61. Chapter 61

When Castiel finally manages to track Bal down, he takes one look and wonders if he should have added some whiskey to the steaming cup of hot cocoa he’s brought as a peace offering.

The fallen tree the omega is sitting on is wide and long, and its bark has been worn smooth over the years. Castiel can only imagine that whoever owned this property before them made use of the natural bench near the river as well. Bal has his elbows resting on his knees, is staring out at the stream with a distant, unreadable look on his face. He seems for all the world as if he is fine, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms, his shirt partially unbuttoned, his hair perfectly styled, even in the light breeze. It’s only the lemon-sharp scent of his lingering distress that gives away just how good of an actor he is. 

He doesn’t look up when Castiel sits down next to him – but, to be fair, Castiel hadn’t expected him to. He does, at least, allow Castiel to hand him the offered cup, taking an automatic, nearly robotic sip without bothering to check the contents. 

“You know,” Castiel says. “I can’t remember the last time you made us switch drinks.” 

Bal pauses. After a moment, he takes another long sip of the hot cocoa, but he doesn’t respond. That doesn’t surprise Castiel either. This, too, is something that his friend used to do all the time. These waiting games, where Castiel was never sure if he was supposed to push, pretend like nothing was wrong, or keep his mouth shut entirely. 

“After the first two or three times, you probably should have switched it up,” Castiel continues. He takes a drink of his own, the chocolate sweet and warm on his tongue. “Just to keep me guessing.”

“By that point,” Bal says finally, his voice low as he stares out at the river, “it was just a habit. I didn’t actually feel like I needed to.” 

Castiel blinks. This… is not how these types of conversations usually go. Usually, Bal will jump into some non-sequitur, will crack a joke or an insult. Will do everything he can to avoid the heavy subject that Castiel is tentatively trying to set on the table. “Really?” he asks blankly.

Bal doesn’t look at him. “Really.” His expression stays just as flat when he adds, “You stink like alpha.” 

“I am an alpha.” 

“Don’t get cute,” Bal retorts. His hand tightens around his cup as he glances at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “Did that Winchester kid try and rush you, too?” 

Castiel had planned on lying, because he doesn’t want to make Bal feel any worse. But he hesitates a moment too long, and Bal sees the answer in the way his shoulders stiffen. In the way he clears his throat uncomfortably. The man’s jaw tightens. “Did he put his hands on you?”

“… Briefly,” Castiel admits, fidgeting with his cup and avoiding Bal’s eyes. “But he only had me pinned for a moment–” 

“Fuck,” Bal snaps, and then his cup is flying through the air and smacking violently into a nearby tree, splattering the contents all over the leaf litter. 

“Bal–”

“No! God fucking dammit,” his friend spits, flinging himself off of the log and pacing back and forth, agitated. “If I’d just kept my damn mouth shut–”

“You didn’t know,” Castiel insists. “You took what you assumed was the safest path.”

“But it was the wrong one,” Bal hisses, eyes flashing as he whirls back around to face Castiel. “It was the exact opposite of what should have been done, and now the kid doesn’t trust a word we say. He could have fucking killed you because I had to go and put on a show.” 

“Balthazar, all things considered, I think that would have been the case anyway,” Castiel argues, his voice pleading. “He – he smelled Dean’s heat on me, and I don’t think there’s a thing you could have done to prevent the reaction that provoked.” 

“I should have told you to change your clothes,” Bal groans, slapping his hand to his forehead as he stares up at the sky. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me–” 

“You were scared!” 

Bal freezes in place – and so does Castiel. 

Slowly, the man’s hand slips from his face, and he tilts his head down to stare at Castiel. “What?” Balthazar asks, and there’s something dangerous in his tone. Something like a warning. 

Castiel swallows. Sets his drink down carefully beside himself, looking down at it to be sure that it’s not going to topple over. He’s stalling for time. “I said,” he repeats carefully, “that you were scared.” 

The way Balthazar bares his teeth at that reminds Castiel very much of his first time meeting the man – he’s just as reminiscent of a cornered fox now as he was back then. Unlike those days, though, Castiel knows that the fierce, furious expression is covering up something far more vulnerable. 

“I was scared when he came at me,” Castiel presses, pinning the omega in place with his gaze. “I was scared when he was shouting threats in my face. And you think you’re not allowed to be?”

Balthazar bristles even further at that. “I wasn’t – He didn’t even touch me–” 

“But he threatened to,” Castiel interrupts. “And you had no way of knowing whether he’d follow through. Forgive me if I don’t blame you for forgetting to remind me of something I should have thought of on my own.” 

Bal’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. After a second, he snaps it closed. Snarls wordlessly, his hands curled into pale, shaking fists at his sides. He looks very much as though he’d like to take a swing at Castiel – and at this point, Castiel would probably just let him. 

“My friend,” Castiel continues slowly. “In a situation like that, I should have been the last thing on your mind. And yet you were doing nothing but thinking of me, and of Dean, that entire time.” 

“I was a fucking coward,” the omega hisses back instantly. “Pissing myself over some alpha punk shouting in my face. A fat lot of good I did either one of you.” 

“You kept him from leaving,” Castiel corrects severely. “You stood in his way. Helped to talk him down. Do you understand what might have happened, had you not done that?” 

Balthazar’s mouth trembles. He doesn’t answer the question. “Balthazar. If Sam had shown up to my home…” 

Castiel breaks off. He can’t make himself finish the thought, but it’s there in the air between them all the same. A strange alpha encroaching on Castiel’s territory would have been bad during the best of times, but in the aftermath of Dean’s heat… it would have been deadly. 

“You were brave,” he says finally. Balthazar’s face twists into something ugly. 

“Don’t give me that bollocks–” 

“You were brave,” Castiel insists, standing up now as well and taking a step closer to his friend, willing him to understand. “You put yourself at risk for me, for Dean. You looked a raging alpha in the eyes and told him no, held him back, talked him down from a literal murderous rage. You were brave.” 

For another moment, it seems as though Balthazar is going to fight him. Seems like he’s going to shout at Castiel. But he just stares down at the leaf litter instead, breathing harshly in the silence. 

And then Balthazar steps forward, closing the distance between them completely. For a wild second, Castiel thinks he’s about to take a swing – it takes a good few moments to register that he’s being hugged, instead. 

Castiel can count on one hand how many times this has happened. 

Bal hooks his chin over Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes him as tightly as he can, and Castiel stays perfectly still and silent as he does. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t need to. He just slowly eases his arms around Bal and hugs him back, careful to keep his hold loose, and thanks God that the omega trusts him enough to take comfort in it. 

The moment doesn’t last very long; a few seconds later, Bal is stepping back, wiping harshly at his face. Castiel has the decency to pretend not to see it when he does – besides, he’s blinking his own eyes harshly in the sunlight, trying to will away the burning pressure. 

“I think I needed that,” Castiel admits after a moment, and Balthazar barks out startled laugh. 

“You think you–” he starts, but he takes one look at Castiel and breaks off, shaking his head. “Oh, Christ. You mean that, don’t you? You earnest bastard.”

Castiel shrugs. “It has been a… trying day.”

“Always with the understatements, Cassie,” Bal says, chuckling. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. Sighs. He doesn’t apologize for the hug, doesn’t try and pretend it didn’t happen. He just moves forward from it, with the same steadfast practicality by which he does everything. “What now?”

Castiel knows he’s not talking about them. He sighs in turn, settling himself back on the log – and Bal does the same. “I don’t know.”

“How come you’re here, anyway?” 

“Dean chased me out,” Castiel admits sheepishly. “I think they... needed some alone time.” 

Balthazar huffs out a laugh. “Suppose so." He gives Castiel a look. "What the hell are we gonna do with the kid?”

“That, I think, is up to Dean,” Castiel muses. 

“True,” Balthazar agrees. “I just hope we all manage to stay in one piece while he figures it out.” He shakes his head. “Bloody brothers.”

Castiel glances at him out of the corner of his eye, raising his eyebrows. “Still not as bad as mine.” 

Balthazar laughs loudly at that, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his eyes – just like Castiel had hoped. 

“Yes,” the omega admits. “Fair.” 

While Novak is gone, he and Dean talk about nothing and everything, and it's so surreal that Sam wonders if he's dreaming more than once.

Well – Sam talks, anyway. He’s doing all the talking. Endless details about his life and his schooling, about Bobby and Jo and Ellen, about what it’s like living in South Dakota and California. He’s not sure how much Dean is actually hearing – his brother is just looking at him, nodding or smiling or both. He seems... tired. Exhausted, really. Down to his bones. 

They don’t discuss Dean. Sam doesn’t push him, but even the few tentative questions he brings up – what the center is like, what Novak’s house is like – get skirted around in a skittish, almost nervous way. The only reason that doesn’t make Sam sick to his stomach is that Dean’s muteness doesn’t seem to be borne of fear. It seems more like his brother is unsure of how to fill the silence. 

It is just one of about a thousand ways that he has changed. 

It’s beginning to dawn on Sam that he doesn’t know how to handle it. Doesn’t know how to carry the conversation alone, without Dean’s constant jokes or two cents thrown in. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been expecting it until it just… isn’t there. It’s things like this, he realizes, that are going to keep pulling the rug out from underneath him. Over and over again. 

Still, as quiet as he is, it’s clear that Dean’s happy he’s here. Clear that he’s soaking up Sam’s every word – if not the particulars, then at least his presence. At least his tone. So Sam just… keeps talking. It doesn’t mean that he’s done trying to draw Dean out of his shell. Far from it. He’d meant what he’d said about staying here – he’s not planning on leaving any time soon, if ever. He’s just… putting it on pause, for now. Giving them both time to adjust. 

“And, Jo,” he continues, grinning. “She’s a total rebel. Constantly going to these O’ rights protests–” 

“She’s an omega?”

It’s the first thing that Dean’s said in quite a while, and it pulls Sam up short. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I didn’t mention that,” he says, and watches as the corners of Dean’s eyes tighten almost imperceptibly. “She, uh. She presented at like, 13, I think? A little late.”

There’s a tiny shift in the air. Something in Dean’s scent that’s verging on… nervous. “Oh,” he says, his tone a little blank. At Sam’s look, he clarifies. “Always pegged her for a beta, I guess.” 

Sam can feel his eyebrows drawing together, but he’s not sure how to marshall his expression into something more neutral. “What do you mean?” 

Dean shrugs. “You know. She was so fiery. Sounds like she still is. I woulda thought she’d be beta, with an attitude like that.” He chuckles. “Maybe even an alpha.” 

Sam feels his stomach sink. He wants to push. Wants to dig at this, wants to uncover what exactly Dean is thinking. He has a feeling that it’s some seriously harmful and outdated propaganda that Dean’s carrying around. But he can’t bring himself to do it. 

Dean already looks so vulnerable. So worn down. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, there’s a little voice telling him that Dean probably wouldn’t even argue with him. That, if he tried to convince Dean of something right now, he would just… agree. Whether he really believed Sam or not.

That thought scares him. Dean had always held his own when Sam had tried to debate things with him – had been bullheaded, frankly, in his ability to stick to and defend his own opinion. The idea that he might so easily bend to Sam’s will is ridiculous, and yet… it feels like it might also be true. 

Dean is so much like he remembers, and so different, too. It’s something in how he’s holding himself, Sam thinks. He’s… smaller. Less of a presence. 

Sam knows that a lot of that has to do with his own growth – he himself is a hell of a lot taller, obviously, and a hell of a lot older, so it’s only natural that Dean would seem smaller than in his memory. But it isn’t just about height, isn’t just about their ages. 

The brother Sam remembers was boisterous, always full of life, always ready to throw down at a moment’s notice. He isn’t like that now; cheekbones too sharp, hands hidden inside of over-large sleeves. He’s a refugee from war, in more ways than one. 

He looks, Sam thinks, like a hunted animal. 

It reminds Sam of how Dean would act right after a nasty fight with dad – the really bad ones. The blackout drunk ones, where Dean would sniff the air and send Sam to bed early with a tight jaw and stiff shoulders. When John was like that, he’d jump on any perceived slight or attitude, real or imagined. Would nail Dean to the wall with targeted, cruel hate; words that were so cutting and personal that it would hurt like a physical blow for Sam to even overhear. On nights like that, Dean would take it all in silence. Would stand like a soldier as their father ripped open new and old wounds and poured salt on top for good measure. 

When John would finally grow bored and stagger off to sleep, Dean would trudge into their newest shared room. Would curl up on his bed, quiet as the grave. He’d been wounded, his scent curling and shuddering with shame and pain, something dangerous and broken there. Something bordering on hopelessness, the kind of numb sadness that was past even tears. 

Those had also been the nights that Sam would pick his way out of his own bed and sneak under Dean’s covers. Nights where he’d hug his brother tight, hoping that he could meld Dean’s broken pieces back together. 

It had always been gone by the morning, that sadness. That scent of despair. Dean had always bounced back, had shaken it off to face the new day. But this … this is like those nights multiplied a thousandfold. It’s in Dean’s eyes now, that sadness, raw and open like a wound. It scares Sam to see it in the daylight. 

He’d known that Dean wouldn’t be okay. He’d known that. But it’s a different thing entirely to think about it than it is to see his older brother like this for real. He can’t seem to stop staring, and he hopes that doesn’t hurt Dean. But it’s just so strange to see him like this, to watch as he drops his gaze a few times too many, as he shrinks back from sudden movements, as he folds in on himself in a too large jacket – Novak’s jacket, which, no matter what Dean says, makes Sam’s blood boil. As he lifts his hand to fiddle with the dog tags loose around his neck, the same ones Sam had seen on the other slaves. 

Because Dean is a slave. No matter how nice Dean thinks Novak is, Sam understands the ugly truth in front of him. Dean is more vulnerable than he’s ever been. 

And Sam’s not gonna take advantage of it. He lets it go. 

“I guess,” he finally says, instead of the argument he wants to have. “But, you know. Jo’s alright. A pistol, like always.” 

Dean’s smile is weak, but he does smile. “That’s good. Is she, uh. Is she mated, or anything?”

Sam scoffs. “Nah. No one can keep up with her.” 

At that, Dean laughs a little, and the nervous scent that had begun to coil around him eases. “Glad to know that hasn’t changed, at least.” 

Grinning, Sam nudges him. “Remember when she had a crush on you?”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I forgot about that, actually. Didn’t last long.”

“Only ‘cause you shot her down by telling her she was like your little sister.” 

“Well, she was.” He pauses. Looks at Sam with something vulnerable in his gaze. “... Is. I guess. If she, uh. If she even remembers.” 

Something uncomfortably sharp slices through Sam’s heart at the unsure tone of Dean’s words. “Of course she does. When she and Ellen found out what happened…” He knows his scent must go sour at that, because Dean’s nose wrinkles. “I think half the reason she goes to those protests is ‘cause of you, Dean.” 

Dean blinks at him. His mouth opens, and then closes. “Me?”

“‘Course,” Sam says. And he wants to add more – wants to dig in and convince Dean that he matters to all the people who were a part of life, that he hasn’t been forgotten. But he doesn’t get the chance, because suddenly the door is swinging open and Novak is back already. 

Sam stiffens. Dean does the opposite. 

It’s yet more evidence that something has fundamentally shifted inside of Dean. The way that he brightens as an alpha that isn’t Sam enters the room; the way he gives Novak a little grin that used to be reserved only for his family. The way that he thanks the man softly, earnestly, when he sets down the food and drinks that he’s brought up, and relaxes a little more – not in Sam’s presence, but in the presence of the alpha that owns him – when Novak sits down across from them. 

Mostly, it makes Sam angry. And even though he knows he needs to keep a lid on that emotion –  because, as he’s learned already, Dean doesn’t react well to it – he can’t quite douse the simmering rage he feels every time he has to look at the man that owns his brother. 

Dean seems to think he’s a good guy. Maybe he really is. But Sam finds that he doesn’t particularly care – not when he remembers just how much power Novak has over him. 

The alpha in question is leaning back on his desk again, his arms crossed against his chest. He’s utterly indifferent to Sam’s glares, but he also makes no move to touch the food he brought. He’s staring at Dean, his focus singular and pointed, something unreadable on his face. 

“Anyway,” Sam says, trying his best to keep his voice from going stiff. He tears his gaze away from Novak. “They’re both gonna be so relieved when they find out you’re okay.” 

Dean reaches up to fiddle with his tags again, his eyes cutting away. He looks even smaller than he had before. “Right.” 

“We could call them after Bobby,” Sam says excitedly. “Or–” 

“Dean.”

Sam stiffens at the sound of Novak’s voice. He doesn’t miss the way Dean’s head snaps up, or the way his full focus is on Novak in an instant. This, too, is different. Dean had only ever looked at John that way – like he was waiting for orders. The implications of why he must be looking at Novak like that set Sam’s teeth on edge. 

Dean says he’s safe, and Sam wants to believe him. But he isn’t so sure. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Novak asks, his voice low. 

Dean gives the alpha a little smile. It looks… soft. At odds with his tense posture. “Yeah, Cas. I’m good.”

Novak looks at him for another moment, his eyes flicking to Sam. “You really should eat,” he says eventually, nodding at the paper-wrapped sandwiches he’d set down on the table in front of them. “I got a variety, so choose what you’d like.” 

Sam bristles, waits for Dean to snap that he doesn’t need a babysitter, prepares to back him up– 

But Dean just… nods. Like he’s used to it. Like he expects it. 

Dean picks up and begins to unwrap one at random. Taking a quick peek inside the bread, he folds the paper down properly and hands it off to Sam without hesitation. “Turkey,” he says as an explanation, when Sam raises an eyebrow at him. 

There’s a sudden sharpness in his throat. 

“Sam?” Dean asks, alarmed – probably at the abrupt wetness in Sam’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I just –” 

He has to take a deep breath. Has to hold on to the stupid turkey and swiss sandwich as though it’s a lifeline and he’s drowning, because even after eleven years Dean remembers he prefers it over ham. 

His big brother has always taken care of him, and his instincts clearly haven’t changed. Not even a little, not in all this time. Sam had forgotten what it feels like to be the center of Dean’s world, forgotten what it feels like to be a younger brother. He’s forgotten what it feels like to be effortlessly known, and the reminder has him blinking back tears.

When he successfully gets ahold of himself, he finds that Dean is staring at him, bewildered and more than a little concerned. But at Sam’s shaky smile, Dean visibly decides not to press – yet another way that he knows Sam better than anyone else. “It’s just a sandwich, dude,” he jokes instead, his voice soft. “Were you that hungry?”

Sam chokes out a laugh at the familiar exasperation in his brother’s tone. He’d thought he’d never hear his voice like that again. Thought he’d never hear him speak again. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Starving.”

Dean bumps his shoulder gently and turns back to Novak with that same soft smile. “Come on, Cas,” he needles. “You need to eat too. Drop the whole brooding alpha shtick and get some grub.”

Novak’s expression tightens, and in an instant, Sam’s levity is gone.

The comfort of having his brother back by his side dissipates like smoke. He’s already forgotten, somehow, that right now Dean is not free to be his family. He is owned. Controlled. And he’s speaking to Novak like he isn’t, and that’s dangerous.  

He tenses, waits for Novak to snap at Dean for the blatant disrespect. But, for whatever reason, he doesn’t. He just… nods. Lets out a breath, visibly shaking himself as he reaches out to snag a bottle of water, cracking the lid and taking a long drink. 

“Did you and Bal talk?” Dean asks casually. It’s only the way he fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket that tells Sam he’s nervous. “I can smell his citrus all over you. Did y’all bro-hug it out?”

“We did,” Novak confirms, not batting an eye at the taunt. For a moment, it sort of throws Sam for a loop – but he assumes that the alpha just means they spoke. Not that they actually hugged. “He was… He’s doing okay now,” he amends, eyes flicking to Sam. He might be imagining the glint of accusation there, but he doesn’t think so. “The fresh air worked wonders.” 

Dean’s expression edges even closer to worry. He glances at Sam, too – though he tries to cover it up by grabbing a water bottle of his own. “Glad he’s okay.” 

“He’s resilient. And, by the way,” Novak adds diplomatically, nodding toward Sam. He studies him – watching for his reaction, Sam thinks. “He’s aware that he... complicated things even further than they already would have been. And he’s sorry for it.” 

There’s not much Sam can say to that. Now that he understands the situation, he’s not exactly holding a grudge against the dude. He is guilty about how badly he’d apparently scared the man – it hadn’t really been his intention. But he also hadn’t known any better. He resolves, privately, that he’ll find a way to apologize to Balthazar. But he doesn’t say sorry to Novak – he just meets his gaze with his head held high, jaw clenching. The tension in the room creeps up a little more. 

Dean clears his throat, breaking the ringing silence. He picks up the sandwiches and peeks inside of them both, and asks Novak, “You want ham, or roast beef?” 

“I have no preference,” Novak responds evenly, slowly dragging his eyes off of Sam. “Take what you prefer.”

Sam watches silently, something making his chest ache when Dean looks back at the table and bites his lip. The old Dean would have swooped up his favorite before even asking. But now, Dean looks at the two sandwiches like they’re a test. One with a wrong answer. And Sam can’t help but wonder what consequences Dean might have to fear.  

“Dean,” Novak prompts, when Dean hesitates too long for his liking. His tone is disturbingly… expectant. 

Sheepish, Dean ducks his head, reaches out and tentatively picks one. He glances back up at Novak, like… like he wants approval before making a choice this small and trivial. Like Novak controls even this. And, sure enough, Novak nods, and only then does Dean hand the other sandwich over. Novak’s fingers brush against Dean’s when he slowly takes it, lingering longer than they have any right to. 

It makes Sam grit his teeth. As does the way the older alpha sits and watches. The way he waits expectantly until Dean starts obediently eating. The way that Dean only loses his worried look once Novak takes a bite of his own food. Like he’s sure that he’s escaped some kind of punishment, now that his alpha is happy. 

The air is heavy. Tense. Sam can sense the other alpha’s distrust of him – as if Sam is the enemy. As if Sam is the threat. The man is stiff as he eats, carefully not looking at him, focusing all his attention on his food and on Dean. It makes the hair on the back of Sam’s neck prickle.

Sam doesn’t like the way Dean’s body automatically seems to orient toward Novak. Doesn’t like that he’s gone completely silent once more now that the alpha is back in the room. Chewing his food robotically, he grips the bread tightly enough to make imprints in the sandwich. When he checks out of the corner of his eye, it looks like Novak is doing the same – and the alpha catches him staring. 

Undaunted, Sam meets his eyes. Glares at him, his food forgotten, protective anger boiling inside of him. He watches Novak’s eyes harden in turn, watches as his expression goes rigid. 

“Would you two stop it?” 

Dean’s demand, completely out of the blue, startles them both. When Sam turns to look at him, his face is drawn with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Sam, he isn’t going to hurt me. And, Cas, you don’t need to posture in front of my damn brother.”

“He’s got no right to posture at all,” Sam corrects angrily. He bares his teeth when Novak bristles, but Dean is having none of it. 

“Knock it off, kid,” he warns. There’s a slight tremble to his voice that pisses Sam off even more – does Dean think he has to keep the peace in order to stay safe? Sam squares his shoulders, more than ready to protect Dean from this cold, powerful man in front of them. To defend him from the alpha that holds Dean’s very life in his hands, from the man that so casually uses his power to direct him to do even the most trivial of tasks.   

“No,” Sam snaps back, his heart starting to pound at the emotionless defensiveness he sees in Novak’s eyes. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at you, Dean. Like you’re – like you’re his, or something,” he spits, even though he knows what he’s saying doesn’t make sense. Dean is Novak’s, technically. But for whatever reason, Dean seems to be acting like that isn’t the case. Sam doesn’t know if that means he’s in denial, or if Novak has tricked him somehow, or both. 

“You need to come with me,” Sam decides, his momentary weakness and hesitation about that forgotten, his anger boiling over and taking its place. He looks over at Dean, willing him to understand how fucked up this situation is. “Dean, we need to go.” 

“Christ – I already explained this to you, Sam–” Dean begins, exasperated. As he speaks, he reaches over, touches his palm to Sam’s arm. But Sam shrugs him off. Stands up. 

He can’t believe he almost let Dean convince him that this is in any way okay. He glares at Novak even as he speaks to Dean, a challenge in his eyes. “It’s not safe for you here, Dean. You’re coming with me, now–” 

“Do not order Dean around,” Novak interrupts stiffly.  

Finally, he’s showing some emotion; anger is tightening the corners of his mouth. His volume is still low, but there’s steel in his tone – a loud and clear warning that Sam is going too far. 

He doesn’t care. 

“Like you can talk!” Sam all but shouts. “Every word out of your mouth so far has been to tell him what to do!” 

Novak doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even stand up, as if Sam’s words aren’t even worth acknowledging. As if he’s not taking Sam seriously at all. Instead, the alpha just grits his teeth. “Sam. He is perfectly safe with me, as we have all tried to tell you – as Dean himself has told you–”

“Who knows how you’ve threatened him to make him say that?” Sam snarls back. The scent of Novak’s outrage in response to that statement is deep and dangerous, something like a distant roll of thunder. “Who knows what lies you’ve fed him! If you think for one second I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Novak…”

“And what is that, Sam?” the alpha bites out, his fury barely restrained as he finally gets to his feet as well. He takes a step forward, matches Sam’s stance. “Protect him? Make sure he’s healthy and comfortable?”

Sam sneers. “Right. Yeah, I can see how fucking comfortable he is – looking to you for every little thing, like he’s not allowed to do anything himself.” Furious and sick to his stomach, eyes locked on Novak as he does so, Sam unthinkingly reaches down to Dean to help him to his feet. They have to get out of here. His hand just barely brushes his brother’s arm before –

“Do not touch him.” The command is sharp, heavy with alpha. It’s possessive. Every hair on Sam’s body stands on end. 

He sees red. 

“Don’t order me around,” he snarls back, stepping in front of Dean, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Rage twists inside of him, hot as fire. “Maybe you think you can do that to Dean, but you don’t own me.” 

“You are not respecting Dean’s boundaries,” Novak growls. “Touching him without his consent is–” 

“He’s my brother,” Sam interrupts, appalled, furious at what Novak is implying. “I’d never hurt him – he knows that! I don’t need to ask permission to touch him–”  

“He is his own man,” Novak seethes. “And he makes his own choices.” 

“Yeah, sure seems like it,” Sam spits sarcastically. “Can’t even figure out what he’s allowed to eat without your permission –” 

“Oh, how dare I overstep," Novak interrupts bitterly. “Perhaps next time you’d like me to–” 

He stops mid-sentence, and the rage on his face dies in an instant.  

For a moment, Sam is thrown off balance. Then, he follows Novak’s line of sight.

Dean is as pale as a ghost. He’s looking down at the floor, his chin tilted to the side so his throat is exposed, his shoulders trembling. He’s gone so quiet that Sam can't even hear his breathing, has curled up into the corner of the couch, as far away from them both as he can get. 

Sam starts forward, reaches out on instinct – and Dean flinches back from his hand, his chest heaving, a half formed protest pulled from his lips like an arrow from a wound. His fear is a slap to the face. It’s sour and acidic and wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. 

“Sorry,” Dean blurts immediately, his voice shaky and small, and that’s wrong too, because Dean’s never backed down from anything, not ever. Dean’s never sounded like this. Dean’s never struggled to meet his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t – I know you’re not going to –” 

Sam, like an idiot, tries again. He swallows, reaches out. Moves far too fast, still working off of instinct, and tries to place his hand on Dean’s shoulder like had not an hour before. He thinks, idiotically, that it will bring Dean the same comfort. 

It doesn’t. 

In a flash, Dean scrambles back, nearly trips in his haste to get away, a sharp, panicked noise ripping out of him as he goes. He bolts, goes toward Novak instead of away, stumbles backward until he’s pressed against the far wall with his eyes wide and scared and locked somewhere near Sam’s chest. 

His chest. Dean’s not meeting his eyes. Dean’s not meeting his eyes, and Sam feels like the walls are collapsing around him.    

He steps forward, not knowing what he means to do but knowing that he has to do something, anything to fix this. But as soon as he gets closer, Dean’s legs collapse. He plummets to the ground like Sam had pushed him there, and he lands on the floor and tucks his knees up close to his chest. Crams himself even farther back than before, his hands above his head like he’s protecting himself, like he’s expecting Sam to–  

And then Novak is right there in Sam’s face, standing between him and Dean. 

He’s protecting Dean. From Sam. 

“I think you should leave,” he growls. 

Novak’s words are like iron, like a steel sword pointed at Sam’s throat. But Dean is the one that reacts to them – he tries to struggle to his feet, stumbles and reaches out toward the wall so he can steady himself. “No,” he pleads, looking at the alpha with something wild in his eyes. “No, Cas, please. Please don’t, I just got him back–”

Gently – more gently than Sam thought he could move – Novak steps closer to him and catches Dean before he can fall. Slowly, he kneels back with him to the ground, his focus laser pointed and his tone steady and low. 

Dean manages to meet his eyes, no problem. The realization makes Sam’s heart turn upside down in his chest. 

“I didn’t mean he had to go forever, Dean. Just that it might be best if he steps outside for a few moments,” Novak says slowly, his demeanor so different than when he’d spoken to Sam. Dean’s hands are wrapped up in the man’s shirt, like he’s… like he’s trying to make sure Novak himself doesn’t go anywhere. “Just so everyone can calm down a little,” he adds, and he squeezes Dean’s arms, just a little, to punctuate his point. 

Dean doesn’t say anything else. He just lets out a shaky breath. Nods. Haltingly, like he’s having to force himself, he releases Novak’s shirt, wraps one arm around his middle instead. Presses a shaking palm over his face. Tries, and fails, to hide his fear; he's putting both hands in front of a spotlight to try and hide its shine. 

It’s obvious, now, how much of Dean’s bravado had been an act. It’s so obvious that Sam feels sick with it. 

Sam tears his eyes away from his brother; looks at Novak, who’s staring at him with something hard and unforgiving in his eyes. “I’ll join you in just a minute, Sam,” he says pointedly. It’s clear he’s not asking. 

Numbly, Sam nods, suddenly off kilter and a lot hell of a lot less sure of himself. He takes a step back. “I’ll – I’ll be right outside, Dean,” he promises quietly. Shakily. His voice sounds distant, even to his own ears. “I’m not gonna go anywhere. Okay?”

Dean just nods again, his jaw flexing. He doesn’t say a word, but the sharp, sick fear in his scent, soaked into the room, is enough to make Sam feel about an inch tall. 

Like someone else has taken control of his legs, he finds himself walking out the door. Finds himself shutting it quietly and carefully behind him, so softly that it hardly makes a sound. It doesn’t feel far enough, so he goes through the second door as well, and shuts that one just as carefully, till he finds himself alone at the end of the hallway. 

He slides down the wall, legs suddenly too weak to hold him up, and folds himself down to the floor.  

When the door shuts, Castiel takes a deep breath and puts his hands palm up on his knees. He’s kneeling down in front of Dean still, a careful few inches of space between them. Dean still has his hand over his face. And, even though he caught Dean a few seconds ago, he still asks. 

“Can I touch you?”

When Dean eventually answers, his voice is paper thin and trembling. “... Yeah.” 

Slowly, making sure his movements are obvious, Castiel shuffles over and sits next to him, back against the wall. He pulls the omega over and winds his arm around his shoulders, tries to angle him so that Dean’s nose is closer to his pulse point. 

Dean lets him, and wraps his arms around Castiel’s ribs in turn. He can smell Sam all over Dean’s clothes. Something in him rankles at that. He knows that’s stupid, knows that they are brothers and that, despite his immaturity, Sam only wants to protect Dean from a perceived threat. 

But Castiel still smooths his hand over the fabric on Dean’s shoulders and back, still tries to get rid of the spiced scent of Sam’s anger. Because Sam is most of why Dean is terrified right now, and that’s unacceptable. Makes it so that Castiel doesn’t want even a hint of his scent in the room anymore, because it’s scaring Dean, and that’s enough for it to need to be banished. 

For a long time, they just sit there. Dean’s fear dissipates slowly. Dying embers that flare back to life every time the wind blows. And, even after it’s gone completely, Dean stays pressed against him with the same pressure. Breathes against his skin, his face hidden from view. 

“God, Cas,” he finally whispers. “I was scared. Of Sam. I was scared of him.”

Castiel is well aware. Worse, he’d seen it coming a mile away. 

Before they’d ever started shouting at each other, Dean had shown the signs of that impending moment – he'd obviously been able to sense Sam’s hazel-eyed suspicion and snarling protectiveness as clearly as Castiel had, and it had made him nervous. He’d inched away from Sam so slowly that Castiel had nearly missed it entirely, putting nearly a foot of space between himself and his brother as they’d eaten and exchanged a silent battle of wills. Hell, Dean had even been brave enough to call them out, had pushed past his fear to break the tension and try and convince Sam of his safety yet again. Something that Castiel had been too stubborn to do, too busy posturing to do. 

Sam’s anger had grown like thorns, right there in front of him, and Castiel had done nothing to uproot it. He’d just let it fester, too caught up in his own self-righteous frustration that Sam couldn’t just understand to address his fury before it got out of control. Worse, he’d contributed to it, had piled on to Sam’s snarling rage by snapping an order at him, despite knowing better than to do so. 

He’d started it in the first place, by encouraging Dean to eat; something that, in hindsight, he knows looks controlling and possessive. Something that Dean didn’t really need him to do. It was something Castiel had done thoughtlessly, regressing back to the role he’d had to take on during the last few days. Dean clearly doesn’t resent him for it – he, too, had been more unsure than usual, had looked to him for more guidance than what Castiel had grown accustomed to needing to provide before his heat. But it had been wrong all the same. 

Dean, of course, picks up on his guilt. He squeezes Castiel a little harder, mumbles, “S’not your fault, Cas. I shouldn't've been afraid. It – I mean, it was just Sam.” 

“He’s an alpha, and he was furious,” Castiel reminds him softly. 

And so was I, he thinks guiltily. Because he had been. He’d lost it when Sam had reached down to grab Dean, had felt it push him over the edge. And because of that, it had taken him far too long to see that Dean had been pushed over the edge, too. 

“But he’s my brother,” Dean argues softly. Almost hopelessly. “I... I didn’t think…” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel insists. 

Dean chokes out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” he says brokenly. “Forgot that not everyone is as – as fuckin’ chill as you usually are.” He swallows. “Forgot how little of that I can handle. From – ” his voice breaks. “From anyone, apparently.” 

Castiel is quiet for a moment. He tries to gather his thoughts, speaks slowly when he finally does. “It’s been... quite a while since you’ve been exposed to that level of intense emotion.” Since his first days with Castiel, really. Since that moment when Dean had begged to be kept, kneeling on the cold floor of Castiel’s kitchen; terrified because he’d mistaken Castiel’s fury on his behalf for fury directed at him. 

This is no different. But to Dean, it must feel different. Feel infinitely worse. Because, back then, Dean hadn’t known him. Hadn’t trusted him. His fear had made sense, had been something he could probably justify. But this… this is fear of family. Fear of a younger brother, one that Dean had raised from a literal infant. That Dean’s own kin could inspire even a fraction of that same terror... Castiel simply cannot comprehend the magnitude of the heartbreak.

All he can do is try to mend Dean’s heart in any way he can. He slows his breathing and exaggerates it until Dean matches the rhythm, brushes his fingers through his hair. Tries to make his scent as calm and as controlled as Dean seems to think it can be. And it works; Dean’s heart slows. His muscles relax, one by one, the slow shut down of a complicated machine. 

When Dean finally goes pliant against Castiel’s chest, he allows himself to speak. 

“I don’t like the way Sam spoke to you. The way he treated you.” Castiel ignores Dean’s automatic, scoffing attempts at self-deprecation, shaking his head when the omega tries to protest. “I don’t like that he expected you to follow his orders, or that he seems to believe he knows what is best for you without bothering to take your words into account.”

Dean laughs a little. It is a profoundly sad sound. “He don’t mean it like that, Cas. Sam just wants me to be safe. He… he just doesn’t know you. If he did, he wouldn’t…”

“I understand,” Castiel says, tone grave. Because he does, no matter how upset he is with the young man. “I’m under no illusions as to what this appears to be.” He sighs. “All that your brother sees when he looks at me is a strange alpha that has a tremendous amount of power over you. I think it’s fair that it makes him… nervous.”

Dean snorts. “Understatement.” 

Castiel can’t help the tiny smile that tries to flicker onto his face, but it dies a half moment later. “That doesn’t change the fact that he was trying to force you to leave against your wishes.”

“He… he wouldn’t have,” Dean says, but there’s hesitation in his words. “If I’d just had the chance to show him–” 

“I’ve tried. Balthazar has tried. You have tried. What more will it take?”

Dean is quiet for a moment at that. “I don’t know,” he admits softly. “I. I don’t know.” 

For a moment, Castiel feels despair. Real despair, something dark and choking. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if they cannot convince Sam. Dean so clearly needs his brother in his life.

Obviously, Dean is thinking along the same lines. He shifts minutely in Castiel’s arms, his voice so timid that it can only be hiding fear. “Cas, I… I know you told me you wouldn’t make him, um. That you wouldn’t make him leave. But…” 

“Dean.” 

The omega goes quiet. It sounds like he’s holding his breath. 

“I will never,” Castiel says forcefully, “ever attempt to evict your family from your life, regardless of their feelings toward me. I don’t want to, and even if I did, I have no right to.” 

Dean swallows. “You do, though. You do have the right,” he points out shakily. “I know you don’t want that. I know you – I know you never wanted to own me. But you do, and you could–”  

“Legality,” he interrupts, “is not the same thing as morality. Lawfully having the right does not make anything inherently righteous.  Not to me, not to you. Not to anyone.” 

There is a pause that is as tight as a drawn bowstring. 

“Oh,” Dean says softly. 

And it hurts, that little moment of realization. Castiel knows that Dean trusts him, knows that the omega believes to his core that Cas will never intentionally hurt him. Dismissing Sam, Castiel thinks, could be something that he could even justify – he could claim it was for Dean’s safety, for his continued peace of mind. He could pull the protective card, the loving alpha card, and could explain away a horribly cruel act under the veil of kindness. 

A few months ago, Castiel might actually have done so. It is only how well he has come to know Dean that has stopped him from considering it now. And, so long as Castiel still owns him, there are an infinite number of ways in which he can destroy Dean’s personhood, even with the best of intentions. 

There are fears inside Dean’s mind that can never truly fade. 

It’s that moment of clarity that finally helps Castiel make sense of Sam’s behavior. It is what has made Dean forgive him before he has ever even apologized. It’s what makes Castiel forgive him, too.

Perhaps Dean can sense that all important shift in Castiel’s brain, because he relaxes completely. Sighs. A sliver of humor returns to his voice; a sliver of the man that Castiel has had the privilege of coming to know. “You know, he’s probably listening at the crack of the door.”

Castiel smiles at the fondness in Dean’s voice, not at all masked by his faux irritation. He doesn’t think what Dean’s saying is true – Sam had seemed far too spooked to be playing spy right now. But he goes along with it anyway. “He is related to you. I would expect nothing less.”

Dean chuckles. He reaches up, wraps his palm around the back of Castiel’s neck in a gesture of soft affection. “I missed him so much, Cas,” he says, and there are a million fragile fears wrapped up in those simple words. 

“I very much doubt he’s planning on going anywhere,” Castiel replies. He presses his closed lips to the crown of Dean’s head, and the omega hums happily; Castiel can’t find the will to feel guilty about that even with Dean’s brother less than a dozen feet away. “Should I invite him to stay with us?”

Dean finally leans back then. His eyes, predictably, are wet – but his gaze is surprisingly steady. “Even after that shit show?”

Castiel’s mouth twists ruefully. “That was at least as much my fault as it was his. And, as I said. I would not deny you access to your brother simply because I find him…”

“Annoying as hell?” Dean finishes, an actual grin beginning to form on his face. 

Castiel snorts. “I was going to say challenging, but…”

Just as he intended, Dean’s eyes crinkle at the edges and he lets out a small huff of laughter. Castiel smiles then, his thumb brushing Dean’s cheek. “I am sorry,” he says after a moment. “I know you aren’t fragile, and I know you can take care of yourself. But it was obvious that Sam’s emotions toward me were affecting you negatively, and…” He sighs. “I lost my temper.”

Dean’s mouth twists to the side and he shrugs, looking away. “I ain’t a doctor or anything, but. I think that’s… kinda normal after the week we just had.”

Castiel furrows his brow. “It’s no excuse.”

“Sure it is,” Dean disagrees easily. “You just helped… you helped me through my heat,” he says sheepishly, a light blush dusting his cheeks, “and, what. A day later? You’re dealing with a pissed off alpha in my space. That would twist anyone up, Cas.”

Dean is right, of course, though it doesn’t really ease Castiel’s guilt. He wonders how quickly Sam will catch on to their feelings for one another – wonders if he already has. Guilt squirms inside of him at the thought. It doesn’t matter that he has not touched Dean sexually and doesn’t intend to until they can both do so with nothing over their heads. Castiel has already crossed boundaries that can’t be uncrossed. 

But going backward is impossible. Adding Sam to the mix does nothing but complicate the dynamic they’ve developed, and will only continue to do so. But Dean needs his family like he needs air, and Castiel would forego his own happiness entirely before denying Dean the chance at it. 

So Castiel holds Dean’s hand, and moves forward instead.  

“I need to talk to him, Dean,” he says, and though he clearly tries to hide it there is the barest trickle of fear in Dean’s scent at that. “He needs to understand. I won’t tell him anything you’re uncomfortable with me sharing, but...”

Dean snorts, rubbing a hand down his face. “Pretty uncomfortable with all of it. I don’t…” He sighs. Closes his eyes. “I hate the idea of him knowing what I went through. Knowing even a goddamn fraction of it.” 

Privately, Castiel thinks that the young man probably already has a better idea now than he’d had before. As awful as it had been, Dean’s reaction just now is probably making a lot of things clear for Sam. Dean chews on his lip for a moment, the hand that Cas isn’t holding fiddling with the edge of his shirt. “What would you tell him?”

“The basics.” He shifts, holds Dean’s other hand in his own. “Enough so that he understands your reaction, just now, and understands our… relationship, I suppose.”

Dean still looks tremendously uncomfortable, his nerves tangible in the air. “We can also forego the conversation entirely,” Castiel reminds him gently. “I will do nothing without your permission.”

That seems to snap Dean out of whatever doubt he’d been harboring. “I trust you,” he says easily, shrugging, and smiles a little when Castiel’s scent predictably sweetens at that. “Just… you’ve gotta be blunt,” he admits, shaking his head. “He won’t get it otherwise. Pigheaded.”

“Like you?” Castiel teases gently. 

Dean smirks. “Yeah, a lot like me.” His levity fades, replaced by something closer to regret. “Probably too much like me.”

“No such thing,” Castiel says firmly. Dean rolls his eyes, but the regret fades, and that’s good enough for him. 

Dean squeezes his hands one last time and then pulls back, cracking his knuckles nervously. “Leave explaining our, uh… our sleeping arrangements to me,” he says, a blush dusting his face. “Don’t think he’ll believe it if it comes from you.”

Castiel won’t pretend he isn’t relieved by that, but he looks at Dean carefully anyway. “I certainly won’t stay in your room if he does elect to stay with us, if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Dean ducks his head. “Want you in there, though,” he mumbles, his blush darkening, and for a moment, Castiel waits silently, firmly ignoring the puffed up peacock strutting around in his chest. But Dean chews on his words for a little too long, and Castiel starts to suspect that there’s more to his hesitance than the complication his brother represents. 

“I’d like to stay, too,” he offers, and Dean’s shoulders relax. He looks grateful. 

The omega shakes his head. “I’m spoiled, man. Used to having you there. I don’t want that to change.” He swallows. “Selfish, I guess.”

“Your comfort comes above Sam’s,” Castiel says firmly. “I’m confident you’ll find a way to explain that will satisfy him.”

Dean groans softly, leaning back against the couch and putting a hand over his face. “Go buy me some time to figure it out, then.”

He knows it’s Dean’s way of giving him permission to expose the parts of his life he’s most insecure and vulnerable about to the very person he wants to hide them from the most. The importance of this moment hits him all at once – Dean is trusting him with his brother. The person he gave his freedom and happiness and life up for. 

He can’t quite help but pull Dean close to him and squeeze him tight, and Dean huffs out a laugh when he drops another kiss to his forehead. “Quit stalling, Casanova.”