53. Chapter 53

“Sam, you absolutely cannot do that.” 

Charlie’s voice is firm over the line, no-nonsense, and Sam just barely resists the urge to growl in frustration. He kicks a can off into the yellowing grass behind Bobby’s workshop instead, and listens to it clatter against the side of a rusted out old pickup. 

“But if he’s there–” 

“We don’t know if he’s there, bud!” Charlie interrupts, her exasperation clear as day. “There’s no record of him!” 

An overwhelming frustration seems to crawl out of his throat, but he swallows hard and  plops himself down on a stack of tires, letting his head drop heavily. There’s silence on both ends of the line for a while – all he can hear is his friend’s soft breathing as she waits him out, as determined as ever to let him wrangle his emotions uninterrupted.

He sighs. “Run me through it one more time?”

She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Like I said,” she repeats with emphasis, “the property the dude owns is being used for something for sure. There’s a shit ton of traffic in and out of the one little road that leads to it. Satellite footage and Google maps show all kinds of cars along the way, but it’s hard to tell what kind of facility they’re running from the pictures because everything is anonymous.” 

Sam rubs the bridge of his nose. “But you really do think it’s a rehab center?”

“I do,” Charlie confirms. “The employee list I was able to wrangle up is pretty solid, dude. Loads of peeps who have a history in omega rights. Hell, the doctor there was arrested for treating run-aways.” 

It all feels a little too good to be true. “And… you found lots of paperwork for purchases.”

“Oh, my God,” Charlie says. “Fuck yeah I did. Pages upon pages of purchase records. And man, lemme tell you – that shit was under lock and key. It was like breaking into Fort Knox to get access to all of it. Allegedly,” she adds, tongue-in-cheek, “Mr. I-Practice-Law.”

Sam snorts. If Charlie thinks he’d do anything to throw her under the bus, she’s lost her mind. At this point, he’s as liable as she is for any illicit activities – not that he’d rat her out even if that  wasn’t the case. She’s not doing anything harmful, after all. “So how can we know they aren’t just…” 

“Reselling them?” she finishes, after a pause in which it becomes clear that he can’t. “I mean… we don’t know that, Sam,” she says carefully. “But I don’t think they are.”

“Because…”

“Because the only records they have are for purchases, all of them under the company’s name. Not one for sales. I’m not saying it isn’t possible,” she admits, “because there are some encrypted files that even I can’t seem to access. I don’t know what they are. But that’s just not the vibe I get from this place.” 

She pauses. Takes in a breath, and says, with hardly suppressed excitement, “Dude… I think they’re legit. Because the number of slaves they’ve purchased way outmatches what that building could legally – or even physically – hold. Those slaves had to go somewhere... ”

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. The possibilities they’re looking at have been threatening to overwhelm him since Charlie started her research, combing through all kinds of places trying to prove that NRR really is a safe haven for slaves. There’s one thing that’s keeping Sam from believing it, though, and he’s repeated himself so many times that he almost feels bad about doing it again. 

“But Dean’s name isn’t in those records,” he reminds her. “You said it wasn’t, even though you were able to pull up a list of the others. And,” he continues, ignoring Charlie’s protests, “the call didn’t ping from that property,” he reminds her for the upteeth time. “It came from his personal property, which–”  

Charlie groans. “Sam, come on–” 

“I just don’t like that you can’t find anything on the guy, okay? Why the fuck doesn’t he have any records, Charlie? It doesn’t make sense!”

“Maybe he just wants to stay anonymous!” Charlie shoots back. This isn’t the first time they’ve discussed it, and her impatience with that fact is bleeding through into her tone. “He’s an alpha, Sam. And by what I can tell, he’s got a shit ton of money. People in upper circles like that are overwhelmingly in favor of the trade. If he really is helping people escape it, he’s not gonna want his name out there.”

Sam grits his teeth. The name Castiel Novak has been on his mind non-stop. He’s dug through every public record he can get his hands on, and so has Charlie – and they’ve not been able to find anything on him before his eighteenth birthday. Nothing. It’s like he popped into existence as a fully grown man and immediately enrolled in the University of Washington. 

“I don’t like it,” Sam decides, and Charlie groans again. 

“If he’s helping people–”

“We don’t know that he’s helping anyone! Maybe he’s part of the underground trade!” 

“For fuck’s sake, Sam–”

“I’m scared!”

There’s a ringing silence on the other end of the line. Sam draws in a tight breath. “I’m scared, okay? Because if he is there… why would he…”

Why would he not have called, is what he wants to ask. It’s a thought that hasn’t left his mind.  The only thing he’s been able to think. Because if Dean really is safe, if he has the ability to reach out, Sam can’t come up with a good reason why he hasn’t. It makes that phone call seem all the more sinister, all the more clandestine, and he’s terrified that it’s already too late. Hell, it’s a decade too late.

But he doesn’t say that, because that fear is far too big to voice and make real. Instead, he asks, “What if… what if Dean’s fucking there and I miss him, because I didn’t drive a few hours to go check it out? What if he’s at the dude’s property, and he’s...”

Charlie takes a long, calming breath. “First of all,” she says quietly, “it’s like a two day drive, optimistically. And you don’t have a fuckin’ car, sasquatch.” 

A little laugh bursts out of him, and if it sounds a little wet Charlie doesn’t call him on it. “Second, if you show up there with your big bad alpha self and it is a place that legitimately helps omegas, they’re not gonna let you within fifty yards of the building.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“If it isn’t,” she stresses, “you’re digging yourself into a hole, buddy. Because you shouldn’t know that place exists at all, if you’re a good person. You show up, they’re probably gonna assume you’re there to buy, and…”

She doesn’t finish that sentence. They both know Sam would move heaven and earth to find his brother, and would likely get his ass killed trying. “Remind me why I can’t just roll up to this Castiel guy’s house?”

“Uh, because you’ll get arrested?” Charlie says incredulously. “Come on, I know you’re not that dumb. Do you need to refresh yourself on trespassing laws? There’s like a three square mile radius around the house that all belongs to him. You can’t even make it to the driveway without breaking the law!”

He opens his mouth to tell her that he doesn’t particularly care, but Charlie beats him to the punch. “Look,” she continues, sounding a little nervous all of a sudden. “I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to… I don’t know, set you off on a self-destructive spiral or something,” she half jokes. “But I figure it’s better than you driving out there. I found a number for the place.”

Sam sits up straighter, his heart starting to pound. “Oh my God. You mean I can–” He stands up. “Charlie, I can call them! I mean, my name’s in the stupid news,” he says, excited about it for the first time, “So they can trust I’m legitimately on their side. I could tell them I’m interested in practicing out of their facility – or just want to volunteer there, or–”

“Whoa there, bud.” 

He screeches to a halt, his heart pounding. He feels jittery. “What?”

“I… I hate to even say it,” Charlie says, and he can almost hear her wincing over the line. “But… on the off chance that this place isn’t legit, and you stroll in… someone might suspect that Dean managed to contact you. And that would be...”

Charlie is taking a lot for granted even saying it – she’s assuming that it really was Dean who called Bobby’s garage at all. But she’s right. Sam’s heart sinks. 

“That could get him in a lot of trouble. Fuck,” he curses. “I’m not – damn I’m not thinking straight.”

Charlie makes a sympathetic noise. “You’re excited, Sam. I get it. This is… this is a lot,” she says reassuringly. “And, look. I know it’s frustrating. I know you wanna hop in a car and drive over there right this instant. But we have to wait. At least until I can suss out if this Castiel guy is really–”

Charlie breaks off abruptly, and Sam stops just as abruptly. He’s starting to become really familiar with what it sounds like when Charlie makes a discovery. 

“What? What did you find?”

“... Shit.” 

Sam’s heart sinks down to his feet. He’s almost afraid to ask, but he does anyway, his voice timid. “Charlie…?”

“Castiel. Castiel sounded damn familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out why,” she mutters, pretty much talking to herself at this point – something she does when her mind is racing. “But… shit, if he is–” 

“Charlie.” 

“Sorry! Sorry. It’s – it’s probably nothing, but if it isn’t nothing – and shit, it adds up with how loaded the guy is…” 

She pauses, and it’s a heavy silence. “Samuel Winchester, you listen to me. I need you to promise me you aren’t going to go racing off if I tell you this. Because if it’s true, we need to be even more cautious than we’re already being.” 

Perhaps it’s childish, but Sam is sure to cross his fingers before he answers. “Okay. Fine, I swear. What is it?”

“Sam…” She takes a breath. “You know who the Morningstars are, right?”

Dean has fallen into a restless, uneasy sleep an hour or so after Castiel’s whispered reassurances. His breathing seems too rapid, and his cheeks are flushed – his hair is dark around his forehead and neck where he’s sweating, clearly still uncomfortably hot even in his slumber. He’s tucked against Castiel’s side, nose buried in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around his middle. Every possible inch of the omega’s bare skin is touching him. 

Castiel, for his part, has not moved. 

He’s still feeling oddly colder than normal, and Dean’s warm body is far too tempting. He could pull away. He just doesn’t want to. Like a pair of hibernating wolves, they’re tucked together in the nest of blankets, surrounded by warmth and comfort. As nervous as Dean has seemed so far, something about him here, like this – curled up and safe in his arms – has soothed the barking alpha animal in the back of his mind. He knows their troubles are far from over, but for a moment, he’s able to relax. 

He can’t lie and say he doesn’t mourn a little when Pam arrives at their door. She knocks softly before pushing it open without much preamble, waiting in the hall with her bag slung over her shoulders and her glasses holding her bangs back. 

He holds back a sigh. As necessary as her input will be, Castiel doesn’t really want to leave Dean alone for any length of time – he sends out a silent prayer of thanks to Balthazar for using his key to let them in, rather than ringing the doorbell and risking Dean waking up in a panic.

The doctor’s eyes are not accusatory when they land on him, curled up in Dean’s nest with the omega nestled against him. Instead, they’re strangely… approving. She smiles at him, and though the expression is a little grim, he figures that has more to do with the circumstances than his behavior. He hopes so, anyway – it’s one thing to be here to help Dean, and another to be so blatantly taking up room in his safe place. 

Slowly, carefully, he slides out of Dean’s grasp. The omega makes an unhappy noise when he pulls away, but he doesn’t wake. Instead, he curls into himself, tightening his arms around his chest. Mindful of the doctor’s eyes on him, he tugs a blanket around Dean’s shoulders, smoothing his hair back from his face in a gentle movement that Dean leans into, even in his sleep. He lets out a small sigh that makes Cas’s heart ache fiercely.

Castiel picks his way out of the nest, careful not to jostle the mattresses, and ignores the voice in his brain that tells him to get back in there immediately in favor of following the doctor into the hall and down the stairs. He’s not going to be able to have a conversation with Pam without waking Dean up, and the young man needs all the rest he can get. 

Balthazar is sitting at the kitchen table with his elbows braced on the wood, his nose wrinkled. Castiel would imagine that the smell of another omega in heat is not overly pleasant to the man, but he’s here anyway – a testament to how much this matters to him. He glances over at them, snorting openly when he spots the bandana. 

Castiel is prepared for jokes about his no-doubt ridiculous appearance, but the man only looks away. His stomach sinks. 

“You can take that off, now,” Pam says absently, rifling through her bag as she speaks. When he hesitates, she adds, “The heat scent isn't going to take you by surprise again, and he’s far enough away that it won’t send you running automatically. So long as you keep ahold of yourself, that is,” she says wryly. 

The words might be considered accusatory, but she says them with her normal calm professionalism. Castiel reminds himself that he’s not being made fun of, nor is he being scrutinized. Not by Pamela, anyway. She’s the one who seems convinced that he’s going to stay sane throughout this. If he didn’t know how invested she was in the people under her care, he might have doubted the accuracy of that claim – but he knows better than to think she’d allow him to put Dean in any sort of danger. 

So, still a little hesitant, he sits himself down and pulls off the bandana.

The scent of Dean all but slaps him in the face, even from this distance – Pam hums sympathetically as he stiffens. He takes a shuddering breath, hands clenching on his knees as he closes his eyes and reminds himself firmly that he cannot go running back upstairs to the source of that smell. It takes him a few seconds, but he manages to convince himself to stay seated. 

Balthazar is openly staring at him, tense. It is very obvious that he’s waiting. The longer Castiel goes without moving, the more his hackles drop, and some of the wary notes in his scent – just barely detectable over the heat heat heat that’s still present, even a floor away – fade. 

Castiel attempts and fails not to feel guilty about how worried the man must have been. Probably still is. 

“He looked better than I expected,” Pamela says briskly, tossing her bag onto the table. She looks at him with a knowing sort of air. “He tugged you into his nest in about three seconds flat, didn’t he?”

Castiel shrugs, the movement a little jerky. His face flushes. “I… yes. I’m just glad Dean seems to trust me enough to let me stay.” He glances at Balthazar, still uncomfortably aware of how his friend likely feels about the situation. He’s being far too quiet for comfort. Based on that alone, Castiel can guess that he and Pamela probably had quite the conversation on the drive over. While the doctor is unperturbed, his friend is sporting the tell-tale brooding expression of someone who’s been on the receiving end of a firm dressing down. 

“And I’m glad you’re trustworthy," Pam replies frankly, ignoring the tension between the two men. She glances up at the ceiling toward the sleeping omega. “Then again, if you weren’t, this probably wouldn’t have happened so soon. So, thanks a lot,” she teases, a good-natured and calming smile on her face. 

Something inside of Castiel preens at that compliment, smug because his ome– because Dean feels safe and secure. He dismisses that strange glow, but not before Pam catches it and smirks. He brushes her off in favor of his ever growing concern, acutely aware of Balthazar’s prickly silence. He knows that Bal wants Dean to be in the heat wing, right now. Castiel himself isn’t so sure he’s not right. 

He takes a breath, doing his best to push aside the fear that he’s doing irreparable damage to more than one relationship in his life right now. “Is he really up for this?” he asks. “He’s still underweight. I thought that omegas were supposed to be healthy before they could… you know.”

Pamela shrugs. She rifles through his cabinets with a surprising degree of accuracy, considering she has never had the occasion to do so, pulling three cups out of the first cabinet she opens. “Dean’s probably healthier right now than he’s been in years,” she reminds him, filling the three glasses with water. “He told me he’d been on suppressants for a while before he entered the system. When you start taking them that early, heats will usually come back with a vengeance for a few cycles, at least until your body gets itself back into balance. It should have happened years ago, but…” 

She doesn’t have to go into details about why life as a slave would have been the worst possible environment for an omega in heat, and why Dean hasn’t had a natural one in all this time. Balthazar glowers beside her, saying nothing – which, really, says more than enough. He wraps his long fingers around the glass that Pamela sets in front of him, draining it in one long gulp before clunking it back down on the wood.  

Castiel rubs a hand against his mouth and immediately regrets it – Dean’s scent is sharp and sweet on his palm. He grimaces, dropping his arm. “I’m worried,” he says bluntly. “Worried about us both. Dean said he doesn’t want to go to the heat wing – he was very adamant – but he’s not stable right now. He’s overwhelmed. And I… I’m not sure that I... um.” 

He can’t make himself say it, but Pam can obviously guess. “I think you need to give yourself a little more credit, kid,” she says gently, shaking her head. “You aren’t going to go into a rut, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Swallowing, he asks the question tellingly shakily – but he can’t help it. “How can you know that?” he demands, feeling Balthazar’s presence in the room like a looming anvil. 

The one and only time his friend had gone into heat while living with him, he’d informed Castiel bluntly the day before that he’d be staying elsewhere for the duration. Castiel had more than readily agreed to that – partially out of respect to Balthazar’s discomfort, and partially out of concern as to how he’d react. Bal had put himself on suppressants after that, and they’d never really spoken of it. 

Castiel runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Pam – what if I –” 

“You won’t,” she interrupts, as if it really is that simple. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it won’t be difficult to maintain control of your instincts, but it’s not like you don’t have a choice. While it’s true that heats trigger corresponding ruts for mated pairs,” she goes on, “you and Dean aren’t mated. You haven’t even had intercourse.”

He flinches, simultaneously horrified at the thought and guilty for the number of times it has crossed his mind over the last few weeks. As if reading his mind, Balthazar huffs, his upper lip half rising from his teeth as if he’s going to accuse him. But, before he can, Pam raises an eyebrow at the omega. His sneer turns into a scowl, but he deflates like she’s popped him with a pin. 

She turns that same eyebrow on Castiel, her tone booking no nonsense. “The whole ‘omega in heat sends the room of alphas into rut’ bullshit is porn logic, Novak. You have control over yourself, don’t forget that.” She turns to look pointedly at Balthazar, as if reminding him of the same thing – he avoids her eye, crossing his arms defensively. “The fact alone that fear is impacting his scent is enough. You have more control over yourself than you think you do.” 

Castiel can feel his face flush bright red even before he starts speaking – but this is important, and he needs to come clean about everything if he wants to ensure Dean’s safety. “But… Dammit, I got one whiff of him and I…” 

“You what? Got aroused?” Pam sounds amused, rather than indignant or angry, and it’s a huge relief. 

“I… yes.” He’s very afraid to look at Balthazar and see how he’s reacting, but when he does the omega’s expression, surprisingly, hasn’t really changed. He’s still glaring a hole through the table, but somehow he seems more troubled than angry. Castiel isn’t sure how to feel about that.

Pamela taps the table, regaining his attention like he’s a distracted child. “Of course you did. That’s what heat pheromones are supposed to do to unmated alphas.” 

“But I don’t want to scare him!” he bursts out. “What if he thinks I’ll hurt him? ”

“Based on what I saw, he doesn’t,” she says simply, shrugging. 

“Pam, you didn’t see him earlier, he–” 

“Sweetheart,” she interrupts, a mixture of pity and impatience in her voice, “He isn’t afraid of you. And I’ve got no doubt he’s going to struggle with his libido as much as you are – if not more. He likes you. That’s pretty damn obvious.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

“He likes you,” she repeats. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he wants you as much as you want him, and I don’t just mean sexually,” she says bluntly, and he can’t hide his flinch. It feels like she’s hitting him in the stomach with a two-by-four – he had no idea his desire had been that poorly hidden. 

She narrows her eyes, studying him when he stares at her, stupefied. “Come on, Novak. I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

Has he really been that transparent? He’s already told Dean about his physical feelings, at least, but he hasn’t said anything about the emotional aspect of things, and it’s the wrong time to bring it up. The wrong time to confirm if Dean feels the same way. Castiel has to doubt everything Dean’s revealed to him since his pre-heat started. 

Pamela flicks his arm, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Stop over-thinking it. The kid is crazy about you, and you feel the same way about him. Don’t analyze it to death like you do everything else.”

“But – it’s just because we’re scent bonded, Pam,” he protests weakly, grasping at something, anything, to convince her that she’s misreading things. He looks to Bal for help – for backup – but the omega is steadfastly refusing to meet his eyes. Arms still crossed over his chest, he’s staring up at the ceiling below Dean’s bedroom with an unreadable look on his face, looking for all the world as if he’s completely ignoring them both.  

Pamela sighs, looking over his glasses at him. “You know how a scent bond is formed, Castiel?”

He flicks his eyes back at his friend, and says carefully, “Through… feelings of comfort? Familiarity?” 

“Sure. But not just that. It’s a connection,” Pamela stresses, leaning forward. “A biological form of friendship. It’s a choice, unconscious or otherwise, to be vulnerable with another person. To give them higher access to what you’re feeling, to bare yourself and your emotions to them” 

She leans back. “Dean chose to do that with you months ago. And you returned the favor. It may not have been a conscious decision, but it was based on very real feelings. Things have only gotten stronger since then – on both of your ends.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “I know you well enough that I’d say you wouldn’t be interested in him physically if you weren’t interested in him emotionally. Am I wrong?”

He swallows. Shakes his head, feeling small and like an open book under her gaze. 

“So, why is it so hard to believe that Dean feels the same way?”

His protests sound weak even to his own ears. “Pamela… I don’t know how he feels. And, frankly, my feelings are not relevant,” he continues clumsily, clearing his throat. “Especially not right now. Not when he’s…” 

She rubs the bridge of her nose like an overworked kindergarten teacher. “Of course not. I’m not saying either one of you should do anything. You’re not wrong in thinking that his heat is the worst time to discuss boundaries and consent – and that’s not even mentioning all the other mess that’s complicating your relationship.” She waits for him to nod before she goes on. “Anyway, the point of telling you all that was… I don’t think he’s going to want you to stay away, regardless of any evidence of your physical arousal, because he wants to be with you during this. You need to be prepared for that.” 

Castiel swallows. “What if he only wants me there because of this heat? When it’s over, he could hate me for seeing him like that. For staying.”

Pam sighs sharply. “We’re talking in circles.” When he just frowns down at the table, she shakes her head and elaborates. “You’re letting stereotypes mess you up again. Omegas don’t become mindless sex machines during heat. That’s a myth that’s been perpetuated for the purpose of victim blaming. Dean is vulnerable right now, more prone to instinctual – some say submissive – behavior than usual, but that’s exactly why he wants you to stay. Do you really think that if you scared him, he wouldn’t be running away as fast as he could?”

Castiel swallows. “Well. He certainly ran this morning. And he’s still…” 

He closes his eyes again, clenching his fist under the table as he acknowledges and fights the urge to go soothe the fear from Dean’s scent, still tangible in the room around him even as he sleeps. “He’s still afraid. Not of me, maybe – at least he said he wasn’t. But he’s…”

“He’s scared of his own reactions.”

Balthazar ignores the both of them when they swivel to stare at him, surprised. His gray eyes are still focused elsewhere, but he drums his fingers on the table a few times. “Right?” 

Castiel feels a roll of nausea. “Yes. I think so. He… shit,” he breaks off, the words actually sinking in now that he’s giving himself time to consider them. He drops his head into his hands. “He told me that he didn’t want to tease me,” he says miserably. “As if this is something he can control. As if he thinks he was asking to be hurt…” 

Balthazar makes a gruff, angry noise, spinning the empty cup in his hands. “Kid’s been brainwashed. He does think that.”

Castiel swallows. “But, how? He has to know that it’s only natural. God, Bal, he called himself a slut. For nothing more than having a heat.” It makes him sick to think that Dean is so ashamed of himself and of the natural functions of his body that he was apologizing to Castiel for them, that he’s terrified he’ll push Castiel away. Or that he’ll somehow be the one to push Castiel into doing something heinous. 

Balthazar cocks his jaw, his foot tapping angrily on the floor. He shifts his focus to the table in front of him, the glass twirling like a top between his fingertips. “Yes, well. Tell someone something often enough, and they tend to believe you after a while – no matter how ludicrous it may sound at first.” 

Despite his preoccupation with Dean, Castiel wants very much to unpack that – he knows Balthazar plenty well enough to understand when something they encounter with their business hits him on a personal level. As much as it makes his stomach turn to consider where exactly the man must have experienced something similar, he wants to be someone Bal can talk to if he feels so compelled. Right now, though, the older man does not look to be in a sharing mood. 

Perhaps it’s for the best that Pamela interrupts him before he can press for details. She makes a frustrated sound. “Balthazar is right. Omegas in Dean’s position are often told that they are somehow asking for the things that happen to him.” She pushes her glasses up and rubs at the bridge of her nose. “I’d bet money he thinks he’s going to somehow tempt you into a rut. If the victim is blamed enough times, they often begin to see it as the truth.”

When Castiel opens his mouth to protest, she holds up her hand. “Don’t forget that he’s not had a natural heat in a very long time, Novak. In his mind, he’s chosen this. He’s allowed it to happen. It’s not true – Dean couldn’t have prevented it even if he’d recognized it in time to try – but it’s what he’s likely imagining to be the truth.”

Castiel bites his lip. “How do I help him see it differently? He’s… I’m so worried about him,” he confesses, as if it wasn’t obvious. “He’s never going to be able to relax if he’s worrying about me, of all things…” 

Pamela opens her mouth to answer – probably to give him a pep talk about how capable he is – but before she can, Dean’s voice travels from upstairs. 

“Cas?”

There’s a quaver in the omega’s voice that immediately makes him stiffen, and he’s already standing up to go to him before he realizes that Pam is smirking at him again. “Alpha mode, activated,” she jokes, grinning at his less than amused scowl. 

He glances at Balthazar, but the omega waves him off. “I don’t need to be up there,” he says dismissively, shaking his head. “He’ll get all territorial over you, and I’m not in the mood to deal with that.” 

Castiel cocks his head to the side, confused, but Pamela puts a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Novak. Kid needs you.”

He nods, draws the mask back over his face, and tries not to run back up the stairs. 

When Dean wakes up and the bed is empty, he feels like someone is tearing a hole straight into him with a blunt object. 

He calls for his alpha before he can think a single coherent thought, clamping his mouth shut right after when his brain catches up with him. If Cas isn’t here, it’s because he doesn’t want to be. Dean has no right to demand this of him, no right to dump his shit onto the alpha’s plate. Cas has been trying so damn hard to keep a barrier between him and Dean – to not cross a line – and Dean is making that fifty times harder just by virtue of existing right now. 

No wonder the alpha’s gone. 

He knows Cas got all worked up earlier. He’d seen it. It hadn’t surprised him – he knows what heat pheromones do. There’s a reason that omegas in heat aren’t caught dead outside the safety of their homes, given the choice. They risked attracting every unmated alpha for a square block. 

What had sort of surprised him was that the alpha’s reaction hadn’t scared him in the slightest. He’d smelled Cas’s lust and his brain had just… flatlined. Turned off. There had been no fear, no terror at what was going to happen next. Only a suspended moment of possibility and the surety that he’d do whatever Cas wanted him to do, if he’d just asked. 

Then Cas had backed up and left the room in a hurry, and Dean had more than enough time to remember to be ashamed of himself. Cas probably thinks he’s a freak. He is. He tried to apologize, but he doesn’t think that the man had understood. 

The alpha has most likely packed his shit and is gonna spend the next week in his office at the center, and Dean is going to be here all alone, again, just like he’d been as a kid – writhing on a shitty motel mattress with towels stuffed under the locked door and a loaded shotgun next to his bed, trying desperately to be silent, trying desperately to find relief. Those had been the only nights John had bothered to spring for an extra room. He’d always dreaded telling his dad those three days were coming, had always felt sick when obvious disgust had bloomed on John’s face as he’d flicked a credit card at him and told him to stay far away from Sammy for the duration. He'd never been able to look Dean in the eye after he emerged, sick and weak and tired from three days of barely choking down food and sweating through every friggin' piece of clothing he owned. 

He hated those days. Hated them. Had been so incredibly relieved to get on suppressants – and he knows John had been relieved too, since he hadn’t bothered to ask why Dean’s heats had suddenly stopped. 

His stomach twists. He doesn’t want to be alone for this. 

As soon as the thought forms in his head, the door opens, and Cas is back. 

He immediately finds himself relaxing, the terrible, twisted thing that had been clenching his heart loosening its grip at the sight of the alpha. Cas still has that stupid mask on, the kindhearted idiot, but Dean can tell he’s frowning.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

He nods, because he pretty much is now that Cas is back. He doesn’t give a damn how pathetic that is, even when he sees that Pam is waiting behind him. Her eyes flick back and forth between them and when she realizes Cas is all but frozen in the hallway, she sighs. 

“He won’t bite,” she says, shaking her head and half shoving him into the room. 

Stepping toward the bed, Cas hesitates, eyebrows quirking up as if there’s still any question of whether Dean wants him there. He stares up at the alpha and lays his hand palm up on the bed, dropping his eyes, just in case, so he doesn’t have to see the man reject him. 

But Cas doesn’t. He takes the hint and carefully sits down next to Dean, lacing their fingers together. Dean can feel tension draining out of him at even that little hint of contact, can feel the smallest sliver of relief from the fire that’s constantly snaking through him. Cas’s hand is perfectly cool to the touch, and he’d like nothing more than to plaster himself against his side so he can feel it even more.  

Tossing down the cushion from the armchair in the corner, Pamela sits down primly on the floor across from them and starts fishing through her bag. She pulls out a pen light and peers into his gaze, likely checking for the ring of gold that confirms he’s in heat, and he successfully doesn’t flinch away. 

She sighs, clicking the pen and dropping it into her front pocket. “You’re early, kid. Thought Benny and I still had a few months to get you prepped for this one.”

Dean swallows, guilt flooding him. Who is he, to be a burden to these people? He doesn’t deserve their precious time – not when they have so many others they could be helping. He drops his eyes, still blinking the afterimage of the light away. “I’m sorry.” 

Pam’s tone softens. “Dean. It’s not like you get to choose when this happens.” She studies him. “You didn’t notice the pre-heat symptoms, I’m guessing?

Dean swallows. He… hadn’t. Or, at least, he hadn’t recognized them for what they were, too preoccupied with other worries. 

Cas shifts at his side, perhaps feeling a similar sort of guilt. “What are those symptoms?” the alpha asks, a little pained. “Because there were a few things that seemed a little… off.” 

Pamela raises an eyebrow. “I’d bet money Benny gave you his version of homework, Dean. Didn’t get around to it?” Guiltily, he shakes his head, and she hums. “Well, if you’d read it – and Novak, you should really read it too – Your Body and You sums them up rather neatly.” 

She holds up her hand, pointing at each finger as she lists off the textbook symptoms that indicate a heat is about to happen – most, if not all of which Dean realizes abruptly that he’s been experiencing. “Physical symptoms are pretty straightforward. Chills, dizziness, and fatigue are the main things,” she says, and Dean can feel Cas’s eyes on him. He’s certainly been fatigued, to say the least, and he’s been getting the shivers more than normal – and the way his head was spinning yesterday makes plenty of sense now. 

He feels stupid, in hindsight, for not seeing those things for what they were. It’s just that he hasn’t had a real heat in so long, and he’d thought his exhaustion had solely been because of the emotional rigamarole of the last few days. Had thought that he was dizzy because of a knock to the nose, had thought he was simply a little cold. He should have known better. 

“What about other symptoms?” Cas asks, his voice rumbling and serious. Dean half wonders if he’s going to start taking notes. 

Pamela sighs. “Well, omegas typically get a little more tactile in the days leading up to a heat,” she starts, and… yep. Check that one off. He’s been attached at Cas’s hip for a while now, but it’s gotten blatantly overthetop during the last few days. 

The doctor laughs a little. “They’ll also get a little more… we’ll say territorial. I don’t know if you experienced that or not, Dean,” she says, and when he doesn’t respond and flushes instead – thinking of Alfie, remembering Balthazar in the elevator – her lips twitch into a smile. “Other than that, increased nesting behaviors are fairly common.” 

Damn. Literal textbook warning signs, and Dean still missed it. Pamela shakes her head, though it’s with a kind smile on her face, and he battles the feeling that he’s disappointed her somehow. He logically knows that she isn’t really upset with him, but damn if he isn’t on edge – seems like it isn’t taking much to set him off. 

She looks up at him with eyes that are a little too knowing. “How are you feeling, kid?”

He grimaces, tightening his hold on Cas’s hand. The alpha squeezes back, calm and measured. “Hot.”

It’s hardly adequate, but it’s true. He feels like he’s been running around in the summer heat with a jacket on – oppressively hot, to the point where he can feel his heart beat in his palms when Cas isn’t touching him. 

Pamela nods. “Well, of course. That’s normal. What else?”

“I’m… uncomfortable,” he says slowly, trying to find the words to describe the empty feeling crawling around inside of him. He studies the alpha’s hand so he doesn’t have to look Pam in the eye. “I dunno how to explain it,” he mutters, misery curling inside of him, the familiar feelings of confusion and fear of the unknown adding layers to the already prickly discomfort under his skin. 

True, this is nothing on the artificial heats he’d experienced in Hell. It still isn’t pleasant. He feels empty. Restless. And all he knows for sure is that he wants Cas to wrap him up in his arms and hold him and never let him go. 

He flushes at the thought. God, who the fuck is he? Some blushing omega housewife, just waiting to be swooped up by their big, strong alpha? He’s not that type of person. Never has been.

Somehow, even without his nose, Cas senses his spike in anxiety. He begins running his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand. And Dean melts like a popsicle. 

Okay, so maybe he is a blushing omega housewife. At least spiritually.  

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better, unfortunately,” Pam says. “You need to stay hydrated and fed. Light things will probably be best right now, because I’m sure you’re nauseous, but you need protein whenever possible. I’ve brought some drinks and nutrient bars to help with that, but of course you can supplement them with real food.” She settles back into the cushion. “As long as you stay on top of that, you shouldn’t be too exhausted at the end of it all. Just the normal fatigue.”

Cas is nodding seriously next to him, an expression of intense focus on his face, and Dean hates it a little that he feels reassured by that. Feels taken care of. He’s survived a lifetime of being kicked around like a soccer ball and now he’s falling apart because there’s a little slick running down his leg. 

Or… maybe he’s falling apart because he’s realized that he can finally trust someone to watch out for him – he doesn’t have to be on guard, doesn’t have to be scared that the gold in his eyes is as good as a neon sign that screams please hurt me. There’s nothing to be afraid of, not here. Not with Cas. The only person here that’s gonna hurt him is himself.

Hell, he might be the one to hurt someone else. He glances at Cas, his worry blooming anew. 

It must show in his expression, because Pam raises an eyebrow. She glances at the alpha. “Why don’t you get Dean some water?” she asks Cas pointedly, and the man freezes for a second, staring at Pam like she just transformed into a threat. 

There’s a weird sort of tension in the air, suddenly. The kind that makes Dean want to duck his head, makes him want to show Cas his throat to calm him down and reassure him he knows who the alpha is – and fuck, where did that thought come from?

He doesn’t do that, because at the end of the day, Cas doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need it. And he proves it by taking in a slow breath, and nodding. He squeezes Dean’s hand before asking, “Will you be alright here while I go and speak to Balthazar for a while?” 

Now Dean’s bristling, hackles raised before he even really understands why. “Balthazar is downstairs?” he growls, feeling something foreign and hot spring to life in his chest. “Why is he here–” 

It’s only when Pam snaps her fingers in front of his nose that he realizes his teeth are bared, and he’s got a death grip around the alpha’s hand. He blinks, focusing on her. 

“Down, boy,” she says, blatant amusement sparkling in her eyes. “He’ll be right back.”

Cas is staring at him with obvious confusion, and Dean can feel his face starting to bloom bright red. “Right. Uh. Yeah,” he stutters out, forcing himself to let go of the alpha’s hand. He crams his fist into his lap, shaking himself mentally. “I’ll be fine, Cas.”

“Are you sure? I can stay if–” 

“It’s really better if Dean and I have this conversation alone,” Pamela interrupts, her tone gentle but firm. “Novak, I’ll send you right back up when we’re done. Won’t take long.” 

The alpha’s jaw tightens a little, but he nods, shooting Dean a questioning glance. Dean can only nod too, and try not to whine when Cas sneaks his hand over Dean’s shoulder and squeezes briefly before reluctantly departing downstairs. The loss of that cooling touch is nearly enough to make him cry. 

Pam lets him adjust for a while before she speaks. “This is going to suck, kid,” she says plainly, and he can’t help the half laugh that slips out. He covers his face with his hand, nerves churning up his gut. Pam lets that sink in for a second before she adds fuel to the fire. “I would guess this heat will be closer to five days than three.” 

His stomach drops like a bombshell. “God, why?” 

“Mostly because you haven’t had a real one in over a decade, and your body doesn’t like that,” she explains, her tone sympathetic. “Think of this as a flush of your system.”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. “Will it be like a normal heat otherwise?” She nods. “So… what happens when I…” 

He blushes, unable to ask. 

“When you start getting aroused?” Pam finishes bluntly. He ducks his head, blushing harder. “I would recommend that you masturbate.” 

He chokes a little, but she just smiles at him in a motherly sort of way. “That’s normal, Dean. It’s how most single omegas ride out their heats – there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

God, his face feels like it’s on fire. He fiddles with a blanket, unable to meet her eyes. “I… uh, I don’t have…”

To his absolute mortification, she pulls something far too familiar out of her doctor’s bag and holds it out for him to inspect. It’s all wrapped up in plastic; clinical, official, and he kind of wants to giggle and gag at the same time. 

There’s a knot at the end. It’s purple. 

“You absolutely don’t have to use that,” she says, setting it down on the floor where anyone can see, “but it will, biologically, provide more relief than simple self stimulation. You are well healed down there at this point, and of course you’ll have plenty of natural lubricant – so it shouldn’t hurt in the slightest. Do you need me to expl–”

“ No,” he says quickly, “No. I, uh, I got it. I think I got a pretty good handle on how that works.” Pamela has the decency to look a little abashed – she nods. His stomach turns when he looks at it again. “Would you put that in the drawer or something? Jesus.”

She glances at it like the thought had never occurred to her, but shrugs and hides it away amicably in the side table. She returns to her seat on the floor, studying him closely. “Like I said, Dean. It’s optional.” She catches his eye, something a little too knowing in hers, and adds, “And it will be under your control at all times. No one will touch you with that except for you.” 

He averts his eyes. Stares at the drawer with something unpleasant churning in his gut. There are far too many memories attached to things like that for him to be gung-ho about the idea – yet, at the same time, he can already feel himself getting slicker at the thought of some goddamn relief from the pressure in his hips. He tightens his hold on his blanket.  

As if she can sense how conflicted he is, Pamela leans forward. “How’s your mental state right now?”

He swallows, tears his eyes away from the stupid drawer with the stupid sex toy. “Not great,” he says honestly, but not for the reasons he’d thought he’d be scared. “I’m… Don’t laugh,” he says, trying and failing to be firm. Pamela’s mouth twitches, but she nods. “I’m worried I’m going to try and jump Cas’s bones or something.”

“Funny,” Pam says, clearly amused, but she doesn’t actually laugh. She shakes her head instead. “Your libido is certainly going to increase, but you will still be in control of yourself.”

“I will?” He honestly doesn’t know, as pathetic as that must be. “Fuck, I mean… the last time this happened, I… it wasn’t like that,” he says, his voice timid and small. “I…”

He swallows. “I asked for things,” he admits. “Begged for things. Stuff that I… I wouldn’t normally have, uh. Wouldn’t have wanted.” His words are coming out more choked by the second – he shuts his mouth before he can embarrass himself any further. When he looks up, though, there is no disgust on Pam’s face. No disappointment. Instead, there is a mama-bear sort of anger. 

“Artificial heat hormones,” Pam says, fury twisting her mouth, “are like normal heats cranked up far past what nature intended. They’re supposed to hurt you, supposed to screw you up mentally.” She grimaces. “And they’re often mixed with other drugs that destroy your willpower. Things that confuse you. Cloud your judgement.” 

Dean swallows. His hands are shaking in his lap – he notices for the first time when he stares down at them. “This won’t… this won’t be like that?”

“Lord, kid,” she says sympathetically. “No. Not even close.”

His shoulders slump and he lets out a long breath. Thank God. He rubs a hand over his eyes, refusing to let the hot, prickly feeling there develop into real tears. “So, what am I in for?” he asks, trying and likely failing to sound blasé about the whole thing. 

Pamela gives him a small smile. “The basic rundown will look like this: for the first little while, maybe a day or so, you’ll mostly just feel hot. A little achy, maybe, like you have a cold – and you’ll be uncomfortable. Probably feel a little empty, right?” she checks, and he nods. “There’s gonna be odd waves of libido throughout the process, but it’ll be mild for now,” she says, and Dean finds himself blushing. 

“After that things usually heat up. You’ll be more tired. Likely disoriented for stretches of time, if I had to guess, based on how hard this heat is already hitting you. Think of it like an advanced fever at that point. You’re not in danger, but it will feel strange. Foggy. You may even have some trouble remembering things.” She pauses, studying him for any signs that he’s panicking. A few months ago, he probably would have. But now, he doesn’t have to. He trusts that Cas will take care of him. Trusts that he won’t have to keep his head on a swivel, for once in his life.

“Usually, around the third day is when you’re really gonna want to get some… alone time, if you know what I mean,” she says carefully, her mouth tightening at the corners – not in disgust, Dean realizes, but in sympathy. 

Dean can feel sweat on the back of his neck that has nothing to do with how hot he is. “What about… won’t that kind of set Cas off?”

Pam studies him. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. 

“Good. Then you can still trust him through this. I’m not going to lie, Dean – the man is going to be aroused from time to time. That’s only natural.”

Dean flushes. “He, uh. Kinda already has been.”

Pam looks at him closely. “And did that scare you?”

“No. It... probably should’ve,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it didn’t.”

Pam smiles gently at him. “I’m glad. It’s a biological response, one that he’s not always going to be able to help as an unmated alpha. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to lose his inhibitions. He will still be himself.”

Dean looks back down at his hands. He hates that he even has to ask, but he does – as much as he trusts Cas to be gentle with him, he doesn’t know how the alpha is going to be able to control himself. “But, uh. Other alphas, before…”

“Those alphas were paying to have non-consensual sex with a terrified slave,” the doctor says bluntly. He flinches, and her tone softens – but only by a tiny fraction. “They could have resisted if they’d chosen to, but I think it’s clear that moral decency isn’t something they were worried about.”

Dean nods slowly. He guesses that makes sense. He’d always been told that heats made alphas go crazy, made them act like wild animals, completely unable to control themselves even if they wanted to. That it was his fault, really, for being a temptation – his fault for corrupting otherwise decent people with the scent of his heat. He should have known that it was just another piece of propaganda. 

“Does he have to wear that stupid mask?” he asks, half distracted by his own thoughts – he nearly misses it when Pam looks at him wryly. 

“Don’t forget that Castiel is experiencing this for the first time too. The mask makes it easier for him to stay level-headed. He really doesn’t need it, at this point,” she says shrugging, “but it may make him feel more comfortable.”

He nods. “I would say, though,” she adds, “that he would probably appreciate some reassurance that you don’t think he needs it.”

Dean laughs. “Reassurance? From me?”

But Pam looks dead serious. “Yes. Your opinion matters a lot to him, Dean. He’s terrified that he’s going to scare you.”

Guilt makes his stomach sink to the floor. His insistence on making Cas lay with him earlier suddenly feels like cruelty. He hadn’t taken into account that the alpha hasn’t been around an omega in heat before. That he might be scared, just like Dean is, of how he’ll react. “Oh.” He feels something twist inside of him at the very thought, but he still voices it – he’d be a coward not to. “Would it be better if… if he left while I deal with this?”

But the doctor shakes her head. “That would most likely be worse, actually. He’d feel like he was abandoning you, and no alpha worth his salt can stand that feeling for long.” She studies him. “But if that’s something you want…”

“No,” he blurts, then flushes. Backtracks. “I mean. This is his house, he shouldn’t have to…”

Pam clearly isn’t buying it, but she doesn’t call him out. Doesn’t comment on the fact that the way they’re talking about this is the same way they’d talk about a real alpha-omega pair. Doesn’t add that, from an outside perspective, it would appear that they were in a relationship based on this conversation alone.

Even though they aren’t. 

He presses his hands to his eyes, covering the blush that seems to be permanently stained on his cheeks. “How the fuck do I get through this?” he asks, mostly to himself. Because, God, he doesn’t want to fuck this up. Doesn’t want Cas to get scared away, not when they’d finally been making some damn progress. 

Pam pats his shoulder gently. “It’ll be just fine, sweetheart.” 

“But…” He takes in a shaky breath. “Fuck, Pam. I don’t want him doing this just because he thinks he owes it to me, or something like that,” he says brokenly. “I don’t deserve it. I really don’t.”

“Don’t deserve what, exactly?” she asks patiently. “To be cared for?”

“I don’t deserve it because I’m going to screw him up!” he growls, shaking her off. “He tries so goddamn hard not to scare me – if he ends up doing something he regrets because he couldn’t help himself, he’s gonna be broken to pieces about it! I can’t ask him to stay,” he finishes, throat tight. “I… I can’t.” 

Pamela sighs. “The both of you are so determined to make the other person’s choice for them,” she says, shaking her head. “Did it ever occur to you to just see what he wants?”

Dean swallows, because, no, it hadn’t occurred to him. He hadn’t even been able to do that much. 

“Fuck,” he whispers into his hands. “I hate this.” 

Pam’s hand lands back on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You two,” she says bluntly, “care quite a lot for each other. Neither one of you wants to hurt the other, and that counts for a whole hell of a lot. Don’t forget that, Dean.”

Dean can’t do anything but close his eyes a little tighter, and wish he believed her. 

When he arrives back downstairs, Balthazar is no longer at the table. 

Swallowing, Castiel looks for his friend and finds him outside the back door. The omega is sitting hunched over on the steps, staring out into the yard. 

Silently, Castiel sits down beside him, a good foot of distance between them. Bal doesn’t say anything, but he does glance over at him, his eyes sliding away just as quickly. 

“I don’t know how to help him,” Castiel finds himself admitting, his voice soft. “Don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

For a while, he thinks that Balthazar isn’t going to answer him at all. He takes his time, flicking an imaginary piece of dust off of his pants and sliding his fingertips down the seam a few times before he speaks.

“It makes all the difference,” he starts, voice low, “ to have someone on your side. To have a person be there for you when...”

Castiel holds his breath, and the omega continues after a few moments – his voice a little raw, as if he’s having trouble speaking. “He trusts you to do that, Cassie, or he wouldn’t have made space for you in his den.” 

He runs a nervous hand across the gnarled wood of the step. “What if he’s only doing those things out of some… some unnecessary desire to placate me?” he asks, his voice just as rough.

Balthazar scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s not.” 

When Castiel doesn’t respond, the omega sighs. He runs his palm down his pants a few more times, and then rests his elbow on his knee. “When you’re in heat,” he explains slowly, “everything is heightened. Physical sensations, yes, but also emotions. Fear, for example, is turned to the max, because you’re in a vulnerable state.” He presses his lips together. “If Dean was afraid of you, he’d be doing everything possible to get away – he certainly wouldn’t be inviting you to touch him, desire to please or not. Alpha or not.” 

Castiel blinks. “... Oh.” 

Balthazar’s mouth twists. “He trusts you. And you have to understand that the trust of a person who has been through what Dean’s been through is not easy to win.” He takes a moment, and adds, gruffly, “You should do what the kid wants. Doesn’t matter what I think, at the end of the day,” he says, rubbing a tired hand over his face. 

“What you think matters a great deal to me, Balthazar. You know that.”

The omega looks almost pained at his words. He closes his eyes for a brief second. When he opens them, he turns, and meets Castiel’s gaze for the first time since he arrived. “I… jumped to some conclusions about how he’d feel. Incorrect conclusions. And as much as I loathe to admit it, Pamela is correct – I was... projecting.” 

He sighs, but he drops a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes. “You know him better than I, Cassie. And... well.” He gives Castiel a weak, wry smile. “I also trust you, believe it or not. Sometimes I just have a difficult time remembering that I can.” 

Castiel can recognize this for what it is: an olive branch, and an apology. He takes it gratefully, letting loose a breath. “All I want to do is keep him safe,” he offers softly, his hands limp in his lap. Balthazar just nods. 

The screen door knocks open behind them, and they both look up to see Pam with her hand on her hip, leaning in the doorway. She looks a little exasperated, but not alarmed, and something in Castiel’s stomach unclenches. 

“How is he?”

Pam pushes her glasses above her forehead, rubbing at her eyes. “That kid is a lot stronger than even I gave him credit for,” she says. “I honestly thought this was going to be a whole other can of worms when I came. Figured it was going to be a talk off the ledge, that he was going to be out of his mind terrified because of those false heats from before.” 

“He… isn’t?” Castiel asks, a little taken aback. 

Pamela shakes her head. “You’ve done a hell of a job, Novak.”

Castiel falters. “I mean, thank you, but – that’s all Dean.”

Balthazar snorts unhelpfully next to him, and Pam has a slight smile in the corners of her eyes. “Right. You all stocked up on groceries?”

Luckily, he is – he’d gone shopping just a couple days before. He nods. “I’ll be sure Alfie checks up on you two in a few days,” Balthazar says, standing up and brushing his hands off on his pants. When he offers Castiel a hand up, he takes it gratefully.

“And you’ll call me with updates twice a day,” Pamela adds, clearly not asking. “I think he’s strong enough physically to get through this, but if he starts to take a turn, I need to know ASAP.”

Castiel nods again. Pam smiles. “Balthazar and I are going to scram,” she says, a good-natured grin on her face. Then she jerks her head inside the house. “Get in there.” 

About twenty minutes later, Cas comes back up the stairs with several bottles of water clutched in his arms. He seems unsure – out of place, somehow, in his own home. Dean looks up at him, taking in the man’s hunched shoulders with guilt squirming in his gut. 

As much as he wants Cas here, he can’t be selfish. Can’t take what Cas might not be willing to give. Dean doesn’t ever want to be the reason that Cas is unhappy. With some separation from the alpha, he’s calmed himself down enough to be rational, even with the heat crawling around inside of him, demanding more more more.

Cas is here because Dean wants him to be. But Dean has no idea if Cas wants that, too, or if he’s just holding steady because he thinks he has no other choice. Because Dean is his responsibility. 

There’s a whole speech prepared in his head, measured and calm and reasonable – and it goes right out of his brain the instant he opens his mouth. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he blurts. He hates the cold notes in his voice, how dismissive he sounds. As if he doesn’t give a damn. “Don’t feel like you need to.”

Cas freezes in the doorway, his eyebrows drawn together. “Need to do… what?”

“Stick around,” Dean says tightly, looking away. “I know this is gonna suck for you. I pulled you into it without talking to you first, and that was – that was shitty. So.”

Cas hesitates for a moment before stepping fully into the room. He carefully places each bottle of water on the floor within arm’s reach, and Dean’s chest aches with desperate fondness at the sight. The alpha doesn’t look at him as he thinks over his words.

“Why do you think this is going to ‘suck’ for me?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice – the way he literally puts air quotes around the word makes Dean’s heart hurt even worse than it already does. 

Dean can’t answer, but he sees the moment that Cas gets it. But he doesn’t agree that he needs to go. “Unless you want me to leave,” the alpha says eventually, tone carefully neutral, “I’d very much like to stay.”

Dean’s heart soars, but he has to be sure, so he knocks it right back down. “Even though you can’t touch me like… that? Because you’re gonna want to, Cas.” The alpha flinches, guilt flashing in his scent. Dean bites the inside of his cheek, stomach churning. He has to be honest if they’re going to get through this. “And I’m… I’m gonna want you to.”

The alpha looks at him with something sort of vulnerable in his eyes. Something sort of scared. “I would never attempt to initiate something sexual, Dean.”

Something twists in his gut at that. He pulls his mouth to the side to cover up the hurt he knows is irrational. It stings like rejection, and even though that isn’t really the whole truth it doesn’t seem to matter to his pheromone-sick brain. 

“Kinda sucks that you’re having to stick around for all the needy shit with none of the payoff,” he says darkly. It comes out harsh. He sort of means for it to. He’s feeling way too vulnerable right now, way too wounded, and he knows no other way to express that than through hateful words. 

He’s scared, and he’s tired, and he’s stupid in love with a man he can’t ever have. More than anything, he wishes he was normal. Normal enough not to be terrified of his own body, normal enough to not be so fucked in the head that he falls head over heels for the exact person he shouldn’t. Normal enough that Cas might actually fucking love him back.

But those ships sailed a long fucking time ago. 

Cas winces at his phrasing, sitting down on the floor at the edge of the bed. “It’s not like that.”

“Ain’t it?” he says bitterly. “You gotta deal with all the crap you’d have to do as a mate, plus more of my bullshit on top of it, and you can’t even tell me to put my fucking head down and ass up in the meantime so you can–” 

“Stop.”  

Cas’s voice is like iron. And, God help him, Dean does stop. Instantly. He feels something inside of himself go rigid, feels his chin tilt up and to the side so his neck is exposed without his permission. His chest is heaving. God, his brain is fuzzy. 

Cas’s face is thunderous, and the expression makes goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. “You are so much more than that, Dean.”

Tears prick at his eyes. He wants to believe that. Hell, sometimes with Cas, he does. But there’s over a decade of evidence behind him that he isn’t anything but that. He turns away so the alpha can’t see him tear up. Lays down on the bed and covers himself with the blanket, sulking like a petulant child. 

Right now, Dean feels like he’s failed, on some basic evolutionary level, to attract the kind of mate he needs to get through this. And that’s stuipd, because he knows why Cas doesn’t want to touch him. Understands that the man undoubtedly considers it fucked up to have sex with someone you own. He knows it has nothing to do with how much he’s wanted – or, at least, he thinks he knows. He tells himself he knows. 

He tries, and fails, to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that tells him Cas doesn’t even want him physically. Not for real. Not outside of anything other than a pheromone-induced biological response. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Being wanted is not what Dean really cares about, no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise. There’s a huge difference between the alpha wanting a quick fuck and him loving Dean. Caring for him in the same desperate, stupid way Dean does him. And that, really, is what Dean craves – the comfort of a lover who loves him, not someone who likes him just enough to sink his knot into him. 

But, God. He knows better than to think he’s earned that. 

He buries himself further in the covers, his breath hitching.

A gentle jostle of the mattress and a cool touch on his shoulder make him swallow. He closes his eyes and inhales Cas’s warm, familiar scent. Slowly, he reaches up to squeeze the alpha’s hand. Giving him permission. Because no matter how mad he is, Cas always asks for permission.

Wordlessly, the alpha scoots under the blanket and snakes his arms under Dean’s, pulls him in closer to his chest, and tucks Dean’s head under his chin. He presses his cool palm right over Dean’s heart. 

Immediately, the fire clawing around inside of him quiets down, fades to the background. He can breathe again. And, as much as he was supposed to be sending Cas away, Dean doesn’t protest for a lot of reasons – mostly because he knows that if he did, Cas would let him go in an instant. And he really doesn’t want that to happen. 

There are so many things that sit unspoken between them. Dean really doesn’t have the energy to unpack any of it. He just wants to lie here and be held, just wants to keep the fire ants that were biting and crawling around on his skin away. He crosses his arms over Cas’s and holds on. Feels the buzzing in the back of his brain fade a little more with each minute that passes, until he can let go of the breath he’s been holding since he woke up to see Cas gone from his nest.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says after a while. His voice has lost its rigidity. “I shouldn’t have taken that tone with you, especially right now.”

Dean swallows. The alpha is always apologizing. It’s something Dean isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to. Isn’t sure he’ll ever believe he deserves. “It’s okay,” he says, voice far too weak. 

Cas sighs. Dean can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back. 

“Why were you trying to convince me to leave?”

Dean closes his eyes. He feels so very small in Cas’s arms like this – feels like he could shrink so much he’d disappear completely. 

“I don’t want to be the reason you do something you can’t forgive yourself for,” he whispers. “Don’t want to be the one to ruin you.” 

And that’s the crux of it. Dean isn’t scared of Cas – not anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. He knows, with a certainty that is so strong it’s almost unfamiliar to him, that Cas would never hurt him. Knows that even if Cas were to go into a rut and lose control of his inhibitions, he would be kind and careful, would be sure that nothing was painful. 

But, at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter to Cas that he was careful if he did something he promised Dean that he wouldn’t do. Dean understands that. Knows that the man would view it as a heinous act, no matter how kindly it was carried out. And Cas would never blame him for it – he’d only blame himself.

Dean can’t do that to him. 

Cas waits for a while before he speaks, his breathing soft and even. “Pamela says,” he begins carefully, as though he’s picking through a minefield, “that neither of us are as beholden to our instincts as we seem to think we are. That we can make rational choices, even if it is difficult to do so.”

Dean sniffs. “She told me the same.”

Cas swallows – Dean is so close to him that he can hear it. “Well. I believe her,” he says, his voice almost timid with the fragile hope in the words. “I don’t think she’d let me within a mile of you if she didn’t think I was capable of holding it together – neither would Balthazar, for that matter.”

Dean snorts, because he has a point. “Yeah… Guess not.” He bites his lip. Hesitates, and then adds, “Sorry if I made you think that you were scaring me. I know I, uh. Freaked you out earlier. I… I was kinda panicking. Not really because of you, exactly, just...” 

Cas settles a little more firmly against him, his body solid and cool against Dean’s fevered one. “Please don’t make the mistake of thinking that you are the only one who is afraid, Dean.” 

And God, that hurts, because the last thing Dean wants to do is scare Cas. “What are you scared of?” he asks, determined to put those fears to rest. 

“Many things,” the alpha admits, his tone a little ashamed. “Most of them do indeed center around frightening you inadvertently. I have no idea how to handle what my body is asking me to do, Dean,” he says bluntly, squeezing his arms for emphasis. “I’ve never allowed myself to run on instinct like this. I don’t want to cross a line.” 

Dean shakes his head. “Well. You’re doing pretty damn good, so far,” he says truthfully. “Every time you touch me, I feel like I can breathe again.”

The admission is heavy, but Cas takes it in stride. “Well, I’m glad. Because I feel the same. Being away from you right now is… quite difficult.” 

Dean feels a pang – he’d almost sent Cas away. Had almost hurt him, when that was the opposite of what he was trying to do. “I, uh. I don’t want you to go,” he admits. His voice is rough. “Maybe that’s selfish, or whatever. But I want you to stay.”

Cas lets lose a long, shaking breath. “I’m – that’s,” he starts unsuccessfully, swallowing. “I’m very glad about that.”

Dean relaxes into his arms, nuzzling down until the tip of his nose is brushing the alpha’s skin. He inhales. “Is that all you were afraid of?”

Cas half laughs. “Not hardly. Many of my concerns have already been addressed and dismissed by Balthazar and Pam, but...”

“Let’s hear what’s left, then,” Dean insists, determined. “Just get it all out there, for friggin’ once.” 

The alpha laughs a little, but the sound is sort of sad. He hesitates for a long time before he speaks – Dean doesn’t push him. Lets him work up to it. 

“It is undoubtedly ridiculous for me to even waste time being concerned about it,” the alpha starts, more than a little embarrassed. “But… I’m worried about what we discussed yesterday. Your… the way you, um. Feel about me. Physically.” His embarrassment thickens until Dean would bet money that he’s blushing. “I’m concerned that was your pre-heat talking. That it wasn’t based on... genuine feelings.” 

Dean can’t help but laugh at that. It’s so far from the truth that it’s genuinely funny. “Well, damn, Cas,” he says, his mouth curling at the edge. “I can tell you right now – I felt that way about you way before this stupid heat. And, you wanna know something else? I was wondering if the same was true for you, about me.”

The alpha, who had visibly relaxed at his words, scoffs. “No,” he says bluntly. “Your heat has nothing to do with how I feel about you. It hasn’t changed a thing. ” There’s fondness in his voice when he adds, “I care very much about you, Dean Winchester.”

He doesn’t add anything else. He just lets the words sit there, solid and meaningful, an almost tangible weight on Dean’s heart. They feel a lot heavier than simple physical desire. They feel like a confession of another kind entirely. But… 

Dean takes a shaky breath. He tucks his head down until he can feel Cas’s knuckles on the hollow of his throat, cool and steady. Anchoring. He feels himself grow calm. His head feels clearer than it has in hours, his heart steadier than it’s been since he woke up, sweat drenched and slick with his world turned upside down. 

“Why?” he asks, desperate and terrified to know the answer. 

Cas’s breathing is even against him. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t have to think about his words before he says them. “For many reasons. You’re so strong, so brave – it constantly astounds me. You’re a fighter, and on top of that, you’re clever; funny and curious and bright. I’ve never met someone so sharp,” he rumbles. “And you’re kind, too. Overflowing with love, even though the world has done its absolute best to steal that from you, and you recklessly share that love everywhere you go.”

He pauses, dropping his chin a little lower so that Dean can feel it move when he asks. “Shall I go on?”

Dean can’t speak. He just shakes his head, fresh tears gathering as he bites his lip and screws his eyes shut. He’s never really been able to take any sort of kindness, and this – these soft, earnest words from Cas… They’re enough to bury him alive. He feels raw and exposed, feels his chest swell to make room for his fluttering heart, and, if he’s honest with himself, Dean doesn’t think he could have kept his mouth shut if he’d tried. 

“Cas,” he whispers. “I think I love you.”