51. Chapter 51

Dean can already tell he’s gonna be sore as hell tomorrow. 

He doesn’t really mind. He likes feeling his muscles like this. Likes knowing that he’s working and getting stronger, day by day. There was a time when he could run for miles and hardly break a sweat, and he wants to get back there someday. Wants to be fit for himself, and not because he needs to be strong enough to fight – or worse, fit enough to be pleasing for someone else. 

Right now, he’s so tired he could probably take a nap right here. To be fair, though, he’d kinda felt like that before Claire had kicked him around like a soccer ball. 

Claire knocks his tray into his chest none too gently, and he huffs as he takes it from her. “Enjoy your chicken fingers, you seven-year-old,” she snipes. Dean just grins as she settles down on the cushion across from him. Claire is full of bluster, but she’d been nice enough to go through the line for him – and she’s not saying shit about the fact that they’re on the floor, a low table between them. 

He’s beginning to wonder if she’s kinder than he’d given her credit for, especially when he’d gotten a weird little wave of dizziness and stumbled when he went to sit, and she hadn’t teased him. She probably still feels bad about his nose.

Just like it’d been the first time he’d come here, the cafeteria is surprisingly quiet. There are plenty of omegas roaming around, and plenty of staff as well, but the noise isn’t intolerable. Dean can almost relax all the way as he picks at his food, and he thinks that he might be able to shake off his nerves completely after a few more meals here. 

“You’re a pretty good fighter,” he says, grinning at Claire as she settles on her pillow. “Fast as hell. Did, uh,” he thinks back, trying to remember the trainer’s name. “Did Gadreel teach you that?”

Claire snorts. “Some. Some I already knew. Used to get into a lot of fights as a kid,” she says, the shadow of a hungry expression on her face. Dean has no problem imagining her as a trouble-maker, with her dark eyeliner and savage smile. Her take-no-shit attitude. “But, yeah. He taught me some tricks.”

“And you… trust him?” he asks carefully, thinking of the expressionless eyes of the alpha. He hadn’t been actively threatening, but still. Dean has got to imagine that he’s not the only one that’s nervous around him. “He doesn’t make you…” 

The other omega just shrugs. “Sure, he did at first. But literally nothing riles him up,” she says. She reaches forward and plucks Dean’s phone off the table, unlocking it. “Believe me, I tried.”

Dean furrows his brow at her, watching as she taps away. “What’re you doin’?” 

She ignores him completely, continuing on with her original train of thought. “Balthazar tried, too,” Claire says, frowning down at his phone. “Or that’s what Jody told me. Apparently Gadreel only got hired after the old fart approved it.” 

Dean decides it’s not worth arguing over – he leans back and lets her fiddle with the phone. “I bet Bal gave the dude a run for his money.”

Claire laughs. “He can definitely push some buttons. That fucker’s like a human sea urchin,” she jokes, completely ignoring the fact that Dean would say the same thing about her. “Has he ever tried to piss you off? Because he can get me goin’ in like…” she snaps her fingers, “two seconds flat.” 

Dean clears his throat, thinking back to Balthazar’s second visit to Cas’s house. “Uh. Yeah. He’s got a talent for it.”

She nods, grinning a little. She waves his phone at him, her eyes alight. “Apparently, he arranged to meet Gadreel alone for several hours. Tried everything to get him to crack or lash out. Nothing worked.” Dean winces, wondering what that might have involved, a little in awe that someone with Balthazar’s history would willingly be by himself in a room with a strange alpha for any reason. “That alpha’s got some scary self control.”

“Guess he’d have to,” he muses, splitting his chicken fingers in half so they can cool. Steam rises out of them. “With the… you know,” he says, gesturing at his own wrists for emphasis. It’s pretty well known that unruly alpha slaves got put down, in one way or another – Gadreel would have had to keep his temper in order to survive. 

Claire just grunts her acknowledgement. She finishes whatever she’d been doing on his phone and drops it back down on the low table between them, the screen dark. “He won’t tell anyone who asks, but I’d bet he was a war dog.” Dean nods, having figured the same. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him crack a smile.” 

The conversation lulls and the sounds of the cafeteria slowly filter in, a comforting sort of background noise rather than something overwhelming. Dean relaxes even more. It feels strange to be talking to someone other than Cas like this. Just… casually. When he talks to Benny or Pam, it’s with an agenda – and the few times he’s spoken alone with Balthazar have been… challenging, to say the least. This silence, too, is surprisingly comfortable. He feels no pressure to make conversation just to fill up the quiet space between them.  

Claire takes a savage bite of her wrap, gesturing with her chin at his tags. “You like him?” she demands, mouth still full. 

Dean blinks, glancing down at them. “Who? Cas?”

Claire rolls her eyes, waving her wrap. “Duh.” 

“Of course I like him,” he replies, dipping a chicken finger carefully in his ketchup. “He’s a good dude, Claire.”

Claire takes another bite, squinting at him. “What?” he complains, taking a bite of his own food. It’s good, and he resists the urge to sigh dreamily. He ain’t about to start complaining about what Cas buys and makes for him, but it’s been way too long since he’s had fried chicken. 

“You like him?”

Dean would very much like to say that he doesn’t choke, but he does. He coughs a few times, pounding at his chest, and when he looks up with wide eyes at Claire, she’s got a downright smug expression on her face. 

“Uh–” 

Claire rolls her eyes, waving his half formed excuses off. “Come on. Don’t even try – you’re so transparent.” When he flushes instead of answering her, she grins. “Oh my God, you do like him!” 

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but he figures there’s no real point. Claire isn’t wrong, and no matter what he says, she’s going to know he’s lying. So he presses his lips together and shrugs, fiddling with his food. 

“No wonder you were all growly earlier. So, what is it – Stockholm syndrome?”

Dean bristles even though it's clear that Claire is teasing him. “No.” 

“Hero worship, then?”

Jesus Christ. Dean feels like he’s under the microscope, and it’s not a feeling he enjoys. He grimaces. “Can’t I just… Can’t I like him because he’s a good person?” 

Claire rolls her eyes. “Sure. In a perfect world, you could do that. This ain’t a perfect world, though.”

“So why do you like that Kaia girl?”

Claire holds her head a little straighter, staring him in the eye – though she can’t quite hide the blush that springs to her cheeks. “That,” she says haughtily, “is irrelevant.” 

Dean snorts, looking away. After a moment, he sighs. “He didn’t brainwash me, Claire.”

She shrugs. “Maybe not on purpose.”

“Not even that,” he argues, shaking his head. “He’s got… pretty good self control, too,” he mutters, dropping his chicken tender completely and wiping his hands on a napkin.

Claire makes a dismissive noise. “For now, maybe. But what if he changes his mind? What if he wants to keep you?”

The idea is so absurd that Dean can’t help but snort. “I’m telling you, he wants me to be free,” he insists. “Cas is the one that pushed me to start the process in the first place. He explained everything to me, he’s helping me plan – hell, I’d probably still be wearing my damn collar if it wasn’t for him.” 

Claire just raises an eyebrow at that, obviously unconvinced. He doesn’t have the energy to try and undo well founded suspicion, though, so he just waves her off. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter, anyway,” he mutters. 

The young omega tilts her head back, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t feel that way. But, Claire,” he says, circling back to his previous point, pressingly sure that he could have done a better job, “he wouldn’t do shit when he friggin’ owns me, anyway. He wouldn’t feel right about it.” 

Claire’s eyes narrow further. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Dean says shortly, thinking of the hundred or so times throughout the last few months that Cas could have taken advantage of him, and didn’t. “Pretty damn sure.” 

Claire appraises him, taking another bite of her wrap and chewing it for a while before she speaks again. “You think it’s possible he feels the same way about you, though? Even if he won’t act on it?”

Dean chuckles – he can’t help it. “No.”

“You sound pretty dead certain.” 

He shrugs, flicking a nonexistent crumb off his pants. “Well, it ain’t like I’m a catch,” he mutters. “And he’s had plenty of chances to say something. But he hasn’t.”

“Well,” Claire says thoughtfully, “didn’t you just say he’s weird about the fact that it’s his name you’re sportin’ on those tags?” Dean nods. “So why would he say anything, even if he did feel the same?”

Dean… hadn’t thought of that. He allows himself to consider the idea, for a moment – that Cas is as head over heels for him as he is for the alpha. That he’s only held back those feelings for Dean’s sake, because he’s worried about hurting him or giving him the wrong idea about his intentions. 

It’s a nice thought. But it’s not one he believes. Dean knows he’s nothing to bring home for Christmas. He’s got a feeling that the affection Cas holds for him – and it is affection, there’s no doubt of that – is something that you’d feel for a pathetic stray dog. Not something you feel for a… partner. 

Claire sniffs out his darkening mood like a bloodhound – her nostrils flare as she leans forward. “Woof. You really think there’s no chance, don’t you?”

Dean can only shrug again. His food suddenly looks unappetizing, and he’s got this sour, twisting feeling in his stomach that he hates. Thinking about Cas rejecting him like that hasn’t gotten any easier – in fact, he’s pretty sure that every time it happens, it feels worse than the time before. Right now, it makes him feel more than a little dizzy. 

“I’d say he’s ass over teakettle for you,” Claire argues conversationally, taking a sip of her water. “Personally.” 

Dean makes a face. “You don’t even know him.” 

“No, but I know what alphas look like when they’re panting after someone. And he stares at you like you’re the center of his world.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You haven’t spent a lot of time with him, Claire. That’s just what he’s like.” Cas gives everyone his full attention, respects everyone in the same way that he respects Dean. It’s just how he’s built – and no matter how much he’d like to be, Dean isn’t special. 

“I think you’re blind as a bat,” she says cheerfully, crumpling the paper that was wrapped around her food into a tight little ball. “And if I were you, I’d be checkin’ to be sure that he’s not gonna use that crush of yours to justify a bonding clause or somethin’.” 

Dean’s brow furrows. “A what?”

“A bonding clause,” she repeats casually, tossing the ball up and catching it in her opposite hand. When he doesn’t respond, she looks up. Her expression sharpens. “You don’t know what that is?”

Dean shakes his head, and she narrows her eyes. “Thought you said he explained the process to you?”

“He did. Or,” he hesitates, “I mean. I think he did. He got through most of it, but I might have missed some stuff.” His phone lights up on the table in front of him as he speaks, and of course it’s Cas. Probably wondering if he’s still alive, or if Claire has eaten him. 

He doesn’t like the way Claire’s expression is shifting back into suspicion. “I think you’d remember that one,” she says darkly, narrowing her eyes at his phone. “Jody didn’t say anything about it, either?”

His phone buzzes again, but he ignores it. Dean thinks back. “Well, she might have been about to,” he says slowly, drumming his fingers on the table. “She was trying to say something about a part of that emancipation packet before you busted down the door.” 

Dean would swear that the kid’s shoulders relax at that. He wonders how much Claire trusts Jody, and how much she still feels like she can’t trust anyone. He’d hate to be the reason that the kid became suspicious of someone who, for all intents and purposes, seems to be acting like her adoptive mom. “I’ll ask when we go back up,” he says, shrugging. “But what’s the big deal? There’s about a million things I have to do before they’ll even consider emancipation.” 

The young blonde’s lips press together. “More than one way to skin a cat,” she mutters. “Answer your damn phone, would you?”

Dean glances back down at it – it’s still buzzing steadily. He gives Claire one last long look, but her face is unreadable. 

Sighing, he picks up the phone and answers it. “Hey, Cas.”

He doesn’t think he’s imagining that the alpha’s voice sounds relieved. “Hello, Dean. How was the gym?”

Dean smiles softly, ignoring Claire’s disgusted scoff. “It was fine. No incidents.” He glances up when Claire makes a gesture – she’s pointing meaningfully at her nose. “Oh, well. I mean, except for a nosebleed.”

“A what?” 

Dean winces, pulling the phone away from his ear. Claire smirks, getting up to throw her trash away. “Claire caught me pretty good with an elbow jab,” he explains, eyes following the young omega across the cafeteria toward a trash can. “I’m fine.”

“But you were bleeding?” His voice is tight. “What if it’s broken? Dean–”

“It’s not broken, Cas,” he says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Swear. Just a little tender. Figured I should tell you now so you don’t get all snarly when you see me.”

Cas is quiet for a beat, and then he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably a… wise decision,” he admits reluctantly. 

Dean can’t help but smile at that. It’s still a little novel to him that Cas not only doesn’t want to hurt him, but gets upset when he’s hurt at all. He can’t believe there was a time when he believed that this man wanted to harm him. “You can thank Claire, actually. I forgot about it till she reminded me,” he admits. 

The kid in question is throwing up a peace sign over her shoulder, sauntering away from him and out of the cafeteria without a backward glance. Dean watches her go with a fond feeling in his chest, though the tense nature of their discussion lingers there too. 

On a hunch, he pulls the phone away from his ear, tapping it so that it stays on speaker. Sure enough, she’d added her contact to his phone. He smiles. 

Castiel makes a disapproving noise. “I won’t be thanking her for making you bleed,” he grumbles, and Dean snorts as he returns the phone to his ear. “Do I need to speak to Gadreel about what self-defense techniques he’s teaching?”

Dean laughs, hauling himself up and bending forward to gather his trash, his phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder. A small wave of vertigo hits him, just for a second, but it’s enough for him to have to place his hand on the small table to steady himself. He blinks it away after a moment. “Uh, no. He was just going over blocks. We got a little overenthusiastic.” 

“Hmph,” the alpha grunts. “Are you both finished with lunch?”

“Yep. You back in the office? I kinda wanted to ask Jody about some stuff,” he says, carefully sliding the remains of his lunch off the tray and placing it on the stack up top. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Dean,” Cas says apologetically. “I am back in the office, but Jody had to run right after we finished signing your documents. There’s an auction lot a few hours from here that she wanted to pick someone up from.”

Dean’s steps falter a little. How simply Cas says shit like that throws him, because that’s someone’s life he’s talking about. Someone who is about to go from the worst possible circumstances to this place, where they can talk and laugh and eat and sleep and just be treated like a human being. Where they can take control back, piece by piece, until they’re free again. “Oh,” he says weakly. 

Cas doesn’t seem to recognize his train of thought – he’s still apologizing. “We can probably call her – I don’t think she’ll be there yet, and you can ask her clarifying questions before she goes into the facility –” 

“That’s okay,” he says quickly. He slowly climbs the stairs, not really paying attention to where his feet are taking him. Another wave of vertigo makes him have to pause and place his hand on the wall. He shakes his head. “She’s got other stuff to deal with. It’s no big deal – I’m sure I can just ask you.”

“If you're sure,” Cas says. He sounds relieved. “Are you on your way here?”

Dean grins. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Cas sounded a little anxious. “I’m fine, Cas. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Cas replies quickly, but he sounds like he’s just saying what Dean wants to hear. “Of course. But you’re on your way?”

Instead of answering, Dean pushes open the first door to his office, a cheeky grin on his face ready for the alpha. 

He’s met not with Cas, but with a young beta man sitting at the previously empty secretary’s desk. He blinks up at Dean in open surprise, his mouth a small “o” of confusion. 

Dean drops the phone from his ear, feeling wrong footed. All thoughts of what he was going to ask Cas manage to fly out of his head. “Oh– hey,” he says awkwardly. “Uh. Is Cas back there?”

The young man blinks a few times, looking him up and down. “Are you Dean?” he asks, instead of answering. 

Dean hesitates. The man is young – younger than him by a few years at least – and on the scrawny side. He’s cute, in an innocent, doe eyed kind of way, so much so that without his nose Dean might have pegged him as an omega. “Yeah. Who are you?” he asks in return. He’s not sure why there’s an edge to his voice all of a sudden. 

“I’m Samandriel. Or – most people call me Alfie,” he amends, looking a little flustered and very young in his oversized button-down, almost comical in a red and white striped tie. His eyes keep raking Dean up and down, like he’s trying to figure something out. Dean doesn’t like it, and he feels himself tense up under the man’s gaze. “I’m Castiel’s assistant,” he adds, when Dean says nothing.

There’s a flare of irritation in his chest that he doesn’t have a clue how to explain or what to do with. It’s there, though, and he finds himself bristling up, as though Alfie, downright gangly in his overlarge clothing, is a legitimate threat. Luckily, he’s saved from embarrassing himself by Cas opening his office door. 

The alpha’s eyes land on him immediately, and he strides forward with purpose, zeroing in on Dean’s face. Holding his shoulders, Cas inspects this nose carefully, and Dean tries not to flush under his scrutiny. It’s hard with Alfie standing right there, staring at them both with his mouth half open as he takes in the ridiculous picture they’re making. 

Dean just about chokes when Cas carefully cups his jaw and moves his head gently to the side to get a closer look, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together as he draws even closer than before. The proximity makes Dean feel oddly hot, almost too hot, and he doesn’t know if he wants to squirm away or close the distance completely. Either way, it feels far too intimate to be done in the middle of an office with an open door. 

His brain just about loses the ability to think entirely when Cas tips his head back, frowning at the bruising he’s no doubt seeing. He’s ignoring Alfie completely, almost as though he’s forgotten that the beta is there.  

“Cas,” Dean whines lowly. He’s probably flushed all the way down to his chest. He flicks his eyes at Alfie – the kid is very abruptly trying to look busy. He turns to move a stack of papers and knocks his knee loudly into a filing cabinet, his face at least as red as Dean’s and his eyes wide and pointedly averted as he fumbles with the pages. 

It takes the alpha a second to focus, but he eventually snaps out of his fussing and seems to remember they have an audience. He clears his throat, dropping his hand, and straightens his shoulders as he takes a step back. Dean resists the urge to follow him, another little dizzy spell making him a little unsteady on his feet. 

“Ah. I’m,” the alpha half starts, flustered. “Um.” He shakes himself. “Samandriel, this is Dean. Dean, this is–”

“We’ve met,” Dean interrupts quickly, avoiding eye contact with the bushwhacked beta. “Can we go home? I know it’s early, but...” He trails off, unable to find a good excuse as to why he suddenly, pressingly, needs to be out of here. His bed sounds extremely appealing. 

Cas blinks, confused, but he nods after a moment. “Of course. But are you sure we shouldn’t stop by Pamela’s office? She can check and make sure nothing is–”  

“Nothing is broken,” Dean hisses, giving Alfie a side eye – he’s openly ogling at this point, staring back and forth between him and Cas. Grabbing the alpha’s hand, Dean tugs him toward the door. “Come on.” 

Cas just lets himself be moved, unprotesting, though he looks extremely confused. “I will see you tomorrow, Samandriel,” he calls out before the door closes behind them. “Please don’t forget to help Jody with intake when she arrives.”

Dean feels a growl growing in the back of his throat the longer that Cas stays turned to look at the man, but he swallows it down. He doesn’t get why he’s suddenly feeling the urgent need to return home, but he feels it nonetheless, and he’s well aware that Cas will humor him if he’s even a little pushy. So... he pushes. In his hurry, he even goes so far as to stride toward the elevator instead of the stairs. 

He only stops when Cas does, his grip around Dean's hand tugging him back. He tries to keep going, but it’s like trying to pull a stop sign out of the ground. 

“Dean, we should probably take the stairs.” 

Dean just tugs a little harder, pressing his lips together. “Nuh-uh. All that blood loss made me dizzy,” he jokes, rolling his eyes when Cas’s concern deepens. It is true that his head has been spinning a little, but that’s probably from being knocked in the face with an elbow. “Let’s go, okay?”

Hesitantly, Cas allows himself to be pulled forward. Dean may hit the down arrow with a little more force than necessary, and he may stand a little closer than necessary to Cas on the way to the first floor – but the only person here to call him out is too bewildered to say a word. Dean presses into his side with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever, exhaling slowly when he feels the alpha against him. 

Cas turns to look at him, his head tilted to the side. “Your nose is bruised,” he points out, frowning. “And are you actually dizzy? Because that could be an indication of a concussion…” He reaches up as though he’s going to touch Dean’s face again, and he’d normally be all for that except the doors are opening on the second floor and Balthazar is coming in, his nose buried in a report or something. 

They both freeze. Bal looks up pretty much instantly, probably sensing the sudden ramp up in tension. He’s quiet for a good few seconds, his eyes flicking back and forth between them as the doors slowly try to close behind him, knocking into his shoe and sliding back again. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks lightly, but there’s a dangerous sort of lilt to his tone. Dean swallows under his critical gaze. The omega’s eyes slide to Cas, a glint in them that Dean recognizes as… protectiveness. 

For a moment, he’s offended – he’s not gonna hurt Cas, and Bal doesn’t even know him. He bristles, prepared to defend himself. But then, of course, Cas drops his hand and clears his throat, stepping back with a flush on his cheeks. And it clicks. He’s an idiot.

Balthazar is being protective over Dean. 

“Dean hurt his nose, and I was – um,” Cas is stumbling out, but Dean’s too busy reeling to help him. Bal has been friends with Cas, far as he can tell, for about a decade, and yet he’s pinning him down with an ice cold, unfriendly glare like he really thinks Cas was about to jump Dean in the elevator. 

The warring emotions it brings up inside of him threaten to bowl him over. On the one hand, it’s undeniably grounding to know that Balthazar would defend him from even Cas, if need be. It’s yet another form of confirmation that he has allies here. That Cas is not the only one that is looking out for him. That he’s not the only one that cares about Dean’s well-being.

On the other, it’s suspicion that Cas simply doesn’t deserve. Dean knows better than to think that the alpha would ever do anything like what Balthazar might be imagining, and Balthazar should know it too. 

“He’s been fussing over it since I got back from the gym,” he says, interrupting Cas’s fumbling explanation that, judging by Balthazar’s rapidly cooling expression, is not doing a great job at getting his friend to stand down. “Keeps trying to convince me to go see Pam about it, even though it’s not broken. Can you tell him to relax?” he asks jokingly, giving Bal a grin. “Dude’s convinced I’m gonna bleed out over an elbow to the nose.”  

Balthazar seems satisfied enough with that – his hackles visibly go down. He steps fully inside the elevator with an amused expression. “Ah. I see. So he’s simply mother henning,” he jokes, raising an eyebrow in the alpha’s direction. “He did something similar to me, back in the day.” 

Again, there’s a flare of something ugly and mean in Dean at those words – he has to blink away the urge to snarl at the thought of Cas touching Balthazar’s face like that, for any reason. He shakes it off, but not fast enough, because the other omega gives him a startled glance when he picks up on the flicker of irritation in the air.

Slowly, a sly expression starts to creep across Balthazar's face, and Dean can’t help but clear his throat and look away, shifting uncomfortably. The older omega grins. “The attention he gives to split lips, in particular, borders on nurse Nightingale territory,” he goads cheekily, grinning even wider when Dean sends him a cocked-jaw glare. “Perhaps you could try acquiring one of those next?”

Oblivious to the subtext of their conversation, Cas gives Balthazar a look that says his words are bordering on incomprehensible. “Please don’t encourage Dean to accumulate more injuries,” he says incredulously, shifting so that he’s got his hand on Dean’s arm – as though he really thinks Dean really might grab the nearest blunt object and start wailing away. 

He honestly might not be that far off, because Dean is melting into his touch faster than even he can understand, his tension draining from him again at the contact. Not even Balthazar’s shit-eating grin can make him regret putting Cas’s protective tendencies on display. He feels another little pull of dizziness, and leans into Cas’s touch to mask it. 

The older omega breathes a long suffering sigh and makes a face, rolling his eyes as the doors open to the elevator. “Good luck with all that,” he says vaguely, waving them off as he walks away. “You two are disastrous.” 

Cas watches him go with a furrowed brow, but Dean doesn’t really want to give him a chance to think about it too hard. He reaches down and clasps the alpha’s hand again. 

“Home, please,” he requests, and Cas’s eyes soften when they look at him. He still looks confused, but he doesn’t ask Dean what’s gotten into him. Doesn’t make him explain. 

As usual, Cas just gives him what he needs. 

Dean manages to forget all about the packet he’s supposed to be reading until he sees it on the kitchen counter at dinnertime, exactly where he’d left it. Cas is fishing a pot from under the cabinet, so he doesn’t notice when Dean picks it up. Not that he’d care if he had – Cas is the one that printed it off for him in the first place. 

The alpha has been incredibly patient with him, even by his usual standards. Dean has been downright annoying – holding on to Cas every chance he gets, scenting the air constantly, pacing back and forth and moving things around in jittery little motions. He doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with him. One second, he’s so tired he could curl up right there on the tile and pass out, and the next he’s so full of energy it feels like he’s going to start vibrating through the floor. 

All of this, Cas has taken in stride. He’d clearly been as confused by Dean’s behavior as Dean himself was, but he hadn’t asked any questions. Not even when Dean had another dizzy spell and nearly fell out of the car – Cas just caught him, his brow furrowed when Dean had laughed it off. 

Over and over again, he’s simply given Dean what he thought he wanted. His hand, when Dean had tugged at it. His reassuring touch when Dean had shifted in place one time too many. He’d moved obligingly out of the way when Dean had started to tug the mugs out of the cabinet to rearrange them. Hadn’t even blinked when Dean had changed the song playing from his phone six times in a row, unhappy with them all. 

Even now, it’s hard to pull himself away from Cas – he only just manages, mostly because he doesn’t want to read the dumb packet right in front of the alpha. 

He plops himself down on his cushion in the living room, gripping the papers in his hands. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find, exactly. He hadn’t been lying to Claire when he’d said he thought Cas explained everything to him, and even looking at these papers a second time feels a little bit like he’s… being ungrateful. Like he’s coming right out and saying he doesn’t trust Cas – and that’s about as far from the truth as a thing can be. 

Taking in a settling breath, the sounds of Cas clanging around in the kitchen behind him, Dean starts skimming. 

It’s a lot. Lines upon lines of text he doesn’t understand the first time around, sentence after sentence that he has to squint at and read a second or even third time to comprehend. It’s a lot of legalese, a lot of commas, and a lot of what appears to be C-Y-A crap that he has no patience for. More than once, when a particularly harsh or callous sentence gets to him and the words start to look more like angry, buzzing wasps, he has to look away from it. 

Slowly, though, he manages to slog through it. It’s all just like Cas said, albeit phrased a little more bluntly. There’s a hundred hoops he’s got to jump through, a hundred tricks he’s got to learn to impress the judges. But none of it is new. 

Not until the very last page. 

Right there in ominous, threatening black and white, there’s a little half page of tiny text under a final bold header: Bonding Provision. It’s by far the shortest section in the booklet, added almost like an afterthought. It makes Dean’s pulse race anyway. 

He has to read it more than once. Has to read it three or four times, actually, because he’s not sure he understands it at all. Could be because his brain is fried from all the shit that’s happened during the past couple of days… could be that he just doesn’t want to accept it. 

Seems to him, though, that there is – as Claire had put it – more than one way to skin the cat that is his emancipation. One that Cas, for reasons he doesn’t want to consider, hadn’t bothered to tell him about. 

One where Cas could free him in what looks like a couple of days instead of months, albeit with some serious consequences. 

The knowledge sits in his stomach like a brick as he and Cas eat. The alpha had brought the twin bowls of pasta into the living room and had sat down on the couch without a word, correctly guessing that Dean would want him off the floor this evening. Dean, at that point, had set the packet down and pushed it under the couch. 

Out of sight, out of mind. Or so he’d hoped.  

Oblivious to his internal battling, Cas is going on about tutoring programs. Dean’s too busy mentally reading and re-reading that stupid paragraph that Cas hadn’t mentioned, his thoughts turning in circles that all seem to loop back to him burying his nose in Cas’s neck and forgetting about the whole damn thing. 

He draws in a breath. 

“Cas?”

The alpha breaks off mid-sentence, giving him his full attention. Dean can’t quite meet his eyes – he feels himself flushing already. He curls up a little, drawing his knees to his chest and speaking to them instead of the alpha. “What’s the ‘bonding provision’?”

When the alpha doesn’t answer right away, Dean looks up. Cas is… frozen. There’s no other way to describe it. His eyes flick away for a moment, cheeks flushing, and he clears his throat. “Um. That’s… that’s another avenue for emancipation, I suppose. So to speak.”

Dean frowns at him, asking without asking – why didn’t he mention it before? Cas flushes even darker. “It’s not one we use at the center. It’s barbaric and wouldn’t do anything to help the omegas there gain their independence, because it’s…” He grimaces. “In a lot of people’s opinions, it’s simply another form of ownership. And that is the opposite of what we’re trying to accomplish.” 

Dean doesn’t know what that means. “... Ownership?” he repeats, feeling like he’s missing something. 

Cas’s mouth opens, then closes. He looks extremely uncomfortable. “It isn’t a form of independence,” he says carefully. “But it is, technically speaking, a loophole provision for alphas to free omegas from legal slavery. Under… very specific circumstances.” 

There’s a weird emotion fluttering around inside of Dean that he doesn’t know how to identify. It feels, suspiciously, like excitement. “So, what? It’s… it’s kinda like marrying your way out? Omega gets hitched to a free alpha, and boom, they’ve got their freedom?”

Cas’s mouth tightens. “It’s not marriage. Marriage is… purely legal. It’s binding yourself to another person, true, but that can be broken through divorce or simple separation. Enslaved people can’t…” he looks apologetic, but pushes forward after a breath. “They can’t marry. Because they’d have to sign a marriage agreement, and…”

Dean snorts. “And a slave’s signature don’t mean shit. Right.” His mouth twists. The last time his John Hancock was worth anything, he was sixteen. And his last act as a free person had been to sign away his right to ever have rights again.

Looking pained, Cas nods. “Unfortunately not. Not in a legal sense, anyway. But this sort of bonding is… different. More, um. Permanent.” 

There’s a sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach. “Oh,” he says, feeling a little dizzy. “Oh. When it said bonding, it just meant–?” 

“Mating,” Cas confirms, nodding grimly. “The old fashioned, traditional style. It’s my understanding that this was a provision put in place for the, uh. The true-mate believers.” 

Dean swallows. He’s never been one of those people – one of the omegas that pined after their true-mate alpha, like love was just going to spring out of the bushes, and he’d have everything figured out in an instant. His dad hadn’t believed in that crap either. Had always been insistent that love was work. That it took time and effort, and that there was no such thing as a snapped-fingers, magic moment where you found the one for you.

“Oh,” he says weakly, aware he’s been quiet for too long. His stomach twists at Cas’s face – it’s pale. Wane. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. So it’s pretty clear Cas thinks the same thing; that true mates are a fairy tale, made up by religious nut-jobs that insist omegas remain untouched until they find their perfect alpha.

“So, when you say old-school, you mean… the fangs-in-the-neck kind?” 

The alpha flinches. “Yes,” he says quietly, face bright red. He looks carefully away. “Along with the hormonal and emotional tethering. Hence our decision to ignore it as an avenue of so-called freedom. Because if the omega were to decide they wanted to leave...” he trails off, his voice pained.

“They couldn’t,” Dean finishes flatly. Because he knows all about that.  

Dean has no idea why his stomach feels like it’s fallen to the carpet. Has no idea why he feels disappointed. Mating isn’t the same as marriage. Like the name implies, it’s a biological thing. An animalistic thing. It’s intense – and the times he’s heard it mentioned have always been one of two cases: horror stories from spooked omegas, or braggadocious claiming tales from alphas. 

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He’s never met an omega who actually wanted to be tied to someone like that. Never met one who wanted to be so securely chained to their alpha that they literally could not leave without their body collapsing in on itself. 

Though, to be fair, mating was one of the few things that impacted both designations equally. An alpha would hurt too, if their omega tried to leave. Would be in pain, if their omega was in pain. 

For that reason alone, Dean himself has never really been in danger of something like that. Alastair had liked to taunt him, had liked to scrape his teeth over the soft skin of Dean’s neck and threaten to bite down hard enough to draw blood. It would have been the ultimate way to control him, the ultimate way to make sure that Dean could never run – he’d risk literally killing himself if he tried. 

As terrifying as the prospect had been, in the back of his mind Dean had known that his master never actually would. After all… if he had, it would have meant that Alastair would have actually felt Dean’s pain. Would have felt his fear, so intensely that it would have been difficult to discern from his own. And Dean knew there was no chance of that happening. No chance that any alpha would actually want to feel what they made the omegas under them feel. 

Dean had belonged to sadists. Not masochists. 

Obviously, though, that isn’t the case for everyone. Apparently mating is so common that there’s a literal provision for it in slave contracts. Apparently, there are masters that fall for slaves so hard that they free them, just to keep them with a different sort of collar.

He guesses it makes sense. No one wants to feel like a slave feels. Makes sense that the only easy way to be freed depends on whether or not it affects a fucking alpha.

He realizes that he’s been quiet for a long time when the scent of Cas’s anxiety makes its way over to him, all sharp and acrid like burned coffee. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Dean turns his way, opening his mouth to ask if he’s alright. 

Cas beats him to the punch. “Dean. You… you know that is not an option, yes? You know that… that I would not allow that,” he adds, looking very carefully away. His cheeks are still bright red, but his voice is almost stern. It’s clear he’s trying to make a point here. 

Dean half laughs. “Come on, Cas. I know you wouldn’t let some random alpha sink his fangs into me. I ain’t that stupid.”

Cas doesn’t look relieved, though. In fact, he looks even more drawn than before, his thumb sliding around the plate he’s still got in his hands in a nervous motion. “Of course not. But I – I more meant,” he continues with difficulty, his words a little choppy, his eye contact wavering when he tries to make it, “I more meant that you don’t need to worry about… me.”

Dean still doesn’t get it. He stares up at Cas in confusion. “About you?”

The alpha swallows, looking away again. His hands move a little faster, and faster still, until they abruptly fall still. He takes a breath. “I mean that… I’d never do that, Dean. To you. I – I hope you know that,” he adds, almost desperately. His words are plaintive, his eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t desire that from you.”

The words are soft. They’re not designed to hurt him, Dean knows. But they do anyway, for a reason he’s not sure he actually understands. 

The next ones feel even worse. “I know we’ve… grown close,” Cas says carefully, a pained expression flitting across his face. “And I know there have been a few times where I… perhaps crossed boundaries I shouldn’t have.” 

Dean manages to keep his flinch internal. He can’t help but ask, though, about these boundaries Cas is so afraid he’s crossing. The rules he thinks he’s breaking. “Like what?”

Cas blows out a long breath. “We touch frequently. We embrace frequently. And that we are sleeping in the same bed is… unusual,” he says quietly, frowning down at his mostly untouched dinner, “and could easily be misinterpreted.” 

Dean has nothing to say to that, mostly because it feels like Cas just jammed a javelin into his gut. The alpha looks apologetic even as he speaks. “I simply don’t want you to... misunderstand my intentions. Those things are to make you comfortable, and are not an indication that I’d like to…” He winces, but makes himself say it. “Mate you.”

Dean would laugh at that, except he’s too busy curling in on himself like he’s been hit. He’s thinking back to what he’d thought Cas wanted him for in the first place, all those weeks ago. Thinking back to how he’d believed the alpha wanted to use him, whether it was for pleasure or for pain. Then, when he’d gotten over that, how he’d believed he had been bought to be manipulated and gaslighted and bred. 

But that was a long time ago. Now, they’re sharing a room, embracing a million times a day, sleeping in the same bed. Things he thought Cas was okay with – hell, things he thought Cas wanted. But the alpha is telling him it’s unusual. Inappropriate. All he can hear is that Cas doesn’t really want to do any of that, after all. 

That Cas doesn’t want him, after all. 

The rejection stings like a slap. Worse. Dean can’t help but swallow. Wonder what else he’s forced on the alpha. What other things Cas is uncomfortable with. How much has the man been hiding for his sake? How much has he simply been putting up with, when Dean thought he’d longed for it too? 

He should have known better than to think Cas wanted Dean in the same way that Dean wants him. 

The thoughts feel like claws in his chest, and he doesn’t even know why. He knows that the stab of betrayal he feels at Cas’s dismissal is stupid. He should be relieved that Cas isn’t after something like that. Should be happy to know that the alpha hadn’t even considered it. Should be glad to know Cas doesn’t want him in that way, doesn’t want to keep him in a form that would be more binding than even the documents with Dean’s name on them. 

‘Cause Dean shouldn’t either, right? The very idea of Cas’s bite on his neck should disgust him. Should make him feel like property, no different than a collar. In fact, it’s worse than a collar, because collars can be removed. And there’s no breaking a mating bond, not unless one of them kicks it – and even then, the other would be hard pressed to survive. So this – the revelation that Cas can’t stand the thought of keeping him like that – it should make him happy.

It should. 

It doesn’t. 

Dean can’t handle this. He can’t. His brain doesn’t have room for this new emotion, one he doesn’t understand and doesn’t like. One that feels suspiciously like he’s being the bitch that he’s so often been accused of being. So, rather than unpacking it and thinking it through, he does what Winchesters do best. 

He gets angry. 

Cas’s mouth snaps shut when Dean glares up at him. He watches, openly baffled, as Dean sits up, breaking contact between them. Without a word, he gets to his feet, stumbling just a little in his hurry. Cas reaches out to steady him, of course, but Dean snatches his arm out of the way. “Don’t,” he snaps, baring his teeth a little. 

The alpha looks up at him with wide eyes, something almost like fear in them, but Dean refuses to backtrack now. He straightens his clothes and snatches his food off of the coffee table, striding to the kitchen to dump it in the trash. 

He can feel Cas come up behind him when he’s scrubbing his plate, and it makes his shoulders draw together sharply. He’s glad Cas doesn’t try and touch him – or, at least, he tells himself he’s glad – because he doesn’t know whether he’d flinch or lean into it, and his stupid brain has got enough going on right now. Instead, the alpha hovers, clearly trying to figure out what the hell is going on. 

“Dean, I–” 

“Don’t,” he repeats, fuming. He doesn’t even know why he’s angry. Even now, in the midst of it, he suspects it’s because he’d be crying if he wasn’t. “Just – don’t, Cas.”

“I’ve said something that is upsetting you,” he says, his tone bordering on helplessness. “What did I…”

Dean doesn’t answer, his lips pressed together. He refuses to turn around and look at Cas, keeping his eyes down in the sink instead. The plate is more than clean, but he keeps scrubbing anyway. He feels cold.

He already knew Cas didn’t want him. He already knew. It makes no sense that he feels hollow inside, that he feels like the rug was just pulled from under him. Makes no sense that he wants to beg Cas to explain what he can do better, wants to do something, anything, to make the alpha change his mind. 

He’s pathetic. But he’s not quite that pathetic – not anymore.

“I think,” he says, voice starting strong but shaking as he continues, “I think we shouldn’t be sleepin’ in the same bed, since you’re so worried about me misinterpreting,” he spits, something sharp and hot clawing out of him. He swallows when Cas says nothing. “Maybe not in the same room, either.” 

There’s silence behind him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants desperately to take them back. His brain is screaming at him, telling him to fix it, because he doesn’t want to lose Cas – it seems like the most important thing in the world that he doesn’t lose Cas, actually, so much so that he actually feels nauseous at the realization that he’s about to. 

He flinches forward when Cas breaks the silence, hopefully not enough for the man to notice. “Dean,” he says softly. “I… I didn’t mean…” 

He seems to be struggling. Probably for a way to let Dean down gently. Dean steels his jaw. “It’s fine. You don’t gotta pretend for me, man. I can handle it, even if you think I can’t.” 

Cas can’t hide the pulse of hurt in his scent. It, too, makes Dean want to scramble backward, to take back everything he’s said so they can go back to that unspoken peace from before. But Cas doesn’t push him. Doesn’t ask him to. “If you want me to go,” he says, achingly quiet, “I will.” 

Dean does feel tears start to press out of his eyes at that, because, fuck. That’s not at all what he wants. He wants to spend the rest of his life in Cas’s arms, the rest of his life drawing Cas into his. But Cas doesn’t want that, and Dean’s pretty good at pushing away what he wants for other people. In comparison to some of the shit he’s done already, this should be easy. 

“I don’t need you,” he says, his words oddly distant and flat. 

They are a lie. Probably the biggest he’s ever told. 

Cas is silent for several more agonizing seconds. “I understand,” he finally says, his voice soft. There’s hurt there that Dean doesn’t get – isn’t Cas the one rejecting him? Isn’t Cas the one that’s been pretending to enjoy things he’s really just tolerating?  

Dean doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t turn around, not even when he hears Cas retreating to his room. Not even when he hears the alpha’s bedroom door close behind him with a soft click. 

Sometimes, Dean thinks Cas looks more like an alpha when he’s asleep than when he’s awake. 

His small, gentle smile is gone, replaced with a sharp jawline and a contemplative frown. Dean realizes just how much Cas must try and look non-threatening when he’s awake – like this, he reminds Dean of a lion, all muscle and power. Asleep, but still somehow untouchable. 

Then again, it could be the worry – the scent of which is still lingering in the air – that has the alpha all tense, even while he sleeps. Worry for Dean, or about the situation, he isn’t sure, but he’s sorry for it all the same. Cas doesn’t deserve that, and Dean’s left him to it for hours. So long that the darkness of the sky is starting to lighten to a downy gray. 

Dean really had tried to sleep. He’d tried to curl back into his lonely little mattress. He’d punched his pillows into submission, had folded and scrunched blankets until they seemed nearly right – though always with something missing. He’d tried to force his mind to go blank anyway, had tried to tell himself that he was doing the right thing. That he was helping them both. 

He hadn’t been nearly convincing enough. The longer he’d lain there, the worse the hollow feeling in his chest had gotten. He’d folded in on himself and had breathed through his mouth, had squeezed his eyes shut against the lingering scent of Cas in his room. Had tried his level best to ignore the twisting emptiness inside of him, had tried to control the full body shivers that had wracked his frame. 

He’d wanted the alpha so badly that it had started to become physically painful. 

So, as embarrassing as it is, he’s here. He can’t sleep – can’t even entertain the idea of sleeping – and so, as the night had worn on, his resolve had worn down too, thinner and thinner until he’d stumbled out of bed and bolted down the stairs, his heart in his throat as he’d finally given in to the insistent, vicious little creature inside of him that wanted him to be at Cas’s side. 

This is the first time that he’s actually been inside the alpha’s bedroom. He clutches his arms around himself and bites his lip, trying not to feel like a creep even though he knows he’s kind of being one. The irony of that is not lost on him – here Cas is thinking that he’s being inappropriate, and Dean’s the one creeping into the alpha’s room while he’s dead to the world. 

Still, he can’t pull his eyes away. 

Cas is splayed out on his bed, the comforter half on and half off of him, belly down. He’s got one pillow scrunched between his arm and his head, the rest scattered around the bed randomly – there are even a few on the floor. Dean wonders if Cas tosses and turns like he does. Wonders if Cas has nightmares like he does, when he sleeps alone. 

Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he thinks the answer might be yes. 

Swallowing, he takes an unsteady step closer, careful to be quiet even as another wave of vertigo hits him. Cas doesn’t so much as twitch as he folds himself carefully onto the carpet, as he leans against the man’s bedframe and takes in a long, slow breath. Dean wraps his arms around himself and tries his best to stop shivering. He just wanted to calm down. Just wanted Cas’s scent, and he’s got it, so he’s fine. 

He’s fine. He’s not gonna cry.

Scratch that – he’s already crying, tears hot on his face, and he has to hunch over and hold his hands over his mouth to keep quiet. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. Doesn’t understand why this isn’t working. He hates how incomplete and empty he feels, almost hates how much better it already is to be sitting here in front of the alpha, even if Cas doesn’t have a clue that he’s there.  

“Dean?”

The alpha’s sleep-rough voice settles over him like a warm blanket, but he can’t respond. He just hunches tighter into himself, breath hiccuping as he holds back a sob.

The mattress creaks, and he can feel Cas slide off the bed and kneel down next to him, can feel the alpha’s arms wrapping around him. He doesn’t turn on the light, doesn’t ask any questions or demand that Dean explain himself. He just runs his hand up and down Dean’s back and lets him shiver and sniffle. 

And yeah, this is exactly what Dean wanted. He can’t pretend otherwise anymore. Couldn’t even make it a full day without backtracking like a coward.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he finally chokes, hardly able to form the words. “I – I need you. I do,” he bursts out, and the thing that had been savagely twisting at him since he said that lie in the first place finally eases, just a little, with the confession. “I lied – I do, even though I know you don't – I know–”

He can’t get the fucking words out, can’t even breathe right. He’s panicking, apparently. He recognizes it with a distant sort of frustration. He didn’t want Cas to feel pressured to comfort him, and here he is, fucking crying in the dude’s lap.

And Cas just lets him – tightens his hold and pulls him in closer. 

“It’s alright,” Cas rumbles, and his words sound so final and sure that for a moment Dean can’t help but want to believe him. But he knows better than that. 

“It’s not,” he insists, voice breaking. Guilt burns through him like cheap vodka, fast and hot, and he feels dizzier than he has all day. “It’s not. You – you don’t even want this, but I can’t stop forcing you to–”

“Dean,” Cas starts to say, the edge of frustration in his tone, but Dean just shakes his head. He can’t deal with this, can’t handle Cas telling him what he thinks Dean wants to hear. He’s weak, and he knows it, but he still wants to take whatever scraps Cas will give him. Even if it isn’t real. He needs something, or he feels like he might crawl out of his skin.

He feels like he’s breathing through a straw, feels the world closing in around him– 

“Dean.” 

The ironclad way that Cas says his name pulls him up short, the nose dive of his panic spiral suddenly leveling out. The world gets quieter. “I need you to breathe,” he says lowly, tightening his hold. “Can you do that?” Dean can only nod, a little stunned. 

“Good,” he rumbles, and Dean can’t deny that he feels something zing through his gut at that simple little word. Can’t deny that he feels a little less like there is an anchor sitting on his chest. 

And then suddenly he’s moving because Cas is getting up and Dean is in his arms like he’s a little kid, and before he understands what’s happening he’s up in the bed with the alpha curled around him protectively, the blanket warm and heavy over them both. Cas strokes his fingers through his hair with one hand, the movement calm and sure, and tucks his chin over his head. His other hand splays across Dean’s lower back and holds him close. 

He doesn’t even think about fighting. He just curls into the alpha and tries his best to breathe again, like Cas wanted him to, and Cas inhales and exhales slowly and loudly to help him, until Dean can do it too. 

The alpha’s heart thumps against his own and he can feel the moment when they beat together. His nose is pressed into Cas’s neck and he’s not even sure how it got there, exactly, but he knows for damn sure he doesn’t want to leave. Is pretty sure, actually, that he couldn’t leave even if he did, because his stupid shivers have stopped for the first time in hours and he's so tired he could cry. 

“Dean,” Cas says again, and his voice sounds so strong and grounded that Dean has to listen. “I don’t know what impression you’re under, exactly, but I do believe it’s the wrong one.” 

Dean closes his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Cas sighs. He sounds tired, and a pang of guilt jumps through Dean at that. As if he can sense it – he probably can – the alpha tightens his hold. “You seem to believe,” he says quietly, “that I somehow do not want you here. That I am somehow pretending to desire your presence. Am I correct?”

Dean can feel his throat tightening again. Even acknowledging that makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He can’t say anything, so he just nods.

Cas doesn’t sigh again. He doesn’t do anything, actually, except squeeze his arms a little tighter. “That is the opposite of how I feel. The direct opposite,” he rumbles. “How can you not see that, Dean?”

Dean feels hope spring to life in him at the words, but he quashes it as soon as he recognizes it. “Be… because you said…”

“Said I didn’t want you to misunderstand,” Cas says gently. “Yes. I’m beginning to realize how foolish that choice of words was.”

Dean can only wait, his breath held in his chest. 

“I only meant,” Cas says haltingly, embarrassment clouding his rain and honey scent, “that I didn’t want you to think that… I was doing these sorts of things with an agenda. With a goal.”

Dean swallows. “I don’t think that,” he says, baffled. Because he doesn’t. 

Cas doesn’t really seem satisfied with that, though. “I… how could you not?”

Taking a deep breath, Dean reaches forward and grabs a handful of Cas’s shirt. He holds it for a moment, grounding himself. “I trust you,” he says simply. “You… I know you don’t want me like that, Cas,” he finishes softly, and can’t quite keep the anguish out of his voice. 

But Cas just makes a frustrated noise, guilt pulsing into his scent even more. “Dean,” he says, his tone equally frustrated and helpless. And Dean braces himself, waits for impact – but it’s a different sort entirely to what he’d been imagining.

“I do. I do want you. I…” the alpha trails off, swallowing, as though he’s giving up a terrible secret. “And I’m… I’m so sorry for that. But I – I cannot continue to lie to you. I do desire you. It is… difficult not to.” 

Dean lays there in the alpha’s arms, the darkness of his bedroom and his blankets pressing in all around him. He waits to feel fear. Waits to feel dirty, or like a whore, like he has for most of his life. Waits to feel betrayed or used or hurt. 

But he feels nothing but warmth, and a sense of relief so overpowering that it threatens to make him start crying all over again. 

Cas has gone tense in his silence, his body stiff. He stiffens even further when Dean shimmies back, when he looks up into those blue eyes, pupils round and dark in the low light of the bedroom. 

“You mean it,” Dean says, mostly to himself. It isn’t a question, because he can already see that Cas does. There’s not a hint of a lie in his expression – nothing but a tormented sort of guilt, terrible to see. 

Cas closes his eyes. “I… yes,” he confirms softly. “But desiring you in that way does not mean that I would ever go so far as to mate you – I would never touch you in any way without your full consent. But… I can’t expect you to believe me,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to be under any illusions. Don’t want you to give me your trust if I…”

Dean laughs softly. The sound is so startling to Cas that his eyes open again, focusing on Dean with a bewildered sort of confusion. “Cas,” he says, placing a hand on the man’s cheek, “that’s just too damn bad.”

Cas blinks at him, frozen, so Dean smiles. “I do trust you. I trust you more than I trust just about anyone, you idiot.”

It’s not dark enough to miss that the alpha’s eyes are starting to fill with tears. “But…”

“But nothing,” Dean dismisses, running his thumb across the alpha’s cheek. “I mean, damn, Cas. I thought I was pretty transparent about what I wanted, too.” 

Cas’s eyes widen. “You…”

Dean flushes darkly, and he looks away for a split second. But, after a moment, he finds his courage. “Yeah. I do.” He smiles up at the alpha, maybe just a touch of sadness in his expression. “And even still, I know you won’t take anything from me. Not like this. Not with this,” he says, hooking a thumb through the little chain around his neck. “Right?” 

Cas lets out a breath – probably one he’s been holding for a while. “No, Dean. No, I – I won’t. I couldn’t.” 

“I know,” he reassures the alpha gently. “I know. I’m not afraid of you, Cas. You’re not gonna hurt me. Never.”

“Dean,” he says helplessly. His hands fumble up to touch Dean’s face in return, warm and soft and strong as they always are. “Dean.”

Dean just smiles at him. There’s something in his chest that’s singing, some part of him that was empty and is now filled to the brim. He leans into the alpha’s touch, sighing softly, and relaxes for the first time in hours. 

Cas’s eyes search his for a few seconds more, but eventually he has to give in and accept that, no, Dean really isn’t about to go running for the hills. When the dots connect in his brain, his face crumples slightly, and he wraps his arms around Dean in a bear hug that would feel suffocating coming from anyone else on the planet. 

But from Cas, it just feels right. Safe. Secure. 

He traces patterns on Cas’s back, nuzzles a little closer until his nose is in the crook of the alpha’s neck. Enjoys the warmth and the soft, content scent coming from him. He sighs as the last of the tension leaves his body. 

“Sorry,” he says, after a while. 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“Not for…” Dean closes his eyes. “Not for this.” Because he isn’t. Shit is complicated between them, to say the least, and their talk tonight hasn’t exactly made things much easier. But it’s all out in the open now – he’s admitted to the alpha what he’s been scared to say even to himself, and hasn’t been laughed at or turned away. And Cas has done the same, and knows that Dean isn’t afraid.

Dean takes a breath. “I meant for what I said earlier.”

“Oh.” Cas makes a low, contemplative noise. “I forgive you.”

Dean snorts quietly into his neck. “That was easy.”

“I knew you didn’t mean it,” Cas says gently, petting his hair. “Even then.” 

“Pretty bad liar, huh?” Dean jokes, something catching a little in his chest. 

“Perhaps,” Cas agrees. Dean can tell he’s smiling. “Then again, so am I.” 

“Absolute shit,” Dean agrees, and they laugh together in the soft light of the coming dawn. 

The instant he wakes up, Dean knows something is wrong. 

The sheets are twisted around him, tacky and hot, and his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. His eyes feel dry, his body feels heavy, there’s dried sweat on his neck; another wave of vertigo makes him feel like he’s on a ship in a storm and he’s dizzier than he had been last night, even while laying down. The room spins around him fast enough that he thinks he might end up being sick on the damn carpet. 

He lays there stunned for a good minute, the unfamiliar walls rocking back and forth. The window is on the wrong side of the room, and the blankets are the wrong color. For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is, and it’s enough to make his breath catch in his chest – but then, of course, he remembers that he crawled into the alpha’s bed last night. Remembers that he’s still home, and therefore he’s still safe. 

Castiel is out cold still, chest down. His mouth is parted slightly, and he’s snoring just a little, the sunlight creeping through the window just beginning to arch over his dark hair. Dean’s eyes have a hard time focusing on him, for some reason, and he rubs at them and tries to clear away whatever’s making his vision blurry. 

On instinct, because it is what he always does when he’s a little nervous or unsure, he inhales to take in the alpha’s calm, stable scent. 

Only this time, it’s like setting off dynamite. 

Out of the bed and in a tangle of sheets on the floor instantly, his heart in his throat, he can already feel that disgusting wetness between his legs, a flush on the back of his neck and across his chest to match. He gasps in another breath instinctively, and a flood of Cas Cas alpha alpha ALPHA stokes that fire even more and he clasps a hand over his mouth and whines and holy fucking shit –  

He’s in heat.