34. Thanks to the Broken Bones

For a while, they just drive through woods and woods and more woods, not much civilization to speak of. Dean’s even getting a little sleepy, the monotony of the trees flying past and the soothing scent of the alpha next to him lulling him into something close to a doze. 

But then, he blinks, and a little building has appeared on the side of the road up ahead. Someone’s inside. 

Cas rolls up to a guard booth. An actual, literal guard booth, one with a long arm that blocks the road until whoever is inside decides to move it. Dean looks around, confused – there’s no fence that he can see, so he’s not sure what would stop omegas from just sneaking around on foot if they wanted to escape. 

He’s distracted from his thoughts when the alpha rolls down the window. He expects Cas to let go of his hand – it’s sorta embarrassing to be caught like this, not to mention a little inappropriate if taken the wrong way. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look like he realizes that he should. Dean gets all warm and tingly inside at that – at the proof that Cas is not ashamed of him. 

“Good morning, Meg,” Cas greets affably. Dean leans back instinctively, hiding behind the alpha, only relaxing when he realizes that the scent of whoever is inside is safely beta. 

He peeks his head out, curious, in spite of himself. A young woman with a pixie cut is leaning out of the booth, grinning at Cas as she chews a mouthful of gum. “Well, look who the cat dragged in! How goes it, Clarence? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Castiel smiles in what appears to be a purely polite manner. “I am doing well, thank you. How are you?”

Meg shrugs. She pops her gum, leaning to the side to get a better look at Dean past Castiel – and at their clasped hands. She raises her eyebrow, lets out a low whistle. “ Clarence. You takin’ the residents home with you, now? That’s a no-no, according to your rule book,” she chides, wagging her finger back and forth. Dean bristles at what she’s implying, ready to defend the alpha. 

“Nothing of the sort,” Cas says, calm and firm. He doesn’t sound angry, which rankles, for some reason, because Dean is starting to get good and pissed at the smug little expression on the woman’s face. Cas squeezes his hand. “I trust you would have noticed if I’d done so, anyway.” 

Ignoring him entirely, Meg leans out a little further, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Blink twice if you need help, little omega!” she whispers loudly. 

Dean shows her his teeth instead, and she grins widely. “Feisty. I like you. What’s your name?”

Cas clears his throat. “The gate, Meg? If you please.” 

Meg laughs, and leans back, waving them on through when the arm lifts up. She winks at Dean in an exaggerated sort of way when Cas pulls forward. Dean glares at her, and though he can’t hear her, he can see her mouth open in another bark of laughter. 

“I don’t like her,” he snaps, crossing his arms as Cas rolls up the window. 

Cas just chuckles, irritatingly enough. “Not many people do. She can be a little… prickly.”

The alpha glances in his rearview mirror, sighing as the guard shack disappears around the corner. “As rough around the edges as she is, Meg is good at her job. There isn’t much that can slip past her, and she’s prevented more than one person with the wrong kind of agenda from getting too close.” He grimaces. “She may enjoy using her taser a little too much, to be honest.” 

It’s only then that it clicks – the gate isn’t to keep omegas in. It's to keep other people out. He feels stupid for not realizing sooner, and a little guilty besides. When is he going to stop assuming that Cas is anything like the masters he has come to know? 

“You get a lot of those kinds of people?” he asks, because he really hopes the answer is no. 

Glancing at him, Cas shakes his head. “Not often. It’s usually just people who are curious, or who misunderstand and think that the omegas here are for sale.”

Dean doesn’t understand that – how else would the residents move on, after being rehabilitated? – but he doesn’t push. Instead, he glances at Cas. “Why does she call you Clarence?”

“I’m not exactly clear on that,” Cas says, shrugging. “Balthazar tells me that it has something to do with a character in a popular movie.”

Dean stares at him. “Dude. You haven’t seen It’s a Wonderful Life?”

Clearly, he has not, because he just looks at Dean blankly. “Movie night,” Dean decides, shaking his head. “We need a movie night, pronto.” 

Cas smiles at him like he doesn’t know that's supposed to be an insult about his pop culture knowledge. “Happily, Dean.” 

Something about the way he says it makes Dean’s insides go all gooey and stupid, and he forgets the weird anger he’d felt at the way Meg had looked at him and at Cas. He’s about to open his mouth and say something dumb, like, “Thanks for not being ashamed of holding my hand and for wanting to watch movies with me...” 

Then, he sees the center. 

“Whoa,” he murmurs. 

It sort of reminds Dean of a hospital. A little smaller, maybe – just two or three stories, from what he can see. But the structure itself seems to go far back into the trees, and Dean knows he’s not getting the full picture. 

They drive up closer, filing past a few dozen cars in the lot, until Cas is right up close to the front entrance. The parking space he chooses, despite being quite close to the door, is the only one empty for several rows. Dean looks at him incredulously. 

“I disagreed with having a reserved spot,” the alpha mutters, his cheeks a little pink, “but, well. A few of my employees insisted. They refuse to park here.” 

That doesn’t surprise Dean in the slightest. 

The front entry is shaded by a cover and tall trees, all warm browns and soft lines. It reminds him of an old, stately college campus, like the ones Sammy used to point out on brochures and billboards. The glass doors are tinted, preventing anyone from being able to see inside. 

“When we go in,” Cas is saying, unbuckling his seat belt, “I’m going to stop at the reception desk for my badge. You’ve got your tags, so you don’t need one, but employees and any visitors to the facility are required to wear them. It makes the residents more comfortable, we’ve found.”

Dean can only nod – he’s already starting to get overwhelmed, already starting to get quieter. Cas has jumped out of the car, though, so he follows suit before he can chicken out, timidly stepping into the cool air. He hunches a little further into the alpha’s jacket, frowning as his knee complains at him. He’d nearly forgotten about it, during the long ride.

As if he can read his mind, Cas offers him a hand – but he shakes his head. He doesn’t want these people’s first impression of him to be that he can’t even stand without an alpha’s help. Maybe that’s silly, because Cas literally owns him, but still. His pride says no, and for once, Dean gets to listen. 

Cas frowns a little, but he doesn’t force the issue. Instead, he slows down and matches his pace to Dean’s pitiful one, worry clouding his scent. 

Dean’s so focused on not slipping and falling on his ass that they’re inside before he has time to register the doors opening, a faint beep the only indication that Cas unlocked the door with some sort of key card. More security to keep out the undesirables, he’s guessing. 

It’s a wide, open room, with tiled floors and lots of windows. There’s comfortable looking chairs scattered around, and several halls leading to wings further inside the building. Dean can see large, bold-print signs hanging above each of those halls, probably saying what each contains – but before he can investigate further, Cas starts talking to someone, and Dean realizes he’s being left behind. 

He hurries forward, glancing around with wide eyes as he stays nearly plastered to the alpha’s side. So much for maintaining his dignity. Cas is already mid conversation with the person manning the front desk, but Dean can hardly hear their words. 

He can smell omegas. A lot of them. The air is sweet, unlike Hell had been; there’s no sick, prolonged fear marring the scent of so many of his designation. It's strange to be around so many others like him with no fear tagging along. And as he watches, he witnesses a group of them – four slaves, all with the same silver ID tags that Dean’s currently wearing – walking out of one hall and into another. 

They’re chatting with each other. They’re laughing. They look… happy. 

Dean can only stare with wide eyes as they go, something inside of him shaken at the sight. He hasn’t seen omegas like that since high school – unafraid, their heads held high. Not even concerned about Cas, even though they can definitely smell him, can see that he’s an alpha. All four of them are young. Younger than Dean. He has to wonder where they came from, how long they suffered before they were found and brought here. 

There’s a soft touch on his arm, and he wrenches his gaze away from the retreating group. Cas is looking at him, a smidge of worry creasing his brow, and Dean makes an effort to shove whatever the hell he’s feeling to the side so he can focus. 

“I was just saying,” Cas continues, his eyes lingering on Dean for a long moment before he returns his attention to the woman at the front desk, “that I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Fitzgerald.” 

Dean swallows, shaking himself, and comes back to the present. The blonde woman behind the desk has an easy smile on her face, something that  makes Dean feel comfortable. Unlike Meg, the woman has a matronly air about her. She’s older than Dean – older than Cas, too. He likes her immediately. 

He likes her even more when she sticks out her hand for him to shake, smiling at him with crinkled brown eyes. “Call me Bess,” she says warmly. 

Dean takes her hand in his, not an ounce of trepidation in him. It’s easier, with people like this – Bess is a beta, her scent is neutral, and she’s an older woman with gentle eyes. No one who has hurt him has looked like this. Add on to that the scent of so many content omegas, and Dean is far more at ease than he thought he would be.

 “Dean,” he says, smiling a little when she shakes his hand, nice and firm. 

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” she replies, and it sounds genuine. 

“Mrs. Fitzgerald is who you want to come find if you’re ever lost,” Castiel says. “She handles the orientation tours, mans the phones, and hands out badges – among other duties she’s picked up, despite my insistence that she doesn’t overtax herself,” he adds, glancing down meaningfully. And, oh, Dean hadn’t even noticed – the woman is pregnant.

The woman just laughs, waving her hand. “You’re paying me too much to sit at this desk all day, Castiel. Plus, Garth – that’s my husband,” she explains, shaking her head in fond exasperation, “would lose his own head if I didn’t help him keep track of it. The man is drowning in paperwork.”

Castiel smiles, shrugging. “I can’t argue with that.” He turns back to Dean, filling him in without having to be asked. “Garth mans our communications and outreach. Along with Jody, he keeps an eye out for likely purchases, situations which might be worked to our advantage, and anything else that might affect what we do here. He also handles fundraisers and donations, when he isn’t busy with the library – ”

Dean’s eyes go a little wide. “You’ve got donors?”

Somehow, he’d thought that Cas’s brand of crazy was isolated. That it was a miracle in of itself that someone like him would want to help people like Dean. But the more people he meets, the more he realizes that the views Castiel holds might be more popular than he first realized. 

Cas frowns at him. “Well, yes. Of course.” He seems to sense Dean’s train of thought. “I know it may be hard to believe, Dean, but there are many people who don’t agree with the practice, and want to see it gone. More and more every day.”

Dean just blinks. He hadn’t considered that. 

Bess does them the favor of breaking the silence, her voice warm. “Well, thank goodness for that. Things will change, one day,” she says, with a degree of confidence that Dean cannot even begin to comprehend, “but in the meantime, we do what we can.”

Dean nods, a little numb. There’s something a little painful in his chest – he doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth, just yet. Instead, he reaches out below the desk, out of Bess’s line of sight, and squeezes Castiel’s warm, strong hand. 

“I wanna see your office, boss man,” he jokes, hoping his voice doesn’t come out too strained, wishing it was louder. He’s already getting overwhelmed, already wanting a moment alone, though he doesn’t want to explain that in front of a stranger. This is just… so much. 

Luckily, Cas catches his drift. He squeezes Dean’s hand in return, and nods a goodbye to Bess. “There’s an elevator down that way that goes straight to the staff office wing,” he says. “I like to keep my scent isolated, when I can.” Dean can only nod as Bess waves them away with a smile. 

He follows Cas quite a ways to the double doors, leaning against him visibly as they wait for the elevator to come. He doesn’t really care what Bess thinks of them, because right now he needs the support. He tells himself it’s because his knee is fucking killing him – and it is – but really, he just wants the familiarity and security of Cas against his skin. 

The alpha doesn’t seem to mind. “We’ve got some time before Pamela can see you,” he says. “We can simply sit and relax until then.”

Dean lets out a breath, relieved. He’d been sure that Cas would want to give him a tour of the place – and maybe he had – but the alpha, as always, is putting Dean’s desires first. “Thanks,” he breathes. The doors open, and they step inside. 

It isn’t until the doors close that Dean realizes he’s made a mistake. 

He feels himself freeze – feels his heart stop in his chest. It’s small. Too small. He’s trapped in here and it’s too small, and he can’t do this, not again, he can’t be trapped like this again because he’s done with this, Cas said he was done with this, but there are no windows – there are never windows and he thought this was over– 

Cas is in front of him.

“Look at me,” the alpha commands. 

Dean jerks his head up, stares into the man’s eyes, his chest heaving. The looming walls around him fade to the background – Cas is all he can see. All he can hear. 

“We are okay, Dean. It will be over in moments. It’s just two floors, and then the doors will open, and we will walk out unharmed. We are not trapped here,” the alpha is saying, slow and measured and calm, his voice almost hypnotic. “Breathe. Now.”

Automatically, he drags in a breath, lets it out again. It’s shaky and harsh, loud in the small space. He does it again, because it clears away some of the panic in his chest. He realizes that he’s backed himself into a corner. The handrail digs into the base of his spine. He doesn’t understand how an empty elevator can be so loud. 

“Good,” Cas rumbles, still staring straight into Dean’s eyes. Somehow, his voice cuts through the din in his brain, low and intense as it is. “Good job, Dean. Keep doing that. Keep breathing.” 

Dean does, because he literally doesn’t have a single other thought left other than obey obey obey, and when the alpha tells him he’s done a good job he feels like he can breathe correctly and he likes that feeling. 

When the doors slide open, Cas takes his hand and tugs, and they’re out. He just stands there, dazed, blinking at the bright lights glaring off the tile and at the sudden, ringing silence. The doors close behind him. 

Cas is still there, standing in front of him, his scent swirling with concern. For the first time, Dean notices his ID badge, clipped to the pocket on the front of his shirt. It’s got his picture – or, at least, a picture of him from what looks like some time ago. The Cas in the little square looks younger, somehow. There’s a large, capital A taking up almost half the plastic card. He feels the absurd urge to touch it. 

“Are you alright?”

Dean tries to form the words to tell him that he’s fine. He thinks he manages, at most, to shake his head no. Cas’s frown deepens. There’s no one in the hall, though he can hear people in the rooms off to either side. In moments, they will no longer be alone, and Dean needs to get his shit together before he embarrasses himself and Cas in front of the entire fucking rehab center. 

Problem is, he can’t seem to move.

“My office is at the end of the hall,” the alpha says quietly. “Would you like to go inside?”

Dean nods. 

Still stupefied, he allows Cas to lead him all the way to the very last door. It’s separated from the rest by a dozen or so feet, like Cas wanted as much space as possible between him and the organization he runs. Dean thinks that probably means something, but he can’t really wrap his head around what, right now. 

The first door opens up to a smaller room, with a desk that looks abandoned. Cas nods at it. “Samandriel’s desk. He’s a young beta that normally assists me with clerical work. Right now, he’s helping Jody and Garth in shifts.” 

Dean doesn’t say anything, and Cas squeezes his hand, probably realizing that he’s not really capable of computing fun facts about the rehab center at the moment. Mercifully, the alpha pushes open the next door, and shuts it behind them, and then they’re alone. 

“Dean, are you–” 

He’s slamming into Cas’s chest before he even realizes that he’s moving; Cas stumbles back with the force of it, bumping his back against the door he just closed with a small oof. Luckily for Dean’s pride, he doesn’t say much else – he just wraps his arms around Dean and slowly slides them down to the floor so they can sit. 

Dean shoves his nose into the crook of his alpha’s shoulder, and pants in reassuring breaths. He’s trembling. It’s a long time before he can form normal thoughts again, a long time before the shaking subsides. He feels like he ran a marathon.

“Fuck,” he whispers, when he can finally talk again. 

“Was it because it was a small space?” Castiel guesses after another solid minute of holding him, his tone solemn and quiet. When he doesn’t answer right away, the alpha puts his hand on the back of Dean’s head and slides his fingers through his hair, silent and patient, his scent soothing.

Dean cocks his jaw, an angry, helpless noise clawing out of him, frustrated tears pressing at his eyes that he refuses to let out. He should really get off of Cas. Should get the hell up off the floor and stop acting like a spoiled omega brat. But he doesn’t want to, and Cas, as usual, doesn’t seem to mind.

“Had no clue I was afraid of that,” he chokes, ashamed of himself, ashamed that he can’t go ten minutes without an absolute freak-out. What will Cas’s employees think, if he’s spent nearly three months with the man and is still melting down over getting in an elevator? The last thing he wants to do is give the impression that Cas hasn’t helped him. 

“Lots of the residents are,” Cas says evenly. There’s no condemnation in his voice, nothing to suggest he thinks that Dean is being ridiculous. “That’s why we have stairs. But – your knee,” he explains, apologetic, and Dean would honestly laugh at that if he wasn’t a step away from crying. “I didn’t think, Dean. I’m sorry. I should have anticipated that it would be an issue.” 

He takes in a sharp breath, closing his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, I hate this.”

Castiel hums his agreement, but he still doesn’t try and push Dean off of him. “Balthazar tells me that it’s because of the… cells. In the training facilities,” he murmurs. 

Of course. How could Dean have forgotten? It feels so long ago, those parts of his life. Those brief, desperate bids for freedom, inevitably followed by weeks of torture after they caught him. While they fixed him. And yeah, of course the cells had been small. Fucking kennels, really, hardly enough space to lay down and sleep – when they would let you sleep. He remembers the choking, ugly panic at the sight of them. The stark white walls. The lights, always on; no windows, no air. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that tracks,” he says roughly.

Cas just keeps holding him, rubbing his spine and petting his hair until the tension melts from his body. Eventually, he scoots back, his face bright red as he brings his knees to his chest – Cas lets him go without comment, studying him closely. God, he’s such a screw up. He really thought he was gonna be able to act normal, and here they are. On the floor already. 

“Thanks for – you know,” Dean says awkwardly, swallowing. “You definitely kept me from having a total melt-down, just then. In the elevator.” 

“I’m glad,” the alpha says gravely. “I do apologize for snapping directives at you like a drill sergeant, though.” His eyes search Dean’s. “I wasn’t sure how else to… reach you.”

Dean just laughs at that – at an alpha apologizing for telling him what to do. “It… it helped. So, you know. I’ll let it slide, this time,” he jokes, though it comes out strained, and he knows he’s probably red to the tips of his ears. 

He wonders how bad the elevator reeks of his fear. Awesome first impression he’s making here. Really fuckin’ stellar. 

But Cas doesn’t seem to get that his discomfort is directed inward – his mouth twists. “Dean, I’m sorry –” 

Dean shakes his head. “It was the right call,” he insists, suddenly very tired. 

The alpha blinks at him, obviously surprised. Maybe it’s because Dean’s not ducking anymore, not looking away. Somehow, it’s easier to get himself together when he’s doing it so he can reassure Cas that he hasn’t managed to damage him any further. As embarrassing as it is that Dean responds to… well, to orders, he doesn’t hold that against the alpha. He was doing that long before he presented. 

“Seriously, Cas. I trust you,” he reminds him, smiling a little in spite of the situation. The tension melts from Castiel’s shoulders at that, and he smiles back, if a little tentative.

Cas helps him to his feet, and Dean leans against the arm of the small couch in the room, finally looking around the office. The alpha draws the blinds up one by one, methodically, clearly following a ritual he’s done many times. The daylight outside pours in. It’s a beautiful view of the snow covered woods, even with the cloud cover. Dean can just see the corner of another building from where he’s leaning. 

The office, much like Castiel’s home, is sparse on the decorations. There’s a bookshelf, of course, mostly stacked with tomes on slave law. Other than his desk and the couch, there’s just a mini fridge with a small coffee machine on top that Cas is flipping on and filling up. 

There’s no pictures on the walls, nothing to indicate that Cas has anyone he cares about, or anyone that cares for him. Dean hates that, especially knowing what he knows now about Cas’s family. 

“Real cozy in here,” he jokes, trying to move on from his stupid little episode. But Cas winces. 

“I’m not… I know it seems stark,” he says, ducking his head as he pours a bottle of water into the little keurig. “I’ve just… never felt the need to decorate.”

Dean cocks his head to the side. “How long have you been doing this?”

Cas sighs. “... Six years?” he answers hesitantly, as though he’s not really sure. “Perhaps seven.”

And in all that time, the dude hasn’t even bought a potted plant to slowly kill. Dean’s gotta wonder what the hell is up with that – why the alpha seems like he’s afraid of putting down roots. 

Considering Dean owns a grand total of a dresser drawer’s worth of possessions, he’s not one to criticize. He’s been living out of a duffel bag or less for a long time, now. He gets not wanting to get too attached – he’d moved a million times as a kid, had never known when, exactly, he’d be passed along as a slave. But Cas doesn’t seem like he’s planning on going anywhere any time soon. 

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks, out of the blue. 

Cas cocks his head to the side, glancing at him. “Why do you–”

“Humor me, Cas.”

The alpha considers for a moment, his eyes going all squinty. “Perhaps… yellow?”

Dean isn’t surprised, for some reason. It’s not exactly a stereotypical alpha color, and maybe that’s why it suits Cas so well. He points at the couch. “So buy some yellow pillows. Get some yellow art for the walls. Hell, get a yellow coffee cup. Can’t be that hard, can it?”

Finally, the alpha seems to understand that Dean is joking – trying to lighten the mood. He cracks a smile. “I wasn’t aware you were so into interior design, Dean.” 

“Gimme a paintbrush and a canvas, and I’ll be an artist, too,” he cracks, and the guarded, self conscious tension leaves the alpha completely. 

“Oh?” he says, raising his eyebrows. He smiles as he scoots a plain white coffee cup under the spout and taps the little button on top. “And what do you charge for commissions?”

“I’m very expensive. I work only for pie.”

Cas snorts, and just like that, the tension from the elevator has faded away. It’s so easy to be comfortable with Cas, even in a new place. So easy to joke with him. 

Dean’s missed that. He’s pretty sure he had a good sense of humor, once upon a time. Pretty sure he used to be able to make Sam laugh until he was rolling on the floor, gasping for breath with tears in his eyes. Watching Cas light up with a grin, watching him chuckle – that’s a reward he can get used to. 

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. 

They just chill in Cas’s office for an hour or so after that, and Dean couldn’t be happier. Cas brings up a map of the center on his computer, and Dean leans against the wall and watches as the alpha explains the layout of the place. 

“Over here, you can see the residential wing. The bottom floor we keep a little more open, for quick turn-arounds – omegas that aren’t going to be long term residents, I mean. Jody usually assigns them a roommate that they stick with, and that seems to help them get settled faster. We have two staff members who live there full time, as well, to help keep everyone comfortable. Now, the upper floors, those are generally for omegas who are going to need a little more time…” 

Dean lets the alpha ramble on, a slight smile on his face. It’s nice to see Cas here, doing something he’s obviously passionate about. It’s obvious that a lot of time, thought, and effort have gone into this facility. Not to mention a hell of a lot of money. He wonders, again, where all that dough came from. 

“Balthazar told me that you teach self defense here,” he interrupts, eyeing a corner of the map that says Gym/Rec. “That true?”

Cas nods, glancing up at him curiously. “We find it’s… necessary. And helpful, in more ways than one. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

Dean shrugs, suddenly a little uncomfortable. He knew how to fight, once upon a time, but he’s not sure he’d be able to now. It’s been a long time since he’s thrown a punch. The punishment for injuring a free person was worse than for running away, and Dean hadn’t really needed to be taught that lesson more than once – especially since he’d very quickly found out that, as satisfying as it might be to knock an alpha’s teeth out, there would always be another one behind him who liked the challenge of an unruly slave. 

And that’s what Dean had been, he’s starting to realize. A challenge – to bend, to train, to break. He doesn’t regret the fights he put up against his masters, but he has to wonder if he’d have ended up with someone as sick as Alastair if he’d stayed on the straight and narrow. 

If he’d... given in earlier. 

So, no. He’s not really sure he wants permission to fight. He’s not sure he can afford it, somehow. Dean is softer than he's ever been, with Cas, and a part of him is afraid that if he remembers how to be mean, he’s so brittle that he’ll shatter. 

“Not sure I could punch my way out of a wet paper sack,” he jokes, to lighten the tension that’s started to grow in the air. “Not with these toothpick arms.”

Cas gives him an unimpressed look. “I find that hard to believe.” 

Dean is saved from having to respond to that by Pamela calling and telling Cas she’s ready, and as the alpha hooks the phone back into its cradle on the wall, Dean is already steeling himself to get back in the stupid little death box. He’s gonna take it like a man, this time, not like a sniveling little bitch, and Cas seems to sense the shift in his attitude because he looks at him cautiously. “We don’t have to take the elevator,” he offers softly. 

“Not gonna avoid that shit forever,” he snaps, irritated that they even have to be worried about something like this. “Don’t look at me like that, man.”

Cas studies him for a moment. Then, he cocks his head to the side. “I could simply carry you down the stairs,” the alpha says, holding his hands out as though he’s genuinely expecting Dean to hop right up. 

For a wild moment Dean pictures it in his mind’s eye. The thought of being carried like a bride over the threshold isn’t nearly as mortifying as it ought to be, he thinks, but he’s not about to actually do that – unless… surely, Cas doesn’t actually expect him to–? 

Then the corner of Castiel’s mouth twitches, and Dean realizes he’s joking, and he smacks his hands away with an eye roll and a grin. “Asshole,” he mutters, turning toward the door, but he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice. 

A millisecond later, a bucket of ice water dumps over his head as he realizes what he just did, what he just said. The urge to drop to his knees and apologize is so strong that it’s a miracle he isn’t already doing it. 

“Sorry,” he blurts, whirling around so he’s looking back at the alpha, his heart in his throat. “Sorry, that was – I didn’t mean –”

“To be yourself?” Castiel interrupts, his tone gentle. He doesn’t even look mildly irritated at Dean’s lack of respect, which isn’t all that surprising considering his track record so far, but still. There’s a difference between having an emotional breakdown and saying things he doesn’t mean, and blatantly insulting the person who owns him. 

“You… you don’t deserve…” 

Cas frowns. Takes his hand. He doesn’t even pull away when Dean flinches – there’s a tiny part of his brain that’s still expecting a blow. 

Reprimands for his smart fucking mouth had been a dime a dozen, early on. By the end of his first year in the trade, Dean had learned to keep that sort of shit safely locked inside his brain; by the end of year five, he’d been silent there, too.

“I cannot explain,” the alpha says gravely, looking straight into his eyes, “what a victory it is to me, for you to feel safe enough to call me names. It is a mark of your trust, and I’m honored to accept it.”

Any other time, Dean would laugh. But right now, he kind of wants to cry. ‘Cause it really does look like Cas is about to thank Dean for being a grade-A jerk, and he’s not sure how the hell he’s supposed to handle that. How he’s supposed to deal with this genuine, raw kindness, instead of the sucker-punch cruelty that he’s grown far more used to. 

“Well, then,” he says tremulously, “you’re – you’re the biggest asshole I know.”

Cas breaks into a real smile, at that – a bright, sunny thing, something Dean would do just about anything to see again. “Thank you, Dean.”

He laughs, because his chest is full of bright, sunny things of its own, and Castiel’s smile just widens that much further.

This time, it’s less blind terror and more extreme discomfort when they step into the elevator, mostly because it isn’t a surprise and he knows what to expect. Say what you will about him – Dean can deal with facing things he’s afraid of. He’s been overcoming his own cowardice to do what needs to be done since he was four years old. 

Cas is still holding his hand, pretending not to notice that Dean’s casual grip has turned into something closer to holding-onto-the-edge-of-a-canyon desperation. He taps the button to take them back to the ground floor without moving an inch from his side. 

“Alright?” he asks, tone deceptively mild considering the concern in his scent.  

“Just – just fuckin’ peachy,” Dean manages, hoarse as hell. He closes his eyes; takes a deep, steadying breath of the alpha’s scent. It’s fine. It’s okay, because he’s with Cas. He’s not in a little cell all alone, waiting to get bought again by some new sadistic alpha. Dean’s pretty damn certain he’s never going to go through that again, at this point, and he reminds himself of that over and over until he hears a little ding and the doors slide open. 

He walks out of the little coffin room instead of sprinting like he wants to, mostly so he doesn’t make a scene. 

Again, Cas doesn’t bother to let go of his hand. Instead, he holds his head high and walks with Dean, slowly and carefully so he doesn’t strain his knee, and nods at the people they pass by with a polite smile on his face. Dean is too busy listening to his own heartbeat and staring at the floor to meet anyone new, but Cas doesn’t seem inclined to introduce him to anyone else. 

By the time they make it to Pamela’s office, the throbbing in his knee has morphed from uncomfortable to intolerable, and he can see Cas’s nose twitching out of the corner of his eye. The alpha sets him down in a chair outside the door with a firm look that Dean isn’t going to argue with, even if sitting here makes him feel like he’s risking a beating. 

He stares down at his lap. “You’re going in there with me, yeah?” he asks, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks.

Cas puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be wherever you want me, Dean.” 

Dean gives him a grateful, shaky smile, and glances up and down the hall. There’s a door at the end of the hall that’s all glass, lined with rubber and metal that makes Dean think it’s meant to keep inside and outside scents separated. There’s a vent above it, probably for the same purpose. He supposes it’s pretty important to keep omegas that are already injured from freaking out if they smelled an alpha like Cas, and equally important to keep the scent of omegas in pain away from everyone else. Dean hasn’t spent much time with actual doctors, but he remembers similar set ups from the few times he’d visited a hospital as a kid. 

Inside the hall itself, he can see six or seven doors lining the walls, little numbers and a few clipboards along either side of their frames. He wonders if there are omegas in those rooms. Wonders how bad they were hurt, to need to stay there. There’s another door on the other end of the hall – this one is metal, and it’s got a key card entry. There’s a sign above it with a simple, large letter A that’s been circled and crossed through. He wonders what those omegas must be dealing with. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to sit and wonder long – Pamela opens the exam room door promptly when Cas knocks, a welcoming smile on her face when her eyes land on Dean. 

“Now, is that Dean Winchester?” she asks, a gently teasing glint in her eye. “What happened to the pile of pretzel sticks I examined a couple months ago?”

Dean snorts as Cas helps him back up, leaning on the alpha for support as he finds his balance. “I told you Cas was feeding me five times a day. I think he’s trying to fatten me up for the harvest.”

The office behind the door is open and warm, and though there are no windows that he can see from here, it’s wide and bright enough to seem nonthreatening, even with the medical equipment scattered about. He recognizes most of it, though there are a few machines in the corner that make him a little antsy. He doesn’t know what they’re for, and being in the dark about things like that is not usually a good thing. 

Pamela chuckles at his joke. “Well, I’m not complaining.” Dean steps forward to follow her inside, swallowing his trepidation and reminding himself that Cas is gonna be there with him. But before they can step through the door, the doctor puts out a hand and plants it firmly on Castiel’s chest. 

“Whoa, now,” she says firmly. “You don’t need to be in here, Novak.”

Cas glances at Dean, then back at Pamela. “Dean…” 

“Wants him to be there,” Dean cuts in, finishing the alpha’s sentence. His cheeks are bright red, but he doesn’t give a damn. “Please.”

Pamela studies him for a moment, her eyebrows raised. “We’ve established that I follow doctor-patient confidentiality, right?”

Dean shrugs. He can feel himself starting to get twitchy under her gaze, like he’s breaking the rules or disappointing her somehow.  “I know. But I still want him there. Is that… can I?” he asks, a little desperate, already losing the firm, stubborn feeling he’d had before. 

Pam blows a gust of air out of her mouth, making her bangs fly up on either side of her face. “I suppose it’s alright, at least for a while. I’m going to have to insist that he clears out in about fifteen minutes, though. The less time he spends in here, the less his scent will linger and the less scrubbing I’ll have to do to neutralize it.” 

Dean hadn’t even thought about that, and it hits him with a guilty jolt. The next omega that walks through these doors might have to deal with the scent of an unfamiliar alpha on top of whatever brought them here in the first place, and as good of a guy as Cas is, he knows that if he were in their place he’d be scared. So he nods, trying not to be selfish. 

“At any rate, I’m going to mark it down as a good thing that you still want him around,” Pamela says wryly, patting him on the shoulder. She steps back and lets them both enter, jerking her head toward a stool for Cas to stay sequestered on. He retreats gamely, folding his hands in his lap. 

“Step up here, will you?” she says, pointing to a scale that’s situated against the wall. “I want to see how much you’ve put on.” 

He steps up on the scale and preens a little when the doctor makes an approving noise, weirdly proud that he’s managed to gain weight. It’s nothing that he did, really – it’s Cas that should be proud. And maybe he is, because he’s sitting up a little taller, smiling as Pamela writes down a new, higher number on his chart. 

“You’ve got a ways to go, but that’s one hell of an improvement. I’m less worried that a gust of wind is going to pick you up and blow you away.” 

Dean laughs, just a little. It’s not all that funny that he was emaciated when he first came to Cas’s home, but he’s always gotten by with gallows humor, and he’s happy that Pamela seems to think along the same lines. 

“Lemme get your height, kiddo,” she says, jerking her head so he’ll turn around and lean against the ruler on the wall. She nudges his side gently, arching an eyebrow when he gives her a startled glance. “Stand up straight, will you? Can’t get a good measurement if you’re slouching.” 

Flushing a little, Dean straightens his spine, sort of self conscious. He’s tall, for an omega, and alphas don’t tend to like that – he’s gotten used to hunching in on himself as an automatic form of protection. But, from across the room where he’s leaning on the wall, Cas just smiles at him when Pamela proclaims, “Damn, kid, you’re taller than Novak!”

From there, he’s helped over to the nylon covered examination bed. Pamela stands back and appraises him for a moment, her hands on her hips. “How are you feeling?”

Dean shrugs. This is so different from the first time Pamela checked him out. He isn’t terrified anymore, for one thing, and he knows that he can keep some things to himself without getting in trouble. But he figures that they’ll both be happiest with him if he tells the truth, so he decides not to fib. 

“I feel pretty good,” he says, smiling shyly at Cas, who beams back at him. “Like I said before. All the, um… all the injuries I had? They’re good now. Closed up, I mean. No more bruises.” 

Pamela hums, fiddling with a blood pressure cuff as she listens. “Except your wrists?”

Dean winces when Castiel’s attention sharpens and he sits forward in his seat. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” 

He tugs off his overshirt without having to be asked, goosebumps rising on his skin when he sits there in nothing but a plain t-shirt. Since that moment with the towel, this is as exposed as he’s been in front of anyone in a while. The thought makes his skin prickle uncomfortably.

Pamela multitasks, taking his blood pressure as she carefully turns his other wrist in one hand, frowning at what she sees. “You weren’t kidding. I’m going to test out your range of motion – let me know when it hurts.”

She bends his hand gently to the side, keeping an eye on his face, and he can’t help the slight wince. She tuts, shaking her head. “Those bastards really did a number on you.”

Dean grimaces. “Did it to myself,” he admits quietly. “Pulling against ‘em, after the bomb, trying to get away. Out of the, uh, shed. I didn’t really know what I was doing.” He rolls his wrist, frowning. “I kinda got a thing with… fire.”

He’s never admitted that to anyone before. But he does. It’s the first bad thing that ever happened to him, his childhood home burning to the ground – the thing that set his life spinning out of control. He knows his dad had been sensitive to it, too. Dean had watched him tense up around campfire smoke, had seen the clench in his jaw every time a fire truck had wailed past the Impala. 

Cas looks thunderous, and while the curling scent of his anger makes him a little tense, it doesn’t bother Dean like it had before. Now, he knows that it’s on his behalf, not directed at him. “You’re gonna scare some poor patient,” he reminds the alpha gently, and Cas takes a visible breath, looking away with his jaw working. 

“Apologies,” he grits out, rolling his shoulders.

Pamela gives them both a long look, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she finishes checking his blood pressure, warms up and then places her stethoscope on his chest. He breathes in without having to be told. “No pneumonia, so that’s good. And your heart sounds nice and strong.” 

She rolls back on her stool, glancing down at his leg. “Castiel tells me you banged up your knee pretty good?”

Dean nods, and they roll up his pant leg together so that she can take a look. He’d avoided looking at it this morning, but now he can see that it’s dark and bruised. 

“Looks worse than it feels,” he offers, but she just snorts skeptically and guides him through another range of motion test. Apparently, he fails, because she tells him he needs to have an x-ray.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he protests, frowning. He’d know. He’s plenty familiar with what broken bones feel like.

“I don’t think so, either, but we should get a baseline set anyway,” she explains. “An MRI too, but we can leave that for another day.” Dean just shrugs, willing to do what she wants. An x-ray, from what he remembers, doesn’t hurt. 

She gives him a crutch to use to hobble, but even then Cas hovers at his side, as if he’s sure that at any moment Dean will fall on his ass. Dean tries to find that irritating, but it’s honestly just comforting. 

Pamela runs him through what the x-ray will involve, forbids Cas from being in the room so he “doesn’t end up with a tumor the size of a football, idiot,” and then she’s snapping photos of Dean’s splayed out body. Like he thought, nothing hurts, and he’s almost able to relax on the table while she works. Almost.

Before long, she’s done, and he and Cas are back in the main exam room waiting on the things to print. The alpha is holding his hands, examining Dean's wrists with a frown on his face. 

“Why didn’t you tell me they were hurting, Dean?” he asks abruptly, making use of the moments they have without Pamela in the room. “I’ve been letting you do dishes and clean and cook…” 

Dean snorts. “It don’t hurt that bad, Cas. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it, if Pamela hadn’t asked.” 

“Still.” The alpha sighs. “We’ll need to take it easy –” 

“Please don’t make me stop,” Dean interrupts, his heart already pounding at the thought. “Please. I can’t just sit around doing nothing. It’ll drive me crazy.” 

Cas meets his eyes, his mouth a thin line. “But if you’re in pain–”

“I’m always in pain,” he blurts, scared, suddenly, that he’s going to go back to that awful period of limbo from before, where all he could do was trail Cas around the house and sleep. “Always a little, at least. That’s normal, for me,” he pushes, but Castiel’s face just darkens even more. 

“I don’t want it to be normal for you,” he snaps. 

“Well that’s too bad!” he snaps back, a little angry. He can’t help that he’s in pain. He can’t help that for the last ten years, alphas have used him as their veritable punching bag. Dean didn’t want it, but life isn’t fair. 

There are some wounds he has that aren’t ever gonna heal – his shoulder, twinging when he moves his arm just right from a bad dislocation a few years back. His left ankle, which aches when he rests too much weight on it, an injury from a long time ago that he barely remembers. The scar on his stomach tingles, sometimes, little pins and needles from what’s probably nerve damage, and, when it rains, his collarbone aches where the second alpha who owned him snapped it in a fit of rage. He is a collection of scars, of little agonies that have become a part of him. 

Cas looks chastised, almost ashamed of himself, and Dean takes a breath. “I’m in the least amount of pain that I’ve been in for years, okay? I don’t even notice it, most of the time. And I know you won’t hurt me. I know that. But you can’t protect me from everything, Cas, especially not things that have already happened."

“I wish I could,” he whispers. “I wish I could have… gone back in time. I wish you’d been kept safe, like you deserve.”

Dean half laughs. It's a nice thought, but even if he hadn’t signed himself over, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid being hurt – his dad had been doing it long before anyone had paid to. But he doesn’t want to talk about that, and he thinks the alpha has an idea of some of the shit his dad had done anyway, so he pushes those thoughts away. 

“Yeah, well. When you invent your time machine, stop by Lebanon, Virginia, about eleven years ago, and give teenage me a stern talking-to.” And a couple dozen grand, he doesn’t say, but he thinks Cas gets the picture, because his jaw tightens. 

“Dean–” 

He’s saved from whatever lecture Cas is about to give him by Pamela reappearing in the room, a pile of x-ray thingies in her hands. She starts sticking them on a little white rectangle that’s hung on the wall, and pretty soon, Dean figures out that it’s a light-box. 

She shows them his knee first. It’s strange to have his own bones on display, and despite himself, he’s fascinated. “No break, Dean. You were right,” she says, tracing his kneecap with a little felt tip marker so he can see for himself. She glances over at them both, her eyes lingering on Cas – they’re heavier than before. A little more weary. Dean wonders if looking at his x-rays caused that. “The only breaks I found were old. Healed, as much as they could be.” 

Even with his untrained eye, Dean thinks he can see a few of them. He remembers that crack in his shin bone, at least, and the rigid splint the trainers had slapped on it when he’d been returned. Too expensive for his owner to fix, even though he’d been the one to break it in the first place; slamming his boot down on Dean's leg when he'd accidentally slept in.

He can feel Cas getting stiff beside him, and Pamela seems to notice too. “This would be a great time for you to leave, Novak. You’re stinking up the whole wing.”

Cas looks like he’s about to argue, but Dean squeezes his hand. “I’ll be okay, Cas. Promise.” And he does mean it. As much as he’d wanted the alpha to stay before, he’s starting to realize that this is just going to be hard on him. Dean’s used to this – used to seeing himself broken and bruised. Cas isn’t, and he’s not handling it very well.

The alpha cocks his jaw, but he sighs, and relents. “Alright. I’ll be right outside, though,” he warns, and it’s almost funny to watch him try and be intimidating in front of Pam’s ice-cold stare. 

“No, you won’t. I’ve got a kid coming by in half an hour to do a check in, and you’re not allowed to scare her off,” she says, looking down pointedly at his badge with the little black A. Dean thinks that it’s kind of funny – that letter seems unnecessary. Who the hell would look at Cas and not know he’s an alpha?

Castiel blinks. Deflates, just a little. “Oh. Right.” He looks to Dean, painfully earnest. “I’ll… I’ll make the rounds, then? And I’ll meet you…”

“In the cafeteria,” Pamela finishes primly, pulling the x-ray off of the little light box. Her tone brooks no room for argument.

“Right. Okay.” He squeezes Dean’ hand again, looking a little lost all of a sudden. “You’ll be okay?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, Cas. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll call you if I need, alright?”

“Alright.” He lingers for a moment more, looking like he wants to say something. But whatever it is must not be important, because he just squeezes Dean’s hand one last time and then lets go. He leaves with all the reluctance of a dog ordered out of the kitchen, but he does leave.

“Wild horses,” Pamela mutters, and Dean flushes bright red.