59. Chapter 59

Castiel watches the levity drop out of Dean’s expression in an instant. 

He blinks, and the man’s fear scent is here, all around them – sharp and sick enough to make him choke, but different, somehow, than what Castiel is used to. Something closer to shock than terror; the emotional equivalent of hitting the ground after having your legs swept out from underneath you.

With his heart leaping into action in his chest, Castiel bolts upright, reaching out automatically to steady Dean. On the other side of the line, he can hear someone’s voice buzzing loudly and insistently, clearly demanding a response to something – but Dean doesn’t even blink. He just stares at nothing, utterly frozen, caught in a place where he can’t seem to hear anything at all. 

Castiel carefully wraps his hand around Dean’s arm to get his attention. “Dean. Are you al–?”

Then he’s fumbling, because suddenly the phone is being shoved into his grip and Dean is on his knees, staring at him, his eyes wide and panicked. Castiel can only hold it up to his ear and try and figure out what the hell is going on.

“Bal? What’s– ”

His friend is right in the middle of swearing like a sailor; there’s a loud, sharp scuffling, and a few more muffled words, before, “No – for fuck’s sake, sit down, kid, he’s fine! You just scared the fucking daylights out of him, what do you think?” There’s a distant noise, and then, “No, Kevin, we’re fine. God dammit–” 

“Balthazar,” Castiel says sharply. 

“Guess who just rolled into my office, Cassie?” Bal all but shouts – he’s out of breath, like he’s been running, and Castiel feels his heart start to pound harder with concern. The stress in Bal’s voice is pronounced, and Castiel can count on one hand the number of times his friend has sounded like that – and can count on one finger the number of causes. “Apparently the kid’s brother isn’t just a lawyer; he’s a goddamn bloodhound as well–”

Castiel feels his eyes widen. He looks again at Dean, who’s staring back at him with a matching expression of shock and desperate confusion; the blanched, blank-faced look of someone who has had their entire world flipped in an instant. He’s starting to understand why. “You mean–?”

“Unless there’s another bloody brother I’m unaware of!” Balthazar shouts – he sounds like he’s halfway across the room. 

“Can he hear me?” 

“Yes he can hear you, that’s sort of the goddamn problem – since when is the kid carrying around your fucking mobile–?” He breaks off, and then, “Winchester, sit down!” 

Castiel’s heart is pounding so fast that it feels like it may spring out of his chest at any moment. “Balthazar, are you safe? Do I need to–” 

“Move!” someone – Sam – commands, alpha intent snaking through the word like thorns. It makes every muscle in Castiel’s body tense at once. 

“I will have you tased,” Balthazar growls back, but there’s a hint of desperation in his words that Castiel knows he’d give anything to hide. He has a flash of the omega as he’d been, years ago – backed into a proverbial corner, nothing but his fists and acidic words to protect him. His friend continues, his voice as strong as it is rough. “You’re not walking out of here. Back up–” 

“I need to see him!” he hears the deeper voice argue back. It’s loud and furious, commanding...  and afraid. “You– I’m either getting out that goddamn door or you’re gonna bring him here, now! I don’t fucking trust a word either of you have to say and I won’t until–”

“Enough!” 

The word that explodes out of Castiel is sharp enough – and alpha enough – that Dean flinches next to him. But, though he jerks backwards on instinct, he doesn’t make a move to get up or pull away from Castiel’s hand. It’s like he’s frozen in place. Stuck. The look on his face is almost pleading, bewildered, like he can’t make himself believe what he’d heard. Like he doesn’t dare to.

Castiel squeezes the omega’s arm and takes a deep breath. For everyone involved, he needs to keep his head – adding to the mess isn’t going to help anything. 

“Sam,” Castiel says, when he feels that he can speak without shouting. 

Dean’s breath hitches. His hand darts up to cover his mouth. 

“Please,” Castiel continues, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. “Balthazar has done nothing to deserve your agitation, and if you harm him while trying to get out of the room – whether intentionally or not – there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

There’s a tight, tense silence for a moment – Castiel tries not to hold his breath. 

“I’m not – I wasn’t going to hurt him,” the younger alpha finally insists, caught somewhere between appalled and indignant. “I wouldn’t.” 

“Could have fooled me,” Bal growls. His voice isn’t quite shaking, but it’s close. “Can I get some bloody space, please?”

“I– yeah,” Sam blurts. “I… I really wouldn’t have,” he insists, his voice a little smaller, though it sounds closer to the phone – less furious, and more horrified. “Shit. I’m not that type of…” 

“Oh, of course not,” Balthazar drawls. “Because I’m supposed to know that.” 

There’s even more silence between them, presumably as they calm themselves down. Castiel can’t imagine how difficult that must be – so much furious emotion crammed into one room, fear and fury twisting and tangling together. 

“Balthazar?”

“I’m fine,” his friend snaps – a sure bet that he isn’t fine, but Castiel won’t push it for now. 

“Good,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice low and even. “I…”

He breaks off, unsure of how he’s supposed to even begin to convince the alpha of Dean’s safety. Before he can try, Sam speaks up. 

“You’re Novak, right? The guy who has Dean,” he says more than asks. His words are a lot calmer than they were before, but there’s an unmistakable edge to them – something sharp and angry. A dare. “Right?”

“That’s… correct,” Castiel says carefully. 

“So he’s living with you,” Sam says, a hint of a shake to his voice. “He’s – you’re an alpha, and– and he’s living with you–”

“Sam,” Castiel interrupts, keen to avoid another meltdown. “I am under no illusions as to how that sounds. But your brother is safe – he is not here against his will.”

“His – his will?” Sam demands incredulously. “You – you have his papers! You own him! What choice does he have?”

Castiel closes his eyes. The reminder of that fact is nothing but a kick to the stomach. “Dean is in the process of freeing himself, just like the omegas at the center.”

“Do you expect me to believe that on nothing but your word–” 

“Did you not hear him a moment ago?” Balthazar snaps. It’s clear, from the sound of his voice, that he’s remained across the room. He’s probably still guarding the door, Castiel realizes – his heart twists. “You know that was Dean, yes?”

“Of course. I–” And then Sam stops, a conspicuous silence over the line. “Fuck,” the young man swears, and the word breaks in the middle. “Christ, I’d know him anywhere.” 

Castiel gives him a moment before he keeps going, picking up the thread that Balthazar just started. “Did he sound distressed? Upset, or fearful?”

Sam hesitates. “I mean… I don’t –” 

“You know he didn’t,” Balthazar interrupts. “You heard the kid.” He swears, something unintelligible and anxious, and then adds, “Jesus, this is probably hitting him like a train.” 

Castiel swallows – Balthazar is right, of course. He can scent Dean’s anxiety creeping ever higher, his initial shock slowly being replaced by something closer to panic. He’s staring at Castiel with his eyebrows drawn together, hand still clamped firmly over his mouth, his other arm crossed over his chest like he’s shielding his heart. 

He understands why Sam is afraid. Put in his position, Castiel would be too. And there’s a part of him that wants to agree with Sam, even now – wants to tell him that he’s right, that Dean shouldn’t be here with him, that he’s abused the privileges that he has and that the best thing for everyone involved is distance. 

The thing is, he knows that Dean doesn’t believe that. 

Castiel is done making decisions for the both of them – not about things like this. Not about the man’s very life. Dean has made it clear that here, with Castiel, is where he wants to be. Because Dean… 

Dean loves him. And he loves Dean. 

Castiel knows that love is not going to be the answer to everything; he knows that they will have to work and take things slow, knows that they will have to be patient with one another, will have to grow with one another. As struck dumb as he is by the still incomprehensible fact that Dean loves him back, Castiel isn’t naive enough to believe that even a miracle like that will solve all of their problems. 

But he doesn’t want to give it up. He won’t give it up, so long as Dean wants it too. He doesn’t know what the future will bring – doesn’t know what kinds of changes that having Sam in Dean’s life will bring. But Castiel intends to be by Dean’s side every step of the way. 

“Dean would not have answered the phone – my phone – if he feared me,” he finally says, blunt in both tone and reasoning. It hurts to even say, hurts to think, to remember the way that Dean looked at him before he’d gained the man’s precious trust. Hurts to realize how right he is; how, not all that long ago, Dean wouldn’t have done anything like this. 

His words are met with a stony silence, but he chooses to take it as a good sign – a sign that the man is actually listening. “I’m not asking you to believe me,” he continues. “I understand how unrealistic that is. I’m simply asking that you think about what you just heard, and come to your own conclusions.” 

Castiel chances a glance at Dean; hoping, he thinks, for some sort of reassurance that he is not making things worse, some sort of surety that he is speaking in a language that Sam will understand. But Dean has crumpled in on himself, made himself small; his legs are drawn to his chest, his bare feet pressed down flat on the rough wood of the dock. Hands curled in tight, white fists. 

He is trying as hard as he can to calm himself down. He is failing. 

Slowly, Castiel lets his grip at Dean’s shoulder drift. He reaches down and carefully holds his hand instead; gently, insistently prying his fist open and slotting his fingers between Dean’s. The man needs something other than himself to hold on to. 

“I. I don’t know what to believe,” Sam finally blurts, after a long silence. “I just. Please. Can I just talk to him? Can I–” 

“Sam,” Castiel says carefully. “That’s not my choice to make.” 

“Is he even still there? How do I know you didn’t…” 

“He’s here,” Castiel says. And all of a sudden, Dean’s hand is squeezing his back, his grip almost painful in its strength. He’s staring at Castiel with something desperate and afraid in his expression. “He’s right here.” 

Dean opens his mouth like he wants to speak – like he wants to prove Castiel right. He falters, the words dying before they make it past his throat. With another squeeze of his hand, Castiel lowers the phone and presses the speaker button with his thumb, torn between the knowledge that Dean has a right to hear this, and fear that Sam’s tone will spook him.

But, when Sam speaks next, the rough alpha aggression is gone from his voice entirely. 

“Please,” he begs. And Dean flinches as though he’s been hit. 

Sam is scared. Castiel feels a sharp pang of sympathy for him, the last of his protective anger retreating back to the sidelines. “Please, Novak. I just want to see my brother. Even just – just talk to him. I’m begging you.” 

Dean makes a rough, aborted noise at that, his chest contracting. It’s muffled behind his hand.

“There is no doubt in my mind,” Castiel says quietly, “that Dean wants to see you, too.” He looks searchingly at the omega; asking, really, for permission. When Dean’s eyes meet his, they are shining. He nods. 

“He does,” Castiel repeats. Dean’s eyes close.  

“I– okay,” Sam says tightly, his voice raw. “Okay.”

Castiel takes a breath. “Dean and I are going to speak, and when he decides what to do,” he continues, running his thumb along Dean’s knuckles, “I will help him do that. Right now, he is… a little overwhelmed. As I’m sure you can understand.” 

“Yeah,” Sam chokes out, half a hysterical laugh tacked onto the end of the word. “Yeah. Christ.” 

“Can I trust that you will not go running out of the building as soon as you are given the opportunity?” Castiel asks carefully. “Because I’d like Balthazar to be able to step outside of the room for a moment.” 

The subdued sound of Sam’s agreement is overshadowed by Balthazar’s outraged protests. The man’s been on the receiving end of Castiel’s insistence that he cares for himself more than enough times to recognize this for what it is – Castiel giving him an out from a situation that is incredibly stressful and triggering. “Cassie, I don’t need–” 

“I’m asking you to,” Castiel says firmly. “Please, Bal. You can borrow Kevin’s phone. I’ll let you know what’s going on.” 

A few more seconds of furious, silent protest are followed by a sharp curse. “Fine.” There’s a creak as the door snaps open, and Castiel barely catches the muffled, “Jesus! Kid, put down the chair, it’s just me–” before the sound is cut off completely. 

Relieved, he lets loose a breath. “Will you stay in his office, please?” he asks Sam, careful to keep any sort of alpha command out of his voice. He doesn’t want to set off a posturing contest if he can avoid it. “You are agitated – understandably so – but that’s… that scent is something that will make the residents uneasy. Something that will scare many of them,” he clarifies. 

He doesn't add that it will, likely, also frighten Dean – they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. 

“... Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Yeah, I guess.” He can tell that the man is still teetering on the edge of disbelief, not sure if he can trust a word out of Castiel’s mouth. Truthfully, Castiel doesn’t blame him, but it means that this is going to be much harder. He spares a moment to wish that Sam had waited – had allowed Dean to do this at his own pace. Then he dismisses the thought. There’s no point, and if he were Sam, he knows that he wouldn’t have waited a second more than he had to. 

“Novak,” Sam says, interrupting his thoughts. His voice is low. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. I don’t care who you are. You touch him, and I’ll find a way.” 

The threats are delivered not with malice, but with fierce love, and Castiel can’t begrudge him a second of that. “I’d expect nothing less from Dean’s family, Sam,” he says gently.  

And then something in the air snaps. 

Dean buries his face in his knees completely, shoulders shaking. He’s crying. Silent as the grave. 

The sight ties a noose around Castiel’s heart. Hanging up with a fumbling click, he tugs the man toward him, pressing him tightly against his chest as he cries, months worth – years worth – of tension and anticipation pouring out of him in a tidal rush of grief.

“C-Cas,” he croaks. “Cas, I. He– It’s Sam, it’s–”

“It is. It is,” Castiel confirms, and Dean makes an anguished noise, shock and hope and a terrible, deep sadness thick in the air around him. More than any of those, though, is the now familiar scent of Dean’s pure, unadulterated love. It is pouring out of him, bursting through his seams, rays of light that he couldn’t hide if he tried. 

“That’s Sam,” Dean sobs. “That was my Sammy.” 

Castiel knows the tears are coming, but he does nothing to stop them. He closes his eyes, feels them snake down his cheeks as Dean clings to him. “I know,” he repeats. “Breathe, Dean.”

“I can’t,” he gasps, and it’s true. Castiel feels how fast the man’s heart is beating, how quickly his emotions are spiraling out of control. This is too much, too fast – a hurricane after Dean has already spent the week weathering a constant storm. “I can’t, I can’t–” 

Unconsciously, Castiel lets instinct take over, just as he’s done for the last few days. Before he can question himself, he wraps his hand around the back of Dean’s neck. Presses the omega closer to himself, his palm flat against the man’s nape – an even and steady pressure. 

Like a runner who has just flung themselves across the finish line, Dean collapses against him. 

It takes a long time for him to calm down. A long time for his heart to find its steady tempo, for his hitching hyperventilating chest to slow to something resembling its usual rhythm. The scent of his distress clings for even longer, but after a few minutes, even it peters out – slinking away like a wolf back to its den. 

He stays right where he is for a while, simply breathing along with Dean, his other hand brushing through his hair. A little clumsy, Dean eventually reaches up, his hand fumbling against the back of his neck in a mirrored movement. 

“Alright?” Castiel asks after a while, his voice a low rumble. 

Dean takes a deep breath. Nods, the movement sluggish. With one last squeeze, Castiel lightens the pressure on the man’s nape, dropping his hand to the space between his shoulder blades instead. 

Sniffling, Dean noses into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. “Shit.” 

Castiel can’t quite help the rough, tired laughter that produces. Dean’s shoulders shake a little – not really a laugh, but something close. It’s a step away from hysteria, something between exhaustion and relief. 

“Sorry,” Dean starts to croak. “I…”

“Dean,” Castiel chastises softly. He doesn’t need to say anything else – his gentle exasperation is enough to keep the man’s apologies at bay. 

“He was looking for me,” Dean says, after a few breaths. “Cas. He was looking for me. This whole… this whole time. I thought…” 

Castiel doesn’t say anything to that, though he could. It is no surprise at all to him that Dean’s family wouldn’t give up on him – if they’re anything like him, they would have looked until the day they died. 

“What do you want to do?”

Dean sniffs. He pulls back finally, wiping at his eyes, his nose red. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Do you want to see him? Or do you want to–” 

“Of course I want to see him, Cas,” Dean interrupts, his tone bordering on incredulous. “He – I can’t just leave him like that. He thinks–”

Dean breaks off. Bites his lip. He looks so guilty. 

Not quite able to help himself, Castiel reaches out and swipes his thumb across Dean’s cheek, pushing away his tears. Dean swallows thickly. “Please, don’t,” Castiel asks. “Don’t be angry at yourself for needing time.” 

Dean doesn’t answer. His eyes flick down, away from Castiel. He pushes a little harder. “If the tables were turned, would you have been angry at Sam?”

Huffing, Dean looks back at him. “No. Not knowing what I know,” he adds. “But… Sam doesn’t get it. I don’t want him to understand. He probably thinks… he thinks I just didn’t want to…” 

”I think,” Castiel says carefully, “that we should not be deciding what Sam thinks before we ask him.” 

Dean closes his eyes. “I’m scared.” 

Castiel feels those words like a knife in the ribs. He thinks back to all those months ago, the first time those words slipped from Dean’s lips. Back then, it was because he was scared not to tell Castiel – it wasn’t trust, or anything close. It was because he thought Castiel had ordered him to strip himself bare. But now, Dean is doing so willingly. He’s opening his heart for Castiel to see, all on his own. 

“I know. I’m scared, too,” he reassures. “Nothing happens without your permission, Dean. Nothing.” 

“We have to go,” Dean says, his voice breaking. “We. We should already be going.” 

“We can,” Castiel says. “I’ll call Balthazar. Do you… Can I suggest something?”

Dean wipes at his face again, sniffing. “Yeah.”

“I could meet him first. Try and… and prepare him, a little,” Castiel says, unsure even as he offers that it will make much of a difference. He just doesn’t want to throw Dean into this completely unprepared. “I can explain a little of the situation.”

Dean laughs wetly. “Our situation?”

Castiel winces. “I… I thought we could maybe do that… later,” he says awkwardly, and Dean laughs again. This time, the sound is a lot more genuine. 

“Probably a good call. The kid always had a temper…” 

His smile wavers. “God, Cas,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “What if he hates you? What if he hates me?”

“He won’t hate you,” Castiel says gently. 

“I don’t think I’ll live through it if he does,” Dean says, and the raw honesty of his words makes Castiel’s heart twist. 

“He won’t,” Castiel repeats. 

Dean takes a few moments. “I think. I think you should talk to him first,” he finally says, his voice tight and unsure. “Maybe. I mean… just to. Just to let him know that I’m…” 

He swallows. “I’m not like he remembers, Cas. I’m not anything like he remembers.” 

Castiel feels like his heart is being crushed in his chest. “You’re still his brother.” 

“But I’m different,” Dean insists. “He… he remembers me as this. This protector. The dude that always stood up for him, the punk ass kid who couldn’t say no to a fight. And now, I’m…” 

“Exactly the same,” Castiel interrupts fiercely. “Your soul is unchanged, Dean. You have been through hell and back again. And you shine just as brightly as you did before.” 

Dean looks at him, his eyes wet and green as the soft moss in the forest, as the grass in the springtime. “I love you.” 

The words make something catch in Castiel’s chest – set off a box full of fireworks stored in the neglected, abandoned parts of his heart. 

And then Dean leans forward, closes the last inch between them, and presses his lips to Castiel’s own. 

Castiel’s breath hitches. His hands leap up to cup Dean’s jaw – he slides his fingers up, runs them through the soft hair behind his ears, feels Dean gasp against his mouth, his skin soft beneath his palms. He tastes Dean’s tears, and has no doubt that Dean is tasting his, too. It is clumsy and fumbling, the kiss – it is not graceful, not well planned. It is nothing like Castiel imagined, and somehow everything he wanted, everything he needed, an explosion of emotion and the desperate need for reassurance wrapped all into one. 

Dean pulls back, his face flushed and his lips wet and shining. He doesn’t look scared. He just looks vulnerable; broken open. Fragile. His eyes are doe-soft. Searching. 

Castiel leans in and presses his lips back to Dean’s, ever so gently. Once. Twice. Dean’s eyes flutter closed, and sighs against Castiel, the tension that had begun to creep back into his shoulders loosening until it is gone. 

Foreheads pressed together, they just pause for a moment. Breathe together. 

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel says. His voice is rough. 

Dean laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry. I know you… I was really gonna wait, promise. Had a whole plan and everything.”

Castiel smiles. He’s pretty sure his eyes are wet, but that doesn’t matter. “Plans change. Glad I wasn’t the only one daydreaming.” 

Dean huffs. He opens his eyes – they’re sparkling. “Dude, I’ve basically been doodling our damn initials in my friggin’ diary.” 

“Surrounded by a heart?”

“Duh,” Dean says, his mouth twisting up at the corner. Castiel feels his heart flutter in his chest, a restless bird. Dean sighs. “We have to go, Cas.” 

Castiel brushes his nose against Dean’s, wishing, just for a moment, that they could stay. 

They pull away from each other at the same time, with the same reluctance – two magnets that want to touch, down to their atoms. Castiel climbs to his feet, helps Dean to his as well. They steady each other, twin trees in the storm.

Samuel Winchester is tall. At least a head taller than his brother. That’s the first thing Castiel notices. The next is that he and Dean have about the same nose, the same ears, and the same stubborn clench in their jaw. The same stance. The same hawk-like, observant look about them. 

They are standing in the courtyard outside of the facility, face to face, the sun bright and warm above them, the wind rustling through the trees that ring the wide open patch of grass and tables. He and Balthazar had discussed it – it seemed best to have their initial meeting outside, rather than in the confined space of an office. The omega himself has been leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He hadn’t even looked up when Castiel had rounded the corner, his eyes trained on Sam as if he expected him to take off running at any moment. 

Castiel isn’t sure he’s far off, because the very next thing he notices about Sam is that he and Dean have the same exact look in their eyes when they’re afraid. True, Sam’s fear is wrapped in anger, in protectiveness – but it is there all the same, bleeding through. 

He nods at Balthazar, clearing his throat. “I believe we have it from here, Bal,” he tries, aiming for diplomacy – Balthazar glares at him. 

“Am I being dismissed?” he asks sarcastically, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course you aren’t,” Castiel says, refusing to buckle under the man’s glare. He can’t exactly be upset with him – Balthazar is beyond stressed, and Castiel is well aware that the omega’s words tend to get as sharp as knives when he feels backed into a corner. “You’re free to stay if you’d like. You know I’m not your boss.”

“I thought you owned this place.”

Startled, they both turn to look at Sam. The man is looking back and forth between them suspiciously, his arms crossed. “It’s called Novak Rehabilitation and Reintegration, isn’t it?” 

Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but Balthazar beats him to it. “Cassie may pay for it, but he’ll be the first to tell you he’s not qualified to run it,” he says waspishly, and Sam blinks at him, surprised. “I didn’t think you of all people would have had an issue with that, Winchester.”

A little caught off guard, Sam falters. “I don’t. I just thought…” 

Castiel takes pity on him. “I technically own the facility, Sam, but that’s just because I happen to have the resources to do so. Imagine, for a moment, an alpha who has never experienced slavery attempting to run a rehabilitation facility catering to omegas that have. How well do you think that would go?”

Sam’s expression wavers, if only a little. His eyes flicker to Balthazar – and he has the decency to look a little guilty. “Down like a lead balloon,” he admits. Castiel sees the moment Sam adds two and two, his eyes dropping to the high collar of Balthazar’s sweater. He rubs the back of his neck, a clear gesture of unconscious sympathy. 

“Right,” Balthazar snaps, his crossed arms tightening to his chest. “Glad we could clear that up. Now that I’m done having my bloody credentials questioned…” 

Sam starts to protest, but Castiel holds up a hand. “That’s enough, I think.” At Sam’s stony-faced look, he shakes his head. “We are all... tense.”

Turning to Bal, Castiel tries his best to keep his voice level. “I’d appreciate it if you went ahead of us and cleared the way,” Castiel asks. “For both Sam and me, really. I’m not keen on the idea of... disturbing the residents.” 

Balthazar taps his foot a few times before giving in, pushing himself off the wall with an irritated look on his face. “I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbles, stalking around the corner with a lingering, warning look at Sam. 

Sighing, Castiel takes a moment to steel himself. Then, stepping a little closer, he offers his hand for Sam to shake. The young alpha doesn’t even attempt to take it. He just stares him down, his gaze armored and frosty. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Castiel says eventually, dropping his hand without comment. He tries not to let his nerves show – he wants so very badly to convince Sam that Dean is safe, and has no idea how. “I know you have questions.”

“I want to see my brother,” Sam says bluntly, flint in his eyes. “So if I have to go through your self-congratulatory tour to do it, whatever.”

Castiel suppresses a sigh. Sam isn’t even going to pretend to play along; he really should have expected that, knowing what he knows about Dean. He decides to stick with the plan anyway, hoping against hope that it will work. 

Balthazar had been the one to suggest the tour, and Castiel had tentatively agreed. They’d both hoped that it would help to ease Sam’s fears about what they actually do here. His friend had had the audacity to apologize to him over Sam’s misunderstanding on the drive over, his words low and tense in the din of the cafeteria. “I wouldn’t have gone through the sordid song and dance, had I known who the hell he was–” 

Castiel had shaken his head – and Dean, sitting in the passenger seat next to him with his knees pulled up to his chest, had shaken his too. “You didn’t know, Balthazar,” the omega had said. He’d fiddled with the hem of Castiel’s trench coat, biting his lip. “If he’d been anyone else…”

Neither of them had said it, but Castiel had had no issue imagining who, exactly, Dean might have been thinking of. 

“Still,” Bal had said gruffly. “Everything is about ten times harder now, with him thinking that we… that you…” 

“We will convince him otherwise,” Castiel had said firmly. And he intends to – he’s just not sure how. 

Castiel takes a breath, trying very hard not to bristle under Sam’s glare. “I understand your frustration –” 

“No, you don’t,” Sam snaps, anger creeping into his tone already.  

This is going about as well as Dean said it would, and for a moment, he’s frustrated. He starts to snarl back at the younger alpha, to put him in his place – this is Castiel’s territory, after all… but then, he looks. And he softens. 

There is so much of Dean in his brother. It’s difficult not to be swayed by that, despite Sam’s alpha aggression ramming into him with all the subtlety of an 18-wheeler. Sam is scared, Castiel reminds himself. Scared for Dean.  

“You’re right. I apologize.”

Sam looks taken aback for a precious moment. Then he hardens again; cocks his jaw and looks away. He looks very young, even in his nice slacks and button-up; even with his solid, lean runner’s body. Castiel reminds himself that Sam is young – he’s only twenty three. Nearly a child. 

“I know you want to see Dean,” Castiel says gently, “but that can only happen when he’s ready.” 

Sam looks murderous, but he grits his teeth and says nothing else. 

Castiel doesn’t want to push Sam any further, but he also fears the possibility that the man will make Dean feel guilty about needing time to adjust. The omega has already started that particular process himself, after all. He’d been so torn about what to do, had gone back and forth the entire drive to the center. 

Eventually, he’d agreed to Balthazar’s hastily developed plan to stay holed up in Ash’s security office and wait it out. Castiel had seen his hesitation, but it was a good compromise – It would give them the benefit of time while still allowing Dean to see Sam beforehand. And, better yet, the room itself sits only a couple of doors away from Castiel’s office – where Castiel intends to take Sam after he’s cooled down. 

It’s where Dean will come to meet them, when he’s ready to do so. 

After Balthazar had led Sam outside into the courtyard, he and Dean had wasted no time getting upstairs. Ash had gracefully bowed out of his bewilderingly disheveled space after a hasty explanation from Castiel, and so they’d been alone for a precious moment. They’d hugged for as long as they’d dared, neither of them keen to let go. 

“Oh, here,” Dean had said sheepishly, taking off Castiel’s jacket when they’d finally pulled themselves apart. “Wouldn’t seem right if you met Sam without this thing.” 

If he hadn't blushed, Castiel might have missed the gesture for the kindness that it was. It was a chance for Castiel to be surrounded by Dean’s scent, even while apart. An offer of comfort, a mirror to the one that Castiel has so often offered him.  

Castiel had taken his long, tan coat in one hand, his chest aching with fondness. “Only if you’ll wear this one,” he’d compromised, shucking his hastily thrown-on jacket to hand to Dean in turn. “Don’t want you to be cold.” And, though his face had been wane and tense with worry, Dean had smiled at him, secretive and small. Had shrugged on the oversized garment without protest.

Balthazar, luckily, had been too busy downstairs with Sam to witness this exchange – Castiel has no doubt that he never would have heard the end of it. Bad enough that he’ll eventually see the security footage of Dean in Castiel’s rather iconic coat. 

He hopes that the omega is doing alright, under the circumstances. He’s got his phone in his pocket, volume turned up to max – Dean is supposed to text him if he needs anything.

Pressing his lips together, Castiel pulls his thoughts away from Dean with a shake of his head. “I thought I’d show you around a little.” Sam just frowns harder, refusing to engage. “You and I can’t go everywhere,” he continues, “mostly because alphas tend to make our residents nervous, for obvious reasons.”

“So, no alphas work here?”

The question is sharp. Pointed. Castiel has a feeling that Sam already knows the answer. “I didn’t say that,” he says easily. 

He leads the young alpha toward the rec wing – albeit in a roundabout sort of way. He’s not keen on dragging the man through the crowded hallways. Castiel himself still turns heads, and to add the scent and sight of an unfamiliar, agitated alpha on top of that… It's a recipe for disaster. 

“I don’t mean to offend, Sam, but you’re… worked up. That can cause anxiety in omegas, especially the ones here.”

Sam cocks his jaw, but he nods, acknowledging the point. He can tell that the young alpha is making a conscious effort to tone it down, even under the circumstances, and he appreciates it. 

Castiel relaxes a little and goes on. “The alphas we do hire are well vetted and well trained. There are certain areas of the facility where they are not allowed – you’ll see those places noted with signs. And, even in the permitted areas, our residents don’t interact with them until they’re ready.”

“And you decide that how, exactly?” His question is cold. Suspicious. 

“ I don’t decide anything,” Castiel answers calmly. They pass through one of the courtyards separating this building and the next, their shoes tapping loudly on the bricks. Around them, there’s a scattering of residents and volunteers eating lunch or just relaxing in the sunshine. A few look a little more alert as they pass, but none of them are outright afraid. “Our residents decide for themselves when they want to move on to the next steps of the program.”

He pushes open a side door, and they step inside. Skeptical, Sam looks around the recreation wing, studying the various doors that lead into the locker rooms and gyms. It’s clear he doesn’t buy it. Not yet. Castiel is starting to wonder if persistent suspicion is a Winchester genetic trait. 

Silent, hoping that Sam is taking things in, Castiel opens the door to the main gym and quietly steps inside. Gadreel looks up from across the room and nods at them both, placid and unruffled as ever, and then returns to his students. 

Sam looks at him sharply. He’s an alpha, obviously – too broad to be anything else, even if his scent is faint. Wary, Sam watches him lead the three residents with him through a yoga routine. They don’t look nervous. They’re sweating from the exercises he’s leading them through, not from fear – and the same goes for the other scattering of omegas around the gym.

“A lot of our residents lack muscle mass when they arrive,” he explains. “We encourage them to find an activity they enjoy and stick with it. Exercise helps them establish a routine, and on top of that, it tends to help boost self confidence.” All wisdom that Castiel is repeating from people more qualified than him – Pam, Gadreel, and Balthazar. 

“He’s got scars,” Sam says bluntly, ignoring Castiel’s little speech entirely. He does, at the very least, keep his voice low. His eyes flicker to Castiel, his fingertips subconsciously brushing against his wrist. “Why…”

“That’s private information,” he answers. “But as you can imagine, very few alphas would sympathize with the residents as well as someone with Gadreel’s life experience.”

Sam has nothing to say to that. He pushes his hands into his pockets, and follows Castiel out of the gym silently, his mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“I thought we could–”

“I want to see my brother,” Sam snaps, even the pretense of his patience gone. He’s glaring at Castiel with steel in his gaze. “Does he even know I’m here?”

Castiel sighs. He hasn’t gotten a text from Dean telling him to do otherwise, so he sticks to the plan.

“He does,” Castiel says finally, but Sam shakes his head like he doesn’t believe it. “He does, Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hide from me,” Sam says stubbornly, and again Castiel can see past the alpha aggression. There’s something desperate there, something painful. “He wouldn’t.”

Castiel takes a steadying breath and reminds himself to be gentle. They’re playing for time, but he’d already known that Sam wouldn’t be delayed for long. “Can we go to my office? I swear I’ll explain,” he adds, when Sam scowls. 

Sam lets out a frustrated huff and then nods. He follows behind Castiel with an angry heaviness to his gait. 

“Dean is… he has been through a lot,” Castiel explains slowly, well aware of the man’s eyes on his back as he starts up the stairs. “He’s healing, but –” 

“My brother is not fragile,” Sam snaps. “He doesn’t need you to baby him. If he wants to see me, he should be able to–”

“He is,” Castiel says bluntly. Sam stops in his tracks. He tries to soften his voice again, tries to be patient. “He is fragile right now, unfortunately. I’m not denying that Dean is strong,” he adds, raising a hand to stop the man’s knee-jerk protests, “but you also need to take into account what he’s been through for the last decade of his life, Sam.”

Sam is silent for a moment before he shrugs angrily at the bottom of the stairs, a careful distance between him and Castiel. “I know it had to be bad,” he admits, tension in his shoulders. “But Dean’s… he can get through it. He always did, when we were kids.”

“And that is exactly why he’s nervous,” Castiel says patiently. “You remember him in a very specific way, and he knows that. But he isn’t the exact same person you remember him as. And like it or not,” he adds, beginning to climb the steps to the second floor, “you are an alpha, and Dean is an omega.”

“I’m his brother,” Sam sputters, disgusted, and Castiel forces himself not to turn around and protect his back. “Dean would never think –” 

“I’d imagine that you’ve needed to learn about what omegas coming out of abusive situations deal with, if I understand your work correctly,” Castiel says sharply. “Just because Dean is related to you doesn’t mean that those same rules don’t apply.”

There’s silence behind him, and when they reach the second floor, Castiel pauses and turns around. Sam is staring down at his feet, his expression a firm mask. 

“What kind of slave was he?” he asks tonelessly. 

Castiel pauses. He’d very much hoped that this particular conversation could wait. He’s not sure how much he’s supposed to tell Sam – how much he should prepare him for what Dean’s been through, and how much he should keep private for Dean’s sake. Sam’s mouth presses into a thin line, his voice tight. “He was – he was always good with cars,” the younger man explains, hope laced through in his words, even though they both know it is unfounded. Castiel winces. 

“Sam,” he says carefully. He doesn’t want to explain further, to make it clear to Sam that no one that young becomes a laboring or skilled slave. That omegas in general – and young omegas, especially – are destined for one section of the trade and one section only. Really, Sam already knows the truth, if he’s spoken to Balthazar. He’s in denial, and Castiel isn’t so sure that it wouldn’t be better to let him stay that way. 

But he can’t let Sam go into this blind – it will only hurt both the Winchesters if he does so. “I don’t wish to frighten you, or upset you. But Dean was not… he wasn’t contracted for his skills. He signed on very young.”

“I know,” Sam snaps, something raw in his voice. “I know. I was there. I remember. I – fuck,” he breaks off, his composure fraying at the edges, a little more of the scared young man filtering through. 

“Dean is resilient,” Castiel says softly after a moment. “He’s healing. But I cannot lie and tell you that he wasn’t hurt very badly when we brought him here, or that he isn’t still recovering. That he won’t be recovering for a long, long time.”

Sam looks up at him with something raw in his eyes, and for a moment, past the bluster and the threats, all Castiel can see is Dean’s baby brother. His family, who has very clearly wanted nothing more than to have him back for far longer than anyone should have to wait for something so vital. 

When there are no more protests, they climb the rest of the stairs in silence. Alfie is elsewhere on the property, thanks to Balthazar, so there is no one to greet them when he unlocks his office. 

He gestures to the couch in the small room, but Sam ignores him, standing there stiffly with his arms crossed against his chest. He sighs. 

“I can show you some other parts of the facility through the security cameras,” he offers, still keen to gain the man’s trust as much as he can. He’s well aware that Sam’s tolerance for being stalled is dwindling, but Castiel intends to give Dean every second possible to prepare himself. 

Sam nods tightly. The alpha stands across the room, taking in everything around him with a sharp inquisitiveness that reminds him of Dean. He’d assumed the omega’s constant hyper-awareness of his surroundings was a result of what he’d been through, but now, he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s just something genetic in the two boys. 

Then he remembers Sam’s claim that Dean was resilient, even as a child, and remembers that they’ve both been through trauma of a different kind – even before Dean signed his life away. 

He drops into his office chair and boots up the computer, tapping his fingers on the desk as he waits. “Sam?”

The alpha looks at him, mouth pressed together in a thin line. “I know that this is frustrating. And I know you don’t know me, and have no reason to trust me. But I swear to you that as soon as he can, Dean will be here. He just… he needs time.”

Sam clenches his jaw. “Excuse me for saying it, but I’m not really the type to take someone like you at their word.”

Castiel nods, brushing off the sting. He can respect that. 

“If you’ll pull that chair over here, we can get started with the virtual tour while we wait.”

Sam complies after a moment, clearly battling with himself. He drags the wooden chair around the desk and plops down into it. He’s quite close to Castiel, and from here, he can tell that Sam smells a lot like his brother. There’s that same pastry scent, but where Dean’s is vanilla and apple sweet, Sam’s is a little more earthy. It has notes of rosemary and thyme, like a loaf of artisan bread. 

Then his scent is a hell of a lot sharper. 

Sam is already back on his feet, glaring down at him. Castiel has the presence of mind to carefully slide his chair back and put some space between them, his heart beginning to pound a little harder in his chest. “Are you... alright?”

“You…” Sam shudders, his upper lip curling to expose his teeth. “You smell like him.”

Alarm bells ringing, Castiel gets up slowly, and takes an equally slow step to the side, putting the desk between them. He holds his hands up. “Now, Sam…” 

“You smell like him, and you smell like heat,” he snarls, and then he lunges forward. 

Castiel hits the wall behind him hard enough that a whoosh of air escapes his lungs. Sam pins him there by his shirt, wrinkled in his large hands, rage pouring off of him. He’s furious, eyes flashing red, scent sharp and kill kill kill, and if he doesn’t calm him down soon there’s a real possibility that the younger Winchester might actually try to murder him. 

“It’s not what you think –” 

“Like hell it’s not!” he yells, slamming Castiel back again. “You said he was safe! You said he was safe, but I know better. I know who you are, you spineless creep, you – you fucking slaver! I should have known better than to trust a goddamn Morningstar–”  

Castiel has no idea how Sam knows that, but he’s got bigger problems. He raises his hands to waist height and tries not to look him in the eye, knowing full well it could push him over the edge. Castiel is prepared to defend himself, but he’d much rather not lay a hand on Dean’s brother if he can avoid it. Especially when he knows that Sam’s anger, while not justified by reality, is completely understandable.

“I swear to you. Dean is safe. He is receiving the best possible care– ” 

“And do all your omegas receive your care during their heats?” Sam spits, hiking Castiel up off the ground until he’s on the tips of his toes, making expert use of the height difference between them. He presses his forearm into Castiel’s throat until he chokes. “If you fucking touched him, I’ll kill you, you understand me?”

He punctuates his demand with a little more pressure at every pause, fire blazing in his eyes. “Where. Is. My. Brother?”

“I’m right here.”