alpha - Angel, apparently - continued as if this was a normal way to hold a conversation.

“Yes, yes, very pretty,” Bella said, waving a hand dismissively. 

“You see, Dean,” Angel said, looking up at Dean, keeping Bella arched backward. “She sees value in belonging to me. She thinks she is my best option and has been trying for years to either gain my attention herself, or scare away anyone she sees as competition when that fails.”

He released Bella and moved to Dean, cupping his cheek in his hand. 

“But I decide,” Angel continued. “I give the power. They all know better than to go against my decisions.”

He kissed Dean on the forehead again, ignoring the women. “Let’s go home, milyy.”

Dean follows him out, handing over his keys and letting Angel drive them home.

—

Sunday morning November 8, 1998

What are your days off? 

Who are you inviting to the wedding? 

You need new clothes

Dean pocketed the $200 and frowned at the note. 

He definitely needed new clothes. But for what? Just the club? There would surely be other places and activities he'd attend with his alpha. 

Angel.

Dean licked his lips and went to the fridge to start another egg sandwich. With the eggs frying, he added to the grocery list: bacon, ground beef, burger buns, tortillas, refried beans, breakfast sausage, baking powder and some herbs and spices he liked.

Then he returned to Angel's note and added to it. 

Please advise on clothes

Sunday Monday off 

Who would he invite to the wedding? 

He hadn't thought about it. Sure, he knew who he'd invite to his wedding usually, but this wedding? With these people? He wasn't sure he wanted the two parts of his life to cross. 

Actually, he was sure: he was sure he didn't. 

Angel seemed okay, but the guys who had killed his dad? Would they be there? He didn't want them anywhere near Sam.

He sighed, flipping his eggs into the bread and starting the bread frying.

I'll think about a guest list

—

“I see where you're coming from, Dean, and I appreciate the consideration, but they know who we are,” Bobby said, meeting his eyes firmly. “They know where we are.”

“Yeah,” muttered Dean, looking away. He had today off, but he went in anyway. He needed to talk to Bobby. Bobby had taken one look at him and dragged him to his office so they could sit and have some privacy. “Yeah, I know. I just-” He shrugged. “I just hadn't thought about it, I guess. That this would be a wedding. Like, a real wedding, and not.. just an idea.”

Bobby sighed. “I don't know exactly what happened, kid, but I know it was ugly.” Dean nodded. “Was your alpha -”

“Angel.”

Bobby nodded. “Was Angel there at the house?”

“No,” Dean said, firmly. “He- so. Dad woke me up. He'd been out. I don't know what time it was. He told me to hide in the bathroom, to not make a noise, no matter what I heard.” He wiped a hand over his face. “And I heard. I heard too much. And. When it- when it was over, they came into the bathroom to clean up, I think. And they found me.”

Dean brought his feet up into the chair, hugging his knees. “They uh. They took me to this house. They ate dinner and just.. I was on the couch between two of them and they talked a lot of shit, and kept, just, touching me.” He stood then, turning away, staring at the door. “And then Angel came in. Asked a few questions. Looked me over. And then he took me home with him. All he’s told me to do was to not blab about what happened, do what he says, and not to embarrass him.”

“And he hasn't-?”

“No!” Dean turned. “No. He hasn't. He's touched my face, he's had his arm around me, kissed my forehead. That's it. He didn't tell his family how we met, he-” Dean huffed a laugh. “He said he met me in a bakery; said he was looking for something sweet. His sister in law had just called me sweet.” Dean looked at Bobby helplessly. “He defended me when a group of women were being catty. I don't know, Bobby, he treats me good. I shouldn't be scared for him to meet Sam, right? But I am.”

“Dean,” Bobby sighed. “Me and Sam, we see how this is. And we're not going to make it harder for you, alright? This isn't a romance. He's not a good guy. It isn't safe. But this is your life now, and you need to do whatever you can to make it work. If he's treating you nice, I'm not going to tell you he isn't, I'm going to be fuckin’ grateful. Me and Sam are here however and whenever you need us. Whatever you think is right. You tell us what you need and we will do that. Alright?”

“Alright,” Dean nodded. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Chapter Text

Sunday evening, November 8, 1998

The house was still empty when Dean got home from the shop. He’d worked some, just to have something to do with his nervous energy.

Dean was relieved to be alone in a way, his anxiety around behaving correctly faded away, but the buzzing under his skin was becoming an issue. He took a shower and changed into sweats and a tank top, but it didn’t stop the feeling. Dean scratched his arms idly as he stared into the fridge, willing there to be food he wanted to eat.

It's not that he was a picky eater, he just didn't know what a lot of the stuff was and even some of things that were labeled in English he didn't recognize or know what to do with. 

The pantry was a better choice, and Dean happily cooked off some spaghetti while he heated up a jar of spaghetti sauce.

He ate curled up on the side of the couch that smelled the most like Angel, watching Melrose Place.

He put away his leftovers and washed the dishes, scratching his arms and buzzing with anxiety. 

Was his alpha not coming home?  He needed him.

He fell asleep watching David Letterman, face pressed into the couch to get the most of his alpha's scent.

Monday morning, November 9, 1998

Dean woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of cooking.

He groaned, scrubbing his face into the couch before freezing. 

Alpha.

Dean scrambled off the couch and rushed to the kitchen where Angel was loading two plates with fried eggs and sausages. The toast popped up just as Dean opened his mouth for a greeting.

“Go clean up, mal'chik, and join me for breakfast.“

Dean rushed upstairs to the bathroom to pee, brush his teeth, and wash his face.  He sniffed his pits, put on fresh deodorant, and rushed back to the kitchen

Even with his alpha so close, his scent in Dean’s nose, the buzzing under Dean’s skin seemed worse, not better, and he ate his breakfast without tasting anything.

Angel watched him without comment until they were both done eating. He put their dishes in the sink before taking Dean by the hand and leading him to the couch. Angel sat first and Dean crawled onto his lap, burying his face in Angel’s neck without a second thought.

The buzzing eased and Dean's mind clouded, feeling light headed with relief and then just light headed in general, breathing in the rich pine forest scent of his alpha, feeling Angel’s hands stroking up and down his sides, feeling the strong thighs underneath him. 

After a while, the hands moved down to Dean's thighs, starting to stroke the sensitive undersides, curling up under his ass, pressing and pulling in a very distracting way. Heat seared up Dean's spine and he pressed closer to the alpha, mouthing at his throat.

Angel’s scent deepened, arousal curling through it, making Dean’s mouth water.

Angel hummed, moving to cup Dean's ass, fingers stroking around his hole through his sweats, still pulling and pressing and the feeling of his hole being pulled open was-

“What is your sexual experience, Dean?”

The words took a few moments to register as Dean’s hips started rutting against the alpha's lower belly.

“I slept with some beta chicks in high school. Never been with an alpha.” He paused. “Or a man.”

Angel's hands clenched, pressing Dean down as he arched his own hips up, grinding them together. 

“Mm,” Angel purred, one hand moving firmly up Dean's back to cup his head, fingers sliding through his hair before gripping tightly. Angel moved Dean's face from his neck, redirecting him into a kiss - deep, hot, and wet.

He pulled back. “Will you take off your pants for me, Dean?”

Dean paused. “Are you going to-”

Angel smirked, kissing Dean briefly. “Just with my hand, milyy.” He pressed his fingers to Dean’s hole. “I want to touch you, get you wet until you’re dripping, fuck you deep with my fingers, watch you fall apart riding my hand.” Another kiss, Angel fucking into Dean’s mouth with his tongue. “Would you like that?”

Dean stared at Angel wide eyed, before he scrambled back, standing to push his pants down and off, crawling back onto Angel’s lap bare.

Angel’s hands went immediately to Dean’s ass. “That’s my good boy, so good for me. Push mine down, too, give you plenty of room to make mess of me.”

Dean hesitated, looking nervously at the alpha’s cock straining against his pants. Angel shook his head. “Do not worry, sweetheart. Just my fingers in this tight little hole for now.”

Dean nodded, opening and pushing down Angel’s pants and underwear as Angel arched his hips to help.

When he sat back down on Angel’s legs, it felt so different; the sensation of skin on skin was overwhelming. He took one glance as the alpha’s cock, large and heavy between them and blushed, hastily looking up at Angel’s face instead.

Angel smiled before moving one of his hands to cup Dean’s cock and balls from the front. “I’m the first man to see you like this? The first person to touch you like this? I assume you topped the girls.”

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes locked on Angel’s. “Yeah, they- not like this, alpha.”

“Delicious,” Angel murmured, pressed back to press gently at Dean’s hole. “Keep your eyes on mine, mal’chik.”

It felt so different from when he did it himself, the press and slide of fingers over his sensitive skin. He was wet, opening up, and it didn’t take long before they could hear the sounds of wet fingers moving. Dean leaned forward a bit, bracing himself against Angel’s chest just as Angel started pressing inside. Dean’s eyes slid closed, and he bit his lip at the feeling.

“Eyes on me, milyy,” Angel corrected, pressing a second finger in. Dean’s eyes flew open and he nodded, starting to grind back against the fingers inside him.

Angel didn’t do it the same way Dean did, and with the difference in angle, it felt so strange - good, but strange. Instead of sliding in and out, he pressed in deep, until his palm was pressing firmly against Dean’s perineum while he pressed and pulled inside like a wave. Dean’s legs clenched as he began trying to move with the fingers as Angel’s other hand gripped his hip and guided his movements. Dean was gasping, little whimpers adding to the slick sounds between his legs as he felt his orgasm building.

Dean starting rocking a bit more, pulling off and pressing back onto the fingers, fucking himself, and the feeling built and built, his legs starting to move out and then in, frantic energy building, his hands gripping the alpha’s chest hard, the slick starting to splash to his thighs with each fuck down on those fingers, so good, so good, not quite- he needed-

A third finger slid inside him and Dean arched back, moaning, fucking down harder on the hand, his hands leaving the alpha’s chest to grip his own, sliding up to pull his own hair, eyes sliding closed-

“Eyes, Dean,” hissed the alpha.

Dean forced his eyes open and suddenly the alpha moved, started fucking into Dean with his fingers, pressing hard against his sensative insides, the slick sounds ridiculously loud in the room and it took only a few more strokes until Dean was calling out, pulling his own hair, eyes wide and locked with his alpha’s as he came harder than he’d ever done in his life, splashing come and slick over his alpha’s thighs, stomach, and cock.

Dean fell shakily forward, pressing his face into the curve of his alpha’s neck, catching his breath. The alpha carefully removed his hand, moving to gently rub Dean’s back as he came down, smearing slick and come up and down Dean’s cooling skin, scratching Dean’s scalp with his clean hand.

When Dean seemed to be drifting off to sleep, Castiel kissed the side of his face and pressed him to sit back up. “That was beautiful, milyy. But there’s just one more thing.”

Dean blinked at him sleepily.

Angel gestured down between him, at his own cock - dark, hard, and covered in Dean’s come and slick. Angel pressed two fingers, still smelling heavily of Dean’s slick, to Dean’s lower lip. “You made a mess of me. Now use this sweet mouth and clean it up, hm?”

Dean eased himself down to the floor between his alpha’s legs and began to clean him. Hesitant at first, licking at the mess, but with the lazy muzziness from his own orgasm, and the rich scent of his alpha mixed with the sharp scent of his own slick, he relaxed into it. When most of the come was gone, Dean ended up with his head between the alpha’s big hands as Angel gently fucked into his mouth, their eyes locked, Dean’s arms wrapped around Angel’s hips.

Not deep, nothing Dean had to work against, just a steady rocking grind of Angel’s head and frenulum against Dean's tongue. The skin was so soft, so slick inside his mouth. His jaw ached at the prolonged stretch, but it was also satisfying. 

When the alpha came, it was with a sigh and Dean swallowed and swallowed and swallowed until all the come was gone, and Dean drifted off to sleep, mouth still holding his alpha’s cock, gentle fingers threading through his hair.

Chapter Text

Friday evening, November 13, 1998

Dean had gone shopping after work. 

A note from Angel told him to go to the club tonight and this time he was going to be walking in the club feeling like he fit in - black pleated slacks, green silk shirt unbuttoned to show his collar bones, silver chain necklace - and he'd paused after getting out of his car to settle himself before anyone saw him. He wanted to walk in looking like he belonged instead of like a scared kid. He was a bit chilly, it was another cool night, but his leather jacket didn’t fit the look he was going for, so he had to suck it up.

He had to fit in. Couldn’t embarrass Angel.

“You alright, malishka?” asked a Russian accented voice coming from the back wall of the club a few steps away from him.

The bass from the club music was loud enough to hear, and Dean could hear people laughing somewhere nearby.

Dean looked up quickly, seeing the silhouette of a man leaning against the wall, the bright cherry from his cigarette glowing in the dark. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

The man chuckled. “You look terrified.”

Dean rubbed his face, laughing a bit. “That bad, is it?”

“Worse,” the man smirked, putting his cigarette in his mouth and digging in his pocket. “C’mere, kid. This will take the edge off.”

“Ha! They warned me about guys like you in D.A.R.E..” Dean grinned. “Just say no, man.”

The man snorted and put on a skeevy voice. “Come here, little one, let me give you some candy.”

Dean laughed. Actually a smoke sounded amazing right now. Dean inhaled carefully, taking in the guy’s scent. It was smokey, something with a bite at the back of Dean’s throat. He was an alpha, but there was no aggression coming off him. Just smoke and a weird stinky cologne. Dean went to join him, leaning against the wall a few steps away. The man pressed himself back up to standing, moving in front of Dean. He pulled out a cigarette and held it in front of Dean’s mouth. Dean hesitated. This felt off, but he accepted it and held still while the man brought both hands up to cup the cigarette while he lit it.

Dean inhaled before taking it out of his mouth and holding it to the side while he slowly exhaled the smoke. “Thanks, man.”

“You here to party?” The man asked, not moving back to his spot. His scent was starting to shift but Dean couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion with that cologne in the way.

“Yeah, I guess.” Was that what it was considered, sitting in a bar for hours? Everyone seemed to be having fun, so maybe. “My alpha told me to come.”

“Mm, I see.” The man stepped closer, bracing himself over Dean with his arm. “Your alpha likes you to party?”

“I think you might have the wrong idea here, man,” Dean said, putting out his cigarette and trying to step to the side to get out from under the guy, but the guy grabbed him, and pressed closer, blocking Dean in. He was several inches taller than Dean and built like a brick shithouse.

He leaned his head close, breathing Dean in and growled. “I don’t think I do. I think a sweet little omega like you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t looking for a nice knot to ride. I’ll be sure to pay you fair to make your alpha happy.”

“Dude, gross.” Dean was such an idiot. Angel was going to be so pissed at him for getting himself into this mess. Maybe if Dean could get away without the guy knowing who his alpha was, Angel wouldn’t find out. “You need to back the fuck off. I have an alpha and he's not the forgiving type.”

“This can go two ways,” the man said, ignoring him. “You get on your knees, I fuck your face, and you thank me sweetly, or-” He pulled out a knife and held it to Dean’s neck. “You get a lot less pretty real fast.”

Great. Of course. If he got on his knees, he'd be dead. Angel wouldn't forgive that; talk about embarrassment! The scent of alpha lust and aggression was growing and Dean felt like he could choke on it.

Placate. Placate and get that knife away from his neck and Dean could probably get away. Alphas were strong but omegas were fast.

“Alright,” Dean agreed. “I'll do it. If you put that fucking knife away.”

The man glared down at him. “Alright, but if you try anything, you’re going to fucking regret it, malishka.”

“I already do,” Dean agreed.

The knife slowly pulled away from his skin and the man moved back to give Dean space.

“On your knees and open up,” said the alpha, unbuttoning his pants with his free hand.

Dean dropped, used that momentum to punch the asshole in the dick as hard as he could, launched himself to the side, and ran around the building towards the front of the club where he could hear people. The bouncers would help, that’s what they were for.

The guy only took a moment to catch his breath before racing after Dean, but a moment was all Dean needed.

It was late, so there were groups of people outside, smoking and laughing. Dean dodged through them easily to get to the doors. He didn’t recognize the bouncer, but he dashed behind him quickly just as the alpha from the parking lot reached them and spit out a burst of Russian to the bouncer, pointing at Dean.

The bouncer turned, grabbing Dean by the arm, smirking. He smelled amused. “Malishka, you are not marked as one of ours, what are you doing working here and attacking poor Vitaliy? How can he show his face when an omega suka can take him down?”

“Idi na khuy, Alexi,” Vitaliy spit, glaring. “Just give him back and he is getting what is coming to him.”

“No!” Dean said, pulling against Alexi’s grip. Fuck, he had to tell them. He was so fucked. “Angel! Angel told me to come. I’m with Angel.”

“You said you were going to see your alpha,” Vitaliy sneered. “Now you are saying you’re with Angel?”

“Yes!” Dean gave up struggling against the bouncer holding his arm, it was definitely going to bruise. He pulled his shirt collar down to show his mating bite. “He’s my alpha.”

The men paused. Vitaliy’s scent soured so sharply Dean almost sneezed.

“No,” said Vitaliy, backing up a step.

Alexi looked Dean over. “I have heard-”

“No!” Vitaliy said, starting to pale. “What the fuck were you doing if-”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Dean glared.

“You-”

“Take it to Angel,” Alexi interrupted. “Both of you. Inside.”

“No!” Vitaliy said, starting to back up. “No, I- I didn’t know. I didn’t hurt him, he’s fine. Everyone is fine, you just go see your alpha, and-”

“Sorry, Vitaliy,” Alexi said, grabbing Vitaliy’s arm and walking them both inside. “You made a scene and Angel will need to know about this.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Angel was going to kill them both. 

“I don’t-” Dean started. 

“Angel will need to know about this,” Alexi interrupted.

It was dark in the club, music blaring, lights flashing around the room lighting up faces and body parts as people writhed together on the dance floor in a smokey haze.

Alexi walked Dean and Vitaliy up the stairs to the loft like a teacher with two naughty children. 

Dean was pretty sure he was going to be sick. 

Vitaliy looked like he was walking to the gallows.

Angel was with a group in the same area as last time. Dean recognized Michael, Balthazar, another man that had been with them outside the club last week, and some of the group of women.

Two of the women were sitting on either side of Angel, looking up at him like he had all the answers in the world while he spoke. They were posing themselves carefully to entice Dean's alpha - the blonde omega from last time and the brunette alpha that had said something about Dean in a tank with sharks.

When Angel saw Dean at the top of the stairs, he stopped speaking and frowned. Dean frowned back. Why was his alpha entertaining women?

The women smirked.

Alexi brought Dean and Vitaliy to stand closer to the couches. When Angel raised his eyebrow, Alexi spoke. “There was a situation, Angel. A-” He glanced at Vitaliy. “A misunderstanding that led to an unfortunate scene outside the doors.”

Dean yanked his arm free and rubbed at the spot he just knew was going to bruise. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Dean,” Angel spoke, voice careful. “Show me your arm.”

Vitaliy made a jerky motion, like he was trying to break away as well, but Alexi didn’t let him go.

Dean shoved the sleeve of his shirt up to show a clear red handprint. Angel gestured with two fingers for Dean to come to him, so Dean did, ignoring the women.

“Tell me what happened,” Angel demanded, pulling Dean down to kneel between his spread legs. Dean rested his hands on his alpha’s thighs, trying to ground himself. They had gotten more comfortable together over the week, some shared breakfasts in the kitchen and a few evenings on the couch watching TV. Enough to keep the buzz under Dean’s skin from getting out of control again. He breathed in the sharp protective scent of his alpha, relaxing, thoughts going a bit fuzzy around the edges. He was safe now. Angel would handle it.

“I-” Dean cleared his throat looking up at Angel’s beautiful blue eyes. “I took a sec to try to clear my head when I got out of my car..”

There was another scuffle between Vitaliy and Alexi behind him, but Dean kept his eyes locked with Angel’s. “He was smoking in the parking lot by the back door and started talking to me. I don’t know, he seemed nice. We were just talking.” Dean’s fingers dug into Angel’s thighs and Angel reached out to card his fingers through Dean's hair. Dean broke out in goosebumps, it felt so nice. “He offered me a smoke and I thought yeah, that would be nice. But then he pinned me to the wall and when I told him no, that he shouldn’t, my alpha was not the forgiving type, he pulled his knife-”

“Ya ne znal!” Vitaliy burst out. “I did not know he was yours!”

Angel gently gripped Dean’s chin, frowning down at him, not looking away as he ignored Vitaliy. His scent took on a burnt aspect, temper rising. “Dean?”

“He pinned me against the wall, put his knife to my throat,” Dean said, licking his lips. “Told me that either I get on my knees and thank him for fucking my face or I was going to get a lot less pretty real fast.”

“Nyet!” Vitaliy sounded desperate.

“But you got away?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “I told him okay. I got him to move the knife away and when I dropped down, I punched him in the dick and then ran straight to the club.”

“He came barreling down the sidewalk, ducked behind me,” Alexi agreed. “Vitaliy followed, told me he had been attacked by a whore and asked for him to be returned. Dean explained who he was, and I brought them to you.”

“Spasibo, Alexi, you may return to the door. But Alexi?” Alexi looked into Angel’s eyes. “I do not ever want to see you leave marks on my mate again.”

Alexi winced and nodded, leaving quickly.

“Vitaliy.” Angel said the name carefully, weighing it. “He told you he was mated and that his alpha was not the forgiving type, da? What did you say to that?”

“I- Angel, I did not know it was you. I would never have touched him if I knew, I swear it.”

“Dean, what did he say when you told him?” Angel asked, not looking away from Vitaliy.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “He said he would give me some money to bring back to my alpha so you wouldn’t mind; that pretty little omegas don’t come here by themselves if they aren’t looking for a knot to ride. He told me to get on my knees.”

No one spoke for a moment. The scent of Vitaliy’s panicked fear filled the space, mixing with the anger and protectiveness from others.

“Michael,” Angel said, calmly. “What do we do with anyone who would dare put my mate on his knees?”

“I will show him, Angel,” Michael replied, standing and gesturing for several men to join him in escorting Vitaliy out. 

Angel turned his attention back to Dean, pulling Dean’s shirt collar aside and rubbing his thumb over his bite mark. He was quiet, thinking for a while. “This can not happen, milyy. They need to know that you are mine without question.”

“Yes, alpha,” Dean tilted his head further, giving Angel more access. “I tried to tell him.”

“Balthazar.”

“Angel?”

”Privedi tatuirovshchika.”

Chapter Text

After Balthazar left, Angel continued to look at Dean, stroking over his mating bite. “Did you get on your knees for him?”

Dean jerked, eyes widening. “No! No! I just ducked down! Alpha, I would never!”

“No?”

“No, I-” Dean swallowed and lowered his voice, wishing those women weren’t there. “Not unless he forced me. Not without a fight.”

Angel moved his hand to cup Dean’s cheek, smiling down at him. His scent sweetened, clearing the remaining unpleasantness from earlier. “Good boy.” Then without looking away from Dean, “Sasha, up.”

The blonde immediately got up and moved to sit on the other couch with the three women who had been with Michael and Balthazar. 

Angel pulled Dean up to sit against his side, arm curled possessively around his omega. He indicated the brunette beside him. “Dean, this is my friend Meg. She is rabid bitch, she hates you on principle. That-” He indicated the blonde. “Is Sasha. She is social climbing snake. She is friend of Meg. And those are Tasha, Stacey, and Jessica, they work with Balthazar.”

Dean blinked up at Angel and then looked at the women. “Um. Nice to meet you?”

“The pleasure’s all yours, Dean,” purred Meg, leaning closer, curling her hand around Angel’s knee. “Tell us about yourself. Clarence here has been very close-lipped.”

Dean watched her hand as it touched his alpha. He didn't like that. “After that introduction, I think I'm grateful. I don't think I want to hear his description of me.”

Dean felt Angel’s chest bounce twice with a silent laugh.

“My name’s Dean, I’m an Aquarius, I like long walks on the beach and-” He paused. Probably best not to finish that statement the usual way. “Cheeseburgers.”

“Mm,” hummed Sasha, her voice was higher than Meg’s but pleasant. Russian. “And what do you do with your time when you are not walking on the beach or stuffing meat in your face?”

Meg snickered.

“I’m a mechanic.”

“Oh, you work?” Meg asked, raising her eyebrows. “What’s the point of hooking up with older rich alpha if you still have to get your hands dirty?”

Dean frowned at her. “What else would I do? Sit around the house and paint my nails or some shit?”

Meg looked disdainfully at Dean’s rough, oil stained hand resting on Angel’s thigh. “A little body maintenance would not be a bad thing, Ken Doll. Take yourself shopping, decorate your house, get a few hobbies. Learn how omega in your position should act.”

“Right,” Dean drawled. “How about we schedule a brunch date so you and all your friends can come together and give me all the advice you have that failed to land him, and I’ll give that the consideration it deserves."

Dean glanced up and caught a smirk on Angel’s face. Sasha giggled.

“Oh, please,” scoffed Meg. “Like you did anything to land him. He chose you because you are nobody and would give him his way in everything.”

“Maybe.” Dean dared to wrap his arm around Angel’s chest, snuggling in closer under his arm. “But he did choose me and unless I’m mistaken, I'm the only one he’s chosen.”

Angel brought his hand up to rub at Dean’s scalp gently. “Da. I have bitten no others.”

With an eyeroll from Meg, the conversation turned to things and people Dean didn’t know about, and he slowly stopped listening.

This evening was certainly not going the way he expected. Dean wondered what was going to happen to Vitaliy. Likely nothing good. Should he feel bad about that? He didn’t. Angel was once again protecting Dean from rape and he could only feel good about that.

He did not, however, feel good about Meg’s reminder that he was claimed because he was no one with no power. It didn’t feel that simple, though. That could not have been the first time Angel found himself presented with a powerless omega. The men were casual enough with their treatment of Dean, it was not an unfamiliar situation to any of them. 

Maybe it was just timing, but that felt unlikely. Angel was gentle with him, and he took care of him. He listened and hadn’t yelled at him or hurt him; didn’t even seem to want to. Dean’s dad certainly hadn’t treated him as well, and even Bobby was free with insults when Dean was being an idiot.

Dean was completely baffled at the lack of punishment tonight. The whole situation was obviously Dean’s fault, getting up close with a strange alpha like an idiot.

Dean sighed and moved his face closer to Angel’s scent gland, closing his eyes and mentally shrugging. Like Bobby said, it was better to just go with it. No sense overthinking it. This was his life now, better to accept it and be grateful.

When he was handed a Pepsi by a passing waitress he smiled sweetly in thanks and settled into listening to the conversation, quietly sipping. 

—

When Balthazar returned with a beta man, Dean was only mildly curious, having gotten used to people coming and going over the evening.

“Dean, this is Ash,” Angel introduced them. Ash was a weird looking guy with a mullet - a mullet - and ripped jeans. Definitely not fitting the dress code of the club. “He will be giving you your tattoo.”

“Nice to me-” Dean’s brain caught up. “My what? My tattoo? I’m getting a tattoo?”

Angel huffed and ignored him. “I think an angel wing coming off my bite mark. We could do two wings framing it, but I am mostly concerned with it being easily visible.”

Ash started nodding, pulling papers from the backpack he’d brought with him. “Right on, man, let me see where you’re thinking so I can get an idea about size and shape.”

Angel pushed Dean away gently and unbuttoned Dean's shirt, pulling it down to show his shoulder, drawing a rough triangle shape from his bite up his neck. Dean blushed and froze at suddenly being exposed and the center of attention of all these people who mostly didn’t seem to like him. “See, I think it can go out like this, but it has to look good. He is beautiful, it needs to accentuate, not-”

“Yeah, yeah, I see! He’s got a great neck and if we just- I do have to be careful, can’t ink over the gland, but you bit nicely, that’s going to look good! I think if we fan it right, we can make it look like a wing over the bite, like it's sheltering it. What style are you thinking?”

“For such a sweet little omega? Something cute and fluffy.” Meg drawled, sipping her drink. She had something pink in a pretty glass.

“No,” Angel said, pulling away to stare at Dean’s neck, assessing it. “Like mine. My wing over his bite.”

“Um.” Dean licked his lips nervously. “Why am I getting a tattoo?”

Angel sighed like it should be obvious. “A man is being disciplined tonight because he did not know who you are. That is unacceptable. With this, there will be no confusion.”

“Oh,” Dean said, mind rushing. “What do your wings look like?”

There was a pause as everyone looked at him in confusion. Sasha started giggling, and the other ladies joined her. Angel sighed again.

“Do not worry about it, mal’chik. I can show you later.”

“Did you bite him without fucking him?” Balthazar said, his voice higher than normal.

“That is hardly your business-” Angel started.

“No, wait, really?” Meg squealed, grin enormous. “Ken doll, you really haven’t seen his tattoos?”

Dean looked alarmed. He’d fucked up. This had to count as embarrassing his alpha. Oh fuck.

“Alright!” Ash interrupted without seeming to realize, holding up a sketch of a wing. Dean actually quite liked it, but he wasn't sure he wanted it on his body. “Something like this what we’re thinking?”

“Da,” Angel said firmly. “Exactly like that. Dean, run to bathroom while he gets it on transfer paper. Actually, I will come with you. This will take several hours.”

Angel stood, taking Dean’s hand and pulling him down the stairs and through the crowd. Dean held tight to his hand, not wanting to get left behind as dancers jostled them in passing. Dean thought he knew where they were going but Angel went towards the bar, through a Staff Only door that had a long hall. Angel took the second door on the right to the Alpha’s bathroom.

The room was well lit with white tiles, two stalls, two urinals and two sinks. It smelled like lemon sanitizer.

Angel let go of Dean’s hand and went to the urinal, unfastening his pants. After a brief hesitation, Dean joined him. It felt awkward, standing side by side and peeing, but Dean just closed his eyes and got through it. As they washed their hands, though, he couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

“Alpha, I’m sorry.”

Angel tiled his head to the side, frowning over at him. “Chto? What for?”

“I mean, the whole night? But I- I think I embarrassed you? About your tattoo? They were laughing.” He was afraid to look up as they dried their hands with brown paper towels.

Angel smirked. “Ah. I see. It does not embarrass me that you have not seen my back, Dean. I have seen yours. I have seen all of you. I do not need to fuck you for you to be mine.” Angel pressed him against the wall of the bathroom sliding a knee between Dean’s thighs. “I know what it feels like for you to fuck yourself on my hand until you fall apart. I know what it feels like to fuck that beautiful mouth; watch you lick me clean until you’re so fucked out you fall asleep still suckling. Their lack of imagination is not my problem.”

Dean couldn’t think of a single thing to say back, and was saved from having to try by Angel taking his mouth in a slow, deep kiss before pulling away just enough to speak.

“Now,” Angel purred against Dean’s mouth. “We go make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

Chapter Text

Saturday but only just, November, 14 1998

It burned.

A stingy burn that just went on and on and Dean hated it. 

He was laid across the couch, shirtless, his head on Angel’s lap facing out with Ash on a stool in front of him working with quiet focus. Dean had been instructed to hold still, and he was doing his best, his hands fisted tightly against his chest, breathing heavily through his nose, tears silently soaking into Angel’s slacks.

Ash couldn’t avoid touching Dean’s mating gland and it was starting to feel swollen and sore on top of feeling incredibly wrong.

Dean didn’t want this. He didn’t want the tattoo. He didn’t want the bite. He didn’t want this life that he’d fallen into. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not a damned thing. 

He had to live for Sammy and this was the life he was allowed.

Angel was talking with his friends in Russian. He was as still as he could be, so that he wouldn’t jostle Dean, but he seemed to be having a nice evening. He had one hand on Dean’s ribs, idly stroking with his thumb. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

He seemed to think this was sexy. Dean got it, alphas loved claiming, and this alpha got to give not only his bite, but his mark above it so that there could be no mistake that Dean belonged to him.

But this wasn’t sexy to Dean. Not even a little bit.

Dean exhaled shakily, trying to be quiet.

But that didn’t matter. Angel wanted this. Angel wanted Dean.

Which was a good thing. Vitaliy would suffer for touching Dean, and as soon as he heard Angel’s name, he knew it was coming. So this mark, chosen or not, was going to keep Dean safe. 

The needle ran over a more sensitive area and he whimpered, trying to be still, to be quiet. 

Another deep breath, exhaling shakily.

He was supposed to see Sammy tomorrow. Fuck, what would Bobby and Sam say about this?

“You’re doing great, guy,” Ash murmured, wiping gently at the tattoo. “About halfway done now.”

All Dean could do was whisper a quiet, “‘kay.” 

Meg said something and Angel laughed, Dean clenched to try not to jostle with the movement.

This was a good thing.

This would keep him safe.

When it was done, Angel was pleased.

Dean was quiet.

Ash covered it in plastic wrap and handed him a bag of supplies, explaining aftercare. Dean nodded and tried to smile at him. Ash smiled back, looking understanding.

Dean sat up carefully and slowly drank the glass of orange juice someone had brought him after he pulled his shirt back on. When he felt steady enough, he told Angel he was tired and was going to head home.

Angel frowned at him, tilting his head to the side, looking over his face like it might tell him something, before nodding and pulling Dean in so he could kiss his forehead.

“Goodnight, mal’chik.”

Dean nodded to everyone else and left as unobtrusively as possible.

When he got home, he took a long shower, soaking off the bandage like Ash had told him and washing his skin carefully with the gentle soap.

When he realized he was in danger of falling asleep standing, he got out and dried off, hesitantly looking in the mirror.

The tattoo looked nice, at least; a sheltering wing over his bite. He tried to like it.

He failed.

He gently moisturized it anyway, and then brushed his teeth.

He felt cold and vulnerable, so he wore a long sleeve shirt and thick plaid pajamas to bed instead of his usual tank top. He wished he had another blanket.

He laid quietly in the bed watching the sky out his balcony doors for a long time before sleep took him.

—

Saturday morning, November 14, 1998

He bandaged the tattoo before going into work.

Not necessarily to hide it, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to risk the filth of his job getting on it.

Hiding it was just a perk.

Bobby noticed and raised an eyebrow but Dean just waved a dismissive hand and buried himself in work, avoiding everyone.

He had an interesting job today anyway - a car brought in with the front left brake locking up no matter how many times the owner had tried changing it on their own. Dean drained the brake lines and replaced the fluid, replaced the calipers and ground down brake pad… and the thing locked up again. He cursed under his breath and went back at it, eventually realizing he was going to get a good six hundred dollar check from the customer for parts and work once he traced the problem to the ABS module.

“Dean!”

Dean jerked away from the car, and turned just in time to catch Sammy, who had launched himself at Dean like a small child at a parent - fully trusting Dean to catch him without warning. Dean’s butt did slam into the front of the car, but at least they didn’t fall down or hit their heads on the hood.

He couldn’t speak right away, he just buried his face in Sam’s neck, drowning himself in the scent of rosemary and pup, holding him tight enough it probably hurt, but Sam was doing the same, so it didn’t matter.

This was why he hadn’t seen Sammy before. All the walls he’d built up to protect himself from the overwhelming grief and terror fell the second his brother was in his arms again. He felt himself shatter, his legs went out from under him and Sam quickly guided them down to sit on the floor, Dean curled in Sammy’s lap, hands fisted in Sammy’s shirt, guttural sobs forcing themselves from his body.

When the storm passed, he stayed curled up on Sammy, exhausted and nauseated. He couldn’t open his eyes, he couldn’t speak. He just breathed in his brother's scent and tried to remember how to exist when he was hollowed out and raw.

Eventually Bobby came and they helped Dean into Bobby’s truck and took him to Bobby’s house. They sat him at the table and he sipped water - which stung his throat but made his mouth less sticky feeling - while they reheated beef stew on the stove.

No one spoke.

Dean ate mechanically. It soothed his sore throat, but his nose was still stuffy and everything tasted like ash.

“I left a message at your house,” Bobby said. “Let your alpha know we were keeping you here tonight, that you weren’t feelin’ too good.”

Dean nodded.

“Before you go to bed,” Bobby hesitated. “Are you okay, Dean? Why is your neck bandaged?”

Dean wiped his nose with the back of his hand and peeled the bandage off his neck.

There was a quiet moment and then Bobby sighed. 

“Right,” Bobby grunted. “Right. Well. How about you go on up to bed. There’s some A&D in the bathroom cabinet, do you need help putting it on?”

“I’ll help him,” Sam said, quietly. “I’ve got it, Bobby, thank you.”

Bobby nodded and started clearing the dishes as Sam took Dean’s hand and brought him upstairs to the bathroom.

Dean sat on the toilet to pee and stayed there as Sam silently, gently washed his neck and spread the A&D cream over the tattoo.

“It’s going to be okay, Dean,” Sam swore. “We’ll do whatever you need, okay? I’m good here with Bobby - better than I ever was with dad - and-” 

Sam’s voice caught.

Neither of them were ready to talk about dad yet.

“Let’s go to bed, Dean. I’ve got you.”

Dean quietly followed Sammy into Sam’s room and they curled up together in Bobby’s lumpy guest bed, taking comfort in each other as they had done their entire lives.

Chapter Text

Sunday mid morning, November 15, 1998

They woke up still curled together in the bed, but didn’t feel the need to move.

Eventually, Dean spoke, voice harsh from sleep and the breakdown yesterday.

“I didn’t understand. They tell you about bonds, but it’s-” He coughed and licked his lips. “I need him. I feel like ants are crawling under my skin right now because I haven’t been near him since Friday night.”

Sam nodded, pulling Dean closer and petting his hair gently.

“How can I feel safe around someone like him? He’s part of the group of people who killed dad. He literally told me I’m ‘no one’ and he would marry me because I wouldn’t get in his way. He told me he would either bite me or shoot me and he didn’t seem to care which.”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam murmured. “Is he still like that?”

“I don’t really know.” Dean frowned. “He makes sure I get what I need. I can add anything to the grocery list and the housekeepers bring it. He gave me money for clothes and let me go alone to pick out what I wanted. We’re polite to each other, and he defends me, makes sure everyone treats me respectfully. He - Sammy, he hasn’t hit me. He hasn’t yelled at me. He hasn’t insulted me or anything.”

“That's good, Dean,” Sam nodded, looking far too sincere. “He shouldn’t hit you or insult you.”

Dean snorted. “Even Bobby and Ellen smack me and insult me, Sam. Everyone always has. But Angel, he treats me better than I thought anyone even could, but I- I don’t know. There was a situation the other night. A man tried-” Dean paused, licking his lips. “He thought I was a hooker, I guess? He wasn’t taking no for an answer. I got away but the guy was going to hurt me, and Angel, he- he protected me. But. He didn’t like that people didn’t know who I was by sight; didn’t like risking that situation again. So he got me tattooed. Didn’t ask. Didn’t even seem to think I might not want it.”

“He thinks he owns you.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded and sighed, hugging Sammy tighter. “And he does.”

Neither of them had anything to say after that.

—

Bobby made burritos for breakfast - sausage, eggs, peppers, onions, potatoes, cheese, and salsa. Dean practically inhaled his, washing it down with coffee and a happy sigh.

San wasn't far behind with his own burrito and orange juice before heading for a shower.

“Thank you, Bobby, that was exactly what I needed.” Dean smiled as he rubbed his belly.

Bobby snorted. “Anytime, boy. You’re always welcome here.”

Dean nodded. “I’m not sure how often I can come. He said he doesn’t care, but I don’t feel good. I can’t be away from him this long. Does this get less awful?”

Bobby was a beta, but he’d been mated to an omega woman, Karen, until she died of cancer when Dead was little. It’s why Bobby moved here from South Dakota - Houston had one of the best cancer hospitals in the country, MD Anderson. Beta/omega bonds were less intense than alpha/omega bonds, but they had to be similar in some ways.

Bobby sighed and refilled their coffee mugs. “I don’t know, Dean. Usually? The one-sided bonds are worse, but since it's almost always an omega issue, people don’t seem to care. There’s things that can help, of course. Being close, wearing something that smells like him to keep his scent with you, being intimate, but your bond wants completin’ and until that happens, it’s going to try to keep you close, and him interested.”

“It’s so much bullshit,” Dean growled. “He bit me. He picked me. Why am I the one who has to get all submissive and clingy? He should be the one acting like this, trying to earn my bite.”

“I agree, son. It’s not fair and it’s been abused forever.” Bobby took a drink and looked at Dean over the rim of his cup. “But he’s still treating you okay? Not hurting you? You don’t seem happy about that ink.”

“He’s fine. He treats me good. I’m not-” Dean sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. “I understand the tattoo. He did it to keep me safe. Someone tried to hurt me, and he wanted to be sure that everyone understood who I am and who they’d be fucking with if they touched me. I get it. He had to punish a guy that night because he went after me and he didn’t want to have to repeat that.”

“Jesus, Dean,” Bobby hissed. “What a mess. What the hell was John thinking, getting mixed up with these people?”

“Probably nothing, and he paid for it, Bobby.” Dean took a long drink of his coffee. 

“Yeah, well, you’re paying for it too, and that’s bullshit. I wish I could fix it, son.”

“Me, too. But. We can’t. So.” Dean finished his coffee and pressed his hands against the top of the table. “I’m going to get him that guest list for the wedding. We should probably talk about that sometime. I’m just going to invite everyone. It’s my wedding, I want everyone there. I think it’ll be okay to do that.”

“Yeah, I reckon. He’ll end up knowing us all eventually. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but we’ll do anything we can, Dean. I mean that.”

“That means everything to me, Bobby. I couldn’t do this without you.”

—

When Dean got home, he was shaking. After removing his shoes, he went to the living room, but it was empty. He leaned against the wall by the opening for the dining room.

“Angel? Angel, please, I need-”

“Hello, Dean,” Angel’s voice came from behind him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Dean choked out. “I can’t - I need-”

“You need your alpha, mal’chik?” Angel walked to him slowly, a gentle smirk on this face. “I was surprised you didn’t come home last night. I worried the bond wasn’t working. But look at you.” He cupped Dean’s face in both hands, stroking his thumbs over Dean’s cheeks. “Trembling. Calling for your alpha. Desperate for me.”

Dean breathed in harshly, closing his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Mm.” Angel slowly stroked down Dean’s arms until he held his hands and pulled him down the hall to his bedroom. “Come. Let me take care of you, zaychik, and then you show me how much you miss me.”

The room was lovely. Painted a deep blue, there was an intricately carved wooden bed with cozy looking dark blue and cream bedding and pillows, and with a padded bench at the foot. The far wall had French doors that opened to the back patio. There were sliding doors for a closet against the nearest wall and a door which likely led to the bathroom.

Angel let go of Dean to fold down the blankets to the foot of the bed, then went to his closet and pulled out a waterproof cloth pad, like Dean used in his heats.

“I think maybe the couch would be more to your comfort,” Angel murmured, "but you get so deliciously wet, and I do not need all our guests to smell it.”

Dean had never blushed so hard in his life. He remembered the sounds of Angel’s fingers fucking him on the couch and couldn’t argue.

“Now, take off your clothes for me, zaychik.”

Dean would have felt exposed and uncomfortable, but Angel was taking off his clothes as well, laying them over the bench at the bottom of the bed. Dean internally shrugged and did the same. He felt a little less shaky now that he could smell the alpha, now that they’d touched, but that angry buzz under his skin was still there, and the fuzzy feeling he knew he’d get when he was drowning in the alpha’s scent hadn’t come on to dull anything yet.

“You are very beautiful,” Angel said, reaching out a hand to pull Dean close. He moved one hand to Dean’s shoulder, and turned Dean’s chin with the other, inspecting the tattoo quietly. “We should get some cream on this before we start. You likely fall asleep after, and we don’t want forget.”

So Dean followed him into the bathroom - a lovely room with oak cabinets, a soaking tub, a large glassed-in shower, and double sinks. He waved Dean to sit on the side of the tub and pulled a tube of the same lotion Ash had from the second drawer. He was gentle as he applied it to the tattoo and he kissed Dean’s forehead before he put the tube away and washed his hands.

Angel was covered with tattoos. Arms, chest, legs, and when he turned away, Dean saw the wings. They weren’t what he expected, but they were lovely - two greyscale wings raised and open starting from the middle of his back, with the tips of the feathers at his shoulders. There are other parts, details making it beautiful, but Dean started to shake again and he couldn’t focus on it.

Dean was up and had his arms wrapped around Angel without any conscious thought, all that gorgeous hot skin felt like heaven against his own.

Angel chuckled and turned in Dean’s arms, cupping his face. “Alright. You were very patient for me, sweet boy, now I care for you, hm?”

They settled on the bed, Angel sitting up with a pile of pillows supporting him, Dean in his lap.

Normally Dean would have mixed feelings about this position, but he was far too buzzy to fuss. 

Angel’s scent was strong, broadcasting his arousal, making Dean ache.

So much skin was all he could think as he returned the deep drugging kisses and writhed against the man underneath him. His hands couldn't settle as they moved from Angel’s hair to his amazing shoulders, and Angel seemed to have the same problem - those strong hands were stroking Dean’s back, pulling his hair, gripping his hips and guiding him to a slow grind that was driving Dean out of his mind.

The alpha’s cock was hard and pressing against Dean’s ass, helping to distribute the slick that Dean could feel dripping down his thighs. The head sometimes pressed against Dean’s hole and that burst of pressure made him hiss, reflexively pressing against it and then rocking away when it started to press in. Dean’s cock was trapped between them, making a wet mess of the alpha’s stomach.

The alpha slid one hand slowly down Dean’s back, around his hip, between his legs to his ass, pressing his fingers into Dean in a firm slide that made Dean roll his head back, pulling out of the kiss to groan. Angel’s hand formed a bit of a cup for his own cock so that it slid across Dean's perineum and pressed tight against the fingers in Dean’s hole with every thrust. It almost felt like he was being fucked and Dean tucked his head down to mouth against Angel’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Angel’s shoulders, and rocked forward and back - grinding his cock against Angel’s lower belly, and then grinding back against Angel’s fingers and cock.

They were both panting, sweat building up where their skin met. Angel held the back of Dean’s head with one hand while the other added another finger inside him, then another.

Dean was so hot, his hair sticking to them both and he licked his lips as he whined, the press of fingers moving deep inside him, the slick slide of the alpha’s cock, the amazing noises Angel was making - 

Dean bit down hard on Angel’s shoulder as he came, pressing down against the fingers in his ass and Angel hissed, pulling the fingers loose and the head of the alpha’s cock slipped inside - Angel was gripping his own cock, stroking rapidly, the hand bumping against Dean’s ass and then Angel groaned, deep and rich and arched, and he was coming - he was coming inside of Dean, Dean could feel it and he tried to jerk away, but Angel’s arm locked him in place for a moment reflexively before pulling Dean forward off his cock, stroking himself through the rest of his orgasm, coating Dean’s ass and thighs with come.

Angel pressed his cock back against Dean’s hole, sliding past it before pressing his fingers back in as they both shook with aftershocks, slowly catching their breath.

The hand holding Dean’s head started slowly stroking up and down Dean’s back, as the one in his hole idly pulled out to slowly circle his rim.

His body settled, covered in his alpha’s scent, Dean fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Sunday afternoon, November 15, 1998

When Dean woke up, he was disoriented. 

He was in Angel’s bed, naked. Alone.

“What..?”

Then he remembered: coming home from Bobby’s, desperation, the sex-

Did that count as sex?

Dean snorted. He’d heard enough jokes about “just the tip” to find what happened funny.

He wasn’t sticky or crusty, though. Angel had cleaned him up and left him to sleep.

That was sweet. Dean smiled as he stretched, arms and legs reaching, back arching. He felt good.

After a quick bathroom trip, he redressed and went looking for Angel.

He wasn’t in his office or the living room. 

Dean heard noise upstairs and followed it to the gym - instead of turning left at the top of the stairs to go to the main loft space and Dean’s room, there was a guest room and a gym to the right.

Angel was using the Bowflex, facing away from Dean doing lat pulls wearing only gym shorts. Dean stayed quiet, enjoying the view.

Sweat shining on tattooed skin, shorts rising up high on his thighs-

Dean might have disliked quite a few things about his new life situation, but there were perks and one of them was how incredibly hot his alpha was. Those thighs alone-

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jumped and shoved his hands in his pockets nervously.

“Uh. Hey, Angel.”

“My brother and his wife are come for dinner tonight.” His shoulders stretched and bunched as he continued his reps.

“Oh. Okay.” Dean paused. “Should I cook something?”

What the hell could he cook? Spaghetti didn’t seem nice enough, but with what he knew how to cook and what they had available-

Angel shook his head. “They are bring food from restaurant we enjoy. Good Russian food. I would not ask you to worry about that during this time.”

Dean frowned. “This time?”

“Ah.” Angel released the bar and turned to face Dean, wiping his hands on a towel that had been behind him on the bench. “I know your traditions are likely different. In Russian Orthodox tradition, there are forty days of mourning following death. I know your situation is not.. ideal, but I have try to not burden you during this time with social obligations. I usually have people over quite frequently but that did not seem appropriate.”

“Oh.” Dean nodded. “Thank you for that. I.. I would have struggled with that. The club is manageable because I don’t really have to do anything, and I can leave when I need to.”

“Yes. The club is easy for people to see you. They need know you are mine,” Angel said, looking down at his hands. “But not how we met. That is no one’s business.”

“Oh.” Dean nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “Those guys that.. that you took me from. They know though.”

“They do. And Maxim. It was his house.” Angel nodded. “But they know better than to gossip. I met with them next day and explained to them that it would be best if they forget. They understand. But if anyone tells it to you, let me know. You are my mate. I give you value they cannot take away.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t like the wording of that sentiment, but decided to blame it on language differences and not mention it. “I’m a bit hungry. I'm gonna go grab some lunch. What time will they be here?”

“Seven. Wear something nice.”

“You want me to make something for you, too?”

Angel shook his head. “I already ate. You go.”

Dean nodded again and headed downstairs.

—

Gabriel and Rowena burst into the house, bringing a rush of energy and rich scents coming from two paper bags full of food.

Dean had set the table in the dining room before they came and he thought it looked very classy. Located between the living room and the kitchen, the dining room had rich plum colored walls and a dark cherry table. The walls were kept from being too dark by a large mirror on the far wall, and white french doors on the left leading out to the patio. The walls were covered with beautiful plates that Dean assumed were family heirlooms. 

As Rowena unpacked the boxes of food onto servingware, Dean brought in drinks - kvass, vodka, and a glass of Pepsi for himself. He didn’t care for kvass and wasn’t in the mood for vodka. He was nervous enough and didn’t want to risk misjudging his alcohol intake and embarrassing Angel.

They sat down - Angel at the head of the table, Dean at the foot, Gabriel in front of the patio doors and Rowena in front of the entry to the kitchen.

Angel said a quick prayer.

Dean tried to join in the polite conversation, but he was busy trying to figure out the food. There were small bowls of things - pickles, cooked mushrooms, garlic cloves, and eggs, a beef and potato soup that smelled like sour cabbage, tiny dumplings that looked like they had meat in them, cabbage rolls, something that looked like potato salad, maybe, except it had carrots in it, fried potatoes with onion, and a loaf of dark rye bread.

It’s not that Dean was a picky eater, it's just that he preferred to know what he was eating. 

“Have you had Russian food before, dearie?” Rowena asked.

“No, ma’am,” Dean answered shyly. “But it smells delicious.”

“Well, then let me tell you what we have!” Rowena smiled and pointed as she described. “We bought pickles - cucumber, mushroom, garlic and eggs. Russians love their pickles. That with the rye bread are appetizers generally. The soup is shchi - beef and vegetables with sauerkraut. It’s delicious and sour. The dumplings are pelmini, they're very popular, you likely have some in the freezer. These are beef. Oh! Olivier Salad - a potato salad with carrots, chicken, eggs, and pickles. Cabbage rolls with beef. Fried potatoes with onion. And of course, sour cream to accompany most of it.” Rowena grinned with twinkling eyes.

“Oh,” Dean said, feeling overwhelmingly grateful. “Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem, dear. I still remember when it was all new to me. I’ve only known them for four years myself.”

As things were passed around, he declined all the pickles, but the dumplings looked and smelled delicious, as did the cabbage rolls. He skipped the soup, but you can’t go wrong with fried potatoes, and bread was always a good choice. The potato salad sounded a bit weird, but he figured he’d give it a try.

When everyone had all the food they wanted, Angel made a toast to health and happiness, and they all drank a shot of vodka.

Dean hadn’t felt like drinking but it didn’t seem to be optional.

Everyone started eating, and the food was good, especially the stuffed cabbage and pelmeni. Several more toasts were made and by the end of the meal, Dean was feeling a little tipsy. He wasn’t used to drinking like this.

“So, Dean,” Gabriel said, making Dean realize that he’d completely tuned out the conversation. He looked up and realized everyone was looking at him and he quickly swallowed his bite of the pelmeni. “How are you settling in? You and Cassie have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“What?” 

Cassie? 

“We have not celebrated Thanksgiving, but it’s an important holiday, da? Do you celebrate?” Gabe asked.

“Sometimes,” Dean replied carefully. Did he want to bring up his dad? Not that dad was often involved in Thanksgiving. “I try to do something nice for my brother every year. So much has been going on lately, I forgot to think about it.”

Bobby probably planned something for Thanksgiving. Was the shop closing for the holiday? What days?

“You and Cassie will visit your family, right? Or would you host?”

Dean was so confused. “Cassie? Why would I bring Cassie?”

He looked to Angel for help, but Angel’s face was carefully blank.

“We had not talked about it, but I had assumed you would want to celebrate with your brother and Bobby, at least?” Angel asked, carefully, tilting his head as he frowned at Dean.

Dean nodded. “Sure, if you don’t have anything you wanted to do, I could go there. I’d like that.”

“But you don’t want to bring him?” Rowena asked, eying him.

“Bring him,” Dean repeated, still not following. “I mean, yeah, if he wants to come, but what’s that got to do with Cassie?”

They all looked at each other in confusion.

“Cassie,” Gabriel repeated. “Your mate. Castiel.”

What.

“Oh,” Dean said, nodding in confusion, looking from Gabriel to Angel. No, Castiel. How did he go this long without knowing his real name? What was Angel then? Everyone called him that! Fuck, Ang-Castiel was starting to frown more, Dean had been quiet too long. This was weird. He was acting weird. He’d fucked up again. Say something, Winchester! “Right. I’m sorry. Of course. I haven’t heard him called Cassie before and I somehow thought you were talking about my ex-girlfriend.”

Rowena tittered. “Oh, my, that would have been a strange invite!”

Dean huffed a laugh gratefully at her. Castiel was watching him with a strange expression and Gabriel looked weirdly suspicious. “Right? I don’t even know why I would think that, I haven’t seen her in a long time. I guess I was nervous and not thinking straight.” Dean took a big drink. “But yeah! Yeah, totally, of course I would bring Castiel with me if he wanted to go. Big family holiday and everything. I’ll talk to Bobby about it tomorrow.”

Fuck, was he really going to bring Ang-Castiel with him? That didn’t seem right. They should totally have it here if- but fuck, did he want Sam here? Not really.

“You have met his family, right, Cassie?” Gabriel asked, frowning.

“No, not yet,” Castiel answered, and took a sip of his water. “I had planned to, but you know how things at work have been the last while. Dean works with his uncle, who has custody of his brother Sam. We will, of course, invite them over for Thanksgiving if they have not already made plans.”

Dean was going to die. Should he invite Gabriel and Rowena? That seemed polite, right? Or should he not since Castiel didn’t? He didn’t want to. The thought of playing happy family with people who didn’t know the situation made him want to jump out the window.

“That’s perfect. I’ll cook,” Dean gave his best attempt at a smile to his mate. “Hope you like pie!”

“Oh, I love pie!” Gabriel enthused. “What kinds?”

“Uh. Well,” Dean nodded, taking another sip. “You have to have pumpkin and pecan.”

“Do you bake?” Gabriel asked, before taking a large bite of one of his cabbage rolls.

“No,” Dean said with a frown and then hastily added, “I’d like to! We just.. I haven’t had a lot of access to a full kitchen, you know, so I haven’t really had a chance to learn. I will, though! This house has an amazing kitchen, I’ll definitely learn how. Um. But. Probably for this year I should just..”

“There is a House of Pies near here,” Castiel interrupted. “You should order soon to be sure they will have pies available.”

“Right!” Dean nodded, grateful. “I'll call them tomorrow, absolutely, yes. And Bobby makes the best dressing.”

“I make excellent potatoes,” Gabriel interjected, looking hopefully at Dean.

Castiel sighed. “Yes, Gabriel, of course you are invited. But please do not mention it to anyone else. Dean is in mourning.”

“In mourning?” Rowena asked, looking concerned.

“Ah,” Dean said, licking his lips. “Yes. My dad.” He glanced at Castiel. “It was very sudden.”

Castiel quickly changed the subject.

After dinner was drinks in the living room, with another plate of pickles, meat, and bread. 

Dean learned that Rowena was a trauma nurse at Ben Taub, and Gabriel ran a complicated sounding club with strippers and possibly a porn studio? Dean couldn’t quite follow the stories and was afraid to ask.

Dean sat on the couch near Castiel and slowly moved closer until he was curled against the man’s chest, Castiel’s arm around him. He loved listening to Castiel’s voice through his chest.

The room was dim, with just the lamps lighting it, an

d the combination of his alpha’s scent, alcohol, a full belly, and Castiel’s rich voice speaking Russian against his ear had Dean drifting gently to sleep, deeply comfortable.

Chapter Text

Monday morning, November 16, 1998

“Bobby, you gotta help me, man,” Dean said as calmly as he could as he covered his eyes with one hand and held too tightly to the phone in the other. He had the cordless phone from the upstairs seating area but he took it to his room and shut the door for privacy. He was alone at home, but he never knew when Castiel might come home.

“Dean? What do you need, are you safe?” Dean heard movement and a door shutting, Bobby was freaking out.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just being dramatic, I’m sorry, Bobby.” Dean was such an asshole, poor Bobby didn’t deserve this.

“Okay,” Bobby said with forced calm. “What’s going on, Dean?”

Dean groaned and rolled over face down on his bed. “There was a family dinner last night, Cas- Oh! Also, apparently his name is Castiel and not Angel.”

“Castiel?” Bobby said with too much intensity. “Castiel Novak?”

“Uh. Yeah, probably. That’s his brother’s last name, anyway. His brother Gabriel-” Bobby’s loud swearing gave him pause, but he continued, ”-was over last night and was calling him Cassie and I got all confused because I thought, you know, that he was talking about Cassie but-”

“Shit, Dean. I knew this was bad, but I didn’t realize it was Novak bad.”

Dean was quiet. Did he want to know? Not really. He knew enough.

“Right. Well. Apparently. So that makes this next part more awkward. Gabriel pointed out that it was Thanksgiving next week. And. So the conversation ended up with Castiel saying we’d of course be inviting you and Sam over for Thanksgiving, and Gabriel got interested, too, so I’m going to be hosting Thanksgiving for Gabriel and his wife and you and Sam. If you can come.”

Dean heard Bobby blow out a breath. “Ah.”

“And Bobby, I don’t know anything about hosting Thanksgiving. I used to try to make something nice for me and Sam, but Dollar Store and gas station fancy ain’t the same as what they’re going to be expecting. I can’t fuck this up, I can’t embarrass him in front of his brother, Bobby!”

“Hey, hey now, Dean, it’s okay,” Bobby comforted him. “It’s okay. What’s the expectation here? He expecting you to cook a gourmet meal?”

“I don’t know! He’s never asked me to cook anything! I just said I would, because I’m his omega, you know, that’s.. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right?”

“Probably, yeah, but that’s okay. That’s good. So, what you need to do is to come up with a menu, right? So bird, dressing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, gravy, rolls, stuff like that. And you find a bakery, right? Call up and order some pies. He’s got money, it shouldn’t be a problem. If he doesn’t have any cookbooks, I’ve got a good one you can borrow, alright? It’s going to be okay. I can come over early and help you cook. I’m not great, but I can get the job done with a recipe to read.”

“Right. Those things aren’t so hard. I can do that. Castiel recommended House of Pies and Gabriel said he would make potatoes. I remember you make the best dressing.” Dean sighed and rolled back onto his back. “So you’ll come? You and Sam?”

“Of course we will. I’ll talk to Sam tonight and we can call you to finalize a menu and figure out who is making what between us. It’s going to be fine, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean breathed out. “Okay, Bobby. I’ll call and order the pies.”

“Good. Now, I’m gonna get back to work, you try to relax and start making plans. We’ve got this, Dean.”

“We’ve got this. Thanks, Bobby. Talk to you tonight.”

—

Thursday morning, Thanksgiving, November 26, 1998

Dean eyed the turkey - raw, legs up, gaping hole between its legs. He could do this. 

He never had, but he totally could.

He took a deep breath and slid his hand into the hole, groping for the bag of giblets.

“You gonna make the gravy with that?” Bobby asked as Dean made a face and pulled it out.

“Just the giblets, you want the neck?” Dean answered.

“Sure, I’ll pop it in the freezer, lemme get a bag for you.”

Neck safely tucked into a ziplock and handed over to Bobby, Dean carried the turkey carcass to the sink to wash it.

Bobby was assembling the green bean casserole while Sam was cutting onions, apples, carrots, and celery for the stuffing.

When the turkey was as clean as it was going to get, Dean plopped it back on the baking pan and washed his hands. He mixed a bunch of butter with salt, pepper, sage, rosemary, and thyme, and then smeared that thickly all over the turkey.

A squirt of dish soap to scrub his buttery fingers clean again and Dean moved to roughly chop carrots, celery, and onions to put inside the bird.

“That looks great, Dean!” Sammy chirped. Dean flashed him a grateful smile.

“Alright. So.The turkey goes in for 2 hours at 350. Green Bean Casserole 25. Stuffing is StoveTop. Dinner rolls need to rise for an hour and then they’ll go in when the turkey comes out. I should do the green beans at the same time, right? That makes sense,” Dean muttered to himself. “So. Turkey goes in now. Then I get the rolls going. You’ve got the green beans. We’ll do the sweet potatoes and apples on the stove when we put the rolls and green beans in. Yes?”

“Sounds good,” Bobby agreed. He opened the oven and Dean slid in the turkey, making sure to set the timer on the stove.

“Oh!” Dean smacked his head and pulled out his biggest mixing bowl and the flour. “And the gravy. The mix is by the stove, boiled eggs in the fridge. We’ll do that when we do the apples. Chop up and cook the giblets, gravy mix, chop up the eggs.”

Castiel had had to go do some kind of business that morning before Bobby and Sam had showed up, so the house tour and cooking were so far very comfortable. They appreciated that Dean had a nice home and a safe room of his own. Sam was excited about the pool and hoped things were going well enough that he could swim next year. Bobby saw the brick grill setup at the back of the deck and said he would look forward to teaching Dean to grill.

—

Castiel came home as Dean pulled out the turkey. 

Dean didn’t notice him at first, as suddenly a lot of things were going on at once. He put the turkey on a trivet on the island as Bobby slid the big sheet pan with dinner rolls, and the green bean casserole into the oven. Dean added butter to a large cast iron pan on the large back burner to melt down as Bobby started frying sausage on the front burner for the stuffing.

Dean added the sliced sweet potatoes to the butter, and got out another pan to start the gravy. He added butter and the sliced giblets.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jerked his head up to see Castiel leaning against the door jamb. Bobby and Sam both froze, staring at him.

“It smells delicious,” Castiel continued. 

“Yeah, hey Castiel,” Dean managed. “Um. We’re just finishing up, a bunch of stuff needs to come together really fast. Um. This is my uncle Bobby Singer. Bobby, this is Castiel Novak. And my brother Sam.”

Bobby stirred the sausage again, and wiped his hands down his pants, offering his hand to shake when Castiel came closer. They held each other’s eyes as they shook and Dean felt so incredibly uncomfortable.

“Welcome to our home, Mr. Singer,” Castiel said, face polite, moving to shake Sam’s hand. “And Sam. Nice to meet you both.”

“Thank you for having us, Mr. Novak,” Bobby and Sam echoed.

Dean smelled a bit of smoke and swore, turning back to the stove, stirring the giblets and then the potatoes, and Bobby added the carrots, onions, apples, and celery to his sausage.

“I will be in my office,” Castiel said, moving forward to kiss Dean’s cheek. “I will let Gabriel in.”

“Okay!” Dean said, overly cheerful.

Castiel left and Dean, Sam, and Bobby all looked at each other quietly, and then returned to their work.

—

By the time Gabriel and Rowena arrived, everything was done, moved to serving dishes, and set out on the island, Dean and Bobby were taking a break to guzzle glasses of water and Sam was finishing up setting the table.

Dean wished they’d been just a little bit later. He felt light headed and was red faced and sweaty, splashes of food over his clothes and a bit of flour in his hair.

Castiel greeted them at the door and brought them to the kitchen where Gabriel added a large covered dish to the island with dramatic flair.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Deanushka! It smells amazing in here!’

Rowena smiled sweetly and kissed Dean’s cheek. “Hello, sweetie pie! Why don’t you go take a moment to collect yourself before dinner, you’ve outdone yourself!”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Gabriel, thank you,” Dean smiled at the man before nodding at Rowena. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m going to drag these two up to rinse off with me and then we’ll be ready to eat!”

“Of course, dear,” Rowena agreed.

“Bobby, Sam, this is Castiel’s brother Gabriel Novak and his wife Rowena,” Dean introduced. “And this is Bobby Singer and Sam, my uncle and brother.”

After greetings were exchanged, Dean, Sam, and Bobby went up to Dean’s room to clean up. Bobby and Sam just washed their hands and faces in the sink, Sam borrowing one of Dean’s shirts because he had gotten sweet potatoes on his during the transfer from pan to decorative bowl, but Dean hopped in the shower to rinse off before fixing his hair and putting on a nicer set of clothes.

“Alright,” Dean said, when they were ready to go down. His hands were shaking, but he figured that wouldn't stop until he’d eaten. “Castiel said no one knows how we met. We’re keeping it that way. They do know

my dad just died but not the circumstances. We’ll just play happy family and everything will be okay. Ready?”

“Ready, Dean.”

Chapter Text

Thursday afternoon, Thanksgiving, November 26, 1998

When they came back downstairs, they found the dining table ready - food placed carefully down the table, a glass of water, and an empty wine glass at every seat and everyone sitting in the living room to wait.

Dean was feeling better, but a little shaky. Definitely time to eat.

There was a pause and Dean realized the turkey had been placed in the center of the table already carved instead of at the head for Castiel to cut.

“Rowena?” Dean had appreciated her help with their last meal and she seemed kind. “May I ask for your help with something in the kitchen real quick?”

“Of course, dear!”

Dean smiled. “Bobby, Sam, have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

Rowena followed him into the kitchen and as soon as they’d crossed the doorway Dean turned and whispered. “I expected the turkey to be in front of Castiel so he could carve it.”

“Oh!” Rowena nodded. “That’s an English and American tradition. We sliced it up before putting it on the table, that’s the Russian way.”

Dean nodded quickly. “Okay. What else should I know, please?”

Rowena dimpled at him. “Nothing so dramatic. Knife in your right hand, fork in your left. Pass food to the left. We drink wine with dessert. Keep your hands visible. Wait to eat until Castiel indicates. You won’t be expected to know, they know you’re American.”

“Thank you so much,” Dean said with a sigh. 

Rowena squeezed his hand and they returned to the living room.

Castiel stood, gesturing for the others to join him and they followed him into the dining room.

They sat similarly to the Sunday dinner with Gabriel and Rowena, with Sam next to Rowena by the kitchen and Bobby next to Gabriel by the french doors.

Dean sat in his chair at the foot of the table and looked up to Castiel for direction.

Castiel nodded at him and then pressed his palms together to pray, everyone copying him and closing their eyes as he said the Lord’s Prayer.

Everyone echoed the amen.

“Please fill your plates,” Castiel said, gesturing and beginning to fill his plate.

Dishes were passed around the table and Dean got some of everything, excited about how good everything looked and smelled.

And then the vodka came out. Dean was expecting it after the Sunday dinner, and had warned Sam and Bobby about it.

Castiel poured vodka into 6 shot glasses and they were passed around so that everyone had one. Castiel raised his glass. “Health and happiness!”

Everyone clinked their glasses and drank their shots, Sam’s eyes watering as he grimaced. Dean grinned at him then they all tucked in to eat.

“What is this? Most is self explanatory, but not this,” Gabriel asked, pointing at the cranberry sauce. It was served as Dean had always seen it - straight from the can and sliced on a plate.

“It’s cranberry sauce.”

Gabriel poked at it. “Sauce? Not Jelly?”

“Jelly would probably be more accurate,” Bobby stepped in. “Some people do it with whole cranberries in black cherry Jello, but this is what most people eat. It’s good on the turkey.”

Gabriel tried a bit on his fork plain. “Oh! Oh, that is nice, I like that.”

There was quiet conversation and appreciation of the rest of the food as they all settled in, and Dean relaxed. The food had all turned out well, people were happy with him. He hadn't failed.

They did two more toasts through the meal, and everyone was a lot more relaxed.

Dessert brought the promised wine, which Dean found he didn’t care for. 

He’d ordered two pumpkin pies, one pecan, and one fudge pecan. 

Everyone liked it, but he and Gabriel were the most enthusiastic and had an intense conversation comparing them all, and talking about other pies they’d had and loved. This style of pie wasn’t Russian, so Gabriel hadn’t grown up with them. Of course pirozhki sounded amazing but hand pies weren’t the same as real pie - that’s why they specified that it was a hand pie. Piroj were similar, especially when using a short crust, but still, it was different.

It was a lovely warm day, so after eating, Castiel recommended they sit outside on the patio overlooking the pool for drinks and smoking.

Dean, Sam, and Bobby excused themselves to clean up after dinner and put away the leftovers.

“That was an excellent meal, Dean,” Bobby said with a smile as he carved all the meat off the turkey and put it into tupperware - some for Dean and Castiel, and some for guests to take home.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Bobby,” Dean smiled, doing the same with the sides.

“I suppose I could be replaced with a maid,” Sam snarked from where he was rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher.

“What was that, servant boy?”

Dean could hear the eyeroll that followed.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“I was nervous tonight, but you’re right,” Bobby said, catching Dean’s eye. “He was gentle with you.”

“He is.”

“I hope that continues.”

Dean laughed. “Me, too!”

—

That evening, when everyone had finally gone home, faces happy and bags full of leftovers, Castiel led Dean to his bedroom. He sat on the bench at the foot of his bed and pulled Dean between his legs before pressing him down to kneel. He locked eyes with Dean as he slowly unfastened his pants, pulled himself out, and guided Dean’s face down.

He guided Dean’s head as he fucked into his mouth gently, no rush, eyes locked.

The taste and scent of his mate brought back that beautiful floaty feeling and he settled into it happily.

When Castiel’s breath started to get jagged, he pushed Dean away gently and pulled him to stand. He unfastened Dean’s pants and pushed them down to the floor, helping Dean step out of them. He stood, and maneuvered Dean so that he was kneeling on the bench, bent over the bed, shoving the blankets up and out of the way so Dean didn’t get them messy.

Dean flushed, feeling exposed, but then Castiel was touching him, fingers running down his spine, large hands gripping his ass and kneading. He yelped when Castiel bit one of his ass cheeks, right at the bottom curve where it met his thigh and Castiel chuckled.

Gentle fingers moved to his hole, circling and pressing until Dean felt himself opening up, the fingers moving easier as slick built. Two fingers pressed in and Dean hissed, pressing back against it. Castiel knew just how to touch him, drawing out more slick, fucking him firmly with three fingers. The hand gripping his ass cheek moved, scratching firmly up and down Dean’s back and the fingers moved slower but harder, circling just inside of him, Dean’s toes curled and suddenly he was coming, bright white behind his eyes, heat flashing through his whole body as he cried out. Castiel finger fucked him through it, scratching turned to firm rubbing on his back until he was through it.

The hand on his back moved to grip his ass as the one fingering him pulled out. Castiel moved behind him, slicking up his cock with Dean’s slick as he pressed between his cheeks, hands moving to press the cheeks around Castiel’s cock.

Castiel thrust fast and hard, cock rubbing against Dean’s sensitive hole, making him hiss and arch and press back into it.

It didn’t take long until Castiel was coming, still fucking against Dean, making an absolute mess of him. Then he leaned back, spreading Dean wide and just looked, watching the come and slick drip down Dean’s ass and thighs.

He hummed and with both hands, started rubbing it in, covering Dean from neck to knees.

“You will sleep in my bed tonight,” he said with a slap to Dean’s ass. “You can rinse that off in the shower, but no soap.”

Chapter Text

Monday afternoon, December 7, 1998

They’d settled into a reasonable routine.

Dean was busy at work, people getting their cars in shape for Christmas vacations and ski trips out of state.

Sundays were spent at Bobby’s house. Sam was doing great there, a life of constant upheaval preparing him to handle this one. 

Dean went to the club on Friday and Saturday nights where he curled up against his alpha and didn’t join in with the conversation around them. It was where they were together the longest and he relished the time to soak in his alpha’s scent. The people at the club seemed to be used to him and paid him no attention outside of polite greetings.

They caught each other most mornings and some evenings and so far it had been enough to keep Dean pretty steady, only a few nights had him launching himself at the alpha as soon as he got home.

They hadn’t really gotten to know each other; they didn’t really talk about anything important. Dean still felt awkward and out of place, but it was okay. He felt safe, and that was rare in his life so he let himself relax into that feeling and ignored the rest.

Yesterday Castiel had left a note informing him that he would be having a physical with Castiel’s personal doctor for a check up and to bring his vaccine records.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a doctor at all and he’d certainly never been when there wasn’t a problem. When Dean had asked Bobby about it, Bobby had just sighed and said he’d make an appointment for Sam soon.

Apparently people just went to the doctor every year to look for problems.

That all seemed fine if Bobby said so, but it felt very strange that Castiel was going with him. He was an adult, he didn’t need anyone to hold his hand.

Still, it was fine. 

Castiel picked him up from the house and they drove a short distance to a large building. Dr. Tracey’s office was on the third floor down a long hall. It was plain, with uncomfortable blue upholstered chairs in the waiting room and pictures of dolphins on the walls.

They checked in with a bored looking receptionist and settled on the chairs to fill out the intake form.

They didn’t wait long before a nurse came to get them. She was short, sturdy, and efficient. She had Dean step on the scale, checked his height, brought them to a room and took his pulse and blood pressure, and then left them alone again.

Dean fidgeted. 

“So,” he tried. “How’s your day been?”

“Fine,” Castiel answered, disinterested. “And yours? Good visit with your family yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Sam’s doing great.”

“Good.”

“Yup.”

They sat in silence.

Just when Dean was about to blurt out another awkward question to fill the silence, there was a knock on the door and a middle aged man with a full beard came in. “Ah, Mr. Novak! Good to see you, sir, and your… mate, is it?”

“Hello, Ishim, yes, this is Dean Ivanovich. I thought it prudent for him to get a checkup.”

Ivanovich again? He really needed to remember to ask about that.

Ishim agreed and held out a lidded plastic jar to Dean. “Just go fill this up to the line real quick so that it can be processed while we do the rest.”

Dean took the cup hesitantly. “Fill it up?”

“With urine, yes. The bathroom is just out this door and to the right across the hall. There’s a little wooden door on the wall, you just put this in there once it’s filled and capped and come back to the room.”

“What’s it for?” Dean couldn’t help asking. He only knew one test that used pee. “Pregnancy test or something? We haven’t-”

“Policy is to test every time, just to be sure,” Ishim said with a bland smile. “And we use it to test for other things - diabetes, kidney problems, UTIs, not just pregnancy.”

Dean nodded and did as he was told.

When he got back, he was barraged with questions about his health, his family’s health, his heats, his sexual history. The doctor inspected his eyes, ears, nose (Dean did not like that), and his mouth. Checked his heart and lungs, the straightness of his spine when he bent over. 

Dean was about ready to find a window to jump out of when there was a knock at the door. Someone handed Ishim a note that he glanced at and then did a double take.

“Well, that was well timed,” he said, sitting down on his little wheelie stool and looking at them seriously. “Before I do your pelvic exam, you should know that you are, in fact, pregnant.”

Neither Dean nor Castiel reacted at first.

Dean couldn’t feel his body.

Dean broke first. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant,” Ishim confirmed. “The line is faint, so it’s early days still. You don't list a recent heat, so it was likely a heatless ovulation. Those often come with one sided mating. A biological attempt to complete the mating, or at least encourage more protection from the alpha.”

Castiel’s scent had blown out through the room with shock and confusion.

The room was silent as Dean and Castiel tried to process.

And then Castiel smiled. Just a tiny quirk of the lips, but it was sweet and lovely. “Okay.”

Dean’s possible enjoyment of the moment was quickly ruined by the aforementioned pelvic exam.

—

“You will have to quit your job.”

“What?” Dean blinked at Castiel. The drive home from the doctor had been silent and Cas had led them to the living room where they both had sat, silent, for quite a while.

“The chemicals and the lifting. It is not safe when you are pregnant.” Castiel got up and went to the bar to pour himself something which he downed in one gulp.

“Oh.” Dean felt slow, like his mind was racing, but also like he couldn’t get ideas to form completely enough to make a sentence.

“It is not ideal to tell people so early, it should not be shared until the pregnancy is more established, but you will have to tell Bobby, and I need to tell the priest. We need move the wedding up.”

“The wedding.”

“Da,” Castiel said, pouring another drink, something golden, and coming to sit down with Dean again. “Obviously this is not what I planned, that is why I had not.. But that one time, obviously.”

Suddenly Dean’s brain fog cleared enough to have a phrase start looping and he giggled, probably a little hysterically. “They always do warn you not to accept when he says ‘just the tip.’”

Castiel snorted, taking a big drink. “Apparently.”

Dean pulled out the list the doctor had handed them of local OBs but Castiel took it and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Ishim is competent enough doctor, but I would not trust his recommendations on this matter. I know someone. You will see her.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded.

“Right,” Castiel said. “I have to make calls. I-”

He turned and frowned at Dean and then tugged his arm until Dean stood. Castiel pulled up Dean’s shirt, opened his jeans, and tugged down his pants until his pubic hair was exposed. He stared for a moment at Dean’s flat belly and then gently touched just over his pubic bone with his fingers. 

“I feel- This.” Castiel smoothed his thumb across the skin there, seemingly unable to look away. “This is a gift, Dean.”

Dean hesitated but then slowly combed his fingers through Castiel’s hair. Castiel closed his eyes and let him. 

The phone rang, making them both jump and Castiel sighed before heading to his office to answer it.

Chapter Text

Tuesday evening, December 8, 1998

When the bacon was finished and piled on a paper towel lined plate to drain and snack on (there would be none left by the time the food was done between him, Sam, and Bobby), Dean carefully measured out 6 tablespoons of fat from the pan and added them to the flour, salt, and baking powder in the bowl, then dumped the sausage into the remaining bacon fat in the pan and broke it apart with his fork.

While that cooked, he added buttermilk to the bowl and formed his biscuit dough.

The oven beeped - preheat over - and he dumped the biscuit dough out onto his baking sheet, pressing it into a rough rectangle before cutting that into even rectangles and spreading them apart to bake. 

Biscuits in the oven, sausage stirred, he measured out his flour for the gravy and set it aside to be ready. Measured out the milk. Added them when it was time. 

When the gravy thickened and boiled, he seasoned it with salt and pepper and pulled it off the heat, pulling out another pan and cracking in eggs. They firmed up into gorgeous just-cooked curds right as the timer for the biscuits went off.

He brought all the pans to the table, and with no fanfare, he, Sam and Bobby loaded their plates. Dean put gravy over the eggs and biscuits and shook on a generous amount of black and red pepper.

He moaned happily into his first bite, closing his eyes. 

Yes. Exactly what he needed.

“So,” Bobby verbally nudged. “Not that you’re not welcome to come do this every night, but you said you needed to talk to us about something?”

Dean took another perfect bite and washed it down with a gulp of beautiful cold milk before answering.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I have to stop working at the shop.”

Bobby and Sam stopped chewing, both frowning sternly. Sam’s face was turning red as he held back what he wanted to say, but Bobby managed a calm,“Why?” even though both their scents were starting to burn.

“I uh,” Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. This was so embarrassing. He didn’t want to talk about his sex life with Bobby and pregnancy was just an announcement of having had unprotected sex. 

Except Dean hadn't! 

Except he had.

 “You know Cas and I haven’t… but, the bond, it. Well. There was a slip! And. The thing is. I went to the doctor yesterday and even though we didn’t think it was necessary, it was protocol, so he - and ha, I guess this is why! But how? I mean, I know how, but-”

“Dean.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Bobby and Sam froze in shock and Dean went back to eating. It was so perfect, the crunch of the outsides of the biscuits, the perfect tender insides, the silk of the eggs, the creaminess of the gravy and the heat, fuck. 

“Castiel know?” Bobby managed.

“Yeah,” Dean said around a bite, before swallowing and taking another sip of milk. “He was there with me. The smell of his shock filled the room! It was the only reaction he gave for quite awhile.”

“And then what reaction did he give, Dean?” Sam said, impatiently.

“He seems… happy? But like,” He gestured with his fork. “Sweet? At home, he touched my belly and it was… no one’s ever touched me like that. He said it was a gift. And he said we shouldn’t tell people until it was more established, but that I had to tell you because I couldn’t keep working for you, and he had to tell the priest to move the wedding up.”

Bobby nodded. “I hate to lose you, but there’s a lot of nasty shit inside of cars, so I can’t say you should fight him on that. There’s lead and all sorts of heavy metals that can cause miscarriage, and you don’t need to be around that.”

“Right,” Dean sighed. “I know. What’s one more upheaval in my life at this point?”

Wednesday, December 9, 1998

The next day, Dean slept in. Why not? He had nowhere to be for the next, what, nine months.

He made egg and cheese burritos for breakfast.

He washed the pan and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

He felt a bit itchy and he wished he’d gotten up early enough to see Castiel.

He sprawled on the couch and turned on the TV, catching The Price is Right.

When that ended, he changed the channel until he caught Sunset Beach. Not his favorite soap, but he could manage.

After that was Days of Our Lives. He used to enjoy the show until Sammy started making fun of him for looking like Eric Brady. 

Whatever.

Dean was obviously hotter.

He turned it off.

Sam would be getting home from school in an hour or so.

A relaxed shower and a change of clothes later, he was in the car headed to Bobby’s house.

He hit Whataburger and let himself into Bobby’s house with a bag of burgers, onion rings, and two vanilla milkshakes ten minutes before Sam trudged through the door.

“Sammy!” Dean cheered, raising his cup in salute.

“Dean?” Sam blinked and dropped his bag by the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I just want to be with you?” Dean put his hand to his heart, giving puppy eyes.

Sam slumped down beside him on the couch, digging into the bag to pull out a burger.  “Don’t know what to do with yourself without work, huh?”

Dean groaned. “No idea. I slept late. I ate breakfast. I watched bad daytime TV, but then what? I can’t do this every day, I’ll go crazy.”

“Well, maybe learn Russian? You’re married to one now. Or take up knitting?”

Dean totally didn’t giggle at the thought. “Okay, but can’t you just imagine Castiel going to the club in a beautiful sweater handknit by yours truly? I think orange pompoms will bring out his eyes.”

Sam grinned. “And no one could say anything to him about it, because he’d just give them that scary blank face!”

They both cracked up, making more and more ridiculous hobby plans.

Dean stayed though dinner, but then Bobby was tired, and Sam needed to do homework so he said goodnight and hopped in his car. 

His skin was buzzing and he could feel the frantic need building up in him.

He needed Castiel, but he knew it was too early for him to be home from work.

Would he be at the club? Honestly Dean had no idea what Castiel did during his work day. It seemed weird to be hanging out in the club on a Tuesday night, but with no better idea, Dean headed downtown to check.

There weren’t any bouncers out tonight, and Castiel wasn’t in his normal spot upstairs, so Dean awkwardly went to the bartender of the main bar. He waited while she served some men in suits, drumming his thumbs on the bartop.

“Alright, sweet thing, what can I get you?” She grinned at him.

“I- Actually, I was wondering if Angel is here tonight? He wasn’t upstairs, but..”

“Now, why would a sweet young thing like you be looking for Angel?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing, Dean turned his head, showing her the tattoo. 

“Ah.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll send for him. I'm Pam, nice to meet you. You just sit tight, can I get you a drink?”

“Pepsi? I'm Dean.”

She nodded, called for a drink runner to go get Castiel, filled his glass with Pepsi from the soda gun, popped in a pink straw and sat it in front of him with a wink and a smile before she headed off to help the next person.

He was just sucking up the last of it with his straw when he saw Castiel come in from the Staff Only door, frowning. He saw Dean and raised an eyebrow. Dean hopped up and rushed over, trying to look apologetic, while every cell in his body told him to crawl under the man’s clothes immediately.

“Dean? What is it, I really do not have time-”

“I’m so sorry, alpha,” Dean said, immediately burying his face in the alpha’s throat. “I can’t- I need-”

Castiel sighed. “I really have no time right now, Dean. I spent plenty of time with you yesterday, what is this?”

Dean whined. “I don’t know. It’s just worse today. Just give me a minute like this and I’ll be okay.”

Castiel sighed, rubbing his cheek against the top of Dean’s head, scent marking him. They didn’t do that. Dean picked up Castiel’s scent in many ways, but a deliberate nonsexual mark felt different; felt caring.

Dean didn’t know a lot about scent marking. His dad never did it and anyone who had talked about it just said it had something to do with instincts. Dean scent marked Sam, but that’s the only person, and no one had scent marked Dean in his memory.

“Your hormones are more demanding now, I suppose. This is why I did not want-” He caught himself. “But. We will handle it. I will come home for dinner, we will make plan. You cannot show up here like this.”

Dean nodded, rubbing his face against Castiel’s throat, picking up more of his scent.

Castiel patted his back gently. “Alright. I really have to go, Dean. I will see you this evening.”

“Thanks, alpha.” Dean kissed Castiel’s jaw, receiving a slight upward quirk of Castiel’s lips - a smile! Ha!

Feeling scent drunk and happy, he headed home, planning an awesome dinner for his alpha.

Chapter Text

Tuesday evening, December 8, 1998

Dean made burgers. He figured everyone loved burgers so it was fast and easy.

Castiel had groaned as he took his first bite, eyes closing. “This makes me very happy.”

Dean practically glowed with pleasure as they both settled in to eat, no need for conversation.

After dinner, they moved to the back patio to talk. Castiel sat on a lounge chair, pulling Dean to lean back against him between his legs.

Castiel’s answer was a pager.

He had one that only Dean would page.

He handed him a list of pager codes to look over.

“These are ones I know, plus a few that are specific to us,” Castiel explained, running his finger down the list as Dean held it, before wrapping his arms around Dean. “So, ‘27’ means you need me, then you list why - so, ‘15’ you need touch, ‘117’, you are ill - that means you are vomiting, have fever, something like that. If you say ‘504’, that means is more severe and I need hurry. Then you say where. The format would go ‘27*117*734.’ ‘734’ referencing our address, obviously. Now, Bobby code is ‘046’ - letters for dya, shortening of dyadya, uncle. His house number is too long, so if you’re referencing his house, you do ‘446’ because 4 is H for home. For the club, it’s ‘525’ - that one actually means ‘let’s party,’ is not address. I think it easy?”

“So if I’m at Bobby’s and I need you urgently, that’s ‘27*504*446?’”

“Da,” Castiel nodded. “Remember you can only send ten characters at a time, so pick the most important information to send. What you need, why, where you are.”

“If something happens and I do have to call 911, I’ll say why and if I’m with someone?” Castiel nodded. “So ‘999*911*563.’ I’m hurt, I called 911, and I’m with Sam.”

“Da, but if you think something is wrong with pregnancy, use code for pup.”

Dean found it on the list.

“909.” Dean nodded. “And if you want me to join you at the club, and I am just too tired, I just message ‘666*101.’”

“Da,” Castiel agreed. “I know it is likely to happen over your pregnancy. I am not sure,” Castiel paused, and his hand moved down to Dean’s lower belly. “I am not sure how much you should be at club, anyway, if you are pregnant; all that smoke.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “No. No, alpha, I need that time. That’s when I get to be around you the longest.”

Castiel hummed and was quiet, thinking, stroking Dean’s belly. “You will move to my bed. That is more hours than the club, and we will have more sex.”

Dean just stared ahead wide-eyed. That felt like a huge dynamic shift and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. More time with his alpha, yes. More sex made him nervous - not that anything they did was bad, just that he wasn’t quite ready for full on sex, and sharing a bed made it feel inevitable. 

“Also, I spoke with priest. Our wedding will be January 10. They moved some things around for us.”

Dean nodded. It didn’t much matter to him when it happened, honestly. Dean was religious in the way that most people he knew were religious - not very. Mating was a more real commitment to him, and they’d done that already.

People divorce, but a bite is forever.

“You need to get me your guest list for invitations. Time is short.”

Dean nodded. They relaxed together until the chill became too much for Dean and they decided to go back inside.

Dean went into the kitchen to grab a piece of the paper they used for grocery lists and a pen. Castiel followed him in after locking the doors.

Bobby Singer and Sam Winchester

Ellen and Jo Harville

Benny Lafitte 

“I’ll need to look up their addresses,” Dean said before handing the list to Castiel.

Castiel took it and looked it over. “We have their addresses. No one else?”

“No,” Dean said, swallowing his discomfort around Castiel already knowing where his friends lived. “We haven’t been here that long. Benny worked with Bobby when I first got here. We met Ellen through Bobby, too.”

“Is he your mother’s brother?”

“Who, Bobby? No. Why would you think that?”

“Your father’s name is Winchester, not Singer.”

“Oh. He’s not actually our uncle. He’s one of dad’s old army friends.” Dean paused, chewing on his lower lip. He didn’t really like to talk about his history, but this was his mate. “My mom’s name was Campbell. Mary Campbell. She died when I was four. House fire. Sammy was a baby. Dad.. he never recovered, you know? Bobby helped him out as best he could, when dad would allow it. Especially with us. But we were in Kansas back then. So. We traveled a lot. Dad had army friends all over, or friends of friends. But he could never stay anywhere for long. We just moved here in February, actually. Dad came to work for Bobby, and I worked there, too, but I guess.. he had other things going on I didn’t know about.”

Castiel looked at Dean thoughtfully. “You know, when we met I did not know who your father was. I head our local organization, yes, but I delegate. I trust my people to see to their business. But I looked into him after we mated.”

“Yeah?” Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t have been very interesting.”

“You would be surprise,” Castiel murmured. “But that will be for another day. I have had long day and am ready to enjoy my omega and sleep.”

Oh. Right. Dean was going to be sleeping with Castiel now.

Castiel put the list on the counter, took Dean’s hand and led him into… his bedroom? Their bedroom? 

The bedroom.

“I don’t have my things,” Dean said, awkwardly.

“You do not need things,” Castiel shrugged. “Just take off your clothes and get in bed.”

Dean grimaced. “I-I know. Just. I like to brush my teeth before bed.”

Castiel sighed. “You can forgive yourself one night. Move your toothbrush tomorrow. Get in bed, Dean.”

Stomach dropping, Dean hurried to obey. He stripped off his clothes, putting them over the bench at the end of the chair, leaving on his underwear. He looked nervously up at Castiel to check if that was okay, but Castiel was walking into the bathroom.

Dean crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin and staring at the ceiling.

He felt like a virgin princess on her wedding night. Dean huffed a laugh at himself and rolled over to get comfortable on his side facing away from the bathroom. Dean’s bedroom was over Castiel’s, so the view out the french doors was the same, just a lower angle. He couldn’t see the sky from here, but he could see the wind through the trees, and that helped him relax.

He’d never slept with anyone that wasn’t family before. High school hookups were short and generally in uncomfortable places. He hoped he’d be able to fall asleep. Though falling asleep with Castiel didn’t seem to be a problem: it seemed like he fell asleep half the time they interacted.

But what if he snored? What if Dean snored?

What if he farted? Oh fuck, of course he would. What if Castiel heard? 

How did anyone do this?

The bed shifted as Castiel joined him and then Dean found himself being pulled and rearranged until he was curled against Castiel’s side.

“Why do you smell anxious?” Castiel asked as his fingers began trailing up and down Dean’s back.

“I,” Dean choked and then cleared his throat. “I’ve never shared a bed with anyone that wasn’t family.”

“Mm.” Castiel patted his butt. “Take those off, and lay on the pad, face down.”

Dean moved out of the way and Castiel pulled the waterproof pad from where he’d put it over the blanket and put it over the middle of the bed.

Dean stripped out of his underwear, tucking them under his pillow and carefully laid himself down, folding his arms under his head.

Gentle fingers traced down his back, cupping his ass, before Castiel moved, laying over him. 

Castiel began at Dean’s neck, kissing and nipping the skin, working his way down Dean’s spine. He braced himself with one arm, and the other caressed Dean’s skin as he slowly made his way lower.

When Castiel moved lower between Dean’s legs and began massaging his ass, Dean knew what would come next. He was right, gentle fingertips started caressing his hole, but Castiel didn’t stop kissing, moving to suck and nip at the bottom crease of Dean’s ass, which was far more sensitive than he’d ever imagined.

And then-

“Ah!” Dean’s entire body tensed and he shoved himself up to turn and look-

Cas’ big blue eyes looked steadily back at him as he moved so that he could spread Dean’s ass with both hands and lick-

Dean squeaked and laid back down, this time with his arms over his head.

He couldn’t help opening his legs further and arching his back to give Castiel a better angle.

With this tacit approval, Castiel opened his mouth and devoured Dean’s hole - tongue, lips, teeth and hands working together to drive any ounce of coherency far from Dean’s mind.

Dean arched, he rocked, he bent his legs out to the side to better circle his hips and fuck back against Castiel’s tongue, his fingers, his tongue again, Dean could barely breathe, he couldn’t track-

That mouth was back under his ass, those teeth nipping, fingers in his ass, so full, so good-

With a growl it all pulled away, Castiel was back over him, his cock pressing against Dean’s ass, sliding, fucking through the slick and spit between Dean’s cheeks. Hands on his hips, pulling Dean up to his hands and knees- a hand smoothing around his hip, still covered in slick, wrapping around Dean’s cock while Castiel’s cock fucked against this ass, not fucking him, just moving, but then there was pressure- just briefly, and gone and Dean started rocking, fucking into Castiel’s hand, pressing back against the cock- there was a tease, the alpha curving over his back, teeth against the back of his neck, a hand so perfect around his cock, stroking him as the alpha fucked against him-

That pressure again- Dean pressed into it, his ass opening around the head, and then away as Dean fucked forward into the hand, and then back again, a little deeper in, and then away, Castiel growling against his neck, twisting his hand just right as the pressure started on Dean’s ass again and Dean was loud in his orgasm, arms giving out as he collapsed forward.

Those hands on him again, rolling him over, Castiel on his chest, feeding his cock into Dean’s mouth, fucking down faster than normal, hissing when Dean struggled with the angle-

“Tight, your lips-”

Dean tried, tightening his lips pushing his tongue against the cock thrusting into his mouth, hands in his hair, holding him still until Castiel erupted over his tongue, spilling out the sides of his mouth as Castiel pulled out, rubbing his cock against Dean’s cheek hard, still coming, shuddering.

Castiel rested like that until he caught his breath and then sat back, straddling Dean’s chest. He looked down at Dean thoughtfully and then carefully scooped up the come on Dean’s face, and placed it carefully on his cock before feeding it back into Dean’s mouth to suck clean, then again, and again until it was all cleaned up.

Castiel pulled the pad off the bed, tossing it to the floor.

With a chuckle and a pat to Dean’s cheek, Castiel climbed off and collapsed on his side of the bed, pulling Dean back close to cuddle.

They laid there quietly for a while.

“Why don’t you fuck me?” Dean hadn’t really meant to ask that, but he was tired and muzzy headed. He really wanted to know.

“I get what I need.” Castiel tilted Dean’s face up to look at him. “Are you dissatisfied with what we do?”

Dean blushed. “No, alpha.”

“I show you what I like,” Castiel said. “I teach you how to please me. I teach you how to enjoy being with man. No rush.”

No rush.

Dean nodded, snuggling closer, and letting himself drift off to sleep in his alpha’s arms.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 10, 1998

Dean woke up alone.

Which shouldn’t surprise him, he always woke up alone. He’d even woken up in this bed alone before.

He took a shower, got dressed in his Unemployed Cozy Best, and joined Castiel in the kitchen.

“You need to get dressed,” Castiel greeted him. “We have several errands this morning and then I must work. Do you have your baptism records?”

Dean blinked at him. “My what now?”

“You have been baptized, yes?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow. When Dean nodded, he continued. “I need the certificate, the original. It’s part of the paperwork we need before the wedding. Along with a marriage certificate, which we will get this morning. Do you know your social security number?”

“No,” Dean said, feeling very off balance. “But I have my card.”

“Alright. Bring your ID, your social security card, and we should go. We can get breakfast on the way.”

—

The visit to the County Clerk’s office was as exciting as expected. IDs and paperwork handed over, certificate received. They also registered the mating, which required pictures and uncomfortable commentary about how interesting Dean’s tattoo was.

Then apparently it was time for suits, and Dean found himself standing on a tiny platform getting measured with a thoroughness that seemed entirely unnecessary and he would have objected if Castiel wasn’t on the platform next to him going through the same thing.

Castiel informed Dean as he informed the tailors that they would be wearing classic black suits with white shirts and green and blue paisley ties that Dean would never admit he liked, but he actually loved.

And that was that.

When Castiel dropped him back home after lunch, Dean took a nap.

When he woke up, he went to the library to use their computers and got a list of all the Methodist churches in Lawrence from www.whitepages.com, so he could figure out which one he had been baptized in and get the records sent. There were five. He left his information with each and expected one of them to call back within the next week.

He got the call on the 14th and they promised to send his certificate that day.

A call to the priest the next morning after he’d talked to Castiel had the priest willing to do their counseling sessions before getting the baptism certificate because of the time crunch.

So once a week he and Castiel would be in Castiel’s priest's office talking about the Orthodox Church, their beliefs on marriage, communication, and general marriage struggles. The priest wasn’t happy that Dean’s parents were dead and could not give written permission for him to marry, but you know, Dean wasn’t pleased about that either. 

Didn’t change anything.

Wednesday evening, December 16, 1998

Sharing a bed helped Dean so much.

Not only did it get to soak in his alpha’s scent all night, but he felt it granted him permission to roll around in the bed during the day for small needed hits of the alpha’s scent.

He felt a little like an addict, but framing it that way in his head was weirdly helpful.

He wasn’t weak and clingy, he just had a dependency - through no fault of his own! - and this was the treatment.

And if one afternoon found that treatment including dumping out Castiel’s dirty laundry on the bed for a mid afternoon nap, well. That’s nobody’s fucking business.

Castiel’s confused face that night when he found a dirty sock that Dean had missed at clean up should be everyone’s business, though, because it was adorable.

Filling his days was a problem, though. Dean had never really had free time before and he didn’t do well with it.

The housekeepers came on Tuesdays, so he tried to be away from the house for that. It just didn’t feel comfortable for them or Dean to have him lurking while they worked.

He continued to meet Sammy after school and make dinner for him and Bobby, but Sam had friends and homework so that wasn’t a dependable diversion. 

He went to a bookstore and got several books including Russian Course: A Complete Course for Beginners - but it was confusing. They had a whole different alphabet, and Dean struggled to figure out some of the sounds he was supposed to be making. He kept it away from Castiel, not wanting to embarrass himself by getting it very wrong. 

Still, he tried to read a bit in the book every day and had started to retain a few words, ones he’d heard Castiel use. Spasibo meant thank you (though the book had it sounded out “spa see è-ba,” which wasn’t how Castiel said it), shto meant what, da was yes, nyet was no.

Not very helpful, but not nothing.

Castiel came home early Wednesday night, in time for dinner. Dean had learned that it was complicated to feed Castiel because the Orthodox Church Castiel belonged to had a lot of food restrictions that changed daily. 

It had been a big disappointment last Wednesday when Dean had made a big pan of enchiladas for them to share, and Castiel had had to tell him that he wasn’t able to have meat or dairy that day. He took them to Bobby and Sam the next day, where they were devoured with enthusiasm.

Castiel had given him a rough breakdown of which days that month had what restrictions and Dean, armed with his copy of How to Cook Everything he’d bought when he bought his Russian Course book, was doing his best.

Tonight he was ready with a pot of black beans and rice to be eaten with fresh tortillas. He had another plate with sliced bell peppers, sliced red cabbage, diced red onion, and a jar of Mexican pickled vegetables. He knew Castiel liked pickles, so he’d been delighted with the find when he’d gone to the store for ingredients. He also put out shredded cheddar and sour cream for himself.

“No meat, no cheese, no olive oil, no wine!” Dean declared, leading Castiel to the kitchen table to eat. “The tortillas are made with canola oil.”

Dean brought them both lime Jarritos from the fridge, popping the caps with the bottle opener he’d put out on the island.

“This smells delicious, Dean,” Castiel said with a smile, sitting. When Dean joined him, Castiel said a quick prayer, and they filled their plates.

Dean made himself three burritos with beans, rice, sour cream, cheese, and lots of onion.

Castiel put some of everything on his plate - onion and cabbage on top of the beans and rice, peppers beside it to be eaten on their own, pickles next to the peppers, tortilla neatly folded near the beans - eating it with silverware and just taking random bites of plain tortilla like it was a piece of bread. He did seem to enjoy the pickles, making happy noises and serving himself seconds. Dean would be sure to put them on the grocery list.

Dean felt good, like he was starting to find his feet in this mate business. He’d managed Thanksgiving, he was managing his husband’s religious fasting requirements, and he was doing it deliciously.

It was chilly outside, so Castiel brought a blanket to wrap around Dean as they settled outside in the lounge chair to watch the sky after dinner.

“The forty day mourning period has ended,” Castiel said after a while. “I would like to start entertaining again.”

Dean nodded, unsure what to say about that. He hadn’t really mourned his father’s passing yet. Too much was happening, too many shifts. He just kept pushing it down.

“I have invited some people over for Saturday evening to watch the hockey game.”

Oh, a game watching party. Dean had actually gone to a few before. Football, but it shouldn't be different. He could do that. He’d need to look up fasting rules for the day, but he could figure it out.

“It’ll be simple, just tea.”

Dean suddenly got an image of a group of Russian mobsters having a fancy tea party with tiny cups and delicate sandwiches.

“Tea?”

“Da,” Castiel waved his hand. “You don’t need to worry about it, Rowena will be bringing the food.”

What.

“What, why?” 

“You do not know how.” Dean felt Castiel shrug under him. “I invite my brothers, a few friends, I need to keep a certain standard.”

Okay, that hurt. Dean had made several meals for Castiel, including Thanksgiving for his family and he’d heard no complaints.

Dean tried to think of something he could say that wouldn’t make him cry, but eventually gave up. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

He nearly went to his own bed, not wanting to deal with Castiel if he wanted sex, but knew better than to deprive himself of the scenting time.

Still, he went to bed and kept his back to Castiel, pretending to be asleep when Castiel tried to speak.

Chapter Text

Saturday evening, December 19, 1998

It was charcuterie. 

Meat, cheese, pickles, olives, vegetables. Bread and spreads. Pastries.

Castiel didn’t think he could manage this?

Sure the tea pot thing was weird and he didn’t understand how to do that part, but he was capable of following instructions. He could learn, or at least learn enough to set it up for others to use.

Rowena had been kind, telling him what everything was, and he took over for her, keeping the dishes full for the guests, but Dean was so hurt. 

Michael had come, and Balthazar, each with one of the girls Dean had seen around the club - Michael with Tasha, Balthazar with Stacey. Gabriel had come with Rowena. Meg came alone. There was a man named Maxim with his wife Katja, and a few more men but Dean promptly forgot their names.

Everyone was piled into the living room watching the game on TV, snacks and drinks on the tables. It was loud, everyone having a good time, apparently.

Dean stayed in the kitchen.

He checked in every so often to make sure the snacks were topped up and everyone had a drink. Castiel was busy with his friends and family and no one had any reason to miss Dean, he didn’t have a connection with anyone.

And he just.. couldn’t. He couldn’t sit in there and pretend he was okay when he’d been told so clearly that he wasn’t good enough for these people.

He made himself a big plate of nachos with the leftover black beans and rice, adding cheese, onion, and a giant scoop of sour cream before pulling out the last lime Jarritos. 

“Private party in here, then?” came Rowena’s voice from behind him.

He toasted her with his drink, swallowing his bite. “Yup.”

“You don’t seem very happy tonight.”

“Nope.” Rowena was the nicest person here and he didn’t have the energy to lie to her. “I was told that we need to uphold certain standards that I cannot meet, so I will keep to myself.”

Rowena sighed. “Oh dear. And which standards are those?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Apparently it’s beyond my skills to feed his friends and family.”

“But you did such a lovely job with Thanksgiving!” She said, curling an arm around his shoulders to comfort him.

Dean lost his fight with tears and one escaped. He shrugged.

She sighed again and groomed his hair gently. “Alphas are all fools, you’re well aware of this already. And this is new to you both, you’re bound to make stupid mistakes. Try not to take it to heart, if you can.”

Dean nodded, wiping his eyes and taking another drink.

“Alright.” She nodded. “I’ll do this round of refills, you finish your food. It smells delicious.”

Another hour and Dean felt like he'd died a month ago. He was exhausted. He’d been getting tired earlier lately, but adding the discomfort of having so many loud people in his house and his emotional distance from his alpha and it was bone crushing.

He didn’t have the energy to interact with anyone, so he grabbed the phone, called Cas’ pager number and put in in his message: 666*101. Can’t go out, tired.

He decided to go to his bed so he wouldn’t have to walk by the living room entrance and risk having to interact with anyone.

He hadn't really been to his room in awhile, Cas had given him space in his drawers for his clothes so he had no reason to come here, but it still felt like his. He stripped to his boxers, dropping his clothes on the floor as he went and curled under his quilt with a happy sigh, falling into a deep sleep immediately.

—

Someone was touching his face. He was too tired to be awake, why was someone touching him? He groaned and rolled over, putting his back to whoever was bothering him, but the hand just moved to his hair instead.

“‘M sleepin’, no touchy,” he managed.

A laugh. 

He didn’t know that laugh. 

He woke up so fast he was dizzy with it.

“What the fuck?” he managed, moving to the far end of his bed. “Michael? What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shrugged. He was sitting on Dean’s bed. Why was he in Dean’s room at all? “I see you come up here, I worry about you.”

“Okay? But why are you in my bed? Touching me in my sleep?”

“You are my little brother’s mate, da? We family now. I check on family, no need for be upset, little one.”

Bullshit.

“No. You need to leave. If you’re worried, you ask Castiel to check. You don’t touch me like this.”

“Touch him like what?” came Castiel’s voice from the doorway, slow and careful. “Michael, why are you on my mate’s bed?”

Michael sighed. “You two are paranoid. He in kitchen all evening and look sad. When I see him come up here, I worry. I need bathroom, but someone use it, so I came up here to use one and figure I should check on him. Though I think him having room so far from yours explain the sadness. That is no way to care for mating bond, brat.”

“You were touching my face,” Dean disagreed firmly. “And when I moved away, you moved to touching my hair. You laughed when I told you to stop.”

“You sound adorable when you sleep talk.”

“And this is not my bedroom. I just didn’t want to deal with anyone, so I came up here away from people.”

“Dean, are you okay?” Castiel asked, crossing the room. He tilted Dean’s face up with two fingers and Dean smiled at him. He could smell the concern pouring off his alpha. Dean leaned in, breathing in his alpha. This was more important than hurt feelings. Castiel was here, like he always managed to be when Dean needed him. He was touching Dean with kindness, not blaming him for getting into yet another bad situation with an alpha.

 “I’m okay, alpha. Just got really tired.”

“I got your message,” Castiel's eyes searched Dean's. “You got enough to eat?”

“Yeah, I made nachos. I just need sleep, I’ll be okay.”

Castiel nodded.

“Michael,” he began with a very tense voice. “You know this is my mate and your actions with him are unacceptable. I want give you one warning, because you are my brother, but do not cross these lines again. Do you understand?”

Michael paused, watching them briefly. Dean didn’t like the look in his eyes. Michael stood and shrugged. “Sure, brother. Understood.”

And he walked out of the room with his hands in his pockets like he was strolling through a park.

“I am feeling better, Dean, if you are with me this evening.”

Castiel helped him dress, and with the shot of adrenaline Michael touching him had provided, Dean managed to stay awake until everyone left, curled safely on his alpha’s lap in a living room chair.

Chapter Text

Sunday afternoon, December 20, 1998

After Castiel returned home from Church and changed into comfortable house clothes, he and Dean made sandwiches together. Dean went very American with sliced ham (leftover from last night) and havardi with mustard, mayonnaise and a pile of potato chips. Castiel made a “buterbrod” - an open faced sandwich with dark rye bread, tomatoes, soused herring, sliced gherkins, canned sprats (which looked a lot like sardines but apparently weren’t), and the last of the red onion Dean had diced for their beans the other night.

It certainly looked… healthy.

They went out to the deck to eat and enjoy the beautiful weather.

Dean couldn’t help but watch anxiously as Castiel took a bite, impressed that no mess was made.

“Why don’t you use two pieces of bread?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. “That looks like a mess waiting to happen.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and took another bite without making a mess. “I am adult, I know how to eat without mess. More bread would taste wrong.”

“Hmm,” Dean said, trying to look serious. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve still got my sandwich training wheels on over here.”

“You need them,” Castiel agreed, reaching out his hand to wipe mayo off Dean's cheek. Dean reflexively opened his mouth for Castiel’s finger and then blushed when Castiel pressed it in with a smirk. “But no problem: you are good at cleaning up messes, hm?”

Dean licked off the mayo, holding back comments about how Castiel’s fingers tasted like fish because he didn’t want to address any other part of what he’d just done.

Castiel returned to eating his sandwich, looking smug.

“You want celebrate Christmas this week. In Russia, Christmas is celebrated differently. In Soviet times, they tried to suppress, tried to get rid of religion and religious celebrations. The tree, the presents, all that, we moved it to New Years. That is our big holiday.” Castiel finished his sandwich, carefully wiping his hands on his napkin and taking a drink of water. “You should spend it with Sam and Bobby. We want celebrate together for New Years.”

Dean nodded, washing down his last bite with orange juice. “You want to come with me?”

“Nyet.” Castiel shook his head. “I have services at the church in morning, and some work commitments." 

“Work commitments on Christmas?” Dean tried to stop himself from imagining Mafia Christmas Dinner, but failed with a grin.

Castiel squinted at Dean, tilting his head as if he could better understand if he looked from a different angle. “Da. Do not worry about it. We need talk about Michael.”

Any ounce of amusement left Dean immediately. “What about him?”

“Tell me about your interactions with him. All of them.”

Dean sighed, nodding. He took a drink to try to be sure he was remembering them all. “I met him the first time I went to the club. I was nervous, I didn’t know how I would get into the club. I,” Dean huffed. “I didn’t know your name, only Balthezar’s and he obviously didn’t like me.”

Castiel looked amused when Dean said he hadn’t known his name. It was a joke for them now, but certainly wasn’t funny then.

“Luckily Balthazar was there, with his group of friends and Michael talking to Meg and her friends. Michael saw me first and he flirted. He asked if I was lost and got Balthazar’s attention. Balthazar asked if I needed his help again and I said yeah. Michael said there was no rush, I could go in with him, he’d take care of me. Balthazar told him I was a brat omega-”

“He said what?”

“I-” Dean frowned. “He said something in Russian that included ‘omega’ and ‘brat.’”

“Oh.” Castiel looked amused. “‘Brat’ is brother in Russian. He probably said you were their brother’s omega. Omega nashego brata?”

“Oh!” Dean grinned. “Yeah! That’s good to know, I couldn’t figure out why he’d call me that.”

“If he want insult you, he probably call you dryannoy. Trashy.” Castiel made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Michael. Continue.”

Dean frowned. That sucked, but seemed accurate to Balthazar. “Uh, I think that was it. We haven’t interacted otherwise. He hasn’t come to the house, and I go right in at the club and spend all the time ignoring everyone and being with you, so.”

“I never know Michael have interest in men before. Well,” Castiel mused. “In Russia, things are different, and you are consider female because you can give birth. While Western culture sees many genders, our culture sees two: those who can impregnate and those who can get pregnant. That alpha females and omega males can technically do both is ignored and them doing so is severely discouraged.”

Dean grimaced. “That's really weird. Just because it's rare doesn't mean it's okay to erase that side of us. I'm still a man.”

“I agree. I not be with you otherwise.” Dean blinked up at him. That was new information. “But alpha women and omega men are rare. Alpha women birth is very rare and dangerous. Omega man impregnate so little, we ignore. Rare happening by someone in rare group is not interesting to many people.”

Dean sighed and nodded. That was too often true. 

“My relationship with Michael is complicated. He once expect to be the one in charge after our father. That I was chosen was very painful for him. We are okay, but things never been the same between us. This is why I react so carefully yesterday.”

“It was weird. He was the one who dealt with Vitality, so he knew what could happen.”

“You handle him well. He not expect you to tell me what he did. He expect shame.”

“You always listen to me and believe me. You've never hurt me or punished me for what I say. I'm not afraid of you. You protect me,” said Dean with a shrug.

Castiel looked taken aback and then pleased. “I do. I will. I wander from my point. You present yourself man, so I not expect him to have interest. I thought perhaps he knew I would follow, that he want to cause trouble between us. But I think he told some truth. He notice you were unhappy and it concern him. He notice you go upstairs alone and had to see what you were doing. Then he saw your clothes on the floor and you sleeping and he could not resist. You are very beautiful.”

Dean frowned. “But-”

Castiel nodded. “But, he is 38 years old, not toddler; he should control himself.”

Twice Dean’s age. That made him very uncomfortable. “How old are you?”

“I am 32. My birthday is September 18, 1966. And you?”

That was about what Dean had guessed.

“I’m 19. January 24, 1979,” Dean answered. “What about your other brothers?”

“Gabriel was born in 1969,” Castiel said and Dean snorted. “He is 29 and Balthazar is 34.”

“So, 1960, ‘64, ‘66, ‘69.” Dean did the math quickly. “Are you all half siblings? Do you have others?

“We are all half brothers, yes.” Castiel nodded. “And there are others, but these are the ones who live here. But we got off subject again.”

Dean grinned. He liked this meandering conversation. He’d never gotten so many details about Castiel’s life before.

“You cannot be alone with Michael,” Castiel said firmly. “And if he is here, you cannot go off alone. I realize you were not feeling well, and I let you be, but we must take away opportunities for him to approach you.”

Dean nodded. “Absolutely. Trust me, I never want to wake up with some creep touching me like that again. I will play koala anytime he’s around, no problem.”

“Good. That should solve issue with no fuss. Hopefully his attention wanders soon. It usually does, that is why he is not yet married.”

“But you said your brothers were nagging you to get married?”

“Yes, well. Is different for me. I am boss, da? It was create tensions, people try to get my attention for themselves or for their daughters.”

“And…” Did he dare ask? “I’m guessing the issue was the ‘female’ aspect of those trying?”

Castiel eyed him and sighed. “Da. Here, that not so interesting, but it not accepted in Russia. Male omegas are answer, but they are rare, and they are treated like women there, so it is… different. You were my choice for several reasons, but mostly you are man, but you are omega. I get what I want, and they cannot argue with it because you can have pups.”

Dean laughed and sighed, rubbing his hand down over his lower belly. “No question there.”

Castiel rumbled with pleasure. “No. No question there.”