48. Ready for the Future to Arrive

Dean ends up sleeping well past noon. 

Castiel hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He’s dozed off once or twice, a few restless hours of sleep snatched in the dark silence of the living room. Right now, though, he’s wide awake. Staring at the muted television with unfocused eyes. Looking, but not really seeing.

In his lap, Dean is curled against him. His arm is snug around Castiel’s hips, his nose buried in his stomach. Even his legs are folded up, knees pressed to Castiel’s side. He seems so very small.

They hadn’t broken apart one time on the walk back to the house. Not once. It’s not that Dean could have, even if he’d wanted to.

Castiel had carried him. 

He hadn’t been sure of the boundaries then. Of what should and should not be. Hadn’t been sure that Dean would even be okay with it. But when his tears had dried and he’d been able to breathe without feeling as though there was a spear lodged in his chest, he’d leaned away from Dean and really looked at him. He had seen the truth of his exhaustion there. Had seen him shake. Shiver. Had seen the weary grief pulling at his face and the limp way in which even his scent had flattened out.

Dean might have been able to walk on his own, even if just barely. But he didn’t have to. 

So Castiel had scooped him up. Had held Dean to his chest, much like he had on that first night when Dean had been so afraid of him that he’d cowered on the floor. Only, last night, there’d been no fear in his scent. No terror. Nothing but a faint flicker of surprise, and then a flood of gratitude that had nearly sent Castiel stumbling to the side. 

He’d hitched in a breath and had started walking, and Dean had wrapped his arms around his neck and held on like he had no intention of ever letting go, his face buried in Castiel’s chest. His body, still far too light, hadn’t been much for Castiel to carry, not even on the long path through the trees back toward home. And, though he’d been the one carrying Dean, he’s still not sure who had been supporting who.  

When they’d finally stumbled into the house, Dean had reached out and squeezed his arm – a silent plea to be put down. So he’d gently lowered him to the floor, had steadied him as he’d found his balance. And Dean had stepped away from him, arms limp at his sides, his gait a little stumbling.

It had sent a pang of loss through him – but Dean hadn’t gone far. Instead, he’d stopped. Had looked back at Castiel with a baffled sort of exhaustion. It was as though he couldn’t quite understand why Castiel was still there.

It had been so painfully clear that Dean thought he’d be abandoned. That he’d thought Castiel would think less of him. 

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’d tried to find the words to explain that. Had tried to get out the reassurances that Dean so desperately needed to hear. But there’d been something stuck in his chest, lodged in the way of his voice. Something awful keeping him mute. 

He just hadn’t known where to begin. 

So, rather than talk, he’d let his actions do his speaking for him. He’d reached out. Touched Dean’s arm. Tugged him gently to the living room,  curled onto the couch, and pulled Dean, shell shocked and wide eyed, down with him. Had gently maneuvered him so that he was laying down, had curled his arm around him, and had held him tight. 

Dean hadn’t resisted much, if at all – though he had been stiff. Tense underneath Castiel’s hands, raw and clenched and oh so very wary. Castiel had brushed his hand across Dean’s cheek. Had held him steady with his fingers curled behind his head, neither pushing nor pulling; just resting there, letting Dean feel his weight. And Dean had stared up at him with watering, vulnerable eyes, an unspoken question in them that Castiel had no idea how to begin to answer. 

He’d pulsed his fingers, just once. A reminder that he was here, and that he would stay. And something had cracked in Dean’s expression, a lynch pin pulled free from his composure. He’d let out a small, broken noise. Had curled closer. Sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes closing. 

And all at once, Dean had buckled. Snapped. Whatever dam had been holding back his torrential emotions crumbled, and there had been nothing in the way to stop them. He’d grabbed Castiel’s shirt, buried his face in his stomach, and had shattered into pieces. 

Castiel had been able to do nothing except be there with him. Pet his hair, tell him it was alright. He didn’t even know if Dean could hear him, in that state. Didn’t know if his pitiful words were making any difference at all. Dean’s sobs had torn something inside of him that he didn’t know how to sew back together – he wasn’t sure if he could do anything at all to help Dean himself. 

Eventually, though, his sobs had subsided and the omega had fallen asleep, breath hitching occasionally. Castiel had felt the fight drain out of him. Had felt Dean slowly go limp in his arms, his exhausted body collapsing in on itself after days of trying to hold himself together. 

Dean had felt like that, and he’d still been trying to take care of Castiel. 

It makes something like anger flicker to life in him even now. Makes something like grief claw at his chest. Tear him to shreds from the inside out. Dean has never, not once in his life, been able to put his own needs first. He’d spent a decade being tortured for an act of love. For his loyalty. Had spent years, before even that, sacrificing his childhood and his happiness for his brother – and for his father, who does not even deserve the air he breathes, let alone a son like Dean.

And, worst of all, Castiel knows that Dean cannot see any of that. Knows that Dean can only see his faults, his mistakes – real or perceived. Dean has no idea of the injustice he has faced. No idea that he didn’t deserve a moment of it. 

It makes him want to break something. To break someone. Castiel is glad, for both of their sakes, that John Winchester is not in front of him now.

That man had done those things to a child. Had beaten down Dean’s self worth until he’d seen himself as nothing but a tool, and a broken one at that. The way he’d spoken yesterday had told Castiel so much – had told him exactly what kind of person Dean’s father had been. Cruel. Harsh with his words and with his actions. Uncaring, narcissistic, and destructive, with a victim complex a mile wide. 

Castiel feels the same wave of nausea he’d felt every time he’s had this thought: The man had an omega son, and had spent his days hunting omegas in order to return them to a life of slavery. And he’d made Dean privy to that. Had made his child, so full of love and justice, have to choose between getting to stay with the only person he’d ever held dear, and protecting the lives of strangers – and had apparently thought it would do nothing to Dean’s soul to have to make that choice. 

The shame in his eyes when he’d told Castiel that he hadn’t told police of his father’s illegal use of tracking data, the crack of pain in his voice when he’d told him that he’d been too afraid to lose Sammy – they had told him that here, too, Dean believes he’d taken the coward’s way out. 

The idea is so ludicrous that Castiel has no idea how to even begin to unravel it. He’s sat here on the couch with Dean for hours, trying to find the right words. Trying to think up a way to convince the omega that he is doing nothing but blaming himself for the sins of his father. But he hasn’t found a way to explain that he thinks Dean will believe – hasn’t even found a way to convince him that Castiel, at the very least, doesn’t blame him in the slightest. 

When Dean stirs against him, Castiel slams a lid over his simmering anger and frustration and guilt. He is completely uninterested in Dean having to deal with one more problem or worry. 

The omega’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and bleary, and Castiel tenses slightly as he waits for Dean to leave his side. But he does nothing but breathe softly against Castiel for a while, doesn’t move to pull away. He just remains limp. The circles under his eyes tell Castiel that he needs more sleep than he’s gotten, even now. 

He cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, letting him know that he’s awake as well. There is no reaction other than a slight shiver. Dean’s eyes close again. 

“Dean.”

The omega doesn’t respond. The only indication that he’s heard is a slight tightening of his fist in Castiel’s shirt. 

“We don’t have to talk about anything, right now,” Castiel says softly, and he knows it was the right thing to say because he feels Dean minutely relax. “You don’t have to say a word. I don’t need that from you. The only thing I need is for you to listen. Can you do that?” 

He pauses, waits. Dean lets loose the breath he’s been holding ever since Castiel said his name. Patient, Castiel runs a thumb over his cheek and rests his palm against the side of his face, just as he had last night. And, at last, Dean nods. 

“I am not going anywhere.”

Dean cringes, shying away from the words and his touch as if they physically pain him – and perhaps they do. Because Castiel knows that he doesn’t think he deserves loyalty, or love. But he’s going to get it anyway. 

“Not today,” he adds. “Not ever.” 

Dean’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t cry. Castiel thinks he’s cried all the tears he has, at least for a while. Instead, the omega presses forward ever so slightly, leaning into Castiel’s touch instead of away. 

“Cas...” he mumbles, his voice scraped raw. “‘m so tired.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing a reassuring thumb down the man’s cheek. “You’ve a right to be.”

Dean breathes out a small, not quite genuine laugh, his mouth quirking up at the edges. He doesn’t contradict Castiel out loud, but that doesn’t mean he agrees. 

Castiel takes a deep breath and decides he’s going to let it go. There’s no use in trying to convince Dean of something he’s not in the state of mind to hear. “Are you hungry?”

Dean visibly struggles with himself to answer, his jaw tightening so minutely that Castiel would have missed it if his hand hadn’t been resting on the man’s face. In the end, Dean just shakes his head a little. 

“I don’t think you’ve eaten anything in a while,” he pushes gently. There’s no doubt in his mind that Dean didn’t cook himself anything yesterday, and it’s nearly two now. “Can I please make you something?” 

Dean’s arm tightens around Castiel as if by reflex, and something spasms across his face so quickly that he nearly misses it. He doesn’t say a word. “What is it?”

The omega takes a breath. “Don’t want you t’leave,” he mumbles, pressing in closer to Castiel so that his face is hidden. Castiel feels his heart do a little flip in his chest. He can’t tell if Dean means now, or if he means for good – either way, he’s brave for admitting it. And either way, the answer is the same. 

“I don’t have to,” he says gently. “Come on, Dean. Stand up with me.”

Dean does so as if on autopilot, his eyes still unfocused and his limbs uncoordinated. He rises with the omega and steadies him, pressing their palms together. “Into the kitchen.”

He trails behind the Castiel, staring down at their joined hands with something like faint confusion in his eyes, and something like hesitance. He glances up at Castiel and takes a small step forward – and then an equally small step back, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Castiel takes pity and makes the choice for him, pulling him closer and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. 

With a faint sigh of relief, Dean leans into him, arms wrapped around his side. Castiel chops cheese and lunch meat into neat little squares, and slices apples and piles carrots onto a plate along with some crackers. The omega seems nearly asleep, tired as he is, and Castiel works one-handed as best he can so he can hold the man with the other. 

They return to the couch, the plate of food set down on the armrest beside him. Dean follows him onto the cushions without so much as a grumble, curling back into Castiel’s lap with his back to the coffee table and his hand under his chin. His eyes are red rimmed, bloodshot, and very distant. 

It doesn’t look as though he has any intention of eating. 

Biting his lip, Castiel closes his eyes for a brief moment. He is not all that hungry, either. But if he doesn’t eat, then Dean definitely won’t. He picks up a cheese cube, and lowers it down to hover in front of the omega’s nose. “You need to eat, Dean.” 

He expects Dean to reluctantly take it from him, perhaps with a huff or an eye roll added in for good measure. What he does not expect is for the omega to simply eat it straight from his fingers. 

Castiel looks down at him, frozen, but Dean does not seem to have noticed the stutter in his motions. Nor does he seem to understand that what he’s doing is something that would, under normal circumstances, make Castiel’s heart swoop. 

So, he takes a breath. Steadies himself and quashes the fluttering in his chest. If Dean won’t make a big deal of it, then he won’t either. Flustered, and trying very hard not to be, he picks up an apple slice and crams it into his own mouth to cover his embarrassment. 

He picks up a carrot, fully intent on bringing it close enough for Dean to take again. In fact, he’s so intent on not being awkward about it that he entirely miscalculates, knocks the carrot on the tip of Dean’s nose, and drops it onto his startled face. 

Castiel freezes, but Dean just blinks up at him. And then his face splits into a grin, and he laughs, and Castiel’s mind stutters with the emotional whiplash until he realizes he dropped a carrot on Dean’s face. He barks out a laugh too, and with it, feels like he can breathe again. 

Slowly, movements a little stiff, Dean sits up. He plants a hand on Castiel’s knee and reaches over him to tug the plate off the armrest, plopping it between them instead. He snatches an apple slice of his own and crunches it loudly. 

“I apologize,” Castiel says, after a moment, well aware that he’s blushing. Dean just grins at him again, shrugging, his mouth full. But he’s blushing, too. 

“Didn’t mean to make it weird,” Dean says, once his mouth isn’t full. His voice is raspy, but at least he’s talking – whatever spell had been hovering over him seems to have faded. “‘Dunno what that was, exactly. My brain isn’t…” he waves his hand in a vague motion, but gives up on trying to find the right words after a moment, his palm falling back into his lap. “Just tired, is all.”

“That makes sense,” Castiel says gently, picking some food off the plate for himself. He eats a few things before he adds, “Yesterday was… a lot. For anyone to deal with.”

Dean’s lightness dissipates like smoke, and whatever fragile smile he’d had on his face disappears. He takes a breath, but he doesn’t agree. He just sits there, staring at the plate.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Castiel says, and Dean nods very slightly. His hands flex in his lap like he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t – just lets Castiel leave briefly for the kitchen. He feels bad for doing so, but he thinks the omega needs a moment to compose himself.

Sure enough, by the time he returns Dean has his mask back in place. He’s determinedly stacking cheese and meat on a cracker, though he abandons it completely when Castiel hands him his cup. 

“Drink slowly,” he says. 

Dean does as he’s told, sipping at the water until it’s gone. “Damn, I didn’t… realize I needed water,” he says, and a little of the rasp in his voice has dissipated. “Who knew that crying like a bitch all day might dehydrate you.”

Castiel stiffens, but Dean is already looking away – already running his thumb along the rim of the cup – like he knows Castiel is going to be irritated and is bracing himself. There’s a light flush on his cheeks. 

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Castiel says sternly. “Or do you think me a bitch, as well?”

Dean’s eyes jerk up to lock onto his, and they’re wide and maybe a tinge afraid. “I – No, Cas, that’s not –”

“So do not disparage yourself,” he says severely, “for having a completely normal reaction. You are only human, Dean.”

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but after a moment, he closes it. Ducks his head, cowed. He slowly sets the empty cup on the coffee table. “Sorry.”

“I don’t require an apology.”

“I mean it, though,” he insists softly. “Know you don’t like it when I… when I say shit like that about myself.”

Castiel closes his eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. He doesn’t want Dean to speak ill of himself, no. But he’d rather the omega avoid it because he believes it, not because he’s trying to do as Castiel wishes. 

Still, he supposes. It’s a start. 

“I don’t,” he confirms. Dean’s shoulders tense a little. “But I forgive you.”

The words feel strange in his mouth. He doesn’t really think that he has anything to forgive Dean for. But he feels that the omega might need to hear them – and those suspicions are confirmed when he lets out a tight breath, his shoulders slumping. 

They return to their meal for a while, eating silently. Castiel searches for the right thing to say, and, perhaps predictably, comes up short. 

Dean, in the end, is the one who breaks the silence. He snaps a carrot in half and holds the pieces in his hands. “My uncle hasn’t changed his phone number,” he says. “Didn’t even change the voicemail.”

Castiel feels his heart ache. “There’s probably a reason for that, Dean.”

He waits for the omega to connect the dots himself – and when he does, his face falls. He takes a breath. “I don’t like the thought that they’ve just been… waiting around. Hoping that I’d…” 

“Come back?”

Dean’s scent sharpens. Guilt. And Castiel can, at least, understand this feeling – can understand that Dean does not want to hurt the ones that he loves. That he does not want to cause grief, and more heartbreaking than that, that he doesn’t think he deserves to be missed at all. 

“Doesn’t make sense,” he says, after a moment. “They both gotta know there’s like, no chance. Shit, it’s a miracle I’m not–”

He breaks off. Struggles with himself for a moment. “Miracle I’m not dead,” he finishes, voice going quiet.

The very thought makes Castiel’s pulse speed up, makes his mouth go dry. Dean must sense it, because suddenly his hand is on Castiel’s arm, a warm and solid anchor. “I’m not, though,” he says. “Thanks to you.”

He covers Dean’s hand with his own, and squeezes. “It is your determination that kept you alive,” Castiel argues softly. “Your own will to survive.”

Dean blinks, surprised. It’s clear that isn’t what he expected Castiel to say, but he means it, and he isn’t going to take it back. It’s true that Castiel is the one that plucked him out of the trade, but Dean is the one that survived over a decade in it. It’s Dean who kept his humanity and his kindness throughout it all. 

“They miss you,” he says, after a moment, and Dean flinches away from the words. “They do, Dean.”

“You can’t know that,” he replies almost angrily, yanking his hand away. “You don’t – shit, Cas, they probably hate me.”

Castiel feels his frustration mounting, feels himself grow tense. “They don’t. They can’t. How could they?”

“Because I – I’m the one who put him in danger, I’m the one who –”

“Your father is the one who put his children at risk,” Castiel corrects sharply. “He knew the dangers of getting involved in the underground trade, and he did it anyway.”

“If I hadn’t sent Sam off to that stupid camp,” Dean growls, “he never would have been at risk in the first place.”

“Do you really think that Crowley wouldn’t have taken him from his school just the same, Dean?” Castiel demands, desperate to convince the man of the futility of the situation. “Do you really believe that he would not have found some other way?”

“Dad could have done something, if he’d been closer,” Dean retorts stubbornly, crossing his arms. “He could’ve–”

“Your father was drunk. He did not even have his car,” Castiel interrupts. “He had no way of stopping Crowley’s men, regardless of Sam’s proximity.”

Dean struggles with that, anger and frustration mounting in his scent. “But–”

“And furthermore,” Castiel continues, “He knew that, by letting that slave go, he’d be putting you both at risk.”

“So what!” Dean snaps. “He was just supposed to catch her? He was supposed to dump a kid back into the trade instead of helping her?” He scoffs. “For once he was doing the right thing, Cas! I won’t villainize him for that.”

“Maybe so,” Castiel says, “but he also knew that he was putting you both in the line of fire by double crossing Crowley. And rather than rush home to retrieve you to and attempt to flee, to bring you all to safety, he spent the night drinking and wallowing.”

Dean goes pale at that. It’s clear, based on his silence, that he’s never considered that before. “It is obvious to me,” Castiel continues, his tone a little softer, though no less firm, “that he knew there was a chance that you two could be hurt. Otherwise he would not have lied to Crowley and told him that you were with a friend. And yet,” he adds, taking a breath, “he still chose to dawdle rather than protect his children.”

Dean’s scent wavers, as does his expression. “But…” he says, desperation in his voice. “But he wouldn’t have put Sam in danger,” he insists, and the fact that he doesn’t include himself in that is not something that Castiel fails to notice. “He trusted me to keep him safe, and I… I didn’t…”  

“You didn’t do anything.” Castiel insists, cutting him off. “You were a child.” 

Dean’s eyes flash, the anger returning to his scent like the lash of a whip. And Castiel is prepared to deal with it, to work with it, but the anger isn’t directed at him. Dean seems to be livid with himself. “But I knew what I was supposed to do. I knew that the rules were, and I fucked up. I had one job! One! And I couldn’t even do that!”

Castiel grits his teeth. “Dean. Do you understand that your father putting the responsibility of raising a child onto your shoulders was irresponsible at best? Cruel might actually be a more accurate word. Do you understand that you never should have had to make choices like that in the first place?”

“It’s not like he had a lot of options, Cas,” Dean hisses, anger slicing through his scent. “He had to make a living. And it wasn’t like mom was around to–” 

His mouth snaps shut, fists clenched in his lap. 

For a moment, there is silence between them – jagged and dangerous. Castiel carefully picks his way around it. Tries to decide how to word his question. Gives up and just asks, hoping that if forgiveness is required, it will be given.

He takes a breath. “Where was your mother, Dean?” 

The omega fidgets with his pant leg, refusing to look up and meet Castiel’s eyes. “Dead,” he says shortly. “House fire. I was four.”

Castiel swallows. “I’m so sorry,” he offers softly. And Dean struggles with that – emotions flicker across his face too rapidly for Castiel to process. In the end, he shakes his head, his jaw tense. 

“It was a long time ago,” he says, voice quiet. But the truth is there, in the rawness of his voice and the sharply metallic, wound-like scent of him – in the old, but not lessened grief in his eyes. “So, yeah. Dad didn’t have much of a choice.” 

“He did, though,” Castiel presses. “He never should have put a burden like that on your shoulders–”

“Sam,” Dean snaps, baring his teeth, “Was not a burden.” 

Taken aback, Castiel stares at Dean – who is now meeting his eyes, anger making his gaze as hot as fire. “He wasn’t. He was – he’s everything, to me,” he says, hands flexing in his lap, back ramrod straight, “and getting to raise him – getting the privilege of being there for him – I wouldn’t trade that. Doesn’t matter what happened, in the end. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.” 

Heart aching, Castiel looks across the couch at the man he loves. Watches as his chest heaves, as his fists clench at his sides. As exhausted as he is, Dean still has the wherewithal to defend his brother. Even just the memory of him. 

“You love him so much,” he says softly. Dean swallows, eyes flickering away. “You really think you can love someone like that, and have them not miss you when you go?”

Dean’s face crumples, the anger whooshing out of him all at once – he doesn’t have the energy to maintain it for his own sake. “I didn’t want to leave him, Cas,” he says brokenly, mouth trembling. “I – I didn’t want to. But I didn’t have a choice.” 

“I know,” Castiel says. “I know. You have one now, though.”

Dean flinches at that, and he turns away. “Not so good at choosing the right thing,” he admits softly. “Always seem to fuck it up when it counts.”

“That isn’t true,” he says, but he doesn’t push it because Dean is struggling as it is. As if his whirlwind of thoughts wasn’t already enough, shame has crept back into his scent. 

Clearly, Dean does not agree. Eyes downcast, he shakes his head minutely. He stares at his lap. “God, Cas, I don’t even know if he’s… He might not be like I remember. I tried to teach him better, when he presented as alpha, but he… he could hate me just because of what I am.” 

Castiel wants to argue. Wants to tell Dean that there is simply no reality in which that is the case. But he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t had doubts of his own along the very same lines.

His silence lasts too long, and Dean’s voice gets even more choked in the meantime. “I… I don’t…” he tries, trailing off. He takes a breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

Castiel takes a breath of his own. Reaches out, and gently cups Dean’s face in his palm. “You look him up, Dean,” he says softly. “You have to. You can’t live like this.”

Dean’s eyes, scared and watering, flicker up to meet his. Castiel runs a thumb over his cheek. “You owe it to yourself to at least try.”

The omega closes his eyes, and a tear streaks down his face. “I’m so scared,” he whispers, like it’s something shameful. 

Castiel feels his heart swell. “I’ll be here with you,” he promises. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here.”

Dean swallows. Reaches up to hold Castiel’s arm, leaning into his touch. And for a while, they just rest there together, Dean breathing onto his wrist as he takes in his scent to steady himself, Castiel holding him. 

“Okay,” he breathes. 

Whatever fight was left in him fades away with the word. And though Castiel feels like he should be excited, feels like this should be a victory, his heart aches instead. Dean sounds so incredibly tired. 

He moves slowly. Predictably. What’s left of their food gets set on the table to the side, and Castiel arranges himself so that his back is against the armrest. Dean, he pulls against his chest, his arms encircling him protectively. The omega just lets himself be moved, his body sort of limp. 

He pulls his phone out of his front pocket. Miraculously, it still has a charge. He presses it into Dean’s slightly trembling hand. Castiel wants to reassure him further, to steady him further, but how much closer can he pull the man whose back is pressed right into his chest? Who he literally has in his arms? 

Dean clicks the phone on, and makes a distractedly surprised noise when there is no password to put in. Castiel can sense a snarky quip about his security habits on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but the omega exhales instead. Seems to deflate in his arms. To give up before he has even started. 

He opens the search engine, and types in Samuel Winchester, his shaking fingers causing him to have to backspace and edit his search twice. Castiel is frozen with anticipation, excited to finally get some answers. But… it seems that Dean is also frozen. So much so that he isn’t even breathing. 

“Dean?” Castiel asks uncertainly. Maybe he pushed too far. Maybe Dean isn’t ready for this. It takes a heartbeat longer than is comfortable for Dean to respond. 

“Sorry.” The word is broken, like Dean is ashamed that he is hesitating. Like he is somehow disappointing Castiel for doing so. But still, he doesn’t move. 

Castiel takes a breath. He cannot place his own desires over Dean’s – cannot rush him before he is ready. “It’s alright,” he says, but even as he tries to cover it, a twinge of disappointment sneaks into his tone. He can feel Dean stiffen against him. 

Dean grits his teeth. His thumb taps down on the screen. 

The results load, and Dean turns his head to face away from them before even reading a word. He presses his nose into the crook of Castiel’s neck. Turns his whole body away from the phone as though it is too much to bear. Castiel shifts to accommodate him, steadies the phone in his hand, but cannot tear his eyes away from the page. 

Omega Trafficking Stopped by Local UC Berkeley Law Student 

Castiel clicks on the link in a trance. He’s scrolling through the brief article without even realizing what he’s doing, eyes scanning the page, heart pounding in his chest as he takes in random lines of the story. 

… heroic efforts uncover a dangerous ploy to rope in… 

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out, his hand reaching up to grab Dean’s arm. 

… dozens of young omega females saved… 

“Dean, look.”

… has already made a name for himself in omega rights law… 

“Dean,” Castiel says more insistently, turning the phone so the man can see. But the omega is stiff as a board.

In fact, Dean has very literally stopped breathing. 

Castiel clicks the phone off. Drops it to the side, completely abandoned. Dean is shaking, when Castiel pulls him closer, his breath high and tight in his chest, his fear almost physical in his scent. 

He reaches up and cards his fingers through Dean’s hair. Keeps his own scent steady and calm. Dean gulps against him, anxiety sharp in the air, his heartbeat nearly audible. “It’s alright, Dean. Take a breath. Breathe. ”

Dean does, with a little more coaxing, his hand reaching up to grab at Castiel’s sleeve. “Fuck,” he says brokenly, the word trembling as much as he is. 

Castiel closes his eyes. He pushed too far. Hadn’t even noticed that he was pushing too far, not until Dean was literally shaking with fear. So far over the edge that he had reached the other side. For all his talk about letting the omega make his own choices, he sure hadn’t hesitated to pressure him here of all places, where it matters the most.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, holding Dean a little tighter. “I shouldn’t have forced you to do that.”

Dean lets out a wet laugh. “You didn’t force me. I just… didn’t have the energy to… figure out what I wanted.” Castiel feels those words like a stab. But Dean doesn’t let him dwell on it. “I needed a push. Thank you.” 

Castiel would like to believe him, but Dean’s eyes are red. His hands are still clasped tightly together, and he knows if the omega were to pull them apart they’d be shaking all over again. He did push him too far, whether the push was needed or not. 

The guilt he’s feeling must be translating to his scent, because he feels Dean draw in a tight breath. His hand reaches up, squeezes Castiel’s wrist. He knows that Dean is trying to push aside his own fear for the sake of comforting him. His stomach twists when Dean says, “Really, Cas. It’s okay. You’re right, anyway – I need to suck it up and just do it.”

“That is not what I meant, Dean,” Castiel immediately corrects. Because as much as he’d like to tell Dean he should be focusing on himself, not trying to comfort anyone else, this suddenly seems more pressing. 

“It is though, isn’t it?” Dean asks, far too lightly for the words to not have cost him anything. “Come on, then. Lay it on me. Is he evil, or not? Some kinda alpha mastermind supervillain?” Castiel can tell he’s trying to joke, trying to make light, but he’s so stunned it’s hard to even begin to answer that question. Dean’s tone shifts abruptly into fear. “Is he… is he okay?”

Castiel feels his throat tighten. He takes a breath, squeezing Dean in his arms. “I believe he is okay, yes. And no, I would not describe him as a villain. He’s an omega rights lawyer, I think.”

Dean twists in his arms, looking at him with wide green eyes. “You’re– you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Despite the circumstances, Castiel can’t help the slight smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I am not. Read for yourself.” 

He picks the phone back up and unlocks it, and, after a slight moment more of hesitation, Dean takes it. His eyes fly over the text as he scrolls, and when he gets to the end of the article, he just stares at the screen. 

Then he seems to restart, abruptly going back to the search page to click on another article, and then another. He devours them, ravenous for news of his brother, his body tense as he takes in more and more. And Castiel can only watch as he leans forward, can only steady him with a hand on his back when Dean comes to an abrupt halt at a photograph, planted in the midst of a local coverage version of the story. 

The man in the photo is quite tall. Handsome, like his brother, though his features are more boyish. His hair is darker than Dean’s, and longer, but the resemblance is undeniable. In the picture, he is frowning, standing on the steps of a courthouse and talking with some other reporter off to the side.

And then the screen goes dark, because Dean has locked the phone.

Castiel doesn’t hesitate to gather Dean back into his arms. Doesn’t miss a beat when the omega drops the phone and turns toward his chest, his arms snaking behind him to hold on tight. He just holds Dean close and lets him process. It is a while before he speaks.

“Do you think he’s happy?” Dean breathes out against his chest. 

Castiel wants to nudge him. Wants to tell him to just call and find out. But he won’t. He’s already crossed that line once, and the bitter feeling lingering in his chest will not be given room to grow by a second crossing. From now on, if Dean wants to reach his family, he will do so at his own pace. In his own time. Whenever he feels ready. Whenever he feels brave. 

“I don’t know, Dean. I hope so.” Castiel takes a breath. “But I know that he’d be happier with you back in his life.” 

He swallows, hoping that his words won’t set Dean off. But Dean only deflates. Becomes heavy and loose and more tired than Castiel ever could have thought possible. “Yeah, maybe. Someday.” 

“When?”  

Dean swallows. “When I’m not… like this. When I can look him in the eye and be his big brother again, not a beat down slave. I don’t want him to have to see me in pieces.” 

“Dean, I think Sam would be happy for even a single shard of you, if you insist on thinking of yourself that way. I… don’t see you as broken. And honestly, I doubt he would either.” The dismissive noise Dean makes tells him he doesn’t believe a word. “But,” Castiel continues, “If you insist on seeing yourself that way, then I think we should fix that. We should uproot the cause.” 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks suspiciously. And Castiel thinks that the omega already knows where he’s going, but he keeps his tone gentle anyway.

“I mean working towards freedom, Dean. I mean hanging up this chain for good.” He tugs gently at the dog tags circling Dean’s neck, and Dean’s hand comes up to cover his own, squeezing like he can’t quite believe the words. Can’t let himself hope that far. “Is that… “ Castiel starts, unsure how to phrase his question. “Does that sound like something you would like?”

Dean squeezes his hand again. “Yes. Yeah. I –” He chews on his words for a minute, nearly vibrating in Castiel’s arms. “I really fucking want that.” 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “So do I.”