19. Foreign Object

Balthazar is quite the character. 

Bobby would swiftly and firmly have classified him as a “peacock”, if Dean remembers right. When Cas opens the door to his  three sharp raps, the man struts into the house with swagger and confidence that Dean can’t really wrap his head around, movements so much like an alpha’s that he finds his hackles instantly raised. 

But there’s no reason for him to be afraid – not of an omega. And, despite the lack of stereotypical omega head-ducking and shoulder-hunching, Balthazar definitely is one. He’s tall and lanky, but has a slightness and softness around his face that Dean immediately recognizes.The man is older than him, older than Castiel too, with graying blond hair and wrinkled crow’s feet. 

“It’s bloody freezing,” the man grumbles, stamping his feet on the doormat to knock off chunks of ice. He’s got a British accent of some sort – Dean finds that it suits him and his flashy outfit exactly. He unwinds his scarf and hangs it next to his pretentious looking peacoat by the door, the dark fabric dusted with flakes of snow, and his sweater underneath has a deep v-neck. 

His scent wafts over. It’s softer than Cas’s, a little like oranges, and Dean can feel himself relax as soon as he gets a whiff. He could get up like a normal person and shake his hand – probably should do that, if Cas really does want him to act free. But, like the slave he is, he hangs back in the den, kneeling on the carpet. He crosses his arms over his chest and worries at the fabric of his hoodie, regretting his decision to leave his pillow upstairs. He’d been too embarrassed to keep it down here. 

“How was the drive?” Cas is asking, and Balthazar throws up a dismissive hand. 

“Awful, of course. Those backroads plus this blasted weather make for quite the challenge. Remind me, again, why you felt the need to purchase a house in the middle of nowhere?” 

Cas had told him he could sit on the couch, if he wanted. He’s glad he didn’t, ‘cause now he can see this situation for what it is. 

The shape of the faint scar around Balthazar’s neck is familiar. It’s faded but still noticeable against his pale throat. Dean recognizes it as the type of mark that has had a long time to heal, but will never really go away. 

Lots of slaves have scars like that. He’s got quite a few himself.

He tells himself not to be disappointed. At least Balthazar isn’t wearing an obvious collar – maybe he’s got a wrist tag or something – and at least he’s greeting Cas like he isn’t afraid of him. In fact, he claps him on the shoulder like he’s an equal, striding into the house and looking around as though he owns the place. Dean wonders if the omega belongs to his master, too – a past project?

His eyes flick over the house and then land on Dean, and his eyebrow arches. Glancing over at Cas, he jerks his head in Dean’s direction. “Thought you said he was ready to meet me,” he says, not at all hiding his skepticism. 

Dean flushes scarlet, dropping his eyes to the floor. Even from all the way over there, the other omega can apparently scent his fear. He hates it, hates how little control he seems to have over his emotions and his scent these days. 

Then again, he guesses it may not be his scent that’s giving him away. Could be the fact that he’s worrying a fucking hole into his hoodie with how nervous he is, or that he can’t seem to make himself keep eye-contact. 

“I proposed the idea, and Dean agreed,” Cas answers, but he sounds a little worried. 

“Right,” Balthazar drawls, rolling his eyes. “Because that’s an accurate gauge on what the kid actually wants.”

Cas doesn’t have any response to that at all, and Dean feels guilt burrowing into him. He doesn’t want to make Cas look bad, or like he forced Dean to do this. For some reason, it matters to him that Balthazar doesn’t think less of the alpha. Dean himself has made that mistake already.

Cas deserves better. 

So he forces himself to look up and meet the other omega’s critical gaze. And when Cas comes into the den and stands next to him, obviously preparing to do formal introductions, Dean presses firmly into his leg, driven by the need to prove himself unafraid. 

Apparently it proves something, because Cas looks down at him in open surprise, and Balthazar’s eyebrows raise in tandem. Dean holds his head up as the omega’s eyes wander to Cas’s hand that has, as if by instinct, landed on his shoulder, and up to Dean’s face. Whatever he sees there makes a slow smirk curl the corners of his mouth. 

“Balthazar, this is Dean. Dean, Balthazar,” Cas rumbles. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder gently. 

Dean doesn’t say anything, and Balthazar’s smirk widens into a grin. “Charmed,” he says, and there’s something a little smug about it that Dean doesn’t like. 

“As I’ve told you, Dean,” Cas says, looking down at him, and Dean is definitely listening but it’s hard to focus with the alpha’s hand like that, with the warmth of Cas's leg pressing through his clothes, “Bal is our expert on rehab. He’s just here to help you get settled, and to help you understand what happens next a little more clearly.”

Dean nods just a fraction of a second later than he should, and he can see Castiel’s forehead crease in worry. His eyes flick to his own hand on Dean’s shoulder, as if he’s only just realized it’s there. 

“Quit hovering over the kid,” Balthazar snipes, and Dean shoots him an honest-to-God glare before he can think better of it. 

Cas ignores Balthazar completely, and it’s satisfying as hell right up until he asks, “Are you comfortable here alone? I’d like to give you two some time to speak privately.” 

The answer is very much no. But Dean looks up at Cas’s hopeful face, feels the eyes of Balthazar on them both, and finds himself nodding. “Yeah.”

So with one last squeeze to his shoulder, Cas lets go. Dean tries not to follow his warmth or his touch like he very much wants to, forcing himself to stay where he is, and in the span of a few heartbeats they’re alone in the den. Cas is in his office, Dean’s still kneeling, and he’s about to have his first real conversation with another omega in years. 

It's a little surreal. Like Castiel, the man doesn’t even try to sit on the couch – instead, with a quick look in Dean’s direction, he primly folds himself onto the ground with an ease that can only come from practice. That, along with the scar of course, make it very clear to Dean what Balthazar is.

He can’t stop looking at the mark around the man’s neck and the air is getting increasingly awkward as he sits here and says nothing.

“It isn’t polite to stare, you know.” Dean jerks his eyes up, a flush covering him, but Balthazar waves his hand in a dismissive way before he can apologize. “Relax, kid. I’m pulling your leg. Don’t hold back on my account – let’s just get those pesky obvious questions out of the way, hm?”

Dean takes a breath. “How long’ve you been a slave?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “I was a slave for nearly fifteen years.”

Dean blinks at him, and after a second the words catch up to him. 

“You – you’re free?” 

There’s only a few things a mark like the one Balthazar has can come from. Dean had assumed that someone had shocked him one too many times, but now he wonders if the scar is something Balthazar gave himself. Cutting slave collars isn’t something that happens very often for a reason. 

Balthazar smirks. “Well aren’t you an observant one, Winchester?”

Dean starts again at the sound of his last name. He knows, now that he’s read it, that it’s on his paperwork that his owners get when they buy him. But Cas has never used it, and it’s been literal years since he’s heard it. Balthazar goes on, giving him no time to sort through the feelings he’s suddenly flush with. “I am free, yes. Have been for nearly a decade now.”

Dean stares at him, reeling. “How?”

The omega’s smug demeanor has faded, at least a little. In its place is something suspiciously close to sympathy – his gaze is a little too knowing. “That’s a story for another time, I think.”

Dean nods blankly. Dude’s got a right to his privacy, after all. But he’s still dazed. He knows, theoretically, that it’s possible to be freed, but he’s never seen anyone actually do it. 

Balthazar studies him for a moment, his gray eyes slightly calculating. But rather than continue down the dangerous path of that conversation, he nods at Dean’s piles of books that are scattered around the living room. It’s only today that he’d really started working on them again, tentatively asking Cas if it was okay (and it had been an emphatic yes, of course from the alpha). 

“Settling in, I take it? It appears you’ve got quite the sorting system.”

Dean flushes again, looking down. Now that he’s bothering to look, the leaning and half finished piles of books look more than a little unhinged. Balthazar probably thinks he’s fucking crazy.  “Uh… yeah. I mean, I did. Haven't really touched them in a few days.” He tries to force a laugh, tries to pretend like he doesn’t care. “Stupid, right?”

“No.”

The short and blunt way he says it makes Dean look up in surprise, taken aback. “It’s normal. And it’s a good thing.” He smiles. “Better this than a mental breakdown, anyway.”

That startles a short laugh out of Dean, and he’s still reeling from that when Balthazar goes on. “Speaking of – Cassie told me he thinks you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares?”

He says it in a way that makes it plain he knows from personal experience, and that comforts Dean, somehow. Makes it sting less when he nods.

“That’s normal too, you know. Hate to break it to you, but those aren’t going away any time soon.” He studies Dean. “Dr. Barnes could prescribe you something to help you sleep.”

Dean can’t help but shudder at the thought, and Balthazar just nods like he expected that reaction. “Right. Benjamin’s better at this sort of thing than I, but some meditation might do you good. Exercise, too, when the weather warms up some.”

“How’s running laps going to help me with nightmares?”

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “You’ll be more tired, you dolt.”

Dean huffs at that. It’s been a long time since anyone has talked to him like this – not like an animal, but not in the fragile, careful way that Castiel speaks to him, either. Just like he’s a person, an equal. Despite his earlier… well, he’s not even sure what to call it. Territorial-ness? Whatever. In spite of his posturing a few minutes ago, he already likes Balthazar, and the possibility that he might be looking at an ally or even a friend is strange. 

He’s gone so long without even speaking to another omega. Alastair kept him all alone. The whipping boy of the whorehouse, leashed to a bed in his room that he wasn’t even allowed to sleep in. It’s not that the other slaves had had it easy – when he’d first been bought by Alastair, he’d been forced along with them to clean or serve when they weren’t being used. As awful as that had been, though, at least he’d had the brief companionship of people of his designation; other omegas to scent or soothe or be soothed by. 

When Dean had been awarded the terrible honor of becoming the lowest of the low – when he’d become the toy for the sadists to play with – he’d been isolated from everyone but those sick alphas completely. Instead of an off-duty slave passing out his portion of food, he’d had Alastair tossing down his bowl; instead of two or three other omegas to rest with and commiserate with, he’d had only himself and his demons, if not a customer or Alastair himself. And that had gone on for years. 

He slowly sits on the ground completely, abandoning the proper kneeling position, and Balthazar doesn’t even blink.

“How are you adjusting?” Balthazar asks, looking at him closely. “I imagine it was difficult to understand what was happening when Cassie first brought you here.”

“I thought he was trying to knock me up,” he blurts, unable to censor the words before they escape, and Balthazar’s eyes widen. He feels like he needs to say this, to unburden a little of his guilt by admitting it to someone else. “You know, like… like he was just trying to get me to go into a heat.”

Balthazar bursts out laughing. 

It’s… not exactly the reaction Dean thought he would have. And for a moment, Dean starts to get angry. But then, Balthazar wipes his eyes, one last chuckle escaping before he says, “Sorry, mate. Not laughing at you – been there, honestly, and it’s an awful place for your head to be. I’m sorry about that.” And he seems to mean it. Behind the laughter, there’s a look in his eyes that tells Dean he knows the fear Dean had felt – has even felt it himself, maybe.

“It’s just – thinking about him being that conniving…” He shakes his head. “I’ve known the man for years. He’s about as tame as a kitten, kid. And blunt as a spoon.”

Dean frowns. “How are you so…?” He doesn’t know how to phrase it, how to ask Balthazar how he can trust so easily, how he can walk around with his head held high despite the scar. How he can just know that Cas, an alpha, doesn’t mean any harm, when it has taken Dean weeks to believe it. 

“Practice,” he replies, tone suddenly serious. “Practice, and a shite load of therapy.”

He smirks at Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve also taken a bunch of self-defense classes. Knowing how to break somebody’s wrist if they touch you gives you a fair dash of mental security.”

Dean snorts, but he can’t help but agree. One of the few things his dad hadn’t changed when he’d presented was his insistence that Dean knew how to defend himself, and defend Sam. Early on, he’d taught Dean how to handle his fists, a hunting knife, a shotgun. He’d known how to load a pistol by the time he was eight, even if he didn’t have the hand strength to cock it, and had regularly used his ass-kicking skills against anyone who fucked with him or Sammy. 

Well. Used them on everyone except John, of course. 

Some people would probably think his dad’s methodology was fucked up. Dean knows he’d been a real bitch about it every time his old man had slapped him around for getting sloppy or lazy. But pretty soon he’d figured out dad had been right to keep him on his toes – he’d gotten himself out of more than one tight situation by landing a punch that douche-bag alpha bullies hadn’t anticipated.  

His fists clench in his lap as he thinks about it. He wonders if he can still hit hard enough to bruise. If he would even raise a hand to defend himself at all, now, or if the instinct has been too thoroughly beaten out of him.

“We’ve got classes like that you can join.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Uh – I don’t know if Cas would…”

Balthazar shakes his head. “Cassie wants you to do things like that. It’s good for you.”

He looks down at his lap. “The dude that owns me wants me to take self-defense classes?” 

Even as he says it, he finds that he actually believes it. Castiel has said over and over again that Dean’s not going to be treated like a slave while he’s here. Doesn’t matter that it took forever to sink into Dean’s thick skull. Even something this ridiculous doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility – not really. He’s immediately ashamed of himself. 

Luckily, the older omega just rolls his eyes instead of calling him on his disrespect. “Were you not listening to the rehabilitation part, kid?”

He makes a face. “Sorta thought that meant, like… not being scared out of my mind every fucking second.” 

“It does. And part of that is being confident that you’re safe. Cassie won’t deny you anything that might help with that, take it from me. You could ask that man for the moon and he’d try and give it to you.”

Dean’s not exactly sure he wants to push his luck, but when he thinks back to the way Castiel had held his hand last night, the way he’d sat on the edge of the bed until he’d drifted off just because Dean had asked him to, the way he’s offered his silent, strong support day after day… he thinks Balthazar’s probably right. Still, he can’t help the lingering doubt. Can’t help the nervousness he feels at the idea of asking for something so outlandish. 

He takes a quick breath in. And then another. It’s only when he sees Balthazar watching him with his head canted to the side that he realizes – he’s scenting right now. Trying to calm himself down. Cas is in the other room, but his scent is all over the house, of course; enough that Dean feels himself relax, if only a little.  

He should probably be embarrassed by that. Should be ashamed that he’s unable to take care of himself, that he has to depend on an alpha’s pheromones just to keep him grounded.

Surprisingly, he finds that he isn’t. If Balthazar wants to judge him, well, that’s just fucking fine. Dean’s not going to apologize for trying to keep his footing, even if he kinda looks like a pussy for doing it. Balthazar is an omega too, after all. 

He doesn’t have to hide his bitch instincts here. It’s a bizarre form of relief. 

“You seem quite nervous,” the other omega observes bluntly. “What’s got you all twisted up, mate?”

“I just… I keep waiting for this to end,” Dean admits, twisting the front of his hoodie into a little ball in his lap. He’s tried to explain some of this to Castiel – it hasn’t gone well. He thinks that Balthazar is more likely to understand. “I ain’t worth shit, not like I am now.”

“It’s not about you being valuable in some way,” Balthazar says calmly. “You’re worth it to him just like you are.”

Dean half laughs. “The dude bought me with pocket change, man. He could throw me away and get someone else to replace me in a heartbeat.” The words are pessimistic, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t true. And even though Balthazar is free and he is not, he still feels comfortable saying them because they are both omegas, and the man had been a slave too. So Dean knows Balthazar understands the anxiety he’s feeling, maybe better than Dean understands it himself. “Someone like him shouldn’t want to waste his time with someone like me.”

The older man studies him for a moment. “Cassie has been wealthy all his life. He doesn’t see it as a power symbol. He just sees it as a means to an end.” He nudges Dean with his foot. “And in this case, that end benefits you quite a lot.”

Dean shakes his head, cocks his jaw. “He could have anyone.”

“He doesn’t want anyone,” Balthazar insists. “The only reason he bought you was so that he could help you f-”

“Everyone keeps telling me that!” Dean insists, cutting the man off. “But it makes no sense! I... It makes no sense,” he repeats. He sounds desperate. 

Balthazar is quiet for a moment – long enough for Dean to catch his breath. When he does speak, his voice is minutely softer. “That doubt you’re feeling is understandable. The things you’ve gone through have fucked with your brain quite thoroughly. But Castiel is not the type of man to play with lives,” he finishes, his words low and serious.

Dean chokes out a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “Christ. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just be happy?” 

Because he really should be. He’s got food and water and warmth and kindness all around him. What the fuck does he have to complain about?

Balthazar nudges him again, more insistent this time. “Quit beating up on yourself, Winchester. What’d I just say?”

“That my dome’s basically scrambled eggs.”

Balthazar snorts. “For now. You need therapy.”

The blunt way he says it makes it sting less. Dean knows it’s true, knows he’s fifteen kinds of fucked up. For a fleeting moment, he thinks about how insane it is that Cas wants to get his omega slave into fucking therapy, but it’s just one more drop in the bucket of insanity that his life has become for the last month. 

He can’t go through life with one foot out the door, constantly waiting for something bad to happen to him. It doesn’t matter that up until this point he’d been right to be paranoid. 

“Talking to Benjamin would do wonders for you, kid.” Balthazar insists. “So when you’re ready for that, let Cassie know. He’ll set you up a home visit. Dr. Lafitte's a beta, great big bear of a man. He’ll help you get your head screwed on straight.”

Dean nods, biting his lip. He should probably stop talking now, but he’s nothing if not curious. And he still doesn’t understand the dynamic of his master and this strange omega in front of him. 

“How’d you meet Cas?” he asks, changing the subject. He can’t help but wonder. The sight of Balthazar clapping Cas on the shoulder is still stuck in his mind’s eye. It’s clear they’re close. 

Only now does it cross his mind that he should, logically, be suspicious. The only kind of close alphas and free omegas tend to be is the mated kind of close – but it hadn’t even occurred to him to be worried about that. And he can tell from Bal’s scent that, if there is an alpha in the picture, it’s not Dean’s. His markers would show it if that were the case. 

“Oh, I’ve known Cassie for years,” Bal says airily, side-stepping the question neatly. “He’s told you about our work, right?” 

Dean nods. “Sort of. Said he worked with you and Pamela and Benny. He told me y’all kinda… rehabilitate slaves. ”

Balthazar gives him a strange look. “That’s… all true. But, you know, it’s not just us four.”

Dean feels something sharp and uncomfortable begin to shift in his stomach. “It’s not?”

The omega shakes his head. “We’ve got about thirty staff members. Most of them live on the main campus with the rest of the residents.”

He can feel the room start to get small. 

“What?” he whispers, and Balthazar’s brow furrows as he takes in the expression on Dean’s face. 

“He hasn’t told you any of that? Not even how many people work for him?"

It’s like getting punched in the gut – Dean would know. His next question comes out strangled. “Work for him?” 

“Yes, of course.” Balthazar furrows his brow at the expression on Dean’s face. Then, when he adds two and two, he glares at his master’s closed office door. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and rubs his temples. “The git didn’t tell you anything,” he mutters. 

“Wait. He pays you?” Dean checks blankly, not quite able to wrap his head around the idea. “He pays you?”

“You want to see my tax returns, Winchester?” He gives him a look that’s a little too knowing, and his next words are slow. “Mate, Castiel owns the thing. Novak Rehabilitation and Reintegration.” 

Dean’s throat tightens dangerously, till it feels like he’s breathing through a straw. 

He’d thought that Castiel had just… randomly decided to help him. That he and his buddies did this out of some rich person savior complex. Why hadn’t he told him that it wasn’t just four or five random people doing charity work, but was essentially an entire company? Or that he was the fucking boss?

It’s one thing to belong to some random rich do-gooder, to be a... pet. It’s something else to be a fucked up slave that belongs to someone who runs a business that’s all about fixing fucked up slaves. Why the hell would Cas choose him, of all people? Dean was the poster child for unfixable issues before he was enslaved, and even as isolated as he’s been he knows that what he went through under Alastair was far worse than average. He’s beyond messed up – he’s fucking broken. 

What happens when he can’t be fixed? How will that look for Castiel? What will that do to his pride, to his company, to his reputation? Will Cas even want to keep him, once he realizes he won’t get any better, any closer to being a human again?

Balthazar grimaces, his nose wrinkling at the sudden sour stench in the air. “Relax, kid,” he says, and even though there’s no alpha bite to it Dean tries to comply, because the room is spinning and he’s pretty sure that if he gets too upset Cas is gonna smell it and come try and rescue him. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and suddenly Balthazar is looking at him with his brow furrowed as he scents again. And even though the honey and rain scent of his alpha helps him a little, he’s still a million light years away from understanding any of this. 

“I just – why? Why would he give a shit?”

Balthazar leans back and considers his words carefully, tapping his long fingers on the side of his knee. “He saw an injustice and he has a conscience. And he’s got the means. Why not?”

Dean can think of about a million reasons why not, can think of a million people who have just as much power and money as Castiel apparently does and turn a blind eye anyway – or worse, participate in the slave trade, benefit from the slave trade. 

Suddenly, this is all too much. It’s too much that there’s a freed omega slave sitting right in front of him, too much that Cas seems to genuinely be his friend and his boss and nothing more. Too much that the man that owns him is apparently some kind of paragon saint and too much that Dean is his wayward soul. His head hurts and his chest hurts and he just wants to lay down. So he stops asking questions, stops burying himself further, and nods at Balthazar’s words like he understands them. 

His knees are drawn up to his chest before he knows what he’s doing, and his nose is down nearly to his chest. He can still smell Cas on his clothes. 

Balthazar looks like he wants to say more, but he takes one look at Dean, sniffs the air experimentally, and sighs. He fishes in his front pocket and hands Dean a card with his name and number on it. It looks similar to the one that Pamela handed him, “NRR” printed in the corner in block letters. He hadn’t questioned that at the time, too overwhelmed. He holds it blankly, thinking about the doctor’s card that’s carefully hidden under the box spring in his room. 

“I was certainly intending on this being a longer conversation, but I think you’re due for a break,” he says, blunt but not unkind. “You can call me anytime you have questions you aren’t comfortable asking Cassie. The man’s trustworthy, and you’ll truly believe that eventually. In the meantime, though, there’s no reason for you to stew. So put that number in your phone.”

Dean feels fucking hysterical. “I don’t have a phone,” he retorts, thinking that Balthazar is joking, but the omega huffs out an exasperated sound. 

“Cassie, didn’t I tell you to get the kid a mobile?”

He freezes as Balthazar raises his voice so Cas can hear him inside the office. After a moment, the alpha opens the door, a slight frown on his face. “I intend to.”

“What in God’s name are you waiting for?”

Dean’s reeling, at this point, overwhelmed by the way the man is so casually talking to his alpha. Balthazar slides fluidly off the floor, stretching out his spine and grimacing when it pops. “I swear, you alphas wouldn’t know your ass from your head without someone to write down notes for you.”

Castiel scoffs, but there’s no anger in his scent, not even a tinge of frustration. Dean even thinks he can see a slight smile in the corners of his mouth. “Alright, alright. I was simply prioritizing other things.”

Yeah, like making sure his slave wasn’t going to off himself by running out into a friggin’ blizzard. Dean swallows, still on the ground, not quite brave enough to follow Balthazar’s example and stand up; especially when he strides over and claps the alpha’s hand in a handshake that morphs effortlessly into a hug. “Lovely chat, mate, but I’ve got to get going. Jody’s got a new batch of volunteers that need to hear the run-down.”

He turns his attention back to Dean. “Text me when this dolt gets you that phone,” he insists, crouching back down to give Dean a handshake of his own. His palm is warm and firm and Dean can’t help but be envious. “Capiche?”

He nods, and then Balthazar is gone.

“You absolute arse.”

Castiel grimaces as Balthazar growls into the phone in lieu of greeting. He’d seen the dangerous look in his friend’s eyes as he’d walked him to the door – seems that he’d been right to expect a verbal lashing. 

“Hello to you too, Bal,” he mutters, but the man is already on a roll. 

“You didn’t tell him anything. Nothing! Kid didn’t even know you owned the damn center, Castiel!” 

Castiel bites his lip. Dean is asleep, now – he’d joined Castiel in his office after Bal’s departure, his scent unsteady and strained. But he hadn’t at all looked like he wanted to talk. In fact, when Castiel had tried to gently press him for details, he’d shut down entirely. So Castiel had let him be, and they’d eaten dinner together in Dean’s room in relative silence, and then he’d left Dean to his own devices. 

“It hasn’t exactly been my top priority to… orient him, I suppose,” Castiel says. “It’s been one crisis after another, and it sort of… slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your – slipped your mind?” Bal demands. “Cassie, he’s got no clue you want to free him – and I was too bloody afraid to tell him, in case it made him lose it entirely!”

Castiel winces. Traditionally, they tend not to tell omegas that their ultimate goal is freedom right away. That hadn’t been his decision – he’d been ready to tell them from day one. But at the urging of both Balthazar and Benny, he’d changed that particular policy. Omegas at the center only learn they are there to be freed when they are comfortable. When they trust the staff. It usually takes upwards of a couple of weeks, sometimes three. 

Dean’s been here for well over a month. 

“You believe he wouldn’t take the news well?”

Balthazar scoffs. “I think he’d have a goddamn mental breakdown.” He takes a long breath in through his nose, audibly trying to calm himself down. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell him you’re the CE-fucking-O?” 

Why hadn’t he, indeed. He debates his answer, finding that he himself is still torn. At first, it simply hadn’t occurred to him that it would matter. But he can’t deny that he’s had plenty of opportunity to inform Dean a little more, plenty of opportunity to share his work. But he hadn’t. 

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding helpless even to himself. “It’s not like I’m… not like I’m really in charge. That’s you. I just… I didn’t want to intimidate him.”

“Too late for that,” Balthazar mutters. “He looked like he’d seen a ghost when I told him.” 

Castiel sighs quietly to himself. “Wonderful.”

“He thought I was a slave,” Bal muses, after a solid thirty seconds of silence. “Maybe even your slave. But he was still clinging to your leg like a toddler and glaring at me for insulting you.”

Heat rises in his cheeks. He’s glad Balthazar can’t see him. “It’s the first time he’s done anything like that,” he says quickly. “It surprised me.”

“I could tell,” Bal says. “But it shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

He can tell that Balthazar is hesitating even over the phone – he’s silent for a while as he gathers his thoughts. “Think the kid’s scent-bonded to you,” he finally says. 

Cas sits up a little straighter, his heart pounding. “What?”

“I’m sure of it, in fact,” Balthazar says, a little firmer now. “I wasn’t expecting it, but I don’t really see any other explanation.”

His mouth is dry. “Bal, that’s… there’s no way. He’s still scared of me, or at least he was just yesterday – he’s –” 

“Cassie, would you just think about it for a second?” Bal insists. “Hugging you. Carrying a pillow with your scent all over it, even sleeping with it. Just that little touch on his shoulder I saw would have been enough to make most omegas panic, but it calmed him down.” He laughs a little. “Kid was scenting the air every time he got worked up.” 

A little dizzy, he sits down heavily on the couch in his office. The blanket Dean uses when he naps in here is folded carefully on the seat next to him. He looks at it blankly. He can smell it from here – apples and cinnamon and pastries. 

“It’s not a bad thing.” He’s rightfully diagnosing Castiel’s silence as panic. 

“But…” 

But Castiel is the last person on Earth Dean should be pinning his hopes on. The last person he should trust with his well-being. Castiel is abysmal at this, and it’s been proven over and over – but somehow he’s tricked Dean into a bond. Just a scent bond, sure, but a connection nonetheless. One that forces the omega to be subject to all the changes in his mood that Castiel himself doesn’t understand, one that is probably giving him some sort of flimsy fake comfort when it shouldn’t. 

One that will discourage Dean from leaving him, even if he should. 

“How do I fix it?”

His strained question startles a laugh out of Balthazar. “Fix it?”

“Of course! He can’t be… it’s not right,” he says, stomach churning. “He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, it’s unethical to push that kind of bond onto him –” 

“You didn’t push anything,” Balthazar corrects. “He did that on his own. The most you did was convince his little omega brain that he’s safe, and you shouldn’t be apologizing for that.” He hums a little, and adds, “It’s kind of impressive, actually.”

He’s numb. “I didn’t do anything right,” he says blankly. 

“Clearly you did, because otherwise he wouldn’t want to touch you at all,” Balthazar chuckles. 

“I… I’m simply kind to him,” he whispers. “He’s mistaken to place his trust in m–”

“Trust me when I say,” Balthazar interrupts sharply, “that we don’t willy-nilly bond with any alpha that’s decent to us. Otherwise I’d be the one clinging to your leg.”

Castiel blushes. He closes his mouth, suitably chastised. “Apologies. That was insensitive.” 

“Apology accepted,” Bal says diplomatically. “But back to my point – you’ve both got a choice in front of you, mate.”

Castiel has been thinking along the same lines, and his stomach sinks even further. “I know.”

“At some point, there’ll be room for him here,” his friend says neutrally. “And normally I’d be all for bringing him in. But the fact that you two are tied together like this complicates things.”

“It would be better for him to be there,” Cas says after a moment. He tries to ignore the fact that it feels like he had to physically wrench those words out of himself. “We both know that.”

Balthazar hums. “I’m not so sure. Might cause more harm than good to separate you two now.” After a moment, he adds, “More harm to both of you, really. Because you’ve obviously bonded to him, too.”

He closes his eyes. Doesn’t even try to deny it, because he knows it’s true. Knows that he can detect Dean’s emotions much easier than is normal, knows that his scent is multi-dimensional and deep rather than the simple omega-sweet that it should be. Knows what that means, and has known it for a while – he’s just been too cowardly to face it. 

On the one hand, Balthazar’s words should devastate him. He wants Dean to have the best possible care, and he knows better than to think he can be the one to provide that. However unintentionally, he’s swayed Dean into the false belief that Castiel is his best option. And he has so little control over himself that he’s bonded to Dean in return, even though he hadn’t meant to. 

On the other hand, another part of him – perhaps the larger part – is tremendously relieved at the idea that Dean trusts him, and even more so at the thought that Dean might not leave him. And he hates himself for it. 

“What happens if he goes?”

Balthazar blows a long stream of air out of his mouth. “You’ll be depressed for a few months, at least. So will he. But you’ll both get over it.”

Castiel closes his eyes. “It’s his choice, Bal.” 

“Of course it is. Doesn’t mean he’ll be the only one affected, though.” 

“But my feelings on the subject don’t matter.”

“Yes they do,” Balthazar disagrees, a surprising degree of vehemence in his voice. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that being a martyr for the kid will help him. He needs stability, in one way or another – and if he's picking you to be that for him, you need to keep your head.”

He looks down at his hand in his lap, somehow too large, almost foreign to him even after all the time he’s had to accept his designation for what it is. Thinks about the fragility of the man he’s become responsible for, and thinks about how he’s not built for handling things that are fragile. 

“You don’t even know that he wants to stay,” he says quietly. 

Balthazar sighs. “You’re right. I don’t, not for sure.” But after a moment, he adds, “I’d bet money he does, though.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth twists. “I’m surprised you think that much of me.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

And perhaps he shouldn’t. He doesn’t know what he did to gain Balthazar’s precious trust, or his loyalty. He’s seen the way the man reacts to other alphas. It usually isn’t pretty. But it’s been years since Bal has treated him with any sort of suspicion, even with their entangled pasts. 

“You’re right,” he mumbles, and if his voice is a little rough neither man comments on it. 

“I know,” Bal says breezily. After a moment, he says, a little reluctantly, “But this scent-bond complicates more than just the question of his housing. Like I said, breaching the topic of his emancipation is going to be… difficult, I’d imagine. More so than usual.”

“Should I hold off, then?”

Balthazar hesitates. “I suppose so. At least until he feels more secure. Otherwise, he’ll likely just panic and think you’re trying to dump him.”

“Noted.” Castiel sighs. Despite the less than positive news, he’s rightfully grateful for his friend’s guidance, and for his patience. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you, you know.”

“You’d be fine,” Bal says dismissively – though there’s a glimmer of a laugh there. “Woefully disorganized and even more of a hermit than you already are, but fine.”

“Still,” he says, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”